I didn’t dare take my eyes off the tunnel, but I could tell none of the other cavern dwellers had stirred. A low, hushed voice and a rocky scraping sound emanated from inside the tunnel after a few minutes.
My plan was simple: identify who or what was down that passage, take it out quickly if necessary, and try not to die in the process. The best-case scenario was also the worst—it would indeed be the Kalku, and he’d still have the Cup.
“Come out calmly, and we’ll resolve this situation peacefully,” I yelled. “No one needs to get hurt.”
At that, I began to hear shuffling coming up the passage. It was a slow but steady sound that increased in volume. I still couldn’t see anything, though.
“We know you’re in there. Make it easier on yourself and just come out.” I figured I could throw out the “we,” since who or whatever was down there had no idea how many of me were up here.
As the shuffling got louder, a shadow emerged from the tunnel mouth, followed abruptly by a substantial figure. It shambled out into the open, looking around deliberately and then focusing directly on my position behind the rocks. It was a man well over six and a half feet tall, probably weighing as much as two seventy-five, with “football player” written all over him.
Although the thing was dressed exactly as it had been on the videotape from the museum, it was encased in a brilliant red aura that flared to white along its edges. The emanation conformed to the shape of its body and was so intense it was as if someone were holding a flare behind him. I could make out an intricate covering of softly glowing tattoos all over rotting skin, including up along the neck and face and down its forearms and hands. Bright bands of what I assumed was energy were escaping from places where its skin was torn or cut, and its eyes glowed radiant white. In fact, most of its head glowed as if lit from the inside like a jack-o’-lantern.
Its gaze never left my hiding spot as it moved farther out, stopping maybe six feet inside the cavern. While it knew exactly where I was, it didn’t act all that concerned. Once it stopped, it simply stood there staring at me with those glowing white eyes. I knew I couldn’t kill it, so my only hope was to hit it fast and hard and weaken it before I had the misfortune of finding out exactly what this thing could do.
I squeezed off three quick rounds into its head, spraying bits of bone, rotting flesh and brain matter into a nearby bonfire with a sizzle. The spellbound people around the fire didn’t move, and the creature didn’t falter even though the shots had removed most of the right side of its head, leaving only the glowing mass underneath. The parts of the right side of its face and skull that remained attached hung down onto its shoulder and chest like the peel of a banana. Only the left eye, cheek, ear, and jaw were still intact.
I lowered my aim and put three bullets in the left side of its chest, where a person’s heart would be. Gaping wounds opened in its chest and back as the bullets passed through its rotting corpse and into the rock behind it. The hollow-point bullets I preferred were designed to create massive damage, but that thing barely noticed, and they were passing through its form so easily that I now had to account for any of the mole people that might end up behind the creature. Still, if I could do enough damage to the Wekufe’s human shell, then maybe that would weaken its presence and limit the Kalku’s power before I had to face him, too.
I took aim at the Wekufe’s massive left shoulder, making sure the area of impact behind it was clear, and fired four more times. The shoulder blew into shreds, leaving its arm dangling by the clothing that covered it, and a bit of rotted flesh.
Despite the damage, the thing didn’t react at all—no show of pain, no building anger, nada. It just stared at me with what was left of its mangled head, with a near-blinding glow emanating from the missing parts. The other wounds glowed so brightly white that the bonfires behind the creature were dull by comparison. Even as the flesh fell away, none of the energy dissipated or bled off but instead just held the humanoid form it wore. Screw it. At least it wouldn’t be able to swing at me with that tree trunk of an arm if I did finally piss it off.
That was when the zombii-like residents of the cavern got up, grabbed their weapons, and headed toward me. Yikes. In addition to the Wekufe, I now had two other issues to deal with. First, assuming the Kalku was still down that tunnel, I had to prevent him from escaping, or I’d risk losing him and my only link to the Cup. Second, I was about to be attacked by a group of people who were not acting of their own volition.
On a field of battle, my attitude was unwavering: Never let an enemy live. Thanks to Quintus Smyrnaeus, it had become a highly contested piece of battlefield lore. I felt no remorse for Ilioneus that day long ago when the old Trojan implored me for mercy and I killed him instead—we were at war, and he, at least, was acting of his own accord. But the mesmerized people in the cavern were not at war, and I’d been entrusted with protecting normal mortals from any creature or being that would do them harm. Yes, I could have easily killed those people, especially in their present lackadaisical state, but they were innocents.
I thought about backing farther into the crevice I was in to create a bottleneck for my attackers, but it would also have created a barrier for me if the Kalku tried to make a break for it. My only real option was to take the fight to the zombiis. I put my Sig back in its holster, got up, and sprinted at the nearest person.
I covered the hundred and fifty feet between us in just under two seconds. The guy I ran for was not only the closest to me but was also on the opposite side of the cavern from the Wekufe, which was now just over a hundred feet away. He was a middle-aged man in poor health wielding a maul, and I punched him with an open hand to the chest so fast he never had a chance to react. He fell backward, dropping his weapon as he landed with a thud.
Without slowing, I picked up the maul, smashed it against the floor to break off the heavy metal head with a gunshot-like crack that sent sparks flying, and attacked the next zombii. I used the wooden handle to disarm him then spun it around and brought it under his legs to knock him over. I broke the pickaxe off the end of his weapon and then started to work with both handles, disarming and incapacitating the remaining cavern dwellers as quickly as possible.
I tried to do as little damage to them as I could, focusing on limbs, but contact with the hard wooden handles at my speed tended to break their already brittle bones. I met no resistance from anyone, and it took me less than a minute to put a stop to all of them.
Having worked my way across the cavern to disarm the zombiis, I was now standing among the bonfires, about ninety feet behind and to the right of the Wekufe. I tossed aside my makeshift clubs as I once again faced the energy creature wearing Jack Rios as a suit. Despite my actions, it still hadn’t taken a step or changed from its original position. Seeing the twenty people on the ground around me, I made a mental note to have Athena send in medical help later. They didn’t deserve to get hurt, and I hated it when people took advantage of weaker individuals—it really pissed me off.
I focused on the Wekufe and made a show of pulling my swords out over my shoulders, sliding the flawless metallic blades from their leather scabbards with only a soft, bell-like knell. It had to turn around to focus on me again, its mangled arm dangling uselessly at its side and its ruined head and gaping wounds glowing from its true form underneath.
“Let’s go, Sparky. You and me.” I crouched low, holding my swords out to my sides with the tips down. I slowly circled back to my right, dragging the tips of my blades over the stone floor, creating sparks. I was being dramatic, but mostly I was wasting time, trying to get the thing to make the first move.
It wasn’t working. All the Wekufe did was track my movements, constantly turning to face me. Once I had reached the point where the Wekufe was between me and the tunnel it had emerged from and was less than fifty feet away, I stopped, spinning the swords low. I had no idea what this being was capab
le of, so I wasn’t sure what type of defense to prepare. Not that I was a purist, but I figured it was best to keep my options open until I had a better idea.
“What’s the matter? You afraid of me?” I said.
The problem with most nonhumans was that they didn’t have human emotions. This thing very well may not have had any concept of fear or even an ego to bruise. It wasn’t going to stop me from trying, though. If I could somehow get a rise out of the magical battery, then I’d know I was in its head. “Good God. You stink, too. Is that fear or just a lack of hygiene?”
In the blink of an eye, the glowing form of the Wekufe, visible at its head and along its wounded shoulder and arm, flared with a white-hot intensity as some sort of force erupted through it and threw me like a rag doll against the cavern wall behind me. Force is a simple function of mass and acceleration, and I covered the twenty-five feet damn fast. I smashed into the wall with a jarring thump, my armored back taking most of the blow, but the impact jerked my head back against the rock. I fell to my knees, seeing stars, but managed to keep my swords in hand.
I shook my head to clear the cobwebs and steadied myself with my swords as I tried to focus on the Wekufe. I couldn’t be sure if that attack had come from the Wekufe directly or from the shaman somewhere behind it, using its power to magnify the effect. Either way, with my bell rung, three hazy versions of the Wekufe now stood about seventy-five feet away amidst a host of stars and tweeting birdies. Nice.
“Phew! You two guys are gonna have to wait. I gotta deal with him first,” I said, pointing my right sword at the middle Wekufe as I got to my feet.
I shook my head again. The stars receded, and the three burning figures started to coalesce back into one. As my vision cleared, a small man in a poncho and a bizarre feathered headdress was standing just behind and to the right of the Wekufe. That was not good.
CHAPTER 14
The little shaman reminded me of a Native American version of Moe Howard from The Three Stooges, except that he was wearing a dark-brown poncho with a white geometric pattern. His odd headdress was bright orange with a red design along its length, and a full plume of long feathers sprouted along his forehead, projecting up and over his head. Including the foot-long plume of feathers, the guy couldn’t have been over six feet tall and was easily a hundred years old.
He drew alongside the Wekufe, and the energy spirit began glowing far more intensely than it had a few minutes earlier. As the fiery-red glow increased around it, the energy began to spread toward and then envelop the Kalku, who was now standing less than a yard away from the creature. That had to be bad. Plus, it really bothered my eyes and made my splitting headache worse.
“You sure you don’t want to talk this whole mess out?” I asked, staring down at the ground to save myself the discomfort of staring into the blazing light surrounding the pair. “No need to make me kick your ass. All I want is the cup you took and maybe to know why.”
The glow in the room flared, causing me to squint as my feet left the ground again. This time I only had a few feet to fly before I smacked into the rock wall behind me, so the impact was much less than before. Not only did I manage to keep my head from snapping back upon impact, but I also landed on my feet.
I was never very good at diplomatic solutions. I took two steps forward for momentum and threw the sword in my right hand at the Wekufe as hard as I could and then sprinted right, knowing that a magic user couldn’t focus a spell on me if I kept on the move. The sword impaled the Wekufe low in the chest and passed straight through, releasing a huge, noiseless flash of light, but the creature still managed to stay upright.
The Kalku raised his left arm in my direction and extended it toward me, his hand twisted into a claw. I stopped just long enough for him to focus on my position and then took off again, continuing to my right, trying to flank them. I drew my Sig as I ran. The light in the cavern began to dim as the flames from the bonfires at the opposite side of the cave were drawn toward the Kalku and Wekufe and then diminished. I could see the witch doctor gathering the energy from the fires as a ball of flame engulfed his clawed hand.
Oh, shit. The cavern lit up as the bonfires blazed again, and the diminutive shaman’s hand unleashed a spout of yellow flame the diameter of a telephone pole and struck the spot where I had been, shattering the rock wall into rubble. He then drew the blaze sloppily around the cavern like a flamethrower, charring and cracking rock as he tried to catch up with me. He flailed around like a lone fireman trying to control a high-pressure hose. His inability to control the spell precisely slowed him down, and it was clear he had limited experience with offensive magic.
I continued to move, without slowing, toward the wizard. Once I was some forty feet to the left of him, I jumped straight at him with my sword raised overhead and my Sig aimed roughly in his direction. He was still dragging the gout of flame around twenty feet behind me, trying to catch up. In the instant it took me to cover the distance between us, I emptied the clip from the nine millimeter into him. Everything happened so fast that he barely reacted as several bullets tore through his chest and neck. I could still see his eyes trying to track me when I brought the sword down on his head, splitting his skull and extinguishing the flame instantly.
I landed with the Sig pointed at what was left of the wizard’s head and pulled my sword free. His limp body slumped to the ground in a bloody pile with bitter smoke rising from his clawed hand and outstretched arm.
The moment the little man collapsed, the Wekufe began shaking violently just a few feet away. I dropped the empty Sig and pulled my Glock from under my right arm as I angled back toward the tunnel the wizard had come down. Before I could dive into the passageway for cover, the Wekufe exploded.
Oddly, the wet, leathery ripping of Jack Rios’s body rupturing was the only sound it made as the warm remains pelted me. It was like popping a balloon—a massive, rotted-meat balloon—which was kind of gross and not at all what I’d expected. The energy that had emanated from under the thing’s skin was just gone.
Once I’d scraped the bits of rotting flesh off me, I sheathed the sword, holstered the Glock, and retrieved the Sig, replacing its spent clip. Bits of Rios’s body covered every surface within the cavern, including the walls and all of the mole people, some hundred feet away. I stood staring down at the dead Kalku. Dammit. It didn’t bother me that I’d killed the guy—he attacked me first—but so much for finding out why he took the Cup or even where it was. I stalked cautiously down the tunnel, keeping an eye out for my other sword. I found it stuck six inches into the rock wall at the dogleg. I checked the blade’s reflection to see if I could see what was at the end of the tunnel. Nothing moved in the reflection, but I left the sword in the wall just in case and rounded the corner with the Sig in a combat-high position, moving toward the light.
The source of the light was a fire pit and two torches set into the walls of an alcove. A shopping cart filled with rocks and scrap metal sat just inside the small chamber, and a large animal-skin bag slumped against the far wall next to a wooden walking stick topped with a hat like Clint Eastwood’s in those Spaghetti Westerns. A broad double circle was drawn on the rock floor with some kind of chalk to one side of the fire pit. Around the concentric circles was a series of geometric shapes and glyphs similar to those on the shaman’s poncho. At the very center was an ugly bronze cup filled with red liquid.
Bingo. I knew wizards used circles for conjuring or containing magical energy, but I didn’t see any active magic or energy exuded from these circles. Since the guy who would have activated them was now dead, I wasn’t worried about springing a trap.
I grabbed the vessel, and at once, the dull patina of the Cup took on a mercurial sheen. It was actually quite beautiful. The red liquid congealed into a mirror, but rather than a reflection, an image of my boat at the dock back in San Diego appeared. I stared for a few seconds then figured I’d
better not mess around with something I didn’t understand. I picked up the skin bag from the floor along the wall behind me, dumped the fluid into the fire, creating an odorless sizzle and an ominous cloud of red-tinged steam, and tucked the Cup into my bag.
From up the passageway, I began to hear muffled moans, along with scraping and shuffling from out in the cavern. I figured the mole people must have been coming out from under the Kalku’s spell.
I carefully collected everything else and threw it into the fire pit, hastily scuffed up the drawings on the floor to make sure no one could use them again, and left the alcove. As I passed my sword in the wall, on my way back into the cavern, I removed it and returned it to its sheath. Most of the people were indeed starting to move, regaining their senses and moaning and groaning. It reminded me how much my head hurt. I rubbed my hand across the back of my head and found my short hair matted over a golf-ball-sized lump. My fingers came back covered in blood. The wound didn’t feel that bad, but I knew that scalp lacerations tended to bleed profusely. I was sure I had a concussion, and my head felt as if it had been used as a gong. At least my vision was back to normal.
I holstered the Sig and massaged the lump on the back of my head as I approached the most alert of the group—a youngish man who was trying to sit up. He held his jaw while blood trickled from his mouth. As I came close, I could see him watch me with a furrowed brow and squinted eyes for only a second while he rubbed at his bruised mouth. His movements were deliberate and slow as he regained his wits.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Will be,” he moaned then spit out a mouthful of blood and a tooth.
I felt bad about that. He didn’t even bother to look around. I spent the next few minutes helping the others and taking stock of the injuries I’d inflicted. Nothing worse than a few broken bones and loose teeth, but I felt like an asshole for hurting them. That quickly gave way to anger at the Kalku for using them and placing them in harm’s way. Good riddance to the little shit. Athena would have to live without knowing why he stole the Cup in the first place.
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