SAMPLE CHAPTER: THE PROPHECY
The days that followed were a blur of activities for me and my new team. I recruited the best experts my money can buy: archaeological scientists, chemists, physicists, technicians. Carbon dating machines, accelerator mass spectrometers, and other dating equipment were flown to my company headquarters in Mauritius, where the entire basement parking was converted to a massive laboratory.
Hundreds of tests, multiple examinations, analyses, re-examinations, and re-analyses later, all experts and machines arrived at only one conclusion: the vellum was authentic. They dated it to as far back as 5000 B.C. Some attested that it may be older.
And yet. . . the words in it were written in English—read and understood by everyone in our contemporary age.
It was mind-boggling. How can a parchment be that ancient, and then carry a message written in a language that will not exist until thousands of years later?
And the message. Some parts of it were not comprehensible. But some were deafeningly loud and clear. It was evidently a prophecy of doom.
besotted but scorned by a mortal
Death shall wither with a broken heart;
then the beginning of no end shall come
unless the object of affection is gone
after which these words shall be expunged.
until then, fire, water, and ice shall fall
as with plagues, tremors and visitations.
men shall wish they have never been born
thus shall broken vows be repaid in full.
* * *
“You’re still thinking about the writing on the parchment, aren’t you?” Stella sighed as we laid on the bed after another of her failed attempts at seduction.
I nodded and sat up. Picking up a copy of the parchment’s image from the side table, For the thousandth time, I perused it.
“Have you heard of the bubonic plague in Russia the other day? The forest fires in Congo and the snowstorm in Malaysia yesterday? The latest this morning was the flash flood in Saudi Arabia. These things. . . they happened from the day we discovered the vellum, disaster upon disaster in different locations around the world. I’d like to think they’re not related to the parchment, but these are too much to be mere coincidences.”
They were catastrophes like no other, comparable to none in the past history of mankind. Heads of governments and kingdoms were left perplexed, unprepared in dealing with situations with no precedence, nor solution in sight.
Stella cleared her throat and sat up, too. “Actually, the latest was the sinkhole in Australia. Also. . . ,” she stammered, “this morning, some of our team approached Oliver. They were almost hysterical. They think the parchment and the events that are happening are connected. They demanded that the public must be made aware of the contents of the vellum, or they will go to the press.”
“That’s what Oliver wanted to talk to me about?” I exhaled a worried breath. “They can’t do that. They signed a non-disclosure agreement with us.”
“Do you think they’d care in the midst of all that’s happening? Some of their relatives or friends were either killed or injured or lost their homes. The paranoia is real. And it’s not without reason. If we don’t take action, we will be bombarded by the media, or worse, be overtaken by the government through the military. Either way, the company will not survive.”
“Not to mention the mob,” I muttered. So far, our press release had only been the discovery of the oldest document known to man. If the public got hold of the message written on it, there will certainly be chaos and panic.
I had thought of those scenarios myself, had been consumed by them, in fact. But ever the pragmatic, I didn’t voice out my apprehensions to anyone, even to my sister who was very close to me. I was not a believer in curses and prophecies. But the events in the past seven days were knocking down the walls of doubt—fast.
I ran my fingers through my hair. “I wish I knew what to do. If there really is a connection between the parchment and the disasters, who can know for sure? We have sent feelers to the world’s major religions and they know nothing about an ancient document that’s maybe as old as the Earth itself.”
Stella took a deep breath. “I wanted to tell you this the other day but I was afraid you’d laugh at me.”
“What is it?”
“Well, did you notice that in the message, only the word Death is capitalized? Like a proper noun?”
My brows knitted. “So?”
Her lips pursed. “So, I remember I had a classmate of mine in university. She was a member of a cult, the Icraci. She claimed they are followers of Death.”
“What do you mean? Death, as in like an entity?”
“Yes, exactly like that. They have rituals, holy men, doctrines, the works.”
“How can there be followers of Death? Death is. . . death. It’s a condition, a state of being. It isn’t tangible.”
“That’s exactly what I told her. Do you know what she said?”
“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
“That we cannot touch Death, but Death touches us.”
My frown deepened. “What does that mean? Death has a face, a body, hands?”
She shrugged, “She wouldn’t tell me more after that. I tried to ask her again many times, but she told me to forget she’d ever told me about it.”
I chuckled. “Stella, your friend sounded insane. A cult worshipping Death?”
“Well, think about it. There had been cults venerating heroes, even villains like Hitler. And she’s the most sensible, sane person I’ve ever encountered. Highly intelligent, too. In fact, she’s well known all over the world today.”
“Who’s your friend? What’s her name?”
“Ceyda Asani.”
I was shocked. “The current Secretary-General of the United Countries?”
She nodded. “The one and only. And the first female secretary-general, I may add.”
I ran my fingers over the vellum copy, digesting what she said. “Do you think she’s still a member of her cult?”
“When I spoke to her the other day, she confirmed it. Though she made me swear not to mention it to anybody. She was not open about it when we were students to avoid being mocked or frowned upon. I understand she’s being especially cautious now in her position of power.”
I gaped at her. “You talked to her?”
She took the paper from my hands. “You’re not the only one who’s being anxious about this, you know. I think she can help us with this message. Or at least, her father can. He’s their Council Head.”
“Wait. Didn't her father served two terms as the UN Secretary-General back in the late 2000’s?”
“Yes. Demir Asani. Do you think there’s a connection?”
Stroking my chin, a sudden thought occurred to me. “I want to meet Ceyda Asani in private. Can you arrange that?”
“I was afraid you’ll say that.” She sighed. “Okay. Pack up your bags and get ready to fly to Turkey.”
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