Gates of Hell

by J. F. Penn

  "I think he'll be alright," she said. "But you'll want to get him home as soon as he's stabilized."

  "Do you want me to mobilize an agent to take his place?"

  A beat of silence. Morgan thought of the wounds Jake had suffered by her side; the deaths of the men in the desert of Tunisia. She remembered the groans of Khal El-Souid, beaten in the caves of Mount Nebo while on her quest. She brought suffering to those who worked alongside her, and she couldn't face the thought of putting anyone else in danger.

  "I … won't be on my own. Mikael Levy worked with my father, he's a Kabbalist but also ex-military. Don't worry, Martin, I have my backup, so please don't send anyone else."

  There was a hesitation. "If you're sure, but Morgan, please be careful. I can't have all my friends in hospital."

  Morgan smiled a little. "I certainly don't want to end up there." Although she wondered if perhaps hospitalization was on the more positive end of the equation when it came to the Gates of Hell. "Can you get back to me with travel details ASAP? I'll sort out comms when I land."

  "Of course, back soon."

  The chopper landed at Dimona military base, and a pair of medical staff ran towards the helicopter with a stretcher. The two soldiers helped lift Jake out, strapped him down and then wheeled him off towards the medical building, as the helicopter's blades stopped spinning and relative quiet descended. The military base was busy, always alert and in motion, as all bases in Israel were. The threat was constant, the training continual, and this was a world Morgan knew – that all Israelis understood.

  "Your friend is in good hands," one of the soldiers said, his dark eyes kind. "I know others who've been bitten round these parts and they've made a full recovery when treated quickly."

  "Thank you," Morgan said. "Your help saved his life, and mine."

  "He who saves one soul, it is as if he saves a whole world." The young soldier blushed, as he recited the motto of the Israeli Medical Corps.

  Morgan climbed out of the helicopter as another soldier came running up, a cell phone in his hand.

  "This is for you," he said, handing it to Morgan. "There's someone on the line and the phone is yours when you're done." Morgan could see deference in his eyes, and she wondered what strings Martin had pulled this time, what story he'd spun to get this kind of attention. Whatever it was, she was grateful.

  She put the phone to her ear and her eyes widened as she heard what Martin had discovered.

  Chapter 24

  "Seriously?" Morgan said. "I'm going back to the Czech Republic?"

  As Martin explained where she was headed, dark memories resurfaced from the night when she and Jake had confronted a demon in the bone crypt of Sedlec chapel. The scar throbbed in her left side where its claws had ripped through her skin, and her hand instinctively rubbed at the old wound. She barely heard Martin's words now, her frown deepening as foreboding rose within her. They had barely escaped with their lives that night and now it seemed she was going back to that area, as Martin had traced Kadmon's group to Houska Castle, just a few hours north of Sedlec.

  "The military are going to transport you back to Tel Aviv," Martin explained. "Then I've arranged a private charter plane from there. I'll send the details of the castle to your phone and you can read it en route. It's only around four hours' flight and because of the one-hour time difference, you'll be there before midnight." His words brought visions of torchlight and evil swirling through her mind. "Let me know when you get there and what else you need," he continued. "There'll be a care package in the hire car when you get to Prague. Be safe, Morgan."

  As she hung up, the helicopter's blades began to spin again. She ducked and ran back, hoisting herself into the belly of the chopper. They ascended into the darkening evening, and Morgan gazed out across the Negev desert. The shadows on the dunes seemed to move, twisted figures emerging from the rocks, a promise of desolation in the way they slunk across the barren earth. The Key had been hidden in the caves of Sodom, a place legend said God had destroyed because of human depravity. It made her wonder what it could possibly unlock.

  Morgan dozed on the short transfer to Tel Aviv and managed to go through the motions of necessary paperwork to leave the country. She had a brief thought of calling her friend Dinah, who worked near Jerusalem – of sleeping in a real bed and laughing about old times. It seemed that whenever she came to Israel, Morgan found herself dashing about on a mission for ARKANE, but perhaps she could just forget all this for one night. She soon dismissed the thought, however; memories of her father lingered, his scribbled last words urging her onwards. Kadmon was within reach, and he didn't know she was coming.

  Once on the private plane, their heading locked in for the Czech Republic, Morgan finally allowed exhaustion to catch up with her. The flight would be a few hours, so she pulled on an eye mask, set the alarm and sank into a deep sleep.

  The alarm woke her too soon, and Morgan sat bolt upright in the cabin, the darkness broken only by flashing lights on the wings outside the window and the green cabin safety strips. For a moment, she thought she was back home in her little Oxford house, but then the roar of the plane brought her back to reality. She shook her head, clearing the fog, and went to the galley area to make the thick dark coffee that was her addiction.

  Returning with a steaming cup, the aroma stimulating her senses, Morgan checked her phone, opened the file that Martin had provided and devoured the information.

  A hundred kilometers north of Prague, Houska Castle had been supposedly haunted since the ninth century and was now in private hands. Martin had traced the ownership to a shell company owned by Luis De Medina, the man they knew as Adam Kadmon. Morgan flicked through pictures of the castle, mostly older shots with unclear images of the place. It didn't look like anything special, just another crumbling Eastern European estate. Morgan thought of Trafalgar Square in London, and the levels of ARKANE's secret base underneath that few knew of. Appearances could be deceiving indeed.

  Records of previous building plans showed a level under the structure that was rarely seen, a series of secret caves only accessible by those who knew how to find them. Martin had noted that the castle's defenses were considered strange, as they didn't face the outside to protect those within. Instead, they faced inward towards a central courtyard, as if trying to prevent something inside from getting out.

  The report detailed that the chapel was built over a bottomless well, claimed by locals to be the gateway to Hell. All kinds of ghosts had been sighted there, from headless horses to chains of tortured men and black-winged creatures that threatened those who tried to investigate further. Its lore was so powerful that during the late 1930s the Nazis had taken over the castle and carried out experiments on dimensional portals and other fringe occult practices. Rumors had also circulated that it was where they kept women of pure blood to service officers and multiply the master race. Now it seemed that Adam Kadmon was trying to open whatever dark gate lay beneath the castle.

  Morgan laid the smart phone down and gazed out the window, the dull roar of the plane almost hypnotic as she stared into the shifting black shapes of the clouds outside. The clash of her belief systems jarred her, as it seemed to in every ARKANE mission. The scientist in her, the psychologist who believed in the empiricism of observable truth, knew that there could be no gate to Hell, that Kadmon's quest was just a fantasy, and the Key purely an artifact of curiosity with no real power. That part remembered her father as a man who had found his God in Kabbalah, his spirituality in the letters of the Torah and friendship with the men of the Remnant.

  But that side of her had been squeezed into a smaller box by what Morgan had seen with ARKANE and the powers she now knew worked in the world. The Pentecost stones, the Devil's Bible, the Ark of the Covenant, and more recently the staff of Skara Brae – these were experiences she could not explain in any scientific manner. This interpretation made her father into the practitioner of a powerful mysticism, murdered for his ability to commune with the i
nfinite.

  Morgan sipped her coffee, the turbulence of the plane reflecting her inner state. Kadmon was just a man, but did the Key make him more than that? Would Mikael stand with her when it came down to confronting whatever dark power lay beneath Houska Castle? Her father had trusted him, or at least that's what Mikael had said. She had no way of knowing if he spoke the truth. Help me, Papa, wherever you are, Morgan thought, as the seatbelt light came on and the plane began to descend.

  Morgan drove out of the Prague city limits, the care package Martin had left next to her on the seat. Knowing her penchant for speed, Martin had managed to get her an Audi R8 Spyder convertible. With the top down, the night air was chill but it made her skin glow and her eyes sparkle with pleasure. She darted through the empty streets, heading north and east, the roads narrowing as she approached a more rural area. Morgan reveled in the power of the vehicle, shifting gears to speed around corners, her body barely moving, foot pressed down on the accelerator. The euphoria made her smile, tasting the exhilaration of movement, truly alive in these moments where risk edged closer to oblivion. She glanced at her watch. Just over two hours until the dawning of the day of reckoning, when many believed the veil to the other worlds was thinner, more permeable.

  Finally, she rounded a corner and saw Houska Castle, lit from below to emphasize its imposing presence. It perched on the edge of a rocky sandstone cliff, its Gothic hall hugging the side of the mountain. The dense forest encroached as far as it dared, leaving a distance between the edge of nature and the domain of man. Morgan had read in Martin's notes that the castle was never meant to be inhabited. There were no kitchens, no water source, no proper fortifications and it had been nowhere near trade routes when it was built in the thirteenth century. It was only constructed to keep the demons from escaping the Gates of Hell and the chapel was built directly on top of the pit, in the hope that the power of the faithful could keep them from ascending.

  From this distance, the lights in the castle seemed to be concentrated in only one section, far from the tourist entrance. Morgan didn't have enough time to approach with care and she wasn't expected, so she drove right up to the car park. The area was dark and there were no guards, no sign that anyone was here at all. She parked and slid out of the car, tucking the gun from Martin's package into her jacket pocket alongside the page from the Sefer Yetzirah. She pulled the head torch out as well, but didn't turn it on, spending a moment absorbing the atmosphere.

  The night was still and quiet. Morgan took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the pine forest below the escarpment. The stars were brighter away from the city – some of them seemed to throb, pulsing with power. A chill wind picked up dust from the ground and whirled it around in a mini tornado. As Morgan blinked and rubbed her eyes, she heard the nicker of a horse and the sound of hooves on the tarmac beneath the wind. She whirled around, her vision still blurred. There behind her, standing proud, was a huge black stallion. Its mane hung in dark waves, its eyes wide with terror. It pawed the ground, whinnying, its gaze fixed on the air behind her.

  Morgan put a hand out.

  "There boy, it's OK," she said, wondering where it had come from, how it could have appeared from nowhere so quietly. It seemed spooked by something behind her. She turned to look and the wind picked up, further whirling the dust around them with violent force. Pieces of stone and glass began to surge into the air. She put up her hands to protect her face as the particles bit into her skin. She pulled her sleeves over her hands and watched in horror as the sharp objects cut into the horse’s flesh.

  As blood began to drip from his skin, he reared up, lips curled back in fear. Morgan stepped away from the powerful hooves. She couldn't stand to hear his pain, wanting to help but knowing she couldn't do anything. The cuts deepened on the horse's neck, dark blood pulsing from the wounds. He crashed down and galloped past Morgan, rushing headlong towards the cliff edge, drops of thick blood falling to the ground as he thundered to the brink.

  "No!" Morgan couldn't help but shout, her hands outstretched as the horse leapt out into the void. But as she watched, expecting to hear the dying scream as it fell, the horse disappeared into the black – not falling but just fading away.

  The wicked wind gained in ferocity and Morgan pulled her jacket closer about her, watching as the drops of horse's blood faded on the ground beneath her feet until it was as if they had never been.

  A moment later, she heard a huffing sound behind her and turned to see the same magnificent black stallion pawing at the ground. His eyes were tortured, intelligent, as if he knew that he was doomed to repeat this painful end into eternity.

  "I'm so sorry," Morgan whispered, understanding now that this was just some replay of a long-ago event, a glitch in the environment of this dark place. She stepped towards the main doors into the castle, her heart hammering in her chest. What else was trapped here on the edge of reality?

  Chapter 25

  Sofia stumbled as the men dragged her down the stairs and into the stone chamber below the castle. It was cold and damp with a chill that penetrated her bones, every breath a freezing inhalation. Her mind was foggy with the drugs they had given her over the last few days, but she was aware of the space around her, the sound of their voices. There was an excitement in the air, anticipation of something, and she forced the giddy nausea down as she tried to make sense of what was happening.

  Adam Kadmon knelt by a gigantic round trapdoor set in the middle of the room. He reached out with one hand and placed it gently on the surface, whispering a prayer of some kind. His back was bent as if a heavy load pressed down upon him. For a moment, Sofia saw beyond the lunatic he had become to the man of faith he had once been. He rose and turned, walking towards her, and she straightened her back, standing proudly to face her captor. She was a Rueda, and she would not back down, even now.

  "Sofia." Adam's voice was soft, a caress on his lips. He reached out to stroke her cheek and she froze, unflinching as he touched her. "You should have been my child, but your mother was deceived. She loved Javier when she should have chosen me." His face contorted, a glimmer of suffering from years of obsession. "I tried to win her, but he held her heart until death." Adam closed his eyes for a second, and when he opened them, Sofia saw tears in his unscarred eye. "Her death was a mistake, you have to know that. The car bomb was only meant for Javier …"

  He shook his head and turned back towards the trapdoor. Through the haze of drugs, Sofia felt the impact of his words ricochet in her mind. This man had killed her whole family, threatened the man she loved and now held her captive for some unseen purpose. Sofia tugged her arms out of her captors' grip, her energy taking them by surprise as she lunged for Adam.

  "Bastardo," she screamed at him as she raked at his face with her nails. She drove him back onto the trapdoor as she attacked, her grief and rage exploding into violence. The guards rushed forward to restrain her, but Adam grabbed her arms, pinning them behind her back and pulling Sofia against his body.

  She struggled violently in his grip, trying to bite his face, desperate to draw blood. He grabbed her hair and pulled her head back, his strength pinioning her.

  "Shhh," he whispered. "You can't win. This is how it must be."

  With one last burst of strength, Sofia twisted in his arms but he held her tight until she could struggle no more, collapsing in his embrace.

  "My father was a good man," she sobbed. "My mother loved him because he was everything you could never be."

  Adam's grip tightened in her hair at the words, pulling until Sofia winced in pain. He bent to her neck and inhaled the scent from her skin.

  "You have no idea what –"

  His words were cut off as the trapdoor under their feet vibrated and a deep boom resounded in the chamber.

  "It begins," Adam said, his voice triumphant. He pushed Sofia away, back towards the guards. "Secure her."

  Two of the men dragged her to the other side of the chamber, lifting her onto a gigantic sarcophagus. Sofia
fought them with every last ounce of energy, screaming as they tied her down onto the cold stone. Across the room, she could see another captive being secured to a pillar, his mouth gagged, hands bound. His gaze met hers, and Sofia felt a moment of hope that he was there to save her.

  The boom came again from below the castle, echoing through the chamber and resounding through the stone at her back. Adam leaned over her, a cloth in his hand. Sofia caught the scent of chloroform and she twisted in her bonds, turning her head away from the drug that would take her back into oblivion.

  "I'm sorry." Adam closed his eyes as he brought the soaked cloth to her mouth, holding it there as her struggles subsided. "I'm sorry Blanca, my love."

  Chapter 26

  The great door to Houska Castle was carved with the writhing bodies of demons as they climbed over the damned, pricking them with great pitchforks. In the daytime, Morgan might have smiled at the appeal to tourist dollars by emphasizing the supernatural vibe. But with the bleeding horse galloping endlessly towards the cliff edge behind her, the door had a more sinister quality, a promise perhaps of what lay within. She pushed against it and the door swung open on silent hinges, revealing a dark corridor stretching inwards.

  Morgan pulled her head torch out and the light flared, casting a bright path onwards. She stepped inside to find paintings upon stone walls, plinths for sculptures before them. There was no one inside, no sense that a presence was waiting in the dark, no sound other than the wind and the thump of her own rapid pulse. Morgan stepped inside and the door swung back behind her. She reached a hand to stop it, but the door was too heavy; it clunked shut. Nausea rose and her heart hammered, her mind screaming to get out while she still could. She shut her eyes, summoning her father's calm face. He had sent the book to her to stop the Gates of Hell being opened. She couldn't turn back now.