Chapter Five #2
Sophie glanced down at the riddle again.
“Okay. Let’s say I play along with this game for now.
Supposedly some person—and it does say “he” and not “she”—who sees the dragon will find the Sword at some lake.
That’s a big help. Which state’s hundreds of lakes would you like to start with?
How about Minnesota? There’s at least ten thousand lakes there, according to the tourist business. ”
Michael shook his head. “The Sword will be found in the south, not the north.”
“How do you know that? Divine intuition or something?”
“Not intuition—actually, more of a science, of sorts. That should appeal to you.”
“It might,” Sophie answered. “Go on.”
“First of all, remember that these are Celtic relics, given to the world by the gods of the Fae. I know!” He held up his hand as she started to protest. “That part isn’t scientific, but just listen.
Those ancient religions were based not only on Goddess-worship but on harmony and respect for the laws of nature as well.
” He took another folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to her. “This is the first riddle.”
Sophie unfolded it and read:
Where roses climb to heaven
Lugh’s lance will wait
Near to the Druid’s tree
Enter Dawn’s gate.
She handed the paper back. “It doesn’t make any sense to me. Where was the spear found?”
“Near a graveyard in Lewiston, Maine, by the Cathedral of Saints Peter and Paul. Are you familiar with the Tarot?”
Sophie arched a brow. “Only as a fortune-telling game.”
“It’s much more than that,” Michael answered, no trace of a smile on his face.
“But I’ll spare you the lecture. In a nutshell, the suit of Wands—or Lances—relates to the element of air, through which a lance flies.
The suit is also symbolic of new beginnings—dawn, springtime, birthing.
“Dawn’s gate” would refer to the east, where the sun rises. ”
“That makes sense, I guess. But how did your friends know where to go?”
“They didn’t, at first. They visited places along the east coast that could have been in existence around 1590, which is when we suspected the relics were removed from Scotland. The first place they went was Oak Island in Nova Scotia. Have you heard about the Money Pit?”
“No. It sounds like some casino in Vegas.”
“Perhaps that isn’t a bad comparison,” Michael replied, “but no. Around 1800 three boys decided to go searching for buried treasure, since ships wrecked off the Grand Banks all the time. They found a depression in the ground and started digging. Two feet down, they came upon a layer of carefully laid flagstones. They removed that and discovered an already-dug shaft. Ten feet more and they discovered a platform of oak logs. The wood was rotted from age, and when they dug another ten feet, they came to a second platform…workers were brought in only to find more platforms at ten-foot intervals to a depth of ninety feet, where they found another flagstone with a medieval inscription that, when translated, referred to valuable treasure buried even farther below—but now the tunnel started filling with water. Long story short, for the past two hundred years, syndicates have been trying to find what is buried there, but they encounter one booby-trap after another.”
“Why would Sara and Lucas think the spear was there?” Sophie asked.
“The theory is that a secret society has existed for a thousand years entrusted not only with actual treasure like the relics, but also with ancient scrolls that contain esoteric knowledge crucial to saving—or destroying—the world. The St. Clairs protected the Templars when they sought refuge in Scotland in 1307. Remember I told you the St. Clairs discovered America in the late 1300s and, with the Inquisition two hundred years later, they decided to remove the Templar treasure.”
“So they took it to Nova Scotia? I don’t understand. I thought you said the spear was found in Maine.”
“It was. The whole building of the Money Pit was a ruse. There were enough hints of treasure—coded to be sure, but easy enough to decipher—to lead men astray. More importantly, such a ruse would divert Balor, as well.”
“He seems to be hot on the right trail now.”
“True. Which makes it crucial for us to find the Sword before he does. Fate protected the spear. Let’s hope she does the same for us.”
Sophie gave him a skeptical look. “I’m sure your friend used some kind of logic to know where to look next.”
“Yes, but only because circumstances were aligned to do so.”
“Huh?”
Michael smiled. “Sara and Lucus were at the historical center at Roanoke when a lady from Maine overheard them discussing the symbolism of rose windows perched as near to heaven as could be had in European cathedrals, and this lady asked if they’d like to see one here in the United States.
” Michael paused. “Fate or Destiny, but I believe that woman was there for a reason. To get them to the cathedral in Maine.”
Sophie wondered again at Michael’s mental stability.
This all sounded way too metaphysical and mystical to her.
Could she really be so physically attracted to Michael if he were insane?
Right now, she wanted nothing more than to slither—slither!
—up against him in that small compact space and hush his words by kissing him senseless.
That wide, full mouth of his would be so good for something other than talking.
God, maybe she was the one not playing with a full deck anymore—Tarot or otherwise.
She had sworn off men, yet here she was practically oozing estrogen out of every pore.
“Then what happened?” she managed to ask.
“They arrived in the midst of a late nor’easter. Lightning cracked an ancient oak—the druid’s tree—and the spear was buried inside the trunk. Sara sounded so happy when she called with the news.” He shrugged. “Fate or Destiny? They were meant to find that spear before Adam Baylor did.”
Well, Michael certainly believed his tale.
That much Sophie could tell. And the manuscript was real.
She had seen and read it. And even if she wasn’t sure she believed this Adam Baylor had supernatural powers, if he was supporting terrorism it was reason enough to look for this Sword, especially if it did have some sort of polarizing energy force.
“So how do you know the Sword is in the South? Which, I might add, is a fairly large expanse of land.”
“Such a skeptic. The logical place to look for the Sword is in the south.”
Maddeningly he stopped talking, and she wanted to rail at him to tell her straight and simple.
Then he grinned at her. She was fairly sure the air was sparkling with invisible pheromones again.
What was so irresistible about his grin anyhow?
This was the wicked one—a little lopsided, the left corner of his mouth tilting up a bit more than the right.
His eyes smoldered slightly, as if inviting her into some lush, dark, secret world that her traitorous body seemed to want to go to.
Maybe her self-imposed celibacy since the divorce was getting the best of her.
Maybe she should invest in one of those vibrating “Rabbits.” She resisted smiling back.
“Why the South?” she asked again, hoping her voice wasn’t quivering like some parts of her body were.
“Forces of nature,” he said, an amused expression crossing his face.
“The concept of the Tarot is a guideline for the laws of nature. Logical. The suit of Swords symbolizes the element of fire. The cycle of life flows clockwise. As the east is symbolic of dawn and beginnings, the south is symbolic of summer and achievement. So it would be logical to seek the Sword in the south, wouldn’t it?
” Michael tilted his head, waiting for her answer.
Sophie mulled it over. “Perhaps,” she finally said, “but where in the world would you start?”
“I’ve given it some thought. If the theory of a general like Lee or another military leader being a member of the Priory is true, we need to check Civil War sites that are near lakes probably no farther north than the Chesapeake.”
“That’s not exactly a lake.”
“No, but Charleston has a good harbor that’s been used for centuries and has seen its share of battles. I’ll be through with adjuncting in a couple of weeks. We can leave the first part of June.”
Sophie raised her brows. “You really think my involvement is crucial to your finding the Sword?”
“Yes. The Pendragon would not have made his presence known to you otherwise. I don’t know what your role is, but you have one.” Michael smiled, the dimple appearing. “You will help me, right?”
She hesitated and then nodded. “I guess I could. I have some vacation time coming. But this will be strictly business. No expectations of making it personal. Separate rooms. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Michael said solemnly. “I really need your help.” He leaned across her to open the door, taking care not to brush against her. “I would never force you to do anything you didn’t want to do.” Then he grinned.
The dimple wasn’t there. As Sophie stepped out of his car, she had the distinct impression that he had never forced any woman to do what she didn’t want to do because the thought to refuse him probably never entered any woman’s head.