Blood Infernal

by James Rollins

  The Sanguinists reacted even more strongly: Christian crashed to a knee out on the ice, Sophia gasped loudly enough that Erin heard her above the sharp whistling of the wind, Rhun clutched for the cross hidden under his coat, wavering drunkenly as he took a few steps. Elizabeth caught his elbow and steadied him, frowning at the others.

  Erin remembered seeing the Sanguinists react the same at the Faust House. The unholiness here was much stronger.

  Even I feel it, she thought, shivering with unease.

  Next to her, Jordan clenched his shoulders toward his ears and cocked his head, wincing. “That noise . . . like fingernails on a chalkboard. No, make that steel claws digging into a blackboard. Gawd . . .”

  He looked sick to his stomach.

  Erin didn’t hear what he heard, but he alone had heard singing from the stones. His ears were clearly tuned to an entirely different wavelength than hers.

  She climbed out of the aircraft to join the others, with Jordan hopping out after her. As her steel crampons touched the ice, her legs went cold, as if the heat of her body were sucked out through her feet.

  Behind Jordan, the cat leaped free, jumping high as if trying to avoid the ice, but the shore was too far. The cub landed on his silver claws, then crossed toward Rhun, lifting each foot daintily before placing it down again, as if he were trying not to touch that black surface.

  “Something’s wrong here,” she whispered.

  “A powerful evil resides in this lake,” Rhun agreed. “Let us be away quickly.”

  Despite the desire to run for the shoreline, they proceeded cautiously, careful of the ice’s slipperiness and fearful of disturbing what lay below. Rhun aimed them for the bank closest to those shadowy trees.

  Erin sighed when her legs finally stepped from ice to rock. She immediately felt pounds lighter, as if the backpack over her shoulders had been lifted free.

  Rhun joined her, his spine straighter now. The Sanguinists looked revived as they left the lake, like flowers opening to sunlight.

  “I can still feel it,” Sophia said. “Wafting off the lake, filling this valley.”

  Rhun nodded.

  Christian wiped his brow with a glove and looked longingly toward the helicopter. “Now I wish I’d parked closer. Don’t look forward to hiking back out again.”

  Hopefully we’ll get a chance to.

  Erin looked to the sky, squinting at the sun’s glare as the moon continued to edge farther over its face. She lowered her gaze to the steep rocky slope that led up toward those massive trees. Only now did she note that the boulders looked artfully placed, framing a snowy trail that wended up toward the cliffs.

  “There’s a trail,” she said and began to head toward it.

  Jordan stopped her. “Stay by my side.”

  She glanced at him, glad to see his protective nature showing itself again. She took his hand, wishing they didn’t have to wear gloves.

  With the lion at his side, Rhun took the lead. They slowly climbed through the boulders, careful of patches of ice. As the trail took its final switchback near the top, Rhun suddenly stopped, the lion let out a low growl.

  “We’re not alone,” Rhun said.

  11:12 A.M.

  Rhun had almost missed them.

  Three men knelt between the huge boles of the trees, so still and unmoving that they could be statues. Snow rested upon their shoulders and atop their bald pates, creating powdery skullcaps. Rhun heard no heartbeats from them, but he knew they still lived.

  Eyes stared toward him, shining out of the shadows under the leafless bower.

  Knowing they had been seen, they rose in unison, unfolding smoothly, snow sliding from their white-robed bodies. They stepped into the sunlight to greet Rhun and the others, pale hands folded at their waists.

  Rhun knew these were strigoi, but they walked under the sun as easily as any Sanguinist. As Hugh de Payens had claimed, these monks had found another way to make peace with the day.

  Rhun stepped forward and bowed. He held his empty hands out so that they could see he had no weapon. “We have been sent by Hugh de Payens,” he said. “We bring his blessings.”

  The lead monk had a round face with dark, soft eyes. “Have you returned the stones our friend was given to safeguard?”

  “We have them,” Rhun admitted.

  Erin slipped her backpack from a shoulder and unzipped it, clearly ready to produce her stone, but Rhun cautioned restraint. Hugh had said that they could trust these monks, but the palpable evil that rose off the lake made him cautious.

  Even the lion stuck close to his knee, plainly unnerved by this entire valley.

  All three monks bowed in unison, as if hearing a silent bell. “Then be welcome,” the leader said as he straightened, a soft beatific smile on his lips. “My name is Xao. Please come into our temple and let us reunite your stones with their blue brother. Time, as you know, runs short.”

  The monks turned and led them toward the trees. Closer now, Rhun noted the two trees were nearly identical, with thick gray trunks and smooth bark. The pair stood so closely together that their higher branches grew entwined, forming a natural archway overhead. The gnarled limbs trembled in the cold wind that blew off the mountains, but they appeared strongly rooted.

  Around the trunks, the ground had been swept away. The broom’s bristles had left circular patterns in the thin layer of remaining snow. The deliberate arrangement of lines looked like patterns raked into sand in a Zen garden, but the patterns themselves—curlicues and arches—reminded Rhun of the tattoo on Jordan’s chest and neck.

  The monks stopped at the wall of rock centered behind the trees. They chanted together in a language he did not recognize, but Erin whispered behind him, her voice full of awe.

  “I think they’re speaking Sanskrit . . .”

  Xao withdrew a small silver sculpture of a rose from a pocket. He clenched his fist around its stem, piercing his flesh on its thorns. He then dripped his blood atop a rock that jutted from the cliff, and a heavy grinding of stone sounded.

  “It’s like a Sanguinist gate,” Christian murmured.

  Or the precursor to one, Rhun thought.

  As the rock groaned and cracked, a small round door pushed out and rolled to the side. Snow crunched under its weight.

  The monks entered, clearly intending for them to follow. The door was so low that it required bowing to enter. It was likely purposefully constructed that way, to imbue humbleness into those who entered.

  Rhun and the lion went first, followed by the others.

  Once over the threshold, Rhun straightened and found himself facing a cavernous expanse, illuminated by the glow of a thousand candles and scores of fiery braziers that smoked with incense. He immediately recognized that this was no natural cavern, but a massive space hewn from the surrounding rock, sculpted by hand into a masterpiece. It must have taken centuries.

  Erin gasped at the sight as she entered with Jordan and the others.

  It was as if a small village had been sculpted out of the rock, their foundations still attached to the stone floor, as if the buildings had grown out of the cavern. Then there were the hundreds of statues, their bases similarly merged seamlessly with the stone. They depicted ordinary villagers going about their daily life, including a full-size yak pulling a cart, and herds of goats and sheep grazing on patches of stony grass.

  “It’s like they took that village we passed,” Jordan said, “and turned it to stone.”

  The monks ignored their stunned reactions and led them to the village’s center, where a massive Buddha sat, rising at least thirty feet tall. Those stone eyes were closed in peaceful meditation. His face was not stylized but appeared to be representative of a real man, with wide-set eyes, a strong straight nose, delicate arched eyebrows, and the hint of a smile on his overly full lips. His features were perfect; it looked as if he could open his eyes at any moment.

  Rhun felt peace, order, and calm emanating from that sculpture—a welcome contrast to the e
vil that hovered outside.

  As one, the monks put their hands together and bowed to the statue, then marched them behind the Buddha to a tall temple. Its bell-shaped tower rose gracefully, almost to the ceiling. Lines strung out from it, hanging with flags, all made of stone, sculpted to appear as if they were still flapping to a long-lost wind.

  Closer at hand, two statues guarded the door to the temple. On the right side, a stylized dragon coiled on a plinth, its mouth slightly open to display teeth that looked sharp enough to cut. To the left, a shaggy creature stood upright on its hind legs, its powerful arms raised, exposing heavy claws. It looked like a cross between an ape and a bear. Rhun had never seen its like.

  The cub sniffed at the dragon, his hackles slightly raised, as if expecting the winged beast to come alive at any moment.

  Jordan ran his fingers over the other’s monstrous features. “Looks like some sort of bigfoot.”

  “No,” Erin said, drawing closer herself. “I . . . I think it’s a yeti. A creature said to haunt the Himalayas.”

  She looked to Xao for confirmation.

  His face remained inscrutable. “It is the likeness of a creature, one of several of its ilk that escaped from the lake. Beasts of various guises periodically crawl into our world from that darker space. Some are naked and quickly succumb to the cold. Others, like this one, roam the mountains for years before we can bring them back, inspiring fireside legends.”

  “What do you mean by bring them back?” Jordan asked.

  “We capture those that have escaped and return them to the lake. We try to keep them from being harmed or harming others, although we all too often fail.”

  “But aren’t they demons?” asked Sophia.

  “Our philosophy cannot condemn such beasts for their natures,” Xao answered piously, sounding much like Hugh de Payens. “We are here to protect all.”

  Xao turned and waved toward the open temple doors. “But let us continue. We have important tasks before us.”

  Rhun did not argue. With his Sanguinist senses, he felt the dying of the sun outside, its blaze slowly being consumed by the moon’s shadow.

  They were almost out of time.

  March 20, 11:22 A.M. NPT

  Tsum Valley, Nepal

  Elizabeth trailed the others into the temple, following them like some lowly commoner. She hated to be pushed to the back, but it also allowed her time to study everything, free of the judgment of Rhun and the others. Hugh de Payens had shown her another way to live, another way to balance the light and the dark, the night and the day. These monks clearly embodied that same path.

  I could teach the same to Tommy.

  So for the moment, she bided her time, hoping to learn as much as she could before she made her escape and returned to Tommy, to save the boy from a death that he did not deserve.

  As she entered the heart of the temple, the flowery smell of jasmine drifted across the wide room. Underfoot, the stone floor had been carved to resemble wooden planks, a task that must have taken years of devotion. A serene Buddha waited at the far end of the long room. Unlike the statue outside, this one had been carved with its eyes open.

  She wondered why this temple complex was so large, if only these three monks lived here. She listened for others, but she heard no telltale scuff of sandal on rock, no brush of robe against skin, no rustle of prayer beads. It seemed only these three sentinels of the valley remained.

  The monks took them to a large crimson table, topped by a shallow silver tray. The table sat in front of the Buddha. Within the tray, sands and salts in a multitude of shades and colors had been artfully combined to create a sand painting. It showed a perfect replica of the outer winter valley: white sands for snow, black salt for the lake. Two gray trees stood on one shore, each gnarled limb perfectly replicated.

  The young lion sniffed at the tray, until Rhun waved the curious animal back.

  The three monks then stepped around the table and took Erin, Jordan, and Rhun by the hand and led them to different corners of the tray. Each stood in one corner, while the trees anchored the fourth.

  Xao pointed, rolling his wrist, allowing a finger to hover over a tiny figure painted in the sand on the same side of the lake as Erin. The monk dropped a tiny ruby in front of that figure.

  “The sun rises in the east,” he intoned.

  Another monk stepped past Rhun’s shoulder, and with a tiny silver dropper, placed a perfect pearl of water upon the sands in front of a figure on that side.

  “The moon sets in the west,” Xao added.

  The last monk leaned by Jordan and gently blew a green seed from his small palm. It wafted down and landed before a figure painted there.

  “The garden collects light from the south,” Xao said. The monk then stepped to the remaining corner himself and pointed to the pair of painted trees in the sand. “While eternal roots anchor the north.”

  “What does this mean?” Jordan said, squinting at the figure before him.

  “It’s how we open the gate, isn’t it?” Erin asked.

  Xao gave the smallest bow of his head in acknowledgment. “The stones must be placed on pillars, each at their proper compass points. When the sun rises to its zenith and its light falls upon the stones, the gems will cast back their brilliance, lancing out over the lake. Once their individual rays strike together, a new light will be born, one of the purest white.”

  Erin looked vaguely skeptical. “So you’re saying, the three colors of reflected light—red, blue, and green—will merge to produce a white light.”

  Jordan straightened. “Makes sense. It’s like old TV screens. Built with RBG emitters. Red, blue, green. From those three hues, all other colors can be made.”

  Xao offered a more elegant answer. “Darkness is the absence of light, while within white light hides a rainbow.”

  “The full spectrum,” Jordan concurred with a nod.

  “What happens then?” Elizabeth asked, not truly understanding such matters, but accepting them for now.

  Xao explained, “This pure light will pierce the eternal darkness that shrouds the lake. And like lancing a sickly boil with a hot needle, the evil below will rise to the surface. But fear not, the pyramid of light created by the three gems will contain those creatures born of such malevolence, stopping them from entering our world.”

  Elizabeth began to understand. “Like a cage with bars of light.”

  “Just so,” Xao said. “But we must take great care. If the stones are moved while the gate is still open, the bars of light will break, and the evil will be set loose upon the world.”

  “Sounds like you’ve done this before,” Jordan said.

  “Is that how you returned those creatures who escaped in the past?” Erin asked. “Like the yeti?”

  A mournful expression shadowed Xao’s features. “It is the only way to return them to their dark lands, to return balance here.”

  Another of the monks gently touched a finger to Xao’s robe, as if prodding him to hurry. For these quiet souls, the simple gesture was likely the equivalent of a violent shake.

  Xao nodded. “And now we face an even greater task. The darkness has been growing stronger for the past several months. The dark king who reigns below—the one you call Lucifer—has loosed his bonds, enough to crack the surface of the lake. We must open the gate and repair his broken chains before he shatters fully free.”

  “And how do we do that?” Erin asked.

  “We must summon him into that gate, lured by that which he can’t resist.” Xao looked across at the three of them. “The scions of this world: Warrior, Woman, and the Knight who has mastered the king’s own dark blood.”

  Erin looked aghast.

  Jordan gave a small shake of his head. “So in other words, we’re bait.”

  Even Rhun appeared shaken, still staring at the tray, as if searching for answers in those squiggles of sand. “And once Lucifer is summoned, what must we do? How do we shackle him anew?”

  “We have pr
epared for this day. Millennia ago. This blessed temple was carved at the edge of this valley to hold not just the three gems, but to protect and hold sacred a great treasure, one sculpted by a single pair of hands. Only the Enlightened One could create such perfection.”

  Xao turned and bowed to the statue.

  “The Buddha,” Erin said, awe filling her voice.

  The three monks stepped over to the statue, and Xao opened a door in the belly of the Buddha, the hatch so seamlessly built that even Elizabeth had failed to note it. From the hollow inside, two of the monks withdrew a large chest of polished white wood, with lotus blossoms painted along its sides.

  From the strain in the bearers’ faces, it was of immense weight. Still they held it aloft, as if fearful of letting it touch the floor. As the pair supported it, Xao opened the lid—and a wash of holiness flooded forth.

  The Sanguinists gasped. Rhun leaned closer to the chest, drawn toward that blessed font. Elizabeth backed away, wanting to escape it, the chest’s sanctity exposing the dark places inside her.

  Even the lion bowed down before the open chest, sinking to his belly.

  Jordan and Erin stepped closer to view the treasure inside.

  “Chains,” Jordan said. “Silver chains.”

  His words did pale justice to their beauty. The chains were the purest silver, burning forth with holiness. Each link was perfection, sculpted and etched to show every leaf and creature that lived under the sun. It was the natural world, rendered in silver.

  “And we can reshackle Lucifer with these chains?” Erin asked.

  Xao looked to her, then Jordan. “Not you two. Only creatures such as ourselves, such as your companions, can ferry this treasure through the planes of that pyramid of light. It would be death to those whose heart still beats to cross that barrier. Only the damned may pass unscathed, those who have balanced light and darkness within them.”