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sealieBy Sealie and LKY
Warnings and disclaimers in Part One
“Lucius,” Jim acknowledged.
“James Joseph Ellison,” the sentinel returned. “Finally we speak. You are a persistent ghost.”
He could feel the weight of his guide pressing against his side, but he knew that they had stepped a fraction to the widdershins of normal and stood in the spirit world of his dreams.
“Has the sentinel truly been lost in this advent of modern man?” Lucius asked.
Jim cocked his head to side. Blair would be better at taking this conversation to the nub.
“Truth to tell. I don’t have a clue. Blair would say: yes.”
“Blair is your guide as Marcus’ father is my beloved guide?”
“I don’t know if I would say: beloved.”
“You are indeed lost to the way of the sentinel,” Lucius observed. “A poor student.”
“I don’t like the weird crap.”
Lucius solidified, and Jim saw a man much like himself albeit shorter and dark haired and darker skinned. Okay, there was no physical resemblance but like recognised like.
The guy had had a family, Jim remembered. Kids and kittens. A wife.
“You fear that which you already know.”
“Talking to ghosts is going to get me locked up."
"Your fear shows when you speak."
Jim started to get pissed. The guy was calling him a coward. "Listen, pal. You have no idea what being a sentinel is like in my time. In case you don't have a direct connect from wherever you come from, not all roads lead to Rome anymore. Things have become... complicated."
But as Jim's burst of ire cooled, he heard his own excuses and cringed inside. "Listen, could we discuss this another time? Blair's hurt. I need to get him to a doctor."
Lucius' gaze switched to the younger man. His hard, disapproving expression softened. "I know. Of this we have no quarrel, neophyte."
Jim didn't like being considered a beginner at anything: he was a Captain in the Rangers, the premier Detective in Major Crime. He was solid, solid as a rock, experienced and in control.
Yeah right, he mocked himself.
The sentinel aspect by its very nature was out of control, unless he gave the reins to a young student who meditated and ate wheatgrass.
One day they were going to find him curled in a ball, rocking from side to side.
"You come from a heritage older than time," Lucius bellowed. "Your thoughts do your ancestors no justice. You are truly bereft!"
"You try living in my world. Even as a kid, I never knew what I knew was what other people knew. Every time I heard something that no one else could hear, they whispered."
Marcus stepped out of the ether at Lucius’ side. "What did they whisper, James?"
Jim started at the soft voice. "Freak," he uttered in the back of his throat.
Lucius bristled and Marcus placed a gentle hand on his forearm. "Peace, brother."
"James, before you found your guide, did your father or grandfather teach you the way of the sentinel?"
Jim's cheeks warmed. The last thing he wanted right now was to air his family's dirty laundry. But he answered, "No, my great grandmother was... maybe, I'm not sure." He thought of his roommate. "Blair's the only one that did any good."
Lucius' expression softened slightly. "It's no wonder you struggle."
Marcus seemed impatient to ask more questions as he rocked on his sandaled feet and chewed his lower lip. The second his sentinel quieted, he continued. "The way of the Sentinel is taught from generation to generation. But there are other ways. You have your guide now. I'm amazed you two met under such primitive circumstances."
Jim had a feeling Marcus would run on for hours had Lucius not cut him off.
"I don’t get it?" Jim said.
Marcus jiggled. "You should have been apprenticed to a sentinel and guide as I am working with Ante Lucius. My sentinel, Gaber, is stationed in the Senate with my honoured father."
"Blair told me that sentinels are rare. He’s been trying to figure it out--"
"How does he learn?" Marcus interrupted.
Jim smiled affectionately. "Pure pluck and bullshit."
"You know nothing." Marcus drifted forwards, hands outstretched to offer comfort.
Jim backed off a fraction and Marcus froze.
"It is a miracle of Mithras that you've survived," Lucius reached out and grabbed Jim's wrist.
The touch was incandescent.
The lineage of the sentinel unfolded before and behind him. Lucius and a man, Jim assumed was Marcus' father, stood behind Marcus and Gaber.
Stretching between Jim and Gaber were a hundred score of men and women standing tall. The latter twenty, stared back, firm-jawed and blue eyed. Jim saw the stamp of his own face in each expression.
"You're my great grandfather," Jim blurted.
"A few more greats, I think," Lucius said dryly.
Each Sentinel had a guide. Tall guides, short guides, skinny guides and pudgy guides. One had two, twins, each holding a hand. Dizzy with shock, Jim tried to remember how to breathe. His world had just reached super-nova and the fall out stunned him to his core. He was a part of this. Blair was a part of this. They were as ancient as dirt and vital as oxygen.
Hell, he wasn't a freak. He was part of a history that compared to nothing else he'd ever known before. Staring out over the mass of faces, Jim saw the honour he'd searched for when he joined the army and the police force.
His people.
Blair's people.
Damn.
"You need a master," Lucius mused, scratching his own clean shaven jaw.
"It doesn't sound like there are any," Marcus said.
"Did the Gods cast a plague on the touched?" Lucius asked.
Marcus shrugged expressively, and once again, Jim was utterly reminded of Blair.
He suspected that Marcus and Blair were related. But aware, out of the corner of his eye, of the other guides watching -- not all were of Blair’s family.
Marcus finally couldn't resist any longer and had to touch Jim -- he made a conscious effort not to shy back. Marcus like Blair communicated through many media.
"I don’t pretend to understand how we can speak here in the other world, Ante James.” He stroked Jim’s sleeve. “If we were to guide you, I think that we would have met many years ago? Or Mithras would have introduced you to Lucius and my father."
"There's a..." Jim licked his lips. "Grave marker. Lucius' grave marker. I touched it and this whole thing unfolded."
"Ah, you are indeed gifted."
"And Mithras has honoured you." Lucius seemed unperturbed at the thought of his grave marker.
The ancient sentinel moved closely and with great deliberation drew Marcus from Jim's side.
"Grandson, there are two lessons for you to learn."
"Only two?"
For a second Jim wondered if he had asked out loud, but it was Marcus that had asked the question.
Lucius tilted his head to gaze down at his guide's son with fond exasperation. "Yes, for now, may I continue?"
Marcus nodded enthusiastically.
Jim found himself once more thinking of Blair. It was so strange.
Turning serious, Jim's 'many great' grandfather spoke. "Lesson number one is to remember what you are part of, the lineage you come from. Don't doubt yourself, James."
Something stirred against Jim’s right leg. He glanced down, seeing just the mist of that surrounded him. A strong urge to check on Blair rose. "I’ve gotta interrupt. I hear what you're saying. I'm worried about Blair. Is he okay?"
Lucius looked at him with approval. "Lesson number two is about your guide. Your faith in him would not be misplaced."
"But, he's okay, right? Before he could talk to me when I was seeing you. He's not-"
"He's fine." Lucius draped an arm around Marcus' shoulders. "There is much more for you to learn. He can show you."
"First we need to get out of these caves," Jim pointed out.
Abruptly, the world skewed back to the cold, dank and dim confines of the bowels beneath the Keep.
“Gee, thanks," Jim said out loud. The sound echoed a little in his ears, but his hearing was back.
"Whrrr?" Blair half-moaned.
"Hang on, we'll be of here soon." Knees bent, he hauled Blair up and over his shoulder. Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth he straightened, shifting Blair to lie securely.
"K." Blair absently patted his ass.
The flickering lights dotted along the corridor, led to both the criminals and the way out. Jim accepted that trying to traverse the tunnels back to the sea with an injured Blair was foolhardy.
Jim clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He actually felt his clicking like some demented bat. He drew a mental picture of the corridor.
Sight followed hearing, touch played a role, converting an image of where he stood and where he faced and where he would walk into a multi-coloured, multi-faceted sensory nightmare.
"Jim?" Blair moaned.
Ruthlessly, he dampened it down. No person lay in wait for them. Jim drew in a deep breath and took the first of many steps forward.
~*~
Corridor led to another corridor. Until he stood at the base of a blocky, granite constructed staircase. A metal banister was embedded against the wall. Escape lay at the top of the stairs. Jim ducked his shoulder and settled Blair on the bottom stair.
He slip, slip, slithered up the stairs -- listening with all his heart and soul.
Faint light seeped around a half sized, tightly fit, heavy wooden door at the top. Jim could see where the stone had been scraped by the door's opening and closing. A hammered metal lever worked like a latch and he reached out to check if locked.
It wasn't.
What should he do? Return to Blair and bring him along or leave him alone while he checked out the space beyond? Jim wasn't happy with either decision so he modified them into one. Listening for any movement and finding none, he opened the old door enough to stick in his head and look. A small room with hand chipped rock walls and floor. The door's opening was partial blocked by a stack of lumber and dusty, tarp covered boxes. This must be how the smuggling ring kept the tunnels hidden from the general staff.
Jim hurried back down to Blair.
"Hey, partner."
Still propped against the wall where'd he'd left him, Blair looked like road kill. His face pasty white under the grime and dirt, pain lines etched deeply around his eyes, he breathed through pursed lips while clutching his thigh above his broken bones. "Are we there?" he gasped out in a quiet voice.
"Looks like. I think we're directly under the Keep." Jim hated doing this but wasn't leaving Blair alone. "Do you want to hop or take another ride?"
"Oh, shit." Blair screwed up his face at the thought of either. When he shook his head more dirt flew from his hair. "No, man. Can't I wait here?"
"Sorry," Jim answered while gently pulling him upwards, using his jeans waistband and an upper arm as handles. "We can't risk them finding you."
He ignored the pain-lanced groans as he fitted Blair back on his shoulder and climbed the stone steps again.
Getting through the small door was hard. He finally had to set Blair down and drag him through on his butt. He left Blair to rest while going to the only other door in the room, this one just as old looking but normal sized. He found it unlocked, the narrow hallway beyond was lit by bare bulbs hung from the high ceiling. Another stone staircase at the end promised a way out.
With his guide slung over his shoulder again and his back beginning to feel the strain, Jim moved up the stairs, balancing on the balls of his feet, ready to run or fight depending upon what he would find at the top.
Another room, larger than the last. However, Jim still had the impression of being underground. The feeling was justified as he saw steps leading upward, narrowed at the top. They led to thick windows set just below ground level barred with grates. This was a large basement of the castle, perhaps used by the garrison to protect the royalty that used to live within.
Display cases lined the wall and a large map of the city hung above, its hand painted detail beginning to fade under the glass. Blair stirred, tucking one hand inside Jim's waistband.
Jim hurried across the room toward yet another staircase. They were close. Already the faint light of dawn could be seen through the basement windows. He'd get Blair to the hospital first and call the police from the waiting room.
"How the hell did you get out?"
The harsh question froze Jim in his tracks.
Coates and Donald were on the stairs, a gun in the leader's right hand pointing right at Jim's chest.
Was this night ever going to end? Jim sighed inwardly. Carefully, he swung Blair down. The gun remained aimed at them. Jim extended his hearing, and above them, he could sense the early morning cleaning staff going about their business.
Witnesses. Jim smiled ferally.
Coates’ hands shook. And Jim saw unpredictability and fear.
Donald hefted a blackjack.
Coates’ finger twitched. "Down the stairs." He gestured with the gun.
Jim knew that if they went down the staircase they were dead. He had to take both criminals out. A nervous man with a gun was a serious threat.
Jim smoothly moved into that hyperstate of awareness where action moved without thought.
Muscles tensed minutely, preparatory to talking out his prey.
Out of the corner of his eye, an orb manifested. It whisked towards Coates.
"I said move!"
Jim started to squat down to pick up Blair again. His guide was alert enough to see their new danger.
"No, leave him," Coates ordered. "Donald will bring him."
"No," Jim said over his shoulder, ignoring the startled look of panic in Blair's eyes. "I'm carrying him." He took a risk that Coates wouldn't shoot them with people upstairs.
"Jim," Blair whispered rapidly. "What are you doing? You're better off without me on your shoulder."
"Work with me, Chief," Jim answered, draping one of Blair's arms over his own neck and getting ready to straighten.
With a grunt from both of them, Blair left the floor to hang over Jim's shoulder. Jim completed two steps before faking a stumble. "Get ready," he whispered.
"For what?" Blair whispered back.
Donald moved closer, blackjack ready when Jim stumbled again, letting his shoulder hit the wall.
The orb seemed to vibrate impatiently over Coates’ head, completely undetected by either smuggler. Jim could sense its willingness to help, hell, he was counting on it.
"Either put him down or carry him right," Donald ordered when Jim tried to stand again.
"Now, kick," Jim whispered.
Blair's indignant 'What?" came as Jim spun.
Blair's legs swung out and into Donald, knocking him over. The orb dive bombed Coates.
Jim ducked Blair off one shoulder and shoved him further into Donald and the two fell in a heap. Leaping over them, Jim drove a solid punch into Coates’ jaw while the man screeched and batted at the orb which was working hard to blind him in the dim lighting of the basement.
Coates fell like a redwood and the gun clattered to the floor. Scooping it up with his right hand, Jim reached down with his left and jerked Donald away from Blair by his coat collar. He pointed the barrel of the gun into the man's red face.
"Do *not* piss me off, Donald. I'm American and know how to use the damn gun."
“I do not frigging believe that your used me as a battering ram, you son of a bitch! That fucking hurt!” Blair moaned, clutching his legs with both grimy hands.
“What are you snivelling about? I led with your good leg, Chief.”
“Next year, I’m going on vacation with Taggart.”
The door at the top of stairs slammed shut and a quavering voice, that only a sentinel could hear, said, “I’ve called the police, they’re coming.”
Jim narrowed his eyes, hardly even contemplating it for a heartbeat, before drawing back his fist and dropping a roundhouse punch on Donald’s jaw. Breathing heavily, Jim took stock. Blair crooked a beckoning finger at him.
“Come here, Jim.”
Jim cocked his head to the side, there was a fiery gleam in his guide’s eyes that kind of reminded him of his grandmother’s vicious half-feral cat. He was staying where he was, out of Sandburg’s reach.
Sally didn’t raise no stupid sentinels.
~*~
Jim hauled one of Blair’s arms over his shoulder as he encircled his waist and half-carried him up to the front door. Blair was a drugged, sleepy weight against his side. The break was relatively simple requiring only manipulation to draw it straight but Blair had whined and the doctor had been generous with the pain medication. Hanging on to his hand, Jim released his waist and got the front door key out of Blair’s front pocket.
The door opened with what sounded like a sigh of relief. It had been a seriously long day between the police, paramedics, hospital staff and the Museum of Antiquities personnel all wanting a piece of the action. Jim and Blair crab walked and hobbled into the front room where Jim swung Blair neatly on to the blanket covered sofa.
“Oh man.” Blair reached for his thigh.
“Whine, whine, moan, moan.” Jim lifted his broken leg onto the cushions. “It’s practically a hair line.”
Blair glowered at him. “Quit spoiling my perfectly justified misery.”
“Okay, I’ll leave you to it, Stephen King. I’m going to have a shower. I deserve one.”
~*~
The hard water sluicing him tasted minusculely of chlorine, nitrates and lead. Jim dialled down his sense of taste. The lead surprised him; it made him think of old times. Ducking his head under the spray, Jim relaxed.
Sentinels back through time and none of them had been a freak. In a different age he would have been apprenticed to his father or grandfather. Absently, Jim wondered why sentinel tradition had been lost.
He glanced sideways out the gap between the shower curtain and wall, half expecting Lucius to appear. But no, he had to be in the proximity of Lucius’ footsteps for that to happen. He was safe here.
“I just realised something, Jim. Are you finished? I need to talk to you?” Blair’s voice was perfectly pitched to resonate with his teeth.
Why was he blessed with an ADH-guide?
~*~
A freshly clean and dressed Jim stalked into the living room. “What do you want, princess?”
“I was just about to fall asleep and then I remembered.”
“Remembered what?” Jim asked as he set the glass of milk and freshly prepared sandwich on the coffee table beside his guide.
“You had another vision. Someone was talking to you. I remember down in the caves after I broke my leg.”
Jim sat heavily on the coffee table.
Blair clapped his hands. “I knew it! Spill.”
“It was the old guy, the first sentinel – well, not quite the first but it was his stuff I was picking up on--” Jim trailed off, Blair was going to be all over that admission.
“What did he say?”
“What did they say,” Jim corrected tiredly.
“They say? Jim, you’ve got to get me a pen and paper so I can write this down.”
“Your journal is crammed between the cushions where you left it last night, Jimmy Olson.”
Blair scrabbled it free, wincing as he moved his broken leg, but refusing to acknowledge the pain. Opening the journal, clicking the pen open, he said,
“Go for it, I’m ready.”
Elbows on knees, Jim leaned forwards. He kneaded the jut of bone above his right eyebrow. The words didn’t come easily, alien to his tongue. The weight of memory too fantastic to believe even though he had truly experienced it.
Tentatively, he began, “There are sentinels going back further than Lucius--”
Blair froze at the words. “Wow,” he breathed.
“--there have been sentinel in my family forever and I’m pretty sure that Marcus was your great-great-many-great grandfather…”
“Holy Cow. You’re kidding. That’s unbelievable. What are the chances?”
“If you go far enough back everyone is related to everyone. Do you want to hear the rest of the story, Chief?” Jim kind of wanted him to say no.
“Yeah, man, I really need to,” Blair said quietly.
Jim’s account was staggered and raw as he attempted to put his memories and feelings into words (never easy) but as he stuttered -- voice hoarse -- to a stop, he thought that he had managed to encapsulate what had happened.
Jim lifted his head. Blair sat entranced, barely breathing, pen poised over a blank page.
“I’m not repeating that,” Jim said waspishly.
Startled Blair looked down at his blank journal, “Shit.” Curled over the journal, he frantically scratched the pen across the paper in Sandburgian shorthand, lips moving silently as he strove to recall Jim’s words.
Jim stood, stretching until his vertebrae cracked one by one. He took a leonine step to the side and slouched into his armchair with a thud.
The scratching sound was a familiar and homely backdrop as Jim stared blindly at the blank television set watching Blair’s reflection moving as he wrote. Blair muttered under his breath: unbelievable; fantastic; typical (with a soupçon on ire); sentinels (with equal parts frustration and satisfaction). Blair paused staring into nothing, the planes of his face sharp with forgotten pain and the early evening shadows. He seemed to be lost in time, his own version of a zone as Jim watched. The professor’s grandfather clock chimed; an hour had passed since Jim had made Blair’s sandwich. Didn’t time fly when you were having fun.
Blair caught his eyes in the reflection of the television. The rapidly setting sun casting darker shadows, soon Blair would be straining to see. Jim leaned over and clicked on the light under a garish, peach tasselled lampshade.
Blair blinked, the moment broken. And then he began, “Jim--” and stopped, thought and tried again and failed.
It was kind of unprecedented: speechless Sandburg.
“I guess,” Jim said a little meanly, “you’re going to have to rethink your thesis, not so much about tribal, Peruvian sentinels is it?”
“Actually, I was thinking I’ve got enough material for my post-doc now.” Blair grinned toothily, but sobered. “The ramifications are endless, but I can’t help but think how much knowledge and oral tradition we have lost. There’s so much more that we have to find out.”
“Yeah,” Jim said glumly, realising that Blair was never going to let this go, “Lucius never got round to lesson two. “
“The whole point is --” Blair gestured at Jim and then at his own chest, “--that’s for us to figure out.”
“But you just pointed out that the oral tradition has been lost.’
Blair smiled sublimely. “We’ve just got to make new traditions. You do realise what we have to do?”
Jim pondered. “Er, no.”
“We’ve got to steal the plaque.”
“Uh…Sandburg. No.”
“Okay, okay, at the very least you’ve got to go back there and chip a chunk off the corner. We need it, man.”
“I am not defacing my ancestor’s tombstone. “ Jim bristled.
“It’s a grave marker,” Blair corrected.
“Whatever. It’s not happening. And I don’t think Lucius would want that.” Jim reached and snagged Blair’s sandwich. “We’re leaving in a few days. You got more than enough information than you could imagine – just work with that.”
Blair flopped back on the sofa, hand over his eyes. “You’re killing me, man. But yeah, you’re right.”
Jim munched on his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. If he guessed correctly, and he usually guessed correctly, there were a whole host of new and annoying tests on the horizon but at least he’d be at home and not in this ghost infested country.
End of Part Ten
Epilogue
Warnings and disclaimers in Part One
“Lucius,” Jim acknowledged.
“James Joseph Ellison,” the sentinel returned. “Finally we speak. You are a persistent ghost.”
He could feel the weight of his guide pressing against his side, but he knew that they had stepped a fraction to the widdershins of normal and stood in the spirit world of his dreams.
“Has the sentinel truly been lost in this advent of modern man?” Lucius asked.
Jim cocked his head to side. Blair would be better at taking this conversation to the nub.
“Truth to tell. I don’t have a clue. Blair would say: yes.”
“Blair is your guide as Marcus’ father is my beloved guide?”
“I don’t know if I would say: beloved.”
“You are indeed lost to the way of the sentinel,” Lucius observed. “A poor student.”
“I don’t like the weird crap.”
Lucius solidified, and Jim saw a man much like himself albeit shorter and dark haired and darker skinned. Okay, there was no physical resemblance but like recognised like.
The guy had had a family, Jim remembered. Kids and kittens. A wife.
“You fear that which you already know.”
“Talking to ghosts is going to get me locked up."
"Your fear shows when you speak."
Jim started to get pissed. The guy was calling him a coward. "Listen, pal. You have no idea what being a sentinel is like in my time. In case you don't have a direct connect from wherever you come from, not all roads lead to Rome anymore. Things have become... complicated."
But as Jim's burst of ire cooled, he heard his own excuses and cringed inside. "Listen, could we discuss this another time? Blair's hurt. I need to get him to a doctor."
Lucius' gaze switched to the younger man. His hard, disapproving expression softened. "I know. Of this we have no quarrel, neophyte."
Jim didn't like being considered a beginner at anything: he was a Captain in the Rangers, the premier Detective in Major Crime. He was solid, solid as a rock, experienced and in control.
Yeah right, he mocked himself.
The sentinel aspect by its very nature was out of control, unless he gave the reins to a young student who meditated and ate wheatgrass.
One day they were going to find him curled in a ball, rocking from side to side.
"You come from a heritage older than time," Lucius bellowed. "Your thoughts do your ancestors no justice. You are truly bereft!"
"You try living in my world. Even as a kid, I never knew what I knew was what other people knew. Every time I heard something that no one else could hear, they whispered."
Marcus stepped out of the ether at Lucius’ side. "What did they whisper, James?"
Jim started at the soft voice. "Freak," he uttered in the back of his throat.
Lucius bristled and Marcus placed a gentle hand on his forearm. "Peace, brother."
"James, before you found your guide, did your father or grandfather teach you the way of the sentinel?"
Jim's cheeks warmed. The last thing he wanted right now was to air his family's dirty laundry. But he answered, "No, my great grandmother was... maybe, I'm not sure." He thought of his roommate. "Blair's the only one that did any good."
Lucius' expression softened slightly. "It's no wonder you struggle."
Marcus seemed impatient to ask more questions as he rocked on his sandaled feet and chewed his lower lip. The second his sentinel quieted, he continued. "The way of the Sentinel is taught from generation to generation. But there are other ways. You have your guide now. I'm amazed you two met under such primitive circumstances."
Jim had a feeling Marcus would run on for hours had Lucius not cut him off.
"I don’t get it?" Jim said.
Marcus jiggled. "You should have been apprenticed to a sentinel and guide as I am working with Ante Lucius. My sentinel, Gaber, is stationed in the Senate with my honoured father."
"Blair told me that sentinels are rare. He’s been trying to figure it out--"
"How does he learn?" Marcus interrupted.
Jim smiled affectionately. "Pure pluck and bullshit."
"You know nothing." Marcus drifted forwards, hands outstretched to offer comfort.
Jim backed off a fraction and Marcus froze.
"It is a miracle of Mithras that you've survived," Lucius reached out and grabbed Jim's wrist.
The touch was incandescent.
The lineage of the sentinel unfolded before and behind him. Lucius and a man, Jim assumed was Marcus' father, stood behind Marcus and Gaber.
Stretching between Jim and Gaber were a hundred score of men and women standing tall. The latter twenty, stared back, firm-jawed and blue eyed. Jim saw the stamp of his own face in each expression.
"You're my great grandfather," Jim blurted.
"A few more greats, I think," Lucius said dryly.
Each Sentinel had a guide. Tall guides, short guides, skinny guides and pudgy guides. One had two, twins, each holding a hand. Dizzy with shock, Jim tried to remember how to breathe. His world had just reached super-nova and the fall out stunned him to his core. He was a part of this. Blair was a part of this. They were as ancient as dirt and vital as oxygen.
Hell, he wasn't a freak. He was part of a history that compared to nothing else he'd ever known before. Staring out over the mass of faces, Jim saw the honour he'd searched for when he joined the army and the police force.
His people.
Blair's people.
Damn.
"You need a master," Lucius mused, scratching his own clean shaven jaw.
"It doesn't sound like there are any," Marcus said.
"Did the Gods cast a plague on the touched?" Lucius asked.
Marcus shrugged expressively, and once again, Jim was utterly reminded of Blair.
He suspected that Marcus and Blair were related. But aware, out of the corner of his eye, of the other guides watching -- not all were of Blair’s family.
Marcus finally couldn't resist any longer and had to touch Jim -- he made a conscious effort not to shy back. Marcus like Blair communicated through many media.
"I don’t pretend to understand how we can speak here in the other world, Ante James.” He stroked Jim’s sleeve. “If we were to guide you, I think that we would have met many years ago? Or Mithras would have introduced you to Lucius and my father."
"There's a..." Jim licked his lips. "Grave marker. Lucius' grave marker. I touched it and this whole thing unfolded."
"Ah, you are indeed gifted."
"And Mithras has honoured you." Lucius seemed unperturbed at the thought of his grave marker.
The ancient sentinel moved closely and with great deliberation drew Marcus from Jim's side.
"Grandson, there are two lessons for you to learn."
"Only two?"
For a second Jim wondered if he had asked out loud, but it was Marcus that had asked the question.
Lucius tilted his head to gaze down at his guide's son with fond exasperation. "Yes, for now, may I continue?"
Marcus nodded enthusiastically.
Jim found himself once more thinking of Blair. It was so strange.
Turning serious, Jim's 'many great' grandfather spoke. "Lesson number one is to remember what you are part of, the lineage you come from. Don't doubt yourself, James."
Something stirred against Jim’s right leg. He glanced down, seeing just the mist of that surrounded him. A strong urge to check on Blair rose. "I’ve gotta interrupt. I hear what you're saying. I'm worried about Blair. Is he okay?"
Lucius looked at him with approval. "Lesson number two is about your guide. Your faith in him would not be misplaced."
"But, he's okay, right? Before he could talk to me when I was seeing you. He's not-"
"He's fine." Lucius draped an arm around Marcus' shoulders. "There is much more for you to learn. He can show you."
"First we need to get out of these caves," Jim pointed out.
Abruptly, the world skewed back to the cold, dank and dim confines of the bowels beneath the Keep.
“Gee, thanks," Jim said out loud. The sound echoed a little in his ears, but his hearing was back.
"Whrrr?" Blair half-moaned.
"Hang on, we'll be of here soon." Knees bent, he hauled Blair up and over his shoulder. Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth he straightened, shifting Blair to lie securely.
"K." Blair absently patted his ass.
The flickering lights dotted along the corridor, led to both the criminals and the way out. Jim accepted that trying to traverse the tunnels back to the sea with an injured Blair was foolhardy.
Jim clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He actually felt his clicking like some demented bat. He drew a mental picture of the corridor.
Sight followed hearing, touch played a role, converting an image of where he stood and where he faced and where he would walk into a multi-coloured, multi-faceted sensory nightmare.
"Jim?" Blair moaned.
Ruthlessly, he dampened it down. No person lay in wait for them. Jim drew in a deep breath and took the first of many steps forward.
~*~
Corridor led to another corridor. Until he stood at the base of a blocky, granite constructed staircase. A metal banister was embedded against the wall. Escape lay at the top of the stairs. Jim ducked his shoulder and settled Blair on the bottom stair.
He slip, slip, slithered up the stairs -- listening with all his heart and soul.
Faint light seeped around a half sized, tightly fit, heavy wooden door at the top. Jim could see where the stone had been scraped by the door's opening and closing. A hammered metal lever worked like a latch and he reached out to check if locked.
It wasn't.
What should he do? Return to Blair and bring him along or leave him alone while he checked out the space beyond? Jim wasn't happy with either decision so he modified them into one. Listening for any movement and finding none, he opened the old door enough to stick in his head and look. A small room with hand chipped rock walls and floor. The door's opening was partial blocked by a stack of lumber and dusty, tarp covered boxes. This must be how the smuggling ring kept the tunnels hidden from the general staff.
Jim hurried back down to Blair.
"Hey, partner."
Still propped against the wall where'd he'd left him, Blair looked like road kill. His face pasty white under the grime and dirt, pain lines etched deeply around his eyes, he breathed through pursed lips while clutching his thigh above his broken bones. "Are we there?" he gasped out in a quiet voice.
"Looks like. I think we're directly under the Keep." Jim hated doing this but wasn't leaving Blair alone. "Do you want to hop or take another ride?"
"Oh, shit." Blair screwed up his face at the thought of either. When he shook his head more dirt flew from his hair. "No, man. Can't I wait here?"
"Sorry," Jim answered while gently pulling him upwards, using his jeans waistband and an upper arm as handles. "We can't risk them finding you."
He ignored the pain-lanced groans as he fitted Blair back on his shoulder and climbed the stone steps again.
Getting through the small door was hard. He finally had to set Blair down and drag him through on his butt. He left Blair to rest while going to the only other door in the room, this one just as old looking but normal sized. He found it unlocked, the narrow hallway beyond was lit by bare bulbs hung from the high ceiling. Another stone staircase at the end promised a way out.
With his guide slung over his shoulder again and his back beginning to feel the strain, Jim moved up the stairs, balancing on the balls of his feet, ready to run or fight depending upon what he would find at the top.
Another room, larger than the last. However, Jim still had the impression of being underground. The feeling was justified as he saw steps leading upward, narrowed at the top. They led to thick windows set just below ground level barred with grates. This was a large basement of the castle, perhaps used by the garrison to protect the royalty that used to live within.
Display cases lined the wall and a large map of the city hung above, its hand painted detail beginning to fade under the glass. Blair stirred, tucking one hand inside Jim's waistband.
Jim hurried across the room toward yet another staircase. They were close. Already the faint light of dawn could be seen through the basement windows. He'd get Blair to the hospital first and call the police from the waiting room.
"How the hell did you get out?"
The harsh question froze Jim in his tracks.
Coates and Donald were on the stairs, a gun in the leader's right hand pointing right at Jim's chest.
Was this night ever going to end? Jim sighed inwardly. Carefully, he swung Blair down. The gun remained aimed at them. Jim extended his hearing, and above them, he could sense the early morning cleaning staff going about their business.
Witnesses. Jim smiled ferally.
Coates’ hands shook. And Jim saw unpredictability and fear.
Donald hefted a blackjack.
Coates’ finger twitched. "Down the stairs." He gestured with the gun.
Jim knew that if they went down the staircase they were dead. He had to take both criminals out. A nervous man with a gun was a serious threat.
Jim smoothly moved into that hyperstate of awareness where action moved without thought.
Muscles tensed minutely, preparatory to talking out his prey.
Out of the corner of his eye, an orb manifested. It whisked towards Coates.
"I said move!"
Jim started to squat down to pick up Blair again. His guide was alert enough to see their new danger.
"No, leave him," Coates ordered. "Donald will bring him."
"No," Jim said over his shoulder, ignoring the startled look of panic in Blair's eyes. "I'm carrying him." He took a risk that Coates wouldn't shoot them with people upstairs.
"Jim," Blair whispered rapidly. "What are you doing? You're better off without me on your shoulder."
"Work with me, Chief," Jim answered, draping one of Blair's arms over his own neck and getting ready to straighten.
With a grunt from both of them, Blair left the floor to hang over Jim's shoulder. Jim completed two steps before faking a stumble. "Get ready," he whispered.
"For what?" Blair whispered back.
Donald moved closer, blackjack ready when Jim stumbled again, letting his shoulder hit the wall.
The orb seemed to vibrate impatiently over Coates’ head, completely undetected by either smuggler. Jim could sense its willingness to help, hell, he was counting on it.
"Either put him down or carry him right," Donald ordered when Jim tried to stand again.
"Now, kick," Jim whispered.
Blair's indignant 'What?" came as Jim spun.
Blair's legs swung out and into Donald, knocking him over. The orb dive bombed Coates.
Jim ducked Blair off one shoulder and shoved him further into Donald and the two fell in a heap. Leaping over them, Jim drove a solid punch into Coates’ jaw while the man screeched and batted at the orb which was working hard to blind him in the dim lighting of the basement.
Coates fell like a redwood and the gun clattered to the floor. Scooping it up with his right hand, Jim reached down with his left and jerked Donald away from Blair by his coat collar. He pointed the barrel of the gun into the man's red face.
"Do *not* piss me off, Donald. I'm American and know how to use the damn gun."
“I do not frigging believe that your used me as a battering ram, you son of a bitch! That fucking hurt!” Blair moaned, clutching his legs with both grimy hands.
“What are you snivelling about? I led with your good leg, Chief.”
“Next year, I’m going on vacation with Taggart.”
The door at the top of stairs slammed shut and a quavering voice, that only a sentinel could hear, said, “I’ve called the police, they’re coming.”
Jim narrowed his eyes, hardly even contemplating it for a heartbeat, before drawing back his fist and dropping a roundhouse punch on Donald’s jaw. Breathing heavily, Jim took stock. Blair crooked a beckoning finger at him.
“Come here, Jim.”
Jim cocked his head to the side, there was a fiery gleam in his guide’s eyes that kind of reminded him of his grandmother’s vicious half-feral cat. He was staying where he was, out of Sandburg’s reach.
Sally didn’t raise no stupid sentinels.
~*~
Jim hauled one of Blair’s arms over his shoulder as he encircled his waist and half-carried him up to the front door. Blair was a drugged, sleepy weight against his side. The break was relatively simple requiring only manipulation to draw it straight but Blair had whined and the doctor had been generous with the pain medication. Hanging on to his hand, Jim released his waist and got the front door key out of Blair’s front pocket.
The door opened with what sounded like a sigh of relief. It had been a seriously long day between the police, paramedics, hospital staff and the Museum of Antiquities personnel all wanting a piece of the action. Jim and Blair crab walked and hobbled into the front room where Jim swung Blair neatly on to the blanket covered sofa.
“Oh man.” Blair reached for his thigh.
“Whine, whine, moan, moan.” Jim lifted his broken leg onto the cushions. “It’s practically a hair line.”
Blair glowered at him. “Quit spoiling my perfectly justified misery.”
“Okay, I’ll leave you to it, Stephen King. I’m going to have a shower. I deserve one.”
~*~
The hard water sluicing him tasted minusculely of chlorine, nitrates and lead. Jim dialled down his sense of taste. The lead surprised him; it made him think of old times. Ducking his head under the spray, Jim relaxed.
Sentinels back through time and none of them had been a freak. In a different age he would have been apprenticed to his father or grandfather. Absently, Jim wondered why sentinel tradition had been lost.
He glanced sideways out the gap between the shower curtain and wall, half expecting Lucius to appear. But no, he had to be in the proximity of Lucius’ footsteps for that to happen. He was safe here.
“I just realised something, Jim. Are you finished? I need to talk to you?” Blair’s voice was perfectly pitched to resonate with his teeth.
Why was he blessed with an ADH-guide?
~*~
A freshly clean and dressed Jim stalked into the living room. “What do you want, princess?”
“I was just about to fall asleep and then I remembered.”
“Remembered what?” Jim asked as he set the glass of milk and freshly prepared sandwich on the coffee table beside his guide.
“You had another vision. Someone was talking to you. I remember down in the caves after I broke my leg.”
Jim sat heavily on the coffee table.
Blair clapped his hands. “I knew it! Spill.”
“It was the old guy, the first sentinel – well, not quite the first but it was his stuff I was picking up on--” Jim trailed off, Blair was going to be all over that admission.
“What did he say?”
“What did they say,” Jim corrected tiredly.
“They say? Jim, you’ve got to get me a pen and paper so I can write this down.”
“Your journal is crammed between the cushions where you left it last night, Jimmy Olson.”
Blair scrabbled it free, wincing as he moved his broken leg, but refusing to acknowledge the pain. Opening the journal, clicking the pen open, he said,
“Go for it, I’m ready.”
Elbows on knees, Jim leaned forwards. He kneaded the jut of bone above his right eyebrow. The words didn’t come easily, alien to his tongue. The weight of memory too fantastic to believe even though he had truly experienced it.
Tentatively, he began, “There are sentinels going back further than Lucius--”
Blair froze at the words. “Wow,” he breathed.
“--there have been sentinel in my family forever and I’m pretty sure that Marcus was your great-great-many-great grandfather…”
“Holy Cow. You’re kidding. That’s unbelievable. What are the chances?”
“If you go far enough back everyone is related to everyone. Do you want to hear the rest of the story, Chief?” Jim kind of wanted him to say no.
“Yeah, man, I really need to,” Blair said quietly.
Jim’s account was staggered and raw as he attempted to put his memories and feelings into words (never easy) but as he stuttered -- voice hoarse -- to a stop, he thought that he had managed to encapsulate what had happened.
Jim lifted his head. Blair sat entranced, barely breathing, pen poised over a blank page.
“I’m not repeating that,” Jim said waspishly.
Startled Blair looked down at his blank journal, “Shit.” Curled over the journal, he frantically scratched the pen across the paper in Sandburgian shorthand, lips moving silently as he strove to recall Jim’s words.
Jim stood, stretching until his vertebrae cracked one by one. He took a leonine step to the side and slouched into his armchair with a thud.
The scratching sound was a familiar and homely backdrop as Jim stared blindly at the blank television set watching Blair’s reflection moving as he wrote. Blair muttered under his breath: unbelievable; fantastic; typical (with a soupçon on ire); sentinels (with equal parts frustration and satisfaction). Blair paused staring into nothing, the planes of his face sharp with forgotten pain and the early evening shadows. He seemed to be lost in time, his own version of a zone as Jim watched. The professor’s grandfather clock chimed; an hour had passed since Jim had made Blair’s sandwich. Didn’t time fly when you were having fun.
Blair caught his eyes in the reflection of the television. The rapidly setting sun casting darker shadows, soon Blair would be straining to see. Jim leaned over and clicked on the light under a garish, peach tasselled lampshade.
Blair blinked, the moment broken. And then he began, “Jim--” and stopped, thought and tried again and failed.
It was kind of unprecedented: speechless Sandburg.
“I guess,” Jim said a little meanly, “you’re going to have to rethink your thesis, not so much about tribal, Peruvian sentinels is it?”
“Actually, I was thinking I’ve got enough material for my post-doc now.” Blair grinned toothily, but sobered. “The ramifications are endless, but I can’t help but think how much knowledge and oral tradition we have lost. There’s so much more that we have to find out.”
“Yeah,” Jim said glumly, realising that Blair was never going to let this go, “Lucius never got round to lesson two. “
“The whole point is --” Blair gestured at Jim and then at his own chest, “--that’s for us to figure out.”
“But you just pointed out that the oral tradition has been lost.’
Blair smiled sublimely. “We’ve just got to make new traditions. You do realise what we have to do?”
Jim pondered. “Er, no.”
“We’ve got to steal the plaque.”
“Uh…Sandburg. No.”
“Okay, okay, at the very least you’ve got to go back there and chip a chunk off the corner. We need it, man.”
“I am not defacing my ancestor’s tombstone. “ Jim bristled.
“It’s a grave marker,” Blair corrected.
“Whatever. It’s not happening. And I don’t think Lucius would want that.” Jim reached and snagged Blair’s sandwich. “We’re leaving in a few days. You got more than enough information than you could imagine – just work with that.”
Blair flopped back on the sofa, hand over his eyes. “You’re killing me, man. But yeah, you’re right.”
Jim munched on his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. If he guessed correctly, and he usually guessed correctly, there were a whole host of new and annoying tests on the horizon but at least he’d be at home and not in this ghost infested country.
End of Part Ten
Epilogue
