Tree of Life

Chapter 1

1

Morgan Sierra stood on the edge of what remained of the still-smoldering library. The community gathered for Yom Kippur had stopped the fire from spreading too far, but much was burned and much more ruined by the water used to put it out.

Smoke rose from the pyre and ashes danced on the morning breeze, a bitter sight for Jews whose collective memory still echoed with the horrors of the h*******t. The rise of the far-right in the rest of Europe seemed a long way from the open society of Amsterdam, but as she gazed into the embers, Morgan couldn’t help but wonder whether racial hatred had driven this attack as it had so many times before — and surely would again.

She and Jake Timber had arrived an hour ago on a red-eye flight from London, swiftly organized when Director Marietti discovered the target of the fire. He hadn’t said much on the phone, and his reticence was puzzling. ARKANE rarely became involved with hate crimes or terrorism of the everyday kind.

The Arcane Religious Knowledge And Numinous Experience (ARKANE) Institute investigated supernatural mysteries around the world. They focused on religious and occult forces, relics of power, and ancient places of blood rather than the more obvious terrestrial threats. Although the modern world might deny the existence of such things, Morgan had seen enough on her many missions to accept that not everything was as it seemed. Perhaps that was just as true today.

The wind changed direction and whipped the smoke around in a mini tornado. Morgan tasted ash in her mouth, the charred and bitter remains of the precious books of the library. The smell of mourning would linger in her clothes, a reminder of what had been lost.

On the flight over, she had read about the place in a hastily put together dossier from the archives of the ARKANE databases. Ets Haim was the oldest functioning Jewish library in the world, established by conversos, Jews forced to convert to Christianity who fled Portugal as the Inquisition scoured their ranks for souls to save and bodies to burn.

In 1492, the Jews of Spain had been expelled, and many retreated to Portugal, initially a safe haven of tolerance. But only a few years later, the Portuguese Jews were forced to convert in their turn. Some integrated into Christian society, but others fled to places where they could live in freedom, with some arriving in Amsterdam in the 1600s. Bet Jacob, the first Jewish community in Amsterdam, was formed in 1602 and the library started with its first Torah scroll.

Its literary prowess grew as the Dutch Republic became a center for printing and publishing in the seventeenth century. The ‘bookshop of the world’ used the distribution network of trade routes to ship books to all corners of the empire, and Amsterdam became one of Europe’s leading hubs for Jewish printing.

Over the years, thousands of Portuguese and Spanish manuscripts found their way to Ets Haim, a trusted resting place for the written traditions of a persecuted people driven from their homes. The Netherlands had been a haven, but even this place had not escaped the Nazis, who murdered seventy-five percent of the Jewish population after the invasion. They came for the library in the summer of 1943; the books packed into crates and shipped to Germany, but the Allies recovered and returned them in 1946.

Lack of funds threatened the library once more in the 1970s, but finally, in 2003, the UNESCO Memory of the World Register added the collection in recognition of its universal value and documentary heritage. The Jewish Cultural Quarter now thrived in the modern city, tolerant of their faith once more, and the library now contained over 25,000 printed books and hundreds of manuscripts and other fragments.

Ets Haim also held rare Kabbalistic texts, and Morgan wondered whether her father had visited as part of his own study. He had been a scholar of the ancient Jewish mystical tradition, murdered for his knowledge as one of the Remnant and avenged at the Gates of Hell.

“Morgan!” Jake called from across the pyre, beckoning her over through the billowing smoke. He stood with an old Rabbi, the man’s face creased with deep lines of wisdom etched by years of serving the Jewish community. But ash now smudged the lines, and exhaustion lay heavy on his shoulders.

Morgan walked around the edge of the pyre to join them. Jake’s muscular frame looked even larger next to the diminutive Rabbi, and his usual dark stubble was more pronounced given their early start. A faint corkscrew scar twisted away from the corner of his left eyebrow, which only served to emphasize his amber-brown eyes. They reflected a keen interest right now, one that made Morgan draw closer with curiosity. She knew that look. Jake had discovered something that might explain why they were here.

“Rabbi Cohen, this is Morgan Sierra. We work together at ARKANE.”

The Rabbi studied her more closely, his keen gaze assessing the planes of her angular face. Morgan brushed her dark curls back reflexively under his scrutiny. She had inherited her father’s Sephardic Jewish looks with the dark hair and tawny skin of Spanish heritage, although her eyes were unusual. A keen blue with a s***h of violet in the right eye.

“Sierra?” the Rabbi said, his English slightly modulated with a Dutch accent. “We had a scholar here once with that name.”

Morgan smiled. “The name is not so unusual, but my father, Leon Sierra, was indeed a Kabbalist scholar. It’s possible he came to study here at your wonderful collection…” Her words trailed off and her smile faded as she realized that the books her father studied were most likely gone.

The Rabbi shook his head and sighed. “We know not the plans of God. Your father would have known that as well as I do.” He pointed to the back of the pyre nearest the wall of the synagogue complex. “I was just telling Jake about a part of our collection that I fear may be responsible for this destruction.”

He took a few steps forward until his shoes touched the edge of the smoldering pile, as if he would clamber over the ruins toward it. “We won’t know for sure what’s salvageable until the remains cool and we can dig underneath.”

He turned to face them again. Morgan saw a fire in his eyes reflected from the embers and kindled by the determination that drove the Jews of Amsterdam to survive when they were hounded from their homes so many generations ago.

“The fire crew said that the epicenter was at the very back of the library, where they also found the burned corpse of one of our congregation. Aaron Heertje, one of my students.” The Rabbi put a hand to his forehead and swayed a little.

Jake reached out to steady him, supporting his arm as the Rabbi continued. “The police informed us that the body of his wife, Rachel, was found at their home. They asked whether Aaron was depressed, whether perhaps this was a murder suicide, but I think it is far more, which is why I called Director Marietti. He and I have known each other for many years and he clearly trusts you in his stead.” He stood tall again and took a deep breath. “Come, it will be easier to show you.”

Rabbi Cohen shuffled toward the office complex on the opposite side of the courtyard, Morgan and Jake following close behind. The Rabbi pushed open the door and led them through to his office. It was a combination of ancient and modern with mahogany shelves laden with books, framed pictures from the history of the synagogue on the walls, and a wide desk inlaid with faded brown leather. A map of the world from the seventeenth century was mounted in an ornate frame marked with lines that snaked out from Portugal to the ends of the known world at the time.

The Rabbi opened a drawer and pulled out a slim laptop, its sleek modernity a sharp contrast to the timeworn surroundings.

He placed it on the desk and opened it up, then beckoned Morgan and Jake to gather closer. He tapped a few keys and pulled up a list of manuscripts and an index of the library. “We keep to the old traditions, but we also use technology to enhance our lives. The Lord gave us quick minds for a reason.”

He clicked through to an image, a fragment of a map illustrated with looped vines with spiked leaves and crimson flowers in front of a spreading tree on the edge of a river. The vibrant colors were unusual in a tradition that studied the stark letters of the Hebrew alphabet shaped into the words of the divine, and Jewish scrolls rarely featured such images. There were symbols and words on the fragment, but it was clearly just a portion of the whole.

“Ets Haim,” the Rabbi said, his voice wistful. “The Tree of Life from the book of Genesis, chapter three, after which the library is named.” He closed his eyes as he recited the verses in English. “‘The man has now become like one of us, knowing good and evil. He must not be allowed to reach out his hand and take also from the tree of life and eat, and live forever. So the Lord God banished him from the Garden of Eden to work the ground from which he had been taken. After he drove the man out, he placed on the east side of the Garden of Eden cherubim and a flaming sword flashing back and forth to guard the way to the tree of life.’”

As he spoke the words, Morgan bent closer to examine the image. The sharp edges of the thorns looked menacing as if the vines were alive and could s***h apart and devour whatever approached.

This was no gentle Eden.

The Rabbi opened his eyes once more. “Few knew of this fragment, but it was kept at the back of the library where the fire started. I didn’t think Aaron knew of it, but perhaps he discovered its existence somehow.”

“So what exactly is it?” Jake asked.

The Rabbi scrolled across the image to focus on the tree by the river, only partially visible before the torn edge. “This is part of a map that reveals the true location of the Garden of Eden, a place forbidden to us and a knowledge handed down to a select few over generations. It was torn into four pieces when the Portuguese betrayed the Jews and allowed the Inquisition to tear the community apart. One piece came here, but the others are scattered, I know not where. Perhaps someone is trying to put them together again.”

Morgan looked over at Jake as he stood back to consider the Rabbi’s words. His brow furrowed as he studied the image, and his dark eyes were contemplative. Perhaps in the past, they both would have been doubtful that such a thing was possible. But such wonders filled the vaults below the ARKANE headquarters in Trafalgar Square in London, and she had seen things that dissolved her own doubts over time. If this truly was part of a map to the Garden of Eden, if the Tree of Life was even a possibility, then she and Jake had to find it first.

The location of Eden was a powerful secret coveted by believers of Judaism, Islam and Christianity alike, three powerful religions that would use any means necessary to take control of such a place. But more than that, it was every ecological warrior’s symbolic home, a place where Nature came first and humanity created as an afterthought.

Then there were those who pursued immortality at any price, the Silicon Valley billionaires who believed they could cheat death. She and Jake had encountered such people in the hunt for the Hand of Ezekiel — the bones that would raise the dead — and they had vast resources at their fingertips. There were so many people who would seek the Garden of Eden if it truly was a place on Earth. It was hard to know where to start.

Morgan smiled to herself at the challenge ahead. In the last months since she and Jake had knelt together on the island of Alcatraz, she had immersed herself in the ARKANE archives during the day, researching and learning to increase her knowledge. By night, she had trained to her physical limits, sometimes alongside Jake in the state-of-the-art gym, but often separately with a Krav Maga coach to regain her former strength and skill in the Israeli martial art. The burns on her skin from the great serpent had faded now, and she had regained her focus. She was back in control and ready for the next mission.

Jake walked around the desk and stood before the map of the Portuguese Empire, tracing the lines with a fingertip. “The Jews of Portugal scattered all over the globe in the wake of persecution. How do we know where to start looking for the other fragments?”

The Rabbi pushed back his chair with a creak and shuffled over. He reached up a finger and pointed to a city on the ocean. “You must start where it all began.”