Chapter 15
Tanit
"Soon, my special one," murmured the voice, so seductive in her mind, "you
have grown strong... now you are ready for the one who will fulfill you."
"At last... I shall become," she sang.
< < + > >
Angel Island
Kym burst through the front door, flinging it aside. It slammed into the wall and
rattled the leaded glass panels in the foyer. Devastated by the brutality of Derek's
words, she snagged her toe on the carpet at the bottom of the stairs and almost fell. She
sent her pumps flying across the hardwood floor and charged up the steps into the
bedroom. Throwing her wrap and purse on the bed, Kym fled into bathroom, where
she wrestled with her gown. By now the hurt was gone, replaced by unmitigated fury.
Her zipper stuck halfway down. Awkwardly, she struggled with it, but she couldn't get
it to budge, or the dress twisted around. In a frenzy of claustrophobia, she ripped her
way out of the fabric and left it to lie in a pile on the bathroom floor.
Kymberlee turned on the shower, then tore off the rest of her clothes. Once
under the hot stream of water, her tears flowed. She slid down the wall to sit on the
tiled floor, where she cried herself out.
How could Derek say such things? How? I'm his wife... I have a right to know...
a right to share his pain, as well as his triumphs. How dare he? Precept doesn't mean
god. Damn the Legacy... damn William Sloan... damn Derek Rayne!
What does he mean... I can't handle it? Of course, I can handle it... I'm an
adult. How dare he think that he can marry me... it takes two people to get married...
and not even consider the possibility that he might have to change... might have to quit
walking the edge... taunting the gods... the demons... with his hubris. He never thinks
of anyone but Derek Rayne... and he as the gall to call me selfish!
Finally, she wearily climbed to her feet and toweled herself off. She slipped on
her terry robe, then ran Derek's comb through her damp hair. She returned to the
bedroom, pulled the covers aside, and started to plump her pillow. Something fell. She
heard it hit the floor. Kym pulled the flashlight from the night stand drawer and
dropped to her knees to search under the bed. There it was! She stretched as far as she
could. Her fingertips brushed the little box... she had it!
Below, even through the bedroom's closed door, she could hear Derek at the
piano. He was savaging it... with... what was it?... Grieg... maybe? She pushed herself
up to listen. She wasn't sure, but the keys, wires, and pedals were the recipients of his
rage. The oak floor vibrated with the poor instrument's agony.
Kym held the small box... a blue velvet ring box... under the lamp's light and
popped the lid open. Inside lay a wide gold band, as plain as her wedding ring, but
with an inlaid setting... a deep blue sapphire crescent moon. As she held it to the light,
she noticed an inscription on the inside: Amor a besoin de foi... Love hath need of
faith. She couldn't help but smile... it was a play on the motto in the library's stained
glass window... Faith hath need of the whole truth.
She kissed the little blue moon, then slipped her wedding ring off to slide her
birthday present on her finger. Kym returned her wedding band to its place... the two
golden circles fit together perfectly. Suddenly, she noticed her anger was gone. She
regretted their harsh words. Derek had taken great pains to have this made... to present
her with something that revealed a bit of his own soul. She knew she should go to her
husband to thank him for his gift, and to makeup. After all her mother had always told
her, "Never go to bed angry. It ruins a marriage." No... she'd let Derek stew until
morning.
< < + > >
Derek paced about the control room like a caged tiger. He had gotten as far as
opening the cardboard tube and spreading the parchment on the examination table.
However, that was as far as he had gotten. Later, he would scan it in the various light
spectrums. Good Got! Why had he been such a jackass with Kym tonight... and on her
birthday?
Finally, he headed back downstairs... to the piano. He opened the lid and
plunked a key, then sat. "She's twenty-three... only seven years younger," he reminded
himself. God!... had he ever been that young? He had spat venom on her like a
cornered king cobra. What part of his soul contained such an abyss?
As his mind drifted, he began to pound the keys. He had no idea what he was
playing. His rage burst through his fingertips to give itself voice in the tortured wires...
almost becoming one long scream.
Suddenly, the telephone was ringing. Derek took a deep breath... the fury had
evaporated. He glanced at his watch.... two-thirty. He closed the piano, then walked
over to pick up the receiver. "Derek Rayne," he said.
"Hello, Derek, my old friend," said the voice at the other end. The line was poor
and the voice was heavy with a Middle Eastern accent shaded by a British one.
"Yes? Who is this?" he asked.
"Are you sitting, my friend?"
"Should I be?" replied Derek, even as he raked his memory for a clue to the
speaker's identity.
"It's Hassan ibn Aziz... remember... from Oxford?" the voice said, then added
quickly, "Don't hang up... please... I can guess what you've heard... I need your help."
Derek was silent... taken completely by surprise. At last, he said, "I won't... I'm
here.... and how can I help a mass murderer?"
"I fight for the rights of my people," protested ibn Aziz.
"How? By slaughtering innocents... children who know nothing of your cause...
blowing up tourist buses in Paris?"
"My people do not do those things. We do not wage indiscriminate war... like
the Israelis do in Lebanon... or your American jets."
"No... but you sell the weapons to those who do... you give those madmen
shelter and support," Derek contended.
"Perhaps," admitted the Arab, "but that is not why I called. I do need your
help."
"I'm listening," said the precept, allowing cold hostility to flow through the
phone lines.
"There is an oasis in southeastern Libya where we have a training camp. It is
called Al-Kufrah. Last year we were drilling a water well just north of there when we
hit what seemed to be a tomb or underground temple. The commander of the camp
insisted on blasting open this structure, which to me reeked of evil. I am told it led to
a series of caverns. Since then, a faction has formed within the camp that scares even
me. They were the ones who were particularly consumed by hatred to begin with, but
now they are so far beyond that... they fight for no cause... desire only the blood of
innocents... especially children. That Russian jetliner with all those babies... now they
begin to prey upon the local people... I do not know what this is. Hardened warriors
are appalled."
"What do you want of me?" interrupted Derek. "This is hardly something in
which the Luna Foundation would involve itself."
"I know there is more to you than the Luna Foundation. Remember... you did
tell me of your father, and I did on occasion witness your special 'ability'," replied
Hassan. "There were three engraved symbols found on the capstone... a horned
triangle, a triangle surmounted by a circle... between the circle and triangle ran a
horizontal line with each end turned upward... then there was a Latin L pierced by a
sword, a Roman gladius.
"At the time I thought the last design seemed familiar, but I couldn't place it. I
photographed and copied all three and sent them to a friend in Cairo... a history
professor... unfortunately, without results. But, in the back of my mind, that L with the
dagger kept floating. Yesterday, I remembered... it's almost like the logo of the Luna
Foundation... a foundation partly dedicated to the preservation of the ancient and
arcane... and chaired by my old friend, Derek Rayne."
As Hassan ibn Aziz spoke, Derek traced the designs onto the phone's notepad.
He recognized the emblem of Legatus, the Roman Legacy, that had existed before the
foundation of the modern society in fifth-century Britain. "Were the first two symbols
in any way vandalized?" he asked.
"Yes," his old college friend responded. "Do you know what they are?"
"I can find out," Derek replied. "They were damaged as a warning."
"Derek...," Hassan started to speak, then paused. "Can you come to Al-Kufrah?
To examine this place... these caverns. My mind tells me that you may be able to
'sense' what is happening here."
Uncertain of his response, Derek hesitated.
"I am not without power... I will insure your safety as much as I can," continued
ibn Aziz. "I will vouch for my friend, an arms dealer from Amsterdam."
Derek thought a moment, then replied, "Let me think about this and research
these symbols. How can I contact you?"
"Through my offices in Khartoum... Green Flag Imports. They can reach me
anywhere... I beg you, please, come. I fear a great evil has been set free."
< < + > >
Temple of Fire
High above her altar, Tanit swirled lazily. Her outstretched arms and golden hair
swung in the rhythm of her spirals as she listened to the heartbeat rhythm of her
master's voice... her lover, her mentor.
"All is well," he murmured. "The last link is in place. Soon you shall have the
one I have chosen for you." He laughed with the roar of a tidal wave. "He is mine
and doesn't even know it. Mortals are such fools... he tells himself he fights for his
people, yet he sells his soul for lucre. They do it so easily," he marveled.
| CHAPTER 16 |
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