Veil of the Goddess (41 page)

She tried to suppress her gasp of pain when he lifted her, but knew her efforts had come up short.

"Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. I'm getting better."

"Nobody can heal that quickly.” He sat beside her, arranging her head over his thigh.

With the stone floor cold and hard against her back, she welcomed the warmth from his body.

"It's the Veil, Zack."

"That's imposs—uh, erase that. I'm going to eliminate the world ‘impossible’ from my vocabulary."

"Good thinking. Because we need a plan. And any plan we come up with will have a lot of impossibles in it."

He managed a choking laugh despite himself. “Okay, you've convinced me. Pretend I never got discouraged. Let's make a list of tactical assets. Once we've got that, we can determine a plan."

Ivy almost sighed in relief. Zack was back. “There's the Cross."

"Not exactly reachable right now, but clearly that's the big gun in our arsenal. And then there's the Veil. It's obviously important or the Priestess wouldn't have sent you to Byzantium to find it."

"It saved me."

"Okay. But you wouldn't have needed saving if they hadn't gotten us into this mess."

"That was the Foundation. The Priestess is helping, and the Veil was part of that help."

Ivy's heart pounded loudly in her ears. Each breath seemed a bit more labored than the last. Talking had become too much of an effort. The hour she'd demanded for healing was clearly too much.

She brushed her fingers against the plastic bags filled with herbs for what seemed like the millionth time.
Don't leave me now
. She sent the words out to the universe in an unspoken but heartfelt plea.

The only answer she got was a quick memory of her days in Mosul, angry Arabs looking at both Americans and Kurds as hated enemies. Arab women scurrying through the destruction of war, frequently draping a bit of cloth over their mouths and noses.

Her mind, stupefied by the lack of oxygen, took a moment to grasp the power of the idea.

"Thank you, Priestess,” she croaked.

"Save breath,” Zack said. “Don't talk."

"Breathe through the Veil,” she answered, taking her own advice.

"It isn't dust. Nothing to filter out. Just not enough oxygen."

"Humor me.” She knew there was no scientific reason for this to work, but the Veil was a source of steady protection. It had saved her from the knife-thrust. Already, her mind felt more active as the veil somehow purified the air she breathed and oxygen flooded through her system.

Zack said nothing for a minute, but he shifted his weight and she felt the drag as he brought a corner of the veil to his mouth.

"This is amazing,” he admitted after a minute or so of silent recovery.

"Yeah. But we're still trapped.” Still, she couldn't help sharing his mood. They could breathe. They weren't going to die of suffocation. She believed that the Priestess had sent that quick mental picture. Surely she wouldn't have done it solely to prolong the agony of their death.

"I'm going to burn some of the herbs,” she said. “The Priestess needs help to get in here."

"She got into that cave."

"That cave belongs to the Goddess. This crypt belongs to the dead."

There was a Goddess of the underworld, of death, she vaguely remembered. But life and regeneration seemed much more closely aligned to the female principle. Of course, they were also in a Church, which probably made things doubly difficult.

"You're the boss when it comes to miracles and magic."

She shook out a pinch from each of the five bags they'd bought, mixing them with a couple of shredded Euro notes to serve as kindling.

Finally she borrowed a match and stroked the phosphorous tip against the chemical sandpaper of the matchbook.

In the crypt's dead air, the match barely ignited.

She pressed the tiny blue dot of flame into the center of the small pyramid of shredded banknotes and watched as the slivers of paper smoldered.

"Not enough oxygen,” Zack said.

"Not much. Maybe enough."

Ivy's eyes were so accustomed to the darkness that the smoldering paper, half burning, half simply oxidizing, shed enough light for her to see the thin line of smoke.

She dropped the veil for a moment, brought her face directly over that trickle of smoke, and inhaled.

The harsh herbs tore at her lungs, adding a jolt of pain to the steady throb from her still-healing ribs.

She held the smoke in, imitating the drug-smoking soldiers she'd worked with back in Iraq, trying to grasp every molecule of sustenance from the draught.

In her own cave, the Priestess had been a figure of compassion, but also of power. Here, she was practically a doll. A tiny, but perfectly proportioned, female standing on the tomb floor in front of her.

Over her shoulders and neck, the Priestess wore a veil that was a mirror image of the one Ivy had draped across her lap. White where Mary's veil was blue. Blue where Mary's veil was silver and white. But the eight-pointed stars of Ishtar were the same.

"You've almost reached the end,” the Priestess said. “Wait for my day and give them my message. Then do what you must."

"What about the Foundation and the end-times?” Ivy asked.

"Humans must learn that the greatest evil is done by those who are most certain that they are following the word of their deity. That is why there must always be the Goddess, to balance justice with mercy, to moderate where extremes lead to destruction."

"But how do we get out of here?"

"Wait for my day."

Ivy plunged forward.

Zack barely caught her in time to keep her head from crashing into the pile of ashes.

He'd seen her drop the veil, assumed she knew what she was doing. Obviously she hadn't. Between the herb-laden fumes, lack of oxygen, and babbling to someone who wasn't there, she'd fainted.

Worse, he hadn't seen a hint of the Priestess Ivy talked about so often.

It might be a kindness to let her go peacefully. Dying of thirst would be a hundred times worse than simply fading into nothingness. But he resisted the brief temptation. Ivy was as much a fighter as he was. She'd want to fight on, no matter how hopeless the battle.

He brought the Veil to her face, letting her breathe through the thin fabric.

Her breathing seemed impossibly shallow, but her pulse was slow and steady.

All he could do now was wait and see what happened next.

For the next ten minutes or so, what happened was nothing.

Then Ivy started coughing.

The attack was so violent he had to pin her down to keep the Veil pressed over her nose and mouth. Finally, he covered her body with his own and wrapped the Veil over her whole head. It wasn't pretty, but it worked.

Ivy's coughing stopped as abruptly as it had started. “You're squeezing pretty tight."

"Sorry. You were spasming. Anyway, too bad your idea didn't work out."

"What are you talking about?"

"No Priestess. I guess you were right about the tomb and all."

"She was here, Zack. I saw her."

"Then you were hallucinating."

She paused a moment. “I won't deny your reality. But she
was
here. And she told me that we'd nearly reached the end."

"No kidding? Glad we didn't have to figure that out on our own."

"She might have meant that we were just going to die here, but I don't think so. Because she said we had more to do. We're supposed to wait for her day and then spread her message."

"She tell you what message to give? Or who to give it to?"

"Something about remembering the female principle. Justice tempered with mercy. Retribution with forgiveness. That sort of thing."

"That'll set those Foundation types straight, all right."

"Sarcasm isn't helpful."

Zack felt like a heel. It didn't matter whether Ivy had actually seen a priestess, he still shouldn't be negative. If Ivy hadn't seen her, her hallucination wasn't hurting anyone and it made her feel better. If he was the one who was blind to the altered reality, and given what he'd experienced over the past few weeks, he couldn't rule that out, filling Ivy with doubt was the worst thing he could do.

"Sorry,” he said. “Did she give any hints on how to escape this tomb?"

Ivy shook her head. “She said we had to wait for her day. Do you have any idea what day that would be?"

Zack strained his brain. He was Catholic and had never spent much time listening to the New-Agers. Still, everyone knows that certain days were especially important to the Goddess. The winter and summer solstices. The vernal and autumnal equinoxes. The full and new moons. The first of May. Many of these had been adopted or co-opted into the Christian faith. Christmas at the winter solstice. Easter at the vernal equinox. All Saints Day near the autumnal equinox. And May Day for Mary and the Rosy Cross.

Unfortunately, none of those days was anywhere close. Waiting four weeks for the fall equinox couldn't be the right answer.

"No clue,” he admitted.

"Maybe Sunday,” she said. “What's today?"

Being on the run made it easy to lose track of the calendar. He had to rack his brain a bit more than he would have wanted. “Tuesday, I think."

"Think we can make it until Sunday?"

"With no water? Maybe.” But he doubted it.

But something about Sunday didn't feel right. “Sunday is not just the day of the Sun. It's also the day of the Son, S-O-N. The Church adopted it as the Sabbath in honor of Easter and Christ's resurrection,” he said.

"Which means the Goddess's day might be something else?"

"Right. And Saturday was the original Jewish Sabbath. But that would be the day of the Father."

She shivered. “By that logic, Monday should be the day of the Goddess. Monday means Moon-day. And the Moon represents the Goddess, doesn't she?"

He didn't think they could survive until Monday. He also suspected they didn't have that long before the Foundation was back, equipped with more advanced search technology.

"That's good thinking. Sunday for the Son. Monday for the Moon. Today's Tuesday. Who the heck is Tue?"

"No clue."

He thought. “Mars?"

"Why?"

"Because in Spanish, Tuesday is Martes. And Martes is for Mars."

"Okay, so today is definitely not the day. I don't see the Goddess being identified with the Roman god of war."

"And Thursday is definitely Thor's day in English, Jueves in Spanish. Thor and Jupiter are the thunder god. No goddesses there."

"Wednesday?"

"Woden's day in English, Miércoles, or Mercury in Spanish. Another God."

"It's got to be Friday. Who's Fri?"

"Fria, goddess of the home. In Spanish, Viernes, Venus's day. And Venus was the Goddess of Love. The message the Priestess had shared with Ivy was that of love, not that of the powerful moon. “It's got to be Friday."

He sensed Ivy's smile through the darkness. “Venus's day. I like that."

Ivy's throat felt like the deserts of Iraq. They'd been locked in the tomb for what seemed like forever, but the backlit glow of Zack's watch told them it had only been three days. Which meant it was finally Friday.

Overhead, the sound of a pipe organ shook the entire church and joyful voices proclaimed a new day and eternal faith in the Creator and Redeemer.

"Now,” she croaked.

"We're still locked in."

"The tomb can no longer hold us,” she said. “I have the power of the Goddess on her day."

She wasn't surprised when the stone door to the tomb fell away at her lightest touch.

The smoldering pile of herbs burst into flame as oxygen reached it. A huge cloud of smoke followed her out of the tomb, then up from the crypt.

She wrapped the Veil around her and climbed the stairs into the middle of the packed church.

"Che cosa?” the priest blurted.

"Enough,” she said. “I'm sick of your petty squabbles in the name of God. Are you so blind you cannot see that your hatred and disputes hurt you far more than those you hate? Are you deaf to the cries of your brothers? Are your hearts so hardened that you joy from the suffering of others?

"What is the meaning of this?” A bald priest, smelling of bacon and coffee, stepped down from the pulpit to stop her progress. “Who are you to profane the sanctity of the Church of Santa Lucia?

"The message is not for you alone,” Ivy explained. “The Goddess sends it to all the people. Not just Catholics, but Orthodox and Protestant and Nestorian as well. Not just Christian but Islam and Buddhists and Hindu too. Try to understand rather than condemn."

Her throat remained dry, but waters surrounded her in this city of multiple islands and she drew on those waters for comfort and strength.

"This is a House of God,” the priest insisted. “We want none of your pagan kind here."

She looked into his soul, saw his memories and smiled.

"You are not the first to deny the message, and you will not be the last. Listen, for the message will not be denied. You had a calling once, Father. Remember why you chose the priesthood. It wasn't really because Isabelle chose another man, was it? It was because you saw the precious face of the Mother of God. Have you strayed so far from her that you cannot listen when she begs for your help?"

The priest drew himself up, a crazed look on his face. For a moment, Ivy thought he was going to physically attack her. Then he prostrated himself at her feet. “She is a true vision of the Virgin. The Church of Santa Lucia is blessed."

Zack tried to keep a watch on the congregation as they reacted to Ivy's presence. He, himself, might as well have been invisible for all of the attention he got. Which was fine. Exactly how he would have wanted it, in fact. It was obvious to him that Ivy had thrown caution to the winds. If this was the mission the priestess had sent her on, he wasn't at all sure that Ivy's priestess cared about her long-term survival.

Despite his intentions, though, Zack found himself drawn to watch Ivy, to listen to her talk.

It took him a moment to realize what was wrong with the whole scene. Ivy didn't speak Italian. So, how was she able to communicate to the people? Surely not all of them spoke English.