No answer came as she slumped against a post and lowered the stick to the ground and leaned on it. She briefly closed her eyes and tried to regain her composure. "I'm sorry, okay? But I can't walk from here to Manila!"
Turning her face to the sky, she raised the stick and shook it. "I need answers! I'll do what you want, will travel and go to whatever lands, but I've gotta know where!"
Then she noticed the flags. The parkway she stood on had every flag of every nation represented down a long, tree-lined boulevard. She glanced down at the stick, and then up at the flags, then toward the trees. Nature. Art had inspired the direction, perhaps nature held the power? It was worth a try.
She touched her hand against a very old oak and pointed the stick toward the flags. "Talk to me," she whispered, her voice calmer.
Again the purple light crept from the end of the stick, but instead of crawling up her arm, it arced and then disappeared. To her total amazement, fourteen flags that blew in the fall breeze lit one by one. Her mind seized upon the order: Ethiopia, Sudan, Egypt, Italy, Algeria, Spain, France, Hungary, Austria, Poland, Germany, Belgium, the Netherlands, and the United Kingdom. Then oddly, the U.S. flag went neon violet, and as suddenly as they had lit, the purple light around each flag faded to a purplish tinge and then normalized.
Damali didn't take her eyes off the flags for a long time. She said the countries over and over, memorizing them like an elementary school rhyme in her head to make the information stick. It was too bizarre that it was nearly the same as their flight pattern with only a modest variation. But how could that be? The people funding their flight and travel had double-crossed them, yet it seemed as though by doing the double-cross and not allowing them direct entry to the main places of worship, they might have been unwittingly aiding the destined path. The circuitous route was possibly the path that she and the teams were supposed to be on without even realizing it.
The strange confluence of events made her banish the possibility of coincidence. Marlene had told her about there being no such thing as coincidence, and even with all that she'd seen to date, it was still a hard thing to fathom. But sure as rain, the Asian nations' flags hadn't lit, nor had world hot spots like India and Pakistan, or the roiling Middle East. Central America, South America, and Canada hadn't fired violet, just like none of the Caribbean or island nations had.
But fourteen countries did show up glowing, with the fifteenth, her own, glowing hottest. Why? What did it all mean? She knew one thing for sure, if she had to gather fourteen scattered pieces of her and Carlos's power, then so be it, she'd go to the ends of the earth to get that back.
She began walking with purpose now, not sure where she was going, but her footfalls landed with more confidence. Then she stopped. The pain was gone, the cramping was gone, and she didn't feel a thick wad of padding between her legs or the horrible warm wetness of blood oozing from her body.
This time when she glanced up at the sky, it wasn't with frustration or rage. "Thank you," she murmured, her eyes scanning the horizon for a sign, which instantly reflected back to her in a flash of gold. Damali squinted, and stared toward the flash that glistened and peeked through the treetops upon a breeze, and then disappeared in the dense autumn foliage. A dome briefly appeared over the multicolored treetops as a breeze again gently moved the leaves, and standing in the full rays of the rose-orange new sunlight was a cross.
She was so close to hallowed ground that she almost ran to it. Judging from the size of the dome that she'd glimpsed, she couldn't have been more than a few blocks away. Crossing the wide street and grassy divides, she walked quickly toward the place that offered sure sanctuary.
Halfway down the double-long block, a whippoorwill's lonely call made her stop. No longer ready to ignore the subtleties around her, she looked about hoping the old shaman might be there to explain how to use the stick to rejoin her team. Instead, her gaze encountered another statue in blackened bronze. His expression was deeply contemplative as he seemingly worked a problem in his mind that was just beyond his reach, one hand under his chin.
She looked at the historical marker on the street and on the facade of the building. "Philly! The Rodin Museum'sThinker -Carlos, oh my God!" It was all now so clear. She remembered Philly, but had been at the other end of town in the Olde City section, battling on the cobblestoned streets and alleys within the darkness. Everything had come full circle. This was a place of dichotomies, just like her and Carlos's life was. Philadelphia was where freedom was founded, the Liberty Bell once rang, yet where slave ships unloaded terrible cargo to be sold in a public square. The Native American guiding her now made perfect sense. His. people had warred to protect their land, hers had been incarcerated within it, and it took bloodshed and marches to restore them with the right to be considered whole, versus three-fifths of a human being.
Damali nodded. She'd found a place where the highest of ideals tried to coexist with the most base of human nature.
She smiled at the discovery, becoming relieved that the pieces of the giant cosmic puzzle were beginning to fall into place, and she rushed up to the huge, sulking figure and tried to reach up to run her hand over his metallic jaw. However, he was too high up on a pedestal to touch. Tears filled her eyes as she remembered what Carlos's steel-packed jaw felt like against her throat. Damali laughed sadly at herself. "That's just how you look, baby, when you're scheming, trying to work your way out of a jam. I miss you so," she whispered, allowing her hand to fall away as she admired the bulging biceps and graceful, thick, sinew-sculpted thigh from afar. "I know you miss the power of who you were. Now I understand."
But as her gaze took in the structure and facade of the building behind the statue, she again became extremely still. Beyond the exterior walls she could see a courtyard with a low fountain pool. The water drew her as she entered the path, her eyes affixed to its glassy surface. But deeply disturbing presences also made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
Two sets of stairs led from the pool up toward the columned entrance of the building, and her feet moved up the stone on their own volition, a need to understand propelling her forward. That's when she saw it and began to back away. In relief before the entrance to the museum was an eerie bronze cast scene entitled,The Gates of Hell . For a moment, she couldn't move. Fiendish, twisted figures almost seemed like they were fighting their way out of the metallic encasement from within the building toward her. The irony stabbed into her awareness as her gaze swept to and took in both the statue and what he sat in front of. Yes... it made so much sense. Carlos thinking his way beyond the gates of Hell.
She hurried away from the disturbing art and touched the base of the statue with her newly acquired stick and stood back a bit, waiting, just testing, wondering what all her shaman's wooden gift could do. But nothing had happened.
She sighed and turned. As she began to walk away, water hit her shoulder, making her whirl back around. A single tear rolled down the iron face and splattered on the ground. Fear didn't enter her spirit this time, only a deep sadness. She cupped the place on her shoulder where the tear had landed. The cold, hard face didn't move. She stroked her shoulder once then turned and walked away, determined to find the nearby church. Water. That was the key. The fountains, the tear, the river beside the temple where the Neteru council had just convened. So she would not ignore it.
Her stride was much slower, more measured, as she passed the few blocks of Greek and Roman architecture-inspired buildings and fountains and thought of all the things that had to be going through the minds of those she loved. She was missing, AWOL, and she knew every member of her family on the Manila-bound plane was in a panic. She also knew how deeply conflicted Carlos had to be, not unlike herself.
To be stripped na**d of one's power, thrust into an untenable position of weakness, journeying to lands unknown with no way to fight the unthinkable, with Hell on one's heels, was not insignificant. An image of a slave ship flitted through her mind. To learn from the seat of original power followed the thought. Of course her journey had to go through Africa, through what had been the Nubian empire, and then to Europe. Damali nodded as she walked, nearly thinking out loud. She and Carlos had many nations within their DNA... Indian, African, European, many she might never know for sure... Just as her team represented them all.
As above, so below, especially in the end of days. But to love someone more than life itself, and not be able to provide for them, protect them... Carlos had told her once that it was a different thing for a man, their wiring was so different-their perspective, albeit somewhat irrational in her mind, required being able to do those things in order to feel like a man. In that moment as she slowly crossed another street, she realized that the fourteenth scattered piece of him would never be right until his power was right. How could it be?
He'd only loved her as a master of the universe. Now he was busted, penniless, no special abilities that had come to the fore, and was being protected by her squad when he was once the protector... the defender... the alpha and the omega with territory as vast as a king's. He didn't even have his nightclub from before he'd turned, let alone anything else, not that it mattered to her-the point wasit mattered to him .
"Oh, baby... you tried to tell me that before," she whispered and shut her eyes tightly.
The visceral truth drummed in her ears and echoed through her soul. Possibly the worst of it for him-and she knew he'd never take her word for it that it was okay with her-he'd been able to make love to her in a way she knew no man could. There would be no words that could mollify him about that. There wouldn't be enough gentle, "It's okay baby," to smooth over the fact that brotherman couldn't drop fang, whisk her away to the vanishing point in a blaze of sensual glory, to make him ever be able to deal. Carlos's pride wouldn't allow for it, and his anger would block him to even trying to suffer that level of humiliation. Anger would also block his learning to fight like a Guardian, find his gifts or any new center of power that he owned. How in the world would they make it as one?
Damali swallowed hard as she stopped before the cathedral, read the sign, and then pushed herself up the steps of St. Peter's Basilica. "Please be open," she murmured, trying the door and finding it locked. She leaned against the large, blue-and-ivory blocks that stood between her and sanctuary and closed her eyes. Why was everything so hard?
He'd been crippled, hobbled, just thoroughly torn apart, and was now on a plane with very nervous Guardians and half a band of warriors from the Covenant. One false move and the plane could erupt into total mayhem.
She slid down the huge double doors until she was a small huddle of humanity on the top step, cradling the stick, and hoping she was still invisible. But as soon as she hit the concrete, she tumbled backward through the entrance, slid, and hid another set of heavy oak doors as though the seemingly impenetrable structures were a fabric drape.
Jumping up quickly, Damali patted her body and then touched the solid wooden doors she'd just passed through. Her heart was racing so hard it made her ears ring. She backed away from the doors and glanced around the darkened, majestic cathedral. She'd fallen past the foyer and was in the middle of the sanctuary itself, the polished floors beneath her sandal-clad feet. Mercy had let her in.
Her gaze went to the high, arched, frescoed ceiling, and then toward the gilded altar surrounded by angelic figures, but her search was for the font of holy water. She crossed herself and found it near the back of the church, and watched with awe as the dry stone bowl bubbled and gurgled, creating an eerie echo as it filled. She waited until only silence reverberated off the walls and the pool became still. Damali touched her fingers to the glassy surface and brought them to her forehead.