The Oracle

by D. J. Niko

  “But no one comes here anymore.” Despite attempts to keep emotion at bay, Aristea’s voice was shaky. “In accordance with the emperor’s decrees, there are no rituals.”

  “And what are you doing here, then?”

  “This is my home. I mean to protect it.”

  The soldier pointed to her. “If this is your home, then you answer to the devil.” He glanced over his shoulder and barked a command to his men. He raised a gladius and released a cry.

  “Please,” Aristea pleaded. “We mean no harm—”

  The man grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her inside. She glanced back and saw a legion of men enter the temple after their leader. It was an all-out siege.

  He pushed Aristea to her knees in front of the tripod in which the eternal flame burned. Cleon and the others were seized by the other men and brought to kneel beside her. She glanced at Cleon. The serenity on his face gave her courage.

  The soldier pointed to the flame and turned to Aristea. “Do you deny that this is the fire of hell?”

  “I do not know what the fire of hell looks like,” she said calmly. “I know only light.”

  He signaled to his men. With a war cry that echoed off the marble, they toppled the tripod and beat the flames with their capes until all that remained of the light of Apollo was the faint scent of burnt oil.

  Leaving the prisoners unattended, they ran like rabid animals to the altar and down to the adyton. They would leave nothing standing.

  Aristea turned to her brothers. “Remember our promise. We shall meet again. Now leave this place.”

  Ignoring Cleon’s pleas, the priestess picked up the tripod and swung it with all her strength at one of the men. He fell unconscious. She did the same to another, and another, until the leader noticed and lunged at her.

  She fought him with the tripod, but he quickly overpowered her and sent the brass vessel clattering across the hall.

  He grabbed her by the hair. “You think you are a match for me, witch?” He pulled her head back. “Answer me!”

  “What one man has built, another has no right to destroy.” She spat on the floor. “You disgust me.”

  He struck her across the face with the back of his hand. The force made her fall to her side. As she raised her head, blood dripped onto the marble. Through blurred vision, she watched the emperor’s men swing heavy iron axes at the columns, cracking them. Her face hot with anger, she swung a fist at her captor’s groin and watched him dive, howling, to his knees.

  She felt arms hoist her upright. She turned to face Cleon.

  “Don’t be a martyr,” he said. “Save yourself.”

  She shook her head. “I will sooner go down in flames than abandon Apollo.” Python-like arms gripped her from behind and squeezed the breath out of her lungs. “Run,” she mouthed.

  A cloud of white linen trailed Cleon as he ran toward the doorway. It was the last image she registered before she succumbed to darkness.

  Seventeen

  By the time Sarah returned to camp, the midday sun had burned off what little snow had fallen twenty-four hours prior. It was a windy but clear day, yet there was nothing sunny about her mood.

  She drove up to the car park, noting the absence of the second vehicle. Perhaps it was better that Daniel wasn’t there. If she saw him at that moment, she almost certainly would say something she would regret. On the other hand, she worried about him. That push and pull of emotions created a dissonance within her so maddening she knew it would not end well.

  Limping, she walked to her cabin to change clothes. She winced as she peeled off her climbing trousers and had a first look at the wound on her leg. Beneath a bloody crust covering the length of her calf was a cut about four inches long. The skin had split open, revealing severed tissue. It needed stitches, but she had no time for that. She dug around her bag for the antiseptic and rope dressing she’d picked up at the chemist in Thebes on her way back to camp. It wasn’t the best treatment for the situation at hand, but it would have to do.

  After dressing the wound, she quickly put on a long-sleeved Capilene top and her black expedition trousers. She tucked the amulet fragment in the inside pocket. Though she didn’t know what, or whose, the object was, she wanted to keep it close. She had a feeling its purpose would be revealed in due time.

  She closed the blinds and reached into the bottom of her backpack to remove the find. She unfolded the bandana and, with fresh eyes, looked at the potsherd. With a finger she traced the curves of the mysterious object carved into one side.

  If there was truth to the monk’s words, those who sought the buried object were somehow associated with Delphi. Reconciling that clue and the beehive-like shape carved onto the shard, Sarah suspected the object was the long-lost original navel stone used by the Delphians in oracular ceremonies. The “instrument of the pagans”: it made sense.

  She turned the shard over and reread the four-letter word. She wondered if the object was hidden somewhere in or near Sumela, the old Orthodox monastery in Turkey’s Trabzon region.

  Perhaps a visit there would shed some light. But given the events of the past days, going to Sumela alone was like stepping into the lion’s den. Logic told her she shouldn’t even be considering such a move.

  Sarah placed the object back in the bag and stepped outside to gather her thoughts. She cupped her hand against the wind and lit a cigarette. The sun’s saffron rays reached between the silver-green olive leaves, casting trembling shadows onto the yellow grasses. In the distance, the citadel of Kadmeia faded into the sky like an angel ascending.

  She blew out a stream of menthol smoke. A blast of cold wind hissed across the hilltop, tousling her loose curls. She wrapped her arms around her chest to contain a shiver.

  “Sarah.”

  Daniel’s voice startled her. She turned to face him. Her chest tightened for a moment. She exhaled a trembling breath. She could not find the voice to greet him.

  He took two steps toward her. Though she could not see his eyes behind dark aviators, she could tell by the lines in his forehead and the sallow tone of his skin he was in some kind of distress. He pointed to the cigarette in her hand. “I thought you’d quit.”

  “Where have you been, Danny?”

  “It’s a long story. I’m not sure you want to hear it.”

  Her gaze traveled down his body, confirming her suspicions about what had happened. His knuckles were bloody, and there was a slight tremble in his hands. His jeans were streaked with mud. But the most telling sign was the black jumper he had on: the knit was identical to the skullcap worn by the keeper of the monastery rising above the Herkyna River.

  “Let me have a go.” Her tone was calm and measured, if a touch frigid. “You’ve had a bit of a night prowl in the area around Livadeia. Perhaps even found the entrance to the forbidden cave. And somewhere along the way, you befriended a monk who dwells on a cliff high above the river.” She took a long drag and inhaled the smoke. “Is that about it?”

  “You followed me.” He reached beneath his aviators and rubbed his eyes. “I suppose I haven’t been completely honest, so I deserve that.”

  She read a change in his attitude. For the first time since they’d come to Thebes, he seemed willing to share the truth. “I think you ought to tell me what’s going on.”

  He nodded. “I was asked to go on a recon to test the obelisk, see if it worked as a key.”

  “Asked by whom?”

  “The chairman of the foundation. I cannot reveal his identity. I can only tell you he’s a high-ranking official of the British government. And he has an agenda.”

  “What sort of agenda?”

  “He believes the guy behind all these shenanigans heads up a major underground antiquities ring that has amassed significant relics, including something of grave interest to the crown. He’s asked me to gather data that might lead to his capture.”

  “So you’re acting as an informant.”

  “In a way, yes.”

  Her fa
ce tightened. She found it hard to believe a British official would trust a civilian with classified business. Something else was going on, and Daniel was either tight-lipped or unaware.

  He grasped her arms and leaned in. “Listen, Sarah. I should not be telling you any of this. I’m risking—” He did not complete his thought. “I can see the distance between us, and I don’t want it to grow any wider.”

  She pushed him away. “Too right there’s distance. You’ve agreed to some sort of deal I knew nothing about, and you’ve been lying about it for months.” She raised her voice. “This isn’t what I signed up for.”

  “I’m sorry. I was only trying to protect you.”

  “If you truly saw me as an equal, you’d know there is no need to protect me.”

  “That’s not fair, Sarah. I’ve always looked out—”

  She put up a hand. “Stop doing me favors. I can fend for myself.”

  He pushed his hair back with both hands, revealing silver strands at the roots. With a sharp exhale, he let his hands drop. “What can I do to make this up to you?”

  She gestured toward the lab. “For starters, you can return the obelisk to its rightful place.”

  “I can’t. I don’t have it.”

  “What?”

  “The monks pulled me out of the cave. I was . . .” A pained look crossed his face. “Never mind. The obelisk is in their possession now.”

  “You let them have it, just like that?”

  “Jesus, Sarah. You think I’d just hand it to them? Father Athanasius, the abbot, confiscated it. He intends to seal the cave and destroy the key. There’s something down there he’s determined to keep hidden.”

  She decided to keep her own intel close to the vest. “Did he say what?”

  “Something about a pagan object that’d been held by the church since the fourth century but has since vanished. He led me to believe there’s a clue of some kind in Trophonius’ cave.” He paused, as if trying to recall something. “Athanasius mentioned a cult resurrecting ancient rituals. Apparently, the head of the cult wants that object in the worst way. I’m guessing he is the same guy who’s been causing us grief.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “A cult. Neopagans?”

  “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  She looked toward Delphi, the center of the ancient world and site of the oracle of Apollo. It was all coming together.

  “Sarah?”

  She turned back to Daniel.

  “Did you find the cave?”

  She could not lie to him. “I did.”

  “Was anything down there?”

  “The remains of a female. And some sort of map scrawled on a potsherd.” She paused, wondering if she could trust him. In a way, showing him would be the ultimate test. “Wait here.”

  Sarah went into her cabin and removed the wrapped potsherd from her pack. She stepped back outside and unwrapped it in front of Daniel.

  “Wow.” He exhaled a long breath. “Who else knows?”

  “Some men confronted me in the grove just outside the cave. I was able to lose them, but they’ll be back. I think it’s time to get out of here, maybe find a way to that object before they do.”

  He shook his head. “Bad idea. Too risky.”

  “That’s never stopped us from doing what’s right.”

  “Trust me about this, Sarah. We don’t want to go up against these guys. I have it on good authority we’d pretty much be walking into a suicide mission.”

  “I suspect the object is buried at or near a monastery in Turkey. Maybe Father Athanasius and his monks will help us gain access.”

  “Are you serious? The monks have an innate distrust of scientists. And they are part of a powerful institution that’s notoriously secretive. You’re barking up the wrong tree. Besides, they’ve been trying to hide this relic for sixteen hundred years. What makes you think they have any interest in sharing it with the world now?”

  “If this is what I think it is, it doesn’t belong with the church. It’s a piece of human history that everyone has a right to. It should be turned over to the state.”

  “Stop being so idealistic. You and I both know the Greek church controls a load of relics. Always has. And that’s the way the holy men like it. They’re not going to cooperate with any archaeologist. They see us as the enemy. You want to go up against that, go right ahead. But I’d advise you to forget it, move on.”

  His reaction chilled her. How could he, of all the people, call her idealistic? How could he dismiss the moral responsibility they once shared? “So where does that leave us?”

  “There’s nothing more we can do. We should get out of here as soon as possible.” He looked away and rubbed the thick dark stubble covering his jaw, talking less to her than to himself. “I want to be rid of this nightmare.”

  “Should have thought of that before you made a deal with the devil,” she blurted out and felt more satisfaction than regret.

  “Just so you know, I did it for you.”

  “This is absolute bollocks. I cannot hear it.” She started toward her cabin.

  He grabbed her elbow. “Don’t walk away. Not now.”

  She sensed the desperation in his voice, but pride muscled its way into her consciousness and didn’t allow her to take stock. “I have some thinking to do.” She pulled free of his grip and walked on.

  He called behind her. “Come back here, Sarah. We’re not finished.”

  Sarah didn’t answer or turn to face him. She hurried into her cabin and locked the door, ignoring the bangs on the other side. She crumpled onto the bed. The freight train of emotion that had been gathering steam for months crashed through the gate of her defenses. She could no longer stop it.

  Eighteen

  Daniel went into his own cabin and turned the dead bolt. He stood with his back to the door and exhaled. Things had gotten out of control—and it was all his fault.

  He sat down at a table in the far corner of the room. He eyed the bottle of whiskey that had been his steady companion of late. He poured a finger into a shot glass and checked the clock on his phone. Four in the afternoon, UK time. He dialed the number.

  Langham picked up on the first ring. “Madigan. It’s about damned time.”

  The last thing he needed was this guy’s attitude. “Lay off, James. Things have been pretty intense here.”

  “I don’t give a toss. I will not be made to wait.” He cleared his throat. “Now then. What have you found out?”

  “The cave of Trophonius is real.”

  “Brilliant. What was inside?”

  “Some sort of road map leading to the ancient object your collector friend is after.” Daniel downed the shot of whiskey. “So I hear.”

  “What do you mean? Did you not see it?”

  “No. It’s hearsay. Do with that what you want.”

  A momentary silence. It was clear Langham was annoyed. “I see. And who exactly is giving you this information?”

  Regardless of what had transpired, he would not betray Sarah. He skirted around the issue. “The abbot of a monastery near the cave knows the history. I had a chance encounter with him that did not end well. He confiscated the obelisk. I have no idea where it is.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Wish I was. At least I got some intel in exchange. The abbot knows who’s after the relic: an American guy, former military. Apparently he’s seeking this object for some ancient rituals he’s reenacting.”

  “An American soldier. That is very interesting indeed. I will run this information over the network and see if we can connect it to any known collector’s profile. In the meantime, there’s something I must ask you to do.”

  “Is that so?” Daniel poured himself another shot.

  “I want you to go to Cairo to meet with Ishaq Shammas—the London gallerist who was arrested three years ago for trafficking in stolen antiquities. We suspect he was the primary supplier for the buyer we’re seeking but could never get him to talk before he was extradited to
Egypt. He’s fiercely loyal to his clients.”

  Daniel kept quiet, let Langham talk.

  “You will introduce yourself as an independent anthropologist working on the Thebes project. You will not mention—or, if questioned, will deny—any connection to us. You will bring detailed photographs of the brass obelisk and tell him it grants entry to a long forgotten cave, inside which is an item of interest. When he is intrigued, and he will be, you will ask him to connect you with a broker who can appraise it. He will know what that means.”

  Daniel upended the glass. “You’re crazy. He’ll never talk to a complete stranger.”

  “Nonsense; you’re the perfect envoy. You’ve worked in Egypt and you are fluent in Arabic. And you’re a bit rough around the edges. No offense meant.”

  “None taken.”

  “Good.” The sound of papers being shuffled came from the other end of the line. “I’ve taken the liberty of having a ticket booked for you. Flight 107 to Cairo leaves Athens late tonight.”

  Daniel’s pulse pounded in his temples. “That was very thoughtful of you, James. Only I’m not going. My work for you is done.”

  “Need I remind you,” Langham hissed, “how much you owe the crown?”

  “No need. I’ve paid an inordinate price to square my debt to the crown. The way I see it, I owe you nothing.”

  “Do you really, Dr. Madigan? Perhaps you should think about this: Interpol can very easily find out you stole the obelisk from the ephorate archives and delivered it to an interested party. A national treasure, lost forever.” He paused to let the message sink in. “The head of the foundation will be only too glad to testify against you—and your accomplice.”

  He could envision Langham’s triumphant smirk. “You bastard.”

  “Have a safe flight.” Langham clicked the phone off.

  Daniel let the phone drop from his hand and pounded a fist on the table. A single promise made at a moment of desperation: that was all it had taken to be sucked into their game. Sarah was right: he had made a pact with the devil.