by David Wood
Kaylin hurried up and shone her flashlight down into the well. Unlike the other wells they had seen, this one was only a few feet deep.
“What’s back there?” Bones asked, pointing into the gloom. Kaylin redirected the light to reveal a stone coffin. It was every bit as large as those of Goliath and his brothers. They moved forward to examine it. Kaylin shone her light across the lid. Something was carved on the surface, the deep shadows cast by the flashlight’s beam distorting the image. As the beam fell directly onto the image, Kaylin gasped.
The being carved into the coffin lid was like no other Maddock had seen. It was tall, much like Goliath, but impossibly slender. Its arms were disproportionately long for its body and ended in large hands with long, wormlike fingers. The odd appearance did not end there. Its head was too big by a third. Garbed in a simple robe, the odd being had large, round eyes and a serene face. Just looking at it gave Maddock a strange sense of inner calm, as if this were the gentlest of beings.
“I told you, dude. Little green men,” Bones whispered. “Well, big green men in this case.”
He placed a tanned hand on the lid and pushed. With a soft, scraping sound, it gave way, exposing a sliver of darkness where the lid shifted from the lip of the coffin. “It’s not beveled,” Bones whispered in surprise. He pulled his own small flashlight from his pocket and shone it down into the coffin. Maddock and Kaylin hurried over to look inside, but Bones turned the light out before they could reach his side. He looked up, the disappointment evident on his face even in the semi-darkness. “Empty,” he said.
The crystals on the wall had now absorbed enough stray light to cast a dusk-like glow around the room. Aside from the well and coffin, the room was obviously empty. Nonetheless, they made a quick search, looking for any sort of hidden egress, but they found nothing.
Leaving the room, Maddock led them to the right. They moved counterclockwise around the second story hall, turning left at each corner. They found that each hallway was exactly like the one before: courtyard window at the center of the inside wall, doorway to an empty burial chamber on the outside wall. At each inside corner, a spiral staircase wound down to the first floor.
The differences between the crypts, as Kaylin called them, were few. Two of the rooms lay directly above the underground river. The wells here emptied down into the water. The biggest differences lay in the images carved on lids of each empty sarcophagus. In the second room, they found the image of a squat, simian-looking hominid with a prominent brow and short, thickly-muscled legs. Its face was angry and exuded violence. In the third room, they found a representation of a small creature, no more than four feet tall. In terms of proportion, the body was very much like that of a human child. The features of its narrow face were those of an adult though its eyes were vaguely impish.
They stood now in the room that lay upstream of the main chamber. The carving on this sarcophagus was that of an angel, but unlike any angel Maddock had ever seen. No trumpet-bearing herald or Valentine cherub, this creature was fully ten feet tall, with broad, powerful shoulders, a narrow waist, and muscular legs. It wide forehead shaded narrow, slightly upturned eyes. Wrapped around its shoulders and cloaking its body were huge wings, rendered in such fine detail that Kaylin reached out and stroked the feathers.
“It’s beautiful, yet somehow fearsome,” she whispered. “The artistry… it’s amazing.”
“Yeah, but the coffins, the rooms, they’re all empty,” Bones said. “I don’t get this place. All of these halls are just alike. I guarantee you that downstairs on the other side of the river is nothing but a mirror image of the side we were on. Just an empty, square tunnel.”
Something clicked in Maddock’s mind. “It’s a deathtrap,” he said, suddenly quite certain of himself. Anyone who finds this place just runs around in circles while whoever is defending the place picks you off one-by-one.”
“So why haven’t they gotten us yet?” Bones asked. He paced to the open doorway as he spoke, looking into the hallway.
“Maybe they’re so busy slugging it out with the other guys that they haven’t really paid us much attention,” Maddock said, shrugging. The answer was not satisfactory, but he had no other at the moment. “That, and we’ve been lucky.” He inwardly winced. The three of them had been lucky, but not Meriwether.
“Why did they even build this place?” Bones said, turning back to face Maddock. “If it’s a killing ground, then it’s here for a purpose. It has to exist to protect something else.” He paused as a faint tremor shook the room. “So what is it protecting?”
“Don’t know, don’t care anymore,” Kaylin interrupted, putting a slender hand on the sarcophagus as if to balance herself. “I’m sure I’ll wonder about it later, but all I want right now is to get out of here.” As if to punctuate the point, a quick burst of gunfire, the first they had heard since reaching the second level, echoed down the corridor.
“But where do we go?” Bones asked. “The tunnel’s blocked.”
Something in what Bones had said earlier gnawed at Maddock’s consciousness. The thought broke through with a sudden and surprising clarity. “I’ve got it!” he said. “If the two halves of the first level are mirror images of one another, then there should be…”
“A tunnel leading back to the well!” Kaylin said, completing his thought. “There was more than one tunnel leading off of the well. The guys who shot at us in the main room must have come in that way.”
“But won’t they be guarding the exit?” Bones asked.
“They weren’t guarding the other one,” Maddock said. “Besides, if that’s the only way out, does it really matter? Maybe our luck will hold, and we can slip out of here undetected.” If the battle between the two yet-unidentified groups continued, perhaps the three of them could slip through the net. “You take the lead. I’ll bring up the rear. With my legs the way they are right now, I can’t keep up with you anyway.”
“No freaking way. We’re not going to leave you,” Bones said.
“I’ll make it. Just promise me that, no matter what happens, you are to get Kaylin out of here. I’ll take care of myself.” He gave Bones what he hoped was his most commanding stare.
Bones stared back for a moment before shrugging. “Whatever, dude. Let’s try for the exit,” Bones led the way out of the room. Turning left, they ran to the end of the hall, where it turned to the right. Like the other three corners, a stone staircase spiraled down from the inside corner. They mounted the steps, moving with care and listening for any sounds of approaching enemies. As they wound their way down to the bottom, he thought he heard distant shouts coming up from below. He bit his lower lip and steeled himself for another firefight.
They hit the bottom of the stairs at a trot. Bones looked around quickly and shouted, “Run!” He sprinted out the door, spraying bullets down the hall to the right.
“I’ll cover you!” Maddock called to Kaylin. Gripping his Walther in his left hand, he reached around the doorway and blindly fired three shots down the hall. Then, giving Kaylin a push, he leaped out in front of her, opening up with his weapon.
Bones had taken out one man. He lay limp on the ground, his rifle near him. Two others, wearing the same style white shirt and brown pants as the man Meriwether had killed, charged down the hall, firing erratically. Maddock fired another burst, then turned and ran around the corner. Ahead of him, Kaylin reached the end of the hall and disappeared to the left. He had been right. There was a tunnel there!
Behind him, another shot rang out, and a voice shouted in English for him to stop. Is this guy kidding me? Maddock thought. He dodged right, then left, thankful that the pursuers did not have automatic weapons.
He was within twenty feet of the tunnel when another tremor shook the ground. This one was the strongest yet. He fell hard, his Walther clattering from his grip. He still held on to the rifle, and turned and fired another burst at his pursuers, who had fallen to the ground. Both had lost their weapons, and Maddock, still oozing wi
th cold anger over Meriwether’s death, took them out without compunction. He hopped to his feet and turned around. What he saw made him curse. The mouth of the tunnel had collapsed.
Chapter 29
Before Maddock had time to contemplate being cut off from his friends, shouts and footsteps reverberated down the corridor to his right. Not waiting to see who was coming, he turned and sprinted back the way he had come. How was he going to get out of here?
He reached the corner and the stairs they had just descended. More voices came from his left. Cut off from either avenue on the first floor, he dashed back up to the second floor. As he climbed, he considered his options. They were few. He supposed he could try to work his way back up the river, but the current was so strong, he would likely be swept away. It might be worth a try. He could always try going down one of the sacrificial wells. He had not seen any handholds or tunnels coming off them when he had examined them before, but he could have easily missed them in his haste.
He reached the top of the stairs and heard even more voices and footsteps that seemed to come from all around. Whoever these men were, they were converging on his position. His luck had run out. Taking a chance, he dashed to the north room, the one with the angel on the sarcophagus. Just as he ducked through the doorway, he caught a glimpse of several brown and white clad men rounding the corner. Their attention was focused on a black-clad man whom they held at gunpoint.
Maddock hurried to the edge of the well. Knowing that he did not have much time, he scanned the interior for handholds. Seeing none, he took one long look at the faint glimmer of the water far below. It was much too far to jump.
The voices were closer now. He turned and looked at the giant stone coffin. He had no other choice. Giving the lid a hard shove, he slid the end to the side, creating just enough room to squeeze through. He clambered in headfirst. Flipping over onto his back, awkward with the sword still strapped over his shoulder, he reached up and scooted the lid back into place.
The voices drew near. Maddock realized, to his chagrin, that the men were coming into the room where he was hiding. He strained to hear what they were saying. Someone was speaking in Arabic.
“I don’t speak your language, primitive,” a deep voice, brimming with arrogance, replied.
“Very well,” a strange, almost musical voice said. “Tell us, please, who you are and why you come armed into the temple.”
“I won’t answer any of your questions.” A heavy grunt told Maddock that the man had been punched in the stomach.
“Answer my questions truthfully, and you will be released.” The odd voice spoke again. “I caution you: God will tell me if you lie, and it will go badly with you.”
“We are the agents of God,” the deep voice snapped, “the Order of the Blades has been sent to stamp out the heresy of the sword. God’s dominion is at hand, and we shall not permit anything that could erode the faith of His believers to come to light.”
“The sword has been gone from this place for many years. In any case, there is no heresy in this place, only a celebration of God’s creation.”
The prisoner laughed a sharp, nasal sound. “Don’t you know? Someone has brought the sword into this very place. That is why we are here: to stop them and take the sword.”
“Are you certain?” The speaker did not try to hide his surprise. “How do you know this thing?”
“A man confessed to his priest that he had found the key to finding the sword.”
Maxwell, Maddock thought. He must have been worried about how the world would receive the discovery of the sword, so he bared his soul to Father Wright. And he paid for it with his life.
“Knowing the damage it could do if the sword came to light, the church neutralized the man,” the speaker continued, “but he had passed the clues along to his daughter. We tracked her to this place.”
“You have done an evil thing.”
“Protecting the faith from this alien relic is not evil,” the man said. “Rienzi spouted his heresies about God being a spaceman, and about alien creatures populating the earth. Had he been able to support his claims, the church might have been destroyed.”
The man with the lilting voice laughed long and hard. “The sword is not an alien relic. True, its origins are not of this earth, but neither are they detrimental to the truth of God.”
“The church believes that they are,” the man hissed.
“Where does your loyalty lie, to your God, or to your church? They are not necessarily one and the same, you know.”
“Heretic!” the man shouted. Maddock heard sounds of a struggle. “What are you doing? You said you’d release me!” the man cried, his voice strident.
“The well will be your release, my son. You will be released from the bondage in which your church holds you. Make your peace with God, whatever the name by which you know him.”
The prisoner’s angry cries were suddenly squelched by a gurgling sound. Maddock had heard that sound before: a knife across the throat. They had killed the man and dropped him into the well. He had to get away before the same fate befell him.
He waited, listening, as the men conversed in Arabic. A few forceful words from the man with the strange voice, and then footsteps running from the room. He waited. What if they were not all gone? What if they came back? He started to count backward from three hundred, struggling to count slowly. A new thought came to him. How much air was in this coffin? He had noticed cracks around the edge of the lid and hoped that some of them were allowing air inside.
He completed his countdown, five minutes, as close as he could guess and took a deep breath. He had not heard a sound since the men left the room. He could not remain here forever. He had to take a chance. Pushing the lid aside as gently as possible, he squeezed out. As his feet hit the ground, he heard a voice behind him.
“Welcome.”
Maddock whirled about, rifle at the ready. The man who stood before him was old--very old. He wore a loose-fitting brown robe, cinched around the waist with a thick length of rope, over beige homespun pants and shirt. Short, snowy hair peeked out from under a brown head cloth. He had a closely-cropped white beard and mustache. Shining in his leathery face, heavily lined with age, his alert, gray eyes looked past Maddock, his gaze settling on the hilt of the sword.
“You did return the sword,” he said in amazement. Maddock recognized the musical voice instantly. This was the apparent leader of the group-- the one who had ordered a man sacrificed. “It seemed too much to hope that the barbaric man spoke the truth.”
“Who are you?” Maddock barked. The man was not physically imposing, nor did he seem to offer a threat, but Maddock kept the rifle trained on him just the same, ready to fire should the man call for his minions.
“I am Atiq Yomin. In your language, the “Ancient of Days.” He pressed his hands together and bowed his head.
“Are you trying to tell me you’re God?” Maddock asked, trying to convey in his voice all of the scorn that he felt.
“No,” the man laughed, “it is but a title given to one of my standing in the community. You may call me Atiq.”
“All right, Atiq,” Maddock said, “are you planning on calling your cronies back?”
Atiq made a clucking sound. “Your behavior is very rude. I have given you my name, but you have not yet identified yourself. In any case, as you are an intruder in my domain, you should permit me to ask the questions. But I shall indulge you none the less, as I see you are agitated. No, I do not expect my men to return to this place anytime soon. They are scouring the temple.”
Maddock knew that he had few cards to play, and Atiq was likely his only way out of here. “The name’s Dane Maddock.”
“Do you plan to shoot me, Mr. Maddock?”
Maddock was caught off guard, not only by the directness of the question, but also by the calm way in which the question was asked.
“I guess that depends on how things go,” he said. “If that’s what it takes to get out of here alive,
I’ll do it.”
“You are an honest man. I appreciate that.” Atiq scratched his beard. “May I know why you are returning the sword to the temple, Mr. Maddock?”
Maddock wanted to lie to the man, but something about Atiq compelled him to tell the truth. The man had a hypnotic air about him, almost holy. “An old friend of mine learned that the sword had been found and then lost almost two hundred years ago by a man named Rienzi. My friend was killed for what he knew. We found the sword, which led us here.” Even as he spoke, he could not believe that he was telling this man his story.
Atiq turned and paced back and forth. He looked up at the ceiling. Each time he passed the stone sarcophagus, he let his fingertips trail over the edge of the stone lid. “So many came to Petra and left again,” he whispered, “that we did not know who had taken the sword. We were inattentive to our duties.” He stopped pacing, shook his head, and then turned to face Maddock. “On behalf of the Protectors, I must thank you for returning the sword. It lessens our shame.”
“Well,” Maddock said, “we weren’t trying to return the sword. We just wanted some answers.”
“We?” Atiq appeared calm, but his eyes retained their intense stare. “You are not alone?”
“The daughter of the man who was killed came with us, along with two of my friends. They got away. At least, two of them did.” Inside, Maddock still seethed when he thought of Meriwether.
“And have you found the answers you seek?” Atiq sounded as if he were toying with Maddock.
“Not all of them,” Maddock admitted. “Obviously, it was this ‘Order of the Blades’ that was following us. They killed my friend. But…”
“But you have other questions yet to be answered.” Atiq was not asking.
“Yeah, like who built this place? What is it? What does it have to do with Goliath?” All the confusion he had felt, further clouded by adrenalin and grief came spilling over. “This place isn’t anything! It’s like you made it just to trap people and kill them. But what are you protecting here?”
