Tyranny of Coins (The Judas Chronicles) (Volume 5) Paperback (2 page)

Roderick’s rebuke hit us all, and in truth was directed mostly toward Amy—who wasn’t there at the moment. She and Beatrice had gone out to get their hair done that afternoon. Having to tell my beloved wife and our future daughter-in-law we would be packing up and moving again in the next few days fell on my shoulders.

I expected the worse reaction to come from Amy, whose reluctance to leave her brother behind—her last living relative on Earth—was completely understandable. But it was Beatrice who broke down crying, falling to her knees as tears streamed down her face. My heart felt like it was torn asunder within my chest. I ran to her, gently taking her into my arms as my wife, yes, but also as if she were my child. The heartrending wails were a combination of all she had endured since rejoining my life, along with the rejuvenation that had sped up during the past few months.

When I concluded the story now known as
The Dragon Coin
, Beatrice was pushing thirty-eight—on the downside of that number, and getting younger by the month. Since then, however, changes once noticeable every three to four weeks began taking place in a matter of ten to twelve days. An entire decade disappeared in a matter of two months, and now no one would ever believe Beatrice Barrow was a day over thirty, with some compliments in the twenty-six to twenty-seven year range.

Counting the age reduction Cedric enjoyed from his time with the Yitari people in Paititi—the mystical land invisible on our plane, but until recently a vibrant globe metropolis floating above Lake Titicaca—I was now the oldest in appearance among our group of human misfits. Perpetually thirty despite working on my third millennium, being the father figure in physical terms brought a new perspective.

“There, there, my love… it
will
be all right—everything will be fine,” I whispered to her, gently brushing strands of strawberry blonde hair away from the tears, knowing she would be further upset if the stylist’s efforts became matted. “Trust me.”

She looked into my face, her gorgeous emerald eyes boring into mine. Never before had I seen her this vulnerable… so terribly frightened. Did she feel it, too?

The prickly, invisible voyeur touch of Krontos Lazarevic…. May The Almighty condemn the sick bastard to the very fires of hell!

Yes, I thought it. If only I believed in such a place. Surely the Lord has ways of dealing with all human shortcomings, as evidenced by my perpetual presence in the flesh, no less. Eternal hell defies the idea of a merciful God. Mankind’s justice in its primitive form is the only thing calling for endless suffering and excessive retribution. But I digress.

Beatrice recovered, and more quickly than I began to believe might happen. Somewhere inside her, I suppose, remained the resilient ninety-year-old woman I almost lost three years ago. As for Amy, she handled the news stoically, staring ahead with her usually intense green eyes devoid of emotion. Her only acknowledgement was a slight nod, as she swept her long dark hair away from her face. As if she knew sooner or later her protests would become irrelevant in deciding where fate should take us next.

We left on the second Tuesday of August, and to my surprise, my three amigos—Roderick, Alistair, and Cedric—deferred to my choice. Really, it was a process of elimination in my mind, and I was content to travel to any place from Missoula to Yuma. Just as long as the journey took us westward. My only qualms were to avoid the coast, since something about being on the western outskirts of the continent made me uneasy.

But what the guys wanted was specifically the place I had spoken of on several occasions. A town that fascinated me for its unique ‘feel’. It had done so since my return to America from England in 1889 with Roderick.

Sedona. Sedona, Arizona.

The name admittedly has a ring to it. My initial suspicions as to why the guys were all in favor of it had more to do with something silly like that. Or, the fact Cedric and Alistair expressed interest in gaining insights from the mass of mediums and psychics who call Sedona home.

But, when Beatrice and Amy expressed similar interest in at least visiting the town that had grown to be a modest city in size, I took it as a positive sign. Like fate was pulling us there next.

We arrived Friday morning, just three days after leaving Austin. Despite being mid-August in the arid portion of America, Sedona immediately reminded Roderick of the Mediterranean climate he had greatly loved and missed terribly. After the death of his wife and child, he rarely returned to that region of the world. I always felt if he could find a similar place far away from so much pain for him, he would settle there. Truly, if Sedona had been where the colonies began, it isn’t a far stretch to think the United States capital would be in Arizona, instead of resting between Virginia and Maryland.

“I read online that in the fall the days are typically in the high seventies and the nights drop down to the low fifties—without the humidity we’re used to,” said Beatrice, noting the fascinated expression and first real smile we had seen on Roderick’s face since leaving Abingdon in June. “It’s hot today… the temperature on the First Bank sign we passed said ninety-three degrees. But it still feels better than the eighty degree days we’d get in D.C.”

Watching her nod thoughtfully, I could tell she was just as impressed as he. She pictured herself living there, as I could see it in her eyes. So far, her impressions were favorable.

Cedric seemed happy with the decision as well. He watched the progress of two men, dressed similarly to how he had re-entered our lives in June, wearing dark robes and matching fezzes on their heads. I teased him about regrets in returning to western customs, since he was dressed in his favored jeans and polo shirt.

“Nah, it’s just nice to know I can go back to that here, if I’d like. Provided I don’t have to take any bullshit from you or Roderick about it.” He laughed.

“I think we can all be happy here,” I said, chuckling along with him. “Happier here than anywhere else, I believe.”

My words proved prophetic. For the next two months, more and more fortuitous moments happened—enough to where even Amy and Alistair grew grateful for the decision to come to Sedona. They quickly fell in love with the place. In fact, they were the ones who discovered a small ranch just outside of town that we purchased in September. Amy had long been fond of horses, and in many ways, the ranch seemed to be a dream come true for her. A fulfillment of her parents’ ambitions, as she revealed to us. Meanwhile, Alistair’s lone desire was to be happy with Amy. The ranch potentially took care of one-third of our group’s contentment.

Roderick and I liked the thirty-two acres of seclusion, realistically hoping to avoid mortal nuisances like our CIA cronies, whom we’d just as soon never see or hear from again. Beatrice loved the late-nineteenth century craftsmanship that went into the construction of the main house on the property, which likely ensured her continued
happiness. She had spent a great deal of time studying up on the history of Alistair’s condo in D.C., and the ranch’s history gave her something to look forward to each day.

That left Cedric, who might’ve missed his big city life. However, once he was introduced to the mystic circuit in the city, he launched himself into a tour of checking out as many mediums, psychics, and Tarot card readers as he could fit into each week from the thousands who came to Sedona to strut their stuff. His was the most worrisome situation among us, as obviously he still struggled in coming to terms with what he experienced in Bolivia.

Having witnessed the violent overthrow of a nation that had survived for many hundreds—if not thousands—of years, did he suffer from a malady akin to post war traumatic syndrome? I worried he did, wondering if someday he’d prove to be a liability when our inevitable face-to-face confrontation with Lazarevic took place.

“Leave him to the soothsayers and witches, Judas,” Roderick told me one afternoon, as we watched him leave by taxi for his latest foray into understanding the unknown. “Perhaps there will be enough time for his perspective to click back in place.”

“You think it will be that simple?”

“Maybe.”

“You know what it could mean if he cracks and we’re in a heated confrontation with the Hungarian?”

Roderick chuckled, but it wasn’t from amusement. “Let’s pray it doesn’t come to that.”

It did seem best to focus on the things we could control, though I worried a confrontation between us and Cedric was on the horizon. Admittedly, Sedona seemed to have an inordinate amount of self-described mystics. Whereas Cedric approached the scene as a prospector panning for gold, Roderick believed the ‘new thinking trends’ were horseshit and magnets for all kinds of skullduggery.

It brought to mind a recent conversation I had with Cedric, where I pressed him for details concerning the terrible fall of Patiti. “You don’t want to know, William,” he advised, the light in his eyes dimming. “Lebanon, Croatia, Afghanistan… were nothing compared to watching hordes of demons—creatures all of us would deem as pure fantasy—tear human beings from limb to limb, and devour them like you and I once tore through a double order of crab legs at Joe’s back in the day. Even seeing the agency photographs of Darfur can’t compare to seeing a city of millions decimated so brutally. Harvested like cattle moving through a slaughterhouse.”

He didn’t need to go on to make his point, and I nodded thoughtfully while watching him blow imaginary smoke rings above our heads. Having given up his beloved slim cigars for nearly a year, could this latest crisis be the incident to break his resolve?

I should’ve known then my own illusions of escaping recent horrors I witnessed were just as foolhardy. Roderick and I were forced to watch Dracul’s bloodlust, leaving fresh images to compound similar events we experienced down through the centuries. Dracul was dead, but the animator behind this monster was alive and well, and biding his time.

When it finally happened, I was surprised by how it hit me. The prolonged tension didn’t resolve itself in a sense of relief. Rather, when the familiar token from Krontos Lazaveric appeared on the rustic living room mantel one evening, it brought a feeling of condemnation. Like the final lost appeal of a death row inmate, the mood was somber as Roderick stepped up to the mantel and lifted the object from its perch. A rose, clandestinely delivered exactly ten days before Halloween.

“Hmmm… purple this time,” he said softly. “A tribute to his delusion as the sovereign ruler of the physical world?”

“More like arrogant prick!” Alistair seethed. His bravado quickly became muted, and he warily looked around the room while pulling Amy closer.

“Arrogant? Maybe. But that’s not the message,” I said, moving to Roderick’s side to take a closer look. “Purple roses primarily stand for enchantment and the fulfillment of wishes. If I were to hazard a guess, this signals Krontos’ determination to obtain the Dragon Coin—what he considers to be
his
prized possession. He will seek to claim it in person soon.”

“I can buy that,” Roderick agreed, looking around the room. “Is this it?”

“What? You looking for a note this time?” Cedric seemed annoyed. He had joined us moments before the discovery of the rose, having returned from his latest ‘reading’.

“We haven’t received any notes as of late,” I said, carefully taking the rose from Roderick. “I think we’ll remain confined to the same tiresome guessing game. Obviously—”

“Wait!
What in the hell?!...” Standing behind the sofa with Amy, Beatrice reached behind her back, as if something had suddenly fallen across her shoulders. She picked up whatever it was from the floor. “Oh, my God—it’s from
him!”

Her hands shook as she held out the aged parchment note enclosed with a wax seal for either Roderick or me to take from her. He beat me to it. After removing the seal he hastily opened the note, while I scanned the ceiling and nearby windows for signs of entry. As usual, there weren’t any.

“What’s it say?” Amy asked worriedly, while the rest of us gathered around Roderick, jockeying for the best view. He shook his head after unfurling the paper and scanning its content. The rest of us soon mimicked his reaction, with Alistair wearing the biggest frown.

To Judas, Roderick, and those you hold dear,

It is time.

Details pertaining to your fate will arrive in the morning. Make sure all of you are present to receive the next instructions. All prior terms remain in effect.

Cordially,

Krontos Lazarevic

Chapter Two

None of us slept worth a damn that night. But after delivering what little comfort Beatrice would accept, as she lay wide awake in our bedroom worrying about the ‘fate’ to be delivered by Lazarevic sometime after daybreak, Roderick and I stoked a fire in the living room.

The stacked stone fireplace dominated one wall, and sat opposite an enormous picture window facing a colorful view of red sand bluffs to the east. Our latest refuge was built in 1894, in the style of the old mountain lodges scattered throughout the region. Enormous split beams made from solid pine crisscrossed the tall ceiling and were supported by four forty-foot pine pillars. A second floor open veranda surrounded the living room, and at the moment, a thin stream of light from the lamp on Beatrice’s nightstand crept into the darkness outside our upstairs bedroom.