Free Truthseekers by Mike Handcock

grow some seeds and vegetables in the entrance of the mines, enough to survive, although by spring they were hardly in the best of condition none of them had died. They had survived.
    De Odes then went into production to upscale weaponry from the metals found in the mines that the ancient people, the Minoans, had travelled further than even these knights to receive and as summer was coming they headed further west to find a place that would serve as a base, a lifestyle, a shelter from the elements where they could settle and claim land and start to grow a tribe of their own.
    Fifty-five years later De Odes was satisfied. Chancery had died many years before, but his son and grandson were very much alive. Their number had grown to forty-nine individuals. It was a small community, within the bounds of a timber fort, close to a river full of fish and with crops firmly planted including both aloe vera and corn, not something De Odes had ever seen in his time in France. He had built a solid relationship with the few local tribes, who were more transient than fixed in the area and often during his life had shared his ideas at the great tribal councils, never quite speaking the language yet always being able to communicate his ideas.
    His one regret was not leaving this place. He should have done it years ago, but although the winters were still harsh, everyone seemed to prosper here and his memories of France, his role and what had happened were still bitter in his mind. He just couldn’t bring the group into more potential trouble so he had stayed put.
    De Odes’ mind was still sharp. The others in the settlement saw him as some grand elder. The local chiefs held him in huge respect. He wasseventy-nine years old. The next oldest in the group was fifty-three. De Odes was withered and suffered from terrible arthritis. He stood leaning against an upright support beam of his small hut. His own sons surrounded him along with the fifty-three year-old: Bertrand Malice, named after his old friend and leader Bertrand St Clar.
    “Father you are not well. It is time to lie down,” spoke one of the two sons.
    “No, my sons. It is my time. I feel it. I have lived a long and purposeful life. I have done everything I can to build this community and to keep you and the others safe.” Drawing breath De Odes turned and grasped Malice firmly. “Bertrand, it is time. Cast the rune stone, burn this place and leave it. Change your names – all of you. You have spent years learning the language of the Vikings and the ways of the sea. You have ships on the lake; they will lead you to the ocean. It’s time my sons. You must go. Keep them safe. You know your roles.”
    “Father,” the other son spoke. “We will do as you say, of course. We have been preparing for this our whole lives, but you must come. It’s not your time to die. You will never die.” Starting to shake and a tear welling in his eye… “How can you possibly say that? How do you know?”
    De Odes leaned on a chair and slowly sat down smiling.
    “Because, my sons, I can see my old friends Bertrand St Clar and Jacques De Molay. They are here for me and they are beckoning me.”
    And with that De Odes smiled, his eyes went vacant and his breathing slowed. The chemicals inside the old man’s brain sent endorphins and he relaxed in a state of euphoria and rejoined those he had fought beside and held dear.
    His sons wept and Malice began the clearing of the fort.

10
    Stacey had been up most of the night. At first she had ignored the emails and texts from David, asking her to investigate his premises on the hooked X. Then she simply couldn’t sleep so she had turned her laptop on and become absorbed in the links and process. She was pretty happy with herself. She was a damn good researcher, probably the best even she knew of and she loved to surprise David with new lines of thought and angles he hadn’t considered. She had sent him what she had and then grabbed a couple more