JOURNAL OF DEREK RAYNEThursday, 3 April - Somewhere in Peru
Today was mostly silent. He gave me those papers again, which seem to contain some form of incantation in Latin, Gaelic, and Quechua, I think he said. He told me to learn them. I told him that I had, but he said I�d only memorised them. I didn�t KNOW them. I don�t understand what he expects of me. I try, but it�s never enough. I don�t think I ever recall hearing a �well done� or �I�m proud of you, son,� from him. The best I ever get is �OK... that�s adequate.� Mostly, all I hear is what he could do when he was my age. I can get my tongue around neither the Gaelic nor the Quechua.
As we bounced and plunged along he insisted that I read the notebook that he has specifically kept for the sepulchres. I�m not sure I even believe in the damned things. I got carsick trying to focus on the damned pages. We had to stop while I lost my breakfast. I was surprised he didn�t yell at me for that too. Instead, he made me drink some horrid stuff, then laid the sleeping bags out in the back of the car for me and insisted that I sleep for a while, which I did.
I have no idea where we are. After we left Quince Mil at dawn, though with the clouds so low you couldn�t tell it, the road got worse, but we fell into a convoy with some trucks going to Puerto Maldonado. That at least helped when we got stuck.
Around noon we turned off onto this mining trail. Trail? It�s a mire cut into a mountainside, but Dad says the guide told him that it will improve as we get closer to Chipote. We finally stopped when Father saw a rocky ledge that would provide dry ground and shelter. I think he finally ran out of steam. I don�t even know when he last really slept - perhaps not since San Francisco. Tomorrow we shall descend out of the Andean highlands toward the upper reaches of the Amazon - an area Father said they call the �cloud forest�.
He said we needed to be ready for tomorrow - rested and alert. I keep telling him I have really bad feelings about this, but he will not listen. He tells me that I don�t know how to control or properly analyse my �Sight�. He says that I let my emotions influence it. I think he says that because he doesn�t want to listen to what I�m trying to tell him. It�s not what he wants to hear. That�s all it ever is - what he wants.
I didn�t really want to come to Peru. I�d have been happy to have stayed in San Francisco. I love the island and the city. I find Prof. Washburn fascinating. But I came because he said he wanted to show me Machu Picchu. He promised that we could spend time together at one of the newer digs. It was all a lie. I think he knew all along that the discovery of a sepulchre (if that�s what it is) might be close. Dragging me here was an excuse. That�s why he didn�t notify the Lima House that we were in the country. No one knows where we are. He wants it all to himself. It frightens me. Sight unseen it seems to have a hold over him. God, if it has this power over him now. What will happen when he actually touches it?
I finally finished reading through his Legacy Journal and his notebook. I don�t understand much. The notebook mostly contains Kabbala - very confusing with its numerical codes and strange alphabets - all about the hierarchy of angels, the sons of God, the faces of Satan, demons, arch-demons, and fallen angels. He wrote some of it in Greek, some in Latin, and something that looks like it could be hieroglyphics, but not quite the same. I skipped all of that.
I�m sick of Latin! It makes no sense - all those different endings on nouns and verbs. Regular verbs, irregular verbs, active, passive, gerunds, infinitives, imperative, conjugations, tenses - present, imperfect, future, perfect (Why can�t they just say past?), past perfect, future perfect. Then there are the nouns and their cases: nominative = subject, genitive = possessive, accusative = object, dative, ablative. Why can�t they just say what they are without all these fancy names? Then there�s masculine, feminine, and neuter, and declensions. 2nd declension has five different types of noun endings to start with - then six different case endings on top of that. 3rd declension has four types. Then let�s not forget the 4th and 5th declensions! It�s unending! How did anyone ever speak the language?
The closer we get to Chipote the angrier he gets that I�m not quick enough, and the more he drinks. Even now he�s ordering me to blow out the lantern because I�m wasting the kerosene.
Why couldn�t he have walked away from the Legacy like his own grandfather did? Why couldn�t he have been a businessman in a suit with a briefcase who commuted to the city every day? Why couldn�t he love us more than the Legacy and its demon hunt? What is the Legacy that it demands such loyalty, such sacrifices from its members? Could its soul be as dark as those it fights? Nothing but questions that no one can or wants to answer. I swear upon my soul that I shall never put those I love through such torture - and yet, I feel its pull. Something deep inside of me tells me that no matter what road I take, I shall end up at the Legacy. I know so many wonderful people who are a part of it - people who do difficult, dangerous, vital jobs, like Dad, George Washburn, and Mother, once upon a time. They battle the forces of darkness and protect the innocent, but the thought of becoming like Dad terrifies me. Is there such a thing as destiny?
Please God - protect my father, give him strength in his quest, and if his quest is an illusion, let him see it for what it is. If the sepulchre is for real, please, God, help us both or we are surely lost. Help me to help him and grant me the brains and the strength of character to come a little closer to his expectations so that, perhaps, he can love me a little more than he does. I know that if I fail he will be disappointed and will surely love me less. How shall I ever gain his respect?
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