by David Wood
“To answer your first question, God built this place,” Atiq said, giving a small bob of the head.
“God,” Maddock replied flatly.
“Yahweh, Allah, Jehovah, whatever you wish to call the supreme deity,” Atiq said. “But I can tell by your tone of voice that you will not accept that answer. Consequently, I cannot answer your other questions, as you will not believe those answers either.”
“There is no God,” Maddock muttered. He looked Atiq directly in the eye. “If there’s a God, who loves us out there, why do people die?”
“We all die, Mr. Maddock,” the old man said with casual indifference. “That is a reality of our mortal existence. I should think you, as a man to whom violence appears to be a close friend, would be intimately familiar with the concept of mortality.”
“I’m not talking about ninety year-olds who die in their beds. I mean young people who have their whole lives ahead of them. A God who loves us wouldn’t let that happen.” He had no idea why he was unloading years of pent-up anger on this strange old man. Atiq, for his part, took it calmly.
“You are obviously a military man. Odd that a man who has been trained to kill has such high expectations for his God in terms of saving lives. When you shoot a man, do you expect your loving God to come down and heal him so that you may shoot him again and again?”
Maddock did not answer. The man was talking nonsense.
“Do your parents love you, Mr. Maddock?” Atiq asked, folding his arms across his chest and sitting down upon the stone coffin.
“My parents were killed in an auto accident. So was my wife,” Maddock said bitterly. “God didn’t bother to save any of them. But yes, my parents loved me.”
“I am sorry for your loss,” Atiq said simply. For some reason, Maddock actually believed that the old man meant it. There was an air of simple sincerity about him that suggested he did not say things he did not mean. “Did these loving parents approve of your choice to take up arms for your nation?”
Maddock nodded. “My Dad was career Navy. So, yeah, they were proud of me.” What was the old man getting at?
“But surely, loving parents would not permit their child to do something dangerous. Does a loving parent permit his child to go to school, where the child could contract an illness, or possibly be harmed by another child or even by an adult?”
Maddock stared at the ground. He did not have an answer for the old man.
“Free will, Mr. Maddock. Your loved ones exercised their free will to operate a motor vehicle, statistically a dangerous undertaking. Just as you made a choice to enlist in the armed forces. Just as you have, no doubt, exercised your free will to take a life, or perhaps more than one in your time.
“Sometimes we use our free will in ways that harm others. That is regrettable. But without free will we are little more than robots.”
“But what about babies who die? What about cancer? Natural disasters?” Maddock pressed. “Why is everything so arbitrary?”
Atiq chuckled. His eyes took on a faraway stare. “I once had a discussion with a friend of mine from China.” The man caught the surprised look in Maddock’s eye. “I do live in the world. Being a Protector is my calling, but I live and love just as you do. My home is not in this place beneath the ground.” He paused to let this sank in. “At any rate, my friend and I were discussing the ending of a Chinese movie. The character did something that flew in the face of all reason. Even with my friend’s attempts at explanation, I could find neither practical nor symbolic meaning in that character’s choice. He finally grew frustrated, threw up his hands, and said, ‘You simply do not understand the Eastern mind.’” He turned and looked at Maddock. “It occurs to me that if I cannot understand the mind of my fellow human being, how can I ever presume to know the mind of God?”
Maddock stood in silent contemplation of the old man’s argument. In his bitterness over losing Melissa, he had been so confident in his belief that there was no God. What Atiq said was far from satisfying, but perhaps it could be true.
“God is real,” Atiq said, standing and moving to stand face-to-face with Maddock. “This place is the proof. If you have the courage to return the sword to its resting place, you will see that for yourself.” As the old man spoke, another tremor shook the room. Maddock staggered back before regaining his balance.
“There were three tunnels coming off of that well shaft. Two of them are blocked. Show me where the third one is before this place comes down on our heads.”
Atiq stared at the gun, his face void of all emotion. “Do you think I am afraid to die?” he asked. “For I am not.” He fixed Maddock with an appraising look. “Here are my conditions: put down your weapons and return the sword to its proper place. Only then will I show you the way out.”
“I don’t have time for this,” Maddock said. “These tremors are getting stronger. Take me out of here.” The last, he said slowly, pronouncing each syllable.
“This place has seen worse,” the old man replied. “You have heard my conditions. Do you accept them?”
“Why do I have to leave my weapons?” Maddock asked, suddenly suspicious. “Your goons waiting outside for me?”
“As long as you are in my company, no harm will come to you. You need to understand faith, Mr. Maddock. Leaving your defenses behind will be the first step.”
Maddock looked long and hard at the old man, and read the resolve in his face. He considered shooting the man down on the spot, but quickly dismissed the idea. Atiq had not threatened him. Furthermore, he was the key to getting out of this place. Slowly, he laid the automatic rifle on the floor at his feet. Next, he drew the Walther, popped the magazine out, removed the unspent bullets, and slid the empty magazine back into place. “I’ve had this for a long time,” he explained, holding the pistol up. “It has sentimental value. I can’t leave it behind.”
Atiq nodded his acceptance and silently led the way out of the chamber.
Chapter 30
Maddock followed Atiq down the stairs and into the main chamber, which the old man called the “temple.” Walking to the stream that bisected the room, they followed it down to where it emptied under the wall. The man turned to face him.
“There are metal rungs in the ceiling of this tunnel. You must climb hand-over-hand for about ten meters. Where the rungs end, let go.” Before Maddock could ask what he would be dropping down onto, the old man reached into the tunnel, grabbed a handhold, and swung into the darkness. He moved surprisingly well for his apparent age.
Maddock swallowed a curse. He reached into the tunnel with his right hand and felt along the curved ceiling, cool and slightly damp. His hand found cold iron, and he grabbed hold and swung forward. The faint glow from the temple did little to illumine the blackness of the passageway. He brought his left hand forward and was surprised to find the next rung right where he needed it to be. Just like the monkey bars, he thought. He found his rhythm with an ease born of harsh SEAL training. He moved along so effortlessly that he forgot that the handholds ended, and when after a short distance, his left hand grasped only air, he nearly lost his grip on the last rung.
“Atiq?” he called, feeling rather foolish as he hung by one arm. There was no answer. Had the old man somehow tricked him? “Hey!” He paused, waiting for an answer, but none was forthcoming. He listened to the sound of water rushing beneath him. No other sound met his ears. “Must be one of those faith things,” he growled. He took a deep breath and steeled himself for a drop into the cold water below. Eyes closed, he let go.
He scarcely had time to feel the sensation of falling before his feet struck solid ground. With a grunt, he dropped to all fours, feeling every jolt and bruise his body had received from his earlier fall down the well.
“You are correct.” From the nearness of his voice, Atiq stood only a few feet away. “I told you that you needed to learn about faith. Follow me.”
Maddock stood and followed the faint sounds of the old man’s footsteps into the darkness.
He moved at a tentative pace, uncertain what lay before him. The floor beneath him was solid. The rustling of water all around suggested that he might be on some sort of walkway in the middle of the channel.
The faintest glimmer of light appeared in the distance. He could just make out Atiq’s form about twenty feet ahead. He picked up his pace, moving to catch up with the strange old man, who did not acknowledge him but stared resolutely ahead.
The passageway grew brighter as they walked on. Soon, there was enough light for Maddock to confirm that they were, indeed, on a pathway in the middle of the underground river. The tunnel made a sharp bend to the right. Maddock turned the corner and gasped.
Stefan peered out through the arched doorway that led into the large central room. He watched with interest as first the old man, then Maddock, disappeared into the tunnel where the river flowed out of the room. Apparently, there were handholds of some sort in the tunnel roof. He smiled. They were leading him directly to whatever it was that this empty stone warren protected.
He stepped into the room and was disappointed to see that someone had removed the bodies of Peter and Michael, along with their rifles. Stefan had long since emptied and discarded his own weapon. No matter, he still had his knife and the other weapon. He resisted the urge to pat his midriff, just to make certain it was still there.
He hurried toward the tunnel where his quarry had vanished, all the while feeling vulnerable to the snipers that had dogged them throughout this debacle of an operation. Reaching the archway, he paused for a moment to feel for a handhold of some kind. His hand closed around some sort of metal rung, and he smiled again.
This place was a threat to the faith— that was certain. The things hidden here were abominations, as was the sword. The Dominion had been wise to finally call upon him. Only he could see this through.
He would kill Maddock first and recover the sword. Next, he would wring the old man’s secrets out of him before taking care of him. Finally, when he had learned all that he could, he would blow this pagan abomination back to the hell in which it was conceived.
Maddock stared in amazement at the wondrous sight that lay before him. About fifty yards ahead, the tunnel opened into a broad, circular cavern, at least two hundred feet across. The river spilled over the edge and into the depths, but the pathway upon which they trod extended out over the chasm. Where it ended, hanging out over the abyss, was a sight unlike any he had ever beheld.
It was a giant cage, spherical, and about thirty feet across. It appeared to be constructed of the same material as the glowing crystals that illumined the temple and hallways. The thick, finely wrought bars, spaced vertically about a foot apart all the way around, gave it the appearance of being both delicate and sturdy at the same time. A doorway set in the near side stood open, revealing a bright, white object of indeterminate shape inside. Maddock could see no sign of bolts or hinges. Rather, it appeared to be one single piece. The entire object shone with the incandescence of a full moon, casting a faint glow around the cavern. Pearlescent light swirled and danced on the water as it tumbled into the darkness below.
“Your answer, Mr. Maddock,” Atiq said. “This is the secret the temple hides.”
Maddock could not begin to comprehend what he was seeing. Memories crowded in one after another in the span of a heartbeat: the fight in the slave market, diving for the Dourado, digging up the sword, Sowell’s betrayal, and the battle in these very halls. All had led him to this moment, and he had no idea what stood before him. He only knew that it was breathtakingly magnificent. He stared in silence.
“God created many wonderful creatures, nearly all of which are long gone,” Atiq said as if beginning a lecture. “The greatest of these, though few, were those we call the angels. They were beautiful, powerful beings, and they were God’s favorite. But they were vain creatures, and they lorded their superiority over human beings, taking their pleasure with human women, producing the races of giants, the Anakim.”
“What about the other creatures we saw carved in the sarcophagi?” Maddock asked.
“Two of them died out long ago,” Atiq said, “but their legacy lives on in our fables.” He paused, waiting for Maddock to catch on. After a moment, he continued. “Little people? Ancient alien visitors?”
“Ah,” Maddock said, not certain what to think of this revelation. “And the ape-man? What is he? The missing link?”
Atiq chuckled. “Not precisely. All of the beings depicted in the carvings symbolize many beings of a similar nature. But yes, the simian-looking creature generally represents hominids.”
“If all of these creatures lived on the earth, why is there no fossil record?” Maddock asked.
“I don’t have all the answers,” Atiq said. “These beings were historical before history existed. There were few.” He shrugged. “Perhaps God removed their remains from the earth for some reason known only to Him? But there is one who remained.” He gazed at the sphere in reverence and went on.
“One angel grew in wisdom and power. Legend has it he even developed a limited power to create. He gained a following, and he taught his followers how to make the crystals that illumine the pathways. It is not a certainty, though. Some say the crystals came from beyond the stars.” He paused.
“He created the sword. He forged it in this very place, the center of his power, and he etched its location into the blade. Perhaps it was vanity, perhaps it was, in some way, a boast. ‘Here I am. Come to me if you dare.’” He stared over Maddock’s shoulder at the hilt of Goliath’s sword. “Already an arrogant creature, when he learned to create, he was convinced that he was a god in his own right. He tempted the vainest of his race with promises of might and glory, and he led a rebellion against God himself.”
Maddock felt cold. He took a step back, his heart racing. The sword seemed to hang heavy on his shoulder. It could not be!
“God crushed their rebellion. The bodies of the traitorous angels were cast into the depths of the earth. Their leader was locked away in a prison wrought from the stone of his own making, locked away in this cavern, his center of power, to contemplate the error of his ways. Angels take a long time to die.” Atiq turned and dramatically swept his arm out toward the glowing cage and yawning chasm. “Welcome to the bottomless pit.”
Stefan crouched in the shadows, seething at what he heard. This was an even greater heresy than he had been told! The old man was clearly unhinged. None but God Almighty possessed the power of creation. Why did he spout this nonsense? Clearly he sought to mesmerize Maddock, dull his senses with false revelations, but to what end?
He freed his knife from its sheath and absently tested the edge against his thumb. Anger roiled inside of him. He had intended to slip up behind Maddock and kill him quietly. Now he wanted more. He desired to hurt the man, to make him pay. Maddock had caused this abomination to surface, and his actions could not go unpunished. Stefan wanted the man to know who was killing him and why. He wanted the man to feel fear. To know the power of the Dominion.
And when he finished with Maddock, he would deal with the old man. First he would cut out his tongue and then his eyes. He would make the man weep tears of blood. He would beg for mercy, but the only mercy he would receive would be a slow death.
He raised his sword and tensed every muscle, savoring the anticipation that came as he stood on the edge of dispensing justice. With a cry of rage, he dashed forward.
Maddock whirled and pivoted to his right as the shape hurtled out of the darkness and directly at him. He saw a glint of steel, and he struck out with his open left palm, turning the blade past his body. Ignoring the pain as the knife sliced into his hand, he drove his right palm into the attacker’s face.
The man was quick, though, and turned his head, catching the brunt of Dane’s blow on the side of his head, just behind the right eye. He swung the knife backhanded in a vicious arc, scarcely missing Maddock’s throat.
Leaning back to avoid the deadly knife stroke, Maddock delivered a roun
dhouse kick to the man’s stomach, but to little effect. The guy’s abs were like iron! The man struck again with his knife, low and hard. Maddock turned the thrust again, this time receiving a deep cut across the back of his left forearm. He stepped in close to his assailant and drove his elbow into the man’s left cheekbone. He grunted and stabbed at Maddock again, this time a sloppy, overhand stroke. Maddock caught the man’s wrist in his left hand, but immediately felt the man’s arm slipping free of his bloody palm. Fingers clawed at his eyes, and Maddock grabbed the man’s left hand in his right.
They struggled, nose-to-nose, strength against strength. If only Maddock could get some distance between himself and the attacker, enough to give him time to draw the sword. He squeezed tighter with his left hand, and pain shot down his arm from the gashes his opponent’s knife had opened. Still hurting from the fall down the well, he felt himself gradually being forced back. As they came into the light, he could see the man more clearly.
The attacker had short, dark hair, and eyes to match. His olive skin and dark clothing made him appear a shadow in the darkness of the tunnel. He was an inch or two taller than Maddock, and solidly muscled. In the dim light, only his white teeth stood out as he fixed Maddock with a toxic smile.
“My name is Stefan,” he said in a voice trembling with exertion and rage. “I am of the Blood Order. I wanted you to know who is killing you.”
“The Blood Order? Sounds like a cheesy vampire movie,” Maddock grunted.
“We serve God. His dominion is at hand.”
Maybe that was supposed to mean something to Maddock, but right now he had survival on his mind. He felt his right heel slip over the edge of the path. If he went into the water, the current would sweep him over the edge in a matter of seconds.
