by S. C. Stokes
Now charged, they coursed with the unbridled fury of a thunderstorm, channeling that power directly into the arcane manacles that held me bound. The restraints that would have been too much for any mortal wizard were woefully inadequate to contain the power of the belt of Zeus.
There was a crack as the manacles burst open, utterly fried. I grabbed the chain in one hand and hurled aside the manacles with my other. A grin of satisfaction crossed my lips as they splashed into the water.
Michael yanked me off his shoulder and hurled me into the wall of the ziggurat. I wrapped my hands behind my head as my back slammed into the stone. The vest took the worst of the impact but it drove the air from my lungs. I slid down the stone and fought to catch my breath.
Water was rising and lapping at the ziggurat itself, sluicing across the platform on which I lay. It was two inches deep and climbing fast. Any moment now the base level of the ziggurat would be underwater.
A fact Michael and I seemed to realize at about the same time. I had no desire whatsoever to join the frenzied feeding in the water. I had work to do.
Michael came for me. I pushed myself up out of the water, launching into a mad dash. The massive mercenary splashed behind me as I reached the ziggurat’s ramp. I pushed myself harder.
The stone ramp sloped upward as it rounded the sides of the pyramid. The ramp itself was a narrow affair, roughly three feet wide, with a small stone wall about two feet high that provided a rail and some shelter from the chaos beyond. Something grabbed my leg and sent me tumbling into the stone ramp. I cursed at the mercenary clutching at my ankle.
I rolled over, pointed my fist at him, palm out, and bellowed, “Fuerza.”
Raw force collided into him, blasting him backward into the ramp’s wall and threatening to send him flying over it. I pushed myself to my feet and ran for all I was worth.
With the temple flooding, I didn't have the luxury of time to waste with the mercenary. The temple, its inner sanctum, and the secrets contained in it were all about to be lost beneath the flooding lake. This was my only chance to discover what had transpired here. I couldn’t let it slip through my fingers.
I ran, the Belt of Zeus still balled up around my left fist.
A series of gunshots behind me made me duck and steal a glance over my shoulder.
Michael had drawn his pistol.
The first shot chipped stone off the ancient ziggurat, but I just kept running. Rounding the corner, I moved as fast as my legs could carry me. My heart pounded with every step, fatigue building in my muscles but my soul rang with the energy coursing through the ancient temple.
I rounded the third side of the ancient ziggurat, sweat rolling down my face. When I rounded the next corner I would be exposed to the Inquisition’s soldiers on the island by the entrance. The wall would shield me from some of the fire but if I dropped to a crawl, Michael would catch me.
Bursts of gunfire echoed through the cavern, punctuated by screaming and angry shouting. The Inquisition were everywhere, and I needed to buy myself some time to work. Letting out a deep breath, I clutched one end of the Belt of Zeus and let the rest fall. As the gold links unspooled, I swung it around my waist. The chain arced around my back. I caught it with my right and threaded the chain’s end through the ring that served as its clasp and pulled it tight.
A thrum of power coursed through me as a peal of thunder rolled through the temple. As I rounded the ziggurat’s corner, the Bishop stood on the island below, a black tome clutched under one arm as he strode toward the temple’s inner sanctum. Two dozen Inquisition soldiers flanked him. My eyes met Torquemada’s. The sclera of his eyes had vanished, two inky black orbs staring back at me.
“Fire,” Torquemada cried, his voice a basso rumble that I did not recognize.
“Astrapí,” I shouted in Greek, unleashing the storm that surged within me.
Like Zeus standing atop Olympus, I rained lighting without mercy. The first arcing bolt of power missed the Bishop, but struck two men beside him, dancing between them as the pair sank to the stone floor convulsing. The second bolt flew true, hurtling straight for Torquemada. It impacted a shimmering barrier that rested in the air before him. The bolt of power glanced off the barrier and careened into another soldier who dropped like a rock.
The Bishop had a shield.
I hurled another lightning bolt at them and hit the deck as the soldiers let loose on the temple. Bullets hammered the wall of the ziggurat as I hunkered behind it, praying they didn’t have anything bigger than an assault rifle.
As I hunkered there, Michael rounded the corner, gun in hand pointed directly at my face.
“Don't even move,” he glowered. “One whisper and I'll put a bullet in your head so fast your brains will be in another zip code.”
I considered testing his reflexes, but his finger tensed on the trigger and I thought better of it.
“I have him,” Michael shouted, calling to the Bishop. “Get up here fast.”
The alien basso tone bellowed, “Excellent.”
Michael kept his weapon trained on me.
“The thing about bullet-proof vests, Seth,” he said, “they don't protect your face.”
“Clever.” I panted as I tried to catch my breath. “I see why you're in charge. You got all the personality. Not that you were up against much competition.”
“I'd watch my mouth if I were you,” Michael replied.
“Why?” I asked. “Is there a world where you don't sacrifice me in a bloody ritual on account of my good behavior?”
“No, but I can make it a far more painful than it needs to be.”
“A fate worse than a fate worse than death.” I gave my best Blackadder impression. “That is pretty bad.”
If Michael understood the reference, he gave no sign of it.
Water continued streaming into the chamber as Murdoch's voice came through the earpiece. “Hey boss, you’re out of time. That strike force is right on top of you.”
I didn’t dare respond. If Michael thought I was using my magic, he was liable to shoot me.
Murdoch continued. “Weird part is I have two more bogeys closing fast. Moving at a little over five hundred miles an hour. Too fast to be choppers.”
Somewhere outside the temple came the heavy roar of chain guns opened up on the Inquisition’s dig site. That would be the helicopter gunships Murdoch had mentioned. They were here alright. But what were the other two bogeys?
It made no sense unless… My brain put two and two together and I realized how the newcomers planned to enter the temple. They had no mask or map. They had made alternative plans.
I wrapped my hands around my head as the cruise missiles struck the partially excavated outer wall of the temple. The bunker busters borrowed deep before exploding.
One entire side of the cavern exploded in a spray of stone and dirt.
Shattered masonry rained down as a chasm sixty feet wide was opened in the temple’s outer wall. Beyond it, blue sky was visible until a massive helicopter descended into view, blotting it out. The troop transport descended, while two helicopter gunships circled beyond, strafing any sign of life outside.
Michael's attention moved to the newcomers. I drew the belt of Zeus and unleashed its power in a mighty hammer blow that slammed into Michael's chest like a meteor. He flew backwards, clear of the ziggurat, and landed in the water beneath.
I looked to the lifeless body of the wizard they had murdered by the bridge and hoped his spirit would find peace.
Scrambling to my knees, I raced up the ziggurat. As I reached the left-hand side, a helicopter landed atop the shattered debris that had once been the outer wall of the temple.
More than a dozen men in green combat fatigues streamed out of it. Behind them, a woman in green military fatigues and black combat boots with her reddish-brown hair pulled back into a ponytail entered the temple. I’d have recognized her anywhere.
She was Lara Stiel.
19
Inside the templ
e of the Brujas de Sangre, the American strike force traded shots with the Inquisition troops scattered throughout the flooding temple.
I wanted to run to her but fifty feet of water separated the ziggurat’s island from where she had entered the cavern. Water that churned as the giant temple guardians launched themselves from the water, dragging men down into its depths. The cavern continued to fill and the mountains of gold were slowly slipping into the lake. The temple’s wealth held no real value to me, but the less of it that made its way into the Inquisition's hands the better I felt.
I could make out Lara crouched among the treasure, taking cover while the soldiers around her harried the Inquisition.
I ran for my life. Torquemada and his escort climbed the ziggurat below me, and I had no choice but to continue the climb.
I needed the Inquisition and Section 9 forces to keep each other occupied for long enough that I could search the inner sanctum. If they didn’t, I was simply running to the place of my sacrifice.
On the level beneath me, Torquemada clutched the ancient tome under his arm, all the while barking orders at his men, redirecting their focus against the Section 9 forces entering the temple through its new…skylight? Wall-light didn’t quite have the right ring to it.
I dismissed the distraction and carried on up the ramp, the temple’s inner sanctum finally within my reach. I had to hurry, no matter who triumphed below; once the fighting ceased, I’d be trapped. I needed the chaos to mask my escape.
As I crossed through the threshold onto the temple summit, a wave of energy enveloped me.
It was immaterial and yet I could feel it thick against my skin. The arcane energy of the temple here was twisted, corrupted somehow. The magic of the temple had been perverted from its normal purpose. The residue that remained was unmistakable. It was black magic.
The air itself was thick of it, and it pressed against me as if it were trying to smother me beneath its mass.
My father was right. This was definitely where it had all begun. A curse powerful enough to kill four centuries of my ancestors would leave a sickly stench in its wake. This curse polluted the entire inner sanctum.
I steeled my mind against its choking grip. To a wizard, black magic is anathema. It uses the supernatural to corrupt and destroy. Practitioners were outcasts that were hunted in every jurisdiction. No such laws had held sway over the Brujas de Sangre.
The stone chamber atop the ziggurat was a simple cube, fifteen feet wide. It had a half-wall over which I could see into the temple chamber beneath, but the same wall largely shielded me from those below.
At the center of the perfect cube was an altar of pure gold. The altar itself was covered in ancient glyphs of the same language as the Máscara de la Muerte.
Channels had been shaped into the altar, and their narrow passageways were stained crimson brown as the blood of a thousand victims had run through them. Atop the altar lay the remains of the last person whose life had been lost here.
The skeleton was all that remained, its skin and organs having long since faded to dust. A few strands of grey hair clung to the skull, and buried in its chest cavity between two ribs was a golden dagger, its hilt still clenched in its hands. The blade’s hilt was a golden skull in which rubies had been set for eyes. A long wicked curved blade reached from the hilt, through the chest cavity of the sacrifice.
The victim’s jaw hung open, and I could almost hear their final scream as they took their own life. Golden jewelry clung to the skeleton’s arms and ankles, but all of it paled next to the massive golden neckpiece that rested on its ribcage. The piece would have made the Pharaohs of Egypt self-conscious.
This was no ordinary victim. The jewelry itself bore the same runic language the temple was covered in.
Staring at the altar I knew I was looking at the earthly remains of Ellawaya’s mother, the high priestess of the Brujas de Sangre.
“Hello, Aleida,” I whispered.
“Welcome home, child.” The voice spoke within my mind. I jumped. It was the same voice that had warned me to put on the mask.
“You can cut the act,” I replied. “You’re not on my side any more than they are.”
“What makes you say that?” the disembodied voice replied.
I looked around the chamber but couldn’t find its source. I pointed at her remains. “Anyone who is willing to do this to curse their own daughter isn’t going to help me break it.”
“Maybe I just wanted her to come back. Resume her obligations to the temple. But she was a flighty little bird, not content to follow in her family’s traditions. You know something of that, don’t you, Seth?”
I ignored her. I didn’t have time for a lecture. I tried to blot out the rotten aura of the dark magic that hung heavily about the altar. I had learned more in the last few moments then my family had learned in four hundred years.
“Yes, your father seems to understand my predicament,” Aleida taunted. “Doesn’t want to admit it but he faces the same struggle. Ironic, isn’t it?”
“You know nothing of my father,” I spat, leaning on the altar.
“I’ve been inside his mind for years.” The voice laughed. “I know him better than you ever will. You’ve been such a disappointment, Seth. When are you going to grow up?”
The voice was Aleida’s but the words I had heard before. They were my father’s.
Anger and pain welled up within me and I wanted to break something. The voice in my mind simply laughed.
“Just give up, Seth. You’re a child treading water in the deep end of the pool. Sooner or later, you’re going to go under.”
“Shut up, you wretched witch,” I shouted, grabbing my head with both hands. I needed to focus but she wouldn’t leave me alone.
I decided to try a different tactic.
Turning, I addressed the chamber. “You know, I’m beginning to see why your daughter ran away.”
“Silence.” Her voice shook with rage.
“Oh yeah. Mother of the year, right here. She hated you so much she moved to England. From here! I mean, think of the weather—she moved from paradise to England, just to get away from you!”
“Shut up!” the voice screamed, shrill and full of venom.
I did not. “You’re the kind of mother that daughters immigrate to avoid. You might have put a curse on her, but even that couldn’t get her to come home. Next to you, my father’s a saint and that’s saying something.”
“Shut up!” Her voice boomed so loud I thought my ears might bleed.
I leaned on the altar. “Make me.”
My heart raced. I had no idea what power the voice possessed but I was dearly hoping it was confined to haunting my mind, as I’d just kicked the proverbial hornet’s nest in an attempt to drive it away and buy myself some space.
Nothing happened.
And then I realized, if Aleida had possessed any ability to carry out her will, I’d already be dead. The voice was all she had.
“You can’t, can you?” I asked, this time genuinely curious.
When the voice didn’t answer, my lips turned up into a smile.
“What happens to you, when I break the curse?”
“That will never happen,” Aleida answered, her voice raspy.
“I’m coming for you,” I said. “Your days are numbered.”
“Just you wait. Old Frank is almost at his wit’s end. It will be your turn very soon. If you live long enough, that is. Good-bye, Seth, for now.”
And then the voice vanished, its invasive presence in my mind just gone.
Fascinating. If I wasn’t marooned in a flooding temple surrounded by zealots, and a CIA strike team I would have liked to give that some more thought.
I looked at the altar. It was a crucial focus for the blood magic practiced in the temple. Somehow, it must channel the power of the ley line coursing through the earth beneath. Aleida’s sacrifice performed here, at the seat of her power, fueled by her own blood sacrifice, would have been all the power t
he curse would need to be brought into being.
A curse that was steadily choking the lifeblood from the Caldwell Dynasty.
She’d been willing to end her own life to do it. My father’s words echoed in my mind: nothing as deadly as a true believer.
I searched the sanctum hoping to find some ancient tome or tablet carved with instructions. Something, anything at all that might give me an insight into the curse itself. If I could understand how the curse was shaped, with enough time and access to the right power, I might be able to break it and save me and my father from our fate.
The water level was rising in the cavern beneath the ziggurat. Shouting rose from below, punctured by bursts of gunfire. I reached into a pouch in my vest and pulled out a waterproof case. Opening it, I drew out a small camera and snapped as many pictures as I could of the temple’s inner sanctum.
There was every chance it wouldn't survive the destruction being wrought below. Section 9 was operating with the gentle touch of a herd of stampeding buffalo. They had already hit the temple with two cruise missiles for crying out loud.
I wanted to break the curse here and now, but I was short on both knowledge and time. Aleida’s willingness to leave me alone spoke volumes of my chances. No, if I wanted to break the curse, I was going to need more time, and the ability to recreate the sanctum if needed.
Moving around the sanctum, I snapped several pictures of the high priestess and the altar from each direction, taking care to get the runic inscriptions clearly. Such things mattered with magic. Where focuses were involved, the devil was truly in the detail. Trying to carry out a ritual with the wrong focus was like trying to bake a cake using a nuclear reactor instead of an oven. It would end poorly.
