Tisa glanced over her shoulder. A local woman Tisa didn’t recognize hesitated at Luc’s side, torn by duty and the unexpected presence of a stranger in the Lama’s bedroom. She was pretty, not far out of her teens, with a round face and freshly washed hair. She was dressed simply in a long skirt and a loose blouse of cotton. She carried nothing, no tray or bowl from which to feed the Lama.
“I’m not sure that you want to stay for this,” Luc said as the girl made her decision and drew closer to the bed.
The high Lama cawed again, becoming animated at the sight of the young woman. The girl paused, her dark eyes darting from Luc to Tisa. Luc made a “go ahead” gesture with his hand. Tisa remained uncomprehending. The Lama tried to reach for the woman with his bound hand, his motions directed at her chest.
It was then that Tisa saw the wet patches at the swell of the woman’s bust. She was a nursing mother, her breasts heavy with milk.
Tisa whirled away, unable to hide her revulsion as the woman began to undo her buttons.
Luc laughed. “It’s the only way he’ll eat,” he explained cavalierly. “Though we did have his teeth pulled. He kept biting the wet nurses.”
The Lama’s agitated noises were suddenly replaced with a contented mewling. Tisa refused to look, although her brother watched for a moment. She stormed past him.
“How could you?” she hissed so hard it hurt her throat.
He grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her into his arms so their mouths were inches apart. “I told you it would have been better if the stroke had killed him. The pillar of our community has been reduced to an infant. Maybe it is punishment for continuing the program to counter the time drift that developed in the oracle’s predictions. The Order should never have started moving rivers, constructing towers, and digging holes in an effort to change earth’s chi.”
Tisa twisted so she wouldn’t have to look at her brother’s face, a visage so much like her own. “I hate you.”
“One of these days you’ll see things my way. Not now, I understand, but soon, very soon.” He kissed the top of her head and released his grip. “In the meantime I’ll make sure no harm comes to you, as we wait together for the world to be transformed.” He looked past her shoulder. Donny Randall stood at another entrance to the living quarters. “Take my sister back to her cell, Donny, then meet me in my office.”
Tisa couldn’t stop crying as the big man lumbered at her heels through the sprawling building. She’d been away a few months, but it had been even longer since she’d seen the Lama. She should have stayed. She could have prevented Luc from usurping power as he had. Her duty was here, at Rinpoche-La, not on the outside. Had she not wasted so much effort contacting Mercer, maybe she could have saved a portion of the Lama’s dignity and with it the purity of the Order.
Half a millennium of planning and surviving was about to unravel in a way even the oracle couldn’t have predicted. For centuries the Order had been free of the pettiness that had destroyed so much that was rational in the world, the squabbles that blossomed into wars, bankrupting nations and killing millions. The innocence they had enjoyed for so long was lost, as lost as the Lama’s mind.
Maybe Luc was right, she thought, capitulating to her own inner darkness. Maybe nothing humanity had created was worth saving. After all, she’d seen there was an ugly reflection to all things beautiful. The first joyous cry of a newborn was the same sound as the dying wail of a starving child. The same techniques that created great cathedrals helped the construction of concentration camps. The same laboratories that produced chemicals that cured also made those that killed. Art and music and free expression had all been perverted by hate by those bent on sending their own unholy message. Religion, politics, family, it was all so easily distorted that little of the good behind these ideals remained.
She trudged up the steps to her cell, barely able to shoulder the burden of her feelings. Her strength was gone. Since she’d first learned the mysteries of the Order, she’d always held hope that she’d been selected for a special task, that she would be the one to break the cycle that had kept the Order together but doomed it to the role of Cassandra, the figure from Greek mythology endowed with the gift of prophecy but unable to convince others of the future. She realized now that it didn’t matter that she had convinced Mercer. Events were inalterable. Her true purpose, she saw bitterly, was to witness the end of everything, to be the last watcher stuck on the fringes of calamity.
Tisa had dammed up so much in her life, watched as devastation overran the world, stood by knowing she could have helped, all the while fighting for a time when she could make a change. Time had been her enemy, the most hated element she’d ever known. She’d fought it for as long as she could, hoping she could steal a moment and slay the beast. But there was no stopping time and only now was she willing to concede defeat.
They reached the upper floor. Donny fumbled with a key ring as Tisa stepped into her cell.
“What time is it, Mr. Randall?”
“Huh?” Donny looked up from his work, lost count of the keys and had to start from the beginning to find the right one.
“I asked for the time.”
“How the hell should I know? It’s nighttime. Don’t worry about it.”
“I guess maybe I won’t.” She eased herself onto the bed.
Once Randall had the proper key, he could turn his mind to his next concern. “Your brother’s going away in a couple of days. My orders are to keep an eye on you. I just wanted you to know my eye isn’t the only thing of mine that’s gonna be on you, if you know what I mean. You ain’t got much tit, but I figure if you were good enough for Mercer, you’re good enough for me too.”
Tisa had expected this was coming. Randall had done little to hide his leering interest since shortly after he’d pulled her from the Aegean. “Fine. By all means, rape me all you want. I just hope you understand that molesting me isn’t going to get you any closer to the person you really want.”
“Yeah, and who’s that?”
“It’s obvious you’re using me as a surrogate for Mercer. He’s the one you want to rape. He’s the one you want power over. You’re only with me so you can pretend I’m Mercer.”
Donny bristled. “Are you calling me some kind of fag?”
“No. I’m calling you a deeply sick person. And if you touch me even once, I am going to hurt you in ways you’ve never imagined.”
Randall pulled himself to his full height, the top of his head scant inches from the underside of the doorframe. “Brave words now. Let’s hear them again when your brother’s gone and I’ve got a knife to your heart.”
“Then I’ll do us both a favor and walk into it.”
Not understanding what she meant, Randall the Handle shot her a scowl and slammed the door, jamming the key in the lock as though it were an act of violation.
At another time, Tisa would have been scared, but she truly didn’t care any longer. Being raped by Donny Randall was nothing, a small taste of the shame she was just beginning to sense from her own failures.
The next day Luc knelt before an altar on the monastery’s second floor. The smell of incense was thick and the low dirge of chanting monks reverberated around the spartan temple. To the disciples behind him it appeared that Luc was deep in prayer. He was in fact thinking about his next course of action but he understood the symbolic role he had to play. While the Lama lived, he couldn’t don the sacred blue robe. However, by acting out the Order’s mysteries and rites he was laying the foundation for his eventual consecration.
In the months since the Lama’s stroke, Luc had steadily brought the Order’s younger brothers to his cause. Like him, they were drawn to the promise of power in the wake of the cataclysmic destruction of civilization. It was the old guard who resisted the changes he wanted to implement. Luc would soon leave Rinpoche-La again. Tisa had always been a poor liar and he knew Mercer was still alive. While there was nothing Mercer could do about the eruption, Luc wanted him dead. But before he could fulfill that mission, he had to solidify his position here in the monstery.
The prayers went on for six straight hours. As the voices of some monks faltered, others took up the chant. Even Luc added his voice, one more small deception. As the sixth hour ended, Luc came to his feet. Despite the forced inactivity, his muscles hadn’t cramped and he moved easily.
“My brothers,” he called softly. While the fifty younger monks stopped chanting immediately, it took several minutes for the dozen older monks that Luc had invited to this special prayer to return from their trances.
