Journey Into the Flame (29 page)

As Deya stood in the river, something struck her right leg. She bowed slightly in response, thinking perhaps it was a passerby walking deeper into the river. But something kept nudging at her. Reluctantly, not wanting to break her concentration, she opened her eyes a bit. A small wooden box had floated up to her and was bobbing up and down against her leg. Her scarf had snagged on one of its rough edges. She opened her eyes further, letting them adjust to the light of the sun, which had now fully risen over the horizon. Deya reached down and lifted the small box from the water. There were no markings on the outside, only a simple latch that secured the lid. She carefully lifted the latch and found three leather-bound books inside.

A little homeless girl, who was standing close to Deya in the river, waded over to her, wanting to see what was in the box. Deya looked down at her with a smile and handed the little girl the box to hold as she removed the first book. The book was titled
The Chronicles of Satraya.
When Deya opened it, a small blue orb of light emerged from the pages. Even amid the full glory of the sun, the blue light was startling. People began to gather around it. People standing on the shore waded into the river, and soon a great circle formed around Deya, as the orb hovered like a hummingbird in front of her face. The warmth of the blue light filled Deya with hope, something she had not felt since the cancer had been diagnosed. Holding the book in her left hand, she placed the palm of her right hand under the orb. People in the gathering crowd jostled to get a clearer view. Even those in the nearby pilgrim houses of Manikarnika Ghat crowded at the windows to witness the blue light. The little girl tried to reach up and touch the orb, but it was too high for her to reach. Something that could only be described as a thread of blue energy emerged from the orb, the tip of which penetrated Deya’s throat. Deya began to cough; her right hand let go of the orb. She was grasping her neck, trying somehow to ease her discomfort. She coughed more violently, almost losing her balance in the water, but the little girl, who was still holding the box, quickly slipped an arm around Deya’s waist, steadying her. All in the crowd were amazed by what they were witnessing. A moment later, the thread of light retracted from Deya’s throat back into the orb. Then, just as mysteriously as the orb had appeared, it settled back into the pages of the book.

Deya looked at the little girl by her side and the large crowd that had gathered around her. Her lips automatically formed the words, “What happened?” She was surprised when people standing close to her answered her question. Even the little girl had a few tidbits to share. “You can hear me?” Deya asked. Stunned, she rubbed her throat, but she felt no scar. The constant pain that had troubled her since the surgery was gone. She could speak! Her voice had been miraculously restored to her. Some of the people in the crowd who knew of Deya’s plight shouted, “A miracle! A miracle! Deya has been cured! The gods have returned!”

Mr. Perrot docked the terminal back into the seat in front of him. The newspaper story was very close to what Deya had told him and Camden many years ago.

“What were you reading?” Jogi asked.

Mr. Perrot told him about the article. “I was hoping that learning more about Deya’s discovery of the
Chronicles
would prove helpful in our quest.”

“Maybe I can find some information about her in the WCF database,” Jogi suggested. He took his PCD and connected it to the interface on the seat in front of him. He brought up a display and started to search for anything related to Deya Sarin. The top story, which was dated only a few days ago, captured their attention immediately.

Banaras, India, June 16, 2069. Lokesh Sarin, the son of the late Deya Sarin, who discovered an original set of
The Chronicles of Satraya,
was reported missing today. Authorities are baffled by the disappearance of the forty-five-year-old father of two from his place of work in the city of Banaras. Mr. Sarin, a mechanical engineer who graduated from the University of Banaras, was last seen walking outside during his lunch break. Authorities suspect foul play.

Mr. Perrot sat back in his seat; he didn’t bother to finish the article. “I fear we are a bit behind in this game of kings and pawns,” he said.

33

What makes a warrior great is not his ability to master a weapon but his ability to know when to wield it.

—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA

ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA, 11:10 P.M. LOCAL TIME,

3 DAYS UNTIL FREEDOM DAY

Logan assisted Valerie as they were escorted to a bedroom on the second floor of the plantation house.

“This is for your girlfriend.” The guard accompanying them threw some gauze and tape on the floor. “We wouldn’t want her to bleed out before you see the doctor.” He slammed the door shut and locked it.

Logan helped Valerie to the bed. He looked around and grabbed a pillow. He yanked the pillowcase off and used it to wipe away the blood from Valerie’s wound.

“I’ll be all right,” she insisted. “Stop fussing.”

“Hold still.” He carefully worked two of his fingers through the bloodied hole in her right trouser leg and ripped it open. He wiped away some more blood to get a better look at the wound. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“Tell that to my leg,” Valerie said, as she watched him use the gauze and tape to stop the bleeding and wrap her leg.

“This should hold for a bit,” he said.

“That feels better, thanks.” She glanced around, examining the large bedroom: the heavy mahogany furniture, including a chiffonier, the heavy drapes on the windows, the tattered wallpaper whose pattern could barely be distinguished.

Logan used another pillowcase to wipe the blood from his hands and walked to the foot of the old-fashioned four-poster bed, looking at the large fireplace in the corner and the old chair in front of it. “There’s something about this place,” he murmured. “It seems familiar to me.”

“Well, I don’t want to get any more familiar with it than I have to,” Valerie said, as she struggled to rise from the bed. Logan came over and helped her up. “Let’s look for anything that can help us get out of here,” she said, still grimacing in pain. “That G-LAB place doesn’t sound very pleasant.”

Logan walked over to the fireplace. Valerie went to the elegant dark blue brocade drapes and pulled them open, revealing two closed windows that had been fitted with iron bars. “I guess Andrea wants her guests to feel safe,” she said drily. She opened the windows to let some air into the warm room, but there was no breeze to speak of.

“Wait. The iron bars!” Logan said, in sudden awe. Valerie put her finger to her lips. “I knew this place seemed familiar,” he said, more softly now, as he realized a guard might be standing in the hallway. “This is the room I saw in my candle vision.” He walked over to the wall adjacent to the windows. “Check out the peeling wallpaper, the huge fireplace in the corner. And look at the dark wood floor with the pale blue rug on it. That’s the same bed. This is the same room. I’m certain of it.”

Valerie looked around skeptically. “Assuming this is the same room, was there anything in your vision that might help us get out of here?” She looked out the window and saw people leaving the house and a guard carrying luggage over to a black SUV parked on the circular driveway. “Looks like our captors are leaving.”

Logan joined her at the window and watched as Andrea spoke to one of the mercenaries, seated now behind the wheel of a black van. After a brief conversation, she joined Lucius and Monique, who had
entered the black SUV parked on the other side of the driveway. After a moment, it drove away.

“So is there anything else you remember about this place?” Valerie asked again.

Logan sat on the bed and closed his eyes, trying to recall more details of his candle vision. “Not much,” he said. “At the time, it just seemed like an old-fashioned bedroom. I never thought I would be trying to escape from it.”

As Valerie continued her inspection of the room, she opened a tall wardrobe cabinet that yielded nothing of consequence except for a couple of folded towels, a bar of scented soap, and a brass candle holder. “Could you go back to that room you saw in your vision?” she asked, as she picked up the candleholder containing a short, stubby candle. “I know it’s not the blue candle you found in the box your father hid, but it is a candle.”

Logan looked at the candle for a moment. “I don’t know . . . I don’t see why not. If my father was right, the candle is only a tool. It all comes down to mastering your thoughts,” he said, trying to sound confident. “That’s the theory, anyway.”

Valerie handed him the candle and a box of matches. “You get set up however you get set up, and I’ll turn off the lights when you’re ready.”

Logan grabbed a pillow from the bed and tossed it onto the floor. He stacked a couple of books in front of it, placed the candleholder on top of them, and lit the candle.

“You ready?” Valerie asked, as she stood by the light switch.

He got into position and nodded. He took a few deep breaths and attempted to replicate what he had done in Valerie’s apartment only a couple days earlier.

While he sat on the floor perfectly still, Valerie sat in a chair near the barred windows. The room was dark except for the light of the candle and a hint of hallway light coming from underneath the door. Time passed as Valerie watched the coming and going of armed guards on the driveway below. The stars were bright in the night sky, and she could see the blinking lights of an airplane flying silently by above. She thought
of her father, who was on his way to India. How much time did they all have to stop Simon and Andrea? What was going to happen to her and Logan if they couldn’t escape? Her anxiety was mounting as Logan focused on the flickering flame.

Suddenly, he broke his stillness. “It’s not working,” he said. “No ringing, no sound, nothing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s not working.”

“Maybe you just need to give it more time. My father told me it didn’t happen instantaneously when you did it in my apartment.”

Logan shook his head. “I’m doing everything the same way.” He leaned back against the bed, punching the side of the mattress with his fist. “It just sort of worked last time. I don’t know how, but everything just worked like it was supposed to.” He shook his head again. “Maybe I need the blue candle; maybe there
is
something special about it. I don’t know.” He moved forward to blow out the candle.

“Wait!” Valerie said.

He stopped himself and looked up at her.

“Why is the flame flickering? There’s no breeze coming through the windows, and these old homes don’t have any air conditioning.” Valerie closed the brocade drapes to be sure; the flame still fluttered.

“Probably from under the door,” Logan suggested.

Valerie grabbed the candle and bent down as best she could, placing the candle near the door. Seeing the flame stand still, she shook her head. She stood and returned to where Logan sat. “See, there’s more of a breeze over here.”

“Give me the candle for a minute,” he said. She handed it to him; he put it back on top of the books. After studying the flickering flame a moment, he pointed straight ahead at the chiffonier. “It’s coming from over there,” he said. He crawled over to the large piece of furniture, whose lowest drawer was about thirty-six centimeters above the floor. It was high enough for him to crawl underneath it. “Hey, the wallpaper down here is peeling,” he said. “Turn on the lights!”

Valerie flipped the light switch on.

Logan tore off some wallpaper and tossed it behind him. “There’s some kind of door back here,” he said, before he crawled out from under the chest of drawers and stood back up. He grabbed hold of the chest and pulled it away from the wall, making a loud dragging sound across the floor. Behind it was a small wooden panel about half a meter wide and an almost equal distance in height.

Valerie ran her hands along it. “What could that be for?” she asked.

But Logan didn’t have a chance to answer. They could hear footsteps coming down the hall.

Quickly, Logan pushed the chiffonier back against the wall, and Valerie blew out the candle. She picked up the books and put them and the candleholder on the bedside table. Then she hobbled back to the chair by the window, and Logan flew across the room and dove onto the bed. Someone was unlocking the door. They both noticed a couple of pieces of ripped wallpaper on the floor, but it was too late to pick them up.

“What’s going on here?” the guard asked as he came in. “You’re making a racket.”

Valerie stood and walked over to the guard. He drew his gun. “You need to let us out of here,” Valerie said, trying to distract him from the wallpaper on the floor.

“Little chance of that,” he said. “It smells like something was burning in here.” After a quick glance around the room, he noticed the candle. “How did you get that?”

“It was in the wardrobe,” Valerie said.

The guard eyed her and Logan suspiciously. “Back up,” he told Valerie. As soon as she moved back to the windows, the guard went over to the bedside table and grabbed the candleholder. “Don’t want our guests to burn the place down,” he said. “Now, rest up. We have a trip planned for you tomorrow.” The guard backed into the hallway and closed the door.

The dead bolt in the lock slid into place with a click.

“That was close,” Logan said, as he got off the bed and went back over to the chiffonier.

Valerie joined him, and this time, Logan was careful not to make any noise as he moved the large piece of furniture away from the wall. Valerie unlatched the little door behind the chiffonier and opened it. The breeze coming from below became more pronounced. “What is this?” she asked.

“I think it’s a dumbwaiter,” he said. “They were common in late-eighteenth- and nineteenth-century homes. They were little elevators used to deliver food and dishes between floors.”