The Sage Stone Prophecy (Arkana Archaeology Adventure Series Book 7)

by N. S. Wikarski

  It took the cowboy several seconds to connect the dots. He recalled the time Metcalf had sent him to follow the little foreign doctor into the city where he’d met with a shady Russian and some sort of deal had been struck. The next time Leroy saw the doctor was in the preacher’s office with the thief named Erik. Since Hunt had never been told what the doc was up to, he stared at Metcalf blankly, waiting for further clarification.

  The old man apparently realized full disclosure was necessary. “I’m sure you know that the Nephilim have many enemies in the Fallen world.”

  The cowboy nodded uncertainly.

  “I commissioned Doctor Aboud to create a biological weapon to protect us from those enemies. He was also charged with creating a vaccine to protect any Nephilim who might come into contact with this biological agent.”

  “I’m with you so far, boss.”

  “It seems that the good doctor has fallen victim to the deadly sin of greed. I suspect that he intends to sell both the biological agent and the vaccine on the black market.”

  “Gotcha.” Leroy could finally see all the pieces falling into place.

  “No matter how urgent our need to vanquish the organization the thieves work for, this matter is more urgent still. Doctor Aboud is nearing completion of his work for me which means he will shortly be in a position to sell his creations to the world.”

  “Likely to the Russian I seen him with,” Hunt concluded.

  “Most probably,” Metcalf agreed.

  “You want me to take care of the whistle pig now?” Leroy rose to leave.

  The old man squinted at him, perplexed.

  “Sorry, boss. That’s what I call the little doc. You want I should shoot him for you?”

  “Not quite yet. His work for me is at a critical stage and I wouldn’t like to see it interrupted. For now, you are to follow him to confirm that my suspicions are correct. Should he meet this mysterious Russian again, find out who the fellow is and what he does for a living.”

  “And then what?”

  Metcalf steepled his hands together, considering the question. “Bring me proof that I’m right about the doctor and his friend. Then I’ll allow you to follow your natural inclinations.”

  Chapter 29—Cut It Out

  Hannah glanced at the clock on the wall and braced herself. It was almost time for one of Mother Rachel’s regular visits. Every few days or so, the matron appeared at this hour with another book of diviner sermons under her arm to harangue Hannah about how she ought to behave. It was amazing the number of deceased diviners who formed opinions on the topic of proper wifely conduct. Of course, given that they were all polygamists, the subject was probably uppermost in their minds.

  The girl snapped to attention when she heard someone outside the door. Usually Mother Rachel at least made a pretense of knocking before she barged in. Not today. The matron entered wordlessly, locked the door behind her and walked to the center of the room. She wasn’t carrying any books for a change.

  A look at her visitor’s face told Hannah something was off. For starters, Mother Rachel wasn’t staring at her disapprovingly. The matron’s characteristic sharp gaze seemed vague and unfocused. She looked through Hannah rather than at her, as if listening to ghostly voices. Hannah dutifully went to sit in her armchair and waited for Mother Rachel to lecture her for the next hour.

  The matron remained transfixed. When she spoke, it was as if the words were being dictated from beyond. Her voice rose barely above a murmur. “The Lord tells us: ‘If thy hand offend thee, cut it off: it is better for thee to enter into life maimed, than having two hands to go into hell, into the fire that never shall be quenched.’ What could be plainer than that? And he also says: ‘If thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell.’ It’s all spelled out in black and white. Everything is so clear when you read the Bible.”

  She finally turned to glance at Hannah, as if realizing for the first time that the room had a second occupant. The girl assumed her usual bland facial expression.

  This seemed to irritate Mother Rachel because some of her old tartness came back. “Still silent, are we?”

  Hannah tried to look baffled by the comment.

  “I could read to you until I’m blue in the face and it wouldn’t make any difference. Your heart is hardened against salvation. My husband deludes himself if he thinks he can ever win you back.”

  The girl began to feel uneasy.

  The old woman advanced and stood over her. “The Lord told me what must be done. I am his instrument. Once I’ve broken your evil spell over him, Abraham will understand.”

  Mother Rachel reached into her apron pocket and drew out a butcher knife.

  Hannah froze in terror for a moment until she saw the blade sweep downward. She jumped aside and screamed at the top of her lungs.

  ***

  Erik was sitting in his room reviewing the notes from his last conference call with Maddie. He vaguely registered the murmur of a female voice through the wall and concluded that Mother Rachel must be sermonizing Hannah for the umpteenth time. Suddenly, and without warning, he heard an ear-piercing shriek.

  The Paladin leaped to his feet. “Hannah!” He shouted. “Hannah, are you alright?”

  He heard a heavy object fall and then another scream.

  “She’s trying to kill me!”

  He hoped whoever was in there had left the door unlocked but he’d break it down if he had to. His eyes searched for a convenient weapon but instead they fell on the intercom phone. He pressed the button. When a female voice answered, he said, “Send help right away. Somebody is in Hannah’s room. They’re trying to hurt her. Get here quick before it’s too late.”

  The receiver dropped. He assumed the person on the other end of the line was running to the guest quarters.

  He could hear more shouts and screams coming from the adjoining chamber.

  Erik pounded on the wall. “Hannah, help is coming. Hang on!”

  He grabbed the key to his own locked room and raced for the door.

  ***

  Hannah ducked out of the way as Mother Rachel slashed at her again. The matron seemed too deeply immersed in her delusion to even notice Erik’s shouts from the adjoining room.

  The girl knew her rescuer was on the way so all she had to do was keep out of the range of that blade.

  Mother Rachel was now muttering wildly to herself about blood atonement. Hannah could guess all too easily whose blood she meant to spill. Out of the corner of her eye, Hannah could see the doorknob turning. Erik was testing the lock but the door remained shut. The girl backed against the wall between her nightstand and dresser.

  The matron bore down on her, a triumphant gleam in her eye now that her quarry had been cornered.

  All of a sudden, a loud thud came from the other side of the room. It was Erik trying to break down the door.

  Mother Rachel paused in confusion. She appeared to be struggling to sift out the difference between the voices in her head and noises coming from outside. She turned aside and looked toward the opposite end of the room to identify the source of the sound.

  That diversion was all Hannah needed. In one swift motion, the girl gripped the metal handle of her nightstand drawer. She yanked out the drawer and swung it as hard as she could at the back of Mother Rachel’s head. The Bible and Jedediah Proctor’s Revelations went flying across the room. The old woman fell forward with such force that her forehead bounced off the floor. After that, she lay still. The girl swooped down and reached into Mother Rachel’s apron pocket for the key to her prison. She was about to make a run for it when she heard another thud as Erik’s shoulder rammed the other side of the door.

  “Hannah, answer me! Are you alright? I can hear somebody running this way to help you.”

  “I’m OK, Erik. Get back to your room before they realize you’re out.”

  With
out another word, he slipped back to his own quarters. Hannah heard his door shut only seconds before a female voice rounded the corner and shouted down the hallway. “Sister Hannah! Sister Hannah!”

  The girl caught herself in time and remembered she was supposed to be mute. Jumping over Mother Rachel, she ran to the door and pounded from the inside. Then she slipped the stolen key into her own pocket.

  “Hold on, I’m coming.” Sister Ruth, the Consecrated Bride who brought her meals, burst into the room.

  Hannah didn’t need to say anything. The matron lying face down on the floor with a knife gripped tightly in her hand told the whole story.

  “She attacked you?” Sister Ruth asked in disbelief.

  Hannah nodded and lifted up the fabric of her sleeve. There was a slash mark on it and a spattering of blood on the girl’s arm.

  “Oh, my Lord!” Sister Ruth gasped. “Sister Hannah, you come with me.” She took the girl by the hand. “We’re going to the Diviner immediately.”

  Hannah gestured quizzically at Mother Rachel.

  “Don’t you worry about her. We’ll lock her inside until the security men come to take her away.”

  The girl hugged her rescuer. The two exited the room, leaving a groaning, semi-conscious Mother Rachel imprisoned behind them.

  ***

  Abraham stood in the doorway of his principal wife’s quarters. He watched as two men in white coats lifted her from her bed onto an ambulance stretcher. They began to apply restraints to her hands and feet along with straps to secure her torso and legs.

  Turning to a wizened man at his elbow, the Diviner asked in a low voice. “Will she be alright, doctor?”

  The Fallen psychiatrist shrugged and whispered his reply so as not to be overheard by his attendants. “I gave her a strong sedative. We won’t know for a day or two but I’d guess she had some sort of psychotic break. You say she attacked another of your wives with a knife?”

  The Diviner nodded grimly. “She claims God told her to do it—that a blood sacrifice was required to redeem the Blessed Nephilim. Mother Rachel apparently decided that the sacrifice ought to be my youngest wife, Hannah. Who knows why? The girl is sequestered and recovering from emotional problems of her own. This will set back her recovery by weeks if not months.”

  “Do you want me to examine her?” the doctor offered. “Prescribe a tranquilizer?”

  Abraham sighed. “That won’t be necessary. She seemed subdued after the attack but was responsive to questions. I think the fewer strangers she encounters right now, the better.”

  “How do you want us to handle this situation?” The doctor’s eyes slid to the stretcher where his men were still in the process of securing Mother Rachel.

  “Standard procedure,” Abraham whispered back. “Sedate her for a few weeks then see if she behaves more rationally.”

  “My asylum will soon need a new wing to house the mentally-disturbed wives of the Blessed Nephilim,” the doctor observed dryly.

  “Considering the money I’ve paid you over the years for their maintenance, you ought to be able to afford one by now,” the Diviner retorted.

  “Touché,” the Fallen doctor replied. He pensively regarded his newest patient. “Her mental state is somewhat more extreme than other Nephilim cases I’ve treated. It may take longer to bring her around, if she ever recovers at all.”

  “She is my principal wife and my most devoted follower.” Abraham’s tone was troubled. “Do what you can for her.”

  “I can’t make any promises that she’ll return to what you consider normal,” the doctor demurred.

  “Try just the same,” the Diviner insisted.

  The two men parted to allow the attendants to wheel the stretcher through the door.

  Mother Rachel’s eyes rolled in their sockets. She briefly seemed to recognize her husband’s face. In a slurred voice, she murmured, “Abraham, I did this for you. I did this for all of us but the devil prevailed. Beware, there are demons in our midst! I say, beware!”

  The doctor winced. “Apparently, I didn’t give her a strong enough tranquilizer. Excuse me. I need to ride in the ambulance to monitor her condition.”

  He scurried down the hall after his patient.

  Abraham returned to the chamber and sat down heavily on the bed to think. Demons indeed. Satan had chosen his instrument well. Mother Rachel’s moral rectitude had always been beyond reproach. It was inconceivable that his principal wife had allowed herself to fall victim to the sin of jealousy. Surely, she must realize that at her advanced age she was no longer attractive to her husband. Abraham was obliged to obey the mandate of the Blessed Nephilim to build his kingdom on earth. This required him to seek out ever younger, more fertile wives. That Rachel had attacked a sister-wife was bad enough. That she had chosen Abraham’s afflicted favorite as her target was surely the work of the devil. Thank heaven for the Fallen thief who had shown the presence of mind to summon help.

  The Diviner allowed himself to marvel briefly at the hand of providence. Daniel had said God spared Erik for a reason. More than one, in fact. Aside from the thief’s usefulness as an experimental subject and a hostage, he was proving valuable as a watchdog to protect Abraham’s beloved. The Diviner would have no need to post a sentry outside Hannah’s room so long as Erik was nearby. The thief obviously realized that preserving Hannah was in his own best interest. The Lord surely moved in mysterious ways. Tomorrow the Diviner would have to visit his prisoner, express his thanks, and instruct him to continue his vigilance. But now it was late and Abraham badly needed his rest. He rose to return to his own chambers. It was time for his medicine.

  ***

  The Diviner attempted to sit up. He couldn’t remember where he was. Hadn’t he fallen asleep in his easy chair? Or was he in bed? He struggled to toss a heavy coverlet off his chest but when he grasped what he thought was a blanket, he felt a hand instead. He recoiled with a gasp. It was a woman’s hand. None of his wives was sharing his bed tonight.

  He blinked and tried to clear his vision. A face loomed above him.

  “Hello, father.” The tone was mocking.

  The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. It was Annabeth, Daniel’s wife. He could swear he’d felt her touch. How could this be? She was dead.

  “Did we have a difficult day today?” Her pale lips twisted into a malicious smile.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded angrily, in part to mask his rising fear.

  “I’m always here.” She circled his chair and leaned down to whisper in his ear. “But you can’t always see me.”

  Abraham fancied he felt her warm breath in his ear. Ghosts didn’t breathe! What was happening to him? “I must be dreaming,” he insisted, trying to rise.

  She returned to the front of the chair and crossed her arms, regarding him dispassionately. “Dreaming or something worse.”

  “What could be worse than a nightmare?”

  “Nightmares disappear when you wake up. I don’t.”

  He labored to make his limbs obey him. It was as if they were clamped to the chair with iron bands. “What do you want from me?” His tone was petulant.

  “Nothing,” she rejoined innocently. “My form is just an illusion concocted from equal parts poppy juice and self-loathing—summoned to annoy you.”

  “That’s absurd!” he exclaimed. “I never summoned you.”

  “Oh but you did,” she asserted slyly. “This evening you were busy disposing of another troublesome woman just like me.”

  “Rachel,” he quavered. “You mean Rachel.”

  “What to do, sad but true,” she chanted in a sing-song voice. “Another bride who won’t mind you.”

  “She was possessed by a demon,” he countered.

  “That’s your answer for everything, isn’t it?” she asked airily. “Blame the devil, not yourself. Another bride pitched off the shelf.”

  Abraham tugged vainly against his invisible restraints. “Why won’t you leave me in peace?”
r />   “Peace?” Her eyebrows arched in surprise. “The best you can hope for these days is a dreamless cat nap, father.”

  She leaned forward and clutched his shoulder.

  He felt the distinct sensation of fingers digging into his flesh. That, too, was impossible.

  “In days to come, you’ll look back on this moment as the calm before the real storm began.”

  Her face was so close to his that he could see the pupils of her eyes dilate. It couldn’t be.

  “I’ll visit again soon.”

  Abraham’s head spun dizzily. He could feel himself blacking out. One final thought occurred to him before he lost consciousness. Oblivion was the closest thing to peace he was going to feel if Annabeth was telling the truth.

  Chapter 30—Static Cling

  Cassie dropped into a chair in the hotel lobby to wait for the others to come down from their rooms. She thought back to the past four days and ruefully admitted that she should have taken Olga’s advice. Rather than getting some rest while on the Trans-Siberian train, the Pythia had spent much of the trip glued to the window of her compartment hoping to pick up a trace of the Minoans. Thousands of miles of evergreen forests, tundra, mountain ranges, and the Amur River passed her by without offering a single clue no matter how intensely she concentrated. The closer the train came to Lake Baikal, the more her anxiety grew.

  At four o’clock that same morning, the Arkana group finally reached Irkutsk—a city thirty miles up the Angara River from the southwest shore of the lake. The short summer night was already giving way to a glimmer of light in the east. As Cassie stepped off the train, she registered surprise at the balmy pre-dawn air. The word “Siberia” always conjured images of frostbite. Instead, the temperature was a pleasant sixty-five degrees with noon highs expected to climb well into the eighties.

  The team wasted no time exploring the city since the journey to Olkhon Island would require the better part of the day to complete. Although there was a boat that traveled directly to their destination, it only ran once a week. The local bus schedule was equally inconvenient for the team’s purposes. They opted instead to hire a car and driver to get them to the ferry landing one hundred and fifty miles to the north. Even covering such a short distance took hours over narrow, winding roads. After arriving at the landing, they had to cool their heels waiting for the next boat. Ironically, the fifteen minute crossing to the island was the shortest part of their trip that day.