Restless Soul (3 page)

“It is the bat droppings,” Luartaro said. “That is what stinks so bad. Thousands of bats. Probably hundreds of thousands. Far more than there were in the other chamber. Amazing. The smell is truly amazing.”

“Amazingly awful,” Annja said. She could tell that even he was affected by the intense smell. She cupped her hand over her nose and mouth and tried not to gag.

Her stomach roiled. She’d been in caves many times before, but none of those had such a large bat population.

Their guide seemed inured to it.

She was grateful when the raft docked and Zakkarat took them up an incline and through a short tunnel that opened into a chamber filled with what looked like coffins.

Though musty and close, the air was considerably better there. No bats were present.

“As I mentioned before, the tribes not afraid of this place stole from it,” Zakkarat said. His voice took on a sad tone. “Stole from this chamber and others. Stole some of our history.”

He turned up the lantern, and the Australians gasped as more details were revealed.

The coffins were hollowed-out teak logs ranging from seven to nine feet long and were relatively well preserved.

“The pamphlet said they date back at least two thousand years,” Luartaro said.

The logs had been intricately carved, and one had deep designs of leaves and vines on it. There were heavy pottery remnants, too, and Zakkarat said the tribes no doubt stole all the good, intact pieces.

Perhaps they’d also stolen the bodies, as Annja couldn’t see a single bone left behind. She shuddered as she stepped close to the largest coffin, as if a cold wind had just whipped across her skin. Her skin prickled, as if tiny red ants were crawling over her.

Were there real spirits here? Were they trying to tell her something? Perhaps they were upset at the presence of tourists who had come to disturb their eternal rest. Maybe they were angry that their remains and relics had been stolen and were seeking justice or retribution. She could provide neither for them.

Sometimes she had an innate sense that something was wrong or that a problem needed addressing. She’d thought it came from inheriting Joan of Arc’s legacy and the sword, but she’d eventually realized it was more than that. Even when she was growing up in the orphanage in Louisiana, she’d had an uncanny knack for knowing when things were amiss or when something untoward was about to happen.

“What?” she mumbled. “What is wrong here?”

“What?” Luartaro touched her shoulder. “I did not catch what you said, Annja.”

“Are there more chambers here with coffins?” Annja directed the question to Zakkarat and hugged herself when she felt the chill intensify. A heartbeat later the odd feeling vanished.

“Not here, in this cave. Not anymore. But there are other spirit caves nearby in this very mountain range,” Zakkarat said. “Many more coffins in them. Soa Hin, Tukta. There is a place called ‘spirit well,’ too, but part of it collapsed and it is not safe. But this cave, Tham Lod, is easiest on the feet and easiest to reach. This is where I take the tourists. It has some of the best limestone formations.”

The Australian man snorted, and Jennie patted his back sympathetically.

“Pi Man Cave, too, has teak coffins,” Zakkarat continued. “Many, many more coffins there. Ping Yah and Bor Krai, too. Not so easy as this to get to. More climbing and squeezing.”

“But you’ve been there,” Annja prompted.

“Yes. Have taken a few people there, to Ping Yah and Bor Krai and Pi Man. But only a few, and that was quite some time ago. There are maps you can buy with directions of how to get there, but I am better than a piece of paper. I am a very good guide.”

“Take us there, please,” Annja said. “To Ping Yah and Pi Man.” The tingling she’d felt moments ago came back stronger and raised goose bumps on her arms.

The cold sensation was almost numbing. She rubbed her arms to keep from shivering. If the answer to her unease was here in this chamber, she couldn’t see it. The answer had to rest elsewhere in the mountains.

“Take me to see more of these coffins,” she said.

Annja felt for the sword at the edge of her mind, seeking its comfort.

“How many baht, Zakkarat?” she pressed. “For you to take me.”

“Us,” Luartaro corrected.

“Take us to Ping Yah and to Pi Man and Tukta and wherever else there are more of these coffins. Places tourists don’t go.” She stood a better chance of investigating without others around.

“You’re crazy,” the Australian man grumbled.

Zakkarat scratched his head. “Not easy going like this place. We would need a little equipment for steep places. Not much, some ropes and pitons, a safety line. Helmets. Maybe a pulley—”

“Do you—”

“Yes, I have some caving equipment. My father and I used to—”

“How much?” Annja knew the price didn’t matter.

“Five hundred baht.”

“Done.”

“Each.”

“Fine.”

“Plus extras, maybe. And I will pack a lunch and water bottles for all of us. No charge for the lunch or water.”

She realized he was testing her to see just how much she’d spend. “When can you take us there?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Zakkarat said. “Very early, we should start. The day I have free. And tomorrow night I take tourists to the bird show. So we have to be back before sunset. We could get in two caves, I think.”

“You’re not taking
us
to the bird show,” the ecowife said. “Even though I’ve bought the film, I’m tired and God knows I can’t stand this stink.”

Her new husband nodded in agreement.

“The limestone caves that you want to go to…” Zakkarat said, moving close to Annja. “They are off any regular paths, as I said.”

“I understand,” Annja said. “Lu and I are in good shape. Climbing will not be a problem.”

“I can see that you are in good shape.” Zakkarat smiled. “Tomorrow morning very early we will leave. When the sun rises. Very, very early so we have time to see a lot. As the saying goes, I will give you your money’s worth.”

Annja continued to feel uneasy as she looked around the chamber and studied the coffins. “You don’t mind, Lu? Going to more caves?”

“I would have suggested it if you hadn’t. This is fascinating. And I love caving.” He reached out a hand, but stopped himself just short of touching one of the teak logs. “Too many people have touched these,” he said. “Too many people don’t respect the past.”

“It’s not that,” Annja said. “It’s not a matter of respect, Lu. It’s a matter of ignorance. Too many people just don’t know any better.”

She searched the shadows, thinking she saw movement—a spirit, perhaps—something half glimpsed or maybe just imagined, something that was tugging her or begging her to solve some mystery.

She decided in the end it was just the play of Zakkarat’s light. Still, the troubling cold sensation wouldn’t leave her. What was bothering her? What could possibly—

“Did you hear that, Jennie?” the Australian man said.

“Hear what?” Jennie glanced at the coffins, and then at their guide. “Oh, I heard it. Thunder. The man at the hotel desk mentioned that it might rain today.”

“Rains come unexpected this time of year,” Zakkarat said, frowning. “It is almost our rainy season. Time to leave.” He scratched his head. “Let us hope it doesn’t rain too much. The paths will be muddy and slippery.”

Annja was the last in line this time, taking one final look at the coffins and the shadows and feeling a stronger shiver go down her spine.

Outside, it was pouring.

It had rained steadily through the night and was still raining the next morning, though it had turned to a drizzle by the time Annja and Luartaro met their guide outside the lodge.

She’d put her palm-size digital camera and extra batteries in a plastic bag and shoved them in her back pocket for insurance against the weather.

Zakkarat, in the same outfit as the previous day, though with sturdy hiking boots, looked smaller, with his wet clothes hanging on him and hair plastered against the sides of his face. He looked sadder, too, eyes cast down at the puddle between his booted feet, the ball of his right foot twisting in the mud.

“If you do not want to go because of the rain, I understand,” he said. “It rained hard last night, and long. Still going. Maybe going all day. The trail will be sloppy and the river swollen.”

Annja realized his disappointment was in missing out on the thousand baht he would have earned—and wouldn’t have to share with the lodge or tour company.

“I do not have another free day until early next week,” he said. “I can take you then.”

“We’ll be gone in a few days,” Annja said. “Me back to New York.” She paused. “But I don’t mind the rain, Zakkarat. Maybe Lu does, though, and—”

“I like rain fine,” Luartaro said. “When I was a young boy I used to be afraid of storms. But my mother told me that rain is just God washing away some of man’s dirt. Rain makes the world clean again.”

He tipped his face up and grinned to illustrate the point. “And God knows I want these few days to last forever.”

Annja had intended to go to the spirit caves no matter how hard it rained, alone or with a guide. She needed to discover the source of her unease. She’d intellectually accepted that there was a message someone or something was trying to tell her, and she believed that—like it or not—it was her duty to figure out just what that message or warning was and where in the mountains it was coming from.

“Five hundred baht, right?” Luartaro said. “Each? How about six? No. Let’s say seven each because of the rain, and that covers all the extras along the way. Half now.” He placed some bills into Zakkarat’s hand. “The other half when you drop us back here.”

Seven hundred baht was almost what they were paying per night for the cabin, which came to a little more than two hundred U.S. dollars. Giving the tour guide twice that amount for several hours of his time was rather exorbitant, especially for this part of the country. But they had only three days remaining of their vacation, and neither she—nor Luartaro obviously—were hard-pressed for coming up with the amount. And judging from his clothes and worn boots, it looked as if Zakkarat could use the money.

“Seven hundred each.” Zakkarat was quick to nod, his expression visibly brighter. He pointed to an old, rusting Jeep, which had packs and helmets in the back and two coils of rope. He’d come prepared in the event the rain had let up or not deterred them.

“Besides,” Luartaro said as he gallantly waved an arm to let Annja into the front seat. “It’ll be cozy and dry inside the caves.” He climbed in the back.

“You think this is a lot of rain?” Zakkarat made a shrill, forced laugh. “This is nothing compared to our monsoon season. Good for you that the monsoon season is a few weeks away. Because Thailand sits between two oceans, we have either downpours or cool and dry weather. Wet now, but the jungle and the mountains are prettiest.”

Zakkarat drove part of the way, the tires of the Jeep easily churning through mud that was several inches deep in places. The rain both muted and intensified the colors, and the scenery reminded Annja of chalk sidewalk paintings in Brooklyn that ran like impressionist watercolors during spring showers. It was a wonderful blur of green that she found beautiful, and she drew the scents of the flowers and leaves deep into her lungs and held them as long as possible.

“Which cave first?” she asked.

“Ping Yah,” he said. “It is older than Tham Lod, and perhaps has the most to see. It is in the same mountain range, and they are not terribly far apart, but it is harder to get to. Then Bor Krai or Pi Man, as I think I remember how to get there. We’ll have time for at least two. Maybe a third, as it is certain the lodge has canceled my bird-show group tonight. The tourists do not want to walk through all the mud.”

“Pity,” Luartaro said. “That’s too bad about your birding group.” His tone was evidence he did not mean the sympathy.

Annja had heard of Tham Lod Cave even before Luartaro had looked this area up on the internet. But Ping Yah and Bor Krai were new to her.

Although a part of her was excited at the prospect of seeing something that an average tourist never would, she couldn’t shake her worries over the mysterious sensation that niggled at her brain.

“What?” she whispered too softly for the men to hear. “What bothers me?”

She’d been to Mammoth Cave in Kentucky, which one of her companions yesterday had mentioned. It had more than three hundred miles of tunnels, and she’d walked most of them during her many visits.

Three years earlier in California she’d explored a series of caves created in ancient times by volcanoes and earthquakes. And of course she’d been through the Carlsbad Caverns, which was famous because one of its chambers was larger than a dozen football fields.

In France, she’d climbed through the Lascaux Cave that featured paintings that dated back about seventeen thousand years.

Older still, by as much as fifty thousand years some scientists estimated, were the fossils of bears and other creatures found in Poland’s Dragon’s Lair.

On the island of Capri off Italy one summer, she’d journeyed through the Blue Grotto, a four-mile-long cave with breathtaking formations.

Her favorite cave? She thought about it a moment as the Jeep jostled along the road, which was little more than a puddle-dotted path. Perhaps the one in the Austrian Alps, Eisriesenwelt in the Tennengebirge range, one of the world’s largest ice caves. Or maybe the Pierre Saint-Martin Cave that stretched from France to Spain, one of the deepest recorded.

In Australia for a
Chasing History’s Monsters
special, she’d made a side trip to the Naracoorte Caves, but found them disappointing. The caves were largely a collection of big sinkholes.

Her trip was salvaged when she went to the Waitomo Caves in New Zealand. That had been her favorite, she decided after a few more moments of contemplation, because of the worms.

The same way Zakkarat had poled their group along the river on a bamboo raft in Tham Lod Cave, the New Zealand guide had taken her group in a flatboat into Waitomo.

At various points in their half-hour excursion, the guide had doused the lights. A riot of shimmering stars had appeared overhead. Except they weren’t stars; they were glowworms. Annja had counted herself fortunate that day to have seen something so unique and glorious.

She continued to run the names of caves through her head—ones she’d been to, ones she had no intention of visiting and ones she would like to see while she was still young. She couldn’t recall the name of the cave system in China that was perhaps the longest in the world. That was on her must-see list.

The mental activity was a reasonable distraction to keep the chill away. She’d gotten goose bumps again the minute she’d sat in Zakkarat’s Jeep, and the sensation of ants crawling on her skin had worsened as they’d headed down the road.

It wasn’t the rain and the cool breeze that came with it. The sensation was from something else. Maybe, she wondered, the ill feeling had nothing to do with the limestone caves or the spirits of the dead that had been interred in the teak coffins, but instead about their guide.

Worse, what if her nerves were jangling because of Luartaro? Was either of the men in danger—or dangerous? Would Roux know what was troubling her?

No, it’s the caves, she thought. Maybe not the caves themselves, but something in the mountains.

She realized Luartaro was talking, and she’d missed most of what he’d said—something about the limestone formations they’d seen yesterday.

Zakkarat chattered, too.

She pretended to be distracted by the scenery and pushed their voices to the background.

Her mind touched Joan’s sword—her sword. It waited for her.

But it would have to wait for quite some time, she thought. It had no place in her vacation—especially with Luartaro around. She didn’t want him to see that part of her life. Still, its presence reassured her.

The Jeep slid to the side of the trail, the front bumper coming to rest against an acacia tree as mud flew away from the back tires.

The jolt jarred Annja into alertness.

The trail they’d been bouncing along had suddenly disappeared, as if the jungle had reached out and swallowed it.

“The rest of the way we go on foot,” Zakkarat said. He turned off the engine, pocketed the keys and grinned at Annja. “God is washing away a lot of man’s dirt today.” He eased out of his seat and slogged to the back, fitting the largest pack over one shoulder and a coil of rope over the other. He put on one of the helmets so he would not have to bother carrying it. “Good thing you two wore boots today. And a good thing it does not rain inside the caves. We can dry out quickly inside.”

Luartaro took another pack and the second coil of rope, also putting on a helmet and gallantly leaving Annja the smallest pack to carry.

The rain was coming down harder, thrumming against the hood of the Jeep. It splattered against the big leaves and the mud and her shoulders, then against the helmet she put on. She fell in behind Zakkarat and Luartaro and continued to listen to the rain.

“You walk fast,” Zakkarat said after half a mile or more had passed. “Good thing, that. It leaves more time for the caves and less time in the mud. Most people, the tourists, they don’t walk so fast as you.”

Annja noted that Zakkarat was in good shape, no doubt from walking so many miles daily to take tourists to Tham Lod. She could have easily outpaced him, though; she was in that much better condition.

He told them that the last time he brought a few people this way it had taken nearly two hours to reach the first cave. They managed it in less than one, the mountains looming before them. The rock face they started to climb was slick from the rain.

As Annja worked her fingers into a crack, slid her foot sideways to find a purchase, she grumbled to herself that this was why the typical tourist was not directed this way.

Her foot slipped and she teetered, held in place by just the tips of her fingers and willpower. She fought for balance and slowly righted herself, pressing tight against the cold, wet stone. The rock felt good against Annja’s fingers, and her muscles bunched as she pulled herself up behind Luartaro. The exertion was welcome. Even the thrill of almost falling was welcome. It brought a slight flush to her face and chased away the unnatural cold that had been teasing at her gut.

The first chamber was nearly three hundred feet above the jungle floor, and it was a tight fit to step inside, though from the rock face it had looked to have been larger in earlier years. An earthquake or rock slide had narrowed it.

Luartaro had to shrug off his backpack before he could slip in.

Once past the opening, Zakkarat lit a gas lantern and passed Annja a dented flashlight.

“In case,” he told her. “You should always carry a flashlight in case something happens to the lantern.”

“I have one, too—a flashlight,” Luartaro said, slapping a deep pocket in his khaki pants. “And some extra batteries.” He stroked his chin and the stubble that was growing there. “So tell us about this particular cave. I find all caves fascinating.”

“Fifty years ago,” Zakkarat began, “a United States man came to my country to study plants.” He chuckled and waved his hand to indicate the high, steeplelike chamber they were in.

“Plants, of all things, led to this discovery. The man was studying the Hoabinhiam people who lived in this area in ancient times and who were said to favor the limestone caves. The United States man thought they…” He sucked in his lower lip, searching for the word. “Domesticated! He thought they had farmed, not just gathered, vegetables and fruits, but planted them. And domesticated animals. The Hoabinhiam…”

He paused again, grimacing as he obviously searched for the words to phrase his explanation. “My father taught at the university when I was young. Taught history, and so I know about all of the Hoabinhiam because he taught me, too.”

“My father was also a teacher,” Luartaro said. “Archaeology. I followed in his footsteps, so to speak. He still teaches, guest lecturing mostly at schools and universities in Argentina and Chile.”

“You are an archaeologist?”

Luartaro nodded animatedly to Zakkarat. “For quite a few years. Her, too.” He pointed at Annja. “A famous one. She is on TV. She is the star of
Chasing History’s Monsters.
Ever see it?”

Zakkarat seemed unimpressed about the television mention. “The United States man,” he continued, “found this very cave. Burma, we are not far from Burma here. Were it not raining you might see a stream outside through that crack on the other side. Burma is past it. Supposedly the stream was a river in ancient times, and the Hoabinhiam hunter-gatherers lived by it…and lived in this cave.”

Still listening to Zakkarat, Annja strolled nearer the closest cave wall. It was covered in drawings of pigs and birds and a trio of images that looked like two-legged lizards. The shifting light from the lamp made it seem as if the figures were moving. Though faded, they were in far better condition than the smudge she saw in Tham Lod Cave.

Zakkarat continued to talk, and she listened closely, about the American fifty years past finding plants—beans, peas, peppers, something like a water chestnut, cucumbers and gourds—all fossilized in this cave.

Annja knew that with a map, she and Luartaro could have likely found this cave with little trouble on their own, but she was glad to have Zakkarat with them, providing information about the ancient-plant discovery.

Zakkarat explained that carbon dating placed all the fossils at roughly 8,000 BC. There had been stone tools, too, which were quickly ensconced in a museum in Bangkok, as well as remains of small animals that suggested the primitive people were not so primitive, after all. They roasted their meat, maybe in containers of green bamboo, a method still used throughout Thailand.