Sixtine- The Complete Trilogy Box Set

by Caroline Vermalle

  Vatika sat beside her daughter. “It is also the tunnel to the other world,” she said gently. “Man has known this for a hundred thousand years.”

  Florence didn’t know how to answer, and her mother took her hands in hers.

  “This is not just a philosophical debate, Florence. It is the key to happiness.”

  “The key to happiness?” Florence asked, who was embarrassed by Vatika’s tender gesture.

  “Once we accept that death is only another stage, that our souls make a journey much greater than just the earthly experience, and at the end there is supreme knowledge, then suddenly, we are no longer afraid of death! It no longer makes sense, it’s as absurd as being afraid of what’s beyond the horizon! Uncertainty, change, all this simply becomes a meander of our immortal destiny! Even grief no longer has a hold on us. We’re invincible!”

  Vatika’s eyes shone with an almost religious intensity, and Florence lost herself in her mother’s eyes.

  For some strange reason, she thought about Max again at that moment. This immense pain that still dug holes in her soul seemed to soften before the possibility of something bigger than life itself.

  “Perhaps you’re right,” Florence said, timidly.

  Vatika stroked her hair.

  “You’ll understand it someday. It took me thirty years to understand it, I don’t expect you to be convinced in a few hours. Although…”

  Florence turned her head towards her.

  “Many have passed through here, and arrived at the awakening in less than a day. Miracles happen in this place.”

  Florence frowned. “Are there a lot of people passing through here? You said you were a guide. But for whom?”

  “For them.”

  In front of Florence’s questioning expression, Vatika motioned the wall in front of her, lit by dozens of flames.

  Florence had a retreating movement and she grabbed her mother’s hand.

  The faces of women were coming out of the rock.

  28

  Max and Bian took advantage of the chaos caused by the old man’s announcement to return to the central building and infiltrate it.

  After a long curved corridor, they entered a dark room, lit only by a dull light. Max swept the flashlight and discovered they were in a chapel of some sort.

  His eyes widened as he noticed the two coffins in the middle of the room.

  In the first one lay an old man dressed in a black dress. In the second, an African woman in a white dress; she could not be more than nineteen years old. Their faces were so peaceful, and they formed a vision so different from what Max had seen in the pyramid that he surprised himself to think that perhaps these were only natural deaths.

  But the tattoo on the young woman’s wrist broke his illusions. The baroque-style gold plaques nailed to the coffins spelled out the names of the deceased.

  Roberto Telles.

  Helena Aliu Telles.

  “Max,” Bian whispered in a panic.

  She had pushed open a pair of double doors, and a strong smell of bleach filled the air. Inside there was a steel table, and a marble worktop covered with metal instruments.

  “We won’t find Livia here,” Max muttered, bile in his mouth.

  “Okay. Good,” Bian said, heading towards fridges. “Wait, look! Look!”

  From the shelf above the worktop, she pulled out a gold plate. The same one that was on Roberto and Helena’s coffin. The top was engraved with the names of Alfred-Jean Stehl and Livia Minelli Stehl.

  “Oh God,” Bian whispered, her face losing its color.

  Max felt his stomach tighten. His eyes were fixed on the plate and he was paralyzed.

  A deafening noise then fills the silence which made the steel table vibrate.

  They turned off their lamps at the same time, and waited, with a dry throat, for the infernal buzzing to fade away.

  After long moments of anxious silence, Bian turned on her flashlight again and opened her backpack.

  “They won’t take these to heaven.”

  She stuffed several blank gold plates into the canvas bag. It was their fall from the shelf that had caused the crash.

  As they were about to leave, Max took one last look at the two coffins. Something he hadn’t noticed the first time caught his attention. On a pedestal table in front of the coffins was a large book with a leather binding. He scanned the beam of the lamp on the open pages: calligraphic names, dates, places.

  They were sadly familiar. So many names on so many pages. With his teeth clenched, his heart pounding in his chest, he closed the imposing volume. On its cover, in gold letters, was an embossed cross. He looked at it for several seconds, then stuffed it in his backpack.

  He had to find Livia at all costs.

  Once out of the chapel, they were faced with five doors in front of them, each one more menacing than the other.

  “Now what do we do? Do we go in?” Bian asked.

  Max stepped forward towards one of the doors, then pressed his cheek to the door. “Livia?” he whispered.

  Nothing.

  The corridor was suffocating, and sweat was running down his forehead.

  “Livia,” he repeated.

  Delicately, he tried to open the first door.

  Locked.

  The second one was too.

  Then the third and fourth.

  He grabbed the fifth one just as a sound of footsteps invaded the corridor. When they turned around, it was too late.

  Livia stood in front of them, like a ghost in her white dress. She stared at them, glassy-eyed.

  “Is this her?” Bian whispered.

  Max nodded and slowly, carefully approached her. “Livia, do you recognize me? We met at the hotel. By the pool.”

  She did not answer, and walked slowly towards them.

  A shiver of anguish ran down Max’s back. He went to meet her and tried to smile.

  “I came here for you, Livia. I think you’re in danger. I know how to get out of here.”

  No answer. He put his hand on her arm, she pulled it away in a start.

  Max hadn’t thought of that possibility. She was either drugged or traumatized.

  “I’m ready,” she said. “I am the chosen one. Love is very close. What are you doing here?”

  Her voice was no longer the same. It sounded too high, too mechanical, as if it was humming a chorus.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Livia. If you don’t want me to help you, just tell me, I’ll leave. But I think – ”

  “I am ready for my ascension,” she continued.

  Livia had arrived at the fifth door.

  It was no longer even a question of convincing her; all he had to do was to get her to react. Did he have to use force?

  “I think I hear someone coming,” Bian said.

  “Silver,” Max said.

  “What?” Bian asked.

  “Silver,” Max repeated.

  But Bian had also noticed it. Livia’s eyes had become animated. A faint smile rounded her cheeks.

  “Is she all right?” she said, in a trembling voice.

  “He misses you, Livia. If you want, we can call Laura, have her give you an update on Silver. It’s just a matter of going out for a few moments.”

  “Yes, I know,” Livia, still feverish. “Phones don’t work here. There are phones, but they don’t work.”

  Max took her arm and this time she allowed him to lead her in the direction he wanted. He held his breath along the corridor, observing each of his steps, watching for the slightest movement.

  When Livia stopped talking and she started looking around, he whispered things to her about his dog Domino and gently guided her. They managed to get out of the building, and soon Max was able to distinguish the two pagodas, and the elevator hidden in their shadow.

  Only a few more feet left.

  Livia whispered about her cat, Max agreed with everything she said, checking behind him at every word she spoke.

  Bian pressed the button on
the panel, and the sound of the elevator relaxed their muscles. Only a few more seconds, and they’d be outside.

  As the elevator doors opened, voices burst above them.

  Two women, one in a white dress and the other in a green dress, walked along a cliff, and chatted in a lively way. Unlike Livia, they seemed to be completely relaxed and chatted like two happy friends to each other. They hadn’t seen them.

  Max and Bian pushed Livia into the elevator shaft, but Max stayed outside.

  He wanted to be sure of what he had just seen.

  “What are you doing? Get in here,” Bian hissed.

  “Wait,” he whispered and glanced in their direction. The pink hair and a familiar laugh obliterated all his doubts.

  It was Florence.

  Florence Mornay, descendant of Vivant Mornay. Who seemed to be at home in this improbable place.

  “Max,” Bian pleaded.

  He entered the elevator shaft, then pressed the button, but as the doors closed, he slipped outside and unpacked his backpack.

  “Go. You’ll be fine,” he said and handed Bian the backpack. “Get her out of here, and guard this book with your life. I’ll meet you in the bar.”

  “Max, wait…”

  “You’ll be okay,” he whispered.

  She nodded, and the doors closed in front of Bian’s panicked eyes.

  29

  On Florence’s face, the initial fright gave way to wonder. In front of her was a gigantic fresco, painted on the wall. It featured about twenty young women, all beautiful, all free, all bright. They were represented in full length, a little larger than life. Around them were stars, symbols and hands. It looked like a work by Chagall, in a palette of reds, blacks, browns, all shades of orange. A little pale green too and, here and there, traces of gold. The ground was littered with countless clay pots containing pigments.

  “Did you paint this?” Florence asked, without taking her eyes off the fresco.

  “I did.” Vatika nodded.

  Florence would have liked to be able to lose herself in the admiration of the work and the pure joy emanating from the faces of these women. But something was eating away at her conscience.

  The pyramid.

  “These are the women who died here, right?”

  “Florence, you have to get out of the language prison. They – ”

  “Okay,” Florence interrupted. “Their heart was beating before they entered the cave, it no longer beats today. Correct?”

  Vatika sighed, but she didn’t stop smiling. “They prepared their ascent with me, yes.”

  “Their ascent. Is that what it’s called here?”

  For an answer, Vatika took one of the candles and brought it closer to one of the faces, that of a woman with a high forehead, piercing black eyes, an air of a warrior. Her hand was outstretched, she was looking straight ahead. Right into Florence’s eyes.

  “This is Annabelle, the bravest one. A true force of nature. When I met her, she explained to me that she had tried to end her life several times. A tragic childhood, complete misery. But from the very first day, she was fascinated by this place, by our meeting, by the possibilities it offered. I remember, she used to sing sad songs to me. She had a very pretty voice. Once her awakening was accomplished, she was radiant with joy and love.”

  “Why did she come here?”

  “Exactly for the same reason as you, as me. Fate.”

  Florence remained silent. Her reflex was to answer that she did not believe in fate, but what were the events of those months and her presence here, other than a tremendous blow of fate?

  “Consider our earthly existence as the school of souls,” Vatika continued. “Fate only brings us what we need to learn, to grow.”

  “What did Annabelle need to learn?”

  “To love.”

  Florence pouted. “But they were still brought here by their husbands?”

  Vatika did not answer. She wandered with her candle over to another part of the fresco.

  “This is Angela,” Vatika said, walking around with her candle. “When she came here, she was dragging a twenty-year-old fear. She was only nineteen years old, fear was born inside her. Here, she learned courage. I spend three days with everyone who comes here. But awakening usually takes much less time.”

  “Are they all orphans?”

  “No, most of them have families.”

  “What is the difference between what you’re doing and the barbarism of the time of Vivant?”

  “The difference, Florence, is the choice. The women here all have a choice. They can leave at any time. They all choose to be with the man they married. To make sure that it is their choice until the end, just before their ascent, at the end of their awakening journey, there is a final test.”

  “And then what?”

  Vatika approached her daughter. “Look, we have our whole lives ahead of us to talk to each other, you and I. You can ask me any questions you want, and I promise to tell you the whole truth. Just know, to ease your conscience, all the women I have accompanied here have moved on to the other side fully aware of their choice, and filled with love. None of them suffered, none of them went against their will.”

  “But I was in the pyramid,” Florence cried out. “I saw the girl, half dead, on the camera screen. They buried her alive! How can you say she went there with a happy heart?”

  A smear of disgust blocked his throat.

  “It was Jessica Pryce you saw, wasn’t it,” Vatika asked in a more serious tone.

  “Yes,” Florence whispered.

  “Jessica Pryce was not like the others.”

  “You mean, she survived?”

  “No. Jessica Pryce did not survive.”

  Florence looked at her mother. There was no doubt in her eyes.

  “I don’t know who gives you the information in the bottom of your cave,” Florence snapped, “but Jessica Pryce was transferred to the Cairo Hospital where she remained in a coma for several days. The doctors didn’t believe it, but I promise you, she is alive. I saw her in Paris, in the flesh, with a cross tattoo on her stomach.”

  This memory froze her. A tremor of fatigue ran across her back.

  Vatika sighed, walked through the fresco, then moved the halo of the candle to another face. It was higher up on the fresco, just below a large protrusion in the rock. She seemed to be looking at the other women, lower down.

  “Is that Jessica Pryce?”

  Her mother nodded. Florence continued to look at the features on the wall, trying to guess why she was so different from the others. It was more intense, certainly. She also noticed that Jessica Pryce was flanked by two women on each side of her face, who resembled her in every way, as if the image had been split.

  “Who are the two other women?”

  But Vatika did not seem to have heard Florence’s question.

  “Jessica Pryce. It took me a while to realize that her destiny was different. She did not choose her husband’s love at the time of the ultimate choice.”

  “Tell me,” Florence said, with her eyes blazing with curiosity.

  Vatika remained silent, always observing the fresco. Then she turned. “Come with me.”

  They walked to the Green River and walked along it until they reached a creek. The water was translucent and was more turquoise than green.

  “Water is a regenerative element,” Vatika said. “As our bodies are composed mainly of them, we intimately recognize this element as a sign of purification. Our tears, for example, are a vehicle of spiritual intent, they offer us healing. That’s why swimming in the Green River is the last step of the initiation journey.”

  She walked along the footbridge, and drew the course of the river with a gesture.

  “Once their awakening has taken place, when the moon casts its rays on the clearing, I baptize the women here.”

  “The water looks so pure.”

  “It is,” Vatika smiled. “It is the primary source. When women emerge from it, they have become b
etter versions of themselves, more aware of their immortal souls. And that’s when they have to make the choice. They swim along the river, until they reach a place where it splits into two arms, which go in different directions. One goes to their husband who is waiting for them on the shore, the other flows to the outside world.”

  “But they know they choose death with the husband?”

  “Of course, that’s why I guide them. They know that they make the choice between the realization of their immortal self in love and abundance, or a return to a superficial existence, in solitude and spiritual misery.”

  “In the case of Jessica Pryce, a slow and cruel death with a corpse, or a long and happy life on earth,” Florence pointed out.

  Vatika’s tongue slammed against the inside of her mouth with exasperation, but then she smiled. “Your father warned me you had a strong will. That’s why I suggest you discover this new dimension of thinking for yourself.”

  30

  Perched above the Green River, Max hid in the shadows of a crevasse. He too was hypnotized by these countless treasures. Florence and the woman in the green dress were still talking on the bridge. The echo confided their lively dialogue to him with an astonishing clarity, while he was about fifty feet away from them.

  He now understood that he had saved Livia. He had no doubt: she too would have chosen to swim for gold rather than freedom, and the black dress would have interpreted this choice as a confirmation of fate.

  What happened next?

  The nausea turned his stomach when he remembered both bodies in the coffin. How did they die?

  Florence and the woman in the green dress turned around, and Max settled again when they passed a few feet below him. Then he slipped through the maze of rocks and walls, swearing against the pain in his leg that was slowing him down. He swore even more when he lost sight of the two women.

  They were getting ahead of him, and he couldn’t afford to lose them. Among other things because it was not quite sure that he would find his way back through this geological labyrinth.