Hannibal raced to confront the monster. He placed himself between Elizabeth and the swinging arm of the giant. As Butch’s hand descended, Hannibal sliced across the set of opposing wrists, forcing the gangly creature to release his grip and sending the unfortunate defender crashing into the marble wall. Hannibal lashed out against the giant and struck a crippling blow to his unnatural legs, temporarily hobbling the creature.
Hannibal glanced at the doorways. They were jammed with guards pouring into the throne room. It would only be a matter of moments before the mercenaries were overrun. “Tighten our ranks and rally!”
Peter watched helplessly from the safety of the wall’s façade. The bravery of Hannibal and his mercenaries was inconceivable. They were putting everything on the line for him and the Book of Souls. Their past lives behind them, the battle-hardened warriors sought redemption through their actions against the malignancy that ruled the Garden.
Peter pushed his fear down and swallowed hard. “Open the wall—I’m going to make a run for it.”
“Run?” Thomas coughed, peering through the gap. “There’s a guard on the other side of the room—he’ll see you.”
Peter studied the solitary sentry. All the other guards had left their stations to join the skirmish. The lone man’s attention remained fixed on the fight and not on the hall at large. If Peter could leave the confines of the hidden wall space quietly, he would be able to traverse the distance to Nicholas without too many issues. The real question was whether Nicholas would choose to read the Book of Souls or turn Peter over to the demons. It was impossible to say which would happen as the old monk kept his head down and barely took notice of the pandemonium unfolding around him.
Peter would have to chance it. “Open it up.”
“You’re sure?”
Peter calmed himself and held on to the book tightly. “Yeah, it’s now or never.”
Thomas touched the stone and shrank the block by a few more inches. Silently and with little effort, he pushed the stone forward and slid it to the right, creating an opening roughly three-feet square.
Peter crawled through the hole and rose to standing inside the chamber. The atmosphere was hectic. Amongst the clattering of steel, he could clearly hear the gasps of the wounded and the calls to action by the mercenaries.
Peter clutched the book to his chest and took a step forward. Behind him, Thomas peeked out of the hole. “Where are you going?” he asked of the young man.
“With you.”
So his voice would not raise an alarm, Peter knelt. “Stay here and keep the door open.”
“No,” Thomas countered, drawing the knife that Hannibal had given him. “I can fight.”
Peter considered his alternatives and then replied, “Look, if something should happen, come and get me, but stay here in any case.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
Peter looked around and chuckled. “None of this does.”
Thomas retreated. “I’ll yell if I see something.”
Peter nodded and started his trek. He stepped out away from the wall and walked with purpose, trying very hard not to appear out of place in the throne room. Peter kept his eyes focused on the marble floor, occasionally looking up to the monk’s table. He quickened his pace and threw a glance to the sentry. The guard’s gaze remained set on the battle at the far end of the chamber.
Peter took a deep breath and drew closer to the queen’s throne. The eyes from the silver skulls followed him as he walked past the raised platform. He tried not to make contact with the stares, but Peter’s curiosity got the best of him and he stole a look. The eyes immediately locked with his, but instead of fear, Peter felt an overwhelming sense of sadness. The eyes were not searching for intruders; they were in pain and seeking a liberator to ease their suffering. Peter bowed his head curtly as if to acknowledge their plight and let them know he had no power to release them. The eyes answered him with a simple, yet moving, closure of their lids. Peter’s nerves eased somewhat, but he maintained his rigorous pace.
Consumed in his writing, Nicholas gave no notice of Peter’s approach. The old monk kept his head down, shuffling back and forth among the stacks of papers.
Peter turned to check the sentry’s position once again. With his momentum moving forward and his sight fixed behind him, Peter failed to navigate the back edge of the throne’s stepped platform and crashed to the floor. The Book of Souls tumbled free and hit the marble squarely. A sharp SLAP echoed through the hall. The noise immediately caught the attention of the sentry who screamed out a fierce alarm.
Startled by the noise, Nicholas spun around to see what the fuss was about and was surprised to see Peter sprawled on the floor so near to him.
Peter cringed. He heard Sitri’s orders to fall back and to capture the book-bearer echo through the great hall. A thunderous storm of footfalls rose to replace the sounds of striking steel. In the distance, Peter heard the unmistakable rush of air passing over a set of beating wings.
“Get up!” Thomas screamed from the confines of the wall. “They’re coming!”
Peter scrambled to his feet and picked up the manuscript. Too scared to look back, he ran forward holding the book in front of him.
Nicholas closed as much of the distance as he was able, straining on his chains and reaching out with his free hand toward Peter.
As Peter closed to within a few paces of Nicholas, a large crystalline tree rose from the black marble floor. The tree vibrated, creating a ringing sensation that pierced through Peter, causing him to lose his balance. His temperature flared and he began to sweat profusely. Peter’s head pounded and his sight closed in around him. He could scarcely see the face of Nicholas just beyond the far side of the crystalline tree as he attempted to skirt the formation, but it was no use. He stood dazed for a brief moment before falling face first, unconscious onto the cold marble of the queen’s throne room floor.
Chapter 19
Sulfurous fumes burned Thomas’s eyes as he entered the octagonal room. Several doorways were present at odd intervals along the walls. Habitually, he turned back and took notice of an outstanding feature along the entrance’s lintel. A block of stone to one side of the opening had a large hole in it. He instinctively marked the exit as his escape route. After years of struggling with the confounding and nonsensical architecture of the city, Thomas knew to plan ahead.
The room itself was on the small side, about thirty feet across. A small ledge, just able to accommodate one person walking comfortably, ran against the octagonal walls and provided access to the asymmetrically-placed exits. The remainder of the floor area was an open pit of active lava some ten feet below the level of the walkway. The viscous, superheated magma boiled and erupted, throwing molten rock and flames into the upper reaches of the chamber.
Thomas brushed off his surprise at the method of torture used within the room and focused on his mission. Although a stable source of illumination was hard to come by, the flames produced from the lava gave off enough light to distinguish a human hanging limply amidst a forest of chains.
Peter was unconscious. He dangled over the open pit of molten rock secured by manacles attached to his wrists. His head was slumped forward putting his glasses in jeopardy of falling into the roiling magma. Peter’s clothes were drenched with sweat and draped damply over his lithe frame. The shoulder bag containing the Book of Souls hung loosely from his neck.
Thomas was bewildered at the sight of the satchel. He was sure the demons would have absconded with the book. Freewill kept the demons at bay even now. The manuscript was of no use to them if they could not acquire it by an act of freewill on Peter’s behalf. The knowledge only reinforced Thomas’s belief that his friend would suffer mercilessly at the hands of the demons.
Thomas leaned over the edge of the pit. A fierce blast of flames stung his face and forced him to retreat to the safety of the ledge. The young man carefully adjusted his footing, ensuring he was well on the stone walkway before slowly reac
hing out to Peter. He endured several waves of heat, but his efforts were for naught as Thomas found himself several feet short of his goal.
“Pops,” Thomas said as loudly as he dared. “Teach—Peter, wake up.” When he received no response, Thomas searched for loose stones, debris—anything he could throw at the unconscious professor, but the walkway was clean. He was too far away to jostle Peter to consciousness and he could not risk making too much noise for fear of being discovered. In addition, Thomas did not know when someone would return and by all accounting, he had lingered long enough.
Thomas grabbed a set of chains closest to the edge of the pit and pulled hard, testing them against his weight. In response, the iron fetters jerked out of his hand and a loud howl filled the chamber. Startled, he let go and backed away. The noise was loud enough that Thomas feared detection. He cocked his head toward each exit and listened carefully. The silence from the corridors reassured him that he had gone unnoticed. The young man squinted through the darkness and into the upper reaches of the octagonal room.
Slowly coming into focus was a mass of moving flesh. Thomas discerned nearly two dozen individuals fused at the waist to the hewn stone of the chamber’s ceiling. A few women were among the group of men and most seemed to be asleep or unconscious. They moved eerily back and forth as if in concert to the same dream. The poor souls hung upside down like bats, heads and arms dangling into the dry heat of the room. Their facial features had lost their individuality long ago, leaving a wide-eyed, hairless, and sharpened visage more reminiscent of an elf than that of a human. Their torsos were naked. The soul’s flesh dripped sweat, creating rivulets through the oily grime accumulated over centuries of servitude.
Thomas studied the nearest hanging soul. Around each of the slave’s wrists was a manacle attached to a long chain that hung to just above the molten pool below. Thomas noted that Peter was elevated above the superheated magma almost to the level of the surrounding walkway. The soul that held Peter had taken in the slack and held it in his hands rather than letting the professor bathe in the molten rock. It was a curious spectacle. Either the slaves were adhering to strict orders or were allowed some form of freewill toward those they helped torture.
The sight did not surprise Thomas. There was no limit as to what the demons could manifest out of the plainness of humanity, and in his travels throughout the city, he had witnessed some of the most terrifying and bizarre things imaginable. Although the chain-bearing souls were new to him, their presence was not unexpected.
Thomas locked eyes with the hanging slave he had trespassed. He appreciated the poor soul’s position, but time was short and he needed help. “Please,” he implored of the disfigured human, “I need to get my friend.”
Incapable of speech, the chain-bearing soul snarled a warning in reply.
Thomas held up his open palms. “I’m sorry—really—about all of this, but things will get worse if I can’t reach him.”
The slave parodied Thomas’s gesture and chortled, rattling the chains in jest. He slapped the soul next to him and woke the creature. After a moment of hand signals and grunts, the two pointed and snickered at the hapless young man.
Perturbed, Thomas ignored the two and turned to the slave that held Peter directly. “Can you help me?”
The soul nodded and, straining under the weight, began to swing Peter closer to Thomas’s position along the ledge.
Now angered, the two creatures that recently snubbed Thomas were doing everything they could to hamper the rescue effort. As Peter noisily arced through the dangling chains, the two grabbed at the unconscious professor, pulling on his restraints in an effort to stop his momentum. Other chain-bearing souls arose from their slumber and joined in the odd skirmish. A few attempted to block the efforts of the two dissenters while others chanted in an unintelligible tongue, egging the renegades on.
Thomas did his best to quiet the group by waving his hands and softly trying to shush their voices, but his efforts went largely unnoticed. The amount of noise was considerable, and he feared the queen’s guards would burst in at any moment. He stood by anxiously, scanning the various entrances and plotting his escape. However, after a few tense minutes, Thomas concluded that the overwhelming din echoing through the room must be a given due to the fettered creatures’ constant bickering and divided loyalties.
As the soul swung Peter, he let more chain free on each pass. This made Peter dive further into the pit, but it also meant that his unconscious body came closer to the edge during apogee. Thomas used one of the friendly creatures’ chains as a handhold and when Peter neared the ledge, he grabbed the professor by the shoulder bag’s strap. It was precarious at first, but after a few minutes of wrangling and coordinating with the chain-bearing soul to slacken the restraints, Thomas was able to bring a slumped-over Peter to the edge of the walkway.
“Come on, get up,” Thomas said, shaking the unconscious professor. “We’ve got to split.”
Peter stirred awake, blinking his eyes slowly as he processed his surroundings. “Where am I?”
“You don’t want to know,” Thomas replied, tugging at the manacles on Peter’s wrists. The locked bindings left scant wiggle room between the iron and the man’s flesh. He studied the chains and examined the links, looking for a weakness. The restraints were secure and made with exacting precision to negate any possibility of escape.
Peter recognized the look of dread on Thomas’s face. “That good, huh?” Peter said as he lifted his head and peered into the pool of molten rock. Unfazed at the sight, he righted himself to a sitting position and hefted the weight of his iron fetters. He followed the chains into the dark ceiling and their unlikely, grotesque keeper. The chamber’s purpose was clear. The Book of Souls was important, more so than any one being or soul. The only way the queen would possess the ancient manuscript was by torturing the individual that carried it into submission. Once the pain was too much, the book would be hers willingly. An eternity of time was on the queen’s side.
Regret, anger, and hopelessness filled Peter’s mind, but he stifled them. “Where’s Hannibal?”
“Captured,” Thomas replied. “I don’t know where they went, but they took Nicholas with them.”
Peter pulled on the shackles fruitlessly. There was no actionable way forward. He was deep inside the city’s underbelly and hopelessly chained to one of the queen’s slaves. Peter grew despondent. He rummaged through the shoulder bag and produced the Book of Souls. “Take it.”
Thomas reached out instinctively, but stopped himself. “What?”
“Look, you’re the obvious choice. You can move around in the walls, wait it out, and when you’re close enough, give Nicholas the book yourself. You don’t need me or anyone else.”
“Keep it,” Thomas said, pushing the book away. “I’m going to get you out of here.”
“How?” Peter chuckled. “They’ll submerge me into the lava. Even if I lasted through that, they’ll just do something else—I’m done, no matter what. The only hope we have is for you to get the book out of here.” He pushed the manuscript at the young man. “Take it.”
Reluctantly, Thomas placed his hands on the book. “I’ll—”
A high-pitched, shrill noise sliced through the heat of the chamber. The odd and unexpected disturbance came from a silver-white rat on the ledge next to Peter and Thomas. The rodent sat back on its haunches squeaking excitedly and gesturing with its paws. All outward appearances pointed to the fact that both men were in the process of being scolded.
“Isla Dora?” Peter asked the rat.
Surprised, Thomas cocked his head. “You know this mouse?”
The rodent lowered herself to all fours and hunched her back. Her body vibrated, changing color and shape. The main mass of the rat diminished in size and morphed into a flat, furry disk. It retracted further, continuing until its shape settled on a unique-looking, multi-pronged, brass key.
“The shackles,” Peter said, holding out one wrist. “Try it.”
Thomas gingerly picked up the key and inserted it into the lock. The key turned easily, releasing the manacle. He moved to the other arm and freed Peter from his bonds. The young man held the key out and examined it closely. “That’s something. I didn’t think they could be so—normal.”
The key transformed back into the rat and, in a show of defiance, bit Thomas sharply on the finger. The young man jumped up and shook his hand, sending the rodent to the stone of the walkway. The rat wheeled about, squeaking in protest.
“Damn mouse,” Thomas cursed, sucking at the wound on his finger.
Peter bent down and locked eyes with the rodent. “We need to get out of here—can you help us?”
Isla Dora shifted her appearance once again, from a rat to a medium-sized, white dog. The dog whined and wagged its tail. It ran to one of the exits and disappeared through it.
“That’s not the one I came in,” Thomas said, noting the lack of physical characteristics on the stone.
“It doesn’t matter,” Peter replied. “She wants us to follow her.”
“What if she’s crazy?”
Peter rose to standing and brushed himself off. “Yeah, what if we all are?”
Thomas nodded and together, the two men chased after Isla Dora.
Chapter 20
Asmodeus and Sitri led the procession of prisoners slowly and deliberately through the bowels of the city. The demons paraded the captured group of mercenaries through the most populated areas of the stone metropolis like trophies. The tedious route forced the company to navigate locked gates, steep stairs, and tight passages all to the sounds of jeers and taunts from most of the city’s occupants.
With their arms and hands bound in front of them, Hannibal and his mercenaries were unable to give much resistance to their captors. They feigned injury and fatigue to slow their progress as much as possible, but the demons swiftly put down each action and maintained absolute discipline over the renegade band.
The monk Nicholas trailed behind the main group. His head hung low, he followed the captured fighters on their trek into the subterranean depths of the city. Heavy iron shackles made his gait labored, and he often found himself needing help to negotiate the onerous path.
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