A Covenant with Death: The Peacock Trilogy - Book 3 (2 page)

Chapter 2

“My God, I’m arguing with an apparition, probably from my chemo.” Laverna Smythe-Pendleton, aka Peacock, placed both hands on her mattress and grinned at the tall, glowing male figure towering over her. “After six operations and the meds I’m on, I’m lucky you’re friendly and not some horned devil.”

“I’m not an apparition.” He gave her a warm smile. “You and I have talked four times before.”

“Oh, sorry,” she answered.  “I don’t remember.”

“Of course you don’t remember. You don’t remember anything a few weeks after they occur, and you haven’t in over five years.”

Not dangerous, but not of this world. His image could brighten a room at will. Definitely a male. His eyes reflected ages past, and his calm and reassuring manner soothed her.
Handsome?
Beyond. There was no way to describe him. The embodiment of wisdom and power, an angel of God most likely.

He grew taller and spread his arms. “In your private journals, look at Book 5, page 73.”

She’d kept private journals from before the cancer destroyed her ability to recall near-term events. She remembered where the journals were stored, unlocked the bureau drawer, and gasped. Continuous surprise ruled her life. Her journals numbered seven, yet she only remembered authoring three. Pulling out Book 5, she flipped the pages to page 73.

A half-hour later, she looked up from her reading to see her visitor grinning at her. “Whatever you tell me I’ll write down immediately after you leave. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

“God asks that you warn your husband his rule is ending. He is to follow God’s command and ready true believers for the Lord’s return.”

The joy in Laverna evaporated. Guilt filled every pore. “You’re delivering messages from God to me, a whore and a murderess. Why would God use me?”

“You
were
those things.” The room brightened as he spoke. In a gentle, voice he asked, “What were you doing when I appeared?”

“Praying.”

“Question answered.”

“Arthur won’t listen.”

“God doesn’t hold you accountable for the result. He asks that you obey.”

She gulped, hardly able to breathe. According to her journal, she’d delivered four messages to her husband. Each time he’d ignored her. Each time God’s message proved correct.

“I’ll do as you wish.” She paused. “Arthur’s a good man. Stubborn, but he loves God.”

The angel’s head tilted slightly left. “Your husband accepted Jesus. That he
loves
God is for God to judge. Still he
is
rebellious and that detracts from his effectiveness.”

“Will I live long enough to see our Lord’s return?”

The figure vaporized and blew away as if a wind carried him. But there was no wind. Laverna fell on her bed face first. Tears rushed forth, and she did not wipe them away. Rahab a prostitute, Ruth a Moabite, and Tamar a seductress, all won salivation and the honor to be included in the lineage of Christ, yet she couldn’t picture herself in the same light.

I obey your precepts and your statutes for all my ways are known to you.

A knock at the door startled Laverna. “Lovey, we leave in five minutes.”

“I’ll be right there.” Wiping her eyes, she rushed into the bathroom and stared into the mirror. Combat scars and dark blotches marred the beauty she still possessed. She applied her makeup, careful not to look like a manikin. Her figure, curved and alluring, remained her greatest asset. Her husband craved her body. For some reason, she held the same power over him now as she had when they first met. Ignoring the fact she’d turned fifty-three, Arthur saw her as twenty-five and not a day older.

The pathway to her id remained express-train fast, lucky for Arthur. She smirked, remembering Doctor Beatrice Kolb, the fiend who implanted mind-control devices in her brain—the affects now proven irreversible. One of those devices over stimulated her libido. An advantage to her ever since.

She changed into her Global Realm business suit stored in her closet, joined her husband in the hall, and grasped his hand. “Lead on, noble prince.”

“
King Arthur,
Darling,” he said and winked.

“Hardly,” Hans Van Meer poked Pendleton in his ego. “His royal
pain in the arse
is more appropriate.”

“I’ll call him whatever he asks me to.”

Van Meer huffed. “Yes, you and the other five billion citizens of the Realm.”

Next to Van Meer stood Laverna’s best friend, Felicia Lange-Van Meer, looking drop-dead gorgeous. Van Meer picked Felicia to marry, because she hadn’t minded his earlier indiscretions. One look at Felicia’s beauty and jealousy rose inside Peacock. She quickly quoted a scripture she used to keep perspective.
Thou Shalt Not Covet.

All the southwestern block of rooms in Balmoral Castle had been converted into residences for the Pendleton family and their administrative staff. The rest of the castle housed conference rooms and executive offices. Laverna loved Balmoral and the Scottish countryside. When Arthur traveled, she’d hike up the hillside to a glen he’d shown her on their honeymoon. Though the European Ice Age froze the ground six months of the year, the rest of the time life flourished, plant and animal alike.

The decision to move Global Realm Headquarters to the Isles came after the eruption of five volcanos in Iceland and Italy. The ash and debris dropped temperatures in Europe an average of twenty degrees and caused snowfall from Norway to Turkey to leap up fifty-five percent. That happened eight years earlier and hadn’t improved much since. The Isles experienced a lesser cooling of seven degrees on average, so Pendleton moved locations. Laverna didn’t understand the science, but while Europe froze, the rest of the earth continued to warm. North American winters were a balmy 65 on average. Summers reached 118, as far north as Maine.

The four arrived at Boardroom Global Admin A. Before they entered, Laverna whispered to her husband. “I had another vision. Can we talk about it tonight?”

He pulled her close. “Remember, you’re traveling to the Bering Strait Bridge tomorrow. I’ll give you an hour. Then it’s to bed by nine.”

“Thank you.” With her cancer and her memory problems, she needed more rest than she received.

Laverna took her seat to the left of her husband at the head of the table. Van Meer positioned himself on Pendleton’s right. Fifteen scientists from the Global Warming Task Force filled out the attendees. Now donning spectacles at age 62, Pendleton scanned several pages of raw data.

“Synopsize this for me.” He frowned and scratched his head. “Too complicated for a novice.”

The spokesman for the group, a thin Italian with curly black hair, answered, “Bluntly put, we’re winning the battle with the oceans but have already lost the battle of the weather and the land.”

“How so?”

“Through controlling methane and our species harvesting practices, the oceans are rebounding. That’s not to say they’ll ever return to their former state. But a new, healthy environment for aquatic life will develop.”

“Shouldn’t Global warming be curbed as well because of methane control?”

“Sir,” the curly haired man said. “We’re too late to save the land.”

“Don’t ever say that!” Pendleton flushed.

Laverna rubbed his arm to calm him down.

The researcher took a deep breath, but didn’t flinch. “We’ve seen an increase in the devastation from massive cyclonic storms. The rivers are as pure as we can make them, but still polluted and below par. In another decade, most of North America, Africa, Asia, and the Middle East will produce little of edible value, requiring us to rely on South America and Australia, plus what we produce within each complex to sustain the population. Eventually, the mini Ice Age will end. Earth will repair itself with time, but not fast enough for our present human population to survive.”

“Well, that’s all jolly good. Are you planning for us to have another series of volcanic eruptions, so the Ice Age goes on even longer?”

Her husband’s sarcasm escaped before he could hold it back. Where was his self-confidence? Laverna thought.

“All right.” Pendleton cracked his knuckles. “Save the oceans, but I won’t give up on the land. Double the manpower working on a solution.”

“The top fifty people in the world have tackled the problem all with the same conclusion.”

“Unacceptable. Put the up-and-coming scientists on the task. Look for a new prospective.” He slammed his fist and waved the team away.

After this group left, Pendleton’s daily schedule flashed by in ten-minute blocks—a meeting, a quick decision, another meeting. Troubles mounted with few solutions, Laverna leaned in close. “I didn’t think things were this bad.”

The last report on world topics occurred two months ago, far past her ability to recall.

Pendleton’s lips pursed. “For three years now, we’ve followed the land’s decline. We’ve had problems with rebels. People died. I hate giving up on the land.”

Van Meer’s head tilted. “People died because you put them to death.”

“They weren’t put to death!” Pendleton pounded the table. “Combatants died aiding rebels. Those rebels were assisting Ammad al-Sistani, the sneaky bastard.”

Van Meer touched Pendleton’s arm with a soft, reassuring gesture. “Milton and your mother are gone, my friend. Your children serve the Realm. I know you miss their counsel. Who can speak the truth to you, if not me?”

The overhead screen rotated into place, announcing the next presenters. The Pacification of the Non-Citizen World Committee and its Chairman Ammad al-Sistani would soon appear via satellite. Ammad and Pendleton hadn’t met face-to-face in two years, ever since Ammad declared the Muslim complexes to be composed of Islamic believers only. Transferees in must be practicing Sunnis or Shias. Rumors abounded that Shia Muslims and Sufis received preferential treatment.

Ammad, the peacemaker, earned Pendleton’s ear when civil disobedience broke out in the Global complex of Jerusalem a decade earlier. To maintain control, the Jerusalem governor had limited the Christian Easter pilgrimage to 50,000 visitors. Ammad negotiated an agreement involving Jewish, Muslim, and Christian factions that eased the tension. Still the single most difficult problem the Realm faced was the zealots on all three sides.

Ammad proposed and negotiated a neutral Jerusalem, with the rest of the Israeli complexes to be Jewish exclusively. Pendleton, believing this to be a road to pacification, bought into the plan. Then Ammad used the Jewish precedent to justify his claim to Muslim complexes being restricted to Muslims only. Laverna cringed at the sight of the man’s face as it formed on the screen. As Peacock, she remembered this teenage son of Grandayatollah al-Sistani. 

Van Meer had warned Pendleton that any al-Sistani was a threat. Pendleton took the position that Ammad was useful. If he became a problem, he’d deal with him. Thus far, he had not dealt with him.

#

25 years earlier.

“Where are we?” Ammad al-Sistani followed his rescuer along the steep, rocky mountainside.

“Nearing the Valley of the Magi.” Atash Akbari answered. “Our meeting place is in sight. See the crescent-shaped rock across the gorge, jutting out like a weapon embedded in the ground?”

Ammad squinted. “The whole area looks lifeless and barren. I see the rock you mention, but nothing near it.”

“The entrance to the cave is positioned out of sight. There we will learn our fate.”

Ammad’s teeth clenched as the wind peppered his face with specks of debris. “Stop a moment. I need to catch my breath.”

He took a drink of water from a goatskin bag given to him as the two fled the ambush that killed his father.

“Pain accompanies your
tariq’
, my youthful friend,” Akbari said. “Best to thirst and succeed, than satisfy the body and fail.”

“So what my father suspected is true.” Ammad smiled at the words his protector spoke. Only a Sufi cleric would speak this way. His father lifted the ban on Sufi practices, and Ammad was endeared to him all the more. “You are a Sufi.”

“Yes, a spiritual descendant of Imam al-Ghazali in practice. I come to enlighten you to the truth in this final age.” Akbari touched his shoulder. “Our paths connect for life, and soon you will understand why.”

The two descended the mountain, following a winding trail that weaved snakelike along the western side. Ammad still bled from the wounds of battle. His father died at the hands of the redheaded devil-woman. If not for Atash, he most likely would have suffered the same fate. Minutes turned into hours. Ammad’s eyes moistened from sorrow and pain. But he did not complain. Sacrifice and pain would be his to accept if Allah said so. He would not see disappointment in Akbari’s eyes again.

Finally, his mentor left the path and the two ducked behind the rock he’d seen from the opposite side of the valley.

“Here.” Akbari slipped into a narrow fissure that split the rock. Ammad followed.

“Behold,” Akbari said.

Behold
echoed in Ammad’s mind, and his senses opened to the faintest sound and beam of light.

The rock wall gave way, revealing an immense cavern. Two shafts of light illuminated the space inside. Small holes in the rock ceiling allowed eerie, orange rays of sunlight through, appearing like the eyes of a leopard. The wind howled one moment and whistled the next. He swore he heard voices within the streams of air swirling inside the cave.