Sanskrit Cipher: A Marina Alexander Adventure

by C. M. Gleason

  She already knew.

  “Hedron, no!” she cried. “Don’t do it! It will solve nothing!”

  But he rose from a crouch and brandished a plastic spray bottle.

  From behind, Varden swore and pushed past Marina as she stumbled on a pile of stones. She caught herself on the side of the mountain as Eli grabbed her elbow from behind.

  “He’s got the bacteria,” she said, out of breath, then dodged a rock that tumbled down from beneath Varden’s agile feet as he hoofed his way up.

  “Damned sandals not so good for climbing,” Eli muttered, but he kept going as she clambered on.

  Varden and Hedron were both out of sight, but when she got to a short, relatively flat stretch and ran, she saw Hedron.

  He stood there proudly, holding up the bottle. And then, keeping eye contact with Marina, he knelt and, with a flourish, sprayed the piece of iron nearest him.

  He managed one or two squirts before Varden appeared from nowhere, launching himself at Hedron. As the two men tumbled to the ground, dislodging rocks and stones to rain down the side of the mountain, Marina began to run.

  She could hear the sounds of their struggle as she drew nearer—this last bit was rough going but a direct path to where Hedron had been standing. She couldn’t see them, for she was almost directly below, and she had to use handholds to help pull herself up the steep incline. More rocks and stones pattered down, rolling over the edge from where the men fought and down to where Eli was making his way up a little more slowly.

  When Marina got to the top, barely able to see over the ledge, it was just in time to see Hedron’s arm swing out in a wide arc, then shoot toward Varden. The long, shiny blade Hedron held plunged into Varden’s side, and her friend jolted, freezing in shock as he fell to the ground.

  Hedron stumbled backward, a dark grin on his face, the knife still in his hand, poised to plunge again, when he saw Marina.

  With a cry of rage and desperation, she launched herself up and onto the ground and stood facing him. She had nothing to fight him with. Nothing to protect herself from the knife, now dripping with Varden’s blood…nothing to keep Hedron from spraying more of the bacteria on the protective metal grid.

  She felt the ground move beneath her feet, and the rage rushed up from the earth inside of her. “How dare you,” she cried—and realized she was screaming in Skaladeska. “How dare you defile Gaia!”

  She saw the large branch on the ground, lunged to seize it, thanking Gaia for putting it there within reach, and began to stalk Hedron.

  Varden wasn’t moving, but his eyes were open. Blood drenched his shirt, spilling over his hand, pooling on the dusty, stony ground. Glazed with shock and pain, his eyes found hers and held. When they connected, Marina felt a jolt of power, and she swung the branch as she lunged toward Hedron.

  He sprang nimbly to the side, and the solid branch whuffed harmlessly through the air. Marina steadied herself, refusing to look at Varden, focused only on Hedron.

  Gaia, help me.

  She thrust out with the branch as if she were fencing, causing Hedron to dance out of reach. He still held the bloody knife, but it could do her no harm at this distance.

  “Waste your time all you like,” Hedron told her. “It’s too late. Soon, this very ground on which you stand will tumble below.” He gestured to the metal framework, old, rusted, but still very efficient…except when infected by the bacteria. “I can see that it’s already eating away at it…and even as the bacteria does its job, and your friend’s blood seeps into the ground, you stand here, helpless to do nothing.”

  The truth of his taunts enraged her, galvanized her, and Marina lifted the branch once more and steadied it—this time like a baseball bat. She lunged and swung at the same time, shouting something in Skaladeska that even she didn’t understand—

  And when she connected with Hedron, she felt the shock of the branch slamming into his arm, she lost her breath for a moment.

  And then, as if in slow motion, she watched as he staggered, caught himself…and then the very bit of earth on which he stood shifted…right before her eyes.

  The ground erupted, upending him, just enough…

  And he went over the edge, tumbling out of sight with a loud scream.

  Forty-Eight

  Marina ran to Varden first, but even as she crouched next to him, she could look over the edge.

  Hedron had fallen, not very far, but he must have hit some rocky outcropping on his way down, because he lay still. His head was bent at a strange angle, but more horrifically, blood streamed from his ears and nose.

  “Rue,” she said, frantically pulling away Varden’s shirt to see the wound.

  It was bad. So bad.

  She already knew, from his labored breathing, the color of his pallor, that there was little hope. His belly shivered, his torso bare now as she tore away the thin shirt and saw the ragged, ugly, gaping laceration. It wasn’t merely a clean slice—Hedron had shoved, twisted, jerked, cutting deeply into Varden.

  She pressed Varden’s shirt against the wound as hard as she could, pressuring it to stop the bleeding even though she knew inside the damage was worse.

  “Mariska,” he managed. “The…grid.”

  “It’s too late,” she said. “The bacteria—” But she scrambled to her feet, hating to leave his side but she wanted to look. Maybe it wasn’t working. Maybe—

  But it was. She could see the difference already; if it hadn’t been such a dire moment, she would have been fascinated by the sight of the metal corroding, disappearing before her eyes.

  Only moments ago—maybe five, seven, eight minutes—Hedron had sprayed onto one of the metal posts that jutted up a foot above the rocky edge. Now the upright part of the post had gone, and the metal rod was disappearing below the edge.

  It was only a matter of time before the rest of it was eaten away, disappeared…and the side of the mountain collapsed in a deadly avalanche.

  “It’s too late,” she said, scrambling back to Varden. His color was bad, his breathing unsteady. She could almost see his blood pressure dropping. How was she ever going to get him off this mountain? Get him help?

  “Warn,” he gasped. His lids fluttered over those green eyes, still intense even now as he swam with pain and semiconsciousness.

  “Marina!”

  She turned to see Eli, tottering into sight from below.

  He was at her side in a moment, and she didn’t need to give him any information other than: “Varden needs help. And we need to warn the others.”

  But there was no way to get the information down to the Tsedup revelers; she and Eli were too far away, too high up, and the sounds of the festivities would drown out any warnings they might make.

  All at once, Eli’s eyes widened. He pulled to his feet, digging in the pocket of his cargo shorts.

  Marina felt a prickling over her shoulders, over her entire body, as he pulled the ancient clay pot from his pants and her eyes fastened on it.

  Was it possible?

  His fingers shook a little as he opened it, offered it to her, and Marina didn’t wait. She thrust her fingers down into the honey, scooping a good portion of it into the cup of her fingers.

  Immediately, she felt a shimmering sort of warmth from the substance, which was sticky and oozing just like any other honey. But it smelled different—it smelled like something undefinable. Pleasant, beautiful, pure. Certainly not old and musty, aged and useless…

  She pulled the shirt away from Varden’s wound, then hesitated. Putting honey—millennia-old honey—into an open wound… Was she crazy? Was that EMT malpractice?

  “Do it,” Varden whispered. His eyes met hers, the haze evaporating for an instant. “Mariska.”

  She drew in a shuddering breath, then, without thinking on it any further, offered up a prayer to Gaia, and to any powerful being who might care to listen, and began to slather the honey over the pulsing wound. She dipped her fingers inside the opening, pushing the warm, shimmery honey
into him, hoping and praying she wasn’t killing Varden even faster.

  It wasn’t until she looked over toward Eli, to scoop her fingers through the pot once more, that she realized he’d moved. He was at the edge of the mountain, by the grid.

  “Eli?” she cried, a little desperate. “What—” And then, with a sudden rush of understanding, she knew.

  He crouched near the edge, right where Hedron had sprayed the bacteria onto the rusty metal. And when Eli looked over at her, his eyes were bright. The tip of his nose was a little red.

  “It worked,” he said. His voice was rusty. “It’s working.”

  He pulled himself to his feet and came back to Marina and Varden, kneeling next to them. “I didn’t know—but I put the honey on the metal where it was being eaten away…and I watched. And it stopped. It stopped it. I—I think the honey s-smothered the bacteria.”

  He’d offered her the clay pot as he spoke. She looked down into it—there was only a small amount left.

  “Use it,” Eli said, nodding at Varden.

  She took the last bit, smeared it over Varden’s laceration once more, then sat back. Her eyes were wet, her fingers trembled, and her breathing was unsteady and harsh.

  “I don’t know if it’s working,” she said, looking down at Varden. He seemed to have settled a little—his breathing was smoother and those wild green eyes were closed. She reached for his hand, clasped her fingers around it, and settled her other hand onto the surface of the earth.

  She closed her eyes and drew energy from Gaia into her fingers and palm, up through her wrist and arm and into her entire being, and asked it to rush through her to help Gaia’s son. The vibration, the heat, the healing, trundled through her…and when she opened her eyes some time later—she didn’t know how long—she found Eli watching her.

  His dark eyes were still wet, and he sat cross-legged, still, reverent. “It’s miraculous,” he said, holding up the small clay pot. “It’s a miracle. She’s a miracle.”

  She looked down and saw that the blood was no longer pumping from Varden’s side. His color was better.

  That didn’t mean that he was healing on the inside, she told herself. It didn’t mean he was going to be all right.

  But when he opened his eyes and they found hers immediately, she felt the jolt when they connected. Powerful and real.

  “Thank you,” he said. His voice was stronger. “And thank Gaia.”

  Forty-Nine

  They made it back down the mountain about two hours later. Varden was weak and slow, but they were going down instead of up, and Marina was relieved that his breathing was steady and his color was normal.

  Eli had retrieved the spray bottle with what was left of the Volvoticus bacteria and poured it out onto the ground, allowing Gaia to absorb it.

  “We don’t know if there’s any more of it anywhere,” said Varden in a voice low with fatigue, “but there was never much of it to begin with. Hedron is gone, and I believe that with him died the secret. There’s no reason to believe he had more of it anywhere—and the origin of the bacteria was never found.”

  Once they got back to the guesthouse, Marina was able to find a local doctor to check over Varden—against the patient’s wishes. He claimed he felt fine, that he was healing thanks to the honey and Gaia, but Marina prevailed. But as the nearest place with serious medical capability was Leh, there was little the doctor could do but check vitals and provide some antibiotic.

  She was about to insist on taking a car to Leh when the guesthouse owner came to the room she shared with Varden, and with him was Gulam.

  Marina said nothing as the elderly man—who looked at her intently for a long moment before turning to Varden—approached the patient.

  He laid his hands on Varden and began to chant as he closed his eyes.

  Eli, who’d been offered a tiny room at a nearby guesthouse, looked at Marina but remained silent.

  When Gulam was finished, he opened his eyes and looked at Varden. Then he turned to Marina and Eli. The dark, intense gaze seemed to delve deep inside her as the old man spoke. “You did right. He will heal.” Then he touched Marina ever so gently on the hand as he passed by to leave. “Tomorrow, Daughter of Gaia,” he said.

  Despite the shaman’s prognosis, Marina stayed with Varden for the rest of the evening, other than to eat dinner in the dining room. She sent brief updates to Gabe and Helen back in the US and let them know the imminent threat was contained. She’d fill them in with more details when she was Stateside.

  Eli left for his own guesthouse shortly after the evening meal—which was late and crowded due to the festival.

  When Marina returned to her room, she found Varden awake and aware.

  “Eli?” he asked, his voice still rough.

  “Gone to his room,” she told him. “Tomorrow Gulam will take us to the bee.”

  Varden nodded, and she wondered whether he would be able to join them.

  “Thank you,” he said as she pulled up a chair next to him.

  Marina nodded, and before she knew what she was doing, she brushed the short hair back from his forehead. He reached up, closing his fingers around her wrist…then brought her palm to rest on his chest.

  She felt the thumping of his heart—steady, strong—and the rush of awareness she’d been fighting since the first time they met.

  When she looked up, she found he was watching her.

  The animosity she was used to seeing in those hard, brilliant eyes was gone. Instead, there was something else. Something that made her belly quiver.

  “Mariska,” he whispered, and she felt the sound of her name—her real name—settle deep inside her.

  Wordlessly, she smoothed her hand over his chest—warm, taut, muscular—and when he gently pulled on her wrist, drawing her closer, she met him halfway.

  When Marina woke the next morning, Varden was gone. She was alone, in the rumpled single bed they’d shared. The realization and memory of the night past shocked her, but she had no regrets. None at all.

  She was shocked, however, to learn that he was actually gone. That Varden had left without a word, without a farewell.

  He was simply gone.

  Perhaps it was best, she realized. They’d had a connection here in this special place, during this desperate time…but that was over, and nothing changed the fact that he resented her for any number of reasons.

  And she resented him for his interference in her life.

  When Eli arrived at the guesthouse, he seemed only mildly surprised that Varden had left.

  “You scared him off,” he said with a quirky smile that made her give a husky laugh.

  Eli might be right. Last night had been pretty amazing.

  “Are you ready to meet your bee?” she asked, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  Marina wondered whether their travel to the bee was going to be a shamanic journey or one on foot, and her question was answered immediately as Gulam began to walk.

  She and Eli followed him for a long time, with Manish bringing up the rear. There was no pathway to speak of; Gulam simply knew where to go, walking rapidly along the rocky ground away from the village and up. He climbed over boulders with surprising agility and skirted the rough, narrow ledges that jutted from the unforgiving side of the mountain.

  After a time, they reached a sort of valley—though valley was a strange word, for this dip between mountain peaks was high above the ground level of the village. But the place was a small glen, protected on all sides by sheer rocky walls. A few trees grew in the rugged, stony ground, and flowers bloomed among the patches of grass. Marina spotted a golden eagle circling above.

  But it was Eli who saw the bee.

  He gave a soft, adorable sort of gasp and froze. His eyes were trained on a flower in front of him, and he slowly lowered himself as if to keep from frightening the insect.

  “Hello, you,” he said quietly. “You’re just as beautiful as I’d imagi
ned.”

  Smiling, Marina watched him. The boyish affection was there, mingling with the scientist who was carefully examining every detail of the rose-gold bee.

  When she looked up, she was surprised to see that Gulam and Manish were gone. How strange that they should bring them up here to this secret place and then leave.

  She felt a pang of regret that Varden wasn’t there, then pushed it away. He had his reasons for what he did and didn’t do, where he went and didn’t go.

  Marina shrugged, then stepped closer to Eli so she could see the bee. By now, he was sitting among the flowers and grasses and there was one bee crawling delicately along his finger, while another one bopped from bloom to bloom.

  “I need to see the hive,” he said, glancing up with glowing eyes. “I have to observe their communal and societal habits. And I really want to see the queen.” He rose slowly, careful not to disrupt the bee that still sat on his finger. “Look at her—she’s just sitting here, like she’s surveying her domain. And no stinger, so no chance of being injured.”

  “If you ask her, she’ll take you to the hive,” Marina said, somehow knowing this was true.

  “I’m asking,” Eli murmured, still looking at his little lovely. “May I see your hive?”

  Bee left his finger gracefully and began to dart through the air. Eli trampled after her, with Marina in his wake.

  Although she knew this was no shamanic journey, Marina nevertheless still felt the intensity of the place, of the specialness of the place. She absorbed every detail, every texture, every scent, every sound as she and Eli followed the bee.

  It wasn’t a difficult climb, along the side of the rugged mountain. But it was a hidden one, an obscure one.

  And when they came to a jagged, narrow opening in the side of the rocky wall, Eli paused to look back at her. “This is it,” he said. His eyes danced; his entire body danced. And then he stepped back and gestured for her to precede him.