David raised his hand in a farewell gesture and began to descend. Within moments, he disappeared among the rocks and shrubs.
Thomas remained standing motionless for a long time, gazing after his departing pupil. Then he turned and looked at the lake, shimmering in the rays of the morning sun.
"Lord," he whispered, "give him strength to fulfill his mission. And give me courage to face what is to come."
He knew that returning to the monastery meant, most likely, condemning himself to death. The Mongols did not leave alive those who resisted. But Thomas had a plan—a mad, desperate plan that might give the remaining refugees a chance for salvation.
He took a deep breath, gathering his courage, and headed back to the stone buildings. A conversation with the abbot of the Armenian monastery, old Father Grigor, awaited him. They needed to prepare a feigned surrender of the monastery, while the majority of the refugees would secretly leave through an underground passage known only to a few.
Three days later, Thomas sat in a dungeon—a cramped cellar with an earthen floor and rough stone walls. His hands were tied behind his back, his legs bound with rope. His face was covered with bruises, one arm, twisted during interrogation, throbbed painfully.
The Mongol noyon Jebe was known for his cruelty, but also for his perspicacity. He quickly realized that Thomas was not just one of the refugees, but a leader, a keeper of knowledge.
The interrogations continued day after day. Jebe wanted to know where the treasures were hidden. He was not interested in gold and silver—he was looking for some special item. "The Stone of Power," as he called it.
Thomas remained silent, no matter what they did to him. Even when the pain became unbearable, he found solace in prayer and thoughts that David was already far away, beyond the Mongols' reach.
In the dim light of a torch burning in the corridor, he gazed into the semi-darkness of his dungeon and thought of those who had already left this world. The abbot of the Armenian monastery, Father Grigor, was killed on the first day of the siege when he refused to hand over the refugees. Many brothers and sisters died protecting the children. But a large group managed to escape through the underground passage while Thomas negotiated with the Mongols, deliberately buying time.
The creaking of the door roused him from his reverie. Jebe entered the dungeon, accompanied by his shaman—a thin old man with a bird-like face and eyes that seemed to reflect other worlds.
"You can still save your life, monk," the noyon said without preamble. "Tell me where the stone of power is hidden, and I will release you."
Thomas looked at him silently. He knew Jebe was lying. The Mongols released no one.
"Our shaman," the noyon pointed to the old man, "says the stone is somewhere nearby. He can feel its power."
The shaman nodded, not taking his penetrating gaze from Thomas.
"It glows in the water," the old man said in a creaky voice. "But there is much water around. The lake is large."
Thomas felt a chill run down his spine. Had the shaman truly sensed something? Or was it a coincidence?
"You know that sooner or later we will find it," Jebe continued. "The great khan has ordered every stone to be turned, every stream to be dried up if necessary. He wants to obtain the stone of power."
