Master of Myth (The Antigone's Wrath Series Book 1)

by Starla Huchton

  As she emerged with the others onto the beach, Iris saw movement from the corner of her eye. She turned her head towards a large boulder, slowly, as not to arouse suspicion. While she pretended to examine the contents of a vial, the figure emerged again. It wasn’t a child, as she first thought, but an old woman.

  Under the pretense of tracking something in the sand, Iris crisscrossed her way up the beach, to the opposite side of the rock providing cover to the spy. At ten paces, she heard feet scrabbling away and dropped the act, breaking into a run. The old woman was more agile than she guessed, but not enough to get away.

  “Wait!” Iris yelled, then cringed, remembering where she was. “Matte kudasai!”

  The use of polite Japanese slowed the woman and she looked back, uncertain. Roughly ten feet remained between them, but in five feet the old woman would disappear into the tree line.

  She proceeded carefully. Her Japanese was out of practice and one misremembered word could ruin the entire exchange. “I am looking for a friend of mine. Men in dark, round hats stole her. Have you seen them?”

  The woman spat at the ground to her right. “I have seen these men, but no women with them.”

  “So they are here?” Judging by this one’s reaction, she harbored no affection for the Brotherhood. “Would you tell me where?”

  “What is it you want with those bad men? Nothing good comes from that type.”

  Iris nodded. “As I said, they have my friend. I intend to take her back. If some of them die trying to stop me, so much the better.”

  A toothless grin spread across the oldwoman’s mouth. “Then I will help you.”

  “You will be paid, if you wish it. Have you any needs?”

  She shook her head. “My only need is to remove those men from my home. If you accomplish this, that is payment enough.”

  Iris bowed to her. “Then our needs are the same.”

  After walking hallways for thirty minutes, light came into view at last. Silas saw the glow from quite a way off, as his vision adjusted to the darkness during the trek. As they drew closer to the orange spot ahead, faint outlines became visible in the shadows. Then, the rumblings of conversations reached his ears. It was nothing intelligible, but it was clear there were many people waiting for them ahead.

  That was indeed the case. From only a casual count as he passed, Silas saw over one hundred men gathered here. There were more still he couldn’t see, but as they neared their destination, the eyes upon him concerned him less and less. Something far more important was in sight.

  The passage expanded into a large open cavern. Massive metal doors lurked at the far end, resembling a nightmarish beast hulking in the middle of the rock, blocking the way forward. An interlocking geometric pattern created the illusion of a giant head with two diamond-shaped eyes. These black hollows swallowed the light, rather than reflected it. The archway rose more than fifty feet to the ceiling of the cavern, resembling the hunched back of an animal. He gulped involuntarily.

  The crowd stopped roughly forty yards from the doors. It was lit well enough to see all of the faces around him, save one. At the left edge of the crowd, three men in cloaks gathered. All but one of these let their hoods fall behind them. The obscured one was unnaturally still, and even though Silas could not see his eyes, he could feel them. An icy trickle of sweat rolled down his neck, causing him to shudder. The involuntary movement broke the spell. Silas blinked, and when he looked again, the had figure moved. Now, it stood next to Rachel.

  Bile rose in his throat as he saw her stiffen. If that man’s shrouded eyes unnerved him, what must it be like to hear the voice and feel the breath of someone like that? In a moment of bravery, he surged forward. It caught his captors off guard and he was free. Silas plowed through the half dozen men between himself and Rachel, but when he reached her side, the mysterious figure was gone.

  Rachel blinked at Silas as he grabbed her arm. He saw confusion, then relief wash over her face.

  “How very noble of you, Mr. Jensen.” Mortimer Cross pushed through to the front. “But too little, far too late. And now, Captain Sterling.” His smile was cold and self-satisfied. “If you’d be so kind as to open the door for us…”

  She smirked. “Open the door? That door? For you?” She chuckled. “You’re quite the comedian, Mr. Mustache. Ever considered a career in the theatre?”

  His hand flew up to strike her, but the sound of a throat clearing held it at bay. Instead, he plastered another greasy grin on his face. “I highly suggest you make an effort, Captain Sterling. Should you refuse me, my superiors might take matters into their own hands. You should trust me when I say that you don’t want that to happen.”

  Rachel barked out a laugh. “Your superiors? Wouldn’t that be damned near amy—” her quip was silenced with a sudden chokehold. In a panic, she scrabbled at her neck, searching for the source of the asphyxiation.

  As she fell to her knees, Silas reached for her. “Rachel? Rachel, what’s wrong?” He looked around, hoping to find the source of her distress. One younger man stood out from the rest. His right arm reached out towards her, but not in a show of assistance. The man’s silver hair flopped in front of his face as he cocked his head to one side, watching the effect of his actions with curiosity. Enraged, Silas threw himself at the cloaked man, tackling him around the waist and sending him to the floor. While many angry hands pulled Silas away, Rachel coughed violently, air filling her lungs. A single, powerful punch to Silas’s gut knocked the wind out of him.

  Mortimer Cross looked down at the prone inventor. “Mr. Jensen, if I were you, I’d behave myself from now on.” He turned back to Rachel. She was still on her knees, heaving. “Let me give you a bit of motivation. Do you see those piles on the floor up there?”

  Grudgingly, she looked up. Several heaps of cloth and something wet dotted the open space before the door. “What… are those?” she rasped, still catching her breath.

  “What you see there are the remains of a few men who sacrificed everything in an attempt to further our great cause. It appears that only someone very special can breach the defenses of this ancient domain. All others who try are reduced to the mess before you,” he explained. Reaching down, he hooked a finger under her chin and angled her face up to him. “As a descendant of this people, who better to open this fortress to the new world power?”

  “What makes you think I’d ever do anything to help you and your delusional cult?” She glared at him.

  He dropped his hold. “If you don’t, your Mr. Jensen will be the next soul to try his hand.”

  She looked at Silas. He met her gaze without fear. “They must not win, Rachel. My life is not worth your sacrifice.”

  “And again you play the chivalrous savior, Mr. Jensen.” Mortimer Cross rolled his eyes. “But it’s really for her to decide, isn’t it… Rachel?”

  She growled audibly at his use of her first name. That was definitely more grating than what he usually called her. She pushed herself up to her feet and brought herself nose to nose with him. “By the time this is over, Mr. Mustache, you will die by my hand.”

  “I hardly think so, Rachel. Now, the door? At your leisure, of course.”

  She held out her wrists, prompting them to unshackle her. Brother Cross regarded her for a moment before obliging. “Don’t harbor any silly notions of escape, Captain Sterling. I assure you, you won’t get far if you try.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, Morty.” The corner of her mouth twitched in a suppressed smirk. The new nickname rankled him.

  He grabbed her arm and tossed her towards the door. “We’re waiting.”

  Rachel examined her raw wrists absently as she stepped around the heaps of former men. Something more disturbing about the carnage took her upon a second glance. It was what she didn’t see that alarmed her. For all the ripping and tearing the corpse remains underwent, not a drop of blood could be seen. What little fluid there was appeared to be water. What in Heaven had happened to these men?

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nbsp; As she crept closer, the air around her vibrated. Something besides her own two feet drew her onwards. The immense door loomed before her, ominous and forbidding. The pattern of interlocking shapes broke only once: a single handprint indentation in the center, roughly four feet above the floor. Her fingers itched. There was a yearning in her to touch it, a reason beyond the sparing of Silas’s life. Beyond this portal lay her heritage; her lineage began here.

  She hesitated, her hand hovering above the imprint. The last few inches felt like miles. Rachel shut her eyes, took a deep breath, and reached out.

  Pain filled her in an instant and her eyes flew open. Whatever power lay in this door, it was sucking the life from her. The scream emanating from her mouth felt pulled from her toes. She grasped her wrist with her left hand, trying to pull free, but it held fast. As she watched, horrified, blood flowed from her fingertips and pulled up into the lines of the door’s pattern. Her body shuddered uncontrollably as the fluid left her. She leaned into the surface and sobbed, begging to be released. Every part of her burned with agony. As she sank to her knees, she pounded on the door. “Stop,” she moaned. “Please. I must see this through. I must stop them.”

  A kind, welcoming sigh rushed through her. Her captive hand was released and she pulled it to her chest as she collapsed on the ground. Light burst through the paths her blood had taken, the largest line splitting up the center. Rachel pulled herself into a ball to shield herself from the blinding brightness. The ground shook as dust and rocks fell everywhere. Air, trapped for millennia, rushed out, dousing the lanterns. When Rachel looked up, Silas was pulling her to her feet. He nearly dragged her through the doorway as confusion and chaos distracted the small army of Brotherhood men.

  “Rachel, you have to run!” he shouted over the rumbling of falling debris. “If you don’t…”

  The unspoken threat jarred her. Weak though she was, with his help they might be able to find a hiding place amongst whatever lay beyond the widening doorway. What little light remained came from the blue glow of dying orbs hanging from the ceiling. All else was darkness, their appearance lost to the shadows.

  Unable to see clearly, they stumbled through a great gallery of monoliths. Huge, towering shapes filled the endless space. They took a crooked route of diagonals and turns, fleeing as fast as their feet and silence would allow. She wanted to look down, to see if their steps left tracks in what should have been inches of dust, but the air was clean. Was this place so well preserved that even this most constant keeper of time had been shut out?

  There was no time to ponder this further. For the moment, all she could do was run.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The Darkness

  Danton looked as far as he could into the gaping maw of the cave. Light penetrated the first fifty feet, but the floor sloped away steeply after that, shrouding the rest in mystery. There was an intense feeling of foreboding here. Dread seeped into his pores and he shivered. This urge to flee was foreign to him. Something didn’t want them here, and he was tempted to oblige it.

  “And she’s certain this is the way?” Danton looked back over his shoulder.

  Iris nodded. “She said if we follow this, taking only left branches, we’ll reach a door to the sunken ruins.”

  “But she doesn’t know anything past that, oui?” Danton frowned.

  “Correct,” she said. “Her exact phrasing was difficult to understand, but I gathered it has something to do with a sealed door. Apparently, it’s deadly when one fails to open it. Mizushima-san lost her second son to curiosity.”

  Danton considered this obstacle. “I suppose it’s a good thing we brought the dynamite then, non?”

  As they allowed the joke to lighten the moment, the ground trembled and all levity ceased. A low reverberation issued from the cavern. With a look from Iris, Danton spurred the confused mass of men into action. They took up their rifles, swords, and other assorted weapons and gathered around the opening. Iris noted the nervous looks. It was a reasonable reaction given the sounds and vibrations still shaking the little island of Yonaguni. Jiao seemed unimpressed, however, and approached Iris impatiently.

  “I wish to volunteer for scout duty.” Jiao crossed her arms in front of her chest. “There are a few amongst my fathers men suitable for the task. I will take them with me.”

  Iris raised an eyebrow at this presumed reach of authority, but the girl had a valid point. After her demonstration at the monastery, not to mention being the reason for the number of men at Iris’s disposal, she consented. “Use them as runners to send updates back to the main group. And you are not to engage the enemy without the main body of forces. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Mistress,” Jiao answered.

  “After you enter, take only left forks in the tunnels. Only lefts.”

  Acknowledging the order with a tight nod, Jiao spun on her heel and motioned to a group waiting for her command. Five men in black gi snapped to attention, bowed, and set off into the cave. Giving Iris a mischievous smirk, Jiao followed after them.

  Danton rejoined her as Jiao disappeared into the darkness. “Was that a good idea?”

  Iris shrugged. “That remains to be seen. She’s capable of the required stealth, of that I’m sure. Let’s hope she can contain her bloodlust until we have need of it. Is everything ready?”

  “As ready as it can be.” Danton shrugged. “Shall we?”

  Her eyes didn’t take long to adjust to the darkness. Despite being underground, an eerie, ambient luster from the walls of rock showed the way well enough that lanterns weren’t necessary. It was unnerving, but Jiao refused to falter in her resolve. Her fingers ached to wrap around the hilt of her katana and charge into waiting combatants. Instead, she did as she was told, sending runners back at every branch to report the all clear. As she took the sixth branch, voices carried to her position. She slowed her pace to a crawl, unsure of the source.

  Abruptly, Jiao came face to face with a wall of solid rock. Had she taken a wrong turn? That was impossible. A surge of panic welled up in her throat, but she against fought it. Hysteria clouded rational thought. Logic was the only way she’d get out of here. Turning to her left, she followed the obstacle, fingers tracing the strangely smooth stone. When she thought she was close to where the wall should be, she reached out with her left hand to keep her from running into the cavern sides.

  Her right hand lost the feel of the stone, and she stopped. Jiao found herself perfectly positioned in a small gap at the corner, revealing the back of the cave to be only a partial wall concealing the rest of the tunnel. The space was no wider than three feet across. She smiled to herself and turned back to the next in line of three remaining men. “Stay here,” she whispered. “Show the others how to get through.”

  He didn’t respond, instead allowing the sound of his feet planting in place to show he followed her orders.

  When she rounded the partial wall, she was surprised to see dim light ahead. A straight corridor sloped downwards into another tunnel. Or rather, a hallway. A small amount of orange torchlight filtered through the other end. The walls here were most definitely man-made, carved and polished smooth, and the floor still held traces of broken tiles. As she progressed down the empty corridor, the voices became more pronounced, and were almost intelligible. The lit hallway ran at a ninety-degree angle to this one, and she pressed herself to the right wall to keep out of sight, her companions following suit.

  “What do you mean, you can’t find them?” A man’s voice carried over the others. “They can’t have gotten far in the dark!”

  Jiao smiled. It was a voice she recognized from the temple. Danton told her about the Brotherhood, and that person in particular. It was tempting to go after the man responsible for the death of the monks and her Rinpoche on her own, but there was no telling how many men waited in the next room. Pushing back her hatred, Jiao centered herself and inched her head around the corner, enough to catch a glimpse of what waited on the other side.

>   Not expecting to see someone so close, she nearly gasped at the cloaked figure immediately around the bend. It was impossible to see anything around the mass of black fabric. In her head, she cursed. Casting a glance to the men to her left, she urged them back up the hallway. Keenly aware of how well sound traveled here, she used hand signals to instruct one man to report the sighting. When he was gone, she and her remaining runner crept back towards the light. Jiao reasoned that the enemy scouted this corridor and deemed it safe, not seeing the gap leading to the tunnels. Lucky for her, careless of them.

  Something was happening. The sounds of many feet running drew her back to the corner for another attempt at spying. This time, the cloaked man was gone, as were any others who might have been there moments before. The next room was more of a recess from a much, much larger space. Possibly twenty feet stretched between her corner and the opening. A small group of men remained, three in cloaks, two others in the same attire of those she’d killed at the monastery. One of the latter was nearly shaking with anger. His mustache twitched furiously as he spoke. This must be the Brother Mortimer Cross that Danton described. She knew his voice immediately.

  “Do not worry, Highest One,” he assured one of the cloaked men. “We will find her and the inventor. And when I have them—”