TREMPEALEAU COUNTY, WISCONSIN

EMMA HAD HARDLY SPOKEN TO KOSH SINCE THEY HAD left Hopewell in her husband’s SUV, and she rarely met his eyes. She didn’t seem to be afraid of him, but Kosh sensed that he made her uncomfortable.

He gave her the bedroom on the third floor of his barn. Tucker’s old room. She thanked him and closed the door and did not come out for hours.

He tried to win her over with chicken potpie, coaxing her out of her room and to the table. She picked at her pie, then asked him if the chicken pieces were “dead bird parts.”

“You don’t eat meat?” Kosh said.

She shook her head, not looking at him. She sat at the table while Kosh threw together a bowl of rice with sautéed vegetables. He tried several conversational gambits, but got nothing back from her other than a few polite responses. He began feeling foolish, so he stopped talking. They ate in silence. Emma retired to her room.

The next morning at breakfast he offered her fresh-baked biscuits and homemade raspberry preserves. She ate listlessly, thanked him, then went back to her room. Kosh spent the rest of the morning reading his vegetarian cookbooks.

Dinner that second night was roasted vegetables and corn on the cob. While they were eating, Kosh asked her if there was anything he could do to make her more comfortable.

She did not say anything for several long seconds, then raised her chin and said, “You can stop staring at me all the time.”

Kosh stared at her, then realized what he was doing and looked away.

“Have I been staring?” he said, knowing it was true. He couldn’t help it. Looking at Emma was like traveling into the past, back to when he was seventeen, back to his days spent with Emily Ryan.

“I feel your eyes constantly,” she said.

“I’m sorry. I can’t help it. You look like someone who was . . . important to me.”

“I am not her.”

“I know that. I really do. You’re Emma, not Emily.”

Emma nodded.

“The corn is good,” she said. “Our corn in Romelas was starchy and tough.” She looked at him. “You seem familiar to me as well. I felt it the first moment I saw you. Have you ever been in Romelas?”

“Not that I recall.”

“When I look at you, I get the most peculiar feelings.”

“Was that why you defended me from your husband?”

“Perhaps.” With that, she excused herself and retired to her room.

What am I doing? Kosh asked himself. The woman is married, and perhaps deranged. She is not Emily. Have I kidnapped a madwoman? Or am I the one who’s crazy?

He read the papers, looking for news from Hopewell. His brother had been arrested and charged with murder, along with Gheen. Apparently the two of them had stabbed a boy on that stage in the park, but it wasn’t clear whom they had killed. The news reports said that no body had been found. One article claimed that an unnamed local boy had been killed; another said that it had all been a magician’s trick. He saw no mention of himself, of Tucker, of the girl Lia. The Rochester Post-Bulletin reported that Gheen had escaped from his jail cell, but this was not confirmed by any of the other papers.

With the arrest of “Father September,” the Lambs of September had effectively ceased to exist. Many former members now claimed that they had never taken the whole thing seriously. “It was just something to do,” said one former convert. “Now I got crops coming in and no time to talk to reporters.”

When Kosh wasn’t reading papers and cooking, he wheeled his ’67 Triumph out into the yard and worked on it. He hadn’t ridden the Triumph in years, but his Harley was a tangled wreck back in Hopewell, and it was driving him crazy not to have a bike to ride.

As he worked, he kept an eye on the top of the barn, but the disko did not reappear.

He noticed Emma standing at the window, watching him. She backed away and let the curtain fall closed. He decided to make fresh pasta with mushroom sauce for dinner.

As Kosh and Emma became used to each other, it got easier. Kosh managed not to stare at her so often, and Emma relaxed. The food therapy seemed to be working. Kosh discovered a world of meatless recipes. He tried to outdo himself with every meal. One night over a dinner of farfalle with braised acorn squash, he asked her about her childhood. In wistful tones undershot with bitterness, she told him, between bites, of the great city Romelas, of the pyramid, and of the Gates. At first he thought she was talking about regular gates made of metal or stone, but he soon realized that what she called Gates were the things Tucker had called diskos. Time portals. Like the thing that had appeared on top of his barn, or the one on top of the house in Hopewell. According to Emma, there were a number of these Gates in Romelas, and they were used by the priests in a human-sacrifice ritual.

“The Pure Girls are raised knowing that one day they will receive the sacrament of the blade, and be cast into the Gates,” she said. “I was a Pure Girl.”

“Is that how you ended up here? You got thrown into one of those things?”

“No. I was spared, and made a temple girl. I served the needs of the priests.”

“Like an altar boy?”

“I do not know what that is.”

“It’s . . .” Kosh suddenly understood what she was implying. “Never mind.”

“When I became too old for the priests, I was given to the deacon Tamm. He was not a bad man at first, but he changed. The Yars grew in power, and it made the priests and deacons fearful, and they did terrible things.” She shuddered. “At first I blamed the Yars, but now I don’t know. The Yars were raised as Pure Girls, like me. Who knows what awful things they experienced in the Gates? Still, it was they who caused the rebellion, and the destruction of the Gates. They have much to answer for.”

“If the Yars were opposed to the priests, doesn’t that make them the good guys?”

“There were no good guys,” Emma said. “Yars killed priests; priests killed Yars. We fled Romelas to escape the Yar rebellion. The Yars tried to stop us. There was a terrible battle. Many were killed. Of the Lah Sept, only Master Gheen, a hand of deacons, and I were able to escape.”

“Lah Sept? I thought you were called Lambs.”

“That is what we are called now — the Lambs of September, because of Father September — but in the future we will be called the Lah Sept.”

“The guy you call Father September is my brother,” Kosh said.

Emma put down her fork and gave him a searching look. “Father September is the founder of the Lah Sept.”

“He’s a nutcase.”

Emma shook her head. “I grew up being taught that Father September was a great prophet. I don’t know what to think anymore. When I first met him, I thought him a madman as well.”

“Maybe you should trust your first impression.”

Emma nodded thoughtfully. “After we fled through the Gate, we found ourselves in a great forest. I had never seen such trees, with needles instead of leaves. Master Gheen said we had traveled to the distant future. He said he had been there before. He led us through the forest. There were Gates everywhere — hands and hands of Gates.”

“What do you mean, ‘hands’?” Kosh asked.

Emma held her palm toward him and spread her fingers.

Five, Kosh thought. He had noticed that Emma did not use numbers.

“We arrived at an abandoned cabin, where we spent the night. The next day we came upon the remains of a pyramid in the woods. It was much smaller than the pyramid in Romelas, the stone was crumbling, and there were trees growing from cracks in the steps. Later, Master Gheen told us that it was the Cydonian Pyramid, the same pyramid that had once stood proudly in the center of Romelas, ravaged by time, sinking slowly into the forest floor.

“On top of the pyramid stood a rickety scaffold woven of branches, sticks, and vines. An old man was clinging to its side, tying on more branches. Several man-heights above him was a Gate, floating in midair.

“Master Gheen called on the old man to come down. As he descended, the tower of sticks creaked and swayed. I thought it would collapse. When he reached the bottom, Master Gheen asked him what he was doing.

“‘I am going home,’ the man said.

“‘And where is this home?’ Master Gheen asked him.

“The old man’s eyes welled with tears. ‘Hopewell,’ he said. We were all astonished by this revelation, as ancient Hopewell was said to be the birthplace of the Lah Sept.

“Master Gheen asked him who he was, and the old man said, ‘I am Adrian, a sinner.’

“Master Gheen was stunned. We were all stunned. Adrian the Sinner is the author of the Tribulations, the final book of The Book of September. Furthermore, Adrian the Sinner was believed to be one of the many aliases used by Father September, the founder of the Lah Sept.

“Master Gheen said, ‘Why do you believe this Gate will deliver you to Hopewell?’

“‘The Archangel Gabriel guides me,’ the man said. He could have said nothing more astounding, as the Archangel Gabriel is an important figure in The Book of September, and the one who lighted the way for Father September’s journey through darkness, as is described in the sacred text.

“Master Gheen asked, ‘Are you he who wrote The Book of September?’

“The man said, ‘I do not know this Book of September.’

“‘Perhaps you have yet to write it.’

“The old man said, ‘I would not know what to write.’

“Master Gheen said, ‘I will tell you what to say. Trust me, Father.’

“The man said, ‘I am not your father. My name is Adrian!’

“‘Your name,’ said Master Gheen, ‘is Father September.’

“The old man appeared to be very confused, and I remember thinking that he could not possibly be who Master Gheen claimed. But Master Gheen took him by the hand and knelt down before him and said, ‘You are our greatest prophet.’

“And the old man said, ‘I am?’”

Emma sat back in her chair. “That is how I first met the man you say is your brother.”

Kosh, shaking his head, said, “Adrian is no prophet.”

“Master Gheen would disagree with you.”

“But . . . how did he get so old?”

“I suppose he lived a long time. I know of no other way.” Emma tipped her head, then continued her story. “For hands of days, we stayed in the cabin in the forest. Master Gheen gave Father September the bed. The rest of us slept on the floor. There was food in the cabin, grains and beans, and berries in the forest. During the day, Tamm, Koan, and the others worked on the scaffold the old man had started, building a tower to reach the Gate above the ruins of the pyramid. And every day and every night, Master Gheen talked with Father September. Master Gheen can be very persuasive. He speaks with God’s voice.”

“He sounded kind of whiny to me.”

“Father September did not think so. He listened with both ears open. Master Gheen told him of the Medicants, of the Plague of Numbers. When the old man realized that his lost wife had fallen to Plague, he was filled with righteous anger. In time, he came to accept that he was Father September.

“Master Gheen had a plan. He wished to use the Gates to return to the time and place of the birth of the Lah Sept. But there were forces at work that tried to stop us. A maggot appeared outside the cabin and attacked Master Gheen. He destroyed it with his arma. This happened several times.”

“Maggot — you mean like that thing in the park?”

“Yes. Creatures sent by those who would destroy us. We could sense them coming by their sound. Master Gheen became very skilled at destroying them with his arma before they reached their full size.

“Finally, the scaffold was complete. We climbed the scaffold one at a time and entered the Gate. Tamm and I were the last to go. As I was about to enter, I looked down and saw a strange woman standing at the base of the pyramid. She waved to me. It was very odd . . . She looked like me.”

Kosh’s heart lurched. How many Emilys could there be?

“But she was older. Tamm didn’t see her; he was looking up at me. He yelled for me to go, and I stepped into the Gate and came out here. I mean, on the roof of the hotel in downtown Hopewell.

“We took over the small church downtown, and Father September began preaching the gospel of the Lambs. At first, people came to the church out of curiosity, but soon they were amazed. Father September told of marvels and tribulations to come — the arrival of the pigeons, the coming of the Digital Plague, and the tornado that tore through the town of Ghentburg. These things we knew from The Book of September, and when the marvels he prophesied came to pass, word spread quickly. The congregation grew, and soon we had to hold our services in the park, where Master Gheen declared the Cydonian Pyramid would one day rise.

“One night after services, a maggot appeared above the altar. This time, Master Gheen was prepared. Tamm and Koan captured the maggot and affixed it to a metal frame. The maggot could not move or close its maw. It was rendered helpless, as you later saw in the park.

“We waited then for the arrival of Tuckerfeye, Father September’s son, as was foretold by the scriptures. It is the most important story in the Book, and Master Gheen was determined to see it come to pass. It is called the Shaming, when Father September becomes a martyr by sacrificing his only son, and he is imprisoned. It is the first and greatest tribulation of the Lambs. Only a chosen few would pass the test.”

“What test is that?”

“In the scriptures, Father September commits the greatest of sins by killing his own son in full view of his flock, and those whose faith is weak turn away from the church. The Lambs enter a period of darkness — those who stay the course are few, but their strength is great.”

“How does that make Father September a martyr?” Kosh asked.

“He sacrifices his pride, his good name, and the respect and love of his people. As it is written, ‘Any man can give his life, but to give up the love of one’s own people is the one true sacrifice.’”

Kosh shook his head. “I can’t believe that Adrian, crazy as he is, would kill Tucker. Anyway, it didn’t happen. Tucker and Lia went into that maggot thing.”

“A boy was sacrificed.”

“Yeah, I read that. But it wasn’t Tucker.”

“You cannot know that. Master Gheen’s plan was to have Father September perform the sacrifice, then send the boy into the maggot. According to the scriptures, Tuckerfeye returns from the dead to continue his father’s work.”

“Then the scriptures are wrong.”

“Perhaps.” Emma looked down at her plate of cold pasta. “Perhaps not.”