Page 28 of Eternal Obsession

Chapter Thirteen

JADEON

We traveled over several nights, keeping our captive secret, staying in accommodations along the way, specially pre-selected inns and fine homes owned by other associates. Torn, I craved the naivete of my old life, and yet, was eager to unravel my family’s secrets.

I was both numb and seething with self-hate, secretly plotting her escape. The men seemed to feel it, their eyes sharp and hawkish on me.

I hated this. Hated them. And seeing my father in this new light burned like fire.

Along the way, I drank as though trying to drown the ghost of myself, letting the dark, liquid fire burn through my veins and silence the whispers I could not bear. I ate with a savage appetite, shoving morsels into my mouth as if I could consume the emptiness inside me. And mirrors—I avoided them for each reflection held a cruel witness to my failings.

I had been initiated, in a sense, into the hidden world that thrived within this woman’s circle—a trembling, nest of witches, as they called it. I could not bring myself to believe in these things, yet I could see it in their eyes, in the subtle sway of their movements, that they believed.

Weary from our journey, I was grateful when informed we had arrived in Salisbury. Limbs aching, I climbed out of the carriage and paused on the grassy bank, gazing up in awe at the overbearing structure before me. I caught my breath as my eyes absorbed the magnificent view.

A sudden stillness, as if even time bowed to this ancient place. Wonder swelling in my chest, awe anchoring me before the ancient stones, feeling both infinitesimal and somehow chosen, as if they stood for something greater in us all.

“Stonehenge,” my father’s tone respectful.

The megalithic circle of stones towered like grand rocky gods reaching inexorably toward the stars. I stared in wonder, struck by the outer circle with its continuous lintels and estimated their height to be over sixteen feet. Within the outer ring appeared a horseshoe of bluestones towering over the central sacrificial altar stone. To the northeast, beyond the outer ditch of earthwork, stood the bulky heel stone as if guarding the stones as one of my father’s sentinels stood upon it. I rallied myself and placed my mask over my face before proceeding toward the central stone where my father now stood. The sunrise was imminent.

The woman, who remained bound, blindfolded, and gagged, was shoved to the center, closely followed by Father De Mercy, who chanted ancient incantations and sprinkled holy water. Typical. When some of it landed on me I wiped it off, annoyed. The night chill was bitter. I regretted not wearing warmer clothes.

Lord Artimas guided me to the outer rim of the stones and in hushed tones explained, “Construction began in 2950 BC. The first pillars, transported by sea, established the most profound statement of human supremacy. The stones were dragged from the Preseli Mountains in West Wales. Later, Sarsen stones were brought in to intensify the dramatic effect of the first, designed initially so that during the midsummer morning, the sun rises between the central stone, on which a vampire is placed, and the heel stone.”

His words fell behind as I tried to keep up.

“Therefore,” he tapped my shoulder to get my attention back on him, “when the sun comes up and is at its most potent, it directs concentrated rays upon the nightwalker, who chained steadfastly to the central stone, is killed instantly, unable to escape the powerful rays that incinerate it to ashes.

“In time, we discovered that the ceremony can be performed all year long. However, it is not enough to scatter their ashes to the wind, as with certainty they could reform. We must separate and pour them into the naturally formed fissures carved into the top of the inner circle of stones—thus ensuring that the ashes never reconstruct. For if they did, they would easily revert to their former selves. The stones are so substantial they can never be breeched or shattered. They are indestructible. This ceremony has taken place since man first realized that such creatures exist, and we eventually fathomed how we could destroy them in order to protect man’s very survival. We fought back.”

It was all very convincing and for the first time since this nightmare had begun my guilt subsided. I hoped I had what it took to make my father proud. It was good being so close to him, even under these conditions.

Athena was positioned face up on the central altar, her long red hair falling over her face and down the sides on the oblong stone. Chains were placed around her hands and feet and then pulled downward as the other end of the metal restraint was fastened with spikes and nailed firmly into the ground. Her mask and gag were removed, and her gown, now dirty and torn, was pulled down roughly. Her dress was purposefully ripped open to expose the flesh above her heart.

The men worked fast, placing large flamed torches in between each stone so that the monument shone with a mystical light, revealing its true magnificence. From a distance, it would appear to be an intimidating Druid monument. The wooden altar, taken from Cornwall, was now positioned close to the central stone behind us and the silver goblets and knives were placed upon it in an organized fashion. When it appeared that all was in order, Lord Artimas took his place again at the head of the stone and picked up one of the knives.

I hoped my nerves were ready for the unimaginable.

“How do you plead?” Lord Artimas asked Athena as she sobbed.

“Do you admit to the murder of the innocent?” he continued, not waiting for her response. “Do you admit to serving Satan? It is with truth and honor that I command your spirit into the afterworld, where you will be judged accordingly.”

My eyes were transfixed on Lord Hawke, who accepted the knife from Lord Artimas and drew toward the altar. He proceeded to cut deeply into Athena’s wrist.

Wanting to look away, full of doubt and yet having seen what she was I sensed there was no choice in this.

My father lifted the silver chalice and placed it under her hand. Holding it steady, he caught her blood as it poured into the cup, filling it to the brim.

Not wanting to see anymore, I let my gaze wander.

Despite the spaces between the stones, they seemed to close in on us. Having read about this place, I was not prepared for actually being here. As I ran my hand over one of the cold pillars, fascinated with its hugeness, it was easy to become intrigued not only with how it got here, but also how deep it went.

The rough surface beneath my palm revealed an unfathomable past, a history stretching far beyond comprehension, and I stood in quiet reverence for the hands that shaped this sacred circle. The men who had dragged these stones from afar. A seeming impossible task.

But why?

So many questions.