David Sakmyster - The Pharos Objective

Caleb touched his shoulder, but then took his hand away, afraid to cause the man any more pain. “You didn’t have to run,” he said, making fists out of his hands. “I just wanted to know… wanted to ask you why.” He leaned forward as the snow turned to freezing rain, mixing with his sweat and running into his eyes.

“Why Lydia? Why sacrifice your daughter? Why me, damn it? Why!”

Sirens wailed in the distant, sleet-soaked dusk.

Nolan Gregory made a sound like laughter. “The Split,” he said in a choking voice.

“What?”

“The Great Split… the Keepers. The Renegade, Metreisse. Fifteen eighty-seven.” He let out a chuckle that gave way to an unearthly rattle, and his eye rolled back in his head.

“Gregory. Mr. Gregory!” Caleb grabbed his hand, squeezed it and leaned closer. He thought of urging him to stay conscious, convincing him that help was coming, but he knew it was too late for that. Instead, Caleb sat with him. It seemed the thing to do at this momentous transition from one world to the next. And he spoke, not knowing exactly where the words came from. He just started talking, telling his father-in-law about the Light, about the truth. About going home.

Caleb held his hand and rocked in the freezing rain. Closing his eyes, he felt the driving, frosted sleet. Soaking wet, he still felt warm, like a rush of heat radiated out from Nolan Gregory’s hand up Caleb’s arm and down his spine.

Red and white lights beat against his eyes, and when at last he opened them, police and firemen were running toward him. He stood and let go of Gregory’s hand, then stared out across the battalions of tombstones, the dark sentinels observing without judgment. As he waited, Caleb repeated only one thing, whispering it over and over like a mantra.

1587. Metreisse.

Back inside, Phoebe was waiting at the door to the lab. When she saw Caleb she turned pale. “Are you-?”

“Fine.”

“You were gone so long.”

“Had to stay and fill out a report.”

She searched his face, and then pointed to a nearby shelf. “Paper towels in there. And I have a spare sweatshirt around here somewhere.”

“Thanks.” Caleb slumped into a chair after grabbing the roll of paper towels. “What did you find?”

Phoebe offered a weak smile. She rolled back to the laptop, punched a few keys and turned the screen so he could see. “For the fourth seal, you’re on your own. That fragment is too damaged. We’ll have to hope for more visions. But the fifth is clear: Mercury. You need to bring something along with you. Stand on that block, place sulfur in the crevasses of the symbol, and light it.”

Caleb gave her a curious expression.

She shrugged. “That’s what it says; I don’t know what it’s supposed to mean.”

After a moment’s consideration Caleb spoke. “It means,” he said, wiping his wet hair with his damp sleeve, “you’ve begun the process of destruction, and you’re starting on the path to purification of your soul.”

“If you say so.” She tapped a few more keys and moved the mouse. “And then we come to number six: Silver, which corresponds to the Moon.”

“Distillation,” he said. “Dissolving the ego and increasing purity. Releasing the lunar energies, and… okay, your eyes are glazing over. What does it say to do there?”

“This is where the scroll starts to really break down. There’s a big section damaged here, but it looks like it says to reflect a light onto the serpent’s head.”

“Reflect? Like, with a mirror?”

“Probably, although I wonder if a flashlight would do.” She scratched her chin. “I guess the point is to illuminate the serpent with a connection, linking it to yourself.”

“See? You are getting this stuff.”

Phoebe grinned. “I try. Okay, now here’s where you’re going to kill me. The description of the seventh, the Sulfur or Gold puzzle.. ”

“Yes?” Caleb visualized the steps in sequence, putting together the path to completing the cycle.

“It’s gone.” She sighed. “I mean, there’s nothing legible, other than the word for gold.” She bit on one edge of her pigtail. “I’m sorry. I can work at resolving the image some more, but…”

Caleb slumped forward. “Despite that, Phoebe, great job. Amazing. We’re almost there. But as much as I want to continue this, please look something up for me-if you’re connected to the Web.”

“Of course I am.” She gave him a dirty look. “I’m a cripple, remember? I don’t get to go out much. I belong to some chat rooms where everyone thinks I’m this professional tennis player. It’s great.”

“I’m sure it is.” Caleb leaned forward. “Look up the name ‘Metreisse,’ and put in the date 1587.”

“Okay. Spell it.”

“I don’t know. Yahoo it.”

She tapped some keys. “Alright… there it is, first try.” She looked a little closer. “The first hit is from a book by an English historian. Let’s see… ‘Henri Metreisse was an alchemist in the court of Queen Elizabeth the First.’… Never successful, of course, in turning anything to gold,… but it says here he counseled the queen to victory over the Scots in several great battles. Oh, get this. He claimed to have clairvoyance, and could.. He could see into the enemy’s palaces, even overhear their battle plans!” She stared at Caleb. “A remote viewer!”

Caleb scratched his chin and fought the onset of chills. He’d have to find that sweatshirt. “What else? What about 1587?”

She scrolled down and then followed a link. “It says he was known to have convened with fellow alchemists. They met at Stonehenge during every Spring Equinox, but after the meeting in 1587, he never returned.”

She reached into her bag for a can of Coke. “Want one?”

“Nope.”

“Are you going to tell me what this is about?” Phoebe took a sip. “What happened out there?”

Sighing, Caleb looked up. “Nolan Gregory was spying on us. Spying on me… again.”

“But, I thought Waxman checked us out for listening devices.”

“Wouldn’t matter,” Caleb said. “Gregory was following me. He knew everything I was doing, especially anything connected to the Pharos.”

Phoebe sat quietly, pensive. “Did you kill him?”

“What? No. He ran into traffic…”

Phoebe nodded. “So what’s this about 1587?”

“As Gregory died he told me I was important to them because of something called the ‘Split.’ Something that happened to the Keepers in 1587.”

Phoebe tapped her fingers. “Dissension in the ranks? Keepers against Keepers? Maybe that’s why he and Lydia wanted the treasure so badly. They have competition.”

“Maybe,” Caleb said, his eyes swimming out of focus, as if his vision were being pulled in another direction. “But there’s only one way to be sure.”

“You mean…?”

“I mean, get out your pencils and paper.”

Phoebe clapped her hands. “It’ll be like old times!” She grinned. “Except now you’re not such a dork.”

They dimmed the lights. Caleb changed into the dry sweatshirt and pulled up a chair beside hers. They decided against a formal trance. This one would just be free-form. Experience the visions and share with each other what they’d seen.

“Ready, big brother?”

“Yeah.” He took her hands. “Actually, no. Not yet. First tell me something. What did you see that time when I was in college? You told me about the girl with the green eyes.”

She pulled her hand away. “Oh that. I was hoping you’d forgotten. Well, I liked to try to look in on you now and then. Not that I was snooping, I just missed you. But for a stretch of a couple weeks, every time I tried it was always the same: I saw you being pushed underwater and held there by this girl with green eyes. The weird thing was, though, she was weeping while she did it.”