The Source - Michael Cordy [32]
'Exactly. But Father Orlando always intended one key section of the manuscript to be impossible to translate. Although he used the same text characters as the rest of the document, its language was invented. Without knowing his grammar or vocabulary it could never be translated.'
Ross nodded. 'So, though she didn't realize it, my wife had already completed as much of the translation as anyone possibly could?'
'Yes.'
'So we'll never know what's in the last section.'
She seemed unsure how or whether to continue, but eventually said, 'When Father Orlando returned to Rome, he vowed to tell only the pope of what he had found. But when he discovered he couldn't trust even the highest authority with his secret he told the Inquisition he had burnt his chronicles. But he hadn't. He had placed them for safekeeping in a box with his personal effects, and before he was killed he told his accomplice where this box could be found. In it, a notebook gave detailed directions to the garden and outlined the natural hazards that protected it.'
'A separate notebook?'
'A separate notebook, written in his own tongue.' Her unblinking eyes didn't leave his. 'He also gave the accomplice a translation of the last section of what you call the Voynich.'
'What was in it?'
'An account of something even more mysterious than the garden. Something Father Orlando called the source and claimed was the power behind the garden.'
Ross sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. 'How can you possibly know this?'
'Because I am the Keeper,' she said, as though her statement needed no explanation.
'The Keeper?'
'The Keeper of the Garden. My duty is to watch over Father Orlando's discovery until someone dedicated, intelligent and wise enough to understand what to do with it deciphers the main part of his manuscript. When this happens I am to seek out the scholar responsible, confirm that they are worthy, then deliver the book to them and pass on my burden. Father Orlando prophesied that this would come to pass when the garden was under its greatest threat – and it's never been under more threat than it is now.'
Her voice grew more impassioned. 'Every year mankind gets closer to abusing the garden and its source. Each month on the news I see that loggers, farmers, roads and oil companies are encroaching on what was once remote, virgin jungle. I despaired of the document's ever being deciphered until I read about your wife's translation on the Internet, researched her background and discovered her love of conservation. I knew she was the one.' Sister Chantal reached into her case and pulled out a vacuum-sealed plastic bag. As she did so a leather pouch fell on to the floor. It was dusted with fragments of crushed rock. Their metallic iridescence reminded Ross of the Schreibersite rock sample he had given Lauren on his return from Uzbekistan, but their crystalline translucency was different – unique. He studied the fragments but couldn't identify which rock they came from – and he knew most rocks.
He switched his attention to the plastic bag. As she opened the seal, a faint, musty smell tainted the air. 'This is Father Orlando's book of directions to the garden.' She pulled it out and opened it carefully. The last few pages were a different colour from the rest. 'To keep them together, the translation of the Voynich's astrological section was bound into the back many years ago.' She passed it to him. The small book's grained leather had been carefully preserved but it was undeniably ancient. 'It's proof of what I say. If your wife could read it she'd have no doubt.'
He opened the book. The yellowed pages were covered in neat calligraphy. To his surprise, he could understand most of it. 'It's in Spanish.'
'Orlando Falcon's native tongue. He wrote it before his return to Rome, but it's