All of them were looked after by the provodnik and provodnitsa—each car’s male and female carriage attendant, respectively. The attendants combined the duties of conductor, porter, janitor, maintenance crew, and wait staff. A major duty of the provodnitsa was to fill the huge samovar in each car with boiling water. This was useful not only for dunking tea bags and making instant soup but as a source of hot water in case the bathroom tap went cold. The provodnik held the equally important duty of locking the bathrooms twenty minutes before each station stop and keeping them locked for another twenty minutes after leaving the station. Since the toilets flushed their waste directly onto the train tracks, the necessity for this lock-out was self-explanatory. The carriage attendants of both sexes had a reputation for being surly, even to native Russians, though they were slightly more polite in first-class.
The Golden Eagle tour trains were rumored to have friendly staff. These luxury trains were also equipped with pay showers. However, the Arkana team wasn’t riding a Golden Eagle train. Cassie decided not to cavil about the shared bathrooms or lack of shower facilities. She was lucky that Olga had been able to secure them the best this train could offer.
“We sleep now, yes?” The scout didn’t wait for an answer but switched out the light on her side of the compartment and climbed up to the bunk above her sitting area. “The time for talk will be tomorrow.”
“Fine by me.” Cassie switched out the other light and climbed up to her own bunk. Griffin and Daniel were getting themselves settled in another cabin. The team had agreed to meet in the dining room car at noon to map out a plan.
Their tardy start the next day could be attributed to the train’s odd schedule. The Trans-Siberian ran on Moscow time which was seven hours earlier than Vladivostok. This translated into unusual departures. The Arkana team’s train didn’t leave the station until nearly two AM. This was less disorienting than it might seem since summer twilight lasted until eleven o’clock in this far northern latitude. As a result, Cassie was still wakeful when she turned off the light, but the relative silence of the darkened cabin and the clickety-clack of the wheels on the track helped her unwind.
The pythia didn’t mind sleeping through the first leg of their journey. There wasn’t much to see around Russia’s easternmost port city of Vladivostok. Shipyards, heavy industry, baroque architecture, and statues of muscular Bolsheviks in heroic poses didn’t appeal to her.
Initially, Griffin had suggested taking the more northern Baikal-Amur route, or BAM for short, since its name contained two places of immediate interest to the team—Lake Baikal and the Amur River. That plan was discouraged by the Jomon trove keeper. He explained that although the spur line began at the mouth of the Amur River right across the strait from Sakhalin Island, its route soon diverged from the great waterway. BAM trains made for the northern shore of Lake Baikal which offered limited amenities and no airport. Instead, Ken urged the Arkana team to take the main Trans-Siberian line departing from Vladivostok and arriving in Irkutsk—a sizeable city which had an airport that could fly them quickly to Moscow should their quest prove successful. The main line also ran parallel to the Amur River for several hundred miles. Cassie hoped the river’s proximity might help her get a lock on the route the Minoans had taken.
It would require four days of continuous travel to cover the 2,500-mile trip to Lake Baikal. The pythia marveled at the fact that their destination only marked the railroad’s halfway point. The full journey from Moscow to Vladivostok would be equivalent to traveling from New York to San Francisco twice. She flashed back to Griffin’s lengthy lecture on the subject earlier that day.
At over 5,700 miles, the Trans-Siberian was the longest railroad on the planet, and it was constructed over the world’s worst terrain. The project had nearly bankrupted the Russian government. Begun in the spring of 1891, the railway wasn’t completed until the fall of 1916. Not only did engineers have to cope with tunneling through mountains and building bridges over innumerable rivers, their work season only lasted four months during Siberia’s brief annual warm-up. The permafrost of the pine forests, or taiga, presented additional challenges as the swampy top layer of earth tended to swallow entire sections of track during the summer melt. Despite overwhelming obstacles, when the main line was completed it succeeded in connecting the whole of Russia from Moscow to the Sea of Japan.
Cassie yawned and rolled over on her side. She realized that rehashing the construction of the Trans-Siberian Railroad proved to be better than counting sheep. The very thought of the immense length of the railway and the Herculean efforts needed to build it made her unbearably weary. She closed her eyes and fell asleep in a matter of minutes.
Chapter 26—Receiving Holy Orders
Mother Rachel slipped into the darkened chapel unobserved. It was the middle of the day, and everyone else was engaged in their usual activities. She wished she could have gone about her duties as innocently as they. Unfortunately, she was burdened with notions she might gladly have done without. Shortly before dawn, a terrible nightmare had shocked her into wakefulness. This, in itself, was unusual since Mother Rachel rarely dreamed. Far more unusual was the fact that the vivid details of this particular vision still haunted her hours later.
In her sleeping state, she had seen her husband Abraham cast into a deep pit by an angel with a flaming sword. Mother Rachel watched in horror as the diviner plummeted helplessly through empty space. From out of nowhere, a chain materialized around his waist. The chain grew in length and sprouted upward like a living thing. When it reached the top of the chasm where Mother Rachel stood, it snaked around her own waist. Wrenching her off balance, it toppled her downward after her husband. The chain then sprouted more tendrils and ascended toward her eldest son who remained above. He was likewise enmeshed and dragged from his perch. As the matron sank deeper, she saw more and more of her children ensnared until she eventually lost count of the string of souls being dragged to their doom. The endless nothingness through which she tumbled closed in to consume her. Mother Rachel opened her mouth to scream just as the dream ended, leaving her wide-eyed and shivering with cold sweat.
Under ordinary circumstances, a consecrated bride experiencing such a portentous nightmare would consult her husband in his capacity as her spiritual advisor. Mother Rachel could hardly tell Abraham about this troubling vision. He was too deeply embedded in the message it contained. She would have to sort this out alone with the Lord’s help. That was the reason she had come to the chapel in the first place. Here, away from the bustle of daily life, she might be able to hear the voice of the sacred more clearly.
The matron sighed at her own unorthodox behavior. consecrated brides weren’t supposed to communicate with God directly. They were to receive divine instruction from their husbands instead. This rule applied even more strongly in her own case given that her husband was the Lord’s prophet. Nevertheless, she remained convinced of the propriety of her conduct. God had spoken to her personally, and He surely expected her to answer His call the same way.
She glanced about her. The chapel could seat no more than fifty souls. It was only used for weddings, baptisms, or funerals and was restricted to the immediate family of the participants. She walked to the front pew and sat down. Gazing up at the pulpit, she thought back to the many stirring orations her husband had given here. During those times, her pride in Abraham had only been exceeded by her pride of place as his principal wife. Mother Rachel’s preeminence within the Blessed Nephilim had endured for decades. She never doubted that her rank in the celestial kingdoms would be likewise exalted.
But her husband’s days of glory were past. Abraham was no longer the decisive leader he had once been. Of late, his sermons had become disjointed and rambling. He tired so easily now. Instead of an hour-long discourse, he could barely manage fifteen minutes before growing short of breath. He needed help descending from the lectern. While these symptoms were perfectly common with the onset of age, his decline had been sho
ckingly rapid.
It all began when his youngest wife Hannah fled the compound and took refuge among the Fallen. That single act of betrayal shook Abraham’s confidence to the core. The rest of the congregation was initially oblivious to the change, but Mother Rachel perceived her husband’s waning physical strength and his slackened moral leadership. Though she could clearly see his deterioration, the matron felt helpless to stop it.
Then an opportunity presented itself. Mother Rachel leaped at the chance to reach out to Sister Hannah per her husband’s command. Perhaps all was not lost. If the matron could carry the words of the Lord to the heart of this wayward girl she might repent her folly. Once restored to Abraham’s embrace, Hannah, in turn, might restore him to his former vigor.
But this happy ending was not to be. Mother Rachel had prayed daily for Sister Hannah’s repentance. She had read her the Bible during every visit and then the prophecies of Jedediah Proctor and the sermons of former diviners. The matron had reprimanded and rebuked and cajoled, but the girl remained unmoved. Mother Rachel began to wonder if Hannah might be deaf as well as mute. Always the same dull expression on her face no matter what tactic was tried. She gave no sign that she heard or understood the spiritual care being lavished upon her.
Perhaps it was something darker than ignorance that motivated Sister Hannah’s behavior. She seemed to possess an unnatural power over Abraham. Everyone saw it. The girl had taken a once-strong man and reduced him to a quivering lump of mortal frailty. He seemed unable to function without her. And if he failed to lead, the brotherhood would fail to follow. Without their shepherd, the flock of the Blessed Nephilim might easily be led astray into sinful pastures. Surely this was the devil’s work. As it was in the beginning, the serpent wrought the fall of the righteous through a scheming woman.
Ironically, Mother Rachel was the only person who could see it happening. Only she recognized her husband’s obsession. Only she had witnessed Hannah’s obstinacy. Only she seemed to grasp the disastrous consequences for the Blessed Nephilim. And now, she had come to the blinding realization that she was the only one who could avert it. Why else had the Lord granted her a nightmare vision of the hereafter? It was a warning that only she could interpret rightly.
The matron fell to her knees and whispered a prayer for guidance. This was a grave matter, and she was nothing more than a corrupt daughter of Eve herself. Almost immediately, an answer came from beyond. God was mightily offended with his diviner. His wrath could only be averted if a fit sacrifice was offered. Mother Rachel cast about in her mind to understand what the Lord would consider an appropriate offering.
Absently, she raised her eyes to the cross affixed to the chapel wall. Another revelation struck her. When mankind had offended God in olden times, the Lord’s own son shed His blood that all sins might be forgiven. Of course, it made perfect sense. A sin as great as Abraham’s could only be washed away with blood atonement. That was surely what the Lord wanted her to do. At first, she recoiled from the idea until she remembered another Abraham ready to slaughter his son Isaac at the Lord’s decree.
She bowed her head over her hands. “Lord, I am your faithful handmaiden. I hear and obey.”
Mother Rachel rose from her knees and walked slowly toward the back of the chapel. She had been given clear instructions what to do next. If she shrank from her duty at this critical moment, then she was no better than the Fallen who roasted in hell. God’s will was obvious. She must perform the sacrifice with her own hand. Perhaps if enough blood flowed, the Lord would forget his wrath against the Blessed Nephilim. It was up to her to save them all.
Chapter 27—Ritual Slaughter
The following afternoon, rested and as clean as a train without showers would allow, Cassie and Olga entered the Trans-Siberian’s wood-paneled dining car to meet their teammates for lunch. The opulent decor carried a hint of the glory days of rail travel. The car’s luxurious interior and high prices also discouraged the presence of boisterous third-class passengers who preferred to buy their provisions from station vendors.
Cassie scanned the length of the car to see if the men had already arrived. She spied Griffin signaling her from a table in the middle of the carriage. Daniel didn’t look up at their approach. He was immersed in his menu.
“Did you sleep well?” Olga asked solicitously as she and Cassie took seats opposite their colleagues.
“Absolutely,” the scrivener assured her. “Thank you so much for arranging our passage.”
“I was happy to be of help on such an important mission,” the scout replied.
A waitress arrived with a silver carafe of coffee and poured four cups while everyone surveyed the bill of fare.
“Even with the English translations, I’m not sure what to order.” The scion eyed Olga helplessly.
“If I can suggest,” the scout began. “The menu is big, but they run out of things all the time. It is best to choose the most popular dishes because they stock more of them. If you want a light meal, borscht is a traditional Russian soup made with cabbage and beets. If you want something that combines breakfast and lunch, the thin pancakes stuffed with smoked salmon are very good. They’re like... What is the word?”
“Blintzes?” Griffin offered helpfully.
Olga shook her head. “No, crepes. Or if you prefer, there is always the traditional Russian breakfast of fried eggs and ham.”
Cassie chuckled. “That’s a traditional American breakfast too.”
It didn’t take much arm-twisting for everyone to fall in line with one or another of the scout’s recommendations.
Olga gave their order in Russian to the waitress. As an aside to her companions, she said, “Some people think that all we eat here is caviar and that we drink vodka all the time.” She laughed ruefully. “Maybe the vodka part is true but only because water used to be unsafe in many places. Be careful if somebody offers you a glass of vodka. It is very impolite to refuse. Before you know it, you are drunk.”
Daniel appeared horrified by the possibility.
“No need for alarm.” Griffin’s tone was droll. “Simply avoid eye contact with Russians carrying vodka bottles.”
The scion gave a thin smile. Transferring his attention to the countryside beyond the train window, he changed the subject. “Where are we, exactly?”
Olga consulted her watch. “Right now, we are traveling north toward Khabarovsk. After we get there, the train will turn west and follow the Amur River.”
“Good,” Cassie said. “Once we’re close to the river, I might be able to get a bead on the Minoans.” She swallowed an entire cup of coffee in three gulps and turned to signal the waitress to bring more.
Olga gaped at her in surprise.
“Our pythia finds long-distance travel very disorienting,” Griffin explained. “Coffee helps her stay alert.”
“Yes, yes.” The scout nodded sagely. “It must be hard for a person who travels in unseen worlds as well as this one. Very easy to lose the way.” She motioned the waitress over and said a few words in Russian.
The waitress fetched a fresh carafe and poured Cassie a second cup. Then, with a knowing smile, she left the pot in the middle of the table.
“She will bring more if you need it,” Olga said.
Everyone laughed at the pythia’s stunned expression. “If I drink all that, I’ll run laps around the train.”
“Then allow us to help you.” Griffin topped off his cup and the other two. Directing his attention to Olga, he said, “The Jomon trove keeper told us that Lake Baikal is the source of three hundred rivers. I’m wondering if it also holds some spiritual significance which might have appealed to the Minoans.”
“There is no holier place in all of Siberia than Lake Baikal,” the scout informed him. “It is the ancestral homeland of the Buryat tribe. The lake is believed to be the birthplace of shamanism.”
“Why would shamanism have mattered to the Minoans?” Daniel challenged.
&
nbsp; Olga didn’t seem offended by the question. “It is the world’s oldest religion—a reverence for the spirit power of all life. A long time ago, people could feel the invisible energies surrounding them. Their shamans could do even more than that. These magic-workers could reach beyond the senses for deeper truths. They could perform healings and reveal secret knowledge to others. Although ‘shaman’ is a Siberian word which means ‘one who can see in the darkness’ such people have existed in every land since the beginning of human times.”
“But the Minoans were matristic,” the scion insisted. “It’s unlikely they would have entrusted their most precious goddess relic to a shaman.”
Olga furrowed her brows, taking a few moments to process the comment. “You think the ancient shamans were men?”
“Of course,” Daniel retorted. “That’s what all the history books say.”
“You mean overlord history books?” Griffin asked pointedly.
“The overlord history books that Alma Jones would have clubbed you with if she had any handy?” Cassie kidded him gently.
“Oh.” The scion blushed with embarrassment. “Please continue, Olga. I’m sorry I interrupted you.”
The scout complied. “Of course, the overlords do not like the idea that women ever wielded spiritual authority, so they changed the story.” She waved her hand dismissively. “They can spread lies in their little books, but they cannot change the truth buried with the bones. The earliest shaman grave found in Europe dates from 31,000 years ago and it was the grave of a female. Among the Siberian people, each tribe has a different word for a male shaman, but they all use the same word to describe a female shaman. This means the earliest shamans were women. When myths tell of the first shaman, they always speak of a female. In many places, male shamans dress as females in order to perform ceremonies. There is a saying in this part of the world: ‘a woman is by nature a shaman.’ It explains why female shaman training is so much quicker and easier than a man’s. She already knows what he must spend time learning.”
Arkana Archaeology Mystery Box Set 2 Page 73
