by Dana Fredsti
The darkness was pierced by a flash of light, followed by a loud roar. Cam ran up, swinging his lantern in one hand and holding a long tamping iron in the other, wielding it like a javelin. Howling some Celtic battle cry, he drove the heavy iron’s sharpened point into the snake’s thick neck, punching through the scales just below the hinge of its jaw.
It was a solid hit, but not a killing blow.
Infuriated, the snake shook off both Cam and his weapon, releasing its death grip on the sluice as it rose up, hissing and spitting. Crouching, the Celt set down the lantern and took a two-handed grip on the iron, bracing himself.
Locating its new adversary, the snake struck out, the lantern light reflecting eerily in its soulless eyes. Snapping at Cam, it got a bite of the iron spear instead, and the impact nearly bowled him over. The creature was all solid muscle—it was obvious who would tire first in a duel.
“Cam, pull back!”
Blake charged up from the side. With an overhead swing, he brought the pickaxe down on the snake’s midsection, the spike plunging into its fleshy bulk and releasing a satisfying gout of blood. The muscles tightened around the weapon, trapping it there, and the snake’s long tail lashed about, smashing everything around it to pieces.
Diving away to avoid the deadly thrashing frenzy, Blake went for Cam’s abandoned lantern.
“This way!” he shouted. “Move now, while it’s distracted!”
* * *
Cam could barely hear Blake over the crashing din, and didn’t dare turn his back on the monster to run. When the lantern light disappeared, however, only one choice remained.
The two men sprinted for the cover of the neighboring exhibit, leaping over the railing. Something solid went whirling crazily through the air between them—the remains of the bloodied pickaxe, snapped off and flung away. It narrowly missed their heads, striking Lot’s Wife in her chest, sticking into the pillar of salt like a murderer’s dagger.
Blake and Cam dropped into the cramped wall space behind the statue, just as the snake’s body smashed against the wrought-iron barrier and plunged its neck in after them. Its head glanced off the salt column and it hissed in frustration while Cam scrambled in the confined space to work his iron spear into a defensive position.
This time the monster didn’t risk another strike, rising up instead like a cobra, swaying side to side. From his all-too-exposed position, Cam locked eyes with their hunter, watching as it seemed to study its prey, perhaps noting that there wasn’t enough space to safely shelter two men.
“Right,” Blake said. He stood up suddenly and hurled the lantern with all his might—not at the looming serpent, but at the towering figure of Mephistopheles.
The lantern’s glass chimney shattered, spraying the carving with flaming oil. Fire suited him. It brought the Devil to life, dancing flames happy to spread and engulf him like royal robes. As the column began to melt, his body seemed to stir and, paradoxically, to grow. Fire distorted and stretched his features. Lit from below, the gleeful, menacing gaze and satanic sneer were magnified.
A moment later came more sorcery. A slow-moving pool of eerie blue-white flames began to spill out from the base of the statue, forming a river of flowing heat. Sparks and bright orange-tufted fireballs skittered across its current like elementals. A fog of noxious vapors rose up as well, clouds building in the high ceiling.
Above them, the ghostly blue radiance illuminated the snake’s bloodied skin, its entire length glowing like a primal serpent-god. It raised up, hissing its defiance at the flaming apparition come to life.
“Don’t breathe the smoke!” Blake yelled. “It’ll kill you! We have to get out of here!” The sea of blue fire and its deadly fumes were spreading, igniting everything it touched. Blake had warded off the snake, only to pin them into a corner.
“Against the wall,” he said. “It’s our only chance.”
Hands across their mouths and noses, the two men crouched and then leapt across the spreading blue flames just as a ton of burning, melting brimstone collapsed on the spot they’d just escaped. It crashed into Lot’s Wife and with a piercing sound like the shriek of a damned soul, the salt statue burst into brilliant yellow shooting flames.
The pair followed the walls, bas-reliefs honoring the spirits of gold and iron, surreally flickering in the hellish crimson light. Smoke and sweat stung their eyes. Somewhere deep in the inferno they could hear the thrashing snake.
“Where’s the door?” Cam yelled. Blake could only shake his head. A terrified, drawn-out scream pierced the roar of flames and crashing debris. They looked at each other, knowing all too well what that sound meant.
Harcourt.
31
If they were passing through different shards—and surely they must be, Nellie thought—there was no sign of it. As with the shards they had seen in North Africa, the same type of landscape had dominated over so many epochs, so there was almost no telling where their boundaries lay. There was no trace of human activity, but a variety of both prehistoric and modern animals all shared the environment. They continued their hike up into the autumnal trees, the undergrowth crunching beneath their thick overshoes with every step. Nellie cradled her stiff shoulder, but kept pace with Hypatia. Though more familiar with terrain like this, she would never fancy herself a woodsman, and by the time they came close to the snowline, she had seen no sign of anything they could eat.
“Something’s just occurred to me.”
“What’s that?” Hypatia kept walking.
“I haven’t noticed any aftershocks—have you?”
Hypatia stopped.
“You’re right!” she exclaimed. “But surely they haven’t stopped on their own. Could it mean they aren’t evenly distributed, and this region is one of the doldrums? No, we’ve seen far too many of them all the way from Alexandria to Antarctica to suppose we’re safe…”
They continued to discuss possibilities as they walked, and a few minutes later they approached a fallen oak. The trunk had broken in half, leaving a neat little gap between the two pieces. A small deadfall of branches and antlers had accumulated on both sides of it, as if forming a rough-hewn little gateway.
Something in the arrangement struck Nellie as odd.
“Wait!” she cried out, just as Hypatia stepped into the gap. With a single crisp cracking sound, her body suddenly snapped forward as though some claw had snatched her by the ankle, sending her face first to the ground.
“Hypatia!” Nellie ran forward, then stopped, catching herself just short of the gap. Hypatia lay unmoving, a rough leather cord cinched tightly around her foot.
An arrow protruded from her side.
“Oh god, no…”
Moving carefully, Nellie swept away part of the branches concealing the trap her companion had triggered. She paused long enough to make sure there were no other snares, then quickly knelt by Hypatia’s side. The woman lay as still as stone.
“Hypatia?” Her fingers trembled as she pulled the hair away from her face. Was she still breathing? Hypatia’s eyelids fluttered.
“Oh, thank heavens.”
Hypatia tried to sit up, then groaned.
“Stay still,” Nellie cautioned. “Your side—”
Hypatia looked up at her. “Am I—”
“Try not to move,” Nellie told her. “You’re hurt. Here, let me look.” Gingerly, she pulled Hypatia’s coat away so she could examine the wound. The arrow shifted along with the coat.
“What’s this?”
She opened the flap of cloth, and exhaled. The arrow had missed Hypatia altogether. Instead, it had embedded itself in the thick folds of her parka. Nellie threaded the arrow all the way through and pulled it out. The metal arrowhead was coated with some greasy, resinous substance. Poison, no doubt. Carefully, she wiped it clean on her own parka, and then used the sharp edge to cut the snare off Hypatia’s ankle.
“Are you alright?”
Hypatia sat up, rubbing a red spot on her forehead. “Yes, I think so
. Just a little stunned. What was that?”
“A hunter’s trap. It must have been rigged to catch deer—if not, it would have caught you square in the torso, I think.”
“I wonder how long ago the hunter placed it there.”
“Perhaps we’ll be able to find him.”
Nellie helped her to her feet, but Hypatia winced as she put weight on her foot, and Nellie quickly caught her again.
“Are you sure you’re not injured?”
“The snare—it twisted my ankle. I can walk, I think. Just give me a moment.” She took a few tentative steps, assessed herself silently, and declared herself fit to continue. They looked further up the slope to where the snowline began and icicles dwindled down from the tree branches.
“I truly dislike having to admit it,” Hypatia said with a sigh, “but I don’t think we’ll find anything to eat up here.”
“Maybe we should go back down to the beach?” Nellie rubbed her sore arm, feeling tired and cold.
“Yes, but I can barely move from the chill. How I wish we had a fire to warm ourselves!”
“Never fear—I know just the thing!” Nellie said. “Here, make a pile from these older branches and dried leaves. I’ll show you an old mountain man’s trick I learned in Pennsylvania.” She broke off one of the larger icicles hanging from the nearest tree, snapped off the end and tossed it aside, holding the remaining chunk up to the sun to check it for flaws. It passed her approval. Taking the arrowhead she set work, shaving away at the ice until she had a rough disk shape about the size of a hen’s egg.
“What is that supposed to do?” Hypatia asked.
“Just you wait, I still need to polish it.” She took off her mittens and held the flattened ball of ice in her bare hands. “This part is a bit chillier than I bargained for.” Soldiering on, she shaped the ice, painstakingly melting it with the warmth of her palms in order to create a smooth surface.
Hypatia finished piling twigs and kindling, then peered at Nellie’s handiwork.
“You’re making a lens!”
With a proud nod, Nellie smiled and focused the morning’s sunlight through the ice into a single tiny point on the nest of dried leaves. At first, there was nothing. Then, a slight blackened spot appeared, a little curl of smoke emerged, and a tiny flame came to life. Overjoyed, Hypatia leaned in to gently blow life into the red-orange embers. They cheered as the flame took, feeding it the dry twigs until they had a fine little fire.
“Oh, well done, Nellie!” Hypatia exclaimed happily. Taking their mittens off, the two stretched out their fingers to soak up the delicious warmth. Hypatia reached over to grasp Nellie’s hand.
“Toú Irakli! By Hercules! Your poor hands are frozen. Here.” Clasping them in her own for a moment, she tucked them into her parka and slipped them past the coarse fabric of her cloak, holding Nellie’s hands against the bare skin between her own breasts. The contact made her suddenly gasp. “Oh! They are so cold!” she laughed.
Mortified, Nellie tried to pull her hands back, but Hypatia held them fast.
“No, no,” she assured, “it’s alright. I don’t want you to lose your fingers to the frost.”
The two women huddled up together in one shivering bundle. Nellie let herself sink against Hypatia’s warmth as their parkas formed a tent around them, holding in their combined body heat. Leaning her head gently against Hypatia’s, she closed her eyes—dizzy with feelings for which she had no name.
32
The sound of Harcourt’s agonized death scream rattled Blake. He’d seen his share of the dying, friend and foe alike, and yet it was far too easy to picture the horrified Victorian, arms flailing helplessly while his body struggled in the jaws of the monster.
He forced the thought away.
“Come on. We have to find that entrance.”
“Wait!” Cam said. “Listen!”
Harcourt was still screaming. Which meant he was still alive.
* * *
When the snake first appeared, Harcourt’s gangly legs had failed him, buckling like a newborn colt’s while he stumbled over obstacles and ducked flying debris. He tried to find his way back to the entrance, threading his way through one turn after another, until no longer sure in what direction he was running.
Crashes and shouts echoed behind him as he tried to retrace his route. The sounds pricked at what little conscience he had. He listened to Blake’s and Cam’s struggles, warring with his terror and sense of self-preservation…
Until he turned and went back to help them.
He had rounded the statue of Vulcan just in time to catch sight of the snake rearing up as the sulfurous Mephistopheles burst into flame. His newfound courage evaporated, and he once again ran for his life. He could have sworn they had left open the doors to the main entrance. So where the devil was it?
Wait—something there…
A faint gleam up ahead drew him closer, but when he reached it he realized it was only the grate of some kind of grillwork in the floor. Still, a cool breeze of fresh air flowed from it, so it had to be a way out.
Placing his lantern on the floor, he grabbed hold of the cover with both hands, took a deep breath, and lifted with all his might. The heavy iron grill… did nothing. It didn’t budge. He knelt for better leverage and tried again. The cover might as well have been welded shut.
“Right then. Third time’s the charm,” he muttered. With a sharp exhalation he tried once more, putting his back into it. His spine made a curious popping noise, and he gave out a long, tortured wail. The manhole cover remained steadfast. Meanwhile, the temperature was rising steadily, and smoke was billowing overhead.
Desperation, anger, and pain warred within him, and an alliance of the first two triumphed. He rose in an uncontrolled fit of rage and kicked the nearest chunk of debris, a large gold nugget. Bending down to the grill again, he tried yet again to wrench it free. The only result was another howl of frustration.
“Jesus Christ!”
Harcourt yelped in surprise at the sudden exclamation.
“We thought that bloody snake had done for you.” Blake slapped Harcourt on the shoulder. The Victorian sputtered, surprised and delighted to see his two companions alive.
“I think I’ve found a way out,” he said, “but it’s stuck fast.”
Cam and Blake knelt down, the two of them prying the grill up and off with seemingly no effort. Harcourt swore inwardly. Blake peered down, then reached for the lantern and slipped it inside the hole. He dropped down into the blackness.
“It’s safe!” Blake’s voice echoed from below.
“You go next,” Cam offered. Harcourt didn’t stand on ceremony, quickly scrambling down into the shaft. When he was safely down, Cam started to follow. A sibilant noise came from behind him, making him turn his head.
* * *
“Kych-an—” he hissed as the snake slipped out of the dark and lunged for him.
He dropped at once, half-falling, half-sliding hard onto a brick ramp, looking up to see the giant serpent’s head just an arm’s length above him. It snapped and hissed, trying repeatedly to cram its oversized skull into the manhole.
Cam rested his head against the cool brick and sighed in relief. He would pray his apologies to the serpent later.
“No, no, you just keep napping,” Blake called from below. “You can catch up to us later.”
Cam grinned and slid the rest of the way down to join them. They were in a cistern of some kind, surrounded by tall stone walls three times their height. Welcome daylight slanted in from the windows above, along with fresh air.
“What is this place?” Cam asked.
“A pumphouse,” Blake replied. “It used to keep the canal water circulating, I expect.”
“More importantly,” Harcourt grumbled, “how on earth are we to get out of here?”
“Well, now,” a stranger’s voice drawled from above them. “I reckon that depends on how cooperative you three are prepared to be.”
33
“Hold up, now,” she said. “We have quite a distance to go. At this pace, I don’t think we’re going to make it before dark.” The last thing she wanted was to be stumbling downhill in the dark.
“But, we can’t stay up here—”
“Of course we can,” Nellie said. “I’ll make us a lean-to against the tree. We’ll sleep by the fire. It can’t be any worse than that stench-ridden seal rookery.” She hoped that would prove to be true.
Hypatia protested, but Nellie remained firm, leading her back to their makeshift campsite. While she sat and rested her ankle, Nellie set about breaking off branches for their cover. On an empty stomach, the work was more exhausting than she let on, and late autumn made twilight a brief affair. No sooner had sunset ended than the night dropped pitch black, and Nellie had stop. Taking a seat next to Hypatia by the fire, she looked dubiously at the makeshift shelter.
“It will have to do, I’m afraid. I’m worn to a frazzle.”
Hypatia smiled at her. “A superb labor. We’ll sleep well tonight,” she said, positioning herself in the lean-to. “Thank you, Nellie. Come rest now.” She patted her thigh, and Nellie gratefully leaned down to rest her head in her friend’s lap. Hypatia ran a finger through the younger woman’s hair. Gradually their eyes became accustomed to the light cast by the stars and the nearly full moon.
“Rest now…”
Nellie closed her eyes. She had just started to drift off when a terrible roar split the night—the same thundering unholy laughter from the night before, only much closer. Nellie bolted upright and the two women stumbled out of the lean-to, ducking behind the cover of the fallen oak.
“Look!” Hypatia whispered.