Dracup noted all this subconsciously. His arm throbbed with a dull beat. He concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other, all senses alert for a frightened child. His brain transmitted a repetitive mantra in time with his footsteps: She can’t have gone far. He was relieved that their two-abreast formation had defaulted Moran as his travelling companion; he didn’t trust himself to speak to Sara. He didn’t know if he felt anger or disappointment at her betrayal. All the while she had known. She could have warned him. Said something. Anything. And yet, he conceded, she had tried to protect Natasha, or so it seemed.
The DCI broke into his thoughts. “Can you feel it?” Moran said.
“Say what?” Farrell’s voice came from behind.
“A heaviness in the air? Yes, if that’s what you mean,” Dracup said. He noticed that he had slowed down, his legs somehow reluctant to take him any further. His breathing was laboured, yet they were on a flat trajectory. It was becoming more difficult to see the way ahead; the strange luminescence of the waterfall and its environs had faded to a thin, faint twilight.
Dracup paused. “Here.” He bent and examined the ground. In the thickening dust were the clear imprints of a child’s feet. Dracup straightened and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Natasha!” The sound was muted, as if an invisible fog had descended, trapping his voice and returning it void.
Moran pointed. “Do you see what I see?”
Sara took Dracup’s arm. For the first time, Dracup hesitated. About a hundred metres ahead of them, two giant gates rose up from the cavern floor towards the distant roof. Dracup tilted his head but the apex was out of sight, lost in the enveloping darkness.
Farrell let out a low whistle. “That sure ain’t part of the Korumak setup, huh?”
Dracup took a step forward. “No. No, I don’t think it is. Sara?”
She shook her head. “I’ve never been here. I’ve heard rumours, but—”
“What sort of rumours?” Moran was beside her, his eyes glinting with excitement.
“Beyond the gate of God,” Dracup muttered. “The body was laid to rest outside the gate.” He turned to Moran. “Potzner’s expert was partly correct — but the reference wasn’t to Babylon.” He felt a creeping sense of awe. There was no doubting the evidence before them. He was speaking very quietly now, almost to himself. “The reference was to Eden.”
They approached the towering structure. Dracup stretched out a hand and placed it on one of the upright supports. It felt cool to the touch. His finger came away marked with a residue of carbon.
“Fire?” Moran was examining the metalwork.
“Sure,” Farrell said slowly. He was looking up, soaking it all in. “This gate was guarded by fire.”
All heads turned to the American. Sara was nodding, tight-lipped.
“When they were expelled from the garden, God placed an angel with a flaming sword to guard the gates of Eden.” Farrell shrugged. “It’s all there in the book of Genesis.”
“But they’re open now,” Dracup muttered. “And look.” He pointed to the continuing line of footprints. “She’s in there somewhere.” He began to follow the prints along the length of the gate until he came to the point of entry where the two great elevations separated. He beckoned. “Over here.”
“I’m sorry.” Sara backed away. “I can’t. It’s forbidden.”
“Then stay put,” Dracup told her. “There’s no need for you to follow.” He was conscious of a new sensation; a fragrance emanating from beyond the gate, a sweet, almost sickly smell. Its enticement was powerful.
“Can’t you feel it?” Sara was trembling. “You mustn’t go in.”
“I’ll stay with you, ma’am,” Farrell offered. To Dracup he said, “Go right ahead, Prof. I’ll watch out for her.” He smiled awkwardly.
Dracup felt a momentary pang of disquiet. There was something in Farrell’s demeanour—
Then Moran spoke. “There’s no time for this. We go in fast and get out fast.”
Dracup ran a hand absently through his hair. “Right then,” he said, with more conviction than he felt. “We’ll meet you back here as soon as.” He retraced the footprints to the opening between the gates. His hand was on the cold material of the giant upright, Moran’s feet crunching through the dead soil to join him.
And together they stepped into Eden.
Sara watched the receding figures. There was nothing more she could do here. Someone else needed her now. “Farrell. I have to find my brother. Will you help me?”
She looked at the American and realised with a shock exactly what it was that she had seen in his eyes. Confirming her thoughts, Farrell reached out and placed his hand gently on her cheek. “You don’t have to ask. You know I will.”
Chapter 40
The blighted subterranean landscape enveloped Dracup and Moran like a shroud. What little conversation had taken place between the two men had quickly been relegated to wordless glances and grunts of effort. The deepening layers of ash — and other remains Dracup didn’t care to examine too thoroughly — impaired their progress. He grimaced each time the pressure of his weight produced a dull crack underfoot; bone or bough, it evoked the same feeling of horror and loathing. A dead place. And then there was the cloying, sickly smell inhibiting his breathing with every faltering step. It reminded Dracup of childhood summer days, when the summer sun had over-ripened what little fruit remained hanging from the trees or lay, wasp-ridden and wasted, on the water-starved grass of his parents’ orchard.
Still the small footprints led them on. Dracup felt an invading weakness, a sapping of energy that made him want to stop, lie down, sleep forever. The box was getting heavier and he felt the heat of its contents against the bare skin of his arm. He shifted its weight and found himself struggling for breath.
“You have to fight it,” Moran said through gritted teeth. “She got this far and further — so can we.”
Dracup grunted a response, conserving his resources. He wanted to tell Moran that he was grateful for his company. To make this journey alone would be unthinkable. And yet, Natasha had done just that. He struggled to understand why. Was it fear? Or a response, perhaps, to some whispered summons? He mopped his brow and caught Moran’s shoulder. “I have to put this down. I can’t carry it any further.”
Moran nodded. “No one else around. It’ll still be here on the way back.”
Dracup planted the box at his feet with a grunt. The box fell away, peeling back from the glowing metal inside. They watched the cardboard turn to ash.
“Come on,” Moran prompted. “There’ll be time for answers later.” The policeman shifted his backpack with a grunt.
There was a strange look on Moran’s face. Dracup wondered what was in the backpack. He opened his mouth to form the question, but Moran’s expression silenced him. Keep walking, Dracup. Just keep walking.
They passed through a glade of petrified trees, the trunks huddled closely together as if for comfort. By an exposed root lay the skeleton of some old inhabitant, its skull resting upon yellowed forepaws, dark eye sockets observing their passing with ambivalent stare. Moran was muttering to himself. “My God, my God. This is awful.” He had wrapped a handkerchief across his mouth, but Dracup could see the fear reflected in his eyes.