TWENTY-ONE

 

Almost from the moment she tried to attune herself to the orb, Fiona knew they wouldn’t find the sun chariot at the monastery. “It’s not happening,” she told Pierce. “I’m not getting anything.”

“Let’s try moving around a little.”

She knew, with the same vague certainty that had guided her into the subterranean labyrinth beneath Arkaim, and then back out again, that it would be a futile effort. But she nodded and followed Pierce around the thirteen hundred year old religious complex anyway.

Before leaving them to conduct their search, Father Justin had played the tour guide, telling them the history of the monastery, explaining that there had indeed been a Christian presence on the mountain as far back as the fourth century. The monastery was a more recent addition, going back to the ninth century. It had been built to protect the monks from Bedouin attacks. While the rest of Christendom had suffered through the Dark Ages, with churches across the Holy Land being razed or turned into mosques by the conquering Saracens, Saint Catherine’s had endured.

There were several different chapels inside the walled fortress, along with, as Justin had earlier intimated, a mosque, converted from an older Christian church during the Fatimid Caliphate between 900 and 1100 CE.

“This is a holy place to all the Abrahamic faiths,” Justin explained. “Moses is revered as a prophet in the Islamic tradition, and this mountain where God spoke to him, is held as sacred. The Prophet Mohammed himself issued a covenant—the Ashtiname of Muhammad—sealed by his own hand, granting us protection in perpetuity. The only concession was this mosque, which we maintain to this day.”

“I guess that explains why the Islamic State leaves you alone,” Gallo observed.

“We rely upon God for protection,” Justin said. “However, it may be that this peace that has endured for a thousand years is God’s way of showing us all—Christian and Muslim alike—that co-existence is possible.

“You may go where you wish,” he told them. “I would only ask that you respect the sanctity of this place, and please, remove your footwear before entering the Katholikon.” He gestured to the enormous church basilica dominating the interior of the walled complex. “It is holy ground today, as it was in the days of Moses.”

Wandering the monastery was like being in an M.C. Escher painting. Inside the high walls, the buildings were jumbled together, connected by stairways that led up to rooftops, and tunnels that ducked beneath old stone buildings, no two of which were the same shape or size.

The earthquake had left its mark on the monastery. Although none of the buildings had collapsed, everywhere they turned they had to pick their way through piles of rubble. Some areas were blocked off, but Fiona didn’t need to visit every nook and cranny of the site to know that they weren’t going to find anything.

Maybe Gallo had misinterpreted the reference in the Heracleia. Maybe there was no sun chariot at all.

No. She pushed the thought away. She had seen the vision of Raven for a reason, and this was it. There was a way to fix what was happening, and she was going to find it. But if it’s not here, where is it?

 

 

After twenty minutes, Father Justin rejoined them in the northeast courtyard of the monastery, as they were putting their shoes back on. He did not seem at all surprised by their lack of progress. “Why did you believe that you would find what you seek here?”

“We didn’t choose this place randomly,” Pierce said. “In ancient texts, this place was called Thrinakia, the island of the Sun God, Helios—”

“I have read the Odyssey, Dr. Pierce. In the original language. Sinai is not Thrinakia.”

“There are other stories,” Gallo said. “Stories older than Egypt itself, about the Sun god’s herds that roam a mountain across the sea to the east of the Nile.”

“Herds? Cattle?”

“Cattle are a symbol of agriculture. Domesticating cattle made civilization possible. The Egyptians worshipped cattle, and I believe that’s what Homer was alluding to when he spoke of the sacred herds of the Sun God on Thrinakia. There are universal truths hidden in those stories.”

Justin considered this for a moment. “Interesting.”

Fiona sensed the monk wanted to say more. “Do you know something? Have you heard about sacred cattle here?”

“I would not use the word sacred. However, when Moses led the sons of Israel out of Egypt, he brought them here. For forty days and nights, Moses spoke with God upon the mountain. Right up there.” He gestured to the darkness above the monastery complex. “During his absence, the sons of Israel fell into despair. They begged Aaron, the brother of Moses, to make a god for them to worship.”

“The golden calf,” Pierce said, nodding. “I had forgotten that one.”

“When Moses came down, carrying the Covenant, written by the very finger of God upon tablets of stone, he saw the people worshipping a calf of gold. What has always intrigued me is that, in the book of Exodus, chapter thirty-two, the sons of Israel do not tell Aaron what sort of god to make. And when Moses questioned him, he said: ‘They said to me: Make us gods, that may go before us: for as to this Moses, who brought us forth out of the land of Egypt, we know not what is befallen him. And I said to them: Which of you hath any gold? and they took and brought it to me: and I cast it into the fire, and this calf came out.’”

“Wait,” Fiona said. “The calf came out of the fire? On its own?”

It sounded like a golem to her.

Justin smiled. “Aaron was trying to shift the blame. The Bible is very clear that he was the craftsman of the golden calf. But it is interesting, is it not? It would seem there have been sacred cows here after all.”

“What happened to it? The calf?”

“Moses pulverized the idol and mixed the powder with water, which he forced the sons of Israel to drink.”

Fiona grimaced. “Harsh.”

“Not as harsh as what he did next. Moses gathered his cousins, the sons of Levi, and instructed them to put the evildoers to death. Twenty-three thousand in all.”

Fiona had no response to that.

Justin went on. “That is how Moses recorded the story, and I accept it as true, but I also recognize that it was written more than a generation later, to instruct the children of those who made the Exodus from Egypt. It is a cautionary tale, warning of the dangers of willfulness and apostasy. Perhaps there is more to the story that we do not know. Details that would help us grasp how the God of Moses was also the God who came to live among us and offer his life on behalf of sinners.”

Pierce waited for him to finish before turning to Gallo. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Gallo nodded. “It’s possible. There are similarities.”

“You guys want to share?” Fiona said.

Gallo offered the explanation. “Odysseus was warned to leave the sacred herd of Helios alone, but his men disobeyed him. They took some of the sacred cattle and ate them. They also sacrificed some of them. As a punishment, Zeus killed them all. Except for Odysseus, of course.”

“It’s not the same,” Fiona countered.

“No, but it might be referencing the same event, just like the story of Raven and the story of Phaethon are similar. It means we’re on the right track.”

“I choose to accept that the Bible is the revealed truth of God. That is enough for me.” The monk stared off into the distance for a moment, as if contemplating a weighty decision. “There is something I want to show—”

A bright flash, like a nearby lightning strike, cut short his sentence. Before anyone could comment, there was a loud boom, followed by a shock wave that hit Fiona like a gut punch.

“What was that?” she gasped.

Pierce, looking as stunned as she felt, then managed to reply. “I think it was the helicopter.”

Father Justin stared at the explosion, a horrified expression on his face. He crossed himself. “We’re being attacked.” He shook himself out of his stunned stupor and turned to them. “Quickly. Follow me.”