Debriefing the Dead by Kerry Blaisdell

Author:Kerry Blaisdell [Blaisdell, Kerry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, fiction, paranormal, archaeology
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Published: 2018-03-17T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

“Whoever rewards evil for good,

evil will not depart from their house.”

~The Bible, Proverbs 17:13

What surprised me most about Pamukkale was the noise. When I’d thought healing waters, I’d subconsciously imagined still waters. Or at least, quiet ones. But the whole thing is formed by springs bubbling up, rushing over, roaring down the mountain—a seriously loud process. It’s also huge, over fifty stories high, and about two and a half kilometers wide. The scale didn’t compute until we got there, though of course we could see it from far away. It’s supposed to be visible from Denizli, which is way on the other side of the valley.

All the pools are on the top third, in crescent-shaped terraces that are one of the two primary formations made by the limestone and travertine. The other formation consists of stalactites, which prop up and connect the terraces. At the base lies the actual city of Pamukkale, but since Geordi’d drawn the springs themselves, that’s where we went.

When I asked about it, he said in typical seven-year-old fashion, “I just wanted to draw that.”

“Did anyone…suggest something like this? Or describe it to you?”

He shook his head, and Jason looked at me curiously, but of course I couldn’t explain why it mattered. At least, not without getting into details about demons and Satan and such, which would inevitably lead to and by the way, I’m dead. So, I dropped it, and we headed for the car.

By the time we parked and paid admission—this place was better run than Colossae—the sun was high, blinding against the white cliffs. According to my handy-dandy guidebook, until a few years ago, the site had been damaged by hotels built directly over the pools, the guests allowed to bathe—with soap and everything—in the water. Now, it’s better protected. The hotels are gone, and visitors can only walk with bare feet on the terraces or in the pools.

From an archaeological perspective, it’s near the ancient city of Hierapolis, built a few kilometers away by the Phrygian Greeks. They were the ones who ascribed healing properties to the waters, believing them bestowed by the god of medicine, Asklepios, and his daughter, Hygieia, goddess of health, cleanliness and sanitation. None of which explained why the Rousseaux or Satan would like it here. In fact, the opposite seemed logical—wouldn’t they avoid anything to do with health, goodness, and gods? And so utterly white?

But something made Geordi include Pamukkale on his map, so up we trekked.

The terraces acted like stairs, ranging in height from about one to six meters. By the time we got to the top, we were a little winded, maybe partly from combing Colossae before coming here. Lunch evaporated midway up, and once again, I was starving. I almost asked Jason if there was any lamb left, but I managed not to. Still, I had to figure out this whole post-death nourishment thing. I couldn’t very well defeat demons on an empty stomach.

Geordi sat and dangled his bare feet in the nearest pool, while Jason caught his breath and awaited instructions.

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