The Seventh Stone Read Free Page B

twelve precious gemstones. The diamond, ruby, Emerald, and sapphire engulfed her in a prism of brilliant, seductive light. But the more she tightened her grasp, the faster the Breastplate disintegrated, falling to her feet as black ash. Somehow, that black ash was Dad.
     
    She pointed to a round building, the size of a large silo. “That could be the kiva,” she said. Like the ones she’d studied at other cliff dwellings, a kind of temple, a place for men to sweat and pray. Early kivas were dug out of the ground, a dark respite to the desert sun. Later, the Anasazi built them on the surface, which was less atmospheric, but more elaborate; some were even keyhole shaped. “Let’s go.”
     
    “ That is not the kiva,” Joseph said. He scrutinized the dwelling, his eyes squinting with eager fear. “Keep low.” He crept along the wall. His moccasin clad feet barely made a whisper as he approached the circular structure. Christa followed, each footfall of her heavy tread hiking boot sounding like thunder awaking echoes in the dead, muted air of the cave. He traced his fingers across the lintel topping the T-shaped portal. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck to the collar of his plaid flannel shirt. His hands trembled. “The ancients who lived here practiced the witchery way,” he said.
     
    Cursed. Dad’s kind of place. “You really think the Turquoise is hidden inside?” She peered inside the circular chamber. It was dark, and felt like a trap.
     
    “ The Turquoise is close. I can sense it,” said Joseph. “One of the seven gemstones taken from the Breastplate.”
     
    “ Right,” she said, “by a priest in the sixteenth century, Dad’s favorite bedtime story.”
     
    “ A conquistador found the Breastplate. He brought it to the new world to begin a new empire with its divine power.” Joseph gestured to the night sky, as if recounting the tale around the campfire. “A priest saw that the conquistador had used its power for evil. The priest ripped away seven of the twelve sacred stones from the Breastplate and scattered them around the world. No man could ever again use its power for evil.”
     
    “ And the gems and Breastplate were lost to history and humankind,” she said, trying to tame her skepticism. “Listen, I’ve searched for years for historical evidence to support this story. Didn’t find anything.” We will find it, Christa , Dad would say. We will write the ending to this story. She should know by now. There are no happy endings. Only last chances.
     
    An eerie call wafted up to them from below. It began softly, almost like a hungry infant’s pitiful keen. It quickly intensified in pitch and volume. A monstrous, primeval howl pierced the night air. Christa peered over the wall towards the plateau rim. A sudden breeze sliced through the stubborn scrub that crept between the rocks and scratched cool fingers down the back of her neck. “What the hell is that?” she whispered. The yowl spiraled around them. It was close, very close. And it wasn’t a lone coyote.
     
    Joseph fingered the cowhide pouch strung around his neck, his medicine bag. “ The yee naaldlooshii,” he said. “Protectors of what we seek. We have awoken them. They will not sleep again until they kill.”
     

 
     
     
    CHAPTER 4
    Viscillus ruins, southern coast of Morocco
     
     
    Thaddeus Devlin twisted off his neckerchief and rubbed the fine red sand from his Sig Sauer pistol. It had been a long, cold night, waiting, hidden behind the ruins of the Roman wall. He had watched the full moon rise and set while he listened to the waves beat relentlessly against the shore. His back ached, pressed against the rough granite block. He could feel it, like the damp sea air, seeping into his bones. They were coming for the letter. He might have to kill them. He might be damned either way.
     
    “ I tell you, Professor Thaddeus,” Muktar whispered, “no bad men come. Nothing is here. Nothing for them.” Muktar’s