Black eyes stared straight ahead, fixed in the direction of his target. He drummed his fingers absently on the wheel. He was close. Very close. The anticipation of regaining his charge was great, and the excitement of approaching battle was building in his ancient soul.
He knew I was watching him. He was close enough now for that. The tattoos on his face withered as he spoke, knowing all too well that I could hear him despite the barriers of space and time. His archaic form of speech was thick and accented.
"I care not about thy war. The artifact is mine to protect, and do so I shall."
Who are you? I thought.
"Look upon me and see thy doom, cursed man. Thou shalt die by my hand."
Why?
He paused, the unnatural ink swirling around his blunt features. He seemed surprised by my question.
"Thou knowest not?"
No.
"Thou knowest not of thy fate? Of thy place in this world?"
Nope.
He laughed at me. A booming hearty laugh. It was without real emotion, as any human feelings that had once inhabited this hardened creature had passed a long time ago. Rather, the laughter was an ingrained reflex at hearing something so seemingly preposterous.
"Surely thou hast some knowledge?"
No. I'm getting pretty sick of this myself.
"Then I shall be saddened to take the life of a warrior whose heart is without guile. Alas, it must be. For that I am sorry, but thou must surely die by my hand. I shall do my best to make it swift and glorious."
I don't want to fight you.
"Thou hast no choice," he stated flatly. " 'Tis my duty."
I had my fill of people and monsters threatening to kill me.
Bring it on, bitch.
His face cracked into a wide grin, the swirling markings formed a sympathetic jaw around his lips. "Ahh, there be the spirit. We shall wage us a fine battle."
He continued driving as my spirit lifted from the moving vehicle. The sun was rising on the freeway behind us. I recognized the city in the background.
Montgomery.
The dream world.
"Hello, Boy." The Old Man greeted me as I approached the destroyed church. "Hurry, hurry. Time is much short. Cut off last time." He looked agitated, limping toward me, using his cane as support in the light but slick snow.
"Mordechai, who the hell was that joker?" I asked as I stepped over some rubble and scattered bricks. Either I had not noticed before, or perhaps the Old Man had not put them there before, but there were thousands of shell casings scattered on the ground or pocked into the snow.
"Who?" he asked, perplexed.
"That big tattoo-faced guy. The Guardian of the artifact or whatever."
He hurried over, his face drawn into a look of concern. "You spoke to this man?"
"Yeah, just now. Didn't you see?"
"No." He shook his head, his Star of David bouncing wildly off of his thin chest. "He is here? Now?" The Old Man sounded very worried.
"I think so. I think he's in Montgomery."
"Is bad. Much much bad."
"He said he has to kill me."
"Afraid of this I was. Listen to me, Boy. You are brave and strong, but no match for him. If he comes, run."
"So let me get this straight, you've got no problem with me taking on the Cursed One and seven Master vampires, and gargoyles, and wights, and who knows what else, but you want me to turn and run if I see this tattoo-faced, funny-talking freak?"
"Yes." He shook his head happily. "Glad you understand, Boy. Now come, time is short, and still much you have to see. I will do what can, but not know if have time enough."
"Why is he so dangerous? How can he be any more dangerous than Lord Machado?"
The Old Man put his hands alongside my head. "Not him who is dangerous. I worry about you who is dangerous."
"Huh?"
He squeezed my head and looked me in the eyes. I think he was trying to convey the seriousness of his advice. "Never mind. See him. Run away. Not strong enough to face. Bad things happen. Now shush. Much memory to show before fight."
The dream world faded away.
Lord Machado's memory was sharp and refined for this night, etched deeply into his mind.
This pyramid was much larger than the others, but had been partially buried by earthquakes and mudslides in the distant past, and then mostly reclaimed by the jungle. The stones were crumbling with age, and the once-intricate carvings were weathered to the point that they were no longer clearly recognizable. Now the pictures looked more like squid and crab things going about their business, than the pictorial people that they must have been at one time. The remaining architecture seemed unfamiliar and somehow alien.
Many months had passed while the priestess had instructed me in her dark arts. I had learned much, and seen things not meant for human eyes. I had communed with dark forces, and my education had continued until finally I felt ready to unleash the power. The time had come for me to reclaim my birthright and fulfill the prophecy. I was ready. The priestess Koriniha was at my side. A small contingent of her selected priests led the way up the steps. A squadron of my most trusted and loyal soldiers remained to guard the base of the pyramid.
The priestess leaned in close and spoke softly into my ear. "Your men are scared, Lord Machado."
"They do not understand what we do. But they are loyal. They will do as they are told. They would follow me into the very pit itself if ordered, for I am their general. And they know their place."
"That is good. But not all of your soldiers are so loyal. There has been no word of your chief captain." She sounded mildly worried. "We cannot afford an interruption during the sacrifice. The Old Ones would be offended."
She was right to be concerned. A small group of men, led by one of my best captains, had disappeared, most likely deserted. The giant of a man, called Thrall, had hired onto the expedition as a mercenary. He was from some small country to the northeast, and had barely even spoken our language at the time of our embarkation, but he had proven himself to be a fierce warrior, whom the men would follow without hesitation. I had been reluctant to promote him, but he was far too capable to have been wasted as a mere musketeer.
Unfortunately, his primitive upbringing had made my own superstitious men seem like philosophers in comparison. He had been against my initial conscription of the native forces, and he had been adamantly opposed to staying in the city, rather than sacking and burning it to the ground. I had my suspicions that he had been in league with the now departed Friar de Sousa as well. The divinations of the priestess had confirmed his treachery and the fact that he had been a holy man amongst his forgotten people. Doubtless my consorting with dark forces had driven him away.
It would not matter, even if the captain had fled for the sea. By the time he would be able to send a message of my treachery back to agents of the crown, it would be too late. My powers would be granted tonight. "No need to worry, my love. The good captain is no threat to us." I had dispatched a force of soldiers and conscripts to chase the deserters down and execute them. "It is under control."
"Excellent, my lord, but should it prove necessary, I summoned some protectors for our ceremony tonight."
The top of the ancient structure was flat except for a single raised dais. The altar had a funnel protruding from its base, giving some clue to its dark history. Giant braziers of flaming coals had been placed on the corners, illuminating us with flickering light. The pagan priests went immediately to their respective stations. Large stone demons squatted around the altar. One of the carved statues turned its head and regarded us with blank stone eyes. Dust shook from it as unnaturally long arms flexed nonexistent muscles. It was a mighty beast.
"What manner of creature is that?" I hissed.