by A D Davies
Jules stuffed the stone tablet in the back of his belt and dashed over to join her, but not to save the books. “We can’t. I know it’s huge, I know it’s tough, but come on. Be realistic.”
She rounded on him and thumped his chest. “You be realistic. You’re the one who was thinking about going with Valerio.” She hit him again.
Jules held her wrists, firm enough to stop her from hurting him, gentle enough so she wouldn’t be harmed. Their eyes locked, hers moist, flickering in the firelight, while he leaned closer. “But I didn’t go with him. I went with you.”
Bridget relaxed her arms, tears spilling. Their faces drew closer. She trembled in his hold.
A group of books went up with a dry crackle, the fire spreading fast, cutting off their route.
Jules held her hand, and they both dashed back over the bridge, ducked under the door, and ran down the dust-choked corridor, returning to the chaos of the repository.
The museum.
Because that’s what Jules would remember it as. A three-dimensional record of civilizations long forgotten, undetected due not to their stupidity or lack of advanced skill but simply through their inability to commit to the written word. Only one of these peoples seemed able to write back then, the ones who constructed the museum, the bangles, the doors and mechanisms forged to generate a chemical reaction and keep all this safe.
Whatever they were, whoever they were, their achievements now appeared doomed too.
The cavern’s peak, the ventilation hole, had widened, but the best way out was up the collapsed saucer-shaped expanse of roof. Checking for threats all the way, the sprint involved a leap over the fire, onto a breastfeeding mother made of bronze, then over to a plinth that was home to the approximate rendering of a stegosaurus, the result—most likely—of coming across fossils and imagining its true form.
Jules helped Bridget where needed, but she was fit and fast and seemed adept at scrambling over the mostly fallen ornaments and sculptures, the still-standing buildings. It was as if the whole hill was angling farther, and the collection fell sideways. At the final point before reaching the rock, soil, and grass that acted as a ramp to the outside, a trail of flaming oil cut them off.
It was no wider than five feet, but the fire licked as high as their heads.
“Gotta jump,” Jules said. “Go high. Ain’t as hot up top. Which is weird, but there you go.”
“No. I can’t. There’s got to be another way around.”
Jules sweated, his arm waving to the increasing destruction. “Suggestions?”
“Fine.” Bridget ran at full pelt and jumped through the flames, crying out as she did so.
Jules followed, leaping higher, a moment of searing heat, then he landed.
Bridget was on fire. Her left leg. She slapped it on the floor, but the oily fluid had splashed her as she landed. He smothered it with his own body, robbing it of oxygen, but she was in tears.
She lay there, hands by her knee, the patch of burned cloth smoldering near her calf muscle.
Jules assessed the task ahead—the football field–size escape route.
Thirty-five-degree angle.
Increasing to forty-five, then sixty near the top.
Uphill.
Risk of more damage to the structure.
One-hundred-percent certain death if we stay.
“Come on, we need to move quick.” Jules heaved her up, ignoring her cries at first, but as she hopped rather than hobbled, he stopped and faced her.
She was tear streaked and shaking.
He said, “Put your weight on that leg. It’ll hurt like hell, but you need to do it. I can’t carry you at this angle. And the flames are spreading.”
She checked back to where they’d jumped. It was now ten feet wide; no way she’d have made it if they’d waited even a minute longer. Jules guessed she was thinking the same.
“Where the hell is it coming from?” she said as they hobbled up toward fresh air.
“Got no idea. Must be a reserve deeper in the complex. But can we keep that sorta question for later? Need my brain power to help my feet go.”
A smile flickered through her pain, and she dug in deeper. Jules pulled her as the climb reached the forty-five-degree angle, but then a flash caught his attention to their right.
“Faster!” His heart hammered as he got behind Bridget and grabbed her butt with both hands.
“Hey!”
He pushed hard, virtually launching her into the air as their climb steepened. She shut up as she saw what prompted Jules’s desperate move.
A swell of flaming oil surged down the valley formed by the roof meeting the ground level. It must have built up at an obstruction nearby, the dam finally bursting and unleashing the torrent, a tidal wave of flame.
Jules jumped the final phase, hurling Bridget clear, up out of the hole. The fluid missed his feet by inches as he scrambled farther up.
His hands reached the outside, so much cooler than the fire below, so much fresher, far more welcome on the skin. Below, the river subsided, its initial surge waning as it found other avenues to explore.
Bridget sat up, tentatively examining her leg. Whatever that substance was, it stuck like napalm and was still plainly causing her considerable discomfort. But as usual, there was no time for such examination.
They were half a mile from the village, somehow turned around and approaching from a direction Jules hadn’t expected; they were on the opposite side of the hill from the entry cave and would approach the helicopter—whose rotors now turned in its warm-up—from behind the church.
He pointed at a worn path leading from their current perch. Bridget seemed to get his meaning, but she limped harder than before.
“It hurts so much,” she said. “It’s getting worse.”
Jules sat her down, squatted before her, and lifted her leg to his thigh. Ripped her pants leg. She threw her head back and screamed.
The cloth was fused to her skin, and the burned area was almost black. The red corona around the damage was swollen and angry as if looking for something to feed upon.
“A little better,” Bridget said through short sharp breaths. She squeezed her eyes shut tight. “I have to tell you something.”
“On the way.”
Jules helped her up, and sure enough, she moved easier.
Was the substance feeding off the cloth? Melding it to her skin as acid might?
Later.
Cross-country was the direct route, but the path made more sense. Bridget found a rhythm that enabled her to travel faster and said again, “I should tell you something.”
They were on the same level as the main part of the village now, running, limping, for the channel by the church. The helicopter was in sight, its rotors up to full speed.
Harpal waved excitedly.
“That tablet,” Bridget said, “the one that changed to Hebrew. That’s why I knew we had to get out. Did you read it?”
“No. Keep going.” Jules’s lungs labored under the effort, something he hadn’t experienced in years. He could only imagine how hard it was for Bridget. A touch of arrogance, sure, but he knew his capabilities. “Nearly there. Wait till we’re on board.”
Mere yards from the church, ready to sprint the final straight, a mighty rending of earth blared from beneath.
The pair pulled to a halt as a crack detonated and the church itself imploded, a canyon spreading wide before them.
Coming their way.
They reversed direction and found some reserve of strength, something to keep them going. Back up the path. To the high ground.
Then the opposite happened: something below must have shifted, a pressure change, and the land rose before them, jutting high and sheer. The bedrock, cold and black, blocked their escape from the ground imploding behind.
Chapter Fifty-Five
With the cathedral doomed to collapse, Valerio allowed Horse to accompany him back to the tomb’s entrance, the big man’s weight nowhere near as hard
to support as he expected. His body had undergone a total reboot, regenerated into peak condition. Thankfully, his brain was not dulled by the transformation.
It had taken him a while to interpret the markings he found here, but when he did, it really was ridiculously simple.
Beside the fire pit, the sheer wall before them matched the door that required the infinity key made up of the two bangles, yet there was no keyhole here.
The fire was the key.
Now pretty much useless, Horse watched on, a faithful acolyte awaiting his master’s gifts. And why not reward him? He’d stuck by Valerio even when he had the chance to escape, could have taken Valerio’s place with ease at any point today. But no, he kept to the script, honored his contract.
Valerio respected that.
After the roof opened and crushed what looked, from their position, to be half the cavern, they found a portion of semi-destroyed statue—an arm of hollow iron—that Horse leaned on as a crutch along with Valerio’s shoulder, and they made it back here. On the way, Valerio promised he meant to tempt Jules as an addition to Horse, not a replacement.
“The fire,” Valerio said, stroking the wall, feeling the marks under his fingertips. “The fire sets him free.”
“Boss?” Horse said. “You want to burn it open?”
“No.” Valerio strode over to the fire pit.
Even as it leaked out, as the structure tipped more and more to the side, the pool never seemed to empty. Either it was fed by a huge source such as an underground reservoir, or the builders designed it to circulate via a system of arteries.
The warmth grew into heat as he approached. He stood right at the edge, the flames licking high over him. The clunk of Horse’s crutch announced his movement.
“Boss, are you okay?”
“I suspect the original designers provided a means to apply the fire. I torch or bowl. But that seems to be long-gone. Decayed or lost today. But we don’t have time to work out something more suitable. I am about to become a god.”
Valerio reached and, keeping his face clear, dipped his hand into the flaming pool.
Horse’s mouth fell open, eyes wide in shock. “Boss!”
The burn was excruciating. All the way up Valerio’s forearm, the fire gripped him in agony. He remained calm, though, as he withdrew, cupping a measure of the oily substance in his hand. Tears streamed. He’d never known such pain, even at the lowest, most vile point of his illness.
Horse looked on aghast. “Boss, your arm!”
More thunderous collapsing signaled their time was almost up, so Valerio wasted no more savoring the moment and threw the liquid at the wall.
Flame spread to the etchings as if it were alive, as if tiny insects dragged it piece by piece, infiltrating every nook, every etched word, until the whole wall spoke to him. Only a soccer ball–size blank circle remained free of fire.
Valerio bit his tongue. Hard enough to draw blood, and spat it at the stone circle.
Horse said, “Eww.”
“Don’t worry, my friend,” Valerio said. “Blood and holy fire. That’s what it takes.” He could barely lift his scorched arm; his nerves fried like it was still burning. “It’ll all be worth it.”
And the slab of wall parted, rumbling on a mechanism that had not operated in at least two thousand years.
Did even Saint Thomas get this far?
Had Valerio outdone an apostle of Christ?
He suspected… yes. Of course he had.
Inside the tomb, a glowing gutter illuminated the small, simple space with art on all four walls and a central feature: an ornate silver sculpture raised on a podium, a man in repose, resplendent in robes, a beard on his sleeping face, and—clutched to his chest in his slumber—he held a sword. Its grip was longer than a medieval longsword, close to a samurai design, but its cross guard showed in profile, both sides tapering to points, while the blade was two straight edges, four feet in length, with a tiny curve toward the end.
Valerio wandered inside, marveling at the reward of a decade’s work. “It’s mine.” He ran both hands over the reposed figure, his burned palms cooling to touch it, leaving a smear as he sought out the opening he was certain would be here. “This is a sarcophagus. Bound to the interred priest, molded around his form. Only to be opened by someone worthy.”
As the whole world shook around them, raining stones and boulders and now mud outside the door, Horse grimaced and hopped into the tomb, his faith plainly shaken.
But Valerio did not falter. He found the practically invisible join, the tiniest flaw in the surface. “Thomas wasn’t the first priest at all. This is the first priest. And I’m gonna meet him at last!”
He dug in his fingers and opened the sarcophagus.
Chapter Fifty-Six
With Charlie strapped in, her bullet wound sealed with glue from the helicopter’s field medic kit, and Toby and Dan satisfied the village was empty, all Harpal needed was to lift off. They’d all seen Jules and Bridget racing toward them, and the engines revved up to full speed. Then the earth gobbled up every bit of land around the church, and their path was cut off.
That was okay, though. The pair would run around the edge, and they could rendezvous in the other direction.
Unfortunately, they couldn’t wait.
The ground under the town square had buckled, meaning this was next, so Harpal opened up the bird, and they were quickly airborne. An intercept for Jules and Bridget was preferable to making them run farther anyway, especially since Bridget looked hurt, favoring her right leg.
Airborne, with the side door open, Harpal banked to get a better angle, the rotor wash whipping up even more dirt and earth, so he climbed higher to figure out where they went.
“It’s getting wider,” Toby pointed out.
“I see it.” Harpal rose, pulling away from the creeping destruction. Sure enough, the fissure that consumed the church was spreading. “There! Got ’em.”
But it wasn’t what he expected.
Before the pair, the growing hole blazed with that weird fire a long way below, the sides climbing into the hillside, while a cliff face appeared to have burst from the ground to cut off their planned avenue.
“We can’t land there,” Harpal said. “Dan, feed out the line.”
Without hesitating, Dan unbuckled his belt and stepped over Charlie, checking her as he moved. She was conscious, aware of movement it seemed, but fading.
Dan unhooked the winch and fed out the line. “Take us down!”
As the helicopter hovered for way too long, Jules detected the warmth from below, the earth giving way more with each passing minute. Up high, the hill’s conical peak was wider, and no longer just toppling inside but ejecting rubble down the sides, showering Jules and Bridget with bits that seemed to grow larger every time another crack gouged to life. They trooped onward, backs to the risen rock, trying to climb higher.
Then another exponential stretch of ground disappeared, plunging into the halls below, now more flame than art, leaving Jules and Bridget with less than two yards of walkway.
The helicopter’s nose dipped and swung toward them, harness dangling, with Dan at the controls. His hand jabbed at the air, and the transport swayed sideways before coming closer.
Bridget laughed.
“What’s funny?” Jules yelled over the rotors.
She held Jules’s arms, firming her position. “Two things, actually. First, I know we’re going to make it up onto the chopper. Second...”
“One sec.” Jules reached, but the harness flew past, way too fast. He beckoned and Dan whirled his hand, shouting something, and the helicopter wobbled, glided backward, the harness bypassing them again. “It’s the updraft. They can’t keep it steady.”
“You wanna hear the other precious, hilarious thing?”
“Save it.”
“Why?”
“I’m concentrating.”
A helicopter that can’t keep steady.
A harness flapping by at variab
le speed.
It’s 6.4 feet ahead.
Altitude is level with me.
Jules threw himself out over the pit. Nice and high. Arms spread wide. Allowing for as many eventualities as possible: the speed, the downward force, the updraft’s effects on the cable and harness...
And grabbed the line.
Both palms sliced open as he slipped down it, his sideways momentum forcing him out wider than he’d hoped.
He held on, though, and took advantage of the error. Now, physics in his favor, using his legs like a pendulum, he returned toward Bridget faster than he departed. He let go with his left, and extended both arms.
Bridget, still grinning, her red hair billowing behind, pushed off with her unburned leg, fully stretched over the pit of raging fire. Jules’s hand met hers and—
The blood was too slick. She fell from his grasp. Dropped straight down...
Where she held on to Jules’s legs, the sudden shift jarring his shoulder, threatening to tear his skin from his palm. He wrapped his legs around her, locking his ankles. Which made her heavier. With his free hand, Jules reached for the harness itself. His knee joints twisted to wedge Bridget in place, as if caught in a martial arts locking move.
The helicopter altered course, causing him to slip farther, holding on with only his fingertips. He strained, the leather strap and buckle right there.
Just within reach.
He slapped it against his bare arm above the Aradia bangle, set the clip to hold him in place, and let go.
They were secure.
The chopper banked, the winch wound upward, and the flaming hole sped by until Dan wrapped his arm under Jules.
Jules clung on to Bridget and she to him, her teeth gritted with the sheer effort.
Both were hauled up into the helicopter’s body, where they lay, breathing hard for several seconds.
Jules was pretty sure his shoulder had dislocated, but he managed to sit up. “So what’s the big thing you wanna tell me?”
Bridget propped herself upright, breathing too hard to speak. She leaned into Jules, Dan supporting her. Toby twisted in the front seat.
