Judgment Stone (9781401687359)

  “It was a blessing, getting to meet you and your family in your world, on your terms. And someday, Tyler, you will shed your physical body and join me in the spiritual world.”

  “You mean when I die?”

  The angel nodded. “You’ll be ready. You’re experiencing so much of the spiritual world now. You just don’t understand yet.”

  Tyler realized that in the rippling brightness of the angel’s body he could see galaxies of stars, swirling, appearing and disappearing. The central point from which they all came and fanned out was in the angel’s chest. Looking at it, he felt good—more than just good: a warmth overcame him and . . . something familiar . . . he had to think about it, then it dawned on him. It was the feeling he had when Mom or Dad snuggled with him, hugging him, squeezing him, kissing his forehead. The feeling of being loved.

  Tyler stepped closer, the warmth increasing as he did. But it wasn’t coming from the angel—or it wasn’t normal heat. He didn’t feel it on his skin. It came from inside him. He wanted to feel it forever. To be near it forever.

  “Someday you will,” the angel said.

  That startled Tyler. “You can read my mind?”

  “We can.”

  The angel glanced past him, and Tyler turned. The valley’s ground was formed by waves and swells of hard rock, as though in the far past it had been a boiling sea of molten stone before suddenly freezing into its current form. On one of these swells Phin lay sprawled on his back, head hanging over.

  “Is he dead?” Tyler asked.

  “No,” the angel said. “He’ll wake soon.” He pointed toward the garden side of the monastery. “Go to the back of that wall. There’s an iron door. I left it open.”

  “You’re not coming?” Panic setting in.

  “You won’t be alone.”

  “You saved me,” Tyler said. “Does that mean the Tribe’s not going to get me? I’m not going to die?”

  “No one but God knows when it’s your time to come home. It could be in a hundred years, or a hundred minutes . . .”

  Minutes!

  The angel looked at him with so much . . . love, compassion . . . More stars filled his body, the ones in his chest becoming blindingly bright. Tyler felt that warmth inside again, burning away his fear. Whatever happened, whenever it did . . . it was okay.

  The angel continued: “But your time wasn’t when that Immortal wanted it to be.” He said immortal in a way that made Tyler think the angel didn’t believe it, or thought it was funny. “Watch yourself,” the angel said. “Pray.”

  Tyler looked toward the side of the compound, so dark there. “I know the door you’re talking about, the Siege Door,” he said. “Right?” He turned back, and the angel was gone.

  [ 84 ]

  Two hundred miles outside of Antalya, Turkey, Jagger climbed out of the copilot’s seat and went back into the cabin. The lights were dim and soft music was playing through ceiling-mounted speakers—an instrumental Jagger thought he recognized from a movie. Owen was in the cabin’s one bed, a tangled sheet barely covering him, one arm hanging off. His mouth was open, and he was snoring to wake the dead.

  Jagger said his name and shook him. The snoring stuttered, then fell back into a steady rhythm.

  “Owen!” More shaking.

  Owen bolted up. “I’m up!” he said. He rubbed his eyes, tugged at his beard. He blinked and finally focused on Jagger. “Hey,” he said. “No alarms? No one screaming we’re in restricted air space?”

  “How would I know? I don’t speak the languages of the countries we’re flying over.”

  “The F-14 escorts would be your first clue,” Owen said, stretching the muscles of his face. “Besides, English is the default language of aviation worldwide. You’d know.”

  “I didn’t pick up on any trouble, but we’re about twenty minutes to Antalya.”

  “Right.” Owen threw off the sheets, stood, and stumbled back toward the bathroom. He left the door open while he splashed water on his face.

  “After refueling,” said Jagger, “we’ll be over the Mediterranean.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You said you wanted to throw the Stone to the bottom of the ocean.”

  “I said I’d rather do that than let the Clan keep it.” He came into the cabin, drying his face. “I’d rather return it to the mountain.”

  “Sinai? Won’t it just get dug up again?”

  “I’ll find a safe place for it.”

  “You don’t . . . want to keep it?” Jagger said.

  “What for?”

  “I don’t know. It just seems too special to get rid of it.”

  “I’m not going to get rid of it. I’m giving it back to God.”

  “But don’t you think it can do some good for mankind? Prove to the world the spiritual world exists?”

  Owen shook his head. “Those with eyes to see already know. It’s about faith, Jagger. Faith is what makes us believe that God created us and loves us. Faith gives us the eyes to look back at the crucifixion and know His Son paid the price for our sins. It gives us strength in times of need because we trust He’s there for us. How does seeing angels—as wonderful as it is—instill faith?”

  “It confirms an invisible realm, more than our eyes can see.”

  “It undermines faith. People will say, ‘I believe in angels because I’ve seen them.’ All the more reason for them not to believe in God or Christ or Christ’s sacrifice—”

  “Wait, wait,” Jagger said. “You don’t think angels are proof of God?”

  “Want to bet on how many people will say the angels are aliens . . . or non-spiritual beings from an alternate dimension . . . or created by God who then went away, leaving them here with us? People will always find a way to deny God. The Stone won’t change that. But I can think of a hundred ways it will lead to trouble. Bale’s use of it is just one example.”

  Jagger nodded. “Don’t you think Bale will come for it?” he said.

  “He might.” Owen went to the cockpit entrance, turned back. “If Gheronda will have me, I’ll hang around St. Catherine’s for a while in case he shows up.” He went into the cockpit, calling back: “If he does, I’ll take his other hand. And his head.”

  [ 85 ]

  Tyler was getting cold. The temperatures in the desert this time of year weren’t like they were back in Virginia. You couldn’t freeze to death. But they did dip into the fifties, and it didn’t help that he didn’t have a shirt or shoes.

  He was in the rocks in the foothills of the mountain opposite the monastery’s front wall. He’d tried to make it to the door that Leo—the angel: he didn’t know how to think of him anymore—told him about. Before he’d reached the courtyard outside the side gate, he’d spotted someone on top of the wall: the teenager—Tyler had heard Nevaeh call him Toby. He was shining a bright flashlight down outside the wall, moving away from Tyler, toward the rear of the compound. Tyler was glad about that—his moving away from him—until Toby’s light flashed on the small iron door, which was open a few inches. He’d jumped down, opened the door, and crawled inside. A few moments later he pulled it shut behind him.

  Tyler hadn’t even gone to see if it was now locked. He thought the teen would be waiting for him. He’d stood under the eave of a storage shed, wondering what to do. A few minutes later he heard someone up on the wall again. Toby dropped down into the courtyard twenty feet from Tyler, who pushed himself farther into the shadows. But the boy went into the gardens without looking Tyler’s way, shining his light at the bushes and into the trees. A rifle was strapped to his back.

  Tyler darted along the wall and ran out into the rocks, where he was now.

  He had watched Phin—halfway between Tyler and the wall—come to. He’d rubbed his head, sat on the rock for a few minutes, looking around as though he’d forgotten where he was. Then he’d staggered away, stopped at the wall, and looked up at it for a long time. He started bouncing, going higher with each jump. He gripped the top of the protruding box—which
Mom called an outhouse—and climbed on top. From there, it was an easy jump to the top of the wall.

  The lights mounted on the front wall had clicked off, only to come on again about twenty minutes later. The teenager began patrolling along the top of the wall, back and forth. When he’d reach the ends, he’d head back toward the rear, but always reappeared a few minutes later. Tyler was trapped.

  The lights were dim where he hid, and he was between two boulders—dark, just enough room to lie down—so he was pretty sure he was safe. Unless they came looking for him.

  He lowered his forehead to the ground and tried not to cry. He wanted his mother, wanted to be sitting on the couch with her arms around him. He pictured her face, smiling, almost could feel her fingers stroking his cheek, and he did cry. Keeping it quiet, but letting himself go with it. Dad would pick him up, saying, Come here, you. You’ll never be too big to pick up. And he’d give Tyler a bear hug. He’d tuck him into bed and sit on the edge while Tyler prayed—sometimes Dad prayed too, sometimes he didn’t. But he always sang to him. One of Tyler’s favorites was “Down in the Valley.”

  Roses love sunshine.

  Violets love dew.

  Angels in heaven know I love you.

  The lines meant more now that he’d seen an angel. Wait until he told Dad!

  He sniffed, tears falling from his eyes to the ground.

  He heard a noise and stiffened. He rose to his hands and knees and edged around the front boulder. Toby was still up on the wall. Tyler watched him reach the end and walk away on the garden-side wall, appearing to shrink until he was gone.

  Tyler backed into his hiding place, turned, and let out a yelp.

  Jordan was sitting there in the shadows at the other end. He was smiling, and lifted his finger to his mouth. “Shhh.”

  Tyler was frozen, wanting to turn and run, knowing it was hopeless.

  Jordan gestured and whispered, “Sit.” Tyler settled down between the boulders, keeping his legs tense, ready to jump up. Jordan said, “You scream like a girl. Was that crazy, that angel?”

  “You saw him?”

  “How could I not? Who was he?”

  “Leo,” Tyler said, suddenly missing him. “He was one of the monks.”

  “Did you know he was an angel?”

  Tyler shook his head.

  “Man, he knocked Phin away. You think the other monks are angels?”

  Tyler hadn’t thought of that. “I don’t think so,” he said.

  “How do you know?”

  Tyler shrugged. “What are you going to do?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’re looking for me, the others . . . you.”

  “I found you.”

  “What about the others?”

  “They didn’t.”

  Tyler sighed. He didn’t know if Jordan was really stupid or really smart.

  “Are you going to hurt me, or tell the others?”

  Jordan scrunched his nose, shook his head. “Nah. I thought I’d sit with you, keep you company.” He leaned back, clearing the boulder, twisting to look toward the monastery.

  “Then what?” Tyler said.

  Jordan smiled at him. “Let’s see what happens.”

  [ 86 ]

  Owen’s jet flew low over the monastery on a southeast trajectory, through the valley of Wadi El-Deir. Sunrise was still an hour away. It was too dark to make out people, but the monastery was lit up like a Christmas tree—the external wall lights, the compound’s getting-around bulbs, the lights that shone on the Southwest Range Building’s columns on special occasions. Not a good sign.

  “I couldn’t see anyone,” Jagger said.

  Owen climbed and banked, nearly skimming Gebel Ed-Deir, the mountain north of St. Catherine’s.

  “I’m going to do another flyby,” Owen said.

  “That’ll tip them off we’re coming.”

  “There’s no way to land without their knowing. I need to scope out the road again, but I’ll tell you one thing: it’s not straight.”

  “You can’t land?” Jagger said. “Where’s your parachute?”

  “Hold on. I didn’t say that. I’m just not sure I’m going to be able to stay on it.”

  “Meaning . . . ?”

  Owen grinned. “Buckle your seat belt.”

  Nevaeh was in the refectory, studying a large map of the compound for places they’d failed to look, when the jet flew over. She looked at the ceiling, as if expecting to see through it. She took off, bursting through the door into the courtyard of the burning bush. She scanned the black sky. The jet’s engines rumbled to the south. She jumped up and came down flat on her feet, making the Austin boots propel her to the roof of the refectory, then the top of the wall overlooking the archaeological dig.

  She saw the plane’s white taillights, meaning it was flying directly away from her. As it gained altitude, the red light on the left wingtip appeared. It was banking sharply, probably to come around again. As she watched it, she rubbed the back of her head, felt the huge knot there and the blood crusting her hair into rope-like clumps. She still ached from the fall she’d taken, but she felt better with each passing hour. By the time they were back in Palermo—with Beth, she told herself—she’d be back to normal.

  But the injury had taken its toll. For hours she’d been too shaken—oh, all right, she’d been in too much pain—to do much searching or managing of the others’ search. Consequently, they hadn’t found either Beth or Tyler. She wondered how Ben would have handled their failure.

  Ben’s voice in her head: I wouldn’t have gone there for the woman in the first place, you know that.

  Nevaeh: But say you did.

  Ben: I wouldn’t have.

  Nevaeh: We’re here, okay? What now?

  Ben: Get while the getting’s good.

  Nevaeh: What about salvaging the mission?

  Ben: How?

  Nevaeh: Do something right. Don’t leave empty-handed.

  Ben: What are you thinking?

  Nevaeh: Certainly, there are sinners here.

  Ben, stern: Nevaeh.

  Nevaeh: It’s what we do. Kill sinners. If we have to leave without Beth, at least we can settle some scores. For God.

  Ben: Bad idea.

  Nevaeh: Just one . . . or two. For God.

  Silence.

  Nevaeh: Ben?

  Just like Ben to abandon a conversation when he didn’t like its direction.

  The jet was gone now, hidden by the mountains. She ran along the wall toward the front. As she did, she tugged her hand radio out of a breast pocket. “Elias! Phin! Toby! Jordan! We have a jet. It’s buzzing us.” She stopped. Her last line had echoed back at her, a second after she’d spoken it. Then she saw why: Toby was sitting on the wall atop the round tower in the corner, leaning against its parapet. He was fast asleep, the sniper rifle across his lap, his radio resting in his hand, limp on the ground beside him.

  How could anyone sleep with that plane flying over? And her screaming through the radio? Beth and Tyler could have marched right by him, playing a drum and blowing a trumpet, and he wouldn’t have noticed.

  She picked the rifle up off his lap and kicked the bottom of his feet. The boots hummed, their soles moving in and out, trying to figure out what Toby was up to. He startled awake, saw her standing above him.

  He groaned and said, “I must have dozed off.”

  “You think?”

  He reached for the rifle. She pulled it away, taking a step back. “It’s mine now,” she said.

  “Come on. I’ve been patrolling all night.”

  “You can have it later. I have a feeling I’m going to need it.”

  “What’s up?” he said, using the parapet to help him stand. “Time to go?”

  “A plane just flew over. I think it’s coming back.”

  “Who?”

  She shook her head, checking the gun, making sure its optics were functioning.

  Toby said, “I saw Phin earlier, down in the court
yard by the mosque. I yelled at him, but he acted like he didn’t hear.”

  “I haven’t seen him for hours,” she said. She held the radio to her mouth. “Phin, you there?” Silence. “Phin!”

  “Yeah, what?”

  “Where are you?”

  “In their apartment, in case one of them comes back.”

  Nevaeh could see the dark window of the apartment from where she stood. “Get out here. Something’s up. A plane.” She didn’t wait for acknowledgement. “Elias?”

  A fountain of fire billowed up between the basilica and mosque.

  “You hear?” she asked. “A plane.”

  “I saw it,” he said over the radio. “Low.”

  “Did you recognize it?”

  “Negatory.” Then: “It was a Cessna Citation.”

  “Keep the monks in the church unless I call you.”

  The flames billowed up again.

  “Jordan?”

  Toby said, “I haven’t seen him.”

  Remembering that Phin had found Jordan’s radio smashed outside the walls, she looked out at the excavation and called his name.

  “Jordan!” came Nevaeh’s voice.

  “She sounds mad,” Tyler said. He was on his knees, hands pressed on one of the rocks between which he and Jordan hid. They’d both been asleep when the jet flew over. The sound had been like water thrown over them.

  Jordan nodded, but said, “She’s all right.”

  Tyler returned his gaze to the last place he’d seen the jet’s lights.

  “You know who it is?” Jordan asked.

  Tyler smiled a little, hoping . . . hoping . . .

  Beth scrambled down the rungs from the attic room as fast as she could with one hand. The pain in her broken arm had settled into a dull throbbing. She went through room after room until she came out in a tunnel. She turned left and emerged in the open space between a clutter of buildings and the Colosseum. She looked to the sky just as the plane soared over again.

  Jagger? she thought. Is that you? Owen?

  What if it were the Tribe leaving? That would be just as good . . . better!

  A single gunshot shattered that idea. She moved to the wall of a building, edged to the corner, and peered around. Through a gap between the jumbled structures and the monk cells on the west wall, the glow from monastery lights allowed her to see Toby and Nevaeh standing on top of the round tower. Nevaeh was aiming a rifle at the retreating jet. She fired again, stumbling back from the recoil.