Journey Into the Flame (19 page)

Logan found himself in the familiar restoration room of the museum where he worked. He was standing in front of the Michelangelo fresco that he was restoring. He looked closer at the space between the finger of God and the finger of Adam; there seemed to be some kind
of static electrical discharge passing between them. It was like watching a lightning storm disturbing a once-peaceful prairie. Suddenly, the faces of the angels surrounding the image of God began to change. Thorny vines grew up around their heads. Thick old iron collars with broken chains materialized around their necks. The thorns continued to grow, piercing the angels’ skin, causing them to bleed profusely. The largest and heaviest collar of all appeared around the neck of God. Eventually, the entire image of God himself began to blur into a pool of blood. Only the image of Adam remained untouched. But the bloodied finger of God could not reach him. As Logan stepped forward and reached out to touch the painting, to determine whether what he was seeing was actually blood, the painting disappeared, and the restoration room faded.

Logan’s extended finger was now touching wallpaper that was peeling off a plaster wall. He retracted his finger and quickly spun around to view his surroundings. He was in an old Victorian-style room with a large four-poster bed. He was not familiar with this place. A hooked rug covered a good part of the wood floor, and a fireplace occupied a corner of the room, its ornate mantel barren. The antique chair in front of the fireplace was pockmarked from sparks and embers. A strong wind blew through the room, seemingly coming from nowhere.

Logan moved to a set of heavy drapes that were drawn. He pulled them open and saw two iron-barred windows that looked out only on darkness. Logan grabbed the bars and pulled on them, trying to remove them, but he couldn’t. He felt trapped. Panic rose in him as he looked around the room, which seemed to be getting smaller and closing in on him. With one last effort, he pulled on the bars with all his strength.

He fell backward and landed heavily on a dirt path. Wherever he was now, it was sunny and extremely hot. He quickly rose to his feet and found that he was standing about thirty meters away from what appeared to be a Buddhist monastery. There was no one else in sight, so he walked down the dirt pathway leading to the entrance of the temple. Inside, two monks were working on a mandala, carefully pouring dark
sand onto the ground. They didn’t seem to notice Logan as he walked around them. They were completely focused on their task. Logan tried to speak to them, but they seemed deaf to the sound of his voice. He paused and moved closer to see the design they were creating. He had seen many mandalas before, but this one was different. He stepped back as the monks rose to their feet and bowed to it. A strong wind blew through the open windows. Logan watched as the monks faded from his sight and wind scattered the sand of the mandala. As the wind grew stronger and stronger, the sand swirled around the room faster and faster, until Logan was caught up in it like a piece of debris snatched up by a tornado.

When the spinning stopped, Logan found himself in the old study, which looked different from how he had imagined it. Camden’s written description did not do it justice. The shelves that surrounded the desk seemed to rise into infinity, full of books and old, tattered scrolls. The study was illuminated by a dim light whose source Logan couldn’t identify and was scented with susinum, an ancient Egyptian fragrance derived from lilies. Logan ran his hands along the shelves and attempted to read the titles imprinted on the books’ spines, but the writing was in a language he could not comprehend. He turned and looked at the large, ornately carved desk. There were two neatly stacked piles of paper on the surface, which was inlaid with ivory and mother-of-pearl. He leaned over and tried to read what was written on them, but again, he encountered the language he didn’t understand. All he could determine was that each pile contained eleven notes.

Logan felt something in his right hand.
Yes
, he thought.
This is why I came
. He was holding the note that he and Mr. Perrot had written for Baté. Uncertain about where to leave it, he gently placed it between the two piles of paper. Someone, or something, had meanwhile started to appear before Logan, the vapor of some shadowy figure. As he tried to make sense of it, the study faded, the shelves disappeared, and the desk vanished.

Logan found himself standing behind a minister performing a
wedding ceremony.
I know where I am
, he thought.
This is the wedding of the Magician and the Scholar.
He recognized the setting from the photograph he had seen in Mr. Perrot’s album. He stepped out from behind the minister and was shocked by the faces he saw.

Immediately, everything went black. Then fragments of images flashed before his eyes: a blue candle, Mr. Perrot’s face, Valerie’s apartment. He wondered where he would go next.

20

Are your dreams real? Are the visions of a child real?

When you are in your dreams, do they not feel real to you?

What is the difference between your real world and the world of your dreams? Every dream, every vision you have, matters.

—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA

WASHINGTON, D.C., 1:00 A.M. LOCAL TIME,

4 DAYS UNTIL FREEDOM DAY

Logan opened his eyes and inhaled sharply, feeling as if he’d been startled out of a nightmare. He looked around, trying to get his bearings. It took a moment or two before he recalled the candle and the flame. He remembered the box and the pages from Camden’s journal. As he looked to his left, he saw the shadowy figure of Mr. Perrot seated on the couch and someone else seated next to him. Valerie had come home.

“Are you all right?” Mr. Perrot asked, as he stood and approached Logan. “You look a bit shaken.”

Valerie reached over and turned on a lamp.

“I think so,” Logan answered. He took the glass of water that Mr. Perrot handed him. “That was incredible—like a dream but much more real. How long was I gone?”

“You must have sat there for an hour or so,” Mr. Perrot answered. “It
was rather impressive to witness. You remained perfectly still and didn’t move a muscle.”

“Mr. Perrot, it was real. Everything we read about was real!” Logan blurted out, forgetting that Valerie was sitting there. “We have to put out the candle. We can’t waste the flame.” He quickly moved forward and blew out the wick. The candle had burnt down about three centimeters.

Logan awkwardly rose to his feet. His body seemed very heavy. He took a seat in a chair, feeling Valerie’s eyes on him.

“Sorry about moving your furniture around,” he said to her.

She had changed out of her work clothes into jeans and a pale pink T-shirt. Her silky brown hair touched her shoulders. She remained silent.

“I’ve told Valerie the full saga behind our little treasure-seeking episode today,” Mr. Perrot said. “I believe she is a bit skeptical about our theories.” He gave her a fatherly smile.

“That’s putting it mildly,” Valerie said. “Both of you are very fortunate that we have footage of Logan at the auction last night and airport footage of both of you leaving New Chicago for Washington this afternoon. It’s the only reason the two of you are not behind bars at the moment.”

“As I’ve explained, dear, it would seem that some past Council of Satraya members have unexpectedly resurfaced.”

“Yes, I’m not sure how to take your theories about Andrea and Simon,” Valerie said. “The whole Satraya thing has always eluded me; none of it seems based in reality.”

“It’s real to me,” Logan said passionately. “My parents were killed because of this ‘Satraya thing.’ ”

“I’m sorry about your parents, but there’s no physical proof that Simon or Andrea or anyone else connected to them had anything to do with it. Or with the murders of the Council members or the theft in Cairo,” Valerie said. “All we know is that Andrea succeeded in buying a set of old books at an auction.”

“We know more than that,” Logan said, determined to make his point. “You’re just not willing to connect the dots. How do you explain that in twenty-four hours, two of the four original sets of the
Chronicles
changed hands, members of the Council of Satraya were murdered, and a woman who hasn’t been publicly seen in more than twenty years has resurfaced? Further, if we hadn’t pointed out the tunnel, you’d still be searching for your first clue regarding the murders.”

Mr. Perrot could see that Logan’s emotions were rising and that Valerie was about to match Logan’s fervor. He put his hand on his daughter’s knee. “Of course, dear, it is understandable that you feel that way. Logan was also taken aback by the fact that the woman who bought his family’s most prized possession might have had a hand in his parents’ killing. All I ask is that you remain open-minded.”

Both Logan and Valerie sat quietly and allowed their emotions to settle a bit. Mr. Perrot gave them a few moments of silence.
These two haven’t changed
, he thought.

Mr. Perrot gently coaxed the conversation along, as he’d done when they would argue as children. “Logan, why don’t you tell us about your candle journey? I think you may have an interesting story to tell.”

“I certainly do,” Logan said. He paused for a moment and looked at the blue candle, wondering how to start. “The ringing in my ears was getting louder, and I tried my best to remain focused on the candle. I didn’t think anything was happening, but then this strange feeling came over me, like electricity running up and down my spine. I couldn’t feel my legs any longer, and I felt very light, almost as if I was about to levitate off the ground. Suddenly, the ringing sound stopped, and the flame began to dim. It was as if the candle was moving away from me down some long, dark tunnel. I felt as if I was getting really small and as if I wasn’t in my body. It seemed I was just occupying a little point in my head.” He pointed to the middle of his forehead. “I could feel a great pressure building there. And then everything went dark.”

“The third eye,” Mr. Perrot interrupted. “The
Chronicles
and other
texts refer to that as the third eye. It is a place where we can purportedly see all things.”

“We in the crime-fighting business refer to it as a drug trip,” Valerie said sarcastically.

“Please, dear, you must keep an open mind,” Mr. Perrot said. “I have always told you that the Satraya Flame brings forward interesting experiences. I remember a little girl once telling me about some exotic magical adventures she had in a kingdom made of clouds.”

“You never told me about those when we were little,” Logan said.

“That’s because that place wasn’t real,” Valerie said defensively. “I didn’t understand what any of that was about. I still don’t.”

“Please go on,” Mr. Perrot urged Logan.

Logan gave Valerie an understanding look. Until an hour ago, he’d had his own doubts. “I get how you feel. All I can tell you is what I experienced.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Valerie said. “Keep going.”

Logan began to recount his story, describing the painted clouds and how he suddenly appeared before the
Creation of Adam
painting. “It was like being in a dream; something was moving me from place to place,” he said. Then he described how the painting had morphed.

“Blood, thorns, collars?” Valerie interrupted. “What is all that about?”

“I’m not really sure,” Logan said. “As I said, it was like a dream where the pieces didn’t add up.”

“As Camden wrote, every experience in the flame has a purpose,” Mr. Perrot said. “Let’s hear the full story and see what we learn.”

“The next place I went was an old Victorian-style room,” Logan continued. He described it as best he could, certain he had forgotten many details. “When I tugged on the bars on the windows, I suddenly found myself outside on a dirt path.”

Valerie sank back on the couch as Logan described his experiences with the monks. Her patience was clearly growing thin.

“I have seen many mandalas, but this one was different. It was very
simple in design, and the monks only used black sand,” Logan explained. “There were three circles, one within the other, and a great cross ran through them.”

Valerie suddenly sat up on the edge of the couch. “What? What did you just say about the mandala?”

“The design was really simple,” Logan said. “Three circles and a cross.”

Valerie took out her PCD and projected the image she’d found earlier. Three circles and a cross. “We discovered this shape burned into the surface of a desk in the basement near the tunnel.”

Logan nodded. “That’s exactly the shape the monks were creating.”

They all sat in silence, looking at one another, pondering the same question: How did Logan see the same image in his candle journey that Valerie had seen burned into the surface of the desk in the Council offices?

Just as Valerie was about to speak, her PCD rang. “OK. No one move. Talk about something else until I get back.” She left the room to take the call.

Logan and Mr. Perrot watched her enter the kitchen, and then they looked back at each other.

“Well, Logan, I dare say you have my daughter’s attention now,” Mr. Perrot said.

“She’s not very different from how I remember her,” Logan said with a fond smile. “Still a whirlwind of energy and still ordering people around.”

“Yes, those aspects of her character have never changed,” Mr. Perrot acknowledged. “She certainly is passionate.”

“Sir,” Logan whispered. “There’s more.” Mr. Perrot moved closer to listen. “I somehow made it to the study.” He described the room and the notes he had seen on the desk.

“Did you leave our note?” Mr. Perrot asked.

Logan nodded. “I think this candle is some kind of spiritual gateway, some kind of link, to that room . . .”

He went quiet as Valerie returned. She took a seat next to her father again. “So, dear, do you believe a bit more now?” Mr. Perrot asked.