Breanne’s shoulders slumped. She wanted to call the hospital to check on her dad or at least talk to Ed. She needed to know they were okay. Paul had done his best to set Ed’s busted leg, but he had passed out from the pain and her dad was… God, she hated to even think it. He had never woken after he was exposed to the God Stones. He was in a coma.
“Oh dear, worrying won’t do you well,” the librarian said with a frown. “Now, I’m sure you children have much to focus on with your project. I will come get you if the phone comes back up.” The librarian turned her attention back to the paperback.
Breanne turned away, following the others down the stairs into the lower level of the library.
“Welcome to my office,” Pete announced proudly, as he led everyone over to the big, round table at the far end of the long basement room.
Once huddled around the table, Breanne and Paul exchanged detailed accounts of the days leading up to today. Everything from finding the God Stones during the dig on Oak Island to the strange dreams of fire that led her to Petersburg and to Garrett. She told them about the bones in the swamp, the Templar cross, the altar, and the worst part – when Apep showed up and killed their friend Jerry. Pete and the others had heard some of it at the dojo, but the full story was frighteningly unbelievable.
Pete focused on bringing Breanne and Paul up to speed on the rest of it, carefully recounting the finding of the journal in the basement of Eugene’s old Victorian, President Lincoln’s involvement, discovering the initialed bricks inside the culvert, and the run-in with Jack.
“The journal had just been there behind the wall of the basement for all those years? What are the odds? It almost doesn’t seem possible, right?” Breanne said in astonishment.
Pete stared at her in amazement. “Breanne, you’ve got to be kidding. Your story about what happened on Oak Island is way crazier than what we’ve had going on.” Pete waggled a finger in the air. “But now that you mention it, I guess none of this really seems possible, right?”
“No, I guess not, and you can call me Bre. That’s what my friends call me.”
“You know,” David said, twisting the corner of his mustache. “Mr. B did seem to believe in this prophecy angle. Now that you mention it, it’s kind of weird. Like, what are the odds all this would happen the way it happened and when it happened? You think there could really be something to it?”
Paul rolled his knuckles across the table and shrugged. “I don’t know. But I know I had a dream about that Templar guy and Bre had a couple. She even dreamt about Garrett. Seems like that should say something.”
As the conversation wound down, worry consumed Bre’s mind. Every minute that passed seemed to take longer than the one before it. Soon all conversation ceased, and nervous silence fell upon them.
In the quiet moments that followed, the lights in the basement flickered, flickered again, and went out. Absolute darkness folded in around the new friends as they sat waiting in the basement of the public library, just as it did for the entire town of Petersburg.
4
Settling Old Scores
Wednesday, April 6 – God Stones Day 1
Petersburg, Illinois
The inferno spread strangely across the walls of the dojo. Mr. B caught the erratic movement of the flames in his peripheral vision as they multiplied all around him, little miniature fire beings taking humanoid form as they danced and skipped across the walls, pausing as if sizing up the distance, then jumping from wall to ceiling. On the ceiling they summersaulted, crawled, and rolled back and forth, as if trying to put themselves out, defying gravity as everything they touched turned to flame and the ceiling became an inferno. The God Stones were at work, affecting everything just as Turek said they would. Keep them sealed in lead and never open the chest.
Mr. B slashed again and again, slashing and stabbing with the sword but finding nothing but air. The raw power of the God Stones permeated the room, enhancing his focus, and with the energy surging through him, he stepped right foot over left and spun, using his momentum to lash out at Apep with a spinning sword strike of such speed it seemed to defy the laws of physics.
Apep, with all his power, could not dodge the blade strike. So, instead of dodging, he somehow willed the blade to slow, forcing it to stop an inch from his face.
Mr. B’s eyes widened as the sword stuck fast, motionless, hanging in the air as if wedged in an invisible tree. He didn’t allow his shock to last long though. Reflexively, he let go of the sword completely and stepped in close to Apep, launching a vicious jab square into what must have been, judging from the sound of breaking teeth on knuckles, the mouth of the shadowed man.
The sword dropped free of its invisible hold as a stunned Apep staggered backward off balance.
Extending his foot beneath the sword’s hilt, Mr. B caught the blade just before it hit the ground, kicked it back up, and snatched it by the hilt.
From beneath Apep’s hood came a cry of agony.
A confident smile formed on Mr. B’s face. “I’ve spent my days preparing for the time when you would show yourself again. Honestly, I’m disappointed. I find you lacking.”
Apep spat a mouthful of blood dotted with broken bits of teeth onto the mat, his body shifted, and it was apparent he no longer found this amusing.
Mr. B set his feet.
Apep swept his flaming sword in a wide upward arc.
Mr. B leapt backward. The blade missed, but the whip of electric-blue fire extending several feet beyond the sword tip bit deep into his shoulder. He turned his face just in time to avoid losing his left eye but not his ear. He screamed and cursed under his breath as his ear fell to the mat.
Apep grinned through his broken teeth.
Mr. B wasted no time stepping inside Apep’s guard before he could draw back his sword for another strike. Feinting with his sword hand as if preparing to swing, Mr. B thrust out with his right leg and front-kicked Apep in the ribcage, feeling bones break against the ball of his foot.
Apep grunted, instinctively placing his hand over his ribs.
Mr. B sidestepped a piece of falling ceiling tile, set his jaw, and lunged forward, thrusting his sword toward Apep’s throat.
Tiny sprites screamed with excitement as they rode the falling tile to the mat.
Apep slapped the blade away with the palm of his hand and stomped down with his booted foot.
The bones in Mr. B’s bare foot crunched audibly as white-hot pain blotted out his vision. He wanted to scream out in agony but refused to give Apep the satisfaction. Instead he shut his mouth and clenched his teeth so tightly they threated to crack under the pressure.
As the ceiling burned overhead, the little flaming figures yanked and pulled at the ceiling tiles, breaking them loose in chunks that rained down all around Mr. B. Giggles and laughter came from everywhere. His vision quickly cleared when he wiped a sleeve across his face, but the pain remained.
He dared to take his eyes off Apep just long enough to glance into the flames. A fire sprite grinned wickedly, its long red hair shooting up off its head in spikes of flames that waved back and forth like a tree in the wind. But there was no wind, only a stifling hell. The tiny fire sprite punched its little fist into the ceiling, grunting, yanking, and laughing. The sprites jumped from the fallen tile to the mat and began to spread, three becoming six and six becoming twelve – each tenacious in their desire to consume anything combustible. Some of the sprites chewed at the mat, others pulled and ripped, while some gleefully danced about, spreading tiny little footprints of fire that quickly grew into new sprites.
Apep leapt over the flames toward Mr. B, smashing the pommel of his sword against the bridge of Mr. B’s nose before spinning and striking with a downward arc.
Mr. B felt the sword coming and tried to spin away, but both the blade and the fiery whip slashed and burned across his shoulder and back, opening a long gash that bit deep into bone. Mr. B felt warmth spill down his back as a stream of bright red gushed from his crushe
d nose. The blood pooled on the vinyl mat beneath him, slippery under his feet. He took two painful steps to the right to find new purchase beneath him.
A brief pause, a moment nine hundred years pregnant, as the two men stared down a hate for one another that stretched nearly a millennium.
Mr. B switched his sword to his left hand. All around him flames closed in, nearly impossible to dodge and even harder to breathe through. Suddenly a fire sprite leapt from the burning mat to the lower leg of his dobok. He slapped at the sprite. The sprite put its hand over its mouth in mock disbelief then split into two, then four, then six, quickly consuming his whole pant leg. Mr. B swatted back the sprites with an open palm. Each time he struck a sprite it exploded in a rain of sparking embers. The sprites fought back, grasping with their tiny hands around his fingers and biting at his knuckles. The flames blistered his hands, but despite the pain he was finally able to slap the fire out. Desperate to put distance between himself and the sprites, he shuffled sideways away from the nearest floor fire.
In his frantic efforts to put out his burning dobok he’d completely lost track of Apep. He jerked his head up, quickly scanning the dojo. Smoke and flame filled his vision, but no Apep. Then he heard something strangely and horribly wrong. It came from inside him, this wrong breaking sound.
Mr. B dropped to his knees.
The blue fire whip drew back through his chest and lungs as Apep pulled the sword from Mr. B’s spine.
Mr. B fell backward onto the mat, his sword bouncing out of his hand. He tried to reach for it, but his hand wouldn’t move.
“Didn’t Turek teach you?” Apep said, squatting down next to the old master. “Never lose your focus.”
Mr. B lay on his back, sucking in short gasps of breath. Something else was wrong – something below him. He tried to look down toward his feet, but it was a futile effort. He couldn’t lift his head. He wondered why and his face furrowed as he tried to understand. He was pretty sure at least one of his legs was on fire. Only pretty sure though, because it wasn’t the pain telling him he was burning. Mr. B could no longer feel pain, nor could he feel his feet, or even his legs for that matter. However, his sense of smell was still intact, and he was quite certain that the foul stench assaulting his nostrils was his own hair, skin, and flesh as it burned. In the background he could hear the sprites’ giggles and laughter.
Apep spat blood and held his side, oblivious to the pain of his broken ribs. “Bah! I told you, so weak and pathetic! I told you! I would watch your flesh burn. Oh, yes, indeed! And I’m in no hurry. I think I’ll stay a while, watch the flames crawl up your body until they find the parts that still feel. Then I’ll savor your screams as you beg me to finish you. And do you know why? Do you know why?!” Apep shouted. “I’ll tell you why. Because you wronged me just as your master wronged me. You got in my way. You took part in delaying my destiny! A destiny you know nothing of!” He paused only long enough to suck in a deep breath. “I will watch the light go out in you with the satisfaction of knowing you can do nothing to stop what is to come.”
Mr. B had no more interest in Apep; he managed to get his head to turn away. He stared toward the back of the dojo and he smiled. “Go, my sages. Go and finish this,” he whispered.
Apep’s face twitched as he followed Mr. B’s eyes down the hall. He bent closer to him, trying to hear. “What are you babbling about? They were just here, weren’t they? And what did you tell them? Where did you send them?” Apep asked, a slight hint of concern betraying his voice.
Mr. B managed a gargled chuckle. “I… told you… you’re too… late.”
“Well, I best be on my way then. Give my best to Turek.” He stooped over the dying master and thrust the flaming sword into Mr. B’s chest.
Searing pain beyond the world consumed him as the steel scorched flesh and fractured bone. The last thing Mr. B felt was his heart combusting into flame.
No. No, I am not too late. In fact, everything is going perfectly to plan. Still, a sense of urgency pulled at him. Apep didn’t know why, but now he felt he must hurry. It was irritating really – he so wanted to relish this moment. He straightened and held open his coat as one by one the God Stones returned single file to the pocket of his duster. Despite his newfound sense of urgency, he gave the now-burning Grandmaster Brockridge one final appraisal, allowing himself only a brief moment to bask in his victory. Finally, his eyes came to rest on the erect sword protruding from the burning man’s chest. Its hilt rocked ever so slightly back and forth, slowing a little more with each sway, until it stopped completely. Satisfied, Apep ripped the sword from Mr. B’s chest and spat in his face. The blue flaming whip retracted as the blue fire faded away.
The entire dojo was a fulminating inferno, and yet Apep walked unharmed through the flames. The tiny fire sprites parted, providing an unobstructed path as he made his way toward the back door of the building. The boy will try to warn his parents of my presence, then he’ll lead me to the temple. Perfect. It seems tonight is a night of unsettled scores.
5
When the Time Is Right
Wednesday, April 6, a few moments earlier –
God Stones Day 1
Petersburg, Illinois
Jack squinted as he blinked back tears of pain. He had been hit in the head plenty, but he had never felt pain like this. Heavy smoke poured from the hole in the wall of the karate place. Wiping his eyes on his flannel sleeve, he got to his feet. He had no idea how long he had been unconscious, but weird flames had already consumed the opening, and he couldn’t see a way to get inside.
If Garrett and everyone else were still in there, they would have to escape out the back – and soon. He ran as fast as he could along the chain of storefronts until he reached the intersection and circled around to the alley. Jogging back toward the karate place, he heard it – someone heaving. Carefully, Jack crept close, staying in the shadowed edge of the alley until he reached the backside of the dumpster behind the pizza place. He knelt down and listened. He could hear people just on the opposite side talking.
The first voice he heard was Garrett’s. “I have to go home and warn my parents about Apep.”
Then David saying something about a temple before that little weasel Pete piped up. “But I still need to tell you about the journal, Garrett. You’re not going to believe this!”
He knew it! Pete had translated the whole thing.
Suddenly, there was a loud sound of breaking glass followed by an explosion of fire across the alley. Jack pressed himself up against the dumpster, instinctually slapping his hands over his ears.
“Holy mother!” someone shouted.
Jack shuffled to his feet, peeking out from behind the dumpster in time to see the group moving away from the karate place. Flames poured freely out the back now, but they didn’t look like any flames he had ever seen before. These looked strange – almost… alive. Quietly, he maneuvered to the other end of the dumpster as he watched the group begin to move down the alley.
The last voice Jack could make out was Garrett directing the rest of the group to the library and then the drainage tunnel. A moment later they were gone. Jack stepped out from behind the dumpster. He knew it. There was way more to that old journal than they let on. Something major was going on. He looked back toward the flames pouring from the building. He couldn’t see past the back doorway, but he could hear shouts and the sound of metal striking metal. Sword fighting?
Garrett had said the drainage tunnel was a short walk from the library. There was only one drainage tunnel he knew of close to the library, and he was willing to put money on it being the same tunnel he had followed Lenny and Pete to the other day. Okay, Garrett. I’ll see you and your friends at the tunnel and then you’ll have to face me. First things first. He was going to need some help.
A shadow appeared in the flames. It was the cloaked man from earlier. He walked through the fire. No, not through it. It moved for him. Jack froze, still as a cobra, too late to try and hide now. The ma
n paused in the doorway holding his side. He said something Jack couldn’t understand. Blue-grey, smoke-like stuff came from his fingers in streams, snaking into the man’s side and into his face. After a moment, the grey-blue smoke disappeared. The cloaked man let go of his side and stood up straight.
The man stepped down from the doorway into the alley and fixed his eyes on Jack. “You were in the street earlier, were you not?”
Jack nodded.
“I felt you there, Jack.”
Jack’s eyes went wide at the sound of his name.
“I feel something else too. Hate. So much of it. Enough to fill an ocean.”
Jack swallowed hard.
“You know what else?” The man didn’t wait for an answer. “Power, Jack. In time you can harness your endless pool of hate into power, and I can help you.”
Jack recognized something in that moment – call it a feeling or an instinct, or maybe it was just plain desperation. Whatever it was, he felt it – the weight of it. The weight of the moment. Something important. Jack couldn’t articulate it if he tried, but he could feel it sure as heat from a flame. Now and then the sun shines on even a dog’s ass, and today the sun was finally shining on his. Jack cleared his throat, finally finding words. “I know where Garrett is going. I know what he has and… and where he is going. He has this journal and—”
“Ah, good,” the man interrupted, stepping closer to Jack. “But I already know these things, Jack. Go, follow your path. Follow your plan and when the time is right, seek me out.”
“But how will I find you? How will I know when the time is… right?”
“My name, Jack. All you will need is my name. You will know when to speak it,” the man said, turning away from him.
“Your… your name?”
The man paused but he didn’t turn back. “My name is Apep.”
The Keepers Of The Light (God Stone Book 2) Page 4
