Dark Rising

by Monica McGurk

  “Just paint and gold leaf, I’m afraid,” Enoch said quietly from over my shoulder. “But beautiful in their own right.”

  I nodded, trying to swallow my disappointment.

  The echoes of feet on the stone floor drew my attention. I turned around to find that Raph and Michael had joined Enoch.

  Raph crossed his arms with obvious impatience. “Anything?”

  I shook my head, casting my eyes down to stare at the worn stones, which priests and pilgrims had tread for untold years.

  “No, of course not,” Raph mocked. “Michael, your prophetess is failing you. What say you now?”

  Michael’s face was blank, as flat as that on the painting that hung on the wall. He looked at me coolly, appraising me with a distanced eye. Only the vein throbbing in his forehead gave away that he had any feelings at all.

  I tried to drag my eyes away from his penetrating look but found I couldn’t.

  “I think we need to give thanks,” he said, his eyes never leaving my face. “And pray for a successful start to our journey, for this is only the start, I am sure. Raph, give me your change.”

  Raph started to protest, but a sharp look from Michael cut him off. Indignant, he dug into his pocket and drew out a handful of coins, thrusting them into Michael’s upturned hand.

  “Go ahead.” Michael’s eyes directed me to the low rail at the side of the altar. Behind it stood a bank of pillared candles and votives, some already dancing with little flames. A utilitarian metal box stood in front on a low table. I saw something move in the shadows and noticed a small woman, folded into a shawl, tending the candles.

  I walked over to the table, unsure of what to do.

  “Give me your hand,” Michael instructed as he edged in next to me. I hadn’t been this close to him since Las Vegas, and the sudden burst of his scent, the feel of the heat radiating from his skin, was a shock. Swallowing hard, I turned my palm up. He cupped the underside of my hand and my entire body quivered as a jolt of heat raced up my arm. He didn’t move, steadying my shaking hand as he dropped the coins in one at a time.

  “Place your offering in the box and light the candles.”

  Behind us I heard Raph shuffling his feet. “It’s a silly human superstition, Michael. Why are you even bothering?”

  Michael shrugged, looking up at me as he spoke. “It may be silly, but it can’t hurt anything. Go on, Hope. Maybe you can bring us some luck.”

  I swallowed, not wanting to pull my hand away from Michael’s. But I did, closing my fingers so tightly around the coins that their worn edges seemed to cut into my skin. I turned to the table and noticed a cushioned place to kneel. I lowered myself onto it and then dropped the coins, one by one, into the box, each one clanking against the emptiness inside.

  I looked up and saw the old woman watching me intently. She gave a subtle nod, encouraging me on.

  A cluster of long matches stuck out of what, long ago, must have been a pitcher. I drew one out. The woman bustled forward and drew out a matchbox, pointing to the strip of sandy paper on its side. I dragged the match against it and watched the flame burst to life. The woman beamed, her mouth a gaping hole with only a few yellow teeth. She muttered something to me, drawing me closer to the candles, nodding at me to continue.

  I looked at the candles. What, exactly, should I pray for? I could imagine what the few lonely souls who lit candles before me had asked for. Recovery from an illness, or perhaps just cessation of pain. Entry into Heaven for a loved one who had passed away. Peace from whatever troubles kept them awake at night.

  But how could I ask for what I needed? Please, God, let this journey end? Please, God, let me wake up and find it has all been a dream? Help me find The Key before it is too late?

  Please keep Michael from killing me?

  Or what I really wanted to pray: Bring an end to his pain, God, for I can see his agony. And please, God, let everything he said to me not be a lie.

  You’re so melodramatic, Henri, my guardian angel, whispered in the back of my mind. Let’s get this over with.

  I sighed, defeated and betrayed by my own thoughts and leaned over to light a candle. I watched the flame flicker and dance, growing stronger and leaping up high until it drew back into a steady burn.

  “Time to go,” Enoch intoned. “I think we’ve done enough for the day.”

  I pushed myself up and turned to go, leaning instinctively toward Michael. The urgent, hurried voice of the woman tending the candles chased after me. She hurtled herself around the tiny shrine and thrust herself upon us, her voice insistent as she took my hands in hers and repeated herself over and over in a language I didn’t recognize.

  “What is she saying?” I asked, looking around at the men. Enoch looked amused, Raph indignant, his hard face turning several angry shades of purple.

  Before they had the chance to answer, the woman reached out and took Michael’s hand, placing it firmly in mine, squeezing our fingers closed so they clasped. She gave a satisfied pat to our entwined hands, squeezing them once again, firmly, before letting us go.

  Reaching into her dress, she pulled out a folded pamphlet and shoved it against Michael’s chest, her speech now coming with staccato insistence. She poked a finger at his chest until his other hand snuck up to take the flimsy piece of paper in hand.

  She beamed at us both. Then, satisfied her work was done, she bustled back into the shadows, leaving us standing in the twilight of the church, holding hands.

  “What is it?” I asked. Reluctantly, I let go of Michael’s hand to take the pamphlet. I opened it up, smoothing out the wrinkles from where Michael had clutched it. I held it up to the meager light from the windows, trying to make out what it was. All the writing seemed to be in Turkish, but the text was peppered with pictures of churches, mosques, and ruins.

  Michael drew the paper away from me. “Let me see that.” He flipped the paper over. Perplexed, he shot a glance over his shoulder at the woman, now nearly invisible in the darkness. “How did she know?” He handed the paper off to Enoch, who glanced at it quickly before passing it to Raph.

  “Know what?” I pressed.

  Raph cleared his throat. “It’s a map.”

  “A map of what?”

  “It’s a tour of all the shrines and churches dedicated to our friend here. Every one of them, in the entire city of Istanbul.”

  “What?” I snatched the map out of Raph’s hands. “Let me see.”

  In the dim light I could make out the crosshatch of city streets, the winding Bosphorus and Sea of Marmara that made up the city map. Little red crosses studded the sprawl of the city. I scanned it quickly. Nearly twenty, I estimated, my heart sinking.

  “We’ll never be able to search them all.”

  Michael reached down to take the map, his hand closing over mine. I looked up, startled by the deliberate contact. His steely eyes glinted, his jaw set hard. Whatever we’d shared just a moment ago was gone. He was angry, and determined, once again.

  “You’ll just have to try harder, then, won’t you?” His words hit me like a slap in the face. I felt tears gathering in the corners of my eyes, threatening to take away my last shred of dignity.

  “It’s not for want of trying, Michael,” Enoch intervened, reaching between us to take the map and stepping in to separate us. He folded the map carefully as he spoke, regarding Michael with caution. I took advantage of the distraction he was causing to wipe away the errant tears with the back of my hand.

  “Look, night descends. You have need of sleep and food. We all do, in this human guise. As you said, we are just at the start of this quest; you cannot wear yourselves, or each other, out so soon.”

  Michael’s lips pressed together in a hard line as he looked down on the shorter Enoch. “Fine,” he capitulated. “Have it your way, old man.” He brushed through us, stalking down the aisle and out of the church, Raph trailing after him. My eyes followed him despite myself.

  “I’m doing the best I can,” I whispered wea
kly as the door slammed behind them.

  “I know, Hope,” Enoch said, patting my head awkwardly. “He’s not himself. Not now. He probably won’t be as long as we are searching for that blasted rock. Best for you to get used to it now.”

  “Why can’t I tell where we are supposed to go?” I asked, desperate for a solution. “I thought with Michael’s powers …” I let my voice trail off, unsure how much I should say.

  Enoch’s voice became eager. “So it’s true. It really happened.”

  “Yes,” I admitted, my misery only deepening. “But I didn’t mean for it to happen. I didn’t know.”

  “Of course not, my dear. I can’t really say why it isn’t working for you; perhaps it will only come in flashes. But we must be very careful. Michael is quite vulnerable in this state. His normal instincts cannot be relied upon. And he is equally unpredictable. His emotions are getting the best of him. As is the pain.”

  I thought of how easily Michael seemed to swing from gentleness to disdain for me and nodded.

  “You must be careful around him, Hope. You should spend the time you need with him to figure out this mystery, for I’m guessing it will take both of your skills to do so. But I would keep it at that. You don’t fully understand your own feelings for him; and his for you . . ? Ah, those only God knows. Best not to stir the pot. The most important thing is that we find the Key.”

  I nodded dumbly, knowing what he was saying was true.

  The door to the church swung open, banging hard against the massive stone walls. Raph’s voice rang out.

  “We’re waiting.”

  Enoch leaned into his cane to create the momentum for the walk down the aisle. “Help me, my dear, would you?”

  I scurried to his side and took an arm.

  “Thank you,” he said, pulling me along as he began his shuffling walk down the aisle.

  I stole a quick glance at his face as we moved. I could barely make it out in the waning light. I still found it unsettling that I couldn’t see his eyes behind the pair of sunglasses he always wore, but then again, there wouldn’t be anything to see in those blind eyes. Was it that which made his expression so hard to read?

  We swung the door open and stepped out into the night. I shivered, the chill reminding me I had only a hoodie to protect me against the sharp air.

  “We must get Hope indoors,” Enoch pronounced, watchful of my every move.

  “Sultanahmet,” Michael said, taking the map back from Enoch and shoving it into the back pocket of his jeans. “The Old City. We can be there in an hour, maybe a little longer.”

  Enoch raised an eyebrow. “You are thinking of a hotel there?”

  Michael shook his head curtly. “No. We have arranged for a house in the back of the quarter.”

  Enoch wrinkled his nose. “Why, for heaven’s sake? Are you deliberately trying to increase your misery?”

  Michael turned, dismissing Enoch’s complaints. “It will be safe.”

  “From what?” Enoch shuffled after him, awkwardly negotiating the steps. “There is nowhere you can seek shelter that you cannot be found by the Fallen.”

  “The Fallen are not all we have to worry about,” Michael said gruffly, not slowing his pace. He was headed back toward the traffic of the financial district, drawing us out of this ancient place back toward the bustle of the modern day. In the distance I could hear honking horns and the occasional blast of a ship heading in or out of the harbor.

  Enoch looked over his shoulder to where I stood at the top of the steps.

  “What is he talking about, Hope?”

  I shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

  Michael laughed out loud, more of a bark than a laugh, as he turned to face us both, throwing his duffle bags down on the glistening pavement in frustration.

  “Not sure? Let me clarify. We are in Istanbul, long-time bridge between East and West, nexus for trade and transport. The modern age has not changed the unique aspect of geography that is and always will be its entire reason for being; it has just made it more sordid. You are standing in one of the human trafficking and slavery capitals of the world. Every day war-ravaged and desperate people hand over their life’s savings, hoping for an escape to the promise of a new future that so easily slips from the lips of the men who guarantee them safe passage, if just for a little more money. Every day, they are packed inside of trucks and ships, packed so tight, and so full of expectation, that they cannot breathe, dreaming and wishing against reason that, finally, they will be safe. They believe, because they have no choice, that there really is a way out, that there really is a job waiting for them at the end of their hellish journey, that this is their new beginning. And every day, they are lucky if they find themselves in servitude at the end of their trip, instead of sinking to the bottom of the stormy ocean or being abandoned in the cold and wild halfway through, their money disappeared, cast off in a strange no man’s land.

  “You, Hope, who outwitted one of the most violent trafficking rings in the world with the stunt you pulled back in Las Vegas, you are in their territory now. Do you think they will just let you go? Who knows what sort of tentacles they have, reaching all the way even to this place? This place you have chosen to begin our search may be the exact place we need to be, but it is one of the worst places in the world for you to be right now. So we need to lay low.” He cut off his speech, glowering at us both.

  “Does that explain it to your satisfaction, Enoch?”

  Enoch nodded grimly. I swallowed hard.

  “I didn’t realize,” I said simply.

  “No, of course you didn’t,” Michael said stiffly, turning on his heel. “You never do. And really, how could you? Let’s go.”

  Raph fell in silently next to Michael as they strode away, Enoch and I struggling to keep up.

  We reached Sultanahmet—the district that was the oldest and at the very heart of the city—after night had fully shrouded Istanbul. The bright lights of the old mosque quickly gave way to dark alleys. Michael and Raph negotiated them with ease, sure of their direction as we went deeper and deeper into the maze of old buildings, ignoring the watchful eyes that stared out from noisy cafés and tiny shops. Here and there, fat stray cats, content with the kibble that was strewn across the cobblestones for them, lounged, never bothering to move, but tracking us with heavy lidded, vigilant eyes as we invaded their neighborhood. Block by block, we seemed to go back in time, until we found ourselves facing rows of ramshackle wooden houses, upper stories jutting out to claim the street. The wood was black with age and rot. The scent of mildew and decay floated in the air, mingling with the ever-present salt of the sea. For once, I was glad that Enoch had gone a little heavy on his cologne; it made the smells from the street a little bit easier to bear.

  “Here we are,” Michael said without ceremony as we approached a lonely house on a corner. The homes surrounding it seemed abandoned, no welcoming lights shining in the windows.

  Raph sniffed. “Not much to look at.”

  “Which is exactly how I want it,” Michael said emphatically. “There is no one of consequence on this block or the next. Any uninvited visitors will be easy to spot.”

  He swung one duffle bag behind him, his shirt stretching across his strained shoulders, and walked up to the door to rattle the knob. He drew out a key and worked the stiff lock until the door swung open. “You and me first,” he said to Raph. “You two stay here until we are sure it is safe.”

  I looked over my shoulder. I wasn’t sure waiting in the deserted street was the safer option, but I didn’t want to annoy Michael, so I kept my mouth shut as they disappeared inside the house.

  “It’s a shame,” Enoch murmured, staring at the decrepit buildings that occupied the length of the street. “This used to be so beautiful. People used to fight for these homes, especially the ones with the views of the sea or the strait. And now look at them. Passed over.”

  “You’ve been here before? I thought you’d been trapped in the desert, waiting out yo
ur punishment all this time.”

  Enoch waved his cane in the air as if dismissing my question. “It was a long time ago.”

  I looked around, trying to imagine what it had been like. I struggled to see any sign of beauty amidst the ruin and waste, my eyes drawn to the persistent weeds and debris.

  Raph poked his head out of the door. “You can enter.”

  Lonely, tuneless howls split the night, one after another, and Raph smirked.

  “Some things never change,” he said, his ear tilted to the night sky. “You’d best come in before the wild dogs get here.” He disappeared into the dark maw of the house, not waiting for us to follow.

  I went through the door first and began climbing the stairs, listening for Enoch’s thumping cane behind me. I couldn’t see anything, but felt my way with my hands, the wood of the narrow walls rough beneath my fingertips where strips of wallpaper hung like ribbons.

  I emerged into a small vestibule. Across the room, a wide arch beckoned me into the large, open space ahead. The dim light of a fire glowed, filling the room with a soft haze and the gentle crackle of shifting logs. I moved instinctively toward the promised warmth, crossing the hall in a few easy steps.

  A gasp of delight escaped my lips as the firelight shifted and I looked around me. “Oh.”

  The room was much larger than I had even guessed—perhaps a ballroom in a previous life. And somebody had taken obvious care with it. The wooden floors were polished to a golden sheen, reflecting back the dancing flames. White walls looked freshly painted—only a few cracks and holes in the plaster gave away the wear of time. Intricate moldings wrapped around the length and breadth of the walls, and graceful swags and garlands decorated the mantels above the fireplaces that stood at either end of the room. Enormous windows, stripped of what surely had been grand curtains, looked out upon the very tip of Istanbul, the few lights of homes on the hill below us twinkling like stars and the waves beckoning where the strait met the ocean.