The Seventh Stone (53 page)

Bassilades nodded towards Stonington’s body. “Remove him,” she said to Rambitskov. Rambitskov slipped the cattle prod into the baggy pocket at the side of his red robe. He moved stiffly to the body, circled his arms around it and hoisted it up. Stonington’s cuffed hands, the skin on his bloodied wrists rubbed down to the bone, jerked off the iron loading hook. Rambitskov hefted the body over his shoulder like a sack of grain. He dumped it unceremoniously on the right side of the chamber.

Flickering torches had been jammed into holders between the charred timbers of what was once the bow of the Niantic whaling ship. Other than that, the chamber was without features, crudely dug out of the landfill, except for one old, cage-like jail cell, about five foot square, to Braydon’s left and a closed steel door on the opposite wall. In a neon-hued painting upon that door, a depiction of what had to be Abraxas, dominated the chamber. The creature had the head of a lion, the body of a man wielding a shield in one hand, a whip in the other. Its legs were two serpents coiled around each other. The serpents’ heads bared their fangs, ready to strike. Still, that door could be a second exit, a possible means of escape. The door had no knob, nor keypad like the door that Adam had unlocked to enter this underground hell. This steel door had to be mechanical, opened by that remote control which Basillades just slipped into her robe pocket. It fit the pattern.

Braydon nodded towards Stonington’s body. “Why the torture?” he asked Basillades. If he was next on the hook, he needed a reason.

“
The shock brings nothingness to the mind,” she said. “Nothing is the same as fullness. In the endless state fullness is the same as emptiness.”

“
She quotes Carl Jung,” said Adam. “The Seven Sermons of the Dead.”

Christa drew in closer to Braydon. “Jung was a contemporary of Freud,” she said. “He delved into the dark recesses of human psyche and its relationship with God and the afterlife. And Basillades was the second century founder of Gnosticism.”

“
That’s great fodder for your unification theory of history,” Braydon said. “Not so good for us.”

Adam moved closer to Stonington’s body. To Braydon’s utter surprise, Adam lowered himself to one knee, and made the sign of the cross. “This man was not supposed to die,” Adam said. “His heart failed him.”

“
Like your uncle’s heart, Adam,” said Christa. “He trained you to be guardian of the Abraxas. You must protect the stone, but not from us.” She pointed at Basillades. “You must protect the stone from them.”

Adam buried his face in his hands. “I saw too much death,” he said. “Whole villages destroyed. I knew the power of evil. I needed help. My uncle had warned me that the Abraxas was a key to the power of God, but I had seen the power of the Devil. All I wanted was peace. All I want is for the killing to stop.”

Braydon kept his eye on Basillades. She circled the room at a slow, steady pace. She spread her arms wide, and said, “During the night the dead stood along the walls and shouted.”

The white robed monks looked up. "We want to know about God!” they shouted. “Where is God? Is God dead?"

“
There is a God about whom you know nothing,” Basillades said, “because men have forgotten him. We call him by his name.” She raised her arms heavenward. “Abraxas!”

“
More Jung, I presume,” Braydon said. He scoped out the white robes. They were men, all eight of them. Hard to tell if they were armed, but their eyes were weirded out, like Rambitskov’s. That made their intent deadly, and a drug, like PCP, could lend them extraordinary strength. The monk with Rambitskov’s Sig Sauer had positioned himself next to the steel door at the far end of the chamber. He opened his robe and tucked the gun into the belt of his army surplus khakis, and then raised his pointed hood over his head. He looked down, like the other monks. This black magic woman had been Adam’s psychoanalyst when he returned, damaged, from Nam. She clearly had mastered mind control. “You chose the wrong shrink, Adam,” he said.

“
Evil is out there, Adam,” said Christa. She moved closer to the hippie, trying her own hand at mind manipulation, to Adam’s core values, not a perversion of them. “An evil man poisoned the water system in New York. He poisoned my nephew, a little boy. That poison is what is causing the madness in the streets. We need to stop him. The only way we can do that is with the Abraxas stone. We need your help, Adam.”

An increased agitation jerked Basillades’s movement. She began rotating as she spoke, her face heavenward. “
The dead approached like mist out of the swamps and they shouted.”

The white robes advanced in a step. "Speak to us further about the highest god!"

Bassilades seemed pleased to oblige. Braydon didn’t like the look of her arrogant smirk.
“
Abraxas is the god whom it is difficult to know,” she said, as if lecturing to a class. “His power is the very greatest, because man does not perceive it at all. Man sees the summum bonum, the supreme good, of the sun, and also the infinum malum, the endless evil, of the devil, but Abraxas, he does not see, for he is undefinable life itself, which is the mother of good and evil alike.”

Adam stood. Braydon wasn’t sure if his expression signified despair, or fear. “She speaks the third sermon of the dead,” Adam stammered. “She summons Abraxas.”

A howl screeched from behind the steel door. He had to get Christa out of here. He could cut off the head of the snake, attack Basillades, grab the remote control for the door and freedom, fight off Rambitskov and the white robes as long as he could while Christa escaped. But when Hercules cut off Hydra’s head, the serpent grew two in its place. He wasn’t beyond learning from myths at this point.

Basillades waved her hand. Rambitskov grabbed Christa from behind and shoved her into the jail cell, crashing her against the far wall. He clanged the door shut behind her. Christa grabbed at the bars, rattled the door. Locked.

The white robes bowed their heads deeper. They started chanting, in barely more than a slow whisper, “Summum bonum, infinum falum. Summum bonum, infinum falum.”

Braydon advanced towards Rambitskov. Every cell in his body was determined to hurt him for hurting Christa. “Rambitskov, I should have made sure those beasts tore you apart,” he growled. Rambitskov pulled the cattle prod from his pocket, thrust it against the jail cell. Christa’s hands sprang away as the electricity jolted across the metal bars.

“
You can save her,” said Adam, “but not like that. You must beat the monster and she will be set free.”

Basillades clenched her outstretched hands into fists. “He is the monster of the underworld, the octopus with a thousand tentacles, he is the twistings of winged serpents and of madness,” she said. “He is the lord of toads and frogs, who live in the water and come out unto the land, and who sing together at high noon and at midnight.”

“
Listen to Jung’s third sermon,” said Adam. “She is preparing you to face Abraxas.”

“
Jung, again,” said Braydon. He was listening, all right, madness, frogs. He didn’t need Christa’s unification theory to show him that connection. A poison dart frog was what started all this. “Jung was a nut, but he was a prophetic nut.” He scanned the chamber to find anything that could be used as a weapon. “I prefer the Navajo philosophy. Remember Joseph’s message to you, Adam.
A brave man dies once, a coward many times.”

The white robes chanted louder. ”Summum bonum, infinum falum.”

“
Remember Viet Nam, Adam” said Christa, urgency edging her voice. “Your cousin didn’t want to see defenseless people hurt. Honor his legacy. Give Braydon his gun, at least.”

Braydon approached Adam, his eye on his gun, tucked into Adam’s belt. Adam still held the .45, aimed at him and cocked. “I am not the enemy,” he said.

In his peripheral vision, Braydon saw Basillades plunge her hand into her robe pocket. She brandished the remote control like a knife. She pointed it at the steel door depicting the Abraxas. She pushed the red button.

The steel door slid aside with a reverberating clang. A cold, dank draft slunk in from the darkness beyond. The torches flickered, died down, then brightened. The monk nearest the door shifted his weight nervously, almost imperceptibly, bending his neck closer to the dirt floor. Fog rolled in from the doorway, like smoke from a wildfire. Then a putrid smell wafted into the chamber, mixed with the unmistakable scent of brine. Braydon’s thoughts raced. The passageway beyond might tunnel through the buried ship hulls to the outside, perhaps a hidden exit to the waterfront. He just had to secure the way for Christa to escape the jail cell.

He peered deeper into the black of the passageway. Something shiny and golden approached, the torch light refracting back at him. “Something wicked this way comes,” he muttered. A giant lion’s head loomed suddenly in the opening. It was a mask, no, a helmet, its facepiece a fierce rendering of a lion pounded out of metal, with a wide, grimacing frown. A fierce scowl outlined the openings for the eyes. The lion’s mane was a nest of stylized serpents.

The doorway was large, but it could not accommodate the bulk of the beast. It stooped to pass through it. The monks chanting grew louder and quicker. ”Summum bonum, infinum falum. Summum bonum, infinum falum.” The beast stomped fully into the chamber. It straightened to its full height. It was a giant of a man, lionhead helmet from his shoulders up, dressed like a gladiator from his shoulders down, in a layered leather skirt. His feet were shod in knee-high, studded leather boots, rather than sandals. One meaty hand wielded a large bronze shield, the other a long, serpentine whip.

“
Abraxas
is truly the terrible one,” Bassillades shouted over the chanting.
Her voice hungered for terror.
“The sun and also the eternally gaping abyss of emptiness, magnificent even as the lion at the very moment when he strikes his prey down. He is the monster of the underworld... He is the bright light of day and the deepest night of madness. He is the mightiest manifest being, and in him creation becomes frightened of itself."

“
The Abraxas!” Christa shouted from behind Braydon.

“
This isn’t a supreme being,” Braydon shouted back over the chanting. “Superior, maybe,” he added. The guy was built like Arnold Schwartzeneger on steroids.

“
No,” Christa shouted. “The Abraxas stone! It’s hanging around his neck.”

The beast raised its shield and rent the air with a mighty roar. Hanging from a thick, metal link chain around the behemoth’s neck, dangling over the guy’s heart, an alabaster-colored, engraved stone was mounted on brass metal that looked like an oversized skeleton key. Like the key of an old jail cell.

“
The Abraxas is the key,” said Adam. “To your liberation.”

From the fog creeping in around the monster’s feet, three snakes, rattlers, slithered over the beast’s boot clad toes. Each snake was fatter and longer than the last, four-plus footers, each of them.

Braydon remained stock still as the snakes slithered frantically towards him, skirting his feet in a desperate attempt to find dark shelter. The monster leaned back. He recoiled his whip. Braydon turned away. Not quick enough. The whip slashed across his back like red hot fire. The searing pain brought him to his knees.

Christa cried out. By her pained expression, his wound must look as bad as it felt. Rambitskov lowered the cattle prod, and, if only for a moment, confusion, maybe even fear, focused Rambitskov’s eyes. Whatever they drugged him with was wearing off. Could be good, or bad.

Braydon turned to see Adam fleeing through the tunnel that the Abraxas had emerged from. The steel door slammed shut behind him. The rat fleeing the sinking ship.

Braydon remained crouched. The Abraxas towered over him. This first hit had better be good. He sprang upwards, thrusting all his weight against the giant. He forced the Abraxas back, about two steps. The monster pushed Braydon off, drew back his shield and slung it forward. The full force of the monster’s shield rounded into Braydon’s chest, propelling him backwards. He crashed against the wall where they had first entered the chamber.

Braydon didn’t take his eyes fully off his opponent, but he could see the biggest rattlesnake racing across the floor towards Christa and the darkest corner of the chamber. Christa pressed herself against the wall as the snake slithered through the bars. It saw her, a threat, blocking its way to survival. It coiled, rattling its tail furiously, ready to strike. Rambitskov moved towards the snake. He thrust the cattle prod through the bars, aiming for the snake. In an instant, the snake sprang at him, slicing through the bars. Its teeth clamped down on Rambitskov’s calf. The snake slithered completely through the bars and quickly crossed the chamber.

Braydon had his own snake to worry about. The Abraxas recoiled his whip. He sprang it at Braydon. Braydon grabbed the whip with his left hand, and clamped down on it in sheer agony. He twisted the whip around the back of his wrist and yanked back, tearing it from the monster’s grasp.

Basillades waved her arms about as she screamed over the thunderous chants of the monks. “
There is nothing that can separate man from his own God, if man can only turn his gaze away from the fiery spectacle of Abraxas.”

Braydon pushed himself up. He sprinted forward, leaping for the loading hook. He grasped onto the hook, but his hands were slick with blood and sweat. With every bit of determination, he swung forward, using his momentum as his weapon. He pounded his feet into the beast’s lion helmet. His opponent’s head jerked back. Braydon landed on all fours. The beast howled. In retaliation, it swung his boot-clad foot at Braydon with all his might. Braydon twisted, but the glancing blow to his chin brought stars to his eyes. The warmth of his blood spurted over his face.