The Dove (34 page)

Sophia staggered to her feet and Nicole waded across the chamber in knee deep water to help her.  Bari emerged from one of the adjoining corridors with the Colonel and several more sputtering soldiers.

“Wait!”  Sophia called after Mark feebly.

“Sit down.”  Nicole pushed her against the basin.  “He’s not going anywhere.”

Sophia slumped against the basin.  Her lungs burned and her eyes stung. 

“Did you know he could do that?”  Nicole leaned against the basin beside her.

“No.  I don’t know what happened.  He just started quoting scriptures and then the water came up through the stone.”  Sophia coughed again.  “I thought we were all dead.”  She shuddered as she remembered the horrible feeling of the water closing over her head against the rough rock ceiling.

“It’s not over yet.”  Nicole looked up.  The sounds of explosions could still be heard, muffled and distant.  “I thought you were both mortal.  What about his hand?  I don’t understand.”

“We weren’t drowned long enough apparently.  Or maybe he knew what he was talking about.  The Waters of Life.”   Sophia looked around at the basin.  It was still brimming full of sparkling clear water.  “I wonder what they are shooting at now.”  She heaved a weary sigh as Bari joined them.

“Where is my grandfather?”  He looked about, searching for Mark among the soldiers.

“In the corridor.”  Nicole nodded to the dark cavern.

“What happened?”  Bari tried to wring out his cloak.

“I don’t know, but it was great!”  Nicole almost laughed and then choked.  “If I ever get back to civilization, I’m going to change my ways.”

“Right.”  Bari grumbled derisively.  “We’ll never make it back to civilization.  They’ll be coming for us soon enough and now our food supplies are gone and I can’t even find my pistol.  Where is my backpack?”

“Everything followed the water out.”  Sophia answered him.

Bari searched about the chamber for his precious backpack that contained the crystal skull of the baby.  He straightened up suddenly and grabbed at his chest.  He ran his hand under his shirt and searched for the spear of Longinus under his tee shirt, but came up only with the broken chain on which the Holy Relic had hung.  Sheer panic gripped him as he ripped his wet shirt from his pants and searched for the missing blade in the folds of his clothes and his boots.

Simon finished examining the dead soldiers and came to join them.  Six had succumbed to the water.  Non-believers.

“Where is your father?”  He addressed Nicole in alarm.

“He went to check out the entrance, I suppose.  He’ll have to do better than this, if he hopes to get us out of here.  Where are his magick garters when we need them?”  Nicole asked him.

Simon did not wait to answer her, but rushed up the dark corridor.  She was immediately assaulted by the Emperor.

“Help me find my backpack!”  He grabbed her shoulders and pushed her toward one of the darkened corridors.  Only the flashing lights of the soldiers handheld beams kept out the total blackness.

“I don’t give a damn about your backpack!”  Nicole snapped at him.  She had no intention of poking about in the pitch black depths of the chambers.  “You find it!”

Bari cursed and snatched one of the lights from the nearest of the soldiers.

Sophia pulled her own flashlight from her belt and tried it out, thankful to see the weak, yellowish beam.

“I’m going to look for Daddy.  He might need my help.”  She told the woman and pushed herself off the stone basin.

Nicole followed her as she made her way through the soldiers toward the main corridor.  They were still searching for their weapons in the water that remained in the floor of the chamber.  Sophia wondered when Nicole had suddenly become so fond of her father.

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Mark Andrew made a beeline for the ‘Prophet’.  He seemed totally oblivious to the battle raging around him as he picked his way through the scattered equipment, dead bodies and hysterical Fox soldiers cowering behind the rocks between the mound and the command tent where Jozsef Daniel was sitting with his back to them.  None of the soldiers who challenged his progress were able to touch him as he dragged the hapless Tuathan through the milieu.  Selwig alternately shrieked and stumbled along after him as they were pushed and shoved and almost run down by panicked men mounted on horses, camels and wildly careening vehicles. 

Three times they were fired on at pointblank range and no bullets touched them. There were no distinct battle lines.  The fighting was disorganized and sporadic as the enemy troops were attacked from all directions by the angels on the winged horses. 

Selwig was horrified by these aerial warriors and screamed every time one of them came near them. In the distant rocky bluffs and hills, the roars of the dragon and the Sphinx, mingled with fire and explosions, rumbled and caused the ground to shake as troop carriers and supply trucks exploded under the onslaught of the dragon’s flames. The bloody remains littering the desert floor was too much to take in, and the two travelers were soon covered with spattered blood and gore.  Bullets whined past them and it was no less than a miracle that they were not riddled with gunshot wounds before they reached their objective.  The Ancient Evil was sitting with his back to them, still concentrating his attention on destroying any enemy force coming near him.  The two soldiers who had been guarding his back, raised their rifles in shaking hands as Mark approached them.  They shouted warnings in Urdu and Arabic and then opened fire.  Selwig screamed, but Mark dragged him forward.  The two soldiers hesitated momentarily before turning left and right and running wildly away from what they thought was some new supernatural specter in their midst. 

Mark Andrew walked directly up to Jozsef’s back and grabbed him by both ears, throwing him into the dirt.  The ‘Prophet’ landed on his back with the Urim and Thummin held aloft in both hands.  Mark kicked the instrument out of his hands, breaking the chain that held it to his neck, before yanking him to his feet.  The Ancient Evil’s eyes were wide with shock as he faced the King of Terrors.

Mark Andrew smiled at him and held up the ancient spearhead of Longinus. Jozsef stumbled back away from him and then flung himself after the Urim and Thummin.  Mark followed him almost casually and placed a boot in his side, rolling him away from the glittering stone device.  Jozsef regained his footing and looked about frantically for the crystal skull.  His power was sadly depleted by the tremendous efforts he had directed against the angelic forces.  Mark advanced on him again and Selwig scrambled around them, scooping up the Urim and Thummin.  He stuffed the thing in his yellow bag, shrieking the entire time in fear and panic.  Jozsef threw himself on the skull and rolled away again before Mark could kick him.  He came up with the skull in both hands and held it out between them.

Mark looked at the skull and frowned in confusion.  He hesitated momentarily, and then threw himself bodily on the ‘Prophet’, taking him down with a terrible shout of rage.  Jozsef screamed in pain as he brought the rough spear head up and under his ribcage.  The ‘Prophet’ heaved Mark off of him and crawled backwards, clutching his injured side.  Mark landed on his back slightly dazed, blinking up at the sky.  Selwig rushed to his side and scrabbled for the skull that lay exposed on the ground beside him.  The Tuathan stood up with the thing clutched in both hands, but he could not hold it.  The skull felt like a burning coal.  He tried to throw it, but couldn’t move.  Mark slapped at it with the back of his hand.

When the golden patch contacted the crystal, a blinding light erupted momentarily and Selwig fell onto his Master, shrieking hysterically.

Mark got up carefully, holding the frightened Tuathan in arms.  Selwig had succumbed to his fear and hung limply in his arms, completely unconscious.  The Knight looked about frantically for the skull, but it was no where to be seen.  He laid his small friend on the ground and went after the ‘Prophet’ who was still trying to get away, dragging himself with one arm toward the purple and white tent.  Mark caught up with him easily and knelt beside him.  He wrenched the spear head free from the bloody wound and Jozsef screamed in his face.  The Knight stuffed the blade in his pocket and dragged Jozsef to his feet, shoving him toward the tent.

One of the winged horses swooped over the tent and then turned back.  This one was a great white stallion with more substance than the ghostly forms flying back and forth over the field, wreaking havoc on the soldiers.  The horse touched down soundlessly near the flap of the tent and two riders slid from its back.

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Abaddon’s tumultuous slide down the side of the mound had battered him unmercifully.  He had finally come to rest against a rectangular block, with a mighty blow to the back of his head.  Consciousness had left him temporarily, and, when he had opened his eyes several minutes later, he could see nothing but mud and rocks.  His ears were assaulted by the cacophony of noise surrounding him; it terrified him beyond anything that had ever happened to him before.  Screams, roars and resounding explosions engulfed the world, making it impossible for him to hear his own voice as he shouted to the cowering soldiers still clinging to the slippery boulders and sparse vegetation on the muddy hillside.

He pushed himself up slowly and checked his injuries superficially.  The back of his head throbbed, his exposed skin was covered with bleeding cuts and scrapes, and his back hurt terribly from the stones on which he had landed, though no broken bones seemed evident.  When he started off, he found his foot entangled in the straps of a black backpack, half-buried in the mud.  The dark angel kicked at the thing and pain shot up his leg as his foot struck something very hard.  He dragged the pack from the mud and the contents spilled into the dirt.  A sparkling crystal ball rolled across the rocks, and he was shocked to see the hollow eyes of a tiny skull glittering up at him. 

One of the winged horses swooped low over his head as he grabbed up the crystal and leaped over the tumbled down boulders, making his way into the complete pandemonium that awaited him on the battlefield.  He caught a glimpse of Jozsef Daniel being pushed ruthlessly toward the command tent by the Knight of Death and headed in that direction.  It was inconceivable that Jozsef could have been subdued by the moronic remains of Mark Ramsay.  His mind refused to accept what his eyes told him.  When the winged horse landed in front of the tent and he saw the Templar Prophet and the Lord of the Sixth Gate, his own former Master, slide from its back, he veered to the right and made his way toward a stalled ATV that two Fox soldiers were desperately trying to get out of the mud that had formed at the foot of the mound. Abaddon pulled the driver from behind the wheel and commanded him to help his comrades push.  The three soldiers pushed the heavy truck free of the ruts and the general sped away across the camp, leaving the hapless men behind, ruthlessly running down two more that tried to get inside the vehicle with him.  He headed west and then south, skirting the remnants of the battle, avoiding the winged warriors, dodging the errant mortars and wildfire, until he reached the pock-marked highway.

His disbelief was redoubled when he caught sight of the Sphinx creature and the black dragon in the rearview mirror.   How had the cursed Templars gotten this close to them without being seen?  And with such great beasts?  His new Master’s powers were waning or else the Ancient One had underestimated the Templars.  He had seen this great folly before, but he had something that they would want… the crystal skull.  Another puzzling development.  Exactly how Ramsay’s head had gotten out of Jozsef’s tent and halfway up the side of the mound was a mystery, but surely it would be of some bargaining power. But then, perhaps this was not King Ramsay’s skull.  It looked a bit small.  More likely it was the Skull of Sidon. That had been a child’s skull.  Yes, this was definitely a child’s skull. Jozsef kept both skulls with him now everywhere he went.  He would not risk losing them as he had lost the skull of Bran the Blessed.  Perhaps even his old Master, Marduk Kurios, would be interested in it, once the war was over.  Abaddon could not imagine that Marduk could have overcome his great hatred for Adar even in the face of impending doom.  Marduk’s temporary alliance with the Templars could only be just that… temporary.

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The Templar commanders, gathered atop a small rise south of the main fray, watched as the ATV sped away, kicking up a cloud of dust on the abandoned roadway, in close pursuit of two other trucks that had managed to escape by the same precipitous route.

“Shall we pursue them, Grandfather?”  Izzy rose up in his saddle and watched the vehicle weave its way down the road.

“They have no place to go.”  D’Brouchart shook his head.  “If the desert does not kill them, the creatures will surely devour them.”

Izzy turned his attention back to the problem at hand.  The troops were disarming and searching the captive Fox soldiers, lining them up, checking their injuries and giving them instructions and assurances that their cooperation would prevent further harm.  It was no small task.  The Fox army was bedraggled, harried and terrified.  They spoken a dozen different languages and were all quite sure they were about to be executed en masse.