by J. F. Penn
As the loa descended, Albertine began to shake. Convulsions wracked her whole body as the spirits took hold. She whirled and danced and stomped and cried out.
Then suddenly she stopped. The drums fell silent.
She pointed at Jake. “Now, you die.”
Her voice was different, more masculine, deeper somehow. Jake felt an energy push against his chest as the old woman held her hand out toward him.
Those around forced Jake to his knees in front of the grave. The cold wet mud soaked through to his skin, the smell of rich soil flooding his senses. In that final moment, he still had a choice. Tendrils of the drugged potion tugged at his mind, drawing him toward the shadow, but he still had the strength to resist. He could push these people off, take Naomi away from here, forget the relic. The worshippers would not follow them.
But Jake wanted this.
Perhaps his whole life was a search for the boundary of what was real. He was so close to the edge this time. Perhaps he would tip over it. He had to take that chance.
He stretched out in the grave, face up, looking at the bright stars above as those around him began to shovel earth over his body from his feet up.
Jake’s heart pounded as the cool earth landed, the sensation heavy over his legs, rising up his body, pinning him down. He clenched his fists, trying not to react, trying to resist the rising panic at the sensation of crushing earth.
This was a ritual, a mirror of death, not death itself. Surely they would stop soon?
But as they filled in the earth over his chest, Jake realized that he couldn't move anymore. His limbs were heavy from the drugged spirit, and the soil held him firm in the grave. In a moment of clarity, he looked at those around him, no longer seeing rational humans, but believers possessed by the loa.
They were going to bury him alive.
This would be his grave.
Jake wriggled in the earth-bound tomb. “No more. Stop!”
A shovelful of dirt came down on his face, filling his mouth with rich earth and pieces of still-wriggling worms. He spat, shaking his head as more earth cascaded down his neck. He strained to escape, but he was buried under too much heavy soil. He couldn’t get up.
Naomi couldn’t stand to watch anymore. Jake was going to die under that dirt in this god-forsaken place of nightmares unless she got him out of there.
“Stop! Let him up.”
She reached for him, crawling forward, arms outstretched, shouting at those around her to help.
Strong arms pulled her back, held her down, and Naomi looked up into faces with blank eyes possessed by the loa, uncaring of what might happen to the white man in the pit. A flash of blue beads and then a woman knelt beside her, bottle in her hand.
“Drink this, cher. All is as it should be.”
“No, I have to –” Naomi’s words were cut off as the woman forced her head back, pinched her nose and poured the fiery liquid down her throat. She couldn’t help but gulp it down even as she fought back. As the flames rose higher, the chanting louder, Naomi felt the edges of reality soften and fade to black.
As another shovel of dirt fell upon his face, Jake could only watch as the Creole woman with brilliant blue beads in her hair dragged Naomi into the shadows outside the edge of the fire.
He tried to call for her, but dirt filled his mouth.
He coughed, choking on the stink of the swamp. Jake snatched a final breath as earth covered his face and everything went black.
His heart pounded as he lay in the grave.
It was as if he felt every grain of dirt against his skin, as if he could smell the creatures who had died in this earth, as if he could see through the veil. An opening into the vast universe, a glimpse beyond the edge of what was truly real.
As he held his breath, Jake thought of all he had seen with ARKANE, of all he had experienced of life beyond the visible. In that moment, he called to the God of his childhood. He called to the angel bound in chains. He even called to the demon of the bone church who had left its mark on his skin.
And as the final breath in his lungs was crushed from his body, Jake called for Morgan.
16
Palma, Majorca, Spain.
Morgan woke with a start.
“Jake!” His name flew from her lips as she felt the spark of his life go out. Her skin was slick with sweat, her breath ragged as she surfaced from the nightmare.
Sunlight filtered in through the curtains and Morgan shook her head, trying to remember what she had seen. Dark shadows, flickering flames, the dead weight of earth shoveled onto a prone body.
She reached for her phone. No messages from Jake.
It was the early hours of the morning in New Orleans. He was probably asleep. She wouldn’t ring him now. Better to wait until later when she could ask him what to do about San Francisco. After the red-eye flight, she had needed a nap and now felt at least partially renewed.
Morgan rolled out of bed, turned on the coffee machine, and walked naked into the bathroom, catching sight of herself in the mirror. The wound dressings on her burned legs were a putrid yellow, the injuries still seeping pus and blood. The dull ache of constant pain was a background note to her every waking hour. The scar on her side stood out as a pale slash against her olive skin, and she could count her ribs. She had lost weight and muscle tone in the recovery process while her mind had been lost in doubt and fear.
Losing Father Ben had been one sacrifice too far, but Dinah was right. Ben had chosen his path many years before Morgan had even been born. He had lived his life fighting for the side of light, and she would honor him by doing the same.
Besides, what else was she going to do now? Return to the university or work in a psychology practice? After everything she had seen, she couldn’t go back to that mundane life.
If she wanted to work alongside Jake again, she needed to put the past behind her. These injuries would fade, but it was her mind that needed to be strong. It was time to get back in the game.
Louisiana bayou, USA.
Jake leaned into death, his mind soaring with the expanse of the universe. The light beckoned, and he embraced it, letting everything else fall away. His parents were in the light, his sisters, all those he had lost, and now he would be with them. He reached out and his fingertips brushed against his mother’s hand. She smiled, her lips forming his name. A great joy filled his soul –
Then, wrenching pain.
He was ripped away. The soil brushed from his face, his mouth wiped clean. Many hands removed rocks and earth from his body and pulled him from the grave.
Jake knelt on all fours as he retched up muddy earth. He gasped for breath, coughing, spluttering, holding onto that last moment of the light. A sense of desolation filled him as it blinked out and he bit back tears. His family had been taken years ago, butchered at their ranch in South Africa. Now he had lost them again.
He brushed the dirt from his eyes and opened them.
The sounds of the bayou returned. A log shifted in the fire, and the crackle of the flames brought him back to the present.
Albertine crouched in front of him, her eyes human again, the loa quiet until next time.
“You have been born-again from the earth. Your bones are resurrected. You have passed through.” She pulled a small walnut-wood box from her pocket, carved with the intricate whorls of the wind, and handed it to him.
Jake took the box and opened it carefully. A fat finger bone with a stopper of red wax lay on a bed of faded yellow ribbon.
Albertine put her hand on his. “This is one of the fingers from the Hand of Ezekiel. It is yours now, Jake. My ancestors protected it for generations. Do not let it resurrect those who should stay in the grave.”
Jake nodded. “I’ll protect it. I’ll honor their memory.”
At his words, the people around them began to fade into the shadows, heading for their kayaks, leaving the ritual ground for their homes and a new day ahead.
As the crowd cleared, Jake looked around, sudde
nly frantic. “Where’s Naomi?” He stood up. “There was a woman with blue beads in her hair holding Naomi back from the grave. Where is she? Who is she?”
Albertine’s face creased in concern. “Lashonda Milton. She’s a new member of the voodoo community, but I knew her mama when she was alive. She’s a good girl, cher. There must be some explanation.”
“We need to find her.” Jake ran to the end of the deck, scanning the bayou. “Naomi!” he called out over the water, hearing only the sound of bullfrogs in return. He spun around. “We could still find them. They can't have gone far.”
Albertine came to stand by him, looking out into the darkness. “They could have gone in many directions. Lashonda knows the bayou. She will have planned a way out.”
The sound of an engine pierced the still night, a motorboat beyond the island.
Jake started for his kayak, but Fabienne grabbed his arm. “We won't make it in time. They’ll be gone by the time we paddle out there. But she lives in the city, works there too. I’ll guide you. You’ll never make it back alone.”
“Maybe we can track them.” Jake raced back to the hut, digging through the bags until he found his cell phone. “Damn it. No signal.”
His mind whirled as he considered what to do next. This was his fault. He should have listened to Naomi’s fear, her intuition that this would go wrong. He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out the box with the relic inside. He hoped it was worth the price.
Albertine hobbled over. “There are many who seek the Hand of Ezekiel.” Her face suddenly looked much older, the wrinkles on her skin deepening with the shadows of night. “The bones of the dead for the life of the living. That may be your choice now.” She shook her head. “The relic has always been a curse. I’m glad to be rid of it, but I’m sorry to pass it on to you."
Jake cupped her hands in his and looked down into her dark eyes. “You’ve done all you could. You and your family protected the relic for generations. I’ll do my best to keep it from those who would use it for evil, but I have to get Naomi back.”
He bent and kissed the old woman on the cheek, knowing that now their rivers parted ways and that hers would soon flow beyond the veil. “Goodbye, Albertine.”
Fabienne kissed her grandmother, then she and Jake packed up the kayaks quickly, launching them into the dark waters. A fleeting thought of alligators feeding on Naomi’s broken body flashed through Jake’s mind, but he pushed it aside, gritting his teeth for the journey ahead. She would be safe as long as he had the relic.
Without Naomi to slow them down, Jake and Fabienne paddled hard, making good time back to the wharf. They stowed the kayaks and jogged back to the car where Jake finally got a signal on his phone.
He dialed Martin Klein. “Things have gone south here. Naomi’s been taken.”
“Oh, my goodness.” Martin's voice wavered with concern. “I can track her phone. Just a minute.”
“She was taken from the bayou south of New Orleans.” Jake looked at his watch. “Two hours ago now, so she can't have gone too far. I also need you to see if you can find a woman called Lashonda Milton. She has blue beads in her hair. I saw her with Naomi before …”
“Before what?” Martin asked.
“It doesn't matter now.” Jake shook his head, the events of earlier that night more like a dream that had swiftly turned into a nightmare.
“Morgan's probably up by now,” Martin said. “You want me to go next door and let her know what’s going on?”
“No. I’ll call her myself.”
Jake hung up then dialed again, the phone ringing once, twice. “Come on. Pick up.” He willed Morgan to answer.
“Jake?”
Her voice was sweet relief, and Jake felt a glimmer of hope that somehow this might work out.
“Naomi’s been taken. I need your help.”
“What do you mean, she's been taken? By who?”
Jake shook his head. “I’m not sure as yet, but it has to be related to the relics. I’ve got one here that matches the finger bone that you and Martin found.”
“What can I do?”
Jake walked further away from the car, leaving Fabienne behind so she couldn't hear what he was saying.
“I know you needed a break after Israel and you helped with the Toledo relic because I asked you to, because you were already there. But I need your help, Morgan.” Jake paused. “I need my partner back. We lost Ben, and I can't let that happen again. We can't lose Naomi. She shouldn't have been out in the field on a mission like this. It’s bigger than we thought.”
Morgan's breathing came over the line. He could almost hear her thinking.
“It'll probably take me ten to twelve hours to get to New Orleans, maybe quicker if Martin can get me on a special flight.”
“Pack your things. He’s already tracing the woman I saw with Naomi before she was taken. There are so many things I need to tell you. Things I saw last night, things that you would believe and many others wouldn’t.”
Morgan laughed softly. Jake closed his eyes and let the welcome sound wash over him. “We've certainly seen a few things together. Hang in there Jake, I'm coming.”
Charity Hospital, New Orleans, USA.
Luis looked down at the young woman who lay shackled to the hospital bed in one of the private rooms. She was still under the influence of the drugged liquid, and she moaned in her sleep, writhing on the bed as if she was trying to escape something chasing her from the shadows.
“I saw the relic, one of the finger bones,” Lashonda said as she paced up and down. She cupped her hands together as if holding the precious object. “It was right there, but I couldn’t take it. This was the only way.” She came closer to the bed and bent over Naomi. “I think I gave her too much though. She should be out of it by now.”
“She’ll come round.” Luis reached out a hand and held Lashonda’s arm. “And you’re sure her partner has the relic now?”
“Yes, but I don’t think he understands its true power. I saw them speak together. He cares for her.” Lashonda pulled out her smart phone. “As the loa descended, I stood at the back. This is the man before they buried him.”
Luis took the phone and looked at the image, his eyes examining the muscular figure. The man was rugged, physically strong, but there was something else compelling about him. He clearly understood life beyond the physical or the voodoo believers wouldn’t have welcomed him into their midst.
“They really buried him?”
Lashonda nodded. “I left with Naomi as they shoveled the last of the dirt onto his face, but before we left on the motorboat, I heard the celebration as he rose again. He will have the relic now.”
Luis swiped at the screen, loading the image to a recognition database. As part of their almost unlimited funding, the clinic had access to government records. It was only seconds before matching pictures of the man came up on screen.
Jake Timber, ARKANE agent.
Responsible for countless missions tracking down religious relics and ancient artifacts around the world.
Number of verified kills: 23.
There were many pages of accompanying notes, but Luis skipped over them and clicked on Known Associates.
The woman who lay in front of them came up. Naomi Locasto, linguist at ARKANE’s New York office. And then, Morgan Sierra, her face matching the picture from the Toledo synagogue security footage.
Luis smiled as a plan began to form in his mind. He looked down at Naomi, placed a hand on her cheek, then trailed his fingers down to her neck, circling her throat.
Naomi's phone rang. The screen flashed with a name: Jake.
Luis picked up the phone and answered it.
“What have you done with her, you bastard?” Jake had a faint South African accent, his anger palpable through the line.
“She’s safe. For now.”
“Who are you? What do you want?”
Luis tightened his grip a little around Naomi’s flesh. She moaned in her sleep, tried
to clutch at her neck, but the shackles prevented her. They rattled against the bars of the bed.
“What’s that sound? Are you hurting her?”
Luis relaxed his grip, stroked the soft skin where he had left a faint mark. “She’s unharmed, for now. But I want what you have in exchange for her. I want the Hand of Ezekiel. Bring me the two relics you already have along with the others, and you can have her back.”
There was silence for a moment, then Jake’s voice came again, hesitant, questioning. “What you mean – the others?”
Luis bent closer to the phone. “I know of the Toledo relic, and there are three more along with the one you were given last night. The Hand of Ezekiel is made up of five finger bones. You will bring me them all.”
“We have two of the pieces, but I don't know where the others are. I have no way of finding out any time soon.”
Luis pulled up images of the bone box on the phone. “I’ll send you a map. It's rough, but it gives some indication of where the other relics are. Peru, the Philippines, and San Francisco, where I’ll meet you on the third day. I’ll send instructions later. Bring all the relics with you or Naomi will go through the same ritual you did – but with nobody to pull her from the dirt.”
Luis hung up the phone as Jake began to shout words that needed no translation.
17
Louisiana bayou, USA.
Jake looked out at the live oak trees, the frown deepening between his eyebrows. The Spanish moss had a sinister look now, as if the lacy web choked the life from its host. Leaves rustled in the breeze, and the dawn chorus of birdsong began, a reminder that the world continued to turn whatever happened next. Martin could track Naomi’s phone. They could find out who had her, get her back, but would that be enough?
He pulled the wooden box from his pocket and opened it to look at the relic. The finger bone was a sickly yellow as if it had been kept in a smoky room for generations, the wax stopper a thickened crimson. It seemed a paltry thing, but the vaults beneath ARKANE in London were filled with such objects. Many held tremendous power and had cost much to find and keep from those who would use them for evil. Jake had once doubted the power those artifacts held, but he had seen enough over his time with ARKANE to convince him that all myths had truth at their heart. If these relics could somehow raise the dead, then they belonged in the vault.