“Can I go to the chapel?” Gabriel asked. “I’d like to see the manuscript.”
“There’s no electricity,” Sister Ruth said. “You’d have to use candles.”
“I just want to see what my father was reading.”
The four nuns glanced at one another and appeared to make a common decision. Sister Maura stood up and walked over to a chest of drawers. “There are enough candles on the altar, but you’ll need some matches. Keep the door closed or the wind will blow the flames out.”
Gabriel zipped up his jacket and left the cooking hut. The only light came from the stars and a three-quarter moon. At night, the four beehive huts and the chapel looked like dark mounds of rock and dirt, tombs for Bronze Age kings. Trying not to trip on the uneven pathway, he walked past the nuns’ dormitory and the hut called the saint’s cell where Mother Blessing was living. A faint bluish light glowed from an upstairs window of this building, and Gabriel wondered if the Irish Harlequin had a computer attached to a sat phone.
He climbed down the steps to the lower terrace and opened the unlocked chapel door. It was hard to see until he lit three large beeswax candles that burned with a dark yellow flame.
The chapel’s altar was a rectangular box about the size of a small chest of drawers. A large wooden cross was attached to the top, and the rest of the box was decorated with carvings of mermaids, sea monsters, and a man with ivy growing out of his mouth. Kneeling in front of the altar, Gabriel found a crack that outlined a central drawer, but couldn’t find a latch or a handle. He pulled and pushed each carving, but none of these pagan decorations opened the drawer. He was about to give up and return to the cooking hut for instructions when he tugged the wooden cross an inch forward. Instantly, there was a clicking sound and the drawer slid open.
Inside was a large object wrapped in a black cloth, a small college notebook with a cardboard cover, and two books. Gabriel unwrapped the cloth and found a manuscript with a heavy calfskin cover and vellum pages. The first page had a painted illustration of Saint Columba standing on the bank of a river. Although the book was very old, the colors were still bright. On the page opposite the picture was the beginning of the Irish saint’s confession written in Latin.
Returning to the drawer, Gabriel inspected the other books. One was a worn English/Latin dictionary; another was a battered textbook for first-year Latin students. He opened the notebook and discovered his father’s translation of the manuscript. The meticulous handwriting reminded Gabriel of the shopping lists his father used to pin onto a bulletin board in the farmhouse kitchen. Both he and Michael would check the list every morning to see if their parents had decided to buy store candy or some other treat for supper.
Holding the notebook close to a candle, Gabriel began to read about the saint’s experience in the First Realm.
Four days after our celebration of the Virgin’s ascension into heaven, my soul left my body and I descended into this cursed place.
Gabriel turned the page, reading as quickly as possible.
They are demons in the shape of men and live on an island in the middle of a dark river. Light comes from fire-And then his father crossed this last word out and tried other alternatives. Light comes from flames and the sun is hidden.
On the last page of the notebook, Matthew had underlined several passages.
No faith. No hope. No path revealed. But by God’s grace, I found the black doorway and my soul returned to the chapel.
Returning to the twelfth-century manuscript, Gabriel began to turn the vellum pages and inspect the illustrations. Columba wore a white robe and had a gold halo behind his head to show that he was a saint. But there were no demons or devils in this version of hell, only men wearing medieval clothing and carrying swords or spears. While the saint watched from behind a shattered tower, the citizens of hell tortured and killed one another with an unrestrained savagery.
He heard the door squeak open and turned away from the altar. A figure passed through the shadows and entered his small circle of candlelight. Maya. She had one of the nuns’ black shawls wrapped around her head and upper body. Following Mother Blessing’s example, she had discarded the black metal tube and carried her Harlequin sword openly. The scabbard strap crossed her chest and the sword handle rose behind her left shoulder.
“Did you find the book?”
“Yes. But there’s more than that. My father didn’t know Latin, but he worked out a translation and wrote it down in a notebook. It’s all about Saint Columba crossing over to the First Realm. I guess my father wanted to learn about the place before he went there.”
A flash of pain passed across Maya’s face. As usual, she seemed to know what he was planning. “He could be anywhere, Gabriel.”
“No. It’s the First Realm.”
“You don’t need to cross over. Your father’s body is still in this world. I’m sure he’ll come back eventually.”
Gabriel smiled. “I don’t know if anyone would be eager to return to Mother Blessing.”
Maya shook her head and began to pace. “I’ve known her since I was a little girl. She’s become so negative, contemptuous of everyone…”
“Was she always so intense?”
“I used to be in awe of her bravery and her beauty. I still remember traveling with her on a train up to Glasgow. It was a sudden trip-we didn’t have time to prepare-and Mother Blessing wasn’t wearing a wig or any sort of disguise. I remember how men looked at her; they were drawn to her, but they also sensed something dangerous.”
“And you admired that?”
“That was a long time ago, Gabriel. Now I’m trying to find my own path. I’m not a citizen or a drone, but I’m not a pure Harlequin either.”
“And so what kind of person do you want to be?”
Maya stopped in front of him and made no attempt to hide her emotions. “I don’t want to be alone, Gabriel. Harlequins can have children and families, but they’re never really attached to them. Once my father held up my sword and told me: ‘This is your family, your friend, and your lover.’”
“Remember when we sat on that bench and looked out at the ocean?” He reached out and placed his hands on her shoulders. “You said that you’d stand beside me no matter what happened. That meant a lot to me.”
They were having a conversation-words floating through the cold air-but suddenly, almost like a magic spell, there was a transformation. The island and the chapel fell away and the world became the two of them. And Gabriel saw no concealment in Maya’s eyes, nothing false. They were connected to each other in some deep way, far beyond their roles as Traveler and Harlequin.
The wind pushed at the chapel door, testing its strength, trying to force its way inside. Gabriel leaned forward and kissed Maya for a long time, but then she pulled back. A powerful tradition had just been destroyed like a scrap of paper tossed into a fire. The desire he had felt for so many months pushed all his other thoughts away. When he looked at her, it felt as if there were no barriers between them.
Gently, he took the sword from her shoulder and placed it on a wooden bench. Gabriel returned to her, brushed the hair from her face, and they kissed again. Maya pulled away, but this time very slowly. She whispered in his ear.
“Stay here, Gabriel. Please. Stay here…”
21
An hour later they lay together on the floor wrapped in the black wool shawl. The room was still cold and they were only half-dressed. Gabriel’s shirt was draped over the bench, and Maya felt his warm skin touching her breasts. She wanted to stay here forever. His arms were around her; for the first time she could remember, it felt as if someone were protecting her.