Confronting the Fallen (33 page)

“Very well, everyone,” the
judge called out. “Come along. I won't leave anyone out in this
blasted fog while we go below.”

The security team closed in and stood
looking down into the open hole. Chris saw their doubtful expressions
but all of them were too disciplined to make a comment.

“George, Stevens, would you lead
the way please? I'll go next followed by Chris and Natalie. Joseph
will come after and the rest will follow us down.”

Chris watched as George took a step
downward. At that moment, the air rang with a shivering cry.

Everyone froze. Suddenly the area was
brightly lit as all of the security team turned on flashlights and
shone them around, looking for the source of the scream.

The fog reflected the lights and Chris
felt like he was in the middle of a milky snow globe. Everyone was
looking in all directions at once. A second scream echoed through the
mist. It was impossible to identify the direction that it came from.

“George, get down there,”
the judge said urgently. “The rest of you follow him. Hurry,
now. Hurry!”

Everyone scrambled to get down the
hole. The steep steps were gritty and slippery and Chris was
terrified that he would slip and push the judge down into the unknown
darkness, or that Natalie behind him would do the same. Somehow he
managed to get below ground without cracking his head open.

When the last of the team was on the
steps and about six feet below ground, she looked down at the judge.

“Sir, should one of us remain
here? To guard the entrance?”

Before Judge Hawkes could respond, the
slab of stone started to quickly close again, shutting out the mist
and distant screaming.

“Well, I think that answers your
question, Beatrice,” the judge said with a little smile. “If
anything wants to get at us, it will take a while to break through
that barrier. Let's proceed. George, if you please?” And he
pointed downward.

George nodded silently and continued to
descend slowly.

The stair led down twenty steps and
then turned upon itself for another twenty steps. This pattern was
repeated over and over. Chris tried counting the steps to see how far
down they were going, but gave up after he hit two hundred.

How deep is this place, he wondered.
The air was cold and he began to see his breath in the beams of the
flashlights. Unfortunately, Chris hadn't expected to need a jacket or
sweater, so he hadn't packed one. He shivered but kept quiet, more
concerned with his footing than the chill in the air.

He lost track of time but the sameness
of the steps and the constant slow descent became almost hypnotic and
Chris was startled when George suddenly stopped walking and looked
back at the judge.

“End of the line, your honor,”
he said loudly.

Judge Hawkes slipped past Stevens and
joined George at the bottom of the steps. With everyone's flashlight
now pointed down, Chris could see a small square room at the base of
the stairs with an open doorway leading directly out into darkness.

“Come down everyone, but wait in
here a moment,” the judge called. “I'll take a quick look
around.”

As they moved to the bottom of the
steps, the judge slowly exited the room, his flashlight waving in all
directions as he scouted the area.

Chris and Natalie stood together and he
could see that she was shivering as much as he was.

“Cold enough for ya?” he
asked with a tight grin. She rolled her eyes but smiled in return.

“Too cold. One thing I've never
been fond of. Give me hot over cold any day.” She peered
through the door and Chris looked over her shoulder. It was quite
cramped in the little room and he was shoulder to shoulder with
Stevens.

All Chris could see was the distance
outline of Judge Hawkes, lit by his constantly moving beam of light.
There was no sound except the anxious breathing of the group as they
waited for the judge's orders. The open space ahead looked huge to
Chris, considering how far from the door the judge had moved, but he
couldn't see any details. Was it a shrine? A temple? A basketball
court? Who could tell in this gloom.

Finally they could see the judge making
his way back to them. Just before he reached the door, he motioned
for them to join him. Finally, Chris thought with relief.

As they exited the little room, Chris
saw the judge fumbling with a silver lighter. Why would he need that
when he has a flashlight, Chris wondered. His question was answered
when the judge stepped up next to the door, lit the lighter and
touched something on the wall.

A bright burst of warm, yellow light
pushed away the darkness and Chris heard the crackling of a torch
sitting in a bracket beside the door. Judge Hawkes quickly lit a
second one on the opposite side. It was amazing how the familiar glow
relieved some of Chris' tension, and judging by the faces of those
around him, he wasn't the only one who felt that way.

The judge pointed his flashlight
straight up and the others followed suit. Natalie gasped. The ceiling
could barely be seen in the artificial light. A hundred feet high?
More? Chris couldn't tell but it took his breath away. How long would
it have taken to dig this place out without modern machines? He
didn't know but it was an amazing achievement.

“Awe inspiring, isn't it?”
the judge asked in a hushed voice. “For a civilization
thousands of years ago to create this, let's call it a shrine, with
only hand tools and the will to act is staggering.” He turned
his beam of light around and pointed at one of the many pillars that
supported the immense weight of the ceiling. “Look at the
carvings on these.”

The judge led them close to the pillar
and they could see thousands of tiny cuneiform figures cut into the
stone. They extended from the floor up and out of sight into the
darkness above. Chris could only shake his head in disbelief. And he
wasn't the only one to do so.

“How long must it have taken for
these unknown people to create all of this? Ah, if only we had the
time to study it in more detail.” The judge sounded frustrated.
“I could spend months, perhaps years, cataloging and
researching it all. Well, maybe one day.”

He turned and looked at Chris. “But
we don't have time for that now. Christopher, any indication from
that ring of yours that we are close to a piece of the sword?”

Chris had been so caught up in his
surroundings that he'd forgotten why they were even here. He blinked
twice and then looked down at the ring in confusion. “Indication?
Um, no sir. It looks the same as always.” He flushed as he
realized how lame that sounded but Judge Hawkes simply nodded.

“Very well. I think we should
find that picture of Sariel that my ancestor copied into his notes.
Everyone, split into pairs and take a section of the room.” He
looked around. “I estimate the shrine to be about five hundred
feet across and roughly square. Rabbi? You're with me. Natalie and
Chris, please stay together. Now, pair off, pick an area and start
looking. And please hurry. I doubt that we have a lot of time.”

Chris watched as the judge and Rabbi
Eddleson walked off into the gloom. The rabbi had been so quiet since
they'd arrived that Chris kept forgetting that he was with them. Gone
were the jokes and casual manner. The rabbi's expression was both
grim and thoughtful.

“So, which way, Chris?”
Natalie asked. She also had a flashlight.

“Am I the only dummy who forgot
to bring one of those?” Chris asked in exasperation.

Natalie stared at him curiously, then
reached around, unzipped a side pocket of his pack and handed him a
flashlight. “You packed your clothes, Chris, but the essentials
were added by the staff later. You didn't know?”

Chris shook his head in embarrassment
and switched on the light.

“Well, don't sweat it. It's
standard procedure on official assignments for staff to make sure we
haven't forgotten anything, and to add it if we have.” She
winked at him. “We're just kids to them, you know, even if we
do have angelic souls.”

For once, Chris was grateful that
someone still thought of him as a kid. It was a relief to have his
own source of light and not depend on others. He looked around at the
other pairs and saw a portion of the shrine that was still dark.

“That way, I guess. No one picked
it and the judge said we're in a hurry.”

“Sounds good. Let's move.”

The air was still cold and smelled of
stone dust and cobwebs. Old, Chris thought. This must be what really
old smells like.

He waved his flashlight across the
floor. Puffs of dust rose with every step and small cracks
criss-crossed the stone surface. Chris shone his light on another
pillar they were passing and it too was covered with tiny, precise
carvings.

“Why would anyone do this?”
he asked Natalie in a hushed voice. It didn't seem appropriate to
speak loudly in this place that felt so much like an underground
cathedral.

Natalie was looking all around, shining
her light on any flat surface. “Beats me, Chris,” she
said, sounding distracted. “A cult? Angel worshipers maybe?
Although I've never heard of that. I'll tell you one thing; they must
have had a lot of time on their hands. This place might have taken
centuries to dig out. Not to mention those etchings.” She shook
her head in disbelief.

As they reached what seemed to be the
middle of the shrine, a large, intricately-carved dais rose out of
the darkness. It was perhaps ten feet across and four feet high and
detailed pictures had been cut into its surface.

“Wow, Chris. Look at that.”
Natalie approached the structure and ran her fingers along the front
of it. “It must be some sort of altar. And I'm pretty sure that
this is marble, not native rock. Just look at the carvings.”

Chris walked up next to her and stared
in wonderment at the altar. Angels, that's what covered the front of
the marble. Angels, but not the cute little cherubs that he was used
to seeing in pictures. These angels were definitely more realistic.

“My God, Nat, they're fighting.”
And so they were. Angels hacking at each other with swords, with
axes, grappling with their bare hands. It was all out war. And their
expressions weren't loving or peaceful. What Chris saw on most of
their faces was berserk rage. Hatred. Loathing. It was frightening.

“It's the end times, Chris,”
Natalie said soberly. He turned to stare at her, lighting up her
expression with his flashlight.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it's a depiction of the
final battle. The fight for Heaven itself. Look closely at the
carvings. Only one angel in each pairing has feathered wings. The
others are all webbed. They're fighting demons, Chris.” She
paused and her voice seemed to catch in her throat. “And
they're losing.”

He turned back and looked carefully at
the angels on the altar. Natalie was right. Some of the angels had
bat-like wings. He felt a chill run down his spine that had nothing
to do with the cold air. In almost every scene, the true angels were
losing. One had multiple slashes across his chest. Another had lost
an arm. A third, and here he felt a sharp pain in sympathy for the
carved angel, had lost her wing. The demons were winning.

“Who the hell would carve
something this grotesque?” he said in outrage. “Isn't
this a place to worship angels?”

From out of the darkness, the judge and
Rabbi Eddleson suddenly walked up and stood next to the altar.

“No, Chris,” the rabbi said
darkly. “It is a shrine for the worship of Hell.”

Chris
stared at the rabbi. “I beg your pardon?” he said
faintly.

“
It's
a demonic temple, Christopher,” the judge said, confirming the
rabbi's statement. “Follow me, please. We found the picture of
Sariel.”

The
two men turned and started back the way they had come. Chris and
Natalie hurried to catch up, exchanging worried glances as they
walked.

The
other team members converged on their location when the judge called
out to them. And then Chris stopped and found himself facing a wall
with a huge twenty-foot tall painting of Sariel. It was almost
exactly the same picture that the judge had shown him in his office.
His ancestor had been a good artist.

“
Wow,”
was all he could say.

“
No
kidding, Chris,” Natalie said as she stared up at the painting.
Whoever had painted the picture had covered it with some sort of
clear, shiny material; to protect it, Chris assumed. It looked almost
new. No fading and only a few cracks where the stone had shifted
slightly over the millennium. Beneath the figure, many lines of tiny
writing were inscribed across the rock.

He
narrowed his eyes and stared up at the face. As in the picture he had
seen earlier, there were no details there, just the outline of a face
covered by a hood. But somehow the judge's ancestor had missed the
eyes. There were two glowing eyes, that from where Chris was standing
seemed to be actual blue gems; maybe sapphires. And three small lines
crossed the nondescript face diagonally.

'Sariel,
are you seeing this?' he asked his inner self. After a moment, he
repeated it. There was no answer. 'Sariel?' Nothing. Chris looked
over at the judge and tapped his forehead. “He's not taking
calls,” he said, a bit worried.

“
Sariel
isn't answering?” At Chris' nod, the judge frowned and looked
back at the painting. “Interesting.”

“
Perhaps
he is embarrassed, Chris,” the rabbi said sharply.

“
What?
Why should he be embarrassed?”