The Dragon Queens (The Mystique Trilogy)

  Signet Station 12

  Triogenes—Montsègur

  In cycles the legends come forth,

  each with its own cast of characters,

  incorporated into a work without beginning or end,

  but forever perpetuating new stories.

  In myth they are the keys to the creational process,

  to the great mysteries of creation and humanity.

  Imagination flows from the Triogenes,

  not bound by space or time

  to be entered as desired

  by any soul-mind with the patience to listen

  to the flow of creation.

  For in truth,

  all is myth,

  myth is all.

  Days later the call came from Montsègur and just as Denera had predicted, my mother and father were conscripted to join the excavation project taking place at the base of the mount. My father’s presence was requested because of his expertise on the period that had seen the demise of the Cathars. Of course, the fact that my father had actually been there to witness the burning fields of Montsègur in the thirteenth century had a bit to do with his knowledge.

  The excavation project had found a tunnel complex beneath the mountain. Its walls were covered in symbols associated with the Knights Templar, side by side with well-known emblems of the Cathars—much like those found nearby in the grottoes of the Sabarthez.

  As my parents were to be living at the site, a third business-class ticket and site accommodation was provided for me—Andre Pierre had worked with my mother numerous times before and knew that I accompanied my parents everywhere. Due to Denera warning us in advance of the working engagement, our bags were already packed and twenty-four hours saw us touch down in France.

  Andre Pierre met us at Toulouse airport in the project chopper.

  Andre was the best excavation manager in the business, according to my mother. If he could not unearth an archeaological find intact, then no-one could.

  My mother was a little troubled by the black mini-dress and heels I had decided to wear—Andre was a renowned womaniser, and the outfit made me look as if I’d just stepped off a catwalk in Milan.

  ‘All the easier for me to siphon information from him.’ I addressed my mother’s concerns as my parents and I made our way across the tarmac towards the chopper. The majority of human males were easily manipulated by their desires and this was doubly true of Nefilim males.

  My father pulled me up to have a quiet word. ‘This body is my daughter’s temple, so do try to be a little selective about who worships it. Please, Kali,’ he added, realising I was no longer bound to take his orders.

  ‘As there is only one being in this entire evolutionary scheme that I hold the slightest desire for, you need have no fear on that count.’ I gently removed his hand from my arm. ‘You must trust that I know what I am doing. No one knows the Nefilim like I do.’

  I believe my father felt a little silly at having pulled me up at all. ‘In that case…go get them, sweetheart. Let me know if you need a hand at any time.’

  ‘I will,’ I promised, with a huge reassuring smile.

  Andre removed his sunglasses when he saw me coming. ‘Qui est?’ He smiled, then recognised me. ‘Tamar?’ He burst out laughing. ‘Could it have been so long? I thought you were still a…’ he searched for the word, ‘adolescent. You look fantastique!’ He kissed both my cheeks and held me closer and tighter than usual.

  ‘Just celebrated her thirteenth birthday a couple of weeks ago,’ my father informed him, and the embrace abruptly ended.

  ‘How cruel life is.’ Andre turned down the charm a little, but desire was in his eyes. He greeted my father briefly before turning his affections to my mother. ‘Mia, my goddess, you look beyond fantastique.’ He clenched both her shoulders, kissed each of her cheeks in turn and then held her at arm’s length to admire her. ‘I swear you look younger every time I see you.’

  My parents were perpetually thirty since they had walked the Halls of Amenti thirteen years ago; thus they appeared barely older than me.

  ‘And you are more in need of a wife every time I see you, mon ami.’ Mother clenched Andre’s face between her hands, and shook it. ‘You look a mess.’ She referred to his unshaven, unkempt appearance.

  My father and I had a quiet chuckle at how quickly Mother brought Andre’s amorous advances under control.

  ‘I’ve been down a hole for weeks,’ he said defensively, backing away to run one hand over his unpressed clothes, as he combed his shoulderlength, unwashed, mousey brown hair behind his ears.

  ‘You are not eating properly either.’ Mia’s mothering tone served to remind the Frenchman she was married with a child, whilst assuring him that she cared about his welfare.

  ‘I’ve been busy,’ he smiled. ‘You know how it is. I get distracted.’

  ‘It must be exciting for you to be working in France for a change?’ I began fishing for information as we waited for our baggage to be loaded on board the chopper by the ground crew. ‘Is the project funded by the French as well?’

  ‘This project was the brainchild of a man by the name of Labontè,’ Andre advised. ‘You may have heard of—’

  ‘The mining and media magnate, Morell Labontè?’ Mother queried, having never got wind of the wealthy tycoon’s interest in archaeology; goldmining was what he was known for.

  ‘No,’ Andre corrected, ‘his son, Killian—’

  ‘The thrill-seeking, socialite playboy?’ I’d read about his exploits in teen mags.

  ‘En effet,’ he confirmed. ‘He has a very keen interest in the occult and in the Holy Grail in particular.’

  ‘He’s chasing Otta Rahn’s theory that the Grail was hidden beneath Montsègur by the Cathars.’ Mother glanced at my father, who was amused, for he had been the knight who had helped in sneaking Montsègur’s sacred treasures from the mount.

  ‘The grail may not be hidden beneath the mount of Montsègur,’ Andre said, ‘but it is certainly an area where the grail legends converge and our employer is paying us to discover why.’

  ‘Hey, if there’s a good pay cheque in it…’ My father shrugged, playing up his scepticism.

  ‘Labontè’s hunches have proven excellent so far,’ Andre said, suggesting we not pass judgement until we had seen the find for ourselves.

  The excavation site was rather larger than I had expected. Labontè’s team had unearthed the remains of a 13th century village at the base of the mountain and re-opened a secret cave, the entrance of which had collapsed centuries ago.

  ‘The cave contains a passage leading up inside the mountain. We suspect it was used by the Cathars to get supplies into their besieged fortress and their treasures out,’ Andre stated as we flew around the mount, past the tunnel excavation and towards the remains of the medieval village, next to which the site house and helipad were located.

  ‘I suspect you may be right,’ my father agreed, with a knowing grin in my mother’s direction.

  ‘Is that the hole you’ve been in?’ Mother referred to the newly-exposed cave.

  ‘Ah, no…’ Andre was amused. ‘We have discovered a much larger cavity to get lost in.’

  The helipad was on high ground and gave an excellent view of the campsite and dig beyond.

  ‘In the village we discovered an ancient labyrinth of tunnels, accessed via the basement of one of the previously buried structures,’ Andre informed us as we descended the stairs towards the camp. ‘We’ll just drop off your bags and I’ll take you straight down.’

  The site was composed of several large structures that accommodated a canteen, preservation rooms, a large office and an amenities block. There were smaller individual units that served as sleeping quarters.

  I had my own living module next to that of my parents.

  ‘Are you coming, Tamar?’ Mother asked as Andre led off towards the excavation.

  ‘You go ahead.’ I waved her on. ‘I’m going to check out the camp facilities…maybe find some lu
nch?’

  Mother looked serious, knowing the last thing on my mind was food. ‘Be good,’ she cautioned, joining my father to follow Andre.

  I did look a little out of place wandering through the camp dressed as I was, but apart from a few friendly hello’s from the passing males or the repressed smiles of envious approval from the females, no one was confident enough to try and engage my attention for long. The kind of souls I was seeking would always be attracted to a thing of beauty and would never doubt their ability to acquire it for themselves.

  ‘Are you lost?’

  The accent was American. The query came from the site office and I turned to find a young fellow standing at the door. He struck me as the studious, intellectual type, no doubt due to the heavy darkrimmed glasses he wore.

  ‘Never,’ I replied, heading in his direction to introduce myself.

  My psychic impression was that of a good and helpful soul. His straight dark-blond hair was neatly trimmed and he was shorter than your average human male, but perhaps he would grow taller, as he was still young. His youth was emphasised by his college-style shirt, trousers and sweater-vest. ‘Do you need a jacket or something, Miss—’

  ‘Tamar Devere.’ I held out my slender, perfectly manicured, hand to him.

  ‘You’re Mia Devere’s little girl?’ He was stunned, as he’d obviously been told how old I was. He shook my hand very briefly, a little flustered by my attention.

  ‘We mature fast in my family.’ I eased past him to enter the office, finding it all but deserted. ‘And you are?’

  ‘I’m Emmett, Dr Rich’s son,’ he said, but as I was none the wiser, Emmett explained further. ‘Dr Colin Rich, the anthropologist who is the Project Manager here.’

  ‘Ah. Do you work for your father?’

  ‘I work with him sometimes, yeah.’ Emmett returned to his desk. ‘I’m still a student, but I run the site office while Dad is down the hole.’ He took a seat, and was immediately engrossed in what he was reading on his computer.

  Either he was overwhelmed by my beauty and very shy, or he did not find me in the slightest bit attractive. ‘Are you gay?’

  Emmett nearly choked on the coke that he was slurping through a straw. ‘What? No…no.’

  ‘How old are you?’ My guess was around sixteen.

  ‘Do you always ask such personal questions of perfect strangers?’ He protested indignantly at my interrogation.

  ‘I was just wondering why you do not find me attractive?’ I approached to confront him directly.

  He looked back to his computer, which annoyed me. ‘Legally, I am not permitted to find you attractive for at least another three years.’

  Since my merger with Kali, I was used to bowling people over, inspiring awe and desire. What could he be reading that is so all-absorbing? I strolled behind him to find out.

  Emmett was reading an article titled ‘The Circles of Power Behind UFO Secrecy,’ written by the founder of CSETI—the Center for the Study of Extraterrestrial Intelligence.

  ‘So you are a believer?’ I queried and he jumped, clearly oblivious to the fact that I had moved.

  ‘Absolutely,’ he confirmed, his eyes still pinned to the screen. ‘Why, are you a sceptic?’

  ‘Not at all. I know quite a bit about the Old World Order…or the New World Order as it is now known.’ I finally secured his attention. ‘Why so surprised?’

  ‘Why am I surprised that a girl like you would spare a thought for conspiracy theories?’ Emmett thought the answer was obvious. ‘Hell, I’m surprised you even read!’

  ‘Excuse me!’ I took offence. ‘I have just co-authored a book, so I write as well.’

  ‘Good for you.’ Emmett seemed more interested in his article. ‘What is your book about?’

  ‘The grail bloodline,’ I stated, and his attention shot back to me. ‘It’s just a fantasy story.’ I downplayed the fact and, disappointed, he went back to his screen.

  ‘Then you should have a lot in common with our sponsor, Mr ah La-bent…most of the time,’ Emmett said sarcastically. ‘And “I have the money and can afford to have an eccentric interest in digging up half the country, chasing an ancient myth.”’

  Emmett’s resentful humour amused me. ‘The myth that the Grail is buried beneath this mountain?’

  He arrowed down the page on his screen. ‘My personal opinion is that the grail hunt is just a smokescreen for what La-bent is truly seeking down there.’

  How interesting. ‘And what might that be?’

  Emmett shook his head and chuckled quietly. ‘I’m not going to tell you, in case what I heard is a fabrication and I look the fool for repeating it. But fear not, I am sure he will confide in you presently.’

  ‘Really. Why?’

  He laughed again. ‘He is going to love you,’ Emmett decided. ‘Legal restraint has never really been a major concern of the rich and shameless.’

  A tall fellow strode into the site office, his dark hair flowing in the breeze as he blazed a trail of dust towards one of the private offices, engrossed in a conversation he was having with someone on his remote headset.

  ‘Speak of the devil,’ uttered Emmett, without looking up.

  Wearing a filthy pair of shredded jeans and a T-shirt so soiled one could no longer determine its true colour, it was difficult to recognise Killian Labontè from the celebrity pictures I’d seen of him. Our sponsor sounded American rather than French, but I had read that Killian had spent most of his youth in the USA and had been educated there.

  ‘It speaks of the location of the lance—’ he paused and frowned, as he entered the largest of the offices. ‘Of course I’m fucking sure!’ The door slammed closed.

  ‘Lovely.’ I commented on Killian’s phone manner and looked to Emmett to query. ‘To what lance does he refer?’

  ‘The all powerful lance, staff, rod, sword…it appears over and over again in Arthurian legends, and is supposedly the weapon that pierced the side of Christ at the crucifixion, yadda, yadda, blah, blah…’ Emmett rattled off the theory sounding terribly bored with it.

  ‘You think otherwise?’

  ‘The lance, or rather “the rod”, of ancient myth did not make its first appearance at the crucifixion of Christ. Moses, the Levites and Solomon all had possession of the rod and the ring of power. It took an adept soul to wield either treasure, and they were creative tools more than implements of destruction. I believe that together the ring and rod might have formed a key?’

  I smiled as Emmett was right on the money. ‘A key to what?’

  The question was frustrating to him. ‘No one knows.’

  I knew. I was even tempted to tell him the answer he’d been seeking. ‘Then what leads you to believe they form a key?’

  He shrugged and shied away from answering. ‘Whether they do or not, I would still query how a mere Roman foot soldier came to possess one of the most powerful weapons on earth, only to inflict harm upon one of earth’s most adept souls with it?’

  I mulled over his theory. ‘Perhaps the foot soldier was in league with Christ, and used the weapon to secretly heal and not harm him?’

  Emmett was amused by the premise. ‘I can see why you write fiction.’ His interest returned to his computer.

  ‘Fact can be stranger than fiction,’ I teased, ignoring his insult.

  Killian Labontè opened his office door, and ripping the phone set from his head cast it onto his desk. ‘Imbecile.’ He spied me standing by Emmett’s desk, and his temper immediately dispersed.

  ‘Killian Labontè.’ He held his hand out and walked over to introduce himself.

  This was exactly the kind of confidence I would expect from one of the Nefilim, yet oddly enough his light-body appeared perfectly normal. There were a few muddy patches in his aura and light centres, but clearly he had no major hang-ups and was very self-confident for a human of his age—not really surprising considering his cushy upbringing.

  Killian Labontè always came off as a kind of happy-go-lucky rebel
in the tabloids; they couldn’t get enough of him. His intense blue eyes, handsome features and good physique did make him rather easy on the eye.

  ‘Tamar Devere.’ I held out my hand and Killian held it fast in his, as he became fixated with my eyes.

  ‘I have never seen violet eyes before…’ his attention shifted downward, ‘or legs that long.’ It was clear that Killian, like me, was used to inspiring awe in the opposite sex.

  Such an admiring gaze from the heir to a multibillion dollar fortune might have made some women feel uncomfortable and nervous, but I was confident. ‘And all in one neat package,’ I said flirtatiously.

  ‘Indeed.’ Killian raised my hand, intending to kiss it, when Emmett crushed his coke can, tossed it into the empty metal bin and headed for the kitchenette. Labontè closed his eyes briefly to suppress his annoyance and maintained his friendly demeanour. ‘I was just on my way to get changed for a function. A friend of mine is opening a nightclub. Would you care to accompany me?’

  ‘Do you think I will pass for eighteen?’ I let him know I was a minor, in case he had not been informed.

  ‘As long as you are with me…’ he emphasised his high position in society and his complete disregard for my age, ‘no one will ask any questions. Unless, of course, you think your parents might object?’

  ‘Not at all.’ I smiled to accept his invitation. ‘They encourage me to get out and meet others.’

  ‘It’s a date then.’ He slapped his hands together, pleased, and then checked his watch. ‘Meet you back here in half an hour?’

  I nodded to confirm. ‘That will give me time to change into something more inappropriate.’

  Labontè was discomfited by my statement for a second and then smiled. ‘I like you already.’ He backed up towards the door and with a wave was gone.