Tabriz, Iran
The taxi sped past the industrial outskirts of the city, and as dusk fell, Morgan thought about the last time she and Jake were in Tabriz together. They had found the Pentecost stone of Thaddeus the Apostle in the church of St Mary, considered by some to be the second oldest church in the world after Bethlehem in Israel.
Although their mission was successful, they had not left the chapel quietly. ARKANE cleaned up after their agents and smoothed a path with diplomatic relationships maintained over centuries, but it was possible that her face and Jake’s were on some Iranian hit list. Given her Israeli heritage, Morgan did not want to end up in prison here. The possibility made her more nervous than usual, but their passports were clean and they were officially here to hike Kamal Daghi, the highest peak of Sahand Mountain. Aurelia had arranged exploration permits through her business contacts, and there was no real reason for concern, but Morgan couldn’t shake the foreboding that twisted her guts. She gazed out the window, trying to distract herself.
This area of Iran was an archaeological paradise, but few could visit due to centuries of invasion, war and neglect. Tabriz was a mix of architecture from millennia ago to skyscrapers of the industrial age: the fifteenth-century Blue Mosque with its exquisite decorative tiles; the historic souk with its vaulted brick archways; and even the Mausoleum of Poets with a thousand years of venerated writers entombed within. But all these things lay behind them as they drove south-east from the city.
Jake leaned in close enough that Morgan could smell the pine forest of his aftershave. “You’re quiet,” he said.
“Just thinking about what might be ahead.”
Aurelia looked up from her phone at their words, scowling a little as she tried to get a signal. They were an unexpected trio and Morgan still didn’t trust the heiress, but she also knew that the woman was deeply committed to finding Eden. Until they saw the Garden or its walls, they had the same mission. Then all bets were off.
It started to rain by the time they left the highway and headed into the mountainous Sahand Protected Area. As the car wove its way up the steep side of a gorge, a dense mist descended, shrouding the cliffs in grey shadow. The driver seemed oblivious to the precipitous drop as he swerved around a sharp corner. Morgan clutched the door handle with white knuckles and was perversely satisfied to see Aurelia do the same, her face almost green with nausea as they rose higher into the forbidding landscape.
Just as Morgan was about ready to throw up, the taxi rounded a final corner and the mist cleared a little to reveal the unusual landscape of Kandovan village. It lay in the foothills of Sahand Mountain and looked more like a collection of giant termite mounds than a dwelling place for humans. The villagers had lived within these structures made from volcanic material for generations, with some estimates of the area being inhabited over six thousand years ago. The locals had expanded their houses by carving out new caves and adding stone and brick to link the little town together.
“I hope our guide is here already,” Aurelia muttered, as they emerged from the taxi into freezing rain and a cold wind. “I am not going to wait around in this.”
The tone of entitlement in her voice made Morgan smile, but she agreed with the sentiment.
The three of them grabbed their packs from the back of the car and turned to face the village. Handmade wooden doors remained shut to keep out the rain, and Morgan felt like a true outsider in this faraway place. If Aurelia’s contact did not come through, the trip would be over before it even started.
A light flickered from further up a stone staircase that wound between two of the structures.
“Come up, come up. Be welcome!” The sound of footsteps came from the stairwell, and a young Iranian man emerged from the shadows. He had the close-cropped dark hair and neat beard of many locals, but with light blue eyes that indicated a mixed ancestry from the north. “I’m Darius, your guide. Come inside and rest by the fire.”
Darius insisted on transporting Morgan and Aurelia’s packs, while Jake carried his own up the stairs. They reached a tiny wooden entrance to one of the volcanic houses and went inside, closing the door against the rising storm.
It was warm and cozy within the naturally insulated structure, made even more welcoming by woven rugs that lay on the floor and hung on the walls. Three low couches heaped with cushions and blankets sat around a central wooden table laden with a generous platter of Sangak flatbread and local honey alongside dried apricots and figs. The smell of mint tea hung in the air from a steaming samovar.
Now they were further from the city, Morgan was able to relax and the sweet taste of honey with figs helped bring her into the present moment. The dark sense of foreboding still lingered, but she pushed it away as they ate.
Darius explained how they would summit the mountain. “We leave two hours before dawn. I’ll guide you up the old paths my family has walked for generations. The weather is due to clear, but we’ll probably walk in the rain for a while.” He waved his hand as if swatting away a fly. “No matter. The views will be worth it from the top and I’ll show you where you can camp while you do your sampling.”
Morgan nodded in agreement. Their cover story was a survey of ancient volcanos in the region, and they were here to take rock samples — at least that’s what Darius had been told. He would come up after two days and help them back down the mountain again, but hopefully, they wouldn’t need that long to find their goal.
“The Sahand Protected Area is a rich ecological domain,” Darius explained. “You need to watch out for some animals, like wild cats and brown bears, but it’s more likely that you’ll only see some Armenian mouflon.” He made spirals in the air with his fingers. “Rams with huge curved horns.”
Morgan recalled the biblical story of Abraham taking his son Isaac to the summit of Mount Moriah. On the verge of sacrificing his only child as a burnt offering, God sent an angel to stay his hand and a ram to offer in place of his son. There were so many echoes of Genesis here, and despite the warmth of the room, Morgan shivered. The first book of the Bible was a tale of murder, betrayal, destruction and ecological catastrophe. She could only hope that their fate would be better in the coming days.
After they had eaten, Darius turned down the lamps and indicated the couches. “Rest here. I’ll knock when it’s time to set out.”
Aurelia curled up and tugged several blankets over her thin form. The covering dwarfed her, and Morgan wondered how a woman with such oversized drive and passion could be sustained by so little physical presence. The heiress both fascinated and repelled her at the same time. There was so much she could not understand about the woman, but pondering it would have to wait. She lay down on her back and tried to clear her mind.
Jake rested against the cushions, his head close to hers. “What do you think we’ll find tomorrow?”
Morgan shrugged. “I really don’t know. It could be pointless, but we’ve seen so many unexpected things together. Anything is possible.”
Jake sighed. “You make anything possible.”
He spoke so softly that Morgan didn’t know whether she really heard the words at all.
A sharp rap on the door woke Morgan from strange dreams woven from mist and shadow. Jake was already up and opened the door to let Darius in.
The sound of a donkey braying came from outside. It wasn’t luxury travel, but it was the best they would get in this area and suited their academic cover.
The smell of freshly brewed coffee helped encourage Morgan out of her nest of cushions. Darius set a flask on the table and gathered some small glasses.
“Here, drink this quickly and then we’ll get going.”
Morgan took her shot of thick, strong coffee like medicine. Jake followed suit with a shake of his head at the bitter aftertaste. Aurelia couldn’t help the revulsion on her face as she tasted it, but she drank it down anyway, all of them needing the extra caffeine after only a few hours of sleep.
The sound of rain hammered on the stone outside, but there was no time to wait for finer weather. They pulled on waterproof gear and head-torches and stepped out into the darkness.
Darius slung tents and provisions into panniers either side of a donkey held steady by a teenage boy. “My nephew,” he explained. “He’ll follow behind. Now, we climb.”
Darius led the small group up a winding rocky path away from the village, the ground slippery from the rain. They walked in silence and Morgan relaxed into the strenuous ascent, her breathing settling into a rhythm as she found her stride. Nowhere else to be but here, nothing else to do but walk. There was a kind of meditation in that.
The sky lightened as the hours passed and the rain grew softer until it was just a fine drizzle. The terrain emerged from the gloom, scrubland and rocky slopes with a smattering of snow higher up, with deep ravines either side of the path. Morgan noticed some shy purple wildflowers peeking out from under the scree, a tasty morsel for the mountain goats endemic to the area.
Darius finally stopped in the shelter of three enormous boulders, thrust out of the volcano at some point in history and now forming a natural protection against the unpredictable weather.
“We’ll set up your camp here, and you can go in any of these directions to take your samples.” He put his hands out to either side and brought them together to show the arc of exploration.
“But do not go behind the volcano. That is restricted.” He frowned and shook his head. “Some say it’s mined and patrolled by the military. Others say it’s cursed. We don’t know what is true, but several villagers have disappeared with no trace of them found. So please, do not go there.”
Darius and his nephew unpacked the panniers while Jake and Aurelia set up camp.
Morgan stood silently, her face turned toward the dormant volcano. Could Eden really lie beyond those slopes? There was only one way to find out.
Deep under the volcano, the Abbot turned as a young Brother ran into the sanctuary, his breath ragged from the swift journey, his eyes wide with panic.
“What is it, my son?”
“A new camp.” The Brother panted as he struggled to catch his breath. “They’ve set up tents on the eastern side within walking distance of the entrance. They came with a man from the village.”
“How many?”
The Brother shrugged a little. “Perhaps three who will remain when the villager and his boy leave.” He stood tall and clenched his fists. “Shall I take some of the others over there tonight? Their camp is near a ravine. It wouldn’t take much.”
The Abbot turned to look at the woman bound with spiked vines to a wooden chair in front of the great carved door. Blood dripped from tiny wounds caused by the sharp thorns and her head hung on her chest, defeated by his interrogation. There was nothing left to learn from the professor, and the Garden needed a sacrifice. But perhaps he could give Her more than just one body to devour this time.
He spoke softly. “Let them come.”