“Quite,” Griffin concurred ominously.
Chapter 24—High Way to Heaven
The diviner tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for a response to his rap. The door remained closed. He pounded more insistently. “Brother Andrew!” His voice echoed down the silent corridor.
A few minutes later, the herbalist opened his chamber door. “Oh, I’m sorry, Father. I was at the back of the infirmary. I didn’t hear you.”
“Never mind.” Abraham swept in and surveyed the waiting room—three or four empty chairs in the front alcove, then a short corridor which led back to a consulting room and the herbalist’s store of supplies.
The diviner held up an empty bottle and gave Brother Andrew an accusatory stare. “You aren’t making this preparation properly anymore.”
“Father?” the herbalist asked weakly.
“As you can see, the bottle is empty. You gave me a full supply less than a week ago.”
Brother Andrew’s eyes darted nervously toward the door. “Please come through to the back room, and we’ll discuss the matter.”
Metcalf followed him and was led to a large open area at the rear of his chambers fitted with shelves and bookcases built into the walls. The shelves held bottles and jars, the bookcases various medical reference texts.
“Please sit down.” The herbalist indicated a chair in front of his desk.
The diviner sat and placed the empty bottle on the desk in wordless reproach.
Brother Andrew scrutinized the label and instructions. Then he looked up. “This quantity should have lasted you for several more days.”
“I suppose it might have done if you’d made it correctly,” Metcalf sniffed.
“I—”
“You obviously didn’t concoct as strong a mixture as the first bottle. I had to take twice the dosage you prescribed in order to sleep as deeply—to dream as sweetly.”
“Twice!” The herbalist registered shock at his own exclamation. He tried in a softer voice. “Father, I warned you that this medicine is very powerful.”
“Not nearly as powerful as it was at first. You must have diluted it.”
Brother Andrew’s face took on an expression of owlish concern. “The second bottle was filled from the same batch as the first. In fact, I shelved it the same day I delivered the first bottle to you.”
This information gave Abraham pause. He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms defensively. “Well, something is clearly amiss here.”
The herbalist sighed and tried again. “This medicine has certain properties which you need to be aware of. Over time the body will build up a tolerance to it. If you continue to take it every night, then you will need to increase the dosage to achieve the same effect.”
Abraham narrowed his eyes. “How much more will I need to take?”
“That is a very individual matter. Sometimes twice as much. Sometimes less. Of course, if you could do without it for a day or two, you won’t build up a tolerance as quickly.”
“Impossible!” The diviner rejected the idea out of hand. “I have never slept this well before in my entire life. As my responsibilities increase so does my need for rest. I cannot direct an organization of this size without proper rest!”
“Yes, of course.” Brother Andrew retreated.
“And far more than rest, I need to maintain my connection to the Lord.”
“I don’t understand.” The herbalist peered at him quizzically.
Abraham allowed his gaze to drift off into space. “This medicine has granted me visions of the world beyond. It has given me the power to discern things to come, to discourse with angels. I am the Lord’s chosen prophet. With this medicine I can, at last, hear His voice perfectly. I know His will with absolute certainty. I can execute his plan for the Nephilim with no hesitation.” Abraham trailed off, noticing the frightened look on Brother Andrew’s face. “You’ll simply have to make more,” he concluded awkwardly.
The herbalist said nothing at first, apparently weighing how much he wished to offend his leader. “There may come a time when you’ve built up an extreme tolerance...” He hesitated. “There may come a time when the medicine won’t work as you expect it to.”
“What do you mean?” The diviner felt a sense of panic rising. To have finally found a solution to his problem and then have it snatched away was worse than never experiencing these sublime visions at all.
“It occasionally happens that the pleasant dreams are replaced by others.”
Metcalf raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“Other not so pleasant dreams. And not merely dreams. You may begin to see... things... Strange shapes, phantasms during your waking hours.”
“Nonsense!” The diviner waved his hand as if he were swatting a fly. “Until that day comes, you will supply me with as much of this medicine as I require. Is that understood?”
Brother Andrew gulped and nodded. “If the nightmares should return, you may wish to break off using the medicine. I feel obligated to warn you that stopping is far harder than starting was.” He stood and walked to a shelf near the window. Selecting a small brown bottle, he handed it to the diviner. “This should last for about a week. In the meantime, I’ll distill more.”
Metcalf took the bottle and rose to leave. “Double the quantity you prepared last time. I don’t wish to run out.”
Brother Andrew scurried around the desk and blocked his path. “Please, sir, remember what I said. Even a prophet of the Lord is not immune to the effects of too much medicine.”
The diviner laughed humorlessly. “I’m sure if that were true, the Lord Himself would give his prophet ample warning.”
Chapter 25—Upon Reflection
Cassie walked along the shoreline looking into the depths of the clearest lake she’d ever seen in her life. According to rumor, the water was even safe to drink. Lugu Lake was classified as “alpine” despite the fact that it was a continent away from Switzerland. The designation was most likely due to the lake’s nine-thousand-foot altitude. Lugu’s daunting elevation didn’t trouble the pythia though. Thanks to her stint in Tibet she’d learned how to cope with thin air. The same locale had taught her another useful
