Vigil: An Urban Fantasy Thriller

by Russell Newquist

  Thankfully, they'd come prepared to fight a dragon.

  Conor returned to the giant duffel bag and retrieved a collection of sturdy steel rods. He quickly screwed the ends of each rod together, forming a two meter long shaft. The wickedly serrated spearhead he produced looked like a Christmas tree of doom. He affixed it to the end of his new weapon.

  Meanwhile, Gabriel fished his own weapon out of the bag. They'd purchased the harpoon gun at a sport fishing store a few weeks ago, exploiting a loophole in France's strict gun laws. Conor had figured it would come in handy against a dragon, but Gabriel considered it too bulky for close quarters work. Expecting to join Peter in the catacombs below, he'd sawed the stock off earlier that evening. He hooked the small quiver of harpoons to his belt and slung the weapon itself over his shoulder.

  The latest lector finished the sixth scripture reading and returned to his seat. Friar Stefan rose and took his place, leading the prayer in Latin. Gabriel translated it in his head as they worked. Graciously grant to those you wash clean in the waters of Baptism the assurance of your unfailing protection. He heard his own voice join the congregation in a heartfelt Amen.

  Gabriel swerved by instinct to avoid the stone baptismal font as he and Conor returned to the door. But it tugged at the back of Gabriel's mind. He stopped in his tracks and doubled back.

  “Hey Conor.” When his friend turned to look, he gestured at the pool of water. The Irishman flashed a grin at him as Gabriel dipped the end of his harpoon in the holy water. Conor mimicked the motion with the barbed tip of his spear while the Texan gathered a handful of harpoons from his belt. He coated them as well and dropped them back into the quiver.

  Thus armed, the pair rejoined the French teens on guard duty. The boys came to attention and saluted, palm forward in the European style. Tall and skinny barely managed a semblance of the gesture, but short and stocky pulled it off with almost military precision.

  The youths visibly relaxed when the Texan returned it, American style. Though they'd rushed to help, they clearly preferred a chain of command that relieved them of ultimate responsibility. He understood the concept all too well.

  “Names?” the Texan asked. Their empty stares assured him they’d completely failed to understand the question. “Gabriel,” he said, pointing to himself. Then he pointed at his red-headed friend. “Conor.”

  The light bulbs went off.

  “Jacques,” the tall one said, pointing to himself.

  “Jacques,” the short one agreed with a grin, indicating that was his name as well.

  “Seriously?” Gabriel asked. “Sixty million people in France and I get two kids named Jacques. OK, Tall-Jacques and Short-Jacques it is.”

  He turned back toward Conor. The Irishman held his head to the door, listening.

  “Nothing,” he reported.

  That almost worried Gabriel more than any particular noise would have. He tried to shut down his imagination before it went wild. He gave up in abject failure as his brain conjured up all kinds of imaginary threats. Still, he shook his head to clear it and refocused on the task at hand.

  The two boys gave them questioning looks, and Tall-Jacques asked a question in French. Gabriel couldn't understand a word of it, but they caught enough meaning for Conor to give a gruff answer.

  “Now we hold the door.”

  Short-Jacques snapped off another sharp salute, and the teens took up their post.

  Chapter 11

  Peter normally had a great sense of direction, but down in the catacombs it failed him completely. On the other hand, the passage hadn’t branched at all yet. He trod carefully over the damp stone beneath him, but even so he slipped more than once. After a few close calls, he sheathed the Sword for safety. Still, he stayed alert, expecting an ambush around every corner.

  At least the strange light held up. It lit from all directions at once and cast no shadows, staying perfectly smooth even as he turned corner after corner. He now felt certain of its supernatural origins.

  The passage took him deeper into the earth as it wound around in tight spirals. He felt like he’d spent an eternity descending, but a quick glance at his watch when he entered the next chamber showed that only ten minutes had passed.

  Peter gasped as he surveyed his surroundings. The large room dwarfed the grotto he’d first descended into. That one had been about the size of his living room. He could have easily fit his entire apartment inside this one. An elevated stone platform dominated the room. Glittering treasure covered it entirely. Gold and silver and jewels of all kinds twinkled in the strange light. But something else jumped out at him, overriding the allure of gold.

  The room had no exits.

  He kicked a nearby stone in frustration; then cursed himself when his foot hurt. He’d wasted time he couldn’t afford to lose, but he couldn’t do anything about that now. He’d have to retrace his steps and try another passage. When he turned to leave, he realized the trap.

  The room had no exits. Even the passage he’d entered through had vanished. He spun around several times, scanning the walls to be sure. Much to his disappointment, no new exits or hidden doorways appeared.

  Lacking any real alternative, Peter set out to examine the room in detail. He started with a circuit around the walls. Not trusting his eyes, he felt his way around. Everything felt solid on his first pass, so he started a second. Halfway through, he heard the voice.

  “Aren’t you interested in the treasure?”

  Peter nearly jumped out of his boots. He spun rapidly and drew the Sword before he’d realized it. He held it warily between himself and the newcomer, ready to spring into action if need be.

  The man before him raised his arms in a conciliatory gesture. He stood about Peter’s height, but far thicker of build, if not exactly fat. Thick, dark hair covered his head and arms, and matched his medium length beard. Light brown skin peeked out from beneath green robes that seemed very out of place in modern France.

  Even stranger, the figure glowed.

  “After all, isn’t a dragon slayer due the rewards of his conquest?” the man continued.

  “It seems unwise to divide the spoils while the dragon lives,” Peter answered.

  The stranger threw back his head and let out a hearty laugh.

  “Well said, young man! Well said!”

  “Who are you?” Peter asked.

  The newcomer scrunched up his brow in thought.

  “I’ve gone by many names, over many times,” he answered. “But you can call me Pilosus. Some have labeled me a messenger.”

  “I’ve never met an angel before.”

  The spirit dipped his head in acknowledgement. Peter processed that for a moment before deciding to take that as confirmation.

  “Yet you carry the blade of one,” the newcomer noted.

  “Shouldn’t you have wings?”

  “Not in this form,” Pilosus answered with a strange look.

  “Halo?”

  “Did you see one in the stained glass window upstairs?”

  “Then you are Saint Michael?” Peter asked. “Then this should be yours.”

  He stepped forward, proffering the Sword. The luminous being stepped backward, hands held almost in a guard position. He made a strange noise. Peter couldn’t decide if it was laughter or something else.

  “No!” Pilosus shouted at him. Then he repeated the word more calmly. “No! Think of us as… cousins. It is… unwise for my kind to handle the personal weapon of another. The weapon is a part of him.”

  Peter nodded as he sheathed the Sword and relaxed. That made sense, after a fashion.

  “Can you help me get out of here?”

  “You already have everything you need,” came the cryptic reply. “And you’ve already started down the correct path.”

  Peter pondered the riddle for a moment. Shiny and beautiful, the dragon’s horde beckoned to him. He stepped nearer and looked it over closely. Gold and silver coins called out to him, and his hand began to reach out of it
s own accord. He jerked it back hard and shook his head to clear it.

  He saw valuables of every shape, color, and type. Perl necklaces, diamond earrings, and silver bracelets represented the least of the treasure. A marble statue rose from the middle. Peter couldn’t be certain, but he thought it represented Aphrodite. That golden egg had to be a Fabergé. He even saw an honest to God crown and scepter.

  On a second look, other items caught his eye. A Rolex watch bore a personalized inscription that read, “For Bill, love Caroline.” An open locket bore a faded photograph of a beautiful young woman. By her clothing and the quality of the photograph, Peter guessed it dated to the nineteenth century. And a white silk wedding dress gave him a sinking feeling of despair.

  But the least flashy objects occupied his attention the longest. He could make out just enough of the faded letter to recognize it as Italian. It didn’t matter, since he couldn’t read the language. The common brass bracelet and simple bronze rings stood out like a sore thumb. And a handful of lonely, faded photographs hinted at deep sadness.

  “These are all personal treasures,” he noted.

  “Yes…” Pilosus trailed off, as if Peter hadn’t quite gotten it right.

  “Each of these is somebody’s greatest treasure.”

  “The dragon must have his due.” The spirit turned his gaze to the blade at Peter’s hip.

  Peter let out a deep breath. His hand hovered over the hilt, but he closed his eyes and considered.

  “This isn’t mine to give,” he told the messenger. Instead, he reached behind his neck and unclasped the chain that held his sister’s crucifix. He set it gingerly in the palm of his hand and let the chain fall around it. He brought it up to his lips and gave it a tender kiss, then dropped it in with the rest of the dragon’s horde.

  “I’m sorry, Sarah.” He squeezed his eyes shut tight.

  When he opened his eyes, the treasure horde had disappeared, taking his greatest earthly treasure with it. But his entryway into the chamber had reappeared. He turned all the way around, examining the entire room once more. A single new doorway led out nearly opposite of the way he’d come in. He stepped over to the arch and peered through. As before, he couldn’t see more than a dozen feet before it twisted to the left.

  “Which way does it go?” he asked.

  “It appears to go down,” his companion answered.

  Peter almost made a face at Pilosus. He could see that on his own. On the other hand, it stood to reason that traps like this meant he’d chosen the correct path. He summoned his courage and strode down the path without looking back.

  Chapter 12

  Peter saw a light at the end of the tunnel. The yellow flicker stood out distinctly from the steady, colorless light that had guided his journey thus far. The steady chink, chink, chink of metal against stone rang out, mixed with a bizarre chanting in a language he didn’t recognize.

  He slowed to a stealthy pace and quietly drew the Sword as he approached. He pressed up against the passageway wall to reduce his profile, crept silently to the entryway, and cautiously peered around the corner.

  “Kobolds?” he whispered to himself. He recognized the imps from his time playing tabletop role playing games. But even in the context of his current situation their presence seemed passing strange. But the full scene playing out before him took it to a whole new level.

  A strange stone altar stood in the center of the room, candles set on each of the four corners. One of the tiny sprites stood at the altar with his back toward Peter. He held a gold trinket high above his head and led the strange chant. He wore a deep red robe embroidered with crude green dragons. The Knight supposed he must be some odd kind of priest.

  Five others stood arrayed facing him on the other side of the altar, chanting in time with the odd little cleric. Their huge green ears and green skin made them look like evil Yodas, only scrawnier, hairier, and with longer noses. Each held a pickaxe, which he struck against the ground in time with the chant.

  Pilosus slid up behind Peter, silent as the night.

  “What are they doing here?” Peter asked quietly.

  “Mine kobolds sometimes worship dragons, if one lives nearby.” The messenger cracked an odd smile. “They serve it, too.”

  “What kind of service?”

  “Piddly things, mostly. But the kind of practical things everyone needs. They mine up its food – a special kind of crawly, eel-like creature that only lives in deep, dark places.”

  “I thought dragons ate virgins.”

  “They prefer to be fed by virgins. But they’ll definitely eat them in a pinch.”

  “Any way around them?”

  “That’s up to you,” Pilosus replied. “It’s a mortal issue.”

  “Some help you are.”

  “I didn’t come to help you solve everything,” his companion replied.

  Peter crept backward. His foot slipped on a wet stone. He managed to keep his balance, but his scabbard clanked against the stone wall beside him. Two of the kobolds looked up, tracking the noise. Their eyes opened wide when they saw him.

  “So much for stealth.” Mirth filled Pilosus’ eyes.

  “Laugh it up, fuzz ball,” Peter replied. He raised his blade and assumed a ready stance as the creatures rushed him. He took a large step back into the hallway, using the opening to force his opponents to come at him in smaller groups.

  The Sword blazed in his hands, burning hot and bright. His limited sword training kicked in as he let out a cry and struck. His initial blow severed the first Kobold’s head clean off in one, smooth motion. The second Kobold pushed past before he could reposition for his next attack. It swung its pickaxe toward his knee, forcing Peter to drop the blade into a makeshift block. Another pickaxe quickly followed, and Peter soon found himself fighting two-on-one.

  Sensei Rogers had trained him for that, though – and had also trained him to use every weapon at his disposal. He lashed out with his right leg, catching one of his three foot tall assailants square in the face. That gave him an opportunity to dispatch the other with a swift upward slash.

  Two of the miners plus the priest meant three of the little imps left. This time, Peter took the initiative. He charged into the room with a yell and ran his blade straight through the heart of the nearest creature. He swung the blade hard to the right. It sliced straight out of the kobold’s side like it wasn’t even there, and passed completely through another.

  The strange cleric blinked at Peter a few times before throwing its gold trinket at him. Then it turned to run. The poor thing forgot about the altar behind it and ran straight into the hard stone. Peter closed in slowly as the creature howled in pain. When it made a mad dash back the way he’d entered, the Knight decided to let it go.

  “You no take candle!” he shouted after it, shaking his weapon.

  A cursory examination of the corpses around him revealed nothing. Peter felt the clock ticking, so he didn't take the time for a more thorough search. Like the previous chamber, only two exits led away from the room. He took the passageway that kept him moving forward.

  Once more, he moved quietly and carefully, sheathing his blade for safety. The passageway crept further and further downward. This hallway, however, proved far shorter than the last. After a few twists and turns, it opened into another cavern.

  The vast space that opened up above and around him didn’t make any sense. He couldn’t possibly have traveled that deep underground. Or had he? These caves had completely thrown off his sense of direction. Still, he struggled to understand how so vast a space could exist below the church.

  Maybe space doesn’t work right here. He found that thought vaguely disturbing, but not as much as the thought that followed it. What if time doesn’t work right here, either?

  That thought triggered a new wave of urgency. If space and time functioned differently here, would he make it back out in time to help his friends? On the other hand, maybe he should be hopeful. Perhaps they’d finish the ritual in time
to make his own task easier.

  Somehow he doubted things would work out so well.

  Peter shuffled quietly out into the open. He found no signs of the dragon’s presence - or any other presence, for that matter. Quiet suffused the cavern, reminding him of nothing so much as a humongous tomb. After a moment’s reflection, he realized that in a very real sense it was exactly that.

  “Can you believe how huge this place is, Pilosus?” When he received no answer, Peter turned and surveyed the space around him. “Pilosus?” The angel had vanished.

  Figures. It’s not like he could expect to keep an ethereal creature on a leash. He pushed on alone.

  The Sword gave off a ring of light around him, assaulting the darkness with its glow. He caught flashes of gleaming reflections off in the distance. He couldn’t make out details in the dark, but hundreds of childhood stories led him to suspect that he saw gleaming mounds of the dragon’s horde.

  As he moved further inward, another sight caught his eye. The blade illuminated a pit. At first it seemed small. Then he realized that the scope of the cavern obfuscated its true size. The chasm loomed ever larger as he approached.

  Peter dropped down as he approached, crouching at first. A dozen yards away he slipped down on his belly and closed the remaining distance in a low army-crawl. He made an effort to move quietly, but his clothes gave off a kind of shuffling noise that he couldn’t totally mask. He wrapped his arm around the Sword to muffle the light.

  Steeling himself, he shuffled up to the abyss and peered over the edge.

  Chapter 13

  Faith snapped to attention when Nicolette trembled in her arms. Then she heard it, too. The scuffling noise up above them grew louder as she listened. She tried to calm the girl, but also to move deeper into the shadows.