by Tom Abrahams
Zeke shoved Uriel out of the way and dove atop Lucius. He hugged the man with his arms and legs. He pressed his cheek to Lucius’s and squeezed.
Then he rolled around on the ground like he was putting out flames. As he did, he felt the ants release and drop to the ground.
He only stopped when Lucius stopped crying out in pain. The scream became a whimper and then it was nothing. He was quiet. Zeke rolled away and then kneeled beside him; the electricity coursed through his body. The blue light strobed on Lucius’s swollen, injured body.
Zeke realized Lucius wasn’t moving. He wasn’t breathing. Bright red welts peppered his exposed skin. In some spots the wounds blended into one larger swelling.
Lucius’s eyes were slits. His ears and nose looked like lumps of malformed clay. His fat tongue wouldn’t fit inside his mouth. His fingers twitched twice and stopped.
He squeaked. A sound like air escaping a racing tire leaked from him.
Zeke kneeled over him, unsure what to do, where to touch. Lucius was dying.
Only minutes before, they’d trekked through the dense jungle talking about their plans. How they would reunite him with his daughter. How they would save her and retrieve the sword. How there was more than a sword awaiting them. Now Lucius was motionless.
How was it the afterlife carried with it as much agony as life itself? This was a question to which Zeke decided he needed an answer. He couldn’t look the other way on this. And as soon as they were done with this quest, he’d make a note of it. He’d tell Uriel to remind him. He’d insist Phil bring up the subject in front of Pedro. The afterlife sucked.
Looking up at Uriel, Zeke swallowed past the knot in his throat. He opened his mouth to say something but was speechless. What was there to say?
Uriel and Phil stood side by side. The left side of Phil’s face was swollen at his cheek. Red bumps dotted his jawline. He scratched them, but said nothing.
Zeke looked away from the expressionless Watchers and down at his charge, Lucius Mander.
Lucius had landed at the cantina for a reason. There was a wrong in his life he needed to right. He sought to balance what he’d tipped too far to one side. Zeke looked at his face, frozen with the pained expression of a man dead from agony and poison and regret.
He regretted not learning more about Lucius. All he knew was that Lucius was a father who’d died at the hands of a pirate because of secrets he refused to divulge. His daughter knew those secrets, and she was a captive of the same pirate.
Father. Daughter. Pirate. Sword. That was the gist of it.
He’d seen the longing on Lucius’s face, the determination he held to redeem himself. Or was it something else? Was it not about redemption for Lucius, but rather about rescue? Was it both?
He reached out to touch Lucius’s chest, to apologize to him for failing him. It was too late. When he lowered his palm, it went through the spot where the chest had been an instant earlier. Lucius Mander evaporated into the ether, as Gabe had done on board the yacht.
“It’s okay, Zeke. We’ll see him at the bar again,” Uriel said, as if reading his mind.
“It doesn’t matter!” Zeke punched the ground. He cursed aloud, the foul language drawing silence from the jungle as it echoed through the trees and vines. “He’ll never see his daughter again…”
Nobody answered. He drew a few more ragged breaths, then pushed himself to his feet and faced the Watchers. He exhaled and took his Stetson from his head. Running his fingers through his sweaty hair, he used the hat to point toward the summit.
“We’re running out of time,” he said. “We have a mission. It hasn’t changed whether Lucius is with us or not. Let’s go get his daughter, grab the sword and whatever else there is up there, and deliver that pirate to the true Harbingers of Death.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Anaxi Mander stood before the dead beast, completely out of breath. She grimaced. “This thing stinks. Like rotten eggs left in the sun too long.”
Desmond Branch moved next to her, stepping around the thick tail of the snake’s body. He surveyed the length of it and shook his head in what looked like disbelief.
“You have a way with words,” he said. “And a way with spears,” he added. “That was brilliant.”
Her instinct was to thank him for the compliment. She didn’t. Instead, she moved away from him and toward Le Grand. There was one other surviving crewmate after the battle besides him. That was it. The rest were dead.
Le Grand no longer held the torch. Bent over, his hands were on his knees. His head hung low. The other crewmate gripped a sword, the weapon quivering in his hands. His eyes were wide, the firelight flickering in them and pronouncing the fear that racked the survivor’s body.
Beyond the body of the eight-headed snake, Anaxi saw the three pedestals undisturbed. Each held its prize.
Desmond Branch brushed past her and climbed over a dead snake head toward the pedestals. The others in shock, Anaxi was the only one to follow him. She checked behind her and found that the round wooden door was closed. She didn’t remember anybody shutting it.
She slid down the side of the snake’s head and landed on her feet in front of the center pedestal. Up close, this one was wider than the other two. And before it were three steps, which weren’t visible from where she’d been during the fight.
Branch hurriedly climbed the steps and stood at the pedestal. He took in a deep breath, his chest expanding. He spread his arms like wings.
“I am here to take what is mine,” he said. “All the sacrifice. The blood. The treasure. All of it for this moment.” His voice echoed loudly off the walls, carrying in the smoke from the torches. With one eye, he scanned the space as if delivering a proclamation to an entire village. Anaxi expected nothing less from the psychopathic narcissist.
He laughed wickedly as he reached down to take the sword with both hands. His fingers closed around the grip, thumbs up, and he pulled.
The muscles in his arms flexed. The veins in his neck strained. His jaw clenched.
The sword didn’t budge. He looked at the others, but said nothing.
Branch laughed again. This one far less menacing. He tried again and grunted all the way through a prolonged pull. Still nothing.
His eyes widened with anger. He tried again. And again. Each pull was shorter than the last. Finally, Branch let go and tilted his head back. He screamed with frustration, the deafening roar forcing Anaxi to cover her ears. Then she stepped toward him and locked eyes with him. The shadows danced across his face as he stood atop the pedestal, panting.
He wiped spit from his chin. His hands trembled. His face was tight with confusion.
Anaxi’s tone was flat as she explained, “You’re not worthy. You can’t possess the sword.”
Enraged, Branch growled and tried the sword again. It didn’t budge. Then he pointed at Anaxi and screamed at her, “You get up here! You try.”
Anaxi suppressed a smile. “Okay.”
She moved toward the pedestals. Branch backed down the steps and mockingly motioned for her to climb.
She ascended the three steps, and Branch climbed again right behind her, his warm breath on her neck.
From the dais, she saw the entire space. The high ceilings, the carved walls, the length of the dead snake, an exhausted Le Grand, a frightened crewmate. The dead bodies of men who’d given their lives in the service of their vile captain.
Her eyes returned to the sword. Firelight bounced off the jewel-encrusted handle and hilt. The exposed steel blade was honed with a razor’s edges. It looked too substantial for her to lift. But after she did, and she believed she was worthy, she would spin and use the weapon against the man who craved it.
Her finger traced the intricate filigree that decorated the handle. Despite the sweltering heat in the room, the metal was cool. Almost cold to the touch.
Branch shoved her in the back. “Hurry up.”
Anaxi deliberately put both hands around the grip. Her fingers
extended all the way around the thick grip. She closed her eyes, tensed her muscles, and pulled.
Nothing.
Her eyes opened; brow furrowed. She tried again. No movement. The sword was unmoved.
Branch shoved her aside, almost knocking her from the pedestal. “Are you even trying?” he questioned. “Did you try to pull it free?”
Anaxi heard panic in his voice. She stayed calm.
“Yes. It wouldn’t move,” she said.
“You’re not worthy either? Is anybody worthy?”
He pointed to Le Grand. “Pierre, get up here. Try the sword.”
The first mate lifted his head, leaning on his knees. He nodded wearily and stood up straight. He winced as he arched his back.
Anaxi knew Le Grand wasn’t the one. It was a waste of time. Maybe all of this was a waste.
Branch put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her away. “Get down from there. Let him try.”
She did as he instructed.
“If we can’t put this sword in my hands, you’re useless to me,” he threatened as she reached the bottom step. “I’ll end you here. You’ll be buried in the volcano with the snake. Where you deserve to be.”
He wasn’t bluffing. She knew it. He’d kill her and leave her here. The truth was, even if he did get the sword, he’d have no need for her. Unless she took control, there was no way she’d ever leave this place. It would become her eternal tomb.
Le Grand moved past her to climb the steps. As he did, she made her way to the pedestal with the diamond atop it.
Unnoticed, Anaxi reached the pedestal and grasped the stone. She plucked it from its perch and held it in her palm. It was the size of a small reptile egg, not much bigger than her fingertip, but it sparkled magnificently. It seemed to both absorb and reflect the firelight.
She clutched the stone in her fist and waited. As expected, Le Grand couldn’t free the sword. Neither could the lone surviving crewmate.
And when he couldn’t pull it free, Branch drew his own sword and drove it through the crewmate’s back, skewering him without warning. He pushed the dead man from the top step, his only crime being absolute loyalty to a madman.
“What are you doing, Desmond!” Le Grand protested.
Branch smacked him across the face with the back of his hand, and Le Grand fell back onto his rump. His cheek was split by one of Branch’s rings, and he rubbed the wound, face contorted in disbelief.
“Stop it,” said Anaxi. “He’s done everything you’ve asked of him.”
“Not everything,” Branch snarled. “The sword isn’t free of the stone.”
Le Grand wiped the blood from his cheek with his palm. He staggered to his feet. “I’ll do it. Give me another—”
“No!” Anaxi blurted. “Let me try again. I have an idea.”
She exchanged knowing looks with Le Grand. For an instant she thought a smile flickered on his wounded face. Saying nothing more, she crossed to the center pedestal and stood at the bottom of the steps. Branch stood atop the dais and scowled down at her. He waved her up with his sword.
Anaxi climbed the steps and edged past Branch. She didn’t look at him as she did. She knew that if she failed this time, he was likely to end her, as he had the poor crewmate.
She reached the sword and again traced the handle until she felt the small gap in the grip. A gap the size of the diamond.
Inconspicuously working the diamond from her palm to her thumb and forefinger, Anaxi slid the stone into the gap. It fit perfectly. She ran a thumb across it, making sure it was in its place.
Then she slowly wrapped her hands around the sword’s grip. As soon as she did, a pulse of electricity shot from the handle into her hands and up her arms.
It was so sudden, so powerful, that it almost took her breath away. But she maintained her composure and pulled upward. The sword easily slid from the rock with an echoing rasp.
She lifted the sword high above her head until the entire blade was free from the rock. It pulsed electric blue, unlike anything she’d ever seen. The color reminded her of a distant strobe of lightning reflected in the endless sea.
Overtaken by the beauty of it, Anaxi forgot her plan should she possess the sword. Instead of turning around and cleaving Branch’s head from his shoulders, she held it too long.
Branch’s hands were upon hers before she could react. He squeezed next to her and pried the sword from her hands. Then he elbowed her in the ribs to knock her from the pedestal. She lost her balance and fell, landing hard on the stone and banging her head.
Branch stood tall atop the pedestal, hoisting the Kalevanmiekka above his head with one hand. His sinister laughter seemed more resonant, deeper, and possessing more power than it ever had before.
Dazed and hurting, Anaxi’s head fell back and she couldn’t see what came next. But she did hear it. Branch proclaiming victory. And then another voice, one she didn’t recognize. And a third. A woman’s voice.
The room suddenly filled with more blue light.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The instant someone touched the sword, Zeke knew where to be. They were already close. The sensation was bizarre. One second he was focused on the dark tunnel leading deep into the mountain, the next he was certain of the sword’s exact location. Uriel and Phil must have had the same epiphany, as they exchanged knowing looks, and raced toward the end of the long winding tunnel, which dropped into the center of a dormant volcano.
Zeke kicked through a round door leading into a vast chamber. A wall of heat and the odor of death hit him like a gut punch when he crossed the threshold. In front of him lay the remains of a giant multi-headed monster and the bodies of dead men. Atop a pedestal across the space, a man lifted what could only be Kalevanmiekka above his head. He laughed and shouted something unintelligible.
Zeke didn’t care what the man was saying. All he knew was that he possessed the Kalevanmiekka, Josephine’s weapon, and it wasn’t his to hold.
There was no girl in sight. Not that Zeke could see. His focus was on the pirate. Zeke clenched his fists, summoning a surge of energy, and bounded forward toward the pedestal.
Before he reached the man, he leaped from his perch and brandished the sword with remarkable skill. “Whoever you are, you made a mistake following me here,” the man said, with gleeful energy.
Zeke stood his ground, ready to fight. “Desmond Branch?”
The man lifted an eyebrow. “My reputation precedes me? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Soon enough everyone across the endless sea will know me. They’ll fear me.”
Branch’s eyes flitted past Zeke. Then focused on him again.
“Three of you?” he asked. “Three against one? Brilliant. This should be fun.”
Uriel stepped even with Zeke on his left. Phil moved to his right.
“It’s not going to be as easy as you think,” Phil whispered. “These ancient weapons have immense power.”
“We can’t let him escape,” said Uriel. “If he does, we’re screwed.”
Zeke didn’t respond. Instead, he counted aloud and hoped the others were with him.
“One. Two. Three.”
All three of them moved toward the threat as a single, cohesive unit. Zeke launched himself toward Branch, jumping into a spinning kick. At the same time Uriel ran straight at the pirate, her shoulder lowered as if to ram him. Phil stalked him more deliberately, ready to be the third wave of assault.
Zeke reached him first. Leg extended, he was certain his heel would connect with the side of the pirate’s face, right below his swollen eye. At the last second, Branch dodged him and jabbed the heel of the sword’s grip into his side. It sent Zeke off course and tumbling to the ground.
He rolled to his feet and spun around to see the pirate deflect Uriel’s charge. He swung with the sword in a downward motion that just missed her legs. She sidestepped the swipe and tried to hit him from the side. He dodged her and stepped back to fend off Phil.
Phil spun his flail over his head b
efore side-arming it toward Branch. The spiked ball clanged against the Kalevanmiekka. Blue sparks flashed at the connection. Phil swung again, but the pirate wrapped the chain around his sword. He yanked and disarmed Phil in one smooth motion.
Weaponless, Phil cursed and retreated. Uriel charged again. Zeke joined her. They met in the air above Branch. One of them tried to attack him from above; the other dropped to the hard ground and struck low.
Quick, lightning-fast parries repelled both of them, and Branch spun into the air. He landed again on the pedestal, free of the attacks and chortling as if this were all a game to him.
He pointed at them with the sword. The energy pulsed through his body. “Is that all you’ve got? Whoever you are, you’re wasting your time.”
Zeke and Uriel exchanged glances. Then Phil moved between them and nodded.
Phil charged first. Weaponless, he climbed onto the dead snake and jumped at Branch. At the same time, Uriel charged him. Zeke reached for his holster.
The two Watchers reached him at the same time. Branch fought off Phil’s attack and shifted quickly to defend himself against Uriel. While they engaged, Zeke leveled his pistol, put his finger on the trigger, and pulled.
The weapon fired. A whoomp throbbed in the chamber as concentric rings of blue pulse energy raced toward Branch. It hit him dead center and knocked him from the pedestal, sending him soaring across the cavern into the far wall.
The blast also tossed Uriel and Phil. They crumpled to the ground alongside Branch, but scrambled away from him as Zeke marched toward the pirate with the gun aimed at him.
Stunned, Branch shook his head. He wielded the mythic sword, but as he struggled to his feet, Zeke fired again. Another percussive blast dropped Branch to his knees. Somehow, he held onto the sword, wielding its power.
As Zeke readied another shot, from nowhere, Le Grand lunged for Branch. He leapt into the air, his clawed hands reaching for the sword. But Branch deflected him with an elbow. Le Grand landed hard, his head cracking against the ground.