Nine Swords

There were two things that swarthy, steel-blue-eyed, Venny "Volen" Payne knew very well.

One of these was the sea. The lanky but muscular "V" was the son of the late Henry Payne, a hard-working seaman on a oriental carrier. The elder Payne’s vessel, the 100-ton capacity ‘Lord of the Sea’ was a container ship. It took regular runs of hardwood cargo from their home port of Singapore to India, then to the States. On their return trip it would carry teak logs that had been shipped from the Ivory Coast to Bombay. These were bound for Hong Kong and Tokyo. V's mother had died of food poisoning when the boy was five. Rather than live with his grandparents in Arkansas on the family farm, Volen traveled with his father. By the time Volen was thirteen, he was working full time as a cabin boy for the first mate.

Traveling the timber route, Volen learned the different moods of the waters. The clean smell of the Andaman Sea was different than the tart, oily smell along the coast of the South China Sea. The currents of the East China Sea caused a sharper rocking then the heavier, lofting swells in the Pacific Ocean. The storms were different, too. Some were sudden and ferocious. Others came from afar with enough warning that the pilot could steer around them.

Volen also learned about men on these odysseys. What pleased them, what bothered them, what bothered them enough to kill. He learned that money, undermining women, cigarettes, drink and the camaraderie of drink, and the loyalty of friends were the only things that really mattered to him. By the time the elder Payne died of liver failure, Volen had only managed to get a lot of smoking and drinking done. He learned to cuss in three languages - in his family tongue of English, his spoken native tongue - Mandarin Chinese, and Singaporean “Singlish” – the sailor’s speak.

When Volen was sixteen, several years into his own career on the timber ship, he met two other young sailors who did not want to end up like their own fathers. Eventually, in port, they sat down with other dissatisfied young men from other professions. That led Volen to the second thing he knew well.

Killing

Many years passed.

Sitting in the dark, cool room he closed his eyes and smelled the air. In his mind he smelled the Celebes Sea, it always seemed to have a spicy ‘bite’ to it.

Celebes SeaIt is bordered by the Sulu Archipelago, Mindanao, the Sangihe Islands, Celebes, and Borneo. It extends 420 mi (675 km) north-south and 520 mi (837 km) east-west, occupying about 110,000 sq mi (280,000 sq km). It is connected with the Java Sea by the Makassar Strait. More than half of it is below 13,000 ft (4,000 m) deep, and its maximum depth is 20,406 ft (6,220 m). Traders and pirates from Borneo and nearby islands controlled the sea until it came under colonial rule in the late 19th century.

Today, Volen was as far as you could be from the Celebes, but life had more twists for him over the years. “The Director” of his agency was very clear. “Make sure the job gets done, but let your assets do the work. Only get your hands dirty if you have too.” Volen knew his hands were dirty enough as it was. He’d sit here in the dark, listening, waiting. His eyes closed, Volen sniffed the stale air and let his mind wonder for the connection.

Yes, there it was. Teak. Celebes, and a trace of phenol.

It was the largest privately owned collection of American-prehistoric fossils in the world, and no one knew it – not even the owner.

Jervis Miller had developed a love and deep appreciation for America’s prehistoric animals some forty years before when in his early twenties he read an article in the American Insider. Until that time, he had not realized the successful reign of dinosaurs had on earth and their co-development with pre-historic man. Each new generation had evolved into a more refined version of the last. The carnivores became perfect pack hunters as well as individual predators. The herbivores bonded into family units with complex forms of child care. They had survived over 100 million years. That was 100 times longer than humans would continue to walk on the earth.

Especially if he had his way.

Miller had began buying fossils, from the smallest, oldest marine trilobites to a complete land-ranging allosaurus to a soaring pteranodon. He did not settle for plaster casts, as so many museums did. Only the real thing. He had them displayed in two large rooms on his estate, along with mural showing the animals and their world. It was ironic he thought that the American media nicknamed him “gater” after the southeastern alligator. That was an insult, but not for the reasons they thought. Miller did not mind being compared to a carnivore. But he aspired to be one of the all-time great ones, like tyrannosaurus or gorgosaurus. Not a relatively small contemporary off-shoot.
Miller saw, rather than heard, a black, custom Bell 206B JetRanger 3 Helicopter glide in and land on the south lawn. Two night-cameo-dressed figures slipped out of the craft while the ground opened up seemingly to ‘swallow’ the craft. In two minutes there would be no sign that there was ever an aircraft there.

The moon shone through the large, arching skylight. Small lights illuminated the mounted skeletons, murals, and exhibit cases. Dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, the six-foot-four inch Miller stood in the middle of the cathedral-like structure. The bald-headed pharmaceutical titan did not end each day with a stroll through his collection. He did so today, however. He reminded himself that sometimes creatures perished due to things outside their control. The dinosaurs were a perfect example. Apparently they all died out slowly after an asteroid struck the earth. The collision threw incalculable tons of dust into the atmosphere, blotted out the sunlight for years, and created a worldwide ecological disaster. The equivalent of a pre-historic nuclear winter. According to the geological record, these impacts and global extinctions occurred with some regularity.

‘Portions of the earth were overdue for a similar cleansing,’ he reflected. It was a concept Darwin would never have imagined. A mixture of natural selection and mass extinction.

Footsteps echoed along an adjoining corridor. A few seconds latter, a well-dressed figure stepped through the door connecting the mansion with the wing that housed Miller’s collection of Ice Age fossils and Late-period native American pottery. “Yes, Edward?”

“Mr. Miller, one Mr. Jon Smithy is coming up the walk to your private chamber,” the executive secretary informed him.
“Mr. Smithy, is that was we are calling ourselves today?” Miller snorted, “This better be good news.” A snide smile crossed Miller’s face, “Bring him to the kitchen.”
“Yes, sir,” Edward replied.

There was no hesitation in Edward’s voice. If Miller had instructed his aid to escort Smithy to his private observatory, to the garage, or to a guest-room closet, Edward would have done so without question. Descended from people who lived here during the last ice age, Edward Black-bear Graham was one of the few people whom Miller trusted absolutely.

They both turned and walked toward the estate house. Unknown to both men, a set of eyes watched them from an outer lab building window over 100 meters away. The man lowered the binoculars as he held back a blind with the other hand. Volen looked at his watch, it was midnight. Under his breath he whispered, “We might be too late. Where are those guys?”

Jarvis Miller looked at the two men that had had entered his estate. The larger of the two scanned the room with his eyes looking nowhere and everywhere at once.
"Your report, Sir." The smaller man handed over a folder.
"Thank you Mr.... Smithy. Did you have any trouble getting your, material?"
"No, Sir."
"Did you have any trouble with the source?"
"No, Sir. The primary source is in our ride if you would to like to examine him directly."
Miller seemed to think for a moment, "No. Its better if you take it on to examination and processing like the others." He opened the file and looked over the cover page. He didn't need to look up to see the two men leave immediately.
Looking at the page Miller hummed lightly, "Interesting."

Volen saw the light above the steel laboratory door turn from soft white to red.
High Alert status, well, I'm screwed now.
Instinctively he reached into the small pouch he always kept at his waist and his stress faded, a bit.
He looked down at the smooth, cool stone that appeared in his hand. He was first drawn to the stone when he saw it sitting on a shelf in Grandma V's - for Violet - cabin in the Ozark Mountains of Arkansas.

Even a five-year-old knew he was walking in a mystical place, at least that is what it felt like to him when he got a chance to visit the cabin. Little Volen would take his shoes off when he arrived, and off they would stay until he made the trip into town or the snow fell. Grandma V thought shoes were affront to nature's way. The cabin was stock full of the odd nick-nacks a boys' boy would love - shiny rocks, knives, walking sticks, and combinations of living and stuffed creatures of the forest displayed to show off their natural beauty. In her work-room and kitchen hundreds of drying herbs hung from ceiling racks, giving the whole place an exotic smell.

Volen spotted the polished piece of labradorite about the shape and size of his five-year-old hand behind an old brass mortar and pestle which had probably not moved in years. The surface of the stone shown with a sheen of all the colors of the rainbow over a dark green that seemed to fade into blackness down to its core. The effect was mesmerizing as Volen seemed to get lost in the depths of the stone. He jumped as Grandma V's voice broke through the moment, "What do you have there young'n?"

He wasn't afraid to hold the stone out with both hands. Grandma made it clear that he was welcome to explore anything he wished while he visited. The invitation also came with a warning not to touch anything that might hurt him until he was shown its proper use. "What is it Grandam?

Grandma V took the rock and smiled back at the child's wide-eyed expression. "Well, this is very interesting. Before I answer I'd like to know why of all the things sitting on that shelf, you picked this one?" The young Volen looked over the shelf for what seemed like the first time. Now that he took notice, there really were a lot of great looking options - a small sampling of which included a buck knife, a clear crystal point, several old books bound in leather, a telescoping looking glass, and the brass mortar and pestle.

Volen thought about the question a moment, "I guess its the only thing I really saw until you said something about it."

"Well, well." Grandma settled into her rocking chair as she turned the stone over in her hand. "The ancients from the northern parts called this the Dark Moonstone. They believed that Northern Lights that appeared in the sky were actually spirit folk, and they had become trapped in these stones. Then a great warrior felt such a great sorrow for the spirit folk that he broke the prison with his spear, setting them free. The lights we see in those rocks today, are the earth's memory of the great spirit or prehaps some spirits that didn't escape." She passed the rock to boy-Volen. "This was your father's so now I pass it to you."

"There is something else, isn't there grandma?"

"Yes, you notice quite a bit don't you young'n." She resumed her slow rocking, "There are those who also say, that people who are attracted to the Black Moonstone are descended from Atlantis." Laughing now, "Wouldn't that be grand?" Looking now at Volen, "You'll have an appreciation of the sea and perhaps even carry the Payne gift for sight."

"I can see Grandma."

"I know child, but you may be able to see even more because of your natural connection to the earth." She stood slowly from the rocker. "Walk with me child."

"Its going to be a early fall this year." Grandama Violet stated plainly as she began the walk down one of the many trails that cut through the forested mountain. "I don't have a lot of time left with you child, so there are going to be a few things that I will tell you now that will make more sense as you get older... or not."

Volen thought this would be the moment Grandma would say out loud, what he had already been told silently. His mother was going to die soon. The eyes of everyone around him shouted this fact even though he had not been able to make out the adult's whispers that seemed to surround him. This turned out to be a talk that changed Volen's perception of life, but the talk had nothing to do with the cold truth that, a week from now both his mother and Grandmother Violet would take their last breaths within a few hours of each other.

That day, he learned to use his sight.

"Its just a rock." Volen stated flatly.
Grandma Violet pulled off her glasses, "And these are just made of sand turned to glass. There is nothing magical about the glass is there? It only allows my mind to do what it needs to, to be able to focus the image in my head. I decided what it means and what to do about it. If anything." She smiled at the young Volen. "You'll be able to do the same thing with a stone like this, that is with time and practice."

Grandma had told the truth. In the many years since that day, Volen had learned to read the signs in the stone - at least the ones that would help open his mind. Scrying wasn't something he was proud of - it felt like a 'cheat'. In the years that he was learning the use this 'gift', he didn't mind cheating. At all. After he answered the call of the Templar, it did.

Today, he needed the help. Clearing his mind of the alarms going off in the laboratory he looked into that very same stone his grandmother had given him all those years ago in the Ozarks, and what he saw scared him.

Volen looked up from the stone. The dog, that was not a good thing to see at a moment like this.
The image of the dog could mean several things, but usually for Volen in meant a good companion. The image was dark, and moving to the right. Also not good, Volen thought to himself. A good friend would die - soon.

As if on queue, Volen felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, next to his right thigh. Great timing. From under the desk, Volen secured his stone and pulled the phone for a quick glance at the caller ID. Tom. Thoughts streamed through Volen's head, continuing the conversation with himself, one of the thoughts took the lead in Volen's mind, Tom is a friend and he never calls unless there is trouble. The silent alarm troubled Volen, and he knew that this lab most likely had motion detection during an intruder alarm. From under this desk near the window, he doubted that taking this call would set of the detectors. I hope this is important.

Tom was asking about a friend of Volen's, Savoy. Not that important a call, Volen was thinking as he told Tom what he knew about Savoy's location. Perhaps Savoy is the one in trouble? That's when Volen heard the shouts and sounds of battle on Tom's side. Volen had nothing else he could do but listen to the muffled sounds of conflict - shouts, gun fire, and grunting. Its likely Tom just slipped his phone into his pocket when the action started. With nothing much he could do while he was pinned down in this lab, Volen just listened.