The Witch Hunter Chronicles 2

by Stuart Daly

  ‘So let’s have a closer look at these symbols,’ Armand says, drawing us back to the task at hand, knowing that every second we pass in discussion is yet another second lost. ‘Maybe they will provide some clue as to what needs to be done.’

  And so our analysis of the mysterious symbols carved on the ivory discs begins. Each disc contains the same ten symbols, and whilst they are clearly legible, carved by some firm hand before Sodom was swallowed by the Dead Sea, we can make no sense of them. It only takes a few minutes before Armand shakes his head and steps back from the door.

  ‘Does this make sense to anyone?’ he groans. ‘Because I’ve got no idea as to how we are to go about this.’

  Von Konigsmarck scratches his head in bewilderment. ‘It’s got me baffled.’

  As my companions start to discuss the possible meaning of the symbols, I try to block their conversation from my ears, not wanting to be distracted. Rather than being nonsensical markings, the symbols obviously have meaning – but I’m at a loss as to whether they represent abstractions or concrete objects. It’s also possible that they might represent letters from some ancient alphabet, long lost to the memory of man. Knowing that I work best in silence, I burn a mental picture of the symbols in my mind and wander down the corridor.

  Kneeling down at the edge of the perimeter of light cast by Francesca’s and Blodklutt’s lanterns, I produce a piece of chalk from my pack and draw the symbols on the stone floor. Then, resting back on my haunches, a hand toying my chin in thought, I focus on the symbols, determined to unlock their secret.

  Deep in thought, I lose track of time, and I’m shocked when Blodklutt, Armand and von Konigsmarck file past me and assemble at the portcullis, their weapons drawn in preparation for combat.

  ‘Any luck?’ Blodklutt asks, looking back at me as he produces his copy of the Malleus Maleficarum from its calf-skin case.

  I run a hand through my hair in frustration. ‘No. What about Francesca?’

  The Captain shakes his head. ‘Best if you go back and join her by the door. Things are going to get messy down this end.’

  ‘What? Has our time run out already?’ I ask, jumping to my feet in alarm, struggling to believe that our precious hour has expired.

  ‘Any minute now those walls are going to open and the undead will come swarming through,’ Blodklutt says. ‘But this portcullis is going to rise, too. Before the trap is reactivated, and the portcullis lowers again, we,’ he gestures at Armand and von Konigsmarck, ‘are going to slip under it and buy you and Francesca the time you need to open that door.’

  ‘But you can’t!’ I protest. ‘It will be suicide!’

  Blodklutt’s eyes are without compromise. ‘If you can’t open that door, we will all die here. All of this would have been for nothing. We have come too far to fail at this, and I’m sure we are close to our goal. We must find the Tablet of Breaking and destroy it. Nothing else matters. My life is a small price to pay to save the world from destruction. And if my life can grant you a few extra minutes to unravel the sequence, then it would have been well spent.’

  I attempt to voice further protest, but suddenly the floor starts to vibrate, and a deafening grinding sound forces us to stare through the rising portcullis at the opening walls of the adjoining chamber. Then our ears are assailed by an even louder sound, and our terror-filled eyes are drawn to the far side of the retracting walls where, from the darkness, a hellish roar resonates. A swarm of undead have amassed in the shadows and are about to tear into us.

  ‘Jakob – you need to move back,’ Armand advises, his eyes locked on the darkness from where the undead will appear. He gestures for me to fall back with a swish of one of his sabres.

  ‘But Armand . . .’ I find myself lost for words, unable to accept that this may be the last time I see him alive.

  ‘You know you need not worry about me,’ he says, looking into my eyes and smiling. ‘You get that door open, and I’ll meet you on the other side. On that, I give you my word. And it is not your destiny to fall here. God has a greater design for you, and I feel it lies in the Low Countries with your father. Did I not promise that I would accompany you on that quest? Once given, my word is never broken. Rest assured, I will meet you on the other side of that door. But first, you must get it open. Now go – for you and Francesca are our only hope now. Godspeed, young Jakob.’

  I stare at Armand, reminded of my own belief that providence has guided me to the Hexenjäger, and, indeed, will guide me to find my father in the Dutch Republic. In spite of the fact that I believed I would never abandon my comrades in their time of need, I know I will be of little assistance standing by Armand’s side and fighting the undead. Our only hope of survival lies in opening the door. I clasp Armand’s hand in a bond of friendship and give him one of my pistols, then I race up to Francesca and focus on the lock.

  Despite the severity of our situation, I take a few seconds to close my eyes and draw in some deep breaths. The only way we are going to get out of this corridor is if we can determine the correct sequence, and so I empty my mind of all thoughts other than the mysterious symbols on the lock. We’ve come too far and lost too many comrades for this mission to fail. We’ve circumvented some of the deadliest traps devised by the ancient mind: a pit lined with stakes; a pool of acid; a rotating column covered in scimitar-like blades . . .

  Scimitar-like blades.

  My eyes flick open. A tingling sensation runs across my skin as I realise that one of the symbols on the discs resembles a scimitar-like blade, standing alongside what could be interpreted as a column. Believing I’m on the verge of some great discovery – a discovery that could see us escape from this corridor – I stare at the lock and recall the sequence of traps we have encountered since entering the mausoleum. First there was the pit with the stakes. Next came the subterranean cavern with the underground river, the room flooded in acid, the shaft, and the corridor lined with pressure stones that when activated, shot arrows from the holes in the walls and ceiling. Then there was the rotating column covered in blades, the corridor with the closing walls, the pit full of spiders, the portcullis, and, finally, the corridor we are currently standing in – its walls riddled with holes, from out of which something will shoot if we enter the incorrect lock sequence.

  Ten traps in total.

  Ten traps that correspond with the ten symbols on the discs.

  I turn to look at Francesca, my heart pounding. ‘I’ve worked it out. The symbols on the discs are a map – a map of the traps we have encountered!’

  Before I start putting the symbols in their correct sequence, I look over my shoulder – intending to let the others know of my discovery, and that they will no longer need to sacrifice their lives in performing a delaying action – only to have my blood freeze.

  For they have already slipped under the portcullis . . . and it has closed behind them, sealing them to a fate far worse than death.

  ‘No!’ I cry, and go after my companions, a hand already locked around the handle of my Pappenheimer rapier.

  Had I unlocked the secret of the symbols only a few seconds earlier I would have been able to save them!

  But Francesca grabs me by the shirt and pulls me back to the door. ‘Do not make their sacrifice in vain. Complete the sequence and open the door. We have been entrusted with completing this mission. We must press on ahead. Besides, the way back is blocked by the portcullis. You won’t be able to reach them.’

  I spin around to grab Francesca and pin her against the wall. ‘I don’t care! I’m not leaving them behind. I can’t. So what if the portcullis has been lowered? I’ll use my remaining pistol to shoot through the bars until I kill every last one of the undead. But I’m not leaving my friends. I’ll enter the code for you and open the door. But that’s as far as I’m going. My destiny lies back there – with the others.’

  ‘Even if it means
certain death?’

  I stare Francesca hard in the eye. ‘I won’t leave them behind.’

  Francesca’s shoulders slump resignedly. ‘Then it appears there’s nothing I can do to stop you. But I still need you to unlock the door. At least do that for me.’

  Releasing hold of Francesca, I enter the sequence and, without a moment’s hesitation, pull down on the lever. The next instant, there’s a loud metal clunk as the door’s internal release mechanism is activated. The door swings open.

  ‘Find the Tablet and destroy it. End this. And may God be with you,’ I say to Francesca, and turn to make my way back down the corridor.

  Catching me by surprise, she grabs hold of me and pushes me through the door, into the chamber that lies beyond. Losing my footing, I collapse on the floor. Before I can rise to my feet, Francesca jumbles the combination on the lock, enters the room after me, and slams the door shut, blocking the way back.

  ‘Are you mad?’ I cry out with barely controlled rage and go to push past her. ‘What have you done?’

  ‘I’m saving your life,’ Francesca says calmly, taking hold of me to prevent me from reaching the door. ‘You have a strong sense of loyalty, Jakob. In other circumstances I’m sure I’d find that quality admirable. But in this case, it is foolhardy. I know you want to help your comrades, but there would be little, if not nothing, you could do to assist them. Their fate is sealed, and you should not be so eager to join them. If I hadn’t jumbled the lock and closed the door, it would have only been a matter of minutes before the undead came swarming in here.’

  ‘But we can’t just leave them!’

  Francesca’s eyes are soft with genuine sorrow. ‘Believe me – it does not rest easy on my conscience. But we had no other choice than to follow through with Blodklutt’s orders. Our companions are granting us the time necessary to destroy the Tablet of Breaking, and I’m going to need your help in doing that.’

  ‘I thought I understood you, but I don’t,’ I say, shaking my head.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I thought we held the same values – that we wouldn’t leave friends behind. You weren’t prepared to leave me behind in the pit. So why the sudden change of heart? You were so critical of Blodklutt’s decision to leave Armand and me behind. But you’re no different.’

  Francesca’s eyes narrow defensively. ‘I refused to leave you behind because you had no choice. You were forced to hide in the pit due to circumstances beyond your control. But Blodklutt and the others have made a conscious decision to stay behind, and that is where the difference lies. As I said, it does not rest easy on my conscience, but it was their choice.’

  ‘Then why can’t it be my choice, too? Or do you think I’m too young to make such a decision?’

  ‘That’s not fair,’ Francesca says, hurt evident in her voice. ‘I thought you knew me well enough to know that I’d never judge you because of our age. What type of a hypocrite would that make me? I’ve been judged my entire life by men, questioning my abilities because of my age and gender. Do you really think I would do the same to you?’

  I shake my head in frustration, overwhelmed by the futility of our situation. ‘I don’t know what to think any more. You talk of destroying the artefact, and we haven’t even found it yet. And I don’t think we ever will. These passages will never end. We’re all just going to end up dying in here. This situation is hopeless.’

  ‘It’s not as hopeless as you may think.’ Francesca looks past me, her eyes wide with disbelief as, for the first time, she notices what lies in the chamber we have entered. ‘You obviously haven’t seen where we are.’

  ‘What?’ I say, barely listening to her words, my thoughts elsewhere, imagining the battle raging beyond the portcullis, where our friends are fighting for their lives.

  ‘Just turn around and have a look,’ Francesca says.

  It’s only now I realise that I haven’t even inspected my surroundings. ‘Why? What new trap have you thrown us . . .’ I begin, but find myself speechless when I turn around.

  I stare in awe at a sight that takes my breath away.

  A broad staircase descends ten feet to the floor of a massive chamber. Its walls, stretching back hundreds of feet, and climbing to almost half the height of the cliff-top monasteries at Meteora, are riddled with plenty of flickering torches, stretching from the floor to the ceiling. They were obviously set alight by some mechanism hidden within the walls the instant we opened the door. The ceiling itself is set at a sharp angle to the floor, sloping to the left. But it’s not only the sheer size of the chamber that is mesmerising, for it houses thousands of shelves, filled with scrolls and parchments, and chests and barrels brimming with ancient treasures.

  And there, standing in the centre of the chamber, is an enormous boat – the largest I have ever seen, well over several hundred feet long and towering above us, its hull supported by a huge wooden scaffold. As large as the vessel is, it is nonetheless dwarfed by the sheer size of the chamber.

  ‘Surely that can’t be what I think it is,’ I say, pointing at the boat, my mind numb from the discovery we have made.

  ‘It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?’ Francesca says, shaking her head in wonder. ‘But I think you’re right. We’ve entered the Hall of Records – the repository of ancient artefacts and knowledge. We are seeing what no human being has seen for over several thousand years. These are the collected treasures of the ancient world. Somewhere within here lies the Tablet of Breaking.’ She pauses as she jerks her chin at the boat. ‘And if I’m not mistaken, that is Noah’s Ark.’

  ‘It’s best we start searching for the artefact,’ Francesca says, having overcome her initial shock. She makes her way down the stairs, her voice and footfalls reverberating down the chamber, sounding alien and intrusive in this realm of ancient secrets.

  ‘But where do we start?’ I follow after her, raising my hands in a gesture of futility. ‘This chamber is colossal. It could take us days to search through here before we find the Tablet of Breaking. This will be like trying to find the proverbial needle in the haystack.’

  ‘You are forgetting that we have the advantage of knowing what the artefact looks like,’ Francesca says, looking back at me and raising a finger to emphasise her point. ‘We were shown a sketch of the Tablet back in Burg Grimmheim, so at least we know what we are looking for. And I very much doubt that whoever made this chamber planned on hiding the artefact. Although this hall contains the secrets of the ancient world, only one of its treasures is capable of destroying Creation itself. I’m sure that the Tablet of Breaking is the most prized – or at least the most feared – possession in this collection. We will not find it hidden behind some dust-covered parchments on the most inaccessible shelf of some tucked-away cupboard. No – it will most likely be resting in a place of honour, separate from the rest of the artefacts. I’m sure we will find it standing as the solitary object on a table or dais.’

  ‘Let’s hope you’re right,’ I say as I reach the bottom of the stairs. I waste no time in moving off into the collection of relics and scrolls, my eyes darting left and right in search of the Tablet.

  And so our hunt begins. Like a museum of antiquity, there are splendours to behold on every table and shelf, and I repeatedly find myself reminding Francesca to stay focused, and to put down a scroll or parchment she has unwound and is busily trying to decipher. As a member of the Custodiatti, Francesca has just made the greatest discovery of her life. Not even in her wildest dreams could she have ever imagined that the Hall of Records would be so vast and house such a collection. Under other circumstances, I’m sure she would spend decades in here, carefully cataloguing each and every parchment and relic before wrapping them in cloth and securing them in straw-filled crates for safe passage back to the Vatican. But we have a far more important mission to accomplish, so Francesca has to be content with the few odd scrolls
and relics she places within her pack before being forced to continue her search.

  Having explored the left side of the hall, amidst its hundreds of bookcases, tables and shelves, we eventually reach the far end of the chamber, a distance of over two hundred yards from the staircase and the only, as of yet, discovered entrance – or exit – into the hall. And it’s there, the sole object on a gold podium, which itself is positioned in the centre of a circular platform, rising some two feet above the floor and over five yards in diameter, that we locate the Tablet of Breaking.

  We have reached the objective of our mission, and for a while we stand there and stare at the artefact, overwhelmed by the enormity of what we have accomplished.

  Just as we are about to step up onto the platform to collect the Tablet of Breaking, a grinding sound carries from the far side of the chamber. Turning around, we see the sealed door pushed open, and a cloaked figure armed with duel sabres rushes into the Hall of Records.

  I blink back against the impossibility of what I see.

  Armand!

  Not even a heartbeat later, Blodklutt and von Konigsmarck chase after him into the chamber and start to make their way down the staircase. Blodklutt is holding his wounded shoulder, and von Konigsmarck has a hand clutched across his chest, as if he is nursing some terrible injury.

  But they have survived. They have achieved the impossible, having somehow managed to hold the undead at bay for over an hour.

  Any sense of elation in seeing my companions alive again is dashed aside when I see the mass of undead swarm through the doorway only seconds behind them. They are led by the two remaining Watchers, which, to my horror, are accompanied by Friedrich Geist, Reinhold Mordghast, Diego Alvarez and – in a cruel twist of fate – Dietrich Hommel.