by S. C. Stokes
But that alone would not suffice. Just as the Inquisition had set out to prove, with enough time and expendable manpower, you could navigate the dangers of the entrance hall. The mist was the temple’s second line of defense, and this chamber was the third. The mist ensured no one but the bearer of the mask could open the temple, but how could they ensure that such a visitor was one of their own?
By ensuring those that would enter could pass a test. This test.
The temple wasn't meant to be closed to my bloodline. With the mask in hand, I should have all the tools I needed to enter the temple. In that instant, I understood the test.
The scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark flashed through my mind as Indi swiped a statue and replaced it with a bag of sand. The scene was a hotly debated moment among fans. After all, a bag of sand would way considerably less than an equal quantity of gold. Indi’s seeming short sighted gambit had destroyed the temple, but it gave me an idea.
Gold weighed more than sand. The recess in the altar was clearly intended to be full of a precise measure of sand. The response of the runes to the sand being removed by my earlier spell was evidence of that. What if all of the sand was required for the test?
Resting my hand against the sand, I calmed my racing heart and focused on the bloodline magic of the Brujas de Sangre that flowed through my veins.
The bloodline power to transmute one substance into another. My ancestors had used it to transmute stone into gold that they could trade with. My immediate ancestors had used it to build an empire. I channeled it for its intended purpose: to open their ancient temple. It made sense that the rituals of the temple would include a test of power to determine if the supplicant was of the right lineage.
“Oro,” I whispered.
I felt the power flow through my being, before it enveloped me. The temple filled with a hum of power as if the edifice itself was responding to the magic. Beneath my hand, the granules of sand fused together and brightened as they transformed into solid gold.
It gleamed between my fingers, reflecting the light of the torches as I poured more energy into the transmutation.
I was unaccustomed to working in such great quantities. I had transformed pebbles into gold as well as other small objects, but the altar was filled with more than a cubic foot of sand and it required focus, will, and raw power to affect the transmutation. As the last granule of sand turned to gold, I felt the spell wane. A hollow click resonated from the altar as a mechanism inside it whirred to life and all around me, the grinding sound of stone against stone filled the temple.
It took me a moment to realize the entire second tier of stone wall was moving.
It was lowering, revealing a viewing slit that opened beyond it. The chamber in which I stood was like a sandstone bunker overlooking a vast space. The wall stopped, leaving a two-foot-tall viewing port into a pitch-black chamber beyond it. The light of the handful of torches did little to illuminate the space.
The wall ground to a halt and an almighty rush swept through the chamber like a gust of wind. With it, torches burst into flame along the walls around the inner sanctum. Dozens of torches set in gold braziers illuminated a space the size of two football fields sitting side by side.
For the first time, I saw the inner sanctum of the lost temple and it took my breath away.
Beneath the bunker in which I stood there was a stone platform that formed a ledge and surrounded the bunker on three sides. Archways led back toward the entrance hall, and I assumed that was where the other blocked passageways emerged. Stretching out before the platform was a narrow bridge of stone that ran for twenty yards before it reached an immense stone structure. It was shaped like a Mayan pyramid rising toward the roof of the cavern. Except unlike a Mayan temple where the stairs ran steeply up the front facing, this particular edifice had a sloping ramp that ran up around the outside of the pyramid until it reached the top.
At its peak stood a chamber not unlike the one in which I now stood, and atop it sat an immense brazier filled with flames that illuminated the enormity of the chamber.
Torches set in brackets around the pyramid lit the central structure and on its face, set opposite the narrow stone bridge, was a six-foot-tall carving of the death mask. Beside it were round portholes that seem to disappear into the temple itself.
Before the stone bridge, at the end closest to me, was a tripod made from iron that appeared to be rusting. Set atop it was a ceramic bowl.
Around the pyramid itself, and the platform beneath me was an underground lake, its shadowy depths stretching who knew how far into the earth beneath. It looked both uninviting and dangerous. If the reptilian creature that had almost torn my hand off was any indication, it was wholly hostile to the living.
On the right-hand side of the chamber, a muddy bank ran along the wall. It was streaked with narrow depressions that seemed to run down its face into the water. On the left-hand side of the platform was what seemed to be a series of small wooden piers and a dozen timber canoes that had been tied off.
Then in the distance I saw it and let out a gasp.
The untold wealth of the Brujas de Sangre. It glittered like the sun in the light of the torches.
Enough gold to make a dragon absolutely green with envy. Countless generations of my ancestors had no doubt used their talents to amass the fortune. Mounds of gold occupied an island that stretched along the left-hand side of the expanse. Here and there it had been shaped into chalices and other objects. Some of the gold had been struck into coins and more yet sat in raw unshaped hunks of gold, worth more than most houses. The vast scale of it was almost incalculable. No wonder the Inquisition wanted the temple. This much wealth would fund their insane crusade for generations. The same wealth their conquistador ancestors had been extorting from my family could yet find its way into their hands.
It was absolutely dizzying. I shook my head, unable to come to terms with the mountain of treasure that Scrooge McDuck could have swam laps in.
I wasn't here for the gold. The Inquisition might have been, but I was not. I needed answers. I needed to know what had taken place here. This chamber was at the heart of our ancestor’s power and if Aleida had laid the curse on us, I felt certain its origin was here. I could feel the power of the temple channeling the arcane currents of the ley line. The juice needed to fuel such an enduring curse could only be found at the site of power like I now stood in.
I wanted answers and for the first time in my life, I had a chance of actually getting them. I stared down at the stone drawbridge and the pyramid leading to the temple ziggurat and took heart. The sacrificial chamber lay at its peak, along with the answers I sought.
Channels had been carved into the temple ziggurat. Their depths were stained a muddy brown and I knew, almost instinctively, that it was blood. The channels ran from the pinnacle of the pyramid down its sides and into the water.
That chamber was where I'd find my answers. I just needed to get there.
Around me, voices carried into the chamber and a sudden realization filled my mind. When I opened the temple, I must have opened the other two passages. Now the Inquisition could find their way into the temple proper.
They were coming. But what of the mist that had protected this chamber?
A series of rapid footsteps echoed behind me. I spun, my heart turning to ice. A massive form, sheathed in black combat armor bearing the Red Cross of the Inquisition, launched himself at me from the entrance of the chamber.
When I'd opened the temple, the mist too must have dissipated.
I raised my hands and drew on my power. The soldier slammed his fist into my jaw so hard I feared he’d snap my neck.
My world spun and the sandstone floor of the chamber rushed up to meet me.
I struck it hard, and my world went black.
17
I came to slowly. My body was a throbbing heap of pain and my head felt like a trio of inelegant elephants had danced a jig on it. It took me the better part of a minute to r
ealize where I was. I drew in a shallow breath.
My cheek was pressed against the cool stone floor of the island and all about me there was commotion. I tried to move my arms, but they didn’t budge. They were bound together behind my back.
I kept my eyes closed in an effort to hide my consciousness from my captors. An old trick, but a good one. It never hurt to gain what intelligence you could while your foe believed you indisposed. It was also surprising how much you could discover, using only your ears.
“Boss, are you there?” a voice echoed in my earpiece.
It was Murdoch. I hadn't spoken to him since descending the well. I’d figured communications might be difficult beneath the earth. Clearly, we were much closer to the surface now and somehow the signal was getting through.
“I can hear them,” he muttered. “Sounds like they got you good. Are you still in play? Or do you need some backup? Give me a sign if you can hear me.”
I let out a low sigh and Murdoch cursed in my ear. “Well, I've got news for you, boss, and it's all bad. There is another force moving on your position. They will be there in less than a half hour. Try to stay alive. Things are going to get real hairy, real quick.”
“I will do my best,” I whispered.
“I do believe our guest is awake,” the smooth voice said.
A big arm grabbed me under my armpit and sat me up, my hands still cuffed behind my back. The temple ziggurat stood before me and as I stretched my wrists, I knew what I was up against. I had felt such restraints before and knew the familiar and uncomfortable sensation of the arcane manacles. They suppressed a user's ability to channel their will. The manacles were a common tool in the supernatural world for subduing wizards.
“Seth, good of you to join us,” a rich Spanish accent boomed. I opened my eyes and looked up to find a man in his late forties, his brown hair turning gray, dressed in the regalia of a Catholic bishop. It could only be Diego Torquemada.
Beside him stood a giant of a man. A few inches over six foot, he was built like a buffalo. I recognized the meaty fist that had cold cocked me. Taking another look at the man, I realized I was lucky he hadn't taken off my head. My jaw ached, and I slowly opened it, testing its limits.
Across from me sat a figure in a loose-fitting brown robe. He had a beard that looked like it hadn't seen any care in a fortnight, which explained the smell. He looked like a cross between a stowaway and Chewbacca and I noticed his hands were cuffed behind him in much the same way as mine were.
Torquemada loomed over me, his brow furrowed, his cold dark eyes weighing my presence. “That was quite a display in the entrance hall. A dizzying display of power for one so young.”
“You don’t belong here,” I muttered. “I was just trying to take out the trash.”
Torquemada laughed. “You’re as deluded as your father.”
I stretched my neck. “He’d have come himself, but he didn’t think you were worth the effort.”
“Oh, we’ll deal with him in due course, don’t you worry.” The Bishop raised the death mask in one hand. “My thanks for returning the mask to us.”
“What can I say, I’m in a giving mood. What's left of your last assault team will be waiting for you when you get home.”
The Bishop shrugged. “At least I'll be going home. You, on the other hand, well, we have grand plans for our budding thief. We had such limited options until you arrived. Now we’re well ahead of schedule.”
I looked around the chamber. Members of the Inquisition had fanned out. They had taken a number of the canoes and were making their way across the water, ferrying gold from the stash back to their companions on the stone island we now sat on.
“Tell me, Seth, how is it that you knew so readily the safe path through the temple annex?” Torquemada asked. “We had the mask for weeks, but you seem to know a great deal more than you should.”
I looked down at my boots. “I'm not telling you a damn thing.”
With my eyes downcast, I searched my vest. I still had my tactical vest and combat rigging but my sidearm was gone. Clearly, they were in a hurry. They hadn’t made much of an effort to search me, only taking the obvious weapons. Perhaps they thought the cuffs would prevent me from being much of a danger. I was going to have to disappoint them, even if it killed me.
“Looking for this?” the towering thug asked.
I looked up to find the meat mountain holding my sidearm, a Walther PPK. It was lightweight and compact. Not much use against the army the Inquisition had brought along, but it was something.
“Cute weapon.”
“Yes,” Torquemada chimed in. “With the power you are able to throw around, why do you even bother?”
I shrugged as I continued searching for a way out of my current predicament. “It always helps to have a plan B.”
Torquemada stooped low. “I hope you have a plan C, child. Those cuffs will prevent you from using your magic, and I have it on good authority that they can't be opened without the key.”
He lifted a silver key from his pocket and hurled it into the lake. “So now that is settled, answer my question. How do you know the secrets of the temple?”
“I'm not telling you anything,” I replied, shifting my wrists behind me as I slowly checked for what items remained on my tactical vest. The scuba gear remained in place. Clearly, the Inquisition were not afraid of being bludgeoned to death with it, an image I entertained for a few moments before moving on. My remaining flash bang was also missing. I suppose that would have been too much to hope for.
“Want me to soften him up?” the minotaur disguised as a man asked.
“Not yet, Michael.” Torquemada placed a hand on the man’s chest. “I remain hopeful that common sense will prevail.”
“Whatever you say, Father. We need to keep moving though. We are almost out of time.” Michael looked toward the stone bridge, eying the temple ziggurat.
“I wouldn't do that if I were you,” I said, stretching my legs to keep the circulation moving. If I needed to run, I didn’t want to be doing it with jelly for legs.
“Do what?” the Bishop asked.
“Enter their sanctum,” I answered, nodding at the island the ziggurat stood on. “You two have been meandering around like the blind leading the blind, while dozens of your men die. Do you think the Brujas de Sangre would restrict their traps to the outer halls? There is a series of the rites that must be observed before you enter the inner sanctum.”
The Bishop cocked his head to the side. “Care to enlighten us?”
“Don't do it,” the cuffed prisoner sitting five feet from me said.
Michael took two large steps and delivered a savage kick to the man's midsection. The prisoner doubled over in pain, gasping and wheezing.
“They’re… going… to kill us anyway,” he gasped. “Don’t… help… them.”
“Yes,” the Torquemada replied. “We are, but at least this way, your death will have meaning.”
I tested the cuffs. The Bishop wasn’t bluffing. There was no way to pick the lock, and the key was on the bottom of the lake. I knew from experience they functioned by absorbing any arcane power directed at them. I had done some work for a Spell Smith who crafted them. He’d explained that in theory they could only absorb so much power but the unfortunate genius of their creation was that the amount of power they could absorb was far in excess of what a wizard could afford to expend without reducing their brain to a puddle of gravy in the process.
It was a tragic irony, but one that could be exploited given the right conditions. I just needed to buy a little time. Making a move with two dozen armed Inquisition standing around was going to get me killed, whether or not the cuffs were on. I suspected more of their soldiers waited in the passage outside.
Murdoch had mentioned another force approaching the temple. They could well provide the distraction I needed.
“I'm not going to help you loot the temple,” I said. “The Spanish have taken enough already.”
Torquemada chortled. “Don't give me that righteous indignation. The English were more than willing to share in the spoils. Besides our plans here go far beyond some paltry gold.”
“Speak for yourself,” Michael replied. “Your brethren care little for your obsession. They backed you because the archive spoke of incalculable wealth. If we return empty handed there will be hell to pay.”
“Patience, Michael,” Torquemada countered. “The Inquisition can't content itself with merely glutting ourselves on riches. We have a broader mandate that grows more urgent by the day. I do not want to be found wanting in the day of judgment.”
“Oh, please,” I said. “If you’re going to kill me, just get it over with. Don’t make me listen to your breathtaking ignorance. You know nothing of magic, nor the purpose it serves.”
Torquemada crouched before me. “Oh? Care to enlighten me?”
I was being goaded. I could hear the air of superiority in his every syllable but if it shut him up and served to buy me some time, I could indulge his curiosity, or failing that, his ego.
“If you succeed in wiping out the supernatural community, you will be dealing unfathomable damage to an ecosystem you don’t understand and it’s going to result in your wholesale destruction,” I said, flexing both hands in frustration. “Wizards are no more the source of magic, then you are the source of those miracles you cling to. People of faith everywhere implore the divine and seek for miraculous intervention, but they don’t make the miracle. They are simply tools in the hands of a greater power. Wizards work magic. We channel it, shape it, and direct it as needed, but we do not create it. Kill us all and you will discover only too late the part we play in your survival.”
Torquemada nodded along as I spoke, and the gesture shocked me. He wasn’t mocking me, in fact he appeared to be genuinely agreeing with me, and I ran out of steam, unsure of what to do with someone I felt certain would fight me on the issue. The Inquisition’s feelings on the topic were relatively well documented.
