The Cursed

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Whatever the clerics lacked in youth and vigor, they made up for in zeal. Despite their age, they'd set up an aggressive schedule. Everyone was to be downstairs by 8:00 a.m. to meet in the lobby, and have already eaten what ever they wanted. The Covenant was in full effect. It was time.
No excuses or arguments were accepted. They loaded sleepy Guardians into a minibus after much clerical debate about the safety of such an endeavor during the current cli
mate of regions trading missile fire, and headed east to begin at the Mount of Olives. Once they'd reached the Seven Arches Hotel, all the commotion ceased as Guardians dis
embarked to view the Old City looking back west across the Kidron Valley. Again, a remarkable fusion stayed words as a huge, ancient Jewish cemetery spread out below them and Christian domes and spires surrounded them.
Only one hundred and fifty yards back they found the ap proach road to the hotel that allowed them to meander through a stone gateway that yielded to a ten-foot round-diameter stone structure. Father Pat crossed himself and brought the group to a halt. "The Dome of the Ascension," he whispered. "The rock that bears our Savior's footprint." He let each person absorb what they would and the group stood, quietly steeped in each private communion for what felt like a long time, until the elderly cleric pushed onward, making an abrupt right in their walk to take them into Pater Noster Convent.
"Whoa . .." Bobby murmured, looking at the dozens of ceramic tiles in every conceivable language.
Father Patrick nodded. "Here is where He taught the dis ciples the Lord's Prayer," he said with a wave of his hand. "Every language, so many nations passed through here, but I wanted you to see this, and the path down the steep hill out side to the Garden of Gethsemane where He was arrested af ter the Last Supper. The Church of All Nations is there, too, but I want you to feel the sacredness of the very ground you stand on. At the foot of the Mount of Olives is a staircase, and once we descend there into the underground Church of the Assumption ... we will find the Tomb of the Virgin." Damali squeezed Carlos's hand, and he silently returned the pulse. No one in the group
said more as they left and continued downhill witnessing the breathtaking gold, onionshaped domes and sculpted white turrets of the Russian Or thodox Church of Mary Magdalene that sat along the traditional Palm Sunday Road.
In a grove of ancient olive trees in the Garden of Gethsemane stood the Church of All Nations, and Father Patrick took them inside the dimly lit cathedral whose interior domes housed mosaic symbols from nations around the world, and where the windows were awash with translucent alabaster over amber and purples. The somber hues and echoes added to the mystical atmosphere as he finally brought them to the altar to each touch the Rock of Agony.
Once outside again in the bright light, Guardians squinted and huddled closer together, each seeming caught up in their own private life review. But once they'd gone down into the subterranean church to view Mary's tomb, every man and woman returned to the street level so solemn that even the sound of a cleric's voice seemed like an intrusion.
"Rabbi Zeitloff will take over here," Father Patrick said quietly. He looked up at the hill they'd just left. "One of our members will bring the minibus down to meet us. But there's only one way to truly experience the Old City, and that's on foot."
"When we enter through the Dung Gate, one of the Old City of David's seven gates, our first stop will be the Kotel... the Wailing Wall, or Western Wall." He looked at Dan and Heather. "Leave your petitions there."
Again, Damali felt her heart spent to overflowing as they entered the city walking the cobbled paths of centuries of history. She could feel it seep up into her sandals and the heat of the day, combined with the spiritual awakening, made the long-sleeved, embroidered ivory muslin fabric cling to her, yet a slight shiver also made her gather her arms about her waist as they pressed forward. Her wrapped hair made it feel like her scalp was tingling, as though information from a supreme source was sending blessings down upon her head. She could tell every Guardian also felt it. All heads in their group were covered, male and female alike, as they pressed through the throngs of the devoted. They came to a stop along a section of the wall and in Orthodox style, the men and women were separated - men on the left, as Rabbi Zeitloff officiated a group blessing, and then allowed each person to privately make their own prayers. Damali simply hung her head and closed her eyes, touch ing the wall gently and reverently as Heather slipped a small piece of paper between the cracks to join the thousands and thousands of other notes sent Heavenward, tears wetting her lashes. She could feel through the wall's agony the exact moment Dan's forehead touched it, and could feel his deep, pain-filled sigh exit his body, even though her eyes couldn't see him. It was then that she added her tears to the millions of others that had spilled against the ancient stone. When they came out of the square, Imam Asula took over to escort them to the El-Aqsa Mosque, and Dome of the Rock. Again they were separated by gender to enter by sep
arate archways as they approached the landmark copper dome and passed through rows of square columns to enter a space richly carpeted with Persian rugs and modern runners with stunning stained-glass windows. Being with Rabbi Zeitloff, the male Guardians were guided by the Imam, and the female Guardians escorted by a demurely covered woman who'd been sent to lead them.
Shabazz and the Imam found the mihrab, the niche indicat ing the direction toward Mecca, and the group followed the devotional prayers offered on behalf of the world in
Arabic.
However, nothing could have prepared her to behold the Dome of the Rock on Temple Mount. The group went slack-jawed as Imam Asula brought them to the structure, whose exterior was a mosaic masterpiece of blue ceramic tiles topped with a dome consisting of one hundred and seventy-six pounds of twenty-four-carat gold leaf electroplated on copper.
Entering in the traditional way through different entrances by gender, they were met with huge granite columns and sup port arches richly adorned in the original mosaics that ob
served Islamic tradition in the artwork, of showing no animals or human forms, simply Arabic inscriptions for the holy texts. Then in his very quiet and unassuming way, their clerical guide brought them to the reliquary where they were, under special conditions, allowed to touch a section of the sacred rock that only was available to the public once a year during Ramadan.
"The Well of Souls is here," Imam told the group in a rev erent voice, leading them down a staircase to a small grotto.
They stood within the space, and the prayers of the dead besieged Damali so powerfully that she had to get out and get air. Sensing her distress from her labored breathing, and then watching it ricochet to every other seer in the group, they hurried outside yet kept a diplomatic and respectful pace in so doing. But the moment they reached the sunshine, it was imperative to find water and stop to rest.
"We should stop and eat," Father Patrick warned, looking at the already spent group. "We can have lunch at the Israel Museum, where you can see the Dead Sea scrolls. After that we'll be walking the Via Dolorosa, the path Christ took as He bore the cross ... we'll pick up the path near the court yard of St. Anne's and the Pools of Bethesda, where the healing of the lame took place - and we'll follow the Sta tions of the Cross all the way to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre." He glanced around the team. "From there, we'll push on to the room of the Last Supper on Mount Zion, and reconvene with our minibus to bring us to Bethlehem -  which is only fifteen minutes away - so that we can see the Church of the Nativity."
The team simply stared in awe at the old men on a mis sion, privately wondering if their stamina came from On High.
* * *
she and carlos exited the Church of the Holy Sepulchre like Shabazz had come out of the mosque - practically shaking from the overwhelming emotions brewing up to overflow inside. The walk of Via Dolorosa made even the most leathery Guardians simply shake their heads with tears in their eyes. But she lost her composure at the final Stations of the Cross inside the magnificent central chapel that was lit with all golden candlelight and oil lamps, re splendent with icons in Greek Orthodox tradition. Her hand went to her mouth to hold back the sob as she looked at the bronze disc beneath the altar where the cross actually stood at Station XII, hence where Jesus died. She thought they might have to carry her out by the time the tour was done. Father Patrick, not to be dissuaded, still insisted that they also see the Ethiopian Monastery on the grounds there, where artwork depicts the Ethiopian tradition that holds that the Queen of Sheba and Solomon's relationship produced an heir to the Ethiopian
royal house. He said that was some thing Carlos needed to know, but no one questioned why as the clerics led them to Mount Zion to visit the Tomb of David. Stepping into that tomb represented another nexus of cultures, where a massive stone was draped with a Star of David and beautifully engraved silver Torah scroll canis ters sat just outside what was considered the oldest syna gogue. Yet in an antechamber opposite the tomb was a mihrab surrounded by green ceramic tiles, so that faithful Muslims could be oriented toward Mecca to honor Nebi Daoud - the Prophet David.
Reeling as they entered the large, bare, medieval cham ber with flagstones and gothic arches, they all stopped to wonder at what could have entered the hearts, minds, and spirits of men knowing this was the last of days as they knew it. Here, even in this sparse space, there was human glue that crossed barriers. An ornate mihrab blocked one window, with other windows elaborately restored with stained glass bearing Arabic inscriptions in Gothic windows, with a Le vantine dome.
When they left the twenty-one-hundred-year-old walls of the Old City, a vast sense of connectedness linked them even closer as a team, but closer to the human family. Descending into the Tomb of the Kings, she could feel Carlos leaning on her more than he had been all day, as though this place of wide, rock-hewn steps in a cavern below, with rain-catchment pools that opened out into wide courtyards exca vated from solid rock was just too reminiscent ... so close to what he'd seen and known, but under such different circumstances.
She could feel the tension within him, but also the rever ence as he stared at the huge stone slabs that were used to block tombs from biblical days gone by. Tears filled his eyes as they passed the weeping chamber inside the low doorway of the catacombs where mourners could light oil lamps in small triangle niches and sit on rock benches. He didn't want to see the alcoves and ledges where the dead were wrapped in shrouds. Sensing he was ready to bolt, she left with him, and his exit brought the group to the minibus where they found Carlos leaning against it, hands spread, and gulping air.
"It is intense," Monk Lin said, looking around the group. "You have experienced these same feelings in Tibet. This is the link, we are all one."
"There is no separation," Imam Asula told them, glancing around the group. "The human family is that - the human family. You had to know this without flinching, without any shadow of doubt as we come toward the final hour."
"In one very long day," Rabbi Zeitloff said with genuine pride shining in his eyes behind his glasses, "you have taken in years of scholarship - just through your skins, through your spirits, and hearts. You have been fortified as much as we can do on short notice. But you had to come here and see the connection to something so much greater than your selves."
"On the road to Bethlehem, you'll also feel it ... the hope of a beginning," Father Patrick said.
* * *
on the minibus heading south, the clerics prayed over and passed out bourma, honey-filled pastries stuffed with whole pistachio nuts, to keep the group going, along with bottled wa
ter. And then the old men promptly scared everyone half to death by reminding them that in the northeast area of Tel Jeri cho, to the west of that city, was the Mount of Temptation where Satan tempted Jesus with dominion over all the king doms of the
world during his fast of forty days and forty nights.
Damali looked at Carlos.
"I know," he said, under his breath. "Why'd they have to go there?" She shrugged and shook off the shivers as Rabbi Zeitloff belabored the point about the vast cave network throughout that area. She felt better to at least know that a monastery was also tucked away in the cliffs there.
But as Rabbi Zeitloff began to describe the horrors of Masada, a place only a little more than an hour's drive from Jerusalem sixty-four miles away, the hairs on everyone's necks, including hers, literally stood up.
"The palace there was gorgeous. Opulent. Gold and friezes such as you've never seen. State of the art for that time, with the entire mountaintop - twenty acres, that had a double wall around the whole thing, and inside that were buildings, granaries, you name it, and where people could live... the palace itself at the northernmost point had a bathhouse with hot, cold, and lukewarm taps, even saunas. They were smart and didn't have to haul their water from the Bin Gedi oasis ten miles away. No. They used their noodle and captured floodwaters in the streambeds west of the mountains," the rabbi said as the minibus lumbered along.
Excited by the epic nature of the story, Rabbi Zeitloff talked with his hands as he enjoyed a bourma, occasionally flinging crumbs. "Herod outdid himself, went all out. It had to be able to stand against Cleopatra's armies or his own populace - which would sometimes have civil unrest like you would not believe. He built it way up high on a flattop of solid rock. No one could get to it, and when the Romans came, the people thumbed their noses at the invaders. We took a stand! That is what's important about Masada. We had had enough. The Romans never took them alive."
The elderly rabbi looked around the group. "They even have cable cars - we should take a tour up, if there's time."
Carlos rubbed his jaw and sent his gaze out of the win dow. Damali gently probed his brain as his complexion went gray.
Baby, what is it? She squeezed his hand. Her husband was barely breathing. They got trapped up there by eight Roman legions of death, he said quietly in his mind, so horrified it came out as a mental whisper. Throne knowledge. It's the big history les son in all of them around the Vamp Council table.
Whatever prattle was going on in the van she became deaf to it instantly. Her focus was singular, a soul chant -  please, God, no.
How bad... how many casualties? she finally managed to ask. They won, right - like Rabbi said, though?
Carlos shook his head. Winning is a matter of perspective. They won because they were never taken alive and desecrated by the enemy. It was a total camp wipeout, but by their own hand. That's why Rabbi said they won.
An entire team? A silent gasp had passed through her skeleton, and she couldn't go back to looking out the win dow. She never blinked as she stared at Carlos. A tortured expression entered his eyes. A thousand men killed their wives and children and then drew lots to make sure they'd all assassinate themselves rather than be dishonored - you saw it in Nod. Carlos glanced away.
She could feel him beginning to slowly wig as the infor mation imploded within her and
the horror within her soul must have mirrored itself in her eyes. Oh, dear... God... I never want to visit there, D. I can't! Carlos mentally shouted, beginning to breathe through his mouth. The ghosts that cry from that isolated palace have to be maddening . .
. I don't know what I'd do if you were up there with a child in your arms while Romans walked eight legions around a band of a thousand Guardians, building a ramp ... penned in by forty thousand sick bastards looking for blood - so-called soldiers, punk bastards, going against men of honor with their wives and babies trying to hold on. No reinforce
ments, no cavalry coming.
Stunned silent, her vision blurred with pain as she tried to imagine it but fell woefully short. Her husband drew a shud dering breath and stared out the window, the muscles in his jaw pulsing.
A Roman legion is five thousand men strong, D! he said, quickly looking at her as the reality finally turned the blade in his soul. The encampment at Masada only had a thousand men, women, and children, so that meant it wasn't even a thousand-to-forty odds. It's classic vampire history, from the Romans' point of view. This was during Lilith and Dante's heyday. Imagine the agony of that no-win decision beyond a rock and a hard place - a man having to walk into the room, draw a blade, and execute his own wife and child? Or the other option would be to watch them passed around to forty thousand deranged motherfuckers, tortured, crucified, and whatever else I don't wanna consider. Carlos shook his head. "No," he said, not being able to hold it in his mind any longer.
"Never like Masada."
The general conversation in the minibus ceased. Everyone looked at Carlos as Damali's hand rubbed his back. She looked up and her eyes searched the clerics for answers they didn't have.
"Tell the team the full story, Rabbi. . . please," Daniel said in a near whisper, swallowing hard and looking out the window. He gathered Heather's hands within his and kissed them hard, then closed his eyes. "And then tell me that's not what we're facing. Please."
* * *
lorelei took the cable car up as a part of the tour and slipped away from the group. She secreted herself among the ruins' shadows, hiding with her backpack of supplies that in
cluded food and water. Nightfall couldn't come soon enough.
* * *
damali walked through the Church of the Nativity in a prayer stupor, her fingers absently playing with the stones in her necklace from pure nervous energy. Everything that Carlos had told her, Rabbi repeated for Dan out loud in graphic detail in a way that gave her the dry heaves. She knew firsthand that evil existed, but even with all of that, there were things she'd heard today that she couldn't fathom. Zero mercy. No single drop of compassion ... no wonder it had to be sent to the planet embodied in a swaddled baby born in a lowly manger.
The irony that Bethlehem was closed off due to riots and unrest made it all the more poignant that she'd been able to slip into this small space between war and peace, and bow her head in hope for the salvation of the world.
it took everything within her not to be rude and to agree with a bright smile to break bread
together with Rabbi Zeitloff and his wonderful safe-house brethren. Women from the synagogue had cooked up a veritable feast. But she, like the entire team, was so exhausted that she was weaving where she stood, stifling inopportune yawns, and trying to stay religiously coherent.
Backing out of tonight's dinner to pass out beside her husband was out of the question. It had already been decided. Tonight the team would sup with the host country's official in the Jewish Quarter, then the next night, Imam would take them to the Muslim Quarter, and then on the third night, Father Patrick would do the honors to host them in the Christian Quarter, and Monk Lin would be guest cleric of honor on each evening. She needed more than an hour to bathe, change clothes, and be ready for dinner. Eight to ten hours was more like what she really required - eight to sleep, an hour to medi tate and pray and contemplate all that she'd just absorbed, then an hour to get dressed. Carlos could barely hold his head up, and he was yawning so badly they both chuckled.
"You have to stop so I can stop," she said, covering her mouth when he flopped back on the bed, yawning.
"I can't," he said through another long yawn. "You hit the showers first. I just need five minutes to rest my eyes."
"If you lie down, you know it's all over - keep moving, soldier."
"If I get in there with you is the only way." He leaned for ward and rubbed his palms down his face. "And I guarantee you, right now, you don't even have to worry about me mess ing with you, boo."
damali had put a good face on things, and he supposed that had everything to do with her years of stage perfor mances. He felt like shit, hadn't really gotten his balance back since all the energy they'd expended in Nod, then they'd had a bunch of drama at Duke's joint to contend with - but hey, he wasn't complaining. At least he was able to jettison word to Ausar that they'd been able to back predators up off the weak shield areas to cut his King brother some slack.
Even after he'd shaved twice, he could still feel five o'clock shadow along his jaw as they got back on the minibus and headed to Zeitloff's safe house. But as usual, Damali looked like a million bucks. He glimpsed his wife from a sideline glance. Her gaze was fixed out the window watching the sun go down over the Old City. It was as though she was being hypnotized by the sunset colors washing against the ancient, golden Jerusalem stones, with the evening muezzin call from distant mosques adding to her trance. Hues from the receding light filtered through the azure blue sky only to seem to get caught in her starched white Egyptian head wrap and long bell sleeves of her dress as they played across her beautiful skin. Despite her fatigue, she snowed no evidence of it. Damali's shoulders were back, her head held high, giving her a regal presence that every Queen in the long line of her Neteru dynasty owned.
Waning sunlight also caught in her silver collar that was studded with priceless stones, and it shimmered against her left hand that was weighted down by the rock he'd given her. He twined his fingers through hers, feeling the softness of her graceful hands, and suddenly wishing he hadn't been so exhausted when they'd showered together. Moments like that with her were a travesty to waste. But he knew he had to be burnt out when he hadn't even had a chance to tease her about the mad-crazy way she'd driven the Bugatti like an Indy 500 pro.
She turned to him, and for no reason, just a spontaneous thing, kissed his cheek and smiled so radiantly that for a moment he couldn't move, he was sun-blinded. Your eyes are flickering, she teased, mentally taunting him into a game to stave off giving way to fatigue.
He smiled a half-smile and looked out the window. Yeah, well, you 're lucky I was tired earlier ... or else your pulse points would be lit up like your necklace is now. Her smile instantly faded as her hand went to her throat. My necklace is lit, Carlos? Stop playing.
His smile was gone. I thought it was the sunset in it -  you can't feel that?
No. Maybe because I'm so wiped out, I don't know. She reached up frantically and began removing the jewelry, but also trying to remain discreet not to alarm the others. Carlos watched her as she took off the collar and made it appear to the others as though she'd only done it because it was making her sweat. But she held it in her palms, right hand over the left, as he'd seen on too many private divina tions to dismiss. She closed her eyes, opened her mind to his so he could share in whatever she pulled from the stones]
Clear as day, a battle was raging. Valkyrie's bleating call for reinforcements could be heard over the din. And then he saw it - legion upon legion of demon Roman soldiers rose from the pit fanning out underground at the base of Masada simply waiting for full darkness.
* * *
"I don't understand what is happening!" Lilith shrieked, rounding the pentagram-shaped table. She yanked open the fanged crest to peer deeply into the vast misty space beneath it, trying to see why her eyes and ears over the worldwide airwaves were suddenly going blind.
Frantic, she spun on her three councilmen. "If I can't see into these places, then that means the Dark Lord's world globe is experiencing blind spots, blackout points - how can this be? Fix it!"
"We have our best minds on this, Lilith," Sebastian said nervously.
"Our best minds are frying! The airwaves are compro mised!" she yelled.
"It's the package," Fallen Nuit said in a horrified murmur, leaving his throne to peer into the table better. "Lilith - tell them to stop trying to decode the Guardian concert message!
Do it now!"
"It's moving so fast, their minds are engaged with white light!" she screamed, holding her temples and squeezing her eyes shut. "I can only get to the outer regions that haven't yet tried to open the infected data!"
"You, treasonous bastard," Nuit yelled, crossing the room toward Yonnie and pointing at him. "You brought this into our networks, set us up to go after the bait, when you knew what it would do!" He looked over his shoulder at Lilith. "This is Rivera's spawn. Something that should have never been allowed a throne."
"Fuck you, you two-faced bitch," Yonnie hollered and jumped up. "I got set up, no different than you did. Least I ain't bring no spell right to the chairwoman's door." He nodded. "Oh - you thought I ain't know about that shit, huh? Yeah, well, the snakes in the caverns are still talking about let the good times roll." Fallon dropped fang. Sebastian discreetly left his throne to stand by Lilith to watch how the challenge would be addressed. Yonnie threw a roundhouse black power ball without
warning, without fang drop, that caught Fallon in the jaw and sprawled him out. The second he was down, Yonnie dropped battle-length fangs, and had ripped open Nuit's white shirt and jacket from across the room, black-arc positioned to yank his heart out of his chest if he breathed wrong.
Sebastian slid around another throne and Yonnie spoke to him without taking his eyes off Nuit.
"You know like they say, 'If you got a problem, say it to my face, 'cause we can knuckleup, any time, any place.'" Yonnie glanced at Lilith. "Permission to kill his ass?"
"Sebastian, sit down," Lilith said, her tone annoyed. "Yolando, let that man up off the floor. We don't have time for this."
Yonnie reluctantly pulled back the black charge. The odds were against him. Nuit would get his heart ripped out, but he might, too, or worse. Nuit stood slowly with a furi ous sneer and brushed off his suit and then repaired the front of it.
"I believe the time has come," Nuit said through his teeth, looking at Lilith, "for you to relinquish your escrow of my property."
"Only if your property accepts your bargain challenge. Have you thought of it, Fallon?" she said in a playful voice, raking Yonnie up and down with a hot gaze. "I hope not, be
cause I've yet to see just how truly talented this gentleman is." Cornered, Yonnie's line of vision quickly shot between Nuit's and Lilith's. But a squealing commotion of Harpies vomiting up from the marble floor suddenly stole Lilith's attention.
"We will have to take this up at another time," she said, dismissing her Vampire Council.
"Other pressing matters of the empire take precedence." she'd done just what the Dark Mistress had instructed, had cast a lure spell to draw the Neteru Guardian team to Masada the moment their energies had been sensed on the land. Her network of dark coven whisperers had done well. They'd seen the Neterus in airports and on conveyances. Yes. Lilith would be pleased and reward her well. Lorelei stayed in her deep hiding place amid the shadows of the palace walls. Security guards - blinded by her black magic - never suspected.
* * *
one of the biggest arguments the team ever had took place within the space that felt like a tin can. The minibus erupted with opinions and options, none of which were ac ceptable to her or Carlos. She also knew it had taken every thing within him to finally admit that he simply didn't have the energy to whirl the whole bus, plus ammunition and supplies down to Masada - exhaustion and now humiliation was kicking his ass. But the option of him going alone with no backup was entirely unacceptable to her.
"So, what, D - we just drive this minibus down to Masada in the dark, during tense conditions in the area as it is, politely get off after tourist hours like it is now - no ammo, no weapons, and take on eight Roman demon legions? Is that the proposal?"
"No, Carlos, I'm saying we have to wait. We can't go down there as a team like that, you're right - but you can't go alone. You're exhausted!" Damali said, panic raising the volume of her voice. "If you go, I go, but we're going to gether!"
"It'll be Masada all over again, D. I'm not going out like that with you - no!"
"Stop driving this van!" she shouted to Monk Lin. "Turn it back to Jerusalem; I'm not
becoming a widow tonight!"
It happened so fast that she tried to go through the window to catch him. Carlos had touched her face; then he was gone.
Pure chaos broke out on the minibus as Damali struggled to get to a door while the vehicle was still moving. Guardians and clerics were shouting for her to sit back down. Her mind was on fire as she propelled herself forward.
"He left me!" she shrieked with tears running down her cheeks. "It's suicide!" Too many loving hands held her to fight against them without hurting anyone. The frustration as they clung to her body made her sob. Valkyrie's screams sliced into her con
science at the same time. Her breaths came so quickly she became dizzy from the adrenaline spikes. She could vaguely hear Marlene and Shabazz begging her not to do something crazy. She heard Father Patrick in a distant place in her mind. Rider and Tara, Dan and Heather, all the voices in the van repeating the same furtive words, making her reel.
"I thought you said we had to come here to get stronger!" she shouted, feeling betrayed.
"I thought we had to touch the stones and walk the paths so our spirits would burn brighter!
You said it! A beacon on the horizon! Where are my Queens? Where are the Kings? My team needs weapons, my man is by himself! We need safe passage to Masada - any cleric in here answer me that!"
A nova burst hit the van, exploding the metal away from the interior, sucking all occupants out into a blue-white mi asma that moved so quickly there was no sound, yet the vast speed gave one the sensation of moving at incredibly slow speeds. She saw them all thrust out into the shimmering nothingness, tumbling head over heels, trying to grasp onto each other, onto seats and steering columns, anything solid to no avail. Then as if a giant rubber band had snapped, they were shot across a rock-hewn palace floor in a hard thud that would leave bruises in the morning.
Carlos jumped back as Damali jumped up. "How'd you do that? How'd you get here like a slow-mo foldaway?" His tone and expression were incredulous. She rushed him, and pushed him in the chest with both hands, crying. "Don't you ever do that shit to me again, Car los!" she shouted. "I'm your wife! I'm part of you now! We're one," she said, slapping her chest. "You understand? Comprende? If you die, a part of me dies; if you get hurt, I'm hurt - and that's how I got here - because I'm part of you and can tap what my partner gave me. But you have no right to stop my heart like you just did back there - no right!" Tears of frustration and fear glittered in her eyes as she looked away and hugged herself. "Don't do that to me again," she whispered. "Just don't."
"I was just..." He looked away. "I'm sorry. Okay. You're right. But I don't want my heart stopped, either. You dying up here at Masada is a guarantee that'll happen." He waited until she looked at him. The tone of his voice, the gentle but firm quality of it made her look up. "Comprende?"
She nodded and drew in a shuddering breath. "To the end as one, is all I'm saying, Carlos," she murmured with a thick swallow.
He nodded and looked away. "All right."
The disoriented team slowly got to their feet and one by one helped each other up. Olivegreen metal military cases were stacked along the walls everywhere. Rabbi Zeitloff got to
his feet with Dan's and Rider's aid and peered out at the vista. The old man wiped his eyes beneath his askew glasses, and then lifted his chin.
"Welcome to Masada."