Guardians of the Four Shields: A Lost Origins Novel Read online

  Guardians of the Four Shields

  A Lost Origins Novel

  A. D. Davies

  Copyright © 2021 Crater of the North Publishing Ltd

  A. D. Davies asserts the moral right

  to be identified as the author of this work

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  www.addavies.com

  All characters and situations depicted in this novel are fictional and any relation to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. The same is true of companies explored in detail and not simply popular brands mentioned in passing. The exception to this is where historical figures and events are depicted; creative licence may have been utilised for dramatic purpose.

  Novels by A. D. Davies

  Moses and Rock Novels:

  Fractured Shadows

  No New Purpose

  Persecution of Lunacy

  Adam Park Thrillers:

  The Dead and the Missing

  A Desperate Paradise

  The Shadows of Empty men

  Night at the George Washington Diner

  Master the Flame

  Under the Long White Cloud

  Alicia Friend Investigations:

  His First His Second

  In Black In White

  With Courage With Fear

  A Friend in Spirit

  To Hide To Seek

  A Flood of Bones

  To Begin The End

  Co-Authored:

  Project Return Fire – with Joe Dinicola

  Standalone:

  Three Years Dead

  Rite to Justice

  The Sublime Freedom

  Shattered: Fear in the Mind

  Lost Origins Novels:

  Tomb of the First Priest

  Secret of the Reaper Seal

  Curse of the Eagle Plague

  Guardians of the Four Shields

  Contents

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Part II

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Part III

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Part IV

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  FROM THE AUTHOR

  The Dead and the Missing EB

  His First His Second

  Fractured Shadows

  Project Return Fire

  Part One

  Chapter One

  Tlaxcala Region, east of Mexico City

  The Cathedral of St Bernard rose out of the jungle surrounded by thousands of trees and shrubs, shadowed by the cliff beside which it was built. Its blackened stones, stained green with moss and wild grass, suggested it wasn’t in the rudest of health. However, the Church kept the bulk of this building pristine, not least for the tourist revenue—a steady stream of the curious and the devout eager to behold the bust of St Bernard in the courtyard, which was rumored to glow depending on the time of year, the weather, and the angle of the sun.

  There were three ways to access the cathedral: a helicopter for the visitor willing to pay top dollar, a winding but more direct trail accompanied by mules and workers who carried tourists’ bags and lunch for a small fee, or picking your own route the long way around through a jungle trail that took the average person two hours to traverse.

  It had taken Toby Smith almost three.

  The trail brought the cheaper tourists to the opposite side of a hundred-foot-wide gorge which, frankly, Toby thought gave them the best view of the incredible building. If the trek with his friends, Dan Vincent and Charlie Locke, hadn’t exhausted him, the scenery would have taken his breath away on its own. He noted, not for the first time since rising at four a.m., that he really needed to press on with the last twelve new year’s resolutions and, finally, get into shape.

  The trio rested, assessing the bridge that would take them to their destination.

  “When the Roman Catholic Church first constructed St Bernard’s, there was no need for the second approach.” Toby wiped his brow with a red handkerchief. Although they’d set off at the literal crack of dawn, heat was building, even this high in the hills. “But they own the trail, and we can’t afford the toll at the moment.”

  In his khaki outfit, including a wide-brimmed hat, Toby quite fancied himself as a rakish Indiana Jones type. However, considering his five-foot-six stature and a handful of gut flopping over his belt—combined with the typical fitness of a British man edging ever closer to the end of his sixth decade—he was perhaps somewhat optimistic in this vision.

  Closer to the layperson’s interpretation of what an intrepid explorer should look like was Dan Vincent. The former US Army Ranger had been scouting ahead at his own insistence. Whether this was to ensure Toby’s and Charlie’s safety or that Toby’s slow pace frustrated him, he never said.

  “Disappointing,” Dan announced. “I was kinda hoping for a rickety rope bridge. Not that steel and glass thing. Hell of a walk, but I guess it’s worth it.”

  Perched on a conveniently shaped rock, Charlie replaced the top of her water canteen. Like Dan, she was visibly tired and decked out in modern hiking attire, but nowhere near as sweaty as Toby despite the pack of equipment she carried on her back.

  She said, “We could have afforded fifty dollars. But I’m not objecting. I enjoyed the walk.”

  “We don’t know how much it will cost us to get out of here,” Toby replied. “If we find anything like what I’m hoping for, we may need every penny available to us.”

  Dan scratched his chin, the hard stubble rasping under his fingernails. “If you hadn’t insisted on paying so much for our fixer, you could have saved a couple of bucks.”

  “He’s the best, though. And you know it. In fact, I think I see him.”

  Toby squinted to see across the gorge and waved. A figure waved back, dwarfed by the cathedral’s fascia and the courtyard.

  “Guess he must have taken the direct route,” Dan said.

  “He’ll come back.” Charlie rested a hand on Toby’s shoulder and softened her tone. Her Welsh roots always came through stronger when she offered comfort like this. “Once we’re properly funded again, he’ll jump at the chance.”

  Dan strode on ahead. “Guess we best say hi then.”

  Although the bridge appeared steady, it swayed ever so slightly. Toby clung to the handrail as he cros
sed. Charlie remained behind him, charitably not commenting on his progress, or lack thereof, while Dan remained ten paces ahead, increasing that margin with every step.

  On the other side, Harpal Singh greeted them. No sign of a handshake between the two men.

  “Hey.” Harpal’s normally bubbly demeanor was absent, presumably because of the frosty reception he had received from the group’s man-at-arms. “We were right to come early. The priest is alone in his quarters, but I got a message to him. He’ll meet us in the entrance.”

  Toby clapped Harpal on both shoulders, beaming his way, which seemed to take the man back a little. “Thank you for arranging this. I know it can’t be easy getting away.”

  Harpal shrugged and glanced at Charlie.

  Toby dropped his hands, his smile stretched into a near-grimace.

  Charlie skipped forward and offered a brief hug, which Harpal returned without meeting her eye.

  “Good to see you, Harps,” she said, but sounded less than good.

  Harpal stepped back to take in all three. “You know I wouldn’t have taken that job if I had any choice.”

  Dan sniffed. “Your boss okay with you helping us?”

  “Gig economy.” Harpal gave another shrug, clearly trying to hide his nerves. “I’m technically a freelancer. He can’t stop me working for anyone else as long as there’s no conflict of interest.”

  “There are no hard feelings here,” Toby said. “But let’s press on before the hordes arrive.”

  Harpal led the way towards the vast structure growing out of the jungle. Dan still barely looked at him, and Charlie’s frown was unmistakable. Toby understood their sentiments, the pair having clung on for the past months of frugality. But he also recognized why Harpal needed to part ways. He was a young man with rent to pay and hobbies to pursue, not to mention parents back in Britain who relied on his presence from time to time. Toby couldn’t deny Harpal’s choice to work semi-regularly for Colin Waterston, Toby’s former protégé, had squeezed his heart somewhat, but he was confident Harpal would return to the group once their financial situation improved.

  “So,” Harpal said with strained joviality, “is this another wild goose chase, or something important?”

  “Not sure we should be sharing that information,” Dan said.

  “Client confidentiality extends to you guys, as well as Colin.”

  “Colin?” Charlie said. “Not ‘that upper-class twit’?”

  “You don’t have to tell me.” Harpal’s eyes found the ground in front of them, a cobbled courtyard where several state employees were currently setting out ropes for the queueing system. “I understand. I just had to set this up and get you visas and an appointment.”

  “We got our own appointment,” Dan said. “You just smoothed the way. Better hope no one else knows we’re here.”

  “Locals are secure,” Harpal said. “I made sure the cops know you’re researchers approved by the Vatican. You won’t get any grief from them.”

  “Great. Although, I doubt they’re gonna like what we find. If we find it.”

  Charlie made a hmm sound, and said, “Think they’ll hold up their end of the bargain? Or cover it up? If it points to something they don’t like?”

  “Don’t care.” Dan pointed at the cross over the yawning entrance. “As long as we’re paid.”

  Their footfalls were loud on the hard surface, crunching with the dust that blew in from the jungle every night. The staff kept it clean, but nature tended to make a mockery of such efforts.

  Striding to keep up with Dan, Toby glanced up at the big former soldier. He didn’t believe for a second that Dan was motivated purely by money. He wouldn’t have stuck around on the strength of an IOU if he was. “When Catholicism found its feet in this part of the world, there were still hundreds of temples dedicated to gods erected by the native populations.”

  Simultaneously, Dan and Harpal made an exaggerated snoring noise. They snapped their attention to one another, their eyes met, and they burst into laughter.

  “Some things never change,” Harpal said.

  Dan grumbled, but could not kill his smile. “I guess.”

  Toby normally scolded them for making fun of his attempts to educate. The more knowledge, the better armed a person was for difficult situations.

  He pressed on. “It was common for the Roman Catholic Church to suppress indigenous religions by incorporating their own buildings into existing architecture. As happened here.”

  The priest waited ten yards away, bathed in the rising sun under a doorway that was big enough to drive a bus through. He was dressed in black robes with the traditional Roman collar, and he clasped his hands before him as he rocked back and forth on his heels. He sported a silver-gray beard and black hair flecked with white. He was of Indian rather than Mexican descent, which Toby had guessed by his name already: Rajveer Pandi.

  Toby said, “This site was once a temple dedicated to an Aztec god, although records of which one exactly were lost. It wouldn’t do to remind the locals of what their ancestors used to worship. They converted the natives, demolished the ancient shrine, and built this in its place. Within a generation, the old ways were forgotten.”

  “Until the modern world came calling,” Charlie said. She tapped her ear. “Phil is online and waiting.”

  “Will we need that?” Harpal asked. “Backup?”

  “Let’s hope not.”

  They arrived on the steps and ascended with small waves of greeting toward Father Pandi. He extended his hands in welcome. They each introduced themselves.

  “Father Pandi, thank you for seeing us,” Toby said. “I know this must be a frightful intrusion.”

  “Not at all.” Rajveer Pandi spoke with one of the oddest accents Toby had heard. Solid English, with a strong Indian inflection, tinted with Spanish flavor. It was quite delightful. “We always welcome researchers from the Vatican.”

  Father Pandi led them into the main building. Unlike the outer shell, the interior was underwhelming to say the least, reflecting people’s ability to forge outstanding architecture so far from civilization. Functional was the byword here: the pillars were rounded rather than sculpted, the floor was plain flag stones without the ostentatious adornments that you find in European cathedrals, and the windows were slits instead of massive stained glass made up of storybook pictures.

  “I am very happy to accommodate you,” Father Pandi went on, “but perhaps I can help you more if you tell me what aspect of our cathedral you are interested in. Then, perhaps, we can get to the… other subject. I doubt very much it’s the miracle my predecessor reported fifty years ago.”

  Toby didn’t need to see Dan’s face to guess his barely concealed smirk. It was in his bunching of the shoulders.

  “No,” Toby answered. “I believe that matter has been taken care of already.”

  They paused at the altar where the bust of St Bernard was housed in a respectful cabinet made completely of glass.

  “Sadly, we had to encase it,” Father Pandi said. “Too many people wished to touch it. I do not know where the rumor came from that stroking his smooth head brought good luck and a strong hairline, but many seem to believe it. We reserve that privilege for special guests.” He cast his gaze over Toby’s thinning pate. “I can arrange a private moment if you would like.”

  Toby paid less attention to his hairline than he did his ever-softening waist. But he was fully aware that he overtook his prime some time ago and demonstrated it in more physical ways than one. He didn’t need reminding.

  “Perhaps if there’s time later,” he said, diplomatically. “What we really want to see is any potential artwork, as depicted in this codex. I believe it will be found in the cavern that’s closed to tourists.”

  Charlie had removed an aged leather-bound manuscript from her backpack and was holding it with cotton gloved hands. She opened the brittle, yellow pages to the section bookmarked with a static-free plastic strip.

  The group halted, and
Father Pandi reversed his last steps to examine the picture.

  Like many of the discoveries from the Lost Origins Recovery Institute, Toby had stumbled across this by accident. He was researching a clue dredged up eighteen months earlier on the expedition that had sealed the team’s fate, namely scrolls that predated known human writings. This had led him to a conclusion that more modern, educated humans had kept these secrets from the masses, fearing the suppression suffered by the indigenous populations of South America and beyond. He had tracked this codex to a collector which their benefactor purchased on their behalf—on the assumption it would lead to a greater reward and a return on the man’s investment. All they had to do was prove their calculations were correct, and they’d soon be in possession of the next stage of their hunt.

  This particular codex, of course, was not a part of the haul from Africa. It was only hundreds of years old, not millennia.

  “Where did you get this?” Father Pandi asked. “It is exquisite.”

  “The author is unknown,” Toby replied. “It’s written in a Spanish dialect known to be common in the 1600s. We think it was a trader or merchant who worked on the original foundations for this very cathedral. He is clearly well-traveled because the rest of the codex reads like a journal of sorts. He would have traded with people responsible for building St Bernard’s before it was called St Bernard’s. He may well have had access to both what we think we will find here, and the item I am hoping you’ll loan to us. Once we prove our credentials.”