Read Victory of Coins (The Judas Chronicles, #7) Online

Authors: Aiden James

Tags: #contemporary fantasy, #supernatural suspense, #Judas Iscariot, #Forgiveness, #redemption, #Thirty Pieces of Silver, #Immortals, #International thriller, #Dark Fantasy, #Men's Adventure, #Romance, #Jesus Christ, #Murder, #Istanbul, #Ethiopia, #Stigmata, #Stigmatic, #Constantinople, #Castle, #Metaphysical, #supernatural, #mystery, #Civil War history, #Shiloh, #Corinth Mississippi, #Silver shekels

Victory of Coins (The Judas Chronicles, #7) (3 page)

BOOK: Victory of Coins (The Judas Chronicles, #7)
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“I love the guy’s eloquence in expressing his sorrow over a war he had little choice but to participate in,” said Amy. “It’s dark... but anyone who has faced true uncertainty can relate, I’m sure. It’s like he was defining what might happen if he continued on the path before him—a path he could do nothing about. The soldiers could hear the gunfire from miles away, and when close to enemy regiments the cannons were deafening—that’s what one of the videos talked about a few days ago.... After seeing friends and foes die in agony on the battlefield or behind the lines on a surgeon’s table, I would imagine everyone thought in terms of honor, eternity, and... ghosts.”

I believe the rest of us were as impressed with Ms. Golden Eagle’s analysis as I was. Really, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise, since she was a top corporate attorney after graduating from college with honors in her previous life. But she hasn’t often shared her deeper thoughts and feelings with us. After losing her fiancé—my son—she became more introverted as far as sharing impressions of the world around her, although she always kept a compassionate eye on Beatrice.

“What do you think, darling?” I asked my wife, who seemed to be taking it all in. “Does anything about the poem stand out to you?”

She shook her head as an initial response. I figured that would be it from Beatrice, whose worry seemed to have raced back to the forefront when asked for her impression.

“The poem itself is heartfelt and forlorn,” she said quietly. “But considering what you all have told me about Viktor Kaslow, and what I’ve seen of the demon myself, you know the kid’s sense of futility and the fact he had given up hope in exchange for the premonition of his death at Shiloh would be a pleasurable thing for Kaslow to mull over.... I can picture him leering with delight. Like the Nazi photographs we saw in Poland, where you could tell that the guards counted a good day’s work on how many Jewish inmates they had either relentlessly harassed or killed outright.”

I couldn’t agree more, and for reasons I had never shared with Beatrice and prayed Roderick never would either. I had purposely skimmed over what he and I would find from time to time that told of Kaslow’s handiwork. The slaughter of the innocents, with no regard to age, race, or infirmity. Kaslow loved to kill as a human being, and that innate wickedness had been enhanced one hundred fold since the shard flew into his heart after a Soviet rocket freed it from the enormous crystal ‘tree’ hidden in the Alborz Mountains.

“Okay... so we all agree about the inappropriate inclusion of this poem in Victor’s correspondence to Roderick and me,” I said, turning back to the first page. “But what should we do in regard to his invitation to visit the mysterious shrine, or monument, in Shiloh? He says it will bring a truce between us... a goodwill offering that will ensure the realm of demons and the realm of angels would forever remain separate from each other.”

“And you believe him?” asked Beatrice, her tone simmering with anger and suspicion.

“Not really,” I assured her, pausing to study Roderick, who looked like he could barely contain his opinion. “What is it, Rod?”

“Let me first say that until this latest incident, I’ve always been able to feel Kaslow’s presence and his intent—which has never been good,” he advised. “This time is different... I can feel nothing in regard to his location, or whether or not we would be walking into a trap. However, the offer in the letter is for peace, and he has given us some specifics to work with. The exact statement—if I recall it correctly—is that ‘you will find a prize you have long sought obscured by the gown of a woman who might as well be a bronze angel.’ Is that how it reads, William?”

I wasn’t sure, so I took another look at the letter’s first page. Not only was Rod’s recollection exact, I noticed that Kaslow included another incentive, though apparently carelessly.

“Ahhh, I remember seeing that, too,” said Roderick, his ability to read my unprotected thoughts as strong as ever. For a moment, I envied the immortal Russian’s ability to cloak his presence and designs from my druid companion’s detection.

“What are you two carrying on about now?” Beatrice asked, wearing a slight smile that belied her irritation.

“Kaslow sounds indifferent as to whether we pick up the prize or not,” I told her, shaking my head at Roderick’s orneriness. “It could easily fall into someone else’s hands—whatever he is offering to us.... Do you think it’s my coin?”

Yes, this was my first assumption. Then again, I’d usually think every personal prize awarded to me would come from a certain collection of silver shekels.

“It could be your coin that he’s been holding for nearly two years, William,” said Roderick. “And if it is, that alone would mean we have no choice but to go to Shiloh, find this mysterious monument he refers to, and see if something isn’t there waiting for us—”

“Like a bomb?” asked Jeremy, only half joking.

“He could’ve already killed us by now if that were the case,” I said. “So, why wait to kill us at Shiloh?”

“Could be symbolic to kill you at Shiloh,” said Beatrice. “Then he could also kill the rest of us while you were transported to a new body somewhere else in the world. By the time you came back to find us, we’d likely be dead for several years.”

“Maybe. There again, Kaslow could make that scenario true right now,” countered Roderick, seemingly unaware of the surprised looks from Amy and Beatrice for his calm acceptance of the possibility of murder to come. “He doesn’t need the American Civil War’s pomp and circumstance to cash in his chips against us.... Back to my earlier point, if it
is
the coin we need, it might be the best chance to get it. Lord knows, if Kaslow disappears with it into the realm of Bochicha, it’s as good as gone forever.”

“Who’s to say he hasn’t already done that and is taking it out now to dangle the damned thing in front of William’s nose for spite alone?”

Beatrice had a point—a very good one. To her credit, it did feel like a trap, despite the truth of the matter being Viktor Kaslow didn’t need an elaborate trick to ensnare us. Hell, if it was him who brought the champagne and letter into our room, then he could just as easily take us all out while we slept and be on his merry way by tomorrow’s sunrise.

“If he hates you as much as you say—and that we’ve all seen—then why trust anything he says, William?” Amy asked me. “If it’s a trap, then we’ll be royally screwed.”

“We could be screwed no matter what choice we make,” I said. “It’s like how it was for my Jewish brethren during the Holocaust, that you touched on earlier, Amy. Many of them stayed in Europe, believing it was safer to stay put than to take their chances elsewhere... that safe havens in other countries were merely traps to get them out of their homes, which the Nazis would then take possession of. In the end, the SS took what they wanted anyway.... Surely many Holocaust victims wondered about their choices when they were escorted to the gas chambers....”

I suddenly felt overwhelmed by bitter sorrow—as if the atrocities I had witnessed in my long and storied lifetime came to rest upon my soul as painfully bitter recollections all at once. I felt the urge to cry and looked away.

“What’s wrong, William?” Beatrice left the bed to come to me, and I shouldn’t have been surprised her lethargy and sadness would give way to her protective instincts.

“It’s nothing.”

“I can see the images from Galilee to America, William... and you’re right,” said Roderick, announcing to all what I would’ve preferred to keep secret. “The analogy of what you spoke of a moment ago applies to many key events in history. Yes, there is risk in stepping knowingly into danger. But, there is just as much risk in doing nothing, and hoping for the best. Krontos and Kaslow have already evicted us from whatever peaceful existences we could ever enjoy. So, regardless of what choice we make tonight—or tomorrow, if you all want to sleep on it—we can’t wait for the storm that’s coming to simply pass over us. We need to be somewhere else—whether that’s in Shiloh or some other place.”

The question of what other location could provide a lasting haven went unasked and unaddressed. I think we all knew the answer... that it would be ‘no place on earth’.

With nothing else to hash over, I decided to revisit the very last thing Kaslow wrote....

You and I are not so unlike this forgotten soldier, William. Think on this fact until your vision is as lucid as his.

Affectionately yours,

Viktor Kaslow

“Let’s sleep on it,” I suggested, forcing a smile and ignoring Kaslow’s mockery of familial terms to close the letter. “And, this time it will truly be the ‘majority’ among us ruling the decision we live with. Fair enough?”

I expected a revolt to return home to Abingdon that night, and most of it to come from the youngsters in our group. But Beatrice and Amy were the quickest to defer to my proposition, followed by Jeremy and, finally, Roderick nodded his consent. In the end, each of us realized there wouldn’t be a right or wrong choice either way... just a definite path with attendant consequences to follow, regardless of the decision made.

Hopefully, hindsight would prove whatever path we took was the right one.

Chapter Three

––––––––

W
e voted the next morning before breakfast.

Honestly, I remained on the fence, where my urge to protect Beatrice and our unborn child would override whatever else called me to go against her wish. To my surprise, she and Amy agreed with Roderick’s desire to carry on to Shiloh. Only Jeremy balked, stating he preferred to rejoin Cedric in Abingdon.

My decision at that point was easy, and enough to swing Jeremy’s agreement to join us to Shiloh once I added the caveat of returning to Abingdon once our stay at the B&B Beatrice picked out for us in nearby Corinth, Mississippi had ended. According to her, it would be a two-night minimum, which should leave us enough time to safely explore the battlefield and cemetery until we found the landmark Kaslow had mentioned in his letter.

“Since it will take about five hours to get to Shiloh from here, and Jeremy wants to check out the ironclad U.S.S. Cairo and the rest of Vicksburg’s National Military Park, we’ll leave around eleven o’clock,” I advised our group, once we checked out of our rooms and finished loading up the Escalade. “We can catch a bite to eat on the road and arrive in Shiloh roughly an hour before it closes. If we can’t find the spot described by Kaslow this afternoon, then we can spend the day looking for it tomorrow.”

“If we left now, we could probably wrap up our search for Kaslow’s ‘gift’ this afternoon, and then spend time visiting the battle sites around Corinth,” said Roderick. “Unless, of course, Jeremy is right and we get blown to bits by the Russian asshole.... Admittedly, there isn’t an ironclad in Corinth, as it is too far from a major river. But we would be that much closer to wrapping things up.... By the way, the town of Corinth was founded as ‘Cross City’ back in 1853, due to it being a junction for the
Mobile & Ohio
and
Memphis & Charleston
railroads. The newspaper editor at the time, W.E. Gibson, suggested the name of Corinth, since its namesake in Greece also served as a crossroads. William can attest to that fun fact.”

“Have you been there before, hon’?” Beatrice asked me.

“The new Corinth in Mississippi? No... I haven’t spent much time in Mississippi or Tennessee before this trip,” I told her, while assisting with fastening her seatbelt. “Most of my time spent in the southern United States during the past three centuries has been in Louisiana and Georgia—New Orleans and Savannah, in particular.”

The mention of New Orleans sent a twinge through my heart, as it made me think of Alistair. I could tell it had a similar effect on Beatrice, as her eyes dimmed.

“I’ve toured almost all of the south several times,” said Roderick, proudly, as he climbed into the driver’s seat. Jeremy joined him up front and Amy had her pillow, ready to stretch out in the bench seat behind Beatrice and me. “And, I have made several trips to Corinth.... It was a strategically important location to the Confederacy during the war, due to the railroads. Who knows what might’ve happened at nearby Shiloh if control of the country’s railroads wasn’t a highly desirable prize to be had in Corinth?”

He smiled at Jeremy, and I could tell Amy’s brother considered taking the bait.

“How about we visit the ironclad Cairo here in Vicksburg and save the military park tour for tomorrow in Corinth?” Jeremy asked.

“What do you think, William?” Roderick asked, eyeing me curiously through the rearview mirror. “Since I can’t feel Kaslow’s energy, your gut feeling might come in handy here.”

“I don’t feel anything from him either, but the compromise should cut out at least an hour from lingering here longer than prudent, I would think,” I said. “Ladies?”

“As long as we don’t piddle around the ironclad, I’m fine with spending an hour here and then hitting the road,” said Beatrice.

Amy seconded my wife’s notion with a nod, and we set out to visit the U.S.S. Cairo. Having seen such primitive submarines before, I was more intrigued to see Beatrice’s reaction, as well as Amy’s and Jeremy’s. I believe they all shared the most common first impression of ‘how in the hell did a group of grown men endure each other’s company stuck inside this thing for days on end?’ Granted, it was a helluva lot worse when the ship was submerged, but some of the letters from Union sailors to loved ones up north talk about starvation rations and roasting in the summer heat. Being bombarded by annoying mosquitoes was a more frequent form of attack than dealing with the Confederates.

“It definitely wouldn’t be optimum for a pregnant woman, eh?” Beatrice teased.

“Not if she needed to visit a restroom as much as your child-to-be seems to require,” Roderick teased.

“I was thinking more about my back,” she shot back, wryly. “If it was as crowded as the war pictures indicate, it would be disastrous for someone needing to get up and move around on a frequent basis.” She laughed.

“It would be hard for me to deal with the claustrophobia,” I said, moving closer to Beatrice and wrapping my arms around her. She wrapped her hands around mine. “Good thing it’s no longer 1862.”

BOOK: Victory of Coins (The Judas Chronicles, #7)
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