Chapter 41
Michael quietly watched a procession of six Nestorian monks enter the church. Four carried candles, and the last two swung censers that filled the church with incense. At the area where the altar should have stood, they knelt side-by-side and softly chanted. None of them paid any attention to him.
They moved like robots or replicants—too perfect, too stylized. In fact, everything seemed to be a dream, yet he was sure he was awake. Awake, but having a vision, much like earlier with Irina.
Yet, with this vision, the eerie spookiness of the church vanished. It felt warmer now, comfortably so, and the monks’ candles cast a pleasant glow. Even the scent of incense comforted him.
The strong sense struck that this was where he needed to be. No matter how cold and eerie the monaster
