by Amanda Vink
“There,” he said, pointing into the distance. All that Marjorie could see was a small pool of water. Is that a mirage?
“We dare not go further,” said Ibn Amid. “None of us wishes to go to Paradise yet.”
Ominous.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” she said, turning to him and the rest of the men.
She got down from her horse and assembled her belongings. She wasn’t taking much with her—just some provisions and the gun that Uncle Charlie had gifted her. She ran her hand along the hilt, then she slipped it into her belt, where it would be easy to grab if she needed it. When I need it, she corrected herself.
There. She was ready.
She faced the group that had accompanied her once more and bowed to them. She smiled when they returned the gesture. Then one of the men took the reins of her horse and led it away. They turned and rode from her, but a few paces later, Ibn Amid stopped and turned back.
“You may wonder why I lead you here after warning you not to go after the Tree of Life. The reason is this: you remind me of my daughter,” he said, smiling. “The same unconquerable spirit. She wouldn’t have been afraid either.”
Marjorie felt warmth rise to her cheeks with the compliment. But she wanted to tell him that she was afraid. In comfortable companionship, they stood for a moment. Then, Ibn Amid turned his horse once more and rode off. Over his shoulder, he called, “May Allah protect you!”
“And you,” she managed, though she couldn’t be sure he heard her over the thunder of his horse’s hooves.
Alone now, she trudged down the sand dunes, kicking up sand. She made her way closer to the pool, which in classic mirage fashion seemed to get smaller as she got closer.
She reminded herself that at one time this small pool had been the meeting point of the original Tigris and Euphrates rivers. There were a very limited number of people in the world who actually knew this, and she was one of them. She suddenly felt gratitude buoy up her heart. What an adventure!
When she reached the pool, she kneeled beside it and retrieved the seed she had been gifted while still in the cave. If this was one of the portals that Frank had mentioned just before Richard showed up, she was pretty sure that she needed the seed in order to make it work. She placed it in the water and watched as it floated on the surface and then ducked under. It drifted down, down to the bottom of the pool.
Marjorie peered close, expecting bubbles to form or an earthquake to rip open the ground, something to show her this journey had not been in vain. But nothing happened.
She waited. Time continued, but nothing changed.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she groaned. Finally unable to sit still any more, she stood up and began to pace. What now? Have I come all this way for nothing?
She stopped in front of the pool and stared down, watching her mirrored form flicker on the waves. “Please,” she begged. “I need this to work.”
She thought of her father then. Belief is one of the most important things in the world. That’s what he’d said. She closed her eyes and focused on the seed. Could she really believe?
“I believe I can save them,” she said. Images of Frank and Hamid flashed behind her eyelids. “I believe this will work. I believe.”
When she opened her eyes, a small pale light glimmered in the water. She felt its pull on her body, tugging her into the water and down toward the bottom. Following it, she stepped into the water. She expected to get completely wet, but instead, she fell through the pool. When she emerged to wherever it led, she was still dry.
Marjorie was no longer in the desert. In fact, she stood on a beach, having emerged from a small pool of water that looked more like a puddle than a portal. Fine white sand stretched before her, and it warmed the soles of her boots. A large green forest canopy grew behind her. Wisps of clouds kissed mountain tops looming behind the trees, and the tips of palm trees vanished into a blue sky. In front of her, an ocean stretched across the horizon. She saw a steamship in the distance, its plumes of smoke visible from afar. Clouds threatened beyond, moving quickly toward land.
She also noticed she wasn’t alone. A young boy walked along the beach, picking up shells. She watched him come closer. If he noticed her, he didn’t appear worried about her presence. Perhaps twelve years old, he had long, skinny limbs, dark skin, and a brilliant smile. He didn’t seem disturbed by anything. He picked up a crab, careful to avoid its pinchers, and put it in a net at his side.
“Where am I?” Marjorie shouted to him.
He looked up, raising an eyebrow at her—this strange woman who didn’t seem to know where she was. He said something in another language, one Marjorie didn’t recognize. Then he smiled. “Lanka, Miss.”
Lanka? Lanka … It sounded familiar. But where was it?
Marjorie gasped, the realization gripped her consciousness. Sri Lanka.
She was in Ceylon.
Ceylon
Chapter Twenty-Five
Marjorie gawked at the red-faced macaque staring at her from the cover of the forest. What a peculiar monkey.
The creature plucked at some kind of drooping yellow flower and tucked it into its mouth. It stared at Marjorie while it did so, as if to ask, Got anything for me? Marjorie moved out of its gaze, which made her a bit nervous, and turned back to the boy.
“Hey!” she called, hurrying after him. She watched him kick over a piece of driftwood and look underneath it.
He looked up at her, saying something else she didn’t understand. He pointed to himself. “Diyon,” he said, putting emphasis on the first syllable. And then he pointed to her and lifted his shoulders.
“Oh, I’m Marjorie,” she responded.
He nodded and returned to his task.
Marjorie once again took in her surroundings. This land was strange to her, but exceedingly beautiful. Her father had never come to Ceylon, had never regaled her with stories about the flora and fauna. In fact, Marjorie knew practically nothing about this land, except for the black, smoky tea that shipped all over the world. What am I doing here? she wondered.
She followed Diyon along the beach, still looking for crabs and shells and other such fancies. The crab he captured before seemed to stare at Marjorie, helplessly extending its pinchers against the netting of the bag. Marjorie couldn’t help but stare at it as Diyon spoke in a torrent of quick half sentences.
“You here for tea?” he asked. “Tea factory not far. My sister work for. She roll dried tea all day, and she come home smell like smoke. Travel on large boat all to England, you know. I like ships.”
“No. Not for tea. I’m here for …” She paused, debating telling him. He’s a child, not a threat. And maybe he can help me. I’m not going to get very far on my own.
“Diyon, do you know anything about the Tree of Life?” Marjorie asked.
Diyon shrugged. “Many tree here.”
She thought hard. “What about Paradise?”
Diyon didn’t respond, and Marjorie could’ve thrown up her hands in exasperation. “Have any ships come in recently, Diyon?” she tried.
“Big ship from Red Sea come yesterday,” he said. “No tea on board, just men.”
Just men. She wondered if they were Richard, Seif, and their lackeys. What about Hamid and Frank? “What did they look like?”
“Like you,” he said.
It must be them! “Where are they now?” Marjorie asked.
“Colombo.”
“Can you take me there?”
“That’s where we go.”
The city existed between the palm trees. The port bustled with life, import and export moving past one another. A new ship waited outside the harbor, ready to drop its load and take on a new one. Bullock carts covered the roads, as well as chickens, and Marjorie had to watch where she stepped.
Then the rain came in, quick and stinging in fat drops that fell like mallet strikes. Diyon pulled Marjorie under the cover of a building. “This monsoon season,” he said. “But this rain go
fast.” He smiled at her, his large beautiful smile.
“Thank you,” she said, and tucked a few coins into his hand—she had no idea if they were worth anything here. He examined them thoughtfully, and they disappeared into a pocket.
“Your ship dock here,” Diyon said. “Men go in there.” He pointed to a medium-sized tavern, its lights illuminating the inside against the darkness that had come with the deluge. Diyon continued, “Most stay here. But few go to Sri Pada to see foot.”
Marjorie had no idea what this meant, but she thanked him again.
Before Diyon left, she asked one more question. “Did you see a young boy with them—the men? Someone your age?”
“He in truck,” Diyon said. “I run by.”
Diyon ran out into the rain to the other side of the road, and sent her a cheeky smile before banging on the truck—a boxy military vehicle with a tied-on tarp in the back. This action earned him yells and swearing from a guard, armed and tasked with patrol. Diyon ran off, too fast for the guard to catch him, and Marjorie caught one last look at the crab bouncing in his net, most likely destined for a soup pot.
***
She was soaked through. Droplets of rain rolled down her nose, dripping off its tip. She wiped the water away. After being in the desert for so long, she had to admit the rainwater felt wonderful. She snuck alongside the truck, her eyes flickering every now and then to the guard resting under an awning close by. The truck was parked near enough to the tavern’s side porch that one could almost move in and out without getting wet.
She wouldn’t fire her gun in the rain, but she could use the back of it, she reasoned. When the guard came round, she struck him as hard as she could over the back of the head. He dropped, knocked out cold.
Marjorie hurried to open the flap and dart inside. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, but when they did, she saw cargo boxes covered with canvas tarps, burlap sacks full of provisions, and at the very center of it all, a man bound by ropes. His face showed the signs of violence—his eyes dark and bruised, and his cheeks swollen from multiple beatings. He opened his eyes and looked at her, and jumped.
“Frank!” she said, rushing to him.
“Are you a ghost?” he whispered.
Marjorie flung herself at him and pressed her mouth against his.
His lips felt solid against hers, and Marjorie sank down into the feeling. It was warm and dizzying. “How’s that for a ghost?” she asked when she pulled away, breathless.
“But—how?” he asked. “I heard the gunshot. I watched them close you up inside the tree.”
Marjorie reached out and stroked his cheek. “There’s no time to explain now. Are you alright? Where’s Hamid?”
She looked around for something she might use to cut the ropes. There was a sharp looking piece of metal sticking out of one of the crates. She yanked on it, loosening it, and then started to saw at the ropes. It was tedious work.
“They took him with their party to Sri Pada, Adam’s Peak,” Frank murmured. “It’s the Sacred Footprint, the spot where many people believe Adam first touched down after being expelled from the Garden of Eden.”
“Do you know where it is?”
Frank’s face fell. “No,” he said.
Marjorie rolled her shoulders. “We’ll have to figure it out.” She sawed, and a layer of rope frayed and split apart. The remaining threads unraveled shortly after, and Frank’s bounds were broken. He stood on shaky legs, grimacing as his joints moved again.
The canvas flap opened, and Marjorie reached for her gun. If she had to fire it, she knew she couldn’t miss, and they would have to run as fast as possible from this place. But she wasn’t quick enough—the soldier already had a gun trained on her.
Frank lifted his arms above his head, and Marjorie had no choice but to do the same. But then, the butt of a gun came from the side, hitting the soldier over his head. Marjorie startled. Who on earth would help us?
Wessaim Seif peered into the trunk impatiently. “Don’t just stand there,” he said. “Hurry!”
They didn’t question it. Instead, they raced out into the rain.
Seif had a smaller car waiting for them, and they dived into the back. A shot fired behind them, and a bullet ricocheted off the door. They exchanged a look and waited for Seif. Moments later, the man himself scrambled into the front seat, slammed the door shut, and hit the gas pedal. The car sputtered, and then took off.
From the back window, Marjorie watched the soldier get into another car. A small group of men tumbled out of the tavern, hurrying to organize themselves. A few of them also got in the car. The vehicle moved a few feet and then stopped, stuck in the monsoon mud.
Seif laughed. Marjorie could barely hear it over the rain and the scream of the engine. “I cut their tires!” he said, beaming. A few more shots rang out, and the back window broke. Marjorie screamed, ducking her head low. Seif swerved, but he didn’t stop. He looked like he was enjoying himself.
Marjorie could only stare at the man, eyes wide. “What are you doing?” she demanded when she could finally speak.
“Saving you!” Seif barked.
Marjorie and Frank could only settle into the back seat of the car and exchange quizzical looks. But why?
***
Over the course of the car ride—punctuated by the sound of pounding rain and the tires slipping along the muddy tracks, throwing everyone around—Marjorie’s anger intensified. The shock that went through her when Seif rescued them dissipated, and in its place grew a burning rage.
She pictured Seif standing over her father’s body, meticulous as he appeared to be in every way. She felt Uncle Charlie’s gun in her hand within her rucksack. Because it was soaked through, she didn’t know if it would fire. She also didn’t know if she had the gumption to shoot an unarmed man, but she thought she might be able to—especially the man who killed her father in cold blood.
The car finally stopped just as the rain began to let up.
“Out of petrol, eh?” Frank asked.
Seif turned the key once, twice, and then he gave up. “It’s no use,” he said.
He got out, slamming the car door shut. With him, he had a bag full of supplies. Marjorie pushed the car door open and struggled to get out. They were parked precariously along the edge of the track, mud gullies making the ground slippery and uneven.
Seif already headed for the deep canopy of woods, and Marjorie hurried to gain on him. Frank, still catching his breath and injured, wasn’t fast enough to stop her—though when he saw the gun in her hand, he called out to her.
Marjorie didn’t turn back. Instead, she started to jog, soon catching up to the stoic man’s retreating form.
“Why are you helping us? Why should we trust you?” she demanded.
“You’d be right not to,” he said. “But I mean you no more harm.” She thought his voice sounded almost angry, which further fueled her own emotions. How dare you?
“Stop.” She pulled her gun on him, leveling it straight at his back, between his shoulder blades. They were taut, but he didn’t appear scared. He turned to face her, his expression unreadable.
“You bastard,” she said. “You killed my father.”
She removed the safety from the weapon. Deadly, the mechanisms clicked into place. Seif did not reach for his own weapon. Instead, he stood resolute with his arms at his sides. His expression, however, softened. “Marjorie Hart,” he said, his voice resigned. “I have done many things in my life I regret. And now I find myself on the wrong side of history. Richard … he has gone mad in his search for power and glory. For a while, I thought I had to go along with it because that’s the road I started on, but I can’t any longer. The man would poison his own wife and child. I can’t … I am sorry for my part in it. If I can make amends, I will do it. If my death helps you, then I am prepared to die.”
Marjorie considered. Her finger rested on the release. His stoicism made her angry. The fact that he offered his life to her made her angry. You d
eserve it, and you shouldn’t get off so easily.
“Marjorie,” Frank pleaded. He had finally caught up to them, and spent a few moments wincing and breathing hard. He stood next to her, his arms up, as if he could do something to stop her.
It would be so easy, she thought, feeling the weight of the gun, the power of her anger. Could she go through with it? She struggled, considering her options and the repercussions. Finally, after what seemed like hours, she dropped the weapon. In her heart, she knew she couldn’t do it.
She handed Frank her gun. He jumped as if it were a snake, as if she had pointed it at him. “Keep this away from me,” she said. Then she gave Seif one last glare and stormed back toward the car.
Frank at first held the gun away from him, then put the safety back on it and tucked it in the back of his belt before following her. “Are you alright?”
Tears came to her eyes, and she desperately tried to wipe them away. There was no time for tears.
“Come here to me,” Frank said, wrapping his arms around her. “It’s going to be okay.” He soothed her and rubbed her back with his hand. Marjorie let herself be comforted, enjoying the feel.
“Do you trust him?” she asked.
“No. But I’ll keep an eye out, don’t you worry. Besides, we need him to find Hamid. I think the man actually knows where this Adam’s Foot is.”
Marjorie had to admit that was true. “Okay,” she said. “Just give me a moment.”
Frank nodded, and he headed back toward Seif. “What are you doing there?” she heard him ask.
“Looking for the shortest path to Sri Pada,” Seif said loudly enough so Marjorie could hear it too. “That’s where they will have taken the boy. The ancestor of Darius the Great: it’s said he’s the only one who can use the seeds to enter Paradise.”
Maybe that’s why I ended up here in Ceylon when I used the portal instead of at Paradise, Marjorie considered. Or maybe it’s because I thought of Frank at that last moment.
She looked at Frank, and her anger toward Seif began to subside as her affection for Frank bubbled up.