Ancient Echoes

CHAPTER 43



AFTER BREAKFAST, OUTSIDE the community house Charlotte and Rachel ground what appeared to be a primitive corn or maize into meal. Rachel looked around to see if anyone watched them, then held a forefinger to her lips in a sign of “quiet” and motioned for Charlotte to follow her.

“You've got to talk with Will Durham,” Rachel whispered.

She led Charlotte to a cabin and opened the door without knocking. “Will?”

“Come in,” he said. The lit fireplace warmed the air. Rachel and Charlotte sat side-by-side on the bed while Will took the chair.

“Rachel tells me I can trust you,” Charlotte said.

“We aren't bad men. It's just a matter of strange things that have happened.” He looked sheepish, knowing how weak the confession sounded.

“Charlotte has a theory about this place,” Rachel said. “That's why I wanted you to meet her. You've been here for years. Maybe with her theory and your practical experience you two can come up with a way to get us out of here.”

“You have a theory?” Will asked. “Based on what?”

“There's a scientific explanation,” Charlotte said, then admitted, “of a sort. It sounds crazy, however. I'd rather hear what you've experienced.”

“I haven't experienced anything beyond not being able to leave. You say your explanation sounds crazy, but I say there's nothing that would surprise me. Not after what I've been through. If you can help, please...”

“You need to understand,” Charlotte began, “that I was a student of ancient cultures in the near and middle east. That’s where we find the earliest records of...of alchemy.”

“What?” Rachel said.

Charlotte found Will's lack of surprise both interesting and alarming.

“An ancient alchemical symbol was found in this area. There is talk that Lewis and Clark may have been looking for it—”

Will jumped to his feet, his face white. “No. Not Lewis and Clark. It was a secret expedition...a secret expedition sent to follow them.”

“How do you know that?” Charlotte asked.

He opened a drawer from the wooden desk and from it pulled some thin sheets of bark with writing on them. “I found this here,” he said. “A member of the expedition named Francis Masterson wrote it. His words are horrible. Horrible to contemplate or to believe. Yet, I do believe them.”

Charlotte looked at the bark sheets. The writing was awkward and the ink splotchy.

“I've had years to decipher it,” Will said. “It is lengthy, but explains much. If you'd like, I'll read it to you. I've read it so often over the years I almost know it by heart.”

“Please,” Charlotte said.

Will moved closer to the fire. As he read, Charlotte could all but envision Francis Masterson himself sitting in this very cabin so long ago, writing this strange account...



I, Francis Masterson, once turned my back on God. Now, I live with His back turned on me.

Madness or even Death would be welcome over all that has transpired, but I am too weak, too cowardly, and too afraid to face my Maker by my Own hand.

I have previously penned an arrogant discourse on our Secret albeit Failed Expedition under our beloved President Thomas Jefferson, in which our small collection of scholars and occultists foolishly braved this Vast and Unknown Land. If that discourse is ever found and read it will truly be a Miracle, and this one, doubly so.

But I am a writer, and as long as the last, small shard of the miserable Soul once known as Francis Masterson remains, I will record what has happened.

Lest anyone unfortunate enough to stumble upon this Discourse be tempted to dismiss it as Fiction or the child of a fevered, tortured mind, let me assure you on the grave of my own sweet Mother that every word is True. I call you Unfortunate because, if you are reading this, you, too, may be trapped here. If so, I pray with all my heart that you have more success than I and my ill-fated companions at freeing yourself before Despair and Derangement overtake you.

It began when Captain Crouch and I crossed between the pillars to flee the Tukudeka who were fast upon us with their spears and poisoned arrows. When we crossed, we found ourselves to be in the same place as we'd been previously…except that the Tukudeka were no longer threatening, and the thunder and lightning had ceased.

Our companions, Orril and Asa Munroe, Noah Handy, and Reuben Hale, stood before us like ghosts. The four had not dared move, so frightened and so astonished were they as Captain Crouch and I walked between the pillars and appeared before them as if by magic.

Fear overtook us all. If this place held safety from the Tukudeka, what else did it hold? The Rational mind could not explain it. Mr. Hale called it Infernal, and that word took hold of our thoughts and refused to leave. Dread of this unknown Region had so crippled our bones that they turned weak and we fell to the ground.

We huddled together and considered going back through the pillars, but if we did, we must again face the Tukudeka. That way lay certain Death, and here, an uncertain Future.

We ran away from the pillars. As we traveled, Mr. Handy noticed smoke rising in the distance. At first we feared another fire, and our instinct was to flee as fast and as far in the opposite direction as we could. We were despondent, hopelessly lost, but then Captain Crouch saw that the smoke wasn't moving. It remained a single white plume wafting high into the sky.

Had we found some means of help?

We approached cautiously. Three watched our flank while Ezra Crouch, Noah Handy, and I went forward to scout the reason for the smoke.

As we neared we heard the most unearthly screams. The thought of them even now sends shivers down my spine and chills my soul.

Inching closer, we heard a drum and deep, guttural chants, not the song of the Aboriginal, but fiercer, more primitive, even, dare I say, animal-like. It inspired such all-consuming terror within me that my very skin prickled. But through it all, even worse, were the screams, sobs, and a litany of pleadings in an unintelligible, mumbled rush. Only as we neared could I comprehend the word, Dieu, cried over and over.

We concluded that a French trapper had been captured and was being cruelly tortured. Oft times the most one can do in such circumstances is to pray that Death comes quickly.

I believed we would run as far from this wretched place as possible, when Captain Crouch appealed to our qualities as Honorable men.

I shall confess that I have never worried about my portion of manly Virtue. Yet, it is an expression of man's essential weakness and insecurity that when another challenges his Manhood, he immediately puffs and primps himself up like a peacock and declares that he is willing to confront the World if need be. Captain Crouch led us closer. Using his spyglass, we soon reached a point where we could see what was occurring.

A white man had been stripped of his clothing and tied spread eagle on the ground. He was being ruthlessly jabbed with knives or burning sticks, not to kill, but to provoke so much Agony that his eyes had rolled back in his head and his mouth frothed. He emitted such bone-chilling shrieks that I could not reckon how anyone without a heart of stone could do anything but end the poor man’s suffering.

Captain Crouch bravely crawled closer while Mr. Handy and I separated. I hid in a thicket, my back to a pine trunk so no one could sneak up behind me, which was my fear. I'll admit that as I held my rifle, my hands shook.

The Captain shouted to the Heathens to free their captive. They surely were Tukudeka, but—as God is my witness—they had covered themselves, head to toe so completely and expertly in animal skins and feathers that they truly looked like unknown monsters, even more frightening than the Heathens we had escaped.

To our surprise, at the Captain’s order, the warriors ran. We had no doubt that as soon as they realized how small our numbers were, they would return.

Captain Crouch cut the ropes that bound the victim, then pulled the pitiful Soul to his feet and wrapped him in a nearby blanket of hides.

The Frenchman was weak and dazed. I moved forward then, making myself frighteningly Visible as I wrapped my left arm around the fellow's waist and held him close to help him flee this area. Captain Crouch took up the man’s sack of belongings while keeping his muzzle aimed at the thicket through which the Heathens had fled.

We feared that they would pursue us, especially when we heard the forest fill with the most Eerie and Mournful shrieking and inhuman howling imaginable.

With the help of the Munroe brothers and Reuben Hale, we were able to craft a sling to carry the Frenchman, which was a blessing since his body was so slippery from blood it was nearly impossible to hold onto him.

We found a location upon which we could secure our safety, and there dressed the Frenchman's many cuts and burns as best we could. Some areas of his body required sutures, which I found myself unable to watch administered, and am loathe to describe in any detail here for fear of the Nightmares it will bring back to mind. There were many times I thought the poor Victim would be in better state if he simply had died.

He insisted on dressing himself. Among his belongings we saw a remarkable red stone, a pendant, on a long gold chain. He quickly hid it from our view.

The next day he developed a fever, and became quite delirious with it. Only a few times could he speak with any degree of rationality. Strangely, what he said when he was supposedly rational often sounded more of Bedlam and Madness than when gripped by fever.

In his lucid times, we learned, to our amazement, that he was a holy man, a French abbot named Gerard Rombert de Fontainebleau. He said that at the time the French revolution ravaged his nation, Anti-clerical sentiment abounded amidst the rabble and their leaders. To save himself, Abbé Gerard escaped to Spain. Among his treasures was a book passed to him by his father, a book of Great value about Alchemy, called The Book of Abraham the Jew.

Dame Rumor soon whispered about the curious book, causing others to covet it. Gerard fled to Egypt. There, he discovered the Land of Pharaohs where Hermes was said to have explained alchemy to the world in his Emerald Tablets. Gerard learned the true meaning and value of the book he carried with him. As long as he could remember, he had Intuition and Sensibilities that others did not possess. Because of it, he had turned to the Church, thinking he was saintly. Instead, in Egypt, he learned he was quite the opposite. There, he gained a sense of the potential power of his new calling.

He continued East, eventually reaching Cathay where he gained the trust of Taoist priests who taught him the Dao Zan which brought an understanding of his precious book beyond his wildest imagination.

His associations with so many Ungodly persons caused the Jesuits in Cathay to harbor suspicion, and the Mandarins to do the same. Once again, the abbot found himself in danger, and took flight. He traveled by ship across the Pacific to the New World.

Supplied with the various tools of Alchemical Arts, he joined a group of fur trappers traveling inland. One night as they slept, he headed into the mountains. Alone, he almost died of starvation that first Winter, despite a store of gathered food. The Winter was cold beyond belief. He oft longed for his beloved Paris.

Throughout this time, his studies of his Miraculous Book continued. Using the vast store of information and explanation he had gleaned from his days in Egypt and Cathay, he created a Philosopher’s Stone, the stone he now wore.

With that stone, he told us with a sly wink and a smile, the world of alchemy opened to him as a flower’s petals to the sun. I must admit to a sense of unease at his demeanor.

He stopped his story there, although we knew his tale was far from over.

Quickly, his strength returned. He showed us which plants were edible in this land, and at times prepared most delicious stews for us. We were, for a time, content to be alive and free of the Tukudeka. But eventually, a natural longing for home overtook us one and all, and despite the ease of life with the Abbé, we grew unhappy and angry, and demanded to find a way to leave.

Now that we wished to leave this place, he told us we must hear the remainder of his story.

In Egypt, he had learned of Hermes Trismegistus’ greatest achievement. The great Hermes had created a portal between the mortal world and the Land where Pharaohs live for all eternity. The abbot proclaimed that he had become consumed with the desire to enter that portal, to live with the gods. He saw that as his Destiny, the reason for all the travel, trials and tribulation that befell him. To open that portal, to enter it, would allow him to live forever.

I stared at him, scarcely believing the words I heard. Immortality! It was too Unnatural to contemplate, and I shrank back from the abbot in horror. Something in his eyes chilled my blood, and made me wonder if we had erred in saving this man’s life.

He relayed that he had built an altar, and then continued for three more years using his Stone, his Book, and his studies. To survive, he created gold and occasionally traveled to trading posts to purchase supplies. He killed any Trapper who attempted to follow him to steal his gold, and soon word got out that he and his gold were Evil. He relished that, and built upon it. As a Sign of Evil to ward off thieves and Heathens, he used the alchemical symbol of immortality with triangles, a circle and vees. To my Horror, I knew that symbol and that gold caused our Good Expedition to venture to this Wretched place.

He continued with his attempts to contact the Portal of Hermes.

And one day, he succeeded. The Earth shook. Lightning filled the Sky over his altar and Thunder crashed. The Tukudeka ran to him to see what was happening, as the ground swelled into a perfectly shaped pyramid, and two magnificent pillars, inscribed with letters from the Gods themselves, dropped from the Sky onto its flattened top.

All stared in Wonder and Awe. But three Tukudeka warriors, swaggering and brave, climbed to the top of the pyramid. They inspected the pillars, but when they stepped between them, one by one, they vanished.

Their women and children lamented for them, and amidst wailings and affirmations to find them and pull them back to safety, crossed the threshold of the pillars and also disappeared.

The Tukudeka were furious, and told Gerard that if he did not return their brethren, he would be killed by being roasted alive, one small portion of him at a time. The Abbé tried, but could find no way to retrieve the lost warriors. He cared little about them in any case, and desiring nothing more than to join the Pharaohs and Hermes the Great, he gathered up his Alchemical tools and his marvelous book and flung himself between the pillars.

To his astonishment, despite the ancient Egyptian letters on the pillars, he was not in Hermes’ World of the Pharaohs, but in a separate world build on Gerard’s own experience—a world familiar to him. Fool that he was, to think the Dark Power of Alchemy would allow otherwise!

Wearing the Philosopher’s Stone, ingesting bits of the vast quantities of gold he created and stored away, and using the knowledge of alchemy he gained in his travels, he divined for himself the state of immortality.

He exulted in it, and lived happily for a while. But then, he found it took a great deal of work to prepare food and shelter for the long winter.

Several more Tukudeka had crossed over to rescue their brethren and became stuck in this world. Generally, he hid from them but one day, he set a trap and captured one. He soon realized, however, that a Human was both too intelligent and too wily to be trusted. He had learned that transformations were possible in alchemy, and not only of base metal to gold.

With his alchemical powers, he practiced on captives, creating them into confused but docile creatures, some mixed with birds, some with coyotes, some with bears, all with a variety of talents in hunting, fishing, and hauling that Gerard could use.

Finally, he enjoyed life. His creations provided companionship and would do his bidding. But slowly, they changed. They realized their own strength, and instead of loving and serving him for granting them Eternal life, they came to hate him. They wanted freedom and to be changed back, but he knew not how.

He had to run from them. To hide. To spend his days constantly moving. Even in Winter, he would starve and freeze, but he would not die.

In time, this Immortality became repugnant to him. His years of training as a man of God seeped back upon him, and he realized he was being punished for having abandoned his God, and for turning instead to Evil. Creating this place, destroying and transforming the bodies of the Tukudeka, was surely Evil.

Man, he learned, was too small and too ignorant to tamper with nature. We lacked sufficient knowledge of the interconnection and balance of all things. Even with the best of intentions, man most often harms Nature, seldom can he mend it, and never can he perfect it. The man who attempts to usurp the creative power of his Maker, will create a monster in its place. And that was his legacy.

In despair and sorrow, he gave up running from the Creatures trapped here with him. He allowed them to capture him, and faced their Judgment. He told us he expected to die from all they subjected him to, but he did not. He remained alive and suffering.

Crying to Heaven now, he proclaimed that he welcomed Death. He only prayed to be spared the Fires of Hell for his dreadful deeds, and that someday he might serve his Penance and kneel at the feet of his Beloved, Jesus Christ, and plead for his Divine Mercy and Forgiveness. He said his last act would be to destroy the Stone.

At this, Orril Munroe cried, “No! Never!” He grabbed the stone, wrenching it from the Abbé’s neck. Why, he asked, should a sick old man deny him gold and eternal life? With it, Orril raged, he would find a way to escape to the real World, take the abbot’s gold with him, and use the Stone to create more.

As Mr. Munroe held it, the magnificent stone glowed with shifting colors amidst subtle transformations in shape. The Stone became a living agent of Change, and I sensed it had Intellect.

I could feel myself being drawn to its Unnatural power. All that made me Francis Masterson seemed to fly from my mind, my body, even my Soul, and I came to Desire the Stone beyond all Reason. I looked upon Orril and the Abbé with hatred, and knew I would willingly kill to possess the beautiful red object.

And as I felt, so did the others. We were near to blows, or worse, when Captain Crouch turned to the abbot and demanded he create five more Stones.

The abbot said that would take many months, and the faster, easier route would be to divide the one we had into six pieces, for each would be as strong as the whole. Even as I rejoiced at this news, it crossed my troubled mind that we contemplated blasphemy, that we were creating an Idol that was Sacrilege itself.

With little heed to the Priest, we immediately took out his tools and used them to chisel the Stone into six equal parts. When we finished, however, the Stone lost the strange aura it had possessed, and seemed no more than a common red rock. Seeing that, all six of us pelted the frail abbot, for he had Tricked us into believing him, and caused us to destroy that which we most coveted.

We demanded he create another Stone. The abbot refused to yield, but called up his God to give him Fortitude to withstand our fury, and offered his suffering as Penance for having once believed that he, a decrepit excuse for a man, sought to elevate himself to the level of God.

Desire for a Philosopher’s Stone drove us beyond the Realm of Madness. We believed that the Stone was our only means to leave this Unnatural Land that Sorcery had created, yet that was but a small part of our Desire.

With it, we would have Gold and Power. Also, as we had seen with our own Eyes, with the Stone’s magic we would not die.

The torture the abbot suffered at our Hands was worse than that of the Tukudeka, but no matter the cruelty we bestowed on him, he would not yield. If we came to fully command the Stone, if we unleashed it on an unsuspecting World, he believed the Harm would be Irreparable. Once he managed to escape, but we tracked him and caught him near the Great River that runs through this area. The effort cost him, and finally, the Power of the Stone he once wore dissipated. At our hands, the abbot died.

We hurled his body into the fast and treacherous River.

Guilt filled my soul, and with it came a quiet, desperate Madness. He was a Holy Man who had lost his way, but who, I believe, had found Repentance.

As for our pitiful but murderous Expedition, we had destroyed the Philosopher’s Stone. Thus, we were doomed to remain here, and here, we would die.



The tale horrified Charlotte, and left her sick at heart. If true, if the very creator of this blasphemy could not leave it, how in heaven’s name could they? Were they all doomed here? The students, Michael, Jake…

“May I borrow this?” she asked Will. “I’d like my companions to read it, to understand.”

Will covered the manuscript with sheepskin and handed it to her. Soon, she and Rachel returned to the community house.

When they retired for the night, Charlotte couldn’t sleep.

Eventually she gave up and snuck out of the community house and quietly crept to the stable, careful to stay in the shadows. Jake must have heard her footstep, or the opening of the stable door because he stood up as she entered.

Her bleak expression and the wildness of her eyes alarmed him. “Are you all right?” Large, strong hands brushed the hair that had fallen to her face, touched her cheek, her jaw. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

“I’m all right, but you must read this.” She handed him the papers, her voice tremulous. “It’s beyond belief, yet has the ring of truth.”

He took the papers. “You’re shaking.”

She tried to pull herself together, to hold her chin up. “It seems so hopeless, Jake.”

He put down the papers, and put his arms around her. “As long as we have breaths to take,” he said, his voice strong, “we have hope.”

She saw his determination and fortitude, and placed her hands on his shoulders. Her gaze drifted from eyes that were the deep green of pines, to strong sun-burnished cheekbones, a straight nose, and sensitive mouth. How had she ever thought him cold and heartless?

As she looked at him, his eyes darkened, and neither could look away.

“Who’s there?” Lionel cried. “What’s going on?”

He woke the others with his shout. Charlotte fled back to the community house while Jake tried to quiet Lionel.