Journey Through the Mirrors (6 page)

“A type of lamp that produces light by sending an electrical current between two conductive points,” Mr. Montez explained. “I believe that there were once people, here at Teotihuacán and at other pyramid sites around the world, who knew how to harvest electricity.”

“Now I see why the Tripod Group is interested in your work,” Valerie said. “There are a lot of people who would be willing to pay handsomely to become energy sovereign.”

Logan turned and looked up at the face of the statue. “Any man who knew how to produce electricity out of nothing would be considered a god.”

Mr. Montez nodded. “
Teotihuacán
means ‘place where men become gods.’ ”

Logan’s gaze lingered. The eyes of the statue were closed, and a gentle calm was chiseled on its face. Logan wondered about the artist who had sculpted it and the secret he may have possessed. He turned to Mr. Montez. “Is this the artifact you want restored? It seems to be in pretty good condition already.”

“I will get to that in a moment,” Mr. Montez said, “but there is something else I would like you to look at first. Come here.” Logan and Valerie followed him around to the back of the statue. “Look at the back of the figure’s headband. The five symbols carved into it . . .”

“They’re from the
Chronicles
,” Valerie said in surprise. She turned to Logan. “Peace, Joy, Love, and Freedom. I just read about them.”

Logan remained silent. He, too, was surprised to see the Satraya symbols on the ancient statue.

“Yes,” Mr. Montez said, with deep reverence. “And the last is the enigmatic and unmistakable emblem that appears on the cover of the books.”

“What’s that other symbol that looks like a flower or a snowflake?” asked Valerie.

“I doubt it’s a symbol at all,” answered Mr. Montez. “Just a bit of artistic flare, I suspect.”

“How can this be?” Logan asked. “The
Chronicles
were found in 2027, and you said this statue has been buried for more than fifteen hundred years.”

“That is why I contacted the Council of Satraya,” Mr. Montez said. “As I mentioned in our phone conversation, Adisa Kayin said that if anyone could solve this mystery, it would be you.”

“Have any of these symbols been found anywhere else at Teotihuacán?” Logan asked, with great curiosity.

“No. But much about this civilization is shrouded in mystery; so much must have been lost in the fire that destroyed the city in the seventh century. I believe that this atypical lifelike sculpture and the Satraya symbols indicate that the ancient people of Teotihuacán were far more advanced than historians and archaeologists realize.” Mr. Montez walked over to a work table that held an array of stone artifacts. “These pieces were scattered on the ground in the same chamber where the statue was found.” He picked one up and handed it to Logan. “We would like you to reconstruct whatever this is and provide any insights you might have about the symbols on the—”

A loud rumbling suddenly interrupted them. The pieces of broken stone slid across the smooth surface of the table. Alarmed voices could be heard in the work room. The floor began to shake.

“I think it’s an earthquake,” Logan said.

“We need to get out of here,” Valerie said.

Logan grabbed his backpack and hooked it over his shoulder. The three of them quickly walked back to the large work room. The shaking intensified, and a part of the scaffolding buckled, crashing down on one of the fleeing workers. Mr. Montez rushed over to help lift the scaffolding off the worker’s legs.

“Let’s go! We need to get out of here!” Valerie yelled, as she pushed people toward the exit.

Mr. Montez grabbed Elvia by the arm and escorted her to the door.

The hysteria and pandemonium were no different outside the museum. People screamed and ran as stones tumbled down the sides of the pyramid onto the visitors below.

“The kids!” Logan shouted. “We have to find them—they were at the Pyramid of the Moon!”

Valerie nodded, and they ran north along the Avenue of the Dead. Hordes of panicked, screaming people were running in the opposite direction toward the exit and the parking lot. As Valerie and Logan navigated through the rampaging crowd, Logan heard a loud hum coming from the Moon Pyramid. The hum got louder, and suddenly, an arc of light shot out of the Moon Pyramid, hurling hundreds of its stones and bricks. Logan and Valerie stopped in their tracks. The exploding stones flew high into the air and dispersed in all directions, landing on men, women, and children indiscriminately as they attempted to flee.

“Jordan! Jamie!” Logan yelled, as he started running again.

4

May the answers you receive be as great as the questions you ask.

—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA

ISLE OF MAN, 7:12 P.M. LOCAL TIME, MARCH 20, 2070

Every stroke of the bow on the finely tuned strings of the violin reverberated through the courtyard that lay between the roofless ruins of the Cathedral of St. Germaine and the main grounds of Peel Castle. The sun, which had not graced the Isle of Man for many days, had reappeared that morning and was now setting in the west. The shadow cast by the castle spire had reached across the courtyard’s immaculately manicured lawn and was now creeping up the weathered stone wall of the cathedral. The violin player’s black dress and long blond hair fluttered in a strong and sometimes gusty wind as she played on. Her bow transitioned from the slow
louré
stroke to
legato
, then from the haunting sound of the
col legno
back to
louré
. Flawlessly, she spun her tale. Two men sat on a stone bench in the adjacent courtyard, listening. The piece she’d composed told the story of a captive’s despair and the arrival of a savior who provided hope.

“This piece is about you, my friend,” Sebastian said to Lawrence, the
steward of his home, Peel Castle. “We would not be enjoying her music at this moment had you not taken action years ago.”

“You played a part in that liberation, too,” Lawrence answered, his eyes resting on his adopted daughter, Anita, who was still lost in her music. “Those were terrible times. We were all required to act after the Great Disruption and the Rising. Your parents would be very proud of you, Sebastian. Even today, you continue with your work. The son of Camden and Cassandra would not have made his way and escorted the world to safety had you not helped to lift the veil from his eyes.” Sebastian did not immediately answer, and a pause ensued before Lawrence spoke again. “You think there is more to this, don’t you?”

“Others are moving into place,” Sebastian said. “There is one whose full intent has not yet been made clear.” Sebastian bowed his head in contemplation. His parents had bought the grounds of Peel Castle from the Manx National Heritage Foundation in 2034. It was here that they constructed their new residence, which provided not only a place to house their art collection and extensive library but also a place where they could carry out the duties of their lineage. Their passing ten years ago left Sebastian as the last genetic descendant of a group known as the
Tutela de Luminis
, the Guardians of Light.

At length, Sebastian looked up and fixed his eyes back on Anita. “The arrival of the
Chronicles
forty years ago set in motion a series of intricately woven events. A great gamble was taken with the release of that knowledge.” Concern was clear in his voice. “The ebbs and flows of that gamble have yet to be completely realized. The Rising is over. Now we must see if the wager on mankind was well placed.”

Sebastian and Lawrence noticed that Anita had stopped playing. She adjusted the tuning pegs on her violin and then once again began to play.

“We gamble every day,” Lawrence said. “Even the simple act of loving someone is risky, as we hope that our love is returned in kind. Your mother and father’s faith in mankind brought the books to the world; I have no doubt of that.” The wind returned exuberantly, providing
a howling overtone as it passed through the ruins of the cathedral, heightening the drama of the evening. Lawrence filled their glasses with more wine. “Not long after you were born, your parents asked me if I regretted not having a family of my own. They knew that my choice to live a life of service came with sacrifices. I casually answered no. I didn’t realize at the time how much of an untruth that was.” A serious look came to Lawrence’s face as he watched Anita perform. “What the Pottman family did is hard to fathom. I wonder often what possesses people to do such horrific things.”

“Anita was fortunate you turned up at their infamous dinner party,” Sebastian said. “The lives of many people changed that evening, including yours.”

“Especially mine,” Lawrence said. “I know now that I would have answered your parents very differently if they asked me their question again.”

“Life would not be so grand if our answers today were the same as they were yesterday or the answers we provide tomorrow were duplicates of what we uttered today.” Sebastian touched his glass of wine to Lawrence’s and took a sip. “To wisdom.”

“You sound like Razia when you say things like that,” Lawrence said. Sebastian smiled. “There are parts of the grounds that I believe still hold her energy. I regret that you had to let her go. It would have been pleasant to have her with us. I’m certain Anita would have enjoyed it. But we all had choices to make, lives to live, and journeys to take.”

Sebastian nodded, his attention suddenly drawn away from Anita. “And it would seem that my current journey is not very dissimilar to yours.” He looked over at eleven-year-old Halima as she quickly made her way across the courtyard to them. Bukya, a large German shepherd, followed close behind, his muddy paws indicating that the two of them had gone on an adventure. “Here comes the newest member of our ever-growing family.”

“You look like you have been digging for buried treasure,” Lawrence said to them, as he took the serviette that was wrapped around the neck
of the wine bottle and used it to wipe the dirt from Halima’s face and hands. “I am at a loss to say who did more digging, you or Bukya.”

“Mr. Sebastian,” Halima said, slightly out of breath, “who is Sumsari Baltik?”

Sebastian thought for a moment. “I have no recollection of that name. Lawrence?”

“Nor do I,” Lawrence answered, as he finished wiping Halima’s hands.

Halima pulled something out of her pocket and handed it to Sebastian. It was a silver neck chain with a silver tag attached to it. “I found that. Actually, Bukya found it.”

“It appears to be a dog tag, a type of identification worn by members of the old U.S. military,” Sebastian said, and then read the engraving:
Sumsari Baltik, ID #2974630.
“It must have been lost before the Great Disruption. Perhaps when the grounds of Peel Castle were a tourist attraction.” Sebastian handed the necklace to Lawrence. “Where did you say you found it?”

“In one of the tunnels under the old armory,” Halima said. Lawrence gave her a stern look. “I know, but my little brothers weren’t with me. And Bukya won’t let anything bad happen to me.” Halima turned toward the cathedral. “Maybe Anita will help me figure out who Sumsari Baltik was.”

Lawrence cleaned off the chain and the dog tag and placed them around Halima’s neck. “Every great mystery needs a great detective to solve it.”

Halima’s face brightened, and she went to sit beside Bukya on the grass.

Anita continued her violin solo. She had been playing for a couple of hours now. The castle’s groundskeepers were lighting the torches in the courtyard. If the past was an indicator, Anita would remain lost in her melodies and continue playing well into the night of the spring equinox without stopping for rest.

“How is she able to play so long?” Halima asked.

“She has trained herself,” Sebastian said. “When one learns the art of singularity of mind, one loses all sense of time.” At his words, Anita stopped playing again. She was adjusting the tuning pegs again. Sebastian looked at a fiery blend of orange and red in the sky as the setting sun kissed the horizon. He rose to his feet, his fists clenched.

“What is it?” Lawrence asked.