The Belial Ring (The Belial Series 3)

by R. D. Brady

  THE

  BELIAL

  RING

  A Belial Series Novel

  R.D. Brady

  “Take, O Solomon, king, son of David,

  the gift which the Lord God has sent thee,

  the highest Sabbath. With it, thou shalt lock up

  all demons of the earth, male and female.”

  The Testament of Solomon

  PROLOGUE

  Alexandria, Egypt

  AD 642

  The sounds of the mob worked their way through the thick stone walls of the Library of Alexandria. Hundreds of people, maybe even a thousand, were demanding the library denounce its heretical teachings—the same demand they had made for the last three days. But to Hypatia, inside the walls, their cries were just an undecipherable roar.

  Hypatia’s leather sandals slapped against the cool tile floor as she hastened down the hall. She passed the exhibits of the Sumerians and the rooms filled with the ancient Sanskrit writings from India. The library, she knew, held over seven hundred thousand of the world’s most treasured intellectual works. It had been erected in the third century BC under Ptolemy’s rule and had withstood the onslaughts of the Romans, the Christians, and other enemies of knowledge.

  But the library would not withstand this latest onslaught. If the mobs didn’t destroy it, the Muslim army of Amr ibn al ‘Aas — which was now only a few days outside the city — would.

  A torch suddenly flew through a window opening to Hypatia’s right. She raised a hand to block the flaming embers from striking her face, feeling the sting as one made its mark on her cheek.

  She quickly stomped out the dangerous flame, then quickened her pace, hurrying past the acquisitions room, one of the many translation rooms, and the gardens that led the back part of the library, a section which held mainly low-level staff.

  Today that section was empty, most of the staff too terrified to come in. In fact, the whole back quarter of the library seemed to be empty. Those few who were present were all gathered in the records rooms, trying to save what they could.

  Hypatia reached the small, dark room in the northwest corner. It held extra papyrus scrolls, rags, oils, and ink. To everyone but Hypatia, it was one of the least important rooms in the entire series of buildings that made up the great library. Few paid it any attention at all.

  Hypatia glanced behind her at the empty hall before slipping through the doorway, careful to leave the door ajar. It was a risk to leave it open, but she had no other source of light for the dark room. She strode to the far wall and began to count the stones.

  “Seven, eight.” She paused, placing her hand on the eighth stone so she didn’t lose her place.

  She counted down from the ceiling. Twenty-seven. Crouching down to the stone where the row and column met, she slipped her knife from her sheath. Carefully, she worked the knife around the edge of the stone and edged it out until three inches protruded from the wall.

  A wail from the mob cut through the room. And it sounded close. Hypatia’s heart pounded. They’ve gotten in.

  Need now overriding stealth, Hypatia yanked the stone from the wall and let it crash to the ground.

  She reached her trembling hand inside the newly formed gap.

  There was nothing but empty space.

  Frantic now, she reached in farther, and her hand brushed a piece of heavy burlap. Releasing a breath, she pulled her prize from the wall.

  She knew it was important to move quickly, but first, Hypatia had to make sure it was secure. Leaning back against the wall, she unwrapped the burlap. Inside the coarse fabric was a layer of silk, soft as a baby’s skin. She marveled at its luxury. Pulling back the pale, silk leaves, she stared at the object. So tiny - and so dangerous.

  Footsteps moved rapidly toward her, bringing her back to the present. She quickly re-wrapped the object and glanced at the door. A small face peered in at her. Hypatia swallowed down a small yelp.

  “Teacher, are you all right?”

  Hand on her chest, Hypatia willed her heart to slow down. “Yes, yes, Amaris. I’m fine. I thought we were meeting by the back stairwell.”

  Amaris looked away. “I saw you head this way.”

  And you didn't want to be alone, Hypatia thought, looking fondly at her young charge.

  She had known Amaris since the girl was three years old. Amaris was now fourteen, but small for her age, making her appear much younger. Her pale skin and light hair only added to her youthful look. But her clear cobalt eyes told the true story. They shone with an intelligence and maturity far beyond that of a child.

  As Hypatia gazed at her student, she knew this was the last time she would ever see her. Grief and tears threatened to choke her. She willed them back. Her mission was more important than her own feelings of loss.

  Hypatia took Amaris’s hand in hers and led her down the hallway. They turned a corner, climbed up a staircase, then wound down yet another long hallway before stopping at a stout door that led to an outside staircase.

  The screams of the mob could barely be heard here. The angry crowd was congregated mainly at the front of the library; they had not yet worked their way around to the back.

  Hypatia waited, hoping she was not too late. Three knocks sounded from outside the door, then, after a pause, two more.

  “Thank God,” Hypatia breathed as she moved aside the heavy piece of wood barring the door.

  The door swung open, revealing a man. At the sight, Amaris tried to pull away, no doubt frightened by the man’s appearance.

  He towered over the two women, and a scar ran down the left side of his face, from his temple to his mouth, giving him a perpetual scowl. His bald head highlighted his missing left ear. Leather covered most of his legs and chest, and his bare arms and neck bore the marks of hundreds of battles.

  Hypatia hoped Amaris could read the gentleness in the man’s eyes.

  In a soft voice, the man asked, “Is everything ready, Teacher?”

  Hypatia nodded and turned Amaris to face her. “Amaris, I need you to go with Gaius. He will protect you. You can trust him.”

  She pressed her treasure into the young girl’s hands. “And you must hide this where it cannot be found. Gaius has a letter for you that will explain what must be done. I need you to leave now. There is no time to waste.”

  Amaris looked from the package in her hand to Hypatia’s face. Her bottom lip trembled. “You’re not coming with us, are you?”

  Hypatia ran her hands over her charge’s hair before pulling her close. “It wouldn’t be safe for you if I were to accompany you.” She pulled back and stared into Amaris’s eyes. “But know that I am always with you. You carry me in here.” She touched Amaris’s chest. “And in here.” She touched the girl’s head.

  Amaris threw herself at Hypatia, clinging to her, her small body shaking as she sobbed quietly.

  Hypatia knew she should pull Amaris off and send her away. But, God forgive her, she needed this moment as much as Amaris did.

  Finally, Amaris’s tears stopped. She pulled back. “I will not forget you and what you have taught me.”

  “I know, my child. I know.” With a final embrace, Hypatia gently pushed Amaris into Gaius’s arms, and closed the door behind them.

  Sliding the bolt back into place, Hypatia leaned against the wall, her head down. But the sound of running feet and screaming from the halls below cut through her quiet moment. She straightened. There was no time to lose.

  Running down the hall, she turned into the first hallway, the hall of the great exhibits. Just as she entered, the doors at the far side of the hall crashed in, and men came pouring through, armed with torches, swords, and clubs. The mob tore through the
hall, setting the curtains ablaze and tumbling ancient statues without concern.

  Scholars of the library rushed out of offices, their arms laden with scrolls and books, trying to save what they could. But when the mob spied them, they leapt upon these men of knowledge. Their loads marked them for death.

  Hypatia, her arms empty, managed to slip past them.

  At the end of the hall, she dodged under an ax aimed for a scholar’s apprentice—just a boy, no more than seven years old. Hypatia shoved the apprentice out of the way, then whirled as the ax fell.

  Grabbing her dagger from the sheath at her belt, she stabbed the assailant’s neck. He clutched his throat and dropped to the ground, a pool of blood spreading around him.

  The apprentice’s brown eyes were wide under long dirty blond hair that had come free of its binding. Hypatia yanked the boy by the arm, pulling him out of the hall. Taking cover in an alcove, she ripped off the tunic that identified him as a member of the Library.

  She peered down into the boy’s terror-filled eyes. “You are a street boy, do you hear me? You are not an apprentice. You are a street rat.” The boy stared behind her, his eyes riveted by the carnage.

  Hypatia slapped him hard. His hand moved to cover the reddening spot on his cheek, and his eyes welled with tears—but also with understanding.

  “Lucius, you must run. If anyone asks, you never worked here. You are a street rat, do you understand me?”

  Lucius nodded, his large eyes swimming with tears. Hypatia’s heart plummeted at the look of fear on his face. He was too young for this burden.

  But she knew gentleness was not what he needed now. She pushed him down the hall, her voice fierce. “Run. Run!”

  With a stumble, the boy ran down the hall. She didn’t wait to see if he made it. She couldn’t help him anymore.

  Sprinting in the opposite direction, she ran for the exit at the back of the library. She tugged on the giant door, wrenched it open, and slipped out.

  Flattening herself against a column, she held her breath as a group of five men ran past with torches. Her eyes followed the bright flames as they disappeared around the corner. Her chest was heavy with thoughts of what those flames would consume.

  Hypatia glanced around, unsure which way to go. A whistle drew her attention to the right. There, a man with salt-and-pepper hair beckoned. He wore a leather vest and pants over a well-toned body, and led a pair of horses attached to a cart.

  Hypatia ran for him. He quickly boosted her into the seat of the cart, then pulled himself up next to her.

  “No, Antonius, no,” she protested, pushing against him. She might as well have been pushing granite. “You cannot come. It is too dangerous.”

  He gave her a sideways glance and a snort. Then he quietly pointed, in succession, to himself, to Hypatia, and to the chariot—and then off into the distance.

  Hypatia shook her head. “No. You must save yourself.”

  Antonius stared into her eyes, willing her to understand him. His tongue had been burned out by a group of marauders long ago, when he was a teen. Hypatia had been the one to find him, and she had nursed him back to health, keeping him hidden and safe. At the time, she had been only six years old. Antonius had refused to leave her side ever since.

  Hypatia stared into his eyes and read all of that commitment there. She knew it was useless to argue with him. He would not abandon her.

  Her hand caressed the side of his face. “All right, my friend, all right. We go together.”

  He nodded and spurred the horses on. Hypatia wanted to bring them to a gallop, but she knew that would draw attention, and with the mobs roaming the streets, they could easily crash. No—slow was safer.

  They worked their way through the city, heading for the outskirts. Hypatia grew cold as she surveyed the damage from the mobs. Everywhere she looked, homes lay in ruins, reduced to smoking embers. Others still shone brightly, wrapped in devouring flames.

  Whole families had been strung up in the streets—an undecipherable warning for some perceived crime. The wails of despair from unseen victims fought with the screams of irrational anger from the mobs.

  Antonius turned the cart toward the market, which was usually full of life. But today, stalls burned on either side, and bodies littered the way.

  Antonius tried to steer around them, but occasionally he would have to go over. Hypatia’s stomach rolled with each bump.

  At the end of the road, a barricade of debris and bodies blocked the way. Hypatia was struck with fear. Could they have known we were coming this way?

  Antonius halted the horses and began the slow process of turning them around.

  Feeling eyes upon her, Hypatia looked over her shoulder. A group of ten men had come up behind them, blocking their retreat. All stood silent. Hypatia recognized them for who they were. And who had sent them.

  This group was no irrational mob. They were here for her.

  Antonius caught sight of the men and leapt from the chariot, his battle axe in hand. With a scream from the back of his throat, he charged the men.

  The first man ducked, but Antonius’s axe buried itself in the shoulder of the second, who screeched in pain. Another man grabbed Antonius by the hair and stabbed him in the side. "No!”

  Hypatia yelled as she jumped from the chariot and raced for him.

  One of the men charged at her. She ducked his spear, caught its shaft as he swung it back, and kicked him in the chest. The man lost his breath.

  Hypatia wrenched the spear from his grasp and slammed the end into his face. She then flung the spear—and her aim proved true. It plunged right into the chest of the man holding Antonius.

  Strong arms wrapped around Hypatia from behind, yanking her off her feet. She was pressed up against her assailant, unable to move her arms, uselessly kicking her legs.

  “Where is it, librarian? Where have you put it?” a voice snarled in her ear. It was a voice she recognized: Brutus.

  “It’s gone. You’ll never find it.”

  Brutus dropped her and whipped her around. He wrapped his fist in the front of her tunic and pulled her close. “You’ll tell us where it is. “ He glanced down at her. “And even if you don’t, there’s still something he wants.”

  Hypatia went cold. He knows.

  A yell from behind her drew her attention. A mob of at least two dozen men, their clothes and bodies stained with blood, charged down the road, blood in their eyes. The frenzied group wouldn’t care who they killed. With demonic screams echoing from their lips, the mob fell on the men like ravenous beasts.

  Brutus dragged Hypatia back, trying to get them both away from the carnage.

  Hypatia dug her heels into the hard ground, tearing her skin but slowing his progress. She screamed as loud as she could.

  Brutus screeched at her. “Shut up! Shut up! Or they’ll come for us.”

  But his words were too late. The mob had seen them. As a wave, they surged toward the two of them.

  “That was the idea,” Hypatia murmured, as she snapped her head back, catching Brutus in the nose.

  He cried out and his grip loosened. Hypatia slipped free, threw herself to the ground, and rolled. The mob flew right past her and pounced on Brutus. She lost sight of him under the mass of writhing bodies.

  Getting to her knees, she braced herself to stand—when a spear lanced her chest. She fell back, the pain stealing even her ability to scream. With trembling hands, she pushed the spear out; blood poured from the wound, soaking the dry ground below.

  Fearful, she looked around. Antonius lay on the ground, twenty feet to her right. She turned herself onto her side and pulled herself toward him, crying out with the effort. Exhausted and shaking, she reached his side.

  He lay on his back, not moving; blood covered his chest. Hypatia lowered herself into the crook of his shoulder, whimpering with the pain. She pulled Antonius’s arm around her.

  Laying her head on his chest, she felt the unsteady beat of his heart. And then it went still.


  Tears streamed down Hypatia’s cheeks. Pulling his arm tighter around her, she whispered, “Until we meet again, my friend.”

  The mob howled, a few of its members catching sight of her. They advanced, but she knew they would be too late. Death would claim her before they could.

  Hypatia thought of Amaris as she felt the last drops of blood drain from her body. She prayed she had escaped.

  Mankind’s freedom depends upon it.

  CHAPTER 1

  Washington, D.C.

  Present Day

  Dr. Delaney McPhearson pulled the packing materials from the crate and carefully lifted out the metal folio. She braced her legs as she lowered the book onto the lab table in front of her. A white cotton blanket on the lab table kept it from making any noise as she set it down. It also reduced the likelihood of injury to the ancient tome.

  Her auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail to keep it out of her way, Laney ran a gloved hand over the cover. Symbols were etched into the corners, and a trim had been added: it looked like vines. In the center was a title written in Enochian. Alone, it was an astounding find.

  Her green eyes roamed over the other ten crates in the back of the room waiting to be unpacked. And they formed only a small portion of the crates still to be examined. They literally had hundreds of them.

  Although Laney was excited about the opportunity to examine these books, the way in which their discovery came about had been brutal, causing the death of more than a hundred people. Those deaths always tempered the excitement she felt.

  But awe still filled her, as it always did whenever she looked at one of relics from the advanced civilization that pre-dated 10,000 BC. The very words of that ancient society were now right in front of her. The find of a century.

  Today, she’d scan each page of this book. Some of the analysts at the Chandler Group had developed a translation program that worked pretty well. She’d send them the photos and they’d begin the translation.