The Scorpion Odyssey

By Jamie.B Ernstein

The third book of the Bakky Finport Trilogy finds Bakky, Arthur and Dominica back in the modern world, after nearly a year in Ancient Egypt and beyond. However, having managed to hide the three pieces of jewellery safely in the ancient world, they now need to recover them. But, things don't go to plan and they find themselves on a rollercoaster ride around the planet in search of lost treasures and missing friends, while at the mercy of both mischievous deities and the decidedly evil Kapanadze twins.
From desert cities to steaming jungles, ancient palaces to the windy Scottish isles, Bakky and his friends face their greatest challenges yet.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jamie.B Ernstein
• Release date: Jun 22, 2017
• ISBN: 9780473394752

Jamie.B Ernstein

Father of two boys who love reading and storiesI work as a Family Doctor by day, writing by night

Book preview

About Jamie B Ernstein

Jamie lives and works as a Family Doctor in New Zealand, where he has shared a home with his wife and family for nearly three decades. Originally from the U.K, he spent most of his formative years in London and Sheffield, before moving for New Zealand.

He has travelled extensively, using his wide experiences of people and places to create the scenes and characters for his novels.

Other books by Jamie B Ernstein

The Eyes of The Jaguar God

The Search for Tamm

The Last Jew of Kabul

Connect with Jamie B Ernstein

Blog http://jaguargod.blogspot.com

Facebook Jamie B Ernstein

Author's Note

I'm delighted to present the third book of Bakky Finport's trilogy, The Scorpion Odyssey, to you, the reader. Like the first two books, this third one continues with the same premises, that helped mould both The Eyes of the Jaguar God and The Search for Tamm into the tales they are. So, once again, I remind you that all the arrogant deities and strange and oft, dangerous creatures that this tome contains, are not figments of my warped imagination, but are based on authentic, mythical stories, handed down from history. It has been my pleasure to be able to bring them back to life, to allow them to walk again, to breathe the air and to do whatever they did in history, once again in modern times, all for your enjoyment.

All the amazing countries, islands, rivers and towns and cities, churches and mosques that are visited in the next few hundred pages are also real places that exist now, in the twenty first century. They can be visited by anyone, with the passion and the time, allowing them to experience some of our planet’s most amazing places, both natural and man-made.

Part of the joy of writing these books, is being able to share some of the remarkable experiences I have had in all of these locations and how they have both excited and amazed me. I have been lucky enough to inhabit so many wonderful places, for even a brief time and I hope to encourage you, my readers, to maybe one day consider visiting them yourselves - to experience their peoples, their histories, their cultures, through your own eyes, ears and noses and build your own opinions of them.

For, to naively believe everything that is written as fact, is to live your life in a small box, never exploring outside of its cardboard walls and discovering how remarkable our world is.

Enjoy.

Jamie

Prologue

It was the odd, flickering light, which struck him the most. Wild shadows darted around the strange room, bringing it alive, yet also, sadly empty. Flaming torches reached for the dark roof longingly, illuminating the rock walls with their wild exuberance, yet still failing to conquer the chill damp that permeated the air.

Initially, he thought the room deserted. But his wary eyes gradually reacted to the flickering light and he was able to make out the shape of a table in the centre of the room. Hunched over it was a dark figure, its frail body slumped on a rickety wooden chair, while its head was hidden by skeletal arms, as it rested, statue like, on the table. As not even the tiniest movement came from this familiar looking figure, he decided to warily move forward. Slowly, but carefully.

The darkness beyond the table gradually parted, to reveal a mysterious black shape, so large that it dwarfed the motionless figure in front of him. A huge round pot. It reminded him of a witches’ cauldron from the fairy stories that his mother had told both him and his brother, when they were small boys, back in his hometown of Sukumi. The memory triggered his curiosity and he wondered where his brother was now. He scanned around the room, to look for some sign of his presence, but only the bare rock walls, dripping with dampness, greeted him.

At that very moment, he recognised the old man before him and as a consequence, realised where he must be. This was the old man's lair. Was he breathing? There wasn't even the slightest hint of movement in the corpse-like figure and it seemed death had finally taken him.

Good, he thought to himself with satisfaction. Just another obstacle, which now won't need clearing. He poked the body cruelly, but his harsh prod pleasingly failed to elicit a response. The old man was gone. Instead of continuing, his curiosity piqued, he approached the awesomely black cauldron. Its waters were as slick as anything he had ever seen. Beyond even darkness. Thick and oily.

How odd? He thought, that there was no reflection looking back at him, despite the flickering light echoing off the mossy roof. He found the need to stare deep into the liquid gloom, an irresistible temptation, so desperate was he to see what the abyss contained. The cauldron seemed to be calling to him, enticing him in. Leaning against the cold, metallic edge, he brought his face closer and closer to the surface, until his nose was inches from the unusual liquid.

They're here, came the croaky voice from behind him. It seemed to emanate from the dead body of the old man. But how? He was dead.

What? was all he had time to say, before a head suddenly exploded out of the silky, black waters; the fright causing him to nearly leap out of his own skin. Mouth and eyes wide, the face was initially obscured by the water which had been forced up by the rapidly ascending body. But despite the commotion, the face was instantly recognisable.

As he regained his senses and his heart rate gradually returned to normality, he became aware of the soft pillow and sheets that held his sweaty body. Then he remembered. He was in the hotel still. It had been another of those dreams. His heart was still beating wildly as the fright was still shuddering through his now awake body.

Bakky, he thought. Now I know of your lair. We just need to find where it is and then you are ours. This thought helped calm him to the point where he could feel his heart rate dropping; slipping back into its normal routine.

In the morning, he thought, I will contact my brother, Gigo, who he knew would have had the same dream. As identical twins, they always did.

Chapter 1

Back to the Future

I never thought drowning could be so easy. But now that this was my third time of filling my lungs with the oily waters, I surprised myself by tolerating the alien sensation even better than last time. In fact, had I not had to use every ounce of energy I had spare, in holding on to both Arthur's and Dominica's hands for fear of losing them. I would have found this drowning to be almost relaxing. Then I felt the relief of my feet touching the hard, metallic base of the Cauldron and we all three, reflexively pushed upwards with our legs. With heads breaking out of the now warm waters, we each gasped the musty air desperately. As our lungs coughed out the oily fluids, to be replaced by chilled, damp air, we fought to acclimatise to our new, very different surroundings. Just moments ago, we had been breathing the crisp clear air of an autumnal riverside evening near ancient Tyre, only to find our lungs exposed to the mouldy, stale air of damp enclosure.

Much to my surprise, the first thing my stinging eyes were able to focus on, was the flickering light from the still flaming torches, which were bewilderingly glowing wildly in the otherwise gloomy cavern. I wondered how that could be? We had been in history for so many months that those torches should be long silent by now. Something was wrong. My mind was instantly alerted to potential threat. It could only mean one thing. Someone else had managed to find Columba's Crypt! And since no-one else knew about it, only a person who could see things in their dreams, like myself, could have found this place. Baboso! I tensed my muscles at this realisation, ready for the worst and quickly scanned my surroundings.

My initial thoughts, were that nothing looked different from the last time we were here. Nothing at ….

Look, I cried out. There, sitting hunched over the small table, was The Professor. His head was supported by his hands, but he was, without any doubt at all, alive and breathing. And even from here, I could see the excited glint in his eyes.

Professor! I shouted in shocked delight, while swinging my agile body over the edge of the cauldron. You’re alive. Forgetting my nakedness and the freezing temperature, I ran and hugged my old mentor.

Yes Bakky. I am alive, he said. His voice was tired and shaky, just like I remembered it being, the last time I heard it. But you shouldn't be so surprised. You've only been gone for thirty seconds at most, so even I haven't expired in that time.

What? I asked with incredulity. Thirty seconds? We've been gone for months. Nearly a year. I looked back at Arthur and Dominica, both of whom were still in the Cauldron, watching the scene unfold before them.

Well, my boy. A minute ago, I saw the three of you leaping into the Cauldron. The ripples had only just settled when you popped your heads back up again. So, whatever has happened to you, I'm afraid that other than me being a few breaths closer to my end, nothing much has happened here at all.

I was stunned. All our time and adventures in history had taken no more than a few seconds in our own time. I was both amazed and confused, but mostly, very relieved. It never occurred to me that I would ever see The Professor again and I had already grieved for him long ago. But now, here he was, right in front of me, ghost like, but very much still alive. This was both a surprising gift of the Cauldron and a cruel trick; knowing that my mentor was still only a few hours, at most, from his end and that I would once again, have to grieve for him.

Now I suggest you put on some clothes, my boy.

What? Oh yeah. With goosebumps like mountain ranges covering my body, I was returned to the real world with a large bump. I was dripping icicles, such was the temperature; a freezing chill and I needed to put on some clothes quickly. Yet it felt most odd to see my normal, modern clothing sitting there on the small table, neatly folded how I had left them all those months…those few seconds…. ago. Bizarrely, they were still warm with my own body heat.

As Arthur climbed out and dripped on the floor behind me, I slipped on my twenty first century shirt and was immediately surprised by how odd and frankly, uncomfortable they felt. How could something so familiar seem so foreign?

My glothez doned vid, advised Arthur. He was right. My jeans hung off me like ropes and I realised how much thinner I was now, compared with when I last wore them. It's not as if I had been overweight before, either. As I looked at Arthur, I realised how lean and muscly we had both become.

We both nearly jumped out of our skins as a scream ricocheted around the chamber. We turned to see Dominica lifting her hands up high and, to my surprise, screaming with delight.

My hand. It's back. My hand has grown back. She was so happy that I couldn't help but smile at her. But as quickly as she had brought joy to us all, Dominica sharply changed the mood.

Oi, she broke in, as my eyes rested on her body, standing revealed in the Cauldron.

Whoops, sorry, I apologised with a wry smile on my face. At least some things hadn't changed and getting in trouble with Dominica was one of them.

I will never forget the look on each of our faces as the three of us stood up, wearing our modern, western clothes and laughed at the sight of the others, each looking so different and, to be frank, uncomfortable in them. But it was the Professor's voice that broke the frivolous mood.

I suspect you have some great tales to tell me, his tired voice crackled.

You don't know the half of it, I replied.

Good. Then we need to go somewhere a bit warmer and more comfortable. I don't have long left and I would really like to hear of your adventures. Arthur, maybe you could carry me. My friend nodded and went to support the frail old man.

Where doo, Bwovessa?

My house is not far from here, just on the edge of Baile Mòr.

You have a house here? I asked. There was still so much I didn't know about this man, I found it embarrassing.

Oh yes. A lovely little cottage. We can stay there tonight, but I'm afraid I don't have enough beds for all three of you. All three of us smiled at this.

Don't worry Señor Professor, interjected Dominica. We are very used to sleeping rough. A floor with a roof over our heads will do us very nicely, thank you.

We made our way out of the crypt, into the cool Scottish night. The air was fresh and invigorating. So different, yet so familiar. Everything was the same; yet so different. As the first tiny snow flakes began to fall, I caught one in my hand and watched it metamorphose into a tiny drop of water. There was no dust anywhere - just the raw aroma of a frozen Scottish night. I felt invigorated by our surroundings, yet strangely disorientated. How can one travel three thousand years and cross a whole continent and not be struck by these strange and outlandish sensations?

We only had to walk a few hundred metres, before we came to a small stone cottage set into the low hill. The door was unlocked and we entered into the cool, dark interior. Despite the empty stillness, I thought I saw some movement in the dark. But then again, I might have been mistaken.

You are allowed to switch on the light, suggested The Professor sarcastically, yet we were all a bit lost at this most simple of requests. Electricity was a forgotten concept to us and the mere effort of switching on a light switch had now become alien. We all gasped, as the light suddenly appeared harshly, from the bare bulb in the ceiling. It seemed so instant and severe. Dissonant even. How different it was to the smoother, yet less efficient oil lamps and flaming torches that had lit our many recent nights.

Once our eyes had adjusted to modern lighting (though a lamp shade would have been nice) and we could see clearly, I was more certain than ever that there was no-one else here to explain the subtle movement that I had imagined. I relaxed tense muscles and took in The Professor's house.

We were in what appeared to be the main living room. Aside from the windows, some of which were partially hidden, the walls were completely covered in bookcases, each stacked full of hundreds of both old and new volumes, haphazardly heaped both in and on top of them. Hidden somewhere under reams of papers, was probably a large wooden desk, a well used wooden chair on the far side, seemingly the only part of the room not actually covered in books or loose papers.

Please excuse the mess, apologised the dying man, before telling Arthur to take him through the door to the left. This led to the only bedroom, spartan in comparison to the chaotic living room and containing just a single bed and one wardrobe. As Arthur, groaning with the exertion, laid the exhausted man down on the bed, Dominica headed in search of a kitchen, finding it in the room next door. A working tap was something we hadn't experienced for three thousand years and I found Dominica just staring at the metal object, with icy cold water pouring forth from it.

I've never before appreciated how wondrous it is to just turn on a tap and water pours out, she explained, unable to break her stare away from the steady stream of fresh, clear liquid splashing relentlessly into the stainless metal sink.

I know. It's hard to adjust, eh? The contrast between the ancient world and the twenty first century was almost too much for us cope with and we really hadn't prepared ourselves for it in any way. In fact, I was sure that adjusting to ancient times had been far easier than this arriving back home. But then, maybe we had just forgotten how alien that first day in Egypt had been, being instantly thrust into a working temple in ancient Thebes and rapidly coming under the piercing eye of Nefertiti, the queen of all of Egypt .

That night, none of us slept. My voice was hoarse by the time I had finished telling The Professor of our adventures, while Arthur and Dominica both interrupted regularly. As I described our final journey through the Cauldron, I sensed that both of my friends had long fallen asleep. It had been a very long day; perhaps three thousand years long. But my mentor was, amazingly, still very much awake.

You should sleep Professor, I suggested, but he just shook his head.

I have eternity to sleep, my boy. You however, should rest. But I'm afraid that I have one more request of you.

Of course. Anything.

I need you to go and fetch the Reverend from the Abbey. Today is my last day, my boy and arrangements need to be made. I knew not to argue. He looked so close to death already, that I was afraid to leave him alone. But the old man nodded at me and reassured me that I still had time.

As I exited the thick, wooden front door, I was met by a glorious Iona sunrise. Bright orange light was glowing over the hills of Mull and backlighting the fluffy clouds that filled most, but not all of the sky. It breathed of new life, which I found so ironic, since death was so near. Yet I understood its implications. I thought that Mannanan-mac-Lir was sending me a message that I, myself, was soon to be the one and only Bakbakkar Finport and with that came great responsibility. Or maybe, my mind and imagination were running away with me and it was just a pretty sunrise.

My attention was suddenly drawn to my right. Once again, I thought I saw some movement in the corner of my eye, but when I turned to look, there was nothing but long grass swishing in the gentle morning breeze. Was my mind playing tricks on me? It certainly had good reason to.

By the time I arrived at the Abbey, it was already light and people were arriving for a morning service. I decided to wait until afterwards, to speak to the rector and sat outside the Abbey instead, watching the changing moods of this wild island. The wind was now blowing the grass sideways, while I could see a passing shower of rain, missing Iona, but dumping its moisture on the nearby barren hills of Mull. I had spent so little time in this place, yet I felt so comfortable here. Like my home. It was in my genes and I revelled in it.

Can I help you my son? asked the gentle voice. My mind had drifted away and with it, sleep had taken me by surprise. Hence, I hadn't noticed the man walk up to me. The service must be over.

Ah…yes…I'm sorry…are you the Rector?

Reverend Bartholomew Smith, Rector of Iona Abbey, at your service. And whom may I be talking to? His warm smile filled me with confidence, but I was unsure whether his hair was white blond or white. Maybe it was a mixture of both.

I'm Bakky Finport, your…er…reverence.

Bart.

I'm sorry?

You can call me Bart. Your Reverence is hardly necessary, young Bakky. Now, Bakky, that wouldn't be short for Bakbakkar would it? I nodded my reply. Then I'm afraid your reason for seeing me is not a good one.

It's The Professor. He's…he's…dying. And he's asking for you, sir. I was caught completely by surprise, as tears suddenly welled up inside my eyes. He placed a supportive hand on my shoulder as I blubbed like a frustrated toddler, uncontrollably and embarrassingly, before him.

It's all right to cry my boy. He's a remarkable man whom we shall all miss. But he's known about this day for a long time now. I suspect he may even be relieved that it's finally arrived. His soft and reassuring voice made no attempt to calm me, but did anyway.

But you don't understand. He gave his life away to Khron..

Please Bakky. I really don't need or wish to know the details of what and why. If The Professor is dying, then that's all I need to know. Come.

Inside the Abbey, Bart grabbed a bag and then the two of us headed down the small road, away from the large stone Abbey, towards The Professor's small and unassuming cottage.

Now that it was daylight, I could see that the cottage was painted a pristine white, with a steeply tiled roof. Set alone from any other houses, its garden was really just a wild field of long, wispy grass and I suspected the local sheep had long ago grazed any other unfortunate plant that may have previously been planted.

As we entered the quiet house, I noticed a small red ladybird on my hand. Its bright red shell was perfectly offset by the tiny black dots. I stared at it for a few seconds. Then its shell opened to reveal two delicate wings and it flew off into the gentle morning breeze. I could feel Bart's eyes on me, but neither of us said anything. Sometimes, the tiniest thing can seem so important.

Hello Bart, croaked the pale old man with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. The curtains had been opened to let some light in, revealing lips that looked thin and blue.

It's always my pleasure, Professor. I've been expecting this call for many years and wondered if I would be alive when it finally came. Both men smiled. Then The Professor turned to me.

Bakky, you can trust Bart with anything. You must know that. But Bart won't want to know any more than he needs to, so abide by his wishes, please. I nodded sadly.

I'll make all the arrangements for the funeral, interrupted Bart. We will bury you next to all the other Bakbakar's, just like you asked me to, all those years ago.

Thank you, Bart. I would also like you to bear witness that I leave all my worldly goods and possessions, including this house, to Bakky here. I've already signed over my bank accounts to him. I stood there listening, frozen by the impact of what was being discussed. Then looking at me, he continued weakly.

Bakky my boy. I'm sorry this has happened so soon, but I know that you are ready. My house is, maybe, a bit of a mess, he smiled. But all you need to know is either on my desk next door, or near it. I'm sure Arthur and Dominica will help you go through it all. After all, it does have a passing resemblance to Arthur's old bedroom, eh? I was amazed how he was able to joke at a time like this. His breathing was laboured and I thought each breath may be his last, but even Arthur had to smile at that.

I'm so very proud of you and you have fine friends and companions to help you. Remember, I will always be with you. Tears were unconsciously pouring down my cheeks in waves, as I once again nodded obediently, speechless with both grief and fear. Then the old man, my mentor, lay back and shut his eyes for the last time. His last breath delicately expired from his cyanotic lips and he moved no more. Yet again, I found myself grieving for this remarkable man and once again, Dominica and Arthur were there with me, hugging me and crying with me.

That night, the funeral was held in haste. Darkness was our friend, as secrecy was still a necessity. It seemed that the world would remain blissfully unaware of Professor Bakbakhar Finport and all the Bakbakhar Finports before him and that's the way we wanted to keep it. Yet, the night was like an abhorrent blur and I remember little of that harrowing time. Only the cruel and tormenting lowering of the Professor's casket into the ground, remains fixed in my memory. There, to rest next to all those other gravestones of Bakbakhars, some more weathered than others, that I had seen for the first time just a year ago, with Columba's Crypt itself, just metres away.

Reverend Smith said a few words, but none penetrated my hearing. I was staring at my feet, not really taking part in the short service, when I once again noticed a flicker of movement in the corner of my eye. I looked up just as the miniature figure, as if sensing my alertness, moved back behind a wall and out of sight. Whoever they were, they were clearly very small. I looked away and waited for the sense of movement to repeat at the edge of my vision. Sure enough, the small figure reappeared and to my surprise, it was a small girl, no more than six or seven years old. I don't know why, but I unthinkingly wandered away from the funeral, oblivious to the proceedings, off towards where the little girl was hiding. I thought The Professor wouldn't mind, although, to be honest, I wasn't sure I was thinking at all.

Hello, I said gently to no reply. It's okay. I won't hurt you. She came out of the shadows, revealing her mat of bright, red hair and pretty little face, flecked with light brown freckles.

What's your name then? My name is Bakky.

Morag, she replied quietly.

Well Morag, you don't have to hide. If you want to come to the funeral, then you can come and stand with me. She seemed happy with this, so I took her by the hand and walked her back to where the other three were standing. No one said anything, though eyes were raised, as the service continued. Dominica couldn't resist a less than subtle gawk and seemed particularly annoyed with me; but this, in itself, was nothing out of the usual.

But it wasn't until the end of the service, that Reverend Smith surprised me.

Hello Morag, he said to the girl, with a familiarity suggesting they were far from strangers. But then, the community on Iona was small and I suspected everyone knew each other, to some degree.

Hello Bart, she said in a clear, Scottish twang. Can't I go to The Professa's house anymore? She looked up at the Reverend with that most innocent of faces, large blue eyes filling with tears. But the Reverend turned to me, rather than answering Morag directly, raising his eyebrows to deflect the question my way.

What do you do there, Morag? I asked.

I play of course, she snivelled. Oh, and I tidy up. The Professa always lets me play there and my mam doesn't mind. She always knows where I am. I returned the look to the Reverend who nodded.

Morag always plays at your house. The Professor just leaves it open and Morag sort of takes care of it. Her mother doesn't mind. She's very busy looking after Morag's six brothers and sisters, eh Morag? The cute little girl nodded, more happily this time.

Well, I replied. I would be honoured if you, Morag, would come and play at The Professor's house anytime you like.

Your house, corrected the Reverend.

You know Bart? Even though it's now my house, I'd be far happier if we all still called it the Professor's House. I was satisfied when everyone nodded in agreement.

So from that point on, I had a housekeeper. Morag was always somewhere around the small cottage and I often wondered if she ever went home. Or worse, I wondered if she even had a home to go to. But Reverend Bart insisted that she did and so far, he had been, as promised, more than trustworthy.

Chapter 2

What a mess!

It was a great relief to both Arthur and I when, the next day, we spoke to our respective parents. From their point of view, we had only been away for a week and our calls were simply routine check-ins. Indeed, going by past absences, phoning this soon, was a positive improvement and both sets of parents were suspicious. Yet for us, stuck in the ancient world for so long, many months had gone by and we both felt some relief from hearing the familiar voices.

I knew too, that I had changed over that time; matured. I felt much more confident in being a leader. It wasn't so much when all was going well that I noticed the difference. It was more when quick decisions at difficult moments, needed making. I realised that it was at these times when both Arthur and Dominica looked to me to act and I was finding the role increasingly comfortable. Adversity does that. It builds resilience and toughness. And I was certainly going to need both of those attributes, as I began the massive challenge of wading through the mess that was The Professor's house. I knew that it was actually now my house, but I just couldn't bring myself to call it that. As far as I was concerned, it would always be The Professor's house.

Morag, as it turned out, was invaluable. Despite her lack of years, this tiny dynamo of a girl seemed to know where everything was and knew the house better than maybe even The Professor himself had known it. His mess was her garden and she knew all the hidden corners. A librarian of clutter. A mistress of disorganisation.

There was, however, one particular concern for me. Inside this ordinary facade was a huge collection of extremely sensitive information, kept here in this house. The sort of information that was best kept from prying eyes. Stories that the world was best to stay ignorant of. Tales, that until recently, would have made me laugh at their fictional ridiculousness. So, I