Final Solstice by David Sakmyster Read Free Book Online Page B

up there the whole time? What, like God, looking down on you all?”
    Annabelle smiled. “You misunderstand. We’re not going to his office, he doesn’t have one. He walks among us, immerses himself in our work, talks with each of us, every day. No, we’re going to the rooftop glen, the Summit Grove. You’ll see when we get there. There’s no better place from which to view the world and to see clearly what needs to be done. It’s where all the important decisions are made.”
    “I must say,” Mason argued, “this is one unusual company. Both in its architecture, and its people.”
    “Thank you.” Annabelle said again. “And I must say, Mr. Grier, that you are one unusual man. Your children are special, talented. And you, well we hear great things about you.”
    “You do? Like what? I’m just a weatherman.”
    “You’re special. We need more people like you to continue our mission.”
    “Not sure I’ll help with that, or that I can say I agree with your mission, but …”
    “But you’ll listen.”
    Mason nodded as they slowed, came to a stop. “Yes.”
    O O O
    Annabelle left him on the platform as she operated the lift to descend. “I’ll be back when you’re finished. Good luck.”
    Mason stepped off, gingerly, onto the metal platform, expecting it to wobble, creak or something to jar him back into the elevator, but then with a swish of closing doors, there was nothing behind him anymore, the lift descending rapidly. And in front of him—an inviting stairway, made of polished wood, light brown like oak but Mason couldn’t quite place its type.
    He ascended into a wood-lined hallway that darkened first, then filled with a transient sprinkling of light. He found himself counting the stairs until finally reaching twenty-one, and emerging into a clearing, expecting a surge of exposed brightness but finding another pleasant surprise: just as advertised, a rooftop glen, complete with eight standing stones, dolmens polished white, in a circle around the stairwell. Beyond the circle, under a hanging canopy of vines and flowering violets, were set two oak chairs, carved exquisitely to resemble a twisting of roots and swollen tree limbs, extending out over the shoulders, all expertly entwined to provide comfortable support.
    Rising from the eastern chair, from where he had been sitting in thoughtful repose, glancing out through the vines toward the rising sun, Avery Solomon stood. He took large strides, yet seemed to be moving in slow motion, his smile widening, his red hair waving in the gentle wind. He passed between two of the great stones, bowing his head slightly as he entered the circle. “Mason Grier, it’s my pleasure.”
    Extending his hand, Mason clasped that of his host and gave it an assured squeeze, matching the intensity that was offered. But he spoke coolly. “I recognize the voice, but I don’t know your name.”
    “Forgive me. I am Avery Solomon.” His eyes twinkled and a pair of dragonflies suddenly appeared, hovering over his right shoulder, fluttering closer as if inspecting Mason and gauging his threat level. He gripped Mason’s hand tight and intently scrutinized him, as if looking for a spark of familiarity or recognition in Mason’s eyes, as if they’d met once, ages ago or in another lifetime.
    “Mr. Solomon,” Mason pulled his hand back, and his throat tightened in a sudden feeling of vulnerability, like he realized, standing in the middle of these stones, that he might be intended as a sacrifice in some pagan ritual. “I am told I have you to thank for my daughter’s miraculous cure?”
    “You have the earth to thank for that, Mason.” At the chairs he motioned for his guest to sit first. “Our world is full of secrets. We just need to know where to look, and how to look.”
    “And how is that?” Mason asked, following Solomon out of the circle, where the air somehow felt clearer and his head too was lighter, freed from a low buzzing he had at first imagined to