by Deena Remiel
While driving up the winding path to the house, she let her mind wander back through memories of her childhood. She and her brother had played their own special tag game of roadrunner and coyote in the desert landscape surrounding the house. At twilight, while watching the sun set on many an evening, she’d often tell her dad that when she grew up, she was going to ride people around showing them the beauty of the land. She’d promised to live in that very home with her husband, five kids, two dogs, two cats, and a parrot named Jim. He always raised his eyebrows and chuckled at the five kids remark, telling her that having two kids was insane enough, let alone five. But she had always argued that those dreams would become reality.
Well, with the family pretty much decimated, home became more like an empty shell than the loving home of the “old days” or what so long ago she’d imagined it to be as her future. For her, many dreams lay trapped within the very walls that had protected her growing up. Dreams of talking about first love and heartache with her mother, her parents walking her down the wedding aisle, them bouncing her children on their knees, and watching Serena become a success. All those dreams, trapped like the insulation in the walls. In fact, these days, Serena felt more at ease out in the open desert than under her own roof, where those dreams kept crying out for freedom. She shook off the melancholy feelings that threatened to take hold.
“Okay, shower first, information on the relic second, sleep third,” she told herself out loud. As if there’s anyone around to care what the hell I do. The shower soothed her weary body, and as she slathered on Lily of the Valley body lotion, she skirted around memories of her mother massaging the same lotion into her sun-burned skin as a child. Awakening from her reverie, she sat at her computer desk in her bedroom.
“Time to find out about our little bronze woman.”
It took some perseverance and nifty searching on the Internet, but before her hair could dry, she identified her twin in bronze.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” she murmured. “You, my dear, are a freakin’ goddess. The Celtic goddess, Sirona, for Christ’s sake! The Goddess of Healing. Can you heal my crazy mind, huh? Probably not. You’d sure save me a lot of money, though.” She chuckled and shook her head.
The relic, in its Styrofoam box, rested on her bureau. Serena shifted in her seat to look at it. Drawn like an addict to a syringe, she walked over and took the statue out of its protective case. The weight surprised her, and the coolness of the bronze sent shivers up her arms. As she held it in her hands, a growing queasiness and lightheadedness enveloped her. Her bedroom spun out from underneath her. She fell hard to the floor and blacked out.
***
“There she is, Mongrel! She’s fallen on the ground. We can’t let her escape us this time!”
“We’ve got her cornered, Cowen, never fear.” He snickered. “Look, she can’t even get up. Perfect.”
Although midnight, the moon shown as bright as the sun itself and made for easy hunting. Sirona’s predators picked up their pace as they began pursuit of her in earnest.
She’d craved a little breathing room for a long while now, some freedom of movement. No guards to watch her every move, no servants underfoot. Now, however, she found herself running for her life and regretting her impulsive decision to sneak out. Just a few more steps and she would be safe again, inside her temple. Her head ached from tripping and falling to the ground. She’d hit it soundly on the hardened earth, but knew she would be fine. A goddess, an immortal like her, didn’t need to concern herself with such trivial things as getting hurt. She could heal quickly, but needed to quicken her pace or else the menacing heathens would surely capture her.
Sirona staggered to her feet and charged ahead with all the speed of a tortoise. Her world was literally spinning out of control. She definitely didn’t feeling like her usual self, but pushed the concern to the side, trying to focus and putting one foot in front of the other. A disconcerting thought entered her mind. I am the Goddess of Healing! Why am I not healing?
Before she could reach sanctuary, the brutes were upon her. One of them grasped her neck while the other tackled her feet. In a heaving mass, they tumbled to the ground. Sirona’s breath escaped her as the thugs landed blow upon blow. Writhing, she cried out in pain, confounded that the assault could be affecting her in such a mortal way. When she finally stilled, they wrapped her arms and legs in ropes, gagged her mouth, and hoisted her onto a wagon. She watched her temple and village shrink away in the distance.
Where are they taking me? Into the mountains? Do they know they’ve captured the one being that will make them invincible, immortal? They must. This is not good. Not good at all. As the thought skittered through the recesses of her mind, she succumbed to the unaccustomed pain of the peasants’ assault and blacked out.
***
Sirona clawed her way back to consciousness, aware only of an incessant throbbing behind her eyes, and a dawning fear that she may not be so immortal after all. Another more disturbing thought occurred to her. If this were so, she may not live long enough to see her dream come true, to start a family with her husband, Raphael. She had recently married one of the Brethren Saviors; an angel, and her one and only love.
“So, you are awake. That is good. Let me make introductions,” one said nonchalantly. “I am Cowen and this is Mongrel. We have a request of you. We hope you will oblige.”
She grunted at his bizarre manner. As though he really thought she would take him seriously. Ridiculous! He removed the gag from her mouth, propped her body up to a sitting position on the ground, and awaited her response. Taking deep breaths and letting them out slowly, she struggled to gain some semblance of composure.
“You can’t be serious, heathen. You expect me to grant you anything after the beating I’ve taken from you, not to mention the fact that you’ve stolen me from my home? Never.”
Cowen stood before her with arms opened wide, preening like a proud peacock. “Oh, but you see, once you grant us what we want, we will let you go free. You are immortal, so you can go on living forever. We just want our share in that way of life, you see. So if you’d be so kind and bestow your gift upon us, we’ll no longer be a bother to you.”
Her anger boiled over at their audacity. “You…you want me to give you the gift of regeneration? I won’t do it!” she screeched. “You hear me, I won’t!”
“Oh, but you will, Goddess, because the only other option for you is a most unfortunate death.” Her heart skipped a beat as he stared straight through to her soul with Evil’s fiery red glint in his eye. He looked over at Mongrel, whose eyes reflected the same possession, and they laughed.
“That’s impossible.” She cleared her throat and muttered dismissively, “I cannot die.”
“Oh, my dear, you have been misled if you believe so. If you don’t yield to our request, you shall indeed find out how much. Mongrel! Give her a little taste of what we mere mortals fear most.”
Mongrel lifted Sirona from her seat and tossed her without a care against the wall of the cave. She heard a furious snapping, like tree branches breaking from strong winds. Blinding light knifed through her skull, beckoning tears as bones shattered.
She cried out for mercy.
“Will you grant us your gift?” Cowen purred.
“No, I can’t,” she whispered through her agony and astonishment. “I won’t.”
“By the Gods.” The miscreant scrubbed his face with his hands and paced around her broken body. “Mongrel, look for the mark, man. Look for the mark!”
“Where would it be?” He slunk over to Sirona’s broken body as she fought for every shallow breath.
“It should be by her right shoulder, idiot. Master’s only told us a dozen or so times already! Now look!” Without ceremony, Mongrel quickly ripped the jade-colored gown from her right shoulder. She wondered what her birthmark, a golden scar in the shape of a scepter, had to do with anything.
“I found it!”
“Good, now let me have a look at her
.” He pushed Mongrel aside as he approached Sirona with a contemptuous glare. “How dare you deny me such a simple request? If you won’t give me your gift, then no one will have the opportunity either. Such a shame and a waste not to share your bountiful gifts with your followers.” He spat on her, and she flinched. “I give you one last chance to do the right thing. Give us your gift or die.”
“An feidir le heinne cuidiu liom? Can anyone help me?” she whispered in hope of an answer, but felt no presence. Where is my love’s connection to me? “Graim thu, anam chara. I love you, Raphael, my soul mate.” With tears now streaming down her cheeks, she raised her voice and spoke clearly. “I choose death, heathen, and when my soul returns, my life shall be renewed while your body rots in the ground with maggots feasting on your flesh!”
Cowen took his dagger from its sheath and thrust it straight through the scepter mark. Golden light spilled from the gaping wound as Sirona keened with her last breath, “Raphael!”
***
“Raphael,” Serena whispered as her eyes opened. She turned her head to the right and saw the relic fisted tightly in her hand. Searing pain in her right shoulder blade sent shockwaves down her arm. She winced as she sat up and leaned against her bed. She looked for the source of the pain, but she saw no wound. As she massaged the area, the pain gradually subsided into nonexistence.
Vague memories echoed through her mind like a fading dream, both terrifying and puzzling her. She’d been chased, cornered, and kidnapped. And the pain in her shoulder—she’d been stabbed. She felt her shoulder again. What the hell just happened? What’s Jared given me? With trembling hands, she rested the statue on her night table. Shakily, she crawled under the covers of her bed, and tried rocking herself back to calmness. Time to call Monica Rainchild.
Chapter Two
Outside Prophet’s Point, Arizona
Twelve months ago
Jared couldn’t stand himself any longer. He stunk from puke and urine, both of which had made permanent stains on his clothing. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d showered or even eaten. How the hell did he wind up such a fucking mess? Only an asshole would ask that question of himself. I guess I’m one big asshole. His first mistake, stealing relics from Dr. Chappo. His second, pawning them for heroin. I should have stuck with cocaine. He’d been on the run since passing off the last relic to his sister, the one of Sirona. I’m just one big fuckup. Now he’d be lucky to live past the day. If only he could get some food in his belly and drugs in his veins.
At daybreak, after hours of wandering aimlessly and finally collapsing, he found himself lying beside a huge tent with heavenly smells emanating from the rolled-up windows above him. Too weak to even crawl up to the entrance, he winced as his stomach growled with hunger pains, and his crusty eyes wouldn’t let him focus on his battered hands in front of his face. At that moment, he knew he was a goner. He gripped something in his hand. He blinked, wiped the crud away with his filthy shirtsleeve, and what he held slowly came into focus. A picture of him and his sister, Serena, from a couple of summers ago when they’d gone to the Grand Canyon together. Tears welled and cascaded down his temples, to rest uneasily in his flea-infested hair. “I’m sorry, sis.” And he passed out.
***
“Hey, Robert, look over there.” David pointed to a heap of ragged clothing on the ground. “What’s that by the Mess Hall?”
“It looks like a man to me. Let’s go see what’s up.” They rushed over to the still form on the ground. “Jesus, but he smells putrid.” David covered his nose and mouth as he put a couple of fingers against the man’s throat to check for a pulse. “He’s alive. Maybe we should get some help and bring him to the infirmary.”
“Well, there’s Agremon. We can ask him if that’s what we should do.”
“You’re right, we don’t want to anger The Source, but you talk to him. He makes me nervous….”
“No problem. Agremon! Over here! We need your help.”
“What the hell is it?” he barked, trudging over to the two men. “Can’t you see I’m too busy to deal with any of your crap?”
“Look at this.” Robert pointed to the unconscious man.
“Yeah, so what? What do want me to do about it? He’s probably a drunken hobo. Leave him alone, and he’ll move on when he wakes up. Now get on with ya. You’re late for breakfast and service is in ten minutes. Namirha won’t be pleased if you’re late.”
“Well, all right. You…you know what’s best,” David stammered. “Let’s go. You heard him. It’s best if we go. We don’t want to anger The Source. Thanks. Good day.”
Agremon grunted as the two cult members of The Source hurried into the Mess Hall and turned his attention to the rotting mess on the ground before him. Kneeling down, he sized the man up pretty quickly. This is no drunkard. He’s a heroin addict holding on to the last tethers of his miserable, sorry-ass life. Even with the ravages of addiction, he could tell that with some food and care, he would return to a strapping man of possibilities.
With the building of The Source global headquarters in full swing, Satan, known to most these days as Namirha, had innumerable tasks for him to complete. They’d become almost impossible to juggle, especially with being in charge of kidnapping Hannah Livingston, Namirha’s key to world domination. I could use a grunt to help out with the more menial jobs. Given the right attention and incentive, this lowlife could make my existence a whole lot easier. I’ll kill him when he outlives his usefulness.
He picked up the stench-ridden mass of flesh and took him to the infirmary, where he waited impatiently while the staff cleaned him up, woke him up, and fed him.
“Don’t you think you should put that somewhere safe if it’s that important to you?” The nurse tried some conversation as she fed the patient a bowl of soup.
Agremon watched as the man grunted in response and put the photo, clamped in his fist, in his wallet. The nurse wiped his face when he had finished his meal, and he immediately fell asleep. “Let me know when he wakes for good and is coherent. I think he’ll be interested to know I’m giving him a new lease on his pathetic life.” Agremon walked away with a grin on his face and the beginnings of a sinister plot in his mind. Evil just got a new playmate.
Chapter Three
Sedona, Arizona
Present
“Well, I hope you all enjoyed your Spiritual Enlightenment tour. May you find yourselves refreshed, reenergized, and on your way to spiritual contentment. Please come back and join us anytime you need to recharge your batteries,” Serena chirped, dying to recharge her own.
“Oh, thank you so much, Serena.” One of the ladies in the group gave her a hug and stepped back. “We had a wonderful experience and can’t wait to bring our friends next time! Good-bye!”
She smiled and walked into the lobby of her office. Callie sat at the reception desk, talking on the phone. “Yo, Serena! A delivery came for you this morning. It’s in the office on your desk.” She immediately went back to her phone conversation.
A delivery? I’m not expecting anything, am I? My birthday is a good six months away, but maybe…could it possibly be…?
Running as fast as her legs could carry her, Serena raced to her office with a smile as wide as the Verde Valley itself. She swung the door open, about to jump into the welcoming arms of…an empty desk.
Her smile faded slowly. Foolish girl! Stupid, foolish girl! To think after a year and a half, Jared would magically show up in my office after all this time. Idiot!
A year and a half, and she hadn’t heard one word from him. He’d fallen off the planet and nobody could find him. Not the police, not a private investigator, nor her. She couldn’t tell anyone about Dr. Chappo, knowing in her heart Jared had stolen from him. And then he vanished into thin air, leaving her with more questions that anyone had answers to.
The past eighteen months had been a living hell. She’d taken a leave of absence from her very successful Jeep Tour business up until two weeks ago, living on the r
oad in an RV, following leads that turned into dead ends and seeking out every nook and cranny that Jared could’ve fallen into. She’d tried to find the elusive Dr. Chappo and come up short every time. She lived everyday with the terrible notion that something evil had befallen her brother. Not a day passed that guilt didn’t wash over her as she remembered the last angry thoughts she had of him so many months ago. The only one who had helped at all? Monica Rainchild.
Monica helped her understand there were things in this world that couldn’t be explained simply, like her experience with the goddess statue. She learned to accept that as a unique event and move on with her life. Other than some raging hot, erotic dreams she’d been having with a dream lover, nothing more had occurred, so Serena attributed that experience to too much stress and too little sleep. Monica also agreed with her, however, she also saw that something dark had surrounded her brother, something evil. But she couldn’t locate him or tell whether he was alive or dead.
Thrust back to reality by the ring of a telephone, Serena focused on the large envelope on her desk blotter. Drained, emotionally and physically, she picked it up and left without a word.
“Serena, wait! Damn it all.” The gravel crunched as Callie hurried to catch up. “I’m such an ass and so sorry! I wasn’t thinking, with being on the phone and all. Please, forgive me. It was insensitive of me to tell you there was a delivery waiting on your desk, and I promise not to do it anymore. I won’t even put packages in your office from now on.”
“Callie, don’t be ridiculous. An envelope came for me. You told me where to find it. What’s insensitive about that? I’m the one who’s sorry, making you feel as though you need to tiptoe around me. I’m the ass who can’t seem to move on. I love you, girlfriend, now let me go. I need some space, okay? I’ll be fine. I’m going home. Tomorrow’s another day, isn’t it? I’ll try to have my act together by then. I owe it to you. I owe it to all of you.”
