Addison Cooke and the Ring of Destiny

by Jonathan W. Stokes

  Far below, Addison realized that the pendulum was rigged to gradually swing closer and closer to Eddie. “You’ve got to hurry!” he called.

  Eddie twisted another copper disk, trying to feel if there were any tumblers clicking home inside. It was hard to concentrate. He couldn’t detect anything. He wiped sweat from his eyes. Panic was rising in his gut.

  Addison raced halfway up the steps, trying to get a closer look at the pattern of curving lines on the disks. Maybe they spelled something in ancient Hebrew. That would make sense—Solomon’s priests wouldn’t want Babylonians opening the treasure vault, and the Babylonians wouldn’t know Hebrew. The only trouble was, Addison didn’t know Hebrew either. He turned to Molly and Raj, who had joined him on the stairs. “Any ideas?”

  Raj shook his head.

  Molly pointed to the pendulum. “It’s getting closer to Eddie. Pretty soon, he won’t have any room left on the platform. He could die, Addison!”

  Addison gritted his teeth. “Think, you guys! As hard as you can!” He shut his eyes and took a deep breath to summon his thoughts. He pictured the curving lines and the straight lines in his mind’s eye. “Scratch that—stop thinking so hard.” His eyes flickered open. “We’re way overthinking this.”

  “Which is it?” asked Molly. “Do you want us to think or not?”

  “It’s a ring,” said Addison. He cupped his hands and shouted up to Eddie. “Spin the copper plates to form a ring!”

  Eddie stood pressed close to the door, the pendulum swinging ever nearer. “Are you sure?” he called. He didn’t want to turn the disks the wrong way and risk an even worse booby trap.

  “It’s got to be!” called Addison. “Every other clue they’ve left has been a ring. The curved lines form the ring; the straight lines form the six-pointed star. Eddie, hurry!”

  Eddie didn’t have any better ideas, and he was nearly out of time. It was the only shot he could take. He frantically swiveled disk after disk. The curving lines on the outer disks connected to form a circle. He turned the straight lines on the inner disks to form two interlocking triangles—a six-pointed star.

  Somewhere, deep inside the earth, Eddie felt a lock spring.

  The next thing he felt was the pendulum smacking him on the back.

  At that precise moment, the circular copper door swung open, and Eddie fell forward into the dark.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  The Treasure Chamber

  ADDISON, MOLLY, AND RAJ hustled up the staircase, ducked the swinging pendulum, and stepped cautiously through the doorway.

  “Are you okay, Eddie?” Addison called into the dark.

  “Define ‘okay.’”

  Addison’s flashlight beam found Eddie sprawled on the ground. He was rubbing the small of his back and grimacing.

  “You did it,” said Addison. “This must be the biggest safe you’ve ever cracked.”

  “I think it’s my back that got cracked,” said Eddie bitterly. He struggled to his feet.

  The tangy smell of copper and the pungent smell of oil were much stronger in this room. Addison’s flashlight beam was not powerful enough to reach more than a dozen feet into the pitch-black.

  Raj found an ancient torch hanging in a wall sconce. He pulled out his box of strike-anywhere matches and selected the driest one. He sparked it on his boot and lit the torch.

  Molly grabbed a second torch. Together, they lit more torches in the wall sconces as they moved deeper into the chamber. The walls of the colossal space were lined with beaten copper that reflected the flickering torchlight in a thousand directions. For the first time in millennia, the room came into view.

  The ceiling rose high overhead. Near the tops of the pillared walls were carved stone gargoyles—hideous and demonic beasts—their faces formed into fanged screams. Higher still were carved stone angels, wings sprouting from their shoulders, their lips parted as if in song.

  Addison plucked a freshly lit torch from the wall, held it aloft, and crossed into the center of the chamber. His feet drifted to a halt, and he nearly tripped over his own jaw.

  “Eddie,” he said, his voice tremulous, “will this cheer you up?”

  Eddie limped to join Addison at his side.

  Before them were thousands of bars of solid gold. They were stacked like bricks, forming endless rows like bookshelves in a library.

  Addison saw that Eddie’s lip was quivering, his expression transfixed with joy.

  “I can’t feel my face,” said Eddie.

  “Take deep breaths,” said Addison.

  Molly and Raj joined them in the center of the chamber. The gold twinkled in the torchlight.

  “It must be worth a fortune,” said Molly.

  “It’s worth more than that,” said Addison, taking in his surroundings. “The priests re-created Solomon’s entire throne room. His palace was destroyed thousands of years ago, but now we can catch a glimpse of what it looked like. Guys, we are standing in one of the most important archaeological finds in the world.”

  Addison found a solid gold scepter, inlaid with rubies, casually laid on top of a pile of gold bars. He hefted it in his hands, feeling the weight. He tried to wrap his mind around the fact that the scepter had once been held by the fabled king of Israel over three thousand years ago, but his brain could barely stretch that far.

  Eddie, his eyes on the rows of gold bars, tripped over a giant golden chalice, sending it clanging across the stone floor. Emeralds and rubies scattered everywhere.

  “Watch it, Eddie!” Molly hissed. “This is an archaeological site. We shouldn’t even be here without gloves on.”

  “Sorry!” Eddie struggled to pick up all the jewels and return them to the chalice.

  In the center of the chamber stood Solomon’s throne. Addison gazed up at it reverently and mounted the six steps, each one flanked by golden statues of animals.

  The golden throne was centered at the top. And there, resting on the arm of the high-backed chair, sat a ring. The ring was not covered in jewels. It was not even gold. It was a simple ring of iron and brass. On its face was carved a six-pointed star. Addison picked it up and turned it over in his hand. He felt tempted to slip it on his finger, but he hesitated. He stared up at the stone faces of the gargoyles leering down from above and shuddered. Hairs prickled on the back of his neck and stood up straight on his forearms. He held the ring carefully in his palm, afraid to put it on.

  Raj let out a warning whistle. Men’s voices echoed from the stairway outside.

  “C’mon,” said Addison. “We’re about to get trapped in here!”

  The group started for the entrance of the chamber but quickly skidded to a halt. Men’s voices called from just outside the doorway. Addison only had time to whisper a single word. “Hide!” But before anyone could even begin searching for a hiding spot, a tall man stepped through the doorway at the front of the chamber, firelight reflected in his eyes.

  Malazar.

  * * *

  • • • • • •

  “Wow,” Addison began, taking a step back. “What are the odds we would both visit the same treasure chamber on the same night? Crazy, right?”

  Malazar’s fiery gaze took in Addison, took in Molly, and then took in the splendor of the throne room. Ivan filed in behind, followed by his men. Addison noted that Ivan’s hair was even more swampy and disheveled than usual, and then realized it was because Ivan was dripping wet. All of the men would have needed to swim under the reservoir to make it to the chamber.

  Ivan’s men fanned out, surrounding Addison’s group.

  Malazar inched closer to Addison. “Addison Cooke,” he began, his burn-scarred mouth twisted with sneering disdain. His voice was a rasping, reedy whisper, as if his vocal cords had been filed with sandpaper. “Thank you for finding the treasure vault. And thank you for opening it for us.”

 
Addison wanted to appear courageous in front of his team. But the sight of Malazar had him rattled to his core. Confidence was fleeing him like steam from a hot kettle. He knew there was no way out of the chamber. He struggled to steady his voice. “How did you find us?”

  “It was simple,” said Malazar. A smile wafted across his face like a curl of smoke. “Ivan followed your footprints in the sand.”

  Addison clenched his jaw. He had handed Malazar the golden treasure on a silver platter.

  “You killed my associate Vladimir Ragar in Peru,” Malazar continued. “And thanks to you, his brother Boris met his end in Mongolia.”

  “Strictly speaking,” Addison replied, his voice sounding small and weak in the vast chamber, “that wasn’t entirely my fault.”

  Malazar ignored this. “Now at last, I am going to kill you. And your sister. And your friends.” He spread his skeletal arms, gesturing to the heaping piles of gold lining the chamber. “This will fund the Collective, making us even more powerful. Now, give me the ring, Addison.”

  “What ring?” asked Addison.

  “The one you are holding in your right hand.”

  “Oh, that ring.” Addison tried to think of a way to stall, but found his brain stalled instead. He looked down at the iron ring resting on the flat of his palm. He glanced up at Malazar’s burn-scarred face. “You know, they say the ring is magic—that it gives command over demons.”

  “It doesn’t,” Malazar growled. He took a step closer and snatched the ring from Addison’s palm with his gnarled fingers. “I don’t need it for magic tricks, I need it for the prize.” Malazar held the ring in the air, admiring it with gleaming eyes.

  Addison felt completely defeated. He had lost the ring, he had lost his aunt and uncle. Now he was going to lose Molly, Eddie, Raj, and even himself. And it was all his fault. He could have planned better. He could have acted faster. He could have listened to Raj and covered their tracks in the sand. He could have, he could have, he could have.

  “Addison,” Eddie whispered. “What do we do? Please tell me you have a plan!”

  Addison stared at the ground, shoulders slack. “We’re done,” he said simply.

  Molly looked to Addison. “King Solomon lost everything because he lost his faith. If we don’t believe we can get out of this, we’ve already lost.”

  “You can’t get out of this,” said Ivan, his lopsided grin leaking across his face. He closed in on Molly.

  Molly was not ready to give up. She brandished her flaming torch at Ivan.

  And then the scales fell from Addison’s eyes. For an instant, he was no longer in the chamber. He was on a cricket pitch. Eddie was at cow corner. Raj was at deep midwicket. Molly was the batsman. Malazar was the wicket keeper. And suddenly, for the first time ever, Addison felt he understood the game of cricket. Taking the ring from Malazar was as easy as bowling a yorker off a back-footed biffer. He knew what to do.

  “Molly!” he cried. “You’re the striker!” He pointed to Malazar’s hand. “Bat me that ring!”

  Addison started for the far side of the chamber.

  Molly, unlike Addison, had a knack for sports. She was already one of the best strikers on the Wyckingham Swithy School for Girls’ cricket team. Gripping her wooden torch like a bat, she spun away from Ivan to face Malazar. He cringed at the sight of the snapping flames. Molly wound up her torch and cracked Malazar hard in the hand. The ring flew into the air.

  Even as Addison sprinted across the glittering copper floor, he could see Molly’s hit was a sizzling slog, right in the sweet spot, sure to be a sixer.

  It was a sitter, hit so high it seemed to hang in the air. Addison bolted down the narrow walkway between the heaps of gold. Stretching his arm nearly out of its socket, he caught the ring on the run, one-handed. It was easily the greatest athletic achievement of Addison’s life, though that was not saying a tremendous amount.

  “Guys! This way!” Addison kept running, straight up the six steps to Solomon’s throne. Molly, Eddie, and Raj raced toward him.

  Ivan and his men gave chase.

  Addison reached Solomon’s throne and spun to face the rushing Russians. “Stop!” he shouted, holding the Ring of Destiny high in the air like a live grenade.

  Ivan’s men slowed uncertainly to a halt.

  Addison’s friends joined him at his side. He felt the power of the ring in his hand. In his mind it seemed to sizzle with electricity. In this moment, he needed power over demons—his own demons. And he realized now that his demons were fear and doubt. He needed to regain his old confidence. He needed to find his faith.

  “Get them!” shouted Ivan.

  But Addison held one hand aloft and spread his fingers wide. He slid on the Ring of Destiny.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Demons and Angels

  IVAN’S MEN PAUSED. THEY stared up at Addison uncertainly as he waved Solomon’s ring.

  At first, nothing much seemed to happen. And then, absolutely nothing happened. Addison’s mouth went dry. He swallowed hard.

  A sadistic grin spread across Ivan’s face and spread to the rest of his men like a contagious virus. They slowly closed in on Solomon’s throne.

  Addison realized he and his friends were cornered. They needed options. He thought of the legends of the magical feats Solomon performed from the seat of his throne. His brain burned through all its gears until he worried that exhaust fumes would pour out of his ears.

  Ivan climbed the first step to the throne. He mounted the second step and the third as well. He flexed his push daggers and clicked them together menacingly. He was thoroughly enjoying this.

  It was when Ivan reached the fourth step that Addison saw it: the mystical seal of Solomon emblazoned on the right arm of the throne—its six-pointed star carved into the gold. It was the exact shape and size as the seal on the ring. Maybe, just maybe, Addison thought . . . maybe the ring does have powers.

  Ivan mounted the fifth step, his eyes gleaming as brightly as the edges of his blades.

  Molly drew her sling from her satchel and started it swinging.

  Raj raised his fists.

  Eddie cowered behind Raj.

  Addison called to them. “Guys, get as close to the throne as possible . . .”

  He sat in the throne of Solomon and pressed his ring to the six-pointed star on the right arm of the chair. It fit, locking into place. It reminded him of the way his Templar pendant clicked perfectly into the bronze tablet. Now he knew where the Templars got the idea for such a design.

  Ivan climbed the final step, raising his push daggers for a lethal slash.

  Addison twisted the Ring of Destiny in the socket of the throne.

  Ancient machinery whirred behind the bronze-covered walls of the chamber. The stone gargoyles lining the ceiling opened their demonic mouths. Their razor-sharp fangs ground together, striking like flints and shooting sparks. Geysers of oil sprouted from their stone throats.

  And the room was engulfed in flame.

  * * *

  • • • • • •

  Malazar shrieked, shielding his face from the torrents of fire. He ran in a blind panic, hurling himself behind a row of gold bars.

  Ivan and his men flattened themselves to the ground, covering their heads from the searing flames.

  Addison watched the mayhem. He heard the screams and felt the room grow fiercely hot. The stone demons were doing their work. But Addison was not a demon himself. When he saw Ivan’s coat burst into flames and heard Ivan’s terrified shriek, he wondered if he could gain power over angels as well.

  He unscrewed the signet ring from the right arm of the throne. The jets of fire slaked and petered out. Addison turned to the left arm of the throne and inserted Solomon’s ring into an identical six-pointed star on that side.

  He twisted the ring, and the stone angels mounted around th
e edge of the ceiling spit plumes of water, squelching the fire from the clothing of the burning Russian vori. The angels belched tens of thousands of gallons of water. Gang members lost their footing. The room became a treasure chamber–shaped toilet, flushing the Collective out the door and down the fifty steep steps.

  Through the hissing, misting spray, Addison heard something that made his heart do a double back flip in his chest. His aunt and uncle. It was just two words, shouted from a distance, over the pounding roar of the deluge. “Addison! Molly!”

  Addison shook his head, unsure whether to believe his ears. He decided it must be some trick of the gushing water. He twisted the Ring of Destiny out of the throne socket and watched the water trickle to a stop. He listened for the sound of his aunt and uncle and heard nothing.

  Molly marched down the steps of the throne, looking for a Russian chin or shin in need of a swift kick. The flood had swept all of the gang members clear out of the room. All except one.

  Ivan had somehow managed to cling to the edges of the doorway to avoid being plunged down the stairs. With his long hair soaked, he looked like a drenched sheepdog. He rose to his feet, dripping and mad and gasping and sputtering for breath. He clenched his fists, gripping his daggers.

  Molly drew her sling, loaded it with a lead slug, and marched up to Ivan.

  Raj watched her, his face draining of color. “Molly, are you sure you want to fight him?”

  Molly set her sling spinning until it was nothing but a whirring blur. “Positive.”

  Ivan grinned and beckoned her closer.

  Molly attacked, attempting to clock Ivan across his hairy head.

  Ivan deflected the sling’s blow with his push daggers, and took a swipe at Molly’s face. “You need a real weapon.”

  Molly kept the sling spinning, whipping it toward Ivan’s head again and again.