Dourado

CHAPTER 28

Dane followed Atiq down the stairs and into the main chamber, which the old man called the “temple.” Walking to the stream that bisected the room, they followed it down to where it emptied under the wall. The man turned to face him.

“There are metal rungs in the ceiling of this tunnel. You must climb hand-over-hand for about ten meters. Where the rungs end, let go.” Before Dane could ask what he would be dropping down onto, the old man reached into the tunnel, grabbed a handhold, and swung into the darkness.

Dane swallowed a curse. He reached into the tunnel with his right hand and felt along the curved ceiling, cool and slightly damp. His hand found cold iron, and he grabbed hold and swung forward. The faint glow from the temple did little to illumine the blackness of the passageway. He brought his left hand forward, and was surprised to find the next rung right where he needed it to be. Just like the monkey bars, he thought. He found his rhythm with ease born of harsh SEAL training. He moved along so effortlessly that he forgot that the handholds ended, and when after a short distance, his left hand grasped only air, he nearly lost his grip on the last rung.

“Atiq?” he called, feeling rather foolish as he hung by one arm. There was no answer. Had the old man somehow tricked him? “Hey!” He paused, waiting for an answer, but none was forthcoming. He listened to the sound of water rushing beneath him. No other sound met his ears. “Must be one of those faith things,” he growled. He took a deep breath and steeled himself for a drop into the cold water below. Eyes closed, he let go.

He scarcely had time to feel the sensation of falling before his feet struck solid ground. With a grunt, he dropped to all fours, feeling every jolt and bruise his body had received from his earlier fall down the well.

“You are correct.” From the nearness of his voice, Atiq stood only a few feet away. “I told you that you needed to learn about faith. Follow me.”

Dane stood and followed the faint sounds of the old man’s footsteps into the darkness. He moved at a tentative pace, uncertain what lay before him. The floor beneath him was solid. The rustling of water all around suggested that he might be on some sort of walkway in the middle of the channel.

The faintest glimmer of light appeared in the distance. He could just make out Atiq’s form about twenty feet ahead. He picked up his pace, moving to catch up with the strange old man, who did not acknowledge him, but stared resolutely ahead.

The passageway grew brighter as they walked on. Soon, there was enough light for Dane to confirm that they were, indeed, on a pathway in the middle of the underground river. The tunnel made a sharp bend to the right. Dane turned the corner and gasped.

Stefan peered out through the arched doorway that led into the large central room. He watched with interest as first the old man, then Maddock, disappeared into the tunnel where the river flowed out of the room. Apparently, there were handholds of some sort in the tunnel roof. He smiled. They were leading him directly to whatever it was that this empty stone warren protected.

He stepped into the room, and was disappointed to see that someone had removed the bodies of Peter and Michael, along with their rifles. Stefan had long since emptied and discarded his own weapon. No matter, he still had his knife and the other weapon. He resisted the urge to pat his midriff, just to make certain it was still there.

He hurried toward the tunnel where his quarry had vanished, all the while feeling vulnerable to the snipers that had dogged them throughout this debacle of an operation. Reaching the archway, he paused for a moment to feel for a handhold of some kind. His hand closed around some sort of metal rung, and he smiled again.

He would kill Maddock first and recover the sword. Next, he would wring the old man’s secrets out of him before taking care of him. Finally, when he had learned all that he could, he would blow this pagan abomination back to the hell from which it was conceived.

Dane stared in amazement at the wondrous sight that lay before him. About fifty yards ahead, the tunnel opened into a broad, circular cavern, at least two hundred feet across. The river spilled over the edge and into the depths, but the pathway upon which they trod extended out over the chasm. Where it ended, hanging out over the abyss, was a sight unlike any he had ever beheld.

It was a giant cage, spherical, and about thirty feet across. It appeared to be constructed of the same material as the glowing crystals that illumined the temple and hallways. The thick, finely wrought bars, spaced vertically about a foot apart all the way around, gave it the appearance of being both delicate and sturdy at the same time. A doorway set in the near side stood open, revealing a bright, white object of indeterminate shape inside. Dane could see no sign of bolts or hinges. Rather, it appeared to be one single piece. The entire object shone with the incandescence of a full moon, casting a faint glow around the cavern. Pearlescent light swirled and danced on the water as it tumbled into the darkness below.

“Your answer, Mr. Maddock,” Atiq said.

Dane could not begin to comprehend what he was seeing. Memories crowded in one after another in the span of a heartbeat: the fight in the slave market, diving for the Dourado, digging up the sword, Sowell’s betrayal, and the battle in these very halls. All had led him to this moment, and he had no idea what stood before him. He only knew that it was breathtakingly magnificent. He stared in silence.

“God created many wonderful creatures, nearly all of which are long gone,” Atiq said, as if beginning a lecture. “The greatest of these, though few, were those we call the angels. They were beautiful, powerful beings, and they were God’s favorite. But they were vain creatures, and they lorded their superiority over human beings, taking their pleasure with human women, producing the races of giants, the Anakim.”

“What about the other creatures we saw carved in the sarcophagi?” Dane asked.

“Two of them died out long ago,” Atiq said, “but their legacy lives on in our fables.” He paused, waiting for Dane to catch on. After a moment, he continued. “Little people? Ancient alien visitors?”

“Ah,” Dane said, not certain what to think of this revelation. “And the ape-man? The missing link?”

Atiq chuckled. “Not precisely. All of the beings depicted in the carvings symbolize many beings of a similar nature. But yes, the simian-looking creature generally represents hominids.”

“If all of these creatures lived, why is there no fossil record?” Dane asked.

“I don’t have all the answers,” Atiq said. “These beings were historical before history existed. There were few.” He shrugged. “Perhaps God removed their remains from the earth for some reason known only to Him? But there is one.

“One angel grew in wisdom and power, even a limited power to create. He formed the crystals that illumine the pathways, and he created the sword.” He stared over Dane’s shoulder at the hilt of Goliath’s sword. “Already an arrogant creature, when he learned to create, he was convinced that he was a god in his own right. He tempted the vainest of his race with promises of might and glory, and he led a rebellion against God himself.”

Dane felt cold. He took a step back, his heart racing. The sword seemed to hang heavy on his shoulder. It could not be!

“God crushed their rebellion. The bodies of the traitorous angels were cast into the depths of the earth. Their leader was locked away in a prison wrought from the stone of his own making, to contemplate the error of his ways. Angels take a long time to die.” Atiq turned and dramatically swept his arm out toward the glowing cage and yawning chasm. “Welcome to the bottomless pit.”

Stefan crouched in the shadows, seething at what he heard. This was an even greater heresy than he had been told! He freed his knife from its sheath, and absently tested the edge against his thumb. Anger roiled inside of him. He had intended to slip up behind Maddock and kill him quietly. Now he wanted to hurt the man, to make him pay. Stefan wanted the man to know who was killing him and why. He wanted the man to feel fear. To know the power of the order. With a cry of rage, he leapt forward.

Dane whirled and pivoted to his right as the shape hurtled out of the darkness and directly at him. He saw a glint of steel, and he struck out with his open left palm, turning the blade past his body. Ignoring the pain as the knife sliced into his hand, he drove his right palm into the attacker’s face.

The man was quick, though, and turned his head, catching the brunt of Dan’s blow on the side of his head, just behind the right eye. He swung the knife backhanded in a vicious arc, scarcely missing Dane’s throat.

Leaning back to avoid the deadly knife stroke, Dane delivered a roundhouse kick to the man’s stomach, but to little effect. The guy’s abs were like iron! The man struck again with his knife, low and hard. Dane turned the thrust again, this time receiving a deep cut across the back of his left forearm. He stepped in close to his assailant and drove his elbow into the man’s left cheekbone. He grunted and stabbed at Dane again, this time a sloppy, overhand stroke. Dane caught the man’s wrist in his left hand, but immediately felt the man’s arm slipping free of his bloody palm. Fingers clawed at his eyes, and Dane grabbed the man’s left hand in his right.

They struggled, nose-to-nose, strength against strength. If only Dane could get some distance between himself and the attacker, enough to give him time to draw the sword. He squeezed tighter with his left hand, and pain shot down his arm from the gashes his opponent’s knife had opened. Still hurting from the fall down the well, he felt himself gradually being forced back. As they came into the light, he could see the man more clearly.

The attacker had short, dark hair, and eyes to match. His olive skin and dark clothing made him appear a shadow in the darkness of the tunnel. He was an inch or two taller than Dane, and solidly muscled. In the dim light, only his white teeth stood out as he fixed Dane with a toxic smile.

“My name is Stefan,” he said in a voice trembling with exertion and rage. “I am of the Blood Order. I wanted you to know who is killing you.”

Dane felt his right heel slip over the edge of the path. If he went into the water, the current would sweep him over the edge in a matter of seconds. “You’ve got bad breath, pal,” Dane muttered. He yanked his head forward, driving his forehead into Stefan’s nose. Letting go with his right hand, he grabbed the man by the hair, and yanked his head forward butting him in the face again. He felt blood on his face, and knew that it was not his own. A fierce tremor rattled the ground beneath them, and Dane felt Stefan’s footing give. Another blow, and now Stefan was pushing away from him. Dane gave the man a shove, reaching back for the sword as his assailant stumbled backward.

Stefan recovered himself quickly. The man’s face was a mask of blood, and he fixed Dane with a crazed, broken-toothed grin as he leapt forward, knife at the ready.

Dane brought the sword free, swinging it in a sharp, downward arc. He heard Stefan scream as the sword parted hand from wrist. The dark-clad man reeled, staggering blindly toward the edge of the pathway. Dane sprung toward him, delivering a vicious kick to the small of Stefan’s back, and sending him crashing into the water. Dane watched as the current swept him away. He turned to find Atiq waiting for him, hands folded across his chest.

“Thanks for the help,” Dane muttered, letting the sword hang down by his side.

“You were doing fine on your own,” Atiq said. He turned and walked toward the glowing object. “Come.”

Dane followed, his eyes fixed on the apparition before him. As the light touched him, his cares seemed to drain away. All thoughts of the fight with Stefan, his concerns about escaping the underground temple, all evaporated as he marveled at the sight before him.

The light that radiated from the white sphere touched him as if it had substance. His pace slowed. He felt as if he were swimming through a sparkling stream of mother-of-pearl light. Overcome with wonder, he shuffled along the path. He scarcely noticed that he was now trailing the tip of the sword along the stone walk.

“It is all right, Mr. Maddock,” Atiq said calmly, “come inside.” The old man stood at the door, beckoning to him. Dane took another slow step forward.

Stefan clutched the huge stone with all of his remaining strength, straining against the force of the current that threatened to drag him to his death. The tremor had jarred loose a sizable portion of the tunnel roof, blocking his descent over the falls and into the pit below. He lay motionless as first the old man, then Maddock passed only meters away. The rock lay between them, and the half-light in this portion of the tunnel rendered him nigh invisible. When the two men moved out onto the walkway that extended above the yawning abyss, he knew that he was safe.

Holding on tight with his left hand, he kicked hard, struggling to pull himself up. He gained an inch, then another. Soon, he was able to hook his right arm over the rock. The cold water had slowed his heartbeat, but blood continued to flow from the stump where his right hand had been. He pulled with both arms now, and felt the jagged stone tear through the fabric of his clothing and cut into his exposed flesh. He struggled forward, inching closer to the path in the middle of the passageway.

He felt no pain, only rage. For the first time, he had failed. His team had been picked apart by the old man’s henchmen. The sword was beyond his reach now. He could not hope to recover it unarmed and in his present condition. His all-consuming goal now was to live long enough to obliterate the unholy sphere, Maddock and the sword along with it. He would cleanse this pagan sanctuary with holy fire.