‘It is no longer a tunnel,’ she was sorry to advise, ‘it is a tomb.’
‘A tomb? Who is in there?’
‘Thieves.’
‘Then I shall get you out on horse.’ He grabbed her hand, but she resisted. ‘I told you I have seen the end, Bhaskara. I shall die this day, a maiden no more; for I shall not carry this seer’s curse into my next life.’
Bhaskara’s urgency departed as he observed her, appearing both pained and elated by her prediction. ‘I was not coming back to Somnath, but I see it was fated. The Lord Shiva spared me on the battlefield so that I might join you here.’
‘Stay and you will surely die.’ She was overwhelmed by her conflicting emotions. ‘I beg you, flee! One of my guards, or our enemy, will see to my fate. But at the end I will think of you, my beloved Bhaskara, and I shall join you in the next life.’
‘And I you, for we shall be one.’ His kiss silenced her argument, and when he pressed her body close to his, she allowed all her senses to be enraptured.
‘Treasure me, and this moment, with the dignified tenderness that I have only found in you.’ She kissed him as she had always longed to, with all the passion she felt in her soul.
Clothes stripped from their bodies, they entwined in the dance of lovemaking, at the feet of their Lord Shiva. In the ecstasy of her passionate delirium, Chanda was granted flashes of insight one last time.
On a roadside lay the dying form of Devi Lochana. ‘No!’ She protested with her dying breath, as the bag containing the Eyes of Karma was cut from her body by an Arab who, upon opening the bag, was overwhelmed by the booty and finished off his victim with one final stroke of his blade.
The vision stabbed at Chanda’s heart; she had failed to deliver the sacred stones to the next Jyotirlinga, and yet the pleasure of her lover moving inside her was too great to fully acknowledge the tragedy.
In the secret tunnel beneath the temple, desperate men turned on each other in rage, and the greedy Vasudahara was beheaded by Damodara, who then collapsed to a seat to await his own death. ‘Forgive me, Lord,’ he said, his breathing shallow. ‘I should never have allowed him to take the stone.’
As her arousal heightened, she saw raiders entering the temple. Bhaskara was dragged from her arms and dismembered before her eyes.
In climax the Devi saw her battered naked form, throat slit and draped in the lap of her Lord Shiva, a river of blood flowing over the holy statue’s folded legs, her lover’s head placed in her lap.
21ST CENTURY FAKE
‘Holy hell!’ Sara leapt from the chair hysterical — between the post-sex euphoria and post-traumatic stress she didn’t know whether she wanted to groan in pleasure or throw up — so much bliss, so much terror, sorrow, guilt, all at once.
Deep, slow breaths managed to stop her hyperventilating, and having taken in the familiar surrounds, Sara got a grip on the here and now. In light of her life as an Akashvani in ancient India, suddenly everything that had transpired in this and every life between now and then began to make karmic sense. ‘No wonder Robert and his demon want to kill me . . . what a self-centred bitch.
I should have got those stones to safety myself.’
From the outside her final acts in that life might be viewed as noble or romantic, but she had known exactly what she was doing. She had led the man she loved to a horrible end, just so that she could be with him in another life.
‘Well, I got my wish, over and over!’ Only to see them both killed again and again. Perhaps seeking out this man was not such a good idea; history would only repeat. After all they had endured together, it broke her heart to think there was no light at the end of the tunnel, no happy ending for them.
How to dispense with the demon, if indeed it could be dispensed with, was still uncertain — Sara could only hope that answer might still be found in present-day India. It was clear now that it was not the man she knew as Robert who had the vendetta against her, but the demon he’d adopted; just as the old woman had always suspected. Back in ancient India, Robert had been Damodara and it was the demon who was his Isa, Vasudahara, not the other way around. It really came as no surprise that the demon had been lying to its host since the very beginning. Hence Robert — a.k.a. Thorkell — was really just another pawn in Vasudahara’s game of revenge. The old woman, guiding and protecting her all this while, did not owe Sara a karmic debt, but quite the reverse.
‘I have to get this stone back to Somnath.’ She found a small chisel and began chipping away at the wooden chair to remove the stone, setting and all. Tears began streaming from her eyes — destroying her only connection to her mysterious lover hurt her deeply. But she had led so many of the people she loved to their deaths in her lifetimes that it seemed to her a little selflessness was exactly what was required to make amends.
* * *
The final segment of the major work was already taking form on the canvas and Jon hoped to have it completed before he left for India.
The sound of his doorbell startled him and he reluctantly downed his brush to investigate who would be calling at 7 p.m. It couldn’t be Simon as he would just let himself in.
Upon opening the door Jon found Selene Love with a bottle of wine and some takeaway. ‘I have a business meeting in the morning, so if you want me to take a look at your item, it will have to be this evening.’
Oh dear. ‘Of course, come in.’ Jon stood aside and took possession of the wine and food as she entered, then placed them on a sideboard.
‘Have you eaten?’ She removed her coat and hung it on the rack.
‘I try not to when I work.’ He was honest. ‘It slows the creative flow.’
‘No wonder you’re so slim.’ Selene had ample curves herself, so her voluptuous bust was not ill-proportioned. ‘Well then, let’s take a look, and then I’ll bugger off with my takeaway and scoff it all myself.’ She said it jovially, but Jon could tell she was disappointed.
‘Lead the way.’
When Selene laid eyes on the chair she was not disappointed, however.
‘Goodness . . . it’s beautiful! Is this the piece that you were attempting to cart up the stairs the night of your birthday?’
‘Yes, it was a gift from my agent.’ Jon realised that he hadn’t actually asked Simon where he had acquired it. ‘I have no idea where he found it.’
‘Good gosh, a lilac diamond.’ She was amused. ‘Now I double doubt this is the real deal.’ Selene moved in close and breathed on the stone to fog it up and then observed how long the fog lingered.
‘It’s a fake,’ she said, and forced a smile of sympathy, obviously aware that this was probably not the news he wanted to hear. ‘But a very bloody nice one.’
‘A fake?’ Jon’s heart began racing in his chest — with what he’d seen this stone do, how could it possibly be anything but a genuine holy relic? ‘Are you absolutely certain?’
‘Ninety-nine point ninety-nine per cent.’ She reached into her pocket to produce her jeweller’s loupe to inspect the stone more closely through it. ‘No inclusions, no slight variations of colour—’
‘Inclusions?’ Jon queried.
‘Small flecks of minerals that are naturally occurring imperfections in a real, albeit imperfect, diamond,’ she explained. ‘This is too perfect to be real, it’s most likely cubic zirconia infused with neodymium to produce that lovely lilac colour.’
Inwardly Jon was completely freaking out. ‘It can’t be.’ Surely he wasn’t meant to return a fake stone to the holy shrine?
‘I’m so sorry.’ She took hold of his arm to comfort him. ‘I know it would have been worth a small fortune—’
‘It’s not the money.’ Jon waved off that concern, and released himself from her embrace, a little frustrated to be consoled. ‘It’s part of a mystery I’m trying to solve . . .’
‘Really?’ Selene perked up. ‘How exciting.’
‘The question is, if this is a fake then where is the real stone?’ Still buried with Rosalind somewhere along the
Orwell River? Jon gripped his head at the quiet revelation. The old woman had said she could manipulate matter. So if she was not allowed to unearth the stones herself and return them in India, then could she have re-created her beloved chairs with the idea of using them as a tool to put both him and his mystery woman in touch with each other, so that they might learn of their karma for themselves? After all, if Rosalind was their guardian, why would she send them cursed stones before they had some idea what they were dealing with?
‘That makes sense.’
‘What does?’ Selene was bursting with curiosity.
‘I know where they are . . . roughly.’ Would he be able to retrace his steps back along the river, when he’d never even been there in this life?
‘So the mystery is to find a treasure?’
Jon paused before he answered, for he feared Selene would not like the truth so much. ‘I’m in search of a woman.’
‘A woman?’ Her excitement waned somewhat.
Jon nodded, an apologetic look on his face, as he ventured to confide in her. ‘Do you believe in past lives, Selene?’
‘I absolutely do.’ She was seemingly enchanted by the question. ‘Why do you ask?’
* * *
Upstairs in Jon’s studio Selene stood speechless staring at the huge landscape, at the centre of which was the unknown woman. ‘So you’re not all dark, distant, twisted and socially inept, after all?’
‘Thanks so much.’ Jon took her perception with good humour.
‘You have unexpected depth, Jon Trustler. It’s absolutely beautiful, like a passionate sonnet for the eyes.’ Although she appeared delighted, she was deflated. ‘And so bloody romantic, goddammit!’ She thumped her foot, faking frustration. ‘Don’t you think she looks rather like me?’ She sweetened suddenly and batted her eyelashes. ‘If I were blonde, young and quite a bit thinner?’ She burst into a grin as he must have appeared as put on the spot as he felt. ‘Kidding,’ she laughed to lighten the mood again. ‘But seriously . . . I can see you’re working very hard to solve this mystery, so I really hope you find her.’
‘Any support graciously received as my business partner is beginning to think I’m a little nuts.’
‘He’s not into the esoteric, I take it?’
Jon really couldn’t blame Simon. ‘Well neither was I, until this happened.’
In any case, Jon was proud of how the piece was turning out. The beautiful golden statue of Shiva had appeared. A thief up a ladder tried to steal one of the jewels set in the face of the sculpture, while at the statue’s feet two lovers lay entwined.
‘So the jewels in the statue’s eyes . . . you thought one of those lilac jewels was the one in your chair?’ Selene noticed two chairs were depicted on the canvas. ‘Does your mysterious woman have the other chair?’
‘I certainly hope so.’ Jon found Selene’s open-mindedness refreshing. ‘You know what, I am rather hungry. How about I tell you this story,’ he referred to the canvas they observed, ‘over some food?’
Selene smiled, appearing appeased by the suggestion. ‘Oh gosh, yes please, I’m famished!’
Once Selene had turned her siren side off, she was very pleasant company, and was absolutely reeling with grief at his sad tales. Of course, Jon didn’t tell her the complete supernatural nature of the chair, only that since he’d owned it he’d been having past-life glimpses in his dreams.
‘It’s all frightfully romantic . . . not at all what I expected you’d be like.’ She dried an eye.
‘It was never my intention to be romantic.’ Jon was a little uncomfortable with that summation.
‘You’ve died for her four times already,’ she pointed out, dumbfounded by his perception of himself. ‘What could possibly be more chivalrous than that?’
‘Well, three times technically,’ Jon sidestepped the subject. ‘I don’t know that Thorkell managed to finish off Edwin.’
‘Oh, you can bet your bloody life he did.’ Selene was quite caught up in the story. ‘If Tianna got herself accused of murder and sentenced to death just to be rid of Thorkell, he would have had a lot of frustration to take out on someone.’
Jon nodded, feeling relieved to finally discuss his experiences. ‘But Thorkell was banished by Canute and might not have had time to seek revenge.’
Selene served him a look that implied he was being pedantic and too modest. ‘Three times then, but still, she must really be something.’
Just the thought of her transported Jon’s mind to an otherworldly place of warmth, happiness and love. He recalled how Bhaskara had described her: ‘She has the splendour of the gods upon her.’
‘Oh just stop!’ Selene held her heart. ‘Before every man I ever hope to meet pales into obscurity by comparison.’
‘Sorry.’ Jon realised that was probably a little over the top in this day and age. ‘Too much wine.’
‘Not enough wine for my liking.’ She grinned and pouted, as the bottle was empty and the food long gone. ‘So . . . as you clearly have no intention of pressing your advantage with me this evening, I’ll be off.’ She stood and Jon followed suit to see her to the door.
‘But you think you know where the true treasure is, you said?’
‘It will take a miracle to find.’ He was boggled by the task. This put his trip to India on hold indefinitely, but he’d still go for jabs and have his visa in hand, so he could depart as soon as he did find them.
‘Well, if you find the Eyes of Karma, I would dearly love to take a look.’
‘The stones are cursed, Selene,’ Jon was sorry to deny her. ‘I’ve seen what has become of everyone who has had contact with those stones and there were no happy endings for any of them. I think that Lochana’s experience has demonstrated that when on a mission for Lord Shiva, he does not take kindly to detours.’
‘In that case, here.’ Selene handed him her jeweller’s loupe so that he could check the treasures for himself. ‘Be safe. Best of luck.’
‘Thank you . . . and for the dinner and the chat.’ Jon was sincerely grateful.
‘Any time.’ She grinned, kissed his cheek and then wiped her lipstick from his face with her thumb. ‘You’re as gorgeous as that painting up there, and gallant . . . you should own it, as it does look well on you.’
Jon was never good at taking personal compliments, but he was tipsy enough to appreciate the advice. ‘I’ll do my best.’ He opened the door and watched her negotiate the few stairs in her heels.
‘When you bring back my loupe you can tell me the ending and introduce me to her.’
‘I will absolutely do that,’ he vowed.
She growled in jealous frustration, grinning all the while. ‘Heaven help my next poor suitor.’ She waved goodbye and walked away.
* * *
The suitcase she was packing to take to Willie’s, and then on to India, was just not going to be big enough to fit all her clothes, effects, design equipment and sketching paraphernalia. She might be on the run but she still needed to work — if that was at all possible. Sara wasn’t prepared to give up on her dreams just yet. Her glimpses of the past had inspired some fantastic ideas to incorporate into her own designs. She still had samples from her current collection to complete and send to the manufacturer.
‘I just need another day,’ she protested at having to pack up her work to take with her. ‘More luggage!’ She threw up her hands in disgust, when her phone rang and she was near paralysed with fear.
When she saw it was Willie calling, she relaxed. ‘I know I’m not there yet, b—’
‘Sara, have you seen the news?’
‘No, why w—’
‘It’s Robert, he’s been arrested for sexual assault.’
‘What!’ Sara rushed over to turn on her television — which she never used.
‘Go to ABC.’
Sara flicked channels and found the report. On screen was a very distressed woman, her face blurred out as she spoke to camera.
‘After seeing Dr Baxter I did stop smokin
g. I felt like a different person, but not in a good way. I began having the most awful thoughts about those I loved and I was concerned so I went to see another hypnotist. That’s when I remembered being sexually assaulted, and the bondage room in the house where Dr Baxter occasionally sees clients.’
Sara’s stomach was twisting into knots as the report showed the deluxe torture room beneath her fiancé’s house, over which the voice of the police commissioner could be heard advising: ‘After taking the witness’s statement, police obtained a search warrant for the property and upon locating the alleged chamber, a warrant for Dr Baxter’s arrest was issued.’
‘I’ve been there.’ Sara recognised his house. She was completely unaware of the secret room, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t taken her there.
‘Son of a bitch,’ Willie sympathised.
The news report cut to footage of Robert being arrested at the convention in Melbourne, swearing that the charges were ‘malicious lies!’
‘The famous TV host and hypnotherapist is being detained in custody for questioning, pending charges.’
‘That’s why he’s been delayed in Melbourne.’
‘You’ve spoken to him?’
‘No, he left a message.’ She muttered, strangely calm in the face of the stark reality being presented to her.
Perhaps recent glimpses into her horrific past lives had desensitised her? Instead of crumbling into a hysterical mess, Sara felt vindicated. She wasn’t shadowboxing any longer, her opponent was in the open where she could see him — any small doubt about Robert’s innocence that she might have had was gone. In light of her most recent experience in the chair, how could she not feel responsible for the crimes this disgusting duo had committed in the last ten centuries? She had to find a way to thwart the ungodly union, before anyone else’s life was destroyed for the demon’s amusement.
‘There’s going to be reporters swarming all over your place soon.’
Sara moved to the window to observe the press vans pulling up outside, along with a police vehicle. ‘The police are here.’
The Immortal Bind Page 22
