The Darkening Dream (45 page)

Yet another goat was squealing and thrashing its life away when they heard the explosion. Distant and muted, it seemed to come from the center of the temple. Beyond the inner wall, Alex saw a shining gold building. A bright white light flashed and two more rapid explosions struck counterpoint.

People fled toward the outer gates.

Sam pointed. “Stands to reason that’s our villains.”

They crossed the courtyard against the flow of traffic until they reached the inner wall.

“Look,” Anne said, “see that little passageway between the buildings?”

They ducked into the small tunnel. In the shade the temperature plummeted. The walls were adorned with relief registers depicting mythological scenes, including a fruit-laden tree with a serpent looking down on a naked human couple, presumably Adam and Eve.

Alex felt convinced the snake was watching him.

Fifty-Five:

Death from Above

Temple of Solomon, Thursday, November 20, 1913

F
OR THE FIRST TIME IN NEARLY
nine-hundred years, al-Nasir flew through the air and took in the daylight world.

He remembered
Ramadan
1017, his third and final
Hajj
. He’d knelt on his filthy prayer rug facing west into the powerful Arabian sun. Before him, sacred Mecca. Thousands of others worshipped around him, barefoot in dusty white robes. The air was choked with the sour smell of humanity and the joyous intensity of shared faith.

He shook away the memory and banked, wheeling high above rolling green and yellow hills dotted with olives and cedars. The only man-made structure in sight was a massive temple complex. In his youth — before the infidels had forced him from al-Andalus — his world had been dotted with the shells of such structures. But this was no dilapidated ruin, nor was the central building fitted with cross or crescent. In fact, it was similar in shape to Parris’ delightful little model. They’d entered the
magi
’s hidden world, and the Horn would soon be his—

As if in answer, a tremendous trumpet sounded below. It sent a shiver down his dead spine as he recalled cavalry charges, battle smoke, and burning flesh. He tucked his wings and dove lower. Now he could see hundreds of mortals milling about and smell the tang of sacrificial blood.

The Horn would be there.

He flew nearer. A series of small explosions caught his attention. He felt larger and more powerful than usual, flying faster than ever before. Come to think of it, his vision was better as well. He could see all around himself, having only a small blind spot behind his head. Most convenient.

Below, a group of priests had trapped a goat-man in one corner of the central courtyard. Al-Nasir was startled when his vision sharpened enough to see their faces. Most convenient indeed. Was this a new power recently awakened or just a feature of this bizarre place?

In either case, the trapped man looked to be Parris. He’d transformed into some kind of satyr, but whatever his form, the vampire’s erstwhile employee was in need of some attention. Nasir fell faster than expected, landing forcefully on a pair of priests. Instead of grabbing them from behind and snapping their necks he’d crushed them instantly. No matter, dead was dead.

Their surviving fellows regarded him with horrified expressions as he dragged another victim close enough to savage the man’s throat. So great was his excitement that the head flew free of the neck. Blood sprayed in all directions, and he gulped down what he could. The man’s occult talents lent the blood a spicy flavor, and even this small taste infused him with energy.

Al-Nasir focused on shifting to a form more suited to melee. His bat-like shape was too delicate and clumsy for ground combat against multiple opponents. Oddly, his arms remained winged, although he was able to lengthen his limbs and more important, extend his fingers into claws.

Making the best of the situation, he fast-stepped to nearby prey. He was more careful this time, hardly spilling a drop. He let the lifeless body fall, raised his winged arms, and roared at the orange sky.

Burning the energy boiling in his blood, al-Nasir fast-stepped over to another plaything. This one tried to dive away, but al-Nasir caught him by the leg. He ripped open the femoral artery—

A white light flashed and pain seared across his skin. An invisible force tossed him back across the pavement to slam into a wall. Agony burned along one wing, small flames smoldered on charred flesh. Despite the pain, al-Nasir enjoyed himself immensely. Usually he avoided confrontations with a crowd, but once engaged, they could be delightfully intense. He sized up his opponents.

Most of them had fled in terror — always a pleasure — but one with a staff stood his ground. He, al-Nasir suspected, had been the cause of his burn. The priest raised his staff again, his breastplate momentarily distracting the vampire. And what a distraction! Twelve great gemstones were embedded in a grid, each a different color, each huge — perhaps two-hundred carats. They were uncut, polished cabochons in the old manner. He must claim this prize.

His greed nearly cost him his unlife. The priest’s staff glowed white, and the vampire fast-stepped sideways, narrowly avoiding the powerful bolt. The blast was distressingly
holy
.

Al-Nasir screamed, flexed his claws, gnashed his teeth. The priest retained control of his bodily functions but turned and ran in a most pathetic show of cowardice. All of his compatriots were either dead or fading into the distance.

Approximately two minutes had passed since he’d landed.

Al-Nasir fast-stepped over to the pastor-turned-satyr, startling him. He attempted to relax himself into a less threatening aspect, but although his claws and teeth receded, he remained a hulking bat.

“The Horn is close, I can taste it!”

“Is that you, Mr. Nasir?” the satyr said.

Al-Nasir towered at least three feet over the transformed pastor.

“Of course, fool!” he roared. Violence and blood always left him tense and agitated, in a good way.

“You look different, and you have hideous insect eyes,” Parris said. “Of course, given what happened to me… I’m not that surprised.”

“Indeed. Why has this realm transformed us?” al-Nasir asked, glowering.

The satyr cowered pleasingly. “This sort of place is like purgatory, or the outer planes of hell. Each has its own rules.”

The thought made his dead flesh crawl.

“Will we be able to return home once we’ve found the Horn?”

“Of course,” Parris said. “I’ve always used fire or flame as a gateway.”

The vampire grimaced. Fire wasn’t exactly his favorite element. He used his sharpened sight to scan the area.

“The Horn will be over there.” He pointed at the center of the temple.

“The big gold structure?” the pastor said.

“Treasures always are. The Romans called it a
cella
, the Greeks a
naos
,” the vampire said.

“You seem sure of this.”

“Priests have no imagination. We’ll travel together to the portico. Meet me in front if we’re separated.”

He flexed his wings. The burned one was partially healed. He lifted into the air and clamped his foot talons roughly into the thick pelt covering the man’s buttocks.

Parris flailed and made feeble sounds of protest. Al-Nasir ignored him and lurched aloft. He flapped furiously, and they soared across the courtyard. They passed a huge altar mounted upon a high stepped platform. The vampire smelled burning goat. A few priests scattered in terror below. Enjoying himself tremendously, al-Nasir shattered the air with hideous screeches. Parris added his own scream, perhaps not entirely by choice.

Soon they approached the great stairs to the holy building. A vast metal water tank mounted on twelve bronze oxen occupied the courtyard.

Al-Nasir dropped Parris into the tank — if he tried to land so laden, the warlock would be crushed — and flew straight for the heart of the temple.

The portico was flanked by two bronze columns adorned with pomegranate-shaped capitals and festooned with chains. The olive wood doors were painted gold and carved with cherubim, palms, and calyxes. Al-Nasir gained speed, tucked his wings, and smashed shoulder-first into the portal. The colossal doors cracked and burst open.

Al-Nasir’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the gloom. The sanctuary was impressive — walls paneled in carved cedar, covered in gold. Two massive cherubim overlooked the chamber, facing each other, wings reaching out to form an angelic arch. He saluted them with a wing of his own and began his search.

Satisfied the room was free of humans, he closed the outer doors to afford himself some privacy. Several altar tables were covered in beautiful gold cups, bowls, lamps, and candelabra. He took his time examining each item.

No sign of the Horn. It had to be here! The doors to the inner sanctuary were unlocked, so he nudged them open.

The interior space was thick with scented smoke. He discerned a flickering flame and the glint of gold within. A holy of holies, sacred to the god it honored. Could his prize be inside? He backed away, leaving the doors open. It would be unwise to enter and offend the deity any further. Such beings were remote but if awakened could obliterate him as easily as a mortal might crush a fly.

He gnashed his teeth. Time to rejoin the warlock. If the Horn was in the sacred chamber, perhaps some spell could retrieve it. He took one last glance around the outer space. It required all his willpower to abandon the gold relics, but he strode to the outer doors and pulled them open.