by S. L. Duncan
“Oh, shut it. My sword. I can do with it as I please.” Micah pointed to the structure. “We can enter there.”
“I’m following you,” Gabe said, trying his best to fake some amount of enthusiasm as he paused to catch his breath. He stumbled over the raised rail of the train tracks that ran parallel to Kennedy.
After a few more paces, Gabe kneeled. His hamstring tightened and seized, as if he’d just endured ninety minutes in a soccer game.
“Afarôt, wait,” called Micah.
Gabe shook his head, stretching out his leg. “It’s okay. I can catch up.”
“Perhaps it would be prudent to plan our approach from this point. We are quite close,” Afarôt said and glanced over his shoulder, listening to the strange echoing sounds coming from above them. “I would have suspected more resistance. Whatever is happening seems to have drawn the attention of our hosts.”
“That’s a good thing.” Micah motioned west, to the whirlpool of dark clouds above the Hagia Sophia. A plume of smoke rose above the ancient church. “Something is happening; that’s for sure. That looks—I don’t know—not good.”
“My dad’s probably in there. The faster we can get inside that dome, the better chance he has. We’ve got to hurry.” Gabe tried to stand but stumbled. “Damn this ring!” He pulled at the band as hard as he could, but it would not budge. The skin merely tore at the fringe, and blood trickled off his finger.
“I’m so sorry for what it is doing to you,” Afarôt said.
“You said it yourself.” Gabe coughed. “We’re not meant for this realm. So it makes no difference. My dad, though—he is meant for this world.”
“We can find a way to break its hold on you,” Micah said. “It can be done, right?” She looked at Afarôt. The hope drained from her face as she met his empty stare.
“The ring chose him. For whatever reason. It could have easily chosen you as well, my dear. Or me. But you, Gabriel. You should be honored to have the privilege to wield its glory.” Afarôt bowed.
“It doesn’t matter what happens to me,” Gabe said, gasping for breath. “If we can’t stop the Hellgate from opening, it’s over. The Seventh Vial—how long until its magic completes the ritual?”
Afarôt looked to the sky above the Hagia Sophia. “Imminent, it seems.”
“Then help me,” Gabe pleaded. “Help me get to the source of the Seventh Vial. Help me save my dad.”
CHAPTER FIFTY
Past the tracks, Afarôt took point and led them through the wooded area and across another road. On the other side was the white outer wall of the Topkapi Palace. Ten small domes lined part of the wall on the far side, and the two larger domes that Gabe had seen earlier loomed over the side entrance.
A guardhouse stood in the way of the path to the palace’s interior, overhung by the marble columns of a covered portico that, Gabe figured, had a royal view of the Bosporus Strait. A narrow road cut into the compound past the gate, and on the other side, Gabe saw the dying grass in the interior garden.
“The fastest route will be through the palace and out the main entrance,” Afarôt said. “We can give the palace a search for Joseph. My memory of this place is from a time long gone, but if your father is here, there are a few places he might be held.”
“And if he isn’t here?”
“The primary road leads in directly from the Hagia Sophia.” Afarôt looked at Gabe. “But the short journey would be strenuous to travel. I would expect a legion of resistance.” He looked to Micah, embracing the role of advisor. “If so, we should divert and find an alternate route.”
Gabe leaned against the wall. “Underground. Away from the light.”
Afarôt nodded, giving another worried look to the thundering spiral of clouds above. “Time is of the essence, if we are to interrupt the ceremony of the Seventh Vial. We will need to be silent and unremarkable.” He looked serious and worried but also eager as he turned toward the gate.
“If we can do this,” Micah said, “if we pull this off, will it be enough for your return to grace?”
Afarôt’s focus stayed on the clouds. “I do not hold to that hope. But we shall see.”
Gabe followed him through the entrance, with Micah bringing up the rear, her hand over her shoulder, ready on the hilt of her sword. Several signs warned in both English and Turkish that the entrance was not meant for the public or tourists. The metal gate that blocked the way had been bent, and it looked as though the rust might overrun the yellow paint at any moment.
Dying trees, stricken of their leaves, stood among the white marble buildings. Even in their rotting state, the palace grounds impressed. Tiled walkways to the interior were occasionally dotted with signs meant for tourists, now sullen with mold and rust.
Just like the Asian side of Instanbul, the palace appeared abandoned.
“Most of the visited areas are on the far side,” Afarôt whispered. He checked a door.
Locked, thought Gabe.
Afarôt held the handle for a moment. A glow emerged from under his hand, and the door flew open, crashing against the wall. He cringed, still holding the severed handle. “Sorry.”
“Bloody hell,” Micah whispered. “So much for silent and unremarkable.”
They held still, listening for an alarm or the patter of feet.
Or hissing and the chatter of teeth.
Gabe heard only the distant echo of the conflict raging at the Hagia Sophia.
“Lead the way, Afarôt,” Micah said.
Light streamed through the stained glass windows that looked out upon the row of trees in the garden. A large fountain sat in front of another tall, domed building.
“The library and the main audience chamber,” Afarôt said. “Lifetimes ago I spent many hours reading rare books inside.” He moved to the door and slowly opened it. It was only a short run across the square. “Wait here. I will be right back.”
“Wait,” Micah said, but it was too late. He scurried across the grounds to the small building. “We should stay together.”
Through the mist covering the ground, Gabe saw Afarôt looking in the windows and then opening the door, only to disappear inside.
“How will we know if something is wrong?” Micah asked.
“I have a feeling it’ll be pretty obvious.” Another concussion shook the ground. Paintings rattled against the wall. “Hagia Sophia?”
Micah nodded.
The door to the library swung open, and Afarôt strolled out, much more casually than he’d entered, and rejoined Micah and Gabe.
“Anything?” she asked.
“I feel the palace is abandoned. I saw no evidence of anything demonic. What does the ring tell you, Gabriel?”
“I still feel like shit.”
Afarôt shrugged. “See?”
“Fine,” Micah said. “But let’s not make a scene, okay?”
She led them across the room.
“What is this building?” Gabe asked, pointing to the floor. Tiled walls stretched to the sunlit ceiling. Glass cases held numerous costumes, some looking as though they were meant for a king.
“What it is now is not what it once was,” Afarôt said.
“Looks like some kind of museum for formal wear,” Micah said. “For the tourists.”
In the wall on Gabe’s left, a section had been carved out of the marble, leaving swirling arches above a basin.
“Indoor plumbing,” Afarôt said. “It was once very good to be sultan.”
“It probably still is,” Gabe said.
On the other side of the room, between two broken glass display cases, a door hung on one hinge. It moved slightly back and forth, squeaking.
Micah pulled it back to see through, and the door fell to the ground, spilling shattered glass over the tiles.
“Graceful,” Gabe said.
“It’s not my fault.” Micah looked through the door. “Whoa. It looks like a bomb went off.”
In the next room, broken porcelain pottery lay in piles against
the side opposite the windows. Each glass pane had been ground nearly into sand, which covered the floor. Part of the room facing outside had been pushed inward from the outside. Larger, painted pieces of porcelain, white and ornate, had been pushed into the corners one side of the room, as if thrown there by a terrible force or explosion. Gabe turned to the opening and felt the warm air on his skin as rubble tumbled down what had been a wall. Through the fog, he saw a shape.
A person.
“Someone is there,” he said, pointing to the middle of the expansive courtyard outside. A row of cypress trees had been toppled and lay on their sides, pointing away from an epicenter, which seemed to have been a road or walkway once. The stone now cratered outward, and in the middle was the silhouette of a man on his knees. Chains hung from his neck, and his hands were bound behind his back. Beyond him, what looked like a chapel bell tower reached higher into the sky than the rest of the palace.
The man turned, his gaze meeting theirs. Gabe recognized him from the news.
“Please,” Simon Magus shouted, struggling against the chains, “help me.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
The new president of Turkey, Gabe realized. The flesh around the man’s wrists and neck had been torn. Gabe was instantly struck by how big a man Magus was. Much more athletic than he looked on television.
He even looked a bit younger.
The earth around him had been broken and pushed away, forming a crater. Buildings surrounding the man had been damaged, windows shattered, walls crushed. Gabe imagined the kind of power that could cause this sort of destruction.
Dark power.
His ring tingled, and a surge of strength built in his muscles. “We’re in danger,” Gabe said. “Something is close.”
“Please,” Magus said, holding up his hands. The chains jangled, and Gabe, Afarôt, and Micah negotiated the sharp edges of the broken wall to get to him.
Afarôt kneeled beside him and placed his hands on the man’s chest. A gentle glow grew from under his palms. Magus recoiled, rolling on the ground away from Afarôt until the chains pulled taut, holding him back. He cried out and curled into a fetal position.
“Calm yourself,” Afarôt said.
“You are like her,” Magus said, holding his hands up defensively.
“I assure you, we are not,” Afarôt said and put his hands on the man’s leg.
Magus relaxed as the pain flowed from his body, taking with it the anguish in his face. The cuts caused by the shackles on his wrists and neck mended, leaving only dried blood as evidence they’d ever existed.
“Who are you?” Micah asked.
“Simon Magus,” the man said. “I’ve been a prisoner here since . . .” He seemed to fade, as if his memory had suffered along with his body.
“Please,” Magus said. “She’ll be back. You have to get me out of here.”
“Lilith,” Afarôt said.
The man flinched at the sound of her name.
Afarôt pulled at the shackles, testing their strength.
“She has powers,” Magus said.
“Not like ours. Let us free you.”
Afarôt inched closer until Magus finally offered his shackled wrists.
With small bursts of energy through the keyholes, they fell to the ground.
“What is Lilith doing at the Hagia Sophia?” Afarôt asked.
“Something dark. A portal. A gateway to another dimension. There was a sound, like an explosion, and she hasn’t been back. I heard fighting and demons and men screaming. And then . . . I saw them.”
“Are there other prisoners?” Gabe asked. “My father—is there a man named Joseph here?”
“She took him. For sacrifice.” Magus quieted, rubbing his wrists. “Are you okay? You look sick, like those that turned.”
“I’ve felt better.” Gabe stepped closer, kneeling to the former prisoner. “When? When did she take him for sacrifice?”
“Just before you arrived,” Magus said. “There still might be time.”
Gabe stood and walked past them, toward the two towers of the main gate.
“There are things that way which no man should see,” Magus said.
“I’ve seen them before,” Gabe said.
“She’ll know you’re coming. I imagine she would have little cause to keep your father alive, if he even is alive. By the sounds coming from the Hagia Sophia, it surely is the most dangerous road.”
“And what are those sounds? You said you saw something,” Afarôt asked.
“War,” Magus said. “Soldiers—men and women—I’ve never seen their kind. Their uniforms, the symbols on their chests—a red cross. They carried weapons. Swords. But they are outmatched, however resilient. The darkness . . . it comes alive. And it’s everywhere.”
“What about the other way in?” Micah asked.
“The tunnels beneath the hill are a labyrinth. It has been an age since I’ve been inside,” Afarôt said.
Magus stood. “In Gülhane Park, outside the palace walls, there is a well that will carry you straight down into the tunnels and to the cistern, though it is hidden.”
“I am unfamiliar with this way. Can you show us?” Afarôt asked.
Magus looked to the gray clouds swirling above. His breathing quickened, the fear setting back in as Afarôt’s power faded from his body.
“There is nowhere safe to be, Mr. President,” Micah said. She stepped closer, looking him in the eye. “Not until Lilith can be stopped and the gateway closed. That is why we are here. Can you help us? Please?”
“This is my country,” Magus said, his face brightening as he found some hidden resolve. “My city. I will show you the way.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Simon led them through the two towers of the palace’s main gate. The twin columns reached above the trees and looked like they’d been inspired by some fairy tale castle in a children’s book. In the center of the gate, an arch spanned the entrance. They pushed open the heavy, hand-beaten iron doors and walked through to the park.
Gabe looked back. An Islamic plaque hung over the doorway, with a message written in Arabic.
“Orta Kapi. The Gate of Salutation,” Magus said, noticing Gabe’s glance. “It says, ‘There is no God but God, and Mohammed is his prophet.’”
Micah smiled. “That’s quite beautiful.”
The gate opened to the misty gardens, and despite their rotting state, Gabe could see they had once been meticulously tended. Brown was the color most common, but every few yards, Gabe noticed a flash of purple or yellow or red from a petal of a lone surviving flower.
A fog had settled on the path ahead. In the fog, Gabe saw flashes of light and then felt a concussion. Screams, too far away to tell if they were human, echoed from the white.
“That way is the Hagia Sophia,” Magus said. He motioned toward the trees and led them down a smaller path, probably one used for maintenance of the grounds. Behind the thickness of a wall of shrubbery, the small road opened to what looked like a covered gazebo made of the same color of stone as the palace.
A well, Gabe realized.
“That is new,” Afarôt said.
Magus looked at him. “It is several hundred years old.”
Afarôt shrugged and looked confused. “Yes. New. Have I missed your point?”
“This was used as a water supply for groundskeepers to maintain the royal garden,” Magus said. “It is a holdover from before the modernization of the grounds. But it still connects to the ancient cistern. Its waters flow directly to it. This path will conceal you from those inside.”
“And those on the outside,” Micah said, focusing on the flickering light in the fog.
Magus turned, steadying himself on the stone building. He was sweating, and he looked ill.
“Taking this path will also keep us hidden from those that have invaded, yes?” Micah asked.
“Yes, I suppose it will,” Magus said. He turned to Gabe. “But this is the fastest route. If time is of the essence
, then your options are quite limited.”
Gabe looked at Micah. She looked uncertain. “Maybe we should get closer to the Hagia Sophia, see what we’re dealing with before we decide.”
“We don’t have the time. This is the only way, Micah,” he said and took a step to the edge of the well. In some ways, he was reminded of the entrance to the Tabernacle of God that held the Ark in Axum. The rock was old and slippery with years of erosion. A rope had been tied to the wooden structure built above it. Thankfully, both looked new. In the depth of the well, a light flickered in the darkness.
“I see something. A light,” Gabe said.
“I did not say the way would be abandoned,” Magus said. “Only less guarded. You will surely find resistance, though much less than you would with any other route.”
Afarôt went first, disappearing into the hole, followed by Micah.
Magus moved to the well.
“Wait,” Gabe said. “It’s a straight shot, right? Leads right to the cistern?”
“Impossible to miss.”
“Then stay here,” Gabe said. “It will be too dangerous.”
Magus let go of the rope and took a step back.
“Go,” Gabe said. “As fast as you can. Get clear of the area. Clear of the city. You look like it’s getting to you.”
Magus wiped his forehead. “Yes. I am not feeling my best.” He turned quickly to the fog, as if something had given him a fright. “Did you hear that? It was a voice.”
Gabe followed his gaze. “No. I didn’t hear anything.”
Magus spun. “There it is again. Do you not hear it?”
Gabe shook his head. The man had a wild look in his eyes, and he sweated profusely.
“You should hurry and leave, Simon,” Gabe said.
Magus shook his head and tried to focus. “Yes, yes. I believe you’re right.”
“Seal the way behind me once I’m clear.” Gabe grabbed the rope and steadied himself as he stepped into the hole. His foot slipped on the wet rock, but Magus caught his hand. A sting of pain shot through Gabe’s body as Magus touched the ring.
He seemed to feel it, too, and flinched, pulling his hand back as if he had received a shock.