“I feel like I should say I’m sorry,” she said contritely.
“Why should you be sorry? He was clearly deranged or jealous… who knows,” Ben said knowing there was far more to the attack. Mugabe knew exactly who and what he was… and that was a problem.
“That’s just it. It’s crazy. Mr. Mugabe was always so incredibly nice to everyone.”
“That doesn’t absolve what he did,” he said sharply.
“No… it doesn’t. But we’re fine, and he’s dead. I don’t even know how that’s possible.”
“He was an old man who overexerted himself in his rage toward me. His heart likely gave out.”
“It’ll probably take the coroner a week or more to figure out why he died.”
“Does it matter?”
It was the coldest and most callous thing she’d ever heard Ben say, and she didn’t like it.
“No matter what he did, he’s still a human being, Ben!”
A very flawed one, he thought but dared not say considering the disappointing look she was giving him. “You’re right. Sorry.”
After settling into the apartment, he threw his things in the corner not bothering to hang or put anything away.
“Are you hungry?” he asked her.
“A little.”
“I’ll whip up some omelets. You rest.”
After eating, she showered then lay across the bed. Following his shower, he stared in the mirror at the bandage covering the side of his neck, realizing he’d been hasty even if he was protecting himself. He could have found out exactly what Mugabe was protecting. Then he would have killed him. Stepping back into the bedroom, he saw Deborah had fallen asleep. Not wanting to disturb her, he closed the door and went into the living room.
This latest revelation about Mugabe being Dajume weighed on him. He needed to contact the others. With Deborah in the next room, he’d have to do it without allowing too much time to pass. Settling on her couch, he only summoned Ontu and Mila because he no longer trusted Veshlu and Huria.
“Bensaí! You felt it!” Mila said exuberantly as he appeared among them.
“Asira?”
“Yes!”
“I also know about The Supreme. Huria and Veshlu came to me.”
“They have been very deceptive,” Ontu added.
“And there are other concerns, Bensaí. The Nubí are very still. We think they are nesting to summon Asira,” Mila said.
“The magic given the Dajume by The Supreme prevents it. They won’t be successful.”
“Are you certain? Asira is still Nubí.”
“Unless more treachery has occurred, yes.”
“And what of our brethren? Veshlu and Huria grow increasingly restless… and dangerous,” Ontu added.
“I will deal with them in due course.”
“Veshlu challenges your wisdom and leadership.”
“A mistake he will pay for dearly,” Ben gnarled.
“What will you have us do?” Mila asked.
“Watch the Nubí carefully. Mila, summon me if Veshlu and Huria give you greater cause for concern.”
“Yes, Bensaí. And what will you do?”
“I have seen the human totem to Asira… surrounded by twelve Dajume. One more is dead.”
“By your hand?” Ontu asked.
“Yes.”
“Was he the last?”
“He was very old. The others may be dead or dying. The magic around Asira weakens as each one falls.”
“Perhaps that’s why we feel Asira’s presence.”
“Yes. This will all be over sooner than we imagined.”
Their exchange complete, Ben sat quietly pondering how he’d learn exactly what Mugabe was protecting. The only way that was possible was for Deborah to recover.
Waking from her nap, she came into the living room where Ben sat on the couch reading.
“How are you feeling,” he said setting the book aside.
“I’m okay. My head doesn’t hurt as much. What about you?” She curled up next to him, lightly touching the bandage on his neck.
“It’ll heal.”
“No. I mean how are you… really? It’s not every day someone attacks you with a machete.”
Had Mugabe been successful, he’d be dead. Severing the head while in mortal form was the only way to kill his kind. Mugabe knew this… and it was highly probable the other Dajume knew as well. It was only a short time from when he and Deborah went into the archive and the attack. The question was, did Mugabe have time to alert any others he was there. Ben couldn’t be sure. For the first time, he was feeling at risk. Because he was at risk, it was highly possible Deborah was as well, and he wouldn’t tolerate that.
“I’m more worried about you,” he said with sad eyes. “If anything happens to you… I couldn’t bear it.”
“I felt helpless watching it. I could’ve lost you over… nothing! I can’t imagine my life without you.”
He held her close kissing her forehead. “Then we must do everything in our power to make sure you don’t have to.”
“How do we do that?”
“By holding each other close… no matter what happens.”
“That’s harder to do with an ocean between us.”
Deep down she knew this intercontinental romance had only two outcomes. In time, their weeks apart would drive them apart, or they’d make plans to be together.
“It’s difficult, but not insurmountable. Be patient, my sweet. The answers will come.”
For the first time in her life, Deborah knew exactly where she belonged… with him… forever.
CHAPTER 23
After two days resting and Ben’s pampering, Deborah was ready to go back to work. She convinced Megan to let her return after considerable badgering. Ben wanted to accompany her, but she told him it was best if he didn’t. Reminding him how challenging the handwriting was, he acknowledged he wouldn’t be much help. She’d made considerable progress on the diaries without his interference.
Respecting her wishes, he dropped her off at the University, then drove on to the DAC. Fortunately, he’d be close enough to get to her if needed… in whatever form, but he was worried about her. He didn’t want her to become a pawn in a war of which she had no knowledge.
Back at her office, there was awkwardness with fellow staff members. All were concerned about her wellbeing, but now everyone was aware of her relationship with Ben. Bonnie was the first to say something about it.
“I know it’s none of my business but… wow! How did you snag a man like Ben Stewart? Jesus!”
Deborah didn’t like the implication. “You’re right, it’s none of your business.”
With an icy stare, Deborah went to her office. She hated the drudgery of culling through all the emails she’d missed while out. Yet, within those emails were more research requests. Fortunately, they were fairly simple. She was able to fulfill them with digital copies of the archival material to support her responses, but it took several hours to complete giving her little time to spend with the Dubois Collection.
Finally able to escape to her haven, she got to work on the diaries. Staring at the bundled translations, she was struck by the deciphered passage.
We are betrayed. Minister knows. Young eyes see so much. We must hide her. She is no longer safe. Sese is dead. They are coming. They come for her. I am Dajume.
What am I missing? The jumble of sentences in the original passages had to mean more than what the duplicate sentences provided.
Young eyes see so much. What day do we celebrate? Fires burning in the rain. Smiles warm the aching. The dead dance about.
Passage of Bakongo. Little feet dance. Earth shakes. To cover. Shield. Young eyes see so much. All is well. Time is short. Only this life and no more.
Deborah couldn’t shake the feeling the first two sentences in each passage were connected. It was as if one was a thought, the other an action or vice versa. Dammit! I’m overthinking this thing! Reading the passage several more times, it
was as if someone was recording the ramblings of a child and also hiding the meaning in plain sight. Father Willem, what are you trying to tell me? There had to be a key to make reading them easier. During that period, most diarists knew their writings would eventually be read.
Holy shit! Following her hunch, she jumped ahead to the fifth diary. Flipping quickly through each page, she sought just one that might be the cipher key. Midway through, only one page had a heading. It read Passage of Bakongo… that random phrase appearing across several of the previous entries was, in fact, the key she hoped to find. Below it were several words and phrases with their subsequent meaning.
Deborah was elated despite having to start over with the fourth diary. Now within those pages, she read of the Bakongo people’s hope and grief in far greater detail. She came to understand the ceremony Father Willem witnessed was intended to summon their favored god… and make it human. Page after page, she typed new notes adding to the overall message. Getting half way through it, her cell phone rang. It was Ben. He was waiting outside to take her home.
“Hi! Sorry I’m late,” she said getting into the passenger side. “I’ve figured out how to read the encrypted passages.”
“That’s wonderful! What did you learn?”
“I’m not finished, but it’s amazing…”
He couldn’t ignore her excitement. Her face beamed recounting her process. Her attention to detail, inquisitive mind, and intelligence made her superb at her job, but she was still tentative to reveal what she’d decoded thus far. Yet, he was eager to know any snippet she could provide.
“Did you find anything linking the passages to the totem and figures in the crate? Perhaps how and where they were used?” he carefully asked.
“If I understand it correctly, they used it to summon their god, the God of Knowing. It’s so weird!”
“What do you mean?”
“I think they were trying to turn it into a human somehow.”
“The totem? Through transmutation?” he asked already knowing the answer. Depending on her response, he knew she was on the right track to uncovering Willem’s well-kept secret as to where Asira could be found.
“Not exactly. It wasn’t about transferring the God into the totem. I think they were trying to make it into a flesh-and-blood human being using the totem.”
“Now that would be something.” Smart Woman!
“Something impossible!” She laughed. “But that’s as far as I got.”
“You’ll have to tell me more. This is fascinating.”
“Like I said. Not much more to tell at this point.”
Arriving back at the apartment, they ordered pizza and sat talking about other things. After clearing the empty box, Ben leaned over to kiss her face.
“So when are you getting rid of that,” she asked pointing to his growing beard.
“You don’t like it?” He chuckled.
“It looks all right, I guess. But it’s scratchy and rough.”
His inquisitive grin turned into a devilish sneer. “I thought you wanted to try a little rough.”
“Stop it!” She blushed. He hovered forcing her back on the couch.
“I don’t think that’s a ‘safe’ word, my sweet.”
That hungry look appeared in his eyes. There was no denying it turned her on every time she saw it. Soon they were exploring something new together.
The next morning, Ben was wickedly playful again.
“We have to get ready for work.” She moaned as his lips moved over her neck and shoulders.
Virtually ignoring her, he continued his seduction. “Stay home,” he whispered.
“I have work to do.”
“Go in late.”
“I thought you were eager for me to finish the translations.”
“I’m eager for far more this morning,” he said rubbing against her.
“Unlike you, I have to work,” she teased pushing him away.
“You don’t ever have to work again.”
Her eyes widened, and heart pounded. “What?”
His words caught him equally by surprise. Playfulness quickly gave way to heartfelt expression. This amazing woman impacted him in profound ways, and he’d always be grateful for her. Rolling on top of her, he gazed into her beautiful eyes.
“I will always take care of you… if you let me.”
The sincerity of his words and softly planted kiss overwhelmed her.
“There’s only one thing you need to take care of, Ben.”
He understood giving her heart was her most precious gift. “Always, but there are other things I can do.”
“Let’s finish what brought us together… and go from there, okay?”
He sighed heavily. He was more conflicted than he’d ever been. Vacillating between his desire to hunt down Asira and his love for Deborah, he was in an unfathomable conundrum. Gaining one threatened losing the other. At that moment, he wasn’t sure which consequence he was prepared to face.
“Then I suppose you should go to work.”
Over the next few days, it was hard to focus. Was he asking me to marry him? No! He would’ve just asked. Maybe he was feeling me out? He should know my answer! She smiled at the thought. Looking down at the pages in front her, the fuller narrative unfolding seemed impossible. Flipping back a page, there was no mistake. The ceremonial grounds built by Father Willem as penance wasn’t the only one. He built another called Oyo Mangua or The Birthplace. Turning one more page, there was a crude sketch of it. In its center was the totem appearing to match the one in the crate. There were other images in the drawing as well, one of them quite significant.
She leaped from her chair and went to the freezer room to open the other crate. Properly bundled, she stepped inside and began scraping away the sealant. The painfully slow process finally enabled her to see what was inside. Pulling out the packing material, she reached inside. With gloved hands, she pulled out a large flattened, circular bowl. Made of wood, it had a variety of symbols burnished into it. At its center was a crude depiction of the totem with twelve figures surrounding it. My God! It’s the same!
Digging further into the crate, she pulled out three small jars covered with a type of animal skin with twine sealing it. What in the holy hell? She dared not open those but snapped a picture with her cell phone. Placing everything back inside the crate, she covered them and went back to the translations. But something gnawed at her.
Heading back to her office, she placed a quick call to Ben.
“This is a surprise. You don’t usually call me during the day.”
“I opened the second crate.”
“What did you find?”
“A flat bowl with symbols on it matching the totem and figures. There were also three jars with it. What is it?”
“It sounds like a divining tray.” He was ecstatic but had to sustain the same dispassionate disposition displayed when she showed him photos of the first crate’s contents.
“What’s it used for?”
“A conjurer uses it for a variety of things. I presume it was used in the ceremony described by Willem.”
“What aren’t you telling me?” she asked skeptically.
“What I know about this Collection, I’ve learned from you,” he said carefully.
“You collect Congolese religious artifacts. You were in Kinshasa. You know what this is, don’t you?”
“There are many ethnic groups in the Congo. Each has variations on their beliefs. All believe in a supreme being, but each also has gods the traditionalists worship and honor.”
“Tell me about the one depicted in this totem.”
“Is this useful to your translations?”
“Just tell me!”
“It is Asira, the God of Knowing. Among the Bakongo, Asira is responsible for giving wisdom and sentience.”
“So what’s Oyo Mangua?”
“What did you say?” Sitting straight up in the chair, he was stunned at her discovery.
“I ask
ed what is Oyo Mangua? I know it means the birthplace, but for who… or what?”
“Are you telling me Willem wrote about it?”
“Yes, quite a bit. Explain it to me,” she said.
“It’s specifically for transmutation ceremonies.”
“Could it replace the destroyed altar?”
“Not likely. It’d be separate. Where is it?”
“I haven’t gotten to that part. Willem sketched it.”
“Send me a picture of it.”
“Hold on.” Sending the image, she waited for a response that was slow in coming.
He stared at the divining tray zooming in on its symbols. Connecting everything he’d learned over the years with Deborah’s work in the Collection, he now understood exactly what he was looking for—the vessel that held Asira during the induced sleep.
“Ben? Do you have it?”
“Yes.”
“Well?”
Believing her answer would finally resolve what happened with Mugabe and the Dajume’s connection to the University, Ben asked, “Is there anything else in the University’s collections related to this?”
“No. When we first learned the Collection was coming, I did a database search of the Dubois family. Nothing came up other than a few letters. But you already know about that.”
“Did your search include Bakongo or Oyo Mangua?”
“How would I know to… let me call you back!” She hung up before he could respond.
Deborah pulled up the University’s database including not only archival records, but also the museum’s artifact collection. Putting in each term, she was floored by the item that appeared. Closing her laptop, she rushed to the other side of the building to the University Museum.
Reaching the curator’s office, she tapped on his door.
“Deborah! Hi! This is a surprise. What can I do for you?”
“Dylan, I need your help with an artifact I found in the database. It relates to a collection I’m working on. Can you help?”
“Sure. Do you have the acquisition number?”
She handed him a slip of paper. He pulled up the item on his computer.
Asira Awakens Page 16
