Chapter Eight
Hart
“You picked the wrong week to start sniffing glue.” My clipped tone makes Mya’s head snap up.
Instead of replying, she narrows her eyes before returning to her cellphone. Mya knows it’s pointless to respond. In a war of words, she loses every time. My irritation over her lack of an update on Tullis should’ve been warning enough.
News broke this morning that, overnight, two tragedies unfolded.
Two commercial airliners suffered equipment failures and went down off the coasts of Massachusetts and New York with no survivors.
And a mysterious outbreak of a yet-to-be-named disease is spreading through New England, ten cases in two days. Six deaths.
All the prophecies are coming to fruition.
But I’m not ready to accept we still have no idea who to be watching for.
The Divines could be anyone.
Then there’s the evil we’re supposed to stop.
I’ve pored over the journals, the articles, and I’ve been checking with our alumni contacts for any signs of strange movement in finance, government, or political shifts. But other than patterns noted from cycle to cycle, there are too many theories to sort through.
And the last thing we need right now is any member of the House of Eights not taking this seriously enough.
We can’t have 1988 happen all over again. Tullis was the only surviving member. The other eleven members are gone - most had died trapped inside a secluded chateau in the Alps when a gas line burst. Now, we have the rule that no more than four members are allowed to travel together.
Written in a letter by J.D. Rockefeller to Amherst. ‘... there will be signs. Natural disasters, sudden recessions, outbreaks of disease. Not one, but all happening in tandem…’ Later in his missive, ‘Beware of trickery. The Divines will find you, but so will the Darkness. If you fail to stop the imbalance, it will mean death to the current House of Eights members. It will mean doom.’
They’re here… they have to be. The clock has started, the signs are in place, but if the Divines are meant to find us, they’re doing a terrible job of it.
Dr. Fraine leans back in this office chair letting a long held breath escape him. He went through the journals with me again today, pointing out two things I’d missed or thought unimportant. First: Darkness will misrepresent themselves appearing weak, meek or feeble.
The second was much more disturbing: If one Divine is lost, the other will follow. The cycle will reset, and disaster can be diverted. However, each cycle where the Divines fail to come together will weaken one or both. It will pose more world issues and lead to the eventual end of existence.
Life as we know it depends on it.
The problem is, not every group of Eights members had dealt with the Divines and we have no idea who did. Scared to give away centuries of secrets, too many things are unclear. Documentation done in abstract or code. Are we looking for two people… three that possess the spirits?
“I have a historical scholar who specializes in American dynasties coming to meet with the Eights this evening. He thinks he’s helping with a project Rock Am is working on.
He was only told we wanted more information on J.D.
Rockefeller’s Divinity painting.” He frowns slightly while rubbing his temple.
“I need JJ, Soren, and you to come up with some questions that are vague but still relevant. We need a clearer picture of what we’re looking for, even if it’s nothing more than conjecture at this point. ”
“Did you hear about-”
He cuts me off. “The ferry explosion off the coast of Long Island?”
He’s seeing it, too. The uptick of disasters. I’m grappling with the turn everything is taking.
I was excited about being a House of Eights member when I accepted my invitation to attend Rockefeller Amherst University.
Ecstatic, really. It meant I was the cream of the crop, handpicked for a legacy that mattered.
The implicit danger didn’t dampen my excitement and the responsibility didn’t feel too heavy. I was made for it.
Until…
It became real.
“Unfortunately, I can’t reschedule or miss the appointment I have with the Russian Ambassador.
Keep me updated on anything the Eights come up with.
I don’t need to tell you that time is of the essence, or that the cunning of the Darkness is perfected by now.
It's going to be a challenge to figure this out.”
Dr. Fraine walks me out, our conversation turning discreet as we leave his office, mentioning ‘make it to the game on Friday’ and ‘keep an eye on the weather’ to blend in.
Glaring down a gawking student loitering outside the Regent’s Hall doors, I note he fumbles his backpack while scooting away from us.
People act in fear more than logic.
I don’t relish the role I play, but I’m not here to make friends. Some days I can barely tolerate the other House of Eights members.
It doesn’t matter. I will always choose the difficult task if it protects the many in spite of the few.
There is no system of government, ruling power, or religious reign free of corruption. Simply put… the people in charge hide in the shadows, unknown, hoarding information, with pools of money no one can possibly fathom, and everyone else is at their mercy. Seen as nothing at all.
I may be a lot of things, but I’m not without a moral code.
Lives depend on us getting this right.
Dr. Samuel Hunt sheepishly ambles in with his shabby faux leather briefcase and unkempt beard, arriving several minutes late.
The corner of the library we commandeered is lit by table lamps and skylights.
Even with the dimmer lighting, I can see the irritation clearly on Soren’s face.
JJ is paging through a comic, too busy to notice the lapse in time.
“Fellows, sorry about my tardiness. A clasp came undone on my-” He flaps his arm, and the briefcase comes dangerously close to sailing away or popping open again. I catch it for him and snap it shut firmly. “Well, I had a few papers to hunt down.”
This is the guy who’s supposed to shed light on anything for us?
Soren clears his throat and asks as he rubs his eyebrow. “You’re Dr. Fraine’s old classmate?”
They couldn’t be less similar.
Fraine is dignified, the definition of competence. Hunt looks hastily put together, tentative, a caricature of an academic. The messy clothes, overgrown facial hair, and cheap attire almost make me laugh.
We settle in as he spreads out his notes, photographs of paintings and sculptures, and a map marked with circles in various colors all over the world.
JJ takes off his green university blazer and rolls up the sleeves of his white button-up shirt. “Woowee… a lot of things to go over. Can we start with what you know about The Divinities painting from Rockefeller's private collection?”
Hunt grunts, nervously tugging on his whiskers with his left hand. He gestures over the table filled now with his debris. “It’s just one piece of a puzzle, so to speak.”
Now the painting is a puzzle? I lean back, folding my arms over my chest. “Contrary to what you might think, we’re working with time constraints. Explain yourself.”
His face blanches at my words, hands dropping to the table as he pulls a book towards him.
“It was an entire collection that was broken up in the early twentieth century. Many scholars believe the paintings had hidden meanings. The Eternal Triad and the Sentinels ended up…” He points to red circles in Europe on the map.
“One is at the Louvre, the other in the private collection of a Swiss boarding school.”
Sentinels. The word stirs up forceful emotions. My mouth goes dry.
“... lay down my life for my fellow man, protect the Divine. All that was created from field to bone… we the Sentinel guard, the Chosen Eight.”
We all recite together with a hand on the shoulder to our right.
The dreams…
“... arguably the most rare is this one. It hasn’t been seen since World War Two. It’s the Souls of Eight.” Hunt shuffles the map aside, his hands shaking as he pulls out a book stamped with an infinity symbol with the triangle inside. The House of Eights crest.
JJ whips out his phone to take notes, Soren leans in, and I do my best to pay attention. Hearing ‘Sentinel’ knocked me off balance, but seeing our symbol feels like a warning. A distant bell ringing closer.
Hunt taps a pencil against his lips while using his other hand to page through the booklet. “This was a controversial print from 1908. Anonymously penned, it mentions a secret society… not unlike the Knights Templar, but its true origins and what it was meant to do could only be guessed at.”
I want to grab the book from him, but he seems reluctant to share it. Instead, JJ reaches for it, but misses. “Why was that secret society controversial?”
Hunt ignores his question while he uses the book’s edge to tap on the map. “Of course, nothing was ever discovered that proved any of the theories this person had. But in 1988,-”
He’s cut off by the fire alarms blaring in the library.
We hastily help him gather what he had spread across the table, and in the chaos, I slip a sheet of paper that caught my eye into my pocket when he wasn’t looking.
JJ pulls at my arm to get my attention before mouthing, ‘Suspicious timing.’
Dr. Hunt clutches his briefcase against his chest; the clasp having finally given way after we got out the door.
“You asked specifically about The Divinities painting. In my studies, I’ve found it represents a larger idea...
a balance if you will. Some people romanticize it, saying it speaks of God’s love or love incarnate, that it’s representative of the struggle between good and evil. ”
“Right. That’s my understanding.” JJ nods.
He tugs again at his beard and says, “Ahhh… nothing is ever that simple. Legend claims that throughout time, a balance exists. The Sentinel guard protects mankind. The Eternal Triad creates a powerful force of equilibrium. And the Souls of Eight remain a mystery. They could be disruption, chaos… they may very well be what some think of as evil.”
The look Soren, JJ, and I share carries the full weight of our shock.
We’re the truth seekers, the history keepers. We’re not the bad guys. No way. No how.
“But… but Dr. Hunt, the very definition of Eight is-” Soren starts, before the doctor interrupts.
“I’m aware. But throughout time, evildoers have disguised themselves as virtuous. Many historical texts believe the universe is trapped in a cycle of destructive forces pushing us to the end.”
“The end? The end of what?” JJ asks with a grimace.
“Of life… of our planet.”
Real airtight logic.
We watch in silence as the Dr. scurries back to the gatehouse.
Soren mumbles, “He’s clearly insane. Right?”
“Why wouldn’t he show us the book?” JJ asks us quietly, glancing around to see if anyone is listening.
I’m less concerned about the book and more by the thought that we’ve been lied to this whole time.
I have to shake it off though. Just because Fraine knows Hunt, I don’t.
Besides, all Hunt offered were guesses. We’ve made just as many as he has, the difference being that ours come from firsthand experience.
JJ groans and throws up his hands. “We’re no closer to any answers, and now we have to factor in Sentinels and what not.”
“What am I supposed to take for the headache I just got?” Soren asks with an eyeroll. “Dr. Mumbo Jumbo didn’t give us any concrete answers.”
But their voices fade into background noise, as my mind stays stuck on Sentinels.
When I was eighteen, the vivid dreams started. I kept journals of them, picking them apart for meaning. Nothing ever surfaced.
It was easy to keep them to myself. Yeah, I’m fun like that.
My parents didn’t simply want perfection… they demanded it. With an Olympic skier for a sister and a Broadway actor for a brother, the message was clear. It was a constant reminder to be extraordinary.
The last thing I’d ever do was tell them I might be cracking up.
JJ comes to an abrupt stop, tipping his head towards Eric.
We’re approaching the clock tower north of Commons Hall.
My heart stops to see him from the distance standing on the ledge of the clock, over three hundred feet high.
His behavior has been erratic lately. The disappearing act last week, his birthday passing without a word to anyone, and now this.
“God damn, dude,” JJ’s twang rings through the air.
Eric slowly turns, standing on the ledge of the clock tower, one hand braced against the stone opening. It’s alarming to realize he hasn’t been acting like himself at all. Is he going to jump?
“What’s up, my guy?” Soren calls out as we race to the stairs leading up to him.
Silent, I push ahead of both JJ and Soren, ignoring the burn in my legs. I’m not losing my roommate today.
When we reach him, I grab the back of his shirt, while JJ hooks an arm around his waist. “Van Cleave?” Anger seeps through my tone. If he’s messing around, the timing couldn’t be worse.
Eric’s face is vacant as he shoves us off him. We’ve managed to pull him back inside, barely keeping him from banging his head against the rough stone floor.
“W-what…” He stands up. “How did I get up here?”
“You need to get or fire a therapist.”
JJ’s jaw drops open. “Could you take a break from being a dick for a second?” He turns to Eric. “Buddy, what’s going on?”
With a slight tremor to his hand, Eric wipes it across his mouth. “I think it’s time to tell you guys something…”