The Rings of Hesaurun Read online

  But he couldn’t figure out why a small woman such as this one has authority over the soldiers? Surely, he reasoned, any one of these men should be able to best her in a fight. So why would they follow the small woman’s lead?

  After some discussion, the woman separated the group into two pairs. What happened next caused the hunter to question these strangers’ sanity.

  One team took long sticks and proceeded to rub the top part of the vessel with them. The other team, a pair of soldiers, used shorter sticks to do the same thing on the vessel’s lower sections. In this way, the two teams moved methodically along both sides of the ship, rubbing every part of it thoroughly. Once the inspectors completed their odd rubbing of the starboard side, they moved to the port side and beyond sight of the hunters.

  “What were they doing, worshiping it?” Hethe wondered aloud.

  Ammon didn’t answer. When the glass fish’s team was out of the hunter’s line of sight, the hunters assumed the show was over, and it was time to go home. The men began getting ready to travel, but Ammon stayed put. What were those people doing? he wondered. He believed too many unanswered questions remained about these strangers and their peculiar ways. He wanted to know more, so he intended to stay.

  “These people must be crazy!” Ammon asserted to the others. “We need to wait and see what they do next.”

  “We need to go!” Jotham groaned, his face flushed and hot.

  Ammon disagreed. “Darkness will come soon. We will camp here tonight. Pitch your tents; we’re staying.”

  Jotham threw a look to the heavens and snarled. His next objection went unheard when a metallic clank pierced the air, followed by the whirring sound of motors. The four hunters hit the dirt all at once, awestruck as the huge clamshell-shaped cargo doors at the rear of the vessel were separated, opened, and ramp-lowered. When the sounds of moving metal stopped, four more people—three men and a woman—marched down the ramp carrying armloads of bundles.

  Ammon stared in disbelief. Once again, his intuition had proved to be true. Although this group dressed more sensibly, the three men—soldiers, Ammon assumed— were again led by a woman. How odd! he thought. Why would these men, soldiers apparently, allow themselves to be mastered by women? Were these men slaves? If true, what power did these women hold over the men? And why did the strangers only appear in companies of four?

  Ammon was surprised when rather than rubbing sticks again on the vessel, this group made straight for the boy’s tent. No doubt they wanted to visit with him, or he assumed, help the boy bury his father.

  Then Ammon noticed this second woman was much different than the first. In addition to being as tall as the soldiers, she carried herself with dignity, and the men gave her obeisance. It was then that he realized the truth— these men weren’t slaves; they respected her. Ammon then concluded this woman must rank considerably higher than the first much-smaller woman. He didn’t know who or what she was, but at that moment, he determined to find out what secrets she held.

  The four hunters lined up on the snowbank like crows on a tree branch, observing the procession moving toward the little tent. Once there, the strangers huddled together next to the tent. The tall woman spoke to the boy, and then the woman entered the tent. A few minutes later, she left and sat with her companions. Confusion reigned when the hunters witnessed the man they’d all saw dead of a lightning strike follow the tall woman out of the tent and sit with them.

  Baffled by the man’s unexpected appearance, Ammon and his men were dumbfounded; they couldn’t believe what they were seeing. The tall woman went into the tent, and then the dead man walked out out it—alive! How could this be so? Soon muted whispers turned into a heated argument.

  “Isn’t that the man who died?” Abiah exclaimed, his voice shrill. “How is he walking now?”

  “I saw the smoke! That man was dead a few minutes ago!” Jotham bawled.

  “That man doesn’t look dead to me,” Hethe scoffed.

  “The man is dead—and now he is a spirit!” Jotham cried.

  “No, he isn’t!” Hethe maintained. “If he was dead, he wouldn’t be walking around. Look—he is talking to those people from that big shiny thing, whatever it is, and yet they aren’t running away yelling and waving their arms in fear. They are happy. Look at the boy hug his father!”

  “That man was dead! We all saw it!” argued Abiah.

  “Will you empty-headed dogs be quiet?” Ammon groaned.

  The men continued arguing, expressing their deepest fears. All were certain of the facts. Lightning had struck the man as he touched the big shiny thing in the crater. They had witnessed the man’s death. After the lightning strike the body smoked, a sure sign he had perished. Even as the boy dragged him away, the man never moved. And here he was, walking and talking as if nothing happened. Unbelievable!

  It was a mystery, but the unspoken truth was they all believed the tall woman had performed a resurrection on the dead man. Although this belief was unanimous, it remained unsaid for fear of the unknown. What also remained unspoken between them was the belief they must have this strange woman who gave life to the dead.

  This same thought burned in Ammon’s brain. Our people suffer from sickness, disease, and injury. Under the circumstances, weren’t they obligated to capture her for the benefit of their clan? Wouldn’t they be hailed as heroes for taking her?

  Yet fear also gripped Ammon’s heart. What if the tall woman was a witch or a spirit? Some believed that witches were nothing more than something evil to be destroyed. Ammon was able to see beyond the fear and superstition because instinct told him there was more to learn about the woman. A lot more.

  However, Jotham didn’t care that the woman healed the man or that she might have resurrected him. All he saw was an evil thing, like a fire to be stamped out. Whatever apparent good she might have done changed nothing. From his point of view, the woman was a worker of magic. And wasn’t magic a dark vice to be rooted out and destroyed? Jotham knew what to do, and steeled himself for it.

  As soon as Ammon saw the strangers preparing to leave, he gestured for his men to get ready to move. He didn’t need to tell them why.

  Chapter 6

  Corell Paris. May, Present-Day.

  Corell Paris was tense; his attention divided between the road and watching the rearview mirrors. Being followed as they left Arlington was a real possibility, one he could not allow. Traffic was

  heavy, but he drove fast, tailgating and weaving in and out of the commuter lane. Anyone attempting to follow Corell and the girl would be quickly exposed. After the first hour, he began to relax and settled into the slow lane.

  Valerie watched in silence as Interstate 5 rolled out in front of them. Since leaving Arlington, they had said little to one another. What was spoken between them was abbreviated and stilted. She didn’t feel like talking anyway. Plus, her recently-acquired, make-believe, doomsday prepper grandfather from Montana seemed to be satisfied driving in silence. Valerie didn’t like Corell’s aggressive driving but understood his concern about being followed, so she didn’t object.

  Although she didn’t know much about Corell Paris, she felt she could trust him. A faint voice, one she relied on, told her she truly could put faith in the man, so she didn’t question it. She didn’t know why, but Corell Paris felt somehow familiar. Perhaps it’s the shape of his eyes, that high forehead and his long straight Irish nose, she thought. His hair was gray now but still held evidence of what once was thick, straight and black, not unlike her own, and her relatives.

  She didn’t want to stare, but Valerie felt the drumbeats of the distant past in this man’s pale blue eyes. She didn’t realize it just then, but when Valerie looked at Corell Paris, she didn’t see a stranger; she saw one of her own. Something stirred deep inside, something that was always there but buried so deeply she couldn’t know what it was. Somehow this man made her feel different. She knew there was more but just didn’t know what it could be, and yet, it felt right.
r />   Something else—that name, Corell Paris, Valerie thought. Who has a name like that? It just seems so phony, so made up. If true, and his was an assumed identity, why not pick something more believable? If it were me I would choose something like Sheldon Cooper or Leonard Hofstadter— anything but Corell Paris. When he chose that name, was he in Paris looking at Corelle dinnerware? The thought of it brought a smile to her lips, and she decided to ask him about it sometime.

  When Corell passed the Interstate 90 East exit rather than turning toward Montana, she regarded him questioningly. Hadn’t he said they were going to Montana? If Montana wasn’t the destination, then where? Shouldn’t he have said something about where they were going by now? Still, she said nothing, realizing it didn’t matter where they were going as long as they were safe.

  Orson slept on Corell’s lap as he drove. The two seemed so comfortable together, so familiar that it aggravated her. The darn cat had been glued to Corell ever since he arrived. It was as if she didn’t matter. Annoyed by that, Valerie disconnected from them, choosing instead to stare out the side window as Seattle’s scenery slid by.

  Corell noticed this. He sat behind the wheel, silently eyeing the girl. Corell was sympathetic, seeing more than a few valid reasons for her petulance. In a single afternoon, the girl’s life had turned upside-down and inside-out. Her home, family, friends, and graduation plans were all tossed aside without notice or proper goodbye’s. No doubt, she grieved for them. He saw her struggling with it, so he intended to allow her as much time and space she needed to work it out for herself.

  He also worried the girl might push back against his plan to remove her from the threat Stone represented. Despite saying nothing about it, she appeared to be on a precipice. What if she demanded to be returned home? He didn’t know what he would say or do if that were to happen. He needed to say something but decided to give her a little more time. He would wait until they were through Seattle before breaking the silence.

  As soon as the vast metropolis was behind them, Corell made his move. “Valerie, are you alright?” he inquired sympathetically.

  “Sure,” she said, with little conviction, firing a dirty look at Orson. “Can I text my friends?”

  “Yes, but tonight only, and no phone calls, alright? Cell phones can be traced, so when you are done texting, power it down and give it to me. That will eliminate any temptation you might have to do more texting or answer if it rings. We cannot give away our location under any circumstances.”

  “Really? I can’t have my phone?!” Valerie shrieked. “That is not fair!”

  “Yes, really, and you know why, so please don’t act like I am being unreasonable. Your life, the lives of your family and friends, may depend on how well you make yourself untraceable. Understood?”

  Sighing heavily, Valerie nodded, frowning. “That’s harsh,” she mumbled.

  “Never forget that Stone is determined to get this ring,” Corell said, holding up his right hand for her to see. “He would have no problem killing either one of us to get it. His only reason for living right now is to get this.”

  “He already has a ring, doesn’t he?

  “Yes, and he killed to get it; don’t forget that. But he wants all five of them, which puts us on his shortlist. He thinks that if he were able to get all five, he would be immortal.”

  “Would he?”

  “Almost. He would live for a very long time, but not forever,” said Corell without taking his eyes from the road. In his lap, Orson reacted to the news with a loud purr.

  “Now listen,” Corell continued, “if you are going to text your friends, you need to remember your cover story. You are going to Montana with your grandfather and stay the summer. He’s a doomsday prepper and doesn’t want people to know where his place is. You have no idea where it is other than Montana. You will be back in the fall at the UW and see your friends again then. You are going to be off-the-grid, so your phone will be out of service until you return. That’s the message you need to send.”

  Valerie considered his words staring blankly at her phone. She didn’t like it but nodded her consent.

  Taking a hand from the wheel, Corell placed it on her shoulder. “Valerie, I know this is hard for you, but you must be sure not to give any indication of where you are. That includes restaurants, gas stations, or scenery. If you see a pink elephant, keep it to yourself. Alright?”

  Valerie snickered at that, then decided it was for the best and began texting in earnest. She started with the people closest to her, including Darcy, Jack, Emily, Jim, and Angie. But after those few she was stumped. She knew many people but didn’t feel like any of them were close enough that she needed to communicate this news to them. My social circle is so small, she thought, then went back through her contact list with a grim realization. I have so few friends!

  Feeling alone and miserable, Valerie powered down her phone and returned to brooding. But it wasn’t long before she made up her mind to pull herself out of her funk and reconnect with Corell. She wanted to know more about this mysterious man, so she decided to dig deeper.

  “Are you my grandfather?”

  Corell gave her a hard look before answering, appraising the girl as if he was reluctant to answer the question.

  “I guess that I am,” he admitted, then turning his eyes back to the road added, “but many times removed. Too many to count. I am over thirteen hundred years old.”

  To his chagrin, Valerie snickered. “Really?” she exclaimed with raised eyebrows. She put a finger to her lips as if slyly thinking this over. “So— you were born in the eighth century?”

  “The seventh century. But who’s counting?”

  Valerie sat back and rolled her eyes. The seventh century, she thought. This story just keeps getting better! How deep is this rabbit hole anyway? Maybe I should ask him a question to test him out, ask something that he would have seen or experienced back then. But what?

  Slowly it came to her that Corell might be telling the truth. What was the world like that far back? She remembered just one thing from her studies: a lot was happening in the Middle East. According to textbooks, the seventh century was all about Muhammad’s wars, and he died about then. She thought hard but couldn’t think of anything else. But being European, there was no way Corell would be part of that anyway. Finally, she gave up and decided to say what was really on her mind.

  “I am sorry, but that’s pretty hard to believe.”

  “Believe it,” Corell shot back without a hitch.

  “Then give me a reason.”

  Corell groaned, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. “Look, I can’t prove I was born in the seventh century. We didn’t have birth certificates or picture ID! But you don’t need a reason, and you know it,” he exclaimed.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, stop asking questions about me and search yourself. Look at what’s inside Valerie Dunne because that’s where the answers lie. This is all about you—don’t think for a minute any of this is about me.”

  Corell continued. “Ask yourself this, what happened when you were four years old? Sure your folks died, but there was more—a lot more. Who saved you from Stone? Your folks were already gone, which left just you and Stone all alone together in the dark that night, and with no one to defend you but yourself. Who saved you? Think about that, then ask me again.”

  Geeze, that’s harsh, Valerie thought. I didn’t mean to get him riled. But I see his point. I remember it like it was yesterday. The yard was all torn up, my mom and dad were gone, and that huge ugly man did it to them. I hated him for that—I still do. I remember he would hurt me—but that’s it, there’s just nothing more than that.

  Apprehensively she looked at Corell. He has a valid point. Who saved me? There was no one else there; I would have remembered that! So how did I ever come out of that alive? Is he implying that my four-year-old self pulled a rabbit out of my hat and saved me?

  Valerie laughed. “Sorry, you’re right. I re
member that day, but I just cannot remember anything that happened afterward. I just don’t know how I avoided being killed, too.”

  “I have a sneaking hunch that you will remember— and soon.,” Corell insisted. “That’s why I am with you now.”

  “How did you know about me, anyway?”

  “Well,” sighed Corell. “You and I are connected through the ring. You’ll see. I have been certain you are heir to the ring ever since Colin died.”

  Valerie scoffed at that. She didn’t understand how Corell could possibly know that. It sounded impossible, just more nonsense. She didn’t believe in telepathy, either. However, what he said made her feel a bit uncomfortable. If what he said was true, what more might he know about her?

  Then her thoughts turned back to the ring Corell wore on his right thumb. She could see it; the ring was visible as he drove. She had seen girls wearing thumb rings but never a man. It seemed out of place for an older man to wear a thumb ring. Weren’t older people usually more conservative about such things?

  The ring was a simple thing, a dirty brown band with five insignias pressed into its face. It looked like cheap dollar store jewelry, the sort of chintzy trinket one might expect to come out of a fifty-cent plastic egg. She judged it to be the sort of thing no one would bother to pick up if they stepped on it.

  “So that’s the fifth ring, right?” she asked, gesturing to Corell’s thumb. “Are you going to give it to me?”

  “That’s the plan, but not immediately. You have a lot to learn before then,” Corell said.

  “Like what?”

  “Like—take a look at this,” he said as he pulled a leather book from the breast pocket, then handed it to her. “Read it,” he said, “then we’ll talk.”

  Valerie took the book, opened to the first page, then gasped.

  “Why does it say it’s from Valerie Dunne? I didn’t write it!”

  “Actually, you did write it,” Corell insisted. “See the date?”

  Valerie squinted hard, bringing the book closer to her eyes. “Yes, it says August 3, 2409 BCE. You mean it was written by a relative, someone with the same name as me? Right?” she said, her voice hopeful. But she already knew the answer.