The Chardon Chronicles: Season One -- The Harvest Festival (15 page)

“Robbie didn’t get a chance to take his
license test, yet. I don’t mind though, kind of fun.”

“I like this rig,” Robbie said, “but I’ve got
a line on an old Tour bus, now that’d be stylin’.”

Johnny asked, “anyone famous?”

“Yeah, the thing is probably filled with DNA
samples from plenty of groupies and classic rockers.” Robbie
laughed. “Probably needs a steam cleaning!”

Johnny laughed. Dana smacked his shoulder,
“Imagine all the babies made on it--probably scattered around the
country.”

Johnny nodded. “No doubt. What kind of shape
is it in?”

“Wellll, the good news is it’s free. The bad
news is it rolls, but doesn’t go. Been stripped for parts for
years.”

“I’ve been working on cars and motorcycles
since I was a kid.” Johnny said.

“You’re a man of many talents! That’s great.
If you want, we can swing down that way from Cincy. It’s at a
charter company just over the Tennessee border near Kentucky.”

“Sounds cool.” Johnny said.

David looked back in the mirror at Robbie.
“Hey, isn’t it time to tattle on Matty?” he laughed.

Matt groaned. Robbie laughed and squeezed his
shoulders, “that’s some role reversal, Matt. How many times did you
rat me and David out to Dad!”

Jack was curious, “Tattle?”

David said, “Matt wants to start going over
to the other side.”

Jack’s face got serious. “Oh? Really Matt,
how?”

Matt sighed. “I think I found a way to go
over safely, with no danger of possession. I think some of the
shamanic mystics used chemicals as a kind of vaccine or maybe a
purgative.”

Robbie said, “can you talk some sense into
him?”

Jack thought for a moment. “Do you know how
many times people have played this game and lost?”

Matt answered, “maybe we only know about the
losers.”

Jack nodded, “I can’t discount the
possibility, but look at the cases we know well. Dee and
Kelly--John Dee contacts them to help fight Spain and to empower
England, but it cost him dear, and gave them a solid foothold in
England… and from there to America.”

Robbie punched Matt’s shoulder. “That’s why
the Wells family got outta ye Olde England in the first place.”

Jack nodded, “the problem is they’re not
human--they operate on a scale we can’t comprehend. You won’t be
able to perceive them working on you and through you.”

Matt said firmly, “Dad set a
course--fostering the practical arts as a sort of route to
individual enlightenment, but I think that’s a limited path. It’s
capping human possibility. Also, I believe that strategy has its
own risks and dangers… like the potential for total failure and
enslavement of the whole human race!”

Robbie tried to keep calm, “Matt, you’ve
found some really incredible, powerful, and useful stuff. Why not
stop there?”

Matt shrugged. “I’ve been on this path for
years and I’m going to follow it to the end. Isn’t that what we
do?” Robbie and David gave a faint acknowledgement, a slight
nod.

Dana made a long sarcasm tinged, “Hmmmm….”
They all looked at her. “It seems to me that burning for knowledge
is exactly what’ll open you up to them.”

Matt’s face was resolute, and he remained
silent. They shifted the conversation to Jack’s Troubadour research
and carried on.

At Cincinnati, Jack and his students said
their goodbyes and thank yous and went on their way. Matt stayed in
town, too, ostensibly to take care of some normal life business.
His wife, Telia, ran an antique store and Southern Ohio was usually
a good source of cheap merchandise. He’d buy a car and work his way
back along the Ohio River Valley before going back to Chardon. They
all knew, though, it was an excuse and he needed a break from the
rest of them.

The crew continued on toward Nashville.
Robbie felt the need to apologize to Johnny. “Sorry for airing some
of the dirty laundry, there. The family, and by that, I mean
all
these people in our circle is full of knotty,
interesting, and opinionated people. Sometimes there’s friction if
not outright fighting.”

David nodded, “Fights and disagreements
happen among independent people. Also, Matty can be an imperious
asshole.”

Robbie agreed. “He’s got that instinct, that
urge for leadership, no doubt. He manages to keep it in line much
of the time.”

Dana said, “probably necessary since all his
peeps are anarchists…
I am an anti-christ… I am an
anarchist...
” she sang into an imaginary microphone.

“No need to apologize. It’s a good thing to
hang it all out there.” Johnny said. “My family’s civil, but at the
cost of a little chilliness. We live our lives and meet at
Christmas at the parent’s place but that’s about it.”

“Wait til they get a load of the new you!”
Dana said.

“Wow, yeah. And you.” He said.

She smiled and posed, fluttering her
eyelashes.

Robbie said, “They might pleasantly surprise
you… what you’re doing, what we’re doing is in human nature. It’s
taken a lot of years and abuse to whip and flog people into this so
called life.” He gestured out the window at the Kentucky suburbs of
Cincinnati with its car dealerships and shopping centers flashing
by.

Johnny asked, “so when Matt said you guys
were focused on the practical arts, what was that about?”

David answered, “yeah, long story... It
really started with Robbie’s great-grandpa… Maybe before that. The
19th century anyway. They saw a massive wave of nihilism and
materialist philosophy rippling through the west, like this black
billowing cloud that eats souls.”

“Poetic!” Robbie said.

“Thanks. I try.” David said. “It started to
work its way into the US--dripping in from Britain.”

“Is that related to Dee and Kelly?” Johnny
asked.

Robie answered. “Yeah.... they uncorked a
bottle. Let monsters in. The story’s way more complicated than
that, but good enough explanation for now. Actually that event
caused a split within the Rebellion. My ancestors fled to America
as a result. I’ll send you a copy of my great-great-whatever
grandad’s journal. If you think this stuff we’ve been talking about
so far is ‘out there’… wait til you read that!”

David said, “yeah, this story gets weird
fast. That black billowing cloud--it came here
inside
people, a handful of people, then took possession of others…
prominent names. Railroad barons, Wall Street Bankers, oil men. The
usual suspects.”

Robbie jumped in, “they built this system to
completely cut off people from nature, from family, from even
making things, from making a living outside corporations. In about
a century, they were able to tap the resources of entire continents
for their own ends.”

Johnny whistled, “holeeee shit.”

David jumped back in, “Don’t forget we’ve
been fighting back this whole time. We see the real game is
spiritual--it’s about discovery on an individual level--and
connection with others and the world. So we try to foster
that.”

Robbie made a gesture like he was holding a
ball. “Yeah, and this is important, we have sympathy with the other
side and what they’ve created. We’re trying to transform it from
within.”

“So what’s ‘practical’ about any of that?”
Johnny asked.

“Yeah that’s the 10,000 foot view for sure.”
David said. “We--that is me and Robbie and Dana here--travel around
helping people out. I do permaculture and local food. Dana’s
helping women and men with family stuff and babies.” she put her
hand up to acknowledge. “Robbie’s been promoting the maker
culture.”

“Really? I love that.” Johnny beamed.

Robbie smiled. “I thought so. Yeah, we’ve
worked to spread that message for a while. It’s catching on.”

Johnny nodded, “I’m on board with this… I can
see
what you’re trying to do.”

David added, “Let me play the demiurge’s
advocate for a minute. Matty’s got a point, too. Our strategy
doesn’t have any immediate payback. We all struggle with that.”

Robbie held up his hands and said
thoughtfully, “Johnny, before you get too deep in
this
life,
take a point to heart. Much of the time, we’re battling on a higher
plane,
but
... when necessary, we get down in the dirt. It’s
not always this brainy.”

Dana leaned over and pulled a Colt .45 1911
from her bag. It had been restored and elaborately customized by
Robbie. The body had been colored a dark iridescent blue-black and
the grips were mother of pearl inlaid with silver crescents.

“And you thought I was just a sweet innocent
hippie chick.”

Robbie and David laughed. Johnny was
shocked.

Matt bought an old Honda civic hatchback from
a Craigslist seller for $500. The car ran well, but had a few rust
spots, bald tires, and the seats were frayed and torn. He spent
part of the day tooling around Cincinnati bringing the car up to
snuff: new tires and minor repairs. He figured he’d be able to sell
it back home for $1500. In the late afternoon as the shadows were
starting to get long, he popped into a book and curiosity shop that
had a black stained carved oak facade. The word ARCANUM was written
in gold letters above the door.

The owner was a big man with a round, bearded
ruddy face. He had gold rimmed bifocals that were a little too
small for his big head. He was wearing a flannel shirt and worn
blue jeans. His shoes and socks were off and he padded around the
colorful oriental rugs on the shop’s floor in bare feet. He stepped
out of a back room when he heard the door open.

The store was never very busy. The owner was
the heir of a dwindling estate that had been built from steel
manufacturing in the 1920s. He ran the shop to support his
collecting habit, and to acquire oddball knowledge and
curiosities.

“Hi George, I’m Matt Wells, we spoke on the
phone a couple weeks ago.”

George’s big face lit up. It was rare for
anyone to come into the shop, and it was a special occasion for
another person with the same interests to come in. He shook Matt’s
hand. Matt felt like he was shaking a catchers mitt. George eased
himself onto a stool behind a glass counter. A few choice books
were inside on stands and open so the pages were visible. The books
were colorful illuminated manuscripts.

George pointed up into the air and recalled
the conversation. “Ahhhh, yes, the Randolph diary… right? Paschal
Beverly Randolph.” he repeatedly recited the name out loud. The
shelves were indexed by the author’s name and he padded back to the
spot. He pulled a slender, leather notebook from the shelf and
opened the front cover, then nodded and handed it to Matt. The
bottom right of the cover had gold embossed initials PBR.

“Still interested in a trade?” Matt asked. He
put a duffle bag on the glass counter.

George nodded. “This diary’s not much of a
thing… It’s a one-of-a-kind original, but there’s only about
fifteen pages of writing in there. The market for it is...” he held
his fingers together to indicate it was small. “That said, I am
mostly
interested in trades; things that get me closer to
what I am after.”

“I have that same outlook.”

“What did you bring me?”

“As I said on the phone, this is a first
edition of
Transcendental Magic
. It’s mint.” He pulled the
book from the duffel. For him the value was in the information,
rather than the artifact.

George’s face lit up. “Wow. Looks like I’m
doing the Alchemy today! I’ll take that trade. In fact, if you want
to poke around in here and find something else you like, we can
talk.”

Matt left the copy of Levi’s work on the
counter and wandered the shelves. He saw a hand sized sparrow hawk
figurine that was serving as a bookend on one of the shelves. “Hey
George, how about this figurine? My eight year old daughter loves
figurines, especially colorful ones like this. It’s a beauty.”

George put on a French accent,
“
Absolutment
! That’s from Lavaur, France. Enameled brass,
very unusual.”

They shook hands and George spent a few
minutes chasing down packing material for the figurine. Matt
flipped through the pages of the diary. Only the first fifteen
pages had writing. The last entries in the book were marked Toledo,
Ohio, May 1873. Around that time, Randolph was thrown from a train
platform and severely injured in what was reported as “an
accident”. Occasionally, the quest for knowledge spilled from the
ephemeral world of concepts and imagination into the hairy, sweaty,
flesh, bone, and blood world. Things could get exciting, and often
very ugly.

George packed the figurine in a large box
filled with crumpled newspaper. “I figured better safe than sorry.”
Matt put the notebook on top of the box, shook hands again, then
loaded the car.

He drove east along the scenic Route 52. The
broad, deep black water of the Ohio River was in constant view out
the passenger window. Several homes were built along the side of
the road where the ground was flat enough to have a yard. A steep
wooded hillside formed a backdrop. The two lane road snaked along
the river bank for miles and connected a string of small river
towns. The flotsam and jetsam of prior centuries of prosperity was
stuck in those places.