by A D Davies
So she brought forth as many chunks of flat wall as she could, ordering her men away whenever new writing or illustrations were discovered. The NGO must have been incredibly well funded, as each time she flagged a significant find, it was whisked away by helicopter to a place the man in charge promised she would learn about in due course.
But on the tenth day, as the sun was dipping behind the mountains, something put a monkey in the works. They’d found a weak spot, one they managed to secure with scaffolding, a point of focus because of the bull’s head the size of a motorcycle which they managed to extract fully intact—more or less. They drilled deeper, the loose debris allowing for some of the best finds of the whole project.
But the sounds were unmistakable. A rhythmic knock-knock-knocking meant only one thing.
Someone was alive down there.
Prihya ordered all work halted and shut down everything that could cause even the slightest vibration, then ran back up the crater to where the NGO project leader had set up a flamboyant tent with a kitchen, bedroom, lounge, and even an office.
He sipped tea outside under a canopy, wearing a beige shirt and beige shorts with too many pockets. His mosquito spray remained within reach at all times, despite the camp being too high for such biting creatures, and he carried an old-fashioned fan with him. He would probably have requested that an assistant waft him with a larger instrument had he been able to get away with it. But, somehow, the British man with the birdlike nose had been placed in charge of this Indian government-sponsored dig.
Expertise was their one-word reason.
Breathlessly, she said, “Excuse the interruption, sir. But we think someone is alive down there. A survivor.”
The man placed his cup and saucer to one side, next to his mosquito spray, and pressed his fingertips together, smiling over the top of them. “Excellent. Clear the site of everyone except the most essential personnel. When you’ve made the survivor safe, bring him to me.”
Puerto Vallarta, Mexico
It took Jules several days searching online for a beachfront property within the delivery radius of a Backgammon Pizza, but he finally located a two-room-plus-bathroom shack on the west coast of Mexico. It was technically a vacation rental, part of an all-inclusive resort marketed to upper-income middle-class couples, and although he shared his stretch of beach with dozens of neighbors, each deck was built so it did not encroach upon anyone who might value their privacy. Therefore, couples could hold hands or kiss or simply cuddle up to watch the sunset and listen to the waves lap at the shore while local fishermen hauled their boats up the beach in the middle distance, half-hidden by the haze whipped up by a gentle breeze.
Jules was especially glad of his fluency in the Spanish language today, having ordered online and received a return phone call querying his choice of pepperoni, red onion, and tuna, which he quickly allayed, insisting it was a delicacy in New York. The delivery kid made his way through the five-star pools and apartments, accompanied out to the shack by a security guard who reminded Jules that all dining was included in his rental of the property. Jules indicated that, having read the contract before signing, he was aware of the amenities on offer, so he thanked the guard very much and tipped the Backgammon guy handsomely.
Slumped in a beanbag on his deck, Jules flicked the top from a bottle of complimentary cerveza and opened the pizza box lid. He separated a slice and tried not to imagine the portions of fat, salt, and whatever chemicals held it all together.
The triangle’s point entered his mouth, and he clamped down, ensuring he included at least one portion of all three main ingredients, and ripped away a mouthful, severing a pepperoni circle as he did so.
He chewed.
As his jaw worked, water filled his mouth, a biological reaction that mixes enzymes into the mushed-up foodstuff and aids digestion once swallowed.
If he swallowed.
The concoction tasted like the swill at the bottom of a toothbrush cup left too long without cleaning, or maybe garbage water dribbling from a bag neglected until overflowing.
Maybe it would taste better with beer.
He forced it down, then chugged from the Corona. This fizzed in his mouth and throat, and as he sent this the same way as the pizza, his stomach hissed and inflated. He switched out the beer for a cola drink he once read could dissolve a tooth in two days and found it marginally more refreshing.
Having desired this for so long, Jules finished the slice down to the crust, and tried the beer a few more times.
Corona was, so he heard, one of the finer drinks of its ilk, so he guessed he just wasn’t used to it. And still, the pizza didn’t quite carry its deliciousness forward from his childhood.
The second slice was marginally less disgusting, and by the third, it was bearable. But still not nice. He had drunk as much beer as filled the bottle’s neck but favored the cola drink that was more sugar than water.
That was all he could manage.
He closed the box and wiped his fingers, then poured the beer down the bathroom sink, all the while picturing the items he just consumed rotting away his gut and hardening his arteries as they dissolved and became a part of him. Unable to shake the image, he downed half a pint of Evian, changed into his shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt, and ventured back out onto the deck.
The sun hovered over the horizon, a yellow disc lighting the sky and ocean in orange, and he wished not for pizza and beer, not for an ancient bangle genetically bonded to him and his mother, but for something else.
He wasn’t sure what that something was, only that he didn’t have it. And driving the images, smells, and feeling from his recent past from his mind, Jules set off for a run, hoping to dissuade the junk inside him from instigating heart disease.
At least, not before he had a chance to say “hey” to Bridget and the others again.
Secret of the Reaper Seal
Some secrets get buried for a reason…
When Toby Smith attempts to repatriate artefacts from the tiny Eastern European nation of Striovia, he is imprisoned as a spy. What, exactly, are they trying to hide?
The Lost Origins team turn to the one person reckless enough to help: Jules Sibeko.
With Jules on board, they embark on a furious international adventure, follow ancient stories from the permafrost of Eurasia to the cradle of North American civilization and beyond ... where they must unravel the secrets held by generations of Sumerians before Toby’s captors do.
To buy, tap the cover or search your Amazon site
Afterword
Thank you for reading to the end of this eBook. Jules and the Lost Origins team will return for a new adventure in Secret of the Reaper Seal.
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Acknowledgments
This has been a work of fiction. However, if you wish to know more about any of the historical notes mined for the novel, the following were invaluable in my own research, allowing me to clear up those gaps and fuzzy accounts that allow fiction to flourish:
The Story of Writing by Andrew Johnson
Sapiens: a Brief History of Humankind by Yuval Noah Harari
The Gospel of Witches by Charles Godfrey Leland
This is a genuine book, and its history is longer and more interesting than I had time to outline here. Jules’s summary is correct, though: a woman named Maddelena passed a transcription of il Vangelo, the supposed gospel, on to Mr. Leland, written in her own hand, and Leland waited
seven long years before publishing his translation. Leland’s version was very much aimed toward condemning the subjects of his work, which (it is alleged) Maddelena’s original text did not.
However, we cannot know the contents of that original manuscript because shortly after Leland published, Maddelena disappeared along with anything she passed on.
It is not known whether Leland forged the whole thing, or whether Maddelena herself simply wrote a story based on the traditions of her own circle, or if it is the genuine account, passed down through the centuries by the witches of Tuscany.
It is a rare example of the history of the book itself being as interesting, if not more so, than its contents.
The Feast of Herod painting by Peter Paul Rubens
This is a real painting, depicting the head of John the Baptist on a platter presented to Herodias and her husband during a feast. Many sources tell the story of this painting. The abbreviated version is that Herodias took exception to John’s criticism of her marriage to her brother-in-law (as mentioned in the novel, he referred to it as incest), and persuaded her daughter to perform for the guests at the feast. While they were captivated by the girl’s performance, Herodias had John snuck away and beheaded before anyone could object. Leaders and those of high standing who cannot take personal criticism tend to react by lashing out in extreme ways.
Flavius Josephus
Although he is a genuine chronicler of that era, he did not, as far as I know, pen an eyewitness account of John the Baptist’s fate although he was most certainly around at the time and commanded respect in high places. Rumors abound regarding the writings he did produce, as many of these were lost or are locked in Vatican archives, accessible only by the most privileged scholars.
He was genuinely a student of Jesus of Nazareth and detailed a number of events in the context of that period. Any mention of the jewelry worn by Christ’s mother, however, is a result of my imagination, a spur required to ensure that the apostles treated the secrets appropriately.
Flavius’s real offerings may have been somewhat biased in favor of the Roman accounts, but his writing is a good source. It is a shame so much of it is locked away.
The Saint Thomas Christians in India
Christians are technically a minority group in India, but they number in the millions. They are spread far and wide, not just in Kerala, but they are among Thomas’s most well-known followers. There are many fine churches worth visiting, whether you are a Christian or not.
The Fates of Thomas and Philip
The apostles Thomas and Philip ministered as outlined in the novel although I did not have space to reference all their achievements.
Philip was executed—crucified upside down—after converting the wife (or perhaps mistress) of a significant Roman nobleman while ministering in Carthage, which is in modern northern Africa.
Thomas did establish churches across the Middle East, engage and debate with Buddhists and other religions, and founded many Christian sects in India, including the Kerala Christians. He was most likely killed by a spear wielded by a local soldier in Mylapore although the reasons are sketchy to say the least.
His actual final resting place is believed to be beautiful Santhome Church in Chennai although, like many relics and bones of apostles and saints, it is impossible to verify this, and there remains a great degree of doubt among historical scholars.
These gaps in the verifiable record are where fiction like Tomb of Aradia finds its breathing room.
The Saint Thomas Manuscripts
While Saint Thomas’s writings secured by LORI in this novel are no more than a rumor (and fleshed out in imaginative scope for narrative purposes), much of his genuine verifiable work is still in existence today. In fact, there is a project ongoing in Syria to preserve huge numbers of Christian manuscripts, and at the time of writing (mid-2017), it was still viable despite the troubles in that region. It is called the Project for Preserving the Manuscripts of Syrian Christians in India and can be found at this short and snappy website: www.srite.de.
Catacombs beneath Windsor
I have never witnessed such things, so many will say it is not, strictly speaking, true. But it might be. There are always rumors about secret passages and storage beneath significant buildings, including Buckingham Palace.
I have no actual proof of this, though. So for now, it remains a piece of my imagination.
The Mongolian Natural History Museum
My heartfelt apologies to the staff and patrons of this museum. Not only for having a number of them killed but also because, while the museum in real life is indeed a beautiful, interesting, and very worthy place to visit, alas I had to take many liberties with the exhibits present.
Gandantegchinlen Monastery
This is a temple outside Ulaanbaatar, and there was a real project to restore it, and yes, they did find many treasures in long-forgotten storage rooms. A bangle that glows when certain people touch it? Not that I know of.
Locals do shorten the name to Gandan. Not just for the benefit of fiction writers or their readership.
Physics
The slit test proving that the exact same atoms can react differently when observed is fact. Look up “slit test” and you’ll find a great number of articles.
Flood Myths
It is mentioned in the story that all civilizations have flood stories. Historians seem to largely agree that these floods are huge in nature and occurred regularly during times when oral history was the only way of passing down information. When the land was flooded for miles around, people of those days could very well have seen this as the entire world drowning. Imagine, during a recent flood you saw on the news in the developed world, if it was not for helicopters or even satellites, would the people of those places know it was a localized event?
These stories made their way into the modern day after writing developed, and they have inspired many stories across cultures from every continent. Sometimes it’s the whole world, sometimes just a lot of it.
This is not an attempt to debunk whatever flood you might believe in, be it biblical or otherwise, just a note of the evidence gathered.
Toby talks about how monuments off the coast of India are older than they should be, and although this isn’t accepted science at the moment, underwater monoliths around Africa and Asia do suggest a higher quality of building occurred much earlier than the famous Giza pyramids, possibly by tens of thousands of years.
Unfortunately, the technology (or more likely the funding) does not currently exist to examine them properly. So if you happen to be a bored billionaire struggling to spend your cash, get in touch. I’ll help you throw it in the ocean in search of archeological fame.
Because history really is cool.
About the Author
In addition to his Lost Origins series, A. D. Davies is an author of crime and thriller fiction. His work covers the subgenres of police procedurals through hard-boiled private investigator novels among others.
These are grittier, affairs than the Lost Origins series, but if you do not mind violence and a bit of bad language, do check them out too.
Antony (A. D. Davies) is well traveled, his favorite destinations being New Zealand and Vietnam, and his travels have influenced his writing tremendously. For now, however, globe-trotting is taking a back seat to raising his two children and writing, although he hopes to one day combine all three.
Novels by A. D. Davies
Moses and Rock Novels:
Fractured Shadows
No New Purpose
Persecution of Lunacy
Adam Park Thrillers:
The Dead and the Missing
A Desperate Paradise
The Shadows of Empty men
Night at the George Washington Diner
Master the Flame
Under the Long White Cloud
Alicia Friend Investigations:
His First His Second
In Black In White
With Courage
With Fear
A Friend in Spirit
To Hide To Seek
A Flood of Bones
To Begin The End
Standalone:
Three Years Dead
Rite to Justice
The Sublime Freedom
Shattered: Fear in the Mind
Co-Authored:
Project Return Fire – with Joe Dinicola
Lost Origins Novels:
Tomb of the First Priest
Secret of the Reaper Seal
Curse of the Eagle Plague