The Pandora Chronicles - Book 1 (A Scifi Adventure Thriller) (4 page)

Tier and the priest exchanged looks.

“That may be true,” Tier said. “But I was more interested in the origin of man.”

“I believe the priest would be more suited to answer that sort of question,” Finnegan pointed out.

“Not all priests,” she replied. “But I am asking you, Captain. Where did man come from?”

“It depends who you ask,” Finnegan said. “The Church would have us believe that God created us in his image on the seventh day.”

“And you do not believe that?”

“No,” he flatly replied. “If God created us in his image, then He is as fallible as the rest of us. And I would rather not believe in a god, than believe in one that makes the same mistakes we do.”

“Is that so?” the priest asked.
 

Finnegan nodded.
 

“Then, you would be right, Captain.”

Rodriguez undid the clasp on the red book and showed Finnegan the image of several men bowing down before a larger creature, one resembling either a giant with several heads and limbs, or a cluster of individual giants interwoven together. The details of the art were certainly confusing, but the feelings of foreboding and reverence, coupled with fear and awe, were clearly transmitted as Finnegan’s heart increased its drumming.

“What is this?” he asked. He had heard of such creatures from legends told by sailors who had gone beyond Spanish territory.

The priest spread his hands as if to preach. “Our sect believes that is God.” His fingers traced the figure. “The One and the Many. We believe that God descended into this world to help man. But He came in many facets in order not to confuse and overwhelm mere mortals like us. He imparted onto us His many secrets, most of which man was not ready to accept. So, He, in all His wisdom, selected a few and blessed them, so that when the time is true, these few would shepherd the rest of His followers.”

The captain smirked. “A very interesting tale, Father, but it’s hardly anything more than a fairy tale to scare children. And certainly not as appealing a genesis as the Catholics make it out to be.”

“And yet, we stand before a man who, in mere seconds, solved one of the most difficult puzzles our Order constructed,” Tier interjected. “You are also a captain who is able to safely navigate without a sextant or stars to guide him.”

“I would call that experience,” Finnegan snapped defensively.

“And I would call that guidance from the Lord,” she said, in equal tones. “Has it never occurred to you how you always manage to find your quarry in as little time as possible while avoiding major obstacles?”

Finnegan fell silent as he pondered on the truth behind the woman’s words.

“You are one of those that have been blessed,” she insisted. “It is your destiny to guide man towards God’s temple.”

“I am finding this very hard to believe,” he admitted.

Father Rodriguez reached for a small bag he had tied around his rope belt. “Will you allow me, then, to enlighten you?” he gently asked.

“How?”

The priest pulled out candles and incense from the bag, and proceeded to light them both.
 

“This is merely scent,” he explained. “Our Order uses it in prayer. We have found that blessed men, such as yourself, have visions given to them by our Father to aid them in their journeys.”

“There are more of these so-called blessed men?” Finnegan asked.

“We have indeed managed to locate one or two, and they joined our cause. We are also responsible for quite a few treaties being passed in recent years,” Rodriguez said.

“You are puppets for the government,” Finnegan accused, his tone heavy with disgust. “Or perhaps the puppeteers.”

“Never, Captain,” Rodriguez sternly replied. “We merely show the way, but the option to choose is always up to them.”

“We do not seek to deceive you,” Tier reassured Finnegan. “If it’s of any consolation, you are the one in command here. You are free to dispose of us at any time.”
 

Finnegan shot her a glare, making sure that she understood he would take her up on her suggestion at the first sign of suspicion.

“Please, sit,” the priest said.
 

Finnegan sat behind his desk as Rodriguez placed candles and incense sticks around him.

“Close your eyes and allow my voice to reach into the depths of your soul,” Rodriguez instructed. “Deep down, in the darkest recesses of your mind, you already know the story. I am just reminding you of what was, what is, and what will be.”

Finnegan closed his eyes and listened as Father Rodriguez began his tale.

“In a time before time, when our kind as still nascent, God created the world, and the sun, and the moon. He populated His creation with life, and amongst His creations was man. However, He saw that He could not leave us to our own devices.

Man could not grasp the wonders of the world, and so he prayed to the Lord for guidance. And the Lord responded.

From the Heavens, He descended, splitting himself among the four corners of our world. He gave man fire and tools. He gave man knowledge, in the shape wonderful and terrible secrets. Under the guidance of the Lord, man created things of marvel—artifacts of extraordinary power.

But man was corrupt and evil plagued his heart. Different tribes began fighting amongst one another, each seeking to harness God’s power for themselves. So, the Lord, in His infinite wisdom, chose men pure of heart and strong of soul, and He guided them. They would wield His power for good and perform miracles for the sake of love and peace.

And God bade His Select to collect the artifacts of power, and ordered them hidden. Only a Select, a chosen one, may find them, and only he may wield their awesome power, when such action is required.”

Rodriguez paused.

“I tell you this, our Order’s legend, because of the nature of our mission,” he continued. “The New World hides one such Artifact. This is why Spain commissioned Columbus to go on his voyage. I am referring to a second voyage, one which intentionally led him to the Americas. The Spanish empire got word from its enemy, Portugal, about the Order. They have tried to hunt us down, but their efforts have so far been in vain. The British commissioned hundreds of men to discover new land and potentially more of these Artifacts. This is why the great monarchs of Europe have invaded the Americas—the confirmed presence of an Artifact of power. It is up to us, members of the Order, to never allow such terrible power to fall into the wrong hands.”

As the priest spoke, Finnegan felt the room spinning. The scent of woodsmoke invaded his nostrils, and his vision became clouded. His mind soared into a different place, and a different time.

He felt enlightened by the priest’s words, and clearly saw images of the events recounted by Rodriguez. Some he saw from a distance, like a long lost memory, while others felt recent, as if he had been there when the events took place. He felt the power of those Artifacts and the connection to something…
 

Perhaps a being, one descended from the stars?

Slowly, his senses returned, and he found himself back in the cabin.

“That was… unique,” he said.

Duchess Tier gently laid her hand on his shoulder. “Now you know the importance of our mission.”

“I am puzzled by all of this,” Finnegan replied. “This knowledge goes against everything I have learned. And yet, deep down, I know that you harbor no trickery. I do not know how I came to that conclusion, but I have. I am convinced that you are honest, despite having just met you. Why is this?”

“You are guided by the Lord,” the priest replied, with a gentle smile. “We cannot begin to understand His methods.”

“The question still remains, Captain,” Tier said. She leaned forwards against the table, bringing her face close to Finnegan’s. “Will you help us?”

Chapter 5

“I hope you know what you are doing,” Finnegan said. He was standing on his favorite spot, above the masthead, enjoying the feel of the wind on his face and hair.

Duchess Elizabeth Tier joined him. “And a good morning to you, too, Captain.”
 

She had forgone the dress and now wore a pair of trousers and a flannel shirt, borrowed from one of the younger deck hands. Finnegan gazed over her figure before transfixing on the horizon again.

“I have plotted the course,” he said. “Let’s hope we do not meet any enemies along the way.”

“Perhaps we’ll meet allies.”

“This ship has deviated from its Letter of Marque, thus becoming pirate. We no longer have any allies,” he grimly replied.

Her hand brushed against his. “I am sorry,” she said. Finnegan noticed that her blue eyes matched the color of the ocean waves and felt a flutter in his chest.

“No need to apologize, Duchess. The decision was mine, and mine alone.”

***

A day had gone by since the revelation of mankind’s origins and Father Rodriguez had told him everything he knew about the Artifacts. He had extracted an old and decrepit map of the New World from the ledger and indicated strange symbols on a few locations.

The priest pointed to a mark on the western banks of the Americas. “This is what the Empires are looking for.”

Finnegan’s eyes narrowed. “Those are still unexplored lands. Only the Spaniards have reached those territories but the natives managed to repel them. I believe that area goes by the name of California.” He pointed towards a small peninsula. “This is Baja California, a more remote region. Is this what we seek?”

The priest nodded. “It is, indeed, Captain.”

Finnegan squinted at the passage on the parchment and recognized the Spanish language.

“Can you read Spanish?” Tier asked.
 

He did not reply. Instead, his eyes traced the delicate script. Finnegan knew he could not read Spanish. The truth was that he could only read in his own native language because of countless hours of self-taught practice.

But he felt his mind go numb and, like a nest of serpents, the script began twisting itself into a language he could comprehend. It was not English, but a primitive language he had never encountered before. And yet, he could comprehend it just as easily as he could his mother’s bedtime stories.

“El Dorado,” he muttered. “I have heard many a tale about a mystical city of gold.” He put the ledger down and frowned at his two guests. “Is this your so-called artifact?”

“No,” Rodriguez said. “El Dorado does not translate to ‘City of Gold.’ That is a tale told by some to incite crewmen to join voyages and benefactors to open their purses.”

Finnegan looked at the script once again as it shifted. “Do you see that?”

Tier and Rodriguez looked at one another. “See what?” Tier asked.

“The writing,” Finnegan replied, tapping the page fervently. “I have no knowledge of the Spanish tongue. And yet, the letters shift and dance, and I can comprehend them.”

Rodriguez looked at Tier, who had a broad smile on her lips.

“It seems, Captain,” the priest said, “that you are truly blessed. This is a sign from God. You are his Chosen.” He flipped the page, and a drawing came into view. It was a cave painting of several men dressed in feathers and rags worshipping a large man painted yellow, blazing like the sun.

“Can you understand this?”

The image spoke to Finnegan, and memories flashed inside his mind. He saw tribes of people, living lives he’d only heard about in stories, sounds of words that were alien to him and yet still understandable, smells of herbs and spices he had only smelled on far off journeys but felt as if he had grown up around them—these sensations took him to a different world. Knowledge flooded his mind, filling him with understanding.

“El Dorado. The Golden One,” he said.

The priest nodded in confirmation. “Yes. The natives were talking about a deity made out of gold and fire. I believe, Captain Finnegan, that our destination does lie not within a City of Gold, but rather a City of God.”

Hours later, Finnegan was still ensorcelled by what he had seen.
 

He told Tier and Rodriguez to leave him and go get some dinner with the rest of the crew. His mind was too active for food. He needed to plot a new course for the
Belladonna
and explain his intentions to his men.
 

Finnegan preferred to work alone, usually at night, with only a bottle of rum for company. The stars reminded him of his father, the man who taught him how to sail and read the seas and sky. They used to practice at night, sharing stories and knowledge. That was before his father was shot dead by a stray pirate bullet.

Finnegan pulled out a fresh chart, one with no markings. It showed the longitude and latitude divisions on an accurate rendition of the New World. Silently, he began working, relishing in the serenity it brought to his mind. He always seemed to know exactly which routes to follow, and his mind had no need for calculations. His hand began moving freely of its own volition, as if he were possessed.
 

Mere moments later a new course had been charted, and the
Belladonna
had a new destination.

***