evidence at any distance.
Elder Joseph listened to buzzing bees through an open window and the faint scurrying of mice in the walls. The sounds made him think of arrow volleys swarming like locusts in so many battles, from the days when fighting other men sword-to-sword had been as natural to him as prayer.
“Sibella must be a hall away,” he thought. His assessment coincided with the click-clack of expensive high-heeled shoes at the top of the nearest corridor.
Elder Joseph turned another page. It fell open easily at the well-worn binding.
“Three, two, one, zero,” he counted.
On “zero,” the shield-shaped door blew open. Elder Fortunato was bristling with energy as she slid her phone into the sleeve of her robes. Her cascading chestnut hair was resplendent around her distinctly Brazilian features. She appeared no older than twenty-five. Few in the world could match the combination of her looks, style, and grace.
“The desert is brilliant this time of year,” she said, stopping to bow low before seating herself, without bidding, at the Master’s right hand. “Though I prefer the Christian greenery of Ireland.”
Elder Joseph took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts against an irrepressible smile. In truth, Sibella could do no wrong. Her fruited perfume drew too deeply into his lungs, and he coughed an awkward “Hello, my dear.” He kissed her proffered forehead.
Sibella adjusted her white robes to reveal less cleavage. Long ago she’d sewn the traditional garment to reflect more of her character. Though the cut differed from the norm, the robe’s adornments matched Elder Joseph’s exactly: black sapphire crosses on both collars, contrasted with thin but thorny strips of blackened metal threaded around the cuffs and hem. The internal adornments laid on a purple lining, however, were quite different indeed. Sibella crossed her legs and sat up straight, her eyes tracing the circle of the empty cookie plate. “Nothing for me?” she asked, the implied disappointment never actually registering in her voice.
“There is always something for you, just not those cookies. If it is any consolation, there were only a few.”
“Twice a few, I should imagine.”
Elder Joseph chuckled halfheartedly. “I do not wish to rush my daughter, but we are pressed with business from all quarters so I will get right to the point. What news of the twins?” His face had become a mirror of his confessional mask, at once inviting and stern.
“The news from the Navajo reservation is good.” Sibella drew a dramatically deep breath. “It isn’t what we expected, but we continue to have opportunities to serve our Lord’s interests.”
Elder Joseph said nothing, accustomed to Sibella’s need to sugarcoat even the worst news.
Sibella’s left index finger rolled over the barbs on her cuffs, a drop of fresh blood spreading itself across each barbs peak like new snow. “The second and third fronts of this simple task have changed.” Sibella paused for reaction then continued. “On the second front, that of the Navajo people, one of the Indians we’ve been following is on the verge of something I have yet to define. His spiritual power is growing exponentially. It has been a long time since I’ve seen an Indian with such an impressive connection to the Other Side – not since the Conquering, if I am correct. In some respects, his strength stands to reason. He is the son of a man whom you yourself sacrificed when his knowledge of us grew too deep. It is Nastas, son of the last Navajo to walk in both worlds, Ahiga. The moment I entered the desert, my heart saw his new power, big and bold, capable of leading his people.”
“I remember Ahiga. He fought bravely. I thought his hogan would come down around our ears, so violent was our battle. Had not one of the disciples slain him, perhaps it would have,” said Elder Joseph, his reflections respectful. “What a pity.”
Sibella nodded. “Although I had not decided if I should deal with him in the way you dealt with his father, I knew I must test him.”
“A test?”
“I called to Nastas, who was at the end of a long journey. I used the voice of Black Rock as a Siren, the same voice you so brilliantly used during the Conquering. I drew him to it as you drew the animal spirits of the Navajo. When he arrived I did not imprison him; as you know, the portal door to their underworld remains closed and locked from both sides—even to us.
A torrential storm blew out of nowhere, consuming two young Christian souls in a flashflood that swept over Black Rock itself. “In I sent Nastas. He saved the girl when I would have expected all three of them to die. She was badly injured, but he delivered her to shore and rode many miles to people who could help her. During the rescue, Nastas was gravely injured, but he should survive the trial. He rests now, on the brink of death after fleeing the rescuers who took Beck—I mean...the girl from him. I do not know what has become of Nastas.” Sibella cursed herself for her slip. She reached for Elder Joseph’s coffee and drank until the mug was empty. Lying always made her thirsty.
“You are right to be concerned about this Indian,” said the Elder. “There is little doubt that for Nastas to survive such treacherous waters, he must have been aided. Perhaps his father has found a way back to this world? Though his heart lacked the will to lead his people, he never lacked the strength to cause destruction. I should not want to see Ahiga back amongst the living.”
Ahiga had done much to upset the goals of the Christian church on the reservation. He’d been the only one to discover the horrifying truth of the Conquering.
“How is the girl?”
“Oh. She’s fine…I guess. In the hospital.”
“I will say a prayer for her,” said Elder Joseph, bowing his head before getting back to the business at hand. “What of the third front? Archer.”
“The third front has spun in a new direction as well.”
“How new?” asked Elder Joseph, crossing his arms. He’d had never fully supported Sibella’s belief that the twins could be controlled.
“As you know, we are in the year prophesized by our Lord God as the Year of Conversion, the year the twins are to come to power as the Little War Gods. That is, of course, if they come to power at all. The prophecy is unclear regarding the necessary conditions for their ascension.”
Elder Joseph was well aware of the prophesy. “You know how I feel, daughter. The prophecy’s vagaries are reason enough I should have killed the twins when the Baptism failed.” Elder Joseph still looked kind, considering his murderous words. The day the twins were born, Elder Joseph had personally undertaken the task of baptizing them. He’d failed, and only succeeded in baptizing Archer before being discovered by the boys’ father.
Sibella’s nervous fingers accidently turned one of the crosses at her collar upside down. “Killing them was an option,” she said, “but staying your hand was the right choice. Baptism only ever served to open the door for the twins to embrace our God. Baptism never guaranteed the twins would come to power and use their gift as the Little War Gods to benefit our goals. Only I can influence them to this end.”
Elder Joseph had no intention of rehashing this topic for the hundredth time, even if factors of import were changing. He was convinced Sibella’s goal of using the twins’ power to grow Christianity was honorable, and he didn’t want to hurt Sibella’s ambition by terminating the project—essentially, terminating the twins. “The prophesy clearly stated that if the twins were not Baptized,
