by Audrey Auden
“How unlikely?” asked Emmie, unsure whether this was good news or bad. It was going to be a dangerous exercise crossing national borders illegally. But at least if the Stewards were guarding Akdamar there was a high likelihood that she was looking in the right place. Otherwise, the whole journey could prove to be pointless. She heard her mother’s voice screaming an alarm in her head but tried to ignore it.
“I calculate the likelihood of Steward association with any of the Turkish nationals who frequent Akdamar to be less than five percent.”
“Did you find out anything else?”
“The employees of the museum and the tourists who visit it come to the island by boat from numerous points of departure around Lake Van. Traffic to the island is highly variable with the seasons, with peaks in spring and summer. Over the last three years, there has been a relatively low volume of visitors to the lake, and even fewer to the island, due to the ongoing violence in the area.”
“Sounds great. When can we leave?”
CHAPTER 16
Akdamar
Amaterasu accompanied Emmie and Naoto to the parking lot that evening as they prepared to depart the Enryaku-ji temple for Akdamar Island. Naoto climbed into the driver’s seat and listened to Falsens’ final briefing before the journey began. Emmie paused before joining him, turning to Amaterasu.
“I keep thinking about what my mother would say, if she knew where I was going. She’d be freaking out.”
Amaterasu appeared to be above such concerns. She gave Emmie neither cause for fear nor reason to feel bold when she asked,
“And are you?”
Emmie considered the strange mix of emotions buzzing about inside of her.
“I don’t know,” she said at last, “A little, maybe. But I really do want to help Dom. Somehow, I feel like I owe it to him. Even though I don’t understand how I can be responsible for things I can’t remember, things I maybe did or maybe didn’t do when I maybe was or maybe wasn’t living some other life.”
Amaterasu nodded, her eyes half-closed as she said,
“It is impossible to unravel cause from effect. Do what you believe is right, and do not be afraid of what may or may not result.”
Naoto leaned out of the car window.
“Are you ready?”
Emmie took a deep breath, smiled at Amaterasu, and said,
“I guess this is goodbye.”
“For now,” said Amaterasu, bowing.
“For now,” said Emmie, bowing back, a bit more smoothly now.
∞
Despite Falsens’ warnings about the dangers and discomforts Emmie might encounter en route to Lake Van, the most discomfiting thing about the first twenty-four hours of the journey had been the seemingly endless stream of alarming liability waiver addenda Falsens found necessary to issue as Naoto guided Emmie through a complex series of covert transfers between planes, trains, and automobiles.
Emmie had been drifting in and out of sleep for hours, lying atop a pile of rugs in the dark hatch of an old truck, when Naoto’s voice said over their shared channel,
“Are you awake?”
“Uh, yeah,” Emmie said groggily. In the darkness, she could barely see Dom’s shadow lying next to her atop the rugs. “What’s up?”
“We’re close to the border between Armenia and Turkey. There are a few hours left until sunrise. Falsens has an operative in the Armenian Border Guard who’s going to help us through the gate. Just sit tight back there, okay?”
Emmie sat up apprehensively as she felt the truck slowing.
“Quiet, now,” Naoto murmured.
“Calm down,” Emmie heard Dom say in the darkness beside her, “Do not be afraid.”
The truck came to a stop, and Emmie heard Naoto say something in a language she did not understand. She heard the voices of two or three other men. Her heart pounded in her throat, then seemed to stop beating at the sound of someone unfastening the hatch.
The hatch rolled up suddenly, and Emmie froze. It was only slightly less dark outside than it was in the truck, and it took Emmie a moment to make out a clean-shaven young man in uniform wielding an enormous Kalashnikov rifle and peering in at her. Emmie bit her lip to stifle a scream. The man raised his free hand in a non-threatening gesture, whispering in thickly-accented English,
“It’s okay, it’s okay. Falsens sends me.”
Emmie slumped back on the pile of rugs, but the man extended his hand and said,
“Come, come. We go now.”
Emmie looked at him uncertainly, then climbed down from the pile of rugs as quietly as she could manage. The young man gripped her arm, helping her down. He rolled down the hatch and shouted something toward the front of the truck. There was an answering shout, and the truck pulled away through a brightly-illuminated double gate of chain-link fence topped with razor wire. As the truck disappeared into the night, the reality of Emmie’s situation came suddenly into sharp focus.
“Naoto?” she whispered under her breath. There was no answer on the shared channel. Emmie felt her hands turn to ice and hugged her arms to her chest.
The young man with the rifle rushed her into a small building that stood on the near side of the fence. He pointed her to a padded chair in front of a desk and picked up an old-fashioned hard-line telephone. Emmie glanced up at Dom, who stood silent beside her, looking grim. Emmie could hear muted ringing in the phone’s earpiece, followed by the garbled sound of a voice on the other end of the line. The young man said something, waited, said “okay, okay,” and hung up the phone.
“Come with me,” he said.
Emmie shook her head.
“Where is Naoto?”
“We meet him at the lake. Van, yes? The island?”
Emmie took a ragged breath and relaxed ever so slightly.
“Yes. The lake. Okay.”
The man rummaged around in the desk drawer and pulled out a bag, which he pushed into her arms.
“Clothes,” he said, “Wear them now.”
Emmie peered into the bag, which contained a long loose-fitting garment and some sort of head scarf. She pulled the garment over her head and attempted to arrange the head scarf. The young man tried to help her, but he seemed as confused by the clothes as she was. At last he shook his head and said,
“Good, okay. We hurry now.”
The young man turned off the light and opened the door, peering out toward the gate, which was illuminated by bright floodlights. He waved at her to follow him. They slipped out of the building and walked quickly away from the gate, into the darkness.
“Where are we going?” Emmie hissed.
“River boat,” the man answered, “Two, three kilometers from here.”
Emmie remained silent after that, though the man’s boots crunched so loudly on the gravelly earth that she supposed it would not have mattered if she had kept up a steady stream of conversation.
The march to the riverbank provided ample time for Emmie to assess the gravity of her situation. She had no way to contact Falsens or Naoto. There was no telling what anyone else might do if they found her in one country illegally and about to cross illegally into another. She decided that all she could do was be patient and keep following this man.
At least Dom was still there, striding silently alongside her. Even if she could not have seen the worry on his face, though, she would have felt it through the strange connection they shared.
The rocky ground gave way to a strip of thick grass and a few scrub trees. Emmie smelled the water before she heard it, and soon they came to the riverbank. As she stood by the water’s edge, the young man rustled around beneath a cluster of trees and uncovered a small rowboat turned upside down. He flipped it right side up and dragged it to the water’s edge.
“Get in,” he said, holding the boat steady. Emmie stepped in carefully, followed by Dom, and the man pushed off the shore and hopped into the stern. The boat turned slowly in the current while the young man set the oars in the oarlocks, and he began to row f
or the opposite shore.
∞
A burly, olive-skinned man with a dark cap and a thick mustache emerged from the shadows of a tree as the rowboat crunched to a stop on the pebbles of the Turkish shore. He reached into the boat and, before Emmie could protest, lifted her out bodily and set her on her feet. He exchanged a few tense words with the young man in the boat, who then pushed off the shore with an oar and rowed back toward Armenia. Emmie exchanged a fearful look with Dom and said, with as much courage as she could muster,
“Who are you?”
“Goran,” said the man, with a deep voice that matched his barrel chest.
“Where is Naoto?”
“He meets us at Van Golu,” said Goran, sounding almost jolly, as if they were going on a holiday, “The lake, yes?”
Emmie nodded nervously, and the man gestured her to follow him toward an old pickup truck parked on the bare earth beyond the green riverbank. Goran hopped into the driver’s seat, and Emmie climbed in beside him.
They drove south for a long time on an unpaved road through a flat, barren landscape that appeared, in the bouncing headlights of the truck, to be uninhabited. As dawn brightened on the horizon, however, Emmie saw across the arid plain occasional ramshackle clusters of small, flat-roofed buildings, and farther off in the distance the incongruously modern sight of power lines. To the east, blurred by a haze of dust, loomed the awesome form of Mount Ararat, its snow-capped summit gleaming pink and gold. She had seen it for the first time only yesterday, flipping through photographs of the region after reading the story of Akdamar Island.
They came upon a broader paved road after a while, and they continued south through a rural landscape that grew brighter, greener, and hillier as the sun rose. A few hours later, they were driving along a winding river when Emmie caught her first glimpse of the great lake off in the distance. Goran pointed ahead.
“Van Golu. The lake.”
Emmie nodded. On the seat between her and Goran, she saw Dom staring out at the lake, his agitated expression reflecting the churn of fear and hope that she felt.
In the bright light of morning, as Emmie took in the beautiful mountain scenery and spied signs of more modern civilization rushing by — homes with new cars parked out front, low office buildings, cell phone towers, sailboats out on the lake — her nighttime fears faded somewhat.
Goran pulled off the road onto a dirt path that wound through a screen of trees. They came out on a wide, rocky beach. Before them, a small speedboat was moored at a short dock. Emmie felt every muscle in her body relax when she caught sight of Naoto standing at the helm.
Before the truck had quite come to a stop, Emmie pushed open the door and ran out across the beach, waving happily. Goran hopped out and followed close behind her.
“Naoto!” she shouted, “Naoto!”
When Naoto did not wave back, Emmie lowered her hand and came to a stop. So did Dom.
“Go on,” said Goran, the jolly tone gone from his voice.
Dread filled Emmie, and she wheeled around to face Goran. He took her by the arm and led her forcefully onward. Dom trailed silently behind.
∞
Only when she stood beside the boat could she see the man seated behind Naoto. It was Amos Eckerd.
Goran steered her into the boat, and Emmie sank down on a bench seat in the back. Dom sat beside her, and his presence was a small comfort.
“What are you going to do to us?” she said to Amos, her eyes locked on the innocuous-looking silver object he was pressing to Naoto’s back.
“Excuse me just one moment,” Amos said in a gracious Southern accent. He said something to Goran, who responded by unmooring the boat.
“Well, now,” said Amos, meeting Emmie’s eyes again, “I’m so glad to meet you at last, Miss Bridges. I apologize that it had to happen under such unpleasant circumstances. Your … security team has made it quite difficult to arrange a private meeting.”
Goran jumped into the boat and took the helm. With the help of his unidentifiable silver weapon, Amos walked Naoto to the back of the boat, where they sat down side by side, facing Emmie. With his weapon now pressed firmly to Naoto’s thigh, Amos brushed the pleats of his pants and straightened his collar with his free hand. He caught Emmie eying the heavy gold ring on his finger and flashed her a politician’s smile, then continued talking as if the three of them were seated companionably around a dinner table.
“Now, I understand perfectly well how this might look, but I want you to know that no one has the least intention of harming you. In fact, I imagine that we may be able to help each other.”
Emmie’s eyes flicked to Naoto, who gazed back at her expressionlessly, and said,
“Whatever it is you want, Amos, just tell me. You can have it. You don’t need to hurt Naoto.”
“Of course. I was hoping to speak with you about the storage tablet that Tomo Yoshimoto left to you in his will. Do you happen to have that tablet with you?”
Emmie nodded.
“Would you be so kind?” he said, extending his free hand. Emmie fumbled with the compartment on her immerger belt and withdrew the emerald tablet with trembling fingers. She dropped it into Amos’ hand, where it plinked against his gold ring. Amos tucked the tablet into the breast pocket of his jacket.
“Thank you, my dear,” he said, flashing his megawatt smile again. The motor churned, and Goran began to back the boat away from the dock.
“Wait,” cried Emmie, “Please — Can’t you let Naoto go? He knows nothing about what’s on the tablet. Nothing.”
Amos shook his head.
“I’m sorry. I cannot take the risk of further interruptions. You and I have a great deal of business to discuss.”
The motor roared, and the boat set off across a light chop, splashing in the waves. The salty spray stung Emmie’s eyes, and she blinked away the tears.
∞
Dom sat beside Emmie looking out across the waters of Lake Van toward Akdamar. Geologic time had rounded the profile of the little island, but Dom still recognized it as the peak of the hill he had climbed with Ava so many ages ago. To the west he saw the remnants of the volcano that had lit up the sky on his last day in the valley. To the east were the summits of the gentler, snow-capped mountains over which he and Ava had watched a thousand sunrises. And deep beneath the salty waves lay the memory of gardens, orchards, and vineyards they had cultivated together.
Amos spent the twenty-minute passage to Akdamar examining Emmie closely, while she looked away toward the distant mountains, her face drawn. Naoto remained unreadable and motionless while Amos’ weapon bounced lightly against his thigh each time the boat crested a wave.
If there had been any hope of a savior on the island, that hope was dashed as soon as they drew in to the dock on Akdamar. On a chain slung across the two end posts of the dock, a neat sign read in multiple languages:
Notice:
Church Museum closed for seismic retrofit
Visitors prohibited
Goran tied up the boat, then took over Amos’ job restraining Naoto. Amos jumped out onto the dock and offered Emmie a hand, which she ignored. Dom, Goran, and Naoto followed close behind as Amos led the way toward the church on the east end of the island.
Akdamar, alive with spring, seemed an incongruous backdrop to the solemn procession. New grass carpeted the rock-strewn ground and spilled from crevices in the well-kept stone walls and pathways. Birds warbled boisterously from the white and pink and red blossoms of olive, almond, and pomegranate trees. Rabbits sprang from one flower patch to the next, nibbling on the greenery. The heavy morning cloud cover had broken over the lake, giving way to foamy clouds scudding across a clear blue sky.
They came to the stone plaza before the old Armenian church, and Dom looked up at the conical dome flanked by walls formed of the pale red volcanic stone that his stonemason hands knew well. He saw, in the floral and animal motifs worked into the church’s exterior, rough echoes of his final carvings for Ava, though
the work on these walls incorporated newer symbols, as well: faces of saints, mythical creatures, depictions of stories out of legend.
From the warm, sunlit meadow outside, they stepped across the cathedral threshold into a cold, dimly-lit sanctuary. High above, the crumbling plaster of the central dome revealed patches of the underlying stone. Before them stood a grim wooden altar to the Virgin Mary. Around them loomed three apses coated with the faded remains of medieval friezes. The decaying interior so repelled Dom that, for the first time in recent memory, he longed to stand within the soaring walls of Musaion.
∞
Behind them, Amos swung the front door of the cathedral shut and barred it, entombing them in the echoing stone chamber.
“This way,” he said, ushering Emmie toward the altar. She stopped at the rope barrier, but Amos pulled it back and led them through, up several steps toward the wooden altar. Amos stepped behind the altar and knelt to fumble with something near the floor. He rolled the entire wooden altar forward, revealing a trapdoor that had been concealed beneath it. Emmie shook her head, wondering if all temples were home to such secrets.
“Come now,” said Amos, gesturing to Emmie. She stepped forward cautiously and watched as Amos pulled open the heavy wooden trapdoor to reveal a narrow stone staircase carved through the bedrock, descending into pitch darkness. A cold rush of air emanated from the depths, and Emmie shivered.
“Ladies first,” Amos said cheerfully, “Twelve flights of twelve stairs to the bottom. Watch out for the last one. It’s a doozy, as they say.”