“Whoa! Nobody’s asked to see this in a long time. What’s up?”
“May I see it?”
“Sure. Come on.”
She followed him into their collections area. He walked toward the large compact shelving, searching the numbers on the sides until he found the area where the artifact was stored. Turning the large handle to roll the oversized units apart, he stepped into the aisle. Deborah was close behind him.
“Do you want me to take it down?” he asked.
“Please.”
“Hold on, I need the lift.”
After attaching the lift, he carefully lowered the delicate rectangular wooden box off the shelf. Likely no more than two feet in width and three feet long, Dylan placed it on an examination table. Deborah was shaking staring at it. The markings were exactly like those found on the divining tray.
“Has it always been empty?” she asked.
“Since I’ve been working here. I can only guess the child buried in it was re-interred.”
CHAPTER 24
“The database doesn’t say where it came from!” she answered. “It only references Oyo Mangua!”
“It has to say more! How could something like that come into the University’s collection and no one knows where it came from?” Ben demanded.
“Are you kidding me right now? Before you showed up, we had no idea where the Dubois Collection came from!”
“Are you certain it was empty?”
“Yes! Do you really think they’d keep a decomposing body in museum storage?”
“Human remains are kept in museums all the time!”
“Fine! But not this time! The sarcophagus was empty. Whatever or whoever was in there was either reburied or discarded over a century ago.”
“That’s not possible! It has to be there! You’ll have to keep looking!”
“For what?”
She couldn’t believe they were arguing over an artifact. Ben was pacing the floor enraged because she didn’t know the exact location of Oyo Mangua. Making matters worse, he actually seemed angry with her.
“What else do you expect me to say? I’m doing the best I can,” she said exasperated.
“It’s not enough!” he shouted. “I need to know exactly where it is! Do your damn job!”
“Excuse me? What the hell is wrong with you?”
He looked at her knowing his anger was misplaced. He had to calm down, but it was difficult.
“I need your car keys,” he said flatly.
“Why?”
“I need a pint… or more.”
“You’re going out drinking? And driving in my car? No!”
“Fine.”
She was flabbergasted watching him walk out slamming the door behind him. What the hell just happened?
The next morning she woke up alone in bed worried sick wondering where he was. It was well after midnight when she went to bed, and Ben hadn’t come back. Heading into the kitchen, she was relieved seeing him asleep on the couch. Looking at him, she still couldn’t understand why he got so angry. He was hostile, demanding, and unrelenting. It was unnerving and a little frightening, but mostly it pissed her off. She’d never seen that side of him, and she didn’t like it. Moving as quietly as she could, she started the coffee maker before heading to the bathroom to shower.
As the water washed over her, she was startled when the door opened. Ben walked in and stood by the door.
“May I join you,” he said.
“I’m almost finished,” she said curtly.
Turning off the water, she reached for the towel and stepped out moving past him.
“Deborah…”
“I have to get ready for work.”
“Deborah, wait!” He reached out grabbing her arm.
Pulling away from him, she yelled, “Don’t ever do that! Never put your hands on me like that again!”
“I’m sorry… for everything. You didn’t deserve my misplaced frustration.”
“Frustration? You were a lunatic!”
“You’re right. I was an enraged lunatic, and I’m deeply sorry. I should have never said those things to you.”
“So why did you?” she asked glaring at him.
“I’ve been searching for this far longer than I can say. To be so close and come up empty was… upsetting.”
“You don’t think I know how it feels to search for something and not have it pan out? That’s my life!”
“I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it… I’m deeply sorry for how I behaved. It was inexcusable. You’ve done stellar work on this Collection, and I rewarded it by behaving like an arse. Please forgive me.”
He seemed genuinely contrite. Regret saturated his blue eyes as he held back emotions causing his face to flush.
Staring at him for a moment, she finally softened and asked, “Do you need aspirin?”
“What?” Her question was perplexing.
“You must have a hell of a hangover. How much did you drink last night? You look like hell.”
“Aspirin would be helpful.”
She chuckled at him saying, “Dumbass!”
“I imagine I deserve that, too!”
She went to the kitchen returning with a glass of water and the aspirin. He was sitting on the bed looking miserable.
“Here,” she said handing them to him.
Clinching the aspirin in his teeth before downing the water, he said, “Thank you.”
She sat down next to him. Then without a word, he rested his hand gently on her thigh. She leaned her head on his shoulder.
Kissing her forehead, he asked, “Am I forgiven?”
“I’m thinking about it. I’ll have to see how much ass you’re prepared to kiss!”
“Ass kissing?”
“That’s right. You acted like an ass, so you kiss some ass! Simple.”
“That’s my penance?”
Gazing into his eyes, she saw everything that attracted her to him when they first met… and so much more. She wouldn’t give him up over an argument even if it were bizarre.
“We’ll see,” she said coyly.
“Ass kissing, eh?” He grinned before coming in close for a kiss.
The way her morning started, she didn’t think much could throw off her glorious mood, but within an hour, passages about Sese’s death deeply saddened her. Willem’s rebuilding of the ceremonial grounds and altar established an even stronger bond between them. Sese became Willem’s teacher. Guiding him through the deeper mysteries of the faith, Willem learned how to prepare sacred oils and herbs for healing or ceremony. Proving to be an eager student, the initiation rite he experienced was just the beginning. Like his training for the Catholic priesthood, there was much preparation, study, and practice. Through it all, Willem continued the ruse of a Catholic priest with great success.
Unfortunately, the Force Publique increasingly considered Sese a threat to their authority. Within a year of Willem’s training, Sese and his entire family were executed as retribution and a warning to others. But that wasn’t enough. The wretched soldiers burned his home to the ground. To Willem’s shame, Father John, the ministering priest, once again blessed atrocity.
Rather than force further submission, Sese’s death only empowered those remaining including Willem. Finally, calling upon his family’s reputation, influence, and generosity to the Church, Willem convinced his father, Antoine, to have Father John removed from the Congo. Soon others were descending on the region to investigate similar claims against King Leopold’s operations there.
Moving further into the diary, Deborah was increasingly intrigued by Willem’s fascination with the child the Bakongo considered the embodiment of Asira. The things Willem described were fascinating, if not implausible. What mattered most was the Bakongo believed. With investigations mounting, the desperation of Force Publique and Leopold’s henchmen increased, as did violence committed against the Bakongo. To maintain safety, the Dajume moved the child to another village, but word quickly sprea
d. Mining camp bosses believed order could be restored if they destroyed the symbol of the people’s faith. They mobilized to find the child. Willem became convinced he’d have to find other means of protection. Hiding Asira in the Congo backcountry villages was no longer a viable option. The bounty had grown to free anyone who turned over information from working in Leopold’s labor camps.
Later that night, Deborah’s terrors returned. They began as they always did… she’s playing with other children. The booming sound, fleeing and death, and then darkness… that horrible, frightening darkness before silence fell upon her. Waking in a cold sweat, Ben was sitting beside her with a look of deep concern. With tears streaming down her face, she reached for the dream journal and began writing furiously everything that happened in it. When she finished, she nestled into Ben’s chest as he wiped the remaining tears away.
“The same?” he asked.
“For the most part.”
“More merged thoughts?”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps you should take a break from the translations.”
“I can’t. I’m almost finished.”
“But you said there was one more diary.”
“There is, but I have to do this. I feel like Willem wants us to know what happened.”
“Some things the world isn’t meant to know.”
“So now you want me to stop? Last night you were livid because I didn’t know where Oyo Mangua was.”
“I don’t want you haunted anymore. What you’ve shared of your dreams is horrific without adding to them. I’ll find another way to find Oyo Mangua.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with them for as long as I can remember. Just an overactive imagination, that’s all.”
He held her tighter, wanting to chase away the demons haunting her, but Deborah was close to the answer. He knew it. Her translations revealed Willem planned to hide the child again. It also strongly suggested he and his fellow Dajume were preparing to put Asira to sleep. Ben simply had to remain patient. She was a superb archivist and researcher. If the information were there, she’d find it. When she did, he’d know exactly when and where the incident took place, and he’d finally find Asira.
Admittedly, it was a complete surprise to learn the sarcophagus was at the University, but it confirmed his suspicions about Mugabe protecting something there. It also provided greater clarity as to why the true donor of the Collection gave it to St. Mary University. Everything—the diaries, prayer books, letters, totems, divining tray, and sarcophagus—were finally together. Only one question remained beyond locating Oyo Mangua. Where was the Asira sarcophagus before its transfer to St. Mary? Ben knew the two questions would be answered. He simply had to give Deborah more time.
The next morning, he dropped her off at the University as he continued to the DAC. He called his office in London.
“Good afternoon, Marian.”
“Good afternoon, sir. What can I do for you today?”
“I need you to retrieve a sealed envelope from my office safe. Expedite shipping in care of the DAC.”
“It’ll take at least two days. It’s far cheaper to scan and send it to your email. It’s secure, you know.”
“No.” He didn’t want to risk having duplicates, especially in cyberspace.
“All right, then. What’s the safe combination?”
After giving Marian the information, he said, “I’ll be back Saturday. Arrange a flight for early morning. Have Adele and Arthur get the flat ready.”
“Yes, sir. Are you coming home alone?”
“Yes.”
“Too bad, she’s a lovely lass.”
“Speaking of which, I need you to get the paperwork started for a Certificate of Sponsorship for Deborah. She’ll be working with me.”
“I don’t think that’s the kind of work the immigration ministry recognizes, Ben.” She giggled.
He was mildly amused. “Being cheeky isn’t your strong suit, Marian.”
“Says you!”
He laughed.
“Fine! But you should start on the Spouse Visa,” she continued.
“The Certificate, please.”
“You haven’t asked her?”
“Marian… I need your focus.”
“None of my concern, I know! But you should at least ask her… on one knee… with flowers… and a nice stone to put on her finger. I know a lovely jeweler.”
“What a shame it would be for a superb assistant to find herself on the unemployment rolls!” he teased.
“I’ll take care of it and have the envelope shipped immediately.”
“Thank you!” He chuckled.
It was one of those rare mornings when there weren’t a lot of emails in Deborah’s inbox. Perusing them, one was from the Landscape Department. Opening it, she was taken aback to see an invitation to the memorial service for Mr. Mugabe. She stared at it for a moment pondering whether or not to attend. Wanting to pay her respects, she was torn about going considering his death involved her. She also imagined Ben wouldn’t be too enthused about her attending. Nonetheless, the Landscape Department sent the notice directly to her. The funeral was in two days. Being in the early afternoon, she could go without mentioning anything to Ben.
CHAPTER 25
“I feel like I’d understand it better if I had a greater grasp of their belief system.”
“Deborah, what you’ve uncovered is remarkable,” Ben assured her.
“You’ve studied and collected religious artifacts from the region since graduating from Oxford. Tell me what you know about it,” she said.
“What do you want to know?” Ben replied setting his book on the coffee table. Adjusting on the sofa, he drew her toward him.
With her head resting on the sofa pillow placed on his lap, she stretched out looking up at him. “Let’s start with the biggie. The Bakongo believe Asira is their God of Knowing. Are there others?”
“Yes. But the true ‘biggie’ is the Bakongo is a very large ethnic group. Within it are hundreds of tribes, each with differing deities they venerate, but it is essentially the same belief system.”
“Okay, is Asira the supreme being?”
“No. The Supreme is… just that.”
“So what’s their creation story? Virtually every culture on the planet has one.”
“Bakongo believe they are the center of humanity, created by a realm of beings led by The Supreme.”
“A realm… like another reality?”
She was certainly capable of understanding nuances of Bakongo belief, but there was far more. Looking at her and the inquisitiveness in her warm eyes, Ben pondered how best to explain it all.
“When there was nothing, The Supreme called forth The Others to create everything. Together they produced all of the known universes,” he began.
“Who are The Others? Because Willem only talks about Asira.”
“The Others are beings like Asira who were once a part of The Supreme. Each had powers of formation.”
“For example?”
“The Supreme released all the elements required for creation. Ontu was responsible for making them into solid forms—the planets, moons, asteroids, etc. Huria laid the seeds for all that would grow and put into the ground pure elements for later use.”
“You mean like iron, gold, and carbon?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Then what?”
“Sinda made the waters for those places chosen to hold life, Mila set the orbits creating time itself, and Veshlu put into each planet the power to cleanse itself by shaking and eruption.”
“I can’t get over how similar it is to… hell, not only the Bible but…”
“Every major religion, yes?”
“Yes. How is that possible?”
“If you’re Bakongo, it’s possible because they are the center. They believe as humankind spread over the planet, the truth of creation went with them, but time and willful corruption altered that truth.”
“It’s too f
antastic to be real.”
“Your belief in angels, demons, and a supreme being who not only made everything but also made His son mortal, then later sacrificed him? How is that any more fantastic than what the Bakongo believe?”
“Fair enough!” she confessed. “Okay, so far, we have planets, water, elements, earthquakes. Where’s the air or the suns? The people?”
“Edra formed every type of mortal creature on land in every world, each one being quite different. Noven did this in the waters. By placing suns, the air was formed. With air, came breath. Everything had life. It was Bensaí who did this.”
“Bensaí, the Sun God. What did Asira do?”
“Asira made every living creature aware. Among higher beings, knowledge and wisdom were given.”
“Wow… it’s so fascinating.”
“Anything else you’d like to know?”
“Why did the gods make it all and leave?”
“Who said they left? There are billions of worlds. Among faithful mortals, any of the beings can be summoned when needed. But mortals can be very selfish, and their needs are often mere wants.”
“Mortals! Said like a true god!” She laughed.
“You wanted to know,” he said trying to brush off a comment far more accurate than she was prepared to know.
“Thank you! That helps a lot.”
“Glad to help.”
Deborah stared at the ceiling as her fertile brain processed all Ben shared. Then her brow furrowed slightly.
“What is it, my sweet?” he asked.
“If what the Bakongo believed were true, it begs the question why in the world would a being like Asira allow itself to be made mortal? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Asira was quite taken with mortals. To be one of them, the thought was they could be better served. But that was the mistake. It is The Others who should be worshiped and served, not mortals.”
“So in your mind, the Creators shouldn’t serve their creations?”
“Exactly.”
“That’s… interesting.”
“Explain.”
“When you were a little boy, your parents doted on you—their creation. Guiding you, correcting you, providing for you. Most important, they loved you. Wouldn’t a supreme being want to do the same for what it created as any loving parent would?”
Asira Awakens Page 17