Page 146 of Eternal Surrender

The lower we trekked below sea level, the lower the temperature fell. The stairwell curved to our right and we soon reached the last step.

Before us rose a wide oak double door, upon which was a faded painting of a winged Saint Michael the Archangel artfully portrayed across it. Michael’s presence was serene, majestic even, his gaze averted as though he too shared the secret of what lay beyond.

“The prince of light.” I ran my fingertips over Michael’s wings. “Leader of the forces of God against the darkness of evil.”

“And we’re the evil,” Alex murmured.

“Take a breath, Alex,” Marcus said and tried the handle.

The door was locked.

I reached into my pocket and removed the large key we’d just found, slid it into the lock and turned it.

Alex nudged up against me. “What if everything in this room is just an affirmation of how much father hated us?”

“What if it’s not?” I said. “Alex, I will never let anything happen to you.”

He gave a reluctant gesture he was ready.

I clutched the brass circled handles, pulling the doors open with a shuddering creak.

A gust of cold air burst forth, and puffs of dust danced around us; the scent of incense and stale wax wafted. All three of us took a moment for our eyes to adjust to what lay ahead.

We stepped back in time. . .

The expansive cathedral opened up before us with its high vaulted ceiling inlaid with intricate frescos, dramatic scenes portraying the book of Genesis featuring the creation of Adam at its center. The marble flooring appeared flawless, seemingly never caressed by time, decorated with ancient symbols, some of which I recognized as emblems used by the Stone Masters. Dark green and gold baroque volutes kissed the walls bestowing a Romanesque air and a rare supremacy, making it difficult to guess its age.

We strolled down the central isle with carved pillars looming on each side of us, guiding our way.

Majestically rising out of the floor where one would expect to see an altar was a solitary fifteen-foot high standing stone, reaching reverently toward the golden leafed ceiling dripping honeyed tinges of light down upon it.

It was as though a stone had been plucked out of Stonehenge and was now resting here.

Marcus nudged my right arm. “How the hell did they get that⁠—”

“Down here?” Alex shook his head in disbelief.

“It must weigh at least four tons,” Marcus said.

“They built the castle around it.” I saw this as the only reasonable explanation.

“Do you think it was dragged all the way from Stonehenge?” Marcus asked.

“Perhaps.” Taking the three short steps toward the enormous granite goddess, the room seemed to disappear. I rested my hands against the rock and closed my eyes, caressing her coldness, her perfect irregularities as though reacquainting; my long sigh finding its way back to me as if the stone itself had sighed in response to my touch.

Silence soaked into my very bones.

When my trance eventually dissipated and the room found me again, I was greeted with confused expressions from Marcus and Alex who were staring at me.

“Isn’t she magnificent?” I asked, unable to comprehend their lack of emotion at being in her presence. I stepped back, once more admiring the megalith.

A ray of light flashed across us.

Ingrid was sweeping her pocket-flashlight our way and Anaïs and Sebastian were close behind her. Sebastian was clutching the halogen lamp as though his life depended on it.

Ingrid climbed the three steps toward the stone, her face a mixture of excitement and awe. “What a remarkable contradiction,” she said. “All this opulence and then this.”

“Do you think they performed ceremonies down here?” Alex asked.