Chapter Two
“My agents tell me they are en route to the Library. I must admit, I’m looking forward to meeting the Keeper—the one that is supposed to fulfill the ultimate prophecy.”
“Just be sure to keep your wits about you. Do not forget that she is searching for some of the most dangerous artifacts known to man, and their corrupting influence may be having a debilitating effect on her. I advise you to watch her closely, and note her mental and physical condition—if she is breaking under the strain, you may have to step in to help.”
“I will keep that in mind during our meeting. Thank you so much for your wisdom in this matter.”
“Please—it is the least I can do.”
The sun was shining, and across the street, street vendors were stocking their carts as I walked to the café’s outdoor table. The air was cool, but not cold, and smelled vaguely of ginger. I wondered if someone was roasting some nearby.
Simon rose and gestured at the steaming cup across from him. “I took the liberty of ordering for you.”
“Thanks.” I pulled out the padded chair and sat down. “I need it.”
“Do you want anything to eat?” he asked.
“Not right now—too nervous, I guess,” I replied. The table was set with a white cloth and a small vase of daisies, and I wondered if there were any restaurants left in the US that felt like this place that was so open, and yet so intimate. Nearby, other diners were reading their morning papers or chatting, yet in some way it felt like Simon and I were the only ones here.
“You look—more tired than usual, Jenna,” Simon said. “Are you certain everything is okay?”
I bit back a sharp reply and nodded, sipping my coffee before replying. “I am tired,” I said. “We’ve been moving nonstop since you showed up on my doorstep.”
“I know,” he said. “In fact, I’ve been thinking about something.”
“Oh?”
“If you can hang in there until we find the Board of the Earth, we should be able to take a break,” he said. “Maybe a week or two somewhere warm and quiet.”
I looked at him over the rim of my cup. “Are you serious?”
“Aren’t I always?” he said with a fleeting grin. “I’m not under half the strain you are, and I’m exhausted. We don’t know where the fifth Board is yet, and since no one else seems to have gotten this far, it’s a good bet that it’s quite safe for now.”
I thought about it for a minute, and then said, “Lying low for a while would be a good thing for another reason, too. It might be nice to actually think about what we’re going to do before we do it.”
“Whatever happened to your sense of spontaneity?” he asked.
“It got left at home, along with a lot of other things,” I muttered. “Anything I need to know before we head over to meet your fellow clergymen? I mean besides the obvious rules of no cursing, no taking the Lord’s name in vain, no worshipping of idols, and no suggestive dancing.”
Simon sighed and shook his head. “Those are the main points to avoid,” he said. “You’ll especially want to avoid the suggestive dancing part—there are elderly men in the Church who would likely drop dead in shock.”
“It wouldn’t be the worst way to go,” I said. “I like to think I’m not that hard on the eyes, you know.”
He smiled ruefully, and nodded. “I know.”
It was funny how, since surviving our ordeals in Pompeii, we were finally able to talk like normal people. To laugh and smile and tease each other. It was almost as if, by admitting that we had feelings for each other—even if we couldn’t act on them—we had, by mutual and unspoken consent, decided to be very good friends instead. It felt good to have an actual friend with me, rather than just a companion and chaperone.
We finished our coffees and Simon paid the bill. “Armand is expecting us at the Vatican library in half an hour. We can walk from here.”
“That would be nice,” I said. “I’d like to see more of the city.”
“I don’t know how much we’ll get to see between here and there,” he said. “But the wall that surrounds Vatican City is an impressive sight, and you should really walk up to it the first time you see it.”
“Why do you say that?”
Simon was quiet for a moment, then he said, “Think about this. The Church is supposed to welcome people into the worship of Christ. Vatican City is the home of St. Peter’s and the central seat of authority in the Christian world. Why do you suppose it’s completely walled off?”
It was a good question, and I pondered it as we stepped into the springtime air of Rome and stretched our legs down old sidewalks crowded with bicycles and vendors and people walking to or from home and work. There was an odd vibrancy to the city, and it felt like I was walking along paths built over ancient roads. On every other corner, there was a magazine stand, and on the others there was always someone selling roasted nuts or skewered meat or coffee. At one point, Simon grabbed my arm and moved me out of the way as a young boy ran past, shouts following in his wake.
“What’s that all about?” I asked.
“Gypsy,” Simon said shortly. “They are everywhere here, and they send out the children as thieves to steal purses and wallets. They are like wolves, especially where tourists are concerned.”
“How terrible!” I said, remembering the dream I’d had just before we left Pompeii. In it, I had been chased down dark tunnels by wolfish-looking men. “What kind of a life is that?”
“A tough one,” he admitted, shrugging. “Perhaps they feel as though they have no other choice.”
“There are always choices,” I objected, thinking of my grandfather and how often he admonished me to know what my options were before choosing a path. But my grandfather hadn’t known anything about the path that had been forced upon me after his death. I wondered what he would have had to say about all this.
“Naturally.” Simon steered me gently around a cart selling fresh-roasted almonds. They smelled heavenly. “But the challenge is in seeing them, isn’t it? Sometimes, the choices we have aren’t always easily visible.”
We crossed a busy street and turned a corner. Ahead of us, a massive wall loomed larger and larger as we approached, its gray brick almost black from years of rain and pollution. “Is that . . . ?”
Simon nodded. “The walls of Vatican City. It is independent of Rome and Italy, of course, a state unto itself. You can even get a postmark from there on a letter.”
Our route led us along a sidewalk, with the wall towering overhead on one side and a relatively nondescript street on the other. Looking up, I estimated that the barrier was at least sixty feet high. Maybe more. The bricks were pockmarked in numerous places. I pointed the marks out to Simon and asked what they were from.
“Bullets, mostly,” he said. “The areas where the walls were hit with cannon fire have long since been repaired.”
I thought back to some of my history classes, and how often over the years the Church had also been a place of violence and death. “This place does have a rather bloody history, doesn’t it?”
Simon smiled grimly. “That’s one way to put it.”
“Still, those wars are long past. Why keep the wall up in this day and age?”
“Maybe to keep people out,” he said, “but I think it’s just as likely there to keep us in. Or perhaps to remind us of our not always glorious past. I’ve never been quite sure myself. Perhaps after you’ve been inside, you’ll have your own answer.”
We walked past several wide and open entrances through the wall that had long lines of tourists, then stopped at a much less conspicuous door guarded by two very serious-looking men in blue uniforms with a stylized symbol of a cross on them. Simon showed his credentials and spoke briefly in fluent Italian to them. The language was beautiful, even if I didn’t know what they were saying. Finally, they waved us inside and Simon said, “Come on.”
“Who are the guards?” I asked.
“The Swiss Guards,” he said. “They’ve guarded Vatican City since 1506.”
“I thought Switzerland was neutral.”
“Not here,” he replied. “Here they guard Vatican City and its inhabitants with something akin to zeal. Many have died over the years, protecting St. Peter’s, the pope, and other men of the Church.”
The hall beyond the doors was very dark, like the bricks outside, but I followed him in anyway. We passed through it, and on the far side came out into a small courtyard with a fountain in the center. Stone-lined paths led to several different buildings.
“That way,” Simon said, pointing, “leads to another courtyard, beyond which is the main museum—the one all the tourists get to see. We’ll go this way.” He started walking.
“And we’re going to the library, right?”
“Actually, where we’re going isn’t open to the public,” he said. “It’s underground, beneath St. Peter’s cathedral. A series of rooms in concentric rings. The center is actually directly below the altar itself.”
“Why on earth would a library be kept beneath the church?”
“There are some things in the Vatican’s private collection that are more . . . easily contained by the main seat of our faith.”
I tried to imagine what objects and artifacts must be in such a place, and then dismissed it from my mind. It wasn’t like I didn’t have enough magic and mystery in my life. There wasn’t any need to add to my bad dreams—and I suspected that whatever was hidden in the library could cause at least that.
“Jenna!” Father Andrew rose from his chair as I followed Simon into a room filled with rows of bookshelves. He took three long strides and wrapped me in his arms like I was his daughter. “It’s so good to see you, and know that you are safe.”
In my head, I could hear the distant mutterings of the Boards in the Language of the Birds, but I squeezed my eyes shut and forced myself to ignore them. It wouldn’t be good for Father Andrew to see me talking to myself.
“It’s good to see you, too,” I said, my voice muffled in his shoulder. This was the man who had christened me when I was born, who had presided over my religious education, had helped bury my parents and grandparents. He was from home, and at that moment, I suddenly knew how much I’d missed being there.
I finally stepped out of his embrace, and couldn’t help but smile at him. “You’re looking well.” In truth, he looked worried, but about the same as always otherwise, with thinning blond hair and watery blue eyes behind his wire-rimmed glasses.
“And you,” he said pointedly, “look tired.”
Before I could reply, Armand walked into the room and greeted both Simon and myself. “I see you’ve already found Father Andrew,” he added. “I don’t think he’s left the library since he arrived.”
Armand was the leader of the Templar Knights as they existed today—not as church enforcers, but as a secret society dedicated to the preservation of the Boards and the line of the Keepers. He had done a great deal to protect me in the past, and I knew I could trust him with my life.
It was unfortunate that there was a splinter group of Knights, who had until recently been led by Peraud, whose goals were just the opposite. What would become of them now that Peraud was dead, I didn’t know, but I held few illusions that they’d simply give up and go home.
We all exchanged greetings and pleasantries like we were friends who simply happened to meet here, rather than people all engaged in a search for dangerous magical artifacts. I looked around at the books, many of which were ancient tomes bound in cracked leather. “This isn’t the one that the public gets to see, is it?” I asked Armand.
He laughed quietly. “No, it’s not. There are volumes of lore and knowledge here that are forbidden to the public, and even off-limits to many members of the clergy. Father Andrew wouldn’t normally be allowed within these walls, except for his experience in Miller’s Crossing.”
“Never forget that there are powers in the Vatican that seek us, Keeper,” the Board of the Winds said. “Be cautious in what you reveal here—especially to those you do not know and trust.”
“So how did you get in then?” I asked, trying to keep my voice light.
“As the leader of the Templar Knights, I am allowed certain latitudes that others would not be. Much like you and Simon. Though I would not go so far as to say the relationship between the Knights and the Holy See has been totally repaired. We work together by necessity, rather than choice.”
Remembering my history, I said, “Wasn’t it a Pope who originally disbanded the Knights?”
“And the King of France,” Armand said. “Human men with human frailties and no understanding of what they were truly doing.”
“Find out what the Vatican knows, daughter,” Shalizander said. “It may be the only way to prepare for whatever they will attempt.”
“Attempt?” I asked.
“They will want the power of the Boards for themselves,” she said. “Why else do you think they sent Simon, but to help you and to ensure that they have someone close by to secure the Boards for themselves.”
It was a disturbing point she raised, but I tried to put it out of my mind.
“Simon,” Armand suggested, “why don’t you come with me so you can bring me up to date? That will give Jenna and Father Andrew time to do their own catching up as well.”
“Of course,” he said. “We won’t be long, Jenna.”
I waved at them to go and made my way over to a small trestle table stacked with books. “All this research can’t be good for your eyes, Father.”
Father Andrew chuckled. “It’s not, Jenna,” he said. “But it is fascinating. There have been events much like those that we experienced in Miller’s Crossing throughout recorded history. Many have been deemed natural phenomenon by Church investigators. Others, however, have not.”
“Interesting,” I said, keeping my voice neutral.
Father Andrew sat in the chair next to mine and took my hand, leaning in close enough to whisper. “Your secret is safe, Jenna,” he said. “I have done nothing to confirm their suspicions, but be assured that the Vatican has had agents watching you and Simon’s every move.”
“Gently, daughter,” Shalizander commanded. “Trust is not a commodity brokered in the halls of faith.”
Trying to ignore her, I asked, “How much do they know—or think they know?”
“I’m not certain,” he said. “They do know that you and Simon seek the Boards of Babylon. I don’t believe they know how much success you have had.”
“Do you?” I asked him.
“No,” he said, “and I don’t want to know. I owe my allegiance to the Mother Church and the Holy See, not to power-hungry cardinals.” He squeezed my hand. “I’m more concerned about you, my dear. You look exhausted. Perhaps you should take some time away from all this.”
Before I could answer, a door opened at the far end of the room and a small group of men dressed in the red robes of cardinals entered. One of them broke away and headed toward our table. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with dark eyes and a direct gaze. His hair was the color of ashes, cropped short, and he had a strong jaw that jutted from his face like the prow of a ship.
Father Andrew and I stood as he approached, and Father Andrew gave a slight bow, but remained quiet.
“Father Andrew,” the man said, his voice the smooth texture of honey. It sounded as though he would have made a fine singer. “I expect this is the guest you mentioned. Can I impose on you for an introduction?”
Seemingly started, Father Andrew said, “Of course, of course.” He gestured toward me. “Cardinal Cepheus, this is a very dear friend of mine, Jenna Solitaire.”
Cardinal Cepheus turned to me and nodded, then extended his hand. “Miss Solitaire,” he said in a deep voice. “It is a unique privilege to meet you. I have, of course, heard of you from Father Andrew and our own Simon Monk.”
He expected me, I think, to kiss his hand as some traditions dictated, but instead I shook it firmly. “Cardinal,” I said. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”
“He is a man of many faces and talents,” Shalizander hissed. “A wolf in shepherd’s clothing.”
“Perhaps while you are here, we’ll get the chance to visit in more detail,” he said. “I have heard something of the amazing events in your hometown, and I’d be most pleased to hear your version of them. The world is a strange and wondrous place.”
“Be very wary, daughter. I recognize the taint of betrayal within him.”
I mentally shook myself. I was jumping at shadows, and so was Shalizander. As far as she was concerned, everyone and everything was a potential threat to her goals. I had no reason to distrust Cardinal Cepheus, and all he’d done was politely introduce himself.
“I’d like that,” I said, thinking that the Cardinal seemed nice enough.
I had just decided to ask when he’d like to speak with me when Simon and Armand returned. Cepheus turned his attention to them, nodded to Armand, and smiled softly as he turned his gaze on Simon.
“Father Monk,” he said. “I see you have returned to our precincts—and that the rumors of your return to the faith are true as well. I am very pleased.”
“Cardinal Cepheus,” Simon replied, his voice cold and distant. “I never left the faith, simply the title for a time. I’m surprised to find you here. One would normally expect to find you spending time at higher elevations than these drab surroundings. Surely his Holiness must find it difficult to do without your wise counsel.”
“Do you see, my daughter? Listen to how they fence with words, saying one thing and meaning quite another.”
I realized that Simon had not used the proper title of “Your Eminence,” and knew instinctively that he’d done that on purpose. Then something strange happened.
Simon’s face seemed to shift and change shape briefly, becoming almost triangular. Warping as though I was seeing him through water. I blinked and looked again, but he looked like he always did. Was I so tired that I’d begun hallucinating?
“I spend more time here than one might imagine, Father,” Cepheus replied calmly. “There is a great deal of forgotten lore in these volumes—but you are already aware of this, I am certain.”
Simon shrugged. “I’ve read most of them, yes,” he said. “But the true value of their lore has yet to be determined, don’t you think? So many of the stories are nothing more than illusions or outright lies.”
“We shouldn’t keep the Cardinal,” Father Andrew said to Simon, obviously trying to keep things from getting out of hand. “He surely has better things to do than stand around down here and chat with us.”
It was very clear that Simon and Cepheus knew each other, and that things could turn ugly very quickly. I watched them carefully, and then the same shift occurred in my vision, this time with Cepheus’s face—only he looked more like an animal than a man.
I rubbed my eyes. I was overtired and overstressed. My mind was playing tricks on me.
I started to say something, but Armand spoke first.
“Simon!” he said, his voice carrying in the high-ceilinged room. “I’m positive that you and I have better things to do than to take up Cardinal Cepheus’s valuable time.”
Simon turned and looked at Armand, who was giving him a very direct gaze. “You’re right, of course.” He turned back to Cepheus. “I apologize . . . Your Eminence.”
Cepheus smiled easily. “Think nothing of it, Father,” he said. “From what I understand, you have been under a great deal of strain lately.”
“Traveling the world isn’t as much fun as one might think,” Simon replied.
“Especially,” Armand interjected, “when all those travels have borne so little fruit.” His stare moved from Simon to me and then back again.
“See the tricks they play, daughter?” Shalizander asked. “Each vying to say something while revealing nothing. They all play a very dangerous game.”
“It is a game of power, Keeper,” the Board of the Waters added. “Yet in comparison to what you would wield if you completed the ritual . . . ”
“Yes, the ritual,” Shalizander said. “Once our powers are combined—my magic and your mastery of the Boards . . . ”
“The defeat of small-minded enemies like these would be of no consequence,” the Board of Flames finished.
I tried to focus on the conversation, annoyed at the Boards and Shalizander. My head was pounding with a headache, and I was having difficulty telling which words were spoken in my mind, and which were being spoken aloud by the others.
“Vixisthra!” I shouted, rubbing my temples.
Father Andrew was being respectfully quiet, while Armand and Simon stood there and told lies about our mission. No one had asked me about it, and I was the Keeper of the Boards. It was my life.
“They dismiss you, daughter, because they believe you to be in their power.”
“You should show them what you can do, Keeper.”
I heard Armand ask something about our next destination and Simon made a noncommittal noise and muttered, “Northern Europe, I believe.”
“What takes you there?” Cepheus asked. “Certainly, your expertise might be better suited to tasks here within the Holy See.” He gestured expansively at the bookshelves. “So many mysteries yet to be solved.”
“I do my best work on location, Your Eminence,” Simon said. “His Holiness—through intermediaries, of course—has expressed a desire that I continue on with my current work.”
“And, of course,” Armand interjected, “there is still that matter of working with us to recover lost artifacts.”
“They speak as if you are not even here, Keeper,” the Board of the Winds said. “As if it is they and not you who choose your destiny.”
I felt my teeth grinding together, and between the noise of the men talking and the Boards and Shalizander, it was simply too much. As I watched, everyone’s face morphed and changed, then changed back again. Simon. Cardinal Cepheus. Armand. Even Father Andrew’s features warped and twisted into a mockery of his gentle expression.
The pressure built in my head, squeezing out everything—thought, awareness, vision—and I had to stop it before I exploded.
“Vixisthra!” I shouted. “Just stop it! Shut up! Shut up, all of you!”
The room fell utterly silent as everyone turned and stared at me, and I realized that my words had been shouted out loud and not in my head.
Both Armand and Simon began to speak, even as Father Andrew put a comforting hand on my shoulder. I shrugged it off angrily, and then Cepheus spoke, cutting the other two off. “Gentlemen, you will excuse us, please.”
Everyone, myself included, looked at him like he’d grown a second head.
“I’m sorry,” I said, wondering if I was going completely mad. “I am . . . very tired.”
“Obviously,” Cepheus continued smoothly, “this young lady is in some distress. She is clearly exhausted, and our prattling is not helping matters in the slightest. Indulge me, please, and allow me to counsel her privately.”
I saw Simon’s eyes widen, but I nodded my agreement. If nothing else, I thought, perhaps the Cardinal’s soothing voice would ease my headache, if not my troubles.