From the branch, the flame spun into a fiery torrent, rising a foot high. As it did, the very air seemed to glow around it.
Archie glanced back to the exit. “Keep going.”
As Laurent moved to the second branch, Sharyn talked through her tension. “Back in Africa. In those volcanic fields. All the boobytraps had been about rock. Even the pressure-sensitive trigger that threatened a cave-in had been stopped by pushing a heavy ore cart onto it.”
“What are you getting at?” Archie asked.
“I think the Libyan site represented the alchemical element ofearth,” she explained. “A veritable Temple of Earth.”
Archie watched Laurent light the third branch, which further excited the air around it. “Then you think we’re standing in the Temple of Fire.”
“Maybe. We’ll see.”
They waited for Laurent to finish igniting all seven branches. As he continued down the line, the air scintillated and grew brighter, creating a nimbus around the menorah.
Sharyn peered closer, catching a whiff of hot metal. “I... I think whatever fuels this fire is burning the vapors out of the air. Demonstrating some strange trick of alchemy.”
She glanced at the silvery lake, wondering if it was combustible, too. Though, if that were true, considering the reservoir’s sheer size, any fire cast forth by that giant pool would quickly become an inferno.
Laurent lit the last stem, then retreated. “Whateverstrange trick of alchemythis demonstrates,” he said, using her description, “it’s affecting more than just the air.”
She pulled her attention back to the menorah. As the surrounding air became fiery in its own right, the surface of the candelabra began to soften, reacting to whatever alchemy had been ignited.
The lead—maybe an amalgam of the true element—had begun to drip in sludgy rivulets down its surface. As they all watched, the streaming slowly increased from a softening slurry to a rippling torrent. The lead flowed and wept down to the menorah’s pedestal, spilling over into the silvery moat.
“My god,” Archie moaned.
As the dull metal sloughed away, something new appeared beneath it.
Gold.
Like ice melting off a statue, the true relic revealed itself, shining in all its glory.
Sharyn knew what she was looking at. “I was wrong. It’s not hidden elsewhere. Or lost to history. It’s righthere.”
Laurent nodded. “The holiest of holy.”
“What just happened?” Archie asked. “Did we turn lead to gold?”
Sharyn shook her head. “No. It’s just a trick. A transformational representation of the long sought after goal of alchemy. To turn lead into gold. Maybe demonstrations like this gave birth to legends of alchemists succeeding in this task.”
Laurent rubbed his chin. “Some indeed claimed Saint-Germain could perform this miracle.”
From a few steps back, they kept vigil as the last of the lead—more than an inch thick across the menorah’s surfaces—flowed away and vanished into the mercury pool. With all that weight melted off, one last miracle awaited them.
A sharp click sounded from the pedestal under the menorah.
“It’s another pressure-sensitive switch,” Sharyn whispered.
A faint grinding echoed behind them.
She turned, her eyes wide, knowing what this meant. “The door’s opening. We’ve released the trap. We’re free.”
But some miracles come with a curse.
As the secret door opened wider, sharp blasts of gunfire echoed down to them.
Sharyn stared at the others, knowing what this meant.
