The Medusa Stone

The Monastery of Debre Amlak

An unfamiliar sensation brought Mercer awake, and it took him a moment to recognize what it was. A mattress! Oh, Jesus! Worn to little more than the thickness of a blanket and covered with sheets of the roughest cotton, it still felt as if he were resting on clouds. His whole body ached, his feet and legs especially. However, it was a reassuring pain that told him he was still alive. He shifted under the bedding; the blisters on his feet smeared open against the sheets. He gasped and shot up in bed, grabbing for his stinging heel. Instantly, his vision clouded over and his head swam. He collapsed back against the flat pillow, his sore feet all but forgotten.

Selome! Her image flooded his mind, and once again he struggled upright, his arms flailing to free himself from the sheets’ tangling embrace. He had to find her; nothing else mattered. Then he heard a voice and he looked to his right. The room was just large enough for the bed, a desk, and a chair. The walls were white and clean, the floors were bare and well swept, and through the single window he could see it was twilight. A crucifix above the desk was the room’s only decoration. A young boy dressed in a long robe stood at Mercer’s bedside. He spoke again in Tigrinyan, ignoring Mercer’s incomprehension.

“Selam,” Mercer finally croaked.

“Selam, Selam,” the youth greeted. “Kemayla-ha?”

The boy must have been asking about his condition. “Hmak.” Bad. It was one of the few words Mercer had learned.

“Shemay Tedla iyu,” the boy said, pointing at his chest. “Men shem-ka?”

Mercer understood the boy’s name was Tedla. He pointed to himself. “Mercer,” then added, “Selome?”

The boy gave a lengthy reply, but Mercer understood none of it. He let out a frustrated breath. Tedla poured water from a pewter pitcher and held it for him.

After draining the cup, Mercer settled under the coarse blankets and was asleep in moments. The next time he woke, he was alone and his room was dark except for a single candle burning on the desk. In its glow, he saw that a plate of fruit had been left for him. He had recovered enough to be hungry and reached for it, wolfing two man-goes and a banana before weakness overcame him and he was back asleep.

The candle had gone out when he regained consciousness again. A haunting sound echoed beyond his chamber. Mercer was disoriented, nearly panicked by the darkness, his own weakness, and the faint noise. Slowly his mind brought him back to the present, and his heart rate eased. He recognized the noise as a song, a chant. Then he remembered everything in a rush, the march through the desert, Selome’s finding the water in the cave. Fuzzy pictures flashed in his mind of men carrying him and Selome from the cave up a steep trail to an ancient building. He lay in the darkness and smiled, letting the monks at their midnight prayer serenade him back to sleep. They’d made it to the monastery!

When the sun woke him, Mercer had enough strength to lever himself out of bed and dress. His clothes had been laundered and lay in a bundle on the desk. He was surprised to find he needed to use the chamber pot sitting under the bed. At least his kidneys were still functioning.

Once in the hallway, Mercer began to weaken but he continued past several closed doors until he came to the refectory, a large cleared table dominating the room. He sat at one of the chairs and lay his head on the tabletop, his breath coming in uneven gasps. Selome. He needed to find her.

He must have passed out again because suddenly Tedla was taping at his shoulder and speaking to him gently. “Where is everybody?” Mercer asked.

Tedla held up a finger to indicate Mercer was to wait and scampered from the room. A minute later, he returned with another, older monk. There was a reassuring air about the man, a comforting quality that radiated trust. It wasn’t just the gray beard and the long dark robe. There was something behind his eyes that spoke of compassion and understanding.

“Selam,” Mercer greeted. “Do you speak English?”

“Selam. No. Italiano?”

Mercer shook his head. “Parlez-vous francais?”

“Un peu.” A little.

Mercer switched effortlessly into French, but he spoke too fast for the monk and had to slow. “My name is Philip Mercer. I’m a mine engineer working here in Eritrea.”

“Selome Nagast is awake for many hours, Monsieur Mercer. I know who you are. My name is Brother Ephraim.”

“How long have we been here?” Mercer could barely understand the monk through his thick accent.

“Last night was your second.”

Mercer had slept through nearly thirty-six hours! The Eritrean refugees would be reaching the mine soon; maybe they were already there. He felt his chest tighten with a new panic. “I need to leave.”

Ephraim spoke to his acolyte and Tedla ran off, leaving Mercer alone with him. It was clear that they would need a translator if they were to continue their conversation. Soon after, Selome entered. Her ordeal had dulled her eyes some, but she was still beautiful. The weight loss made her already high cheekbones more prominent and her eyes larger. Relief flushed through Mercer and he closed his eyes, opening them again to drink her in. When he tried to stand and meet her embrace, she held him to his chair, her arms twined around his neck, her cheek laid against his. “How are you?” she asked softly.

Before Mercer could reply, Brother Ephraim coughed, drawing their attention. Selome pulled away and adopted a demure attitude in front of the ascetic. He spoke for several minutes, Selome thinking through her translation before turning back to Mercer.

“Brother Ephraim is the monastery’s abbot and he welcomes us to Debre Amlak. He says it is highly irregular for a woman to be allowed within the compound, and he is concerned about our relationship.” She spoke to Ephraim for a moment and then switched back to English. “I told him that you are a man of honor and I am a chaste woman who is promised to another.”

“You lied to a priest?”

“What should I have told him?”

“You shouldn’t have said I’m a man of honor, that’s all.” Mercer suppressed a grin. “Tell our host that any carnal thoughts in my condition are impossible. Thank him for his hospitality and for carrying us up from the cave and ask him how he managed to find us.”

“He says that the cave is his retreat from the monastery, a place for him to enjoy an even greater sense of solitude. He discovered us himself and went to get other monks to bring us here.”

“A retreat from a retreat?” Mercer wondered aloud, thankful nonetheless.

“He and I spoke yesterday when you were still unconscious, and I told him about our search for an ancient mine. He seemed to know all about it.”

“What, the mine?”

“That, yes, but us too. He acted as though he’d been expecting us, or at least you.”

“Don’t go mystical on me, Selome.”

“I’m just telling you what happened.” Selome was interrupted by Ephraim. The elder cleric spoke for a few minutes.

Mercer watched Selome’s reactions. Whatever the abbot was saying stunned her. She asked Ephraim a few questions before translating for Mercer’s benefit.

“Brother Ephraim was never meant to be the monastery’s abbot. He fell into the position by default when the monks returned home during the war. He told me this by way of explaining why he did what he did, why he read a book that was never meant to be seen again.”

“What are you talking about?”

Selome ignored Mercer’s questions. “There is a book here titled Shame of Kings. Ephraim said that only one other man has read it, Debre Amlak’s previous abbot, a man whose faith it destroyed. Ephraim says the former abbot died believing God’s punishment for his sacrilege was Eritrea’s years of struggle and suffering.

“Brother Ephraim read it a few weeks ago because another monk predicted that an ancient secret was about to be revealed and that someone would come to question the priests about it. I think he believes that someone is you.”

Feeling like cold death, Mercer didn’t know what to say. When he looked at Ephraim, he saw the priest was serious. It sent a superstitious shiver up his spine. “Why me?”

“For one thing, you and I are the first outsiders to visit this monastery in decades. Also, when I told him that you’re a miner, he said that your presence here and your professional skills make perfect sense when you consider the subject of the book.”

“My being a mine engineer relates to some old religious book?”

“The Shame of Kings is more of a history than a religious text; the chronicle of an ancient diamond mine in Eritrea first worked by the priests of King Menyelek. It’s the story of the mine we just discovered.”

“Menyelek, not Solomon?”

“Yes. He was the first-born son of the Queen of Sheba and Solomon, the King of Israel. The diamonds that Menyelek found are certainly the basis of the King Solomon’s Mine legend, only the fable was off by a generation.” She paused. “But there is something even greater at stake here.”

Mercer caught an undertone in Selome’s voice and remembered he’d felt that she had been holding something back from him. Something she’d known all along. And he knew he was about to find out what it was.

“The tale begins in another book, the Glory of Kings, which is the Ethiopian version of Sheba’s visit to Solomon. It’s a very different story from what is written in the Old Testament. You see, she was duped into sleeping with Solomon by a trick played on her by the King. Afterward, Sheba returned to Ethiopia with their baby, Menyelek, but the boy’s destiny was to return to Israel. He was twenty-two when he visited his father in Jerusalem. There, a high priest told Menyelek that God had commanded him to remove the Tabernacle of the Word of God and carry it back to Ethiopia, transferring the Seat of God from Israel to Africa.”

Seeing his bewilderment, she explained in simpler terms. “Solomon’s son stole the Ark of the Covenant from the Temple and spirited it back to his own kingdom.”

Mercer could not believe he’d heard correctly. “The Ark of the Covenant? That’s what this is all about?” He could tell that she hadn’t wanted to reveal any of this, and his anger mounted. This was what she’d been hiding from the beginning. “The diamonds are meaningless to you. You’re all after the Ark and think it’s hidden in the mine.”

“Yes. Defense Minister Levine’s agents are in Eritrea to find it and return it to Israel.” Selome’s voice took on a strident note, full of emotion and fear. “It will give him the moral authority to destroy the Dome of the Rock and erect the Third Temple.”

Mercer was thoughtful for a moment. “I’d make him Emperor for Life if he pulled off a feat like that. But the Ark of the Covenant? You can’t be serious. Selome, I’m not doubting your faith, but the Old Testament and this Glory of Kings aren’t historical fact. They’re stories.”

“So was the Iliad until Heinrich Schliemann used it as a reference book,” Selome countered hotly, “and discovered the city of Troy, a place many archaeologists said existed only in folklore. If you’ll hear me out, you’ll see Ephraim’s story lends credence to Levine’s plan.”

“How so?” he asked with little interest. This was too much to believe.

“Soon after returning to Ethiopia with the Ark, Menyelek became embroiled in a number of wars, expanding Ethiopian territory as far as India. The revenue from trade caravans weren’t enough to pay for his campaigns, so one of his priests, Azariah, told him of a mountain of diamonds far to the north of their capital.

“The Shame of Kings describes the discovery of this fabulous mountain and the history of the mining operation. The priests in charge used soldiers captured during Menyelek’s battles to do the actual work. After the wars had ended, the priests turned to slave labor brought from Kush, modern-day Sudan. According to the book, the conditions were terrible and the worst was yet to come. After a hundred years, the workers had exhausted the diamonds that could be recovered from the surface and they were forced to tunnel into the earth. At first they used pygmies because of their smaller stature, but they died quickly in the shafts. One passage of the Shame of Kings laments this, for it had seemed like a promising idea.”

“And it was still the priests using slaves to dig?”

“Yes.” Selome obviously didn’t want to continue, but she did, her voice heavy. “Because the pygmies didn’t work out, the mine’s overseers started using children. Boys and girls as young as six were herded into the mine, never to return. Female slaves were used as breeding stock to replenish the losses. It sounds like a system more cruel than what the Nazis did during the Holocaust, and the mine was in operation for over four hundred years. Countless tens of thousands of innocent lives were snuffed in a subterranean hell and the perpetrators of this atrocity were followers of Judaism.”

“Selome, it happened two thousand years ago.”

“Brother Ephraim says they were proud of what they did. Not only does the book describe some of the huge gems they found, but it also talks about the inhuman conditions and the practices used to get more work out of the children. If hate groups and anti-Semites found out that the first concentration camps were built by Jews, do you think it would matter how long ago it was? This can never be revealed!”

Mercer wanted to disagree, but he had a suspicion that she was right. Hate was an easy commodity to sell. “Okay, I’ll grant you the Shame of Kings is right about an ancient mine in northern Eritrea,” he conceded. “The awful working conditions ring true and I know using children in mines was a common practice until just a hundred years ago, but what does this have to do with Levine and the Ark?”

“Levine’s quest dates back two decades. He’s always been obsessed with holy relics, especially the Ark. When Operation Moses rescued Ethiopian Jews in 1984, he had the refugees questioned about religious artifacts left in their home country. Rumor surrounded a particular church, St. Mary of Zion in Aksum, Ethiopia’s ancient capital. Some said the Ark was still there. Levine secretly sent a team of agents to break into the church, but they found nothing to convince them that it had ever been a resting place for the Ark.”

“And he still thought it was in Ethiopia?” he scoffed.

“Goddamn it, Mercer! It doesn’t matter if you believe this or not. Levine does, and as long as he’s holding your friend Harry, that’s all that’s important. Enough people have died in the past weeks to convince you that your doubts don’t mean anything.”

Mercer’s scientific background made him naturally skeptical, but he suddenly realized she was right. It was Levine’s motivation that mattered, not its validity. And even if he didn’t believe, he knew he shouldn’t close his mind to the possibilities. Hadn’t the Shame of Kings been correct about the mine? “I’m sorry, this is all so… Anyway, you were saying Levine thought the Ark was here.”

“Ethiopia is the oldest Christian country in the world and has Jewish ties that date back even further. Besides, he was certain it wasn’t in Israel. There isn’t much of our country that hasn’t been combed by archaeologists. Levine started to investigate some of the less-credible rumors the refugees brought with them. He learned that the Ark might have been on an island on Lake Tana but that also turned out to be a false lead. The only other reference he got to the Ark was a story about a golden chest placed in an ancient mine to help ward off an evil that was killing the workers long, long ago. When Levine saw the kimberlite pipe on the Medusa photographs, he was sure he’d find the mine the refugees spoke of. He also felt that somewhere near the pipe, he’d discover the Ark’s final repository.”

“He doesn’t know that the mine was dug by Solomon’s son?”

“He wouldn’t care. It’s the Ark he’s after.”

“Does the Shame of Kings say that the Ark’s in the mine?”

“Not in so many words. The rumor of the golden chest Levine is following probably came from it, from someone who read it ages ago. The Shame of Kings does talk about a curse that killed the children, a mysterious illness caused by Satan that made it impossible to continue work in the tunnels. To combat it, a powerful talisman was brought to the mine and placed in a special chamber that was dug to the exact specifications of the Ark’s original tabernacle in Jerusalem. It says nothing about it ever being removed.”

“Did it work? Did the talisman prevent the disease?”

Selome asked Ephraim. “The children died in greater numbers, and soon afterward the priests realized that God was punishing them for what they’d done. They sealed the mine and never revealed its location.”

For a moment Mercer allowed himself to speculate. Since the mine they discovered was undoubtedly the same one written about in the Shame of Kings, was it possible that the rest of the story was also true? The mine had lain undisturbed for two thousand years, and if the talisman it mentioned was indeed the Ark of the Covenant, then it could still be there, buried under countless tons of rock, waiting to be discovered. He took his silent musings one step further and considered the consequences if Levine managed to find it and return it to Israel. The Mideast would explode in a religious war that would make the past fifty years of conflict seem like petty squabbling. Selome was right when she said that Levine would use its symbolism to raze the Dome of the Rock, the third most sacred site in Islam. If that happened, Mercer imagined the ensuing war would go nuclear as Muslims from all over the globe used their numerical superiority to overpower the Israelis and recapture the Temple Mount. It was a doomsday scenario that Mercer knew could happen, would happen, if he didn’t stop it.

This was all too much. Just days ago he found he might have discovered King Solomon’s mine, and now Mercer found that he was in a race to find the Ark of the Covenant. If he wasn’t so weak and tired, he would have been terrified. The desert trek had left him in a worse condition than Selome, and his mind was beginning to fade again. He couldn’t absorb any more information. “I bet the Sudanese don’t know anything about this. Their backers are after the diamonds while Harry’s kidnappers, Levine ultimately, want an archaeological artifact lost thousands of years ago.”

“Yes, and they’re both located in the Valley of Dead Children.”

Suddenly the meaning behind the valley’s name became shudderingly obvious.

“We should be thankful we still have time. Judging by the excavating we did before coming to the monastery, it’ll take weeks to reopen the mine.” And then Mercer remembered. “Oh shit! There are about two hundred refugees there right now. The Sudanese who attacked us are probably using them as forced labor as we speak. They might already have it opened!”

Mercer hadn’t told her about the displaced Eritreans he had coming from the camps in Sudan, and her expression registered her shock. “Where’d they come from?”

“When we were with the nomads in Badn getting fuel, I hired one of the headman’s sons to get them and bring them to the valley.” Guilt cracked Mercer’s voice, but beneath it was a grim determination to see them freed.

Selome spoke with Brother Ephraim for a few minutes, then turned back. “He says it’s impossible to reach any town until after the Adobha has subsided. The river is impassable for at least three weeks.”

“We have no choice. We have to cross it.”

Ephraim seemed to understand Mercer’s foul expression and his defiant outburst. Selome performed an almost simultaneous translation. “The river moves with the speed and force of a truck, and it’s littered with debris washed down from the highlands. The flood would destroy any raft we could build. Every year, dozens of people die trying to cross it. Be sensible.”

“I don’t have that luxury. People’s lives depend on us, not only those refugees but also Habte, the two drivers, and my friend Harry White. And if, somehow, the Ark really is in the mine, then maybe the rest of the world, too. I’ll be sensible when the Eritrean military arrives at the mine and arrests anyone holding a gun.”

Selome asked the monk a couple more questions, the priest’s response seeming to calm her anxiety. “He says the talisman spoken of in the Shame of Kings was placed in the deepest part of the mine, buried so deeply that it would take an army of workers many months to find it.” She looked into Mercer’s eyes. “Think about it. The Sundanese don’t know about the Ark. Once they reach the diamonds, they’ll stop exploring the tunnels and begin mining. They’ll never know what’s buried in some deeper chamber. Remember how many Sudanese troops that headman said were waiting on the border?”

“Fifty,” Mercer said, beginning to understand what Selome was saying.

“Levine doesn’t have enough people to attack a force that size. They’ll have to wait until after the rebels leave before starting their own search. We have weeks or even months to warn the authorities.”

“More time to save the world?” Mercer sounded almost flippant, then his mood darkened. “That still leaves two hundred refugees. I’m leaving in the morning.”

“You can’t even stand right now,” she shot back. “Mercer, I’ve been to those refugee camps, and I can tell you that in the short term those people are going to be better off at the mine.”

“How can you say that?” He was surprised she’d put to words that he was just beginning to consider.

“They may be worked as slaves, but they’re going to be fed and provided with clean water. Whoever’s running the operation has to take care of the refugees if he expects them to work.”

In his condition, Mercer knew there was a good chance he wouldn’t make it to civilization. His effort would be a wasted, empty gesture that would help no one. It took just a second to come to the only logical option. “All right, we’ll rest up for a couple of days, but no more. Ask Ephraim if he can provide us with a guide to Ila Babu. Maybe someone there owns a two-way radio.”

“He says that Tedla will guide us. It’s about forty miles, but he says he knows of no one in town who has a radio.”

“We’ll worry about that when the time comes.”

Ephraim and Selome took him back to his room and saw him to bed. After the monk left, she sat with him, wiping his brow with a wet cloth. There was such tenderness in her motions that Mercer took her hand and kissed each of her fingertips.

“What’s that for?”

“Because I’ve wanted to do it since we met and couldn’t until I trusted you.”

She kissed his lips lightly, but there was a greater passion in her eyes. “So you trust me now?”

“No more secrets.” He tried to smile and then he was asleep.

Selome watched him a few minutes, her hand spread on his chest, fingers splayed as if to possess more of him. She kissed him again. “No more secrets.”

For the next two days Mercer rested and drank water more than he thought possible. His strength returned slowly but steadily. By the end of the afternoon on the second day, he felt strong enough to walk the grounds surrounding the monastery, careful to remain on the inside of the stakes that delineated land that had been cleared of mines. He saw little of Selome; she showed enough respect to the monks and their traditions to keep herself out of sight. He spent some of his waking hours thinking about the inhumanity described in the Shame of Kings, but mostly he considered how to rescue the Eritrean refugees and how to stop Levine from using the Ark. If it had survived the ages, he wouldn’t be surprised if it was buried in the ancient mine. Jesus!

It was well past sunset. Mercer was lying on his bed when he heard someone walking outside his window, which opened onto the monastery’s small cloister. It was too dark to see more than a shadowy form, so he threw on his pants and boots and slid from his room. The cloister’s entrance was off the refectory, and he was aware of the wooden floors creaking as he walked. He feared that he would wake the monks.

Selome stood at the center of the pillared cloister, her body barely illuminated by the moon and stars. She kept her eyes locked with his as he crossed to her slowly.

“I was hoping it would be you,” she whispered. “Despite his status as an acolyte, I’m afraid Tedla has taken a fancy to me.”

“I was hoping that it was you, too,” Mercer replied softly. “I want to say thanks. You were right. I’d never have made it to Ila Babu.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Much better, but I’m still as weak as a kitten.”

“How weak?” she asked with a huskiness that Mercer recognized immediately. She moved a few paces closer to him, the heat of her body soaking into his skin.

“As weak as a cat.” Mercer tried to keep the catch out of his voice. It had been a couple days since he’d seen her, and the sexual tension that they had sparked before their trip to the monastery returned with a fury.

Her arms went around his neck, one knee cocked forward so it slid between his legs. “How weak?”

“How about a tired lion?”

“Better,” she smiled. “We’ll be leaving the monastery tomorrow, and Tedla is going to be with us every step of the way. Once we contact the government, it’ll be a long time before we’ll have a moment to ourselves. I’m sorry, but if we are going to make love, it has to be tonight. Now.”

“Pretty forward of you.”

She placed a slim finger to his lips. “No jokes.”

“Selome, I—” His next words were cut off by her hungry kiss. She pressed herself to him, fitting almost perfectly, knees matching knees, hips to hips, chest to chest. He felt her breasts swell and harden against his naked chest, more and more heat pouring against him the longer they kissed.

“I was going to say,” Mercer muttered, “I think it would be a good idea if we found a more private place. This is a church, after all.”

That dam he’d felt cracking when Selome told him about her involvement with Shin Bet gave way completely. For the first time in months, since the split with Aggie, Mercer gave himself over to another human completely. It was liberating and frightening at the same time, but also very right.

He returned to his room for a shirt and his bedding, and they walked down the narrow path hacked into the cliff. With the moon reflecting off the sandy plain, they could clearly see the cave no more than a quarter mile south. Both were surprised at its proximity to the monastery. Mercer lit a candle and spread the sheets and blankets on the cavern floor. She motioned for him to stretch out and watch as she undressed.

He expected a hint of self-consciousness from Selome, but there was none. She pulled her shirt over her head in one fluid motion, her high breasts bouncing as they came free. Her nipples looked painfully erect, and his body reacted. Her pants fell around her ankles with just the tiniest bit of urging. She kicked out of them and hooked her thumbs in the waist band of her panties. With deliberate slowness, she slid them down her thighs, bending deeply until they lay at her feet in a rippled puddle of silk.

She stood proudly, a dusky Venus, her body taut and perfect, her skin so flawless and waxy smooth in the candlelight that she looked like marble. Mercer couldn’t help but stare at the shallow cleft that rose from the juncture of her thighs, her body’s most secret place veiled by only a thin down. His heart pounded and his breath matched the shallow heaving of Selome’s chest. Her arousal perfumed the air.

Mercer began shedding his clothes, but Selome dropped to her knees next to him, brushed away his hands, and began working at the buttons and zippers, her fingers stroking each newly exposed section of his body until he was nude and she held him firmly in her palm. She squeezed him every so slightly, and his hips bucked involuntarily. It was only then that she kissed his mouth again.

“You are so beautiful,” Mercer said, and Selome smiled.

“So are you.”

She would not let him do any of the work that first time, not even sheath himself with one of the condoms Mercer’s doctor made him stash in his wallet. For Mercer, it felt incredibly decadent not to have to worry about his partner’s pleasure, for her expression told him that her arousal came solely from his enjoyment. For the ten minutes they were joined, they freed each other from the world as Selome rocked her body on his, drawing him in deeper and deeper. Mercer’s climax left him dizzy and gasping. Then, in a feat he hadn’t been capable of since college, they made love again almost immediately. Mercer had only seconds to put on another condom before Selome drew him on top of her. Her orgasmic screams echoed far outside their intimate cave.

They were so lost in their lovemaking, neither heard the convoy of trucks approaching from the east. Half an hour after the vehicles passed, they were packing up the bedding and adjusting their clothes for the walk back to the monastery when distant machine-gun fire shattered the night. The crashing explosion of sound stripped away the euphoria they had just built and brought them back to the ugliness of reality.