by S. C. Stokes
What had truly happened to the Brujas de Sangre? Had the Spanish turned on their former allies? Had the High Priestess gone in search of her daughter, abandoning the temple and her obligations? For the temple to be buried, it seemed impossible that the witches had remained. Scattering the remnants of such a powerful bloodline would have been a bloodbath, particularly here at the seat of their power.
I could feel it even now, the steady hum of the temple’s power. The arcane structure focused the arcane energies of the ley line it had been built upon. It would have allowed for powerful rituals, far beyond the realm of ordinary wizards. Many ancient and significant archaeological sites had been built upon the ley lines: Stonehenge, the temple of Apollos at Delphi, and the Pyramids themselves.
All of them had been built by ancient practitioners of magic, seeking to augment their power with the earth's supernatural abundance. The Brujas de Sangre had tapped into that power to secure their prosperity. The Spanish had taken advantage of that wealth, and somewhere within the temple I hoped to find answers. Answers to my family’s past, and the bloodline curse enacted here that had claimed generations of my family. The ley line would have provided all the juice the High Priestess Aleida would have needed for such a potent curse. Hopefully, here at its genesis, I could break free from its death grip.
Blood magic. The thought sent a shiver down my spine as I pressed on through the tunnel. A great many secrets lay buried within the temple of the Brujas de Sangre. Some were likely best left there.
Unfortunately, all of it was currently under threat of being destroyed by the Inquisition. I shook my head and picked up the pace, hoping that I wasn’t too late.
The Inquisition, led by Bishop Torquemada, were ruthless opponents of the World of Magic. My father's warning had been clear. They sought to put an end to the presence of magic and those who practiced it. Narrow minded inflexible zealots who couldn’t come to grips with the complexity of the world around them. Unfortunately, they couldn’t fathom the peril of their current course of action.
I mopped the sheen of sweat forming at my brow and lifted my canteen to my lips, taking a long draught and hoping to combat the rising warmth but even the water in my canteen felt warm. Blech.
Killing practitioners of magic was as unlikely to take magic out of the world as killing fish was to purge the oceans of the world. You would poison the ecosystem, but it would remain. The magical community were the beneficiaries of magic, not its source.
Magic was the power by which the world was formed. Our reality was only part of a greater whole. Beyond our realm lay the World of Spirit, a place where dangerous creatures of myth and legend roamed free. It was full of the kinds of beings that bards and peddlers whispered of, parents threatened their children with, and ordinary mortals saw only in their darkest nightmares. The land of the Fey lay in the world of Spirits. Beyond their courts, Gods, old and new, supreme in their respective domains, dabbled in games the mortal mind could not comprehend. All of it remained separated from our reality by the Veil, a barrier that kept things where they ought to be, most of the time.
Killing wizards wouldn't do a damn thing to purge the world of magic, but it would attract the attention of beings that were best left undisturbed. Wizards were a balancing influence in the Supernatural community. Should we vanish or be sufficiently culled, the energy flowing through the earth, channeled from ley line to ley line, might overflow with devastating consequence. It might very well destroy the Veil that guarded our reality. Only then would humanity, in their foolishness, discover creatures far more terrible and dangerous than a little wizard.
The unfettered ignorance of the Inquisition was hardly a new dilemma but it was a dangerous one. It meant my discovery here would likely end very poorly for me.
The tunnel tapered sharply downward and opened into a cavern ending in a murky dark pool of shadows. I waded into the edge of the water, willing my light overhead so that I could see into its depths. About six inches beneath the surface of the water I could make out an iron grill, three feet wide and two feet high. Its bars were spaced wide enough that I could fit my fist through them. Beyond the grill everything was submerged.
The path beyond was flooded, and from the look of the grill, it had been fixed to the inside. I reached my hand through searching for a lock or latch.
I reached deeper, my chin bobbing just above the surface of the water as I buried my arm up the elbow but found nothing. Beyond the grill, something moved. Its shape cut lazily through the murky depths. I pushed off the wall, yanking my hand through the grate and falling ass first into the water, right as a reptilian maw slammed against the grate, its white teeth visible, before it disappeared back into the shadows.
“What the hell was that?” I gasped as I pulled myself out of the water. I stood over the grate and pounded the wall in frustration. Something was alive within the temple, and I had no idea what it was. It was larger than any reptile I had ever seen. Venturing into the murky depths with such a creature was asking to be eaten, and I much preferred all my limbs attached to my body.
A shrill scream echoed toward me. I paused, still waist deep in the water, listening for the source. A softer cry followed, and I realized it was floating down from somewhere up above me. I climbed out of the water and worked my way back along the path, this time paying much closer attention to the wall of the cavern, my werelight bobbing along beside me.
Carved into the wall of the cavern were a number of horizontal trenches spaced several inches apart. They rose from the floor into the darkness above like the rungs of a ladder.
I willed the orb upward, grabbed the stone rungs, and began to climb hand over hand. With no idea of the Inquisition’s position, I tried to move as quietly as possible. They were somewhere overhead. I reached a ledge and pulled myself over it onto a stone platform, built into the wall of the cavern.
A second tunnel rose sharply from the platform heading toward the surface. In the distance I could see flickering lights.
I willed my light out. It wouldn't do me any favors to draw attention to my presence. I made my way carefully along the passage. It rose until it came to a narrow doorway that was a few inches wider than me, but only as tall as my shoulders. Through the doorway there was a vast open chamber.
Stone walls stretched before my eyes. Not the smooth geomancy I’d just encountered in the tunnel. No, this was ancient and tedious workmanship. Each carefully hewn stone laid atop one another and set in place without mortar. Torches flickered in brackets along the wall and from where I stood, I could feel the arcane energy fueling them.
I stared in wonder at the great entrance of the lost temple of the Brujas de Sangre.
Another scream split the tunnel, followed by furious cursing in what sounded like Portuguese. I leaned against the doorway and listened. The Inquisition were somewhere to the left of the opening. By the sound of it, things were going poorly for them.
The hall itself was like an enormous rectangular shaped checkerboard. The floor had been divided into squares of charcoal black and crimson. Each was a dozen paces across and laid out in a five by ten grid that stretched from left to right across the hall. There were clusters of dusty skeletons scattered throughout the hall. Their weapons and the rusted morion gave the distinct impression they had belonged to the conquistadors.
Whatever relationship the Brujas de Sangre had entertained with the Spanish, it had ended poorly. If the Temple had repelled the assault, it explained why the Spanish might have resorted to burying it in the first place. Now they were back to finish what they started.
Over my dead body.
Which, given the circumstances, seemed increasingly likely.
If the Inquisition were on my left, it meant the temples’ annex lay that way. That meant the inner sanctum lay to my right.
I was ahead of the Inquisition, albeit barely.
Scattered throughout the hall were a series of shattered stones as big as an SUV. It seemed like they had collapsed from the
walls or roof, cratering the tiles they had impacted. One such stone blocked my view of the Inquisition’s progress and I dared not stick my head around it for a better look.
To my right, in the distance, stood an open doorway that led deeper into the temple. An opalescent mist filled the passageway and obscured its contents from view.
Another bloodcurdling scream split the air of the entrance hall. A gunshot rang out and the screams died.
“Mark that one as trapped also,” an authoritative voice said. His Spanish accent was both commanding and unmistakable. “And fetch another scout. Hopefully this one will have more luck.”
Bishop Diego Torquemada, the High Inquisitor, in the flesh.
“Your Eminence, we've already lost a dozen,” another voice replied. This one was smooth and velvety. It took a moment for me to place where I’d heard it before. It had been the voice issuing commands to the patrol I’d ambushed outside the village. “We can't just keep throwing men at her. At this rate we’ll have no one left.”
“Their sacrifice advances our cause,” Torquemada said. “No price is too great. They will be remembered as the heroes that made our success possible.”
“Yes, Bishop.” There was the unmistakable sound of a body being dragged out of the way.
“Be quick about it. We’re less than a third of the way and we don't have forever. Sooner or later, the government is going to realize we are here. We must complete the ritual before they arrive,” Torquemada said.
“Not without clearing the temple,” the smooth voice replied. “The wealth of these witches will fuel our cause.”
I pressed my head flat to the wall, trying to get as close as I could without giving away my presence.
“An irony I’m sure they would not appreciate were they still alive to see it,” Torquemada said. “Earthly wealth will mean little if we succeed. It is a secondary consideration. The greatest treasure to be had here is the power of this place. The Blood Witches did us a great service.”
“Thank your maker that the Conquistadors saw to them, or our blood would fill this hall.”
The Bishop scoffed. “A shame they didn’t have greater foresight. They could have spared us the need to return to this dank sweltering nightmare.”
“At least they left us the archives,” the velvet voice said. “Without it, we’d never have found it.”
That was how they had found the temple so readily. Somehow, they had found the records from the original Spanish conquistadors.
“They were certainly thorough,” the Bishop replied. “A rare degree of foresight on their part.”
There was a shuffle of steps, and the velvet voice began. “It’s just like the Wizard of Oz. Follow the yellow brick road. When you get to the end, choose carefully.”
A series of quick steps approached, punctured by a grinding whir and a rush as a dozen projectiles cut through the air. A shrill scream split the air, followed by the distinct thump of a body hitting the ground. The noise was far too close for comfort and was followed by something akin to a spray can being used.
“Hmm, two. That’s better than our average, I guess,” the Bishop said, now less than twenty feet away. “We’ll be inside before breakfast.”
The smooth voice sounded almost giddy with delight as he barked, “Bring us another!”
I was out of time.
15
I had to move, but it felt like my legs were stuck in concrete. The Inquisition were closing fast and in moments they would be on top of me, but I had nowhere to go. I looked at the boulder strewn entryway to the temple. From the tortured shrieks of the Inquisition, I knew only too well what waited for me if I was to risk a blind dash through the entrance hall.
The trap-laden passage would have my number in seconds. It was suicidal but I was running out of other options.
The Inquisition had already lost a dozen men. My chance at making it through unscathed were practically zero. I thought of Ellawaya’s journal and wracked my brain for anything that might help me, but I just kept coming up blank. The killing field had been designed for a single lethal purpose: to keep the uninitiated out of the inner sanctum.
I mentally raced through the passages I had read on the plane, hunting desperately for answers. As the clamor behind me grew, a single crimson image distilled in my mind.
The death mask.
I’d spent hours studying it on the journey to Panama. Its alien designs had seemed random, but as I studied the passageway around me, a pattern was beginning to form in my mind. Reaching beneath my combat rigging, I unzipped the pouch I used to conceal the mask and drew it out.
The bloodstained crimson artifact thrummed with power. It was even more vibrant now than when I had first picked it up. The mask was home, and it knew it. I turned the mask over in my hands and studied the face. There beneath the empty eye sockets was a strange, ridged pattern where the nose ought to be.
Drawing it close, I saw it for what it was. A clue, hidden in plain sight. It was a five by ten grid where some of the squares were raised while others were depressed into the mask. Holding the mask before me I studied the entry hall and realized the ridges didn't correspond to the colors of the tiles on the chamber’s floor.
They marked something else. They marked the safe passage through the proverbial minefield.
Another scream split the air.
“That makes no sense at all,” The Bishop growled, his voice growing impatient.
“It's a false path,” the smooth voice replied. “There must be another path. Let’s try the tiles to the right.”
I studied the nose of the mask. A small series of raised indentations curved in an almost S like shape but led nowhere except a series of trap laden tiles. Even without laying eyes on the Inquisition, I knew where they were.
Unfortunately, the safe path ran through the square I now sat on. If the Inquisition had tried the others, the very next square they ought to try was the start of the path that would land them right in my lap. What was more, the first three safe tiles lay in a straight line toward me.
They would be on me as soon as they could find another ‘volunteer.’
I stepped forward, out of the doorway, and huddled behind the fallen stone. Glancing back toward the hidden entrance, I did a double take. The opening had disappeared. In its place was a stone wall. I reached my hand back, and it passed through the stone without resistance.
Interesting. There was a glamour hiding the presence of the hidden entrance. Even if the Inquisition passed it, there was every chance it would go undetected.
Turning back to the task at hand, I charted my course through the hall. Here and there, skeletal remains gave none too subtle indications of the presence of traps. With the mask to guide me, I knew the path I had to take, but I couldn't just take off across the killing field.
With the Inquisition on my left, I needed cover.
Focusing my mind, I drew on my power and chanted, “Nieblas de la oscuridad.”
A broiling black mist blossomed before me. Like a storm cloud, the rolling mist expanded through the entrance hall between the Inquisition and me. I channeled power into the mist, causing it to grow until a dense wall of smog divided me from their prying eyes.
“What's that?” the smooth voice called.
“Magic,” Torquemada’s voice spat. “The air is thick with it.”
“Get the gas masks,” the second voice replied. “Just in case.”
The mist was harmless, but they had no way of knowing that. It certainly looked sinister enough. I hoped it would buy me the room I needed. I’d have liked to take a shot at Torquemada, but there was no sense in alerting them to my presence before I had to. If I missed they would turn the annex into a killing field.
For all they knew the mist was part of the temple’s defenses. I wanted to keep it that way.
As the darkness spread, I reached for a small cylindrical object fastened to the back of my tactical rigging. The small device was a flash bang. When detonated, it would
bombard anyone unfortunate enough to be nearby with a flash brighter than seven million candles, and a blast of sound that would make a shrieking banshee seem like a quiet neighbor. It was a hell of a party starter.
I armed the device and hurled it through the mist at the unsuspecting Inquisition.
The cloud muffled the sound of the flash bang as it skittered across the tiles, and out the other side. I crouched behind the stone, covered my ears, and turned away as the blast radiated through the chamber.
There was a series of confused shouting from the Inquisition, but I was already on my feet, mask in hand, racing across the chamber. The next safe tile was diagonal to the one I stood on.
I leapt onto the crimson tile, took three quick steps, and leapt for the next. Again, it lay diagonal to the tile I raced across.
Almost six tiles into the deadly maze, I was making swift progress. But here the Brujas de Sangre had set their second layer of perfidy. The path doubled back on itself back toward the Inquisition. I sprinted on to the next tile, my breath coming in short bursts. The tile was charcoal gray, and I sank down behind some crumbling masonry as I searched the chamber beyond. The roof overhead was the height of a three-story building. Pillars along each wall seemed to hold it in place. The only path through the chamber was the deadly grid set in the floor. The walls were smooth, and no purchase could be found there.
The mask warned that up ahead the path branched into three possible options. And from my vantage point on the chamber’s floor, I could see that there were in fact three arches at the end of the chamber. The central passage remained open, and a white mist continued to billow within it. To the left and right, there were identical entry archways, but they remained sealed. A stone wall prevented any passage. Only the central path was open: that was my goal. I had to make it to that tunnel before the Inquisition could put a bullet in the back of my skull.
I doubled back, leaping onto the square closest to the Inquisition's earliest attempt across the chamber, then raced across the charcoal square before leaping onto another on the left-hand edge of the chamber. I knew from the mask there were two safe squares in a row. I raced off the charcoal square I stood, onto a crimson one before risking a look over my shoulder toward the chamber entrance. The black mist was dissipating and three figures in combat armor were emerging like ghosts from the darkness. They were clad in black armor with red crimson crosses emblazoned on the chest piece, and each of them wore gas masks to protect them from the fog.
