Reap the Wind

by Iris Johansen

  He forced himself to relax again, waiting for the hours to pass until daylight.

  Morning light streamed through the panes and highlighted Caitlin’s tan curls with streaks of gold as she sat curled up in the big chair by the window. As Alex watched from the doorway, Caitlin finished another page and dropped it on top of the others on the floor beside the chair.

  Alex smiled at her. “You couldn’t wait.”

  “I tried to sleep but I couldn’t.” Her gaze lifted guiltily to his face. “I didn’t mean to shut you out. I just had to know. It was like a compulsion.”

  “I don’t feel shut out.” He crossed the room and knelt beside her. “It’s your puzzle. Did you key in all the tablets?”

  “All but the first one. That one seemed to be more personal and less informative.” Caitlin shook her head. “It’s unbelievable, Alex.”

  “Shardana?”

  “Yes, they had a culture like none I’ve ever heard or read about. Shardana was a volcanic island in the Mediterranean surrounded by high cliffs and no visible way to penetrate the interior. Their civilization grew to be totally isolationist and self-contained, and the citizens faced exile if they revealed anything about Shardana to outsiders. Eventually they forbade any trade or intercourse with the outside world except by a chosen few.”

  “If they had something going for them, you could hardly blame them. As Andros said, it was a world peopled by Barbarians at that time.”

  “They did have something going for them,” Caitlin said. “They were healers. They believed the basis of all contentment was to be healthy in mind and body.”

  “And?”

  “Their entire culture revolved around that philosophy. Every man and woman was taught healing, and the most gifted were given the title of Grand Healer and jurisdiction over all Shardana. To become a Grand Healer a Shardanan had either to find a cure for a disease or a way to extend life.”

  “Jesus.” He could see the direction this was taking. “How old was this hierarchy in Andros’s time?”

  “Five hundred years.” Caitlin met his gaze. “With every generation producing at least one Grand Healer.”

  “And, at least, one cure or discovery.”

  “More. The average life span was a hundred and fifty years in Shardana. The terms are different, but from what Andros says here they had found cures and preventions for heart attack, cancer, diabetes, smallpox, polio, leprosy . . .” Caitlin made a helpless motion with her left hand. “And illnesses I’ve never even heard of. Do you know what that means?” The significance was still overwhelming her. “They were medical supermen.”

  “It’s believed the Egyptians performed delicate brain surgery centuries before the birth of Christ.”

  “But this is more. This is . . .” She trailed off, her hand closing on the arm of the chair. “It’s millions of lives saved. It’s an expanded life of seventy-five years.”

  He went still. “You’re talking as if Shardana still exists.”

  “I don’t think it could. The planet has shrunk too much to hide such a society. But their medical knowledge may still exist. Remember what Andros said about the Grand Healer’s secrets?”

  “Yes.”

  “Shardana sent special warriors out to raid and bring home treasure to further glorify their city-state. Warriors who had been judged mentally incapable of adjusting to the peaceful life of Shardana. Their leaders were known as the guardians.” She looked down at the sheets on the floor. “And their primary duty was to guard the Wind Dancer.”

  “The Wind Dancer was created by the Shardanans?”

  “It was their artisans’ greatest effort, the repository of their culture. Their aim was to create an object so valuable, so beautiful, no one could bear to destroy it.”

  “Then how did the Greeks get hold of it?”

  “Shardana was extremely volcanic and subject to earthquakes. After the Wind Dancer was created, they gave it into the custody of their warriors, whom they sent out into the world. That way, if any major catastrophe struck their city-state, the statue would escape harm. Andros said the Shardana ship carrying the Wind Dancer was pirated by one of the captains sailing under Agamemnon and its cargo stolen. When word came to Shardana, Andros was sent to get the Wind Dancer back. He was pursuing Agamemnon’s fleet when his ship went aground in a storm and the Trojans captured him and his crew.” She lifted her gaze to meet Alex’s. “You know the rest.”

  “Not quite. You used the word repository in connection with the Wind Dancer.”

  “The inscription on the Wind Dancer translated as ‘The fire burns within.’ The Grand Healers placed all the knowledge they had acquired up to Andros’s time inside the Wind Dancer.”

  Alex looked at her, stunned. “How?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Andros didn’t say. Perhaps it’s engraved inside the statue, maybe this saavzen has something to do with it. They were obviously more advanced than we were in many ways. Perhaps they had their own equivalent of microfilm. Whatever they did, I’m sure it still exists. The Shardanans obviously intended their secrets to be safeguarded against every threat.” She shivered. “And Ledford has the Wind Dancer. Merde, I’m scared. Do you know how much any country would pay to get their hands on that information? He and Krakow could use it to become anything they want to be.”

  “But Ledford doesn’t know what he has. We’ll just have to get the Wind Dancer away from him before it occurs to him it might be anything more than an art object.”

  The transcription of the last tablet was very different from the others. It was rambling, written in stops and starts, as if at different times.

  “The woman, Jacinthe, is ill with the disease that was ravaging Troy. How bitter if she escaped her fate at Troy only to die here on this mountain, where we took shelter from the Barbarians who roam the coast.

  “She fell ill four days ago and, think what you will, I am not a weakling for staying with her. Even if she is a Barbarian, she was a good companion and true and pleasing in many ways. It is only sensible that I wish to continue traveling in her company.

  “I think it is the disease of foul water. I could cure her if I wished.

  “What am I thinking? She is only a woman. I would not break my vows for a woman. If she dies, she dies.

  “She burns with fever. She cries out in the night. Why does it hurt me?

  “She is dying. . . .

  “I am a guardian. I cannot break my vow. What barbarian woman is worth the price of never returning to Shardana?

  “She opened her eyes an hour ago and tried to smile at me.”

  And then one last entry written with a trembling hand:

  “I think I will die myself if the gods take her from me. . . .”

  “She didn’t die,” Caitlin said softly. “And he never returned to Shardana. He helped her.”

  “So it would seem from the legends.”

  “But he never revealed his secrets. He protected Shardana and the Wind Dancer from the Barbarians.”

  “Until now. As he suspected, there are still barbarians in the world.”

  “Yes.” She turned to face him. “But there are more guardians now.”

  “Don’t look at me. I’m no idealistic watchdog.”

  “No?” She smiled at him. “Yet you said I’d chosen that role and you’ve certainly mounted guard over me. I think you may be more like Andros than you think.”

  He shifted his shoulders uneasily. “Nonsense.”

  “What do you suppose happened to Shardana?”

  “You’re a student of antiquity. Didn’t the description of Shardana strike you as familiar?”

  “Not with a culture centering on healing.” Caitlin thought about it. “But perhaps . . . Avalon? The island of healing, where King Arthur was taken when he received a mortal wound.”

  “I was thinking about the volcanoes and earthquakes. Some scholars think Atlantis was destroyed by an earthquake followed by a tidal wave. That would explain why the Shardanans stopped
raiding and became mercenaries in Egypt. They had no place to go home to.” He shrugged. “Or maybe Shardana was neither of those places. Perhaps Shardana’s legend was never told.” He gathered the printout into a pile. “I think I’ll read through these myself and then move the computer and printer out of the way.”

  “Why?”

  “To set up the projectors again. We have to study that hologram of the Wind Dancer and see if we can find out how to get into the damn thing.” He frowned. “If they loved beauty so much, I can’t believe they would just seal it and make us break into it. Maybe there’s a pattern in the way the jewels are set. . . .”

  If Caitlin had thought deciphering the tablets was difficult, the next hours revealed that trying to find a way to cause the statue to open was nearly impossible. It was clear that days of work still lay ahead of them.

  Caitlin was so exhausted, she had thought she would go to sleep at once that night, but an hour after she had left Alex she was still lying wide awake.

  Suddenly she threw back the covers and got out of bed. A moment later she was standing in the doorway of Alex’s bedroom.

  “Alex.”

  She could see the tensing of his body as he half sat up in bed. “Yes.”

  She moved toward him across the room. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

  He held back the covers in silent invitation. “You were never alone.”

  She slipped into bed and lay beside him, not touching him. “No?”

  He drew the covers gently up to her chin and then lay back down on his side of the bed. “I was always here for you.”

  “Because you were sorry for me?”

  “No, not because of that.”

  “Lust?”

  “Not that either. Though God knows that is certainly there.”

  “I feel very . . . uncertain.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Everything around us is changing. What should we do?”

  “Go to sleep, get inside that damn statue, find Ledford, go to Nice, launch your perfume, start the plant—”

  She chuckled. “I should have known you’d have an answer.”

  “Answers are what I do best.”

  “There’s something else you do better.”

  He stiffened. “You don’t have to pay me to have me here for you, Caitlin. That’s what friends are for.”

  Not lovers, friends. “Are we friends, Alex?”

  “I want to be your friend. I respect you. I trust . . . you.” The words were spoken haltingly, as if forced from him, and yet she felt warmth blossoming inside her. She had the same feeling she had experienced on the Galatea Bridge, that he was trying to say something else to her. Passion was easy for Alex Karazov, but after years of repression and betrayal, trust and friendship were great and rare gifts. He had given his friendship to Pavel, and after Pavel’s death only Kemal had managed to insinuate himself in Alex’s affections. “Tell me, did you ever tell Pavel you cared about him?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Did you?”

  “No.” He added quickly, “It wasn’t necessary. He knew how I felt.”

  “I see.” Caitlin was beginning at last to fathom Alex Karazov. How wary he was, she thought with sudden compassion, as wary as she had always been. She was using the past tense, she realized in surprise. When had her wariness toward Alex started to fade and trust begin? They had started out with lust and progressed through all the spectrums of passion, despair, and enmity, and only now were beginning to fully understand each other. “Touch me.”

  He stiffened. “I told you that you didn’t have to pay me for—”

  “Who’s paying?” She rolled over into his arms and felt a shock of desire as flesh met flesh. Full circle. They had traveled full circle back to lust, and yet she suddenly knew it would be richer, deeper, for the journey. “I’m just taking advantage of what you do best.”

  “Alex,” she whispered, almost on the edge of sleep.

  “Yes.”

  “There’s something you should know.” She cuddled closer and kept her eyes closed.

  His hand stroked her hair. “What?”

  “I love you.”

  She felt him stiffen against her, but he said nothing. She hadn’t expected a reply. She knew he might never say those words to her, but that was all right. She needed to say them to him. “We were wrong. It does exist. . . .”

  “Does it?” he asked thickly.

  “Yes. Good night, Alex.”

  She felt his warm lips brush her temple with exquisite tenderness. “Good night, Caitlin.”

  Kemal tossed the last printout aside. “This is very interesting.”

  “Interesting?” Caitlin raised her brows. “Kemal, this is world-shaking.”

  “No.” His black eyes were twinkling though his expression remained solemn. “I am world-shaking, this is merely interesting. But neither you nor Alex can lay claim to that state at present. You do not amuse me when you work so hard. Alex has not been out of that study all day.”

  “He thinks there may be some pattern to the placement of the jewels on the base of the statue. He says it has to be the base because that’s the only part of the statue that could open without destroying the symmet—”

  “You see? Patterns, legends, miracle cures . . . You have no time for the important things.”

  “You?”

  “I would hate to be so immodest as to agree with you.” He opened the door. “I will leave you to it and see if I can scramble up something concerning Ledford of interest enough to distract you.” He sighed. “Now, it would, indeed, be world-shaking if I failed in any endeavor.”

  Caitlin chuckled and then turned to hurry back to the study and Alex.

  18

  “Irmak’s back,” Kemal said two days later when Alex answered the phone.

  “You’re sure?”

  “I saw him go into the Kafas myself last night.”

  “Where the hell has he been?”

  “I told you that you frightened him.” Kemal paused. “Maybe for more reasons than we thought.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’ve been asking questions about Irmak. I assumed I knew everything about him, but I found it odd he was so terrified of you, so I decided to do a little probing.” He paused again. “Our lives have been intertwined so long that it surprised me that I—”

  “Kemal.”

  “I’m getting to it. Adnan has a Gypsy connection.”

  “What?”

  “His father’s first wife belonged to one of the tribes who come to the Eridne every year.”

  “You’re saying that Irmak could be the Gypsy?”

  “Well, his father took the blood oath or he could not have married Adnan’s mother. I suppose that makes Adnan a Gypsy. I don’t know about him being the Gypsy. But it would explain why he disappeared from sight when he found out who you were looking for. He knew Ledford would not have been pleased you were searching so diligently for him. He was probably as much afraid of Ledford wasting him as he was of you.”

  “You said Irmak didn’t have the connections to get false papers.”

  “As far as I know, he hasn’t. I’m looking into it. There are some forgers in town who might have branched out to deal in passports.”

  “Meet me at the Kafas tonight.”

  “Sorry. You’ll have to handle this yourself. I tried to get into the Harem last night after the show, but they stopped me at the door. Adnan gave orders that I’m not to be allowed anywhere near him.” Mockery layered Kemal’s voice. “I was truly cut to the heart. And we used to be so close.”

  “Can I get in?”

  “Possibly. Adnan’s guards don’t know you. But you can’t go wandering around the Harem, looking for him. Let me think. . . .” There was a silence on the other end of the phone before Kemal said briskly, “Here’s what you can do. I think I can get word to Melis to help. You’ll have to bring Caitlin.”

  “I doubt if she’d let me leave
her here.”

  “Go to the Kafas tonight and stay after the show. The two of you will go through to the Harem and rent one of the rooms like regular customers. I’ll have Melis come to your room and take you to Adnan when the coast is clear.”

  “And how are we supposed to get out of the Harem once I’ve talked to Irmak?”

  “The same way you came in, through the Kafas, like any satisfied customers. You just have to make certain Irmak doesn’t give the alarm.”

  “If I get to him, I can promise you that.”

  “I thought as much. I have the utmost confidence in you. I’ll see you back at the cottage when it’s over. I’ll have coffee ready and you can tell me all about the evening’s entertainment.”

  “May I remind you I’m not paying you to make coffee?”

  “How can you say that when I’ve masterminded the entire plan? Now you must only execute it.”

  “Only?”

  “Brains are always more valuable than brawn. It’s nice when an individual has both, as I do, but I’m sure you can compensate for any lack by—”

  “Good-bye, Kemal.”

  “Good-bye, Alex.”

  As Kemal predicted, Alex and Caitlin had no trouble getting past the two men dressed as eunuchs standing guard at the door separating the Kafas from the Harem. Once inside, scarlet-robed attendants took care of each patron, determining his wishes and escorting him to the carved door behind which was the pleasure of his choice.

  Alex and Caitlin were left in a spacious chamber with mirrors on the ceiling and two of the walls. Thick white carpet covered turquoise tiles, and the bed was a masterpiece of turquoise and cushions that looked fit for a caliph. She tried to smile as she moved across the room. “You said this place was a sultan’s fantasy.” She sniffed. “Good heavens, incense. How long do you think we’ll have to stay here?”

  “Until Melis can get to us. Kemal didn’t say.” Alex still stood by the door. “Are you nervous?”

  “A little.” She made a face. “This is my first time in a harem.”

  “Mine too.” A crystal wine decanter gleamed on a rosewood table. Alex poured the ruby-red wine into two glasses, handing one to her.