The First Book of the Pure (20 page)

Finally Elihas opened his eyes, and as
Goyahkla’s hand came around for another slap, he caught it. “Stop,
father. What are you doing?” Elihas looked around, somewhat
confused. “Where are we? What happened?”

“What do you remember, my son?”

“Shots, an explosion, being at home, in
bed…”

“Yes. All that is true. The rest you don’t
remember because you were shot twice and near death. I brought you
here to recover.”

“Shot?” Elihas shook his head. “No, that
can’t be possible. Look at me, I’m…” he looked down at himself and
saw the dark, old red stains which could be dried blood on his
clothing, the rags his clothing had become, and the bullet hole in
his shirt. “I’m okay though,” he said tentatively.

“Yes, Elihas, my son. And there’s more. Your
mother is dead. Dead a long time now, by the looks of your clothing
and mine.”

“How’s that possible?”

“Ah my son.” He released a sigh. “There’s
much you have to know. It grieves me to tell you the truth of some
of it.”

Elihas sat up, and seemed to gain strength as
he did. He stumbled toward the door, but his father stopped him by
grabbing his arm, and said harshly, “
haná’an,”
that is,
“hidden.”

“Tell me, father,” Elihas pleaded.

So Goyahkla began his story, starting with
his life in the west among the Apache. He told him of his life in
the south, learning the ways of the gracious southerners, and their
expressions he so loved. He continued with his life of revenge, and
went on to his life with Ohma and Elihas.

Elihas, perhaps because of his recent “skip,”
and perhaps because he’d never heard anything like this in his
life, sat silently as his father spoke. Tears began to run down his
face in the silence. Geronimo grabbed his son in a fierce embrace,
and together they sobbed for their loss.

Finally Geronimo managed to speak. “Oh my
son, please, please accept what I say.”

Elihas sobbed as he took it all in. “I do
father. I believe you. Mother’s dead? Truly?”

Goyahkla embraced his tall son, desperate to
help him through this terrible time. “But
we
are alive,
Elihas.
We
are alive. And we must
continue
to
live.”

“What of those who killed mother, and shot
me? What of them, since it’s been years?”

“All dead,” Goyahkla said quietly. He picked
up his two knives and offered them to his son. Elihas refused them
with a shake of his head. “By my hand. By these knives, the same
with which I avenged my family long ago. I killed them that very
night.”

Elihas looked at his father closely. “I see
bullet holes in your clothing too, father. Are you all right?”

“I heal quickly, and always completely.
You’ll have to come to grips with the fact that you also won’t die
from things like this, being shot, or stabbed. I’ve been shot more
times that I can recall, and always recovered.”

“I don’t understand,” replied Elihas.

“I know, but you will. You will, with time.
I’ve found that you and I have plenty of that. Collect yourself,
and let’s go meet the world and see when it is. I hoped to never
need this crypt, but I’m glad I thought ahead for it.”

Father and son, both very tall for Apache,
walked out into the new world together.

Maximus and Robert Return

Maximus timed his skip perfectly. He
apparently revived before Robert, and immediately retrieved his
certificate, first things first. He had no doubt that if Robert had
already revived, the certificate would be gone. After that he took
some hidden cash and got a nice room and gorged himself for a
couple of days, because man, he was starving. He bought a new suit,
the style of which had changed, but still was similar enough to
what he had known to be comfortable, and headed out. He chuckled to
himself, “A Roman soldier in a business suit and tie. Who would
have thought?”

He went to the firm of Stacy, Stacy and
Abbott. They were the holders of much of his money, which was
supposed to be invested but liquid enough to be retrieved without
any long delays. He walked in, announced that he wanted to meet
with the senior partner, and was asked his business.

“My business is what your firm does. You’re
the custodians of my money, and I’m here to take possession of it.
My name is Maximus Palamos.”

His name was legend in that office, and was
built into the foundation of their growth over many years. Not one
person in their organization was ignorant of that name. This
outrageous claim was met with very polite concern. He was ushered
into a beautiful conference room, the mahogany walls gleaming, the
table fifteen feet long and a craftsman’s delight. He waited
briefly while they fetched him some coffee. He had no doubt there
were rapid discussions going on around him as he waited.

Nicholas Abbott, the senior partner,
approached him. “Sir, welcome to our practice. I understand you’re
related to a client of ours?” His gracious manner was belied by his
pallor and the beads of perspiration on his forehead.

“Yes, I’m Maximus Palamos’ grandson, and I
bear the same name as my grandfather. I’m here to claim my rights
as his heir. What documentation do you require?” Max smiled because
he knew exactly what the documentation was; he had written that
part of the contract.

“Well, we’ll need to start with photo
identification and some other proof of identity, I suppose.”

“I have with me the original contract with my
grandfather’s signature on it. Would you like to see it, or do you
want to retrieve your copy and compare them?”

“Well, I don’t know if that will be nec…”

“It will not,” broke in Max. “The contract is
very exacting on this point. It only requires one piece of
identification; no photo, no fingerprints, just that one
declaration. And here it is.” With that he laid the paper on the
table, inviting Mr. Romano to look at it. “Nothing else is
necessary. I know that to be a fact. Do you agree, sir?” he asked
with some impatience.

“Well, you understand that we can’t be too
careful about this, since we’re looking out for the interests of
our client.”

“I,” Max stressed, “am your client according
to the original contract and this ID I’ve presented. I have no
intention of pulling my investments away from your firm, unless of
course, you don’t acknowledge what I’ve said to you, and what I
know to be true. I do understand you’ll want to go through the
originals, and have some discussion. After all, it’s been a bit
over forty years since this was set up. But after that, and I mean
to have that done by tomorrow at the latest, I’ll control my own
interests, with your help or someone else’s. By the way, did any of
your partners from that era, perhaps your own father or
grandfather, say anything about being threatened by Max, my
grandfather?”

“Well, I’m sure that they…”

“Never mind. I’m sure there’s some office
legend about it. Consider them true, and still in effect.” He
smiled.

It actually took most of the week to sort it
out, which had to be a record in brevity for a legal firm. Max and
Robert had been very careful when they set this up, and Max had
everything he needed. By week’s end he was in control of his money.
He wondered what had happened to Robert, but that would sort itself
out later. He took a sizable amount of cash, set up a local
checking account, and established an enormous weekly stipend so he
could set himself up, and began researching this new world with its
wild technology. It was incredible, and far better than the simple,
muscle powered Rome he remembered, or the wild ride they had as
magicians, or even the years spent in New Orleans.
If Robert
made it, great. If not, I’ll miss him.
I hope he makes
it
.
This is more his kind of world than mine
.

Session 13

At this point, well over three weeks after
his kidnapping, Kenneth was feeling as vulnerable as ever, but had
finally warmed to the stories his host was weaving. He’d been left
alone with Bertram again for two days straight, and wasn’t told
where his host had gone. Yet he had faithfully kept a journal of
the stories, and still fleshed it out every night in lieu of
anything else to do.
It has the makings of a great novel, if I
ever want to try that kind of thing. Who am I kidding? I’ve dreamed
of doing that.

The food was good, the pool was nice, being
indoors and all, but the lack of freedom was so confining as to
make him feel ill. At least this time his jailor had left
instructions that he could use the facilities if he so chose. He
sat at the breakfast table waiting, always waiting on his host’s
schedule. Twice now that schedule made him wait for a good part of
the day. It was 11:00 a.m. now and still no indication that the new
story was going to start any time soon.

Eventually his host showed, and seemed to be
in a jovial mood. “Good day, Kenneth. We’ll soon be finished.
There’s only so much that I’m comfortable sharing. I bet you’re
more than ready to be done, eh?”

“Well, yes, I am. That really shouldn’t be
too much of a surprise to you.” Kenneth lifted his eyebrows in a
question.

“Of course, of course,” he said dismissively.
“And you’ve kept notes and typed your account up?”

“Yes, there is very little else to do here at
night.” Kenneth sighed to emphasize his point.

“Today and tomorrow, and perhaps we’ll be
done. Today I’ll share about one more person, and tomorrow I plan
on sharing how some of these are in conflict, and what it means to
the world, and to you. Ready?”

“Hit it,” Kenneth said with a weak smile. The
end was in sight, and he was more than ready to see and hold his
children again, and even looked forward to the inevitable argument
with his ex-wife.

Karl Returns, and Returns

Karl, William the Bastard, Duke of Normandy
and eventual King of England, revived. There in the hidden alcove
in the dark dungeons underneath the castle, he revived. His last
mistress, Trina, had served him well. She could have come back and
taken the rest of the money, told the family where his body was,
and a host of things that could have been very bad for him, but
she’d done as he’d requested. He hoped her life had been a good
one. He assumed she was long dead.

Nobody knew these passages like he did, or
had. Maybe someone did now. Maybe this entire hallway was walled
off now, or perhaps someone had armed guards in these basement
places now. He shrugged it off, because he still had to leave. He
couldn’t acknowledge who he was without a horrible mess, including
the possibility of a nasty death for himself if people believed he
was a user of magic.

He took the leather bag filled with gold,
emptied it and put only what wouldn’t overtax the brittle old thing
back into it. With about half of the gold, he secured it to his
back and headed out. Trina had left his weapons with him for some
reason.
Good girl
. Dagger in one hand and gold slung on his
back he started out of the honeycombed basement complex, once used
by him as a dungeon. He ran across only one misplaced person on his
journey out, and that person unfortunately challenged him. “Let me
show you what’s in this pack I have, sir.” He started the leather
bag off his shoulder and continued its momentum, swinging it as
hard as he could. The swinging weight of the gold took the soldier
completely off his feet and slammed him to the wall. Before he
could get straightened back up, Karl was on him with his knife. He
drove it straight into his belly, shoving it upward to try for the
heart. He was very strong, and the tip of the knife must have gone
the distance, for the guard clutched at the wound in his abdomen
and seemed to collapse in slow motion, like a small object dropped
into thick, heavy syrup. Karl walked on, feeling a tiny twinge of
regret, in his persona of William, for the killing of one of his
own guards. But, so be it, and it certainly wasn’t the first of his
servants and guards he’d killed in anger. He focused on what he
would do now. England must be left behind, although he fleetingly
wondered how his boys had done, and if either was still alive. He’d
never admitted to anyone that Trina’s boy was his son, since she
was just his mistress. He had no idea how many bastards he had
strewn across the country. He had at least Robert and Benedict,
neither worth very much thought, he decided. After a brief
reflection he decided it was doubtful they were alive, so he moved
on.

He made his way outside, to the Thames, and
hired a small boat to take him down river to the port. From there
he booked passage to the Orient.

He tried his hand at several things, but
being a foreigner was a problem. Time after time he got in serious
trouble, the kind of trouble that could have cost him his head. He
always made advance preparations though, and when the Emperor was
having him hunted he skipped until that Emperor was dead. Although
in China he skipped three times, none were terribly long in
duration. Finally while there he met someone to whom he could swear
allegiance, and serve, as much as a man like Karl would ever serve
another. That one was Kublai, the Khan. Even as a foreigner he
worked his way into the Khan’s confidence. He served him well, and
was part of the Warlord’s intelligence service from about 1253 to
1282.

He remembered vividly the keen mind of the
Khan when they spoke of Karl’s potential involvement. “Your light
hair and skin may serve me well.” Kublai looked him over as one
might evaluate a horse they were considering buying. “Some of my
enemies could speak more freely to one not of my people, and so
might some of my
friends
. You understand your loyalty must
be to me alone! If I question it, I will do so over your corpse.
Are we in agreement?”