Michael Cordy - The Source

'Remaining a nun has helped. Sister Chantal is a given official name. My Catholic order bestowed it on me when I was seventeen. I chose to keep it and over the long years it's now become who I am. But throughout my life I've had numerous legal identities – all borrowed from children I treated in hospices. When they died, their names lived on in me. I've held various passports, French, Italian, British – but not yet American.' A smile. 'Your country's still young – only half as old as I am.'

He remembered the six dates scratched on El Halo, each about seventy years apart. 'You returned here at regular intervals, to refresh yourself and replenish your supplies, before assuming another identity, another life, in a different part of the world.'

She nodded. 'I aged so slowly that I had to keep moving to avoid drawing attention to myself. So far, I think I've already lived six life spans, six three score years and ten. As well as checking on the garden, I returned here to replenish my supplies of the crystal so I could continue my vigil. As I said, the crystals slow my ageing but they can't reverse it. I sometimes wonder if I'd stayed here the whole time whether I would have stopped ageing and stayed for ever young. But I needed to be in the world to do my duty and fulfil my vow. I had to keep track of Father Orlando's manuscript – as it travelled across Europe, returned to Italy and finally ended up in America – to discover if anyone had deciphered it. And, for my own sanity, I had to do good in the real world.'

She patted Ross's arm. 'Anyway, I'm now in my seventh lifespan. The last, I hope. I've done all I can. You have the means to cure your wife. Once you've done so, I can pass on my burden to her. My vow will have been fulfilled. We both have what we wanted. We should leave tomorrow.'

'Tomorrow?'

She tapped the crystal in Ross's hand. 'We need to get this to your wife as soon as possible.'

'You're sure it'll cure her?'

Again she hesitated and looked back at the glowing tunnel. 'I'm as sure as I can be. Over the years, apart from two recent exceptions, I've only used its powers to slow my ageing and restore my health, but I'm confident it will cure your wife. The last few granules I gave her had an effect.'

'It was negligible.'

She frowned. 'Have faith, Ross. This crystal will be enough.' She pointed to the tunnel. 'The only way to guarantee a cure would be to take a sample of the source itself, which Father Orlando believed had limitless power. But getting to it is impossible.'

'Father Orlando went up and survived.'

'I don't know how, though. Anyway, it's irrelevant. What you're holding will be enough to save Lauren and your unborn child. Come, Ross,' she said, leading him back into the light of the garden. 'Let's return to the others and tell them we're leaving.'

As Ross clasped the crystal he knew he should feel grateful. But as his eyes strayed back to the tunnel, doubt nagged at him.

That night Hackett shook his head at Sister Chantal. 'Do you know how many expeditions the big pharmaceutical companies have sent into the jungles of the world, looking for plants with healing properties? Hundreds. Thousands. They've found a few things but never a real breakthrough. Nothing like this. This place is incredible. It's got everything. It's a comprehensive medicine cabinet. It's our duty to share it with the world.'

Sister Chantal shook her head. 'Nothing living here can survive outside. The water and the plants are useless. More importantly, you all made a vow before you came. You promised never to speak of this place or to take anything from it.'

'But it's too amazing to be kept secret.'

'You made a vow and vows must be kept.'

'And I'll keep it. It's just that as a doctor-' Sister Chantal's passion flared. 'You can't equivocate with a vow. A vow is black and white. There's never a plausible excuse or justifiable reason to break it. You either keep a vow or break it. There's no middle ground. A vow is for ever.'

The sun had set and they were sitting round a small fire towards the top of the eye. They had had dinner and were now drinking coffee, arguing about the place in which they found themselves. Ross could sympathize with Hackett's view but earlier, when he'd shown Zeb the crystal concealed in his backpack and told her about his experience in the cave, she had sided with Sister Chantal. 'Ross, Lauren translated the Voynich. She deserves to be saved by the garden. In return, Sister Chantal will expect her to protect it. If Falcon and Sister Chantal believe that whoever translated the Voynich should determine what happens to this place they couldn't have chosen a more responsible person than Lauren. And I'll tell you now: the last thing Lauren would do is tell the world about it. Not until she knew what the world would do with it.'

Sister Chantal turned to the others. 'You will all honour the vow.' It was a command.

'Yes,' said Zeb, quickly.

Sister Chantal looked at Mendoza. 'And you?'

Mendoza met her gaze. 'People would pay anything to come to this place and be cured. But we have enough gold in the lost city. I'll keep my vow,' he said solemnly.

'But, Sister, why don't you want to tell the world about it?' pleaded Hackett. 'Think of the good it could do.'

'For whom?' said Zeb.

Hackett turned to her, surprised. 'For humanity, of course. This place will save lives.'

'But who will save this place?'

'What do you mean?'

'This place is a resource and not just for humanity. What do you think man would do with it if he found it?'

'Use it to heal, of course.'

'This small garden to heal the whole population of the Earth? Who chooses who to save first? Who takes priority before it's depleted and destroyed? And what do we do after we've exhausted it and killed all the living creatures here just to prolong our lives?'

'We could conserve it,' said Hackett.

Zeb laughed. 'The only thing mankind conserves are ruins – and I use the term mankind advisedly. We're crap at conserving living resources. Not until we've used them up or turned them into ruins. Only then, when it's too late, do we suddenly get all misty-eyed. Sister Chantal's right to keep this place secret.'

'But what if the pharmaceutical industry could analyse what's here?' demanded Hackett. 'We saw how important the spring water was to the lost city. It could contain stem-cell regenerators, electrolytes, amino acids. They could synthesize it. Make a limitless supply.'

Zeb laughed again. 'We also saw what happened to the lost city when the water dried up. Even if they could unlock this place's power, do you suppose the pharmaceutical industry – that paragon of ethics, morality and altruism – would give it away free?'

'They could make it affordable, at least.'

'Have you ever known any pharmaceutical company make anything affordable – particularly something as valuable as this – let alone give it away free? Just look at what's happening with HIV drugs in Africa. Even if they did give it away would that be a good thing? Think about it: a world with no more death or disease, just an ever-growing population, everyone needing their fix to keep them healthy and alive. Anyway, this place would put the pharmaceutical industry out of business overnight. They'd have to destroy it before it destroyed them.'

For all Zeb's pessimism, Ross feared she was right. If this was an alternative to oil he knew what his industry would do: exploit it or bury it.

Hackett was about to respond when Sister Chantal raised a hand, like a referee in a fight. 'Nothing in here can be synthesized,' she said. 'I had a sample analysed a few years ago and, apart from some amino acids and a low level of radioactivity, they found nothing. The synthesized version was useless.'