Restless Soul (6 page)

“I’m fine,” she finally called back. “Don’t worry about me.” Then she pulled herself higher, tugged the sword free and repeated the motion. This time the blade sunk in even more easily and dirt came free around it, showering her face and stinging her eyes.

The earth wasn’t at all hard packed, and when she wiggled the sword free more dirt came loose. “Hollow. It feels hollow,” she said.

Annja used the sword for digging. It was awkward but effective.

Clumps of dirt and gravel spewed down, and she closed her eyes as she continued to frantically worry away at the wall. Her eyes were no good here, anyway.

There was more than simply dirt. There was a hollow spot behind it. She couldn’t tell how big, though.

Luartaro’s light was too dim to be of any help that way. Still, her spirit soared in hope. Maybe the hollow was just big enough for her to climb up into it. She’d be able to give her arms and legs a rest before she attempted to free-climb to the slit. She might even be able to retrieve her flashlight and use it to get a better idea of her bearings and to see how many pitons she had left.

She worked furiously, digging at the soil with the blade. Dirt and rocks pelted her face. Moments later, she sent the sword back to the otherwhere in her mind and hauled herself up into the niche she’d dug out. She crouched on hands and knees and sucked in several deep breaths. The taste of earth and the river and the scent of her own sweat were strong on her tongue.

“Annja! Where are you?”

She maneuvered around so she was facing out toward the cavern, still on her hands and knees.

Far below, Luartaro’s flashlight was feeble but it faintly reached her.

Her fingers tested the lip of the niche and she cautiously peered over. She couldn’t see him, only the spot of light that was doing little to punch through the darkness.

Carefully, she shrugged out of her backpack and retrieved her flashlight. She turned it on and pointed it down. The beam wasn’t as strong as Luartaro’s, and she flicked it on and off like a firefly’s light. She could use Morse code to send him a message, but she doubted he knew the language.

“I’m okay. I’m in a—” She paused and swung her flashlight behind her. “Tunnel.” It wasn’t a simple niche that she’d carved; she’d managed to knock away a wall of earth that had concealed another cave tunnel.

“I’ve found a tunnel, Lu!” she called back with as much voice as she could muster. “I’m going to check it out. I’ll be right back. If it’s good, I’ll lower a rope.”

“Hurry!”

The panic in Luartaro’s single word spurred her. She spun around and, leaving the pack and coil of rope on the floor, she crawled deeper as fast as she could.

After several yards, she was able to stand.

Flashlight in one hand, she jogged toward what she prayed was a way out. The passage canted up slightly, buoying her hopes. She knew they couldn’t be far from the surface because of the tree roots.

Her footsteps echoed against the stone. From somewhere up ahead, she heard the squeak of bats and the patter of rain. Thunder boomed and she felt the vibration through the stone.

Annja knew she wasn’t high in the mountains; they’d not traveled upward enough for that. But she was near the surface somewhere, a low spot in the range or perhaps a cleft between peaks.

Thunder sounded again, and she sucked in a great gulp of stone-scented air and plunged ahead faster. The sensation of insects dancing on her skin threatened to send her into a scratching fit.

The tunnel descended again, and just when she worried it might take her back to another water-filled place, she stepped through an opening and into another chamber.

It had a hole in the ceiling that opened to the sky.

Free me.

Rain poured through the hole and the place reminded her a little of a South American cenote because of the pool of water in the center where it collected from the storm. From the amount of rain that had been coming down the past two days, she suspected the pool was deep.

Free me.

The words sounded stronger and even more insistent than they had before.

The gray light filtering through the hole in the ceiling and the pale yellow light of her flashlight revealed the rest of the chamber’s contents.

There was a soggy rope ladder dangling down and twisting in the wind that whipped its way inside. The rain blew in at an angle and shimmered in the beam of her flashlight.

Free me.

She swung the beam around.

There were more teak coffins and, off to the side, something that shimmered too much to be made of wood. She took a step forward and focused her light on it.

“Oh my,” Annja said. The icy feeling that had gripped her in Tham Lod Cave came back in force and dropped her to her knees.

The voice in Annja’s head was louder and more demanding, but at the same time it seemed calmer, as if she had finally found its source.

Annja wanted desperately to investigate the chamber that very instant. The mystical voice, the source of her unease, was here. There were also all manner of things that she wanted to study, and preferably without her companions around. But she felt responsible for Luartaro and Zakkarat. They were her first priority.

She raced back down the tunnel, retrieved the men and led them to the rope ladder that would take them to the outside and safety.

For an instant, she’d hoped that they would leave so she could spend time in the chamber alone, but in her heart she knew that wouldn’t happen. And she couldn’t blame them.

“Annja, this is amazing.” Luartaro stood slack-jawed. He’d somehow managed to keep his pack, and it fell with a thunk at his feet. “I…I’m at a loss for words. This is staggering.”

“Yes,” she agreed. Her own pack rested at the edge of the pool. “It is staggering and amazing and more. I need to get a film crew here for
Chasing History’s Monsters.
”

“There are no monsters here,” Luartaro said, his voice an awed hush. “Just treasure.”

“Maybe they’ll make up a monster,” Annja said. Her producer, Doug Morrell, would do that to get a film crew there. Especially if she told him there was a spirit in the lime.

Zakkarat gasped as he looked around the cavern and muttered to himself.

Luartaro tapped their guide on the shoulder. “See? I said that we would get out of here, and she’s found us far more than an escape. She’s found a great treasure! So there’s no reason we have to leave right away. No reason at all. It’s drier in here, anyway.”

“She will bring her TV people here?” Zakkarat wondered. “To this lost place?”

Luartaro shrugged. “If she can find a monster.”

Zakkarat looked puzzled for only a moment before his curiosity for the treasure took over. Both men fell to examining the objects that lined the walls of the chamber, most of which were stacked on small and large crates that undoubtedly held more valuables.

Luartaro’s flashlight beam danced from side to side, up and down, setting gold and gems to sparkling. He spotted a large lantern in front of a crate and lit it. There was a reflector in it that brightened up the cavern.

Annja shared their excitement. A part of her wanted to delight in the discovery and giddily take it all in, run from one niche of the chamber to the next like a character in an Indiana Jones movie. It was a dragon’s hoard of wealth.

Instead, she focused on finding the answer to her unsettling feeling. That took precedence, she told herself. She listened for the voice.

“Flash floods are expected this time of year, the beginning of the rainy season,” Zakkarat said as he scurried about. “I should not have let your baht lure me out here in the rain, Annjacreed. I got us lost. We all could have drowned, should have drowned, and it would have been my fault. But I am glad I did come out. Most very, very glad!
Chop-mak!
And I am very, very glad I got us lost. You would not have found this great treasure had I taken you to Ping Yah. I must tell my wife about this adventure and the gold.”

“We take nothing from this place, understand?” Annja cautioned. “Nothing at the moment but pictures.” She tugged her camera from her breast pocket, removed the plastic and started taking shots of the entire chamber, stuffing the flashlight under her arm and using its beam to help illuminate the various objects so the pictures would come out better.

The small cavern reminded her of a museum storehouse or a back room of Sotheby’s in New York where all manner of priceless antiques were waiting to be auctioned.

“The answer must be here,” she whispered. “Is there something in the treasure that gives me shivers?”

She concentrated on the teak coffins, in which Zakkarat and Luartaro seemed uninterested. At first she thought it odd that Luartaro did not concentrate on the coffins immediately; they were the greater archaeological prize. But the coffins weren’t going anywhere, so she was certain he would see to them after the lure of the gold faded.

Where was the voice that had perplexed her, she wondered.

She kept listening, but now there was nothing.

There were five coffins, the largest and most intricately carved of any of those she’d seen so far—and clearly in the best condition. Since the chamber sat higher in the mountains, it had likely not flooded as badly before, so though it was humid, the wood had remained relatively dry. One coffin was easily a dozen feet long, and she recorded images of it from different angles. It was empty, but the wood was stained where at least one body had rested inside, and there were pottery fragments laced with frayed cords where the corpse’s head would have been.

Are the spirits of these ancient people trying to reach me? One spirit in particular? she wondered. Should they have taken Zakkarat’s suggestion of removing the bodies from the coffins in the previous chamber? Maybe that was what “free me” meant. Maybe earlier cavers had heard the voices, too, and had removed the bodies at the spirits’ requests. Maybe she was not the first to hear and react to whatever force was trapped there. Would she have to somehow backtrack through the rising river to retrieve those bodies and find her own peace?

The smallest coffin was filled with intact pieces of ancient pottery that made her heart beat faster. Mixed with the pots were porcelain-like covered bowls that were definitely out of place and certainly not from the same time period or culture as the coffins. No archaeologist had been in this chamber, or the pots would have been whisked off to some museum…perhaps the coffins, too, because of their good condition.

What an amazing find, she thought, easily imagining a film crew recording everything in the chamber for a special on the ancient Hoabinhiam people. And she would find a way to get one here, locally hired or sent from New York after all the proper permission slips and paperwork had been filed with the government—even if she had to fabricate a monster.

But what is it that troubles me? Why is the voice silent now?

Annja was determined not to leave the chamber until she got to the bottom of things, so she worked quickly. When she was finished taking pictures of the coffins, she moved on to the treasure that was stacked against the other walls of the chamber and occupying her companions. Luartaro was still mesmerized by the gold and gems.

The gold gleamed warmly in the beam of her flashlight.

“Maybe it is the treasure,” she whispered. “But I’d still swear spirits are involved.”

Maybe she was too relaxed, now that their freedom from the mountain presented itself in the form of the rope ladder. Maybe she only heard the voice when she was stressed.

Annja tried to clear her mind and focus on the notion that someone was perhaps trying to communicate with her and that she needed to be more open to it.

In doing so, she brushed the sword again, hovering in the otherwhere, some dimension so easily within her grasp. She caught a glimpse of nothing else but the sword, and the cold feeling persisted and made her uncomfortable.

“What?” she whispered. “What are you trying to tell me? What? What? What? Why won’t you talk now?”

The rain continued to drum down, and the wind whistled. Luartaro and Zakkarat chattered, oblivious to her voiced concerns, the latter animatedly talking to himself in Thai.

Luartaro was taking pictures, too, and the flash made the gem-encrusted objects burst with color.

Annja finally roused herself from her musings when she caught a good look at what Zakkarat was doing. He was stuffing his pockets. “I said take nothing!” Annja said sharply.

“I am merely looking, Annjacreed,” Zakkarat said. “You are looking! You are taking a good look!”

Indeed, she was looking. It was impossible not to look.

The gold figurines stood out—at least two dozen of Buddha, from the size of a watermelon to one roughly half her height. The smallest had emeralds set in the earlobes and where its belly button would be. The most rotund Buddha was set with rubies and diamonds and its teeth were carved from pearls, and Luartaro stood in front of it, snapping pictures. The flash of his digital camera constantly bounced off the gold.

The thin Buddha came nearly up to Annja’s waist and had jewels, including a sapphire necklace draped around its neck that glowed in the beam of her flashlight. The largest gem was the size of a date, as large as any she’d seen in the Smithsonian, and she knew it must be terribly valuable.

The statues had to be heavy, and they weren’t carried down on that skimpy rope ladder. Whoever put them there must have used something sturdier to lower them.

And the statues certainly had nothing to do with the Hoabinhiam people or the coffins. But some of the pieces might be as old or possibly older than the coffins. How had all these antiquities come together?

Between each statue were pieces of ivory, bowls mostly, that were so thin and delicate her light glowed through them. There were pieces of jade and coral, some carved into the shapes of monkeys and birds and fantastical creatures that Annja had no names for. A fist-size jade turtle caught her gaze.

Her eyes flitted from one piece to the next, and she bent close to some as she took more and more pictures.

The lodge where she and Luartaro were staying had suddenly become that proverbial mixed blessing. Though it kept the world at bay with its lack of internet and cell service, it would keep her from sending the pictures to her various contacts.

She would have to take a bus into the nearest town to send them. Mae Hong Son was near the lodge. Chiang Mai was much larger, but farther, though it might be a better choice. She would do that as soon as possible—look for a bus, or talk Zakkarat into driving her there in his rusted Jeep.

Local authorities would have to be notified and the area protected from looters. Annja knew Zakkarat might not be able to keep quiet about the discovery and some of his tribesmen might venture out for a little looting. It was an unfortunate but common occurrence when discoveries such as this were made.

She spotted a pair of jade koi with joined, intertwined tail fins. One was pale green with wide, curious-looking eyes and the other dark with its mouth opened as if to catch an insect. There was a brown patch on the side of the pale one that was not part of the jade. Dirt? Dried blood?

“It could be blood,” she whispered. She stared at it for several moments, curious how it got there. Someone cut himself on a sharp edge? Finally, she looked elsewhere. “It could be just dirt,” she muttered.

There was a bird with a body that was slightly larger than her hand, which was probably carved from ivory, though it looked bright snow-white rather than the aged yellowish hue ivory often turned. Its wings were spread wide, each individual feather carefully rendered. It was perched on a shiny pedestal that had been carved from a piece of jet-black wood that unfortunately had been marred at the base. She took a few shots of the bird.

The flash illuminated another brown splotch. She was certain it was dried blood. She’d seen enough blood since acquiring the sword. She shuddered, finding the splotch disturbing.

How did this treasure get here? she mused. Who brought it and where did it come from? And what about the blood? Did the treasure have a violent past?

She thought of the temple they’d spotted on their walk to Tham Lod Cave. Some of the objects had a religious significance. Maybe she could show her pictures to someone there.

She took only one shot of a flat wooden box that sat on a tall crate. It was filled with thumb-size fish carved from coral. Annja gingerly moved it aside to find a slightly smaller box underneath that was filled with strings of pearls and gold and silver beads.

“The treasure of a king,” she said.

“Of two or three kings, maybe,” Luartaro added. “The treasure of an entire kingdom.” He’d silently slipped to her side, still taking pictures. “Look at that.” He gave out a low, appreciative whistle.

One of the strands alternated pearls with smooth, grape-size rubies. It was short, but there was a long one with smaller stones.

Luartaro bent to touch one, but Annja moved his hand away.

“Don’t touch anything,” she said in the tone of a museum curator scolding a visitor. “And don’t take anything.” She paused. “At least, not yet. We shouldn’t disturb a single object.”

“I’m an archaeologist, too.” He shook his head sadly. “You shouldn’t have to tell me that. I know better than to touch things. I guess I just got too caught up in all of this.”

She instantly chastised herself for moving the box with the coral fish. They were all guilty of becoming too excited by the find.

“I know that things should be studied and documented before they are moved. And you don’t have to tell me not to take anything, Annja. But tell that to our guide.” Luartaro tipped his head toward Zakkarat.

Annja looked back.

Zakkarat was still stuffing his pockets full of jewelry. He had managed to open one of the smaller crates and was raiding the contents. Inside were gold and silver incense burners, bracelets and candle holders, all padded with straw and wood shavings.

“No!” she shouted. “We take nothing, Zakkarat!”

He ignored her, dipping into the crate and pulling out a handful of bangle bracelets and a pearl necklace.

She rushed at him and grabbed his hands.

A string of chocolate-hued pearls dropped from his fingers, the strand hitting the stone, breaking and sending the beads dancing everywhere.

Annja’s grip was firm and her eyes like daggers. “Zakkarat, nothing here is ours. This belongs to history. It must be—”

Zakkarat jerked his hands free. The lines on his face were tight and more pronounced in his ire. “Nothing here is yours! This is my country, Annjacreed. And these things might belong to history, but even you can see that this treasure has nothing to do with the Hoabinhiam hunter-gatherers or their coffins and pieces of pots. Old? Yes, the treasure is that, but it is not the same as the coffins. It does not belong here. See?” He pointed to something on the ground at the base of one of the Buddha statues.