“My true name?” Owen raised an eyebrow. “I don’t believe I have one.”
“You do, but you do not know it. This can be good because it means others cannot know you.” Kamiskwa shrugged. “It is bad because you cannot use it to make magick, strong magick. And, friend Makepeace, you shake your head, but among your people, do you not get a special name when you are confirmed in your faith?”
“I reckon that’s different.”
“No, it just means there is a second way to find you.”
Nathaniel shivered, seeing a grey mold spreading over Temperance, catching up those he loved. “Well, now, I reckon I’ll not be sleeping much after this discussion, so I’ll take the first watch. After two hours, I’ll wake the next man.”
Ezekiel raised a hand. “I will take a watch.”
“No need for that, Steward.” Nathaniel half-smiled. “But if you find yourself awake and want to send a prayer or two off for our benefit, I’d be much obliged.”
“God would be pleased to hear from you directly, Mr. Woods.”
“Might could be, Steward, but I think we’re much better off with you speaking for us.”
In the morning they repacked the wolfskins and continued their climb into the mountains. In two more days they reached the Antediluvian ruins. Not much had changed, save that a family of beavers had begun to dam up the outflow, so water had begun to fill the lowest spots. It didn’t appear as if anything had changed. The Temple doors still stood open and water lapped at the Temple steps, indicating that the dome which had kept the Temple dry had not reappeared.
“I don’t like the idea of going in there but…” Nathaniel shrugged. “We have to know, I reckon.”
Ezekiel Fire cocked his head. “Know what?”
“Steward, we entered the Temple after you and Rufus removed the tablets. We found evidence, near the Altar, that part of the floor might provide entry to subterranean chambers.” Owen started up the steps. “With Rufus having magicked his way under the ground to get away…”
“I understand. But given what we know, don’t you think this place could be a trap?”
Nathaniel, who had reached the top of the steps before the others, held up a hand to stop them. “I do believe that is a distinct possibility, Steward.”
There, in the distance, a bent golden tablet glittered from within the tabernacle.
“’Pears Rufus done got here before us, and don’t seem to mind our knowing it.”
Chapter Thirty
26 May 1767 Antediluvian Ruins Westridge Mountains, Mystria
Owen took a quick look inside the Temple, then ducked back. “No doubt we’re being taunted.”
Nathaniel took a couple steps back and down. “I don’t know that I think that is true. Seems fair certain that the intention of getting the tablets took was to create havoc. Onliest reason to leave that one there would be to do more of the same. Rufus couldn’t be certain we’d come back this way. Heck, we’d not be but Prince Vlad said he’d backtrack us on this trail iffen we was not home quick enough.”
Kamiskwa let his pack slip from his shoulders. “You think the tablet is there so someone else will find it and fall prey to it as did Rufus?”
“Like as not. Could figure that we have one, the other would find it, and get us.” Nathaniel smiled. “Last Rufus knowed I couldn’t read. He prolly thinks this here trap could snare the Prince, which he wouldn’t mind at all.”
Owen nodded. “That being the case, to leave the tablet here would be more dangerous than getting trapped in there.”
Makepeace sighted down his rifle barrel, then thumbed a spec of dust off by the muzzle. “All your thinking don’t mean this ain’t a trap. More of them demons could spring up out the ground and you’re done.”
Nathaniel shucked off his pack and dug around, bringing out the urn full of demon broth. “Well, I gots me a plan. Being as how I is faster than any of the rest of you, I’ll just run in there, smash this over that slab goes into the ground, and be back with the tablet in no time.”
“If it doesn’t work, ‘I gots me a plan’ will make for one hell of an epitaph.”
“You have that wrong, Captain.” Kamiskwa came up with his urn. “If it doesn’t work, there won’t be enough to bury.”
“What are you proposing, brother?”
“I may not be faster than you, but I feel magick better. I make the run. You three stay here, ready to shoot anything that bothers me.”
“Cain’t argue as much as I’d like with your logic.” Nathaniel levered his rifle’s breech opened and pulled out the bullet. Using his knife, he cut a cross on the nose, then extended it toward the Steward. “I know you ain’t much on shooting and all, but I reckon a blessing might be of some comfort here.”
Ezekiel Fire laid his hand over Nathaniel’s. “Let Thy will be done.”
Owen similarly opened his rifle and got his bullet blessed, as did Makepeace. Owen saw no reddish glow, felt nothing, but also didn’t feel wholly hypocritical about asking for the blessing. What he had seen in Happy Valley and Piety had opened whole new windows in his world. He’d always known magick existed, and knew he could wield it at a strong level, but his abilities were nothing compared to what he’d seen Deacon Stone do, much less Rufus. In the face of that which he didn’t understand, asking for divine help didn’t seem to be a vice.
He loaded the bullet back into his rifle, then lay down on the stairs and steadied the rifle on the top step. Nathaniel crouched on the top of the stairs, and Makepeace sank down beside Owen. The large man mumbled a short prayer.
Kamiskwa carried a steel tomahawk in his right hand and the urn in his left. He stepped to the doors, then slipped through. He walked casually for a few paces down the middle, glancing back to see if the doors were closing, then put his head down and sprinted toward the stone altar. His body eclipsed the golden tablet.
Owen kept his rifle trained on the spot to the right of the altar where the slab had lain. At the first hint of motion he was going to shoot. He prepared himself for a cloud of demons exploding up, or Rufus rising like a ghost from the grave. He rubbed his thumb over the firestone. Come on, come on.
Kamiskwa reached the tabernacle. He smashed the urn onto the floor slab, then grabbed the tablet. Something began to grind behind him, sounding like the low rumbling of an avalanche to those who waited outside. The Tabernacle began to slide backward slowly.
A shaggy grey creature clambered up from the depths, all elbows, shoulders, and a broad head with curled ram’s horns. At least, that’s what it appeared to be to Owen, in the brief glimpse he had of it. Then Nathaniel fired. Smoke billowed, choking the entrance. Something yelped from within, but without seeing a target, and knowing Kamiskwa was running straight toward them, Owen couldn’t shoot.
Then Kamiskwa dove out though the smoke, the tablet clutched firmly in his left hand. His body drew the smoke away, revealing a hazy glimpse of a creature at least ten feet tall. Then the Temple doors began to close, and Owen and Makepeace shot in unison. They couldn’t see if they’d hit the creature, but it would have been hard to miss. Yet before the smoke could clear, the doors clanged shut.
Fire grabbed Kamiskwa’s pack, and the others retreated, reloading as they went. They moved through the ruins cautiously, then headed down into Little Elephant Valley. They’d have been happy to get further from the ruins, but daylight faded and exhaustion replaced excitement. They found an easily defended spot and set up camp, knowing full well that if the creature from the Temple or any of the demons wanted to attack during the night, they were powerless to stop them. Still, they splashed a little of the demon broth around and set up a rotation of shifts for nightwatch.
Kamiskwa woke Owen in the middle of the night. “Your watch, Owen.”
“Thanks.” Owen pulled his moccasins on. “Mind if I ask you something?”
The Altashee nodded.
“You clearly do not like whatever exists up there in the ruins.”