The Djinn (The Order of the Knightshades Book 1)

by J. Kent Holloway

  His eyes moved to the rocky floor of the cavern, searching for…

  There.

  He scurried along the floor, pocketing eight fist-sized rocks, and then returned to his pack. Piling the stones in a small circle, he picked up the last mushroom and squeezed. Its haunting green juice bled onto each of them. They illumed satisfyingly at him as he cast each one out into the abysmal pool before him—each one further away than the last.

  Standing up, the Djinn edged his way to the lip of the pool. The stones emitted their greenish incandescence through the darkened water.

  That will have to do, he thought as he waded into the lake, inhaled, then dove into the murk. If the incandescent stones weren’t radiating their eerie glow, he would have been completely blind. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to both salt and shadow and he gradually began to take in his surroundings.

  The water, at its deepest, was about twenty feet deep with a solid, stone bottom. Besides the tiny schools of fish, there was no movement within the pool. The Djinn hovered just above the floor, scanning the almost perfectly circular lake for…he saw something to his right.

  Kicking off the bottom, he sped to the southernmost wall of the lake until he could make out the beginnings of an intricately carved archway that reached to just below the waterline. From above, it would have been practically invisible due to the slime and algae that skimmed the surface.

  Pulling out his spore-covered scimitar, he used the blade’s light to see past the almost imperceptible entryway and beheld a narrow staircase leading up through the tunnel walls.

  Of course, he thought as he swam to the steps. It’s brilliant. The perfect security measure. A person could get into the Library from the lake, but they couldn’t leave with any of the parchments or scrolls housed inside without utterly destroying them with water. A person would be able to read all they wanted, but would never be able to remove them.

  Feeling the slight tug at his lungs signaling that he was beginning to need air, he swam up the staircase until his head broke the surface. The stairs continued up for about another twenty-five steps and opened suddenly into a vast, unlit chamber. Only the green glow of his sword provided any illumination. He looked along the wall to his right and then his left, until he found the wooden stalk of a torch resting within a sconce. There was no telling how long the torch had lain dormant within the room, but the Djinn was confident that any pitch that could have been used to light it had long since evaporated.

  Fortunately, the man who’d struck such fear in the hearts of Gregory’s knights, had come prepared. Reaching into his pouch once more, he pulled out a silver container and poured the contents along the head of the torch. The acrid stench of whale oil wafted up from the liquid as it soaked into the fabric. Then, striking his flint against the stone wall, the torch burst into life.

  With a much brighter light source, the Djinn took a moment to soak in his surroundings. The chamber he’d entered was by far the largest within the complex system of catacombs underneath Jerusalem. Spreading far beyond the meager circle of illumination, the room was lined with row after row of shelves, tables, chairs, and stepping stools. Standing beside each of the reading desks was a single candelabrum that could be used to read by.

  The Djinn moved his gaze up to see a forest of cobwebs hanging haphazardly from the rafters that supported the vaulted thirty foot ceiling. A bronze chandelier hung uselessly above him, devoid of any discernible candles that might have been used to light the room even more.

  All right, he thought, suddenly feeling light-headed. The loss of blood was starting to catch up to him. Best find the book and be on my way.

  Raising the torch above his head, he walked along the first row of shelves, carefully scanning the wax seals that secured each of the manuscripts housed within the library. Though he wasn’t exactly sure what he was searching for, he’d been told that he would know the correct scroll when he saw it. The medallion had said something about it being “within the Warden’s mind”…whatever that meant. But he figured that if he found this Warden, he would be able to find the Sefer Yetzirah.

  Having searched the first three rows, he moved on to the next, moving deeper into the vast Library. He jerked to a stop at the sound of shuffling in the darkness behind him. He spun around and tried to peer past the torch’s flame, but to no avail. Shrugging his apprehension away, he continued his search. After ten more minutes, he’d scoured every shelf in the entire room and had not found it. He was just about to move back to the beginning and start the search all over when another sound caught his attention…this time, it was the sound of something brushing up against the wall to his left.

  He remembered the stealthy form of the hashshashin that had been following him since leaving Isabella’s chateau. Had he tracked him down to the Library? Had he managed to find his way into this very room and now lay in wait within the protection of the shadows?

  Somehow he doubted it. If Emir was there, he no doubt had skill enough to remain completely undetectable. No, someone else was in the chamber with him. And that someone was currently stalking him.

  Easing his sword from its scabbard once more, he slowly placed the torch on the ground and melted into the darkness. Though the luminescent spores of the fungus still clung to the blade, the glow was minimal, allowing the shadows to wrap around his dark frame with ease. He stole through the labyrinth of shelves, his senses heightened as he searched for his hidden stalker.

  Sweat beaded across the Djinn’s brow. He felt weak, dehydrated. His injuries were catching up to him and he knew that a prolonged confrontation with anyone would be the end of him. If he didn’t take care of this swiftly, he’d find himself a permanent resident within the subterranean Library.

  He caught a blur of motion to his right and spun around, but whatever he’d seen was gone.

  “All right,” he said aloud. “Enough of this game. It’s time to change the rules.”

  Digging into his pouch, he pulled another object wrapped in silk and opened it up. In the palm of his hand, he held a strange putty-like substance, peppered with shavings of a metal the old man had discovered on a journey to Asia. Similar to the fire powder he’d learned to harness, the metal, when applied to heat, would burn with the brightness of the noonday sun. The Djinn had been loath to use it because the metal was extremely rare and very expensive. But he could think of no other way to locate his stalker than by removing the very shadows in which he hid.

  Placing a fuse within the putty, he lit it and hurled the object high into the air. Hearing a satisfying thud, he knew the sticky substance now clung to the ceiling. He clenched his eyes closed tight, counted to three and…the sudden burst of light irradiated through his eyelids, burning at his retinas. Slowly, he opened his eyes…blinking back the brightness that threatened to blind him. A white hot orb adhered to the ceiling sent a blazing trail of light over the entire chamber. Every shelf…every scroll…every particle of dust shined beneath the artificial sun.

  He spun around, looking for his stalker and jerked involuntarily at the sight of a hulking mass of clay only six paces away from him. The thing that lumbered more than nine feet tall was shaped, for the most part, like a human. Its massive hammer-fisted hands were clenched tight and raised above its strange, faceless head. A series of strange symbols and intricate alien glyphs were carved into its clay-like flesh. And although the thing did not have an animal shaped head like those within the treasure chamber of Solomon’s Vault, the Djinn knew he was looking face to face at a golem. But unlike those that Gregory desired to reanimate, this one was already alive. Inexplicably breathing. And hunting the Djinn.

  16

  The golem charged without warning, its powerful arms swinging toward the Djinn’s exposed head. Although the creature’s speed belied its massive size, he managed to avoid the hammer-like blow by diving out of the way.

  Rolling to his feet, the Djinn spun around and threw his dagger straight at the monster’s face. The blade sunk deep, burying itself to th
e hilt inside its head, but still the golem kept moving.

  Moving. How on earth does it even move? Though the clay that comprised the golem’s body was soft and malleable, there were no obvious means to make an otherwise inanimate object ambulate. No skeletal structure to give it form. No discernible joints or musculature to empower movement. For all intents and purposes, the golem was merely a chunk of clay with pillar-like arms and legs. It was like watching a marionette whose locomotion was dependent entirely on the muscles and tactile manipulations of another.

  But the mystery of the golem didn’t end there. As the fire metal burned itself out and the chamber began casting elongated shadows around them, the Djinn doubted that being doused into darkness once more would offer him any protection at all. The golem was also devoid of eyes, which begged the question of how it was able to “see” in the first place. Though he was most definitely a man of science who had preyed upon his enemies’ superstitions, thus tricking them into believing he was using the forces of the spirit world to do his great deeds, the only possible solution he could fathom to account for the golem’s very existence was simply…magic. Nothing else made sense.

  But he had the luxury of contemplating the monster’s mysteries no longer. Almost faster than the eye could see, the golem dashed toward him once more, backhanding him before he had a chance to move, and sending the Djinn sprawling across the stone floor. Before he could pull himself to his feet, the hulking form reached down, grabbed him by the face, and lifted him off the ground. As he hung helplessly within the monster’s grip, he could feel moist clay oozing through the porous linen fabric of his hood and into his mouth and nose. Desperately trying to wrest himself free from the thing’s gelatinous grip, he pounded against the golem’s face as hard he could. Though blinded by the massive hand engulfing his face, brilliant flashes of light shot through the Djinn’s retinas as the last bit of oxygen was squeezed out of him.

  Consciousness was quickly waning and he knew that if that happened, all would be lost. In a last ditch effort, the Djinn reached into a pocket within his cloak and pulled out a twelve-inch iron tube with a spring-loaded piece of flint attached to a handle. The contraption was of his own design, and although he’d not tested it enough to trust in most circumstances, there was no longer anything to lose.

  The golem’s grip oozed its way to envelope his entire head, but the beast began to apply the slightest amount of pressure as well…as if trying to crush his victim’s skull in addition to suffocating him. An untested weapon was now his only option.

  The Djinn’s thumb fumbled with the spring-loaded flint and pulled it back. Holding it steady, he lifted the tube and pointed it near where he believed the monster’s face to be, and released. The flint struck a metal bracket housed within the tube, which ignited a pouch of highly compressed fire powder and iron pellets. With a deafening blast, the tube discharged its contents and suddenly, the Djinn found himself released from the golem’s grasp. Falling to the floor, he gasped for breath as he looked up to gawk at his handiwork. The right side of the golem’s face was completely decimated, giving the creature’s head the appearance of a crescent moon. The iron shrapnel and concussive blast from his firetube had shredded the viscous clay flesh as easily as a shovel to a grave. And although the giant didn’t so much as make a sound, its torment was quite evident as it thrashed around the chamber holding its head.

  Still trying to catch his breath while simultaneously collecting his thoughts, the Djinn took a closer look at the monster as it writhed. Something shiny…metallic…protruded from the crater to the right side of its head. In the flickering light of the torch still burning on the ground, he could just make out a brass cylinder—similar to those used to house a precious scroll.

  Suddenly, the riddle of the Sefer Yetzirah made perfect sense. The medallion had said the Book of Creation would be “within the Warden’s Mind.” Only he’d mistranslated. A better interpretation would have been “within the Warden’s skull.” The scroll he and Gregory had been searching for had been inserted into this monster…who acted as a guardian to keep it from falling into foolish hands.

  The Djinn shook his head with a rebuking chuckle. “And there’d be no one more foolish than me,” he said aloud to the writhing golem. “If left alone, the book would have been safeguarded for years to come. But now that I’ve found you…exposed your scalp…it would be only a matter of time before Gregory’s men recovered it.” He sighed. “No. There’s nothing to it. I’m sorry my friend, but I must relieve you of your burden now.”

  The golem, as if hearing the Djinn’s words—though it had no ears—stopped its anguished gyrations and seemed to tense.

  “It’s all right, though,” he continued, as he prepared to move the second the monster charged. “I plan not to use the book for evil gains, but rather safeguard it much the same as you.”

  His platitudes did not seem to appease the golem, who raised both fists in the air in a defensive posture. The thing appeared to be awaiting the Djinn’s first move, which brought them both at an impasse.

  The monster was smart. Realizing that a steady defense would be the greatest offense, it intended to allow the interloper to draw near enough to it to crush it within its powerful hands. The Djinn, on the other hand, would have to figure a way to get near the creature without that very thing happening…and with the element of darkness not being of any use at all for a foe with no discernible eyes, he was beside himself on just how to do it. The only way to get to the scroll would be to somehow immobilize the golem.

  But how?

  Inching over to the torch on the ground, the Djinn crouched slowly, picked it up, and glanced around the dimly lit Library. There wasn’t much to work with. His firetube had been destroyed when he’d used it to break free of the golem’s grip; its barrel shredded apart like a flower blossom. His sword would be no help either. It would have as little effect on the creature as his dagger had. There were no other tools at his disposal, but a few bookshelves, a desk or two, and the candelabrum that stood next to them.

  There’s something I’m missing. Something….

  He stood stock still, emptying himself of the fear and turmoil that cluttered his mind. The golem continued its statue-like vigil, waiting for his enemy to strike. But the Djinn knew it wouldn’t wait indefinitely. Soon, it would renew its attack and it would be over.

  So what is it? What am I missing? What can I use to stop this behemoth?

  Slowly, he backed away from the golem, moving slowly toward the eastern wall. The clay man stepped forward, following him cautiously. The Djinn edged his way around the library, his back against the wall as he scanned the room more thoroughly. Sidestep. Two. Three. Four. The monster continued to keep the same distance between them. Moving parallel to the intruder.

  Splat.

  The Djinn looked down from where the sound came. A small puddle of water pooled on the stone floor from a stream of condensation along the wall. He tapped his foot in the water once more in thought.

  Splat. Splat.

  A smile spread across his veiled face when he realized what it meant. Though the entrance to Solomon’s hidden library had been above the waterline of the underground lake, the river that fed it must have been higher up. The condensation was a product of the water currents on the other side of the wall. Slowly, he reached into his pack and, with both eyes firmly fixed on the golem, rummaged from what he was looking for. Soon, his fingers latched onto a small silk pouch of tightly wrapped fire powder.

  Makes sense, the Djinn thought as he considered the implications behind the river. A creature of moist clay would need a humid environment. Otherwise, he’d dry up. Become brittle. Hard. Immobile.

  Of course, the very thing that had prolonged the monster’s life for all these centuries was now about to become the very thing that would end it.

  “I’m sorry,” he said to the hulk before him. “I’m truly very sorry for what I’m about to do. But I really have no choice.”

  The
golem’s crescent moon head cocked slightly to the left as the Djinn lifted the silk pouch to the torch’s flame, dropped it to the floor the moment the fuse sparked to life, and dove toward the nearest writing desk to protect him from the impending blast.

  He barely made it in time. Just as he pulled the desk up as a makeshift shield, the silk pouch burst in a blinding flash, rending a jagged hole with the stone wall. A stream of water gushed through, spreading the opening wider and wider apart until a tidal wave of pressure punched through the wall and filled the entire chamber. Both the monster and the Djinn were suddenly swept off their feet and carried along the whirlwind currents of the enraged subterranean river.

  Struggling to keep himself from crashing into the debris and stone walls, the Djinn kept his eyes trained on the golem as it floundered helplessly in the flooding chamber. He watched patiently for what he hoped would come…and come before he ran out of air. Gradually, the rush of water subsided and the two foes hovered in the water. They both had finally stabilized and their standoff resumed once more.

  And then he saw it. The golem’s arm wavered in the water. Its feet began to twist and swirl. Its barrel-like torso began to dissolve before his very eyes. The sheer amount of water within the now ruined library was simply too much for the creature’s clay body to absorb and it began to melt away rapidly into oblivion. After no more than a minute, the entire creature was nothing more than a hovering mass of mud floating harmlessly before him.

  Without the golem’s mass, the brass encased scroll sunk rapidly to the floor. The Djinn dove down, snatched it up, and made his way back down the staircase and into the underground lake. Another ten seconds and he was exploding to the surface sucking in deep gulps of delicious air and clutching the Book of Creation in his trembling hand.

  He was so weak. So tired. As he dragged himself to the shoreline of the underground lake, all he wanted was to lie down and sleep for days.