Heartland

'I'm guessing you do. Why don't you tell me?'

'The Spear, M. Markham. It and the Holy Grail are required for the Coronation ceremony.'

I glanced at the solid floor, and then at the circular indentation left by my fist. 'Ah,' I said, getting it. 'And I suppose she is the carrot by which you will entice me to retrieve the Spear for you.'

'Precisely. The sisters of the Archives will only release the Grail when the Spear has been retrieved.'

The ground trembled. It felt almost like an aftershock of an earthquake, the faint vibration that seemed like nothing more than the sort of rumble caused by a heavy truck downshifting on the road outside, but as we were far from any major roadway, that was hardly the case. Something else had shifted.

'The Coronation was supposed to have taken place at dawn this morning,' Husserl said, seemingly indifferent to the tremor. 'The first day of spring. But that was not to be, it would seem. The sun is already in the sky, and the Land is troubled by the lack of a Hierarch. We will have one more chance tomorrow to greet the sun.'

The ground trembled again, more obviously this time, and I scrambled to my feet.

'What's going on?' I demanded.

'The Architect Spiertz.' Husserl tapped his cane against the floor. 'He, too, wants the Spear.'

The Chorus tried to get a reading, but couldn't sense anything through the crawling web of etheric energy in the rock. 'Where is he?' I asked, even though I had a bad feeling about the answer.

'Underground,' Husserl said. 'Though I believe he is trying to break out.'

XXV

The next tremor was strong enough to make me stumble, and I lurched against the nearby wall for support. By the time I recovered, Husserl had retreated from the room. It was a good idea; Chapelle Notre-Dame-sous-Terre was directly under the nave of the main cathedral. There was a lot of masonry overhead that I wasn't too sure was built to withstand a major earthquake. It would pancake this chamber should it all come down. As I passed the mess of Henri's body, the Chorus registered a stuttering rhythm in Antoine's chest.

I considered not stopping for a second. Keep on going. Follow Husserl. Get the fuck out of this deathtrap before the ceiling comes down. Before whatever is down in the grotto gets out.

Antoine moaned as he rolled onto his back, ribbons of magick suddenly erupting out of his body and wrapping themselves around his severed arm. He gradually focused on his surroundings and moved further away from the sticky puddle around Henri's decapitated body. Chiding myself for the decision, I helped him across the floor until he could lean against the wall.

'Quite the mess,' he whispered. His hair was stiff and a large bloodstain covered the right side of his head and neck.

'Effective, though,' I said. 'We won; they didn't.'

He surveyed his arm, a rueful expression tightening his mouth. 'At what cost?' he muttered. The tightness held as his magick grew sharper and more focused, binding off his arm. When I had cut off his hand with the sword, I had only taken a little bit above the wrist, but now everything below his elbow was gone. Prior to the whiteout of the ley storm, he had managed to seal the wound with a blocking spell that had held during his unconsciousness, but now he was building a better solution. It was fascinating to watch him work as I had never been very good at healing magick. Chorus-sight revealed a profusion of etheric strands weaving about his stump. When I was flush with soul energy, I could undo massive trauma, but this fine detail work was the sort of skill I hadn't learned yet.

However, there were other pressing matters at hand. 'We can't stay here,' I said, tearing myself away from his work.

He grimaced as my words interrupted his concentration. A strand of magick whipped back like a wild tentacle and he neatly severed it near the central mass of squirming lines with a thought. It flew away, disintegrating into ambient dust.

'It's Spiertz,' I said.

More strands broke free, and with a shudder, Antoine aborted his spell, holding all the strands in place. He squinted at me, licking his dry lips as he tried to focus on my words. 'What?'

'Spiertz,' I repeated. 'He's still alive. Apparently.'

Antoine stared at me dumbly. 'That is not possible,' he said slowly. 'I killed him.' He looked past me, turning his attention to the chapel. 'Down in the grotto beneath the altar,' he continued. 'He attacked me as I was retrieving the Spear.'

Down in the grotto.

'Where did you kill him?' I asked, wanting to be sure. Wanting to hear him say it again.

'Down there,' Antoine said, his eyes darkening as he looked at me again. Wondering why I was so dense. Why I didn't know what he was talking about.

I spelled it out for him. 'What happened to his body?' I asked.

Pain crossed his face, and he put his left hand over the end of his stump. His magick wavered, and I noticed he wasn't wearing the signet ring.

'It exploded,' he said. 'When I stabbed him with the Spear. Some sort of. . ' He trailed off, lost in memory that seemed to be getting away from him.

A soul lock. 'Yeah,' I said. 'I know what it was.'

My body clenched, the Chorus reacting to a psychic detonation below us. The ground shook at nearly the same instant, and a shower of dust cascaded from the ceiling. Something fell over nearby with a loud crash. Antoine was on his feet instantly, an instinctive reaction kicking in and driving him upright. Wincing at the pain still rattling around my skull, I stood up too. Grabbing his good arm, I hauled him toward the door.

'You can tell me the story in a little while,' I said. 'But we can't stay underground.'

Antoine's silver cap was still in the floor, the Chorus reminded me, as was the Spear. We would be leaving both behind.

Later, I thought. We can't stay.

The rock moaned beneath us as we fled from the chapel.

I got the story out of Antoine in fits and spurts, as if the telling of it revealed some secret shame he was loath to give life to by sharing. We hurried through the maze of vaults and hallways, working upward toward the top floor of the Merveille where the rectory and the cloister lay, where we'd be able to stand on the western porch of the church and have nothing over our heads.

He had been at Batofar, watching Marielle and me, and after she had given me the potion and we had lost ourselves on the dance floor, he had left. He knew of the relationship between the ring and the key and had driven out to Mont-Saint-Michel to retrieve the Spear. It had been simple enough to slip into the chapel undetected-and he had even set up a spell surrounding the Chapelle Notre-Dame-sous-Terre to keep any wondering priests at bay-and he had invoked the power of the key, unlocking the grotto. It had been filled with water-how full? I had interrupted to ask; a little more than half, he thought-and the Spear was imbedded in the chest of the statue. When he had pulled the Spear out, the water had started to drain.

When he made his way out of the hole, Spiertz had been waiting for him.

I didn't get the sense that Antoine had been surprised by the ambush; in fact, I suspect he knew the Architect was lying in wait for him. What Antoine didn't say, but which came across clearly enough in his tone, was how Spiertz had bested him magickally. Spiertz had dropped the hammer on Antoine fairly hard, and Antoine had been forced to retreat to the grotto. Spiertz had come after him, and tapping the energy in the surrounding rock more readily, Spiertz had been nearly impervious to any of Antoine's attacks.

Nearly.

One chink in the armor is all it ever takes. One missing link. One crack in an otherwise unblemished surface. Antoine had found that crack and had driven the Spear into it.

'He laughed,' Antoine said, holding his stump and leaning against the wall of the last stairway. 'He thanked me for setting him free, and then he exploded.' He shook his head. 'It was like the whole world was running away from me, my flesh included. Everything was blown back-quickly-and I barely managed to hang on to my sanity as his-what did you call it? — his soul lock detonated.'