Sanskrit Cipher: A Marina Alexander Adventure

by C. M. Gleason

  “I came back to get it,” replied Allen, taking it from Eli. “Can’t believe I forgot it.”

  “I didn’t notice until I got up to leave,” said Eli. “It was hidden by the tablecloth. I came back to the lobby but I didn’t see you, so I was going to ask the bartender if he could ring your room—but here you are.”

  “Thank you, young man,” replied Allen. “Appreciate it.” Then he squinted a little lopsidedly. “You didn’t look inside there, did you, now? Corporate secrets and all.” He laughed.

  Eli laughed in return. “Didn’t have a chance—I went running out after you right when I found it. Have a safe flight tomorrow, and good luck.” Before Allen could press the topic, Eli walked off. He couldn’t wait to get back to his room and look at those contracts.

  Forty-One

  Ladakh region, India

  July 14

  Marina opened her eyes.

  She was in a small room with simple furnishings: a narrow bed blanketed by a brightly colored, woven coverlet, a water-filled pitcher and small basin atop a small bureau, and a surprisingly comfortable rag rug, also very colorful. It was just dawning, and the single window offered a view of the rugged countryside, with its scrubby trees, rough, stony land, and austere snow-capped mountains in the distance.

  A cot had been set up across the small room, and the unmoving lump under its bright red, pink, green, and blue blanket indicated that Varden was still sleeping.

  She could still hardly believe that only days ago she’d been in Ann Arbor, Michigan, and since then had traveled by air through Amsterdam to Delhi and then from Delhi to Leh, the largest city in the Ladakh region.

  Now, she and Varden were in Hemis, a village about an hour’s drive on the bumpy, narrow, winding roads from Leh. They’d arrived last night and shared a meal with the others at the guesthouse, then, exhausted from nonstop travel, had stumbled to the room they had no choice but to share.

  It was pure luck that they were able to obtain even a single room at this small but clean guesthouse, nestled against the side of a small mountain. Made from whitewashed brick with three floors stacked like haphazard cake tiers, the inn had a flat roof made from battered aluminum painted brown.

  Upon their arrival in Hemis, they’d learned that this morning began the first of a two-day religious festival that brought travelers not only from the nearby countryside, but from other areas as well. As there were only a few options for lodging in the area, they’d been fortunate to find even a single room. It didn’t bother Marina to share the space with Varden; she was used to rough conditions and a lack of privacy on search-and-rescue missions.

  She slipped very quietly from the bed and gathered up her backpack. She needed some time to think… Some time alone.

  There was only one bathroom in the guesthouse, which offered eight rooms, and Marina was relieved that it was currently available. More importantly, it was clean and there was an actual toilet, unlike many places in India—although there were two brick outhouses on the guesthouse property as well. She washed up, then slipped from the lavatory and out of the guesthouse.

  The sun was just visible from between the mountains, and golden light streamed through in concentrated beams. Marina’s breath came out in soft white puffs, and she was glad she’d tucked her jacket in the backpack. She needed it now, though it would get warmer later in the day.

  Marina drew in a deep breath of the crisp mountain air and held it in her lungs for a moment, savoring the purity of it. Then she began to walk away from the guesthouse and away from the small village.

  The ground was uneven and rocky. What little vegetation there was reminded her of what she’d seen in Siberia—but without the snow. She saw scrubby bushes like juniper, spindly trees, and patches of growth that included some wildflowers such as penny-sized daisies, columbine, and yellow moss rose. Marina paused to admire a cluster of furry-leafed green plants growing among craggy rocks. The soft-looking crinkle-edged plant was interspersed with puffy flowerheads of gray leaves that looked like tiny, cottony sagebrush. She wondered what it was called.

  Marina walked on, grateful for her sturdy hiking boots and insulating jacket, happy to put space between herself and people. After spending the last five days surrounded by electronics and steel vehicles, flying and riding and moving about, Marina needed to feel Gaia again. She needed to remind herself of the beauty and strength of Mother Earth.

  This was also the first chance she’d really had to consider what they needed to do now that they’d arrived in India. While she agreed with Varden that they’d had to be here, and they must find the bee, she still wasn’t certain what they were supposed to do once they did.

  They’d come to Hemis because that was the location of the Buddhist monastery Nicolas Notovitch had mentioned in his book—the monastery that allegedly was the source of the information where Notovitch learned about Jesus having traveled through the area.

  But what about it? Why was Marina involved at all? Why had Lev shown her the bee and brought her into this?

  When she saw the large tree with its broad trunk and wide, welcoming branches, Marina knew what she had to do. She settled beneath it, resting her back against the solid, rough trunk. Putting her backpack aside, she took off her shoes and socks, because something told her to get as close to Gaia as she could.

  If she wanted answers, she needed no barriers.

  Here, in this desolately beautiful place, with little in the way of man-made electronics, structures, and sounds, there was nothing to interrupt her connection with Gaia. Her bare feet and hands pressing into the prickly grass and cool soil steadied her, and she felt the thrumming of the Earth’s energy. It shimmered through her, vibrating gently and sweetly through her limbs and into her center.

  Even when she’d been inside Turncoat Don, silent and dark within Gaia’s womb, Marina hadn’t felt her energy so strongly.

  She tipped her head back against the tree trunk. The bark caught her hair, and she thanked Gaia for her loving touch. Marina felt something crawl over her toe and opened her eyes to see a small insect she couldn’t identify traversing her olive-skinned foot, and she thanked Gaia for sending part of herself as greeting.

  A golden eagle flew overhead with its broad wingspan, circling elegantly then flying off, and a shy rabbit darted from behind a boulder and bounded away. Marina once again acknowledged that there were countless parts of the great, complicated, awesome organism that was the Earth…all of which worked together in a give-and-take, push-and-pull, cyclical entity.

  She closed her eyes and relaxed, spreading her fingers wide over the rocky, grassy ground and pressing her feet flat into the same.

  The world was silent but for the gentle rustle of breeze through the leaves and the distant call of a bird.

  When Marina opened her eyes, she wasn’t alone.

  Grandfather.

  Lev sat beneath his tree with its broad spread of branches and glossy green, blue, purple, red, and orange leaves.

  Mariska. You’ve come.

  I’ve come, but I don’t know why I’m here.

  She felt the rough, rocky soil beneath her feet and hands, and the thrum of Gaia’s heartbeat. Silky green grass surrounded Lev, and the moment she had the thought, the ground beneath her was lush with green velvet and studded with sweet flowers of every color. Tall, fuzzy-tipped grasses swayed gently around her and her grandfather, who was about three meters away. Pink and orange blossoms danced above and among the tips. A purple butterfly darted about, followed by one of butter yellow and another of scarlet.

  Birds sang joyfully, launching themselves off tiny, delicate feet from branch to branch, gliding up and around through the air. She saw an antelope bound off in the distance, and the grasses shivered as some other unseen creatures made their way through. A vine laden with bright berries of crimson, yellow, and purple grew, twining itself around the tree branch above Lev as she watched. Spontaneous buds appeared, bursting into colorful blooms with long stamen and velvety petals
.

  Here is the sacred. It is a source of great energy and sacredness. It is one of the centers of Gaia’s life…an area that feeds Her even when She is battered and assaulted. It must be protected. In protecting Her here, you also protect me…and more.

  Marina nodded, and the bark behind her head was softer this time. I understand. What of the bee?

  The bee is part of the sacred. In protecting Her, you protect all that is sacred and holy. And you protect this center of Gaia.

  Yes, Grandfather. But how? What is the threat?

  He looked off into the distance, and the mountains suddenly came to them. Tall, rugged, forbidding boulder-scapes reared next to their respective trees, as if someone had zoomed in on a photograph. She felt the sudden wet chill of snow beneath her hands and feet and realized she was there, somehow, atop one of the craggy places. Her tree was now a tall, sprawling juniper with prickling needles and fragrant berries larger than pearls. A bee—the bee—flitted into view, her golden-rose coloring glinting in the sunlight.

  Marina looked at Lev and saw that although he sat against the mountains, his tree remained the same.

  Mariska. There was deep emotion in the voice she heard, and it reverberated within her heart. You are part of me and you are part of Her. You are Her progeny. Never forget that. What hurts me hurts you. What destroys Her destroys you. What threatens Her threatens you. We are all connected.

  She felt his words so deeply that she shuddered inside. My father. Roman?

  Lev tilted his head and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he said: Roman is not you.

  The mountains surged away, back to the distance. Their snowcaps glittered gold and pink in the sun, and the ground around her became velvety and green once again.

  Marina felt movement behind her, and she turned her head. The movement felt as though she were underwater, slow and hampered…yet there was no distortion or murkiness to her vision.

  Varden.

  She tensed when he came nearer, feeling as if his presence somehow sullied the moment.

  He seemed more confident and powerful than before, striding over the grass in long, bare feet. When Varden looked at her, his eyes greener than bright moss, she felt a jolt of something deep inside. She pushed it away. She didn’t want that feeling. Not with him.

  Lev. Varden was speaking in her head as well, and all of his attention moved from Marina to her grandfather. He bowed. Thank you. I am honored to be here.

  Lev nodded and looked up at him. She cannot do this alone.

  She won’t, Varden replied.

  Why could Varden express himself but she couldn’t? Marina tried to speak again, tried to rise, to go to her grandfather, but found she couldn’t move. Her thoughts were muted until Lev turned his attention to her. She felt the force of his gaze like a blow—something she’d never experienced before.

  Marina wanted to speak, to defend herself, but the words wouldn’t come. Nor would the thoughts that she wanted to hurl at her grandfather and at the man standing there next to them.

  You will trust him, Lev told her.

  Grandfather…I don’t understand. He—we—

  Even in her mind, her thoughts were a stammering muddle, and she spared Varden a look to see if he could hear them. He gave no indication that she was even present.

  I do not ask you to understand. You must do. And you will trust him. You must. All is at stake.

  Once more she tried to move, to reach toward Lev, but her limbs would not cooperate.

  Protect us, Mariska.

  Protect Gaia. Protect the sacred.

  Lev and his tree faded away. Varden was gone.

  She was alone.

  But she felt the weight of something watching her.

  Marina looked up and her heart lurched.

  The great cat stood on a nearby rocky outcropping, perhaps twenty meters away, looking down at her.

  A snow leopard, majestic and attentive, with small, delicate ears and a beautiful coat of gray-white splotches. He looked at her with blue-gray eyes as her heart pounded. She knew snow leopards were endangered…and that they didn’t attack humans.

  And she knew that he belonged to Gaia just as she did.

  Marina looked back at him, and their eyes met. He saw her, recognized her, lifted his chin in acknowledgement.

  Then he turned and padded silently away.

  With a little gasp, Marina opened her eyes.

  She hadn’t even realized she’d closed them, but somehow she had…and somehow she was sitting back beneath the same scrubby tree with her backpack next to her, bare feet on the spare, rocky ground, shoes and socks set neatly aside.

  As she shifted, straightening her legs and pointing her toes up and back in a good stretch, Marina heard the sound of footsteps approaching, knocking small rocks aside and grinding on the rough terrain.

  She sat upright against the tree as a young man made his way toward her. From his coloring, she knew he was Ladakhi, although he was dressed in Western clothing, like most Indian men. He looked as if he were in his early twenties, with a sparse beard and smooth skin.

  When he drew near, coming up a small incline in front of her, she saw that his attention was fixed on her bare feet. Surely he was looking at the Skaladeska symbol tattooed on the bottom of her heel. Her skin prickled. She resisted the urge to move, instead waiting to see what would happen next as he stared at the ink on her skin.

  At last, he looked at her and their eyes met. “I am Manish,” he said, finishing the mild climb to come nearer.

  “Marina.”

  “Why are you here?” He squatted next to her, his butt just above the ground, feet flat, knees fully bent.

  Her skin prickled again. “I’m looking for a bee.”

  His eyelids fluttered and he nodded. “There was another who was interested in bees. She came earlier this summer. And now she’s dead.”

  “Her name was Patty,” Marina replied. It was difficult to tell whether his pronouncement was a warning or simply a fact.

  Manish looked at her, and despite his youth, she saw acceptance and wisdom in his eyes. “You knew her.”

  “I did not. But a friend of mine knew her well. He is grieving her death.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I am Lev’s granddaughter.” Marina had no idea why those words came from her mouth. But there was more. “And Gaia’s daughter as well.”

  His eyes flared a little. Then his mouth twisted in a grimace. “There is no bee,” he said, looking at her steadily.

  Marina returned the gaze and gave a little shake of her head. But she said nothing. Waited.

  Manish’s attention returned to her foot, but to her surprise, he said nothing. Instead, he rose easily from the squat.

  “There is no bee,” he said again, then walked off.

  Forty-Two

  By the time Marina returned to the guesthouse, the sun was higher between the valleys of the mountain peaks. The pale gray cast to the early-dawn world had given over to full color, such as it was in these rugged, desolate environs.

  She found Varden in the dining room with the other guests and realized how hungry she was. He gave her a glance, then indicated a seat next to him on the low bench.

  Here, like most everywhere in India, people sat on benches just inches above the ground. The long seats were covered with fat, colorful cushions in pink, orange, green, blue, and yellow, and embellished with intricate embroidery, sequins, and tiny mirrors. The Indians definitely did not shy away from the colorful and ornate. The single table in the dining room was long and low to the ground as well. It was crowded with platters of flat bread, chutneys, and momos—boiled dumplings containing a variety of fillings.

  Marina accepted a cup of gur gur cha—a pink-hued tea that she’d first sampled last night. It was a kind of chai made from green tea and had originated with the monks here in Ladakh. This was a traditional drink to which they added salt, which helped prevent dehydration at the high altitudes, and baking soda—which was th
e chemical reaction that gave it the rosy pink color. The monks also added yak butter to their tea, as well as spices like star anise, cardamom, and cinnamon. A sprinkling of crushed pistachios decorated the top.

  Marina, always adventurous, happily drank the savory tea with all of its traditional ingredients—including the yak butter. She’d brought high-altitude medication with her and dosed herself accordingly, so she was feeling fairly normal.

  “How is it?” asked Varden, nodding toward her cup. He appeared to have a simple black tea in his own mug.

  “It’s an acquired taste, I think,” she replied. “Salty. But it’s beautiful to look at.”

  She hated that she felt a little strange sitting next to him after seeing him during her journey with Lev. She wasn’t certain whether Varden had actually been there—and whether he’d have a memory of it—or not.

  They didn’t talk about anything of consequence during the breakfast, considering they shared a table and seating with the other guests and the guesthouse’s host. Instead, there was a lot of enthusiastic conversation about the religious festival that was starting within the hour.

  Phyang Tsedup was a festival celebrating the triumph of good over evil. It honored Skyabje Jigten Gombo, the saint and founder of the monastery, and would last for two days. The monks at the nearby Phyang Gompa—the monastery—would wear colorful costumes and dance in the streets. At the zenith of the revelry, the monks would bring out the thankga of the saint—which was an old silken tapestry that was kept locked away and protected except on special occasions. The centuries-old thangka was as large as a movie theater screen and usually depicted an important personage in bold, vibrant color and intricate design.

  Marina knew she would enjoy watching the high-energy celebration, but it was unlikely she and Varden could take the time to attend.

  Still, since everyone for miles around had traveled here and would be distracted by the festival, she wondered if it would be easier or more difficult to find out about the bee during the celebration.