Soul Objective: Evelyn’s Story (Part 5)
“Yes?” Zarkisian asked in anticipation.
Static akin to white noise droned inside Zarkisian’s blazer. His mouth twisting in irritation at the intrusion, he pulled his phone from his inside breast pocket, glanced at the number, and scowled. “I told you not to call me—” His scowl contorted to a frown as he eyed at Evelyn with mistrust. “I have to take this,” he explained, unapologetic. “Business call.”
Zarkisian strode into the bedroom and closed the door. Evelyn stood mute, stunned by Zarkisian’s deference to this unexpected interruption. What can be more important than what’s happening here? She studied the closed door. Can it involve the coronation? Hope glimmered in her chest. A delay, perhaps?
She sidled to the door, saw its edge pulled tight against the jamb, and placed her left ear against the door’s upper panel. Zarkisian’s resonant voice rumbled through the pressed wood panel. “You say he’s in the country already!” Zarkisian exclaimed. “Here in D.C.?” he exulted. “That’s wonderful!”
Who could elicit such glee? Evelyn flattened her ear against the wood. Angra Mainyu? She frowned in puzzlement. In the States?
“Have your forces in place, Major Riley,” Zarkisian directed. “No slipups this time. Understand?”
A pause. Evelyn’s stomach muscles tightened. Is he finished?
“Pick him up at his office,” Zarkisian declared. “Arrest him at home. I don’t care so long as Victor Furst is under detention.”
Victor? Evelyn exulted at the possibility. Here? She pulled her head away from the door, her mouth twisted with anxiety. Why does Zarkisian want him? What has Victor done?
Backing away, she bumped against the dinner table and toppled her wine glass. Righting it, she reclaimed her place on the sofa, trembling with fear as Zarkisian reentered the room. He glanced at the door, then at the table. His brows narrowed upon spotting the liquor stain under Evelyn’s goblet. Flashing a questioning look at Evelyn, he joined her at the other end of the couch. “That was one of my agents,” he explained with resumed satisfaction. “Everything is proceeding on schedule.”
“Oh?” Evelyn replied, feigning disinterest. “Does that mean my involvement is no longer required?”
“That depends.” Zarkisian’s resumed its inquisitor’s mask. “You still haven’t answered my question.”
This is it! Evelyn sat very still. “It has to be ‘No,” she declared in a quiet voice, evading Zarkisian’s gaze. “I can’t approve an arranged marriage to a man Miriam’s never met.”
“And if she met the man?”
“I still wouldn’t approve,” Evelyn replied, squaring her shoulders. “It flies in the face of every custom we have.” She peered upward into Zarkisian’s withering gaze. “What freedom do women have if not to choose whom they marry?”
“Everything we do is predestined,” Zarkisian countered. “From the beginning of time.”
“Even this?” Evelyn asked, raising her hands and sweeping them about the room. “My reluctance to do what you want is foreordained?”
“Yes.”
Evelyn chuckled and shrugged. “Then why even try?”
“Yes, why?” Zarkisian agreed without sympathy. He glanced at the toppled glass and glowered. “Customs should be respected, if at all possible.” He rewrapped the spangenhelm and turned toward the armoire. “There are other means to gain the permission we seek.”
Evelyn’s heart stopped. Does he mean Victor? “You leave Victor out of this!”
Zarkisian smiled at her with self-satisfaction. “So, you were listening at the door.”
“N-no,” Evelyn lied, flustered by the success of Zarkisian’s simple ploy. “I just assumed—”
“You assume a lot,” Zarkisian decided. “Too much for a minor player in what’s about to happen. A return visit to Dakhanavar will teach you your place.”
Evelyn’s gaze fuzzed; Zarkisian’s stern countenance dissolved, succumbing to the merciless power of the beam that scrubbed away every particle of Evelyn’s self. Weightless as a bubble, she floated in darkness without purpose or sense until her feet scraped the furze surrounding a vast field illuminated by the intemperate belches of volcanoes soaring above it on all sides.
Blue, four-armed bipeds swarmed about box-like, wooden skeletons nailed onto titanic wheeled platforms. Evelyn scanned her front. Same linen shift—but this can’t be Dakhanavar! She wheeled around in terror. What are these creatures? What are they building?
“You there!”
Evelyn spun about.
“Out of my way!”
Another blue biped carrying a rough-hewn plank in each of his four arms knocked Evelyn to the ground on his march toward the nearest platform. Dropping them at its base, he marched past her to retrieve another load while his comrades hammered them onto the wooden skeleton.
Courtesy is not valued here! Evelyn struggled to her feet. “Where is this place?” she called to the creature’s retreating back. “What are you ‘people’?”
Receiving no answer, she dog-trotted behind him, trying to invoke conversation for making sense of it all. The creatures on either side worked in silent, relentless toil. None of them responded to her questions or looked in her direction. Halting in front of the towering pile of lumber with no forests or trees in sight, she waited while the four-armed creature who had deigned to speak to her hoisted four more planks onto his shoulders. Staggering under the weight, he struggled to find his balance before starting up the hill.
He looks exhausted. Maybe if I help— Evelyn reached up and lifted one plank forward to help steady the load.
“What are you doing?” the creature bellowed, crazed eyes blazing. “Steal my wood/”
“N-no,” Evelyn replied and retreated a step. Don’t make him madder! “I was just trying to help.”
“Help yourself to your own planks, then,” the creature replied. “You’ll get none from me.”
“I see that,” Evelyn replied. It’s a start. Keep him talking. “Mr. er—do you have a name?”
“Akbar Akban,” he growled. “Leader of the Amesha Spentras.”
“Oh?” Evelyn answered, knitting her brows in confusion. “Do the Amesha Spentras have two leaders?”
“There is only one leader of the Amesha Spentras,” Akbar announced and his two right hands thumped his chest. “And I am he.” His wispy brows narrowed with suspicion. “Who else dares claim my title?”
Such self-importance. Like a child boasting over being appointed hall monitor. Evelyn smiled. Pump him for information. “Let me see,” she remarked while scratching her chin. “I met him earlier. A-An-something—”
“Out with it!” Akbar demanded, pulling at the white tufts of hair over his ears. “I shall make short work of this impostor.”
“An-An-Ang,” Evelyn stammered, enjoying Akbar’s increasing frustration. “Angra,” she announced with fake satisfaction. “That’s it. Angra Mainyu!”
Akbar cowered like a dog slapped on its nose. “Th-the son of Zurvan?” Akbar stammered. “You met him?” he asked fearfully and his head swiveled both directions. “Is he here? Or close by?”
“No,” Evelyn answered. How would I know? This creature is as scared as I was. She followed his gaze. “At least I don’t think so.”
“Good,” Akbar replied with relief and gazed at the surrounding mountaintops. “The fire mountains belch little smoke. We still have time.”
“Time? For what?”
“To complete our tasks,” Akbar replied while picking up his dropped planks, “Angra Mainyu demands it.”
“Demands what?” Evelyn asked, following Akbar toward the wheeled platform. She grabbed his top right elbow. “Demands what?”
“That we finish these war wagons,” Akbar replied and shrugged her hand away. “Then End Time begins.”
“End time?” Evelyn asked, dread clogging her throat. “What’s that?”
“You know,” Akbar insisted in exasperation. “End Time.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Everyone understands End Time,” Akbar exclaimed, halting. He turned toward Evelyn, and his wild cobalt eyes studied her up and down for the first time. “I haven’t seen you here before,” he realized, biting his lower lip in bewilderment. “Why aren’t you carrying planks like the rest of us?”
Evelyn’s heart raced. Don’t panic. “I just got here,” she explained. That’s no lie. “Nobody’s told me anything.”
“Not even about End Time?” Akbar asked shrewdly.
“Especially that.”
“That figures.” Akbar shrugged in resignation. “We are told nothing—just do, do, do,” he griped in self-pity. Sniffling, he wiped his bulbous nose with the backs of his two right hands. “About the End Time,” he resumed and his eyes sparkled. “It is a time when the rightful god of creation assumes his throne on earth and rules for all eternity.”
This can’t be. Evelyn’s chest tightened in disbelief. “You mean Jesus Christ?”
“Not him,” Akbar spat back. “Angra Mainyu, ruler of Dakhanavar and king of the Zoroastrian underworld.”
This dreadful, smelly place! Evelyn peered around her and shivered. Home of Armenia’s legendary vampires. And the dead. She eyed Akbar and grimaced in sympathy. Even creatures like these need a home. “And he needs these war wagons for protection?”
“To defeat his brother, Ahura Mazda,” Akbar corrected and his face grew stern. “We’re wasting time. Grab some boards.”
There’s two of them? Evelyn cringed at the thought. “Why? Why must he fight his brother?”
“To gain control of the material world,” Akbar replied, his eyes glistening with pride. “Then all nations then shall bow before him.”
I’m part of a cosmic war? Evelyn’s shoulders slumped in despair. Hades or Dakhanavar, it’s still Hell.
“Grab some boards,” Akbar demanded. “Hurry up and I’ll show you where to stack them.”
Evelyn retraced her steps to the lumber pile, grabbed the two lightest boards she could find, and followed Akbar toward the war platform. If Zarkisian put me here to learn a lesson, I’ve learned it. She shifted the boards to rest on her shoulder. But when will I get back?
She dropped her boards upon the pile, stood up, and gazed about. Hundreds more of the blue creatures performed the same task before a half dozen wagons.
“Don’t stand there!” Akbar barked. “Grab some more and hurry back!”
Evelyn trudged down the slope, found two more boards, stood up, and massaged her aching shoulders The pain’s just as real here. She arched her back and shrugged her shoulders to relieve the soreness. How long will I have to do this?
Panic speared her chest like a sizzling rotisserie rod. What if I can’t come back? Will if Zarkisian won’t let me?
“I said ‘Hurry up!’” Akbar ordered.
“I can’t!” Evelyn blubbered and fell to her knees. “I can’t,” she whispered. “Not if I have to stay here forever.”
Akbar stood over her. “Get up!” he insisted and hoisted two of his planks over his head, ready to strike. “Now!”
Evelyn peered into the demon’s face. His jaw was set, and his brows knitted with foreboding, but his bulbous eyes betrayed childlike innocence. And something else—repressed longing.
“Don’t you ever wish you didn’t have to do this?” Evelyn asked.
Akbar’s brows parted in puzzlement. “Do what?”
“This!” Evelyn exclaimed and pointed at the other laboring Spentras around them with a sweep of her arms. “Why do you and they work so hard?”
Akbar frowned. “It is a demon’s duty to serve.”
“What does that get you?”
“Glory!” Akbar replied as if it was the winning answer to a quiz show. “We receive glory from helping our master defeat his brother at End Time.”
“And what will you do after that?”
“Uh?” Akbar responded. Genuinely puzzled, he lowered his planks to the ground, lost in thought. “More of the same, I guess. Whatever Angra Mainyu wants.”
Evelyn smiled in wonder. He’s never considered this before. “More of the same?” she repeated. “On and on like this—sharing in Angra Mainyu’s reflected glory—” She paused to let the unending time frame sink in. “How does that make you feel?”
Akbar’s face curdled, a cauldron of devotion and resentment. His mouth twitched. “Tired,” he decided. “So very tired.” He gritted his teeth. “And angry!”
“What did you say?” a bass voice croaked behind Evelyn.
A giant green and blue-spotted frog leaped beside them; a tiny filigreed crown perched perilously around one ear-hole. “Repeat it!” the frog demanded. “For all to hear!”
“Nothing, oh Master Mainyu!” Akbar responded, pulling out hair tufts in bunches. “Nothing.”
“What right have you—” Angra Mainyu croaked, “or any of you,” he added, turning toward the startled and stationary lackies around them, “to be tired or unable to work when I have not granted it?”
The demons servicing all six wagons resumed working twice as fast as before. Akbar grabbed his planks and scurried up the knoll to deposit them. Satisfied, the frog king clapped his webbed hands together and turned toward Evelyn. “As for you,” he said and clapped his hands twice, “your own master shall supply suitable punishment.”
End Part 5
