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  “You speak of the library,” said her grandfather with a mild smile. “It is your rightful heritage, Mariska. But not only that—those writings are merely one aspect of our legacy. But above all, it is allegiance to Gaia that supersedes everything. You must accept it.”

  “Not at the price of human lives. Never at that.”

  She was shocked when his expression turned dark with fury. Anger rolled from him, palpable enough that she felt heat and energy stirring the room. “You would deny our Earth what she so desperately needs? Our Gaia is dying. Do you not see what they are doing to her? How the Out-Worlders violate and molest and torture her? She is changing before our eyes, weakening, and yet they continue on. They don’t listen, they don’t change.

  “It has long been a universal truth—one that Gaia Herself embodies, and one that even our race has come to accept—that the sacrifice of a few to protect the greater number is imperative. Even heroic. That the weak and the destructive must be annihilated for the greater good. It is right, it is natural. It is survival of the fittest. It is Gaia’s law.” His eyes flashed, and though he had not raised his voice, the words reverberated through her, filling her like an ice-cold bath, submerging her in truth.

  Truth.

  There was that word again.

  Marina felt a little dizzy. His words were truth. She sank into a chair, lightheaded and suddenly weak.

  Lev continued in a powerful voice, one that filled her ears and resonated through her—as if he were making a proclamation, and she were somehow absorbing it. “I am born of Gaia. I am her Son, brought to save Her. I am one with Her. And thus someday so will your uncle be, and so would have been your father. And so you will be, Mariska. You are not like the others in the Out-World. You cannot turn away. You cannot ignore your legacy.”

  She shook her head; his words had meaning, but they were absurd. Yet they settled inside her like truth. “What do you mean, you are born of Gaia? Brought to save her? What makes you special? Is it because you are a Shaman? But there are many Shaman, and they don’t claim to be one with Gaia.”

  Lev stiffened, and his anger abated slightly. “Roman…” he breathed, as if shocked. “She does not know.”

  Her father looked at her, but there was no surprise in his face. “No, apparently she does not.” He turned to Marina, and once again she had the sense he wished to move closer to her, to touch her as Lev had done. Did he know he was her father? “Are you aware of what is known as the Tunguska Event?”

  “Vaguely. In the early 1900s, there was a—something—that happened in Siberia, in Tunguska. Scientists believe a meteor struck the earth, but there was never any real evidence of the metal that would have been left behind. Is that right?”

  “Yes, so far as the rest of the world knows. But there is much more to it than that.” Roman steepled his hands and continued. “The Skaladeska tribe had long lived in the mountains and forests of the Tunguska area. It was a small group that existed off the land, utilizing caves for shelter, living simple lives close to Gaia, worshipping her. They were highly attuned to her moods and her seasons—as are your grandfather and I. And as you will be when you allow it.

  “Upon each Skaladeska child’s birth, he or she was marked with the symbol with which you are familiar. It most often was placed on the sole of the foot, but sometimes on the arm or even the back of the calf.

  “In the mid-sixteenth century, as I believe you are aware, Ivan the Fourth secretly sent his Byzantine library down the Moscow River with its guardians. The group was led by Leonid Aleksandrov, who was a beloved cousin of Anastasia Romanovna—Ivan’s wife. He was charged to protect the writings, and to study them as needed.

  “The Romanovna party eventually found the Skaladeskas and they merged, so to speak, and began to live and procreate together, becoming one entity that lived in the harsh wilderness of Taymyria. But in 1908, a most curious and frightening thing happened. The sky turned red and the ground burned, and explosions happened. The elk and owls and hares and all the rest of the living creatures ran to hiding, for the earth was moving and shaking, burning and glowing.

  “The Skaladeskas were no different, fleeing the area, but many of them couldn’t get away quickly enough. They tried, but many members of the small tribe disappeared—presumed dead—after the smoke cleared, so to speak. But after the smoke cleared,” he said, the rhythm of his voice lulling Marina into the story, “a miracle occurred. An infant was discovered, in the midst of the devastated area—lying on the ground, surrounded by blackened trees and scorched grass and burned ground. The child was untouched, unclothed, unmarked…except for the mark of the Skaladeskas on his foot.”

  Marina was entranced by the tale, and at last she understood. “That babe was you.” She looked at Lev, stunned, disbelieving, and yet…wishful. If that were true…if it were actually true… He hadn’t told her this story before.

  Her grandfather nodded. “It was I. Gaia protected me, took me into her arms and held me while the world was destroyed around me…and she released me back to do her bidding. And so, you see, I must listen to her. I must help you.”

  “But then there was yet another miracle,” Roman continued in his mellow storyteller voice. “The miracle of Irina. Your grandmother, my mother.”

  “She was a fighter pilot,” Marina said. Lev had told her that story, at least, when she was in Siberia. “During the Second World War. She got lost in the mountains of Siberia, long separated from her group.”

  “That’s correct. She was out of fuel and had to jump from her plane in the dead of night, in an unfamiliar terrain. Very brave, very heroic. Like her granddaughter.” Lev’s eyes glittered with emotion. “You have her eyes.”

  “And so you’ve told me.”

  “The miracle,” Roman said, picking up the story once more, “is that she conducted her jump safely, and was rescued by the Skaladeskas. She was brought in to live with them and never left.”

  “By her own choice?” Marina asked. “Was she held captive—as you would do to me?”

  Lev’s expression flashed anger again, but Roman spoke. “My father fell in love with her immediately, and yes, as the tale is told, she did need some convincing to remain. She had a lover and family, and wanted to return to Moscow. But it was nearly impossible to travel out of the area, particularly in the winter—as it was when she arrived. And once she got to know Lev, and know us she did, in the end she willingly decided to remain. Not long after she came to live among the tribe, they discovered a most miraculous thing. Irina Yusovsky was an Aleksandrov; or, more specifically, her mother was—a member of the very same family that had been charged to protect Czar Ivan’s library. A library that we know holds secrets and truths that will not only fill in the holes of history, but will also help us to carry out our tasks. There are ancient words there, from those who have lived on this earth much longer than we have. From those who lived during a time when our race existed close to the land, to the earth…who communed with our Mother…who listened to her and protected her.”

  There was silence for a moment, and then Lev spoke in a low, sober voice. “And thus you see how neatly Gaia has provided for us, for our legacy, and for her health and safety. She delivered to me—from out of the sky—the only woman worthy of being my partner. The only woman worthy of carrying on Her line.”

  Marina was torn between utter disbelief and entranced fascination. She couldn’t speak, for though she wanted to ignore it—all of it—she could not deny her own connection to the earth, her own sense of the oneness of the planet and her entire ecosystem. She’d always been drawn to caves, to going deep into the bowels of the earth, being surrounded by the planet.

  “Mariska,” said Lev after a long moment. “Will you come with me? I would like you to see your heritage.”

  An ugly sense of trepidation and mistrust took hold of her…and yet she wanted to see that library again. She craved it.

  Was that not, after all, why she had risked coming here?

  That w
as her truth.

  TWENTY-NINE

  The library was furnished just as Marina remembered it, but the space it inhabited was larger than the one in the Siberian mountains.

  Dimly lit, the room boasted shallow, table-sized display cases arranged in the center of the space. There were eight of them, in two rows, lined up neatly.

  There was a single entrance to the rectangular room. Nudged against two walls were stacks of drawers, each one just as shallow as the display cases, but arranged atop each other. They were large, meant to hold papyruses, scrolls, parchments, and even slabs of rock and metal of various sizes.

  Two chairs fashioned of animal hide, horns, and wood graced one of the narrow walls. They appeared comfortable and inviting, a remnant of Lev’s century of life in Siberia. His Shamanic drum hung between the seats, and when Marina was drawn closer, she saw a thick rug of fur on the floor. It was large enough to be from a bear. Crystals sat in a shallow dish on the round table between the chairs. A stack of bowls of various sizes stood on a small table that also held jars, utensils, and a mortar and pestle.

  Roman had accompanied them, but, as before, he stood silently, watching. Waiting.

  Marina couldn’t control the prickling of excitement and energy as she paused in front of one of the glassed tabletop display cases. She folded her hands behind her back and curled her fingers together like a small child told to look but not touch—and fearful her fingers might do so under their own volition.

  Of course, she couldn’t read every language—and certainly not very many ancient languages—though she was rudimentary in several, and expert in a few. But when faced with a sample, such as now, she could usually identify the type and culture. However, this sample, this particular one… She couldn’t control a soft gasp of recognition.

  It was part of the same piece she’d been sent in the Pandora’s box from Lev. The one that matched the writing in Matt Granger’s cave.

  It could not be a coincidence.

  Marina looked up to find Roman’s gaze on her. She caught him by surprise, and he was unable to hide the desperation in his eyes. Then it disappeared, so quickly she could question whether she’d actually recognized that emotion, and was replaced with a knowing look.

  “I see you recognize that piece.” He came to stand next to her, and Marina found herself flanked by her father and grandfather, looking down at the protected sample.

  “Of course. You sent it to me.”

  “But you’ve seen it elsewhere as well, have you not?”

  She pulled back from the display to look at him. “What do you mean?” But she was beginning to understand.

  Matt Granger had been told about the cave by a stranger they met, hiking through the area. There had been that paper wrapping and a recent receipt from Zingerman’s, an Ann Arbor landmark, in the ruins of her father’s—no, Victor’s—home in Northern Michigan.

  Roman smiled complacently. All trace of weakness—of desperation, if that was what she’d seen—was gone. “I see you’re beginning to comprehend just how carefully this was all planned. I have to admit, I didn’t expect you to come to us because you’d been infected by the cuprobeus bacteria, but that just moved the timeline along a little more quickly. You might have dithered about it for weeks, or even months. But I knew that eventually you’d need to come. To see this.” He gestured to the library.

  Marina shook her head, trying to make sense of it all. “Do you mean you purposely set it up so Matt Granger would find that cave—how? How could you know I’d be there, and have to rescue him, and…how did you even know the cave was there?” It couldn’t be. There were too many variables.

  And yet…it was too coincidental not to have been purposely arranged.

  “Viktor found the cave, and the writings. It took him some time, of course—it was a project of many years, and it began long before you even knew we existed, I’m certain. In fact, his determination to find the location mentioned in these writings was originally for no other purpose than the mere discovery of it, and confirmation that it existed. You see, the information is written here,” Roman said, gesturing to the piece of stone in the case. “And with some study, Viktor was actually able to locate the cave a year or more before he came back to us. It’s a burial site, I understand. Many of the visiting white people—the Phoenicians, I believe they are?—died one harsh winter, and so they buried them with their stones. The rest of them left to go south.”

  Roman patted her hand, the first time he’d touched her. “I see you are in shock. Did you not realize we haven’t been simply the caretakers of this library, but also its scholars? Despite the fact that the depths of this collection have hardly begun to be plumbed, Lev has long studied some of the pieces, as have others of our tribe. This is a rather important piece of writing, Mariska. Or so I’ve been told.” Roman gestured to his father. “I can’t read it myself.”

  “But…I only found the cave by accident.”

  Her father folded his hands over his chest. “No, you found the cave because you were led there. You were in the area, and so we gave you the opportunity to find the cave. It’s a shame the young man was killed—but he shouldn’t have been taking a risk like that. Everyone knows not to go into a cave without certain preparations.”

  She could do nothing but stare at him. “Someone told Matt Granger the cave existed, hoping he would find it and then be trapped in it so I would have to extract him?”

  “To be sure, Granger wasn’t the only person to whom the information was fed. We weren’t taking any chances with you in such close proximity. But since a great number of people are foolish when it comes to exploring caves, the probability was high you would need to intervene.

  “And even if a search and rescue mission hadn’t been necessary, surely you would have heard about the find while you were in the area and been compelled to see it. And then the rest would have fallen into place.” He spread his hands nonchalantly. “You already had the sample of writing, you would surely have at least made some initial study of it, and it would have been simple for you to make the connection…and then wonder about the rest of it. And then it would have fallen into place, Mariska—for surely you’ve heard about the White Cloud People of Peru. The Chachapoya people, who died out in the 1500s.”

  Marina felt numb. “Of course I’ve heard of them—the fair-skinned, blond-haired tribe whose origins are a mystery.”

  “Or were. Until now.” The temptation dangled, reflected in his eyes and the knowing smile.

  She shook her head, but he was correct about her assessment, and the steps she’d taken. She’d been played, to some extent. “I’m not staying,” she told them once more. “I will never be a part of your terrorist attacks.”

  Lev made a soft noise, something like a cross between negation and pain. She looked at him, and was caught by his gaze. It seemed to delve deeply inside her mind, almost as if he were attempting hypnosis.

  “Stop that,” she snapped, and tore her gaze away.

  Lev merely blinked, and his expression returned to normal. “There are times, Mariska, when the decision to act is painful, and it isn’t a clear path, and it is frightening. You belong with us. Someday, you will understand.”

  THIRTY

  Marina opened her eyes.

  It took a moment before she remembered where she was, and what had happened.

  Eli.

  She sat up, realizing she was on a comfortable bed. The room was dark, lit only by a soft glow that came from a tiny light in the corner. She was back in the clinic room.

  The last thing she remembered was demanding from Lev and Roman that she be brought here from the library so she could stay with Eli. “I’m not letting you take him away like you did to Gabe MacNeil.”

  Marina scrambled off the bed and swayed a little before she caught her balance. Did they drug me?

  How long had she been out? Where was Eli?

  If they’d done anything to him…killed him, taken him away—

  She beca
me aware that she wasn’t alone. Someone else was in the room. Soft breathing, the rustling of fabric—blankets or sheets?

  There was another bed; now that her eyes were adjusting to the dim light, she could make out its shape. Someone was on it. Hope rushed through her as she crept carefully over to the prone figure.

  She touched the other bed first, then worked her way lightly over until she found skin. Warm. Smooth. An arm, face up. His pulse pounded in his wrist, and suddenly his fingers closed around her hand.

  “Dr. Alexander?”

  Marina’s knees nearly buckled in her relief. “Dr. Sanchez. Thank God.” He was alive, at least. And his forearm—the one that had been rough with rash and hives—felt smooth. A normal temperature. “How do you feel?”

  “Not bad at all.” He hadn’t released her hand, and he tugged gently as he pulled himself to a seated position. “You?”

  “I’m fine. I can’t believe it,” she whispered. She was lightheaded with relief. “They really did cure you. I was certain they would—”

  “And without all that torture you were talking about.” There was a lift of humor in his voice. “Thank you. You saved my life.”

  “Well, so far, anyway,” she said. “You’re not out of here yet.”

  “All at great risk to yourself. Don’t think I don’t realize what you’ve done, Dr. Alexander. They don’t care about me. It’s you they want.”

  “I’ll be able to get you out of here. If they wanted you dead, you’d already be—dead.”

  “And no torture either. I’m beginning to be a little envious of MacNeil. Apparently he got it all—a bullet, death threats, and torture.”

  “But I promised you a beetle. I’m certain I can get you a beetle too.” She couldn’t hold back a soft laugh.

  “Don’t forget, MacNeil got the girl too.”