Fury's Goddess
On the outskirts of the recently developed and prosperous city of Hyderabad, India, a new and luxurious housing complex has arisen. But several residents have been found brutally murdered. Some believe the killer is a rogue tiger. Others whisper that it is the work of the servants of Kali, the Hindu goddess of death.Her feet are barely on Indian soil when archaeologist Annja Creed finds herself swept up in Hyderabad's modern prosperity. But something about the recent spate of killings seems unusual and Annja begins to dig deep for answers. Instead, she finds herself taken prisoner and held in a maze of ancient caves. She's being held captive by a cult of thieves who are under the thrall of a charismatic leader.In only a few short hours, Annja is to be sacrificed–unless she can channel the vengeance of the goddess Kali herself….
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A dark goddess. An ancient cult. And a dangerous zealot...
On the outskirts of the recently developed and prosperous city of Hyderabad, India, a new and luxurious housing complex has arisen. But several residents have been found brutally murdered. Some believe the killer is a rogue tiger. Others whisper that it is the work of the servants of Kali, the Hindu goddess of death.
Her feet are barely on Indian soil when archaeologist Annja Creed finds herself swept up in Hyderabadâs modern prosperity. But something about the recent spate of killings seems unusual and Annja begins to dig deep for answers. Instead, she finds herself taken prisoner and held in a maze of ancient caves. Sheâs being held captive by a cult of thieves who are under the thrall of a charismatic leader.
In only a few short hours, Annja is to be sacrificedâunless she can channel the vengeance of the goddess Kali herself....
There was a sudden explosion of light
The first thing Annja saw after her eyes adjusted was a blue figure emblazoned in front of her. A statue. Annja caught herself as she recognized who it was.
Kali.
The goddess of death.
The statue had four arms, each wielding a different weapon. And the red eyes were supposed to suggest a certain level of intoxication, a bloodlust resulting from one of Kaliâs many battles.
Kali was a ferocious deity.
What the hell had Annja stumbled onto here?
The torches that had sprung to life glowed hot, casting long shadows across the chamber, but also giving enough illumination for Annja to finally see the men who held them captive. Her first impression was that there werenât nearly as many of them as sheâd thought thereâd been in the darkness. Only a dozen or so. All chanting.
And they looked as ferocious as their goddess Kali. Slowly, each man reached up and undid the length of black cloth that covered their faces. These scarves, knotted at each end, were handled with a degree of reverence Annja found amazing. The captors tucked them into their belts, the two knotted ends dangling over, as if ready to be drawn quickly. Perhaps they were weapons.
Thuggee. The thought struck her hard. Exceptâ¦
Except that cult was supposed to have been wiped out ages ago.
The Legend
...The English commander took Joanâs sword and raised it high.
The broadsword, plain and unadorned, gleamed in the firelight. He put the tip against the ground and his foot at the center of the blade. The broadsword shattered, fragments falling into the mud. The crowd surged forward, peasant and soldier, and snatched the shards from the trampled mud. The commander tossed the hilt deep into the crowd.
Smoke almost obscured Joan, but she continued praying till the end, until finally the flames climbed her body and she sagged against the restraints.
Joan of Arc died that fateful day in France, but her legend and sword are reborn....
Special thanks and acknowledgment to Jon Merz for his contribution to this work.
Contents
Chapter 1
âMaybe itâs a tiger,â Annja Creed said as she perused the latest police reports on her iPad. The translated reports had been emailed over to her as she flew from New York City to India. And she was now looking at grisly pictures of mutilated bodies that had been recovered, some of them partially eaten. The remains of Annjaâs in-flight meal were on the tray in front of her. But somehow, the limp turkey and Swiss cheese sandwich on stale wheat bread no longer seemed very appetizing.
If it ever had, Annja thought.
âDonât tigers tend to eat everything?â Frank asked. âSome of those bodies just look, well, sort ofâ¦picked at.â
Annja looked at the big man seated next to her. His innocence seemed to be waning fast. Frank Desalvo was fresh off his stint as an intern at another cable channel and had landed the job of cameraman on this assignment. The program Annja worked on, Chasing Historyâs Monsters, had snapped Frank up for his keen eye, the producers had said. Annja suspected it was because he wasnât established enough to command a higher salary.
He was likable enough, even if he still had the arrogance of a young twentysomething. With a mop of black hair and wide brown eyes, his splotchy beard made him look a few years older than he was. Annja figured he wore a beard for that reason.
âNot necessarily, although Iâm not exactly an expert on man-eating tigers,â she said. âThey may not have been hungry enough to devour the entire body. Or perhaps they were simply defending their territory.â
She continued to scan through the reports. âWhatever the case, the locals are terrified and the police havenât been able to track or trap the offender.â
