The Edge of Temptation: Gods of the Undead 2 A Post-Apocalyptic Epic

by Peter Meredith

  “You don’t know that,” Cyn said, fearing that what was being said was bordering on blasphemy.

  “You’re right, I don’t know; however by the way Robert is going after this thing, I think he believes it. This leaves us with two questions: what kind of power does the spear have? And what’s he going to do with it when he gets it?”

  Chapter 28

  Tours, France

  Jack Dreyden

  Cyn’s smirk was nowhere in sight; her lips were a thin line on her face, which usually meant that she was angry about something. “What?” Jack asked, taking an innocent tone.

  “Your assumption about Christ’s soul, that’s what. The Gospel of John clearly states blood and water came from the wound, and you know that.”

  “Yes, I know what it says, but perhaps John didn’t know what he was seeing,” Jack answered. “I’m sure it wasn’t blood and water. Think about what happens when you mix blood and water. When you have more water than blood, you get bloody water and when you have more blood, you get watery blood.”

  She looked unconvinced, strangely so. He went on, arguing what he felt was a worthless point: “Maybe it was the power of Jesus then. He had not been conquered or overcome in a fight so he probably died with much of his power still inside of him and it had to be released somehow. That’s what makes sense to me. If everything that was written about him was true then he could have hopped off that cross and wiped the floor with the entire Roman army.”

  “But he wasn’t like that,” Cyn said, her odd anger calming. “He was a pacifist.”

  “Just like St. Martin,” Jack replied, trying to get the conversation back where it had begun. “Martin started life as a Roman soldier, he then becomes a Christian and then, years later, he suddenly turns pacifist in a time when there just weren’t any pacifists. Why? Vance, what would you do if you suddenly came across a powerful weapon, one that was a serious game changer, one that could make you Emperor of Rome.”

  The soldier shrugged. “Easy, I’d use it. Wait, are you thinking Martin finds this lance, what could be the ultimate weapon and then just says: no thanks?”

  “He was tempted,” Cyn said in a quiet voice. “He was tempted and didn’t give in. Then maybe he kept hold of the lance so that no one else could use it for evil purposes.”

  Captain Vance wore a look of disgust, as if the idea was repellent. “What about the Roman soldier, the one back in Lebanon? He wouldn’t have done that. Anyone who is callous enough to stab a man hanging from a cross is the sort of man who would definitely use the spear for his own gain.”

  “Not if he had a conversion,” Cyn replied, “Which is exactly what happened to the centurion, Longinus, at least according to historical documents.”

  Jack hopped up from the edge of the pit and stood with his toes hanging off the side. “It’s a good hypothesis, Cyn but we could be wrong. Let’s just look at the facts as we know them: we know that Robert left Egypt and went to dig up a Roman soldier, but came away with nothing. Next, he comes to Tours and raises St. Gregory, and then takes a pitstop to come here to see St. Martin. He checks his tomb and then digs a big pit, once again after someone or something.”

  “I say this argues in favor of the lance being Robert’s goal,” Cyn said. “If we subtract the lance from the equation then nothing makes sense. All the connections fall apart. Without the lance in the picture, there is nothing about St. Gregory’s history that would stir Robert to this sort of action.”

  After a brief hesitation, Jack said: “With everything I know about Robert, I agree. And if we accept that he raised Gregory for information about the Lance of Longinus as true then it follows that he would head straight for the lance. I guess that’s here.”

  Jack expected this to be the end of the conversation; however, Cyn’s face clouded. “There is a hole in the theory. Although he had never been there, St. Gregory wrote that he had seen the Holy Lance in Jerusalem. If St. Martin had it in Tours a hundred and fifty years before Gregor was born, why does he mention Jerusalem?”

  “To throw people off the scent of the true lance,” Vance suggested. “If the lance is as powerful as you two say then it’s great only if your side has it and is willing to use it. If not then you live in constant fear that someone will find it or steal it.”

  Jack nodded in agreement. “That or St. Gregory did indeed have a vision of it in Jerusalem, perhaps at a much earlier time, since it seemed he was able to see into the past. One thing makes sense: something that Gregory told Robert led him here. I have to say that the lance or some other artifact being here in Tours is the only thing that makes sense. Robert wouldn’t spare a second on a saint unless there was something in it for him.”

  “I agree,” Cyn said. “Robert is after power. The one question is: did he get it? Did St. Martin have the lance buried here? Can you tell, Jack?”

  “No, I’m having a little trouble,” Jack answered, touching his chest where the Mother’s poison spell sat. “My insides are sort of mixed up with what the Mother put in you…”

  Before he could finish his sentence, Cyn rounded on him, her eyes searching his face. “What? What did she do?”

  It was too late to try to come up with some sort of lie and so Jack told the truth. “She put the three spells to open the gate into you, Cyn. It was a puzzle. She made it a puzzle that had to be solved and now it’s in me.” It was in him, demanding to be used…that part he kept to himself.

  “That bloody bitch,” Cyn snapped, storming off to walk up the tunnel, stopping as the tunnel began to rise. “She couldn’t beat me and so she does this?” Her voice came back as a dull echo.

  Jack wanted to tell her that “everything would be okay,” but he knew better. The Mother was crafty and even locked in hell she was certainly aware of everything going on, and it was certain that her meddling would continue.

  “Think of it this way, Cyn: the Mother did me a favor. I can open the gate now without draining my power. It might come as a rude shock to Robert. Either way, for good or evil it’s done and I think it’s best to put it out of our heads and concentrate on this. For now, I think we need to move forward with the idea that Robert is after the Spear of Destiny or another artifact of similar power. If he has it already, we’re screwed, if not, if it wasn’t here, then we need to find it before he does. Any ideas?”

  Cyn came back down the tunnel, her head down, her blonde hair spilling over the phone in her hand as she did some more research on the fly. “The lance was lost to history for hundreds of years, but a number of ‘true lances’ were discovered. No one has been able to confirm which, if any, is the actual Lance of Longinus. We’ll have to look at each. One is in Rome, another in Vienna, and the last is in a little town in Armenia.”

  “Then we’ll alert each as to the possibility that Robert is coming for them,” Jack said. He turned to Vance. “I’m going to need to know where the lances are in each city. I’m going to want a plane ready to go at a moment’s notice, and I’m going to need permission to visit each. And I need the security around them increased by a factor of at least ten. And I’m going to need to know where the closest cemeteries of any size are in proximity to them just in case Robert beats us to them. And I want land cleared at each cemetery; north, south, east, and west, for helicopter landing points. Any questions?”

  Vance shook his head. “None. Except, well what if he’s not after the lance at all or what if he’s already found it?”

  Cyn answered: “If he’s found it, he’ll use it and we’ll know soon enough. If he hasn’t, then we can’t sit around waiting for Robert to act.”

  “Yeah, I hate waiting,” Vance said. He was about to leave when Jack stopped him.

  “And I’m also going to need new weapons and armor. And I’ll need some more Holy Water and Oil. Make it three vials of each this time. Got it?”

  “Yes, weapons, armor, oil, LZs, security, and permission. Anything else, your highness?”

  “Yeah, don’t be a jerk,” Jack said, but then g
runted as Cyn elbowed him in the side. He quickly amended his request to: “Don’t be a jerk, please. And see if you can scare up some French food…please. I puked up that burger ages ago and I’m famished. Oh, and Cyn needs a new phone.”

  She was quick to add: “Please.”

  Vance waited a few seconds longer to see if Jack was going add any more requests and then, without asking, he snatched his cell phone from Cyn’s hand, punched a button, and began barking orders into it as he headed back up the tunnel.

  Cyn watched him go, studiously keeping her eyes from Jack. “That spell in you is necromancy, isn’t it?” Jack didn’t answer which was answer enough for Cyn. “When were you going to tell me about it?”

  “Never if I could’ve helped it.”

  “Is the need bad?”

  She had no idea how bad. Necromancy was so easy compared to sorcery. The power was right there, almost free for the taking, if one had no problem with murder, that is. And it was endless power; just take it and use it. There was no need to recuperate, there was no need for Jack to drag himself around as a fraction of a person for days on end.

  Saying anything but yes to Cyn would have been a blatant lie. He tried to appear blasé. “The need is there, a little. It’ll probably get worse when I use the spell. Until then, I’m not worried.” That was true enough to pass. He had too many other things to worry about.

  They left the pit and found themselves in a dark city. The sun had finally set on what had felt like a very long day and yet he didn’t have time to decompress. He had an army of undead to command.

  As Captain Vance made arrangements to fly them to inspect the three possible Holy Spears, Jack jumped on board a helicopter and ordered it into the thick of the fighting between his ghouls and Robert’s. Although he was worn from his fight with the sorcerer, he needed to take control of his army which was just starting to unravel as a fighting host.

  Thankfully, it didn’t take long to get the situation back under control. In the scheme of things, this had been only a diversion, a means to keep Jack occupied. Robert had used just the right amount of strength to get what he needed.

  “I’m tempted to tell you to leave them for now,” Cyn said. “Getting the spear has to be our top priority.”

  “And leave thousands of demons to slip away in the dark?” Jack couldn’t have that on his conscience. “The spear should be fine for now. It’s not like Robert can take a commercial flight to Rome or Vienna. He’s going to have to drive which means we have time.”

  By midnight, the battle was over. A few demons had escaped, but the great majority were in hell where they belonged. Jack ordered his army to return the bodies they had taken back to their graves and from there he commanded them to return to hell as well.

  Then it was just him and Cyn, sitting on the stone wall of the cemetery, kicking their heels and holding hands like teenagers. They had just fallen asleep, leaning on each other when a military helicopter dropped down out of the sky. Captain Vance stood in the doorway taking huge bites out of the side of a baguette, the length of his arm.

  When they climbed up into the helicopter, he tore off a chunk of baguette for each of them. “Dinner. Sorry, but I forgot the butter. We’re short on time. For some reason, the Vatican is being a pain about letting us see their spear. They want us to rule out the other two before we inspect their’s. So we’re going to Vienna first. We have a private jet waiting for us. I’ve never been on a private jet.”

  “Neither have I,” Jack said, glancing in at a duffle bag crammed with new clothes for him, armor and a sword.

  “Oh, you’ll love it,” Cyn told him, but in this she was wrong. The plane was a thirty seater and was nice enough; however once Jack had changed into his new clothes and buckled on his armor and had a sip of white wine offered by a pretty stewardess, he fell straight to sleep and had to be shaken awake two hours later.

  Next to him, Cyn was equally bleary-eyed. “Are we here all ready?” she asked. “What about dinner?”

  “You missed it,” Vance told them. When Jack stood and reached for his sword, the captain stopped him. “They want us to leave our weapons on the plane. I told the ambassador I’d talk to you about it, but that I wouldn’t make any guarantees.”

  Jack buckled the sword in place. “And now you have fulfilled your promise. We’re bringing the weapons and when I say we, I mean you as well Vance. No one working with me can go about unarmed, it’s too dangerous.”

  “That’s what I hoped you’d say,” Vance answered, slinging a shotgun over a shoulder. “I always thought that you were a prima donna, which you are, of course, but at least it’s working in our favor this time.”

  Strangely, they weren’t greeted by military men in military vehicles. It was a limousine, long and white, which picked them up. The driver looked at the weapons and the armor with wide eyes, while the American ambassador, an ex-politician with a heavy, braut-fed gut and a double chin, fretted and gave assurances of their safety, and tried to explain the need to cooperate.

  In answer, Jack crawled into the limo and put his feet up. “Tell them their choices are I come with my sword or Robert comes with an army of the dead.” Unexpectedly, the ambassador repeated Jack’s statement word for word into a phone. The stark choice settled the matter in their favor and soon they were being whisked through the dark streets of Vienna to the Hofburg Palace, home of the Imperial Treasury.

  Jack had never seen such magnificence. The palace was huge, the size of a city block and was truly awe inspiring. It was a tourist’s dream. His head spun as the four of them, Jack, Cyn, Captain Vance and the American ambassador were whisked right past security and into a world that was difficult for him to comprehend. There wasn’t a blank wall or a straight line in the place. There wasn’t a moment for him to catch his breath. Everything was swirled and adorned and gilt and beveled and beautiful and, in truth, garishly over the top to the American’s sense.

  As expected they were ushered to a wing of the palace that resembled a small museum. Here the security had been heightened. There were two soldiers at every door, each stern-faced and strong. A woman took to leading them through the museum. She was tall and leggy and strode with purpose as though she was in a hurry, and Cyn had to skip every few steps to keep up.

  As they went deeper into the museum, past shining suits of armor and beautiful paintings and stone sculptures, the woman spoke over her shoulder: “Touch nuzsink.” Her accent made Jack feel as though he was in a spy movie and when they met the president of Austria, a man with such a Nazi-like aura, he couldn’t help grin in spite of the somber moment.

  The Austrian president, who made a portion of the palace his home, displayed such a stern, blue-eyed, authoritarian manner that Jack feared their trip had been a waste of time and that there would be demands and negotiations concerning their inspection of the spear. However, the man was more than agreeable. In fact, when it was explained fully what was going on, he took Jack by the hand, a grip he didn’t relinquish, and escorted him right to the lance.

  Compared to the build up and the palace and the crown jewels that surrounded it, the lance was underwhelming. First, it wasn’t a full spear, it was only the head. Black metal, a little over a foot long, three inches wide and tapering to a dull point. Around its middle was an odd sheath of gold; the spearhead had been broken at some point and the gold held it together.

  The very idea that the lance could be broken colored Jack’s thinking—this couldn’t be the real deal. “May I hold it?” he asked just in case he was wrong. This was translated and agreed to. A key to the glass case was produced, and when the lid was pulled back Jack felt a thrill of nervousness go through him in spite of his doubts. If the spear was the real deal and held a portion of Christ’s power, what would happen to him when he touched it? Would it burn the evil out of him and maybe turn him to ash along with it?

  “One way to find out,” he whispered as the long-legged woman stepped aside, giving Jack access to the weapon. It was cool to
the touch and sat in his hands like any lump of metal would.

  “Zat,” the woman said, pointing at what looked like a small arrow embedded within the point of the lance. “Ees a nail, vit vich Jesus vas placed on zee cross.”

  “One of the Holy Nails; impressive,” Jack said, making sure to keep his eyes from rolling. The nail was very small, too small to be a nail used in a crucifixion, at least according to the computer models. As well, the nail was altogether straight. A real nail hammered into a beam of wood and then pried out again would have been bent in some fashion, especially one forged two-thousand years ago when metalworking wasn’t very exact.

  Next to him, Cyn took a deep breath and then reached out a shaking hand to touch the spear. She caught his eye and there was a look of disappointment in it.

  “Ees it rheal?” the President of Austria asked.

  A year before…before Jack knew that magic was real, he would have answered: unlikely and would have based this on logic, research and the law of probabilities. Now, he simply said: “No, it’s not.” It is true that the spear that pierced Jesus may not have retained any power whatsoever, or if it had, the power might have faded away to nothing after so much time. It might look and feel exactly like this, only Jack didn’t think so.

  Neither did Cyn. “There is no energy to this spear, no power. The same is true for the nail.”

  Jack expected arguing and denial from the Austrians, instead they looked relieved and, strangely enough, an offer was made for Jack to take the spear with him when he left. After what had happened in Tours and Syria, the Austrian president wanted no part of the spear, real or not.

  It was even gift wrapped in a pretty box, though hurriedly so and, with the same indecent haste, the four Americans were shown the door.