Passage Graves (31 page)

Chapter 77

SUNDAY, 4:51 p.m.

Wadi Musa, Jordan

“
Three flares, two light sticks, a climbing rope, and 24 hours-worth of food and water—for
one
person.” Sweat dripped down David’s forehead. His tongue was swollen, but he refused the luxury of a drink.

“We’d better be quick about it, then,” Thatcher said, hiking ahead of him.

They’d found a backpack filled with emergency supplies under a seat in the cockpit. They were crudely under-equipped. The chance that all three would survive more than 24 hours seemed remote at best. Even if they managed to find the seal, they were miles from civilization.

Regardless, Asor le
d the way, increasing his anxious pace.

Thatcher struggled to keep up, hobbling between the two of them.
David could see disease fester in her wounded leg. He could only imagine the pain of her swollen calf as it burned under the crushing sun. Spidery, vein-like lines of opportunistic infection zigzagged across her leg. The woman desperately needed medical attention.

Dread stirred in his gut.
It was unbearably hot, and only midday. They were surrounded by dryness, miles and miles of nothing. Desolate sands, desiccating wind. His skin leather, taut over his bones, cracked in the heat. Beyond the blurry heat waves, he could see dark thunderheads gathering over the mountains of Wadi Musa. A rare desert storm was creeping towards them. He tried to shake the mirage from his head. It didn’t rain in the desert.

“Let’s rest a minute,” he
suggested, knowing Thatcher would never ask. He handed her the water bottle. “Sorry that it’s warm.”

“It’s wet.” Gratefully, she took a drink.

Asor found a spot of shade beside a boulder. He leaned against the rock and searched the horizon.

Thatcher took a seat in front of him, staking her own small claim of shade. 

David removed glow-sticks from the backpack to lessen the weight of the load. He put them in the pockets of his cargo pants.

“I
must be going mad.” Thatcher pointed at the distant storm. “Do you see that?”

David blocked the sun with his hands and squinted for a better view. “Unless we’re both going crazy, it might actually be raining in a
few hours.”

Thatcher took
a larger sip from the bottle. “I guess that means there’ll be more of this.” 

David smiled.
It was an optimistic point of view considering the last place they’d want to be during a thunderstorm is the bottom of a slot canyon. Runoff from the lightest rainfall could build in the elevated portions of the canyon and wash through the narrows at breakneck speeds. He pulled the pack over one shoulder and looked at the mouth of the Wadi Musa. The canyon was a few miles away.

Thatcher didn’t
move. Hot, biting wind blew over the sand.

Something glittered near Asor’s feet. The old man picked it up and brushed off the sand. “Luck for me, eh?” he said, showing them the small Bedou
in coin. He juggled the coin around his knobby fingers and made it disappear. To Thatcher’s annoyance, he reached behind her ear and pulled out the coin with a gasp.

Unimpressed, she looked away.  

“I’m boring her, David,” Asor said. “She doesn’t like my tricks.”

He
snatched her wrist. She tried to pull away, but his grip was too strong. 

David stepped in to help her, but Asor stopped him with a wave of his hand.

“I know what she’s thinking.” He looked up at David. “‘How do I do it? Where do I get this miraculous power?’”

“‘Miraculous?’” Thatcher scoffed. “Whatever you’re capable of, it’s perversion.”

Asor was delighted by her response. “This power exists in everyone. It’s mind over matter, if you will.”

Thatcher tried to pull
away.

Aso
r wouldn’t release her wrist. “What frightens you more, Dr. Thatcher, witnessing my power or considering the possibility that you possess the same ‘perversion?’” He tightened his grasp and placed the coin on the inside of her palm. “Tell me what you see there on your hand?”

Thatcher scowled.

“Look down at your hand and tell me what you see,” Asor insisted.

Tha
tcher gave him a willful glare. “A coin in my palm,” she said through clenched teeth.

“‘A coin in my palm,’” he
mimicked her voice. “Where’s your imagination?” He waved his hand over the coin and it disappeared. “Now what do you see?”

She looked up at David. “Nothing.”

“Are you sure?” Asor asked. “Close your eyes and tell me what you feel.”

Thatcher looked down and then at David again.

David nodded, curious to see the trick. She hesitantly obeyed. After a moment, her nose drew up in a mix of wonder and disgust. 

“You can feel it,
” Asor whispered. “It’s still there, resting on your skin. You can feel the weight of metal in your hand even though your eyes betray you. Describe how it feels.”

“Warm from the sun.”

“Do me a favor, Dr. Thatcher. Empty your mind of all other thoughts. Feel nothing but the coin. Envision the physical forces that keep the coin on your skin. Gravity holds it down, keeps it in place. Energy spins around it. Faster and faster, the energy turns. It heats the coin. It changes the metal from warm to hot. Burning hot.” 

Thatcher gasped
and tore herself away from him. The coin fell into the sand, the metal a molten crimson color. A blister formed on her hand. 

Asor grabbed her arm again and held it up
for David to see. She started to pull away but froze. She looked up at David, wide-eyed. He knew whatever it was, she couldn’t tell him—not in front of Asor.

“When you learn to transcend pain, your body can transcend reality,” Asor said. “The human mind is
enslaved by disbelief. ‘Ask, and it shall be given you, seek, and ye shall find.’”

Thatcher
stared at him defiantly. “‘I stood upon the sand of the sea and saw a beast. Upon his head was the name of blasphemy. And power was given unto him to overcome all kindreds, tongues, and nations.’”

“Impressive,
” he hissed.

“I’m not finished yet,” Thatcher said. “‘Let no man deceive you, for the wicked shall be revealed, even him who is after the work of Satan…with all power, signs, and lying wonders.’” 

David folded his arms and looked at Asor. “You’re not the only one who can quote scripture.”

“A
woman of hidden talent.” Asor gestured to her hand.

“I didn’t do this,” she said.

“It only works if you believe.”

David took her wrist and examined the wound. “It’s an illusion, nothing more.”

Asor raised an eyebrow. “Is it?”

“A good magician makes his audience think it’s real.” David set the backpack on the ground. “The mind is powerful, I’ll give you that.” He took her wrist and cupped his h
and over the burn. “But it’s merely the power of suggestion. There’s no blister, no burn.” He removed his hand from Thatcher’s wrist. The wound was gone. He offered her a hand up. 

Thatc
her stood on her own, annoyed at both of them. “Let’s get this bloody mess over with.”

Chapter
78

SUNDAY, 5
:40 p.m.

Wadi Musa, Jordan

David whistled as he peered over the
canyon ledge. “You think we can jump it?”

“It’s over
ten feet.” Thatcher shook her head. She’d half-expected a choir of angels to descend when they reached the entrance into Wadi Musa. Instead, there was the distant rumble of thunder. Asor led the way as they hiked the floor of the narrow, v-shaped rift. Their pace slowed when the canyon path turned onto a steep switchback along a ledge. Navigating the twists and turns, they kept a close watch on their footing near the gulch. Eventually, the trail lowered again, back onto the canyon floor, which was topped with arched ribbons of red rock.

Asor looked across the rift then up at the clouds blowing in overhead. “Hurry.”

Unbothered by the drop, she kicked sand off the ledge and watched it fall onto an outcropping thirteen feet below. “Looks like there used to be some sort of natural bridge here.” She turned to David. “Let’s give it a go with the rope.” 

He opened the backpack and handed it to her.

She tied one end around her waist and the other end around David. “Give me slack when I say so, got it?”

“Sure.” By the sound of his voice,
she could tell David wasn’t wild about the idea.

She sat on the edge and dangled her feet over the cliff
. “Give me another fifteen feet.” She slid down the rock cliff to the overhang. David loosened his hold as she leaned over the lower ledge to judge the distance. Blowing into her hands, she pressed her back against the cliff, and taking a two-step run, she leapt off the ledge and caught the opposite wall. Pain shot up her injured leg like a knife severing a nerve. She clung to the wall, trying to regain her breath. Scaling the rock face, she made it to the top and pulled her body over the opposite ledge onto the path.

“Who’s next?” She l
ooked over her shoulder. Both men were stunned. “Well, come on.”

David tied his end of the rope
to Asor and helped him down the ledge to the outcropping below.

Thatcher anchored her feet behind a boulder. “Swing over and I’ll lift you.”

Asor stepped off the ledge, dangled over the chasm, and met the other wall. He tried to climb as Thatcher pulled him up. He reached the ledge and climbed over.

Shaking out her arms, Thatcher moved beside him. She untied the rope from his waist. 

“Hidden talents.” Asor clicked his tongue at her.

She ignored him and tossed the rope to David.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be able to hold you,” she warned, bracing herself.

“Plant yourself, and I’ll
do the rest.” David slid down to the lower ledge.

She kicked the front of her boot deeper into the dirt, creating a rut for more traction. She grabbed the boulder and signaled for him to jump.
“Okay.”

He took a flying leap from the ledge and landed hard against the rock. Scrambling to find a crevice, he slipped down the wall instead. The rope went taut. Thatcher’s body slammed into the boulder that separated her from the ledge. She groaned, fighting to hold his weight.

David flailed, knocking her further off balance.

The rope twisted down along the side of the boulder and to the canyon floor.

“David!” she yelled as the rope pulled her to the ground. Its coarse fiber scraped up her back, caught under her shoulder blades and dragged her toward the ledge.

Dangling
too far from the wall, David resorted to climbing the rope. The shift in his weight jerked her closer to the ledge. He dropped down another foot.

“Stop
moving!” she screamed. Her body teetered over the edge. She stopped short as Asor grabbed her feet. The momentum slammed David into the wall. This time he found a niche large enough for a finger hold. His feet met a subtle shelf and he scrambled up and over the top.

“Brynne,
are you okay?” He untied the rope around her shoulders.

Rope b
urns zigzagged up her back in striations of torn tissue. “I’m fine,” she lied, sitting up slowly. She tenderly pulled her shirt down over the burns. “Pain gives me power, eh?”

Asor’s eyes flashed
with anger. He wiped himself off and continued down the trail. 

David wound
up the rope. “What’s going on?” he asked once Asor was out of earshot.

“
I saw the same spiral tattoo on Asor,” she kept her voice low. “The same thing that was on my uncle.”

He met
her eyes. “Vanderkam said something about a group that protected the seals. Abaddon. That they are all seeking the power of horseman for themselves.”

Before she could respond Asor reappeared around the corner. “
It’s this way!”

Thatcher followed
Asor into a wide opening within the canyon. The trail split into twelve separate pathways, each extending in twelve different directions. Asor studied the walls and frowned. He turned back to where they had entered. His face looked darker than usual, his eyes gloomier than the storm clouds converging overhead. Raindrops splashed onto the parched rocks. The water evaporated before it could seep into the ground.

“We’d better hurry,”
David said, looking at the sky.   

“I don’t remember!”
Asor burst with anger.

Thatcher turned to David, her brow furrowed.
“Well, we’re not going back,” she said. Sweat broke across her forehead. Chills pimpled her skin. Crossing that wide fissure again was not an option.

Asor ran his f
ingers along the canyon wall. He stopped over a pale Bedouin handprint.

The
ancient graffiti had been painted on the fossilized stone centuries earlier. Five spindly fingers ascended from a misshapen palm. The impression had faded over time. Weather, wind, and sand had lightened the print to a coral color distinct from the blood red canyon.

Without warning, Asor
spun around and shoved David’s palm against the print. 

T
he wall darkened and in contrast the hand began to glow. Beneath David’s hand, the rock turned molten white, each fingermark glimmering with light. The light spread across the wall and soon hundreds of handprints were aflame inside the circle. The fingers reached in all directions along the rock.

“David?” Thatcher froze in place.
What was happening?

Asor gasped
as blisters bubbled along the back of his hand. Smoke wafted from where he held David in place, as if David’s hand itself was burning. With his hand up, Asor’s sleeve slid down, revealing the metal twine wrapped around his arm. The tiny razor wire seemed to hold his bones in place—he had no muscle or ligament tissue. It continued beyond his shoulder and underneath his jumpsuit. Beneath the wire on his arm, his skin blackened into charred crust. David seemed immune to the heat, but holding David’s palm to the handprint was burning Asor alive. Unable to hold him any longer, Asor let go of David and cradled his arm. He stumbled back, falling to the ground. 

David
stepped away from the wall in shock.

Almost all of t
he blazing Bedouin prints began to cool. They quickly covered over with ash and lost their glow. One single line of prints remained incandescent. They pointed to one of the twelve paths.

Asor hissed at them. “
After all you’ve seen, how can you not believe?”