“But why?” she asked. “That doesn't make any sense at all.”
She closed her eyes as she fought back tears. Her newfound hope dimmed. She hadn't thought it possible, but the dragon laughed all the harder. She felt the heavy pressure around her again as the air stirred. The steady sound of beating wings confirmed the dragon’s departure. It did that sometimes, retreating deep into the cave complex.
She opened her eyes at last and scooped up Nicolette in her arms. She carried the child over to their bedding and embraced her. They cried together.
Faith heard the grinding noise again, this time far closer than she’d ever heard it before. She searched upward through the opening above. A pair of tiny red lights peeked down at her; then another and another. A dozen or more sets circled the opening.
A shiver ran up Faith’s spine. They looked for all the world like eyes, but how could that be? One set blinked. She fought back a scream and pulled Nicolette close. She huddled with the girl, shaking in terror.
“Peter’s here,” Faith whispered. “Peter will save us.” She repeated the mantra in French. If she couldn't convince herself, maybe she could convince the girl. With her head buried in Fath’s chest, Nicolette didn’t even seem to hear.
The grinding noise stopped. She looked up again, but only darkness looked back.
Chapter 8
Peter’s spirits collapsed. A small trickle of light made its way down from the candlelight of the parishioners above, but it illuminated little. In the ordinary course of an Easter vigil they would be turning the sanctuary lights on momentarily. But the power to the building had gone out when the dragon first rent apart the earth a few months ago. Nobody had been brave enough to come back and repair it.
He replaced his flashlight in its holster on his belt and drew the Sword. It gave a bright, fiery glow that allowed him to get his bearings. The rocky floor carried the usual hallmarks of a cave. Stalagmites littered the wet, slimy cavern. But the silence seemed out of place. He couldn’t hear anything from up above. He couldn’t even hear the sounds of insects.
As much as Peter might prefer leaving, there was no going back. The villagers upstairs had come out because they trusted him to face the beast. They were as frightened as he was. He had no choice but to continue. He gave his eyes a minute to adjust and cautiously stepped a foot into the darkness.
A loud hiss from behind him slithered over his ears like a serpent. Peter instinctively slipped into a combat stance, raising the Sword to the ready. The creature hurtled out of the darkness into his right side. He’d kept his stance too rigid and allowed himself to stay too tense. The impact sent him reeling, and he fell.
Peter remembered his jujitsu training and tucked into a perfect shoulder roll, rising to a nice stance at the end. He felt one of the giant stalagmites brush against his arm as he rolled, jarring his shoulder. Still, his sensei would've been proud of the roll. He would've been less proud that Peter had forgotten the most basic rule of armed combat.
He'd dropped his weapon.
Peter scanned the small grotto, looking for the Sword and the creature, but he had no luck with either. The blade's flame had quickly died to nothing after he'd dropped it. The candlelight from the sanctuary above didn’t help much. Worse, it provided just enough light to keep his eyes from fully adjusting to the dark. The Sword lay hidden somewhere in the well of darkness where the faint light couldn't reach. The creature cloaked itself in the same darkness.
He felt for the forty-five holstered on his belt, but decided against it. He had no way to aim in the dark. A gun would be more of a danger than an aid. Instead, he withdrew a folding knife out of his pocket and snapped it open. He kept his eyes closed and focused on the noise. His feet continued the pattern he’d long since committed to muscle memory as he waited for his opportunity.
The creature screeched again. Peter still hadn't caught a glimpse of it. He dodged left to no avail. This time he felt the impact on his side. He managed to hit it back with one solid but poorly aimed elbow. His arm made contact with scaly, lizard-like skin before he slammed into the floor. He tried to rise again to face his assailant in the next round, but a third impact forced him back down.
Peter closed his eyes. They didn’t help him in the darkness anyway. Instead, he listened. He caught a faint sputtering noise and angled his upper body to one side. He felt a breeze as the thing zoomed by him, but this time it missed.
It can’t see me, either.
He stepped off at an angle, carefully testing his footing in the dark, and waited. The creature buzzed him again. He stood perfectly still, and it passed right by him. His theory confirmed, he moved. He let his body move on its own, following through the kata he’d practiced a thousand times at the dojo. It didn’t matter where he stepped. The creature couldn’t see him, so he just needed to keep it confused.
It strafed past him again, and again it missed. He heard the pitch change and lashed out with his knife. He missed, but he felt the hairs on his arm sway in the wind his assailant left in its wake. The sputtering noise returned and Peter stepped aside instinctively.
When the stream dragonfire passed right beside his head, he thanked God that he'd dodged in the dark. He scanned the cave as best as he could in the momentary light, but saw no sign of the Sword.
The creature flew by again, and again Peter slashed at it with his knife. He missed this time but the creature scored a lucky hit. A claw scraped him at high speed. It didn’t cut deep, but he could feel the blood trickling down his forearm.
Peter reached the end of his footwork pattern and restarted the motion. He pushed the air out of his lungs and inhaled slowly, forcing his breath to calm and his body to relax. The creature attacked twice more while he centered himself. He ignored it and let it pass by, focusing on his breathing.
On the third pass, Peter lashed out again. This time his knife found the mark. The flying beast squealed as it moved away. The thing buzzed by him twice more. He swung at it both times and missed – but it slowed noticeably. He allowed himself a small smile.
His smile widened when he heard the sputtering again. He rolled off to the side again. This time he missed the stalagmites and found his feet before his attacker could send another jet of flame his way. He stood ready, searching the cave in the heartbeat of intense light. A heartbeat later, darkness returned and Peter blinked to clear the afterimage from his eyes.
But he'd found it. The Sword lay in a small clearing off to his left. Peter scrambled through the dark toward the area where he'd seen the weapon. Tripping in the dark, he slammed his knee hard against the floor.
Then his world exploded in light and pain.
Chapter 9
Gabriel snapped his eyes shut against the bright flash of light, but not quickly enough. The loud bang rattled through his brain. He shook his head to clear it and blinked rapidly. The red streaks slowly faded from his vision.
Stefan’s voice continued, unwavering. The friar hadn’t even let the sudden noise and light show interrupt him. His calm strength kept the terrified congregation focused.
“Shit,” Conor exclaimed. Gabriel's heart sank when Conor showed him the frayed end of the rope. “I’ll get the backup rope.”
Gabriel yanked open the duffel bag, but found only dismay.
“We didn’t pack a backup rope,” Conor confirmed.
Undaunted, Gabriel snatched the rope from his friend’s hand. He unwound their makeshift pulley from the heavy pew and lowered the remaining rope straight down into the fissure.
“Not even close,” Conor declared.
The green glow of the chemical lights disappeared. Frowning, Gabriel aimed his heavy flashlight down the gaping maw. Instead of the cone of light he'd expected, he found only more darkness. He mashed the button a few times. Still nothing. Finally, he checked the front end of the light.
“It’s dead,” he told the Irishman.
“Mine too,” his friend confirmed.
Dim candlelight still filled the sanctuary
.
“Artificial light blackout,” Conor noted. “Just like that time in Helsinki.”
“Yup,” Gabriel agreed with a sigh.
“Told you things would go wrong.”
“Not now.”
Conor grunted.
“We need to find another rope,” Gabriel said. They darted toward the exit.
A tiny drake waited outside the door, drawing them up short. With its scaly, serpentine neck, tortoise-like feet, and shaggy fur, it looked at first glance as though the dragon they sought had born a child.
Then Gabriel saw its face.
The serpentine face somewhat resembled the larger dragon they'd already seen. But strange, human-like features sat superimposed on top of it as if someone had double-exposed a film negative. The human aspects of the face seemed contorted into a kind of eternal agony. Gabriel had never seen anything quite like it before.
Another drake appeared next to the first. Conor checked the nearby windows.
“OK, we’re not going that way,” he reported.
They stepped backward. Gabriel drew one of his revolvers.
“You know that won’t help,” Conor told him.
“All I’ve got,” the Texan replied. “And it helps me feel better.”
“Aye, I suppose.”
A wiry old Frenchman rose in the pews and made his way to the ambo. His slow walk betrayed his advanced years, but his posture portrayed confidence and faith. Finally he stood behind the podium and turned to the proper page. As he began to read, a small family of parishioners quietly snuck in at the back of the church and found seats.
“In principio creavit Deus cælum et terram.”
Despite himself, Gabriel translated the Latin in his head. In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth. The familiar narrative of Genesis rolled over him, until the ubiquitous lines. “Dixitque Deus: Fiat lux.” And God said: Let there be light! A gasp rose up from the small congregation. Gabriel felt his own voice join them.
There was light.
* * *
At first it hurt. Peter instinctively threw his left arm up to shield his eyes. After a few moments of blinking his eyes adjusted again, allowing him to take in the scene around him. It helped that the light dimmed. When the lighting finally settled, a faint but even glow surrounded him. He couldn’t detect any visible source.
A noise that sounded rather like a cry brought him back to the moment. The sudden light finally gave Peter a good view of his assailant. A small baby dragon circled the air of the cavern above him, positioning itself to make another attack run. The hideous face pierced into Peter's soul.
The features of a man lay on top of the snake-like form of the beast, giving it an oddly human and yet utterly alien look. The mismatched eyes were too large, and not in a cute, animated way. They were the eyes of a madman. The beak-like nose was too small and hooked. But the mouth was the worst. It spread from pointed ear to pointed ear and was full of razor sharp teeth. The overall look put Peter in the mind of a piranha with wings.
His eyes rested on the Sword. It lay invitingly less than ten feet away. The flames had died when it separated from his grip, but it appeared otherwise unharmed.
Peter seized his opportunity, moving while the pixie still writhed in pain. He'd practiced the dive a thousand times in the dojo, but always on mats. To be sure, they'd been firm mats. Sensei Rogers believed that soft mats led to soft students. Peter had cursed those hard mats many times as he'd taken falls from fellow students who couldn't quite perform their throws correctly. But as he hit every jagged corner of rock on the cave floor, he said a silent prayer of thanks for Sensei Rogers' strictness.
The shaggy, flying bundle of flame and teeth flew an intercept course, racing to cut him off. But it had hesitated for too long. Peter's human eyes had adjusted to the light faster than its foul orbs could, and that made all the difference. As Peter rolled over the sword his left hand curled around the hilt. It rose with him as he continued the smooth motion back onto his feet. He brought the Sword up before his face as he rose. He turned, this time assuming a proper stance.
Unable to stop in time, the unholy creature flew straight into the burning blade. The little beast fell to the ground, sliced neatly in half. The heat from the Sword cauterized the wound, leaving little mess behind it. For a moment, Peter thought he saw something ethereal rising from the carcass. But when he shook his head and looked again, he saw only steam.
Peter took a moment to catch his breath and take stock. He wiped his knife clean on his pants, folded it, and returned it to his pocket. He fetched some bandages from his pack and secured them to the wounds on his arms with gauze and surgical tape. He also took a moment to clean the blood off his arms and hands.
He eyeballed the rope on the ground. He decided its potential utility outweighed the liability of carrying it. He wound it around his body, shoulder to hip. It made almost a dozen coils around him before he tied it off. He'd feel the weight, but it wouldn't slow him.
Finally, he took a moment to dig out the candle he’d brought as a final backup light. He transferred it to a vest pouch for easy access, just in case. Peter moved his lighter next to it. It wasn’t much, but if the miraculous light went out again, at least he’d have something.
Only then did Peter truly take in his surroundings. A small chamber surrounded him, about the size of the living room in his old apartment. Three passages led away from the cave at oblique angles to one another.
He had no idea which way to go.
Lacking any better ideas, he knelt in the center of the room. He bowed his head, crossed himself, and clasped the Sword hilt in both hands, blade downward toward the ground. Closing his eyes, he prayed for guidance.
He hadn’t really expected anything, but he still felt disappointment when no signs appeared. Sighing, he rose to his feet and examined the passages individually. He paused for a moment at each of the openings. The same dim light that surrounded him illuminated the caverns, but each passage twisted or turned so early that he found no useful hints. He listened at each but heard only the sounds of silence.
Absent any other criteria, he fell back on his childhood. He pointed at the passage in front of him and moved through each in turn, rhyming.
“Eeeny, meeny, miney, mo.”
Chapter 10
“I hate working in Europe!” Gabriel heard his friend whine as the Irishman drew an illegal pistol from his belt. “I can never arm myself properly here. Stupid Europeans and their insane gun laws!”
“You’re European,” he reminded Conor. Still, Gabriel agreed with the sentiment. They slammed the heavy oak doors shut before the drakes could enter. Without words, they reached the same conclusion and darted to the nearest pew. “Besides, I can see that you didn't let it stop you.”
“That’s why I’m allowed to curse at them! Us! Whatever!” The Irishman replied. He fired a round of .357 magnum into the wood near each of the four heavy bolts, which broke the pews mostly loose. The pair traded heavy kicks on the benches until they finished the job.
Friar Stefan ignored the noises and continued the mass. The congregation had a harder time. Several turned to watch. A pair of teenage boys leapt from their seats and rushed back to join Gabriel. The tall, skinny, dark-haired one slid in next to Conor. The short, stocky, fair-haired one took a position next to Gabriel. The next lector began a reading on Moses and the parting of the Red Sea as the four men pushed the heavy wooden pews against the doors.
“That won’t hold them for long,” Gabriel said.
“Aye,” Conor replied. “We need to find something that’ll pierce dragon hide. They may be half pints, but they’ll still have thick skin.”
“And find some fire extinguishers,” Gabriel agreed. “This place is bound to have some.”
“Bah, they’re wee babies,” the Irishman said. “They won’t be spitting fire yet.”
“You sure about that?” Gabriel asked.
“Pretty sure.”
The door
muted a sputtering cough from the far side. Then came a belch and a hiccup. For the briefest of moments, Gabriel heard a tiny woosh as he watched flickers of red-orange light dance through the cracks in the door. He traded looks with Conor.
“We’d better get some fire extinguishers,” the Irishman declared. He turned to the French boys. “Fire extinguishers.”
They gave him a blank look.
“Why is my translator always busy when I need him?” he grumbled, shaking his fist at the Friar across the sanctuary.
“Forget the translator,” Gabriel replied. “We wouldn’t need him if we had the stupid holy Sword our plan called for.”
“Then we’ll have to improvise, like always.” Conor turned back toward the French teens. “Fire,” he said. He pantomimed an explosion and made boom and crackle noises.
“Extinguisher,” Gabriel added. He pretended to carry a fire hose, spraying it across his Irish friend's fire. Together they made hissing noises to indicate a fire going out.
The youths watched quizzically. Then the shorter one jumped up and down and clapped his hands.
“Extincteur d'incendie?”
“Oui!” Conor answered. The words sounded close enough, anyway.
The teens high fived each other and ran off toward opposite corners of the sanctuary. They returned just as the lector described the sea swallowing up Pharaoh’s army. Each carried a shiny red fire extinguisher in either hand, bringing their total to four.
“Perfect!” Conor exclaimed.
They arranged the devices in stations by the stone columns to make sure they had them at hand when needed. Gabriel shook his head at the grotesque gargoyles that adorned the pillars. Usually one found those outside a church. He wondered what the architect had been thinking. On the other hand, they made a great visual landmark. He directed the group to place the extinguishers by columns with gargoyles for easy location.
It took another round of charades for Gabriel and Conor to convey the next set of instructions to the boys. They tried to leave the young Frenchmen to guard the doors while they went off to fetch more appropriate weapons. After a few moments that resembled a Monty Python sketch, they finally managed to get their point across and leave the youths manning their posts.
Vigil: An Urban Fantasy Thriller Page 4