by T. Frohock
Guillermo’s mouth tightened and his eyes narrowed. Without a word, he stepped around Diago and set out again.
Swell. Diago hurried to catch up to him. I shouldn’t kick him when he’s down, but this is madness. “You know, everyone wants my honest opinion until I give it to them.”
“I never asked for your opinion. I was simply thinking out loud.” He lengthened his stride, forcing Diago to hurry.
As if their misery weren’t complete, the rain turned into snow. The weather, Christ, even the weather is turning on us. And we can’t afford to turn on each other. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so blunt. Sometimes it’s hard for me to remember that you’re brothers, and when you start talking about forgiving him, it scares me.”
Guillermo shook his head and slowed his pace. “Maybe that’s part of the problem,” he admitted with a sigh. “I’m scared, too. I realize what my brother is capable of doing, but I’m looking for a way out.”
The strain between them diminished, and Diago was glad. “We’ve got some time. Jordi is going to secure Spain under Franco, and then try to negotiate with Queen Rousseau. She’s no fool. He’ll have a hard time convincing her to turn us over to him. He’s tied himself too tightly to Queen Jaeger.” And the German nefilim were chafing for another chance to bring France to heel.
“I think you’re right. Jaeger is biding her time until she’s ready to goad Hitler into an attack on France.”
Knowing all this, how can he possibly believe that he can change Jordi? Not wanting to provoke Guillermo again, Diago held the thought close and peeked at his friend as they trudged side by side. Weariness and resignation surrounded Guillermo. He’s tired and mourning the good nefilim he lost during this war. He just needed to grieve and rest. Then he’d regain his equilibrium and forget this insanity of trying to change Jordi.
Hoping to be out of the wind soon, Diago checked the distance between them and the shelter. Just ahead, beneath the veil of snow, the cave’s mouth grinned at them. The dry stinging flakes came down harder, carried by the howling wind.
As opposed to the storm, the quiet emanating from the cave seemed ominous. A flash of pale blue wiggled along the lip of stone.
A sigil. Diago saw it just as Guillermo pointed it out.
Like every angel’s glyph, each nefil’s technique worked like a signature, and this ward carried familiar vibrations. From the color and harsh angle of the lines, Diago recognized Carme’s song.
The snow quickly extinguished the already dying light. The ward’s intent was unclear. Still, wounded nefilim rarely used their energy for a sigil unless provoked . . . or threatened.
Diago chambered a round in his Mauser. “Do you think other members of Sitz’s squad managed to circle behind us?”
“Not likely.” Guillermo formed a protective ward. Angelic fire crackled around them, lashing snow and darkness alike. It wouldn’t stop a bullet but worked like a flare to distract the enemy’s attention. He gestured for Diago to go left.
Diago put two meters between them. At Guillermo’s signal, they rushed the cavern’s entrance.
3
As they charged forward, Guillermo tossed his glyph into the cave. Diago followed the ward. He went in at a crouch and fell to one knee. Beside him, Guillermo drew his pistol and ducked beneath the overhang. They made a quick sweep of the area, searching for obstacles and potential threats.
The cavern was wide and surprisingly tall in places. Shaped like a clamshell, it narrowed toward the rear. A few spent casings dotted the smooth floor. Boulders and flowstone formations spread close to the walls, giving a sniper plenty of room to hide.
Diago searched for human shapes, or the glint of light against metal, which might reveal the muzzle of a gun. No shots rang out, nor did he detect the telltale scuffle of movement that might precede an ambush. That doesn’t mean one isn’t coming.
Guillermo’s sigil burned low and then went out. Shadows devoured the faint streams of gray twilight that managed to slip inside. The cave felt strangely empty.
Now that he was out of the wind, Diago’s sense of smell returned. The electric odor of dying sigils reminded him of fried wiring. Wisps of smoke rose from the scarred flowstone.
The remains of a few fading glyphs sputtered against the walls and slithered among clusters of speleothems. Diago recognized the colors of Carme’s and Feran’s songs on the fading wards. Given the condition of the sigils, the battle had been short and intense. Whatever the fight, no third party seemed to have been involved.
A thick brown streak of blood led from the center of the chamber to a squarish boulder the size of lorry. Crawled or dragged? Diago wondered as he examined the trail. The amount of blood on the floor indicated an injury much graver than Carme sustained on the hill. The profusion of wards sizzling around the heavy stone clearly belonged to her.
Rising, Diago edged forward, vaguely aware of Guillermo covering his advance. As he neared the rock, he found two spent cartridges and a boot with the foot turned at an odd angle.
The shoe’s cracked sole and the worn sides told him it was Carme. He whispered her name and hoped the foot would move. She didn’t.
Diago swallowed hard. Damn it, Carme. What happened? He nudged the boot with his rifle’s muzzle. “Come on, Carme. You’re too goddamned mean to die.”
At the sound of his voice, an indigo glyph slithered over the top of the boulder. Diago froze. The ward was mere centimeters from his eyes. It rose like a snake, weaving its head back and forth. Serrated red sparks throbbed along the slender body. He recognized it immediately. It was a particularly nasty spell, and one of Carme’s specialties. She’d named it after the fungus it represented: Devil’s Fingers.
“Carme.” Guillermo whispered her name like a prayer. “We’re here now. Kill the ward.”
Diago risked a glance downward. The boot remained still. She’s dead. Which meant the ward would fulfill its design.
But it’s weak. She must have been near death when she formed it. Diago kept his hand low and formed a protective ward of his own. Using a low growl at the back of his throat, he charged it with the power of his voice.
Shades of green, threaded with silver, ignited around the six entwined circles he’d created. Embers of gold embraced the glyph’s edges.
Diago scowled. That never happened before. Nor did he have time to analyze it. Carme’s ward swelled. And when it matures, it will explode.
The shimmer of golden light around his glyph didn’t seem to damage it. Quite the reverse. Like the silver from the angel’s tear in his ring, the golden rays seemed to enhance the power of his ward. As Carme’s sigil expanded, so did his.
Without warning, the indigo snake burst. Millions of serrated fragments sailed through the air. Diago’s glyph shot upward and outward. The circles spread to shield both him and Guillermo, absorbing Carme’s spell. The spores fell to the cavern floor, where they withered and died.
Diago exhaled. “That was close.”
“She must be unconscious.” The denial in Guillermo’s voice wrenched Diago’s pity into his throat.
He wants her to be alive so badly. Lying to him helped neither of them. “She’s dead.”
“You don’t know that. You can’t see her.”
“I know it like I know—” Diago snapped his teeth together before he could finish the sentence. Like your brother thrives on hate.
The accusation touched the roof of his mouth. The daimon-born nature he’d awakened on the ridge wanted him to say it aloud, not only because it was the truth, but in order to gouge Guillermo’s heart so Diago could feed on his pain.
The craving was like a drug, one that required a higher dosage with each encounter. Nor was it an addiction that Diago wanted.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, remembering his husband’s advice to follow his actions to their logical conclusion. If I lash out at Guillermo, his pain will become my guilt, setting up an endless cycle of retribution between us. We will stab each other, first wi
th words, and then with our actions, until one or both of us are dead.
In another incarnation, he might have expressed the sentiment without caring. No more. Miquel had taught him he needn’t be enslaved to his daimonic passions. He could lead Guillermo to the truth without antagonizing their friendship.
Guillermo’s aura threw off dangerous sparks. “You know it like you know what?”
“Nothing. Where’s Feran?”
“Where indeed?” Guillermo snarled.
Full dark descended outside the cave. Even with his superior night vision, Diago found it hard to see. Shouldering his Mauser, he traded the rifle for his pistol and a torch.
Guillermo likewise drew his torch, shining it into the chamber’s crevices. Together they secured the perimeter with a full investigation and found no further threats. Nor did they locate either Feran or his body.
Diago returned to the site of Carme’s last stand. He stepped around the boulder to find her corpse. She’d died as she lived—with her gun in her hand. A half-formed ward sputtered beside her hip. Fresh lacerations covered her face, probably from the pieces of stone that were obviously chipped by either wards or bullets. She’d been stabbed in the gut. That explained the trail of blood. A bullet had been placed between her eyes. If the powder burns were any indication, it was the coup de grâce.
Diago knelt beside her body. “She’s dead.”
Guillermo seemed to shrink two sizes beneath his disappointment. “Are you sure there’s nothing we can do?”
His friend’s plaintive tone made Diago glad he’d exercised restraint earlier. “Yes. I’m sure. Her soul is gone. I don’t even think your river of fire could bring her back now.” The fact that Guillermo didn’t try told Diago that he knew it, too.
“Goddamn it,” Guillermo muttered as he turned away and pretended to scan the cave, but not before Diago saw a tear slip from his eye. “I never saw it coming. Feran is . . .”
“The kind of person your brother draws to him.” Diago kept his tone mild and carefully checked his motives. The need to hurt Guillermo had vanished, but lying to him could cause more pain in the long run. He arranged Carme’s jacket and stroked her cold cheek. Choosing his words with care, he pressed his case against Jordi. “Feran is hungry for shortcuts to fame, and that is Jordi’s way, too.”
“You don’t even know for certain that he’s working for Jordi.”
“Think about it: Feran wanted to stay with you on the ridge, probably to act as a fifth column for Sitz. You’re distracted with the squad”—he lifted his hand and pointed his finger at Guillermo’s head—“then bang. After that, he and Sitz storm the cave and take down Carme and me. He was working with them. I’m sure of it.”
“This is not a conversation we’re going to have right now. Let me in there.”
Maybe not now, but it was a discussion Diago intended to continue. Later. He backed out of the alcove and moved away a respectful distance.
Guillermo knelt beside Carme and kissed his palm before placing it over her throat. When he spoke, his voice was tight with rage. “I will watch for you, my good servant, Carme Gebara. We will sing of you in France. Listen for our song.”
When Guillermo left her side, Diago returned to say his own goodbye. “Sometimes respect has to be enough.” Touching her throat and then her heart, he said no prayers, but instead gave her the nefilim’s promise: “I will watch for you.”
Guillermo turned a slow circle in the center of the room. “This”—he gestured at the carnage of perishing glyphs—“was one hell of a fight. How is it we didn’t hear it?”
“I heard gunshots and assumed they were from Sitz’s men. Then we were occupied with our own fight. Look around you. This began and ended within moments.”
Guillermo conceded the point. “Fair enough. But how did Feran slip out under our noses?”
Diago examined the perimeter with a new interest. “Who said he left the same way he came in?”
“I didn’t see any passages when we canvassed.”
“That doesn’t mean one isn’t there. He said he’d used this cave before.” Diago climbed a pile of loose stones and shifted several to one side. The wall behind them was solid. He moved a few meters to the right and chose another mound of rocks. These were heavier, some as large as crates.
Guillermo followed him with his torch. “What can I do to help?”
“Just give me light.”
Guillermo obeyed him. All Diago found was more wall. He moved to the next pile, working the smaller clusters first. At the fourth section, he found an inch of darkness in the cleft between two rocks. He pressed his fingers against the hole and felt the whisper of warm air kiss his flesh.
“I think I found it.”
Guillermo put down his torch and helped. Together, they moved the stones aside. The cleft widened.
Diago shone the light into the shaft. “It’s narrow, but I think I can get through it.”
He went to Carme’s body and took her coat. Using his knife, he cut two long strips and fashioned a pair of kneepads from the wool while Guillermo continued to move the rocks.
When he’d cleared as much debris from the opening as he could, Guillermo squatted and shone his light inside. “Don’t go far.”
“I won’t.” Diago dropped to his hands and knees; he pushed his torch in front of him and then inserted his head and shoulders into the passage. Smooth stone surrounded him.
After a thorough check for sigils, he inched forward. His back scraped the tunnel’s ceiling, forcing him to lower his torso and drag himself forward on his elbows. The stone grew slick and damp. Eight meters in, the passage widened. Each breath came easier as the stone receded.
He wiggled through an arch and found himself with enough room to stand. Moisture coated the reddish-brown stones in a thin film. The low passage continued for thirty paces before twisting around a bend.
Diago ran his beam along the floor. Stones had been recently turned by footsteps. Feran.
Moving stealthily, he went to the corner and checked the passage’s length. The next section continued until the darkness swallowed the beam of Diago’s torch.
Standing perfectly still, he listened. The only sound of movement came from behind, where Guillermo waited. Feran is gone.
“Are you okay?” Guillermo’s whisper carried his anxiety.
Diago returned to the tunnel. “Yes. I’m fine.” He crawled back to the cavern and reported what he had found.
“None of this makes sense.” Guillermo exhaled in frustration. “He murders Carme while we’re distracted and then flees into the caverns. Why run? He could have ambushed us as we entered the cave. What was he after?”
Diago ran his light over the floor again. “Do you see Carme’s pack?”
Guillermo swept the beam of his torch near the mouth of the cavern. “No.”
“She carried a notebook of contacts with her.” Diago returned to her body and searched her clothing. The notebook was gone. Never mind that the pages were protected by sigils and the names written in code. During wars, glyphs were untangled and codes broken. Icy tendrils of fear plunged into his stomach. “Feran missed the opportunity to take you out, so he cut his losses and grabbed the notebook. Believe me now?”
Guillermo nodded. “I’m afraid I do.”
“If he takes that to Jordi, we’re going to lose our spies in Germany and Italy.”
“Shit and bitter shit. We’ve got to go after him.”
“These mountains are riddled with labyrinths. He could be anywhere down there.”
A dark glimmer flickered in Guillermo’s eyes. “Do we dare follow the cobra into his nest?”
“Do we have a choice?”
While Guillermo secured the packs with a length of rope, Diago cut a piece from his blanket. He used his knife to make a pinprick hole in the wool. Wrapping the cloth around the head of his torch, he secured it with surgical tape.
“Give me your torch.” He held out his hand.
“Why?”
“I’m hooding them. We don’t want to give Feran too much warning that we’re behind him.”
“Won’t it be completely dark down there?”
“Yes, but there will be twists and turns. A full beam might throw shadows and attract his attention. We’ll have to leave the rifles behind, though. They’ll be too cumbersome to carry in the tighter passages.”
Guillermo didn’t question the decision. He went to work removing the rounds and redistributing them between the packs. The ammunition could be repurposed if necessary. He then picked up his rifle.
“What are you doing?” Diago went to work fashioning a set of kneepads for Guillermo.
“Decommissioning them.” Using his thumbnail, he traced a line along the bolt. Then he hummed a deep note, charging the sigil until it glowed in reddish hues before it sank into the metal. “I’m fusing the bolt to the extractor and firing pin.” He set his gun aside and then picked up Diago’s, repeating the procedure.
When Guillermo finished, Diago helped him adjust the kneepads.
“I’ll go first.” Taking the end of the rope that tied their packs together, Diago got to his feet and started for the cleft. “Once I’ve dragged the packs through, you come next.” He realized Guillermo wasn’t following him. “What now?”
Guillermo glanced toward Carme’s body. He absently reached into his breast pocket for a cigar that wasn’t there. Letting his hand fall, he fumbled for his lighter and gripped the device with the fervor of a man holding on to a life preserver. “I’m so tired, Diago. I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”
The wind howled outside the cave, almost drowning the sound of Guillermo’s grief, but Diago heard it loud and clear. His daimonic need to aggravate that pain rose in Diago’s chest, but he knuckled it down.
He returned to Guillermo’s side and touched his friend’s wrist. “Whenever you’re unsure of yourself, lean on me, and I’ll hold you up until you’re rested and ready again. I’ll guard your back and help you make good decisions. Just like you did for me all these centuries.”
