The Medusa Stone

flailing to free himself from the sheets’ tangling embrace. He had to find her; nothing else mattered. Then he heard a voice and he looked to his right. The room was just large enough for the bed, a desk, and a chair. The walls were white and clean, the floors were bare and well swept, and through the single window he could see it was twilight. A crucifix above the desk was the room’s only decoration. A young boy dressed in a long robe stood at Mercer’s bedside. He spoke again in Tigrinyan, ignoring Mercer’s incomprehension.

“Selam,” Mercer finally croaked.

“Selam, Selam,” the youth greeted. “Kemayla-ha?”

The boy must have been asking about his condition. “Hmak.” Bad. It was one of the few words Mercer had learned.

“Shemay Tedla iyu,” the boy said, pointing at his chest. “Men shem- ka?”

Mercer understood the boy’s name was Tedla. He pointed to himself. “Mercer,” then added, “Selome?”

The boy gave a lengthy reply, but Mercer understood none of it. He let out a frustrated breath. Tedla poured water from a pewter pitcher and held it for him.

After draining the cup, Mercer settled under the coarse blankets and was asleep in moments. The next time he woke, he was alone and his room was dark except for a single candle burning on the desk. In its glow, he saw that a plate of fruit had been left for him. He had recovered enough to be hungry and reached for it, wolfing two man-goes and a banana before weakness overcame him and he was back asleep.

The candle had gone out when he regained consciousness again. A haunting sound echoed beyond his chamber. Mercer was disoriented, nearly panicked by the darkness, his own weakness, and the faint noise. Slowly his mind brought him back to the present, and his heart rate eased. He recognized the noise as a song, a chant. Then he remembered everything in a rush, the march through the desert, Selome’s finding the water in the cave. Fuzzy pictures flashed in his mind of men carrying him and Selome from the cave up a steep trail to an ancient building. He lay in the darkness and smiled, letting the monks at their midnight prayer serenade him back to sleep. They’d made it to the monastery!

When the sun woke him, Mercer had enough strength to lever himself out of bed and dress. His clothes had been laundered and lay in a bundle on the desk. He was surprised to find he needed to use the chamber pot sitting under the bed. At least his kidneys were still functioning.

Once in the hallway, Mercer began to weaken but he continued past several closed doors until he came to the refectory, a large cleared table dominating the room. He sat at one of the chairs and lay his head on the tabletop, his breath coming in uneven gasps. Selome. He needed to find her.

He must have passed out again because suddenly Tedla was taping at his shoulder and speaking to him gently. “Where is everybody?” Mercer asked.

Tedla held up a finger to indicate Mercer was to wait and scampered from the room. A minute later, he returned with another, older monk. There was a reassuring air about the man, a comforting quality that radiated trust. It wasn’t just the gray beard and the long dark robe. There was something behind his eyes that spoke of compassion and understanding.

“Selam,” Mercer greeted. “Do you speak English?”

“Selam. No. Italiano?”

Mercer shook his head. “Parlez-vous francais?”

“Un peu.” A little.

Mercer switched effortlessly into French, but he spoke too fast for the monk and had to slow. “My name is Philip Mercer. I’m a mine engineer working here in Eritrea.”

“Selome Nagast is awake for many hours, Monsieur Mercer. I know who you are. My name is Brother Ephraim.”

“How long have we been here?” Mercer could barely understand the monk through his thick accent.

“Last night was your second.”

Mercer had slept through nearly thirty-six hours! The Eritrean refugees would be reaching the mine soon; maybe they were already there. He felt his chest tighten with a new panic. “I need to leave.”

Ephraim spoke to his acolyte and Tedla ran off, leaving Mercer alone with him. It was clear that they would need a translator if they were to continue their conversation. Soon after, Selome entered. Her ordeal had dulled her eyes some, but she was still beautiful. The weight loss made her already high cheekbones more prominent and her eyes larger. Relief flushed through Mercer and he closed his eyes, opening them again to drink her in. When he tried to stand and meet her embrace, she held him to his chair, her arms twined around his neck, her cheek laid against his. “How are you?” she asked softly.

Before Mercer could reply, Brother Ephraim coughed, drawing their attention. Selome pulled away and adopted a demure attitude in front of the ascetic. He spoke for several minutes, Selome thinking through her translation before turning back to Mercer.

“Brother Ephraim is the monastery’s abbot and he welcomes us to Debre Amlak. He says it is highly irregular for a woman to be allowed within the compound, and he is concerned about our relationship.” She spoke to Ephraim for a moment and then switched back to English. “I told him that you are a man of honor and I am a chaste woman who is promised to another.”

“You lied to a priest?”

“What should I have told him?”

“You shouldn’t have said I’m a man of honor, that’s all.” Mercer suppressed a grin. “Tell our host that any carnal thoughts in my condition are impossible. Thank him for his hospitality and for carrying us up from the cave and ask him how he managed to find us.”

“He says that the cave is his retreat from the monastery, a place for him to enjoy an even greater sense of solitude. He discovered us himself and went to get other monks to bring us here.”

“A retreat from a retreat?” Mercer wondered aloud, thankful nonetheless.

“He and I spoke yesterday when you were still unconscious, and I told him about our search for an ancient mine. He seemed to know all about it.”

“What, the mine?”

“That, yes, but us too. He acted as though he’d been expecting us, or at least you.”

“Don’t go mystical on me, Selome.”

“I’m just telling you what happened.” Selome was interrupted by Ephraim. The elder cleric spoke for a few minutes.

Mercer watched Selome’s reactions. Whatever the abbot was saying stunned her. She asked Ephraim a few questions before translating for Mercer’s benefit.

“Brother Ephraim was never meant to be the monastery’s abbot. He fell into the position by default when the monks returned home during the war. He told me this by way of explaining why he did what he did, why he read a book that was never meant to be seen again.”

“What are you talking about?”

Selome ignored Mercer’s questions. “There is a book here titled Shame of Kings. Ephraim said that only one other man has read it, Debre Amlak’s previous abbot, a man whose faith it destroyed. Ephraim says the former abbot died believing God’s punishment for his sacrilege was Eritrea’s years of struggle and suffering.

“Brother Ephraim read it a few weeks ago because another monk predicted that an ancient secret was about to be revealed and that someone would come to question the priests about it. I think he believes that someone is you.”

Feeling like cold death, Mercer didn’t know what to say. When he looked at Ephraim, he saw the priest was serious. It sent a superstitious shiver up his spine. “Why me?”

“For one thing, you and I are the first outsiders to visit this monastery in decades. Also, when I told him that you’re a miner, he said that your presence here and your professional skills make perfect sense when you consider the subject of the book.”

“My being a mine engineer relates to some old religious book?”

“The Shame of Kings is more of a history than a religious text; the chronicle of an ancient diamond mine in Eritrea first worked by the priests of King Menyelek. It’s the story of the mine we just discovered.”