by S. C. Stokes
The runes set in the altar began to glow crimson with power.
I wondered for a moment whether destroying the altar itself might end the curse. There was no way of knowing, but magic seldom worked that way. A curse so carefully wrought would have to be painstakingly undone. Knowledge was required and I simply didn’t know enough to get the job done.
Trudging over to the altar, I examined Aleida’s remains. How could anyone do something like this to their own daughter?
Betrayal. The kind of pain that tore at the soul with icy fingers until nothing but agony and torment remained. I could almost imagine the bitter resolve on her face as she enacted the bloody ritual. Looting conquistadors storming her people’s most sacred temple. Her own daughter fleeing into the night with some foreign rogue, abandoning hundreds of years of tradition and reneging on her familial duty. The Brujas de Sangre were waning, Aleida’s dynasty was coming to an end, and she’d taken that betrayal and heartbreak and shaped it into a curse of dizzying power.
I lifted the knife from her hands, and slipped the wicked blade between my combat rigging and my vest. Perhaps it would give me some insight into Aleida’s curse. My curse.
Like the mask, the touch of the golden haft of the dagger was almost electric. It coursed with the power of the temple, as if it was tied to the raw magic of the ley line.
Like the Belt of Zeus, the blade had been crafted by a knowledge that had since been lost. The dark ages had been cruel. Untold knowledge imparted by the gods had been squandered as wizards and supernatural creatures were purged from the earth.
I had never met a Spell Smith with skill sufficient to make such a blade, perhaps understanding the blade would give me insight into the curse it had wrought.
“Desterrar,” a basso voice bellowed behind me.
I spun to find the Bishop standing in the threshold of the inner sanctum. His right hand held the dark tome. His left hand was stretched toward me as a bolt of black power slammed into my chest. The dark light hit me like the hind legs of a bull, and I flew backward into the stone wall. My head struck the stone with enough force for me to see stars. Lots of stars.
I drew on my power and raised a hand to muster a defense.
“Apretar.” Torquemada’s mouth moved but the voice was not his own.
Dark tendrils sprang from his hand as if shaped from the dark matter filling the sanctum. The tendrils seized me like a boa constrictor, crushing my hands to my side, the tendrils threatening to squeeze the life from me.
“How?” I gasped.
Torquemada wasn’t a wizard, and that voice was utterly alien. The Inquisition hated people that worked magic. Yet here among their inner circle, the highest echelons of their organization, was someone that was not only versed in the forbidden, but wielded it with ease. He was capable of working black magic with a deadly efficacy I couldn't reconcile with everything I knew about the Bishop or the Inquisition.
Torquemada loomed over me, tome still clutched in one hand, only now I could make out the crimson runes glowing against the worn black leather. That wasn’t good.
The runes flashed and shifted, making it impossible to read their meaning. The runes almost hurt my eyes to look at. My eyes watered as I tried to focus through the pain, but my head was still ringing from the impact.
“Never doubt the measure of my resolve, child,” Torquemada gloated.
I squirmed, but the tendrils held me firm. “You're a wizard? Inside the Inquisition?”
He laughed. “Such a narrow world view. There are many things that would allow one to manipulate the arcane, not all of them are the purview of you wizards. You see yourselves as the gatekeepers of the World of Magic, but you are the tired remnants of a dying race. To call me a wizard? It’s insulting.”
Torquemada’s eyes were nothing but black orbs pulsing with the same dark light he’d cast at me.
I drew on my magic, but the tendrils of power that bound me seemed to absorb it, leaching the arcane energy from my body before I could form it into a spell of my own.
Torquemada chortled, his lips spread wide into a manic grin. “Child. Do not trouble yourself. Your death will bring about something far grander than you could ever conceive.”
I stopped struggling. Something was wrong, something in the sanctum itself. Extending my senses, I felt it. Not the black magic I had sensed when I had first arrived. There was something else, something that was very much alive and well. There was a dark presence looming behind the priest. I could feel it.
The rune-inscribed tome made more sense. Torquemada had found something he shouldn’t have. Maybe it had been buried in the Inquisition’s archives. A forbidden tome, full of knowledge. Dangerous knowledge. If I had to hazard a guess, the glowing sigils on the cover weren’t simply the title of the book, they were a name. The name of a creature from beyond the Veil.
Names have power, particularly for spirits and Fae creatures. If Torquemada had learned the creature’s name, it would explain where his power had come from. He had made some bargain with a being of spirit. No human should know the things he knew.
I tried to focus on the glyphs once more but again they shifted before my eyes. It was as if they just refused to be read.
The priest shoved aside the remnants of the high priestess, pushing them off the altar, the ancient bones clattering to the floor, Aleida’s skull breaking free from her spine.
“Hold them off,” Torquemada bellowed from the sanctum as the gunfight intensified below. “Just a little longer.”
With the hole blasted by Section 9 there was no chance of the chamber flooding. Which was something. But if there was one thing I shared with Indiana Jones, it was that every ancient temple I found myself inside wound up utterly destroyed. Which, while not my fault, was certainly bound to damage my reputation. I preferred to preserve and protect history, particularly true history, not the crap made up by those who wrote most history books. Unfortunately, those who sought for power cared little for what they tore down in the process. It annoyed me no end, and now they were destroying the temple. The temple I needed.
I was wrenched into the air by charcoal black tendrils that lifted me up as if I weighed nothing at all.
The priest chanted as I hovered in the air, my body stiff as a board as I came to rest on the altar. I kicked at the altar with my boots, trying to shove myself off it, but the black tendrils held me fast. I stretched my fingers, reaching for my tactical rigging, but I simply couldn't get the distance. The Belt of Zeus gleamed gold against the choking black bands that held me bound.
I couldn't draw on its power. Something about the magic was overwhelming my mind, confusing and disorientating me in its debilitating haze.
Its power was there but I couldn’t channel it.
Torquemada reached down and knocked my hat off my head. The worn fedora hit the stone and I groaned.
“Now you’re really starting to piss me off.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
I opened my mouth, but he rested a finger on my lips. “Die, Seth. That’s all that is left for you. To die for a higher purpose.”
“Torquemada.” I gasped as the tendrils tightened. “What price did you pay for your power?”
He cocked his head to the side. “You couldn't possibly comprehend.”
As he spoke, the skin of his face seemed to shift like something beneath it was trying to escape.
There was something within him. The priest had promised himself to some creature from the realm beyond. The price of such power was one he would not comprehend, until it was too late. I had met such creatures before. Once. In Rome.
Whatever creature had given him knowledge and power would only be serving its own agenda. The priest was going to try and tear down the Veil, the wall between realms. The Veil existed to protect mankind from the World of Spirits, not vice versa. If it failed, all manner of creatures would be able to flood into our world.
Not that I’d live to see the carnage; I’d be dead
. Perhaps mercifully so, but if the Veil was torn asunder and such beasts spilled into our world, everyone here was as good as dead, including Lara.
“Lara,” I whispered with barely enough breath to speak as I kicked against the dark arcana that held me in its grip.
“Patience, child,” Torquemada said, in a voice that did nothing to put my mind at ease. “The time is almost at hand.”
He towered over me. With a demented smile, he reached into my vest and drew forth the ceremonial knife of the Brujas de Sangre and raised it high above his head.
He began to chant, his basso voice uttering syllables in a tongue I had never heard. Power gathered all about us. I felt it rising up from beneath the temple. It coalesced beneath me in the sanctum’s altar. I could feel the energy building; it was as if I were laying atop an armed nuclear weapon.
Torquemada was drawing enough power to level the entire structure, perhaps the entire plateau.
Light played along the blade’s edge as it plunged toward my chest.
Three gunshots rang out in the sanctum.
Torquemada paused mid-sentence as blossoms of red drenched the front of his robes.
My head lolled back, as the binding that held me to the altar loosened. I turned my head and found Lara standing in the sanctum’s entrance. Faint wisps rose from the barrel of the pistol in her hand.
The dagger fell from Torquemada’s grip and I caught it in my hand.
Torquemada’s magic waned. I pushed myself off the altar and drove the knife into his chest.
Blood gurgled from his lips and he collapsed. The tome slipped from his grip, before coming to rest beside him on the stone floor.
Torquemada slumped to the side, and I drew a deep breath of relief. I turned to Lara whose gaze floated from me to the bloody dagger in my hand.
Her emerald eyes studied me. “Seth, what on earth is going on here?”
“There's no time to explain it now,” I said, sensing the arcane power surging through the ziggurat. Power that now had nowhere to go. Whatever ritual the priest had begun was rapidly spinning out of control.
The tome lay open beside Torquemada’s body. Its ancient pages promised power that my mind could not begin to fathom, but whether I could comprehend it or not, it would consume me like it had the Bishop.
“The temple’s going to blow,” I told Lara. “We need to get outta here.”
“Not without that.” She pointed at the tome.
I looked back at the relic, and something in the book called to me. It was a seductive plea, a promise of ancient power whispered sensuously to my soul. Could it truly break my curse? I bent down to take a closer look. The runes on its cover were beginning to come into focus. I could almost make them out.
As I reached for the book, something sailed over the stone wall of the inner sanctum and clattered across the stone floor. It was two somethings, actually. A pair of high explosive grenades rolled to a halt between me and Lara.
She was wearing a vest, but that wasn’t going to mean a thing. At this range, the grenades would kill us both.
Time slowed almost to a halt, as the tome pleaded for me to take it, but there wasn't time to save them both. It was Lara or the tome.
“I can do it. I can break your curse,” the basso voice whispered in my mind.
Lara stood rooted to the spot, her eyes looking for an escape, but there was none.
I made my choice.
20
The arcane energy seething through the temple fluctuated wildly as I raced at Lara. Leaving the tome and its promises behind.
With one hand, I reached into a pouch in my vest and drew out a handful of small glass marbles. I willed power into them. They lit up like Christmas lights and I flung them past Lara, over the edge of the temple. I grabbed her, shielding her from the blast and shouted, “Proteger.”
The temple itself was unstable and I feared the grenades detonating would be enough to tear the entire structure apart, with us at the epicenter. Fearing I wouldn’t have enough juice left to maintain the shield, I took the only option I had left. I opened myself to the surging maelstrom of power that was coursing through the temple itself.
It was like trying to drink from a fire hydrant. The power flooded my system, and I shaped it into a shield around us as the grenades detonated. I closed my eyes as they went off, praying it would be enough. The inner sanctum rocked with the explosion. One instant, I was standing, Lara clutched in my arms. The next I was weightless, as the blast threw us clear of the ziggurat.
I forced my eyes open and sucked in a quick breath as the inky darkness of the lake approached fast.
The glass marbles hurtled ahead of us, splashing into the water and sinking fast.
We struck the water, hard, and the impact tore the air from my lungs, as we sank into its depths.
Beneath the surface of the water, the orbs provided light as they sank, allowing us to make out the forms of two temple crocodiles heading straight for us.
It was the first really good look I’d had at the creatures. They were no normal crocodiles. Proximity to the temple and the ley lines magic had altered their growth. The scaly reptiles were more than twenty feet long and moved through the water with effortless grace.
It took every ounce of self-restraint I had not to lose it and flail like a mad man.
The glowing orbs sank deeper, and the creatures followed them down chasing the glowing lights as they sank into the lake. Grateful for the distraction, I kicked my way to the surface. Lara and I burst through the surface, gasping for precious air.
“To the island,” Lara shouted. “We can’t outrun the crocodiles in the water.”
We swam for the gold laden island. Sooner or later, the creatures were going to realize the ploy. One bite of the little spheres and they were going to be bitterly disappointed. We didn’t want to still be in the water when that happened.
The water itself was a nightmare. Bodies and debris floated in the lake, but we had no choice but to go straight through it. Lara made it to the island first. Weighed down as I was, I was struggling. I was tired, beat, and kicking against the weight of the vest and all my gear. I wasn’t an athlete. I could run when my life depended on it but right now, I felt more like an out of shape old man trying desperately not to drown.
Lara pulled herself up out of the water and was waiting for me as my fingertips brushed the stone. I let out a sigh of relief as I threw my arm up over the edge, but I couldn’t muster the strength to drag myself out of the water. I rested my head against the stone, just to gather my wind.
From the side, in the water, two rows of white teeth came straight for me as one of the cold-blooded killing machines opened its jaws wide for its latest meal.
Seth Caldwell, with a combat rigging garnish.
Lara's pistol barked as she emptied what had to be a half a dozen shots into the creature’s maw, straight into the back of its throat. The creature went limp in the water. A second crocodile slammed into it, dragging it down into the water as if it could sense the easy feed.
More motivated than ever, I hauled my ass out of the water and surveyed the treasure covered island. Dripping, panting, and grasping for breath, I looked around the chamber. The Inquisition’s forces were in disarray. Michael and Torquemada were gone, and the bloodied waters of the temple were swiftly turning into a charnel house. The remaining troopers took what gold they could carry and fled for the entrance hall as the Section 9 forces harried their retreat. A few feet before me, my fiancée eyed me warily.
“Seth, we need to talk,” she said.
I held up a hand. “If it's about the mask, it was up there. It’s probably gone. We need to get out of here before we are too.”
All around me, Section 9 soldiers raised their assault rifles and pointed them straight at me.
I was exhausted, out of breath, and had narrowly avoided being eaten alive. I had thought my problems were over, but it seemed Section 9 had other plans.
“Whatever, shoot me for
all I care. I’m done.” I doubled over, gripping my thighs as I sucked in deep breaths.
Lara’s expression softened as she put a hand on my shoulder. “What the hell is going on here?”
“Crazy priest, ancient ritual, unstable temple. You do the math.” I wheezed. “It ends badly, for all of us, unless we get out of here right now.
From the top of the temple ziggurat, an unholy scream split the air. Everybody turned. A shiver ran down my spine. Torquemada was on his feet, leaning over the sanctum’s wall, leering at us. One half of his skull was missing. Worse yet, it didn’t seem to be bothering him.
“That's not good.” I groaned, running my hands through my soaked hair. “We need to run, now. Get as far away from here as we can.”
The butchered remnants of the priest stared straight at me.
“You!” Torquemada shouted in a bellicose tone that was clearly not his own. It was sonorous, full of power, and entirely not of this world. The priest’s broken body grew and distended, exploding in a shower of gore as a sinuous creature rose from viscera.
It was charcoal black like the night sky, with wings that emerged from its back and grew until they stretched wide like a bat. Two great ridged horns rose from its head like a goat, and as the creature grew it pressed against the battered walls of the sanctum until it could no longer contain his mass.
The creature broke through the ziggurat’s roof, casting it, and the immense brazier atop it, aside like it weighed nothing at all. The flaming brazier bounced once on the level beneath and plunged into the water.
The nightmarish creature perched in the ruins of the sanctum. Scarlet orbs glowed where eyes should have been. The creature snapped its wings out. They had to be more than twelve feet across, with a wicked talon on the end of each.
Section 9 opened fire. Round after round pummeled the creature, but the bullets seemed to have no effect on it. The creature stretched a finger toward us and bellowed in a tongue I didn’t recognize.