Prophecy

by Paula Bradley

  The air in the room suddenly stirred as though a door had opened to admit an evening breeze. Mariah sensed the presence of another, his essence permeating every fiber of her being.

  The light flared. Its radiance nearly blinded Mariah. And then it began to expand.

  The lamp faded from existence as the light spread across the four walls, the floor, and the ceiling. The expanding light suddenly retracted then began to coalesce in a recognizable shape. She blinked once, twice...

  ...and there he was.

  No mistaking that smile or the cloth of gold shot with vermilion thread that draped his body. She was awestruck, watching a silvery blue haze form around him and gasped when she realized he stood framed in an open doorway. His smile was warm and intimate as he beckoned to her. Her legs moved forward as if they had no will of their own ... but it didn’t matter. Mariah needed no encouragement; she would follow this man into the fires of hell if he asked.

  #

  Even though Mengistu was a superb guide and Thomas was able to get some outstanding shots, he fretted over his separation from Mariah. His concern for her safety was foolish and he knew it. She could take care of herself better than anyone could, but he still felt the instinct to protect her.

  The day seemed to drag on interminably. By the time the sun’s rim bled over the horizon, Thomas had to restrain himself from jumping into the Jeep and driving it at full speed to the synagogue. Nevertheless, they did arrive at the beit makdas just in time to hear the end of the service.

  “Their priest speaks in Geez, a consecrated and ancient Semitic language shared by Christian and Jew, and used exclusively for prayer and holy writings,” Mengistu explained. “The worshippers mostly recite their prayers by heart, say a few amens and sing some of the more well-known passages in the Orit, their holy book.”

  Thomas was impressed by Mengistu’s knowledge of Ethiopian Jewry considering he wasn’t Falasha. He had come to appreciate just how diversified was Mengistu’s historical information as, during the day, he was educated on the lore of the ancient ruins and monoliths of Axum.

  The sound from within ceased. The worshippers filed out of the synagogue, their faces wreathed in smiles, their eyes filled with religious devotion.

  Thomas watched for Mariah, anxiety gnawing at his stomach when she failed to appear with the last bunch of stragglers. He was just about to head inside—regardless of the taboo about a non-Jew in the temple—when she appeared with Andualem Tadesse.

  He stared at her face, aglow with blissful serenity and accomplishment. His gaze transferred to the cloth-wrapped object in her arms. Mariah smiled at him and handed the object to Mengistu who placed it on the floor in the Jeep. No questions were asked. No explanations were given.

  For the rest of the evening, Thomas tried valiantly to forget about it, but his curiosity caused him to glance continually at the Jeep. No one mentioned the object that appeared to be about eighteen inches in diameter. As a matter of fact, they acted like they hadn’t seen it.

  He did enjoy a homemade beer called t’ella and Helina’s Sabbath loaf called maswaet which, he found out, meant “gift offering to God.” The rest of the meal consisted of doro wat, a stew with chicken and herbs, and injera, the same flat bread they had eaten on the plane.

  Mariah was tired but participated gladly in the festivities. Many of the villagers came to pay their respects. They left with a feeling that history was being written in their little corner of the world.

  Chapter 51

  After four hours of deep sleep and a standing invitation to return for a longer visit, Mariah and Thomas were, once again, aboard the small aircraft. Their pilot (and now friend) Eskender Mengistu flew them to the Asmera International Airport in Eritrea. Ever cautious, Mariah decided to head over the mountains into the country that bordered Ethiopia rather than retrace her steps back to the United States via Addis Ababa. She wasn’t taking any chances; Winters might have decided to come looking for them after all.

  “It was like nothing I’ve ever experienced before, Thomas,” she said, her voice hushed with awe. She was still in a state of tranquility and amazement as she attempted to explain what she had seen. “I wish you could’ve been there. Words cannot describe what I felt when I laid eyes on it. Did you get a good look at those obelisks outside the temple? Of course you did. Just think of the technology it took to raise them upright—the same technology that built the Ark.

  “I mean, there we were, inside the temple surrounded by towering stone that attested to a high level of advanced architecture. And dating far earlier than that of any other civilization in sub-Saharan Africa. Then to stand in front of one of the most holy relics in religious history thought to have disappeared thousands of years ago.”

  Mariah paused. She savored her next words like aged wine. “Thomas, it was the Ark of the Covenant. About two and a half feet tall, maybe four feet long. It sat on a pedestal draped with a dark blue velvet cloth. And it’s made of gold. Solid gold. The whole thing is etched with scenes of ancient history. Two winged cherubim face each other across the lid. My eyes felt like they were bulging out of their sockets!”

  Thomas leaned forward to better hear her as her voiced dropped to nearly a whisper. “I swear to you, it felt alive. Like it was a living, breathing being. It wasn’t an illusion, Thomas. Nothing extraordinary happened ... until I was given this.”

  Both of them stared at the swaddled object now on her lap. It had remained wrapped in the cloth since she carried it out of the synagogue and handed it to Mengistu to place in his Jeep.

  Her eyes closed as she remembered the High Priest’s ancient eyes piercing her soul. Thomas then became privileged to hear the conversation between Mariah and the Kana Gidrol:

  “‘Why have you summoned me to this place?’ he said to me. He was glaring at me like he was angry. So I said, ‘What? Me summon you? You called me here. Didn’t you cause me to have those dreams of you in this jungle?’ He hesitated like he was figuring out which words to use. Then he said, ‘I cannot lead you, child. You have been imprinted with race memory.’”

  She shook her head. “Before I could ask him what the hell that meant, he turned to face the Ark. Then shifted the lid off. I felt an immense tug, like it was magnetic and I was a piece of metal.

  “I nearly stopped breathing when he reached inside and lifted out a bunch of rolled-up scrolls, banded together with woven hemp. I think my eyes bugged out of my head, but he smiled and said, “This is not for you.’

  “He put the scrolls back and scanned the inside, like he was looking for something specific—like he had a choice—and then he took out this twelve-sided thing. He called it a ‘dode’ something.”

  Mariah unwound the cloth and they stared at the pale gray object.

  Thomas frowned. “It’s a dodecahedron, which is a flat, twelve-sided figure, if that means anything. What’s it made of?”

  “Beats me.” Mariah reverently ran her fingers lightly over the surface. She shook her head. “I know absolutely nothing about metallurgy, but I just have this gut feeling it doesn’t come from this planet.”

  Thomas dragged his eyes away from the object and stared at her. “Why are you so convinced?” Before she could reply, he held up his hand. “No, don’t answer that. Knowing how things have been going since the day I met you, I’m sure this box skipped out of another galaxy, maybe even another dimension.”

  They shared a smile. “Mariah, remember when you astrally projected to Whereverville and saw yourself in the hospital bed on the video screen? We talked about those three men constantly spying on you. Do you think it’s safe to have them see this?”

  Her face broke into one of those smug smiles that made her look like a child who just learned to unlock a door. “I’m one step ahead of you, Babe. Notlong after meeting those three,I used my psychic ability to scan the skies looking for some kind of receiving/transmitting device. Before you ask how I did it, let me say
it’s another one of those ‘I can't tell you how I do it’ things.

  “Thomas, something has been manipulating me since the night of the Visitation. Guiding me, prodding me, and I have no say about it.” Thomas shook his head and asked, “How did you scan the skies?”

  “I believe this scanning is on the same idea as astral projection. Like my mind is having an out-of-body experience. I seem to direct the energy toward places and things. Places I’ve never been to, things I've never seen.” Her eyes were unfocused. She took a deep breath and shrugged.

  “I found our Earth satellites with no problem, but imagine my surprise when I discovered miniature versions on their blind side! Three of them, to be exact. No hocus pocus, Thomas, their ability to ‘see’ me is just good, clean science. However, unlike our satellites, these babies are intelligent devices—I actually communicated with one of them!

  “Anyway, when Mr. Tadesse and I were walking to the temple, I locked onto those three alien satellites and just told them to terminate their receive scan. Whoever set them in orbit wasn’t expecting sabotage, so they had no passwords or lockout codes. But they do now. I’m pretty sure no one’s watching me unless they’ve gotten the code from inside my head without my knowledge.”

  Thomas chuckled at her cleverness. In the next instant, fear caused sweat to bead on his upper lip. She had communicated with—and disabled, for crying out loud—three intelligent satellites of unknown origin at a distance of some twenty to twenty-five thousand miles. And she spoke of it like it was no big deal. All this would have frightened the Mariah he met a year ago, but this Mariah seemed to accept these ever-changing powerful psychic abilities without qualms.

  Thomas had tried to ignore the mental changes, but no longer could. Her transformations were more than physical or psychic; her adaptability was also undergoing rapid changes. The word alien flitted through his thoughts but he instantly scrubbed it from his mind.

  The plane began to descend. Mariah convinced him not to wear the horrid wig and mustache. But she was once again Dennis Roberts, American businessman, world traveler, currently in possession of an artifact that was not part of the Hebrew culture when the Ark of the Covenant was built.

  Chapter 52

  At 11:30 that night, the jet bound for Frankfort, Germany took off from the Asmera airport heading north over the Red Sea. Mariah had no problem getting the oddly shaped object through customs in Asmera: everyone who saw it thought it was a camera just like they thought she was Dennis Roberts.

  Wrapped in its cloth, the object was stored in the overhead bin.

  Mariah sat by a window in first class, peacefully reading a magazine. Thomas was just about to nod off when, unexpectedly, she stiffened. A soft moan escaped her lips. He quickly swiveled in her direction. Thomas spoke her name softly but she failed to respond.

  Little whimpering noises came from Mariah’s throat and her body trembled as she gripped the arms of the seat so tightly the muscles in her forearms bulged. Her eyes were wide open, but she didn’t see him. Something terrifying must have been happening by the look of horror on her face.

  After several attempts to get her attention, he just watched her anxiously to make sure she was not having a seizure that would make her thrash about and hurt herself. He didn’t think it was a seizure, but if it continued much longer he would have to call over a flight attendant.

  It lasted two long minutes. Gradually he felt Mariah’s muscles relax under his hand and finally her body slumped like a rag doll. She turned her head slowly to face him, her eyes stark with anguish. Her breathing returned to normal so he assumed her heart (that’s hearts) was, once again, beating normally.

  Unmindful that she was in the guise of a man, she buried her face against his shoulder, remaining that way for several minutes. The only other passengers in first class were in front of them so no one noticed him stroking Dennis Roberts’ hair and kissing the top of his head. Thomas touched her reassuringly, bewildered at this new, unnamed fear that scared her so badly.

  Finally Mariah moved apart from him, just far enough to look into his eyes.

  “Some nightmare, kiddo,” he said softly, smoothing wet tendrils of hair from her forehead.

  “Oh, God, Thomas, it was horrible.” Her voice was small and breathless. “I was in a, uh, spaceship. This twelve-sided thing was on my lap and I held onto a black pouch with something hard and small inside it and then I was in the airlock of this spaceship and my finger pressed the “open hatch” button. The ship crashed and burst into a flaming ball of fire and then this box and the whatever-it-was in the pouch, both of them were flipping end over end in the air and they hit the ground and the fire roared like a wounded animal and ... and, smoke, and the smell of burning metal...”

  She caught her breath and stopped. A haunted look settled over her features. Almost to herself she murmured, “We’re not through. This device isn’t enough.”

  Suddenly her eyes shifted to his face. Her features seemed to be etched in resignation.

  “I have to get in touch with Winters the minute we land. I’ve got a real, shall we say, interesting challenge for him. Something right up his alley—or should I say, the CIA’s alley.”

  #

  “Winters here.”

  “Watch any good videos lately, Gabriel?”

  A smile of satisfaction spread slowly across his face. He hated to admit it, but he was happy to hear Mariah’s husky voice even though the first words out of her mouth were to needle him about the surveillance tapes.

  She did create that dream. I read her right; she came back and contacted me. Ordinarily, the idea of her being in his head would make him seethe with anger; but he was thankful she had communicated with him in any way.

  In what he hoped was the precise impersonal tone of voice that annoyed her so much, he said, “I’m fine, thanks for asking. And welcome back from wherever, Ms. Carpenter. I trust everything went well?”

  “Perfectly. I have an assignment for you.”

  Damn her. No one else could make him bristle with just a few words. She had an assignment for him? His good humor evaporating, Winters drawled, “Really. The last time we were together, I got the distinct impression you were, shall we say, less than thrilled with me.”

  Mariah grinned at his barely concealed irritation; she had almost forgotten what fun it was to needle him. “I always say let bygones be bygones, don’t you, CIA Technical Operations Officer Winters?”

  He scowled but said evenly, “I’m sure the FBI will be delighted to hear that you’ve returned, Ms. Carpenter. How may we be of service?”

  Winters felt her hesitate ... and all the banter drained out of their conversation. The more he heard, the more he knew she needed to be incarcerated in a mental institution. Either that or she was telling the truth, which made him feel excited, skeptical, and extremely uneasy at the same time.

  “First, you can cut the crap about being FBI. Second, I need undercover operatives who can get something out of a foreign—and hostile—country. And before you ask why I don’t just get it myself, let me assure you I could. But the United States might never recover from the international incident I would create.”

  Gabriel Winters leaned back in his chair and took several deep breaths, trying to regulate his thrumming heart. Instinct told him she was not exaggerating. Nonetheless, he needed to slow things down, try to gain control of this conversation.

  “When did you get back to town? And whose identity did you borrow to get out of the country?”

  She was not about to be deterred. “Plenty of time for small talk later. I’ll meet you at the house on Mastenhege in an hour.” Beneath her words, Winters heard urgency, dread … and excitement? His immediate response was to make her wait until he was damn good and ready to speak with her. However, his curiosity was aroused.

  “Okay. It’s all cleaned up, free of dirt and bugs, just awaiting your return.” He heard her snicker
at his reference to the removal of the ‘bugs’. The corners of his mouth twitched. She was a chronically exasperating female. No matter what she did, or what trouble she was about to drag him into, he had to admit he missed their combative conversations and no-bullshit attitude.

  “I think I’ll stay in my old room for the few nights I’ll be around. See ya,” she said, disconnecting before he could reply.

  As he headed for his car, Winters was pensive. What exactly did she mean about being around for only a few nights? Was she planning on moving out? He shook his head, not realizing he was smiling. He knew a lot of women, and most of them wound up getting on his nerves. At least this one never bored him.

  #

  She’s changed, was his first thought as she strolled into the house. She’s only been gone a few days, but there’s a noticeable difference. She looked at him and a sense of discomfort swept over him.

  Her irises were now russet. Maybe a beautiful color for a roan stallion, but very disconcerting for human eyes. The pupils were still black, but more elliptical and narrow. Her previously lemon-yellow eyeballs were now pale amber—or maybe it was an illusion created by the darker hue of the irises and the light tan of her skin. The colors themselves were not loathsome; they were just out of place on a human.

  But of all the changes, it was her attitude that made him wary. She appeared purposeful, controlled; no, he amended, unemotional. He looked for, but did not find, the rage that should have still been smoldering at the discovery that she’d been deceived and her privacy violated. What he saw instead was resolve tinged with acceptance. Did destroying the surveillance van cause her to realize she could no longer afford the luxury of venting her emotions as others could?

  It was then that Winters finally understood what the scientists, behaviorists and geneticists had been telling him. What doctors Jasenovic and Nishikawa had tried to teach him about control of matter at the sub atomic level. With their charts, graphs, and computer programs to predict likely occurrences, they were convinced that Mariah Carpenter would exponentially get stronger in a shorter period of time then first calculated. What she had done to the van was just a sample of what she probably could do now.