“On reaching the mountaintop we came to a church…I saw a slightly raised place about the size of a normal tomb. I asked about it and the holy man replied, ‘Holy Moses was buried here by Angels.’”
Writings of Egeria
Azeem and his other Grigori drove us out in once-were-white four-wheel-drives now covered in dirt and desert dust to a place called Mount Nebo, about twenty minutes from Madaba.
The whole journey, my mind bounced between the moments.
How can all of this be happening? Am I losing my mind? When will Phoenix finally kill me?
And through it all, the growing feeling that something very significant was about to happen. I was missing something.
It was beyond me, beyond Phoenix and Lincoln. It was beyond us all.
Since I’d arrived in Jordan and sensed that exile, I’d known it. Just as I knew the day I stood on top of that cliff that my life was about to change forever, so too I knew the man in those robes was another cliff.
I struggled to breathe through an ever-tightening chest, and my eyes stung with a detonation of pure fear. What the hell was going on?
Spence was sitting beside me. I was glad Lincoln had decided to travel in the lead car. He’d gone into warrior mode and wanted to be up front just in case. I was happy to ride with Spence, Zoe, Salvatore, and Azeem and just tune out for a while. I was especially glad Magda was in the other car—I couldn’t deal with her death stares right now.
When we pulled to a stop, Azeem jumped out and held the door open. “Welcome to Mount Nebo, the final resting place of Moses,” he said.
I was the last out.
“We must walk from here,” Azeem said, taking my hand to help me from the car. “The others have already begun.”
I looked up to see a hill. Lincoln and the first carload were already on foot and halfway to the top. There was a road leading up, but we were on the wrong side of some fairly serious gates and I was betting “open sesame” wouldn’t work.
Spence, Zoe, and Salvatore marched on, keen to catch up to the action. I walked more slowly with Azeem.
“You carry the burden of one many years more than you,” he said as we walked.
“Yeah. I’m taking it all up front so that later in life, I can lie back on a chaise longue and drink mojitos.”
“An armor of humor is not a strong defense.”
“I know,” I admitted. “But right now, it’s all I’ve got.”
“That is not true. You are never alone,” Azeem said, looking to the sky.
“I don’t really believe in…I’m not sure what I believe.”
“We would all believe in God if he served our every whim. Belief is not about an easy life or even truth. Belief is something you have regardless.”
I wished I could nod and say something spiritually appropriate but…no. We were nearing the top and an enormous sculpture came into view, which sent a shiver down my spine.
“The cross?” I inquired, looking up at the impressive cross that looked like it was made of bronze, the figure of a serpent wrapped around it. It made me think of Lilith. In some stories, she is thought to be the serpent of Eden. It’s a visual that doesn’t leave you.
“When Moses brought the people on pilgrimage from Egypt in hope of the Promised Land, they turned on him and on God. Starving and dying, they questioned why they had been brought to this desert and wilderness only to die. On this, God sent poisonous serpents to bite them and many died. When Moses prayed to God to save the people, he was told to make a serpent and put it on a pole. Everyone who had been bitten and looked upon it was saved.”
“And this is the God you believe in?”
Azeem gave a small smile. “I admit, it is not the most inspiring of stories.”
Now it wasn’t just the sculpture that reminded me of Lilith. That story sounded like something that would come from her book of tales too. I was learning more and more; nothing was as clear-cut as I would have liked it. Nothing was wholly good or evil, it seemed. And if there was a God, I wasn’t sure he was any better than the worst of us.
We were nearing the top. I stopped and turned to Azeem. “Azeem, I…When I embraced and became Grigori, I had to do something.”
“A test of will,” he said, nodding.
“I had to kill an image that I chose.” I couldn’t find the words to express how that silhouette had turned into me.
“And now you feel remorse,” he said compassionately.
“Kind of. I don’t regret it, it’s just, the image that I chose…is there any chance I could have actually…”
“Violet”—he put his gigantic hand on my shoulder—“I don’t have your answers. I can see you are haunted by this. Choices often reveal consequences in many ways. But what you are looking for I cannot give you.”
“But I’m not looking for something. I…I just want to know…”
“Of course you are searching. You seek forgiveness and this is something I cannot give. You will have to look beyond this place of dirt and rock.”
He was back on the God thing.
I didn’t want to offend him, tell him that right now, I wasn’t finding much comfort in the possibility that God might actually exist. I settled for, “I’ll think about it.”
“This is a good place to start.” He continued along the path and picked up the pace. “Come on—we’re almost there.”
The mountain—actually more of a hill—was not spectacular. It was large, but not like the rock formations that surrounded the hotel with waterfalls. It was simple, and though you could see work had been done to restore the area—small trees and green shrubs to break up the continuum of barren land, a small path that was well maintained—it wasn’t until we reached the very top that I realized why it was such a special place.
The views.
Azeem pointed toward a mass of water. “West, the Dead Sea”—and then he raised his hand higher, signaling beyond—“and the Promised Land.”
“Jerusalem,” Griffin said, now standing beside us.
“Wow,” I said, meaning it wholeheartedly.
Azeem turned. “South is the Crusader Castles, north, the Seven Hills of Amman, and east, the Jordanian Desert to the wastes of Saudi Arabia.” Then he walked us in a full circle around the perimeter of the chapel that rested at the top of the rise. It was old but also surprisingly modern in design. Nyla took in my reaction.
“The original chapel is within the walls of this one,” Nyla explained.
“The outer shell was built to protect it. But even the one within is no more than sixteen or seventeen hundred years old. It is mostly a tourist destination now and normally open every day,” Azeem added.
“Why not today?” I asked.
“We have asked a favor. We did not think it wise to have you all here among tourists.”
I couldn’t have agreed more.
Lincoln and Spence appeared from the back of the building. Spence had a handful of small rocks he was throwing into the patchy shrubbery. Lincoln looked frustrated.
“How are we going to find anything here? This construction is too recent. Griffin, this looks like a dead end.”
“No,” Griffin said. He was standing out in front of the chapel, studying every stone, every groove. “There has to be something here. The story tells us that Moses was buried within the mountain, and later Jeremiah returned with the Ark and left it where Moses was buried.”
“We should look inside,” Rudyard said.
“I am afraid Lincoln is right. You will not find what you are looking for inside. We have searched every inch of the chapel for hidden passages or markers.” Azeem gestured to his men. “I fear this may be a wasted trip for you.”
“If Moses was buried in this mountain, it’s likely some sort of tomb was created,” Griffin said.
“I am not disagreeing with you, friend.
It is likely that there is a tomb directly under the chapel. But short of pulling down the mountain, we cannot be sure and, well, for some time we have considered that perhaps this may be for the best. If the wrong people or beings were to get their hands on the remains of Moses and whatever else may rest with him, it would not be good.”
“Well, they’re coming, Azeem,” Griffin said, now irritated. “And if we don’t find it, believe me, they will.”
This is why I have a problem with religion. People do too many things in the name of belief or, worse, use it to prevent others from exploring alternative possibilities. I walked to the back of the chapel and saw a narrow overgrown path that led down the back of the hillside.
“Why is that path there?” I asked one of Azeem’s Grigori, who was standing nearby.
“It used to be the path to the top; pilgrims would trek from Jerusalem. Now the roads have taken its place,” he said, looking back to where the others were milling about.
It gave me an idea and I ran back to the front of the chapel. “Rudyard, do you have that thing you read to us at Hades? The Mc-whatever.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I am assuming you are referring to the Second Book of Maccabees.”
“Yeah.”
He reached into his well-organized backpack and pulled out the old leather-bound book, opening it to the right page before passing it to me.
“Thanks,” I said, reading as I walked back around the chapel.
“Don’t suppose you’d care to enlighten any of us?” he called out.
“Just an idea,” I yelled back, not stopping.
A few paces later, I turned. Everyone was casually shuffling behind me. Lincoln came to my side and shrugged.
“No one else has had an idea.”
“Oh.” I gulped, suddenly feeling like I was on display.
I headed down the old forgotten path, my shoes catching on dried roots that carpeted the ground. Once I got a third of the way down, I stopped and turned back to face the hilltop.
Here’s the thing about observation: it is open to so many interpretations. At the first and most basic level—visual—we see, we believe. Even this level is substandard for the average human. We have four other main senses that influence us. If we smell something burning, for example, but see nothing on fire, most people will investigate to find the source.
After the senses comes instinct. Griffin had been teaching me in our classes that humans are confused by this concept and, therefore, on the whole, are unable to harness the power of intuition. Instinct requires self-belief—something humans, who are all too aware of their own shortcomings, often fail to find.
From instinct, we move to the higher end: imagination and manipulation. Angels have dominion over these.
But in the end, observation will always come down to the final, unique factor: perception. Any one person’s point of view will provide their own individual perspective, influenced by the accumulation of their own life’s millions of moments. What one person would do if they saw the one they loved gunned down in front of them is completely different from what another would do. Whether it’s real or imagination doesn’t matter. The only thing that is certain is that an individual’s response sets off a chain of events that changes everything for that person, forever. The power of angels—and this is why there must be both light and dark—is to filter perception.
“Here,” I said, letting the part in me that wasn’t human take the reins.
“What?” Lincoln asked, baffled.
I pointed to the plateaus on the mountain face and the trees that offered seclusion. “Doesn’t that look like the perfect place for a cave?”
“I guess, but, Vi, there are no caves here, no sign of an old opening. I don’t understand where you’re going with this.”
“Jeremiah was on some kind of angelic mission, wasn’t he?” I asked, the sun catching in my eyes.
“Apparently,” Lincoln said, taking off his cap and putting it on me.
“So he may have been able to see things that the normal person couldn’t. Maybe even things only angels could see, right?”
Lincoln wiped his face, tired, and looked at me dubiously. “I suppose.”
I huffed and moved closer to him, sharing the book. “Look,” I said pointing to the passage. “‘And when Jeremiah came thither, he found an hollow CAVE, wherein he laid the tabernacle, and the ark, and the altar of incense, and SO,’” I emphasized, “‘STOPPED THE DOOR. And some of those that followed him came to mark the way, BUT’”—I looked at him to finish—“‘THEY could not find it.’”
“There’s a cave!” Lincoln called out to the others who’d been waiting at the top of the hill, watching us.
Spence and Zoe raced down with everyone else not far behind.
“Where is it?” Zoe asked, looking up and down, all around.
“We don’t know,” I admitted, hoping I wasn’t leading everyone down a dead end.
Once everyone had joined us, Lincoln explained to the group of astonished faces. It didn’t take long for everyone to get on board with the new theory. There was a cave in this mountain.
“Rudyard,” Griffin said, “I think you can help.”
“Shoot,” Rudyard replied.
“Can you sense power here? You’ll need to try and focus it at the mountain and find its source.”
Rudyard crouched to the ground, touching it with both hands.
He waited.
Eventually, he stood and sighed. “I can’t be a hundred percent, but a different energy certainly comes from that direction.” He pointed to the right.
“Okay, my turn,” Griffin said, as we all silently looked at each other, trying to figure out what was going on.
Griffin didn’t take long, though. He just walked a little to the right and then back. “The true mountain has definitely been disturbed and Rudy is right. It comes from over there, but like him, I can’t pinpoint the spot.”
Griffin put his head down, thinking. Everyone gave him time. “Right,” he said, as if not really sure. “Zoe, your turn.”
“About damn time. What’s your pleasure?” she asked, beaming.
“Lift the mountain.”
“What?” everyone chorused.
Zoe just looked from Griffin to the mountain, back to Griffin, then back to the mountain. “How high?” she asked, as the mouths of the rest of us fell open.
Griffin smiled. “Just move it. If I’m right and the glamour holds, it won’t move. If you can shift the mountain and part of it remains still—”
“The cave will be showing,” Salvatore finished, looking impressed. He really was doing well at keeping up, and I wasn’t the only one who noticed. I think Zoe, who usually appeared completely immune to Salvatore, actually became aware of him.
She closed her eyes and we all waited. Well, until Spence cracked. “You all right, Zo?”
“Shut up! Even Mother Nature would need a moment for this one. I need to concentrate,” she snapped.
So we waited again. And waited. It must have been about ten minutes, but then…the earth started to move.
Azeem and his men, still at the top of the mountain, dropped to their knees. But there was little point unless they were praying to the almighty Zoe.
We all crouched to the ground to hold our footing. And marveled.
Rocks began to move from side to side; it was only slight, but in sync. The trees—the entire mountain—rocked. Zoe had nature moving as one. Dancing.
“There!” Lincoln yelled.
“Yes!” cried Nyla, standing up, swaying like a magical creature surfing the mountain.
One small area remained still. The mountain moved around it, but that one part showed no sign of life. It was the perfect size—an opening.
“Okay, Zoe, you can stop!” Griffin roared over the sound of the live mountain.
<
br /> Zoe stood and opened her eyes. The mountain became still, everything exactly where it had been. Everyone else stood slowly, in awe of what we had just witnessed. Salvatore bowed his head.
“Zoe, complimenti.”
She couldn’t hide the smile as she swatted him away. “I. Don’t. Speak. Italian!” she said, marching toward the place we were all now headed.
“Zoe, that was remarkable,” Rudyard said. With this, she couldn’t hold back a full-blown smile.
“We’re proud of you, Zoe,” Nyla said so warmly her words struck a chord in my heart. I realized they were like a family, and when Zoe beamed back at Nyla, she gave the kind of smile a daughter would give a mother. I realized something else too. That’s why Nyla unnerved me so much.
Nyla linked hands with Rudyard and they walked on.
Could I have that one day?
When it came to stepping up to the area that had not moved, it was Nyla and Lincoln who were first off the ranks. They felt around, trying to pull at rocks and dirt, but anything that was removed seemed somehow instantly replaced. It was useless.
“It’s solid or something. It regenerates itself,” Lincoln said, still persisting, pulling at more rocks.
“Everything is under a glamour,” Nyla said, walking back to us. “We cannot break through it with force,” she clarified, even as we all watched Lincoln throwing boulders at the opening.
Ideas were put forward, the best of which was to try and tunnel in from another place.
But if Phoenix knew how to get in, there must be a way. He must have known we could get in too.
I took a tentative step toward the opening, scared, as if it might swallow me whole. I placed a hand on the glamour. It felt like touching dirt and rock.
I drew on my power, worked it up within, and then released it over the glamour, willing it to fade. My mist poured from me straight to the opening, concentrating solely on the facade. It knew what I asked of it.
The mist gripped its target, fixed onto it like billions of tiny droplets, and ate into the opening, working its way down to the ground.
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