4. Silence

"Marie? It's me, Lara."

"Lara! Good to hear from you. What is it?"

"Would you be willing to come to Turkey?"

"Now?"

"Now."

"..."

"Marie?"

"Why?"

"Selma has something important to tell you."

"Lara, I'm too old, not gonna cross the world for tea."

"Coffee. A disgusting, watery coffee, by the way. But you should come, Marie. It's not something that can be explained over the phone."

"I need to know exactly what..."

"Tenebra."

"..."

"Selma's been digging there. I didn't know, but she's been doing it for years... behind our backs. She wants you to come to…"

"Konstantin."

"Yes."

"Oh my God."

"Actually, you don't need to go through this. You know that, right?"

"..."

"Marie…"

"I have to do it, Lara. I'll come."

When she hung up, Marie realized that Lara had not asked for Kurtis.

Despite Selma's insistence to stay with them, Lara preferred to return to the hotel. She didn't miss the puzzled look that the archaeologist and Zip exchanged as she turned to leave the messy apartment.

She hadn't been that good at hiding it, after all. They were clearly disappointed by her reaction. Fourteen years earlier, Lara had almost grabbed Selma by the neck. Now her attitude hadn't gone beyond a slight irritation.

Not that she cared too much.

Nothing mattered anymore.

After closing the door behind her, she leaned against it and stared at the small room, not paying attention to anything in particular. Then she took a deep breath, several times.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

With hesitant steps, she headed for the bathroom while absentmindedly taking off her clothes, piece by piece. The braid was slowly undone. Then she got into the shower.

She didn't need it particularly, but truth be told, the water falling on her, sliding all over her body was comforting. She didn't know how long she stood under the running water, leaning with both hands against the shower wall, her wet hair brushing her face.

He had assaulted her.

The man she loved, the only one she'd truly loved. With whom she'd been all those years, while others had been left behind. The man who'd saved her. The one who'd devoted his life to her. The one who'd always been there, no matter what, when, and how. To whom she'd entrusted her life. The man whose daughter she'd given birth to among unbearable waves of pain, cursing under her breath.

That man had assaulted her, slamming her against the wall like a rag doll. Not that it actually harmed her. Sometimes the sex had been even more brutal.

But that mask of fury. Had he really intended to hurt her? Her? How dare he? Who did he think he was?

She could've fought back. She could've broken his face, and she should've done it. But she was too shocked. Half an hour after the blow, she was still sitting there, processing what she'd just witnessed.

The man she'd been willing to share her whole life with had become a stranger to her.

How to trust him again, after what he'd done? How to know if next time he wouldn't turn against her, attack her again, even more brutally?

It couldn't be. He wasn't like that. Had he lost his mind? What kind of lunatic proposed and then threw you against a wall?

Lara didn't realize she was hyperventilating until she heard her own quickening breath. She swallowed, clenched her jaw and tried to control herself. She wasn't going to collapse. Not this way.

She shut off the tap and stepped out of the shower, wrapping herself in a towel. Not bothering to dry her hair, she flopped onto the bed, face down.

It'd been a blessing that Selma had called her just hours after the incident. She'd practically fled to Turkey, far away from that place, far away from him – where he was now, she didn't know, though she hoped he'd gone to Utah with his mother.

Hoped? Why did she care, after all? Let him go to hell, if he wanted to. She wasn't afraid of him – but she didn't want to see him again.

What about proposing to her all of a sudden in the heat of the argument? She couldn't avoid laughing. Get married? The two of them? She hardly imagined a more ridiculous marriage. For all those years, they had been happy. It'd been perfect. Not always together, she focused on her journeys, he on his missions, those passionate reencounters from time to time, the daughter they had raised in common - cheerful, strong and, above all, fearless. Could've been much worse.

Why spoil that perfection? Why get married? Everything was settled. Anna had her last name, she was a Croft, she would inherit everything. Lara had everything ready in case she died, in case both died. Nothing would be lacking. Marriage was as absurd as it was unnecessary.

Besides, after all they had been through, that ceremony would've been empty, meaningless. There was no stronger bond. She'd died for him. He'd died for her. What they had struggled to be together, to survive side by side, only very few knew.

What was a ridiculous marriage when compared to that strong, sacred bond that had defied death itself?

What am I to you? How much do you care?

She'd loved him. She'd kept him at her side. After him, there had been no other one. She'd been loyal to him. She'd given herself to him. She'd carried in her belly and gave birth to his daughter. He'd seen her grow up.

Fourteen years. Fourteen years of happiness.

What else did he want?

If I asked you, would you marry me?

Why had he probed her?

Or was he serious?

...

Had he been serious?

She felt a sob rising up her throat and covered her mouth with a swipe. She was not going to cry. She was not going to cry, like a stupid lady. Control yourself.

What if he had meant it? He didn't used to joke about such things. But it was all so weird. So atypical. After everything they had been through. To get married... at that point.

Do you ever listen to me?

Lara grabbed the sheets in a fist and twisted them. Control yourself.

What am I to you?

He was the father of her daughter. He was the only man who'd had her all those years. What else did he want?

She bit her lower lip until she tasted blood.

The guy you screw from time to time?

She still had his taste on her lips when he had pushed her against the wall. His taste on her lips, his sweat stuck to her skin, his scent clinging to her hair. She still could feel his seed inside her, her aching hips, that glorious pain. Sex had been eager and intense.

Minutes later, he'd shoved her against that wall with a brutality nothing to do with what had led her to ecstasy.

He'd ruined everything. She couldn't trust that man again.

Plunging her face into the pillow, Lara screamed in rage and despair.

"This is bad." Hok'ee snapped his tongue. "Bad, very bad."

The two Navajos, the shepherd and the hatałii, the shaman of the Diné, watched the man lying on the ground amidst a pile of empty bottles of whiskey.

"C'mon." Shilah urged. "Let's get him outta here. Don't let his mothe..."

"Marie has already seen him." The shaman laughed softly. "She's the one who called me. Can we move him?"

Not likely. Shilah was strong and Hok'ee, although with the hatałii rank, was still young, but it was one thing to tame a young colt or move a wounded body and another to try to lift that burly soldier who wouldn't collaborate at all.

When the shepherd bent over the fallen man, he suddenly opened his eyes and glared at him. His eyes were red. "Go away, Shilah." His voice sounded terribly husky and doughy.

"You can't stay here, Hashkeh. The sun's burning your soft bilagáana skin." He couldn't help but tease, though it was true. His face was almost as red as his eyes. When he reached for his arm, Kurtis shook him off. "Back off."

"Hashkeh Naabah." Hok'ee said, visibly irritated. "If you don't get up, we'll lift you. And your poor mother doesn't deserve to see how we drag you inside."

Kurtis let out a half-hearted laugh. Not even three stout Navajos could've been able to move him, it was known. Luckily, he decided to get up. The hatałii stared, stupefied, as he stood alone, though he hesitated and Shilah had to grab him. He stank of whiskey. "Where did you get all this alcohol?" The shepherd said, clutching his arm as they made their way to the porch entrance.

"The hell you care." The ex-legionnaire muttered, and staggered again. Hok'ee hurried to hold him by the other arm, ignoring his glare.

Somehow, they managed to climb the three steps of the porch, take him inside and drop him on the sofa at the entrance. There Kurtis collapsed and didn't move anymore. "Great." He mumbled then. "I'm in the shade, thank you - now fuck off."

"Hashk..."

"Leave it, Hok'ee." Said a clear, firm voice. Marie Cornel was standing in the doorway, wrapped in her multi-coloured shawl, staring hard at her son. Then she turned to the two Navajos. "T'áá íiyisíí ahéhee'." She told them. "I'll take care of him."

Shilah tipped her head, respectful, and left immediately, visibly mortified. The shaman, however, remained for a moment staring at Marie: "A man who poisons his body has already poisoned his soul. You're a body healer, but you don't heal souls."

"Ahéhee, Hok'ee." She insisted. "I'll take care of this. Go in peace."

The hatałii shrugged. "Call me if you need me. You know what happens to those who have a sick soul..."

"I'm drunk, not deaf." Kurtis grunted from the sofa.

Hok'ee turned and, looking at him solemnly, said: "I will pray to the Diyin Dine'é for you, Haskheh Nabaah, to guide you through the darkness." He bowed once more to Marie and went out, softly closing the door.

For a moment, the Navajo woman stared at her son, who had thrown his head back and closed his eyes. Then she walked slowly to the kitchen, fiddled with some closets, and came back with a flat jar in her hands. Sitting heavily beside Kurtis on the sofa, she opened the jar. A foul smell invaded the hall.

Kurtis winced as she put the substance on his face. "Be still." Marie grunted. "It's just an ointment for burns."

He knew her too well to resist. Not that he cared anyway.

Nothing mattered anymore.

When she finished, Marie closed the jar and set it aside. "Now, tell me what the hell's wrong with you. This drunkard I see is not my son."

Kurtis burst into laughter. "You should've seen me years ago."

"I don't want to know. But here and now... it's not you. What the hell's happening here? I can't believe it's because of me. I'm old, I'm ill... it's the natural order of things. I know, you know..."

He ran his hand over his thick beard. He'd been neglecting his shaving for some time. "Not the best time to talk about this."

"It's the perfect time. Later there will be no way to get anything out of you."

He laughed again and sat back on the couch. Marie would've loved to twist his neck, but her whole body was already aching. "If this is about Anna..."

"Leave me alone."

"Don't dare to talk to me like that, boy. I didn't give birth to you in the middle of a damn meadow and raised you always looking over my shoulder so that now alcohol can kill you. Answer! What is it?"

Silence.

Marie Cornel took a deep breath and let the air out slowly. Then she wrapped herself in her shawl and rose awkwardly. "Lara called an hour ago."

She saw his son open his eyes slowly - two blue, bloodshot mirrors, the only thing that moved in all his immobile, defeated body.

Aha, Marie thought. I knew it. "I have to go to Turkey."

Kurtis's head turned slowly to her. "You're not in condition for travelling." He whispered with those dry, cracked and bleeding lips. The voice came out suddenly weak.

"Right now, you're not in condition for travelling." Marie snorted. "It's important. Related with Selma Al-Jazeera and... and the city of Tenebra." She expected a reaction from him, but he did absolutely nothing – not even blinking. "Are you coming with me? Or am I travelling alone?"

Silence.

Marie let out an exasperated sigh. "We'll talk about this when you're sober." She turned and walked away. "I'd give you an emetic for that shit you drank, but I won't have vomiting in the house. I've had enough with Hok'ee's self-righteousness."

And she didn't tell him that Lara had not even asked for him.

"Something's wrong here." Selma Al-Jazeera murmured to the pile of papers and open books. Standing in the centre of her messy studio, the Turkish archaeologist folded her arms and frowned. Five minutes later, she was still in the same position. "Something's going terribly wrong here." She repeated.

Zip had a special ability, otherwise rare in a man of his kind, to keep some attention in what was happening around him beyond his natural status, which was to live with his eyes glued to the screen and with his headphones blasting on his eardrums. That's why he noticed that Selma had stopped moving around the room. He pushed one of the ear-muffs away. "What's up, princess? Finally found the floor?"

"I think something's not right here!" Replied Selma.

Zip shrugged. "Exactly what I thought the first time I saw this mess, but..."

"No!" The woman turned to her partner. "Something's wrong with Lara!"

The hacker pushed his headphones back to hang around his neck. "Lara?"

"Didn't you notice anything weird about her?"

"She's weird."

Said the pot to the kettle, Selma thought, but said nothing. After all, who, of all of them, was actually normal? "The way she reacted is not normal. She was hardly startled."

Zip scratched his head. "Yup. No need for helmets or book walls."

"Years ago, she took a plane from England and stormed in here because I'd decided to reopen the excavation! You should've seen her pounding and screeching at my door. She was going nuts!"

"Sounds very Croftish."

"And now... this? This is not natural. Something happened."

Zip shrugged. "Well, that gloomy and spooky city down there, Taberna..."

"Tenebra."

"Whatever. No monsters or shiny stuff down there anymore. If there ain't no trinkets to steal or booby traps to kill herself in she gets bored right away. You already know her."

"I already know her." Repeated Selma, unconvinced. But she stood there, overthinking, while Zip was focused on the screen again.

She mentally reviewed the conversation with Lara.

She mentally replayed Lara's conversation with Marie on the phone, as she rummaged through her thesis' papers.

She mentally reviewed Lara's words when, laconic, she told her that Marie would actually come to see her there, to Istanbul.

She didn't get a thing.

Still, something went terribly wrong. She knew it.

Her gaze moved to the pile of papers on her desk. A mere bunch of papers, out of the hundreds she had there. But that one was special.

That was hers.

Approaching the desk full of books and papers, she put her hand on the pile and gently stroked the first page, following with the tips of her fingers the printed letters.

BITTER REALMS

Report of the Eden-Tenebra ruins, in the subsoil of Cappadocia, Turkey

Prof. Selma Al-Jazeera

University of Istanbul

It was ready. Her thesis, her lifelong work. She just had to send it and expect college approval. But before that, another person had to give her consent. Rather two other people, the only two survivors of that massacre.

And Selma wasn't the only one waiting for their consent.

She should've been exultant, nervous, excited at the chance of finally seeing the work of her life published. Yes, they were not going to be enthusiastic about revealing to the world the existence of Tenebra, and with it, the Nephili, the sacrifice of the Lux Veritatis and the atrocious Shadows War. But then they would understand. They had to understand.

Or so she hoped.

However, instead of impatience and anticipation in getting her life's dream at last, Selma felt suddenly demoralized. Lara's reaction had been too strange. She'd acted as if she didn't care at all.

Yes, something was terribly wrong.

Some Navajo expressions used in the chapter:

T'áá íiyisíí ahéhee':Thank you so much.

Ahéhee: Thank you (short version).

Hatałii: Medicine man, the equivalent of a shaman among the Diné people.

Bilagáana: white man/ white people.

Diyin Dine'é: The Holy People. Powerful beings and spirits the Navajo ask for their intercession.