Karina Whitt And The Gateway To Jinetha

Chapter 1

"Oh my God!" A scream jerks me back into reality. I zoom the wall of dirt in front of me back into focus. The one I've been staring at for the last thirty minutes. Staring at, but not seeing.

"I think I found something!" the nasally voice shouts again.

Oh, right. The dig. I'm on the dig. In Israel. Battling boredom the way Indiana Jones battled the Nazis. I strike the soil with my small pickaxe, snorting at the futile activity. Thanks a lot, Mr. Jones, for lifting my expectations to Mount Ararat's summit. If it weren't for you, maybe I wouldn't have plunged so deeply into this pit of crushed dreams.

"You guys?" the voice continues.

I reach under my bandaged sprained wrist and scratch the heat rash that is taking over my skin. Is there anything more depressing than finding out the thing you wanted to do most in your life is based on an illusion? The child within me who dreamt of becoming an archaeologist wants to burst into tears every five minutes. I think I've managed to hide that pretty well. The cynicism however... well, the cynicism is all I have left.

"Seriously, everyone! Look how wonderful it is!"

Heaving a sigh, I turn toward the voice.

Daphnee. I should have known. There is no way the bubbling wannabe scholar found anything "wonderful." We've been digging at this site for two weeks now and we still haven't found the destruction level. It, of course, is logical that all the artifacts are found on the same level where they fell to their demise, hence the name "destruction level". Still, why did I have to join this dig when there is nothing but layers of fruitless dirt to dig through?

I twist away from the scholarly drama queen. Never did I think I would use "scholarly" and "drama queen" in the same sentence. But then again, "lame" and "archaeology" don't belong together either.

As if to prove the point, I scan the sepia pit where the ten of us are digging. With the exception of the strong brown and beige hues, this part of Galilee has very little color to offer, especially the deeper we go into the ground. Maybe I should have signed up for an archaeological dig in Ireland—at least then I'd have some greenery to look at. The dry shrubs that speckle the peripheries of this dull valley are barely noticeable.

I try to push away my bleak surroundings and find my comfy stance again, though the idea is actually ludicrous. You can't get very comfortable when every muscle in your body is screaming with pain. Or when you're practically trembling with hunger. Or when there's a heat rash waging war on your limbs like it's Napoleon in 1812. Or when people like Daphnee and Helga make you want to vomit your entrails out.

"I want to see!" Helga shouts.

Speak of the nerdy devil. She dashes to her Swiss frenemy, throwing her shovel to the side like someone was supposed to catch it. It slams down onto Elizabeth's toe.

Elizabeth grimaces, but doesn't say anything. She wouldn't. She is way too non-confrontational, not to mention sweet. A fault, really. Especially in Israel. But I still like her. Possibly the only person I truly like on my team.

Again I try to push the commotion out of my care-zone. Where was I? I try to recall my delicious daydream. Oh yes—leaping off a cliff to catch a rope swinging off a helicopter. Now that is an adventure.

"Oh my God!" Helga interrupts me. "You really did find something."

I turn around again. Daphnee pulls something out of the ground and holds it up. It's a small statue, still covered in dirt. Yet it's clear that Daphnee didn't exaggerate this time. It is incredible.

Immediately, all ten of us drop our tools and gather around the discovery. Dimitry, our Russian supervisor, gets there first. "Let me see," he demands.

"Look at how intricate the detailing is!" Daphnee brushes some dirt off of the figurine, ignoring Dimitry's outstretched hand. "Why, I think this is the most amazing artifact found in this dig's history. I knew I'd find something like this. I had a feeling. When I was digging in Turkey I also found something remarkable. I—"

"Ё-моё, дай сюда!" Dimitry interrupts her in Russian and grabs the sculpture out of her hands. I bite back a satisfied smile. I'm half Russian so I know the phrase isn't anything more than rude slang, but it sounds threatening enough.

Despite his inappropriate flirting and his full-on cussing at times, I actually like Dimitry. If only just for the eclectic character that he is. His arms are covered in tattoos, his blonde 'fro is wrangled into a ponytail, and the tobacco pipe that he's always smoking makes him look more like a badass Sherlock Holmes than an archaeologist-in-training. Besides, he doesn't put up with bullshit and that suits me just fine.

"Zis looks like it's one of ze later pieces of zis area." He holds out the statuette for everyone to see. "See zis detailing here and here? Zis didn't appear until two hundred years after the ze location zat ze ozer team iz digging."

We all crowd around the artifact. Even I lose my bitterness for a second. This. This is what I flew halfway around the world to find. Something this old, something this spectacular.

"I should be the one to catalogue it." Daphnee's shrill interrupts my awe. She reaches for the relic again, but Dimitry nearly slaps her hand away. Lee, our other supervisor, who is rumored to be a former Mossad agent, grunts at her.

I lift my dusty hand and rub my forehead. Of course it would pan out like this. The most extraordinary find would be Daphnee's. Now I have to put up with her smug expression threefold. The excitement I felt earlier fizzes into stifling heaviness and I saunter back to my humble working area, ignoring the argument now blazing between Dimitry and Daphnee.

God, my life...I raise my pick higher than I should and bring it down with force. A good-sized chunk of dirt breaks off and falls to the floor, much larger than is supposed to at one time. Stupid, stupid, stupid! I bring my judgment down again with a whack. Why is it so unfair? Smack!

This time something catches my eye in a fresh wad of crumbling debris. A thin diamond-shaped slate tumbles out. I reach down and pick it up. It's small enough to rest easily in my palm. I stare at the swirling designs covering both sides of it.

Whoa. The writing isn't in any language I recognize. It looks like a mix between Sanskrit and Aramaic. I graze my thumb over the etched-in swirls. This has to be something important. I can feel it. The slate glistens like polished marble in the sunlight, and an overwhelming feeling of possession envelops me.

I glance up to see if anyone else sees it, but everyone is engrossed in their own activities. I wrap my fingers around the piece, and before I know what I'm doing, I drop it into my pocket.

Damn it, give it to me!