What was the cause of death, was it the same haemorrhaging as the others?
‘Yes.’
Do you know what’s causing it?
‘We’re working on it.’
Is it a virus?
‘No.’
Is it contagious?
He didn’t answer, he just turned and ran up the steps to the sanctuary of the hospital.
‘Thirteen people came out of the mountain. Now only four remain.’
The picture changed and Liv stared at her own photograph sandwiched between one of a dark-haired woman she vaguely remembered and another of a green-robed monk lying on a stretcher, blood streaming from uniform cuts all over his body.
‘Of these, three are still in hospital, their condition said to range from comfortable to critical.’
Shaky news footage showed a dark-haired man being manhandled into the back of a police car.
‘The fourth remains in police custody, where he is being held for questioning.’
The picture froze and Liv’s heart rolled over as she recognized his face and a name surfaced in her mind.
Gabriel.
Seeing him brought a cascade of feelings and memories.
She remembered him smiling down to her in the darkness of the Citadel, and his arms holding her in the ER after he had brought her out, protecting her until the cops had come to take him away. He had cradled her face in his hands and held her eyes with his.
If you get the chance, then go, he had said, as far from the Citadel as you can. Keep yourself safe — until I find you.
Then he had kissed her, full on the lips, until they’d pulled him away, leaving her alone in the screaming chaos of the hospital.
She touched her lips, remembering the kiss, wishing she could remember more. She had to get out of here, Gabriel’s warning and her own instincts told her that. She needed to go somewhere safe to try to piece together the fragments of what had happened in the darkness of the mountain, far away from the dark influence of this place and the meds that were making her mind fuzzy. She needed to go home, she felt it with the sharpened instinct of the hunted.
Then, as if something had sniffed her fear and been drawn to it, she heard the squeak of a shoe on the vinyl floor outside. She stabbed the remote to silence the TV and, just as she settled back in her bed — the door began to open.
10
The Citadel, Ruin
The rain lashed the mountain as Brother Gardener led the small delegation outside into the walled garden at the heart of the Citadel. It had been agreed that the heads and acting heads of the main guilds were the only people permitted to enter, until the condition of the trees had been properly assessed.
‘There,’ Brother Gardener said, pointing at the uppermost branches of an apple tree. ‘See the discoloration in the leaves.’
Even Athanasius, who knew little about nature, could see the tree looked wrong. It appeared to be readying itself for autumn rather than bursting with the vigour of spring.
‘When did you first notice this?’ Axel asked, his policeman’s demeanour sliding through the nasal drone of his question.
‘Just yesterday. But I haven’t been spending much time in the garden, what with all the clear-up work inside the mountain.’
‘And before that there was no evidence of this… blight?’
‘No.’
‘So all this has come about since the explosion?’
‘I suppose it has, yes.’
Father Malachi turned to face Athanasius. ‘You see?’ he said. ‘You should never have allowed the Sancti to set foot outside the mountain. Something sacred has been upset by your actions. This is a clear manifestation of it.’
Athanasius stepped past to inspect the withering sections of the tree. ‘Have you ever encountered anything like this before?’
Brother Gardener shrugged. ‘From time to time.’
‘And what were the causes then?’
‘All kinds of things cause blight — drought, insect infestation, disease.’
‘Might something like an earthquake cause it?’
‘It might. If the ground shifts sufficiently, then roots get broken and the tree starves.’
‘And would we all not agree that the shock of the explosion travelling through the mountain was similar to the effects of an earthquake?’ He turned to Malachi. ‘I realize we are all under tremendous strain because of what has happened here, but now is not the time for superstition and panic. Now is the time for clear heads and calm leadership.’ He turned back to Brother Gardener. ‘What would you suggest as the best course of action?’
The big man stroked his beard and surveyed the trees. ‘Well, if it is as you say, then it won’t get any worse. We can cut away the bits that are dead and dying to speed the trees’ recovery. But if it is something else,’ he cast a furtive glance towards Malachi, ‘then it will spread.’
‘And how might we stop it?’
He took a deep breath as if preparing to pronounce heavy sentence. ‘We need to cut as deep as we dare and then burn everything we remove. It’s the only way to make sure any disease has gone.’
‘Very well, then I suggest at first light you assemble what men you need and carry out what has to be done. As for the rest of us, we should reassure our brothers that we have inspected the garden and it has sustained some damage from the after-effects of the explosion, but that Brother Gardener has it in hand.’
‘And what if it turns out to be more than that?’ came the nasal enquiry of Brother Axel.
‘Then we will deal with that too. We are stretched thin as it is. I advise that we deal only with the real problems that face us, not the imagined ones that might.’
Axel held his gaze, giving no indication whether he was swayed by his reasoning.
‘You are right.’ It was Father Thomas. ‘We are all tired and apt to jump at shadows. We should remember that, until the elections install new leaders, our brothers look to us for guidance. So we must steady the ship and seek to reassure rather than agitate.’
Athanasius had always been fond of Father Thomas. He spent many an evening with him discussing subjects ranging from philosophy to archaeology and everything in between. He found his company intelligent, rational and calm.
‘The best way to reassure the brotherhood would be to re-instate the Sancti.’ All eyes turned to Brother Axel. ‘It would demonstrate a return to order and instantly calm the mountain’s mood.’
‘But who would elect them?’ Thomas asked.
‘We cannot address the issue of the Sancti until we have an Abbot to propose them or a Prelate to confirm their elevation,’ Athanasius continued. ‘Therefore any discussion of the Sancti must wait until after the elections.’
Axel switched his gaze between Athanasius and Father Thomas, as though tracing a fine thread stretching between them. He turned to Brother Gardener. ‘I will post some of my men at the entrances to the garden in case any inquisitive brothers decide to take a midnight stroll. If there is anything else you need from me, let me know.’ Then he turned and marched away.
Athanasius watched him go, feeling the chill of the rain more keenly. There were clearly two factions
