True Believers

by Maria Zannini

  “Are you ready to pay penance, Taelen Jessit?” Kalya said in his best booming voice.

  “I am ready, holy priest.” Jessit steadied himself. He could hear Senit drifting closer to the fount, squeezing past the carved wood pillars and the all-seeing gaze of Anu.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kalya pull a gold-levered switch. There wasn't enough time to grit his teeth—they chattered as several hundred canices of electricity shot through him. When Kalya turned off the surge, Jessit stumbled forward, hands flailing to find something to brace himself.

  Senit rushed toward him, but Kalya pushed him back. “Interfere again, and I will throw you out of the temple.” The old man growled the words, and Jessit could hear Senit cursing at the injustice.

  Two more. Just two more. He righted himself back on his knees and nodded to Kalya that he was ready once more. The second shock was stronger, and Jessit feared it had fried off his more delicate appendages. Again he fell forward, looking up at Senit and nodding to him that he was okay.

  It took a little longer to regain his control after the second shock. He pushed a hand out to Kalya, who was already anxious to pull the switch again. “A moment, my lord. I need another moment.” It felt like a swarm of ants running up and down his body, and he huffed in short gasps to calm his over-stimulated nervous system back down. Again on both knees, he nodded to Kalya.

  The old man couldn't turn a page on a book without assistance, but he had no trouble throwing the filigreed lever again. This time it went on too long, and Jessit crumbled to the floor of the basin, convulsing to the current in the water. He didn't remember anything else until Senit dragged him out.

  “It's over, Taelen. The old goat had his fun. He's gone.”

  Jessit's teeth chattered while the prickling of the electrical current gave way to cold. Senit grabbed a nearby cloak and covered him up.

  “Why are you doing this to yourself? She's angry, but she'll get over it.”

  “You don't understand,” Jessit said in a hard shudder. “She wouldn't give me penance. What kind of god is so unforgiving?”

  “Any god that happens to be a woman,” Senit said with a knowing leer. “I'll talk to her.”

  “Kalya's going to talk to her.”

  “I know. And I'm going to fix whatever he muddles. Besides, you know how much the ladies like me.” He grinned, stroking the short blond beard he was growing.

  Jessit forced himself to sit up, the ache in his joints conversing with his overwrought nervous system. Everything tingled. The brutal shock to his system ignited every nerve ending and more. Muscles twitched, skin burned and his head felt as if it had been cleaved. All he wanted was his bed and a room that wasn't going around in circles.

  “Let's get you into some dry clothes and back to your quarters. Do you want me to send Ajula to your bed?”

  Jessit grabbed him by the collar as Senit helped him up. “Gods, no! That's how…” He stopped, the words catching in his throat.

  “That's how, what?”

  “Nothing. Take Ajula to your bed if you wish. I'm thinking of abstaining from sex during my penance.”

  “I don't doubt it. I think my balls reeled up into my throat when he shocked you with that last surge. Kalya's a sadist.”

  “Yes, but he's a holy sadist. He's allowed to make us miserable.”

  Chapter 19

  Paul couldn't be sure how long he had been shackled and interrogated, but it burned every time he swallowed, and his voice was nearly gone. Why didn't they just kill him and get it over with? Denman's goons questioned him over and over again about how he accessed Bubba.

  The endless questions, the lack of sleep and the cold food didn't demoralize him near as much as when he saw a soldier tear off another piece of duct tape. He recoiled in horror when the man taped his mouth shut once more.

  How much more was he to endure?

  At least they didn't blindfold him this time. They sprinted down the dim, narrow corridors of the maintenance shafts where he had been caught. He traveled with escorts. Escorts with guns. They marched for several minutes before someone jogged ahead, relaying information by radio.

  A rock-hard lump landed in the pit of his stomach when he heard, “We're almost at the bone yard.”

  Was that his final resting place?

  When they reached the end of the shaft, it seemed almost anti-climatic. The cramped space looked like a family garage, stuffed with castoffs, junk and bits of old machinery. A bone yard.

  Working in tandem, two men pushed against a massive storage cabinet at the far wall. Behind it was a door painted to blend in with the rest of the concrete.

  Colonel Chavez was already there and on his cell. He clicked off his phone and nodded to one of his men. “Now,” he said.

  An odd-looking fuse box hung on one side of the door. Inside hid a touchpad that sprung to life the moment it felt a thumb print. The soldier punched in a code and a soft click, like someone flicking the tip of his fingernail, echoed in the stillness. Every soldier pulled out his firearm before the door cracked open.

  It gave Paul a chill. Whose side were these people on?

  A dry breeze wafted in. After spending so many days under interrogation, it seemed a pleasant reprieve, no matter how short.

  He had lost all track of time. How many days had it been? And what time is it now? Crickets echoed beyond the doorway. Daylight was long past.

  Two of the soldiers rushed out the door, while another one jabbed Paul in the back with the muzzle of his gun. Outside, two men waited for them in a small truck with its headlights off. Chavez shoved Paul into the backseat and climbed in after him before ordering the driver to go. The other soldiers stayed behind. Their jobs were done.

  Paul held on as best he could, but he still had the cuffs on. They traveled off road through narrow canyons and heavy brush, and he could barely stay seated as the truck plowed through the rocky terrain. At an abandoned ranger station, the driver made a hard right, hitting every rut and stone. Several hundred feet later they made it onto a paved highway. Only then did the driver turn on his headlights.

  Stars littered the sky. Did they ever give Rachel to that alien? Perhaps she was even on his space ship. It discouraged him more than he expected. He hoped at least hers was a better situation than his.

  The car slowed. They turned once more on a tiny gravel road, where they lurched to a stop at a pipe gate that barred their way. The soldier in the passenger seat jumped out and unlocked it, allowing the driver to proceed to a sunken building that disappeared beneath the soil.

  Cleverly landscaped with brushy weeds and tossed boulders, what little of the structure that remained above ground appeared invisible to the casual glance. From above, no one would be able to tell it was a dwelling at all.

  Chavez jerked Paul out of the car the moment it stopped. He shoved him down a stone staircase that snaked around to the building's entrance. Chavez knocked several times, his eyes scanning the perimeter. Paul was surprised when a young woman answered the door. He took a harder look. Not a woman, but a girl somewhere in her teens.

  The girl grinned mischievously. “It's about time. Uncle is on his way.”

  She led them into a library and then turned on Chavez with a fierce glare. “You can go now.” The teenager ordered him with all the authority of an adult.

  “Miss, I think I should stay until—”

  “I can take care of things until my uncle arrives. Take off his handcuffs and get out.”

  “This man is dangerous, miss.”

  She stared at him as if she were going to strike him down with lightning. “Do you not understand English?”

  Chavez seethed as he pulled out a key. He unlocked the handcuffs without another word and marched out of the house.

  Paul massaged his wrists, readying himself for the next task. He didn't want to pull that tape off. His flesh was still tender from the last time, but he didn't want to live with it either. He tugged at the edge of the tape gently, trying n
ot to cry while it pulled off what was left of his beard.

  “They say it'll hurt less if you rip it off,” the young girl said with teenage arrogance.

  By then Paul had removed most of it. He waggled his lips to get some movement out of them before speaking. “It hurts plenty if you've got a beard underneath it.”

  She giggled at him like a schoolgirl, but he sensed something far more malicious in her smile.

  “Who are you?” He barely recognized the dry and raspy voice that came out of his mouth.

  “My name is Dahlia. And you are a very pretty man, Paul Domino. I'm glad Uncle decided to keep you for a while. Maybe we can have some fun before you have to leave.”

  “Who is your uncle? I'd like to speak to him.” His throat felt like it was on fire. He could've used something to drink.

  Almost as if she heard his thoughts, she disappeared out a door. He followed and found himself in the kitchen with her. She poured him a glass of water.

  “You look dry, Paul. It won't do to have you get sick on us.”

  Paul glugged down the entire glass and refilled it from the tap. He finished that off too. “Where is your uncle? I need to speak to an adult.”

  She laughed, a clear musical laugh that somehow reminded him of Rachel.

  “I'm much more fun. Maybe I can make you forget about all your suffering.” She nuzzled closer to him.

  He jerked backwards, more horrified than pleased by her inappropriate attention. “How old are you?”

  “Fifteen,” she said proudly. “And you get me hot. You're not like the boys in Istanbul.” She wrapped her arms around his neck.

  Paul pushed her away. “Well, this boy is a little old for you, sweetheart.”

  “But not too old for my cousin, I see.” She fondled the pendant that still hung around his neck.

  “Your cousin?”

  “Rachel. You're wearing her necklace.” Dahlia let her fingers crawl over his chest. “Is she dead?” she asked with dark curiosity. “Because Rachel would never take that necklace off on purpose. It belonged to her mother.”

  He stared at her, thinking his brain was playing tricks on him. What were the chances of meeting Rachel's cousin here? He was too strung out to make sense of it. “We were climbing a cliff and she fell into the water. The only thing my hands caught was her pendant.”

  “Oh.” There was disappointment in her voice. “I'm sure she'll turn up then. She always does.” Dahlia beamed at him, two tiny dimples piercing each side of her cheeks.

  Paul tried to make himself believe the dimples made her look like a pixie, but in truth, she reminded him of a vampire waiting for its next meal. He decided to take his chances elsewhere. “I need some clothes and shoes.”

  “I don't have any.”

  “Your uncle must have something here.”

  She sighed in boredom. “I just got here. All he said was to wait for you and make sure you didn't leave. None of our luggage is here yet. Just little old me.” Again she pressed her young body against his. “Don't you want me, Paul? I can show you a good time. I'll bet I'm even better than Rachel.”

  He pushed her away hard, despite her hiss. “For God's sakes, you're fifteen.” Paul glanced around the kitchen. He peeled open a can of sardines and scooped the fish out of the tin. There were crackers in another cabinet and a fine bottle of wine next to it. He pulled out the bottle but put it back. He could've used a drink, but his survival instinct took over. He had to get the hell out of here.

  Paul walked through the house and opened every closet and drawer. As Dahlia had told him, there were no clothes to be found. He could deal with that. But what he really needed were shoes.

  “What are you doing?” the girl screeched at him.

  Paul ignored her. He'd had enough of black ops and shady characters. And he had no intention of spending a minute longer with this teenage nymphomaniac.

  He wandered into a utility room with Dahlia right behind him, chattering nonstop, begging him to listen. The tiny room was stocked with cleaners, sponges and rags, but not even a lousy pair of flip-flops. Out of desperation he had to settle for what he could make. Grabbing a roll of tape, a knife and a cardboard box, he fashioned a crude-looking pair of sandals.

  “Will you stop already! You can't leave. I won't let you.”

  “Sorry, sweetheart, but I'm not staying.” He pulled out a length of cord and turned to Dahlia, the rope twisted around in his hands. “I promise I won't tie it tight.”

  Her eyes turned black in an instant and her face fell into shadow. “You won't tie anyone at all.” She threw up her hand and it felt as if the sun exploded.

  He stumbled and fell backward, landing with a sharp crack against the back of his skull.

  ***

  The smell of strong coffee and the faint whiff of a man's cologne roused Paul slowly. A male voice babbled in a foreign language before melting away to silence. When he opened his eyes the silver-haired stranger was back, gently stroking his chest. Paul was too sore to stir.

  “Dahlia sometimes doesn't know her own strength. You should feel better soon.”

  “Who are you people?” Paul lifted his hand to his head and found that someone had already placed a cold compress.

  His host flicked him a condescending smile as if he were a sick child. “My name is Gilgamesh, Mr. Domino. And I have a proposition for you.”

  Chapter 20

  Rachel didn't want to get up. A couple of women had snuck into her room earlier, making little noises to try and rouse her gently, but she ignored them. The less she interacted with these people the better. She didn't know what they expected of her. One wrong move could doom her here indefinitely.

  She had thrown off her covers during the night, and her bedding was moist with sweat. It was too hot. Kalya had lowered the temperature for her and it had been fine for a while, but now it was hot again. She was hot.

  Someone knocked at the door. This time a young woman entered, her head bowed politely. She carried a tray and set it down on a small dining table at the far end of the room. Rachel stretched like a cat, peering at the new visitor with bland interest.

  The young woman poured a steaming red liquid into a small bowl and stirred in a teaspoon of powder from a silver cradle. She moved like a ghost, unwilling to be seen. Unlike the others, this one preferred to remain invisible.

  Rachel's jaw dropped when the servant turned around to deliver her drink. It was Ajula, the girl from Jessit's room. Rachel bolted to a sitting position. Her first instinct was to fry her. For a moment the reaction startled her. She had never experienced jealousy before, but that's exactly what this was.

  Ajula limped with tiny footsteps. Her eyes downcast, she bid Rachel a pleasant morning and offered her some tea.

  Rachel slipped the translator back into her ear. “I don't want anything.”

  The girl looked like she was ready to cry. “Mercy,” she stuttered. “Mercy, Holiness.”

  Rachel squinted and noticed the girl's face and arms were bloated and bruised. It changed her perspective in a heartbeat. She grabbed Ajula by the arm. “Who did this to you?”

  “Penance, Holiness. It was my penance.”

  “What are you talking about? Who did this? Taelen?”

  “Oh no, Divinity! My lord is serving penance too.”

  A sick dread forced her out of bed. She pulled Ajula closer to her. “Who did this?”

  The girl shook in terror, her clear delicate skin as pale as a cadaver's. “A soldier was ordered to beat me for my part in your unhappiness.” Tears streamed down her porcelain cheeks. “I am an ignorant slave, Holiness. But I am a faithful disciple, a true believer. Whatever I did, I am sorry. I would never blaspheme against the gods.” She hid her face in her hands, no longer able to hide her terror.

  Rachel lifted the corner of the bed sheet and wiped Ajula's face dry. “I'm the one who should be sorry. I wasn't myself yesterday. I shouldn't have gotten angry.”

  Ajula looked at her in disbelief. Rachel coul
dn't blame her. It wasn't the girl's fault for being in Jessit's bed. It wasn't even Jessit's fault. What right did she have to interrupt them? She had no claim on the man.

  She smoothed Ajula's long blond hair away from her face. A swollen black eye stared back at her, making Rachel feel two inches tall. This was all her fault.

  “Where is Taelen?”

  Ajula shrugged. “The master has confined himself to his quarters today so he can pray.”

  It was as if the world was closing in on her. She would have given anything to be able to hide once more. This whole thing had gotten out of hand—and she was responsible for it. Gilgamesh would be pleased. For centuries his single ambition was to bring the Nephilim out of hiding. Madness! Hadn't he learned his lesson from last time?

  Once upon a time mortals thought them gods, and the Nephilim nearly destroyed human civilization with their greed and gluttony. When the humans recovered, they focused their vengeance on her people with an unholy passion. Her people were hunted without mercy until the memory of giants had fallen into myth.

  She couldn't let it happen again. Not with these people.

  Rachel studied the fragile creature in front of her. Ajula's bruises and welts were a testament to her faith. She believed in the gods. And she wasn't alone.

  “Have some, Ajula.” Rachel offered back the tea. “You need this more than I do.”

  Ajula stared in horror. “I cannot, Divinity. I am here to serve.” She fell to her knees.

  “Okay, okay.” Rachel tried to get her up. This was going to take longer than she thought. “You can start by turning the temperature down. It's too hot in here for me.”

  Ajula ordered the computer to lower the temperature. A cool breeze permeated the room in seconds. It helped, but not where it counted. Her groin still itched, making her think of Jessit. The heat cycle had begun with the telltale sign of craving, and it was going to get far worse. The madness couldn't be far off. She had to hold out for a little while longer.