No Such Thing As Werewolves

by Chris Fox

  “I really must insist, Doctor Smith.”

  “Just Mister. I’m never finished my doctorate.”

  “Mister Smith, then. Time is very much of the essence. We’ve paid you a considerable sum and expect prompt results,” the commander said. He flexed his hands as a subtle reminder that he could break Blair in half.

  “What’s the rush? This place has been here for thousands of years. Another day or two isn’t going to make much difference. We’ll do this faster with less interference,” Blair argued, tensing as the man clenched his fists. Despite the casualness of the gesture, Jordan looked a hairbreadth from violence.

  “It’s unlikely that we are the only interested party in such a discovery.” Jordan’s smile was frigid as his right hand wrapped around the hilt of a very large knife strapped to his thigh. It had the look of a reflexive gesture, but it was damn unsettling. “We need to gather all the data we can before the media circus begins. That’s all. I regret intruding on your methodology, but time is the one resource we cannot provide you.”

  “Yeah, sure…I’m eager to see Steve,” Blair agreed with a nod. He turned to the two women. “Maybe we can tour the rest of the outer structure later? Most of what I’m going to need is in the central chamber. Besides, I want to talk to Steve about his initial findings.”

  “If you’re going to head down, I think I might see about some dinner,” Sheila said, a look of distaste flitting across her tanned face. “Why don’t you drop by my tent after you come back up? I’d love to brainstorm some of the glyphs with you.”

  “I’ll do that,” Blair said, turning to Bridget. “Will you show me to the central chamber?”

  “We may as well get that out of the way,” she said, with the reluctant determination of a soldier girding for war. “It’s this way. The tunnel entrance is on the western slope.”

  “I’ll leave you to it, then,” Jordan said, giving another one of those dangerous smiles as he turned to leave. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mister Smith.”

  “We’ll catch up over dinner, Blair,” Sheila said, giving his shoulder a squeeze. She delivered a pointed look as she walked off, though he wasn’t certain what it meant. It felt like a warning, but of what?

  “Shall we?” Bridget asked. Her smile was back in full force.

  “Lead the way,” Blair said, falling into step beside her as she headed around the northern face of the structure. Commander Jordan watched them go, a predator studying its next meal. He waited until the man was well out of earshot before continuing. “So, why was that guy so insistent that I head inside? I got here less than an hour ago.”

  “Because this stuff is just window dressing. What you’ve seen so far? That’s nothing,” Bridget explained as they rounded the corner of the massive structure. He could see the gaping darkness of the tunnel mouth, wide enough for ten men abreast.

  Chapter 8- Steve

  Blair was surprised to find a familiar black-clad soldier waiting just inside the massive marble doors. The hulking man had been their driver on the way from Cajamarca. The Russian. Yuri, his name had been. He bore a decidedly lethal-looking rifle, and his eyes were still obscured by those silver sunglasses, despite the fact that he stood in the shaded entryway.

  “Taking Smith to central chamber, Bridget? Is expected,” he rumbled. His face was an impassive mask, especially behind those sunglasses.

  “I’m bringing Blair to review Doctor Galk’s findings,” she explained, gesturing in Blair’s direction. She beamed one of her best smiles, one that Blair had fallen prey to many times, but the Russian seemed unmoved. Carved from stone, apparently.

  “I’m Blair. We weren’t introduced earlier,” he said, stopping before the man and offering a hand. The soldier stirred, accepting the handshake with a half smile shaded by a few days’ stubble. His grip was firm but not painful, though Blair was sure it could have been.

  “Yuri,” he rumbled, releasing Blair’s hand. The name sounded like yoo-ree. “Is very much pleasure. Be careful on stairs. Slick.” He gestured down the hallway.

  Stepping through the towering doors was entirely too much like entering the throat of some great beast. Blair was immediately conscious of the tens of thousands of tons of stone above. The fear that they might suddenly come crashing down wouldn’t be banished. He wasn’t claustrophobic, but the scope of this place was unnerving.

  “It’s a straight shot for a while,” Bridget said, her voice echoing dully from the walls. Her form was difficult to make out in the thin shadows of the headlamps. “It’s about three hundred meters to the central chamber. Most of it involves gradual descent through corridors that switch back on themselves. Some are filled with statues that strongly resemble the Egyptian pantheon. We’ll see those later.”

  Bridget set a brisk pace that he had trouble matching, not due to elevation but to the hieroglyphs covering the walls. Every inch of them. He knew he could study them later, but it was impossible not to spend at least a little time examining them. The passage was wide enough for three people to walk side by side and tall enough that he couldn’t reach the ceiling even when he jumped.

  “Bridget,” he called, hurrying after her. “Does Steve have any theories on why the tunnel is so large? I could see making it wide, but why so tall? That has to be nine or ten feet up.”

  “No idea. The hieroglyphs go all the way up. They even cover the ceiling. That’s a lot of extra space just to add a little more room to write. I’m guessing there was some sort of religious significance to the size, though damned if I know what it is.”

  “I hadn’t considered that. Religion drives a lot of strange customs,” he replied.

  The passage sloped upwards, eventually ending at a set of broad stairs that descended back into the darkness. Each was just a little too tall for a man to comfortably step up.

  “Do you think the builders were just taller than we are? Australian aborigines are shorter. Maybe these people were extremely tall.” Blair used his hands to assist himself down the stairs.

  “That’s a possibility, though the people of the Americas aren’t really known for their height. I find it hard to believe their descendants would have changed so dramatically in height, even over that many centuries. We’re only as tall as we are today because we have such an abundance of food. If this place was built when we assume, it would have been during the final glaciation of the last ice age. Food would have been scarce,” Bridget said, pausing on the stairs to examine a hieroglyph-covered wall. “Anyway, take a look at this section. What do you make of them? Steve was absolutely baffled by the imagery, and I haven’t the faintest idea either. It’s the first time they break from their more traditional glyphs, which are largely uniform in size. This imagery includes larger figures.”

  “Hmm,” Blair said. He removed his glasses and cleaned them with his shirt before examining the pictographs in the light provided by their lamps. “This is interesting. See these red figures here? They’re lying down as if sleeping or dead. But then in this next pictograph, they rise and begin fighting. These brown figures are driven back to what I’m guessing is this pyramid. Maybe the dead represent a foe they thought they’d defeated?”

  “Or a foe that can’t be killed,” Bridget added, leaning closer to examine the next panel. “What we don’t get is this next part. Take a look.”

  The next panel was odd. The red figures, the ones that had risen, had surrounded the pyramid. A few of the brown figures stood at the very top, and on the stairs loomed a prominent silver figure that Blair could only describe as a monster. It had elongated claws, was covered in what he guessed was meant to be fur, and had a mouth full of vicious fangs.

  “I think this is some sort of champion or war god,” he said, dropping to a crouch and shining his lamp on it. There was something maddeningly familiar about the figure. “I think I’ve seen it before, or something very much like it.”

  “Really?” Bridget asked, crouching next to him. “Who, or what, does it remind you of?”

&
nbsp; He considered for a long moment, taking in the wolf-headed figure. “If it was male, I’d say it was an exact likeness of Wepwawet, one of the sons of Anubis. He was worshipped in Lycopolis, the Egyptian city of wolves. The ruins are still there, though they’re in a bad enough state that we aren’t sure what the place was used for.”

  “Interesting that the gender is different,” Bridget replied, pressing against his side as she leaned closer to the image. “It is clearly female, though.”

  “Gender aside, our wolf-headed friend here appears to be protecting the people from the red figures,” Blair interpreted, touching the figure with his index finger. Like the pictographs outside, it had no texture and a much higher level of detail than anything he’d ever encountered. The archeologist in him railed at the idea of marring the ink with the oils in his skin, but he couldn’t help himself. “I want to study these in detail before offering a hypothesis, but I’m betting this figure is central to their culture. Perhaps the best warrior was dressed in special trappings that make her appear to be a beast? It might be similar to the Mayans and their belief that warriors could channel the power of the jaguar. It would have terrified their enemies.”

  “That’s a connection we hadn’t thought of,” Bridget admitted, resting her arm on his shoulder. “See? I’m already glad we called you in.”

  He rose stiffly, letting her arm drop as he took a step back and turned his lamp on the other wall.

  “Look at this,” Blair said. His momentary irritation was quickly forgotten. “The champion is standing at the apex of the pyramid. These brown figures being led up to her. It looks like she’s sacrificing them. But why?”

  “We’re not sure. It could be some sort of cultural ritual. The Mayans would sacrifice their enemies to gain their strength,” Bridget offered, shining her headlamp on the same panel Blair was examining. “That was Steve’s theory, anyway. I’m not sure I agree, but I didn’t have a better one. What do you think?”

  “The Mayan connection is a good one, but I don’t think that’s what we’re seeing here.” Blair leaned so close that the beast’s claws felt almost life sized. Each was tipped with a dab of red, and a victim lay prone at its feet. Its mouth was awash with blood as well. The figures were stunningly detailed. “These don’t appear to be enemies she’s sacrificing. They appear to be the same citizens from the first panel. If they were enemies, I’m guessing they’d have been bound in some way. I think she’s killing her own people. They’re going to their deaths willingly.”

  “That’s bizarre. Take a look at the next panel. I’m curious what you think.”

  Blair did as he was asked, shining his lamp on the panel closest to the doorway. The champion was helping one of the figures who’d been sacrificed to his feet. The victim was now silver as well.

  “It seems to be a ritual,” Blair mused, scratching absently at the hair at the base of his neck. It was thick with sweat. “Perhaps this champion isn’t killing the citizens. Maybe she’s putting them through a test that wounds them, and if they pass, they are elevated to champion. It could have symbolized some rite of passage men underwent at a certain age.”

  “Or women,” Bridget corrected, accidentally blinding him with her lamp. He blinked away spots as she continued. “I guess we should head down to see Steve. He’ll want to hear your theories. Listen, when we get down there…well, you’ll understand.”

  She began to descend, and Blair trailed after, his vision still recovering. He moved slowly, glancing at either side of the hallway to see what the pictographs contained. He wanted to stop for closer examination, but that would come later. For now he needed to focus on Steve. Besides, it would be worth skipping this for a look at the central chamber.

  “Watch your footing,” Bridget cautioned, pausing to shine her light in his direction. “The stones are remarkably well preserved, but some of them are slick. Alejandro twisted his ankle a few days back.”

  “Wouldn’t that be embarrassing?” Blair said, imagining tumbling to the bottom with a broken leg.

  “You’ve always been clumsy, but not that bad. Alejandro can trip on flat ground,” Bridget said with a too-quick laugh. He knew her well enough to know when she was preoccupied.

  They climbed in silence up perhaps another hundred steps before the hallway leveled off. The floor now sloped downwards, but the decline was very difficult to notice unless you’d spent a lot of time underground. Fortunately, Blair had.

  “The central chamber is just around the corner.” Bridget’s voice echoed off the stone.

  A faint sliver of light splashed the floor ahead, proving the truth of her words. They quickened their pace, eventually reaching the light and rounding the corner. Blair could do nothing but stop and stare. The hallway continued for about fifteen feet, but what lay beyond was what had captured his attention so completely. He’d seen the inner chambers in nearly every pyramid on this continent, but nothing rivaled the room ahead.

  The light from his headlamp barely touched a ceiling that had to be at least a hundred feet above. At each cardinal direction rested an enormous obelisk, like miniature versions of the one in Washington DC. Each probably weighed forty or fifty tons.

  A fifth, larger one sat in the very center of the chamber. Blair guessed its height to be fifty feet, and it looked to be solid-black stone. Obsidian perhaps?

  There was only one other feature of note, a perfectly carved replica of the wolf-headed goddess from the first panel. It stood against the far wall, palm raised in what appeared to be a gesture of friendship. It had nobility to it, majesty even. Every strand of fur was sculpted to perfection.

  “It’s tough to make out unless we turn on the generators, but the walls are covered in hieroglyphs. The ones near the obelisks are the most exquisite in the entire structure. You’re going to wet your pants when you see them,” Bridget teased, though he could tell the behavior was forced.

  “Blair?” a voice called, cracked from disuse. A figure hobbled into the light of Blair’s headlamp; apparently Steve had been resting in the shadow of the central obelisk. “Blair, is that you? You’ve come at last. I need you, my old friend. We must find the way down. She’s in there, waiting. She needs us. Blair, we have to get in.”

  Blair’s eyes burned from a sharp odor when his old friend emerged fully from the shadows. Steve had always been muscular, the athlete all the girls loved. That was gone. Soiled khakis and a polo shirt hung from his emaciated form. His dark hair was disheveled, and his skin peeled in patches, as if it had been subjected to bad sunburn. The glasses were familiar, but the man who wore them couldn’t possibly be Steve. His eyes held a feverish glint that made Blair tense defensively.

  “Steve?” he asked, aware of Bridget’s hesitant form on the step behind him.

  “Yes,” his friend answered, voice wavering. It was a bit more steady than it had been a moment ago. “I’m so glad you’ve come. The rest of these fools don’t understand, but you do. You can help me get in. You can, can’t you? Promise me. Promise!”

  The last was delivered in a shriek that echoed through the cavernous chamber. Spittle flew from Steve’s mouth, and his eyes leaked hatred. He lurched forward, seizing Blair’s shoulders. The madman’s gaze locked with his, and to his horror, Blair could find no humanity lurking there. Not a shred.

  “Of course, Steve. I promise. I’ll help however I can. It’s going to take some time though. I’ll need access to your notes,” he said, speaking slowly and calmly like he would to a wild dog.

  “Notes? Yes. Yes, you’ll need those,” he said, releasing Blair and scurrying to a folding table that had been erected in the shadow of one of the obelisks. He began grabbing loose sheets of paper and arranging them into a ragged stack. “Here, you can study these, but you must hurry. The end is coming. We must get inside before it’s too late. We must, or the world will burn.”

  Chapter 9- Decisions

  Blair shivered as he left the sun’s thin embrace for the shadowed pavilion. A fistful of now-familiar fa
ces clustered around the portable heater next to the folding table. Blair set his coffee cup down, thankful for the gloves Bridget had insisted he bring. They had conductive fingertips, so he could use his smartphone without braving the cold.

  “Good, Blair’s here. We can get started,” Sheila said, nodding at him from across the room. Her southern drawl was so faint it threatened to disappear entirely. This must be serious for that kind of lapse. Sheila prided herself on her Georgian heritage, though her family hadn’t lived there since she was three.

  Blair followed her gaze to the pair of guards on the ridge and then watched as it roamed the lot of them.

  What was going on? Everyone else looked as mystified as he felt.

  “I called you all here because I want to address what we’re all thinking. Whatever we’re all too afraid to say. Something dangerous is going on in that pyramid. In the central chamber, specifically.”

  Silence reigned. Bridget stared fixedly at the map on the table while Alejandro splayed his hands over the heater. The only sound was the wind as it tugged at the pavilion’s blue canvas. Blair had only been on the team three days. Should he speak up? No, it wasn’t his place.

  “You’re not wrong,” Doctor Roberts finally said. He crossed his arms, eyes staring out from the bushy beard that covered his face. “I’ve compiled the seismic data from three separate sources. The pyramid caused the earthquake; I’m certain now. It chose to reveal itself…for reasons we can’t begin to guess. But that’s not the terrifying part. My data strongly suggests that what we’re seeing is, quite literally, the tip of the iceberg. The structure goes deep into the earth possibly a mile or more.”

  “That dovetails with Steve’s notes,” Blair said, taking a step closer to the table. All eyes were on him now. “He believes we’ve only discovered the entryway to this place. What we assume is the central chamber might be nothing more than an antechamber at the top.”