by Maya Banks
“Yes, well, as I was saying.” He cleared his throat, unable to believe he was about to confide in her something he’d never told another living soul. “It’s almost as if I have been there. As absurd as it may sound.”
She looked at him in shock. To his surprise she didn’t laugh at him, but disbelief clearly outlined her features. “I don’t understand,” she began.
He sighed. “I can’t explain it. For years I wondered if I wasn’t going mad, but I have these images--memories I’ve come to believe, of a place I can only describe as possibly being Pagoria.”
Her brow furrowed deeper in confusion.
“I have no explanation, no substantiation for the images I see, and yet they are so real...” He trailed off, frustrated at his inability to articulate his thoughts.
“What sort of memories or images do you have of the city?”
He paused, knowing how ridiculous he was going to sound. No one had ever discovered the city, and yet, he felt as if he has been there. “I’m but a child. Very young. I remember a great stone doorway.” He closed his eyes and tried to conjure up the familiar images. “I see an old man. White beard. Smiling. He has the most wonderful smile. Warm. There’s another man. Younger, but still old. He hugs me then tussles my hair. Around us, people are milling about, their dress strange and unfamiliar. And everything is blue. The clothes, the pottery, the shoes. A brilliant shade of blue. And around me, I had the feeling of mountains. It was why I was surprised when the bracelet pointed us south to Madrid. In my heart, I’ve always felt that Pagoria was in a mountainous region.”
She grew very still beside him, and he opened his eyes to look at her. She looked away. Then she gave a nervous sounding laugh. “And what makes you think this is Pagoria?”
He narrowed his eyes at her strange behavior. “I don’t know exactly. It’s more a feeling than anything. When I was young. Eight years old or so. I found a book in my father’s library about Pagoria. I think it may have been a journal of someone who had researched the city. But I remember reading it and these images exploded into my head. Like long lost memories coming back in full force.”
She leaned forward in fascination. “Whose journal was it?”
He shook his head and pressed his lips together. “I don’t know. My father came in. When he saw what I was reading, he fell into a rage. He threw the book into the fire and told me never to speak of Pagoria again, that it was a fool’s idea.”
“How odd.”
“I thought so too. I had read just enough though, that it had piqued my interest. And the images wouldn’t die. They burned so brightly in my mind that I couldn’t let it go. That was the day my interest in Pagoria was born. I began digging up every bit of information I could find about the city. I scoured our library in search of any mention. When I went off to school, I continued my research, and over time collected quite a bit of information.”
She pursed her lips then twisted them as if she was pondering her next statement. Then she looked at him as if deciding whether to speak at all. Finally, she released her breath and said, “Have you ever considered that you are remembering events from a past life?”
His face froze in surprise. Of all the things he thought she might say, this wasn’t one of them. So why wasn’t he laughing at the absurdity of her suggestion? Of course he wasn’t remembering things from a previous life. He didn’t believe in reincarnation. He was much too level headed for such religious nonsense.
But then she didn’t think him a loon after listening to his ramblings. He shook his head. Was she the missing piece of his soul? Someone fated to be a part of his life? How else could he explain the feeling that an important piece of himself had been put together?
“I’m afraid I don’t know what to say,” he finally managed. “You’ve caught me completely off guard. On the surface, it sounds quite absurd.”
He glanced at her, gauging her reaction to his words. Would he anger her by being so candid?
“And yet, you cannot otherwise explain the vividness of these images you recount,” she said, her expression calm. “I’m not trying to make a believer out of you, Ridge. I am merely challenging you to consider a possibility you may have previously overlooked.”
“That you didn’t laugh me out of the house is welcome enough.”
She lifted a brow. “As the historical society did to my father when he last gave a lecture there?”
He flinched. “Touché. I suppose I deserved that.”
She sighed. “No, you didn’t. My apologies. My anger leads me to say careless things sometime.”
“You are an incredible woman, India,” he murmured. “I’ve never met another woman like you.”
Her cheeks colored and she looked away. He reached a hand out to cup her chin and gently turned her back to look at him. He rubbed his thumb over her full lips, his breath catching in his throat. How had he ever imagined himself in love with Lucinda?
As his thumb fell away, her tongue nervously wet her bottom lip. With a low groan, he leaned forward and captured her mouth with his. He swallowed her soft sigh as he sucked her bottom lip between his teeth, nipping and nibbling before allowing it to escape.
“What it is about you that I lose all reason?” he whispered against her skin.
She drew away, her eyes glowing softly. Her lips were swollen, full, tempting still. She looked sensuous, the epitome of womanhood. And he wanted her so badly, he ached from head to toe.
“What if I told you Pagoria was much older,” she whispered.
He blinked in surprise, his mind struggling to switch gears.
“You said you believed it to be nearly three thousand years old,” she prompted.
“Yes, I believe I said as much,” he mumbled, still trying to regain control of his pounding pulse.
“I believe it’s much, much older.”
“How much older?” he asked, scooting back on the settee. The more space he put between them, the better chance he had of resisting the urge to haul her up to his bed.
“I believe it may predate the biblical Garden of Eden.”
Chapter Thirteen
India watched shock, then blatant disbelief spread across Ridge’s face.
“Do you know what you are saying?” he asked incredulously.
She smiled.
“Of course you know what you are saying,” he muttered. “But do you really believe it?”
She shrugged. “I could be wrong. The great mystique of the city is that no one knows. Artemis shares my view as did my father.”
The look he gave her expressed exactly how much credence he put into Artemis’s endorsement.
“You are basically saying everything in the Bible, everything we believe about creation is false.” He shook his head as if unable to comprehend such a reach.
“That’s not what I’m saying at all,” she protested. She closed her eyes, wishing she had just remained silent.
“Then what are you saying?” he asked. “You’ve certainly gained my attention now.”
She scooted to the edge of the settee so that she sat forward. She glanced over at him and rubbed her forehead wearily.
Before she had put absolutely no stock into what he thought about her, but now she loathed the idea of him thinking her a hysteric. She wanted him to take her seriously. To respect her. Even if it would only last as long as their voyage to Spain.
Her head pounded harder, her stomach twisted into knots. She didn’t want to betray him. Deceive him. She had come so close to blurting everything out. Everything. She knew he would help her. He was not the man she had thought him in the beginning.
But that was the problem. Artemis’s earlier statement had opened her eyes to the danger she was putting not only Ridge, but to his brother and Kavi and Udaya. People she loved. She would die before allowing them to come to harm.
“India?”
She pinched the bridge of her nose and mentally shook herself. Ridge was waiting her e
xplanation, and all she could think about was the potential consequences of being honest with him.
“There are a select few who believe that all did not begin with Adam and Eve, rather they were a new beginning. A fresh start. And that there existed on earth a population before Adam and Eve. Before the fall of Lucifer.”
Ridge frowned. “I don’t pretend to be a biblical scholar, but I thought it was widely accepted that Adam and Eve were the first humans.”
She said her next words carefully. Her intention certainly wasn’t to offend the viscount, but she wanted to make her point. “It is widely accepted by those who accept the teachings of the Bible. Christians. But there is a huge population out there who are not Christians. Whose religion and civilizations predate the rise of Christianity.”
“Yes, I see what you mean. So it boils down to personal belief system. But that is hardly an exact science.”
“No, it isn’t,” she agreed. “I am merely pointing out, that besides the small group within the Christian circles who don’t believe Adam and Eve were the beginning, there is a whole world out there who don’t think so either.”
He nodded. Then he stared long and hard at her. “From what I’ve gathered about you so far, India, you are hardly one to form an opinion based on ideology. What makes you think Pagoria predates the origins of the world according to Christianity?”
Her cheeks warmed at his subtle praise. In his world, he admired practicality above all else, and by his admission, he thought her a practical sort.
She leaned back again and turned her head so she could look him in the eyes. Instead of condemnation or disbelief, she saw only curiosity. Interest. A desire for knowledge.
“It would take the entire night to outline and articulate all my thoughts, so I’ll try to be brief. I’ve known that there existed a school of thought that suggested the world was created long before Adam and Eve and that Lucifer, a favored angel, had dominion over the earth and its inhabitants.
“When Lucifer fell, that is he rebelled against God, he was cast into hell with one third of the angels, who apparently were loyal to him. God then destroyed the earth with a great flood. Some time after that he began the process of rebirth. Recreating the animals, the plants, the trees, and lastly, people. Adam and Eve.”
A thoughtful look crossed Ridge’s face. “But then how could a city possibly...unless...are you saying that Pagoria existed in the time when Lucifer reigned on earth and was destroyed in the great flood? Is that why there is so little information about it?”
“Actually no,” she said slowly. “I believe it somehow survived.”
His gaze narrowed. “You don’t, that is your father’s idea that the city somehow still thrives, you don’t believe that do you?”
“Why wouldn’t I share my father’s beliefs?” she asked mildly. “But whether it died or still lives, it hardly matters. After all, if we find it, we’ll answer that question, won’t we?”
“You’re right. It is of no consequence.”
His tone suggested he readily dismissed the idea that Pagoria still lived, and she said nothing further to dissuade him of that notion. To do so would only reveal her deception, and she had no intention of putting him in any more danger than she already had.
“But how did you reach the conclusion that the city could possibly have existed so long ago?” he asked.
“Are you familiar with the Epic of Gilgamesh?”
He nodded.
“Even in this story, one of the oldest recovered, there is a mention of Noah’s flood. A Biblical reference. There are a lot of similarities in old texts to passages in the Bible, even if they aren’t in complete agreement.”
“Yes, I can see that,” he agreed.
“Well. There are texts older than the Bible. Some dating thousands of years before the birth of Christ. And in some of the oldest, there are mentions of Pagoria, or what I believe to be Pagoria,” she amended. “Of course, I have no proof.”
He looked stunned. “Which texts?”
She smiled. “Probably nothing you would have ever heard of. In my travels, I have visited places that most people aren’t even aware exist. I’ve been to the far reaches of the earth, experienced many different cultures, and yet, I have found references to Pagoria, eerily similar, in more than a dozen. Cultures that would have had no way of intermingling at the time the stories were scribed.
“It is always described as a holy city. Mystical, powerful, awe inspiring. Mysterious. I have uncovered artifacts, pottery, pieces of writing all over the world. I’ve heard stories handed down from generation to generation by word of mouth from remote tribes in Africa to a group of Monks in the mountains of Nepal. And they are shockingly similar.”
“How so?”
His eyes burned with interest, his voice held a hint of awe. It was the way she felt when discussing Pagoria as well.
“There were many, many mentions of Lucifer of the Light. Favored son. God’s chosen representative. A city of blue.” She continued ticking off the traits, numbering them on her fingers. “A great betrayal. The heavens weeping. Great destruction. A new beginning...”
Her voice faded as she said the last.
“By your own account, the city would have had to have been destroyed,” he spoke up.
She shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. It is a great mistake of man to try and suppose the will of God.”
He cocked his head and looked curiously at her. “I would have thought by your manner of speaking that you were not a Christian. And you mention reincarnation so I would have assumed maybe you were Hindu. Given your ties to India, it would be a logical assumption.”
She grinned at him. “I have you guessing.”
“Not going to enlighten me?”
“I believe in God. Surely that is enough.”
He gazed at her for a long time. Admiration and understanding lit his face. “Yes. Yes, I think it is.”
“Now, are you ready to commit me to Bedlam?” she asked, waggling her brows.
“To abuse such a brilliant mind would surely constitute the most heinous of crimes.”
She blushed, her cheeks warm with his approval.
“You’ve given me a lot to think about tonight,” he said, standing and stretching his legs.
“Hopefully it won’t be an unpleasant experience.”
“Not at all. I find the subject fascinating. I thought I knew so much about Pagoria, and yet I’ve discovered I’ve merely scratched the surface.”
“As have we all,” she said. “But if we are fortunate, perhaps all our questions will soon be answered.”
“And suddenly I am worried that I am not worthy,” he said with a rueful smile. “All this talk of God and the devil. Good and evil.”
“But isn’t everything in life a battle between good and evil?” she asked in all seriousness.
“Yes, I suppose it is.”
“In the end, I think the important thing is which side you line up on.”
He smiled. “There you go being all serious again. Despite you having corrected me about your age, I still maintain you are far too serious for one so young.”
He consulted his fob then looked back at her. “Are you hungry?”
She nodded. Indeed, she was. Food had been the last thing on her mind in the cascade of events today.
“Let’s go see what cook has in the kitchen. If we’re lucky, she hasn’t put everything away yet.”
He held out his arm, and she grinned then curled her arm around his.
“Tomorrow...well, tomorrow promises to be a busy day,” he said as they left the sitting room. “We may as well enjoy a quiet evening. It may be the last one we have for a long while.”
Chapter Fourteen
Robert woke to insistent knocking. He glared at the offending door and promptly cursed it into oblivion. And then he realized. He was alive. Wondrously so. In the dark, predawn hours, he had feared he may not see the light so great was his pa
in.
He stretched cautiously, awaiting the agony to crawl over his body. To his surprise, he felt only mild discomfort.
“Come on, Robby, wake up,” Ridge called as he knocked again.
Robert grinned and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Good days were few and far between. He’d only experienced one in the last two weeks. But so far he was blissfully pain free, and he wanted to experience every single minute of this magnificent day.
He tottered a bit as he stood, but he caught himself on the bed posters. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he called as Ridge knocked again.
His heart lighter than it had been in months, he quickly pulled on his trousers and yanked a shirt over his head. As he started to leave the room, his gaze settled on the letter he had begun the night before.
He stood frozen in front of the small desk, staring at the quill and ink.
“I’ll be just a minute,” he said, raising his voice so that Ridge would hear.
He waited until he heard Ridge’s footsteps fade down the hallway then he sank down in the chair. It wasn’t any easier to write what he must today than it had been last night. But he felt he owed his father and mother to provide some explanation.
Grief intruded on his euphoric mood, and he buried his face in his hands. He slid his hand upwards until they tangled in his hair, and he swallowed convulsively to try and squelch the tears that stung his eyes.
Life wasn’t fair. But he wouldn’t waste a moment of it resenting the inevitable. Some things were just easier to accept when you knew you had no control over them.
He had spent a lot of time hating God before he realized the futility of such an action. And in his quieter more reflective moments, he actually drew comfort from talking to God in a non accusatory manner. And maybe this was his punishment for betraying his brother. Much like Cain and Abel.
He forced himself to pick up the quill, and he continued where he’d left off the evening before. Each word tore at him a little more. By the time he finished, his hands shook, and his writing was nearly illegible.
