by T. Frohock
Guillermo pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes.
He’s trying not to cry. He never wants us to see him weak. These are the moments he saves for when he’s alone with his wife. But Juanita was in France with the children, and Guillermo needed help now. Diago had no idea how she comforted him, so he did what he knew to do for Miquel and waited patiently for Guillermo to regain control.
Guillermo opened his eyes and chuffed an embarrassed laugh. “I didn’t support you all those years expecting reimbursement.”
“I know. That’s what makes us friends.”
Guillermo smiled, and some of the weariness left his countenance.
But not completely gone, Diago thought as he returned to the cleft. He needs time away from all this in order to heal.
We all do.
“We should go.”
With a last sad look in the direction of Carme’s corpse, Guillermo nodded and pocketed his lighter. “Okay. Let’s get this bastard.”
Now he sounds more like himself. Diago felt his own confidence return as he ducked back into the tunnel, dragging the packs behind him. The stone pressed against him again, pushing him down, but he kept Feran’s face firmly in his mind’s eye. Feran, who dared insinuate that Diago couldn’t be trusted based on nothing more than his daimonic lineage, was the worst traitor of all.
I will hunt you, Feran Perez. In this incarnation and all others. I will find you. “That is my oath,” Diago whispered as he reached the passage. And I will teach you to fear the dark.
4
Diago watched Guillermo drag himself through the narrow tunnel. Twice the big nefil had to stop, his breath loud in the enclosed space.
The scent of Guillermo’s fear, sharp in the cold air, aroused a pleasurable warmth in the pit of Diago’s stomach. His tongue flickered between his lips, and he tasted the big nefil’s panic, tangy and sweet.
I can’t let myself get used to this. “Guillermo?” He shone his light into the tunnel.
The beam caught the top of Guillermo’s head, where his cap sat askew. He looked like a boy caught in a bad place.
Pity tugged at Diago’s heart, and again he heard Miquel, patiently teaching him: Be aware of your feelings. Nurture your empathy for others, and the evil within you will die.
Diago focused on his compassion for Guillermo. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m okay.” His hoarse whisper was barely audible. He didn’t lift his head. “Just a little claustrophobic. It’ll pass.”
“Claustrophobia doesn’t pass.”
“I know.” Guillermo took several short breaths before he continued. “I can control it.” Then, softer, more to himself, he muttered, “I must.”
“What can I do to help?”
“I need a breeze. Just to feel the air moving.”
“Then come to me. The air is moving here.” Diago lowered his torch and held out his hand.
Guillermo lifted his head and crawled forward a few more centimeters before he stopped again. “I think I’m stuck.”
Diago aimed the beam over Guillermo’s back. “You’re not stuck. Your coat is caught. Back up a few centimeters . . . there, that’s enough. Now pull your coat tight . . . that’s good. Come forward. I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you. Keep coming. Good, very good.” He reached through the arch and took Guillermo’s wrist. “You’re almost done. Can you feel the breeze?”
Guillermo heaved himself through the arch. He scrambled forward and drew his knees against his chest. “Oh fuck, that was tight.” Gasping for air, he tilted his head back against the wall.
Diago kept his voice low. “Just be glad you lost some weight. You wouldn’t have fit six months ago.”
“Always looking on the sunny side, aren’t you?” He gave Diago a shaky smile and got to his feet. Freckles stood stark against his pale cheeks and a thin sheen of sweat covered his brow.
“Okay?” Diago touched his shoulder.
Guillermo nodded. “I’m just too old for this.”
“We’re not old.” Diago shoved Guillermo’s pack into his arms. “We’re venerable.” He paused and examined Guillermo’s features in the dim light. “Are you sure you can do this?”
Guillermo nodded as he shouldered the rucksack. “Before the war, Juanita was helping me control the claustrophobia with something she calls exposure therapy. We’d . . . I would force myself to endure the very thing I feared. It must be working.” He gestured at the tunnel they’d just come through. “I couldn’t have done this five years ago.” A few more deep breaths, and his color returned somewhat. “I’m going to be all right.”
Diago almost believed him. “Maybe you should go back and wait for me in the cavern. We might hit tighter spots than that down below.”
Guillermo shook his head. “No, this is good for me. I’m going to beat this.” Before Diago could argue, Guillermo turned to the wall and traced a location glyph on the stone. The ward shimmered for a moment and then faded; it would remain hidden to anyone but them. “That’s our anchor. Every ten meters, we’ll add a ward to link back to it. That should keep us from getting lost.”
“Good idea.” Diago noted that his friend’s hands steadied as he created the sigil.
Guillermo gestured with his torch. “Then let’s move out.”
Diago led the way, picking a careful path over the rock-strewn floor. Every click of the stones sliding beneath their feet seemed magnified in the silence.
Nothing to do but hope Feran doesn’t hear us coming. Diago shone his light over the walls, searching the niches for active sigils. Although Guillermo didn’t protest the slow pace, Diago felt the other nefil’s sense of urgency pressing at his back.
The passage looped to the left before descending again. The distance between floor and ceiling narrowed until they were forced to walk bent at the waist. Diago glanced back, but so far Guillermo seemed to be handling the enclosed spaces without any further signs of panic.
They came to a junction between two tunnels. Diago gestured for Guillermo to wait. He followed the left passage. Away from Guillermo, he sniffed the air. All that met his nostrils was the metallic scent of water.
Cave straws hung from the ceiling. They easily snapped beneath his touch. No one had come this way, especially no one moving fast.
Diago returned to Guillermo and signaled for him to remain still. He ventured down the right-hand passage, shining the beam of his light across the floor. A partially clear puddle of water indicated the silt had yet to fully settle. Feran had passed this way not long ago. Another two meters in and Diago found the thin cave straws were snapped close to the low ceiling. A handprint muddied one wall.
Inhaling, Diago caught the scent of Feran’s terror clinging to the damp air. This time he made no effort to silence his daimonic longing to taste another’s fear.
Licking his lips, he backtracked to Guillermo. “This way.”
Guillermo anchored another sigil to the wall. “Are we far behind him?”
“Hard to say.” Diago considered the question. “Twenty minutes, maybe thirty.”
Guillermo finished the ward and gave Diago a sharp nod. “Let’s see if we can narrow that time frame.”
They moved as silently as possible in the tight passage.
Because he was relying almost as much on his sense of smell as his eyes, Diago was the first to notice the moist air carried a different odor. The stench of blood and rot crept over the scent of Feran’s anxiety.
Shining his light along the walls and floor, he soon found a splash of blood near the base of the wall. Red shards flickered over the stones. Rising from the bloodstain was the slender arm of a fungus. Dotted in black, the red pulpy flesh resembled a sinister finger.
Diago squatted beside the fungus.
Guillermo crab-walked to his side and whispered, “I didn’t know stinkhorn grew in caves.”
“It doesn’t. Carme must have hit Feran with the Devil’s Fingers.”
“What?”
“The sam
e spell that almost caught us back in the cave. I thought you knew.”
Guillermo shook his head. “I just figured if it was coming from Carme, it was lethal.”
“She patterned it after a species of stinkhorn she discovered in Australia. Essentially, when the sigil explodes, it jettisons smaller glyphs under the victim’s skin, where they become spores.” Diago pointed to the red shards darting through the bloodstain. “They surface as painful boils, and as they mature, the fingers”—he pointed to the withering finger on the stones—“begin to push through the victim’s flesh. Of course, once the fingers reach the air, they emit the same foul odor as the fungus.”
Guillermo paled. “That’s horrible.”
“Yeah, I know.” Diago couldn’t keep his admiration from seeping into his voice. “She always had a daimon’s love of nature.”
“I’m glad you never said that around her.” Guillermo frowned. “If it’s a fungus, can he spread the spores to other people?”
Diago shook his head. “It’s harmless to anyone who wasn’t the recipient of the spell. But the spores do continue to spread through the victim’s body until they either reach the internal organs or the victim takes his own life.”
“How long does he have?”
“Weeks, months.” Diago shrugged. “She designed it as a slow kill.”
Guillermo shuddered. “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone . . . except maybe Feran.”
“Oh, his fucking days are numbered now.” Diago didn’t try to keep the glee from his voice. Only a nefil in his second-born life would be so arrogant as to take on an old nefil like Carme, who was in her fifth incarnation.
He probably thought her injuries weakened her. If so, that was a bad judgment call on Feran’s part, and very likely his last in this incarnation. Diago got to his feet. “How are you holding up?”
Guillermo nodded. “I’m okay. Let’s move.”
Diago did just that. A few meters farther, they came to a rockfall that blocked the entire passage.
Guillermo swore. “What now?”
“Hold my light.” Alert for sigils, Diago eased forward and examined the spill. “Looks like the one back at the cave. It was deliberately set.”
“He knows we’re following him.”
“Maybe. And then again, maybe he knew we would and this was simply a precaution to slow us down. If he suspected we were close on his heels, he would have set more traps along the way.”
Guillermo didn’t seem convinced. “He didn’t leave traps for us because his fight with Carme weakened him.”
Diago looked over his shoulder. “How can you be so sure?”
“I know my nefilim. Feran still hasn’t learned to pace his song in a battle. He gets overexcited and belts out his attacks allegro.” Guillermo indicated the quick tempo with lively snaps of his fingers.
“Do you study us all so thoroughly?”
“It’s my job. Like I know you’ve been fighting your daimonic desires ever since you carved the stone back at the ridge.”
Diago’s fingers slowed, but he didn’t turn. “Am I that obvious?”
“Only to me. And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you to do such a thing.”
Diago turned and met his friend’s gaze. “You did right. It’s like your claustrophobia—it never goes away. But Miquel has given me the tools to control it. Besides, it’s helping me track our friend.” Returning his attention to the rockfall, he brushed the smaller stones aside and caught a whiff of Feran’s terror wafting through the rubble.
Maybe it was time to use his daimonic talents again. Just as he’d carved the stone on the ridge, he might have a chance to punch through Feran’s obstacle. “Stand back. I’m going to try something.”
Guillermo retreated several paces and knelt. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Make a protective ward in case Feran left us a nasty surprise on the other side.” Diago traced small sigils over the rocks, linking them together with short, hard notes. When he finished, it looked as if a web of black dots covered the rockfall.
A quick glance over his shoulder showed him that Guillermo nurtured a ball of golden light in one hand. He waited until the big nefil finished his song.
Diago placed his palms on the stones. “Ready?”
“On your signal.”
“On three . . . One, two, three!” Diago cried out a sharp note. His tenor slammed hard against the sigils. Striking the rubble with his palms, he pushed against the center of the ward. The black dots wiggled into the crevices between the stones. Threads of silver and gold accentuated his spell, strengthening his song.
Suddenly the rocks fell away from his hands. Instead of a continuation of the passage, he found himself facing a sheer drop into darkness. Unable to stop his forward motion, he reached for a handhold. His hands found only air.
Plunging over the ledge, he lost his balance and skidded first to his knees and then onto his stomach. Dust flew in his face, blurring the steep incline. Rocks tumbled around him.
He twisted hard to the left and onto his side. A fist-sized stone barely missed his nose. As he shifted his position, he glimpsed a large boulder directly in his path.
Caught in the avalanche, he couldn’t slow his descent. Then the chamber brightened as a fiery ward flew over his head.
Guillermo’s sigil.
The waves of sound landed between him and the boulder. The glyph expanded and formed a cushion between the rock and his body. A shock went through him when he struck the light. It was like landing on a hard mattress. Still, the weight of the ward slowed his downward plunge and pushed him to one side. His hip grazed the boulder, and then he slowed to a stop.
A cascade of smaller stones peppered his body before the landslide subsided. Diago’s heart hammered as the ward shimmered and faded. Staggering to his feet, he stumbled a few steps on shaky legs and then turned to look upward through the churning dust.
Guillermo stood on the ledge and lowered his hands. “Are you all right?”
A coughing fit interrupted Diago’s answer. He spat and measured his breathing until he regained control. Then he brushed the dust from his clothing and tested his limbs. Years of dancing had taught him to be sensitive to torn tendons and pulled muscles. He seemed to have dodged any serious injuries. “I’ll be bruised and battered”—he gestured at the boulder—“but not dead.”
“Good.” Picking his way carefully down the slope, Guillermo made a much more judicious descent. He reached Diago’s side and gave him his torch and pack as if nothing untoward had happened. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yeah.” Diago sighed as he took the items. “Thanks to you.”
“Hey, we’re a team. You talk me through the tight spots, and I’ll keep you from breaking boulders with your head.” Guillermo freed his torch from its hood and dropped the cloth to the ground. “No use sneaking around now. If Feran didn’t hear that, he’s either deaf or long gone from this place.”
Diago didn’t argue. He released the hood from his light and shone it upward. The chamber was huge. Adorned in golden hues of browns and reds, the domed cavern rose over twenty meters high. The shape brought to mind the natural stone formations Gaudí mimicked with his architecture. Flowstone draperies swept across the walls. Stalactites and stalagmites joined together to form columns rising majestically throughout the room.
A clear pool of water occupied one side of the chamber, encircled by a narrow shore. When Diago moved the beam of his torch away from the water, the glassy surface turned black. Like the portals over the angels’ river of fire.
Whether for fear of echoes or from reverence for the natural splendor surrounding them, Guillermo kept his voice low and murmured, “Looks like Feran has disappeared again. He’s turned into quite the magician.”
“He relies on his environment for his tricks. There has to be another exit.” Diago shone his light along the shore.
Across the pool, a flash of orange flickered behind a curtain of flowstone. The familia
r crackle of a sigil flickered, hissed, and then went silent.
They switched off their torches. Diago traced the lines of a protective ward in the air. Beside him, Guillermo did the same. They moved in unison, their hands gracefully shaping their shields. As they sang their glyphs to life, their voices joined together, forming a melodious echo in the chamber. Guillermo’s shield blazed in fiery shades of red and orange; Diago’s burst into viridian hues laced with streaks of silver and gold.
Diago frowned. “My sigils have never burned gold before.”
Guillermo glanced at the ward. “It’s probably because of the river of fire.”
“What the hell did you do to me?”
“You’re angel, too. The fire that touched you is manifesting in your song. That’s all. It’s probably nothing you didn’t already have inside yourself.”
“Why do you keep saying ‘probably’?”
Before Guillermo could answer, the glyph across the room flashed again. He seemed relieved by the distraction. “Come on.” He crept toward the sporadic flashes. “It’s a dying sigil.”
“Are you sure?” Diago drew his pistol and followed.
“Reasonably sure.”
“That’s not sure.”
Guillermo didn’t answer. Intent on the aurora borealis of hues shimmering over the flowstone, he stepped beneath a natural arch.
Diago took a slow breath and followed. Behind the flowstone was a much tighter passage. He had just enough room to stand shoulder to shoulder with Guillermo.
Three meters away, a sigil stretched from one wall to the other. The threads of light anchored against the stone like a giant spider’s web. Blasts of pure red traveled across the symbols embedded in the glyph before dimming into rose and ivory.
“What—”
Guillermo cut him off. “Listen.”
Diago detected the sound of nefilim, singing with broken voices. “That’s the chant I heard when I carved the stone.”
“Read the symbols.”
Diago peered at the sigil. “Infinity, gamma . . .” He frowned at the string of numbers embedded in the ward’s innermost circle. “Degrees of longitude and latitude?”
