The Secret

A Story by Mary-Jean

A young member of a secret society is given a task to retrieve the Secret, whatever that "Secret" may be...

The 2076^th meeting commenced with a roar from the crypt.

I had only been to four meetings myself, but I could tell by the look of John’s face, a wicked display of shrivelled anxiety, that this was by no means normal. His arm shot out to grab me before I could enter the crypt and find the source of Andrew’s commotion.

“Wait, Duncan. Andrew will get you soon enough,” he hissed. His obsidian eyes glared at me like a raven, complemented by his cropped black hair.

I escaped the man’s grip and frowned at the indentation left on my forearm from his gold-trimmed jade ring. I wasn’t going to wait with the other old fellows in front of me, who whispered about treachery and the unthinkable loss of our artifact. They wore deep-coloured robes and what I considered ridiculous pagan pendants around their necks. Only Andrew and James had entered our secluded meeting room, but I hurried in despite John’s blathering about how foolish and young I was to even be a part of their guild. I ignored him and the others; they were the most interesting group of men I had ever met, yet some tended to be stuffy old fools.

“You!” Andrew bellowed from the far end of the room, his words a gale that made me inadvertently stumble backwards. Andrew was large man of imposing countenance, yet not a dim-witted portly fellow, for his azure eyes bespoke of great intelligence that had originally attracted me to him.

“Don’t blame the lad,” said the softer James, Andrew’s most trusted companion.

“My name is Duncan,” I reminded him for what seemed like the twentieth time. I walked to the middle of the cool stone room, once a crypt, yet now the vital meeting place for our secret guild. A few flickering candles cast subtle shadows on the walls, and in the corner beside Andrew was a redwood wardrobe that housed the Secret. Which, as I read from Andrew and James’s faces, was likely no longer a secret.

I glanced back to the table, intricately designed with matching high-backed chairs fashioned as a canvas for the carvings of unicorns, dragons, and other fanciful revelations. At the centre of the table was a thin piece of violet silk that was troublesomely bare, for the Secret normally lay contentedly on its violet bed before the meeting commenced. It was a beautiful manuscript inlayed with ribbons of gold writing on its leather binding.

“It has been stolen,” James calmly explained.

“And I want you to answer to this,” Andrew insisted to me.

As the guild’s novice, I was at a loss for words, unable to predict Andrew’s reaction. “I don’t have the key to the crypt or the wardrobe,” I said definitely.

But I soon realized that Andrew hadn’t been accusing me, merely asking for any information that could be of use. Did he trust me? I couldn’t say, but as he had allowed me to join the guild, the youngest member by about forty years, I assumed that he considered me somewhat special.

“We didn’t doubt you, Daylan,” James said.

I forced myself to let him continue: at least the name started and ended with the right letters.

“We need someone to retrieve the Secret,” he continued. “It must be returned to the guild as soon as humanly possible.”

I felt like laughing. They needed me because everyone else was too old and proud to hunt down the Secret. Except James wasn’t too proud, but his age made up for that.

“Gideon Archer is the likely culprit. He makes keys,” Andrew spat, as if it were an immoral profession.

By his quick accusation, I assumed Gideon had used his key-making skills to steal the Secret before.

As Andrew was anxious for me to retrieve our ancient manuscript and quite certain on how it was stolen, I immediately set off after receiving my instructions. I gave John a smirk on my way out as Andrew informed the other men of the society that I was to rescue the precious Secret.

I hastened through the streets of Edinburgh with agile weaving that often accompanies a grand task. I couldn’t fail; the Secret had been passed down for centuries by the most intelligent and dedicated men in Scotland. Yet I didn’t think Andrew could afford to expel me either, for the guild was lacking in younger members to succeed the quickly aging ones. If I succeeded, I could be rewarded with a read of the Secret, a privilege I had not yet been granted. They needed to trust me first, which I understood, but couldn’t help but feel annoyed by it.

It didn’t take long to find the house of Gideon Archer; Andrew must have been familiar with the neighbourhood, having visited his adversary more than he would have liked. I stood examining it, and imagined what a wicked man would be hidden inside. I would have to be firm, persuasive, yet I had nothing to bargain with except empty threats which I was unwilling to give. The house’s dark wood contrasted sullenly with the wispy clouds in the sky and bright leaves falling from the trees, further provoking my imagination of this supposedly awful man.

I leapt up the steps and knocked with an eagle-headed door knocker before I could make any silly and inhibiting plans. I didn’t expect anyone to answer; Gideon was likely just as old as Andrew and slow to make his way to the door. So I must have looked like a cornered fowl when Gideon appeared in less than a minute with quite an amiable demeanour.

“Looking for a job, lad?” he asked. His red hair was greying at the roots and although he was chipper, his eyes seemed to be far off in the recesses of his mind as if he wasn’t facing reality.

“No,” I said. “I’m here to retrieve the Secret.”

I didn’t realize what a ridiculous statement that was until it had escaped my lips, for if he had indeed stolen it, why would Gideon suddenly hand it over?

Gideon’s hand clutched the door handle firmly, eyes forlorn.

“Are you Gideon Archer?” I asked, perhaps having assumed too quickly that he was.

“That’s Sir Gideon Archer,” he said. Of course, Andrew wouldn’t have told me that.

“Well then, Sir,” I continued. “I have reason to believe that you have an extremely important manuscript that I will have to take.”

He laughed at my apparent confidence. “You haven’t read it,” he claimed, after first assuring that no one on the street could hear us.

I bit my lip then opened my mouth, and finally closed it again. I realized that no perfectly crafted lie could change his opinion.

“I read it all,” Gideon said, sounding exhausted as if reading it had tested every part of his body. “But keep it unopened. Do not read it.”

I was at a loss for words. I had no knowledge of the contents of the book, and hadn’t assumed it would leave someone so bleary and oddly off balance. The men of the guild acted in no such way, yet they had read the Secret long ago.

“I will give it to you, for Andrew need not tell me when he is threatening me�"your prompt arrival spoke enough. I don’t particularly want to be assassinated, so let Andrew know that I have no intention of stealing it again. Mind you, he’ll have to be content never to see his Poetics unless he returns my Book of the Dead.”

I was happily shocked when Gideon Archer disappeared into his house and returned with the precious manuscript, handing it over without reservation. It was in the same pristine condition as our last meeting, and I felt a primal thrill to hold it for the first time. Yet as Andrew had instructed, I immediately wrapped it in two layers of silk then a thick hide before putting it in my pack. I didn’t know whether I should thank Gideon, as he was a thief, so gave him a nod and started to leave.

“Do not engage in the Secret!” Gideon said more seriously. “It is best to remain ignorant. Such wonders are not meant for the human mind.”

I stopped for a moment. “Thank you,” I said awkwardly, and left before he could give me any more esoteric advice.

I had found the Secret, but despite its proximity, it was more of a secret than ever. I wondered if Andrew would really reward me with a read of the ancient manuscript, or, considering Gideon’s words, deem me too young and wait until I was older. Or he might only let me read a page or two, a torturous possibility I didn’t want to entertain.

I passed a cloister with a garden decorated with vibrant leaves like splotches of paint on a green canvas. The Secret was in my pack, and this was likely the only time I would be with it alone. I entered the garden and sat on a stone bench beside a mossy gargoyle fountain that whispered gurgles of encouragement with every drop from the gargoyle’s mouth. Did I dare not take the opportunity to read it? I wasn’t a wavering boy, so I took it out of my pack carefully. I wiped my clammy hands on my trousers while a rapid crescendo orchestrated in my mind. I touched the golden letters tentatively before opening the dark leather binding. Clearly, the Secret had had vehement care with only occasional reads.

I started on the first page. There was a masterful illumination of a young boy and girl whose bizarre yet vibrant outfits made the garden around me seem a dim reflection of a perfect world. I read the first and second pages intently. My mind raced, reaching past its seemingly ultimate crescendo. A diagram on the third page made me gasp for air as the intricate image permeated my mind, squeezing into my memories and putting everything I knew in a new preservative.

I closed the Secret and snapped my head up, returning to reality. I had read enough, though knew there were many more mysteries bound in the incredible book. I felt as if my pupils were dilating then contracting, my blood boiling then freezing, my body sweating profusely then becoming parched. Gideon Archer was right. I wondered how long it took Andrew and the others to get over the thrill and horror of the Secret, especially the diagram.

Clumsily, I put the Secret back in my bag and left the cloister. My eyes were newly opened, and I saw it all�"every hidden creature, every world. To all but those in the guild, such truth never became anything more but a fanciful mystery.

Perhaps it is best that the Secret remained a secret to mankind.