The Treasure *Phantom of the Opera* (sequel to The Quest)

Chapter XIV

A/N:  I know this story isn't all that popular here, but I had some time and thought I'd put up another couple of chapters. :)

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**Chapter XIV**

Without music life would be a mistake.
~Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche

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Erik drew near the cave of the hidden inlet, near Poseidon's doorway, the surf of the great sea crashing against a barrier of high rocks and lapping beyond, inside the cave, as though to conquer and possess all the land. He felt confident he had escaped notice of the guards, who'd given up their search for the two gypsy runaways. Earlier, when he stood in the deep shadows of a nearby thicket and listened to the soldiers' conversation as they gathered in a manner of relaxed camaraderie, smoking their thin cigarettos, he learned that Don Carlos issued orders to terminate the search. Erik did not presume that the wretched fiend had abandoned his brutal vendetta so easily, and soon learned he was correct: in tribute to the Don's deceased mother, the entire week at the villa was to be held in silence and tribute, in veneration of her. All else had been postponed, and with relief Erik realized he had more time to plan than he first supposed.

Because of his long association with dwellings of gloom, the yawning darkness of the cavern did not deter him. Where some might stumble, he walked with assurance. Hidden crevices others might bypass, his sharp eyes detected. The Phantom of the Opera no longer held sway over his reasoning, but the cunning Opera Ghost of the shadowed theater lingered in his blood.

The chill underground cavern reminded him of the not so distant past, the odors of damp earth and moldering rock vivid reminders of the former life he surrendered, the dark hold he vanquished. Twenty-two years of survival, of remaining hidden, could not so easily be forgotten ... Silent voices of the cavern whispered to the outer reaches of his mind, promising safety and ceaseless power if he would again relent, but he steeled himself against their crafty lies. Forces of darkness lurked on this estate of death and fear. Erik sensed them the moment he passed into the Don's domain. But to dwell with Christine, for the sake of his Angel, he would nevermore allow the cloying evil to entrap him within a web of deceit and untold pain.

The rough path at the water's edge led upward in a natural staircase, as he had expected when he first noticed the cave beneath the villa. One stone cliff faced another, a sheer drop-off of several stories stretched in the gap between ledges. With feline grace Erik made a mockery of the danger as he leapt several feet across emptiness and landed on his feet in a crouch. The rafters of the opera house had been his playground, the caverns and their cellars beneath, his home. But he knew relief that Christine wasn't present to observe his acrobatics, for surely his dear Angel would have worried to no end. He knew full well his abilities or lack of them, and would do nothing that might leave her widowed. He intended their union to last a very long lifetime.

He moved higher into the cavern, not the least bit winded, and realized that this past month of inhabiting fresh air, while dwelling in the tender warmth of his beloved's affections, had given him even greater vitality. Christine had been correct in that regard – light and love did bestow more strength than darkness and hatred enacted.

Allowing his thoughts to rest on his wife had been a mistake, as his heart and spirit and body again reminded him of how intensely he missed her. He pushed matters of emotion aside, forcing himself to concentrate on his task.

Further he walked, until he entered a cavernous room of rock and came to a swift halt. Light from a crack high in the wall displayed what lay within: barrels of gunpowder and crates of guns. Pleased with his discovery, Erik investigated. The weapons' make and model were those of a former decade, but seemed in superior condition and no less functional. In another crate he found swords, cutlasses, daggers, a few of the hilts engraved with precious metals, jeweled, and worth a small fortune. Obviously the Don's stockpile.