*Title: Chipote
*Author/pseudonym: Dubricus
*Email address: dubricus@hotmail.com
*Website: Merlynn's Maze - Journals include maps & sketches.
*Rating: PG-13; violence, death of a parent
*Angst Rating: high
*Focus: 15-year-old Derek Rayne
*Status: Complete; first posted April 1999.
*Episode spoilers: the pilot, aka "the Fifth Sepulchre"
*Summary: The events surrounding the death of Winston Rayne in Peru in 1969 & the survival of his young son, Derek Rayne, as reported in their journals.
*Disclaimer: This story is an original work of amateur fiction, and is written purely for the private entertainment of P:TL fans. This story is no way affiliated with the Trilogy Entertainment Group, MGM Worldwide Television or The Sci-Fi Channel. No monetary gain is intended.
JOURNAL OF DEREK RAYNE
Monday, 31 March 1969 - 6 a.m. Mexico City time
A layover while we wait to catch our flight to Lima has presented the opportunity to jot down a few notes. There hasn't been a free moment during the past couple of days. The flight from San Francisco was bumpy and, though I tried to sleep, I got a bit airsick, so I'm foregoing breakfast. Nothing seems to bother Father - not even too much tequila on an empty stomach at four in the morning. He's in a rather glum mood, but I don't know why. He just sits writing in his notebook and studying his maps. When I try to see, he closes them. Sometimes I feel like piece of luggage for which he had to buy a seat. He used to be fun.
~~~~~
I flew into San Francisco late Saturday night - had taken the train from Geneva late Friday afternoon. I spent the night and a bit of Saturday morning at home with Mother, then flew from Amsterdam to San Francisco with a change of not just planes in New York, but of airports - JFK to LaGuardia. It was a mad dash. Although I've seen quite a lot of the world, it was the first time I've had to do such a thing on my own. The stories one hears about New York City cabbies are quite accurate. He was not at all pleased with his tip. I did not have the time to exchange my money and so had only the dollars I'd brought with me. He spun his wheels in the gutter. I wasn't fast enough and he got me good.
I had Sunday on the island. It was wonderful to simply wander the hills and coast with Prof. Washburn and listen to his stories. He makes history and legend so vivid. When I graduate, I'm going to apply to Berkeley and Stanford so that I can live on the island and perhaps be his research assistant, if he'll have me.
I managed to have a decent supper (alone, of course) and take a bit of a nap before catching our 10 p.m. flight.
~~~~~
4 p.m. - aboard Flight 202
We are somewhere between Lima and Cuzco and should be landing in about 30 min. We barely made the connection. Thank God we did! Father would have been furious had we missed it (not that he's been in an agreeable mood anyway). It's been bumpy all the way. At least, my stomach seems to be getting used to it. This is a local airline with flights twice a week to Cuzco. About all I can say for it is that at least they don't allow chickens in the passenger compartment, though one woman did try to purchase a ticket for her pig. The man across the aisle is carrying something in a bag that smells like it's been dead for a week - of course, it may be he.
LEGACY JOURNAL OF WINSTON RAYNE
Mon. March 31, 1969 - Cuzco, Peru - Hotel del Sol - 9 PM
Derek & I arrived via a local airline late this afternoon. A very tiring day - left SF late last night on flight to Mexico City with a stop in LA. Then, we had a 3 hr. layover & change of planes in Mex. DF for the flight to Lima. Didn't even bother to check in with the Lima House - such a rush to catch the bi-weekly flight here. Immediately hired a car (a good, old Land Rover) & purchased equipment & supplies for the trip to Urubamba, which will be our base of operations for our rambles to the various Incan sites.
I'm particularly anxious to visit a site recently discovered between the Q'ente Ruin & the railway tunnel. Official reports assert that the site has for the most part yielded artifacts of the Late Formative Period of the Classic Nasca style - unusual for that far inland. However, rumor has it that there have been items uncovered that present a paradox in that they seem to include designs that bear some resemblance to writing, which was, of course, unknown to pre-Columbian South America. Rumor also has it that the "designs" resemble Kabbalistic "angelic" script.
We'll take in the sights here in Cuzco tomorrow, while we rest up & purchase a few additional items available only on the black market. With the evenings still moderately long, & the road said to be decent, we should be in fine shape if we leave by early afternoon.
* * *
Though exhausted, Derek seemed to have had good time this evening. For some reason he found it amusing to eat at a "Chifas," a local Chinese restaurant. The dinner of noodles & chopped chicken was hot & therefore safe & more than passable. It also struck him as funny that Chinese noodles should have a Spanish name - "taillarines." I sometimes forget how young he is & when I suddenly realize, it surprises me. It's then that I discover how little we really know about each other. While eating I quizzed him on his languages - his French & German are more than adequate, his Spanish somewhat less. His Latin, for some reason, is abominable - he cannot seem to get his mind around the way the language works. Last session's grades were abysmal. It's such a logical language. It's odd, but he seems to do much better with Hebrew, despite the entirely different alphabet & construction. Unfathomable!
Derek's a basically bright boy with boundless curiosity, but he lacks focus - a very dangerous flaw in the world of the Legacy, which I hope will be his world. His mind flits in all directions at once. He needs to concentrate on one thing at a time until he masters it: a jack-of-all-trades will always be a master-of-none. This lack of focus is made doubly dangerous by the gift of his "Sight," which is the strongest I've ever seen - far beyond my own small talent. He must learn self-control & discipline or he'll never be able to deal with it. C warned me on the night of his birth that he would need special handling, since he'll have a special mission in life. I wish I felt that he was stronger - he cares so much that I fear it could be his weakness. There's so much passion there just below the surface. He needs to divorce himself from these emotional distractions.
Perhaps, I was wrong in allowing Barbara to select a Swiss school, when a place like Gordonstoun in Scotland, where this young batch of royals are being sent, would have been better. I understand that they promote stoicism & discipline - a sound mind in a sound body, accustomed to no luxuries. But, then again, maybe a military school would have been best. That might have tamed his flightiness & instilled some backbone. I fear it's too late now. All I can do to make amends is be a harsh taskmaster. The Legacy's not an easy life. I must either weed him out now (for his own safety), or, I hope, watch him rise to the occasion. Considering the warning, I should have paid attention years ago, but the battle against evil called. There is nothing of greater importance than that - if we lose that battle, then all is lost.
After this jaunt, I'll take him back to Lima & put him on the flight to Amsterdam via Madrid. Then, I'll return to further study the burial site & pursue some vague leads on the sepulcher.
JOURNAL OF DEREK RAYNE
10 p.m. - Cuzco - Hotel del Sol
I can barely keep my eyes open even though I tried to sleep as much as possible on the planes. It has been a long thirty hrs. I am so tired from the trip I can scarcely think, but I want to make my notes now while the impressions are clear - almost clear.
Having arrived at the hotel, nothing would do but that we must immediately go in search of transportation and supplies. I do not know how Father does it. He never stops. All I could think of was a shower and a nap.
Later, we ate at a small Chinese restaurant near the cathedral. I don't know why, but I was surprised to see the neon sign reading Palacio de Szechwan. I guess it would not have startled me in Lima or Mexico City, but somehow here, in the ancient Incan capital, it just seemed odd. They served a wonton soup and some sort of spicy chicken and noodle dish that was every bit as good as the restaurants in SF's Chinatown.
Father seems to have an obsession with languages. He wouldn't even let me eat in peace. It started on the flight from Mexico City to Lima. I asked the stewardess in Spanish for an additional pillow and apparently said it in the wrong tense. From then on, every time he knew I was awake he was drilling me in a dozen different languages. I don't know how he keeps them all straight. Once, half out of exhaustion, half out of cussedness, I answered him in a combination of German, French, and Latin. One would have thought that I had committed a mortal sin. By that time I was so tired and confused it's a wonder I didn't answer him in Esperanto. I made the mistake of using the word "groovy" - don't think I'll do that again in his presence.
Tomorrow, we are going to the mercado to make some additional purchases of the illegal sort - a gun and ammunition, I suspect. Dad said we could go see the Coricancha, the Golden Courtyard, before we head out for Urubamba. He said that before the Conquest it was all covered in gold sheeting, but now all that remains is the amazing stonework. I want to see those immense boulders that are so tightly fitted you cannot get a knife's blade between them. How did they do it without even the wheel? Could von Daniken's "Chariots of the Gods" be right?
After we return, he promised to really show me the city, and Lima too. I just hope he quits with the language tests. Perhaps I'll go on strike and speak only Dutch with him. I don't think I'd like the consequences.
LEGACY JOURNAL OF WINSTON RAYNE
Tues, April 1st - 12:30 AM
Have received word that the sepulcher has been found! (Hope it's not somebody's idea of an April Fool's joke.) I pray that it's the one I suspect. It surely must be, since the key I possess came from this area.
I know that I'll get no sleep tonight, so I'll set down my tale now - for the 1st time in a Legacy Journal. I know that I'll doubtless be reprimanded by London for having carried on my own private investigations concerning the sepulchers. On more than one occasion I've found the interference of the past RP to be galling & unnecessarily intrusive.
Many believe the existence of the sepulchers, said to imprison the fallen Watchers, is purely mythological. However, after the war, I was engaged in research on the occult interests of certain high ranking Nazi officials. Amongst others was SS Gruppenführer Manfred Todt, in whose collection I found a large quantity of texts & scrolls relating to Kabbala, "angelic" script, & references to the sepulchers. Over the next couple of years I sporadically continued the research, treating it as a relaxing hobby between Legacy cases & foundation work. However, in early 1953 an earthquake struck NW Turkey & my research became a search in earnest.
The quake severely damaged the chapel of a small Greek Orthodox monastery on the Aegean island of Samothraki. Whilst performing repairs the monks found an ancient library concealed in the crypt. It had been sealed off over three centuries ago & long since forgotten. A friend studying at the Univ. in Athens knew of my interest in Kabbala & told me that this trove contained many previously unknown Kabbalistic texts. I flew over & the Brothers, not realizing the significance of their discovery, kindly let me peruse at my leisure. It was a very pleasant, very fruitful two weeks. Within one volume I found a large folded lambskin parchment that contained a detailed drawing of a sepulcher & its key, as well as the invocations, conjurations, & incantations needed to call forth the arch-demon & to subdue him to the will of man. What was most curious about this parchment was the diversity of the languages used. Portions were written in Greek, Latin, Gaelic (& it turned out to be Manx Gaelic), & something that seemed to contain a few Catalan words but was otherwise unrecognizable. I later determined it to be Quechua, the language of the Incas, phonetically written in Catalan. I now was certain that at least one of the sepulchers had once existed, perhaps in the New World.
About ten years later, while visiting the Prado on foundation business, I happened to read the obituary of a Señor Ortiz of Barcelona. In it there was mention that an ancestor had been with Pizarro in Peru & that the family still possessed a relic of the expedition - an oddly shaped key that had survived the family's financial ups & downs because it seemingly possessed no value. In my mind, as I read, I saw the key. I raced to Barcelona & purchased it for an amount that would keep Señora Ortiz & her family in comfort for the next 50 yrs.
After that, as often as I could, I traveled to Peru to try to discover the origins of the key. To no avail. But, 3 yrs. ago by pure serendipity I came across the name of Ortiz in a book at the Library of Congress. It was a paymaster's roll for a Spanish expedition over the Andes into the westernmost reaches of the Amazon. They were, of course, seeking El Dorado. Thereafter, I concentrated my search, perhaps with more intuition than logic, on the eastern slopes of the Andes from southern Ecuador to northern Chile.
* * *
At the same time, I spread word through the native grapevines that I was offering a hefty reward for information concerning any unusual receptacles found in the region. I let it be known that the box was very bad, "white man's" magic & should be handled only by a powerful "shaman," such as myself. It sounds lame, but, fortunately, they trust me. I've never deceived them & have always paid my guides well above the going rate. It's the only way to build one's reputation in areas that rely only upon word-of-mouth. There have been a few very odd red-herrings, but I think this time it's for real.
Apparently, native miners found it at a gold mine near the village of Chipote, which was abandoned several years ago when the mine played out. The local tribesmen, probably of Incan stock, but perhaps affiliated with the Mascho, evidently still visit the mine occasionally to glean what little ore remains in the tailings. One of the children went off exploring & made the find of an elongated, hexagonal casket of about 1x3ft. Lord, if the legend is true that the ancient Druids scattered the sepulchers (The use of Gaelic would seem to support this.) & this discovery is, indeed, a sepulcher, how did the Druids get it here? Was the voyage of St. Brendan but one of many the Celtic peoples may have made across the seas? They were after all a vastly expansive people. I believe much more remains to be discovered about the earliest origins & travels of the race. Maybe, this will be a major step forward even in the field of anthropology & the study of the earliest civilizations.
* * *
Tomorrow we'll take the road to Puerto Maldonado, but shall turn off at about the 1/2way point to take a mining road NE toward the basin of the Rio Madre de Dios. I understand that it's about 75 km from the junction, as the crow flies. Though supposedly still in good condition when the mine closed, the road itself is probably now little more than a trail &, with its twists & curves, is said to be about 180 km. I suspect it must be somewhere NW of Manú. I'd hire a helicopter, but none are available.
I suspect Derek's going to be quite upset at the change in plans. I only hope he doesn't descend into one of his piquish moods & make life miserable for us both. I'd promised to show him the city, the Inca trail, the Urubamba Valley, & Machu Picchu, but that will have to wait. I can risk no delay. The thing is far too dangerous & too valuable. I cannot let my colleagues down by allowing the thing to slip through my fingers simply because I have my son with me.
My God! The discovery of the sepulcher could be equal to the discovery of the Rosetta Stone, the Dead Sea Scrolls, & the Holy Grail combined. It could change our whole view of God, heaven & hell. Perhaps, it will change our whole concept of evil & how to fight it. Now we might actually win.
~~~~~~~
Tuesday - 6 AM - Mercado Central
We leave as soon as we complete our breakfast & I make my "covert" purchases. My son is the most irritating, obstinate individual I've ever met - pure cussed pigheadedness. I suppose it runs in the family - he takes after his mother's side. He's already harping about his ruined holiday & how I always do this to him. What difference does it make whether we visit Machu Picchu or Chipote? We'll be together & he'll be gaining experience. This is a sepulcher that could contain the ultimate secrets of the universe. Machu Picchu will still be there a thousand years from now.
I don't know what Derek wants from me - I've seen that he, Ingrid, & Barbara have wanted for nothing; I take him with me to spend time with him & show him the world; I try to teach him about life & help him with his schooling, but it never seems to be enough. He's lucky - I never really knew my father. He died when I was four.
JOURNAL OF DEREK RAYNE
Dinsdag, 1 Apr. - 6 a.m. - Cuzco
April Fool's on me. I'm so furious I can't even write what's happened at the moment. Dad's tossed all our plans into the rubbish heap. How dare he! He always does this to me. I should be used to it by now. I should leave - then perhaps he wouldn't go. Who am I kidding? He'd go and leave me to fend for myself. He'd be going without backup. I can't let him do that - not with this. Though I've "seen" nothing, I have very bad vibes about this. More later, when I can think clearly.
LEGACY JOURNAL OF WINSTON RAYNE
Noon - on rd. to Quince Mil
I bought a good old reliable US Army service revolver at a very reasonable price - along with several boxes of ammo & a few sticks of dynamite with caps, just in case we need to clear the road or run into trouble at the mine.
The car has overheated on a long, steep climb. We made it to the top, but must wait for it to cool - another climb lies ahead. So, here I sit, while Derek's wandered off to take in the sights. I think he's so angry he's about to burst. He needs to learn that life can take surprising turns - both pleasant & unpleasant. One can never allow oneself to become set in one's ways or thrown off balance when plans go awry, for they always do.
I now regret having brought him. In truth, I'd not expected this. (Thank God I carry the sepulcher's key with me always.) He needs field experience, but not of this variety - it's too dangerous & momentous. I hesitated to put him on a plane to Lima to then have to book a flight back to the States or to Amsterdam. He's never had to actually deal with travel arrangements himself, and having to do it primarily in Spanish might have been too much for him. Ordinarily, I'd have trusted the Lima House to handle the details, but in light of this discovery I'm reluctant to trust anyone. I couldn't leave him in Cuzco, nor did I have the time to drive him back to Lima to put him on a plane myself. Nothing must hinder this mission.
JOURNAL OF DEREK RAYNE
2 April - Quince Mil - Wednesday night
Still I am barely containing my anger. We fought all day. He won't listen to reason. It's like he's insane. All I wanted was to spend some time with him. Now he's turned my holiday into an expedition to hell. Why is his duty to the Legacy and to his damned colleagues always more important than we are? It's why Mother took us back to Amsterdam. She said she couldn't bear the loneliness anymore. She couldn't bear the waiting and not knowing whether he would ever return.
He kept shoving these parchments in my face and wanting me to translate them as I read. The road was so rough I couldn't have even focused on Mother Goose in giant print.
I am finally calm enough to write of the incidents of yesterday. Very late Mon. night I heard a knock on the door, but I was so far asleep that I rolled over and pulled the covers over my head. Father awakened me at five. After that I could never move fast enough for him. I don't think he had slept at all. We grabbed breakfast at a stall in the central market - boiled something. That was when I wrote my last entry, while he was in search of a pistol and ammunition. He also bought about ten sticks of dynamite and blasting caps.
By 6:30, we were on the road to Puerto Maldonado, a town on the Madre de Dios river near the Bolivian border. About noon we hit rain. It has rained ever since. The road was bad enough before, but with the deluge it became patches of asphalt interspersed with oceans of mud. We got stuck twice yesterday and three times today. Last night we stopped for a few hrs. along the roadside. There was no way to make a camp, so we slept in the car.
Late this evening we finally made it into a town called Quince Mil and found a room at the New York Hotel. What a joke! I'd rather be sleeping in the car. No facilities and a bed that looks to be infested. I don't even want to spread my sleeping bag on it for fear that the creatures will change their address. The roof leaks so much that the floor resembles a tidal pool - every now and again something swims by.
~~~~~
Still not thinking clearly - to backtrack again: Apparently the knock on the door was a telegram sent from this town by one of the local guides. It said an unusual box had been found at a mine in Chipote, which is somewhere northeast of here. Father believes it is one of the five sepulchres said to imprison fallen angels. The sepulchres have been his obsession for as long as I can remember, but it has been getting worse over the past few years. I've heard it said that he often neglects both his Legacy work and the foundation in pursuit of these artifacts. Prof. Washburn covers for him, but says that no one understands the power of these things. He says that if they exist they are not for mortal beings - their power is seductive and absolute. He told me that he worries because Father will never use the team or even take anyone as backup when he goes on these searches, which often last for weeks. Father says he knows exactly how dangerous they are and does not wish to risk another person. I'm not sure that's the only reason.
How am I ever going to sleep in this place?
LEGACY JOURNAL OF WINSTON RAYNE
4/2 - 10 P.M. - Hotel Nueva York, Quince Mil
The going has been hellish - RAIN - therefore, mud & landslides, but what else can one expect on the eastern slope of the Andes in early April? It will get worse as we descend toward the cloud forest of the montaña.
It took us damn near 2 days to go the 100 odd km from Cuzco to Quince Mil. Thank God there was a hotel - rat & vermin infested hole that it is - at least it has a bed & a roof, which doesn't leak too much. We both had to laugh at the irony of the name - New York Hotel. God knows who thought that one up.
Off again at daybreak. We'll make the turnoff to the mining road about 25 km from here. My son is not a pleasant traveling companion. Such a strange boy - sometimes he's worse than his sister with her rosary beads. Don't know where it comes from - not from me, nor from the Barbara I used to know.
LEGACY JOURNAL OF WINSTON RAYNE
Thursday, Apr. 3 - Camp - 50 km NE of Rd. from Quince Mil to Pto. Maldonado
More mud & rain - the rainy season's last hurrah, I suspect. At times like these one wonders if one will ever be clean & dry again.
Derek became ill this morning - doubtless something at breakfast disagreed. I should have insisted that he eat our own food, rather than trusting the local cafe. I gave him a dose to settle his stomach, then made him stretch out in the back of the Rover. He slept for a couple of hours, after which he seemed back to his contrary self. Thank goodness - don't know what I'd have done if it had been something serious.
The water pump broke this afternoon & cost us almost 3 hrs. It's a good thing that I pack almost as many spare parts & tools as I do food. I fear it will be slow going. The inclines are steep & the trail is mud. I'm afraid I'm going to strip the gears. The clutch has also developed an odd feel. I almost got stuck twice, but so far have been lucky enough to push on through.
With sheer drops above and below, if we were to meet so much as a llama one of us would have to back up. God knows how many miles it would be before the other could get around. Only a few more kilometers until we begin the descent into the much denser vegetation that will mark the real beginnings of the Amazon. The man assured me that the road improves closer to the mine.
Am guessing at the mileage since the odometer doesn't work. Spotted a rocky ledge with an overhang & stopped here. Have been able to make a camp & have a bit of a fire using some rags, papers, & other refuse - enough to warm up a meal.
All day today I tried to pound into Derek's brain the Latin, Greek, Gaelic, & Quechuan incantations needed to vanquish & enthrall the demon of the sepulcher. Hopeless! If he cannot translate it out of the Latin into English or even Dutch, how will he ever be able to use it properly in the language from whence it came? He thinks rote memory will do it - it will not! He must know & understand fully what it, or any incantation, means - in order to believe the words. It's the belief that's all. We cannot win without believing & in order to believe absolutely, to have faith, we must know the whole truth.
* * *
I'm ready to turn him over my knee & may just do it within the next few minutes. It wouldn't be that difficult - he's a runt. I hope he gets a spurt of growth soon - after all, he just turned 15. At his age, I was nearly a ft. taller. He keeps parroting Prof. Washburn at me. George is a fine man & an excellent researcher, but he's an academic, who prefers his ivory towers to true field work. Anything & everything in the field is dangerous, but we must not shirk our responsibilities to discover the truth, to ferret out evil, & to fight the minions of hell whenever & wherever we have the opportunity. We can kill the serpent if we can cut off its head. It's the burden that God placed upon the Legacy.
According to George, I shouldn't be doing this without back-up. I'm afraid my back-up is Derek. I'll just have to make sure he's ready & then pray to God that I don't need him, because he certainly wouldn't be much help. Perhaps, George is right that it should only be opened in the controlled environment of a Legacy laboratory - especially in that I do have Derek with me. Should I risk my son like this? But if I take it back unopened, it will remain unopened. The Ruling Council will judge it to be too dangerous & will lock it away in some secret vault, never to be seen again. To learn we must embrace danger - after all, great scientists, like Louis Pasteur, used themselves as guinea pigs to further man's knowledge. If I do not open it, the questions will never be asked, nor answered - and the battle may be lost. What's the old rhyme? For want of shoe the horse was lost?
We should arrive at the Chipote mine tomorrow evening, barring unforeseen problems, which, of course, there will be. I hope that our guide will still be waiting, since he probably expected us today.
JOURNAL OF DEREK RAYNE
Thursday, 3 April - Somewhere in Peru
Today was mostly silent. He gave me those papers again, which seem to contain some form of incantation in Latin, Gaelic, and Quechua, I think he said. He told me to learn them. I told him that I had, but he said I'd only memorised them. I didn't KNOW them. I don't understand what he expects of me. I try, but it's never enough. I don't think I ever recall hearing a "well done" or "I'm proud of you, son," from him. The best I ever get is "OK... that's adequate." Mostly, all I hear is what he could do when he was my age. I can get my tongue around neither the Gaelic nor the Quechua.
As we bounced and plunged along he insisted that I read the notebook that he has specifically kept for the sepulchres. I'm not sure I even believe in the damned things. I got carsick trying to focus on the damned pages. We had to stop while I lost my breakfast. I was surprised he didn't yell at me for that too. Instead, he made me drink some horrid stuff, then laid the sleeping bags out in the back of the car for me and insisted that I sleep for a while, which I did.
I have no idea where we are. After we left Quince Mil at dawn, though with the clouds so low you couldn't tell it, the road got worse, but we fell into a convoy with some trucks going to Puerto Maldonado. That at least helped when we got stuck.
Around noon we turned off onto this mining trail. Trail? It's a mire cut into a mountainside, but Dad says the guide told him that it will improve as we get closer to Chipote. We finally stopped when Father saw a rocky ledge that would provide dry ground and shelter. I think he finally ran out of steam. I don't even know when he last really slept - perhaps not since San Francisco. Tomorrow we shall descend out of the Andean highlands toward the upper reaches of the Amazon - an area Father said they call the "cloud forest".
He said we needed to be ready for tomorrow - rested and alert. I keep telling him I have really bad feelings about this, but he will not listen. He tells me that I don't know how to control or properly analyse my "Sight". He says that I let my emotions influence it. I think he says that because he doesn't want to listen to what I'm trying to tell him. It's not what he wants to hear. That's all it ever is - what he wants.
I didn't really want to come to Peru. I'd have been happy to have stayed in San Francisco. I love the island and the city. I find Prof. Washburn fascinating. But I came because he said he wanted to show me Machu Picchu. He promised that we could spend time together at one of the newer digs. It was all a lie. I think he knew all along that the discovery of a sepulchre (if that's what it is) might be close. Dragging me here was an excuse. That's why he didn't notify the Lima House that we were in the country. No one knows where we are. He wants it all to himself. It frightens me. Sight unseen it seems to have a hold over him. God, if it has this power over him now. What will happen when he actually touches it?
I finally finished reading through his Legacy Journal and his notebook. I don't understand much. The notebook mostly contains Kabbala - very confusing with its numerical codes and strange alphabets - all about the hierarchy of angels, the sons of God, the faces of Satan, demons, arch-demons, and fallen angels. He wrote some of it in Greek, some in Latin, and something that looks like it could be hieroglyphics, but not quite the same. I skipped all of that.
I'm sick of Latin! It makes no sense - all those different endings on nouns and verbs. Regular verbs, irregular verbs, active, passive, gerunds, infinitives, imperative, conjugations, tenses - present, imperfect, future, perfect (Why can't they just say past?), past perfect, future perfect. Then there are the nouns and their cases: nominative = subject, genitive = possessive, accusative = object, dative, ablative. Why can't they just say what they are without all these fancy names? Then there's masculine, feminine, and neuter, and declensions. 2nd declension has five different types of noun endings to start with - then six different case endings on top of that. 3rd declension has four types. Then let's not forget the 4th and 5th declensions! It's unending! How did anyone ever speak the language?
The closer we get to Chipote the angrier he gets that I'm not quick enough, and the more he drinks. Even now he's ordering me to blow out the lantern because I'm wasting the kerosene.
Why couldn't he have walked away from the Legacy like his own grandfather did? Why couldn't he have been a businessman in a suit with a briefcase who commuted to the city every day? Why couldn't he love us more than the Legacy and its demon hunt? What is the Legacy that it demands such loyalty, such sacrifices from its members? Could its soul be as dark as those it fights? Nothing but questions that no one can or wants to answer. I swear upon my soul that I shall never put those I love through such torture - and yet, I feel its pull. Something deep inside of me tells me that no matter what road I take, I shall end up at the Legacy. I know so many wonderful people who are a part of it - people who do difficult, dangerous, vital jobs, like Dad, George Washburn, and Mother, once upon a time. They battle the forces of darkness and protect the innocent, but the thought of becoming like Dad terrifies me. Is there such a thing as destiny?
Please God - protect my father, give him strength in his quest, and if his quest is an illusion, let him see it for what it is. If the sepulchre is for real, please, God, help us both or we are surely lost. Help me to help him and grant me the brains and the strength of character to come a little closer to his expectations so that, perhaps, he can love me a little more than he does. I know that if I fail he will be disappointed and will surely love me less. How shall I ever gain his respect?
LEGACY JOURNAL OF WINSTON RAYNE
Midnight - Apr. 4, 1969
I cannot sleep. Lord! I cannot believe that the hunt might be over. It seems that half my life has been spent in the search for the sepulchers. Can it be that this will be 1 down & 4 to go? I feel it's pull even now. Perhaps, at last, I shall meet one of the "bene-ha-Elohim" - one of the "Sons of God" - face to face. Give me the strength to subdue him. I shall force him to tell me how to destroy his profane brotherhood. I shall have answers to all my questions. Have they seen the face of God? Why did they choose to rebel? Was it only pride? Was it that, in their arrogance, they could not bring themselves to obey the command to teach man & to bow down before him? Was it lust for the daughters of Cain? Or is there something more that God does not want us to know? More than what Eve learned from that apple? Is good & evil all a sham? Are they the same? Are we God's toys, or Satan's? Or are we the pawns in some obscene chess game? I must be certain, but to be certain, I must know the whole truth. But what if the whole truth brings no answers - nothing but more uncertainty. No! I must believe that the eternal battle between light & dark is a just one that will be won. Perhaps, I'll be able to rid the world of one of the Hydra's evil heads, & by this time tomorrow I shall know the answers. Please, let me find the strength.
~~~~~
Friday, 4 April 1969 - 11:20 P.M. - Chipote, Peru
I, Derek Rayne, append this entry to my father's Legacy journal and I pray to God that I shall never have to make another such entry.
Early this morning, my father, Winston Rayne, died.
Damn the Legacy, damn my father's obsession with it's battles and with his fantasy of those god-forsaken sepulchres, and damn me for not being able to stop him. Yet, another wild goose chase after a bunch of non-existent boxes - only this time it killed him.
Word had reached him that an unusual receptacle had been found in an abandoned mine shaft. Nothing must do but that we had to alter our plans to see Cuzco and Picchu to come here to this hell hole to track down this myth. Father had offered a sizable reward for information regarding any such rumour. In my opinion, the informant (not our guide) concocted the story for the money, then, perhaps, chose the most unstable mine in the area.
Father ordered me to remain in the car, which I did, while he went to explore the mine. He had not been in there more than twenty minutes when he was caught in a rock fall. His guide came running to tell me, but then the fellow scurried off into the jungle. I am certain he was afraid he would be accused of some black deed, but none of it was his fault. As for the sepulchre, it was an old, rusted strong box. My father threw his life away for an old, rusted strong box!
I buried my father just inside the mine's entrance and placed a cairn of rocks and a cross over the shallow grave. I swear that I shall return for him if I myself manage to make it back to civilization.
