The Tenth Saint (19 page)

Giorgis awoke and looked at Sarah as if he had been expecting her. “You are alive. It is a miracle.”

“Father … I am so sorry.”

“Do not be. You had no evil intent. You were doing a service to the church, to our faith. We are all victims here.”

“But this would not have happened had I—”

“No. Do not blame yourself.” He hesitated. “Did you see Apostolos?”

“I was the last to see him. He died in my arms.” She choked back tears.

Giorgis’ eyes clouded. “My good acolyte. At least he won’t suffer knowing the intruders destroyed his beloved stone.”

Sarah was shocked. “The Sheba Stone was destroyed?”

“Yes. They beat me and left me for dead before taking my keys and entering the sacred chamber. I heard gunfire … endless gunfire.” A pained expression crossed his face, but he composed himself and continued. “After they had all gone, I used whatever strength was left in me to crawl to the chamber. The door was off its hinges. Inside, the stone was riddled with bullets. The texts were incomprehensible.” He looked out the window and sighed. “Such vengeful men.”

“What do they want?”

“They know of the inscriptions. They do not want them translated. I do not know the reasons. What does it matter? All is lost now.”

“Maybe not all.” She looked around the room, then at the door behind her. “Father, I need to know something. How do I enter the library?”

Giorgis looked surprised. “Did Apostolos tell you of it?”

“It was his dying wish that I take something of his, something he kept in a vault.”

“Did he give you a key?”

Sarah reached inside her pouch and produced the ancient iron key. “Please. We have no time. They will strike again. They know about the vault. If I don’t get to it, they will.”

Giorgis nodded. He outlined in detail the route leading to the entrance of the library—a secret that, till this moment, was known by none except the highest ranking officials of the church.

Sarah squeezed his hand and swore she would repay him for the kindness he had shown her.

On her way past the nurses’ station, she grabbed some bandages, iodine, and antibiotics and stuffed them into her coat pockets. So far, so good. She hoped her luck would hold.

The light of dawn found Sarah in an alleyway hidden behind a row of garbage bins. She had crouched there to get a few winks of sleep, which she desperately needed after the ordeal of the last forty-eight hours. She awoke shivering and looked at her watch: six. The day’s newspapers would be out by now. She tucked her blonde mane into the hood of her coat and pulled the drawstrings to make a tight seal around her face. She could not afford to be recognized. She walked toward the main street to get a glimpse at the news before the locals started stirring.

Outside the newsagent’s kiosk the Ethiopian papers were secured by clothespins on stretches of rope. The
Ethiopian Herald
displayed a huge frontpage headline: “Carnage in Lalibela.” And beneath it: “Eight dead; English archaeologist missing.” Under other circumstances, she might have willingly appeared before the police and cooperated with their investigation. But not now, not here. There was no time, and corruption was rampant. No one could be taken at face value, least of all the officials.

She had to do this alone. The possibility at once unnerved and excited her. She found a piece of scrap paper in her pouch and sketched a diagram based on her conversation with Father Giorgis. It was a long trek through rough territory to the back entrance of the cave housing the library. She had to move quickly to get there before nightfall.

On the first leg of her journey, she followed a footpath above the main road. The dry brush was high enough to camouflage her, so she walked swiftly and decisively. She had walked miles when the midday sun beat down, filling her with a thirst so cruel it was impossible to move on.

Looking down toward the road, she spotted an anemic stream. She’d be exposed, but she was desperate.
Just for a minute,
she told herself and made her way down.

The cold mountain water felt like nectar to her dry mouth, and she drank greedily.

The sound of a car engine startled her. A jeep approached.

She ducked into the brush, hoping her khaki coat would blend with the surroundings, but it was too late. The vehicle stopped, the door opened, and the blood in her veins turned to ice.

She ran as fast as she could in the opposite direction, hoping to get enough of a lead to find another hiding place, but the dry undergrowth cracked with her every step. Behind her, a man shouted, but she could not distinguish his words.

Sarah fell into a thicket of trees and army crawled to a place with plenty of ground cover to camouflage her. If she kept perfectly still and quiet, she might just lose him. She cupped her nose and mouth in both hands, trying to muffle her rapid breaths.

Closing her eyes, she thought about Apostolos, about the tenth saint, about the task before her, and concentrated on the promise she’d made. It was the closest she’d come to prayer since childhood, before she’d rejected religion.

The sound of footsteps broke her meditation. All she could do now was sit still and hope he couldn’t see her. If she ran, it would all be over. There was quiet for a few moments, and she let herself believe she had eluded him.

A pair of hands clasped her shoulders, yanking her to her feet, and turning her around.

“Sarah Weston,” the man said in that familiar drawl. “I knew it was you.”

Sarah never thought she’d be so happy to see Daniel. She fell into his arms. “What are you doing here? I thought you were long gone.”

“I’ve been in Addis, waiting for my visa to be renewed so I could head back to Riyadh. Damn bureaucrats take their sweet time. Anyway, I saw this little article in the
Herald
this morning and figured you needed me.” He winked and grinned.

Her body stiffened. “Well, you’re wrong. I don’t need you. I’m perfectly fine. You are free to go.”

“Not on your life. Not this time.”

His words pleased her more than she expected, and she felt a pang of regret. She exhaled and softened her stance. “Look, Danny, I don’t blame you for the things you said, for walking out. Anyone sane would have done the same. I mean, look at how badly this has turned out. I’m a fugitive, for heaven’s sake.”

“Yes, I know. And not a very good one. It’s a good thing I spotted you before the cops did.” He gestured toward the jeep. “Care for a ride?”

She let out a strained laugh. “As a matter of fact, I would.”

“Where are we going anyway?”

“I’ll explain on the way. Just—”

“I know. Trust you.”

The back entrance to the library was well hidden from the eyes of the world. The abbot had told Sarah it was on the opposite side of the mountain from the entrance to Yemrehana Krestos and that she would have to travel through a tunnel to reach it. What he’d neglected to tell her was how difficult it would be to get there. The slopes looked steep and the terrain impassable, even for two scientists used to conducting their work in such no-man’s lands.

At the last outpost of civilization before the mountains became too inhospitable to inhabit, there was a village of eight mud rondavels with thatched roofs. The gravel road gave way to a dirt path that led to a hillside dotted with meager legume crops.

“Park here,” Sarah said. “We’ll continue on foot.”

Daniel threw a compass, flashlights, some tools, rope, a tape recorder, and a camera into his pack and strapped a water flask across his chest. He checked that his Taurus .38 was loaded and tucked it into his pants.

Sarah had no idea he carried a gun, but a bit of insurance didn’t hurt.

The hiking was easy at first. They walked along established paths through terraces where farmers grew chickpeas, a staple of Ethiopian agriculture. The plantings showed signs of stress, indicating impending drought and all the ills that came with it.

The terraces went only a quarter of the way up the mountain. The rest of the journey was far more treacherous. Daniel and Sarah negotiated steep slopes for hours to get to the plateau Giorgis had described. The terrain was a combination of impenetrable brush and dislodging rocks. The thicket was the other enemy. The vegetation was so dense they had to carve a path by ripping dried bushes from their roots and tossing them aside. The process slowed them down considerably, but they persisted, stopping only occasionally to hydrate.

By the time they emerged on the plateau, it was dusk. The ground was black and gravelly, a combination of granite and volcanic rock, and the vegetation was much more sparse at this elevation. Above them rose raw cliffs, a climber’s dream. The exposed rock, stacked in eternal layers, had been torn asunder by the violent earth of prehistory. To the north lay the curious landscape of Lalibela—an unlikely combination of rock-hewn churches, mud huts, and nondescript concrete buildings. The jagged silhouette of the Simien Mountains, glowing lavender in the wolflight, crowded the horizon.

Sarah caught her breath and looked around the daunting rockscape. “According to the abbot, this is the place. Somewhere around here there’s an entrance.”

“I imagine the monks haven’t made it too easy. If they went to all the trouble to make a secret entrance, it’s probably pretty damn well disguised.” Daniel studied the sky. It was like an abstract painting, with strokes of alternating lavender and orange and random flecks of crimson and lion-gold. “We have about a half hour before we can’t see a thing.”

“We’d better get to work then. Father Giorgis said to walk northeast from here and look for a rock shaped like a camel’s head. From there, we’ll need to descend the cliff until we come to a stream. We should then follow that stream’s course for about half a mile, until we see a ledge overhead.”

Daniel consulted his compass and nodded toward their destination. “Northeast.”

It was almost nightfall when they spotted the rock. The cliff beneath them looked too steep for a walk down, especially in the encroaching dark. Daniel handed Sarah a headlamp and put on his own. He produced a handful of carabiners and anchors, two harnesses, and a length of fixed rope.

“You travel with this stuff?” She picked up one of the harnesses.

“Always.” He grinned, obviously satisfied with himself for being so well prepared. “Now let’s get you strapped.”

About midway down the rock face, Sarah saw the stream the abbot had described. Illuminated by the waxing moon, it was a vein of liquid silver flowing through an ebony womb. The haunting beauty of the landscape immobilized her, and she hung there, a daughter of this wild land.