Author Rachel Rener - Hematites & History - Chapter 9b and ARC sign ups!!!

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Now, please enjoy chapter 9 part b!

I looked up, finding myself surrounded by ice and—a cave, of some sort? Cautiously, I took a step toward the mouth of the cave, where icicles hung from the opening, and something blue and glittering clung to the slick rock walls.

“What did you do?” A sharp voice punctured my reverie.

“Is it broken?” a second voice pressed, full of alarm.

I blinked, falling snow and blue icicles all at once replaced by garish fluorescent lights and ceiling tiles.

“She’s found something!” Heath announced, gently taking the bracelet from my hand.

And indeed, it was my hand once more—clean, uncalloused, and with a small freckle just beneath the knuckle. I stared at the back of it, trying to shake the strange vision from my head.

“Delaney, you’re an absolute genius!” Julie breathed, her hazel eyes wide and glistening as they regarded the exposed underside of the jade cabochon.

“How did you know?” Heath asked me, awe etched into his features.

“I… I don’t know,” I replied weakly, wiping a bead of sweat from my brow.

Topie’s snout pressed against the side of my leg. He was looking up at me with a worried expression.

“Three lines connected by the letters S-K-M,” Dr. Szabó murmured, gazing at the bracelet through Mr. Zhao’s loupe. “What could it mean?”

“Samarkand,” Mr. Zhao said solemnly.

“Of course!” Julie exclaimed, running to the other side of her desk to press her head between Mr. Zhao’s and Dr. Szabó’s. “S-K-M—three routes converging on a central node!”

“The Silk Road capital of capitals,” Dr. Szabó agreed.

“No.”

All five humans turned to look at me.

I cleared my throat self-consciously. “I… I don’t think it’s Samarkand.”

Mr. Zhao frowned. “Samarkand was a major Silk Road stronghold and trade hub where Sogdian was spoken extensively. Not to mention, it was culturally tied to the exact people who would make such a bracelet.”

“Samarkand makes perfect sense.” Julie nodded enthusiastically, pulling a folded-up map from her desk draw and tacking it to the wall. “And it still exists, here in the valley of the Zerafshan River, Uzbekistan.”

Zhao, Szabó, and even Roger crowded around the map, chattering excitedly, while Heath and I remained in our chairs.

“You disagree?” Heath asked softly.

I nodded.

Topie, who was resting his chin on my knee, looked up at me with a single cocked ear.

“Why?” Heath pressed.

My thoughts drifted back to snow, glittering blue gemstones, an icy cave, and a hand that was most definitely not mine. I opened my mouth, trying to figure out how to tell Heath and the others what I’d seen. After all, everyone in this room deserved the truth—Heath most of all.

But the words stuck in my throat.

“Because…” I faltered, grasping at proverbial straws. “If I were trying to hide something for fifteen hundred years, I’d point people somewhere remote. Somewhere difficult. Somewhere nobody would think to look.”

“Like where?” Heath asked.

I hesitated, my thoughts returning once more to the strange ice cave from my vision, then shoved the exceedingly unscientific notion aside. “I don’t know,” I answered lamely. “But not Samarkand.”

The room fell silent.

Julie crossed her arms.

Dr. Szabó kept studying the map.

Mr. Zhao rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

And Roger popped open a bag of Cheetos that brought Topie scampering over there like a chubby tiger to a wounded antelope. He licked his lips, peering up at Roger a though he’d been starved for most of his life.

Eventually, Julie sighed. “Well, whether you’re right or not, Delaney, Samarkand remains the strongest lead we currently possess.”

“Agreed,” Dr. Szabó said.

“Seconded,” Mr. Zhao added.

Roger nodded as he popped a neon-orange Cheeto in his mouth, prompting Topie’s tail to thump against the floor hungrily. “Can’t exactly put ‘Delaney has a feeling’ on a grant proposal.”

He had a point; in academia, it’s not decisions, theories, or even the lure of legendary golden tombs that determine next steps.

It’s money.

Julie rolled up the map. “Then I think our next steps are obvious. Dr. Szabó and I will contact our colleagues in Uzbekistan immediately. If the symbol references Samarkand, there may be records, artifacts, trade inventories—something the museum there might have already unearthed.”

“And if we’re lucky,” Mr. Zhao added, “perhaps access to collections that have never been thoroughly examined.”

“How soon?” Heath asked.

Julie flipped open her laptop. “As soon as possible.”

I bit my lip, my thoughts drifting once more to snow and a sparkling blue ice cave. It wasn’t just the ice that was glittering like a sapphire disco ball—the walls of the cave itself scintillated with a strange blue mineral.

My breath caught.

Just last year, I’d stumbled across a discussion on Mindat.org regarding an unusual specular hematite occurrence near Lake Baikal; instead of being black or charcoal gray, like regular hematite, the author claimed this pocket of hematite he’d stumbled upon had a sparkling azure hue.

Most of the commenters insisted the photographs had been altered. A few argued the glossy crystals were simply catching the reflection of the sky. One particularly argumentative mineral collector typed up six scathing paragraphs accusing everyone else in the thread of geological incompetence.[1]

As for me, I suddenly wasn’t so sure those photographs were fake.

Heath cast a sidelong glance in my direction. “Hypothetically speaking, if Delaney and I were to go with you—”

“Your trip would be fully funded,” Julie murmured, head bowed as she began typing furiously on her laptop.

“And if we go… somewhere else?” Heath turned to Mr. Zhao, who had previously bankrolled our trip to Hungary due to his confidence in our treasure-hunting abilities. After all, we had struck Hunnic gold once, unearthing Attila the Hun’s own personal seal alongside a cache of ancient stolen treasure.

“I am sorry, but I must draw the line between instincts and evidence,” the older man replied gently.

“Fine, we’ll fund our own way.” I sighed, palming the growing ache behind my eyes. “What does it matter, anyway?”

Heath’s lips pressed into a tight line.

“It matters because the Smithsonian is offering a five-million-dollar reward to anyone who can find Attila’s tomb,” Julie replied, eyes still fixed on her computer screen. “And if you guys aren’t affiliated with any of the cooperative entities, you’re effectively treasure-hunting mercenaries, unaffiliated with either government or university.”

“It is a threat to my government’s funding of this cooperative alliance,” Mr. Zhao added.

Heath sighed. “What if Li accompanied us? He oversaw the Hungary expedition—”

“Yes, which resulted in a medical evacuation that cost tens of thousands of dollars.”

Julie and the others darted furtive glances in my direction.

Cheeks heating, I loosened the collar of my shirt for what felt like the fifth time that day. “That wasn’t Li’s fault—” I started.

“No, it most certainly was not,” a man’s voice barked from behind me.

I nearly fell out of my chair.

“Li?” Heath and I clambered to our feet.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded.

“We thought you were back in China!” Heath added.

Li arched an eyebrow at us as he sipped at the steaming liquid in one of the two mugs he was carrying into the room.

“I said he was not here,” Mr. Zhao clarified, “not that he was in China.”

“You Americans drink too much coffee,” Li said, as though that explained anything at all. “I went to store to get tea for Mr. Zhao and me.” He handed the older man the other mug. “Unfortunately, there was no Tieguanyin or Longjing tea. Only ‘Arizona Green Tea’”—he crinkled his nose in disdain—“which is most certainly not tea. And something called ‘Lipton.’” Flashing Mr. Zhao what appeared to be an apologetic look, he dourly added, “It came in bag.”

“Li,” I whispered, taking a step toward him. The last time I saw him, he had warned me not to push myself too hard. And then I went and did exactly that.

“Miss Stone,” he said, a line appearing between his eyebrows. “Are you okay? You seem—” He turned to Mr. Zhao, finishing the rest of his sentence in Mandarin.

“—flushed,” Mr. Zhao supplied, a matching line appearing between his eyebrows.

“Yes, flushed.” Li turned back to me, reaching forward to place a hand on my forehead. “Ai ya,” he muttered as he pulled it away. “Are you sick?” he pressed, though I was beginning to suspect he already knew the answer to that question.

I shook my head.

His eyes narrowed.

“Emails sent,” Julie said, snapping her laptop shut. “The proposed expenses are being reviewed as we speak.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I just need to know if I’m getting four plane tickets or six.”

“Don’t you mean seven?” Roger interjected.

Topie, thinking Roger had been advocating for him, gave an appreciative snuff.

“Geologists aren’t considered part of the archeology department’s budget, I’m afraid,” Julie told Roger with a wan smile, then turned back to us. “So… are you guys coming?”

Heath and I slowly rose to our feet, eyes locked.

“No,” Heath eventually said, his gaze still boring into mine. “We’re going… somewhere else.”

“And where is that?” Dr. Szabó asked, arching a bushy gray eyebrow.

“Siberia,” I replied.

This time, the silence that followed was absolute.

Roger lowered his Cheeto.

Mr. Zhao blinked.

Even Julie looked momentarily speechless.

“I’m sorry,” Dr. Szabó said at last. “Did you say Siberia?”

I nodded.

“Why Siberia?” Julie asked.

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. What could I say? That I touched the bracelet and briefly became stranger standing in an ice cave that felt Siberian?

“It’s just a feeling,” I admitted.

Roger immediately pointed a Cheeto at me. “And this is exactly why Delaney doesn’t get to write grant proposals.”

“Fortunately,” Heath interjected, “Delaney has a rather impressive track record of being right about things that initially sound insane.”

“Thank you,” I said, then frowned. “I think.”

“You’re welcome.” He squeezed my shoulder, lowering his voice to a mutter. “Though, from a purely evidentiary standpoint, Julie might be onto something.”

I swallowed. The scientist in me knew he was right to favor an evidence-based approach. But the girlfriend in me wished he had blindly trusted me instead.

Heath’s thumb brushed absently against my shoulder. “I’m just saying that if we’re wrong, we’re talking about a very expensive trip to the middle of nowhere.”

“And if we’re right?” I asked quietly.

His gaze met mine. “Then your theory will bring us closer to Attila than anyone has been in sixteen hundred years.”

“Hypothesis,” I corrected reflexively.

He sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

The cell phone on Julie’s desk chimed. “And that was the approval!” she announced, grinning at the screen. “Dr. Szabó, Mr. Zhao, you’re with me. Roger”—she turned to the geologist, who was sulking in the corner—“you’re back in your own department… sorry,” she added with an apologetic shrug. “And Li—”

“Will accompany us to Samarkand,” Mr. Zhao interjected swiftly.

Li flashed Heath what appeared to be an apologetic tightening of his lips, then politely bowed to Mr. Zhao.

A lump appeared in my throat. Li had spent his life studying history. He knew the Silk Road. The Mongolian Steppe. China. The ancient trade routes connecting half the world. And for one foolish moment I’d thought maybe he’d join us. Instead, he would be following the evidence—just like everyone else.

The room fell silent as I turned to Heath, biting my lip nervously. “So…? What do you think?”

I held my breath, wondering how in the world I had gotten into a situation where I fervently prayed Heath would choose poppycock over proof.

“I think,” Heath replied slowly, glancing over at Topie as he snatched a Cheeto right out of Roger’s hand, “the three of us are going to Siberia.”

“Reeeee!”

My face broke into a wide smile.

This was ridiculous—utterly, completely ridiculous.

I had no evidence. No maps. No records. No coherent explanation whatsoever for why I suddenly felt so certain that Attila’s trail led north instead of east. And yet, as Heath slipped his hand into mine and Topie cheerfully crunched on his stolen Cheeto, excitement unfurled in my chest.

A new mystery.

A new adventure.

And, despite all the reasons he shouldn’t, a partner willing to follow me into the frozen middle of nowhere. My fingers curled around the rhodochrosite cube hidden in my pocket, my thoughts drifting back to snow, blue crystals, and an icy cave I wasn’t entirely certain even existed. The memory lingered just beyond my grasp, hazy, yet refusing to fully fade.

Please be a clue… I fervently prayed.

And not a symptom.

[1] And no, it wasn’t me.

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Copyright 2026 by author Rachel Rener. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, shared, published, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the express prior written permission of the author.