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, their power could be used against our interests in the Navajo lands.” Elder Joseph spoke matter-of-factly, his way of making his point and signaling he wasn’t going to fight her. “Now tell me what has happened to Archer.”
“Archer has come under attack.” Sibella’s voice grew huskier with each word. “I have seen it.”
Elder Joseph squinted through his skepticism. “I do not believe it.”
“Father, I only report what I have seen. He was attacked.” Before Sibella continued, Elder Joseph interrupted.
“Tell me how.”
A picture of Alvin and Archer at the Boar’s Head pub flashed to the forefront of Sibella’s mind. “Someone has weakened him with poisonous nightmares. I stood at his hand, just last night in Dublin, and I could feel his pain. I sense at this very moment that I must return to him, that his weakened condition has left him vulnerable to more serious attacks.”
Elder Joseph spoke slowly as he tried to riddle out an explanation for what he’d just heard. “Unexpected tidings. Is it possible one of the church’s own would move against our wishes?”
The question shook Sibella. “I do not think our faithful are mixed up in it, though I admit there can be darkness even in the hearts of angels.” Sibella had been wresting with the question of church involvement for hours. In a way that terrified her, she actually did think it was possible. But the last thing in the world she wanted was for Elder Joseph to raise a formal internal inquiry.
“That only leaves the Indians. Tell me, daughter, if a Navajo knows of the twins, why would he seek to kill them when the legend tells of their role as monster killers in the defense of their own people?”
“Perhaps Keane sees the weakening of his brother as a way to draw his power?” Sibella glowed from her own revelation. “A spiritually bereft Archer might be as vulnerable to the false gods of the Navajo as Keane himself was.”
“Does Keane love his brother enough to have such an interest is his faith?”
“I cannot say. I will speed up my relationship with Archer. When he loves me and loves our God, I will know what is in his heart. So supported, Archer will never respond to his brother even if they are at the same fire in the same sweat lodge and a dozen blue eyed spirits support them.”
Elder Joseph’s pensiveness hardened. He did not share her optimism. “I trust you will protect Archer until we know more. Now tell me, what of the first front? What news Keane?”
“Keane’s unique ability to grow extraordinary gardens in the desert has not changed. I have sampled the berries and still can’t find an equal. You should see the lemon trees.”
“Is that what’s new?”
Sibella shrugged. “There are even more fresh water springs. His lands are blessed that way. Perhaps there is more than luck here. Perhaps water, the giver of life, is a sign of Keane’s growing power?”
“We have spoken of his land’s prolific water as well; many times.” Elder Joseph looked pensive. “Tell me. What is new regarding Keane’s relationship with the Navajo Governing Council? Keane will need the ongoing help of his adoptive people.”
Sibella shook her head in agreement. “Did I tell you Keane is now an honorary member of the council? He is King of the Corn and Pollen.”
“I would discount this honor as much as I would discount First Communion.” Elder Joseph was not impressed by Sibella’s lack of respect.
Talking was beginning to make her thirsty again. “I apologize. I meant no disrespect. I was just trying to say, in my own way, that Keane’s options are limited by the Navajo political landscape. Keane is the twentieth vote in a council of nineteen. Their charter would not allow for him to be a permanent member. He is there in honor alone, his only influence to even this end, healing several of the council’s children.”
Elder Joseph said nothing, so Sibella went for her big close, “When Archer is converted to Christianity, Keane will feel his power fade. It is then that the twins should be brought together. Instead of Keane converting Archer, the most likely catalyst for their emergence as the Little Red War Gods, Archer will convert Keane. And maybe, if it is not too much to hope, they will scour the world of our enemies as the Little Christian War Gods.”
“I have faith in you,” said Elder Joseph.
“And I have faith in you,” said Elder Fortunato.
They talked until Elder Joseph finally nodded off, his features peacefully bathed in a pool of red tinged orange from the setting sun.
Sibella was frustrated she’d heard nothing from her Navajo informant regarding Keane’s invitation to appear at the unexpected private Council meeting. It was clear she would have to wait until the meeting was over before she would know the outcome. She wondered how much Elder Joseph actually knew or suspected. It made her nervous to hold back information. It usually led to no good.
Sibella was sitting alone in the hall, sipping a cup of hot tea, too upset to eat the plate of fresh fruit she’d requested. Elder Joseph was supposed to have joined her before she traveled back to Ireland, but had excused himself to what he said was “important church business.”
Her teacup empty, Sibella sat sullenly for some time.
The white marble floor spread beneath her was free of dust and streaks, and entered the surrounding gardens as long, thin fingers, paths curling among brilliant sunflowers and rare Blue Moon orchids growing casually as grass. Flocks of bumblebees, some so large as to be mistaken for hummingbirds, banked this way and that, laboring through the thick air, comfortable in the clouds of pollen. The serenity of the house was unexpectedly broken by the ring of an old-fashioned rotary phone sitting atop a small table at Sibella’s hand. She gave the phone an appraising look then picked up the receiver.
“Hello,” she said, her voice calm and steady.
For the next minute Sibella said nothing, her face stoic as she listened to the caller, trying not to miss a word, trying to maintain her demeanor. The conversation over, she heard the click of her informant’s goodbye. Still, she didn’t move. With the receiver pressed to her ear, the hum from the phone’s dial tone caused her eyes to narrow with annoyance; finally she jammed the receiver home, the phone vibrating in protest.
Rising to her feet, her short frame stiff as an exclamation point, Sibella brushed at the hem of her jacket and straightened her skirt, pushing at the wrinkles. All three of the buttons on her blazer were fastened, since she wore nothing beneath. What the fabric hid seemed perfect: the right shape, the right tan, an invitation to any but the most pious.
It is time, she thought, exiting the great hall.
Halfway down the passageway, Sibella stopped to smooth out the hem of her jacket again, aligning it with the huge, sparkling buckle of her belt. The act calmed her.
“Perfect.”
She bent and unfastened the straps of her shoes, slipping her bare feet to the floor. Her brown soles blended with the rich tones of the stone.
“We will see just whose blood merges with whose in the end—we will see.” She spoke the words aloud as a warrior might, bravely and certain of her pending victory. Like few before her, it was in Sibella’s nature to go to unabashed lengths in the name of the Lord. She pushed open the door to the outside world. Her senses dulled as the damp, fresh air swallowed her. Grinning, she stepped through the threshold, her bare feet making not a sound. She felt a thrill when the blue bridge appeared as it always did. And then she was gone.