Priestess of Paracas

by K Patrick Donoghue

  Not only was Cindy the best margarita-concocter on board, she was also numero uno when it came to smoothies…better even than the former bartender, Pebbles. She pushed through the door and greeted Cindy. “Hey! Good morning there, matey.”

  Decked out in white from her freshly pressed, button-down shirt to her pleated shorts and squeaky-clean sneakers, the dirty-blond, deep-tanned Cindy turned from the refrigerator and smiled at Pebbles. “Good morning, Miss McCarver. Is it smoothie time?”

  “You know it, but I can whip one up myself if you’re busy.”

  Tanner closed the refrigerator and pushed the box of supplies back on the counter. “It’s no trouble at all. What’ll it be today? Strawberry-banana or something new? We have fresh passion fruit.”

  “Ooh, passion fruit. That sounds good. How about mixing it with strawberry?”

  “Very well. Where should I serve you?”

  “Nah, don’t worry about that. I’ll just hang out here ’til it’s ready.”

  “As you wish, miss.”

  Pebbles found it awkward to converse with the formal Cindy, but no matter how many times she begged the stewardess to call her Pebbles instead of Miss McCarver or engage with her in casual banter, Cindy maintained a distant, professional air about her. In fact, all of Sol Seaker’s crew interacted with Pebbles with the same formality.

  It was her least favorite aspect of living on Anlon’s superyacht. Pebbles would have preferred to live on a ship full of pirates, people she could call swabbies who would in turn call her a sea dog as they guzzled rum and swapped stories about their respective tattoos. A crew with whom she could sing ditties in between trading tales of hidden treasures and visiting far-off lands.

  But Anlon’s selection of the über-disciplined Isak Hansen as ship’s captain squelched any possibility of rubbing elbows with the crew. The Norwegian skipper was as buttoned-down as they came. And while it meant Sol Seaker operated with incredible efficiency, it also meant living amid an aristocratic, upstairs-downstairs kind of vibe. Not exactly Pebbles’ style. Nor Anlon’s.

  As she stood silently watching Cindy cut up fruit, Pebbles recalled discussing her misgivings with Anlon during their first journey, a few-days jaunt around the islands near San Diego. It was intended as a “shakeout” trip in which Hansen tested out the ship’s systems and trained the crew.

  “It’s like living in a museum. Every time I turn around, someone’s cleaning up after me or bowing. It’s uncomfortable,” Pebbles had said.

  “Look, I know it’s not what we’re used to, how we normally live, but give it some time. I think the crew will loosen up a bit and we’ll get more used to being around each other.”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this.”

  “I hear you, but let’s give it a try for a while. If you feel the same way in a month, we can tell Hansen to lighten up a bit. But I think we ought to give him time to establish his way of doing things with the crew.”

  Anlon had then explained Hansen’s logic in maintaining the formal atmosphere. They would be at sea for the better part of a year, save for periodic stops at various ports of call as they traversed the planet’s oceans. The former cruise ship captain knew from experience that discipline had a tendency to wane during long voyages, which he viewed as undesirable when confronting difficult sea conditions or issues with the ship when far from assistance.

  “I get all that,” Pebbles had said. “But would it kill them to loosen the top button on their collars? Or fist bump instead of bow? Maybe sit down and hang out every now and then?”

  Anlon had responded by reminding her that Hansen had a zero fraternization policy. “He said fraternization leads to intrigue, and intrigue leads to trouble.”

  With that last thought percolating in her mind, Pebbles watched Cindy drizzle honey into the blender atop the awaiting fruit and yogurt. Seconds later, the machine whirred until the red, white and gold mixture turned orangish-pink.

  “Looks yummy,” Pebbles said above the blender’s whine.

  Cindy smiled and retrieved a chilled Pilsner glass from the freezer. She stopped the blender on two occasions to test the drink’s consistency by lightly stirring a spoon in the smoothie. When satisfied with the blend, Cindy poured the contents into the glass, wedged a strawberry onto the Pilsner’s lip and retrieved a straw from a cabinet.

  As Cindy put the finishing touches on the drink, Pebbles gazed at the stewardess and wondered what the woman thought of her. Did she get that Pebbles was in a committed relationship with Anlon? Or did she look at Pebbles’ purple fade-cut hair, tattoos and plethora of facial piercings and figure she was nothing more than Anlon’s young plaything? Did Cindy know Pebbles was a former attorney? Or that she ran a foundation to preserve archaeological relics? Probably not, thought Pebbles. After all the trouble I’ve caused the last few nights, she probably thinks I’m just a junkie or a whack-job who might flip out at any moment.

  Cindy bowed and presented the smoothie atop a folded linen napkin. Pebbles thanked her and took a sip. “Mmm…perfect as always.”

  With hands clasped behind her back, Cindy bowed again. “Thank you, Miss McCarver. Can I get you anything else? A breakfast bar, perhaps?”

  “Nah, I’m good, but thanks.” Pebbles raised her hand to coax a high-five from the thirty-year-old stewardess, a woman only a year older than Pebbles. “Up high!”

  The request obviously caused conflict within Cindy, for Pebbles saw her eyes twitch and her arms flinch as she debated an appropriate response.

  “Come on,” Pebbles urged, “don’t leave me hangin’.”

  With her eyes looking away from Pebbles, Cindy snuck her arm from behind her back and held up an open palm. A big smile formed on Pebbles’ face as she slapped Tanner’s hand. “Yeah…that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout.”

  Small victory achieved, Pebbles turned and left the galley with her pilsner raised like a trophy.

  Cindy had barely finished cleaning out the blender when she heard the sound of breaking glass followed by a heavy thud. She tossed aside a dish towel and took off for the galley door. Under her breath, she mumbled, “Jesus, what now?”

  Pushing into the center hallway, she looked around. Directly aft of the galley was the ship’s dining room. She took a few steps into the room and looked around. Seeing nothing out of place, she returned to the hallway and gazed in the direction of the central spiral staircase. Pebbles often enjoyed drinking her smoothie while lounging on the upper deck’s aft patio. Had she fallen on her way up? As Cindy started for the staircase, she heard the thumping of running feet above and the sound of someone growling. Cindy dashed up the stairs, whispering, “Shit! Shit! Shit!”

  Cresting into the upper deck’s cabin, Cindy looked forward toward the ship’s bridge, then aft. Through the cabin’s bar and lounge area, she spied two deckhands on the patio outside. They were kneeling next to Pebbles. She was on all fours, head lowered.

  Clipped to Cindy’s belt was a walkie talkie. She yanked it loose as she ran toward the patio. “Brody, come in.”

  “Yeah, Cindy, I’m here. Whatcha need?”

  “Find Miss Stevens. I think she’s in the gym. Miss McCarver’s having an attack on the upper deck patio.”

  “Okay. On it.”

  Cindy pushed open the cabin door and told the two deckhands to back away from Pebbles. “Just make sure she doesn’t try to jump again.”

  The memory of the incident two nights ago flashed through Cindy’s mind. Pebbles had awakened everybody aboard with bloodcurdling screams. Before Cindy had made it out of her cabin to investigate, she heard one of the other crew shout, “Guest overboard.” It took three of the crew to haul Pebbles back aboard. All the while, Pebbles kicked and screamed at them, waking up boaters on other yachts anchored in the marina. Cindy had wanted to slap Pebbles after they finally settled her down. That urge rose again as she watched her crawl around the patio.

  The two deckhands took positions on the starboard and port sides of the patio
where teak walkways ran along the outside of the deck’s cabin. Cindy tiptoed around the chanting, growling Pebbles and crouched down in front of the sectional sofa that abutted the aft railing of the patio.

  Her eyes vacant, her face contorted into a panicked sneer, Pebbles came within inches of broken glass from the smoothie Pilsner. Cindy reached behind for a cushion from the patio sofa. Tucking it under one arm, she ducked low to avoid getting clocked in the head by Pebbles’ flailing arms. As she crawled toward Pebbles, Cindy tossed the cushion over the broken glass and the spilled smoothie. Just then, Cindy saw Pebbles’ shadow move. She looked up to see the ranting woman dashing for the aft railing with one arm aloft.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a blur of motion and then Jennifer came into Cindy’s view. Jennifer tackled Pebbles on the sofa and wrapped the writhing woman in her arms.

  Under a crescent moon, the woman crouched down and listened. Up this high, the wind masked most sounds but not the tumbling of rocks down the steep slope.

  There. There it is again! They have slowed down. Good. Good.

  She quietly turned around on the narrow path and felt around for loose stones. When she found ones of manageable size, she slowly stacked them in the center of the trail, careful to avoid dislodging any that might slip over the edge and start a chain reaction. Below, far down the mountain, she could see the lights of the village and the glint of the moon on the river, but she saw no signs of movement on the switchbacks. However, she did hear the echo of more rocks sliding down into the ravine. She smiled.

  There are too many of them. They are too clumsy.

  She finished stacking her booby trap and then resumed her trek up the maze of switchbacks. Looking up ahead, she spied the ridgeline silhouetted by the star-filled sky.

  You must be quick. As soon as they see the glow, they will light their torches.

  As she crept toward the summit, chilly gusts pummeled her bare legs. She bent down lower to cover the exposed limbs underneath her poncho but there was nothing she could do to protect her feet. If she lowered any closer to the ground, she risked the wind whipping the poncho’s braided tassels against loose rocks. She gritted her teeth.

  Just a little farther. Keep going.

  Reaching the safety of a nook in the last outcrop, she slid off the pack slung over her back. First, she fished out a torch and unwrapped it from its wool sheath. After laying the torch on the stone floor of the nook, she stowed the wool back in the bag and pulled out two sharp rocks and a wad of spongy tree fungus. Before striking the rocks against each other, she took in several deep breaths.

  You must be quick.

  As she hovered over the torch with her finger pressing the fungus to one of the rocks, she hit the two stones together. The sound of the collision reverberated in the nook. She grimaced and struck them again. Sparks leapt out but not enough to light the fungus. In scraping blows, she hit the two rocks again and again. In between, she heard the shouts of her pursuers. She pleaded with the stones.

  Light! Light! Hurry!

  A small glow formed on the edge of the fungus, the pungent aroma of its smoke swirling in the nook. She dropped the stones and cradled her hand around the fungus as she guided it to the torch. When the torch caught fire, she tossed aside the spongy kindling, shoved her fire-starting stones in the bag and grabbed the torch.

  Go! Go! Go!

  Stumbling out of the nook, she held out the torch and gazed down. The wind buffeted the flame, but it remained lit. Several switchbacks below, she saw angry faces looking up at her. Some of them began to run while others desperately tried to light their own torches. She turned and scampered over the ridgeline, plunging her pursuers back into darkness. With the torchlight leading her way, she dashed down the first leg of the backside’s series of switchbacks.

  Run! Run faster!

  Curling around a sharp bend, she stopped to look up. There were no signs of other torches or moving figures above. She did not look up again until the fourth turn in the switchback. Here there was a junction. One that veered off to the left and another that continued down the switchbacks to the right. Before sprinting down the trail to the left, she gazed up again. Still no sign of followers.

  As she ran, she could see the end of the trail in the distance — the sheer face of the mountain…or so it would seem to those chasing her. Lungs burning, she raced onward until she neared the apparent dead-end. Within a few strides of the wall, the path ended, revealing a hidden gap of jagged stones that looked like a staircase that wound down into a canyon.

  Panting heavily, she lowered the torch to the ground and descended the first few of the narrow steps while bracing her arms against the canyon wall. With only her head left above the path, she reached up and gathered the torch. Before continuing on, she swept the torch over the side of the stairs and stared down at the inky water below. Retraining the torch and her gaze on the stairs in front of her, she proceeded lower until she reached a thin ledge that sliced its way underneath the span of a wide overhang. At the far end overhang, she saw the ledge widen into more of a balcony. There, cut into the canyon wall, she saw the black holes leading into the caves.

  Go! Go! Hurry! Get inside quick! Before they reach the stairs!

  Leaning her back against the wall, she slid her feet along the ledge until she reached the balcony. She knelt down, tugged off her bag, retrieved the wool cloth and used it to extinguish the torch. In the instant darkness, bright splotches clouded her vision.

  Get inside! Now!

  Three steps into the cave, she felt a tug from behind and a hand covered her mouth.

  Pebbles sat on the bed in the master bedroom cabin she shared with Anlon. A blanket was wrapped around her shoulders and across her curled knees. In the low light afforded by slivers of sun peeking through the cabin’s wooden Venetian blinds, Pebbles jotted down more notes in her dream journal.

  Seated at the foot of the bed, Jennifer watched her friend’s furious scribbles. When Pebbles finished writing, she tossed the pen down and looked up at Jennifer. “How bad was it?”

  Jennifer waved her head from side to side. “Not as bad as the last one.”

  “How’s your nose?”

  During Jennifer’s struggle to hold onto Pebbles on the patio, Pebbles had worked an arm free and caught Jennifer in the nose with her elbow.

  “I’ll be fine. There’s no break. It’s just a little tender.”

  “Again, I’m super sorry.”

  Jennifer dismissively waved her hand. “I know. Just let it go. It’s okay.”

  “I guess I just freaked when you put your hand over my mouth.”

  “Excuse me?” said Jennifer. “I didn’t touch your mouth.”

  “Well, I know what I felt. Someone put their hand over my mouth,” Pebbles paused then said, “Word to the wise — that pisses me off. I’d advise against ever doing that.”

  Jennifer nodded. “Duly noted.” She pointed at the dream journal and asked, “Which dream was it this time?”

  “The cave one.”

  “Any different than last time?”

  Pebbles shrugged and then tightened the blanket around her shoulders. “A little. I’ll have to go back and reread my notes from the last time it happened, but I’m pretty sure there were some new details this time.”

  “Like what?”

  “Apparently, I know how to start fires with fungus and two rocks.”

  “Interesting.” Jennifer smiled. “Let’s try not doing that while we’re on a boat with a lot of teakwood.”

  Pebbles laughed for a moment and then stretched out on the bed. “What is going on with me, Jen? I just don’t understand why these dreams keep happening.”

  Jennifer crawled across the bed and lay down next to Pebbles. As both stared up at the beamed ceiling, Jennifer said, “I wish I knew.”

  “Am I going crazy?”

  “No, definitely not. Don’t say it, don’t think it.”

  “It’s hard not to think it,” Pebbles said. She
rolled over and faced Jennifer. “They’re getting worse, happening more frequently. And there doesn’t seem to be a rhyme or reason as to when they start or stop. I mean, one moment I’m sipping on a smoothie, minding my own business, enjoying the sunshine and then the next thing I know, I’m being held down like I’m having some kind of seizure.”

  Jennifer ran her fingers through Pebbles’ hair. “It’s gotta have something to do with what Muran did to you, don’t you think?”

  A tear trickled from Pebbles’ eye, slid across her nose and dripped onto the bed. “I haven’t been the same since.”

  Jennifer leaned her forehead against Pebbles’ and smiled. “You’re still the same mouthy, know-it-all jitterbug to me.”

  Pebbles smiled as another tear fell over the bridge of her nose, this one landing on Jennifer’s cheek. She reached the blanket up and wiped the tear away and then poked her blanket-covered hand against Jennifer’s shoulder. “I’m the know-it-all? What about you, yoga torture-master?”

  They traded several more playful barbs before Pebbles’ eyes closed and she nuzzled the blanket under her chin. Jennifer resumed stroking her friend’s hair until Pebbles fell asleep. Then, as carefully and quietly as she could, she backed away and slid off the bed.

  After rearranging the blanket to cover the sleeping Pebbles, Jennifer picked up the open journal and closed it around the pen Pebbles had used to record her memories of the latest dream. Retreating to an easy chair in the corner of the cabin, she edged the Venetian blinds a fraction of an inch wider to let in more sunlight and then cracked open the journal labeled Vol. # 3 of ?

  CHAPTER 3: COLLECTED WISDOM

  Residence of Dr. Sanjay Varma

  Sedona, Arizona

  September 18

  Sanjay opted to return to the house where they settled in his living room. Sanjay sat on a couch with Happy curled up next to him. Anlon and Griffin took seats on armchairs opposing the sofa. On the coffee table in between, Anlon placed the two stones he had pulled from his backpack earlier.