heart. The blade came just within the organ of life and the soldier passed from life like a dreamy, lingering spirit. His body sunk to the floor, laying face up before the door.
Montague looked at the corpse for a moment, his face playing with some foul thought. Then, with the tip of his sword, he began to peel the skin from the soldier’s face. The other Elite Guards were at first abhorred, but it grew on them like a moral mold that waited in the air for them be infested. One by one each drew his sword and joined Montague in his devilry, mutilating the body of their comrade. They laughed as they did, calling out to him in mockery and their detail was lucid and horrific: some scratched rude claw marks, others hacked downwards to emulate a powerful bite. All at once they stopped and stepped back, seeing that nothing more could be accomplished. The body lay directly beneath the claws of the eagle, its face staring into the eyes of the lion.
“The only demons within this mountain are those we have brought in with us,” Montague said after a pause, “We are the only evil force here.”
But as he finished, the dead man’s eyes opened. A gurgling noise came from his throat. His hand began to shake. His lips quivered violently until – at last – a deep moan flied off his tongue, “No!”
The soldiers fell back, trembling. Even Montague was startled
“Come,” he said, “Let us go from this place.”
He stepped forward, straddled the corpse, and pushed hard upon the door. It groaned loudly, then swung back on its hinges and opened the way before them. Beyond was the darkness. Montague could see nothing, but the black took many shapes and filled his mind with strange colors and patterns. It was too devoid of light to be understood. He did not move through it, but stood there as before a wall that could not be passed. His nose pressed against the wall of darkness, and he could feel its cold grip pushing back.
A moment before, Montague had placed his lantern on the ground, and its covers had unhinged and fallen over the light; the lanterns of the others, meanwhile, were too far behind to pierce the veil before him. Therefore, he reached down and grasped for the lantern’s handle, to light the way. Yet he moved with a slur, his eyes fixed on the darkness before him and his limbs moving slightly of their own accord. A cold, metallic handle struck his fingers and he jumped slightly at its touch, but when his mind came alongside his body, he curled his fingers tightly around it and stood. His arm trembled as it held the lantern before him, on his side of the wall, and for a moment he did not open its shutters. Then – with a surge of passion – his right hand shot upward and grabbed the foremost shudder, yanking it open and sending a single, intense beam of light shattering against the nothing.
For a brief instant he saw beyond the veil, though the others could see nothing with him standing there. Then Montague screamed and jumped backwards, tripping on the corpse and falling upon its bloodied head as he came down. The lantern fell from his hands and landed on the stone floor with an echoing bang. It bounced once and landed on its side. The light only streamed three feet from the ground: the upper portion of the doorway was left in darkness.
There – revealed in the lantern’s light – were two thick, scaly, pale red legs. The feet were gnarled and horned, clawed as with swords. Behind, a forked tail wriggled back and forth between the legs as a cobra on the attack.
Montague could not move, paralyzed with fear; nor did the soldiers breath. The figure hissed a silent laugh, then turned and vanished completely into the darkness. A moment later, Montague reclaimed his feet, his body soaked in the blood of the mutilated soldier. The other soldiers stood behind him, faceless.
In a weak whisper, “Come, men, we must move on.”
They did not answer.
In a louder voice, “Come, men, we cannot rest here.”
Still, they were silent.
In a bitter command, “Come, men, we have seen what many men have not. But to fear is to acknowledge God.”
They remained still and he laughed bitterly, a furious reaction to the fear he had allowed himself to entertain. But he was Nicholas Montague, he remembered, and he did not fear damnation.
“We came for the blood of God,” he smiled, “But I will not leave without the blood of Satan as well!”
With that, he plunged into the darkness and was gone.
Chapter 67
“What the devil has happened to him?” cried de Garcia, his unruly hair thrown back in disgust. “I have heard the legends of the evil of this place, but I did not believe it.”
“Nor I,” Leggitt answered, “But his companions continued onward.”
“And so must we,” Patrick added, “So come, time flees and we must pursue.”
He walked forward, through the open doorway before them, but Willard held him back. “Time does not exist within this place, be it tower, temple, or mountain. The things we will encounter are not governed by mere time.”
Beyond the doorway, the hall continued forward, though it began to curve along a circular path as it wound up the mountain. The sub-human figures of the mural gave way to ape men, their clothing torn and their surroundings dismal. No windows or doors appeared on either wall, and no outside light came into the tunnel, not even the faint light of the moon. They were arranged in a military pattern, suggested by Leggitt and seconded by de Garcia: Willard – with his plate armor – went first, with Horatio at his side; de Garcia took the center – between Lydia and Ivona – where he could assist whichever side was assailed; and Patrick and Leggitt brought up the rear. Since the walls were unknown, they were to form into a circle should they be ambushed.
After they had walked another fifteen minutes, they came to an open, cavernous hall – or, at least, a room that
“You are silent, Ivona.”
“Should I be loud?” she smiled slightly, “This is not a place to be exuberant.”
“No, but the last we truly spoke was on the ship. Your beloved father is near death, perhaps, but you are wiser than to think your depressed mood will bring him healing.”
“Am I? For I have entertained that very thought twice since the sun went home.”
“Still, you have rejected it. Why are you silent?”
“Do not pretend ignorance, for it does not suit a king so well as it does a humble man. I fear God will not find me worthy. We have come to retrieve his blood as a healing for my father, and as his daughter it is by my merits that the blessing will be given or withheld. If my desires are pure, my father will be saved; but if they are sinful,” she turned her head and was silent.
Willard touched her shoulder to comfort her. “If any is worthy, it is you.”
“You know my action, but not my heart. I have fallen, shown my weakness for the things of man. How can I ask God to give himself to me when I will not give myself in return? I cannot give my heart to any man, since it is not my own to give.”
“Without love, even faith is meaningless. For love is not a sin but a requirement.”
“Yet I am called for another purpose, and for me the love of man
“And what of he who loves you, is it sin for him as well?”
Ivona turned her face. “I am set apart, not to be sought after by men.”
“How can you utter such blasphemies? Does your God rejoice in the suffering you inflict on yourself? Does he rejoice in the flagellations of body, as well as of spirit? If that is your God, forsake him; for his punishment and his promise are the same. As for me, I have lived apart from men all the days of my life; and apart from men, there is no God.”
“But still you are here. Have you come only for me, to aid me in my weakness, as you think it?”
“I have, as well as to pursue Montague and solicit the French.”
“Then you have not come for God, but for hegemony: in politics and in my heart. And yet you know that though I
