Canyon Shadows

by C R Langille

  Their smiles vex me. God save us. We must leave, or we shall surely die in this far away land.

  -Sir Ralph Mounford

  Canyon Shadows

  Jared crouched in the corner of the dingy office, barely visible but enough so that Dan could tell blood flowed freely from the man’s nostrils staining an already grimy T-shirt. Jared scratched frantically at his forearm, digging up deep gouges into his skin.

  “This is your last chance. Cast off the shadow and step into the light, Jared!” Dan said, his voice once again booming across the walls of the office.

  Jared continued to rip at his arm but looked directly at Dan. He stood up and took a step forward, and Dan trained the sights of his pistol at center mass. If things went south, he’d put two in the body and one to the hip.

  “Jared, stop right there!”

  Jared cocked his head to the side as if he were trying to listen to something other than Dan. His eyes glazed over as he stared off into nothing. It was at that moment that the room seemed to shrink and pressure began to build up. A dark energy oozed over his skin, making it crawl, and the temperature dropped so low his breath formed small clouds.

  Dan inhaled, filling his lungs and focusing his power. He centered his energy around his core, and the pressure loosened around him. It constantly barraged his aura, trying to tighten its coils around him and squeeze the fear from his body.

  “The Spirit and the Star! He tells me about the Spirit and the Star. He is angry now,” Jared said. “Angry that I haven’t dealt with you yet!”

  Jared’s voice pleaded with Dan as he tried to explain away his actions. For half a moment, Jared’s eyes widened, and the man’s lower lip jutted out like a child pouting.

  “What else does he have to say, Jared?” Dan asked, hoping to engage him in conversation and calm the situation down, to maybe talk some sense into him and bring him from the darkness.

  “Not for your ears! Not for your kind!” Jared shouted. As he yelled, the blood from his nose got into his mouth, and with each enunciation, bloody spittle flew forth, raining down onto a cheap imitation Persian rug.

  “Calm down, Jared, let’s talk about this,” Dan said.

  Dan forced his will outward again, trying to punch a hole through the dark magic that stood as a barrier between him and Jared. Dan took a small step forward and flexed his power. It was like flexing a muscle, only making a minuscule difference, but it was enough. Jared looked at Dan with a confused mask over his face.

  “Sheriff?” Jared asked.

  Dan lowered his gun slightly, “That’s right, Jared. it’s me, Sheriff Blackwood. I’m here to help.”

  “Sheriff, I don’t think you can. I’ve gone too far and done too much,” Jared said, his voice no louder than a whisper.

  A second later, the man’s eyes darkened as an oily substance rolled through them. He cracked a big grin and opened his arms out wide. Sweat beaded on Dan’s forehead as he battled for dominance, but He who lives under the mountain was strong—much stronger than Dan. Plus, He who lives under the mountain played dirty.

  The door to the pawn shop opened, filling the building with the hollow clang of the cowbell that Jared had placed over in the doorway. Two people walked into the store side by side.

  “Please, step back outside folks. We have a police matter ongoing,” Dan yelled through gritted teeth.

  He expected to hear the cowbell sound again, letting him know that they had left, but the pawn shop remained silent. Dan cautioned a glance behind him and saw the two people even closer now. A man and a woman walked toward him. He’d seen them around town before, the Jorgensons. These two were brother and sister. Dan noticed that they sported the same bloody-nosed look that Jared wore.

  “Perfect,” Dan said to himself, rolling his eyes.

  He refocused and shifted his stance so that he could keep watch on both Jared and the newcomers. His grip tightened on the gun as he weighed his options.

  “The Star is here!” Jared yelled. “He’s here for the slaughter!”

  The Jorgensons added their energy to Jared’s, and the darkness won. The dark pressure in the room snapped, punching Dan in the gut and causing him to stagger into the wall.

  “Jared, you aren’t going to like where this goes,” Dan said, his tone shifting from negotiator to tempered steel.

  “He’s angry. He wants you. He wants you deep in the mountain,” Jared said as he took a step toward to Dan. “He wants to show you things.”

  “Stop it, Jared, or I will destroy you,” Dan said.

  He watched Jared intently. The screech of scraping metal sounded off in the main room of the pawn shop. Mary Jorgenson pulled the chainsaw from the shelf and yanked on the starter cord. The machine sputtered, but the engine failed to turn over.

  Hank had a shovel in his hands and walked slowly towards Dan, keeping the blade of the tool in front of him like a spear. Mary pulled on the cord a few times and then the chainsaw roared to life. The growl of the small motor swarmed the building.

  Mary wore a blue flower-print sundress that would have looked stunning; however, with the deadly saw in her hands and the blood streaming down her lips and chin, she looked anything but attractive.

  “This just gets better and better. I don’t suppose you want to throw some help my way, do you, Lord?” Dan asked, glancing up to the heavens. If God listened to Dan’s plea, he didn’t answer.

  Hank put the shovel down, and for a moment Dan thought his prayers had been answered. Hank then picked up a scythe from the wall.

  “I am assuming that’s a negative on the help then,” Dan said. “Really, Jared, who the hell has a scythe?”

  Jared didn’t answer, the color of his eyes now completely replaced with opaque black and swirls of red. He mouthed words, but no sound came from his lips. The chainsaw snarled, forcing Dan to turn his attention back to the Jorgensons.

  “Come on, let’s stop this nonsense and call it a day, eh?” Dan asked.

  “I’m afraid not, Sheriff. You’re just another piece of meat,” Hank said.

  “Meat for Him. He waits under the mountain,” Mary stated.

  The malevolence seeped from their bodies, almost palpable. The evil poured from their beings, but it wasn’t the Jorgensons. It was channeled through them, not by them. They were puppets for Him, too far gone to save.

  If Dan was to believe the lore, once someone fell to the influence of He who lives under the mountain, there was no redemption.

  Hank took three lunging steps and swung the scythe down. The scythe’s blade stuck into the drywall above the doorway. Dan jumped back and fired his gun, hitting Hank center mass with three well-placed shots. The report of the pistol bounced off the walls in the small building and started a heavy ringing in his ears. The entire exchange took less than two seconds. The smoky, metallic taste of gunfire, mixed with the exhaust of the saw, filled the room with a slight haze.

  Hank looked up at Dan with a mask of pure hatred on his face. Hank’s eyes mirrored Jared’s, black with smoldering flecks of red. The black and red in Hank’s eyes twisted like a vortex, and Dan lost himself in that look. For the briefest of moments, he could see through the man’s eyes, back to the source deep under the mountain. He saw what waited for them all, and for the first time in many years, he was afraid.

  Blood from Hank’s wounds poured onto the floor. It was dark—darker than blood should have been—and viscous. Hank’s knees buckled, and he was about to slump to the floor when Mary pushed him out of the way, running straight at Dan with the chainsaw.

  Its motor howled in anger as its teeth snapped hungrily at Dan’s head. He dodged out of the way, twisting his body to the side as the saw’s teeth passed within an inch of his jaw. It took Mary a couple of steps to catch her footing and turn around, and by that time Dan had brought the gun up and squeezed the trigger.

  Mary’s he
ad snapped back as the bullet slammed into her skull, and she crumpled to the floor. The chainsaw hit the ground and bounced around until Mary’s grip loosened and the motor died. The room fell silent. The only sound was Dan’s heavy breathing and the ringing in his ears.

  Training kicked in, and he shifted the gun back to Jared, but Jared was gone. Dan looked around, knowing that he couldn’t have gone back into the main room of the pawn shop. He saw the file cabinet moved to the side, revealing a passage through the wall. Keeping his weapon trained forward, he moved up to the cabinet. Cool air and the rotten stench of something hit his nose. He shoved the cabinet further aside.

  Dan stood in front of an opening in the wall with a set of stairs leading down. He couldn’t see the end of the stairs due to the lack of light.

  “Jared!” Dan yelled. “Get the hell up here!”

  He pulled a flashlight from his belt and clicked it to life, but its beam couldn’t cut through the thick sheet of darkness. He took a deep breath and said a quick prayer, preparing himself to go down the stairs after Jared.

  Pain blasted through Dan’s back, and he staggered to the floor. He lost his grip on the gun, and it fell down the stairs, out of reach. Hank stood over him with the shovel in his hands. He rolled to his back as Mary hopped on top of the desk. She held a pair of hedge clippers in her hand and gave him a wicked smile before jumping at him. He kicked out and thrust his foot into her chest. The momentum of her body caused her to sink closer to Dan, the hedge clippers open, eager to sink into his neck. She snipped at him like he was an overgrown bush. Dan gathered his strength and kicked her off his body. She flew backward, crashing into Hank.

  Hank snarled and threw Mary out of the way, charging forward with the shovel. He brought it down, trying to impale Dan as he lay on the ground. Dan rolled out of the way and swept Hank’s legs out from under him.

  Dan tried to get up, but Mary jumped at him again. He brought his arms up and caught one of the hedge clipper’s blades on his forearm.

  Pain lanced through his arm as the edge parted skin. Blood welled up immediately, pouring from the wound onto the floor. He head-butted Mary hard in the nose, and the crack of cartilage cut through the ringing. Her head whipped back, and Dan knocked the clippers from her grasp. As he tried to move her off his body, Hank smacked him in the face with the shovel.

  For a moment, his vision blackened, and the ringing took over again. The attack came at an odd angle, but it was still enough to distract him. A moment was all they needed.

  Hank and Mary Jorgenson were on him in an instant.

  Dan grabbed the nearby hedge clippers and swung them at Hank, but Hank knocked the weapon from his grip. He brought his other hand up, trying to get the two off his body, but Mary grappled it and put all her weight down. They had him pinned to the floor.

  “Get off me!” Dan yelled.

  Hank and Mary jerked their heads toward him in unison. They spoke to him, their words flowing in time with one another as if they were the medium for a prerecorded message.

  They spoke in a language that few human ears had ever heard. Dan understood what they said.

  “I shall break your resolve, and then you will join my ranks. I will use you to lead my forces. You shall destroy all that you love, and nothing, not even your paltry god, will be able to stop me.”

  “You have made a mistake. You are a fool to think you’ll ever break free from that rock. Your actions are an affront to God, and this time, you will be destroyed,” Dan said.

  Hank and Mary smiled. As one, their heads began to turn, looking at him like they were curious animals. They spoke to him again, and this time their mouths remained open as the words poured from their bodies. As they spoke, black ichor oozed from their wounds. The black liquid hit the floor, hissing as it touched the carpet and sending up curls of smoke.

  “Your anger and disappointment will be nothing compared to the maelstrom that is to come. I shall destroy your being, Star! Then, I will remake you into a great weapon.”

  Hank and Mary looked at one another. They cocked their heads in opposite directions, still holding Dan firmly to the ground. Their jaws distended, much like a snake’s. Bones snapped and popped as they opened their mouths wider and wider. Dan watched as the skin around their lips and teeth ripped, spilling more black fluid to the floor. He flinched as some of it hit his bare skin.

  They looked like macabre homicidal clowns. Yet instead of face paint, there was blood and ripped flesh, their mouths open in smiling death traps.

  Dan shut his eyes and concentrated.

  “No more warnings,” he said softly.

  The temperature spiked in the small office, and the distinct smell of sulfur wafted from Dan’s form. He hated tapping into this energy and avoided it all costs. It made his skin feel as if it were on fire, leaving his insides sticky. He tapped into the power, letting his blood boil with hate and rage. Every time he used it, he lost a little more of his former self, but they had left him with no options.

  As Hank and Mary lowered themselves to rip Dan apart, he opened his eyes. He looked past the two, staring at something that was far away.

  Forgive me, Lord.

  “Blessed be the Lord, my strength, which teacheth my hands to war and my fingers to fight!”

  ***

  The phone rang, and Randall Childers didn’t want to answer it. Garrett and Allison made a lot of headway with the sword, and he sat much intrigued with what they would discover next. The phone called to him, and he hated to let it keep ringing. He had a business to run, and letting potential customers wait didn’t bode well for business.

  “Hello, this is Old Chilly’s Antiques and More. If I don’t have what you’re looking for, then we’ll find it. How can I help you?” Randall asked pulling his heavy-framed glasses from his face.

  “Hey, Randall, it’s Dan Blackwood.”

  Dan’s voice sounded rough and ragged, like he had strep throat or something.

  “Oh, Sheriff Blackwood, how are you? You sound sick.”

  “I’ve been better. I’m going to be later than expected.”

  “Later? How much later?” Randall asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

  Changes to the plans always sent him spinning into a whirlwind of worry. He tried to keep things going at an orderly, well-oiled pace. Changes screwed that up.

  “Probably not until tonight.”

  “Is everything okay?” Randall asked.

  “Yeah. Big fire down at Jared Barlow’s pawn shop; a couple of people got trapped inside. It’s not good. So, I’m busy with that.”

  “Oh,” Randall said quietly.

  “I can’t talk about it right now. I’ll be by later. Please let the others know.”

  “Certainly. Thank you, Sheriff.”

  Randall hung up the phone and walked back into the display room.

  Garrett scribed all the runes from the hilt on a piece of paper and searched the internet for clues as to what they may say. Allison stood looking at the other Templar items searching for any other runes.

  “Sheriff Blackwood called to say he would be later than expected. Something about a fire at the pawn shop.”

  Garrett merely nodded as he kept searching. Allison looked up with a worried expression on her face. Immediately a strand of hair found its way into her mouth.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked.

  “Yes, I think so. He assured me he’d be here later.”

  Garrett barely registered the exchange between the two. He let out a grunt of triumph and pumped his fist in the air.

  Randall and Allison looked at him, stunned into silence. Allison let the hair fall from her mouth. He typed a few more words into the keyboard and pumped his fist again, smiling.

  “You going to tell what the hell you found?” Allison asked, clearing the hair from in front of her eyes.

 
“Come look at this!” Garrett said grinning.

  He walked over to the sword and picked it up. Randall and Allison came to him and looked.

  “Now look here, you see this rune—the hooked X?”

  “Yes, I see it. What’s so special about that rune?” Randall asked.

  “That same symbol is on the Kensington rune stone, as well as other sites on the East Coast. It’s a fairly significant rune and has been loosely tied to the Templars. I recognized it when I first saw it; I just couldn’t remember what I had seen it on,” Garrett said, looking at the sword.

  “Awesome work, Boss!”

  “The Kensington rune stone?” Randall asked, genuinely intrigued.

  “Yes, it was a stone found in Minnesota in the late 19th Century. It’s covered in runes and suggested that Scandinavian explorers landed and traveled in North America before Columbus. At least, that’s the accepted theory,” Garrett said as he continued to examine the copied runes.

  “And what does this have to do with the sword?” Randall asked, still not connecting the dots.

  “Well, another less accepted story has to do with the hooked X rune. Some scholars believe it was used by the Templars and have found similar runes on Templar artifacts.”

  Dots connected finally.

  “And if that is true, and you have that rune on the sword, then it helps authenticate the blade,” Randall stated.

  “Exactly,” Allison interjected.

  “Supposedly, it represents duality, which is known to be an aspect of the Templars. My father found other runes like it in Central America. Unfortunately, his research was lost,” Garrett said. “He believed the Templars landed in the Americas hundreds of years before Columbus. He found items and relics to help support his claim but didn’t get a chance to present his findings before his death. I’ve been trying to find anything related to the Templars ever since in hopes I could support his claims. This might help.”