Atlantis: Devil's Sea (30 page)

“The word has spread about the barbarians behind us,” Falco told Cassius. There was no such thing as a secret in a legion.

“And the mood?” Cassius asked.

“Most are more worried about the black wall than the barbarians,” Falco said.

“I want a cohort ready to move in an hour,” Cassius said.

“Already taken care of,” Falco said.

Breakfast was eaten in silence, the men chewing on dried meat and stale bread. Falco ate nothing, his usual preparation for combat. He’d seen men with food in their gut suffer a wound in the stomach and knew the odds of survival were better with nothing inside.

He glanced over at Kaia. The priestess also was not eating. She met his gaze. Falco was startled; he caught something in her eyes, something that reminded him of Drusilla. It was gone so quickly he wasn’t sure if he had really seen it.

“Let’s go.” Cassius was buckling his helmet. He paused, his eyes shifting between the two. “Do you—”

Falco stood. “I’m ready.”

Kaia checked the knife in her belt. “I am also.”

Cassius nodded. Without another word, he headed for the gap in the north side of the square camp where the cohort was drawn up. Cassius took the lead, Falco a half step behind to the right, Kaia the same distance back to the left. They moved forward, toward the wall.

They negotiated through the swampy ground, but despite their best efforts, everyone was soaked to mid-thigh and exhausted by the time they reached the quarter-mile-wide stretch of dry ground between the swamp and the black wall.

Cassius had the cohort draw up in battle formation, facing the darkness. Falco could pick up the fear among the men, but it was like the buzzing of a fly in the midst of the almost overwhelming negative aura of the gate. Even during the siege and sack of Jerusalem, he had never felt such darkness in his soul.

Cassius turned to Liberalius. “I need a volunteer to go with Centurion Falco.”

Liberalius’s face was pale, a line of sweat trickling down either side of it. “I would be honored to accompany the centurion.”

“Very good,” Cassius said. “I will have part of the cohort patrol around the perimeter of this wall.”

Falco had the Naga staff. He walked forward toward the black wall, Cassius, Liberalius, and Kaia close behind. He could not tell what the wall was made of, and he halted less than a pace from it. He extended the staff, and the metal tip went into the black, disappearing. He quickly pulled it back out: the metal was unchanged.

“I think—” he begun, but he couldn’t complete the sentence before Kaia walked past into the black and disappeared.

“I’ll be right here,” Cassius said. “How long should I wait?”

Falco shrugged. “That is up to you, sir, I would not recommend sending anyone in after us.”

“All right.”

Falco stepped forward. The moment he made contact with the darkness, his skin rebelled, almost causing him to stop, to retreat, but he pressed on. He staggered, fell to his knees, and was on his feet again immediately. There was the same ground beneath his feet, but the air was hazy, full of a thick, brownish gray mist. He could see Kaia standing still about ten feet in front of him. His sword was out of his scabbard, and he was beginning to strike at the figure that suddenly appeared to his left, when he realized it was Liberalius. Falco kept the sword in his hand as he moved up next to Kaia. They could barely see forty feet in front of them. Behind, the black wall stretched as far as they could see left and right and up.

“Where to?” Falco asked.

Kaia pointed directly ahead. “Can’t you feel it?”

Falco focused his mind. The place was oppressive, but there was something even darker in front of them, a darkness so complete that Falco knew that if he went there, he would never return to the world of light.

“It matches your soul,” Kaia said.

Before Falco could reply, she set off, walking briskly. Falco hurried to keep up. The land was going up. The grass and scant vegetation was brown, dying. There was no sign of anything living. The land had been swept clean of all life, or it had had enough sense to leave as soon as the gate appeared. Falco paused and kicked the dirt with his sandal. There weren’t even any ants apparent. He looked over his shoulder. Liberalius was rooted in place, a stricken look on his face.

“Kaia,” Falco was surprised to find he had hissed the name, as if afraid of being overheard. The priestess halted. Falco went back to the tribune.

“What is wrong?”

Liberalius shook his head. “I cannot continue. There is pain”—he tapped the side of his head—“here. Unbearable.” A trickle of blood marked the tribune’s face below his nose.

“Come,” Falco tried to guide him forward, but the tribune fell to his knees, agony on his face.

“I cannot.”

Falco glanced up the slope. Kaia was waiting impatiently. “Go back to Cassius,” he told the tribune. “Tell him what you have seen.”
Liberalius weakly nodded. Falco helped him to his feet and propelled him toward the black wall. He watched as Liberalius staggered downslope and then into the wall, blinking out of sight as he passed through.

Falco hurried back to Kaia. He could feel the pain that had stopped Liberalius battering at his mind, but he was able to keep it sufficiently at bay so that he could continue.

They crested the rise and halted. The ground ahead sloped down.

“It’s down there,” Kaia said.

“What is?”

“The way through.”

“To where?”

“Where the Shadow comes from,” Kaia said. She began walking down, and Falco followed. They covered a half-mile, the ground continuing to go down slightly, until Falco estimated they must be below the level of the river. That was confirmed when a flow of water cut in from the right, angling in the direction they were going.

Falco knelt next to the water and cupped his hands, taking a drink. The water ran through a fold in the ground, but not in an established track, which made him think this stream was a recent addition to the landscape. Kaia was following the left side of the water and he quickly caught up to her.

“Look,” Kaia pointed.

A boulder was split in two where the ground continued to drop. The landscape was warped, as if a giant’s fist had pounded the ground. The few trees that grew were canted outward, as if from a high wind coming out of the center of wherever they were headed.

They continued in silence, each concentrating on holding at bay the pain and darkness that beat upon their minds like an unceasing storm. Even the sound of the water running to their right was muted. Glancing over his shoulder, Falco could no longer see the top of the rise. His hands wrapped tighter around the Naga staff.

*****

The patrol Cassius had sent riding the perimeter of the black wall returned from the opposite direction with the report that the darkness was shaped like a triangle, each side the same length.

Another patrol arrived from the camp, reporting that a scout had come from the south. The barbarian horde was on the move, less than a day’s march away. Cassius looked up at the sun, noting how far it had already risen in the sky. He turned to Liberalius, who had recovered somewhat from the gate’s effect but still appeared to be ill.

“Bring the rest of the legion here. Then I want an embankment built at the edge of the swamp. If they attack us, I want their formation broken by the swamp. Do you understand?”

“Yes, General.” Liberalius’s skin was pale, and he seemed ill, but Cassius had neither the time nor patience to be concerned about the tribune’s health right now.

Hands clasped behind his back, Cassius turned back toward the gate to wait.

*****

Kaia halted so suddenly that Falco almost bumped into her. Through the haze, they could make out a triangle of black floating a foot above the ground twenty feet ahead. Each side was about ten feet long, and it was eight feet from top to bottom.

“That is it,” Kaia said.

Falco said nothing. When Kaia made to move forward, he reached out with one arm and blocked her way. When she turned to him with a question on her lips, he indicated for her to be quiet. The hair on the back of his neck was on end, his nerves tingling. He crouched, the Naga staff in the ready position, his eyes darting back and forth, searching for the cause of his unease.

A white figure flashed out of the black triangle. It spotted them as Falco sprang. The Valkyrie was raising its clawed hands when he shoved the tip of the spear into its chest. The blade cut through the white, going in half a foot.

The Valkyrie screamed, the sound shattering the eerie silence. Black gas rushed out of the hole as Falco pulled the staff back. The Valkyrie collapsed at their feet. They barely had time to register this when a second one came out of the black triangle. This one was more prepared, parrying Falco’s thrust with its right-hand claw, then thrusting with the left.

Falco’s instincts, honed in hundreds of fights to the death, were in top form as he ducked under the strike. He rolled, slashing down with the edge of the Naga staff, the blade cutting through the left arm, severing it from the body. Black gas issued forth, and another scream pierced their ears.

With its remaining hand, it reached down and grasped the body of its immobile comrade, lifting it into the air. It retreated as Falco struck again. The Valkyrie shoved the body between them, allowing it to take the blow. Falco growled, striking once more, piercing the first Valkyrie, but this time there was no black gas. The two disappeared into the portal. Falco took two steps back from the black triangle, Naga staff at the ready. Kaia was to his right rear, her dagger held ready.

“They’ll be back,” Falco said.

“No,” Kaia said, and at first Falco thought, she was disagreeing with him. But her eyes were on the black triangle. She stepped forward. “We must go in. We must go to them. We cannot wait.”

“Agreed,” Falco said. But he paused. “Do you feel it?”
“It gives off death,” Kaia said, meaning the portal.

“Yes.”

“You will not return,” Kaia said.

“I know.” Falco shrugged. “I do not matter.”

‘This is your fate.”

A half smile creased Falco’s hard face. “A brilliant prophecy.” He walked forward toward the dark triangle and stepped into it.

*****

Liberalius had brought the legion forward in good order but then collapsed upon completing the task. Cassius stood over the young tribune as the legion surgeon examined him for several minutes. There were now red lesions on the man’s face and he was vomiting.

“What is wrong?” Cassius asked when the surgeon stood and took him out of earshot.

“I have never seen anything like it,” the surgeon said. “It is as if he is being destroyed from both the inside and out at the same time, but by what, I have no idea.”

Cassius looked at the black wall and realized he was trapped between it and the oncoming barbarians.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

T
HE
P
RESENT

Dane held up his hand, halting the other two. When he had served in Vietnam, his teammates had valued his ability to sense an ambush before they walked into the kill zone. The rolling terrain and haze combined to limit visibility considerably. Dane had once gone to Little Big Horn and walked the battlefield where Custer met his demise. He’d understood what had happened to the 7
^th
Cavalry after seeing the land; hundreds of hostiles could have hidden in the folds of the Montana land and not been seen until the troopers literally stumbled upon them. He felt the same about this strange nether region as he stood still, trying to focus on whatever it was that had alerted him.

Dane pointed to the right, where the black terrain dropped off. Shashenka had the butt of the AK-74 tucked tightly into this shoulder, muzzle aimed in that direction. Dane held up his right hand, fist clenched, the military signal to stop. Shashenka paused, then Ahana after a moment’s confusion. Dane walked forward.

Just before he reached the fold, he stopped and held his empty hands up as half a dozen men jumped up from their hiding place, as if appearing out of the ground itself. They held swords and wore black lacquered armor and ornate helmets. Their eyes were slanted, and they spread out, encircling Dane.

“Back off!” Shashenka yelled, but they ignored him.

“Don’t shoot,” Dane said to Shashenka. He picked up no threat from the men. One of them rattled off something to Dane in what he assumed was Japanese.

“We mean no harm,” Dane said.

One of the men stepped closer. He looked up and down, as if assessing Dane, then he turned to Dane’s companions. His eyes lit up when he saw Ahana. He walked up to her.

“Who are they?” Dane asked.

“Samurai,” Ahana said briefly. Then she spoke with the man in her native tongue. “They want us to go with them,” she translated.

“What are they doing here?” Shashenka demanded, his weapon still at the ready.

Three of the samurai circled behind, adding emphasis to the request to accompany them.

“His dialect is strange,” Ahana said. “Very old. From the armor and weapons, I’d say these men are from the thirteenth century.”

“That can’t—” Shashenka began, but fell silent as he realized the foolishness of what he had been about to say.

“They say it is dangerous for us to stay here,” Ahana said.

“Where is here?” Shashenka asked.

“No time for that,” Ahana said. “They say they will take us to someone who can answer our questions.”
“Let’s go with them,” Dane urged, feeling exposed and understanding their desire to get out of this area.

The leader of the samurai hurried off, going down into the fold in the ground where he had been hidden. Dane followed, Shashenka and Ahana right behind him, the rest of the samurai flanking them.

Dane noted that the samurai kept to low ground, keeping ridges of the black material on either side as much as possible and traveling in the draws between the ridges. It was the way soldiers in hostile territory moved.

After about five minutes, Dane noticed a change in the land. The black gave way to patches of brown soil in places, each small pocket carved out of the side of the gully. Plants struggle to grow in these spots. As they passed between the junction of two gullies, a thin trickle of water cut a path through the very bottom, in the direction they were heading.