Legend

VIII

Were things different?

That was the question running through Donnchadh’s mind as she pressed her medallion against the inner lock for the door in the standing stone. It slid open and Gwalcmai, as was his way, stepped past her and into the open, sword in hand.

Donnchadh followed. Into rain. Which was to be expected. What did surprise her were the new standing stones flanking the three original ones. Just as large as those she and Gwalcmai had emplaced. They both stared at the stones for several minutes in silence as the rain drizzled down, soaking their clothes.

“How could—” Gwalcmai began, but then stopped, at a loss for words.

Donnchadh smiled. “Humans. We are very innovative. I don’t know how these stones were brought here or stood upright, but they did it. The ones we’ve come to help.”

Gwalcmai frowned. “They are just stones.”

Donnchadh slapped her hand against the stone they had just come out of. “How did you get this here?”

“You know—”

“How did we get these here?” she pressed.

“We used the ship and the tractor beam and—”

“Do they have ships and tractor beams?”

“No. I don’t think they could,” Gwalcmai amended. “Not enough time has passed.”

“So how did they get them here?”

Gwalcmai shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Neither do I,” Donnchadh said. “But they did. I take great hope from that.” She slapped Gwalcmai on the shoulder. “Let’s find out what’s changed.”

Avalon was different also. There was a rudimentary stone wall around the entrance stone on top of the tor. There was also another wall, about four feet high and loosely mortared, running around the outer perimeter of the tor’s top. Donnchadh placed her medallion in the correct place and the stone on top of Avalon slid aside. She stood still for several seconds, listening. She smiled when she heard footsteps echoing up the stairwell. A glow appeared, coming closer.

“Who are you?” the man holding the torch demanded, a rusty sword held in one shaking hand. He was old and stooped. All his teeth were missing and his left eye twitched uncontrollably.

Donnchadh held up her medallion. “I am of the Wedjat.”

The man’s eyes opened wide. “That is the medallion of the head of the order. But”—he fumbled for words—“it is said the head of our order disappeared many, many years ago.”

“My name is Donnchadh. And this is Gwalcmai,” she added, indicating her partner.

“But that is the name of the founders. Of the leaders of the First Gathering.”

“Have there been other Gatherings?” Donnchadh asked. The second one had been sparsely attended, with only four of the original Wedjat and three offspring representing their fathers. Their information had been as scant as the representation. That had led to Donnchadh’s and Gwalcmai’s decision to go back to Stonehenge and deep sleep for an extended period of time.

The man was confused and Donnchadh realized she had gone too fast with him. She lowered the medallion. “And your name is?”

“I am Brynn, the Wedjat of Avalon.”

Donnchadh smiled. “As was named the first Wedjat of Avalon. And as we are named after the leaders of the First Gathering.”

Brynn tried to process this. While he was working it over, Gwalcmai stepped forward. “May we come in? The rain is cold.”

“Yes, yes,” Brynn said. “Come, come. I do not have much to offer you,” he warned.

They entered, shutting the door behind them. They followed Brynn down the stairs until they came to the landing. He opened the door with his own medallion and they entered the crystal cavern. They went along the side to the next tunnel and followed it to the chamber at the end.

Things were different there. A wooden rack was along one wall and it was full of rolled-up papers. A large desk sat in the center of the room with a stool in front of it. Writing implements were on the desk along with scrolls of blank parchment. There was a small grille providing scant air and copious dark smoke that was trying to find its way out the small hole in the back of the rooms. The place smelled primarily of smoke with an underlying staleness.

Brynn indicated they should sit on a wooden cot covered with a threadbare blanket. “Please.”

Donnchadh sat down to please the old man, but Gwalcmai prowled about the chamber.

“Do you have a report to make?” Brynn asked.

“Others come here to render reports?” Donnchadh asked.

“Not many,” Brynn said. “Not many. Three in my lifetime. Two were sons sent by their fathers on the long journey to see this place where it all began. But it is difficult to travel and the world is large. I’ve also received twelve written reports over the years that come via traders and others. Not many, according to my father, who told me of his father’s time here. And of the times before then.”

“The Airlia?” Gwalcmai brusquely asked.

“They sleep still,” Brynn said. “Except in Egypt.”

“Where is this place called Egypt?” Gwalcmai pressed.

“Along the large river far to the south and east on the Inner Sea,” Brynn said. He went to the rack and pulled out a scroll, which he then unrolled on the desktop. Donnchadh got up and joined Gwalcmai, looking down at the paper. It was a detailed map, on which they could recognize the features from their original sketches from orbit.

Brynn tapped a spot. “Here.” Gwalcmai recognized the place. He had sent a Watcher there at the First Gathering.

Brynn’s finger ran along a thin black line. “This river, which the people there call the Nile. Right here”—the finger stopped—“is Giza. The Airlia rule there. Not seen much on the surface, to be truthful. But occasionally on major holidays they appear. So says the latest report from the line of Kaji, the Wedjat of Giza.” He went to the rack and pulled out another scroll.

Donnchadh looked at Gwalcmai. What they had established over two thousand years ago was still functioning, albeit at a rudimentary and sketchy level. It was a testament to their planning, but even more so to the human spirit. Brynn opened the scroll. Donnchadh recognized most of the writing — the Airlia High Rune language, but some of it was different, transformed by the passage of time.

She scanned the document. The Wedjat of Giza who hadwritten this, named Kajim, reported that the Black Sphinx graced a deep depression in the Giza Plateau — at least they knew where the Hall of Records had been sent. Which most likely meant the Ark containing the Grail was ensconced inside.

The Grail. Donnchadh’s hand shook as she smoothed out the parchment. Her mind flashed back to the mothership on her planet and her desperate leap to try to catch the Grail before the Airlia dropped it into the engine’s power stream.

She read further. The Roads of Rostau. The name sounded Airlian. According to Kajim these were a warren of tunnels and chambers carved into the rock under the Giza Plateau. Donnchadh knew how much the Airlia liked to burrow into a planet. Whether it was because that’s how things were on their native planet or for protection from attack, she had no idea.

That was all background in the report, validating what previous reports from the Giza Wedjat had indicated. But things were changing there, according to Kajim. She could sense both Brynn and Gwalcmai waiting as she read, but she took her time.

The Airlia appeared on the surface infrequently, according to Kajim, less and less each year. There were rumors that they were growing older, which confused the people; how could Gods grow older?

There were also rumors of dark perversions being perpetrated in chambers along the Roads of Rostau. Kajim had gone in to investigate, using the Airlia ring that his ancestor had been given at the First Gathering and had been passed down through the ages to him. Donnchadh tried to remember which of the twenty-four supplicants had been Kaji, but she drew a blank. It was so long ago, and there had been so many.

Kajim’s reports were dry and factual, obviously written bya man not given to flights of imagination. Donnchadh’s finger ran along the High Runes as she read:

Donnchadh felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise as she read. She knew why the Airlia had done this. They had discovered several places like this on their own planet — in the few Airlia outposts they managed to capture before they weredestroyed. Also Jobb had reported this practice had continued on Atlantis. The half-breeds were being used for pleasure — the human blood sustained the half-breeds’ half-human/half-Airlia blood. Then the Airlia drained the half-breed blood in turn. Between the Airlia virus in the blood and the sleep of the black coffins, those trapped inside could live a very long and terrible existence.

She memorized the route, then took the weights off the corners of the scroll and rolled it up, absently handing it to Brynn, who returned it to its place as she considered what she had just read. Bad memories pressed at her mind, but she tried to keep them at bay.

“What other recent reports do you have?” Gwalcmai asked.

Brynn gathered a handful of scrolls and held them out.

“Donnchadh?” Gwalcmai said, startling her out of her reverie. She took the scrolls and put them on the desk. She read quickly, sometimes struggling with the changes to the High Rune writing caused by some Watchers’ years of isolation and the inevitable degradation of the language as it passed through generations.

“What do you have?” Gwalcmai asked after several minutes, showing no inclination to read the material himself.

“The Airlia who ruled in Atlantis was named Aspasia—”

“We knew that,” Gwalcmai cut in.

Donnchadh looked up at him and he immediately quieted.

“The Airlia who came to find out why Aspasia was out of contact for so long was named Artad. They decided on a truce of which the destruction of Atlantis was part and of which we are apparently still in the midst. One of the Wedjat has found another Airlia base in a distant location in a land called China.” She checked the map and pointed. “Locatedhere. The Airlia built a large, hollow mountain and are hidden inside.”

“Which Airlia?” Gwalcmai asked. “Which side?”

Donnchadh shrugged. “There’s no telling.” She read the other scrolls in silence, then rolled them up and handed them to Brynn, who replaced them on the shelf. “There are reports of Human-Airlia clones — called the Ones Who Wait. And of Guides and high priests in various places. It appears the Airlia are continuing the Great Civil War through proxies.”

“What do we do now?” Gwalcmai asked, always more interested in the course of action rather than the intelligence that led to determining one.

Donnchadh ignored him for the moment. She put a hand on the old man’s shoulder. He felt frail beneath her palm. “Do you have an heir to follow in your place?”

Brynn nodded. “My son lives in the village with his mother, but I have taught him as much as I know — as much as my father taught me. He will be ready to take my place when the time comes.”

“You have done well, Brynn of the Wedjat,” Donnchadh said.

The old man gave a toothless smile. “It is not easy. Most in the village fear the tor. But there are a few who think there must be great treasure hidden here. Four times someone has tried to break in, but they were not able to pass the stone door. I must be careful, though, whenever I open it. My son brings me supplies at set times, and only in the darkness.”

“You perform an important duty,” Donnchadh said, “the fruition of which you will most likely not see in your lifetime, but your descendants will.”

We’re going to Egypt,” Donnchadh informed Gwalcmai as he pulled on the oars, propelling the small reed boat across the gap of water separating Avalon from the surrounding land. They had left Brynn on the top of the tor, the old man’s eyes full of tears at having been visited by what he considered other Wedjat and Donnchadh’s kind words.

“We are not powerful enough to try to get the Grail,” Gwalcmai said. “Opening the Hall of Records will undoubtedly alert a guardian, which will bring the Airlia. They will—”

Donnchadh held up a hand, silencing her partner. “I do not propose we try to get the Grail. I propose we cause trouble for the Airlia.”

Gwalcmai smiled, sensing the devilment in his wife. “And how will we do that?”

“We unleash those who hate the Airlia as much as we do.”

“And those are?”

“The Undead that the Airlia use for their enjoyment.”

The journey to Egypt was difficult. It appeared that sea-faring had degraded from the time of Atlantis. They found no sailors willing to go out of sight of land. They were able to cross the channel separating their island from the continent at its narrowest point, where trade vessels plied back and forth only in the best of weather, when they were able to see across to the other side. From there they took the long sea journey around the continent to the west, never getting more than a kilometer from the coastline and stopping every evening on the shore. Several times they were stuck for days on end while storms raged and the sailors refused to put to sea. Even a thick fog would delay travel until the mist had cleared. The sailors feared the water and prayed to various sea gods for fortunate winds and their safety.

There was a little mention of the Airlia or Atlantis. Two thousand years had dimmed the past. Living was hard and the focus was on the here and now. Gwalcmai and Donnchadh decided that there had been little technological advancement — indeed, as Atlantis and the Airlia seemed to have faded into legend, so did any advancements that had trickled down to the humans. The people on Earth were essentially starting from scratch. Building their civilization back to even a basic level promised to be a very long and laborious process. The largest village they saw on their way around Europe boasted barely two hundred souls. In some places, the people were ignorant of such technological basics as the wheel.

The going was a little better once they reached the Mediterranean. The humans along the Inner Sea seemed a bit more advanced than those they had encountered so far. They traveled along the southern coast of what would some day be Spain and France, then down along the Italian peninsula and around it. Across to what would be called Greece, along Turkey, then the eastern side of the Inner Sea until finally they reached the mouth of the Nile. The entire journey took two years, during which time Donnchadh and Gwalcmai constantly observed the humans they met. They saw sparks of innovation here and there, but overall they both agreed that it would be many thousands of years before mankind got to a point where a challenge to the sleeping Airlia could even be considered.

After leaving the ship, they crossed the borders of Egypt. The two immediately saw that things were very different there. Passing a military post near the mouth of the Nile, they saw a Guide in command of the soldiers manning the fort. The soldiers’ weapons were better than any they had seen so far and everything was much more organized.

They traveled at night, avoiding contact with locals.They made it to Giza late one night and camped out in a laborers’ camp along the river. They remained there several weeks, gathering information. The city just north of Giza, Cairo, contained over ten thousand people. And in the camps around the plateau itself, there were thousands of workers supplementing the core cadre of high priests and Guides.

They learned that there was indeed still a Wedjat at Giza — after all, someone had filed the report. The Wedjat was named Kajilil and he lived in a small hut with his family among the stonemasons, who were at work on building one of the many temples that dotted the plateau. But Donnchadh had no desire to meet him as she was planning to violate the very code that would have ensured her welcome.

The Black Sphinx crouched in its depression, obviously created by technology far beyond what humans possessed. Its eyes glittered as if possessed by a malevolent intelligence. Donnchadh felt an uncontrollable shiver each time she gazed upon the Hall of Records. It held both a promise and a threat — and often she wasn’t sure which she considered to be the stronger of the two.

After a month in the area, they finally found the opportunity they were looking for: There was to be a celebration of the harvest during a night of the full moon, and it was said that some of the Airlia would most likely appear that night. It was time to do what they had come here for.

As darkness set, Gwalcmai and Donnchadh were hidden among a jumble of building stones on the edge of the Sphinx pit. They had arrived there early in the morning and now waited until the sun was well down in the west. Then they moved.

It quickly became clear that the high priests relied primarily on fear for security. There were a handful of Guides around the Sphinx depression, but Gwalcmai and Donnchadh were able to avoid them and make their way to the small open space between the paws of the Sphinx. A statue stood there, on a six-foot-high pedestal. Using her medallion, Donnchadh opened the door in the pedestal and they entered the Roads of Rostau.

Following the directions she had memorized from the Wedjat reports, Donnchadh led the way. The tunnels were dimly lit by glowing strips along the ceiling. The walls were perfectly cut, the result of Airlia technology that they themselves had used on occasion.

Donnchadh paused when Gwalcmai placed a hand on her arm. They both listened. There was a clicking noise, and it was coming closer. They both huddled against the floor on the side of the tunnel and drew their cloaks over their bodies. Peeking through a gap in her cloak, Donnchadh saw the creature that the Wedjat had described come toward them. It paused for a long time less than three meters away, waiting. The tips of the black arms glittered, razor-sharp points in the dim light.

Donnchadh felt she was close to passing out from shallow breathing, afraid that the creature would pick up the noise of air coming in and out of her mouth. Her body ached, a dozen itches afflicted her that she had never noticed before, and her heartbeat sounded incredibly loud inside her own head. Fear was what the Airlia relied on with much of their automatic defensive systems — it was something they had learned on her home world. To remain in place when this machine appeared was the last thing a person wanted to do and that was why the technique worked. The Airlia had underestimated their own creation on her world and she planned on making them pay the price on this world for the same mistake.

After a tense thirty seconds, the thing, discerning no movement, finally moved on, disappearing around the corner. They waited another twenty minutes before Gwalcmaifelt it was safe to move again, then continued downward, deep under the Giza Plateau.

After so many centuries together there was no need for the two of them to talk. They moved as one, covering each other as they progressed. They entered a narrow corridor, barely wide enough for three abreast.

Donnchadh paused before a set of bars. On the other side were two black tubes resting on stone slabs. Deep sleep tubes, just like the ones in their craft, which they had appropriated from the Airlia.

Donnchadh saw that the tubes had been modified in one important way — each was secured on the outside with a latch, preventing whoever was inside from being able to open the lid. After touching the controls and programming the tube to bring whoever — or whatever — was inside out of the deep sleep, she pulled aside the latch on the closest tube and swung the lid up.

Inside was a tall creature, appearing human, with very pale skin and bright red hair. His skin was stretched tight over his bones, making him appear skeletal. His eyes were screwed shut against the invasion of dim light. His body twitched and shook as the deep sleep faded from his cells.

Donnchadh leaned close and spoke in the language of the Airlia. “The Gods must die or you will never escape this. You will die a miserable death after a long and worthless life.”

The words echoed off the stone walls of the chamber and the shocked face of the creature inside as he comprehended them. The eyelids rose. His eyes had a reddish tint to them and the suggestion of an elongation of the pupil. Evidence, Donnchadh knew, of his Airlia roots. Gwalcmai was standing in the entrance to the cell, watching back the way they had come, sword in hand.

Donnchadh placed a finger on the creature’s throat as she peered deep into his alien eyes. There was the tip of a shuntimplanted in the skin. “You’ve been used for a very long time, haven’t you?”

The creature sat up. He was secured to the inside of the tube by a chain around his waist. There were straps around his legs, arms, and torso with leads to the side of the tube— the stimulators that kept the muscles active during the deep sleep, Donnchadh knew. She saw him look at the other tube. Donnchadh went over to it and powered it down, tapping the correct hexagonals. Then she opened it. A female was inside.

Donnchadh went back to the male. He had not spoken a word. He was staring at her, waiting. Patience was a virtue that Donnchadh could appreciate.

“You won’t last much longer,” she said. “You have no choice. If you do not act, you will eventually die. Each time they drain you, the percentage of their blood in you is reduced and the human percentage grows. Soon you will no longer be effective for their needs. Then they will take another human female and make your replacement. They may already have a child, like you were once, growing up, guarded closely on the surface, ready to come here and be placed in this tube and drained as needed. They are very good at planning for their own needs and pleasures.”

The male finally spoke. “How do you know this?”

“It is their way. They are not Gods, but creatures from—” Donnchadh pointed up. “From among the stars. They use us — humans — and they use you, half of their blood, half-human. It is hard for me to determine which is the worse of their sins. At least what they are doing to you is obvious. Their rule of the humans is more devious, pretending to be that which they aren’t.” She shrugged. “There is also the possibility that the Gods may decide to go into the long sleep, as their brethren have done in other places, in which case they will kill you and the others they keep down here, as you will longer be needed.”

The male seemed confused. Donnchadh imagined this was all too much for him to grasp, but she knew the clock was ticking. They couldn’t stay here and chat. Gwalcmai glanced into the cell and she nodded.

The female spoke. “Why do you want to help us? You are human. We aren’t. We’re half like them.”

“Because you must hate them as much as I do and more than those above,” Donnchadh explained. “Most humans”—she shook her head—“they are like sheep. Simply happy their harvest comes in and the Gods make all the decisions for them.”

The female spoke again. “You cannot kill the Gods. They are immortal.”

Donnchadh pulled aside her robe, revealing six daggers tucked into her belt. “With these you can. They were made by the Gods themselves for use against each other.”

The female half-breed remained skeptical. “Even if we kill the Gods, the priests will then slay us, won’t they?”

Donnchadh looked at the female. “Not if you are immortal.”

The male was the first to grasp the significance. “The Grail?”

Donnchadh nodded. “You kill the Gods. You go into the Black Sphinx and recover the Grail, which is hidden there, then partake as has been promised by the Gods since before the beginning of time. You become immortal.”

“Who are you?” the male demanded.

“My name is Donnchadh. My partner and I have fought the Gods in other places. That should be enough for you. Your enemy is our enemy.”

“Your enemies are our parents,” the male said.

“One of your parents.” Donnchadh stared at him. “Yourother parent was human, taken by an Airlia — the Gods— for their pleasure and to produce you so they can use you for their pleasure also. The Gods deserve neither your homage nor your respect. They will drain you and kill you without a second thought once they have a replacement ready or if they no longer desire the pleasure your blood brings them.”

“How can we do this that you propose?” The male rattled the chains holding him in the tube.

Donnchadh pulled a long piece of Airlia metal from inside her cloak. “Tonight. After the ceremony of the solstice. You can follow the Gods who oversee it from the ceremony to their hidden places along the Roads.” She placed the tip inside one of the links of chain that bound him. “Do you want your freedom?”

The answer was what she expected. “Yes.”

Donnchadh applied pressure and the link gave way. She worked quickly and soon the male was free. As he climbed out of his tube, Donnchadh went to the female and freed her. She saw Gwalcmai roll his eyes as the two creatures embraced. She held up a hand, begging his patience. But even she was shocked as the male put his mouth to the female’s throat and began to drink her blood.

“We don’t have time for this,” Donnchadh said. “The ceremony has started above. You do not have much time to free the others and be ready.”

The two were whispering to each other. Donnchadh could feel Gwalcmai’s impatience permeate the cell. “If you do not act now, you will die.” She didn’t wait, moving out into the corridor and going to the next cell, which Gwalcmai had just opened.

“And who are you?” the male asked Gwalcmai.

“My name means nothing to you. I was called Gwalcmai, long ago. I have had other names and I will have others in the future.”

“I am Nosferatu and this is Nekhbet.”

Gwalcmai shrugged.

“Vampyr and Lilith are in here,” Nosferatu added as they went into the second cell. Donnchadh didn’t acknowledge this either as she opened up the two tubes and moved on to the third cell.

“Mosegi and Chatha,” Nosferatu said as Donnchadh opened the last two tubes, freeing the occupants.

One for each of the Airlia, Donnchadh thought as she broke the chains around the last half-breed’s waist. Done, she turned toward the exit, where Gwalcmai waited. “I will leave you to do what you must.”

Nosferatu put a hand out, stopping her. “Tell me more of the Gods. Why do they need to do this?” He touched the shunt in his neck.

“As I have said, they do it for pleasure. It is an elixir for them. They prefer it over pure human blood.”

“That is all?”

“Do you not relish the feeding you receive?” Donnchadh asked.

Nosferatu nodded.

“And was not her”—Donnchadh pointed at Nekhbet— “blood so much more pleasurable to you?”

“Yes.”

“Then you should understand.”

“We exist only for their pleasure?”

“Yes.” Gwalcmai nodded his head, indicating they needed to leave.

“It is said the Gods are immortal,” Nosferatu said.

Gwalcmai was restless in the corridor. “We must hurry.”

“In a sense,” Donnchadh said, “they are.”

“Then am I immortal?”

Donnchadh shook her head. “No. But if you continue to drink human blood to feed the alien part of your blood — and don’t get drained of any more of what you have — you can live a very, very long time. You can also go into the tube and use the deep sleep to let time pass without aging. I have seen it before. Where I came from. They did the same to my people.”

“Where are you from?” Nosferatu asked.

“You would not understand.” Donnchadh pointed to the end of the short corridor. “You can go to the right and get out a secret door near the Nile. The ceremony will start shortly in the Sphinx pit. Wait until the Gods who will oversee the ceremony appear, then follow them down the main Road of Rostau.”

“But—” Nosferatu clearly wanted to know more but Donnchadh left, following right behind Gwalcmai.

He glanced over his shoulder. “They will not be able to get into the Hall of Records.”

“Most likely not, since they do not have the key,” Donnchadh agreed.

“Then what purpose did freeing them serve?”

“It will cause trouble for the Airlia here.”

Gwalcmai wasn’t convinced. “We shall see.”

Donnchadh glanced over her shoulder at Gwalcmai. “Because of my sister.”

Gwalcmai frowned. “You never told me you had a sister.”

“Because she was dead to us the day she was taken by the Airlia to be used by the Airlia. As the mothers of those we just freed were used.”

“Did she have”—Gwalcmai searched for the word—“offspring?”

“Yes.”

Gwalcmai knew the fate of such humans and their offspring on their world — they had died when the Airlia main base had been destroyed. He switched the subject abruptly. “We were followed through the tunnels, you know that, right?”

“The machine?”

“No,” Gwalcmai said. “A human. The Wedjat. He is not as stupid as he appeared. He did his job — he watched.”

Donnchadh nodded. “Good. Then we will use him also.”

Donnchadh shoved open the door and walked into the Watcher’s small hut, Gwalcmai right behind her. The man leapt to his feet, a dagger in his hand, his family cowering behind him.

“Tell them to leave,” Donnchadh ordered in the ancient tongue. She pulled out her golden medallion and showed it to him.

The Watcher’s eyes widened at both the language and the emblem. He lowered the dagger and quickly barked commands at his family. They scurried out of the hut, disappearing into the darkness.

“There has been no one here since—” the Watcher began, but Donnchadh raised her hand, cutting him off.

“There is something you must do.”

Fools,” Gwalcmai hissed as the chant of the priests echoed off the stone wall below them.

“We serve for the promise of eternal life from the Grail. We serve for the promise of the great truth. We serve as our fathers have served, our fathers’ fathers, and through the ages from the first days of the rule of the God who brought us up out of the darkness. We serve because in serving there is the greater good for all.”

Donnchadh tapped Gwalcmai on the arm and pointed. “There.”

Six dark forms were hidden among a pile of building stone, also watching the priests prostrated before the paws of the Black Sphinx.

“So they didn’t run,” Gwalcmai said.

“Vengeance is powerful,” Donnchadh said. “And the lure of the Grail—”

Gwalcmai stiffened as two tall, thin figures appeared in the open door in the pedestal beneath the paws. One raised its right hand, six fingers splayed open. Donnchadh stared at the Airlia for several moments, then noticed someone moving to their right, in the shadows. She tapped Gwalcmai’s shoulder and pointed. “The Watcher.”

The priests got to their feet and left, going to the nearby temple to continue praying. The two Airlia disappeared into the black hole beneath the chest of the Sphinx. Soon all that was left in the open before the Sphinx was a lone high priest. As the imprinted man turned toward the door, the six half-breeds that Donnchadh had freed sprinted across the open space and attacked him.

“They’re actually doing it,” Gwalcmai whispered. He had expressed doubts to Donnchadh that the half-breeds would go back into the Roads, suggesting instead that they would simply take this opportunity to run away.

“Their vengeance overpowers all else,” Donnchadh said.

The six disappeared into the darkness, leaving the body of the high priest behind. After them went the Watcher, acting on Donnchadh’s orders.

Only two made it,” Gwalcmai said several hours later. “More than I expected,” Donnchadh said. They could see the Watcher along with two of the half-breeds, hidden along the edge of the depression.

“What are they waiting for?” Gwalcmai wanted to know. “The same thing we are. Reaction to whatever they managed to do in the Roads.”

All night long they had heard priests going throughout the surrounding area, ordering all to come to the Sphinx at first light, indicating that the Undead they had unleashed had achieved something in the warren of tunnels beneath them. As soon as it was light enough to see, Donnchadh knew what was coming — on top of the head of the Black Sphinx were two wooden Xs; behind them was a deep sleep tube.

“We should leave,” Gwalcmai said, as soon as he saw the Xs.

Donnchadh couldn’t respond. Her body had gone numb and her eyes were fixed on the objects on top of the Sphinx head. There were thousands of people gathered in the depression in front of the Sphinx, standing in absolute silence.

The door between the paws of the Sphinx opened and a group of high priests appeared, escorting three bound prisoners — half of those that Donnchadh and Gwalcmai had freed the previous night. All three were extremely pale and Donnchadh assumed they had been drained of their blood just short of the point of death. One of them — the one that had slept in the same chamber with Nosferatu — was also missing her right hand, the stump covered in a dirty linen bandage. They were moved up a ramp to the top of the Sphinx.

Then four Airlia appeared. The gathered humans dropped to their knees and bowed their heads, causing Gwalcmai to growl in disgust. The Airlia wore hooded black robes. They slowly walked up the ramp to the top of the Sphinx. Donnchadh could sense Gwalcmai’s tensing — he was, after all, a God-killer.

A high priest stepped forward and cried out to the huddled masses: “Behold the price of rebellion. Behold the price of betrayal. Behold the price of disobedience.”

Two of the prisoners were placed against the Xs, their arms and legs splayed against the wood. Their dirty robes were torn off, exposing their pale skin to the rays of the sun. High priests secured them to the wood using strips of leather that they first dipped in buckets of water. They worked from the tips of the extremities inward. Each strip of leather was an inch wide and they were spaced two inches apart.

The priests did this until both captives were secured up to their groins and armpits. When done, the high priest once more chanted: “Behold the price of rebellion. Behold the price of betrayal. Behold the price of disobedience.”

Gwalcmai grabbed Donnchadh’s shoulder. “We should leave. We do not need to see this. We’ve—” He stopped before completing the sentence.

“We’ve seen this before,” Donnchadh finished it for him.

One of the prisoners cried out in pain. Donnchadh closed her eyes, but that couldn’t stop the mental image of her father, tied to a similar cross, one made of black metal, with leather straps around his limbs. It was a horrible way to die as the slowly drying bands constricted, forcing blood from the extremities into the core of the body, allowing the victim to live a long time, while experiencing excruciating pain. Both prisoners were now screaming in agony.

Donnchadh nodded. “Let’s go.”

They slipped away from edge of the depression. As they did so, they heard the high priest call out one more time: “Behold the price of rebellion. Behold the price of betrayal. Behold the price of disobedience.”