...While deep within the chapel, praying hands are trembling low, And a feeling of dread descends on us, no matter where we go. Our spirits are disconcerted, like a most discordant song, Something is supernatural here, there is something going wrong. You and your companions are trapped in an ancient and mysterious fortress, but you are not alone. There is also another one present who walks the darkened halls. He seems to oppose you, though he has not openly regarded you and your friends as an enemy. He is tall, dark and handsome - very well educated and much experienced in the ways of life. He may even be considered wise. He speaks to you, and at times even sings to you with a deep, beautiful baritone voice. He is charming and charismatic - and one thing more... He is the Devil! If you could save your souls buy losing your lives, or save your lives by risking your souls, which would you choose? If he has foresworn to answer 33 questions truthfully, what would you ask him? Could you trick the devil; would you even try? But wait - act quickly... for the solstice is upon you! Winter Solstice is the first volume of the Alaric Trilogy. It will follow the devil's trail from Eastern Europe through Western Europe and eventually to America. But more importantly, it will show how he has changed his ways to adjust to mankind's adapting to the rapid changes in 20th century society and technology. But be not afraid. The Alaric Trilogy will help you spot him, whatever form he takes.

WINTER SOLSTICE

By David Caldarola

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2011 David Caldarola
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4670-6287-9

Contents

Chapter I Adventure's Spark.........................1Chapter II Weighing Anchor..........................51Chapter III Evil's Door.............................94Chapter IV Ancient Lore.............................131Chapter V Shadowy Lair..............................181Chapter VI Baritone Allure..........................214Chapter VII Ways of Intrigue........................259Chapter VIII Cryptic Runes..........................307Chapter IX Tryst with the Devil.....................349Chapter X Grand Inquisition.........................403Chapter XI Canister Coffins.........................456Chapter XII Eternity's Gate.........................491

Chapter One

Adventure's Spark

I have counted the myriad blessings, that bridge a life-long span, And found there lives within me, a dour, ungrateful man. I have pondered the many years, that drew me near a lifetime goal, And found there suffers within me, an unhappy and restless soul.

My heart has yearned and moved me, to search for adventure's spark, That flickering inspiration, which seeks the light within the dark. And so it came to pass, when boredom on the holiest day, Caused the glory-hound within me, to finally go astray.

N.

In 1898, in the south of England, in the town of Exeter, in the stately dining room of a scholar's abode, four disparate friends gather to bemoan the inconveniences of the forthcoming holidays. These friends may be called disparate in that they are more distinct than likewise, more contrasting than complimenting; as the colors of the rainbow compete against one another for the eye's attention, yet blend together in a most harmonious way; as the sparkling bursts of fireworks separately work to forge a single display.

Now, my curious one, do attend, and I shall relate to you as they relate to each other as a friend, this extraordinary story from its confused beginning to a sharply pointed end.

As is the case with all friends, there are still a number of sufficient similarities between the four that act as a bond which keeps them together, which perhaps more importantly, keeps them interested in each other's welfare. In the positive sense, each are credited by their peers as being, to some degree more or less, a master within his appointed trade; the scholar, the minister, the artist and the soldier. Each member of this unique foursome understands and sympathizes with each other regarding their collective need to advance their professions to greater heights of enlightenment, and not merely by the orthodox, casual, tedious and snail-like increase of the profession's sum total of current knowledge. Likewise does each person of the party appreciate the other men's stubborn persistence to overcome the even more stubborn resistance to their professional contributions by the elite guardians of their specific calling; those stodgy traditionalists who will not be swayed from their long established and nigh immobile stance.

The first of the four principle players of this soon to unfold gothic mystery is one Clark Edmondson, a youthful scholar of forty-eight years of age whose boyish good looks, accentuated by fluffy light brown hair and dark brown eyes, whose smile of near perfectly set snow-white teeth and a certain disapproval for the adorning facial hair of the times, all conspire to render the appearance of a younger man in his early thirties. Clark has obtained four degrees from three different universities: a Bachelor's degree in Anthropology, and a PH.D. in Archeology from Oxford, a PH.D. in European History from the Sorbonne in France, and a Master's degree in Biology from the University of Rome. In exercising his mind to a degree most flexible, his tongue has become equally dexterous at English, French, Italian and Spanish—as well as minor familiarity with various Eastern European languages.

Clark was, perhaps, destined for a life of study and the attaining of greater knowledge as was demonstrated by a youthful endeavor when he disassembled his father's pocket watch. This is no rare feat for a child, only in Clark's case, he reassembled the device quickly and in, arguably, better working condition than when he first laid hands upon it. But such childhood successes as these gained him no credit as the other children his age simply regarded his abilities as a manifestation of an inner conceit that was not there; but in what esteem is the opinion of children held? As his boyish good looks lingered well into his teenage years, Clark appeared more like a dandy than a person destined for any manly occupation. This caused him to initially take up fisticuffs to prove his manhood since he was not about to change his personal appearance or mannerisms to satisfy his detractors; all of whom were, of course, his intellectual inferiors. As a young adult he immersed himself in study and forsook the boxing gloves, although he found pleasant physical therapy in track and field.

Originally from Manchester, he eventually called the hallowed halls of Oxford his home. Yet oddly enough, once degreed, he had only a casual interest in pursuing a career in the fields he had so arduously studied. Having been more comfortable as a student, he pursued higher learning first in France and then later in Rome. To augment his earnings he has held many seminars and lectures and has authored over a dozen successful books on a number of themes; whether he was degreed in those subjects or not. This is the beauty and efficacy of innate intelligence; it gives one an ability to discern the nuances of a subject with more credibility than a dull student's ability to declare superficial facts; a betrayal of what little said student was able to learn.

Later, Clark accepted a teaching position at Eaton and eventually the role of a staff administrator. But he soon became tired of being forced to strictly follow university protocol, no matter how pointless the rules were. He became equally frustrated by the attempts of the society patrons to encourage him to wed their daughters. He had no interest in intimacy or in marriage and family life which he felt would stymie his further educational pursuits. He thus took up residence in Exeter where he lives with an older woman, Svetlana, who is also a scholar of note; but more on her later. Clark, well past the age of physical maturity; although his mental progress still endures, stands at five feet ten inches in height and is trim in build; although this does not indicate weakness from a lack of physical activities as he still engages in an occasional cross-country run to maintain his stamina and energy. For the moment, this stamina is being put to the test as he, a rare drinker, shuffles several bottles and glasses in almost a teetotaler's traditionally awkward attempt to prepare the drinks for his guests.

The room is rather quiet now, although a few moments ago the last of a pleasant and pleasurable discussion was still in progress; slowly drawing to a close. From the kitchen nearby can be heard the muffled chattering of three ladies, two of whom have agreed for fair remuneration to tidy up after the four excellent gentlemen and will soon be leaving for home; preparing their own abodes for the forthcoming holiday as it is now; this very moment to be exact, 9:43 pm of the clock on the eve of Christmas Eve. The third lady, the eldest and most educated of the three, Svetlana, suddenly...