Lisa Emmer Historical Thrillers Vol. 1-2 (Lisa Emmer Historical Thriller Series)

by Rob Swigart

  The small eyes stared. “And what would I do, then? How would I live? I have known nothing but Ophis Sophia. And now that I’ve been seen here with them.” She gestured toward Nizam and the others, “the world will know that Beletili is Ophis Sophia, a religion with a failed prophecy. I’d have nowhere to go.” She shook her head. “No, soon enough they’ll find a replacement and I’ll be free to die. It’s the way it’s always been, always will be.”

  Lisa nodded and turned to leave. The Divine Mother gripped her hand and drew her back. “They’re going to kill you,” she hissed. “I heard them. I hear everything. They act as if I’m not there. You’re the Delphi Group. The Gnome hates you. He’s going to blame you for the failure. Remember that.” She slumped back, releasing Lisa with a little wave of dismissal.

  “What was that?” Steve wanted to know. After a moment, he added, “In fact, what was any of this?”

  “Look at the child,” she urged.

  Celia was cradling the feeding infant. She looked at Lisa and her broad face broke into a radiant, uncomplicated smile. The child stopped sucking and looked again at Lisa. He shifted his glance to Steve, blew a bubble, and went back to the breast.

  Celia said, “I’ve seen you before.”

  It was the first time she had spoken since before she was in prison. Sister Mary Lamiana was the only living person in the room who could have recognized how remarkable it was, but she had shriveled into herself and did not hear. If Father Colmillo were still alive, he would have witnessed a miracle.

  “Yes,” Lisa replied. “Do you have a name for him?”

  “Félix. After his father.”

  “Perfect.” Lisa didn’t ask about the father. She knew. And it was not important.

  Steve, watching the suckling boy, asked absently, “What are we talking about here?” His smile kept getting broader.

  “I think you know, Steve. Félix here is the next Pythos. We’ve come to welcome him, and to bring him home, along with his mother.”

  That got his attention. “He’s your heir?”

  “Heir isn’t exactly the word. Raimond recruited me out of college, but he’d been watching my whole life. He said the Delphi Agenda has agents all over the world looking for the right child, but he never told me how I would know. He said I would when it needed to happen. He was right.”

  “A hell of a complicated road. How do you know it’s him? You’re still young. You won’t need a successor for many decades. Isn’t it too soon? You’re not the Dalai Lama, you know. It can’t be magic or anything. So how do you know?” he repeated

  “Look at Celia. It doesn’t matter who she is or where she comes from, she has what’s needed for the mother of a Pythos— compassion, love, and innocence; an openness to the world; endurance as well as intuition. She’s known from the beginning this child was special, and did everything she could to protect him. That’s why she connected with me last week. Just at the right time.”

  “You wanted children and couldn’t have them,” he observed.

  “Not as Pythia, no. But you, Alain, and the others, and now Celia and Félix, are family enough.”

  “What about the father?”

  “An unhappy man with a happy child.”

  “Still, it seems awfully soon for a successor.”

  “Mmm,” she agreed. “But in twenty or thirty years, when he’s old enough?” she said. “Trust me, if the world survives that long it will need two of us.”

  “OK. By the way, what about the bearded man threatening the mother and child in Miraculous Child, the Abraham figure? These men are all clean shaven.”

  “I thought about that. Until the ceremony in Harran, Lex Treadwell had a beard. They shaved it off. That’s when I knew things were changing.”

  “You suspected?”

  “Yes. He was the only one who fit the profile, though only in his early thirties. Well, it’s possible, you know, that Ophis Sophia’s Miraculous Child was born somewhere else, and there’s a man with a beard, but if so, they missed it. The blood moon has passed, and by the time there’s another one, the comet will be gone too.”

  “OK.”

  The Guardia Civil arrived. They took statements and led Sister Mary Lamiana away. Her cross was impounded as evidence.

  The excitement finally died down, and the refectory served dinner. Lisa, who had not eaten since the early hours of the morning, found herself seated next to the elderly priest. He told her he was responsible for visitors. “I don’t remember letting you in today,” he said, but he was smiling, his rheumy eyes blinking nearsightedly.

  She smiled. “You’re right,” she said softly. “You didn’t let us in. That was someone else.”

  “Ah, well, that’s it, then. Perhaps it was our young novice; she sometimes does that when I’m busy with other duties. Funny, I never can remember her name. There have been so many…. I’m afraid I’ve gotten rather old and forgetful.” He put his hand on hers and added, “But we’re all glad you’ve come. It’s been a strange night.”

  “Very strange,” she agreed.

  ***

  Nizam ordered Ibrahim to wait in the minibus while he and Lex conferred. The Divine Mother, installed back in her truck, was already on her way to the warehouse in Oviedo.

  He and Lex moved to the edge of the turnaround and stood side by side in silence. At their feet the cliff plunged four hundred meters to the valley floor. High over San Akakio, a brilliant moon was painting lustrous highlights on the monastery’s gray stone. The gravel of the turnaround sparkled. It was near midnight, the spring equinox was almost over, and Lamaštu was an unremarkable smear of pale blue light.

  In the far distance, the sea drew silver lines across itself, underscoring the growing line of darkness gathering at the horizon. La Tormenta was about to make a comeback.

  “It’s beautiful,” Nizam said mildly. He spoke in general, and expected no reply.

  He continued after a silence. “I might have missed this, Iskander. This beauty. This calm. Yes, I certainly would have missed it.”

  “Namtar,” Lex corrected. “My name is Namtar.”

  Nizam nodded. “Of course.” He reached in the secret pocket of his sash and removed a flat leather case. He fingered out the hypodermic. It was always ready, for he was a precise, methodical man. He injected himself deftly and put the kit away. The process took only a few seconds. He turned to Lex and smiled. “Now you have seen my weakness.”

  Lex’s nod was nearly imperceptible before he put his arms around his Teacher and held him close. “Teacher,” he breathed.

  “Yes, habibi,” Nizam al-Muriq murmured.

  “That was not the Miraculous Child of our prophecy.” It was a statement, not a criticism.

  “It was the Miraculous Child, my Namtar. But it was not ours.”

  Lex cradled the Teacher’s head next to his and spoke velvet soft, comforting words. “Other children were surely born during the two omens, in other places. We simply chose the wrong one.” They might have been two lovers exchanging confidences under the moonlight.

  “No, habibi, we chose correctly. That Child in there is a Miraculous One, but he is a boy. We— I— didn’t understand the prophecy correctly, that’s all. Four thousand years, and the failure is mine. Perhaps you will succeed. I was sure, Namtar. So sure….”

  “You’re tired, Teacher.”

  “Yes, Namtar. Very tired.”

  “You know what must happen, Teacher.”

  “I had not expected it so soon, but you are ready, my beloved, habibi, Namtar. Remember, it is your choice. Always your choice, but there’s no going back.”

  “There was no going back from the Second Mystery, Teacher. You made the same choice once. My choice was already made.” His voice was steady, but a tear glittered at the corner of his eye.

  Nizam made a soft sound against Lex’s cheek. “You are certain of your next step?” These were ancient words, this question and answer, exchanged many times in the past between two men fulfilling the same
destinies.

  “Yes, Teacher, I am sure.”

  “Remember, Namtar, once you take that step, you will be always alone. That is the First Mystery. The burden is heavy.”

  Lex nodded.

  Nizam murmured, “I commend myself.”

  Lex crooned something low and tuneless and began to squeeze. A long time passed before Nizam al-Muriq released a final sigh, and the defensive wall, the ‘one that keeps the enemy at a distance,’ Eye and Speaker for the Wisdom Serpent, was gone.

  Lex carried his Teacher’s remains to the minibus. The others, the bearers of the Divine Mother, watched him place the body gently on the bench seat in back and close its eyes.

  He sat beside Ibrahim. “You returned the money to the monastery.” It was not a question, but Ibrahim grunted assent. After a moment, Lex said to the driver, “Let’s go.”

  “The serpent will rise,” one of the men murmured softly, and the others echoed it, “The serpent will rise. The serpent will rise.”

  They drove slowly down the road to the highway and began the long journey back to Paris.

  Lex watched the silvered landscape slide by, the cliffs and tumbled rocks, the broad meadows, the dense thickets of forest, and considered all that remained to do. They had yet to find the Miraculous Child, so they must reinterpret the omens. He doubted the Divine Mother had enough life left in her to finish the search, so Ophis Sophia would have to follow the ancient ritual and select a new one without the Miraculous Child. And there were all the faithful to inform that the time had not yet come. He would have to manage their disappointment. That would not be easy, but he would do it.

  Perhaps, he thought, it was better this way. After all, when the time actually arrived, the waiting would be over and they had been waiting four thousand years. A little more time to prepare might be welcome. Their faith could only grow stronger.

  And another thing: Nizam’s standing order to kill the members of the Delphi Group remained in effect. What was he to do with that?

  ***

  It was nearly dawn when Lisa returned with Steve, Alain, Celia, and the baby to the rental car. They watched the round moon disappear behind the western hills in silence. Dawn light was seeping over the monastery buildings, and Alain opened the car door to help Celia inside. Steve handed her the sleeping Félix and went around to the other side.

  When all were settled, Lisa asked Celia if she was ready. “It’s a long drive to Paris, but we’re going to take our time. Once we change cars in Oviedo we should be quite comfortable. No flying allowed for a new mother and baby, I’m afraid.”

  Celia’s broad face broke into a smile, showing her strong, square teeth. “That’s all right, Lisa, we’re ready, Félix and I.” She smiled happily, and added, “But someday I think we would like to ride in an airplane.”

  Lisa grinned broadly at the mother and child. “I think we can make that happen.”

  The End

  DEDICATION

  To Aristotle Felix Nagaswamy

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This tale would never have been born without the generous support of Niek Veldhuis, Professor of Assyriology at U. C. Berkeley and the help of post-doctoral student (now at the University of Michigan) Jay Crisostomo, not to mention the indispensable Toni May, Sally Henry, Sandy Towle (a.k.a. Ralph Sanborn), Brent Barker, Mercedes Cerna, and Lucy Sanna. Good friends and colleagues all. Thanks also to Danielle Trudeau and Jean-Marie Apostolides.

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  Also by Rob Swigart:

  LITTLE AMERICA

  A.K.A. / A COSMIC FABLE

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  THE BOOK OF REVELATIONS: A NOVEL

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  VECTOR

  TOXIN

  VENOM

  PORTAL: A DATASPACE RETRIEVAL

  XIBALBA GATE: A NOVEL OF THE ANCIENT MAYA

  STONE MIRROR: A NOVEL OF THE NEOLITHIC

  THE WHITE PIG

  THE DELPHI AGENDA

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  About the Author

  ROB SWIGART has been a writer of one kind or another most of his adult life, starting as a cub reporter at the Cincinnati Enquirer. He worked in publishing in the 1960s, and took the plunge into a writing career, but hedged his bets by getting a PhD in Comparative Literature. He has taught at the university level, worked as a technology journalist and technical writer, scripted computer games and a television episode, published several novels and a hundred or so poems, done story, scenario and report writing for the Institute for the Future in Palo Alto, CA, and generally had a very good time.

  His latest books have had an archaeology theme, a lifelong interest. He is currently at work on a mostly (but not entirely) non-fiction book about the transition from hunting and gathering to agriculture.