The Wizard's Journal: Blood Moon - Book 1 Read online

  Chapter 3

  When we arrived back at Manco’s house, Manco swept his hands across the dinning table sending napkins and flowers to the floor. He then spread all nine scrolls on the table for us to study, not noticing that Wanita was looking at him as if he was crazy.

  “Manco, what are you doing? Please stop, don’t wreak our home,” she pleaded.

  Manco grabbed Wanita’s arms and began singing and dancing in circles with her. She was shocked by her husband’s behavior and clearly frightened.

  “We are going to be rich and famous dear wife. Isn’t that so Willington?”

  Wanita pushed Manco aside and took their children outside. She said something in Spanish, and by the tone, I was pretty sure it wasn’t polite.

  Manco stopped laughing. “Huh … I guess she thinks I lost my mind.”

  “You think?” I asked and began organizing the scrolls in various patterns, moving them back and forth as three rows of three so all nine scrolls were placed into one large square.

  “What are you doing?” Manco asked.

  “I’m not sure yet. It looks like these scroll are a piece of a large single scroll. Look here, see how all the outside edges of each scroll have the same Mayan symbols. Each symbol represents a classical element: this is water, this is fire, this swirling one is wind, and this one here is Earth.”

  “Yes, I see what you mean,” Manco said, then pointed to the middle page. “What does this one mean?”

  “It looks like some sort of astrological pattern connected to our solar system. Most interesting is that the outer pages are written in Mayan and some other language I’ve never seen. The center page is mostly in Hebrew along with what looks like our sun and planets in alignment. I’m far from being sure, but I think these might be the missing pages from King Solomon’s Key.”

  “What connection could there possibly be between the Hebrews and Mayans and these ancient scrolls?” Manco asked.

  “There shouldn’t be any connection. It makes no sense. Each civilization was separated by thousands of years and great geographical distances. Whatever this is, it appears to have somehow crossed over in historical record keeping. Manco, someone hid these scrolls at the Gate of the gods to protect them, but for what purpose?”

  “Someone you say … who?

  “I don’t know, but whoever it was, they didn’t want just anyone to find them.”

  I began translating the writing and symbols on the eight outer scrolls. They which described an ancient race of visitors who came to Earth at the last Galactic Alignment 25,000 years ago.

  “The scrolls say these visitors traveled in great fire spitting birds as bright as our sun. Giants come forth from the birds possessing godlike powers. The Mayans called one of them Itzam-Yeh, meaning the Celestial Bird, and they made him their god. Itzam-Yeh in return made the Mayans his slaves to gather sacred elements from the Earth. Strange beasts were set upon the Mayans to make them work day and night mining precious elements. Some of the visitors also took Mayan women as mates and produced offspring.”

  “Go on Willington, what else do the scrolls say?”

  “Evidently there was a big battle when benevolent beings came to Earth and fought the visitors. Many Mayans died and their cities were destroyed during the battle. Eventually, the visitors were driven from Earth by the benevolent beings that became friends and protectors of the Mayans, and lived with them in peace for many years.”

  “Folklore,” Manco said. “There is no historical records or evidence that the Mayans were visited by aliens, at least nothing credible. What am I saying? There is no evidence of aliens.”

  “Perhaps, but look here Manco. The inside edges on the eight outer scrolls tells a different story. It says Itzam-Yeh would leave and return according to the position of a large and small sun. The large sun indicates when he would return and the small sun when he went away. And look here … do you see the planets in this first circle with a sun in the center?”

  “I see eight and this little dot at the outer edge,” Manco replied.

  “Just like our solar system, right? Now look at this second ring. It’s elliptical, like an egg, with a sun on the narrow tip of the elliptical ring. There is a group of objects like planets clustered together on the far side of the ring.”

  Manco scratched his head. “This makes no sense Willington. Every school child knows there are only eight planets in our solar system, excluding Pluto”

  “Yes, but this cluster of planets is not in the same rotation pattern as our planets. Look at the scale of the rings. Our system is separated from the rotation of the outer ring for most of the time. The outer and inner rings intersect here for what appears to be a shorter period of time.”

  “What does it mean?

  “I believe it means our sun appears small when the objects are outside our solar system rotation, and looks bigger when inside our rotation. If my translation is accurate, and the scrolls are not folklore as you believe, it would suggest that we have neighbors.”

  “Neighbors? What kind of neighbors?”

  “According to what is written on these scrolls, the kind of neighbors nobody wants. Look here … this word Tanniyn means dragon or monster in Hebrew and is repeated on the scroll here and also here.”

  Manco pointed to other symbols. “I believe these represent time,” he said. “If so, the first symbol here at the far edge of our solar system means one. The marking at the top means thousand, which would suggest the first ring represents 1,000 years and increments by a factor of five. This means the second ring is 5,000 and the third is 25,000. According to this map, the outer and inner rings intersect every 25,000 years.”

  Manco eyes widened. “Willington, this timeframe of solar rotations corresponds to the Mayan calendar and their prophecy.”

  “I think you’re right. The Mayans may be telling us that this other group of planets intersects our solar system every 25,000 years. The Mayan calendar completed its last cycle on December 21, 2012. Finding the scrolls now can’t be a coincidence.”

  “But Willington, that date has come and gone and nothing happened. I remember all the crazies hiding in the mountains thinking the world was coming to an end. When they returned to their villages, thieves had stolen their possessions. I kept my shotgun loaded the entire week and barricaded my house.”

  “The Mayan calendar represents a beginning and end, not necessarily Armageddon,” I said. “It is like an hour glass filled with sand. When one side of the glass is empty, you turn it over and begin again. The Mayans thought of each cycle as a new beginning.”

  “A beginning to what?”

  “That’s what we need to find out,” I said while putting the scrolls back into the metal tubes. “I need to return to Harvard and review everything with Professor Benjamin Clarke. He’s an astrophysicist and can verify our calculations and theory.”

  “Why wait Willington? You can use my computer now to contact Professor Clarke.”

  I hesitated. “No, we can’t use computers or cell phones, not here. This is too important to risk using unsecure lines, and we don’t want to start rumors or a panic.”

  “Yes, of course. I also don’t want to load my shotgun again worrying about more crazies.”

  It was a long day and the adrenalin from all the excitement had worn off making us tired, so I decided to wait until morning to schedule a flight back to the States. Meanwhile, Manco went outside to comfort Wanita and urge her to come back inside. She was still upset and he needed to convince her that his sanity has not escaped him. Juan was not very concerned and peeked through the window to observe his parents.

  Manco and Wanita needed time alone, so I decided to go to bed now and get a good night sleep. It seemed like only a few minutes passed when Manco woke me up to travel to the airport.

  “Do you always get up so early?”

  “Yes, of course … don’t you? One should not waste the day Willington.”

  “The sun is not even up Manco. How can anyone waste the
day before it begins?”

  “Nonsense,” he said, then looked over his shoulder to see if anyone else was up. “I think we shall skip breakfast this morning Willington. Better not to wake Wanita and the children.”

  That’s guy talk for Manco being in big trouble with his wife.

  I got dressed as quickly as possibly, trying not to wake anyone, then jumped into the Jeep. Manco wasn’t the only one who wanted to avoid another family episode.

  The ride to Rodríguez Ballón International Airport in Arequipa was an annoying and typical, bumpy ride. The scenery, however, was spectacular making the 172 kilometer trip somewhat bearable. Manco figured since he was going to be in Arequipa, he might as well visit his brother and sister-in-law in the city, so he was in a very good mood.

  Along the way, I purchased a one-way air fare using my cell phone because my current return ticket had a later departure date and couldn’t be used. The airline was kind enough to issue me a full credit toward the new ticket because it wasn’t a direct flight. There was, however, an overnight layover in Las Vegas, so I also booked a hotel on the strip. I’ve never been in Las Vegas and thought this was a good opportunity to check the city out and relax before restarting my busy life in Boston.

  “Willington, you will keep me well informed of what you learn back in the States, won’t you? If something is going to happen, I would like to know about it.”

  “You’re a dear friend and colleague Manco, and you were with me at the Gates of the gods. Not only will I keep you informed, but your name will appear on any publication should any of this ever make press.”

  Manco made a big smile and began singing loudly in his deep voice. He sung in Spanish and every few minutes broke into English. I tried to join in on the English verses the best I could, but my timing was off and the sounds I made could hardly be called singing.

  We arrived at the airport and Manco walked with me into the building near the security gate. He grabbed both of my shoulders, squeezed them so tight I thought they would dislocate, and then embraced me.

  “Stay safe old friend,” he said.

  When Manco stepped back, I saw tears building up in his eyes. This was a man I could always count on no matter what. He was more than a friend. He was a brother to me.

  I smiled. “You stay safe too Manco. Take care of your beautiful family.”

  “Yes, of course I will Willington.”

  Manco turned and began singing another local song again as he walked away. He sang loud enough to cause people to turn, and a few tried to join in on a few notes as he passed by. I was already beginning to miss him.

  After getting my ticket at the airport KIOSK machine, I stood in the security line and waited my turn to be scanned. I understood the artifact in my backpack might cause concern, so I prepared myself to explain what it was. Sure enough, when my bag went through the scanner, a red light lit up and a buzzer sounded. Two security guards asked me to step aside while they looked inside my backpack. I did as they instructed, smiling of course to not increase their concern, and watched a guard take the artifact out. This will be interesting. The guard examined the artifact with a confused expression.

  “What is this Señor?” the guard asked.

  “Oh, that … it’s a souvenir I purchased from an artist friend of mine in Puno.”

  The security guard called a couple of his buddies over to take a look and they all began conversing among themselves in Spanish. Even though I don’t speak Spanish well, I could tell by their body language that they were not only confused, but also didn’t know what to do with a 12 inch transparent rod being brought aboard an airplane.

  One of the guards ran a metal detector wand over it a couple of times. After a few minutes, and more discussion in Spanish, the guard returned the artifact to my bag. He thanked me for visiting his country, apologized for the delay, and waved me through the gate to board my flight.

  It wasn’t long before the plane was airborne. I decided to take a long nap, hopefully all the way to Las Vegas. I must have been really tired, because when I opened my eyes, I was looking at the Vegas tarmac – that was a very long nap.

  My legs felt like rubber from sitting so long. I wasn’t sure if I could stand without falling into another passenger, but did okay, thus managing to keep my dignity. The stewards said their typical, “Bye bye, enjoy your stay,” and I was off to catch a cab.

  When I stepped outside of the airport, there were five cabs lined up waiting for business. Unfortunately for me, I happened to get a cab with its air-conditioning not working – not a lucky sign for being in Vegas. It was a hot night with enough humidity to soak an Olympic sized pool. All I could think of was air conditioning and an ice cold beer.

  The cabby pulled up to the hotel entrance and said, “Stay cool if you can man.”

  I smiled, barely, and quickly paid the cabby so I could get out of the sauna posing as a cab. When I walked into the hotel lobby, a sudden change in air temperature stopped me in my tracks. I closed my eyes taking in deep breaths of the welcomed air conditioning when a hotel worker asked if I was alright.

  “I am now,” I said and opened my eyes, then walked to the front desk where a middle-aged women greeted me.

  “Good evening sir, do you have a reservation?

  “Yes, I do. It’s under the name Jonathan Willington.”

  The clerk typed my name into a computer as I thanked the stars above for whoever discovered air conditioning.

  “Room 1301 Mr. Willington, but maintenance is currently repairing your room air conditioner. We weren’t expecting you for several hours sir.”

  Say it isn’t so. I felt a panic attack coming on.

  “It’s being repaired?” I asked in disbelief. “And it’s going to take a couple of hours? Are there any other rooms available?”

  “No sir,” she replied. “Please accept our apologies and free admission to the show beginning in the main theater at 8:00. It begins 45-minutes from now.”

  The desk clerk looked at the ticket and moved her eyebrows up, then smiled and handed it to me.

  “Wow, a front row center seat sir. How unusual given the show is also fully booked,” she said, then handed me what looked like a poker chip.

  “Please also accept this token for food and refreshments at the bar. It’s complimentary, no charge of course.”

  Not bad. I get a dinner and show, all for a little bit of sweat – actually, a lot of sweat.

  I accepted the hotel’s consolation gifts and went to the hotel bar. A cold beer sounded like what any good doctor would order for a man who lost five pound in sweat. After I had a beer and a steak sandwich, I felt almost human again. I thanked the bartender and gave him my token, then headed out to find the theater. People were pouring in to a large open area having their tickets punched – that was easy to find.

  I fell in line with the human tide and entered an impressively sized theater able to hold 3,000 people easily. I showed my ticket to one of the doormen who looked at the seat location.

  “VIP,” the doorman said and motioned to a young lady who would show me to my seat.

  “Right this way sir,” she said, then led me to a front row center seat. “Enjoy the show sir.”

  I thanked her and sat in my seat while extending my feet outward like I owned the place. I kept feeling the side of my backpack every few minutes to be sure the artifact was still there. It’s not every day someone carries an ancient artifact and scrolls around in a backpack, especially in a city where a few drinks and a poker table could easily gamble it away.

  The show began in a typical fashion, albeit my first, but I do occasionally watch television and understood the basics. Lots of girls were dancing in skimpy costumes, feathered hats, sequins glittering, and music filled the theater with sound only a live orchestra could produce.

  The first half of the performance lasted about 30 minutes. Once the dancing girls exited, a tall lanky man came out from a side curtain. He asked if everyone was enjoying the show and receive
d enthusiastic clapping and several whistles from the audience.

  “Well then, if you enjoyed the show thus far, you will love what is in store for you during intermission,” the man said. “It is my pleasure to present to you, in his first ever performance, a man who defies the natural order of our world. Indeed, you won’t believe your eyes. Please welcome Jules the Elementalist.”

  People began to clap as a man walked out to the center of the stage and stopped directly in front of me. The performer was average height with white hair tied into a ponytail that fell nearly a foot below the collar of his dark colored suit. He looked out at the audience with no expression whatsoever, which surprised me being because he was a performer. You’d think a little smile would be a standard procedure in Vegas shows, but Jules the Elementalist was absolutely stone faced.

  “Welcome,” the performer said, then raised his hands above his head.

  Long sheets of colored silk shot out of the entertainer’s jacket sleeves and floated above his head. A moment later, a gust of wind appeared from nowhere carrying the sheets over the audience, circling and dipping in every direction. There must have been 100 sheets whipping around making a fluttering sound that were not more than 20 feet above us. As fast as it started, the sheets returned to the performer and disappeared back inside his sleeves.

  Cool trick. I wonder how he concealed so many sheets in such a tight suit jacket.

  The audience erupted into a loud applause while the performer folded his hands and placed them in front at waist height.

  “You believe this was magic,” he said. “As you understand such things, perhaps. What you actually experienced was a manipulation of energy that exists in everything surrounding us. The natural or classical elements as you might say.”

  Ah, thus the name Jules the Elementalist. Is elementalist even a real word?

  “Another illustration,” he said, then looked at a young girl about ten years old sitting two seats to my left. “Child, I know what you dream of when sleeping. You have drawn many pictures of what you wish to be true and pretend your dreams are real.”

  This is when I first noticed the performer’s brilliant blue eye color, which pierced the air with intensity without blinking. The young girl smiled while looking at her mother and then back at the performer.

  “So be it,” the performer said, maintaining his stone face gaze, then stepping back several feet.

  Jules the Elementalist raised his right hand at shoulder height, muttered something too soft to hear, and a bright green sheet of silk flew out his sleeve. It was a very large sheet and it circled him several times before moving to his right whirling in long circular motions. The bottom of the sheet dragged across the stage and the top rose up twenty feet. I once again wondered how he hid this in his jacket. All of a sudden, the sheet shot up into the air out of sight revealing a white horse with a spiral horn coming out of his head. It was a unicorn, or a horse with a Styrofoam horn glued to his head. The horse bobbed its head up and down snorting breathes while pawing the stage with one hoof.

  The audience gasped and the little girl’s smile turned into a look of amazement with her mouth wide open. Jules looked at the young girl and said, “See child, what you dream of is indeed real.”

  The girl began laughing and applauding as did the audience. In a flash, the green sheet descended from above and danced around the unicorn, horse, or whatever. After several fast circles around the animal, the sheet vanished up the performer’s sleeve from where it came and the horse was gone.

  Now that’s an Impressive trick.

  “How many of you truly understand nature’s wonders or remember what you know deep inside is true?” Jules asked, then looked directly at me, his eyes even more piercing than before.

  “What do you believe sir?” he asked me. “Do you remember what you have always known to be true?”

  Okay, Jules is a weirdo. I tried not to blink in a vain attempt to stare him down. It didn’t work. I blinked.

  Jules moved his gaze back to the audience and said nothing while a sheet, this time red in color, shot out from somewhere behind him and began circling him. After a few moments, the sheet shot up into the air and disappeared, as did Jules. The audience again gasped in surprise, then fell into silence. A few hands began to clap and the entire audience joined in while dancers flowed back onto the stage with music playing.

  I bet there is a trap door on the stage, but if there was, I can’t see it. How in the world did he do that?

  Too bad the magic act was so short. I would have enjoyed watching Jules show us more tricks despite him creeping me out with his stare.

  It was getting late, so I decided not stay for the remainder of the show. I needed a good night sleep since my flight to New York would be boarding at 7:30 AM, which meant an early wakeup call. After the front desk confirmed that my room was ready, I headed up the elevator and was please to easily find my room. A sign posted on the hallway wall showed me that my room was to the left, and as one might hope after a long day, just a couple of doors down the corridor.

  Hotels all use electronic card locks now on their room doors. I never trusted these things and thought some wiz-kid with a tablet and Mission Impossible code breaker might find a way in. To make my paranoia even more acute, I reminded myself that I was carrying an ancient artifact pre-dating the history of modern man, and to combat the unseen enemy – teenage wiz-kids – I decided to keep the artifact in arm reach at all times.

  As hotel rooms go, my room was exceptionally nice and clean. It had a large king sized bed with a fresh pillow and new bed covers. Equally satisfying was seeing clean white towels neatly folded to welcome guests and a wall caddy filled with dispensable soap and shampoo. The very thought of taking a long hot shower and having a clean bed to pass out on was almost too much to good to be true.