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October 24, 1939
Somewhere in the Pyrenees Mountains
On the border of Spain and France
“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” Wilkins yelled over the roar of the cargo plane’s two engines.
“Of course I am,” Richard shouted back as he patted Wilkins on the shoulder. “Just like it always is. You figure out the mumbo-jumbo, and I lead you to the source. What was the line from that book again?”
He referred to one of the histories Benjamin had brought with him. In it, Francisco Berdénes recounted his discovery of the Pyrenees ruins they sought. Wilkins recited the line in question, “‘Above the pool of life, which feeds the forest, the tallest soldiers cradle what lies beneath.’”
Richard walked over to a small windows in the side of the fuselage, looked out, then called over his shoulder, “This has to be it.”
Wilkins stood on shaky legs. While he had hated travel by rail or sea, he absolutely abhorred flying. This was only his second time in an aircraft, and by far it was worse than the first. That had been a proper passenger craft, nothing like the cramped cargo space in which he found himself. Seated on crates of produce and sharing the space with cages full of squawking chickens, they had ridden out from San Sebastian as soon as they found a pilot headed over the mountains who was willing to grant them passage. It had not been cheap, either.
He carefully made his way across to the window and looked out. At the next portal stood Louis, his hands plastered to the wall and his nose to the glass, as he had been for almost the entire voyage. The creole fisherman had never flown before, nor had he ever seen a mountain, and they were soaring above one of the most notable and beautiful mountain ranges in all the world. He was awed by the snow-capped, stony peaks jutting from the forest below.
“Hurry up and look,” Richard said. “‘The tallest soldiers cradle what lies beneath,’ right?”
Wilkins looked where Richard was pointing. There was a lush, forested valley dominated by a large lake, and above this rose two of the tallest peaks for as far as they could see. Between them, the mountains sloped together to form the gentle curve of a narrow saddle between them, overlooking the lake itself.
“I have to say, you do have a knack for finding your way,” Wilkins said. “But are you completely sure?”
Richard grinned. “I’m never completely sure, but it always seems to work out. Right?”
Wilkins rolled his eyes and made his way back to the fruit crate which had been his seat for the trip. “Where is he going to land the plane?”
Richard stepped over to a pile of canvas packs and tossed one to Wilkins, then one to Louis. “He isn’t.”
Wilkins looked down at the pack in his hands, adorned with more straps than one would expect from a typical knapsack and festooned with an assortment of cords, all leading to a handle over one shoulder. A parachute? “You can’t be serious!”
“Serious as a heart attack,” Richard said as he strapped his own parachute on. He walked up to the cockpit, presumably to relay some final instructions to the pilot.
Wilkins struggled to get the cumbersome pack onto his back, fiddling with straps which he had no idea where to place. Before long, Richard returned and helped him to secure the contraption, then did the same for Louis.
“Time to go,” he called out when they were ready, then walked over to the door on the side of the plane and slid it open.
Wilkins stood next to Louis, who had a huge grin on his face. “What are you so happy about?”
“Dis is exciting. I’ve never jumped out of de plane before.”
“Neither have I!” Richard yelled just before he leaped from the doorway and into the open sky.
* * *
Several hours later, Wilkins was still cursing Richard under his breath as they hiked up the side of the valley into the saddle between the mountain peaks.
“How was I supposed to know the wind would drive us into the valley?” Richard asked with a shrug.
“At least you didn’t land in de lake,” Louis said, still wringing water from his clothes.
“We could have been killed,” Wilkins said as he picked what had to be the thousandth pine needle from his jacket.
“You can complain about me getting you killed if I actually get you killed, not before,” Richard said as he climbed over a rocky outcropping. He held up a hand as soon as he crested it, then put a finger to his lips.
Louis climbed up after him in silence, then they helped Wilkins to crest the rise. Ahead, he was relieved to see flat land for dozens of meters, bordered on two sides by rocky cliffs of the twin mountains and dominated by a small copse of trees sheltering half a dozen grazing horses. Wait. Horses? The beasts all bore saddles and were tied to the trees beneath which they stood.
Richard gestured for the other men to gather close. “This must be it, but looks like we’re not the first to get here.”
“What do we do?” Louis asked.
Richard pulled the small pack from his shoulder, rummaged around, and removed a small automatic handgun. He held it out to Louis. “We’re here to stop whatever they’re doing, right? Best to be ready for a fight.” He spent a few moments instructing the fisherman in the weapon’s use, then turned to Wilkins. “I only have two. If you want to stay here, it’s okay.”
Wilkins thought for a moment. Going into a hostile situation—armed or not—was not something he fancied. However, they would likely need him to guide them once inside the ruin. He had also not come all this way to sit in a grove while his companions ventured into the face of danger. “No,” he said with less conviction than he hoped to muster, “I’ll go with you.”
Richard pulled another pistol from a holster at his waist and checked the magazine. “All right, then. Let’s get to it.”
With the gathered horses as a guidepost, it was not difficult to find the entrance to the ruin. They could have walked across the valley a hundred times and never seen it, but searching near the mounts led them to a small crevice in one of the cliff faces which was almost completely obscured by fallen stone. Much of the rubble sat discarded about the entrance, as if it had been recently excavated with little care for preserving the integrity of what was inside. Richard turned sideways and slid between the rocks first, followed by Louis, and finally Wilkins squeezed inside.
Darkness enshrouded them as soon as they passed a few feet. There was a scraping of metal on metal, then a strike of flint before a small flame sparked to life in Richard’s hands. He held his chrome-plated cigarette lighter above him, providing dim light to guide their way. Wilkins would have preferred a lantern, or even torches, but knew they dared not shed so much light as to reveal their presence to whomever was already inside.
The narrow passage of rough-cut stone widened as they made their way, and soon the natural walls gave way to the smooth sides of a shaped corridor. Wilkins peered in the flickering firelight at carvings on the walls, barely able to make them out. Strange writing ran the length of them, forming lines between rows of images. Ovoid portals seemed to open from the wall itself, and strange forms marched out of them. Similar shapes opened to spill forth human figures into twisted landscapes. There were more carvings upon every three feet of those walls than there were in the entire Peruvian ruin. Wilkins could have spent a year deciphering them and might still have little more knowledge of this lost culture than he did now. Alas, he regrated he might never have the chance.
They exited the passage into a small, round chamber with three other exits. Wilkins had worried about this. Finding the idol outside Puerto Ocapa had been a simple affair, as there had only been the single corridor. Of these three passages, it was likely only one led to the central chamber of the ruin, and time was too precious to explore them all at random.
Richard was obviously aware of this. “Which way?” he asked, turning to the anthropologist to take the lead.
Wilkins examined the markings on the chamber walls as Richard held the lighter over his shoulder. Another limitation on time was the fuel within their source of light. Not intended for prolonged use, it would soon run out. Many of the carvings matched those of the corridor through which they entered; lines of strange writing alternated with depictions of men and creatures passing to and from the other side through ovoid portals. Even between the doors, the patterns were the same. He looked above each door, hoping for some markings to set them apart, but the walls simply curved to a smooth, domed ceiling above them.
“I’m not sure,” Wilkins said.
“You need to be sure,” Richard said. “We’re running out of time.”
“Wait,” Louis said. “Bring de light.”
Richard stepped over and held the light over his shoulder, as he had for Wilkins only moments before. Louis reached out and traced a finger over the figures marching through the portals. Above him were groupings of monstrous creatures walking away from a portal and toward the cave’s main exit. He followed their path with his hand. “They come.” Below them was a line of text, then a procession of human forms walking toward the portals, deeper into the tunnel. He gestured to them and followed their steps. “They go.” He repeated this with a set of carvings between the openings. There, the monsters walked away from the central door, and the forms of men walked toward it.
“Of course,” Wilkins hissed under his breath. “How could I not see it?” He dragged Richard to the other side of the chamber. He followed the march of the human forms until they reached the central doorway, until he stood shoulder to shoulder with Louis under the arch. “Men walking toward the other side,” he said, then gestured to the lines of strange creatures, “and what lies beyond pouring out into our world. The central chamber must be this way.”
Richard smiled and patted Louis on the back. “Looks like you’re destined for the life of an archaeologist.”
Louis beamed a smile, which suddenly turned into a frown. “If we live dat long.”
Richard rolled his eyes and shrugged, then led the way down the central corridor. It was not long before Wilkins heard voices ahead of them, which seemed to be chanting. They were faint at first, but grew louder as they proceeded. The volume rose too fast to merely indicate proximity, and he could only presume the voices were also growing louder with every syllable. It was the same strange, guttural language Henri chanted aboard the train. Richard closed the lighter, and they had to feel their way along the walls of the passage.
The utter darkness did not last long, as the closer they grew to the voices, the more light spilled from ahead of them. The flickering of torches lit their path, and soon Wilkins could see as well as if he were holding one of them himself. Richard held up a hand and kneeled in the corridor. Louis and Wilkins followed suit, the latter craning his neck to see why his friend halted their progress.
The end of the corridor opened into a circular chamber, eerily similar to the one they found in Peru. The strange writing ringed a central dais. Wilkins recognized grooves in the platform, like the spokes of a wagon wheel, which ran from the perimeter toward a pedestal in the center.
A figure kneeled before each of these grooves, just off the edge of the dais. They all huddled close to the ground, and as they quivered, he could hear a clinking of metal as if they were chained in place. Two figures, robed in black, stood above them, making a slow circuit around the edge of the platform. Most likely, the chanting came from these two, as there were not enough mingling voices to account for the half-dozen figures huddled around the dais.
The chanting rose to a fevered pitch as another figure emerged from the darkness, also covered from head to toe in flowing black robes with a hood pulled low. In each hand was held a small figurine. They stopped before the pedestal, which supported a third. As soon as the figure reached the center of the chamber, the other two drew long, curved knives, bent over a bound figure, and sliced open their throats. Blood poured into the grooves before them and ran toward the center of the room.
Richard shot to his feet as soon as the blood began to flow and strode into the chamber. “That’s enough! Drop the rocks and step away.” Louis followed on his heels.
The central figure’s hood shook as their head twitched upright in surprise, but the other two did not pay the intruder any heed. As Wilkins stepped into the chamber behind the others, two more throats were cut.
“I said, that’s enough!” Richard shouted again, this time punctuating his point by firing a shot over the gathering. As the thunderous gunfire echoed through the chamber and fragments of stone and dust fell from the ceiling, the two armed figures stepped to the next pair of victims.
“You cannot stop what’s coming, mon amie,” the central figure said in a thick French accent.
Henri, Wilkins thought. He would never forget that voice; never mistake the man’s sanctimonious tone for another.
“Watch me.” Richard fired at one of the robed figures as they leaned over to cut another throat. A man’s scream of pain filled the room as the impact of the bullet spun him about, then he fell to the floor. The other figure did not hesitate as they bent over another bound form.
Louis seemed locked by indecision. He held the pistol out before him, his hand shaking and his aim wavering between the two robed figures before him.
“Damn it all,” Wilkins hissed, then grabbed the pistol from the fisherman’s hands. He took one step forward and pulled the trigger. The remaining armed figure slumped to the dais and their blood mingled with the others in the grooves.
“Well,” the remaining robed figure said with a sigh, “c’est dommage to lose those two, but this still makes six. It will suffice to complete the ritual.” He cradled one idol in the crook of an arm, then reached up to pull back his hood. Henri’s handlebar mustache twitched as he sneered at the intruders. “Such noble effort, but you are too late, mes amies.”
Richard stepped up next to Henri, aimed the pistol at his head, and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. He looked down at the weapon in shock. He pulled back on the slide and a rain of sand poured from the weapon.
Wilkins stepped forward and tried to fire at the man, likewise with no result.
Henri held the idols to either side of the pedestal, flanking the one resting there. “What lies beyond wants to be released, and it won’t let you stop me.” He let go of the idols and they hovered in place, turning a slow orbit around the central one. Arcs of green energy reached out between them, sparking and sputtering like tiny bolts of verdant lightning as they ran up and down the idols, sending sparks drifting to the floor.
Wilkins recognized the screaming man from Peru and the octopoid figure from the museum in New Orleans. The central figure was even less human than the last, with the circular base supporting something more lupine. It stood upright on digitigrade legs. Powerful arms crossed its chest, grasping its broad shoulders with long claws. Rough textures covered the entire surface like fur, and its wolf-like head was tossed back as if it were howling at some unseen moon.
Henri reached out and placed a hand on either side of this idol as Richard charged at him. The arcing energies danced along his arms and the figure glowed at his touch. The American passed through him as if he weren’t there and fell over one of the surviving hostages with a pair of loud grunts.
Henri’s laughter echoed through the small chamber. “Again, a noble effort, but you are too late. I expect we will meet again, friend Wilkins. Until then, au revoir.” With that, the chamber was lit with a green glow, and the idol in his hands faded to a blur of inky blackness. Wind whipped through the chamber, carrying with it a piercing howl which sounded like hundreds of wolves baying at once.
Wilkins fell to his knees under the onslaught, and from the corner of his eye saw Louis pressed against the wall of the chamber in abject terror. The blood in the dais’s grooves bubbled and steamed as it climbed the side of the pedestal. Scraping filled the air as unseen claws gouged at the stone walls. Louis ducked as something slashed his shoulder, opening a deep gash that spurted blood across the stones behind him.
Richard struggled to his feet and stumbled across the chamber. Behind him, the two remaining figures screamed as their flesh was torn to ribbons. Blood and loose flesh flew in the air around the dais in a cyclone of grisly death as the central idol and Henri faded from view. Richard grabbed Louis and dragged him toward the entrance. “Let’s go!” he screamed over the cacophony.
Wilkins started to follow him from the chamber, then stopped himself. He turned back to the raging torrent. Blood swirled about the dais, and in the center the two idols still rotated in the air with the strange green energy arcing between them. They too were fading, likely following Henri and the lupine idol into the beyond.
Richard and Louis were already a dozen paces down the corridor. Richard turned back and shouted, “Wilkins, come on!”
Wilkins turned back to the idols. I can’t leave them, he thought. He took a deep breath and charged into the maelstrom. Strong winds buffeted him. Soaring strips of flesh and blood struck him, splattered across every inch of his body. He shut his eyes and pushed onward, even though the wind threatened to throw him back and the howls seemed to pierce his mind. He reached out with both hands. Sharp claws raked at his flesh, gouging every inch of his arms from fingertip to shoulder. He screamed in pain as his own blood joined the raging, grisly tempest.
One more step, Wilkins told himself. He lifted his foot and struggled forward against what was almost a solid wall of air. The howls grew louder, rage fueling them. He managed that one step, and his hands closed around the two idols.
He turned and ran, half-expecting the storm to subside as soon as he stepped from the dais, but it raged on and the baying of wolves seemed to follow as he sprinted from the chamber.
“Wilkins!” Richard shouted again. “Dammit, man, we have to go!”
He ran with all his might, the stone figures cradled under each arm. Blood flowed over them and down his sides from the ragged and tattered flesh of his arms. The scraping of claws on stone grew louder. He shot a look over his shoulder as he ran. Sparks flew from the walls as the unseen claws bit into the stone of the corridor, rending deep gouges in the millennia-old carvings.
Richard reached out and took one of the idols, clutching it in one hand while he supported Louis with the other. Wilkins held the other idol to his chest with both arms and ran until he thought his lungs would burst or his legs collapse beneath him.
Finally, he saw daylight ahead and breathed a sigh of relief amid panting gasps for air. His companions passed into the sun. He squeezed between the stones as the mountain shuddered. The horses in the clearing reared and screamed in fear. Some of them broke free of their bonds and galloped into the valley below. Richard and Louis ran toward the remaining beasts, and Wilkins dove into the clearing as the ground beneath him quaked. He rolled over and looked back to see the face of the cliff crumble and collapse, encasing the entrance to the ruin under tons of stone.
