The Omega Factor(92)
“I’d like to go with them,” Kelsey said to Sister Claire, and she caught the hesitancy in the woman’s eyes. “I won’t try to leave. You have my word. I have no desire to do that. I want to be here.”
“May I ask why?”
“I want to know what this is all about. What Sister Rachel died for. What is it that compels all of you to do what you do?”
“Something wondrous,” Claire said.
Kelsey was unpersuaded. “I hope so. Considering the price that was paid.”
Claire turned toward the abbess and the older woman nodded. “Okay, go with them. But Sister Isabel will go too.”
She nodded, understanding that trust came with limits.
The four maidens carried the wicker coffin up the stairs, then out of the building, into an open cloister dotted with topiaries, roses, wisteria, and lavender beds. Through the arches on the back side she caught a spectacular view of the mountains and the countryside for miles in the distance. The gorge just beyond felt like a sepulcher, the polished limestone a ghostly bone color, riddled with gaps and gashes that sprouted wildflowers. Not unlike the cliff face Jan van Eyck had painted on the Just Judges.
Sister Isabel took the lead and the procession continued out of the cloister to the front of the abbey, past the blooming cherry tree. The gate she’d seen earlier rose up ahead but the maidens did not carry the body that way. Instead, they veered right and headed toward the visitor center, passing the limestone building, and continuing into the trees, many of their pale trunks a silver blue gray. The trail they followed was well worn, a straight line through a wall of timber, like curtains on either side. Ferns and creepers littered the ground beneath the dense canopy. Box brush, green moss, and orange lichens grew in abundance among the shade.
The silent procession continued, with Sister Isabel in the lead. Kelsey followed behind the coffin. She felt out of place, here with another order and dressed in non-religious garb. A stranger in one way, but not in another. She sensed a connection to these women.
Strange that she would. But it was there.
Ahead she spotted a line of stacked gray stones that extended out to either side of the trail about waist-high. The low rock wall a barrier, but not an obstruction. A closed iron gate blocked the trail.
Beyond the gate she spotted graves.
Isabel pulled open the gate.
Above, in the stone arch was a chiseled inscription. In Latin.
She silently translated:
O you who are in life,
Enter and praise those
who are not
The coffin was carried through the gate and into the graveyard. The glade stretched for about fifty yards and gradually inclined upward. More loose soil here than rock, which was probably why it had been selected. Spring-green grass sprouted in patches. Violets added color. She surveyed the graves, which appeared to all have been there a long time, many of the markers worn to nothing. She felt the soft cushion of the grass beneath her shoes. Everything was neatly trimmed and carefully maintained. A freshly dug grave waited near a far corner close to the rock wall, the air pungent with the dank smell of turned earth. The maidens threaded a path through the crosses and markers, then gently laid the coffin on the grass.
She drifted off to the side, her head bowed in prayer.
Nick stood behind the trunk of a thick beech tree and watched the six men march ever upward.
Like an army.
Surely armed.
What did they plan to do? More important, what did the maidens plan to do? They had to know these men were coming. He should call in local law enforcement and let them handle it. He could even involve Inspector Zeekers back in Ghent. Everything happening here was directly related to what had already happened there. It might even smooth things over for Reynaldo, whom he hated placing in a difficult situation. But what could the locals do? Nothing had happened, and nothing would so long as they were involved. And was this a police matter?
Not really.
He had to handle this himself, which, he’d come to learn, was the wisest course. The good part was that the men headed his way were unaware he was there. The maidens? They knew. No question. Those women were smart enough to have either cameras or lookouts watching. Either way they knew about him and them. So he decided to allow the Dominicans to get ahead of him.
Then he noticed something else.
Behind the six men who were making another of the many turns, ascending and twisting their way ever closer, a fourth car had parked in the paved lot.
A man emerged.
Thin, dressed in dark clothes. Heading straight to the inclined road. But not making any effort to catch up with the others.
Instead, he stayed back.
As if following.
Who was this?
Chapter 60
Kelsey watched as the maidens fed ropes beneath the wicker coffin, then lifted and lowered it into the ground. None spoke, but all of them, including Isabel, cried.
She continued to pray.
But her gaze drifted to the nearby stone markers. Each was simple with no adornments. Just a name and a year. “Lana 1843.” “Jamie 1786.” “Viviana 1925.” “Daniella 1828.” So many women laid to rest here. There was a force about the place, which seemed almost animate, despite being only for the dead. No way that this was all the maidens. Given they’d been around for over a millennium, they would need a cemetery far bigger than this. Most likely, most maidens were returned to their families for burial and these were the ones without anywhere to go.