The Blood Line

by Tom Hunter

“Come on, St. Augustine,” murmured Samuel. “Can’t you give me some kind of a hint to what I’m supposed to be looking for?”

  If the saint wanted to help, there was no miraculous sign from above to suggest what to do next, so all Samuel could do was continue down the corridor.

  It wasn’t long before he reached the top of a mercifully short stairwell leading down towards what appeared to be a larger chamber. Samuel could hear the sound of voices echoing up, and his heart started to pound as he knew that he was drawing close to his nemeses.

  He slowed right down, tiptoeing so he could surprise the two Bruard leaders. His eyes widened when he saw the final chamber. It wasn’t particularly big, maybe forty feet across, but it ran deep, going further down into the ground so far that Samuel could barely see Pin and Pae standing at the base of a stairwell that spiraled down clinging to the wall.

  Covering all the walls and reaching across the ceiling was an impossibly long list of names that had been scrawled by what seemed to be a number of different people over the years. It reached out so far that many of the names disappeared into the flickering shadows. Some of the names were written in some form of indelible ink; others had been etched or carved into the walls. Some of the tools and writing implements appeared to have been abandoned in the chamber, perhaps left there for others to add more names as they were discovered.

  However they’d done it, St. Augustine’s followers seemed to have successfully predicted all those who would carry his blood in his veins. It was truly remarkable.

  Samuel crept down the stairs, hugging the wall so he could at least attempt to hide in the shadows. As he drew closer to Pin and Pae, he saw they were standing on a wide ledge that provided somewhere to rest or perhaps use as a base to write on the higher parts of the walls. Beyond them, the chamber extended even further into the ground, a hole that extended the full width of the room and half its length, beckoning with more ancient mysteries.

  Pin and Pae stood either side of a pedestal upon which a single vial of some unknown liquid had been placed. They were talking in Korean. While Samuel couldn’t understand a word they were saying, going by their body language and gestures, they seemed to be debating the nature of the fluid.

  Stopping a few feet away from the bottom step, Samuel called out to his enemy.

  “Pin!” he yelled. The Bruard agent took his time in turning round, apparently unconcerned that Samuel had caught up with them.

  “Ah, the great Mr. McCarthy, one presumes,” remarked Pae. “It’s interesting to meet you after all this time. I’ve heard so much about you. I didn’t expect you to be so short.”

  “Look around you, Pin.” Samuel ignored the dictator, knowing it would be the most hurtful thing he could do to an egomaniac like him. “This room is useless to you. You’ll never be able to translate all the hidden messages on the walls. You’ll be looking for a needle in a haystack. It could be decades before you find the right lineage. St. Augustine’s ancestors are safe from your villainous ways. Give it up. It’s over.”

  “On the contrary.” Pin looked like the cat who’d got the cream, as he and Pae drew their guns. Pae aimed his gun straight at Samuel, forcing him to retreat up the stairwell to safety.

  “You see, Samuel,” Pin continued. “St. Augustine left his messages for those with eyes to find. For all your book learning, you still don’t get it. It is only for one such as I, with the true knowledge and insight into the workings of the saint’s mind, to unlock the real secret of this room. You can translate the walls to your heart’s content. Meanwhile, I’ll take what’s most precious: the vial.”

  Perplexed, Samuel stood to get a closer look, but another gunshot from Pae forced him back into hiding.

  “You’re wrong,” he shouted. “St. Augustine knew the names of his descendants. They’re all around you, but you’ll never find them.”

  “Oh, eventually I will, but that’s not really my primary concern right now,” Pin replied breezily. “I have no doubt that the names on the wall are linked to St. Augustine’s descendants and I’m sure someone related to him has the innate power to unlock the secrets of his artifacts, but I believe that all this focus on genetics was part of a cunning double bluff, one final trap to fool tomb robbers into believing they’d uncovered nothing of value so they’d ignore this little vial of nasty old liquid.”

  He reached up to take the bottle from the pedestal. Uncorking it, he waved the vial under his nose, inhaling deeply.

  “Ah, the heady scent of blood,” Pin smiled, replacing the lid. “A most delightful aroma, one I know all too well. You see, Samuel, perhaps there are thousands of descendants of St. Augustine roaming the earth, but how could the saint guarantee they would be worthy to wield his hat and scepter? It would be impossible, even for one such as him. After so many generations, his lofty ideals would become polluted, and there was no way of knowing whether his descendants would even share his vision, let alone prove capable of handling the power. Thus it was that one final, unique relic was created, a vial of blood preserved throughout the centuries by arcane means, blood that could create a new Augustinian line in time of great need. Now is that time. As soon as this vial of blood is consumed, whoever drinks it will become the sole true heir to the saint’s secret, regardless of their original lineage.”

  “Thank you, Pin.” Pae stepped towards him. “And thank you, Samuel for being here to witness this monumental event, and bringing me my scepter. Alas, you won’t be able to survive to tell the tale of my ultimate rise to power. As soon as I’ve drunk St. Augustine’s blood, Pin will kill you and recover the scepter for me as the final step in my journey to becoming the greatest leader the world has ever seen. As for you, Pin, you will be well rewarded for all your loyal service. Your name will go down in history.”

  “Oh, I know it will.” Pin swung his gun round to point it at the dictator. “But not for the reasons you think. I, too, owe Samuel a debt of gratitude for being here to witness events. It will be so much easier for me to assume leadership of the Bruard Empire once everyone knows that he assassinated you. I did my best to save you, but sadly, I was unsuccessful in my attempts to revive you.”

  “Pin. My friend. No!” Pae shook his head in disbelief, backing away from his former ally.

  “Goodbye, Pae.” The booming gunshot thundered around the chamber and Pae crumpled to the ground, a bullet piercing him straight through the heart.

  Pin went to stand over the dead dictator. He shrugged before pushing the man’s corpse down the hole to the next level.

  “I suspect nobody will really miss you. What a waste.” He waved farewell to his childhood friend before turning to face Samuel again. Uncorking the vial of blood, he held it aloft in mocking salute. “Here’s to the end of the world as we know it,” he smirked before guzzling down the only sample of the blood of St. Augustine.

  Forty-One

  A disgusted look came over Pin’s face and he gagged at the taste of the blood. He clasped a hand over his mouth in a bid to keep it down. His eyes scrunched up in pain as a shooting headache hit him. He clutched at St. Augustine’s hat as if it might give him comfort, but the pain only intensified, forcing him to his knees.

  Seeing his opportunity, Samuel launched himself off the staircase, landing heavily next to the pedestal where the vial had been kept for centuries. Wincing at his awkward landing, it took him a moment to recover, and those precious seconds gave Pin enough time to adjust to the blood he’d ingested. Standing, he turned to face Samuel.

  Yelling, he ran towards Pin, grabbing him in a football tackle. The momentum took them both forward and down through the hole that lead to the lower chamber. They lashed out at each other, each trying to snatch the other’s artifact as they fell down the winding stairs to the level below.

  “Samuel!”

  Waleed and Akhenaton appeared at the top entrance to the chamber. They hurried down the stairs to help, both aware that it didn’t really matter. They were far too late to do anything for their friend.<
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  “Oof!”

  Samuel and Pin landed clumsily on the ground by the base of the stairs, treasures and guns skidding off in all directions. Samuel tried not to think about the fact that it was the body of Pae that had broken their fall, preventing serious injury.

  Pin rolled away, snatching up his gun in the process.

  “You’re not going to win, Samuel. Give up now. If you do, I’ll be merciful and grant you an easy death.”

  He fired at Samuel, who cried out as a bullet ripped through the flesh of his thigh. Clutching a hand to his leg to stem the blood loss, he scrambled towards his gun, firing behind him at Pin as he tried to see where the scepter had gone.

  “Aargh!” Pin cried out at the bullet ripping through his left shoulder, rendering his arm virtually useless. “You’ll pay for that, McCarthy!”

  Seeing the papal cap lying nearby, Pin put his gun on the ground. Snatching up the hat, he placed it on his head.

  “Stay where you are, Samuel,” he ordered.

  Samuel froze. His hand was outstretched toward the scepter, which was tantalizingly close. So near, and yet so far.

  “That’s right, McCarthy,” smirked Pin. “Back away from my scepter.”

  Sweat beaded his brow as Samuel fought against Pin’s command. But, the combination of blood loss and pain weakened his will, and without the scepter to support him, he didn’t stand a chance against Pin and the might of St. Augustine’s cap.

  He stood up and walked away from the artifact, his heart breaking with every step. He had failed in his mission. Everything they’d been through, all that suffering, it had all been for nothing.

  “Poor you, Samuel,” soothed Pin. “I know how you must be feeling. You fought so hard, but it just wasn’t good enough. How terrible it is going to be for you to live as the Bruard take over the entire world. All your nightmares will come true before your eyes. All the great dictators of the past will appear as amateurs compared to what I have planned. In fact, I think I will keep you by my side as my puppet, forcing you to support my every whim as the low races of the world will bow before me. You will feed me grapes while we watch those you love and cherish swept up and forced into slave camps. I will carry out random executions of the prisoners and you will never know when the day will come when I will order the beheading of one of your little flunkies. Then, when it does, I will place the blade in your hand and you will kill your friends for me, singing a song of praise in my name all the while.”

  Samuel desperately wanted to cry out in protest, but speech was beyond him. There was nothing he could do or say as long as Pin wore the papal cap.

  “I can’t think of anything worse, can you?” sniggered Pin. “Unless…”

  He snapped his fingers, pretending that an idea had just occurred.

  “There is one way out for you, the only way that makes any sense,” Pin continued. “If you want to avoid all that suffering, you need to kill yourself. Right now. I will give you this one chance of escape. All you have to do is point your gun at your head and pull the trigger.”

  Never! Samuel screamed in his mind, but all that came out was a gurgled whimper.

  “Go on, Samuel,” Pin urged. “Take the only way out. No one will think any the less of you. Point the gun at your head and pull the trigger. Do it now. Point… the gun… at your head… and pull… the trigger.”

  Samuel’s eyes widened in horror as his wrist slowly turned to point the gun towards himself. Internally, he was kicking and fighting, but it made no difference. Inch by inch, his hand moved higher and higher until the barrel of his gun was aiming at his chin. All he could do was close his eyes and send out a mental cry for help as his finger squeezed the trigger.

  CLICK!

  Samuel’s eyes flew open, as the gun clicked dry.

  “What?” raged Pin, momentarily losing his focus. That brief lapse in concentration was all Samuel needed to break free of his control. He threw himself at the scepter, rolling over as he snatched it up to his chest. Nimbly, he rose back up to his feet, holding the scepter out at arm’s length in front of him like a shield.

  “Put the scepter down,” Pin ordered.

  Samuel staggered a little as the weight of the command blasted his mind. Having consumed the blood from the vial, Pin’s control over the artifacts was stronger than ever, and Samuel could feel the force of Pin’s will pressing down on him.

  However, the scepter still had power of its own. Samuel held it higher, and, with its help, looked Pin defiantly in the eye.

  “Never!” he spat. “I’ll fight you to my dying breath. If you want this, you’ll have to kill me first.”

  “I’d be delighted to,” laughed Pin. “That scepter is a pretty little trinket, but you can’t hold onto it forever. It’s only a matter of time before you lose focus, and then you’ll be mine. Much as I’d love to keep you alive to enjoy your mental anguish when you watch all my achievements, on reflection, I think the safest thing is to dispatch you immediately. No one’s here to save you. This is the end of the road, McCarthy.”

  Pin raised his pistol, pointing it directly at Samuel’s heart.

  “However, I am a benevolent ruler, and you’ve been a worthy adversary,” he conceded. “So I will give you the choice. Do you want to live as a slave or die right now a free man? Tick tock, Samuel. My patience will only last so long. So choose. Live or die. It’s up to you.”

  Forty-Two

  “This is a one shot deal, if you’ll pardon the pun,” Pin went on. “Your fate is in your own hands. Choose, or I will choose for you.”

  He clicked back the hammer on his gun.

  “Tell you what,” he said. “As a little incentive, a sweetener if you will, should you choose to be my slave, I’ll spare one member of your party. Only one, mind, but I’ll allow you to choose which one survives.”

  Pin rambled on, enjoying the sound of his own voice. His plans became more and more grandiose, as he indulged his wildest fantasies for revenge.

  Seeing Pin so caught up in his ideas, Samuel thought fast. Right now, Pin had all the advantages: a loaded weapon, and two of St. Augustine’s artifacts. But that didn’t mean Samuel was completely helpless. He’d been working with the scepter for some time now and he felt as though his relationship with the relic was respectful, and in the spirit of what the saint had intended. Something told him that, in comparison, Pin’s use of the artifacts was anything but.

  “So what’s it going to be, McCarthy?” asked Pin. “Which one of your friends are you going to save? I suspect it’ll be the girl. You Americans are always on about your women. It’s yet another sign of the decadence of your society. You’re led by your genitals. The Bruard Empire-no, the Nam-Gi Empire will create a better way, one which is uncorrupted by womankind. Women will be banished to their appropriate place, only permitted such freedom as their men allow them.”

  Samuel tuned out Pin’s ravings, focusing on his breathing to calm down. As he followed his breath going in… and out… in… and out… he could feel his heart rate calming, the panic induced by the papal cap evaporating.

  Lowering his head so Pin couldn’t see his rebellion, he sank to his knees.

  “What are your orders… Emperor Nam-Gi?”

  A crashing came from the stairwell above.

  “Hold on, Samuel!” yelled Waleed. “Keep fighting! We’re coming for you!”

  “Your dear, sweet friends.” Pin shook his head. “Too late to do any good, as usual. But isn’t that typical for your whole mission? One failure after another. Always rushing to keep up, but falling behind my superior ways.”

  “You are correct,” Samuel intoned. “Tell me what you need from me, Glorious Leader.”

  Pin lowered his gun, smiling in approval. “Step forward, my son,” he commanded. “Give me the scepter as a sign of your good faith so the world can accept its rightful ruler.”

  “Of course.” Samuel nodded. He stepped closer to Pin, keeping his face intentionally blank so as not to give away his plan.<
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  Pin reached out for the scepter. Samuel held it out to him, but at the last possible moment, he swung it back. Aiming at Pin’s head, he knocked the hat off.

  “No!” screeched Pin, reaching out for the scepter. Samuel easily blocked him, drawing on his boxing background to spin out of the way and lunge for the hat lying on the ground.

  “You will never have my hat!” Pin ground his teeth together as he launched himself onto Samuel’s back.

  With Pin yanking hard on his hair, Samuel struggled to shake him off. Twisting from side to side, the archaeologist tried to dislodge the madman while Pin in turn grappled for the scepter.

  Samuel stumbled, falling to his knees. The sudden movement jolted Pin from his back, but that didn’t deter him. He launched himself at Samuel, his gaze firmly fixed on the scepter.

  Samuel tried to push him off, but in the melee, Pin’s gun went off. Samuel cried out in pain as a bullet ripped through his shoulder. The scepter flew out of his grasp, rolling across the room and into the shadows.

  “The scepter!” cried Pin, dashing after it.

  “Oh no, you don’t.” A surge of adrenaline flooded through Samuel, making him temporarily forget the agony in his shoulder. He shoulder-charged Pin in the back with his good arm, knocking him to the floor. Pin landed on the floor, but before he could get away, Samuel was on him. Sitting across his stomach, Samuel grabbed Pin’s throat with his uninjured hand. He squeezed as tightly as he could, making Pin choke and splutter.

  “It’s over,” Samuel spat. “Yield and maybe the international courts will spare you the death penalty.”

  “It’s never over!” Pin gurgled, casting about for something, anything he could use as a weapon. His hand clenched around a sharp rock. He punched out at the bullet wound in Samuel’s shoulder. The archaeologist cried out at the sudden burst of pain that exploded through his body. He felt as though every nerve were on fire.

  Pin easily pushed Samuel off, crawling in the direction that he’d last seen the scepter.