One Minute to Midnight

by Steve Lang

  "Look at the wall over here." Henry said.

  A mural of the stepped pyramid in all its glory had been painted on the wall and high above it was a large sun, with rays of light emanating from it. Below the pyramid, and covering the terraces, were thousands of bodies lying in twisted positions, their blood spilling into a river downhill. High atop the temple a shaman, his arms spread in a wide ‘V’, held the severed head of a sacrificial victim while the devoted bowed in a childlike posture, facing the ground. Odd cylindrical shapes floated in the sky above the mural, appearing to attend the mass genocide.

  "My god, what happened here?" Henry whispered.

  "What screamed a few minutes ago is my primary concern." Dave replied.

  "Good point, let's grab some of these artifacts to prove they exist, and get out of here." Henry said.

  As they turned to leave, the earth suddenly began to writhe and undulate underneath them as skeletal hands broke the surface, next arms, and skulls, then torsos.

  "You will both stay here...forever!" Something croaked.

  Dave turned and in the room behind them stood a skeletal phantom, garbed in beads and tattered leather pants and vest. It was pointing their direction. More skeletons began to emerge from their burial mounds, wailing into the darkness with dreadful shrieks.

  "Run!" Henry yelled.

  The skeletal figure began to laugh and mock them as they ran through the tunnel and back to the surface. When they reached the door it had already been sealed from outside, and they could hear the faint sounds of shovels scraping and dirt being thrown up against it. Henry slammed his body into the door but it would not budge. Then Dave joined in as the two men desperately tried to shove their way to freedom. From outside they could hear the voice of their guide Bakti, but it was so muffled they had to put their heads to the door.

  "Sir, you anger the spirits of mountain and so they no punish the villagers they sealing you inside. You be atoning for your trespass. The chief say there is other way out, but you have to go through catacombs. Sorry, Mr. Phillips."

  Henry and Dave stood for a moment, looking at one another as moans from below began to grow louder.

  "You think we can make it?" Dave asked.

  "Looks like we may die trying, but let's go." Henry said.

  They ran down the passageway, flashlights in hand, Henry waving his Colt .45. They would do battle with the undead and go down fighting like warriors.

  A hundred years have passed since that day, and the great mountain of Gunung Padang remains a mystery to all but those who were there that day. No one knows what happened to the two men, and their disappearance was ruled death by misadventure by the Indonesian government.

  the last in line

  In an age of witches, dragons, and demons, three knights will discover the true measure of their courage as they confront an ancient evil.

  Marcus, Roderick, and Filly rode silently through rain-soaked Rendelshem forest in their homeland of Nodd as the sun began to set on another long grey day. The rhythmic clip-clop of their horses’ hooves over rocks echoed in the wet, dreary evening like the hypnotic tick of a metronome. The air reeked of damp, rotting wood. Drops of fresh water fell from their helmets and into the creases of their armor causing damp, cold misery for the remaining knights of King Edward’s court. Tired, hungry, grieving the loss of their fellow soldiers, friends, and countrymen, the trio returned from their war with the witch Dersha, vowing to return for revenge, but dreading that they may have to face her again in combat. It was the thirty-fifth century BC, and the world was turning upside down.

  Cataclysm was on the mind of every townsperson. It was impending doom at the end of an era, and the harbinger of their sorrow was a little old woman who resided just outside the town of Tolamy. Dersha materialized one day like a fog, and the trouble began. Some said there were demons in the woods now, others saw deceased relatives rise from the grave and walk, still more could hear ominous whispering as night fell in the forest.

  "Fifty of us rode out yesterday. Three of us return. That woman is of the devil, I promise you." Said Roderick.

  "She is far too foul and wicked a wretch for the likes of Lucifer to consort with. My guess is he's hiding from her, in Hell." Marcus said.

  "I just want sleep. My bones are tired."

  The castle of King Edward was still miles away, and as the exhausted men passed through the small hamlet of Warren, a two-story building with a sign above it reading Inn was irresistible. The buildings were rundown and ramshackle, as if no one had stayed there in years, and it never occurred to the weary knights that they saw no people outside, but then, it was raining and they were exhausted.

  "Sleep." Roderick moaned.

  "We'll stop here and rest. Tomorrow morning we ride for the castle, because we are all that remains to warn the king of Dersha's plan." Marcus said.

  "Did I hear her say she was raising an army of the undead?" Filly asked.

  "We fought enough of them back there, so that doesn't surprise me in the least. I can still smell them." Roderick said. He spit on the ground.

  "Yeah, like rotting chicken and wet earth." Filly said.

  "I don't want to talk about it anymore, not right now. Let's just get out of this armor and rest." Marcus said.

  They rode up to the inn as rain poured down upon them, and looked around with disinterest at the few people who had decided to come out in such weather. What the people of Warren saw were three gore covered soldiers who appeared to have crawled out of the grave themselves. With rumors of a witch about, and that she had been raising the dead for her armies, a fear began to run through the countryside as the trio dismounted. The innkeeper peered at them from a window, and when Filly tried the door, he thought they would not be allowed passage. There was a moment of strange tension as they stood outside in the muddy, rutted road waiting for the inn keeper to open his locked door.

  "Are you cursed?" The man asked through the door. The fear in his voice amused Filly.

  "Innkeeper! The cursed seldom ride horses or carry on conversation, now, please open up or we'll be forced to spend our gold elsewhere." Marcus shouted.

  With a click, the bolt slid aside, and the timid innkeeper opened his door. He was a smallish man in his mid-fifties with a receding hairline and crow's feet wrinkles around his eyes that were spreading to his entire face as the skin sagged with the ravages of time and gravity's relentless pull. Decades of poor posture had given his shoulders and back a rounded hunch and a posture that made him appear as if he were perpetually bending over to pick something off the ground.

  "Sir's, I apologize for being rude, but there are so many rumors around lately and we have no defenses against what is said lives in those woods."

  "A slide bolt is no security against the witch. Dersha rides on the wings of the night, and some say she conjures up horrors that would raze a village in a day." Filly said, as the kicked mud off their boots and entered the inn.

  The innkeeper was frightened.

  "Sir, may we have three rooms to rest until morning?" Marcus smiled.

  "There is a great evil living in those woods. Half of Warren is empty because Dersha stole our children three months back. Many of my people committed suicide at the word that their children were ground into food for the witch's minions. Others went to look for them and never returned."

  "The dead hung from trees like ornaments as her demons split our ranks like a wildfire. It was a nightmare. What's your name old man?" Marcus asked.

  "Delio, I’ve owned this inn since my father was killed by the demon Dravex when he passed through here five years ago. Can you help us to kill the witch?"

  "We lost forty-seven of our brethren out there in those cursed woods. I fear there is no hope, and we are on our way back to King Edward’s castle to deliver the news." Filly said. His face was grim as he recalled the fierce battle with Dersha's risen dead.

  "We stood against winged demons from the underworld and lost miserably. It was…" Roderick said. He
trailed off as his mind reeled back to the horror of his experience.

  "Let me get you some food, you must be starving." Delio said.

  There was no more talk of the witch, her demon spawn, or any of the evil of the world for the rest of that evening. The weary knights ate a small meal prepared for them by their host in silence, and rented the three rooms upstairs. They paid three times what Delio charged for a night stay, and for their kindness, a tub with running water, where they could bathe, was provided in their rooms. Delio also handed each one a night robe to keep the chill off and then the knights vanished behind their respective doors. Marcus stood before the yellowing mirror in his room, admiring the large, dark purple bruise on his shoulder where a mace had knocked him from his steed. He stood five foot ten, with long dark brown hair, hazel eyes, and under his neatly trimmed beard was a square iron jaw. He had commanded their raid into the witch’s forest and felt the most grief for having watched his men die while defending their land from encroaching evil. However horrible he may have felt, Marcus turned in and slept without nightmares of war for the first and last time in his adult life.

  Filly was in his room, studying a battle wound he had received through his armor when the sharp tip of a broad sword pierced his side between the plates. It was little more than a flesh wound, but the darkness of the cut troubled him, as did the appearance of blue veins surrounding it. Infection was upon him and it was spreading. There was an offending odor of rot rising from the cut, but he ignored it, cleaning the wound as best he could. Filly passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow. His dreams were dark that night, and in them he fell though a black hole into the abyss of time. Then he was floating in space, a solitary form in a sea of black, as stars glinted like beacons from their home light years away in the coldness of eternity. For the rest of the night he drifted alone into space, free of gravity’s constraints, floating like a feather on the wind, as earth shrunk into a distant blue-green ball.

  Roderick was physically unharmed, but in secret his resolve and sanity were crumbling as he sat on the edge of his bed, crying and shaking from the post-traumatic stress of battle. Many of his childhood friends had been killed that day. Before joining Marcus and Filly in their escape from the witch's forces, Roderick held his best friend Damian's hand as a mortal wound took his life. Earlier, Roderick had sat in his lukewarm bath and considered sliding the rest of the way in. If he took a deep breath under water it would soon be over and he could move on to the next life. His desire to live overruled suicidal self-pity and he decided to trudge on through another day. He could not be so selfish as to betray his comrades in this manner. Roderick extinguished the light and rolled himself up in the covers as gentle rain pelted his window.

  In his dream, he was wandering through a labyrinth as a small child, alone and lost, but in the distance he could hear a minotaur snorting. It searched for him with relentless tenacity and Roderick knew the price for discovery would be agonizing death. One dead end passage led to another as he searched for a way out with only the dimly lit torches on the wall to guide his path. Roderick's heart raced with terror, and though he was dreaming, he felt the hand of doom creeping up his back. It was he and the unseen foe, but with every move Roderick allowed the minotaur to come another step closer. A gust of wind blew through the tunnel and snuffed the torches out, submerging him in the blackest darkness. Roderick could hear the stamping and snorting of his adversary not twenty feet away. He had been found! Roderick looked for his sword and all he found was a licorice whip, and when he reached for the dagger in his boot, he found a lollipop. Terror coursed through him as the minotaur charged forward. Roderick steeled himself and with his lollipop and licorice whip he bolted toward his enemy. Just before they clashed, Roderick saw Damian's face in the darkness and snapped awake in his bed. covered with sweat.

  "My god, what a night." He said to himself as the dawn crept through his window.

  The rain was still falling, but it was a brand new day. Roderick rose, dressed in his now dry undergarments, and strapped on his armor before going downstairs to meet the others.

  They ate a meal of venison and fresh chicken eggs provided by Delio.

  "We should ride home to the castle and inform the king that all is lost." Marcus said. His head was low over the prepared meal, and the others felt his grief.

  "The witch said she would attack there next. We have to warn him. We can get help from the town of Grelsh, if possible." Filly said.

  "You said the witch is coming for your castle?" Delio asked. His eyes were fearful, questioning.

  "Yes, in two day's time I imagine she will be at the castle walls. She'll regain her strength by the next full moon, and that's in two days." Marcus said.

  "What will you do when she gets there?" Delio asked.

  "We will fight Dersha with the remaining men, and then with women and children to the last." Filly said. "There are no other knights left to fight, and training initiates for battles against Dersha’s forces would take months or even years."

  "You could help us. Perhaps you could stop her before she gets to your castle." Delio said.

  "How so? What would the three of us do against her hordes of demons?" Marcus asked.

  "Don't forget the undead." Filly added.

  "I can still smell their rotting stench!" Roderick said. He had gone pale and looked at the floor.

  "What if I told you that you could end all of this now by enchanting your swords?" Delio asked.

  "I'm listening. How?" Marcus asked.

  "There is a door to the underworld near here that remains hidden from the eyes of most mortal men. I know where it is, I think, but I have never been there for fear of the beast rumored to live in those woods. It's an unclean place in the center of a bog. The legend says that anyone who has their weapons melted in the river of fire and re-forged by the bladesmith Mortis on the Anvil of Dhampir will obtain dominion over the undead, and will have power to turn them to ash with a single blow."

  "This is madness, Marcus. We have to warn the king that the witch is coming. We can’t be caught up in some side quest." Filly said.

  "There's nothing more we can do than warn him. The three of us are no match for that witch, and if this is a solution, no matter how ludicrous it may seem, I think it may be worth investigating." Roderick said.

  Marcus held his chin, deep in thought.

  "If we go into the underworld and have our weapons re-forged we’ll be able to kill the undead? You're sure of this?" Marcus asked.

  "I'm not sure of anything, sire. I'm only an innkeeper, but this is what the legend states and if you go, you'll find out for yourself. You're brave knights, and I'm sure you will make it back to fight the witch's hordes." Delio said. Marcus considered this a moment longer.

  "Roderick's right, there's nothing we can do but warn the king that we'll all be dead by the next full moon. Let's go into the underworld." Marcus said.

  The three agreed and mounted up a few moments later. Delio pointed them in the direction of the bog and explained that the doorway was about a half-day’s ride from the inn.

  "Gentlemen, good luck on your journey, and for all our sakes I pray you return before it's too late." Delio said.

  "If this forge is where you say it is, then it will be done. This witch is a foul demon and we mean to end her reign. That is our duty." Marcus said. The three men turned their horses east and galloped away. Delio watched as the men disappeared over the horizon with a glint in his eye and an evil grin on his mouth. He let out a wry laugh.

  "See you soon, fools." He returned to his inn.

  Around noon that day, the small party came to a wooded swamp where the trees were so tightly grown together that there was no room for their horses.

  "Well, this is less than ideal." Filly complained.

  "Let's tie the horses to these trees and go in on foot." Marcus said.

  "Seriously? You don't want try and find a road?" Roderick asked.

  "Look, we don't have much time, an
d finding a road through here could take another half-day or more. I don't want to be stuck in the swamp tonight. Foul beasts abound after dark in these parts." Marcus said. He dismounted and tied his horse to the nearest tree, taking only his sword with him.

  Filly and Roderick exchanged questioning glances, but had it not been for Marcus saving their lives, the end may have been swift during their last battle. Roderick shrugged and followed their leader into the bog, with Filly in tow. Roots and low brush slowed them down as they walked through the driest part of the bog, slashing and hacking their way through. Frogs croaked and crickets chirped as the thickening canopy above them dimmed the sunlight, they heard the cackles and howls of unseen predators more than once. The ground became unstable, and an acrid odor of rot drifted through the air as they crept deeper into the bog.

  "This is unbearable. In the entire time this forest has been here no one has cut a trail through?" Filly asked.

  "These woods have a spell over them." Roderick looked around, feeling as if they were being watched. "As a child, my grandfather would tell me stories of this forest. The elders called it silent death. Those who come in are never heard from again. Look behind us."

  The forest had grown back around their hard won path and there was no evidence of their trail.

  "What?! How long have you known about this Roderick?" Filly asked.

  "Would it have mattered if I told you before we entered?" Roderick fixed him with his gaze.

  "It might have. Now how are we supposed to get back out?" Filly asked.

  The men hacked through a wall of trees and bushes, and realized they had found the door Delio had spoken of. Two trees, three feet apart, stood by the mouth of a dark cave, and hanging from low branches were two human skeletons. The fingers on their mold-covered, decrepit hands pointed toward the cave entrance. Below the trees was a carpet of bones that formed an odd looking walkway from where they stood to the mouth of the cave.

  "I think we're here." Marcus said. He looked back at his men with an expression of gruff determination. "Let's go in. It looks like Mortis put out a welcome mat." Marcus grinned.