The Quest: A Novel

carried him to Miriam and laid Gann down beside her. He crossedtheir arms over their chests. Hopefully Getachu’s men, looking for their general, would know that someone had respected the bodies, and maybe they’d do the same. Maybe, too, they’d be happy to find their general with a bullet in his brain.
    Purcell watched Vivian help Henry into his clothes. Henry seemed all right.
    Purcell pulled up his pant leg and looked at his wound. A piece of metal protruded from his calf and he pulled it out.
    Shrapnel from an exploding grenade or shell was a random thing, he recalled from his time in Southeast Asia—hot metal shards or pieces of spring-loaded wire, killing and maiming some, leaving others untouched. It really didn’t depend too much on where you were standing or lying when it went off—close, far, standing, or prone as Miriam was—it didn’t matter. When it was your time, it was your time. When it wasn’t, it wasn’t. It was Colonel Gann’s time, and Miriam’s time. It was not Henry Mercado’s time. Or Vivian’s, or his. Indeed, they had been chosen.
    He walked over to them and said, “We are going to the black monastery. We are going to see the Holy Grail.”

Chapter 54
    P urcell had the Uzi, and he gave Vivian his reloaded pistol, and Henry retrieved one of the AK-47s. They slipped on their backpacks and walked away from the rock quarry, down the slope toward the giant cedar, and continued on toward the wall of tropical growth in front of them.
    No one spoke, but then Mercado asked Purcell, “Did you take any food from the soldiers?”
    “No.”
    “We should go back.”
    Purcell replied, “Put your hand into the hand of God, Henry. That’s why we’re here.”
    Mercado stayed silent as they continued on, then said, “Yes… I will.”
    Vivian said, “We are all in God’s hands now.”
    Purcell did not have to look at his compass to know he was heading due west, with the cedar and the monolith behind him.
    There was a worn black rock lying on the ground at the edge of the wall of trees, and beyond the rock he saw a trailhead. They crossed over the black threshold and entered the rain forest. Limbs and vines reached out overhead and immediately blocked out the sunlight.
    The land sloped gently down, and the trees became taller, and the canopy became thicker. After a while, Purcell noticed that the ground was becoming soft and spongy as though they were entering a marsh or a swamp.
    The trail was no longer defined by walls of vegetation, but it was discernible if you looked ahead and saw the slight difference in the ground where it had been walked on.
    Mercado said, “I don’t see a stream.”
    Purcell did not reply, and neither did Vivian. They continued on.
    The ground was definitely spongy now, and Purcell could seechanges in the landscape. Huge banyan trees started to appear, as well as swamp cedar and cypress, which he remembered from the swamps of Southeast Asia.
    The land was sloping more steeply now, and Purcell guessed they were entering the bottom drainage basin from the Simien Mountains, which he’d noticed in the air and on the map but which they had not thought to consider as a place where the black monastery could be.
    In retrospect, he realized that they had been… maybe mesmerized by Father Armano and his story, and the priest had given them information, but not knowledge. He had told them enough to put them on the trail, but not enough to bring them to the end of it. They had to do that on their own. And if indeed they were chosen, then they would be guided on the right path.
    Purcell looked around him. The terrain appeared deceptively pleasant and sylvan, but he could now see pools of water filled with marsh fern on both sides of their disappearing path. Marsh gasses rose in misty clouds, and the air was becoming hot and fetid. Wispy strands of gray moss hung from the tree limbs, and he noticed that there were a lot of dead trees, and creeping marshwort ran over the deadwood on the wet ground. Huge, silent black birds sat on bare tree limbs and seemed to be watching them as they passed. He realized that the marsh was much quieter than the jungle, and there were almost no sounds from insects or birds. A sense of foreboding came over him, but he said nothing and they pressed on.
    The land seemed to be bottoming out and becoming a true swamp, and Purcell wondered if this was passable. He also wondered if they were going in the right direction. The path had disappeared,