Lisa Emmer Historical Thrillers Vol. 1-2 (Lisa Emmer Historical Thriller Series)

by Rob Swigart

  He will raise the knife, kill his precious cow,

  His young sheep, his grass-fed ewe, his beloved son,

  He will not […lost fragment…]

  His people will grow numerous!

  His children will cover the earth!

  A time will pass, a far-off time,

  Another man, a second son will die,

  A second time, true death, the going-under,

  Again the people will grow numerous.

  In those days, in those distant days,

  In those nights, in those far-off nights,

  In those years, in those distant years,

  Muššatur, great Mother,

  First Mother of gods and men,

  Gave up her form, her pale sides,

  Gave up her heaving greatness.

  She waits for the first. She waits for the second,

  Here at the head of the great snake,

  The Buranun, the great sweet water,

  The day she swam up the river,

  Her white sides heaving, her strong coils,

  Muššatur our mother uttered these omens:

  A day, 3600 plus 600 years,

  An omen-day will come,

  The fifteenth of the first month:

  Nanna the moon covered with blood;

  A blue ghost across the Yoke,

  The ox-cart of Enlil, hides his face;

  In that month, at that time,

  A woman, an Impure One, will speak these words

  As written here, a wonder.

  Her child, distant child of Harran,

  Child of the Impure One, is blessed of Dimme,

  Cursed of Dimme, Daughter of An son of Muššatur

  In the first month on the fifteenth day shall come;

  Shall shake the world;

  All comes of Muššatur, will call to Muššatur:

  Return your heart, oh Muššatur!

  Coil around your children, crush them!

  The Abzu will roil; the people shall scatter

  As barley seed before the flood.

  Utu the sun will scorch the lands,

  Cleanse the earth for new people.

  Restore the harmony of the universe that evil has destroyed,

  That Serpent Wisdom (Ǧeštug Muššatur) may cause this to appear.

  Her children will arise, live again

  Commanded by the Mother of the Great God An

  Through his daughter Dimme.

  At Harran, I, Udnamekam the omen priest,

  Pressed into clay the fifteenth day

  Of the first month of the new year

  Two years after Mari was destroyed.

  Lisa looked up, her lips pressed together. “Usem’s right, it is ambiguous. Abraham and Jesus are there. But there’s nothing to tell us what this Miraculous Child is supposed to be except the usual apocalyptic cant like the people shall scatter and cleansing the earth. Our pregnant girl could be the Impure One. But ‘Serpent Wisdom may cause this to appear’? Hang on a minute.”

  She called Ted back, asked for Usem.

  When she switched off, she told Steve, “As I thought, it all hinges on that conditional ‘may cause this to appear.’ The Tablet of Destinies seems to have built in some wiggle room.”

  “Well,” Steve shrugged. “This is the right place. The date is clear. So are the omens.”

  She added, “And we can agree Ophis Sophia caused us to appear.”

  “That’s not what they believe. They’re not interested in us.”

  “No, they believe when the child is born they’re going to remake the world.”

  Pause

  Late in the afternoon on Tuesday, the older of the Divine Mother’s attendants at the warehouse in Oviedo carried a tray of food— soup, bread, olives, and anchovies— up four metal steps to the pod in the back of the cargo truck. He opened the hatch and shrank back from the blast of cool air that washed over him from the dim interior. He could see only a vague, pale shape inside. Since he was forbidden to speak, he slid the tray onto a shelf and closed the hatch in silence. His expression was unreadable, but could pass for reverence.

  Two of the men were playing a variation of gin rummy, slapping cards onto the folding table between them with grunts of triumph, derision, or despair with each change of fortune.

  The youngest, a pudgy man with horn-rim glasses and an undeveloped beard faced a computer on a cheap wooden desk against one wall. He was intent on the screen, moving rapidly from one database to another, and every time the phone at his side chimed he picked it up on the first ring and answered in monosyllables, writing down lists of possible locations and checking them against other lists, sorting and filtering,

  He answered a call, listened, disconnected, and spoke for the first time since they had arrived. “The van from Paris is here,” he said. “They have a location.” The card players glanced briefly and went back to their game. The Divine Mother’s elderly attendant, reading a manga in the corner, nodded and turned the page.

  Despite their apparent leisure, an undertone of tension ran through them. Each felt it in his way, knowing time was growing short. Tomorrow was the culmination of their faith, the end of the world. This was a supreme moment, for the world that would end was a world of darkness and ignorance. Despite Ophis Sophia’s long heritage and infinite patience, they felt a quiet thrumming in their gut, all of them. Tomorrow, the equinox, they would step out of the shadows; they would throw down thunderbolts; their legions would seize control of the institutions of nations and set armies marching. Ophis Sophia was going to unleash a whirlwind and the world would reap what they sowed.

  The card players got out sleeping bags and stretched out on the floor near the truck. The manga reader collected the tray from the pod and climbed into the driver’s seat to nap.

  It was close to midnight when the computer operator smacked the table. The report awoke the others. “Got it!” he shouted.

  “Got what?” the old attendant asked from the cab of the truck. He was shaking tobacco onto a paper.

  “The location, I have it.”

  “That’s nice,” the old man said, licking the paper and lighting the cigarette. He exhaled a long plume of acrid smoke into the cavernous space.

  One of the men beside the truck said, “Tell the Teacher.”

  “I’m going to. But don’t you understand, I know where she is?”

  “Yeah, we understand, Zeke. We’re all glad. Now call the Teacher and go to sleep. We have a day tomorrow.”

  He was crestfallen, but did as ordered. After reporting to Ibrahim (the Teacher was not to be disturbed), he got out his own sleeping bag and put it down next to the others.

  He lay awake, wondering what the Monasterio de San Akakio was like, and in what kind of a room they would find the Child, who the mother was, and why she was there, and if tomorrow night would really, as the others were saying, bring a blood moon to accompany the strange comet already visible in the sky.

  Lex was here, too. Everyone said he was the next in line after Ibrahim, who would ascend to the First Mystery when the Teacher died. Then he chided himself for calling him Lex when he knew very well the American had been reborn as Namtar, the demon who decided Fate. One day perhaps he himself might be gripped in the coils of the Ušumgal and ascended to the Second Mystery. It was not too much for such as he to dream.

  Just before he drifted down into oblivion he wondered if a blood moon really looked like blood. He couldn’t remember ever seeing one.

  Colmillo Possessed

  Celia finally stopped stroking his hair and crooning. Father Colmillo, greatly changed, lightly touched a cool cheek and slipped from the room.

  The corridor of the Children’s Hall was deserted. He made his secret way out the main door and across the bridge. The torrent had slowed but still roared. This night had been an ordeal that had left him empty and confused. But once he reached his room, the whirlpool subsided to a swamp sucking at his feet and sending up swarms to buzz and bite.

&
nbsp; If he thought for a moment he might find peace, that moment bloomed and died in the sliver of time between his last convulsive sobs and the first sharp stings of anxiety.

  He could not sleep. A painful dawn seeped into his room.

  He paced, slapping away the swarms around his eyes and mouth and nose, moaning low in his chest. The sun hauled itself overhead and sank exhausted. Light slanted through the window in such a blazing golden stream that Father Colmillo, scorched by its touch, avoided it. The fire traveled across the floor and up the northeast wall before winking out, but its disappearance brought no relief. Daylight still limned every detail of his bed, his deal table, and his black bag, with a supernatural aura.

  He had not eaten; he could not; the thought stopped up his throat.

  Evening came at last, and the light died. His pacing grew more feverish with his rising panic.

  It would come, he knew it would, and of course it did. There was nothing he could do to stop it, no prayer, no incantation, no petitions to a higher authority. He knew with a certainty that he was powerless, and he would have to face Sister Mary and her cross from his hell of guilt. He could not use his instruments, not any longer. He could only protect the girl he had seduced, and who had now seduced him.

  When the young novice tapped timidly at his cell door to announce that Sister Mary Lamiana was taking Celia to the Chapter House as promised, saying this was his last chance to drive out the demon from the pregnant girl, Father Colmillo could only reply with a severe nod.

  The novice ducked back out of sight and closed the door.

  His hand shook with such violence it took three tries to unlatch the black valise. Black veins crawled under the skin on the backs of his hands. He reached into the bag to touch each of the objects inside, seeking comfort from their physical presence, but soon gave up. What was the point, he was never going to use them again.

  What could he do but go through the motions, prepare his tools, murmur the words, wave his hands, scatter his oils and unguents? Even if he did it all, who was he going to fool?

  Thoughts continued to circle, catch up, pass, catch up again. The scabs on his forehead and cheek itched, and his fever was ever more terrible, driving a thudding ache behind his eyes. His ears echoed with demonic laughter.

  This was a lie as well, like all the others. There was no demon, only mockery. His sin had been lifted from him, and now he was utterly bereft.

  He carried the bag back over the torrent, now a steady rush, and into the monastery. The door to the Chapter House stood open. He walked toward it, a rectangle of pulsing light. He recognized his heartbeat. Dark shapes flitted around his eyes. Small creature sounds chirped, croaked, chittered. The swarm was so thick by the time he entered the room he could barely make out Sister Mary’s form.

  The girl lay on the table. She was gravid, pulsing with something vast and terrifying, a new life. He remembered he had tried to pry and push some dark thing from her. But the thing was no longer abstract; it was a child, life. His life.

  Celia didn’t see him. Her thick peasant hands, square nails, no nonsense about them, nothing delicate or seductive, closed together gently on the exposed belly. He could see movement underneath the skin, something large and active.

  He thought Sister Mary was saying, “You should begin.” He swatted at the dark shapes flickering around his eyes, and her voice grew clearer. “Now is the time, Father. The demon must come out tonight. I fear for us, for our entire community.”

  “Fear,” he croaked.

  For a moment he thought she had finished, but she went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “The other night terrified me, I don’t mind saying it.” Her fingers worked the beads on the chain of her huge black crucifix. “I never saw or felt such power! You were right, Father. You were right, do you hear? I depend on you. Finish it. We depend on you. There are forces at work… You must succeed.”

  He stared, unable to answer. She leaned forward, gripped his forearm, and said urgently, “What do you want me to do?”

  He could barely hear, so thick were the insects. Looking down at the girl he knew there was nothing she could do, nothing he could do. Celia had soared far beyond him, and he was less than an afterthought.

  The bag fell from his lifeless hand. He stared at the nun.

  Sister Mary recoiled, lifting the cross. “You must do it now!” she shouted.

  “Stay away from her,” he muttered thickly.

  She screamed and lunged, seizing the girl by the throat. Celia looked up at her and smiled.

  “I said stay away,” he repeated, yanking at the nun’s wimple. It came off, releasing a thin, disordered nest of gray hair.

  She turned on him with a growl, raising her cross in threat.

  His voice clotted in his throat. He swung his fist, and Sister Mary Lamiana collapsed in a heap beside the table. He stood over her, breathing heavily. A dark purple bruise swelled up on her withered cheek, and he realized he had just succeeded in exorcising the demon.

  When he turned back to her, Celia was smiling at him, radiant. He fell to his knees beside the table and clasped his hands on its edge. His head sagged against them.

  Her hand passed over his hair so lightly a shudder ran down his body and the world was transfigured.

  Some time later Sister Rafael and three others came to take Sister Mary to the infirmary. It was such a shame she had fallen and struck her cheek so hard against the table. It was possible she had a concussion. They were very respectful of Father Colmillo.

  When they returned to take Celia back to her room, he followed closely, carrying his black bag.

  He was pious and solemn. Already it was early Wednesday morning. Celia was due. He would allow nothing bad to happen to her. Not now, not ever.

  Wednesday: Equinox

  “Certainement, this is not prudent, Lisa. Why not just drive up?” Alain sat sideways in the driver’s seat of the rental car, the door open, watching Lisa and Steve prepare. The red lights of the dashboard rendered him comically demonic. “We’re not even certain this is the right place,” he grumbled.

  Lisa and Steve were busy checking climbing gear— headlamps, gloves, shoes, backpacks— and didn’t answer.

  She glanced up at San Akakio looming above the cliff. Higher still, the nearly full moon illuminated the gray stone in fits and starts. Occasional darts of cloud raced across its face. An insect clicked monotonously in the darkness nearby. Off to their left they could hear water falling.

  Although no snake rose up from the building, and no child gazed down at her from between its fangs, she remembered vividly a dry voice intoning Adjuro te, serpens antique. A sensation of threat hung over those ancient buildings, older even than the monastery on Mount Athos.

  With a final adjustment she straightened. “This is the right place, Alain. San Akakio is the only shelter for unwed mothers anywhere near Desfiladero de las Xanas. One of the girls there is going to give birth tonight.”

  “Still, why this crazy climb? At least wait a couple of hours for daylight.”

  “If I told you I had a feeling, would that do?”

  “You’re the boss,” he answered gruffly. “But that’s not a little hill you’re planning to climb, Pythia. Not even a scramble a few hundred meters up Mount Athos, and certainly not a well-tamed boulder at Fontainebleau.”

  “I’m aware, Alain, but I’m ready.” She changed the subject. “So let’s go over it once more. Steve and I will enter the monastery, hopefully undetected, and start looking for the girl. Some time in the afternoon Ophis Sophia comes with the Divine Mother, whoever she is, to witness the birth. Nizam, Ibrahim, probably Lex will be with her. The only way up is the driveway, a series of sharp switchbacks. Going will be slow. You’ll follow. If they see you, they’ll hopefully think you’re someone bringing supplies or a random tourist.”

  “I know, I know.”

  “At the entrance, they’ll talk their way in, probably posing as benefactors of unwed mothers.”

  “Right,
benefactors, bringing gifts. Like the three wise men.”

  Her laugh helped allay her anxiety. “The Magi, yes, that would suit them. She’ll deliver late in the evening when the omens are visible. Just follow the Magi in.”

  Alain answered with a sour twist to his lips, “All very easy, as you say.”

  Steve said, “It might be a simple snatch and grab, Alain: we find the girl, create a diversion, and get her out.”

  It wasn’t the first time Alain had snorted his disdain for her mad plan. He had spent most of the plane ride from Turkey objecting to it. Once again he held up his hand and ticked off his objections on his fingers. “You have no map of the buildings. You don’t know what the girl looks like. Unless, of course, that ‘feeling’ helps… And, you have no idea how to get out of there burdened with a woman and a baby.”

  “In this instance my feeling is accurate. And I do know what she looks like. But I grant you we’re going to have to improvise. We may not know precisely what’s going to happen in there, but we do know what has to happen.”

  Alain tightened his lips, suppressing a final comment. He had never questioned her judgment before, and wasn’t going to start now. “All right, but I still don’t like it.”

  Lisa took his concern seriously. She put down her climbing gear and faced him directly. “Alain, like you I thought at first that Ophis Sophia was just another ancient prophecy cult, a small eddy in history, but now we know what they really are, the danger they represent.”

  “I know…” Alain began, but she cut him off.

  “You don’t know. We haven’t had time to tell you, and it wasn’t relevant because if they succeed there will be no way to stop what they’re planning, what they’ve been planning for years based on the prophecy. As soon as Ophis Sophia takes the infant, I believe they will unleash a global storm of computer attacks. I see it clearly now. That’s why they’ve been recruiting or hiring hackers. In the first few days, banks will begin to fail. Power grids will lock up. Air traffic will crash. In a month, they’ll have infiltrated systems controlling nuclear weapons in India, Pakistan, even China. Nuclear power plants will go critical. They’ve been planning this for years, and no one noticed. Recent cyber attacks on corporations and governments were just tests, diversions, throwing the blame on governments.”