The Lost Garden (The Lost Garden Trilogy Book 1)

by K. T. Tomb

  “Watch, Milek,” he whispered hoarsely. “Watch the power of God at work.”

  A single, beautiful drop of yellow liquid, like the tear of a dragon, spilled from the vial and into the open beak. To Alexey’s amusement, despite his reservations and the horror he had shown earlier, Milek moved closer. He could hear Milek breathing in short, shallow gasps.

  Nothing happened.

  Breathe again, thought Alexey. Breathe in the breath of God.

  The bird jerked once, as if spasming. Milek gasped and stepped back. The bird jerked again, as its whole body started convulsing. It was as if it weren’t dead, but just in great pain. It continued to shudder violently.

  Yes, thought Alexey. Yes. Come back to us, my little friend.

  His assistant brought his hands to his face, his white-knuckled fists covering his open mouth.

  The white cockatiel’s chest suddenly expanded again and again. Its little lungs began to work, but the movement seemed unnatural and forced, as if aided by a breathing machine.

  Alexey reached over, picked up the bird, and held it in his hand, stroking its fine feathers tenderly. “Milek, why don’t you open the window so our little friend can have his freedom? After all, he’s had a rough day.”

  Milek moved away from the couch area and, while not taking his eyes off the bird, fumbled his way to the window, where he unlatched it and pushed it open. Hot, humid air gushed into the air-conditioned room.

  In his palm, the bird turned its head back and forth and was now cooing gently under his tender touch. Alexey strolled over to the open window, where he could taste the dust of Tehran.

  “Are you ready to fly yet, my little friend?” he asked.

  He held the bird up toward the window. It stretched its wings once and then twice and then launched itself from his palm, flapping hard through the open window.

  Milek leaned out the window and Alexey put his hand on his assistant’s shoulder. Milek flinched under the touch.

  “There is no price that I wouldn’t pay to have access to more of this oil. Now do you understand, Milek?”

  Milek didn’t answer as a speck of white from the bird flashed across the distant rooftops.

  Then it was gone.

  * * *

  Alexey Konstantin was sitting alone in his hotel suite, studying a slowly smoldering fire in the fireplace. The fire was unnecessary, as the evening was plenty warm, but sitting around a fire helped him think and he had much to think about. The fire also reminded him of the cozy, although often frigid, evenings with his family growing up in St. Petersburg, where a fire had blazed in the central hearth twenty-four hours a day, virtually year round. Alexey had gotten into the habit of staring into the flames and had planned his life’s course through such concentrated contemplation. It had been a course that proved very profitable.

  He had graduated with honors from Stalin University, a chemist by degree, but an entrepreneur at heart. He had moved up rapidly in a small firm, acquiring all of the skills necessary to someday launch his own company. By a move either dubious or unethical--either way he didn’t care--he’d patented a cold medicine right under the nose of his former employer, a company which, by all rights, should have claimed the patent for itself.

  He thought that they were too stupid and slow-moving and by then, he was gone, having acquired the necessary capital to start his own company. With the success of the cold medicine patent, he was well on his way. There were, in fact, many other occasions where corporate spying and outright theft had been alleged against him and his company, but none were proven. Although, if the truth be known, most had some foundation of fact. He was not above theft, bribery and even murder to get what he needed to advance his cause.

  As the fire crackled, Alexey leaned forward and poured himself a glass of sherry. He sat back on the couch and took a sip. In his other hand, his thumb and forefinger flipping it casually, was the glass vial of healing oil. The vial was more than half empty, after having undergone numerous scientific testings. Now, it was his and he would allow no more testing and no more demonstrations of its power. The one for Milek was the last. The poor man needed to lie down and was now in his own suite on the floor below. Alexey chuckled, swirling his sherry. Alexey needed no further proof. He was dealing with perhaps the most powerful substance in existence on Earth and it had all begun just two weeks ago…

  Alexey reflected on what he had gleaned from the local doctors and some of the Iranian witnesses who had first found the injured lady. She had been found badly injured, by the tribal shepherds who lived in the mountainous region of Northern Iran. These were people, Alexey understood, who had been shepherding since practically the dawn of time. They had their own dialect and customs and were often forgotten by the Iranian public at large. They were simple people who lived off the land and the Iranian government left them in peace.

  The shepherds had referred to the injured woman as a Guardian, but would say no more. She certainly looked powerful. Alexey had seen one picture of her. She had been calculated to be well over six feet tall, with none of the normal characteristics of the local nomads. She had light-brown hair and a fair complexion.

  It was suspected that the woman had been a victim of thieves who also roamed the hills, hiding out in caves and attacking anyone who might appear to have something of value. She had been found badly beaten, with nineteen gunshot wounds, but she was not dead. The doctors called it a miracle. Even more amazing, she later woke up from her coma after some medical attention and drifted in and out of consciousness until she had finally passed away.

  Her story, although an odd one, would have ended there, if not for the vial of oil found attached to a leather thong around her neck. It was assumed that the oil was simply anointing oil used in rituals, until one of the nurses opened it and spilled a drop on the back of her hand. The healing oil might have been forgotten if not for the fact that the nurse had been suffering from severe arthritis. She had allegedly watched as her twisted fingers healed before her eyes.

  The oil was confiscated by the hospital administration. They had something amazing on their hands, but first, they needed to know what it was.

  Enter Alexey and his local pharmaceutical laboratory, where the oil had been sent for further testing. He was Iran’s second-largest medicinal manufacturer, and had three different labs scattered throughout the country. The labor here was cheap and he thoroughly took advantage of that. Not to mention, his Iranian chemists were the best in the world.

  Alexey, who made frequent trips to the neighboring country, while negotiating further patents and touring his facilities, happened to be in his northern Iranian facility on the day the oil arrived.

  “Ah, destiny.” Alexey smiled. He was a great believer in destiny.

  The oil had arrived very discreetly from the head of the local hospital. He was a man who had insisted on being there for every step of the way, and wanted to be part of this entire operation. He was a man who was now dead and buried in a shallow grave, twenty miles into the Kavir Desert.

  Alexey had ushered in the head of the Ara Hospital, a thin man who looked like he had secrets. Alexey had been intrigued to learn of the oil’s reputed medical value and had personally overseen the initial tests, which blew his mind.

  Initially, the administrator found a crippled chemist working in the lab and put one drop of oil on each leg. The chemist, who had suffered from paralysis for most of her adult life from a car accident, was walking in minutes, though her legs shook wildly, due to total muscle degeneration. A week later, her muscles had rebuilt quickly and she was jogging to work each morning.

  Alexey had shut down the entire plant and sent the chemist home, while keeping the plant managers and a few trusted Russian chemists. He had also sent for another chemist from his mother country and soon had a team working around the clock, trying to determine the nature of this oil and most importantly, its chemical makeup.

  Alexey did not sleep those first few days. He was filled with excitement about
the limitless possibilities this unusual oil represented. Finally, he decided he needed to meet this woman who had been found with the vial of strange oil secured around her neck.

  According to the doctors, she was in an unusual state of dying, which seemed to stretch over a period of weeks, instead of days. There was nothing they could do to save her. She had been badly wounded and it was a miracle that she was still alive. No matter what steps they took to save her, her body continued to shut down, as the story was related to Alexey. Anyone else, Alexey was assured, would have died within hours. She had hung on for two weeks. In those two weeks, induced by mad hysteria and the rantings of a dying woman, an utterly amazing puzzle had been pieced together.

  Pieced together, that is, by Alexey and a select few.

  The moment he first saw her in her private suite at the hotel in Jibez, he knew there was something different about her. His first impression was that she was amazingly tall, just lying there in her bed that seemed far too short for her. It was her beauty, though, that transfixed him. Timeless, ageless beauty. Her appearance initially suggested someone of youth, but if you looked close enough you could see the crisscrossing of scars covering that beautifully toned body. Scars that were thin and barely noticeable, although some were massively long. Alexey suspected the healing oil had something to do with that. The scars appeared, to his eyes, to have healed many years ago. Alexey would later be pleased to find out that his initial impressions about this timeless woman would prove to be accurate.

  He always trusted his initial, gut reactions and this further proved to him that his instincts were far superior to most men’s.

  Then again, thought Alexey now, as he sipped his sherry, staring into the fire. Mother always told me I had a problem with humility.

  Alexey would later discover from the hospital staff that the woman would awaken often and start babbling in many tongues, as if she was having a religious experience. Most in the hospital thought she was simply speaking pure foolishness from a mind that had suffered through nineteen gunshot wounds. That is, until some of the foreign staff started picking up on the languages. One evening, she spoke rapidly and in perfect Chinese. The nearby Chinese nurse was shocked. The nurse would later report that the woman had described how she had been on her way home to the Mountain of God, after a long ordeal in the desert, when she had been attacked by thieves. She’d killed nine of them, before she had finally been surrounded and shot.

  Another time, she’d spoken in Farsi, relating an amazing tale that apparently had occurred hundreds of years ago. Still another one of the staff picked up on Hebrew. The doctor, to Alexey’s delight, started recording her multilingual rantings. Alexey immediately bought off all of the nurses and doctors who had been witnesses to the rants. A minor investment, as he saw it. One or two had to be killed, those who had been too curious for their own good. That was an even better investment. Alexey always had his men with him for such things. His bodyguards were also cold-blooded killers. Alexey loved them like his own children. Although sociopathic to the bone, the two burly Russians, both ex-KGB, followed him everywhere and were closer to his heart than anyone else.

  Alexey confiscated all of the recordings from the strange woman. He sent the tapes to a well-trusted and discreet translating service with bonuses for speedy translations. He continued to record her rants as she slowly passed away.

  The translating service had replied within a day. They had a record of over twenty-two known languages from the woman. Seven of them were of unknown and perhaps even had ancient origins. Alexey then sent the recordings to linguists at Moscow University. Three of them had been identified there. One was an ancient Latin, another was an ancient form of Sanskrit, and the third was ancient Egyptian. They had sent back translations as well, mystified by the woman who spoke these words. Alexey’s healthy donation to the university quieted down any further curiosity.

  Alexey had shortly received fax after fax of the woman’s rants. They had turned out not to be rants at all. Or at least, they had some basis in reality. When translated, they had shocked Alexey.

  From English to French to Japanese to Turkish to Arabic to even Swahili, she had related a story that Alexey could hardly believe. In fact, if not for the oil, he would not have believed it. Although there were many holes and gaps in the story, Alexey grasped enough and that was all he needed…

  Alexey reached over and picked up the dark bottle of sherry, pleased to find it still mostly full. Sometimes, during his ruminations before the fire, he was known to finish an entire bottle with nary a thought. He poured himself another finger or two, and sat back. Soon, he would need to add another log to the fire. He never used gas fireplaces. It had to be like his childhood home. He sipped his sherry and thought again about the amazing story as related by the dying and delirious woman. A woman who called herself a Daughter of Eve. A woman who had stood guard over the Garden of Eden and the Tree of Life for the past twenty-two hundred years.

  * * *

  Her name was Ramallah IL Eve, but she was known to her people as Rama. Her people were the legendary Cherubim as mentioned in the Bible. There are a few men, but mostly, the tribe was run by women. A very powerful matriarchal society, sustaining themselves for eons by partaking of the oil from the Tree of Life, they thought of themselves as immortal and the rest of the world as inferior, for mortals had not gained their wisdom and close communion with God.

  Their home base was within the tunnels of al Jabir, or the Mountain of God, in Northern Iran. Here the Daughters of Eve, the Guardians, the Cherubim, built an intricate network of tunnels within the mountain. The tunnels had an advanced defense system contained within the mountain. One of the tunnels, Alexey learned, led the way to the Garden of Eden. It was a secret tunnel that she made no more mention of, to Alexey’s unending frustration.

  In short, the guardians were mighty warriors and they had upgraded to the use of sophisticated modern technology. They were limited in number by necessity, limited by both space and the need for obscurity. Their sole purpose, of course, was to guard what lay hidden within the mountain or dormant volcano.

  As she happily said in her dying delirium, that was nothing short of the Garden of Eden.

  Rama had been on a routine assignment, sent out into the world to acquire even more knowledge. She had been crossing the northern highlands on horseback, one of her passions, when she had come upon thieves. They had thought her weak and they had attacked. She killed most, but ultimately, could not escape their Russian AK-47s. She had been too injured to use the healing oil. With her body riddled with bullets, the thieves thought her dead and left her in the desert, until she had been found by the local shepherds.

  * * *

  That was all that was important to Alexey. Her recounting of history and tales of valor only bored him. He wanted the scoop on Eden, how it was protected and what to expect. He realized that the Bible was more accurate than previously assumed. She had made no mention of a flaming sword, but he had no reason not to believe in that as well. He would simply come prepared.

  Later, in the hospital, she had begged Alexey for the healing oil, but he withheld it. He had felt that the oil was his and her time to die had come. He had been there when she’d finally expired and what he saw on the night when she breathed her last would haunt him all of the rest of his days.

  * * *

  He received an urgent call from Dr. Rashid, his well-paid doctor on duty. “She’s finally dying, Mr. Konstantin. As instructed, we called you immediately.”

  Alexey rushed from the hotel suite with excitement. He suspected something unusual might happen with Rama’s passing. After all, it wasn’t every day that a twenty-two hundred year old woman died.

  Soon, he was by Rashid’s side, walking quickly through the surprisingly modern Iranian hospital. The doctor spoke rapidly in Farsi, a language Alexey had mastered many years ago.

  “She started going into convulsions and many of her organs began shutting down. She’s on life suppor
t. We waited for your arrival, Mr. Konstantin, before pulling the plug.”

  “You will be paid well, Doctor. You and your staff, but especially you.”

  Alexey had visited Rama often these past two weeks, sitting by her side, listening to her multilingual rants and seeing the crazed look in her dying eyes. She had often cried out for the oil, not realizing who actually now owned the invaluable vial. There would be no oil for her and if Alexey had his way, no more oil for any of the Guardians. After all, the time had come for a changing of the guard.

  Alexey smiled as he followed the Iranian doctor into Ramadan IL Eve’s private room. She was not alone. There were two other doctors there as well as three nurses, all of whom had been bribed by Alexey. They turned and saw the Russian and appropriately stepped aside.

  She was deathly pale, but her face seemed almost peaceful. The mad rants were done and she was finally dying. The woman had been on death’s door for two weeks, living impossibly long. She had been steadily weakening, and Alexey suspected the healing oil in her system was running its course. Without more oil to heal the damaging wounds, she would die a mortal’s death.

  She looked beautiful and old, like an ancient alabaster statue, carved from the hands of a Greek master. She could have been the model for Aphrodite or Athena. Her face had an ancient quality to it. She looked as he suspected women had looked thousands of years ago, without the benefit of even the mild evolution of our species that had occurred. Her cheekbones were relatively flat. Her forehead had a slightly more pronounced orbital ridge than he was accustomed to. Her lips were narrow and drawn and now colorless. She looked ancient to him and yet, here she was in front of him.