Acquainted With the Night (9781101546000) (51 page)

“Father Nickolas,” Haji said, and gripped the monk's arm. The men turned into an arched tunnel where petrol lamps blazed down from the walls. Caro lowered her pashmina and followed the group into a large courtyard filled with narrow lanes and buildings. A monk with a shaved head joined them beside a wooden staircase.

“I am Father Konstantine.” His eyes hardened into olive pits as he stared at Caro, then he turned. “Follow me to the guest quarters, please.”

Raphael touched her elbow.
No woman has stayed behind these walls since the fourth century.

Ah, he'd pulled big strings. Caro gripped the dark wooden rail and followed the monk up the stairs. They were quite steep, with twists and turns, and she was breathless when she stepped onto a veranda. At one end, Moorish arches overlooked the quad and the domed basilica, with Mt. Sinai rising behind the monastery's walls.

She glanced behind her. Father Nickolas was showing Jude and Raphael to their rooms. When she looked back, Father Konstantine's lips tightened. He opened her door. “Your quarters,” he said, averting his eyes.

“Thank you, Father.” Caro stepped into the room. It was small and tidy, with a cot at one end and a desk at the other, and it smelled of cedar incense. A carved wooden crucifix hung on the far wall with a dried palm frond tucked behind it. The walls were curry colored, brightened by moonlight that fell through an arched window. The thin muslin curtain was pulled back, and she saw lights moving up Mt. Sinai.

She dropped her bag on a chair and stretched her arms. They felt weightless. Raphael had the triptych, and Father Aeneas had taken the ten vellum pages, but in a strange way, she felt liberated. She wouldn't have to guard priceless artifacts. Her relief segued into apprehension as she pressed one hand to her stomach. The guarding had only begun.

Her door opened and Raphael walked into the room carrying along a cardboard box. “Don't get settled,
mia cara
. You and Jude are climbing Mt. Sinai.”

“Tonight?” She frowned. “I've got vampires chasing me. What if they tracked me here? I'm not going on a pleasure hike.”

“This is more than sightseeing,
mia cara
.”

He set the box on the bed and raised the lid. Light hit the triptych and glanced off the colors. Caro remembered how he'd stayed in the back of his plush jet during the long flight to Egypt. He'd leaned over a table, trying to reassemble the triptych.

Now it was intact, more or less.

“Originally, the vampires believed that the three panels embodied the past, present, and future of the immortals. It took us centuries to understand that the images symbolized a more enigmatic prophecy.”

Caro's mouth went dry. “How enigmatic?”

“Your grandfather, Etienne Grimaldi, could see the future. While the triptych was being painted, Etienne had a vision, but he couldn't interpret the symbols. Indeed, none of them made sense. The images didn't represent any past that we'd known. But Etienne was emphatic. He knew this was a prophecy, and he made sure the artist added each detail in the order he'd dreamed them. No one realized that he'd visualized the past, present, and future of a woman, and child, not yet born, who will pull the immortal race out of the dark. This duo will cause a stir, and Christianity may change—all of humankind will change, too.” Raphael touched her cheek. “When you arrived at my villa and we assembled the triptych, the puzzle pieces began to merge.”

He pointed to Father Aeneas's panel. “This icon represents the past. There's a castle, and it's on fire. A girl child is running away. She's holding an egg and pages from an illustrated manuscript. This child is you. The icon shows
your
past.”

“But I never had an egg,” she cried.

He ignored her and tapped the center icon. “See the saint with dark hair? She is you—as you are now. You are holding a complete book. Behind you is a castle in Limoux—but it could also represent Saint Catherine's Monastery. The ground has turned into a bloody battlefield.”

Caro shivered. “Who's the bleeding man? And who's the monk in the background?”

“I don't know.” Raphael touched the figures. “I believe they are the same person. Perhaps the monk is the soul rising.”

“Could this be Demos?” She swallowed. “Or Uncle Nigel?”

“Possibly.”

“What about the third panel?” Caro asked. It showed the rest of the castle, with a woman and a child. Behind them lay a graveyard of crosses. The night sky had turned to blood, with tiny glimpses of the stars.

“I believe this is you and your baby,
mia cara
.”

A cold finger scraped down her spine. “I couldn't lead a bunch of tourists through Waterloo Station. I'm not at the center of this prophecy.”

“You won't know until you climb to the top of Sinai. You'll find a chapel. It's surrounded by an iron fence. Your guide will take you inside. Look for a fresco on the north wall. It has these same images, but I do not know when it was painted, or by whom. Study it. Think about your triptych. Try to interpret the symbols. But I believe they concern you and the immortals.

“Have you seen them?” Caro asked.

“Yes, but they are very confusing. Perhaps they were not meant for my eyes but for yours.”

“What if I can't make sense of it?”

“Then enjoy the view.” Raphael smiled. “And tell Jude about
il bambino
. The longer you wait, the harder it will be.”

“I'm so afraid, Raphael. What if he doesn't want this child?”

“
Mia cara
, fear waits at the edges of love. You must create a fortress inside yourself.” He kissed her hand. “Let's find Jude. The mountain is waiting.”

Raphael led them out of the monastery to a black Range Rover with tinted windows. Kareem drove while Haji distributed blankets and brandy. He opened a beaded purse.
“Baksheesh,”
he explained. “For tipping.”

Jude leaned against the dark window. “How long does it take to climb Mt. Sinai?”

“Two to six hours,” Raphael said. “Depending on camel traffic.”

“I have arranged for the finest Bedouin guide,” Haji told Jude. “And good-tempered camels.”

They drove through the security checkpoint to the mountain and climbed out of the car. Haji called out to a young Bedouin. He jogged over, his white
keffiyeh
swirling around his feet.

“This is Abdulla, your guide,” Haji said.

“I am honored.” Abdulla's narrow face split into a smile.

“Take care of them,” Haji said.

“Yes, yes, I shall,” Abdulla said.

Caro turned to Haji. “Will you be joining us?”

“I am sorry, no. Abdulla will escort you down the mountain at dawn.” Haji bowed.
“El salamo alaikom.” Peace be with you.

Abdulla helped Caro climb onto a kneeling camel. She gripped the wooden pommel as the animal lurched to its feet.

“Yella!”
Abdulla cried, and the camel started up the trail, Siket El Bashait, a camel path.

Around the bend, traffic picked up. Tourists jogged up the path, Americans in checkered headcloths, and they were followed by two Bedouins who kept shouting, “You want camel?”

When they reached the summit, Abdulla pointed to a mosque and a red granite chapel. It was surrounded by a crooked iron fence. “I will take you inside, yes?”

Jude tipped back his head. “Is it open to the public?”

“It is open to us,” Abdulla said.

“Raphael wants me to see something,” she whispered. “It's important.”

They walked by people who were kneeling in the rocks, their heads bowed. Others stood on flat boulders and stared into the dark valley. Caro looked back and saw lights winding up the trail. All those people climbing in the dark, trusting the Fates. If God couldn't be found here, perhaps He didn't wish to be found.

Jude and Abdulla helped her over the fence, and they walked over the rocks to the chapel. “How old is this building?” she asked Abdulla.

“It was built in 1933, the year my grandfather was born. There is much graffiti inside.”

She pulled Jude into the dark chamber. Abdulla pressed a halogen flashlight into her hands, then scooted back to the doorway, as if guarding it. The beam hit the wall and set the fresco to dancing. She stepped back, studying the violent images.

“What is it?” Jude asked.

“A fresco.” She explained Raphael's theory about the triptych's panels signifying the past, present, and future. She hesitated, wondering if she should add that it was possibly the future of their unborn child—but she couldn't tell him about the baby in front of this disturbing artwork.

Jude whistled. “Look how the art runs together.”

“Like a Salvador Dali painting,” she said, fanning the light over the images. She didn't see a fair-haired child. No woman. No flames. But blood was everywhere. There were two armies—men on horseback attacked hordes of ambulating skeletons, but the men were victorious. One carried off a baby in a gilded cage—a war prize or captive?

Her pulse sped up, thrumming in her ears like bongo drums. The art seemed to pool behind her eyes, and suddenly she understood the prophecy. Raphael was right. A woman would be the link between humans and immortals—and her baby would have the power to save or destroy them all.

She studied the figures on the battlefield.
A puzzle piece is missing.

Jude walked up behind her. “What sort of battle is this?”

“This isn't a battle,” she said. “It's an apocalypse.” She could almost hear thundering hoof beats, the cries of wounded men, and a baby's plaintive wail. In the future, humans would be pitted against the immortals. And somehow her baby was involved. She placed her hand on her stomach and took a deep breath.

From the doorway, Abdulla stirred. “Come, it's time to find a place in the rocks or they will all be taken.”

Jude rented blankets at the refreshment hut, and when he gave one to Abdulla, tears welled up in the man's eyes.

“Sleep,” Abdulla told them. “I will wake you at dawn.”

Jude found a flat rock and helped Caro get settled. He pulled the blankets around them. She pushed the fresco out of her thoughts. For all she knew, teenagers could have painted it—wild, drug-induced graffiti.

“The stars look so close,” she whispered. The air was thinner, and she struggled to catch her breath. A Babel of voices floated around them, hushed and reverent. Even the wind sounded like a chant. Caro felt something powerful swelling up from the mountain, and from the people. If Uncle Nigel was up there, she hoped he would help her find the right words.

“Jude?” she said. “Do you notice anything different about me?”

“Your eyes.” He smoothed her hair. “They don't look silver tonight. Your irises are shot through with turquoise. When I was young, I made a blue fire with copper chloride. It was a clear hue. The color of your eyes.”

“Mmm-hmm. Anything else?”

“Your cheeks are pink. But it's a cold night.” He glanced at Abdulla. The little guide was curled up on a rock, the blanket tucked around his shoulders. His eyelashes lay on his cheek like sable paintbrushes.

“Caro.” Jude cupped her cheek. “We need to talk.”

Do we ever
, she thought, but she just nodded.

“Can you ever forgive me?”

“For what?”

“I acted like a bloody bastard that night at Varlaam. And in Venice.”

“You don't have to explain.”

“I know it's happened so fast. But I can't hold back another second.” He inched closer. “I'm in love with you, Caro.”

She traced his upper lip. “I fell a while ago. That first night in Momchilgrad. But you already knew that, didn't you?”

“I need to hear it,” he said.

She took a breath and released it. “You're the one I'll always love.”

He kissed her face, wet with tears, then drew back. “What's all this?” he asked, running his finger through a damp streak.

“I need to tell you something. But I don't know how.”

“Just say it, darling.”

“Okay.” She took a breath. “We're going to have a baby.”

He stared so long that she began to panic. “Baby?” he asked.

“I wanted to tell you sooner, but I was frightened. I thought—”

He pressed his fingers to her lips. “Don't say what you feared. I couldn't bear it. I gave you reasons to doubt me. But if I could go back to the day we met and do it over, I wouldn't change a thing. I want our baby. Because I love his mother. And I will never stop. Not in a thousand years.”

His hand pressed against her belly. She was afraid to be this happy. Too much happiness was a jinx. She remembered her dream of the blue-eyed child, his laughter in the garden. She fell asleep to the singing voices. A long while later, she felt a presence standing behind her.

The vampires have found us
, she thought. A hand grasped her shoulder. She sat up and pulled away, but it was only Abdulla. His face split into a grin.

“The sun, she is coming,” he said.

Jude helped Caro to her feet. A gold slash broke over the mountains. People chanted and prayed; others sang. As the different languages passed through the light, a kind of metallurgy occurred, each voice hammered and shaped, rising into one sound.