Priestess of Paracas Read online

  CONTENTS

  DEDICATION

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  NOTES TO READERS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1: HOUSE CALL

  CHAPTER 2: IN THE DARK

  CHAPTER 3: COLLECTED WISDOM

  CHAPTER 4: FRACTURED MIND

  CHAPTER 5: A FLOCK OF FLICKERS

  CHAPTER 6: BONFIRE OF THE MEMORIES

  CHAPTER 7: TOUCHY SUBJECTS

  CHAPTER 8: DESERT OASIS

  CHAPTER 9: FLASHBACK FURY

  CHAPTER 10: A BAG OF SURPRISES

  CHAPTER 11: INVADERS IN THE TEMPLE

  CHAPTER 12: DRAWING CONCLUSIONS

  CHAPTER 13: A LINK IN THE CHAIN

  CHAPTER 14: UNMASKING THE ENEMY

  CHAPTER 15: LIFE AFTER DEATH?

  CHAPTER 16: KEEP YOUR HEAD

  CHAPTER 17: FOLLOW THE RIVER

  CHAPTER 18: DIVIDE AND CONQUER

  CHAPTER 19: PECKING THROUGH THE RUINS

  CHAPTER 20: TRAPDOOR

  CHAPTER 21: SLEEPLESS IN AYACUCHO

  CHAPTER 22: MUDDY WATERS

  CHAPTER 23: SPEAK THE WORDS

  CHAPTER 24: RETURN OF THE NEW ONES

  CHAPTER 25: RAGING SOUL

  CHAPTER 26: UNDER THE SAME SKY

  EPILOGUE

  GLOSSARY OF MUNUORIAN TERMS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  COPYRIGHT

  DEDICATION

  During the writing of Priestess of Paracas, my extended family lost four loved ones.

  In remembrance of the light and love they shared with family and friends,

  I dedicate this book to my sister-in-law Susan Patton, my aunt Kathleen Woodland,

  my uncle Harry Donoghue and my cousin Maureen Coulter.

  May the stars light their way until we meet under the same sky.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I received a great deal of support in crafting Priestess of Paracas, and I would like to acknowledge the special people who helped me.

  To developmental editors Dustin Portia and Katherine Pickett, thank you for helping me refine the plot and improve the quality of the story. To my copyeditor, Annie Jenkinson of just-copyeditors.com, and my proofreader, Cheryl Hollenbeck, thank you for your thorough scrubbing of the draft manuscript under the pressure of a tight deadline.

  I would also like to extend my thanks to the cadre of readers who reviewed the prerelease draft of Priestess of Paracas, including Paulette Jones, Jeff Baker, Lisa Weinberg, Tom Voss and Carol Voss. Your comments, suggestions and edits helped me further polish the story.

  Speaking of polishing the story, a special note of thanks goes to my wife, Bryson Donoghue, who also reviewed the prerelease draft and provided me with invaluable feedback throughout the writing and editing process.

  Next, I would like to recognize my designer, Asha Hossein, for her creative blending of images from the story into the book’s cover art. Thanks also goes to designer Amber Colleran for creating a fresh layout of the print edition interior.

  To cap off the acknowledgments, I would like to thank my web designers, James Lee and Kevin Maines, for continually improving my author website as I add more titles.

  NOTES TO READERS

  Greetings, friends, fans and new readers! Thank you in advance for choosing to read Priestess of Paracas, Book 4 in my archaeology-based mystery series, the Anlon Cully Chronicles.

  Unlike the previous stories in the series, Priestess of Paracas is a stand-alone mystery, meaning it is not a continuation of the same storyline explored in the previous three books. It is an all new mystery. That said, the Priestess of Paracas storyline does draw upon events in the previous books in the series, but I have incorporated all the necessary background from Books 1-3 into the new story. Therefore, whether you have just finished reading Books 1-3, or you have not read them in a while, or you are new to the series, you will be able to fully enjoy the story told in Priestess of Paracas.

  I have also tried to limit the use of Munuorian terms in Priestess of Paracas, as I realize it might be challenging to recall their meanings if you have not read Books 1-3 recently. For those Munuorian terms that do appear in the story, I have included an appendix with a glossary, complete with definitions and a pronunciation guide. I hope you will find it a helpful resource.

  Separately, there are a couple of nuances to note about the timeline in Priestess of Paracas. First, for those of you who have read the other books in the series, Priestess of Paracas begins roughly a year after the climax events in Book 3, Curse of the Painted Lady.

  Second, if you have read the books in my other series, a sci-fi thriller series called the Rorschach Explorer Missions, you know that Anlon, Pebbles and a few other characters from the Anlon Cully series make cameo appearances in the first two books of the Rorschach series, Skywave and Magwave. From a timeline perspective, Priestess of Paracas begins shortly after Anlon and Pebbles’ cameo in Skywave and concludes before their appearances in Magwave.

  As to the story itself, Priestess of Paracas is similar to the past books in the series in that it is an exploration of archaeological mysteries. It includes a mix of historical facts, real archaeological artifacts and perplexing ancient riddles that I have blended together with some speculative answers to the riddles and a fair bit of fantasy.

  On the flipside, Priestess of Paracas is different from the other stories in the series in that it is also an exploration of psychological mysteries, specifically the crossroads linking brain injuries, memories, dreams and the supernatural. Much like the archaeology portion of the story, I have blended scientific facts and real psychological phenomena with fantasy and some additional speculation on my part.

  I hope you enjoy these additional story elements, as well as the new character introduced in the story, Dr. Sanjay Varma.

  PROLOGUE

  Quick! Into the bushes. Into the bushes. Hurry! Don’t look back. Keep running. Run! Run! They’re right behind. I can hear them! Keep going. Get to the river. The river. Faster! Faster!

  She slipped on slick mud and fell, her shoulders and hips banging against roots as she slid across the forest floor. Vines and branches raked across her bare arms and legs. Though she managed to stifle a cry of pain, she could not suppress the cracking of branches or the swish of fronds marking her trail.

  Scrambling to her feet, she turned to look back. Through gaps of foliage, she could see light from their torches. They were closing in. She reached for the bag slung over her shoulder and rummaged inside. The contents were intact. Staring upward, she thanked the stars.

  With a firm tug, she cinched the bag closed and took off running again. In the faint glow of moonlight penetrating the canopy of trees, it was impossible to avoid bumping and scraping bushes and saplings. She tripped again and fell face-down into a puddle. The bag, clutched tightly in her hand, bobbed on the puddle’s surface.

  Get up! Get up! Run!

  Tunic torn away from her shoulder during the fall, she crawled out of the puddle. As she stumbled forward, mud slid down her forehead and covered her eyes. She dug the muck away and squinted. In the distance, she could see moonlight through the maze of tree trunks.

  Yes! So close. Keep going!

  The slash of blades cutting through the underbrush echoed all around her. Looking left and right as she raced for the river, she spied a second set of torches making their way along the riverbank.

  Run! Run!

  She never saw the broken branch that felled her. Tilted up like a spike, the sharp point of the branch gouged through her foot. This time, there was no hiding her agony. The earsplitting scream shook alive the wildlife hunkered down for the night. Birds and rodents scattered. Howling monkeys traded warnings from treetop to treetop.

  Grasping
at her foot, she felt a sharp piece of wood poking through and ripped it out. Another scream. With frantic sweeps of her arms, she felt around for the bag.

  Where is it? Where is it!

  The back of her hand swiped over the bag’s furry surface.

  Get up! Run!

  She dragged her body up and limped on. Daggers of pain assaulted her with each step. There was no need to look behind now; she could hear their labored breaths and their torchlight illuminated the area around her. Eyes riveted ahead, she huffed and groaned her way through the final stand of trees and emerged at the riverbank.

  An arrow whizzed by her face. Another thudded into her thigh. She twirled around and fell into the river. Under the water, she heard the sound of other bodies plunging into the river. The bag in her hand floated up. She tried to pull it down, but the buoyant animal skin fought its way to the surface. Hands grabbed at her shoulders and ankles.

  No! No! Get away! Stop!

  Another hand wrestled with her for the bag. With the last of her energy, she kicked with her feet and flailed her arms, yanking the bag away for a brief moment before letting it go into the current. As it was swept away, she heard more splashes in the black water around her. Hands grabbed at her from every direction, ripped away what was left of her clothes, and hauled her to the surface.

  With her arms pinned behind her back and legs clamped together at the ankles, a powerful hand wrapped around her neck and shoved her face into the muddy bank. She writhed her body and head like a fish caught on a line.

  She cried for mercy…the hand tightened…she gasped for air and squirmed…the hand buried her face deeper into mud…

  Pebbles McCarver flashed awake, her face pressed into her pillow. Legs kicking and arms swinging, she fought to breathe in between muffled screams. “Stop! Stop! Let go!”

  Drenched in sweat, she hopped up on her hands and knees. With head bent low, she drew in deep gulps of air, wheezing with each breath. As her respiration began to steady, she rolled over and collapsed on the jumbled mass of soaked sheets and pillows.

  In a dark corner of the bedroom, Anlon Cully looked at the glowing numbers on the alarm clock and marked the time. For the twelfth night of the last fifteen, Pebbles’ nightmare reached its peak at 4:46 a.m. As he moved toward the bed to comfort her, Anlon wondered whether the dream was another repeat or a new visage of terror.

  CHAPTER 1: HOUSE CALL

  Sedona, Arizona

  September 18

  The drive from Flagstaff to Sedona would have been enjoyable under most circumstances, but Anlon was too immersed in thought to pay attention to the stunning scenery around him...or the road. As he rounded yet another twisting mountain pass, he crossed the center line and almost clipped an oncoming car. After jerking the car back into his lane, Anlon turned to his passenger, Griffin Taylor. “Sorry. My bad.”

  “Eyes on the road, bro!”

  Anlon returned his gaze out the front window and slammed on the brakes. A hundred yards ahead, a group of hikers dashed across the pavement. While Anlon stopped in plenty of time, the squeal of tires drew angry glares from the hikers as they scrambled down an embankment to reach the safety of a creek that ran beside the road.

  Heart racing, Anlon took in a few deep breaths and waved an apology to the hikers. Just as he started to drive again, he heard the frantic beeping of a car horn. Looking up at the rearview mirror, he spied two cars bearing down upon him at high speed. “Oh crap!”

  Anlon floored the gas pedal and the car lurched forward. Behind him, he heard the two cars come to screeching halts. As Anlon fought to keep the car in his lane, Griffin said, “Bro, you may be a world-class scientist and all, but you suck at driving. Pull over on the shoulder and let me take it the rest of the way.”

  “What shoulder?” Anlon said.

  To his right, the base of a towering red mountain hugged the road. On the other side of the two-lane road were the embankment and creek.

  “See that patch of gravel up ahead?”

  “I see gravel, but it ain’t no patch.”

  “Start signaling. Slow down and pull over on it.”

  “Griffin, there’s no way this car can fit on that.”

  “It’ll fit. Just get over and let these buttheads go by.”

  Griffin’s comment was directed at the two cars lustily honking as they once again motored up from behind. Anlon followed Griffin’s instructions and gingerly pulled onto the sliver of a shoulder beside the mountain. As the cars raced by, the occupants shouted obscenities and flashed middle-finger salutes. Once they disappeared around the next bend, Anlon turned to Griffin. “Friendly people around here.”

  “Probably locals fed up with tourists. They’re always doing stupid shit like those yahoos back there who ran across the road to get to the creek,” Griffin said. “Now get in the back. I’ll take it from here.”

  “The back? How?” Anlon pointed out the driver-side window. “If another car comes along, it’ll slice the door off and take me with it.”

  “Just climb between the seats and I’ll scoot over once you’re through. Don’t worry about kicking me. I’ll survive.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Look, you want to help Pebbles, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, to do that, we have to stay alive long enough to get her help. Now back you go.”

  After a grunt-filled minute of contortions, Anlon settled in the back seat. Griffin then clambered over the center console, took the wheel and they resumed their journey. For the first several miles, there was no conversation until Anlon broke the ice. “I don’t suck at driving, by the way.”

  He saw Griffin look at him via the rearview mirror. “You do when your mind’s somewhere else. What were you all zoned out about, anyway? I know you’re big-time worried about Pebbles — we all are — but you were gone, man. In another universe.”

  Anlon stared out the side window at the rocky basin of Oak Creek. “I was thinking about how to start the conversation with Sanjay. Honestly, I don’t know where to begin.”

  “Well, relax. I already gave him a sneak preview. Didn’t faze him at all. You gotta remember, Sanjay’s into a lot of mystical shit.”

  “Not like this, he isn’t,” mumbled Anlon.

  As they continued down the road, Anlon imagined how Griffin’s conversation with Sanjay must have gone. On one end of the dialogue, Griffin, the lead-guitarist for the 1990s-era heavy metal band Ice Zombies, and on the other end, Dr. Sanjay Varma, psychologist and existential guru. In Anlon’s vision, the two men sat around a campfire, trading a doobie back and forth while staring at the flames.

  Griffin: “Gotta favor to ask of you, bro.”

  Sanjay: “Hit me with it, man. What kind of favor?”

  Griffin: “I got this friend who’s been having some trippy dreams. They’re really messing her up.”

  Sanjay: “Yeah? Like what kind of dreams, man?”

  Griffin: “Strange shit. People chasing her and stuff. People trying to catch her, take shit from her. Kill her. You know, boogeyman kind of shit.”

  Sanjay: “Sounds like she’s high, man. She on something?”

  Griffin: “Nah, it’s not like that. She’s not a junkie. Some serious shit happened to her, and she can’t get it out of her head.”

  Sanjay: “Yeah? What kind of shit are we talking about?”

  Griffin: “Dude, some freaky bitch sucked my friend’s mind out of her body and zapped it into a stone.”

  Sanjay: “No way. You’re shitting me.”

  Griffin: “Nah, bro. For real.”

  Sanjay: “Her mind is in a stone?”

  Griffin: “Nah, it’s out now. Some other dude zapped it back into her body. But ever since, she’s been flipping out. Weird dreams and shit. What do you say, man? Can you help her?”

  Sanjay: “Sure, bro. Anything for you.”

  It was an unfair characterization, Anlon realized. While he was sure Griffin partook of mind-altering substances on occasion
, he was not a stoner. In fact, the goateed, gray-haired rocker was a health nut.

  Anlon’s portrayal of Sanjay was also unjustified. While it was true Sanjay had de-emphasized his traditional psychology practice to study the mystical attributes of the human mind, and while it was widely known his explorations involved dabbling with hallucinogenic drugs, Anlon knew Sanjay was also a highly respected psychologist — a psychologist who specialized in helping people who suffered from the aftereffects of traumatic events.

  A comment from Griffin roused Anlon from his thoughts. “Uh oh. Take a deep breath. This is going to be a grind.”

  Looking up, Anlon saw a long line of stopped vehicles ahead. The cause of the gridlock, Griffin explained, was a combination of clogged roundabouts and pedestrian crosswalks in Sedona’s art district. By the time they cleared the last of the roundabouts, Anlon realized they had spent nearly as much time crawling through the art district as they had during the twenty-five-mile drive from Flagstaff to reach Sedona.

  Free of traffic, they headed south, passing the iconic Cathedral Rock and Bell Rock on their way to the town of Oak Creek…where they ran into another glut of backed-up roundabouts. But traffic around these moved more quickly and soon they were headed down a side road that led to Sanjay’s home. A few miles in, they passed the last neighborhood and the asphalt surface of the street gave way to a rutted dirt road with scrubland on both sides. A few miles after that, they finally arrived at their intended destination…almost.

  Though Griffin had been to Sanjay’s home before, it had been several years since his last visit. Therefore, he completely missed the hidden entrance to Sanjay’s driveway and they dead-ended in the parking area of a hiking trailhead. Chagrined by his error and tired of driving, Griffin suggested they park and walk back to the secluded home. Anlon readily agreed.

  He grabbed his backpack from the trunk and followed Griffin. The rocker seemed completely in his element to Anlon. With his flip-flops left behind in the car, Griffin padded along the dirt road in bare feet. In his sleeveless T-shirt and cut-off jeans, he looked like a hippie in search of a music festival.