Michael Cordy - The Source

It was one of the Voynich's nymphs – one of Orlando Falcon's Eves – though it looked nothing like Ross had expected. He had heard of sailors mistaking manatees for mermaids, and this, perhaps, explained why Orlando Falcon had depicted the creature as a female human.

Similar creatures were emerging from the shadows now, but his eyes were drawn to writhing, serpentine growths on the ceiling and walls at the back of the cave. The tubular tentacle structures appeared to grow from the rock like thick vines. Grotesquely beautiful, with veins that throbbed like blood vessels, they seemed a strange blend of plant and animal. The tentacles ended in variously shaped pods. Ross glimpsed some nymphs reclining in them while others straddled the vines. They seemed to have a strange symbiotic relationship with each other.

'What are they?' he asked. 'Those tubular growths?'

'Like the Eves, they've been here since Father Orlando discovered the garden. They run through much of the cave.' She retrieved a torch from her bag, switched it on and led him towards the far recesses of the antechamber. The space was even deeper than it appeared from the entrance and led to a warren of other caves and tunnels deep within the rock. As they approached, the nymphs either melted into the tunnels or hissed threateningly. Sister Chantal held up her crucifix and began to hum a two-note refrain. Immediately the nymphs became less agitated and copied the sound. When she stopped they appeared calmer, accepting their presence. She left the crucifix hanging outside her blouse. 'It reassures them,' she said.

In the beam of Sister Chantal's torch the tubular tentacles seemed to be everywhere, like ducting in the basement of a large building. He followed a number of thicker ones down a passage to the right where the air felt warmer until he saw a fiery red glow ahead.

'Careful, Ross.'

Suddenly he was hit by a wall of heat, and stopped where the tunnel ended in an abrupt ledge. Magma boiled many feet below. A thin, broken rock bridge led across it to more dark caves.

'In Father Orlando's time that bridge was wider and unbroken,' said Sister Chantal. 'He claimed it was another way out of the garden, that it led to the other side of the ridge that surrounds this place.'

You'd have to be pretty desperate to take that exit, thought Ross. It made the poisonous caves through which they had come seem like a walk in the park.

Sister Chantal turned. 'Let's go back to the antechamber. I want to show you something really impressive.'

When they reached it five nymphs were bathing in the pool directly beneath the small waterfall. Wherever he looked, he saw pages of the Voynich come alive.

Sister Chantal led him on to the ledge towards the tunnel and bent down by the stream. She put her cupped hand into the rushing water, as if it was a gold prospector's pan, then brought it out and displayed it to Ross. 'This is what we've come for. This is what can cure Lauren.'

Her hand was full of small, luminous, crystalline rock particles, larger than the microscopic ones in the water he had drunk from the lake but smaller than the shards he had seen last night. She moved her hand and the crystals sparkled many colours. 'These are the only things I allow myself to take out of the garden, but these crystals are too small. Any power they have will dissipate once we leave. They need to be of a certain size to retain their potency. You can grind them down when you're outside but the crystal's got to be big enough to start with.'

'Where can I get a large enough one? From the bottom of the lake?'

'No. Those are smaller than they look. Something to do with the magnifying effect of all that water.' She reached into the stream again and picked up a large shard, which had broken off from the lattice of crystal encrusting the tunnel. She handed it to him.

He looked at it, mesmerized. It was beautiful, part opaque, part clear, and glowed as he turned it in his hand. He imagined he could feel its power. 'You're sure this will cure Lauren?'

She hesitated for the briefest moment, glanced up the tunnel, then said, 'Yes. So long as you keep it whole until you need to use it, it should retain much of its potency.'

'I'd love to analyse it.'

She smiled guiltily. 'Though my main concern is to fulfil my vow, a few years ago I had a sample analysed blind by a lab in Geneva. I was desperate to be relieved of my responsibility. I wanted them to synthesize it, take the pressure off the garden – and off me.'

'What did they find?'

'The laboratory report claimed it was unusually, but not dangerously, radioactive and contained every key amino acid building block necessary for life – including phosphorus, which was relatively rare. But they found nothing else unusual, certainly no hint of its ability to heal. They replicated it exactly, creating an identical clone of its constituent ingredients, but it had none of the original's power. Whatever spark makes the combined constituent parts heal in the way you've all experienced is beyond their instruments.' She pointed at the crystal in Ross's hand. 'But that should work. Take it home, grind up a good quantity, mix it into a drink and feed it to Lauren. I like it in tea with condensed milk.' She smiled. 'But I have a sweet tooth.'

'You've used this stuff?'

She clutched her crucifix. 'It's been my lifeline. How do you think I've maintained my vigil for so long? So very long.'

Now, looking into her eyes, unguarded for the first time since they'd met, he saw her pain and loneliness laid bare. Suddenly he understood the depth of her dedication to the garden, and the extent of her sacrifice. A tremor ran through him. 'There haven't been any other Keepers before you, have there?' he said.

'No. Only me. I was the novice nun who cared for Orlando Falcon. I was the accomplice who hid his Devil's book. It was I he charged with reclaiming his possessions, including his notebook, and protecting his garden.'

'But why?'

'Why?'

'Why did you help him? Why did you make your vow?'

'Because I fell in love with him. I loved him more than the Church. I loved him more than life.' A small shake of the head. 'I loved him more than the release of death. When he made me vow to protect his garden until someone deciphered his manuscript and proved themselves worthy to take over his legacy, I had no idea how long I would have to wait.' She patted the crucifix. 'He gave me this cross and told me that whenever my burden seemed too great I would always find salvation in it.' She paused, as if lost in thought. 'Before they burnt him at the stake he also made a vow to me.'

'What was it?'

'That he would wait for me.' A small smile played on her lips.

'He said, "For you I will wait for ever." ' She pointed out to the garden, to the mound of stones. 'His remains are buried there. I brought his ashes from Rome. One day, soon, I hope, our waiting will be over and we will be reunited.'

'You were there when he died?'

She looked away. 'I watched.'

He studied her once beautiful face. 'You've lived for more than four and a half centuries?'

'I've existed for that long, yes. It hasn't always felt like living.'

'But that's impossible!' he gasped.

She laughed. It was a humourless sound. 'Feel your healed wrist. Look at the crystal in your hand. Then tell me it's impossible.'

'But how did you live? How did you support yourself for so long?'

'Father Orlando came from a wealthy Castilian family. When he died he left me a sizeable amount, which kept me going for some years. Then I stumbled on the lost city and its gold, some of which I invested – over a long period of time. Money is the least of my worries.'

He remembered that some of the gold ingots in the ziggurat had been missing. 'But what about the authorities, your passport, your identity?'