“I don’t know, Jen. The objects in the bag don’t look like any of the stones. There’s no cone-like object, no bowl, no hockey pucks or tiles or cookie-shaped stones. Like I said before, they look more like half-made clay sculptures.”
Jennifer turned to Sanjay. “Tell her what you were saying about the objects, how Pebbles’ subconscious might be obscuring what they really look like.”
Pebbles cocked her head in Sanjay’s direction. Anlon could not help but notice her cheeks begin to flush. “You still think I’m making all this up, don’t you?”
The glare she pointed at Sanjay was effective. Anlon noticed him adjust his posture in a manner close to a squirm. “Not at all. I believe you are having these experiences, just as you say.”
“But you don’t believe the experiences are real. You think they’re imaginary.”
“They might be.” Sanjay locked eyes with Pebbles. “They might not.”
Anlon cringed as her face turned a deeper shade of red. Uh oh, here we go! But before she erupted, Sanjay said, “But my comment that Jennifer referenced was not questioning whether your experiences are real or imaginary. It had to do with the continued amorphous nature of the objects in Citali’s bag.
“I was saying that one explanation for this might be your mind’s unwillingness to think about the Munuorian stones. I have been told that ever since you awoke from your coma, you have made it clear you don’t want to see or touch the stones. Even now, in this conversation, you look visibly uncomfortable discussing them. So, while your interaction with Citali might be real, your mind may be exhibiting the same discomfort with the stones that you have expressed consciously by obscuring how they appeared to you at the oasis.”
The red began to fade on Pebbles’ face. Anlon sighed in relief. The last thing they needed was for Pebbles to shut down.
“Okay, I get what you mean. I guess it’s possible,” she said. “If Citali’s mind ended up on the same Sinethal mine was stored on, she obviously came in contact with the stones somewhere along the line. Muran or another Munuorian or…”
When Pebbles’ voice faded, Anlon finished the sentence for her. “Or someone the Munuorians trained to use the stones.”
“Yes. And if that’s the case,” Jennifer said, “there’s another possible explanation that has nothing to do with Pebbles’ subconscious.”
“Such as?” Sanjay said.
Jennifer stood and began to pace the room. “Well, for starters, we don’t know the time period in which Citali lived. Right? I mean, for all we know, she might have been introduced to the stones thousands of years after the great flood, after they’d been passed down through many generations. By then, her people might have developed their own names for them. She might not think of them as stones. They might not use them for the same purposes.”
She stopped pacing and grabbed Pebbles’ sketchbook. Flipping back to the crude sketches Pebbles had made of Citali’s objects, she pointed at the one that looked like a clamshell. “See what I mean? This might be the stone the Munuorians called a Breylofte, the Sound Stone. We know it was bowl-shaped, but maybe that’s not how Citali or her people viewed it. After all, Pebbles, Citali is showing you her memories.”
Anlon followed Jennifer’s eyes as she looked at Pebbles. Once again, Pebbles seemed deep in thought. However, this time, he did not observe signs of skepticism. When she finally spoke, her question was directed at Sanjay.
“Do you think it’s possible to call her back?” Pebbles asked. “While we’ve been talking, I’ve been trying to visualize the oasis, hoping her consciousness would pop back into my mind, but no dice.”
“We can try what we did last night. Relax you, plant some suggestions and see what happens.”
“All right. Let’s do it,” Pebbles said. “Whether she’s real or imaginary, we need answers.”
As soon as Pebbles and Sanjay departed the living room, Anlon picked up the sketchbook and turned to Jennifer. “Come with me. I have an idea.”
“Where are we going?”
“My office.”
“What for?”
He flipped to the oasis drawing and stared at the squiggle symbol Pebbles had added after completing the main portion of the drawing. In a near whisper, he said, “It might be enough for Cesar to go on.”
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” asked Jennifer.
“I’m thinking of emailing a picture of the oasis drawing to Cesar Perez, writing up a synopsis of Pebbles’ meeting with her to go along with it.”
“You sure about that? I don’t think Pebbles will be real happy when she finds out you sent Cesar a naked picture of her.”
“I’ll redact the racy parts. I just want him to see the symbol and Citali’s necklace.”
“You think the necklace might be in Muran’s collection?”
“It’s worth a shot, don’t you think? There’s also Muran’s manifesto. I know Cesar has a copy of it. He and Mereau have been trying to translate some of the passages. Maybe there’s a mention of the name Citali, or a description of a tribe of people with deformed heads. Who knows, maybe Muran drew in her journal like Pebbles does. If so, maybe the squiggle’s in there. The journal might help us pinpoint Citali’s place in history.”
“Presuming she’s real, you mean. And presuming Muran has anything to do with Citali.”
“Two big presumptions, I know. But Muran’s art collection and manifesto are as good as any options we have right now of validating or disproving a connection between Muran and Citali. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yeah, you’ve got a point there.” Jennifer flipped one page back in the sketchbook to Pebbles’ drawing of the items in Citali’s bag. “Even though these are pretty nondescript. We should probably send him a picture of this page as well. Maybe he can make more sense out of them than we could.”
Less than an hour later, Anlon received a text message from Cesar. “Got your email. VERY interesting. I have some additional research to do, but I can talk later this afternoon. Say 2 p.m. Pacific? Are you available then?”
Anlon replied immediately. “Great news! Yes. 2 p.m. Pacific is good. Talk to you then.”
When Cesar’s call arrived, Anlon and the others were back in the living room, eager to hear what the archaeologist had to say. Anlon put the phone on speaker, exchanged greetings with Cesar and introduced everybody on his end of the call.
“I’m so glad to hear back from you so fast,” Anlon said. “We’re actually on pins and needles here. Your text made it sound as if you found something of interest. We can’t wait to hear about it.”
“Yes, indeed. I discovered several things I think you will find of great interest. Beginning with Citali.”
“Really?” Pebbles perked up.
“Yes. Based on what you provided me, she was one of the Paracas people. They lived in Peru. Their civilization flourished for a thousand to fifteen hundred years, depending on who you believe. As is often the case, the archaeological record is murky. Could have arisen as far back as 1000 BCE and could have died out as late as 500 CE, but most hold to a tighter range, somewhere between 800 BCE and 300 CE. But I believe your Citali almost assuredly lived closer to the end of their reign. Call it 200 to 300 CE. Right around the time the Nazca civilization began to arise.”
“That’s amazing, Cesar. Tell us how you pieced it together,” Anlon said.
“It actually wasn’t that hard. While Pebbles’ squiggle isn’t an exact reproduction, it looks somewhat like a famous geoglyph known as the Paracas Candelabra. I’ve sent you a photograph of it. It’s a design cut out of petrified rock on the side of a hill in Paracas, Peru.
“I’m not sure I would have made the connection with the Candelabra, however, had it not been for Pebbles’ depiction of Citali, specifically her elongated head. There are mummies that were discovered at a cemetery in Paracas with similar elongated heads. I’ve also sent you photographs of the mummies and some artists’ recreations of what they looked like in real life.”
; Pebbles turned to Jennifer. “Where’s your smart tablet?”
“In my room.”
“Come on, let’s go.”
In one motion, Pebbles turned, grabbed Jennifer’s hand and began to pull her toward the living room door.
“Hold on a sec, Cesar,” Anlon said. He muted the phone and called out to Pebbles. “Hey, where are you two going?”
“To get Jen’s tablet. I’ve gotta see these pictures,” Pebbles said.
“Well, wait up, let’s go down to my office and pull them up on my computer,” Anlon said.
He then grabbed the phone from the coffee table and together with Sanjay and Griffin, followed after Pebbles and Jennifer. By the time Anlon arrived at his office cabin, Pebbles had already logged into the laptop and was waiting for Anlon’s email app to download Cesar’s message.
When the mummy images loaded, Pebbles inhaled sharply. “Oh, my God.”
Anlon noticed her hand cupping the mouse was trembling. When she clicked on the image of the Candelabra, she pushed back from the desk and began to massage her wrists. Shaking her head, she said, “Oh, no...”
“What’s the matter?” Anlon asked.
“Something’s happening.”
Her whole body began to violently shake. She slipped from the chair and slumped to the floor while the shaking continued.
“She’s having a seizure,” Jennifer said as she pushed the chair away from Pebbles. Kneeling beside her, she gently rolled Pebbles on her side.
“What are you doing?” Anlon asked.
“This will help her breathe.”
As the spasms continued, Pebbles began to growl. With a blank stare, her mouth twisted into a snarl.
“Jesus,” Anlon said. It was then he realized Cesar was still on hold. Unclicking the mute icon, Anlon quickly told the archaeologist he would call him back later. He did not wait for Cesar to answer. He ended the call and knelt next to Jennifer. “What else should we do?”
“There’s not much we can do. Just make sure she doesn’t bang into something. Make sure she’s breathing.”
It was maddening to Anlon to just watch, but he trusted Jennifer’s instincts. The former police officer’s emergency medical training had come into play on more than one occasion in the past.
Though the seizure only persisted for another minute or so, it felt like an eternity to Anlon. Then, as if someone had flipped a switch, Pebbles yelled, “kill them,” and passed out. Anlon’s flesh prickled, his heart raced.
Jennifer felt for a pulse and did a quick visual examination. “She’s still breathing. Look at her eyes. They’re moving like crazy. She’s dreaming.”
CHAPTER 11: INVADERS IN THE TEMPLE
In the midst of Pebbles’ vision
Aboard Sol Seaker
Kona Kai Marina, San Diego, California
September 19
The stone walls of the temple did little to protect against the chill. Citali tucked her body deeper under the blankets and nestled up against the warm body beside her. Peeking toward the window, she could see a faint glow.
I should have left already. If what they say about her is true, our defenses will not hold for long.
Through the window, Citali could hear the clanging of weapons and shields and the murmur of soldiers as they moved past the temple on the avenue below.
If I leave now, I can make it into the mountains before sunset. The people will not be happy, but they do not understand. There is nothing I can do to stop her.
She threw back the blankets and climbed from the bed of hay. Wrapping a serape around her bare body, she padded across the icy stones to reach the window. Citali edged the heavy drape to peer down at the city. She saw a procession of dark figures illuminated by thousands of torchlights. Some proceeded toward the northern trails, while others headed west toward the cove and the armada of waiting ships.
Raising her eyes, she could see a flotilla of six ships rowing out of the bay. Their sails still furled, they crept through the gray waters like a line of snakes stalking prey. Aboard the ships were sacks of gold and gems, tributes to appease the advancing conqueror.
It is futile. She will not be satisfied. She does not come to share. She comes to take. I must go before it is too late.
Citali crossed the room and began to gather her belongings. From the direction of the bed, she heard the rustling of hay followed by the voice of her attendant, “Seer, it is cold. Come back to bed.”
“Quiet, child.”
Alarm arose in the young woman’s voice. “You are packing? Are they close?”
“Go to the larder and bring back a sack of provisions. Enough to last me a week.”
“But, Seer, you cannot go—”
“Silence, girl. Do as you’re told. Be quick about it…and quiet.”
With the chastened attendant gone, Citali retrieved her necklace and fastened it in place. It was dangerous to wear it but if she was to garner the assistance of the dwellers, she would need to offer proof of her station.
They will not trust my word alone, even if I paint my body with the emblems.
Into her bag went the tools Citali had set aside the night before, tools that would be needed to make the first leg of the journey: a torch, flint stones and kindling. With plenty of room left in the bag for provisions, Citali donned a hooded poncho and slipped from her quarters. She moved quietly through the torchlit hallway until she reached the tower stairs. Before descending, she stopped to listen for sounds of activity below but heard nothing.
Where is that lazy girl? It should not take this long.
Careful to make no noise, Citali headed down the circular stairwell, pausing every so often to listen again. There were likely only a few worshipers in the temple nave given that most of the city’s population had already fled south and east. Hopefully, their heads were bowed in prayer instead of watching the gallery, waiting for Citali to appear and bless them.
No one must know I have gone until I am far from the city. They will despair when they learn I’ve left, but they know not what is at stake and I cannot tell them.
When she reached the landing at the bottom of the tower stairs, she peered toward the balcony of the gallery and then quickly ducked into the unlit passageway that led to the vestry and larder. She had gone no more than four paces when she saw the girl’s naked body sprawled on the floor ahead, the pool of blood surrounding her as black as ink in the darkened hall. Heart racing, Citali halted and crouched down.
What is this treachery?
At the end of the hall, the figure of a man appeared from the door to the larder. While Citali could tell little about his appearance, she could see the outline of a long blade clutched at his side.
Behind her, Citali heard movement. A shadow blocked the light filtering into the passage from the tower landing. She wheeled to see another man with a blade. Dressed in peasant’s clothes, the man tapped the blade against the wall and smiled.
“Be still, freak, or end up like your pretty little bed warmer.”
Citali swore under her breath. There was nowhere to hide…and nowhere to run. She reached for her bag and the knife inside. The men on both ends of the hall closed in.
“It would not be wise to fight, freak. There are more of us in the temple. You will not escape.”
The crouched Citali rose up, knife in hand. The men froze in place. The one approaching from the tower vestibule gaped at the much larger Citali and whistled.
“Do you see this, Alamare? The tales are true.”
Citali slid back the hood of her poncho. Be gone, assassins! Or I shall eat your hearts.”
Concentrating her attention on the man blocking her ability to retreat to the vestibule, she advanced. Her eyes, having now adjusted to the low light, watched his face twist into a horrified expression as he stared at her elongated head.
“Get back, demon!”
The man slashed his blade wildly as he backed up, striking the walls each time he missed the dodging Citali.
“St
ay your blade, Uhton!” called the man behind Citali, the one Uhton had called Alamare. “The Lady wants her captured unsullied.”
“And let her run me through?” said Uhton, extending his trembling blade to keep Citali at a safe distance.
Unfortunately for him, Citali’s arm was twice as long, her knife twice as sharp. With a chopping blow, she lopped the man’s hand off, rendering him weaponless in the process. The sound of his blade hitting the floor was muted by his howling scream.
Citali did not bother to turn and challenge Alamare. She dashed for the vestibule, knife poised to defend herself against more of the assassins. Caught by surprise, the first two she encountered were too slow to react. She dispatched the short, pudgy men with thrusts into their chests.
She heard Alamare whisper a curt command as she raced down the vestibule’s steps into the nave. There, she spied several more men, their blades at the ready.
How can there be so many? How did they get past the temple guards? Where are the guards? Did they not hear the man scream?
The sound of her pursuer’s pounding feet grew louder. She dared not turn to look. Instead, Citali began to shout, “Help! Intruders! Assassins! In the temple!”
With so many soldiers outside the temple, surely one or more would hear her cries for assistance. There was a tug on her poncho. Stumbling forward, she beckoned for help again. A great weight collided into her and she splayed onto the stone floor, the bloody knife slipping from her hand. In seconds, she was surrounded by the other assassins.
She tried to scramble toward the knife but was tackled and pinned to the floor by two of the men. As she continued to call for aid, a hand slipped beneath her chin and pulled it up. She felt a blade press against her throat. In the distance, she heard the temple doors open and the growls of angry men pouring into the nave.
Alamare was one of the men on top of her. He called out, “Stop or I will kill the freak!” His blade dug into her skin as he whispered into her ear. “If you care to save your sheep, Keeper, then tell them to lower their weapons. The Lady comes for you and what you keep, not your flock. Surrender to us and we shall send word to call off the attack.”
Priestess of Paracas Page 13
