by C R Langille
“What?” Allison asked.
Garrett couldn’t help it. He let out a soft chuckle and continued shaking his head.
“Nothing. It’s just… I think I’m going crazy, and you still manage to fall head-over-heels for the sheriff within the first hour of being here.”
“No way, Boss! The man’s an asshole. A well-built asshole, but still an asshole.”
***
Dan let his façade fall when he reached his Bronco. He liked Allison, but he had to try and play down Garrett’s story. At least for now.
His smile dropped into a scowl, and he slammed the door of the vehicle. Things were heating up in the small town, and He who lived under the mountain was getting bolder by the minute. If Garrett’s story was true, then things were moving faster than he realized. The confrontation could occur very soon. Plus, Garrett piqued the interest of lower management. They wanted him observed; Dan would observe him. He intended to give Jared Barlow a visit, as well as file a report of his findings to lower management.
Chapter Fifteen
October 2, 1180
We followed the tribesmen back to their dwellings, which were nothing short of awe-inspiring. These people, as primitive as they seemed, fashioned their homes into the side of a cliff. Buildings resembling castles and small houses loomed above us, quite remarkable really, and very defensible.
They kept their distance from Sir Geoffrey, seemed familiar with his madness. Upon climbing into their dwellings, I found the reason why. A dozen of their own were locked in a prison-like structure, kept under close guard; the prisoners all bore the same telltale signs that Sir Geoffrey had, the same markings on their arms, and bloodied faces. The group seemed to move as one, and as one, they watched us. It was as if something was looking at us through them.
I thought communication with these local peoples would be troublesome, yet we have been able to communicate freely. We participated in a ceremony the night we arrived in their village. They passed around a foul-smelling drink. I was wary and hesitant at first, but after seeing the natives partake of the liquid, my fellow knights and I did likewise. As the night wore on, we found ourselves able to understand their tongue, and they could understand our speech. Be it witchcraft or the will of God, I do not know, but we have come too far and suffered too much to let it deter us. Personally, I see the ability to communicate as a blessing from our Lord and Savior.
The village elder was not surprised to see us; he foresaw our coming in a vision. He said that in his vision we were warriors from far away, sent by the Great Spirits to help them battle the darkness under their dwellings, a darkness deep in the mountain.
He told us that the darkness had been there since the stars were placed in the sky, that a lone star had fallen into the earth, breaking into many pieces. He said that the earth rose to combat the darkness, but was unable to rid itself completely of it, and the darkness took root.
When asked about their magnificent village built into the cliff wall, the elder said that it was a necessity to keep nearby enemies at bay. He also mentioned that after they had built the structures, a part of the mountainside had crumbled away, revealing a cave leading very far down into the earth. It wasn’t long after that many of their people became sick like Sir Geoffrey. Nearby water and the threat from warring tribes kept the villagers from leaving the area.
The elder told us in a sad voice that he ordered thirteen of his best warriors to go deep into the mountain in hopes of destroying the evil. They never returned.
-Sir William Brock
Canyon Shadows, Utah
“So, what’s the plan, Boss?” Allison asked.
Garrett sat on the couch in a lump of exhaustion. Since Dan left, Garrett didn’t move or speak much, and Allison and Randall let him stew in his silence. However, after an hour, Allison couldn’t take it anymore.
Garrett looked up at her with a small smile. Although he was exhausted, both physically and mentally, having a familiar face nearby was comforting.
“Well, I guess we could get to work and look at the items. What do you think?”
Allison nodded in agreement. Randall smiled and went to the display room to get the artifacts. Once he left, Allison turned back to Garrett.
“Boss, you okay?”
She’d already asked him a few other times, and Garrett had had about enough of it. He was about to explode but first decided to take a calming breath. She was simply trying to keep him talking, trying to help.
“No, I’m not. I’m scared. Things have happened that I can’t explain. I’m seeing and hearing things. I don’t know what’s real anymore, Grasshopper.”
“I’m here for you, Boss. Whatever you need.”
Garrett nodded a thanks her way.
He welcomed her presence, even if he didn’t show it well. The sense of familiarity acted as an anchor for his mind and heart. Even if she couldn’t identify the authenticity of the artifacts and it turned out to be all for nothing, he didn’t regret calling her out here.
Switching gears, he turned his attention to the artifacts. He knew deep down the weapon had to be authentic. Hopefully, her training and skills would support his theory. At the very least, she had connections back at the university and could maybe get some assistance that way.
During Garrett’s hour of silent moping, Allison engaged herself in admiring all the weapons and antiques that Randall displayed in the small shop. Now and then, she’d squeak in excitement or grab Randall and start explaining the origin of a certain piece. Randall obviously didn’t know how to handle himself around her, and his speech was very broken and nervous.
They walked into the display room as Randall laid out the pieces on the table. The sword, chain mail coif, cloak, and pottery sat on the table for their perusal. Allison’s face lit up as she started visually processing each piece. She went from item to item, occasionally letting out a whistle, or an “oooh,” and even a couple of “holy cows” while Garrett and Randall stood back.
“When’s that Anasazi expert you keep talking about coming by?” Garrett asked.
“Damn,” Randall said, his forehead scrunching up into a wrinkled mess.
“What?” Garrett asked.
“You just met him,” Randall said. His voice dropped in volume, and he tried to hide behind his thick glasses.
“You mean…?” Allison asked.
“Yes, Sheriff Blackwood. He knows a lot about the Anasazi and their artifacts. I’m sorry I didn’t mention it before, but I was caught up in your story.”
Garrett scratched at the stubble on his chin. Awesome. After a moment, he turned back to Randall and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t worry about it; I’m sure he’ll be back around. Isn’t that right?”
She didn’t catch the jab; she was too busy looking at the sword.
“I hope so.”
***
Sheriff Blackwood pulled his Bronco up to Jared Barlow’s pawn shop. He killed the engine and stepped out of the vehicle. The air hung around the shop like a thick, sticky miasma. A foul odor wafted into Dan’s nose, a smell that reminded him of death packed into a tight space.
He took a step onto the curb and hit a wall of oppressive power emanating from the pawn shop. It was old, dark, and hungry. This wasn’t good.
This darkness knew Dan and his kind, just as Dan knew it. As much as he hated to admit it, this particular evil had a hand in his failure so long ago. Dan and many others like him followed another into damnation—false promises and sweet words dripping with poison, offers and resolutions that sounded logical, all of it bullshit. When he realized the mistake, it had been too late. It was a part of his past that would always haunt him, yet it also served as something he always was trying to fix. His fall from grace had been a brutal thing, and the path to redemption was no less painful.
“Something in your eye, Sheriff
?”
Dan spun around to find Jared standing behind him. Dried blood caked in scabby chunks in and around Jared’s handlebar mustache. Jared’s bloodshot eyes constantly blinked, as if he suffered from Tourette’s. Dan berated himself for getting caught up in old memories, for letting Jared get so close unnoticed.
“Mr. Barlow, I have a few questions I need to ask you.”
Jared smiled.
“Sure thing, come on inside, birdman.”
Dan hesitated. How did Jared know?
He didn’t want to get any closer to the taint than necessary, unsure of what would happen. But he also didn’t want to cause a scene in public. Some things were better left private.
Jared walked to the door of the pawn shop and produced a small key. Unlocking the deadbolt, he opened it.
“After you, Sheriff.”
Show strength toward thy enemies. Dan walked forward, a thought entering his head. “Abandon all hope ye who enter here.” Dan knew that the entrance to hell wasn’t a beat up old pawn shop in Canyon Shadows. He’d walked through that portal too many times already. This doorway was no less foreboding.
He reached the door and paused to look at Jared. Jared still wore the unnerving smile and nodded into the shop.
“Go ahead.”
He had about walked through the door when his cell phone rang.
Saved by the bell.
“Just a moment, Mr. Barlow.”
Dan stepped back to his Bronco and answered the phone.
“This is Sheriff Blackwood.”
“Hi Dan, Randall here.”
“Kind of a bad time, Mr. Childers.”
“Sorry. Yes, he seems to have calmed down. I forgot to ask earlier, but can you swing back by and take a look at those Anasazi artifacts I told you about? Mr. Porter and his assistant are eager to know more about them.”
Garrett and Allison’s voices were in the background. He could just imagine Allison musing over the artifacts, chewing on that fiery hair of hers. He’d love a chance to try and smooth things over with her.
“Sure thing.”
“Excellent, thank you,” Randall said.
Jared Barlow waved at Dan, his smile stretching his mouth so wide that the sides cracked and started to bleed.
“Got to go,” Dan said.
Dan ended the call on his phone and turned back to the shop. Jared no longer stood by the door, or anywhere in sight for that matter.
“Mr. Barlow?”
Nobody answered. He stepped closer to the building and peered into the front window. A collection of knick-knacks, old tools, used ski equipment, and beat-up guitars were arranged in a haphazard fashion, but no Jared. Movement caught his eye, and through the window, he could see the office door in the back of the shop close.
Dan stepped through the door and looked around. From inside, the menagerie of pawned items no longer looked mindlessly placed. Rather, they took on an ominous appearance. The machete on the wall had an off-rust color that Dan thought looked too much like blood. All the shovels in the corner had old earth packed onto the blades and carried an odor that he could only describe as rotten. As he strode past a nearby shelf, he caught a glimpse of small clumps of hair caught in the teeth of a beat-up chainsaw.
“Mr. Barlow, enough games. We need to talk. Now,” he called out with his authoritative sheriff’s voice. His voice boomed with the power of the command, and the junk on the shelves rattled.
A giggle emanated from the rear office.
This wasn’t going to be good.
***
“Well?” Garrett asked.
“These are awesome, Boss! I mean check it out—this sword has a distal taper that is geometrically sound, it feels well balanced except for the broken cross-guard, and it has a good ring to it,” Allison said as she flicked the steel, sending a small ringing noise into the air.
“I’m aware of all that already, Grasshopper, what else you got?”
“I see mere parlor tricks will not amaze you, Mr. Porter,” Allison said in a cheesy British accent.
“I don’t pay you for parlor tricks, and what was that accent supposed to be?”
“First, you don’t pay me at all. Second, well, I don’t know, it seemed appropriate.”
Garrett chuckled, motioning with his hand for Allison to continue.
“Okay, so we both know that the symbol on the pommel, the one with the dual riders, is Templar for sure. I’ve seen a lot of their artifacts, and I have an eye for weathering, and I can tell this has seen its fair share of the elements. Don’t get me wrong, the entire blade is well preserved. Someone’s been taking care of it, but this sword’s been around and seen things.”
“Alright, keep going,” Garrett said, intrigued.
He liked watching her get into education mode. The nervous ticks melted from her demeanor, replaced by confidence and excitement.
“Look here,” she said.
She pointed to the hilt near the pommel. Some of the leather wrappings had worn away, and the smallest hint of a letter peeked out.
“What is that?” Garrett asked.
“Well, if I have permission, I would like to un-wrap the hilt and see, but my guess, runes.”
“Runes?” Randall asked.
He’d been watching from his desk. Every time Allison made a comment about the weapon being real, he nodded his head in agreement. Garrett supposed that Randall wanted it to be real more than anyone else in the room. He stood to make the most money from the deal.
“Yes. After you called me the other day and told me about this, I started doing some research. I found some documented cases of Templar swords found with old Saxon runes carved into the blade. It didn’t happen often, but for some reason, some of the Templar families did it, at least those descended from Anglo-Saxon culture. It was a phrase or a family name.”
“Randall, can we take that apart?” Garrett asked.
Randall was in it to win it now and was just as eager to find out more. He nodded with enough vigor that his glasses slipped down his nose. He pushed them back into place with a finger and leaned closer to see what they would find.
“Here goes nothing,” Allison said, and she started to unwrap the hilt. She was careful not to tear the leather, but that proved to be difficult. Years of use in battle, as well as even more years of sitting, made the leather hard, almost plastered to the wooden hilt. Thirty minutes and twelve expletives later, and Allison uncovered it.
She shot Garrett an I told you so smile. He gave her a hearty pat on the shoulder and picked the blade up with gloved hands.
“Excellent!”
Small runes decorated the wood of the hilt. They ran down the grip both vertically and horizontally, creating a cross of runes.
“What do they say?” Randall asked.
Garrett and Allison shook their heads and shrugged their shoulders at the same time.
“Not sure, but I think I know someone back at the university that may be able to help. She used her phone to take a snapshot of the runes and then another making sure she had a clear picture of all of them. Then she sent the images off into the ether.
“There,” she said putting the cell phone back in her pocket. “Hopefully, he gets that and will send us the translation soon.”
“Who?” Garrett asked.
“Mick Tulley. He’s a friend of mine. He’s got a thing for ancient languages and can probably figure those runes out without much trouble.”
“Great job.”
“Thanks, Boss. As for the rest of these things, I don’t want to assume, but if I were a betting girl, I would put my money on them being real,” she said in a bad Southern drawl.
“Again with the accents? What’s that one supposed to be?” Garrett asked.
Allison shrugged her shoulders, blushing.
***
/> Sheriff Blackwood stood outside the office door. The giggles still came from the other side of the doorway.
“Enter birdboy! Let’s see if you’re all that!” Jared called.
“C’mon, Jared. I don’t have time for games. Just come on out, and we’ll talk like adults.” The time for games was over. Lower management could go fuck themselves. Dan couldn’t stand by and let this go for a minute more.
“The Star! The Star! The Spirit and the Star!”
At first, it sounded like Jared Barlow, but then the voice warped like it was a tape cassette that was slowly being eaten by the player.
He unholstered his gun. The weapon didn’t reassure him much. He never took a liking to guns—they seemed crude and cowardly to him—but at the moment, it was all he had. Dan took a deep breath and stretched his shoulders. His shoulder blades rippled momentarily as if something beneath his skin tried to expand. After a moment, the motion stopped. He opened the door and went in after Jared.
Chapter Sixteen
October 13, 1180
This land vexes my nerves. The hot, dry air scorches the skin, making it almost unbearable to move during the daylight. I have traveled far in my days and have come across lands similar, but something is not right here. Something screams for me to leave this place. The tall canyons cast their shadows from above. At first, their cool kiss was welcome, yet the shadows tighten their grip on us each day.
These people vex my nerves. The fact that I can understand them, and they me, fills my soul with apprehension. What kind of witchcraft have they cast upon us? Their pagan ways are foreign and dangerous. Sir Brock sees it as a boon, a gift from our Lord and Savior to aid us on our quest. I do not share his beliefs. One only burns himself when fighting fire with fire.
The stricken vex me. I speak of the ill, to include Sir Geoffrey. We confined him with the rest of them, those primitives who have succumbed to this devilry. Whenever I walk past their prison, they watch me pass. They move as one, watching with dead eyes. As hot as it is in this land, my soul cools when I am near them. They must be purified before God.