The Tenth Order

by Nic Widhalm

  Hunter couldn’t move. He watched in silent shock, tears running down his face in channels of stone dust and blood as the Throne disappeared in a maelstrom of smoke. Dimly, Hunter heard voices shouting his name, but he couldn’t look away from the Ladder. His last chance, the only person who knew the truth about Hunter—the Sword, his destiny as a fallen Seraphim, why the Apkallu were so intent on destroying him—was gone. He would never be able to ask her what it all meant.

  The Ladder, which had only been a faint haze when Hunter first saw it, almost imperceptible without his gifts, had turned into a raging tempest. The column of twisting aether still stretched from floor to ceiling, but was expanding rapidly. It had already grown from a tight cylinder to a tornado that was rapidly consuming the room.

  Arms wrapped around Hunter’s waist, struggling to lift him to his feet, but the sensation felt distant and removed, like it was happening to someone else. Hunter’s eyes were still fixed on the cyclone, wide and unblinking. Then his wrist screamed in pain, and he looked down to catch Karen squeezing his arm.

  “Oww!” Hunter hollered, pulling his arm back and cradling it to his chest.

  “Get on your feet, you fucking idiot!” Karen yelled back, yanking at Hunter’s good arm. Reality set in, and Hunter saw that the tempest was only a few inches away, moving closer with every passing second. Eyes large, Hunter scrambled to his feet, grabbed Karen and ran toward the door.

  Jackie was waiting on the other side as they barreled through. Glancing behind him, Hunter watched as the Ladder consumed the two unconscious Elohim they’d left behind. As the tempest touched the first a shiver ran through his body, the Apkallu’s eyes flickered, and his mouth opened in a silent scream. Silent, because the swirling dust and light had already taken his face.

  “We have to help,” Hunter started back through the door, but Karen pulled on his broken wrist again, and a flare of red pain stopped him.

  “No time. You go in, you’re not coming out.”

  “You can’t leave them like that,” Jackie said. They were the first words she’d spoken since joining them.

  “You want to save them, go for it,” Karen shook her head. “I’m getting the hell out of here.”

  Jackie squared her shoulders and stepped toward the door, but Hunter blocked her. “She’s right. Oriphiel didn’t sacrifice herself so we could get killed being heroes.”

  Jackie stared at him, her eyes ice cold, and Hunter couldn’t help but flinch. Then, without a word she turned and started jogging down the stone tunnel.

  The walls rattled again and ancient dust showered Valdis, bringing another set of wracking coughs. The tremors had begun fifteen minutes ago, lasting a moment or two, then fading. But the last two times the quakes had grown in duration and intensity. It was a concern, but Valdis was more focused on the immediate problem. He was lost.

  You fool. What did you expect? You deserted the detective and expected to waltz out of here? God doesn’t work like that.

  Valdis shook the thick dust from his robes and looked around, gathering his bearings. He couldn’t be far from the entrance—he already smelled the spicy, pungent scent of salt and fish—but he had been wandering the same series of tunnels for the better part of an hour and still had nothing to show for it.

  He’d thought about turning back, finding the detective and seeing if they could find their way out together, but two things stopped him. The first, that his chances of finding Detective Riese were no better than discovering the exit to Jerusalem, and the second, that Jackie was just as likely to shoot him as she was to help him escape. Valdis remembered the look of betrayal in her eyes when the priest announced he was choosing the Enochian writings over Hunter. And Jackie didn’t strike him as the kind of person who easily forgave. She was a good Catholic girl—baptized, confirmed, and full of righteous guilt and stubbornness.

  “Damn it!” Valdis swore. His words were met with a sudden scrape of stone behind him, and the priest whirled around so fast he almost tripped on his robes.

  Behind him stood a ghost.

  Covered in chalky white dust, hair tousled wildly, the ghost cradled his right arm and watched Valdis with large, half-crazed eyes. The priest remained silent for a moment, letting his pounding heart catch up, then swallowed and said hesitantly, “Eli?”

  “Keep your voice down, old man,” Eli hissed, stepping closer. “You want them to hear you?”

  “They’re long gone,” Valdis spoke slowly, still recovering from the sudden shock of Eli’s arrival. The boy only shook his head warily, releasing a layer of fine white dust into the air, and stepped back into the shadows. It was then that Valdis noticed the other shadows surrounding him. Shadows with arms. They stepped into the light one at a time until the priest counted an even dozen. They were young men and woman, the oldest no more than eighteen, and they crowded around Eli until Valdis thought they might smother him.

  “It’s easy to get turned around in here,” Eli said. “You aren’t more than a hundred feet from where we escaped. I’ve spent my life in the caves, and I can promise you—our visitors are still here.”

  “Then show me how to get out. I need to find the wall script.”

  Eli’s eyes narrowed. “That’s really what you want? Your companions are still back there.” He looked over his shoulder toward the tunnel where the rumblings seemed strongest.

  “He’s Nephilim,” said one of the shadows, a girl by her voice. Eli glowered at her, then turned back to Valdis.

  “She’s right. Follow us and we’ll get you into the city.” Eli moved toward one of the clear passageways on the left, then turned back to Valdis. “That is what you want? Yes?” His accent made the last word sound like “guess.”

  Valdis looked at the remaining survivors, the remains of the Order of Venus. The knowledge these children possessed…he owed it to the world to get them to safety. Didn’t he?

  And he was Nephilim—Born of Angels. They would listen to Valdis, even if he demanded they stay with him after he left the catacombs. The priest looked behind him at the rock-strewn tunnel. Any moment they could be buried, the ceilings could collapse, the walls could rain stones from the heavens. It was foolish to stay. It was irresponsible.

  Again, he saw the look on Jackie’s face as she left him to go after Hunter. The disgust. The disappointment.

  All Valdis had to do was say the word and these children would take him to safety. Take him to the tunnel with the Enochian writings. He looked around, trying to see faces in the moving shadows, but all he could make out were small, gaunt outlines.

  All he had to do was say the word.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “We’re not going to make it,” Karen whispered.

  Jackie fought back the urge to slap the woman. “Is this all you’re good for?” She snapped. “Whining? Jesus Christ, I thought you angels were the be-all-end-all.”

  “If we weren’t stuck babysitting a human we’d be out of here already.”

  Jackie straightened, her back scraping against the jagged stone wall—all that was left of the corridor—and spat, “If I remember right, this human saved your ass back there.”

  Karen drew in a quick breath, her face flushed, but Hunter placed a hand on her shoulder and the red-haired beauty swallowed back whatever she’d been about to say.

  “You two can have a dick-measuring contest after we escape,” Hunter said. His voice was tired and broke on the last syllable. Valdis had told her that the Apkallu, and Powers in particular, were quick to heal, but if that was the case it wasn’t working with Hunter. The guy looked like hammered shit. One eye was swollen shut, his wrist tangled limply from his left arm, and he winced every time he walked, which Jackie suspected was due to a couple of broken ribs.

  It was a miracle they’d come this far.

  They had only made it fifty feet from the monstrous whirlwind when the ground started to shake under their feet. A moment later the walls followed. Hunter had held up what he could, using that phenomenal
strength of his, but now they’d found themselves at a dead-end. Behind was a passageway filled with rubble, and ahead a perfectly smooth alcove that, as far as Jackie could tell, served no practical purpose whatsoever. A single candle stood in the stone alcove, throwing flickering shadows across the wall.

  A tremor swept the rocky floor, and without thinking Jackie reached out and grabbed Hunter. Steadying herself, she looked up and saw Hunter gently cradling her with his good arm. She scrambled backward. “We, uh,” she cleared her throat. “We need to get clear. Now.”

  “Oh, what a great idea!” Karen cried, clapping her hands together and shooting Jackie a withering look. The Arch turned to Hunter, “After you, Atlas.”

  Jackie was about to snap back, but reined herself in. Hunter was right, now wasn’t the time. She could deal with this bitch once they reached the surface.

  “Karen, any chance you can, you know…” Hunter twirled his finger in the air, “do your thing? Find us a way out of here?”

  Karen shook her head. “I’m drained.”

  “Well then, I guess it’s up to the human,” Jackie said. "We’re not getting through that wall, so I say we circle back and try—"

  "Do you hear that?" Hunter interrupted.

  Jackie stopped, straining her ears. Could Friskin actually hear something, or was it despair setting in, a hope that something, anything would show up to...

  "Yes!" Karen cried, standing. "Voices.”

  "Wait, have you forgotten why we’re running in the first place?" Jackie asked. But even as the question escaped her lips she knew it was pointless. At this point even she was willing to throw the dice, and she could see her words had fallen on deaf-ears anyway. Friskin was already moving back in the direction they had fled from, Karen supporting him as he navigated chunks of rock and stone flooring. Hefting her revolver—a steel and sandalwood Colt .44 she’d managed to lift from an Apkallu guard—Jackie followed behind.

  As they moved through the broken tunnel Jackie finally heard it—voices. And more than one if she guessed correctly. She couldn’t help feeling a surge of hope, even if a part of her knew they might be walking into the arms of the Apkallu.

  Anything is better than dying here, in the dark...with her. Jackie eyed the back of Karen's slim figure and frowned. If it came to a fight Jackie wasn't going to waste a second on the red-head, she was going to grab Friskin and run. Maybe if she timed it right, if they came on the voices in surprise, Jackie could focus their attention on Karen while she and Hunter escaped. It wouldn't be difficult—the red-head already commanded the attention in the room—just give her a little push and she would be up front and center. Jackie steeled herself as they rounded the corner of the tunnel…and walked head-first into Valdis.

  "Oww!" The priest cried as Jackie's elbow smashed into his rib cage. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Next time I'll let you find your own way out."

  Jackie, crying with relief, grabbed the priest and hugged him until she heard his ribs creak. Pulling back, she wiped at her eyes and smiled. "One of these days you’re going to walk head-first off a cliff, you idiot."

  "Idiot indeed," Valdis grumbled, rubbing his ribcage. "If I say I’m here to rescue you will you promise not to hug me again?"

  The detective, her body shaking with fading adrenaline, picked up the priest and gave him another rib-cracking squeeze. Valdis squawked and beat at her half-heartedly, but couldn’t keep a grin from his face. After she set him down, Jackie turned to Hunter and saw him studying her, his lips pursed in puzzlement.

  "What?"

  "I didn't know you could smile."

  "Hah, fucking hah. Can we please get the hell out of here now?" Jackie scanned the corridor, noticing for the first time that Valdis wasn't alone. A half-dozen teenagers covered in soot and chalky gray powder were standing behind the priest, looking for all the world like the old man's personal guard. "Friends of yours?" Jackie asked.

  "It's a long story. Suffice to say, this young fellow," Valdis pointed at the fiery-eyed boy Jackie remembered from their first meeting with the Order, "has agreed to show us the way out of here."

  It seemed like a long shot—these kids didn’t look capable of wiping their own ass, much less navigating a crumbling labyrinth—but considering their options Jackie was willing to try anything. She gave the teenager a tight smile. "Well, if that's the case, no time like the present, eh?" The boy—Was it Ezekie? Emmett?—said nothing, just turned and began jogging back down the hall.

  Jackie came along side Hunter, and placed his arm around her. Karen did the same on the other side, shooting Jackie another glare. Swallowing a retort—time for that later—the detective bit her lower lip and focused on helping Friskin follow their band of would-be rescuers.

  They moved briskly down the tunnel, turning and making their way through corridors Jackie would have sworn were blocked before. The boy leading them moved quickly, urging them down tunnel after tunnel, making snap decisions whenever they’d come across a blocked corridor or fissure too large to cross, never seeming to hesitate. As they fled down the hall the tempo of the quakes increased, and Jackie saw huge chucks of rocky wall tumble to each side, swirls of Enochian script shattering as they crashed against the floor.

  Jackie stopped, pulling Karen and Hunter with her.

  "What now?" Karen barked.

  "The wall. Anthony, what about the writings?”

  Valdis stopped alongside them, his breathing hoarse and heavy, and shook his head. "Some things are more important."

  "That's not what you said an hour ago."

  The priest's eyes were heavy, but he said nothing, only shaking his head and continuing after the teenagers. Jackie heard a roar and the floor suddenly flexed, sending another chunk of wall crashing to the ground. Placing her arm around Hunter once again, the detective urged the big man forward.

  Father, for all our sakes, I hope you're right.

  Hunter's eyes snapped shut the moment they stepped into the sun. It felt like a thousand years had passed since the first night they arrived in Jerusalem. The rays of light flickering through the overcast sky coaxed tears from his eyes, but Hunter couldn't focus on that at the moment. Instead, his attention was pulled back to his broken ribs, dislocated shoulder, and an aching, pulsing fire in his swollen wrist.

  He stumbled as the ground leaped against his feet, leaning heavily on Jackie and Karen as they helped him out of the warehouse and down the street. Behind him an immense groan sounded, and Hunter turned to see the dull gray of the industrial building begin to soften and fold like cheese left too long in the sun.

  "Hurry," he whispered, the sound barely escaping his cracked lips. Karen turned and followed his eyes, watching as the warehouse began to sink into the ground. Her eyes widened but she didn't say anything, just turned and pulled on Hunter’s arm, urging him faster.

  Later, Hunter would try to piece the events together, the scrambled puzzle that led them from the dusty catacombs to the light of the sun, but at the moment all he could focus on was the insistent pull on his arm, and the warm, soft heat of Karen pressed against his side. By the time they made it to one of the surrounding hills and looked back, all that was left of the ancient catacombs and surrounding buildings was a gigantic sinkhole.

  Collapsing to the ground, the grass dry and brittle against his bare arms, Hunter stared at the wreckage of the Order of Venus. The warehouse that had served as the Order’s front was gone; in its place a spider-web of cracks and fissures radiating a half a mile from the enormous crater occupying what was left of the underground city.

  "It was only a matter of time," Eli said suddenly, breaking the silence. "I always told them the tunnels weren't secure. They were built a thousand years ago, when people thought mice were created by bales of hay."

  Hunter nodded slowly, not sure what to say, and let the silence creep back as the small group gazed upon the ruins. Along with Eli, a handful of kids had escaped the collapse of the Order, and now they shared split glances between their curly-haired le
ader and Hunter.

  Finally, after the silence had stretched for several minutes, Valdis cleared his throat. "Well, it's hardly enough, considering what you've gone through, losing your home, your parents, friends..." he trailed off, his face pained and frustrated. He tried again, "I mean, well...thank you. For everything."

  Eli turned from the wreckage. "I didn't do it for you."

  "Oh. I thought—uh, you said all those things about Nephilim and I just assumed…"

  "We did it for him," Eli nodded at Hunter.

  Hunter watched him silently, then staggered to his feet, wincing as bone scraped against bone. He looked at the survivors of the catacombs, the last members of the Order of Venus. They were a sorry lot, bruised, covered head to toe in greasy dark soot, and blinking in the morning sun like hyper-active owls. But every one of them, from the youngest, scrawny boy of ten, to the seasoned girls and boys of sixteen and seventeen, shared the same determined set of chin and jaw.

  "Why?" Hunter finally asked. It was the only thing he could think to say.

  Eli smiled for the first time. "You didn't think we knew? I saw it the first moment I laid eyes on you, the minute you were brought in, confused, tired, full of that righteous, holier-than-thou fury. I can practically smell it on you." He looked at the other children, the final legacy of the Order of Venus, and slowly knelt.

  "Morning Star. We serve at your pleasure."

  As the battered group stared down at the wreckage, the wind whipping small dirt-devils from their soiled clothes, Valdis rubbed his forefinger gently against the scrap of paper nestled in his pocket. The grainy texture of parchment slid across his skin, rough as a cat's tongue. A peaceful smile stole over the priest's face as he joined his comrades in gazing upon the cracks and broken sections of pavement that had filled the catacombs.