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Alice nodded, though she didn’t look convinced. “I’m sure you’re right, Doc.” The young woman hesitated in the doorway.
“Go on, Alice. I’m fine. I’ll be there as soon as I put away my notes.”
Alice disappeared without further comment. Bree was thankful. She’d glimpsed her notebook. Other than a few lines scribbled at the top, the page was completely blank. “I must be losing my mind,” Bree muttered, then realized she’d been talking to herself out loud all day. “How could I have lost so many hours?”
Vowing to take better care of herself in the future, Bree hastily rearranged the figures into a single row on the tray. Refilling her canteen from a jug in the corner of the makeshift lab, she headed for the group gathered around a fire not far from their cluster of sleeping tents.
Normally the quiet one in the group, John had taken center stage, treating the other interns to a scathing impression of the head of the university’s archaeology department. She paused in the shadows, watching. John somehow managed to convey the essence of Dr. Jacobson, scrunching his muscular six-foot-two frame into the chronic hunched-over pose of the humorless academic. He launched into a falsetto-voiced tirade about the amount of money being squandered on another team’s discovery of Paleolithic skeletons in Northern Spain.
“I hate paying for you people to prove you’ve discovered something important,” he sniffed. “All you’re trying to do is show me up. Just because I haven’t stuck a shovel in the ground in the last thirty years…”
Jess was doubled over with laughter. “Now do Doc,” she urged.
John’s voice changed, taking on a dry no-nonsense tone. He stuck his chest out to mimic Bree’s generously endowed chest and began pacing back and forth in front of the fire.
“Now, as you know, ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “I’ve spent the last five years attempting to prove that Neolithic fertility cults were nothing more than brothels. Recently I found out the head of our economics department is the last surviving member of one of those cults. His firsthand experience of their erotic rituals would be invaluable, but I can’t find a student who can stay awake long enough in one of his lectures to take notes for me.”
“Very amusing, John,” Bree remarked, striding into the clearing. The raucous laughter died immediately. Jess looked horrified, John stammered something between “Thank you” and “I’m sorry.” Owen just laughed.
“Now that you’re here, Doc, you can deliver the lecture yourself,” Owen urged. “Tell us one of your really dirty ancient tales. You know, the ones you reserve for grad students. We’ve already paid our dues sitting through your boring introductory classes.”
“John may be right about archaic devotions,” Bree replied. Without realizing it, she began pacing in front of the fire, too, as though she was back on stage in her lecture hall in Chicago. “Many scholars believe ancient temples housed both male and female prostitutes. It was common for devout pilgrims of both sexes to visit the temple, where some beseeched the gods for a bountiful harvest and others prayed to be blessed with children.
“Wealthy powerful men often took much younger wives in their old age, hoping for more heirs to carry on their line. Those women were often ordered to visit the temple. They were led to the altar and told to get down on their knees and pray for one of the gods to assume human form and fill them with blessings. According to ancient papyrus texts, impotent husbands could pay an extra offering to watch male prostitutes service their wives, peeking from behind the pillars surrounding the high altar.”
Bree’s voice took on a hypnotic note. “Imagine being in the temple on the night of the full moon when the ritual was performed. You’re standing in the shadows, or, if your offering to the gods is hefty enough, you’ve been given a seat right in front of the altar. The Great Hall is lit with hundreds of oil lamps attached to forty-foot-high pillars lining the interior walls.
“The air is heavy with the musky odor of frankincense smoldering in front of the offerings piled on the steps of the altar – bowls overflowing with grain, pots filled with honey and rare spices, statues in all sizes and shapes, many of them adorned with gold and precious jewels.”
She stopped pacing, her gaze focused on a point beyond the fire. Bree continued, describing the scene as though she was peeking out from behind one of the pillars in the sanctuary.
“In the center of the room, on a raised dais, stands an enormous bronze bull, measuring nearly thirty feet tall at the tip of his horns. His erect penis juts out, gleaming in the firelight. A carved stone altar underneath him, between his legs, is decorated with images of every kind of sexual act imaginable. The priests and temple prostitutes have lined up in front of the altar, waiting for the procession to arrive. It began at sundown, winding along the two-mile route from the city to the temple complex. They hear the music, faintly at first…flutes and lyres and the somber cadence of drums echoing off the distant cliffs.”
“The male prostitutes, young men all, are nearly naked, their muscled bodies anointed with sacred oil. Some of them are already imagining the rites to come, their erections poking out from under short linen garments slung around their hips.”
Lost in the story, Bree fancied she could hear the faint echoes of music in the distance. As she went on, the sound grew louder.
Jess’s scream brought her crashing back to reality. “Run! Run for the tents,” she cried. “A djinn is coming!”
Everyone scrambled to grab their precious canteens, scattering plates and cups as they ran for cover.
Long before it was used to describe a genie with magical powers, djinn was the name given to the most dreaded curse of the desert – the dust devil. The team had already experienced one djinn, shortly after they arrived at the site. It was a mild storm, lasting only an hour. Even so, the tents were nearly ripped from their moorings by ferocious winds whirling like a tornado.
Dust devils could spring up in an instant, descending on an area with no warning. The Arab foreman of their workforce told them stories of djinns that lasted for days, swallowing up entire caravans. The storms moved through the vast desert unimpeded, their howling winds kicking up swirling grains of sand that cut through clothing and skin, capable of shredding hapless souls to the bone. Towering tsunamis of sand had been known to reach fifty feet in height, and powerful djinns could barrel across the desert for 1,000 miles before dying away.
John and Owen ran side by side, catching up with Alice as she headed for her tent. “Is Jess okay?” John shouted.
“She’s ahead of us.” Alice glanced back. The welcoming light of the campfire had disappeared, obscured by dark clouds of sand. “Where’s Doc?”
“She was right behind us.”
“I don’t see her!” Alice cried. “We have to make sure she’s okay. She’s been acting weird today.”
“Find Jess and get into a tent. Hurry!” Owen yelled. “We’ll go back and look for her. It’s too dangerous for you to be out here alone. Visibility is already near zero.”
Bree had been slow to react, lost in her tale of a world long gone. By the time Jess’s warning cries penetrated her brain, the storm was upon them. Eyes squeezed nearly shut to protect them from wind-whipped grains of sand sharp as shards of glass, she set off in the direction of the tents.
She moved blindly, both hands out in front of her as she stumbled along. Suddenly, a hard object struck the back of her head. Knocked to her knees, Bree closed her hand on a fist-sized rock hurled by the storm.
She struggled to get to her feet then collapsed at the blinding pain. The wind keened so loud, her eardrums felt like they were about to explode.
Cradling her aching head, Bree curled into a fetal position and closed her eyes.
