Mengistu tried in vain to avoid the potholes as the Jeep bounced and shimmied along the rutted road. He checked the rearview mirror frequently, but his famous passenger just stared out the window, apparently lost in thought. Her companion was slouched down beside her, in all likelihood attempting sleep.
#
As the Jeep headed down the road, Mariah barely noticed her surroundings. Focused inward, she was guided by something that transcended physical terrain.
She had not spoken since deplaning at the Axum Airport. Their pilot secured them and their luggage into a waiting vehicle and became their chauffeur. After assuring himself that she needed nothing from him at the moment, Thomas slouched in his seat in an attempt to relax.
The outskirts of town passed and Mariah’s preoccupation lifted. She was certain this had been the village of her dreams, but time and progress had transformed it into a town of concrete structures and paved roads. The forest was gone, but the air was still sullen with unnatural moisture due to buildings and roads men had created using material mixed with water. A perspiring population and condensation from irrigated landscaping contributed to the artificial humidity. It’s like breathing pea soup, she mused, although she was barely conscious of the heat that tried unsuccessfully to penetrate the armor-like hair covering her body.
Several turns right, several left … and Mengistu slowed to a stop in front of an unpretentious house. Glancing in the mirror he said crisply, “Please remain here. I will notify your host of your arrival.” She and Thomas exchanged a look of expectancy as the Ethiopian headed for the front door.
During the ride to town, Mariah had not received any psychic communication from whomever (or whatever) was out there. And she was not prepared for the unexpected wave of exhaustion that hit her just as the door to the house opened. A slight figure was illuminated from the candlelight within.
She sagged against Thomas. He looked over her shoulder as Mengistu and their host approached the Jeep. His eyes were held by black ones, those of a man who smiled serenely at him then placed his hand on Mariah’s head.
“She is well,” he said in a voice soft and musical. “She requires immediate and uninterrupted sleep while her spirit readies for the ceremony.”
Used to cryptic comments by now, Thomas lifted Mariah out of the Jeep and, cradling her against his chest, followed the men into the house. Their host held back a flap of cloth that separated a smaller room from the main one. With a nod, Thomas moved past him and laid Mariah on the overstuffed pallet in the middle of the floor. After Mengistu brought in their luggage, he and their host left, giving Thomas the privacy he needed to remove Mariah’s clothes and settle her under a lightly woven blanket.
He suddenly felt profoundly tired himself. Poking his head out around the curtain, he bid good night to the two Ethiopians. Stripping out of his travel clothes, he joined Mariah under the blanket. Within minutes he too was asleep and breathing deeply.
#
Four hours later, Mariah woke with a start. Jumping to her feet, she stared at the wall before her. The soft moonlight glancing through the small window gave poor illumination to the dark corners of the room. She sensed ... something. Reaching out psychically, she tried to make contact but received no response. Yet ...
Mariah took several tentative steps then halted. She hadn’t felt this sense of vulnerability since Frannie’s death. But fear was replaced by a sudden and overwhelming peace. Warmth, serenity … almost as nurturing as the Visitation when she and Emmanuel experienced the Joining. Closing her eyes, she rocked slightly in an invisible embrace as love and protectiveness mingled to sooth her.
And in this state of euphoria, she received the anticipated message.
She never sensed Thomas beside her as he spoke her name, quietly at first then more urgently when she didn’t respond. The psychic connection disengaged abruptly and she staggered slightly from the release. When her eyes opened, the first thing she saw was the face of her lover, apprehension causing stress lines to radiate from his compressed lips.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice harsh with anxiety.
“I bet you’d like to have a dollar for every time you ask me that question.” They shared a tender smile. “I need to eat large quantities of food before sunrise. I have an appointment at dawn.”
#
Aleris was angrier than Emmanuel had ever seen her. She did not display her fury, at least not in the same manner her partner manifested. She neither paced nor flung herself about. Instead, she sat perfectly still, entirely focused on the black vid-screen before her.
It was the psychic link between them that alerted Emmanuel to her state of profound rage. He felt her muscles contract so brutally, he feared she would cause herself permanent damage. And then they released slowly. Her heart beat rapidly and steadily as she filled her lungs to capacity with every inhalation, only to exhale slowly and completely.
He had limited knowledge of Anorasian physiology so he was not sure how long she could keep all her systems functioning at this level. Yet he admired her ability to appear calm as she spoke to the Chazreen on the screen before her.
“Why are we not privileged to the identity of the one who will assist us?” she inquired, her voice neutral, not betraying her suppressed emotions.
“He must remain anonymous for the security of us all. Nevertheless, know that he will come to her aide when the need arises.” Bov’shiatvan smiled gently, hoping his calm demeanor would allay her concerns ... but he was not successful.
“Are you aware that our satellite has been compromised? That the Neural Matrix Information Processor was breached and psychic readings of the human were captured? The data could be in the hands of the Min’yel’os as we speak. We must be able to protect her and ourselves, Chazreen. Surely this guardian must understand.”
Emmanuel felt cold sweat dampen his brow. She, however, was in control of her emotions once again, even in the face of such disastrous news.
But the Chazreen remained unperturbed. “Peace, my child. For a fact, this is not the case. Secure is the data. In short time you will be gladdened.”
She relaxed slightly. Nonetheless, before she could continue, Bov’shiatvan held up his hand to forestall her questions.
“No more can I say. When the time is right, there will he be, devoted and ready. Trust you in the power of the Great and Glorious, He who will Guide your steps and bring you to His Light.” So saying, the screen blanked and the transmission ended.
She sat rigidly for several seconds then relaxed each muscle in turn until once again she was back to her normal state of serenity. She smiled at Emmanuel’s look of alarm and said softly, “So. Our Mariah hastens off to another continent on a mission we cannot fathom, led by the voice of millennia past we cannot hear, and watched over by one of immense power we cannot know. Truly are we blessed in our knowledge.”
Emmanuel grinned at her unusual display of sarcasm as he received her psychic message of acceptance. He shuddered inwardly when he thought of Sateron’s reaction which would not be nearly so serene. Still, his heart quickened with anticipation.
Chapter 49
They were waiting in the main room when Thomas and Mariah exited the bedroom. Dancing light from scented candles and the glow from two gas lanterns banished the darkness of night into the corners of the room.
Mariah smiled tentatively at her host. She remembered seeing his face when Thomas carried her into the house several hours ago.
He looked nothing like the ancient guide from her first dream of the village, but his eyes held the same serenity and race wisdom of countless generations of Ethiopian Jews who came before him.
He returned her smile and said, “Sanbat Salam, Miss Carpenter. Welcome to my home.” The musical quality of his accent was both soothing and reassuring. “I am Andualem Tadesse and I am most honored to be your host for the duration of your stay in Axum. My wife and I share in the pleasure of
your company during our Sabbath. We are most eager to share our traditions with you and Mr. Raphael.” He paused to allow her time to acknowledge his words with a greeting also traditional.
“Sanbat Salam, Mr. Tadesse, and please call me Mariah. It is we who are honored to be included in your holy day of celebration. Thank you for your generosity in opening your home to us.”
As if on cue, the front door opened and a slight woman entered. She wore a pale blue scarf that matched the color of her loose, unbelted dress. With each measured step, the dress swung gently and gracefully.
Cradled in her arms was a large earthenware pot, swaddled in several layers of heavy cotton cloth. Behind her trailed two boys approximately ten and thirteen years old. The older one carried a pot only a bit smaller than his mother’s, while the younger bore a flat dish covered with another white cloth.
The boys’ eyes grew wide when they saw who the guest was in their home. They had read about her in the Axum Daily, their news source for everything pertaining to their country and the world outside. Nevertheless, after one quick glance at Mariah, they respectfully dropped their eyes.
“This is my wife, Helina Matewos,” Mr. Tadesse said, the introduction acknowledging the Ethiopian tradition of a wife retaining her maiden name. “The stew was prepared yesterday. It was buried behind our house to preserve its heat since no fires can be lit on the Sabbath.”
Exchanging smiles with Helina, Mariah and Thomas settled on the woven floor mats next to their host. “My youngest son, Salahadin, will serve the traditional Sabbath bread called dabo, while my eldest, Tarikawi, will assist his mother.” So saying, the mesob, the common platter, was held steady by Tarikawi as Helina ladled on food from the pots.
“The spiced beef stew we eat for our Sabbath meal is called siga wot, and the red lentil stew is kae misr wot ,” Mr. Tadesse pointed out. “This meal we consume prior to sunrise. Come, Mr. Raphael, do not be shy. Eat hearty, Miss Carpenter; the food must sustain you until we break our fast at the evening services tomorrow.” His eyes twinkled. “Knowledge of your healthy appetite precedes you. My wife was most pleased to prepare several dishes for your enjoyment.” Helina smiled shyly at her guests, delighted by the gratitude in Mariah’s eyes as she viewed the feast.
The siga wot was deliciously seasoned, losing nothing to flavor though it was not hot. Helina took a piece of the flattened dabo, wrapped it around a choice morsel, and popped it into Mariah’s mouth. Following the tradition, Mariah protested smilingly while a second gursha followed the first. Then the third followed with the admonition “hulet yat’alal” which meant “twice causes disharmony.” The kae misr wot made Mariah chuckle, eliciting the same from the others when she regaled them with a story of her father’s first and only attempt to cook lentils. The outcome was a pot filled with soup so thick it not only bubbled like a lava pit, but held upright the wooden spoon he used to stir it.
They spoke quietly and easily as if her presence at their Sabbath meal was a common occurrence. Even the boys were encouraged to speak once they got used to Mariah’s appearance.
The meal over, Helina Matewos placed tiny siniwoch, or coffee cups, on a four-legged wooden tray then poured a little water in each for the ritual rinsing. The cups were then filled with strong coffee boiled over a candle while Andualem Tadesse intoned the words of tradition: “Ye bunna sibatu, mefajetu,” which meant “the pleasure of coffee is in its burning sensation.”
Immediately after the coffee, Helina gathered up the dishes and Mr. Tadesse disappeared into his bedroom, emerging seconds later with a white cotton robe and leather sandals. With a solemn bow and a sweep of his hand, he showed Mariah to a small room off the far end of the dining area. For the next ten minutes the only sound that came from that direction was the splash of water and her tuneless humming. Thomas chatted with the two men who understood he was too distracted to participate wholeheartedly in the conversation.
Mariah finally emerged … and Thomas’ breath caught in his throat.
Scrubbed clean, her tawny skin shone in the warm glow of the candlelight. The robe looked like it was made for her, skimming over her body perfectly. The hem came just to her ankles while the straight sleeves broke just at her wrists. The leather sandals on her feet completed the Spartan look. The only word that came to his mind was “ethereal,” and by the expressions on the faces of Tadesse and Mengistu, it was apparent they agreed. Even the stark whiteness of her hair seemed to mellow in the soft light.
Mariah beckoned Thomas to the furthest corner of the room. She gazed into his eyes and said softly, “I’m going to the beit makdas, the synagogue, with Mr. Tadesse. He’s the cahenat, the head of the congregation, and has to be at the synagogue before sunrise to unlock the doors and receive the elders prior to being joined by the people attending worship.
“I’m sorry, my love, but you can’t come with me. It’s going to be a long day for you, but I’ll be in the temple until sunset. These people might possibly be giving up their safety just to allow me to join them in their temple. Furthermore, they will greatly compromise their religious beliefs. I can’t ask them to do more by allowing you to come.”
She pitched her voice even lower, the sound reaching his ears in a whisper. “Besides, I don’t think I’ll be staying in the temple very long.” Her look told him not to ask, but he could see that excitement bubbled in her eyes.
In a more normal tone of voice she said, “When the sun sets, someone will come for you, and then you can join me for the communal feast.”
Her face, glowing with excitement for what was to come, also held compassion for his exclusion. As he reached out to touch her, she backed away. “Sorry,” she said, “but I’ve just gone through a ritual bathing and no man can touch me until after I emerge from the beit makdas.” She grinned at him when he jammed his hands into his pockets, a forlorn look on his face.
Mengistu approached them deferentially. “Pardon me for intruding on your private conversation, but I am not Falasha—not Jewish—and therefore do not participate in the Jewish Sabbath. It would be my pleasure, Mr. Raphael, to accompany you today on a tour of our historic sites. I have been told you are a photographer; I am sure you would delight in capturing our ancient artifacts on film.” Thomas brightened instantly, thanking Mengistu for his offer.
Donning a dark, blue shawl embroidered with Ethiopian designs which covered her from her head to nearly the hem of her dress, Mariah walked alongside Mr. Tadesse in the chilly morning air. As yet, the sun had not crested the horizon, but the full moon and glittering stars were bright enough to guide their way as they walked solemnly toward the synagogue. Neither spoke. Mr. Tadesse respected Mariah’s privacy and refused to give way to his curiosity by asking her about her presence in Axum.
As if suddenly arising from the earth like a spirit, the synagogue appeared, silhouetted against the moon. Climbing several steps, Mr. Tadesse unlocked the oversized double doors. Six men materialized out of the early morning shadows to join them.
No one reacted to her presence. In fact they all painstakingly avoided looking at her, but she knew they held their anger back. They had been forewarned of her arrival; however, they were most unhappy with the radical changes that broke with thousands of years of tradition in their religious services for this holy Sabbath.
They all entered the sanctuary and removed their sandals. Inside were slippers for everyone, with cork bottoms and woven reeds holding the cork on their feet. Mr. Tadesse opened the prayer shawl he’d been carrying and draped it over his head; it was white with blue bands around the bottom edge. Delicate filaments of glittering fringe hung from the hem.
Walking briskly, he made his way down the center aisle toward the Ner Tamid, the Eternal Light, burning steadily on the chancel. Mariah was amazed by the size of this temple, the nave divided by three aisles, the walls and domed ceiling painted a muted gold.
As the elders went about preparing for the service, the cahenat sai
d a quick prayer then turned to wait as Mariah followed his path. When she was before him, he shut his eyes momentarily and drew in a shaky breath.
Chapter 50
Opening his eyes, Andualem Tadesse shook his head, his brow creasing in wonderment. “My instructions on everything from making transportation reservations to bringing you here came to me in dreams over a period of seven nights. My final task is to bring you into the kadesta kedusan, the inner sanctum. This flies in the face of every tenet I hold dear to my heart, allowing a woman to set foot in a place reserved only for the cahenat and his aides.
“But my orders were explicit. I obey the word of the Kana Gidrol.”
Mariah’s hearts quickened at the name of the one she had dreamt about. Don’t be an idiot, she chided herself, it’s not going to be the same one. That one must have died thousands of years ago, if he ever existed. But still her excitement—and apprehension—mounted.
Without another word, Tadesse turned and made for the inner sanctum. Pausing, he mumbled another prayer (probably asking forgiveness for this sacrilege) and opened the door. Mariah followed him into the dark room, watching him hastily retrieve the Torah. Without glancing in her direction he left, closing the door firmly behind him.
Mariah was wrapped in a cocoon of silence. The room was saved from total darkness by the light of an oil lamp which sat atop a pedestal in the far right corner. She stared at it, drawn by its unwavering flame.
She lost track of time. It could have been minutes, hours, even days. Her universe narrowed to the smell of lamp oil, mesmerized by the flame which burned with an unnaturally steady glow against the whitewashed walls.
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