The Djinn (15 page)

After a quarter
of a mile, he stopped abruptly. He’d heard something, something faint, behind
him.
Footsteps?
He couldn’t be sure. It sounded
nothing like the clanging stomps of the metal greaves and boots of Gerard’s
soldiers. Still…something was not quite right.

He craned his
neck to hear better, peeling back the hood that covered his head.
Nothing.
There were no sounds, except for the occasional plop
of water dripping further down the tunnel. At least he knew he’d chosen the
correct passage to follow. Wiping the sweat from his eyes, the Djinn sprinted
forward towards the sound of the water.

“Argh!”
Gerard awoke with a jolt, sword slinging blindly
through the air in panicked ferocity. The Djinn was no longer there.

How long had he
been out? There was no way to tell. The chamber was still as black as pitch
save the small area behind him that flickered from Archibald’s torch, still resting
uselessly on the ground.

All around him,
his men stirred—moaning and writhing from injuries incurred by the filthy
demon’s attack. The world spun uncontrollably around him as he clambered to his
feet. The mercenary limped to the torch, bent down, and picked it up. The room
once again was bathed in blessed light.

“Archibald,” he
said, as he stooped over his injured friend.

His lieutenant
lifted his head; bewilderment and no little pain were etched into his face.

“Yes, Captain?”

“Gather the
men. See to the wounded and get back to the chateau. I’ve got to report to Lord
Gregory immediately.”

“Uh, sir?”

“What is it,
Lieutenant?”

“Well, sir, I
was just wondering why we weren’t going to search the tunnels for
the…the…creature,” Archibald whispered the last word nervously.

Gerard had
already considered it, but realized it would be futile. They would never be
able to find him in this maze. Even if they did, he lacked men healthy enough
to do any good against the demon.

“Because I said
so,” answered the captain. “Now, do as you’re told.”

“Aye, sir,”
Archibald said as he struggled to rise. Gerard helped him to his feet and
dusted his chain mail and tunic off.

“Now, I’m off.
See to it that the men are cared for and report back to me as soon as you can.”

With that, the
mercenary bounded off toward the main Hub and the entrance to Gregory’s
tunnels. The baron was not going to be happy about the news. But then, Gerard
was getting weary of caring. Besides, he had worse news for Gregory than the
Djinn’s
victory here tonight. He wondered how the baron
would react to his daughter’s nocturnal visits as he pressed on through the
passages.

****

In a city that
thirsted for water, it was ironic that such a vast reservoir laid undetected
deep within its belly. The Djinn doubted, however, that the water was safe to
drink. He could smell its salt wafting through the air as he approached its algae-infested
edge.

His keen eyes
scanned the darkened shore of the underground lake. Schools of tiny, ivory
colored fish flitted through the shallows of the water, oblivious to the
intruder from the outside world. The Djinn stood transfixed on the otherworldly
creatures that swam effortlessly through the currents, changing directions to
form a zigzag pattern in tandem.

Breaking
himself from his fixation, he stood erect, every muscle tensing. The Library
was near. He could feel it. All of his research pointed to this very
underground lake as the marker for its entrance.

But where was
it? The Djinn looked around the vast chamber. Besides the spider web of
passages that spread out along the walls, he could make out nothing that would
resemble a doorway.
Nothing that indicated a room that housed
thousands of years’ worth of precious tomes.

It has to be here
.
I know it
.
 

The lake.
The answer had to be with the lake. He rifled
through the clues he’d pieced together from the medallion and various other
sources, reciting them verbatim. Finally, he remembered the one that he felt
held the solution to his conundrum.

Drink from the water of wisdom
, the medallion’s
strange script had read.
Enter the Hall
of the Wise
.

The Djinn
looked across the glassy surface of the water.
It most definitely wouldn’t be wise to drink from
that
water
. He paused. A smile slowly began
creeping up one side of his face.
Unless
…

Crouching down,
he pulled at a pack worn around his back, hidden behind his cloak. Ignoring the
numbing sensation around his shoulder, he scavenged inside, pulling out a small
parcel wrapped in an exquisite piece of Asian silk.

“That should be
enough,” he said aloud as he tugged at the string and opened the package. Three
strange looking mushrooms lay exposed on the rocky floor of the chamber.
Pulling a dagger from his boot, he carefully sliced two of the fungi in half. A
plume of green spores spewed from the mutilated mushrooms, casting a weird
otherworldly glow all around him. Taking a rag, the Djinn smeared the
luminescent slime oozing from the mushroom all over the blackened blade of his
scimitar,
then
sheathed it.

His eyes moved
to the rocky floor of the cavern, searching for…

There
.

He scurried
along the floor, pocketing eight fist-sized rocks, and then returned to his
pack. Piling the stones in a small circle, he picked up the last mushroom and
squeezed. Its haunting green juice bled onto each of them. They illumed
satisfyingly at him as he cast each one out into the abysmal pool before him—each
one further away than the last.

Standing up,
the Djinn edged his way to the lip of the pool. The stones emitted their
greenish incandescence through the darkened water.

That will have to
do
,
he thought as he waded into the
lake, inhaled, then dove into the murk. If the incandescent stones weren’t
radiating their eerie glow, he would have been completely blind. Slowly, his
eyes adjusted to both salt and shadow and he gradually began to take in his
surroundings.

The water, at
its deepest, was about twenty feet deep with a solid, stone bottom. Besides the
tiny schools of fish, there was no movement within the pool. The Djinn hovered
just above the floor, scanning the almost perfectly circular lake for…he saw
something to his right.

Kicking off the
bottom, he sped to the southernmost wall of the lake until he could make out
the beginnings of an intricately carved archway that reached to just below the
waterline. From above, it would have been practically invisible due to the
slime and algae that skimmed the surface.

Pulling out his
spore-covered scimitar, he used the blade’s light to see past the almost
imperceptible entryway and beheld a narrow staircase leading up through the
tunnel walls.

Of course
, he thought as he swam to the
steps.
It’s brilliant.
The
perfect security measure.
A person could get into the Library from the
lake, but they couldn’t leave with any of the parchments or scrolls housed
inside without utterly destroying them with water. A person would be able to
read all they wanted, but would never be able to remove them
.

Feeling the
slight tug at his lungs signaling that he was beginning to need air, he swam up
the staircase until his head broke the surface. The stairs continued up for
about another twenty-five steps and opened suddenly into a vast, unlit chamber.
Only the green glow of his sword provided any illumination. He looked along the
wall to his right and then his left, until he found the wooden stalk of a torch
resting within a sconce. There was no telling how long the torch had lain
dormant within the room, but the Djinn
was
confident
that any pitch that could have been used to light it had long since evaporated.

Fortunately,
the man who’d struck such fear in the hearts of Gregory’s
knights,
had come prepared. Reaching into his pouch once more, he pulled out a silver
container and poured the contents along the head of the torch. The acrid stench
of whale oil wafted up from the liquid as it soaked into the fabric. Then,
striking his flint against the stone wall, the torch burst into life.

With a much
brighter light source, the Djinn took a moment to soak in his surroundings. The
chamber he’d entered was by far the largest within the complex system of
catacombs underneath Jerusalem. Spreading far beyond the meager circle of
illumination, the room was lined with row after row of shelves, tables, chairs,
and stepping stools. Standing beside each of the reading desks was a single
candelabrum that could be used to read by.

The Djinn moved
his gaze up to see a forest of cobwebs hanging haphazardly from the rafters
that supported the vaulted thirty foot ceiling. A bronze chandelier hung
uselessly above him, devoid of any discernible candles that might have been
used to light the room even more.

All right
, he thought, suddenly feeling
light-headed. The loss of blood was starting to catch up to him.
Best find the book and be on my way
.

Raising the
torch above his head, he walked along the first row of shelves, carefully
scanning the wax seals that secured each of the manuscripts housed within the
library. Though he wasn’t exactly sure what he was searching for, he’d been
told that he would know the correct scroll when he saw it. The medallion had said
something about it being “within the Warden’s mind”…whatever that meant. But he
figured that if he found this Warden, he would be able to find the
Sefer
Yetzirah
.

Having searched
the first three rows, he moved on to the next, moving deeper into the vast
Library. He jerked to a stop at the sound of shuffling in the darkness behind
him. He spun around and tried to peer past the torch’s flame, but to no avail.
Shrugging his apprehension away, he continued his search. After ten more
minutes, he’d scoured every shelf in the entire room and had not found it. He
was just about to move back to the beginning and start the search all over when
another sound caught his attention…this time, it was the sound of something
brushing up against the wall to his left.

He remembered
the stealthy form of the hashshashin that had been following him since leaving
Isabella’s chateau. Had he tracked him down to the Library? Had he managed to
find his way into this very room and now lay in wait within the protection of
the shadows?

Somehow he
doubted it. If Emir was there, he no doubt had skill enough to remain
completely undetectable. No, someone else was in the chamber with him. And that
someone was currently stalking him.

Easing his
sword from its scabbard once more, he slowly placed the torch on the ground and
melted into the darkness. Though the luminescent spores of the fungus still
clung to the blade, the glow was minimal, allowing the shadows to wrap around
his dark frame with ease. He stole through the labyrinth of shelves, his senses
heightened as he searched for his hidden stalker.

Sweat beaded
across the
Djinn’s
brow. He felt weak, dehydrated.
His injuries were catching up to him and he knew that a prolonged confrontation
with anyone would be the end of him. If he didn’t take care of this swiftly,
he’d find himself a permanent resident within the subterranean Library.

He caught a
blur of motion to his right and spun around, but whatever he’d seen was gone.

“All right,” he
said aloud.
“Enough of this game.
It’s time to change
the rules.”

Digging into
his pouch, he pulled another object wrapped in silk and opened it up. In the
palm of his hand, he held a strange putty-like substance, peppered with
shavings of a metal the old man had discovered on a journey to Asia. Similar to
the fire powder he’d learned to harness, the metal, when applied to heat, would
burn with the brightness of the noonday sun. The Djinn had been loath to use it
because the metal was extremely rare and very expensive. But he could think of
no other way to locate his stalker than by removing the very shadows in which
he hid.

 
Placing a fuse within the putty, he lit it and
hurled the object high into the air. Hearing a satisfying thud, he knew the
sticky substance now clung to the ceiling. He clenched his eyes closed tight,
counted to three and…the sudden burst of light irradiated through his eyelids,
burning at his retinas. Slowly, he opened his eyes…blinking back the brightness
that threatened to blind him. A white hot orb adhered to the ceiling sent a blazing
trail of light over the entire chamber. Every shelf…every scroll…every particle
of dust shined beneath the artificial sun.

He spun around,
looking for his stalker and jerked involuntarily at the sight of a hulking mass
of clay only six paces away from him. The thing that lumbered more than nine
feet tall was shaped, for the most part, like a human. Its massive
hammer-fisted hands were clenched tight and raised above its strange, faceless
head. A series of strange symbols and intricate alien glyphs were carved into
its clay-like flesh. And although the thing did not have an animal shaped head
like those within the treasure chamber of Solomon’s Vault, the Djinn knew he
was looking face to face at a golem. But unlike those that Gregory desired to
reanimate, this one was already alive.
Inexplicably
breathing.
And hunting the Djinn.

The golem
charged without warning, its powerful arms swinging toward the
Djinn’s
exposed head. Although the creature’s speed belied
its massive size, he managed to avoid the hammer-like blow by diving out of the
way.

Rolling to his
feet, the Djinn spun around and threw his dagger straight at the monster’s
face. The blade sunk deep, burying itself to the hilt inside its head, but
still the golem kept moving.

Moving.
How on earth does it even move
? Though
the clay that comprised the golem’s body was soft and malleable, there were no
obvious means to make an otherwise inanimate object ambulate. No skeletal
structure to give it form. No discernible joints or musculature to empower
movement. For all intents and purposes, the golem was merely a chunk of clay
with pillar-like arms and legs. It was like watching a marionette whose
locomotion was dependent entirely on the muscles and tactile manipulations of
another.
 

But the mystery
of the golem didn’t end there. As the fire metal burned itself out and the
chamber began casting elongated shadows around them, the Djinn doubted that
being doused into darkness once more would offer him any protection at all. The
golem was also devoid of eyes, which begged the question of how it was able to
“see” in the first place. Though he was most definitely a man of science who
had preyed upon his enemies’ superstitions, thus tricking them into believing
he was using the forces of the spirit world to do his great deeds, the only
possible solution he could fathom to account for the golem’s very existence was
simply…magic. Nothing else made sense.

But he had the
luxury of contemplating the monster’s mysteries no longer. Almost faster than
the eye could see, the golem dashed toward him once more, backhanding him
before he had a chance to move, and sending the Djinn sprawling across the
stone floor. Before he could pull himself to his feet, the hulking form reached
down, grabbed him by the face, and lifted him off the ground. As he hung
helplessly within the monster’s grip, he could feel moist clay oozing through
the porous linen fabric of his hood and into his mouth and nose. Desperately
trying to wrest himself free from the thing’s gelatinous grip, he pounded
against the golem’s face as hard he could. Though blinded by the massive hand
engulfing his face, brilliant flashes of light shot through the
Djinn’s
retinas as the last bit of oxygen was squeezed out
of him.

Consciousness
was quickly waning and he knew that if that happened, all would be lost. In a
last ditch effort, the Djinn reached into a pocket within his cloak and pulled
out a twelve-inch iron tube with a spring-loaded piece of flint attached to a
handle. The contraption was of
his own
design, and
although he’d not tested it enough to trust in most circumstances, there was no
longer anything to lose.

The golem’s
grip oozed its way to envelope his entire head, but the beast began to apply
the slightest amount of pressure as well…as if trying to crush his victim’s
skull in addition to suffocating him. An untested weapon was now his only
option.

The
Djinn’s
thumb fumbled with the spring-loaded flint and
pulled it back. Holding it steady, he lifted the tube and pointed it near where
he believed the monster’s face to be, and released. The flint struck a metal
bracket housed within the tube, which ignited a pouch of highly compressed fire
powder and iron pellets. With a deafening blast, the tube discharged its
contents and suddenly, the Djinn found himself released from the golem’s grasp.
Falling to the floor, he gasped for breath as he looked up to gawk at his
handiwork. The right side of the golem’s face was completely decimated, giving
the creature’s head the appearance of a crescent moon. The iron shrapnel and
concussive blast from his
firetube
had shredded the
viscous clay flesh as easily as a shovel to a grave. And although the giant
didn’t so much as make a sound, its torment was quite evident as it thrashed
around the chamber holding its head.

Still trying to
catch his breath while simultaneously collecting his thoughts, the Djinn took a
closer look at the monster as it writhed. Something shiny…metallic…protruded
from the crater to the right side of its head. In the flickering light of the
torch still burning on the ground, he could just make out a brass
cylinder—similar to those used to house a precious scroll.

Suddenly, the
riddle of the
Sefer
Yetzirah
made
perfect sense. The medallion had said the Book of Creation would be “within the
Warden’s Mind.” Only he’d mistranslated. A better interpretation would have
been “within the Warden’s skull.” The scroll he and Gregory had been searching
for had been inserted into this monster…who acted as a guardian to keep it from
falling into foolish hands.

The Djinn shook
his head with a rebuking chuckle. “And there’d be no one more foolish than me,”
he said aloud to the writhing golem. “If left alone, the book would have been
safeguarded for years to come. But now that I’ve found you…exposed your
scalp…it would be only a matter of time before Gregory’s men recovered it.” He
sighed. “No. There’s nothing to it. I’m sorry my friend, but I must relieve you
of your burden now.”

The golem, as
if hearing the
Djinn’s
words—though it had no
ears—stopped its anguished gyrations and seemed to tense.

“It’s all right,
though,” he continued, as he prepared to move the second the monster charged.
“I plan not to use the book for evil gains, but rather safeguard it much the
same as you.”

His platitudes
did not seem to appease the golem, who raised both fists in the air in a
defensive posture. The thing appeared to be awaiting the
Djinn’s
first move, which brought them both at an impasse.

The monster was
smart. Realizing that a steady defense would be the greatest offense, it
intended to allow the interloper to draw near enough to it to crush it within
its powerful hands. The Djinn, on the other hand, would have to figure a way to
get near the creature without that very thing happening…and with the element of
darkness not being of any use at all for a foe with no discernible eyes, he was
beside himself on just how to do it. The only way to get to the scroll would be
to somehow immobilize the golem.

But how
?

Inching over to
the torch on the ground, the Djinn crouched slowly, picked it up, and glanced
around the dimly lit Library. There wasn’t much to work with. His
firetube
had been destroyed when he’d used it to break free
of the golem’s grip; its barrel shredded apart like a flower blossom. His sword
would be no help either.
It would have as little effect on
the creature as his dagger had.
There were no other tools at his
disposal, but a few bookshelves, a desk or two, and the candelabrum that stood
next to them.

There’s something I’m missing. Something
….

He stood stock
still, emptying himself of the fear and turmoil that cluttered his mind. The
golem continued its statue-like vigil, waiting for his enemy to strike. But the
Djinn knew it wouldn’t wait indefinitely. Soon, it would renew its attack and
it would be over.

So what is it? What am I missing? What can I
use to stop this behemoth
?

Slowly, he
backed away from the golem, moving slowly toward the eastern wall. The clay man
stepped forward, following him cautiously. The Djinn edged his way around the
library, his back against the wall as he scanned the room more thoroughly.
Sidestep.
Two.
Three.
Four.
The monster continued to keep the same distance
between them.
Moving parallel to the intruder.

Splat
.

The Djinn
looked down from where the sound came. A small puddle of water pooled on the
stone floor from a stream of condensation along the wall. He tapped his foot in
the water once more in thought.

Splat
.
Splat
.

A smile spread
across his veiled face when he realized what it meant. Though the entrance to
Solomon’s hidden library had been above the waterline of the underground lake,
the river that fed it must have been higher up. The condensation was a product
of the water currents on the other side of the wall. Slowly, he reached into
his pack and, with both eyes firmly fixed on the golem, rummaged from what he
was looking for. Soon, his fingers latched onto a small silk pouch of tightly
wrapped fire powder.

Makes sense
, the Djinn thought as he
considered the implications behind the river.
A creature of moist clay would need a humid environment. Otherwise,
he’d dry up. Become brittle.
Hard.
Immobile
.

Of course, the
very thing that had prolonged the monster’s life for all these centuries was
now about to become the very thing that would end it.

“I’m sorry,” he
said to the hulk before him. “I’m truly very sorry for what I’m about to do.
But I really have no choice.”

The golem’s
crescent moon head cocked slightly to the left as the Djinn lifted the silk
pouch to the torch’s
flame,
dropped it to the floor
the moment the fuse sparked to life, and dove toward the nearest writing desk
to protect him from the impending blast.

He barely made
it in time. Just as he pulled the desk up as a makeshift shield, the silk pouch
burst in a blinding flash, rending a jagged hole with the stone wall. A stream
of water gushed through, spreading the opening wider and wider apart until a
tidal wave of pressure punched through the wall and filled the entire chamber.
Both the monster and the Djinn were suddenly swept off their feet and carried
along the whirlwind currents of the enraged subterranean river.

Struggling to
keep himself from crashing into the debris and stone walls, the Djinn kept his
eyes trained on the golem as it floundered helplessly in the flooding chamber.
He watched patiently for what he hoped would come…and come before he ran out of
air. Gradually, the rush of water subsided and the two foes hovered in the
water. They both had finally stabilized and their standoff resumed once more.

And then he saw
it. The golem’s arm wavered in the water. Its feet began to twist and swirl.
Its barrel-like torso began to dissolve before his very eyes. The sheer amount
of water within the now ruined library was simply too much for the creature’s
clay body to absorb and it began to melt away rapidly into oblivion. After no
more than a minute, the entire creature was nothing more than a hovering mass
of mud floating harmlessly before him.

Without the
golem’s mass, the brass encased scroll sunk rapidly to the floor. The Djinn
dove down, snatched it up, and made his way back down the staircase and into
the underground lake. Another ten seconds and he was exploding to the surface
sucking in deep gulps of delicious air and clutching the Book of Creation in
his trembling hand.

He was so weak.
So tired.
As he dragged himself to the shoreline of
the underground lake, all he wanted was to lie down and sleep for days.

At least for a few minutes.
Just a few peaceful
minutes
.

The strain of
the evening’s activities had been almost too much for him.
The
injuries and blood loss from his encounter with Gerard and his men.
The near-suffocation at the hands of the Warden.
Almost
drowning in the library flood he’d caused with his own fire powder. It was all
just too much for his body to take.

No. I cannot. To stay is to die
, he
thought as his head rested against the rocky ground at the edge of the lake.
My death means enslavement to those under
Gregory’s power. I cannot rest.
He pushed himself onto unsteady feet.
Yet
.

He gripped the
scroll tighter in his fist and took a deep breath. It was time to go.
Time to get back.
His mission was almost over. He was
finally beginning to see the light through the murky world in which he’d lived
for so long. Soon, he would finally be free. He just had one more thing to do.
He had to get the scroll out of Jerusalem and he would finally be done.

He allowed a
wan smile at the thought.

Almost free
.

A sudden noise
from behind spun him around, but it was too late. A shadow leapt from the darkness
in a spinning kick that slammed against the
Djinn’s
covered face. Recovering faster than should be humanly possible, his arms came
up to block a whirlwind of blows from the black-garbed assailant. But he was
still protectively clutching the scroll in one, preventing an adequate defense.
His attacker, observing the weakness, landed a series of blows against the
shoulder that had been injured in his fight with Gerard’s men.

Countering, the
Djinn wheeled around, his arm whipping in a brutal backhand against his
attacker’s face. Pressing the advantage, he
dove
head
first, striking his enemy’s midsection and causing both to stumble onto the
bank of the underground lake.

The two combatants
grappled, each striving to get the upper hand on the other. Suddenly, with
blinding speed, a streak of silver swung out from the assailant’s tunic and a
razor sharp dagger pierced deep into the
Djinn’s
gut.
Hot, crimson liquid poured out of the wound, soaking the
Djinn’s
free hand as he struggled to close the injury.

“You have
fought bravely, Dark One,” said Emir, the hashshashin, standing over his fallen
enemy who still held onto the scroll with one hand. “I know what kind of
disadvantage you’ve had in this battle and yet, you were unwilling to relent.
It has been an honor to fight such a worthy opponent, but I could not allow you
to leave with the Book.”