Well of Souls

PROLOGUE

Spurring his steed forward, Vicious Dog rode through the night. Completely exhausted from lack of sleep, he swayed on the horse that carried him on the last leg of his journey. It was now dawn. As the morning mist lifted, he could see puffs of white smoke from the dying embers of hundreds of campfires that encircled the wind-swept plateau.

As he urged his tired steed toward the encampment, two riders approached him, their spears at their sides. How is our Lord? Vicious Dog asked, afraid he was already too late.

The rider with the gold-hilted dagger in his sash said, He rests comfortably in his tent awaiting your arrival. Follow us and we shall take you to him.

Vicious Dog entered a large circular tent. Numerous red and green flags surrounding the entrance disclosed that the undisputed ruler of Mongolia was inside. He lay on a bed of furs, surrounded by shamans and his personal physicians.

How is he faring? Vicious Dog asked one of the doctors, as he drew closer to his master.

He is very weak, came the reply. You need to speak in his ear. Otherwise he won’t hear you.

Nodding, Vicious Dog leaned across the deathbed. Never had he seen Temujin so pale. It was as if someone had drained all of his blood. He knew it would only be a question of time before his master would be taking his last breath. I’m here, sire, he said, his voice grave.

A weak smile surfaced on Temujin’s face. Ah, I was afraid you wouldn’t get here in time. Have you completed the preparations?

That I have, my Lord.

Is my sarcophagus finished?

It will ensconce you and keep you warm.

What about the artisans, the ones who worked on it?

You needn’t concern yourself. They have been silenced.

A shadow of pain crossed Temujin’s face. He mumbled, Come closer, my trusted friend. I have but a few more questions.

Vicious Dog leaned so close that he could feel Temujin’s cold lips against his ear. The ruler of all who lived in tents grasped his hand. Can I trust you to make certain my resting place will never be disturbed?

With difficulty, Vicious Dog hid the depth of his emotion from his response. Yes, my Lord.

What about my possessions? My armor, my sword.

Rest assured they will be awaiting your spirit once it begins its journey to the afterworld.

Temujin relaxed his hold and looked into the eyes of his most trusted general. Known to the world as Genghis Khan, the man responsible for annihilating over three million people, took one last breath and died.

Vicious Dog covered the corpse in a sheep blanket, proud that he had been assigned the highest honor anyone could bestow upon him. He and he alone had been given the responsibility of supervising the funeral procession and burial of this emperor, a man who had started life from humble beginnings in the steppes.

In the dead of night, under his watchful eye, a convoy of soldiers placed Genghis Khan’s body inside the sarcophagus. The casket was then placed in a wooden container and lowered into the ground. Once it was in place, Vicious Dog barked out a series of instructions that would provide the corpse with anonymity for centuries to come. Once that was accomplished, the soldiers tread their horses over the fresh earth till it was as hard as the surrounding terrain.

Muunokhoi removed the heavy gold medallion from his neck, a present Genghis Khan had given him when he renamed him Vicious Dog. When he pressed the emerald, the latch opened. While he was still on his horse, he took an arrow out of his quiver and snapped off the shaft. With the arrowhead, he scribed some words inside the medallion. A smile appeared on his face when he thought of all the effort, the elaborate planning, and the executions that had taken place in order to keep the burial site a secret.

Vicious Dog, the only person in the world who had been allowed to call an emperor by his birth name, had fulfilled his obligation. He stood tall in the saddle, proud that he had followed his master’s orders and had done his bidding. He only had one more thing to do and that was to lead his soldiers down a pre-determined path, a path Temujin had instructed him to follow.

Vicious Dog was not naïve enough to think that his soldiers would be allowed to live. As loyal as they were, Temujin would have never entrusted the secret of his eternal resting place to them. The question in his mind was whether the master he’d served so faithfully for so long trusted him.

He placed the medallion underneath his breastplate and vowed that if he lived through this night, he would destroy it. However, should his destiny be the same as his soldiers, he felt certain that one day the medallion would be found. And once it was found, it would only be a question of time before someone figured out how to open it. If that were to happen, Genghis Khan’s sarcophagus, the one he had taken such elaborate pains to conceal, would be discovered.

The one some called General of Generals, took one last look at the burial site, raised his hand in a salute, and spurred his horse away from the scene.

CHAPTER 1

Joan Templeton wasn’t shivering from the cold. She was shaking because she was scared. So scared that she found herself stammering in front of the criminal investigator.

Detective Dorgan’s smile, which was as phony as his Rolex watch, didn’t put her at ease. You say this man asked you to meet him?

Yes. I was getting ready for bed when he called. He identified himself simply as Cholon. His English was poor so we spoke in Mongolian. He seemed nervous.

Dorgan leaned into his desk. Go on.

He said it was an urgent matter and refused to talk about it over the phone. He told me he was an archeologist from Irkutsk. The town is in southern Russia, quite close to the Mongolian border. The reason I know this is because I teach at the . . .

Dorgan dropped the pencil he had been playing with. I know where you teach. I also know you published a book on Mongolia.

Joan bristled. Okay, so if you know what I do, why don’t you just get to the point?

Okay by me. What did this Cholon fellow want?

I told you. He wouldn’t discuss it over the phone.

Dorgan leaned back in his chair. You mean to tell me you went to meet a man you didn’t know? What made you think the guy was for real? He could have been a scam artist.

He was not a scam artist, Joan said emphatically. I wish he had been. Then none of this would have ever happened. She looked directly at Dorgan. I knew he wasn’t a charlatan because he rattled off the names of three people who serve with me on the committee for The Center for Middle Eastern Studies. He even suggested I call them to check him out. This is an international committee and is used as a forum for scholars devoted to the study of central Asian history.

Dorgan appeared to chew on her words. I see. Okay, so he convinced you that he wasn’t a fruitcake. What happened next?

He thought it best we meet in a crowded place so I picked the subway entrance, the one that’s a block east of the courthouse. He told me he would be wearing a black topcoat with a white scarf. I spotted him easily enough. He was standing at the bottom of the steps leading to the subway station. When I approached him, he identified himself by name. He kept darting his head in different directions. It was as if he expected someone to confront him at any moment. Joan stopped telling her story. She just couldn’t get Cholon’s eyes out of her mind. One minute they had been watchful, alert, and the next . . . glazed, much like a yoke of an egg that someone had flipped over.

She looked at the brightly lit room. Arched ceiling, chocolate brown floorboards. A typical police station she suspected, although she’d never been in one before. The place was even less inviting than the dorm she lived in during her college days. But it wasn’t the room’s appearance that bothered her. It was the bittersweet odor of antiseptic that was most likely applied daily over the cheap furniture. She had to get some fresh air. It was either that or throw up.

Dorgan appeared to be irritated that Joan hadn’t responded to his question. I’ll ask you again. What happened?

I already told all of this to the police. You have the report. I wish I could add to it, but I can’t.

The phony grin reappeared. I need to hear it from you, if you don’t mind.

His face turned purple, she said. "He whispered, ‘The medallion. Find the gold medallion.’

When I asked him what medallion he was referring to, he muttered the words, ‘Ikh Khorig.’ Then his eyes glazed over and he slid down the steps. That’s when I called nine-one-one. What’s his condition?

"He’s critical. What does ‘Ikh Khorig’ mean?

When translated from Mongolian to English, the words lose some of their impact, but Ikh Khorig means ‘the great taboo.’ 

So what was this in reference to?

She had a hunch, but she wasn’t ready to share her thoughts. I’m not sure. Although Joan knew what the words meant, she had no idea why Cholon had used them. She had to get out of here. She had to think. Maybe once she was alone she’d be able to rid her mind of Cholon’s image, a total stranger, collapsing before her and uttering the two Mongolian words that threatened to place a curse on anyone who didn’t pay attention to the warning.

CHAPTER 2

Joan walked to the subway station deep in thought. Why would a Mongolian archeologist bother to seek her out? She didn’t think it was because she was a member of the committee for the Center for Middle Eastern Studies; otherwise he would have contacted a member he knew. There had to be another reason.

It was rush hour and the subway platform was crowded. Just as the train came into view and the commuters surged forward, she felt a hand on her back, pushing, pushing. Fear gripped her as she lost her balance and lurched toward the pavement. Just before she hit the ground, someone from behind grabbed her, and she somehow managed to regain her footing. Relieved, she boarded the crowded car.

There was a swishing sound and the car’s automatic doors closed. As the train gathered momentum, the station lights disappeared from view. They were replaced by a black void that matched the fear that still clung to the very core of her soul. Had she been pushed intentionally? Was this a warning of some sort, or was she being paranoid? It was obvious that whoever had attempted to kill Cholon had wanted him silenced because he knew something, something he was about to tell her. If the person who tried to kill him got a good look at her, wouldn’t her life also be in danger?

Again Joan wondered why Cholon had sought her out. She remembered why the words Ikh Khorig struck fear in the hearts of most Mongols. Ikh Khorig was more than a warning; it was a consecrated place. It was declared sacred because most Mongols believed that’s where Genghis Khan was buried.

Did Cholon utter those feared words because he had stumbled upon Khan’s tomb? If that was the case, it still didn’t explain what he wanted from her. She had never been anywhere near Ikh Khorig and her book certainly didn’t contain any information that would have interested Cholon. It was not as much about Genghis Khan as it was about the influence the nomadic ruler had imposed on modern day Mongolia.

Joan flagged a taxi. She had changed her mind about going home. The thought of entering an empty apartment in her frame of mind wasn’t appealing. Chicago University, she told the cabbie as she opened the door and climbed into the back seat. What the hell. The library would still be open, and there was a reference book there she wanted to check out.

Just yesterday she had told a colleague that she wished she could experience some excitement and adventure in her life. She laughed at the irony of it all. Unfortunately, she got more than she had bargained for. She found herself constantly looking out of the rear window. Was that car following too close? But then what did she expect? It was rush hour, for Christ’s sakes!

The cabbie dropped her off in front of the administration building. Before entering the library, she ducked into the ladies room. Taking a brush out of her purse, she tried to restore some semblance of order to her blonde hair that was usually cropped short. Joan stared at her own reflection in the mirror. If you don’t find time to cut this mop, you’ll start looking like Lady Godiva. She applied some lipstick and dabbed a tissue across her full sensuous mouth.

A pair of green, almond-shaped eyes stared back at her as she worked on her mascara. She glanced at her waistline to make sure her blouse was tucked in, glad that her daily exercise routine had kept off the pounds. Taking one last look, she said, Okay. That’s as good as you’re going to look, woman. At least for now.

As she walked towards the library, she could hear the staccato sound of her heels clicking against the tile floor. She was thinking about tomorrow’s lecture when the resonance of someone else’s footsteps brought back the apprehension. Or was it fear? She quickened her pace, but she could still hear those footsteps . . . and they were getting closer.

CHAPTER 3

Joan froze. When she turned to brace herself for a confrontation, a custodian walked past her, pushing a pail of water with a mop. She breathed a sigh of relief, but the fear brought on by his footsteps continued to linger.

For the umpteenth time she replayed her encounter with Cholon. Joan was quick to recognize the Khalkha dialect, the one used by most Mongolians living close to the Russian border. He had been impeccably dressed in a three-piece business suit. At the time she had thought his attire looked incongruous to his physical stature—potbelly, ruddy cheeks, puffy nose, and, of course, those black eyes which reflected a sense of foreboding she now associated with Ikh Khorig. The words, Find the gold medallion, had been spoken by a desperate man.

She found the reference she had been looking for and took it to a cubicle. According to The Secret History of the Mongols, Genghis Khan was so impressed by the beauty of the Khentii Mountains that he told several of his generals he wanted to be buried there.

Since Khan’s death in 1227, a group of elite warriors called the Darkhats were told to kill anyone they found in those mountains. The Darkhats faithfully carried out their assignment for seven hundred years. When Mongolia became a satellite state of the USSR the soviets feared that if the region was made publicly accessible, memories of Genghis Khan would encourage Mongolian Nationalism, so they also placed Ikh Khorig off limits.

As Joan read further, she discovered an archeological expedition to the region had not entered the area until Mongolia became an independent state. That expedition spent three years searching for Khan’s tomb. Although a team of archeologists found close to fourteen hundred graves of Mongolian nobles, Genghis Khan’s sarcophagus was not among them.

* * *

It was almost nine o’clock when Joan crammed the reference book into her already full briefcase. While she waited for the taxi, her mind dwelled on the small Midwestern town where she grew up. Most of her girlfriends married straight out of high school. That’s exactly what her mother had wanted her to do. But when she was eighteen, marriage was the furthest thing from her mind. The last thing she wanted was to spend the rest of her life living in a small town.

Being determined and ambitious, Joan talked her parents into sending her to college. Then once she graduated, she went on to earn an advanced degree. She had always wanted to teach at