by Tracy Krauss
Conspiracy of Bones
(And the Beat Goes On)
by
Tracy Krauss
Fictitious Ink Publishing
Copyright 2017 Tracy Krauss
All rights reserved
ISBN: 978-1-988447-36-0
(1st edition published as And the Best Goes On by Strategic Book Group, New York, NY, 2009)
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Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. This book is intended for your personal enjoyment and may not be sold or reproduced, in whole or in part, with the exception of short quotes used for review purposes. Any reproduction of this book, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
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This book has a special place in my heart. Not only was it my first novel to get published, but it was the result of many years of writing and revising, sometimes through difficult circumstances, like temporary blindness. It was also the result of much research into intelligent design and creationism as a scientifically viable alternative to currently accepted theory about the origins of the planet.
I am grateful to Strategic Book Publishing for taking a chance on this story back in 2008. It released in 2009 under the title And the Beat Goes On. Since then, many things have changed. My own writing has grown and developed and when the rights reverted back to me, I knew it needed revision. Among other things, I wanted a title that better suited the actual subject of the novel. Thus, And The Beat Goes On became Conspiracy of Bones.
The story itself remains the same. It is as ancient as its beginnings and as relevant as the belief in an all powerful Creator. Enjoy.
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Join my mailing list and I’ll send you another book FREE! Play It Again is the much anticipated prequel to Conspiracy of Bones. Find out where Mark Graham’s journey began in this, the story of his parents.
Plus you’ll be kept up to date on all new releases and other promos and giveaways when they happen.
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- fiction on the edge without crossing the line -
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"And God saw that the wickedness of man was great in the earth, and that every imagination of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually.”
Genesis 6:5 KJV
Prologue
Tom-tom... tom-tom... Pulsing... throbbing... the earth reverberated. Dancers leapt to the ancient rhythm, their half naked bodies, glistening with sweat in the firelight, twisted and arched as the primal beat called to the pulse within. Overhead, the display case of heaven sparkled, the diamonds large and brilliant against their black velvet nest. Accompanying this was a symphony of sound; a full choir of heavenly voices carried on the solar winds through the crystalline canopy of heaven to the sons of earth below.
The heavy scent of giant orchids, which bloomed along the outer perimeter of the temple gardens, mingled with the spices and perfumes that were thrown into the fire by the priestess. High above the ornate alter around which the dancers poured their carnal worship, a handsome, young, would-be king watched from his seat of honour. His heartbeat quickened, for he knew what was coming next. He had witnessed the ancient ritual as a child, when his own father had been crowned king. Had become a god.
Abruptly, the drum ceased. A hush swept through the crowd of onlookers who circled the stone platform. The dancers scattered. From out of the shadows marched twelve beasts. They were human in appearance except for the gigantic wings, leathery like those of a bat, which were folded across their backs and whose tips nearly touched the ground. Each man was tall and well muscled - the finest and bravest in the kingdom. They were the king’s guard, especially chosen and groomed from boyhood; a privilege for only the strongest and bravest. They would accompany the king wherever he went - even to the grave. As descendants of the Nephilim - the race of giants born from the union of the gods and mortal women - they feared nothing; not even death.
The guards lined up on the large platform, facing the king, as the chief among them solemnly ascended the flight of stone steps that led from the alter to the king’s throne. From here he had a good view of every spectacle. The guard saluted, turned, and gave the signal to the others.
With precision, the guards stepped back to form a corridor. The here to fore silent crowd could not help but murmur. A wave rippled through the masses as six burly slaves led the captive forward, shackled, hobbled, and muzzled. Even then, it was a struggle to get the huge beast prostrate upon the altar of sacrifice. Its beady eyes glistened as its leather wings twitched.
A priest came forward, gilded knife held high over the creature’s heart. A slave released the muzzle that had kept the creature silent and the knife plunged directly into the heart of the animal as a piercing scream echoed through the forest, seeming to rebound from the canopy of the brilliant sky.
Other skilled workers moved quickly into place, and with a few precise cuts, the huge leather wings were removed. Next the head was severed, the brains neatly extracted, leaving only the long pointed beak, majestic red crest, and beady eyes intact.
Blood dripped from the newly hewn crown as it was placed reverently in the hands of the chief guard. With dignified solemnity, he carried the grisly trophy up the long stairway to the king. The priest followed closely on his heels. The prized headpiece was placed on the king’s head, even as blood continued to drip from its depths onto his hair and beard. The priest, who had brought with him a goblet of the animal’s blood rendered from its jugular vein, presented it to the sovereign. He whispered the ancient words of the deity into the king’s bloody ear - an incantation not meant for mortals. Slowly the new sovereign raised the goblet to his lips. Without wavering he took a swallow from the cup, letting the blood trickle from the corners of his mouth. Lowering the goblet, his handsome face was suddenly spoiled by a malicious grin.
The priest stepped back as four others came bearing the wings, still attached as one piece by the skin of the creature’s back. They were strong men, but even they let out a grunt as the heavy cape was settled onto the shoulders of the monarch. He thought for a moment he would not be able to bear the weight of it. Once the wings were properly cleaned and tanned, they would weight much less and he would be expected to wear them for all public ceremonies. But for this night, he must bear the full weight of the mantle, blood and all.
The blood, which the priest had mixed with some special herbs, was giving him new strength, however. And the words... those secret words passed down from the outer world of his ancestors... words which no human could hear... these also gave him power. He was one of them, now. A god among men.
He straightened majestically in his seat, as if the weight on his shoulders was nothing more than an ordinary cloak. He smiled a bloody smile, flashes of white peaking through the
glistening red, and raised his hand in salute.
A cheer went up from the crowd. The heartbeat of the tom-tom was revived. People rushed forward to clap and dance around the flaming torches that skirted the perimeter of the platform as the dancers resumed their gyrations around the altar of incense. The tempo increased, as did the frenzied dancing. Some of the spectators began screaming and wailing; others tore at their clothing. Just when it seemed the festivities were about to turn into a full-fledged orgy, a trumpeting signal brought the writhing crowd to a standstill.
The guards remained steadily at their posts, circling the outer edge of the platform. The tom-tom took up another beat, this time methodical and solemn, as a priestess, waving a fragrant branch of flowers before her, led a procession from the darkness of the forest into the light of the torches and then up into the centre of the platform. With her were twenty-four maidens, all beautiful in their delicately fluttering garments; all virgins, never having set sight on a member of the male gender before this moment. They had been raised for this purpose; innocent, yet knowing that their lives held great significance. Now was the time of fulfillment.
The air was heavy with perspiration and heat, laced with tension and anticipation. The priestess finished her brief words of blessing. One word from the King now was all it would take.
With relish the newly crowned king surveyed the virgins. Beautiful, innocent and ripe, every one. His own lustful desires rose up and he grinned widely. He would have his pick at a later time, in the privacy of his own chambers.
Suddenly, a flashing sheet of light swept across the sky to the east, followed by a deep rumbling much like the mighty cascading noise of a waterfall. The crowd gasped in fear.
Perhaps it was a sign of approval from the gods, he thought. He hoped. Somewhere deep within he heard another voice. His father had told him once about a man - a lunatic - who had been building a boat from before his grandfather’s time. He was a self proclaimed prophet and said that the earth was to be destroyed by a flood. It seemed ridiculous then and even more so now. The crazy man had been giving his warning for hundreds of years and nothing had happened yet. Besides, he was a god himself, now. He was absolute ruler, at least in this part of the world. His own ancestors had left the area where the lunatic lived long ago, partly in search of treasure; partly to get away from his teaching. They had settled far away in a prosperous and fertile land. And here they had been met by the gods.
As if in answer to his thoughts, another amazing spectacle lit the sky. This time it was a giant forked bolt of light, followed by an even louder crash. The people gasped again; someone even screamed. He must take control. With a lion like roar, the king lifted his arm, giving the signal. "The gods are pleased! Let the ceremony continue!"
The guards, who had previously been standing at attention around the perimeter of the platform, suddenly jumped into action. Without any delicacy or ceremony, they charged at the group of maidens, grabbing their chosen prey and proceeding to rape them with violence and brutality right before the gaping crowd of onlookers. The mob cheered on encouragement as the fetid orgy continued before their eyes on the platform. Potential escapees were thrown back into the arena for more, as each man exercised his rights to the full. Before long, many onlookers joined in the debauchery; some willingly, others not. It did not matter. This was one night when anything and everything was acceptable. The king looked on in sadistic pleasure, hungry lust burning within his own loins. But gods had control over their desires. He must remember that. His time would come later.
Another sheet of lightning crashed along the horizon, illuminating the spectacle below. This was followed by a forked bolt, spectacular in its intensity and brilliance. Some of the people started to scatter in fear; others seemed to be spurred on. The king ignored the uncertainty in his own heart. With another roar, he stood with outstretched arms and shouted his approval.
"And God looked upon the earth, and, behold, it was corrupt; for all flesh had corrupted his way upon the earth. And God said unto Noah, the end of all flesh is come before me; for the earth is filled with violence through them; and, behold, I will destroy them with the earth."
Genesis 6: 12-13 KJV
Chapter One
The African sun beat down on the open jeep as Dr. Mark Graham and his companion bumped along what could hardly be called a road. A local man from the Nbedele tribe, hired on as part of the archaeological team, drove the jeep along the hazardous path up the mountain. Hair raising switchbacks and steep inclines didn’t seem to faze the driver as he manoeuvred the vehicle with one hand. Some pebbles cascaded off the trail’s edge to the ravine below. Good thing he was used to it, Mark decided, or he might be tempted to bail.
As he braced himself for the next jarring pothole, Mark thought about yesterday’s meeting with the Zimbabwean government officials. Everything had gone well - on the surface, at least. They had agreed to continue their sponsorship. Yet there was this nagging sense at the back of his mind that something rippled beneath the surface - something hidden either by neglect or design of which he was not aware. It was an uncomfortable feeling. Probably just his general distaste for dealing with administrators. It rankled when unnecessary red tape got in the way of progress.
His crew had been meticulously digging under the site of an ancient temple - a sacred site stringently protected by the government. The temple site itself had been unearthed decades before, but legend had led to speculation that an even older civilization had once used the spot. Mark had been honoured when asked to assemble a team of specialists to investigate the possibilities without compromising the original excavations. It was painstaking work. But already, after only five months, the team was rewarded with signs that the legends were indeed rooted in fact. Under the temple mound they had discovered an even more ancient burial ground with an intricate system of tombs that seemed oddly more advanced technologically than the layer of simple graves directly above. This was not entirely unexpected; history often spoke of a more barbarous people supplanting a superior civilization. But there was more. So much more. There was a sense that they were on the verge of something big - monumental, even.
And then the authorities had the audacity to question whether there was any use continuing! They said they were running out of budget and it was taking too long. Fools! Didn’t they know there was no way to unearth secrets that had been buried for millennium in just a few short months? These things took time and care. And money.
That was the bottom line. Always was. Mark wished he had the benefit of some nice multi-trillionaire benefactor. Oh well. For now he had managed to secure another four months contract, having convinced the officials of the importance of the find to the economic development of the region. But in the end, he doubled it would be enough time. He was a scientist, not a magician.
As the jeep rounded the last corner, Mark spotted one of the tents that had been set up on site as a lab. The archaeological site extended over a fairly large area. Several tents and simple wooden structures had been erected to house the necessary workstations and accommodate the crew. Square sections had been roped off for the painstaking process of uncovering tidbits of information, one grain of sand at a time.
Mark jumped from the jeep into the cloud of gathering dust and strode directly to the quarters where he expected to find his co-worker, Laura Sawchuk. He left his bags for his Nbedelian assistant.
He had left Laura in charge during his brief absence. Laura Sawchuk, Doctor of Anthropology, was very knowledgeable in a wide field and was also very capable at giving direction and leadership. She had been his colleague on more than one job and he trusted her judgment and skill for the task at hand. She was also, at present, his girlfriend.
Girlfriend had a somewhat adolescent ring to it, Mark decided. His ‘partner’ would be a more appropriate phrase - it was the terminology Laura used, anyway. Mark wasn’t quite sure how their relationship had advanced to more than just colleagues. Close proximity did that to people sometimes.
And loneliness.
He found Laura examining a fragment under a microscope. She didn’t look up when he entered. At 36 she was a couple of years older than he was. Her career always came first; a fact that suited Mark, since he shared her passion for work.
He strode to where she sat and tried to get a glimpse over her shoulder at the tiny fragment. "What have we here?"
“Hello to you, too.” She didn’t look up. "I thought you were going to be back yesterday.”
"I was delayed an extra day in Harare." Mark pulled up a stool and sat down beside her.
"Oh? That good news or bad?" she asked.
"Good. I managed to convince them to give us another four months."
"Four months?" Laura straightening and looked at Mark for the first time since he had arrived. "We can’t possibly be finished in four months." She reached over and flicked a stray twig from his unruly mass of dark curls.
"I know that." Mark ran a hand through his hair, creating a small cloud of dust. "But I had to take it or leave it."
Laura leaned forward and placed a quick kiss on Mark’s nose, her streaked brown and blonde ponytail bobbing. "Good to have you back, in any case. Mnanga didn’t kill you, I see, with his reckless driving."
Mark grinned. "Still in one piece, miracle as that is. What you looking at, anyway?"
"A fragment from some of the plaster leading into the antechamber I told you about." Laura turned back to the microscope. "It seems to have some kind of metal alloy embedded in it."
"Plaster?" Mark’s brows furrowed.
Laura nodded. "I’m not sure what else to call it. A coating of some kind. Unusual, I know."
"Very," Mark agreed. "Most tombs are simply hewn from the rock, not plastered over. Mind if I take a look?" Laura relinquished her seat and Mark took his turn peering into the microscope. "Hm. I see what you mean. I’ve never seen anything like it." He couldn’t help keeping the disappointment from his voice. He had wanted to be the first into the chamber.