“I got a mouth that’s drier than Gandhi’s flip flops,” Hunt announced. The cowboy made a beeline for the hotel bar which was tucked into an alcove at the back of the reception area.
“I may as well join you,” Daniel said diffidently. “It’s been a long day.”
Hunt did a double-take. “Come again?” he asked with elaborate surprise. “I think somethin’ might be cloggin’ my ears cause I coulda swore—”
Daniel cut him off. “I said I’d join you.”
The cowboy removed his hat and fanned his face with it. Then he peered up at the ceiling, searching intently for something.
Noticing the direction of his gaze, Daniel asked, “What are you looking for?”
“Flyin’ pigs, son. Stands to reason if you’re trailin’ me into a tavern, then this is surely the day they done gone airborne.”
Daniel rolled his eyes but offered no reply.
They walked into the cool, dim recess and claimed two seats at the marble bar. It was still too early for happy hour, so they had the place to themselves.
“You know they got a law here that says I need a permit to drink?” Hunt confided. “Don’t that beat all? These Injuns are damn near as bad as them Ayyy-rabs with their killjoy ways.”
“I’m sure you’ll be fine as long as you buy your liquor inside the hotel,” Daniel countered. “Each state in India has different rules about alcohol consumption.”
“Well, gimme a list of the ones that say it’s alright. I’ll hole up there til you’re finished sniffin’ around for clues.”
The bartender bustled over to take their orders.
“Whiskey,” the cowboy barked, placing his beloved hat on the barstool to his left.
Daniel leaned forward and asked, “Do you have pale ale, by any chance?”
“Yes, sir,” the bartender nodded. “A very good local brand of India pale ale.”
“I’ll try a glass,” the scion said. Half to himself he murmured, “How ironic. India pale ale was invented by the British. Now they brew it here.”
When the bartender left to fetch their drinks, Hunt swiveled around on his stool and squinted at Daniel.
The scion glanced at him sideways. “What is it, Mr. Hunt?”
“I never thought I’d live to see the day. You drinkin’ a man’s brew. Well, not exactly a man’s brew. More like a sissy man’s brew but I don’t mean no criticism.” The cowboy raised his hands in protest. “It might lead to better things down the line.”
“Someone recently introduced me to ale. I found I enjoy the taste. It helps me relax.”
Their drinks arrived, and each took a sip.
Hunt gave a deep sigh of satisfaction. “Sure enough, a good drink sets a bad day right.” He resumed his appraisal of the scion. “Just look at you—tossed out your funeral suit and got you some glad rags. In that white shirt and jeans, you could almost pass for normal. And now on top of that, sittin’ in a bar and drinkin’ like a person. Ain’t no doubt about it. You gone native, boy.” The cowboy shook his head in amazement. “It beats all I ever seen. I wonder what your daddy would think.”
“He’d die of shock,” Daniel replied caustically. “That is if someone were so unwise as to tell him. Of course, that someone might risk losing a lucrative source of income if he carried the tale back home.”
Hunt blinked once at Daniel’s veiled threat before he burst out laughing. Then he slapped the scion on the back.
Daniel winced at the force of the blow.
“Brother Dan’l, you’re alright. You ain’t the sad sack you was when we started chasin’ doodads together.”
“I suppose not,” Daniel conceded. “People can change.”
“Yeah, but in my experience, it generally ain’t for the better,” Hunt retorted. “Still and all, I got high hopes for you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hunt,” Daniel replied dryly. “Your faith in me is touching.” He took another sip of ale.
The cowboy downed his shot and ordered a second. Turning his attention to business, he asked, “So what you got in mind to do next? Not that I didn’t enjoy all them statues of naked ladies we seen today but that ain’t why we made the trip.”
“It was something of a long shot to think the relic might be hidden in the Elephanta caves,” Daniel admitted. “I believe we’ll have better luck tomorrow. Our destination is an archaeological site in Gujarat.”
“Archaeological site, huh?” Hunt’s tone was wary. “That means miles of sand and nothin’ much else.”
“Most probably,” the scion agreed.
Hunt downed his second shot in one gulp. “Then I best drink my fill today because the next waterin’ hole is a long ride through a dust storm in the middle of nowhere.”
Chapter 42—Divinest Sense
Abraham paced the oriental carpet in his prayer closet, hands clasped behind his back. Periodically, he would steal a glance at the pale woman seated in one of the hard-bottomed chairs under his ancestor’s portrait. At the moment, she was rocking back and forth in her seat, oblivious to his presence, carrying on a whispered conversation with herself. Her behavior utterly flummoxed him. When the diviner had given Daniel a promise to counsel Annabeth, he had no idea what an arduous task that would prove to be. His son’s departure for India had accelerated her decline to such a degree that her previously sporadic sleepwalking episodes were now a nightly occurrence. Long after midnight, her repeated cries of “Abel, where are you?” awoke the entire community. Invariably, one of her sister-wives was forced to get out of bed and lead her back to her own room. An hour or two later, she would be wandering about again.
The diviner knew he had to take some action to check her conduct, but he also knew that he must proceed with caution. Daniel had been right to warn him of the woman’s precarious emotional state. Abraham concluded that a quiet chat in his prayer closet, away from the eyes and ears of everyone else, might be the least intimidating approach.
He walked softly back to the table and seated himself in the chair opposite hers. Settling in, he gave his visitor an encouraging smile. He needn’t have bothered. Her eyes were shut tight while her mouth continued to mutter gibberish.
“Annabeth?” He began in a quiet tone. When she gave no sign that she’d heard him, his voice grew more insistent. “Annabeth!” Still no response. Finally, he shook her by the shoulder. “Annabeth, look at me!” he demanded.
That did the trick. Her eyes flew open in surprise. She glanced wildly around the room as if she couldn’t remember how she’d gotten there. When her attention finally focused on the diviner, she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.
Abraham forced an unconvincing grimace of sympathy. “There, that’s better.”
She merely gawked at him.
“How are you feeling today?”
She passed her hand across her eyes. “I’m a little tired.”
“I imagine so,” he agreed. “You’ve been walking around all night long.”
“No. No, I haven’t.” She sounded surprised at the allegation.
“Listen to me, Annabeth.” He fastened his eyes on her face, compelling her to pay attention. “You’ve been sleepwalking. Wandering the corridors at all hours, disturbing the rest of the community.”
“Have I?” She shot him a doubtful glance. “Maybe. But it’s just that my son Abel is missing, you see. And I have to find him. He’s been stolen away, and I don’t know where to look next.”
Abraham realized that the situation was even graver than he’d supposed. She had originally told Daniel of a recurring dream that her son was missing. Now, she seemed convinced that an abduction had actually taken place. She could no longer distinguish between illusion and reality.
“Your son hasn’t been stolen away,” the diviner explained calmly. “The Lord has seen fit to take him back to heaven. He’s dead, Annabeth.”
She caught her breath sharply. “That’s a lie.”
Abraham stared at her in disbe
lief. Nobody, least of all a woman, had ever flatly contradicted the word of a diviner. He tried again. “I assure you, I am not lying. Your son is dead.”
Annabeth shook her head. “No, no, no! The angel told me I would find my boy soon. She said—”
“She!” Abraham pounced on the word. “There are no female angels. What an absurd notion!” He caught himself. Keeping his temper was going to prove difficult in the face of her obstinacy.
“There are SO female angels.” Daniel’s wife gave a secret smile. “I know it was a she because I saw her as plain as I’m seeing you now. She said she was my guardian angel and had been looking after me my whole life. Then she told me she didn’t like to see me so sad and that I shouldn’t lose hope. She promised that I would see my son again very soon.”
“And what did this...” He paused and smirked. “This angel of yours look like?”
Annabeth closed her eyes, picturing the apparition. “She was a beautiful lady with long flowing hair and a white gown that was so soft it must have been spun from clouds. The hem of her robe shimmered with stars. And she had wings too. Wings that reached from the top of her head all the way to the ground. Huge wings that could soar higher in the sky than I could see.”
The diviner leaned forward in his chair, peering closely at her. “I am the diviner, am I not?”
The woman nodded uncertainly.
“The Lord has appointed me as the guardian of his flock. God speaks to me, Annabeth. Not to you. And I tell you there are no female angels. This is surely a trick of Satan’s!”
“It is not!” She unexpectedly jumped out of her chair. “This is no trick. The lady angel was the only one who could make those demon voices go away. She banished them just like that.” Annabeth snapped her fingers in a casual gesture of dismissal.
She continued. “I know you don’t believe in female angels. You don’t even believe women belong in heaven unless their husbands let them in. Mother Rachel told me so. I think you’re wrong about that. Women can get to heaven all on their own otherwise there wouldn’t be any lady angels.”
The diviner took a deep breath and counted to ten. He rose and towered above her. “Let me repeat once more—a female angel is an illusion fabricated by the devil.”
“Then why do I feel better when I listen to her?” Annabeth stamped her foot impatiently. “Why is it she can stop the demons in my head when you can’t?”
He glowered at her. “Because you are being deluded by Satan, you foolish woman. Read the scriptures! It’s right there in print.” He pointed to the oak stand between the windows that held his leather-bound Bible. “All the angels who are mentioned in both the Old and the New Testament have masculine names. They are referred to as ‘he’—never ‘she.’ There is not one instance, not a single case, in which an angel is described as female.”
Annabeth darted over to the Bible stand. She gripped the edges of the sacred tome, studying the lettering with keen interest. Flipping rapidly through page after page, she scanned the text, mouthing the words as she went. After several minutes of fruitless searching, she raised her head. “I can’t find her,” she said plaintively.
The diviner struggled to suppress a smile of triumph. He was finally getting through. “It’s as I told you. There are no female angels, Annabeth.”
A cunning expression flitted across her face. “Only men get to write in this book, don’t they?”
Abraham was taken aback by the question.
Before he could formulate a reply, she had drifted off and was apparently talking to the Bible itself. She released her grip on its pages, and they fluttered back into place. “No. You wouldn’t allow any lady angels in here.” She transferred her attention to the locked bookcases filled with prophecies written by former diviners. “Only men get to write in those books too; I’ll bet.”
She backed toward the center of the room and then revolved in a slow circle. Her index finger pointed accusingly at the Bible and at the other volumes lining the walls. “Men’s books everywhere I look. Men stole all the words.”
Rounding on the diviner, she said, “Men think they know everything, but they don’t. Men don’t know what mothers feel: the pain of birthing a new life into the world, how your heart bleeds when that little life is ripped out of your arms for no reason at all.” She paused. “The lady angel knew. I didn’t have to explain any of that to her.” She gave a bitter laugh. “Men busy as bees. Stealing all the words. Writing all the rules. Telling me how I should feel about things they can’t even guess at.” Annabeth shook her head vehemently. “No more!”
She ran back toward the Bible, her eyes flashing with hostility. With a violent shove, she toppled the oaken stand, pitching Abraham’s sacred volume to the floor. She kicked the book open, exposing its thin sheets of text. Then in an act of supreme sacrilege, she crouched down and ripped out handfuls of pages and threw them in the air. “No more SHOULD! No more MUST! No more WORDS!” she screamed. “NO MORE!”
“Annabeth!” Abraham roared. He rushed over and dragged her up by her hair. She squirmed in his grasp, but he managed to haul her to the door, ejecting her forcibly from the room. “Be gone, witch! Back to your quarters!”
She wasn’t in the least cowed by his display of temper. Instead, she stuck her tongue out at him like an unruly child and then ran away.
Abraham slammed the door and leaned his back against it, winded by the physical exertion. Truth be told, he was even more shaken by the appalling display he had just witnessed. In all his years as diviner, he had never seen such an outright act of defiance. Not even from his most rebellious archwarden. And to think a woman was capable of such conduct. A mere woman, he repeated to himself, gazing at his desecrated Bible. No, not a woman, his inner voice told him —something far worse.
He hobbled over to the windows and righted the overturned oak stand. Then he gently lifted the holy book back to its rightful place, gathering the torn pages and fitting them into proper order. He realized with a sense of shock that his hands were trembling. His own immobility in the face of Annabeth’s rampage alarmed him as much as the outburst itself. Satan had chosen his vessel well. The diviner felt a sense of mortification that this creature was the principal wife of the scion—his heir. He’d had a premonition since their earliest encounters that Annabeth’s folly might open a floodgate that could wash them all to perdition.
The diviner knew that the Lord would surely hold him accountable. If the devil succeeded in infiltrating the Nephilim, it was because Abraham had not been strong enough to prevent such a catastrophe. The prophet would pay a high price for his negligence. He rubbed his forehead wearily, recalling his ambitious plan to win the Lord’s favor. He had aspired to sit at the right hand of God. And now...
He shivered involuntarily. All his designs would go for naught if he couldn’t check Satan’s poisonous influence over his flock. Despite his careful measures, Abraham had been a fool to believe that a fence, or a surveillance camera, or a dozen soldiers with guns could stop the invisible source of all evil. The diviner felt himself at a complete loss.
He limped over to his prie-dieu and knelt down, wincing with pain. He shut his eyes and rested his forehead against his clasped hands, beseeching the Lord to guide him—to show him the means to fight this incorporeal foe. His inner voice immediately reminded him that Satan might be incorporeal, but his vessel was not.
Abraham opened his eyes, startled by the obvious realization. Annabeth was mortal. She might be under the thrall of the devil but she, herself, was quite tangible. Certainly, there must be a way to restrain her. Over the years, the diviner had dealt with many cases of insubordinate wives. The usual procedure was to send such women to asylums where they could be medicated and kept out of sight. Some could be rehabilitated. Others remained there for the rest of their lives. He brightened. Yes, he could send her away.
Almost as soon as the plan occurred to him, its flaw became apparent. He slumped back over his cushioned armrest
. The diviner realized that Annabeth was no typical consecrated bride who refused to submit to the will of her husband. She was much more dangerous than that. By sending her to a Nephilim asylum, Abraham might be providing her with the means to cast her wicked spell over the other inmates—encouraging them to flout the word of God as she, herself, had done. The spiritual contagion which had thus far been contained within the walls of the compound would spread, and Annabeth’s evil master would rejoice.
If that weren’t reason enough to prevent the diviner from institutionalizing Annabeth, the old man belatedly remembered the promise he had made his son. Abraham never went back on his word, and he had vowed that Annabeth would be at peace by the time Daniel returned. How in the name of heaven was he supposed to make that happen? Once more he shut his eyes and beseeched God to show him a solution to this insurmountable difficulty. He waited in silence while the clock on the wall ticked out the minutes. He didn’t know how long he knelt there motionless before he heard his inner voice whisper to him once more. At last! He gave a sigh of relief and opened his eyes. Rising on rickety limbs, Abraham murmured a prayer of thanksgiving that the Lord had been merciful. God had just revealed to him the solution to his problem. He would be able to fulfill his promise to his son after all.
Chapter 43—Observations
Daniel stood on a hot, dusty hillside surveying what had once been the ancient city of Dholavira. It had come as a shock for him to realize how technologically- advanced these prehistoric people were. In fact, it called into question much of what he had learned through his studies in the library as well as what his father taught. The diviner preached that the world was only six thousand years old. In all likelihood, the Indus Valley civilization was already thriving by the time Adam and Eve took their first bite of the apple.
The scion consulted his map of the dig site. Chris had told him to find a section of the excavation called the bailey and to locate any circular structures within its walls as these might have been astronomical observatories. The word “tower” in the riddle could refer to such a place. Daniel looked ruefully at the ground. There were no structures. Only squares of brick indicating the foundations of long-demolished buildings.
Arkana Archaeology Mystery Box Set 2 Page 24
