Master of Myth (The Antigone's Wrath Series Book 1) (30 page)

The assembly set off again, this time stopping in front of a thick, watertight door. Just to the left of the hinge, a pneumatic pump idled. To the right of the wheeled handle, a control box with two vertical levers and a row of three lit buttons awaited operation. A gray periscope protruded from the wall above the controls. A crewman stepped to the box, planted his face in front of the viewer, and pushed the top button. Silas heard the pneumatics hiss as the crewman maneuvered something on the outside of the ship. After a minute or two of this, there was a loud clang and the middle button was pressed. Double checking the outside, the sailor seemed satisfied with the progress and hit the bottom button. The sound of rushing water came through the thick metal door. Had they surfaced?

The sailor saluted sharply. “All go to disembark, sir.”

Mortimer Cross waved him off. “Fine, fine. Just open the door.”

As directed, the young man turned the wheel. Silas fought back a surge of panic. Surely they wouldn’t open a door to the outside on a submarine while it was submerged.

The lock disengaged and the door opened outward with a rush of air. On the other side was a steel tunnel that ended against a wet stone door. The far end of the shaft rested inside a metal ring that was fused to the rock around it. Mortimer Cross stepped through the portal without hesitation, then grabbed Rachel’s arm, pulling her after him. A nudge to his ribs from something hard urged Silas forward. His throat tightened, thinking about the pounds of pressure pushing in on him from all sides. When he reached the end, Brother Cross was already unlocking the door. It was a combination of some sort, requiring small, inset stones be pushed in a certain order. The sequence finished and rock ground against rock as the path opened up.

A long, dark hall stretched before them. The other men pushed Silas through the doorway until they could get around him. From the lefthand wall, several kerosene lamps waited to be lit. With this dim light, Silas could see the intricate, geometric patterns of the tightly fit tiled floor.
 

They did not spare Silas a lantern, so he was forced to squint through the shadows of other men and hope he didn’t trip over his own feet. The illumination stopped before reaching the walls, and there was no way to see what lay beyond the dim procession. Their footfalls echoed into the distance. Whatever awaited them in this place, Silas decided it was most certainly nothing good.

“There.” Danton pointed to the island in the distance. “That should be the location.”

Iris squinted at the mass. “You must be right. It’s hard to believe that tiny place is the final destination.” They turned from the railing and headed up to the pilothouse. “There’s no dock, and from the looks of that coastline, it would be ill-advised to bring the ship too close. We’d run the rocks for certain.”

“I’ll have the men ready the boats for going ashore.” Danton excused himself and set about issuing orders.

Nothing ran as smoothly without Rachel, most notably the operations at the wheel. The process lacked the fluidity she’d come to appreciate more in Rachel’s absence. The men aboard ship were adequately trained, but none of them read the water or sky as the captain did.

A mile from shore, the
Antigone’s Wrath
set anchor. Five other ships followed suit, and soon the water was filled with longboats carrying heavily armed men. Iris regarded them from her perch in the lead boat. Would they be enough? With no estimation of what awaited them, all they could do was hope for the best.

She narrowed her eyes at Jiao and Eddie, sitting ahead of her. Both insisted on coming along. Although she was impressed and confident in Jiao’s combat abilities, Eddie presented another challenge. With only a year’s difference in age between them, Iris had little in the way of an argument to prevent him from assisting in the rescue. Danton, in a stroke of brilliance, attempted to lock the boy in his room, but, being both crafty and mechanically inclined, Eddie made short work of the door. Furious about the slight, he shot a crewman as “proof of concept” for a compact particle gun he built. The man survived without damage, except being unconscious for over an hour. Unwilling to risk more temporary casualties, not to mention admiring his nerve and ingenuity, Iris allowed him to come along on the condition that he stay with her at all times. He rigged a pack on his back to act as a portable charger for his weapon, but it was cumbersome. While the weapon was effective, the extra weight would slow him down in a fight. She hoped she wouldn’t regret bringing him along.

Jumping out of the longboat, she was up to her knees in water. Fortunately, she’d borrowed a pair of breeches from Rachel and wasn’t bogged down in wet skirts. She didn’t think the captain would mind, given the circumstances. It was an odd sensation, however. Men’s clothes never appealed to her. The situation called for it, though. She had to admit, her freedom of movement was greatly increased. It made sense that Rachel dressed this way.

It wasn’t as much the breeches that made her uncomfortable as it was the leather harness strapped around her torso. While searching for trousers in Rachel’s wardrobe, Iris came across it. Covered in loops and holsters, the harness could carry dozens of potion vials, small knives, bullets, and small explosives. Though the equipment was quite useful, the way it cinched her ribcage displayed her curves in a manner she was unaccustomed to. It required all of her concentration to ignore the bulging eyes of the crew. Even Danton, normally the pinnacle of sailor’s chivalry, couldn’t hide his sidelong glances. Despite the heat and humidity of the Southern Pacific, Iris opted to wear a cloak along with her mask of hostility. The last thing she needed was a group of simpering, drooling boys to lead into battle.

As she emerged with the others onto the beach, Iris saw movement from the corner of her eye. She turned her head towards a large boulder, slowly, as not to arouse suspicion. While she pretended to examine the contents of a vial, the figure emerged again. It wasn’t a child, as she first thought, but an old woman.

Under the pretense of tracking something in the sand, Iris crisscrossed her way up the beach, to the opposite side of the rock providing cover to the spy. At ten paces, she heard feet scrabbling away and dropped the act, breaking into a run. The old woman was more agile than she guessed, but not enough to get away.

“Wait!” Iris yelled, then cringed, remembering where she was.
“Matte kudasai!”

The use of polite Japanese slowed the woman and she looked back, uncertain. Roughly ten feet remained between them, but in five feet the old woman would disappear into the tree line.

She proceeded carefully. Her Japanese was out of practice and one misremembered word could ruin the entire exchange.
“I am looking for a friend of mine. Men in dark, round hats stole her. Have you seen them?”

The woman spat at the ground to her right. “
I have seen these men, but no women with them.
”

“So they are here?”
Judging by this one’s reaction, she harbored no affection for the Brotherhood.
“Would you tell me where?”

“What is it you want with those bad men? Nothing good comes from that type.”

Iris nodded
. “As I said, they have my friend. I intend to take her back. If some of them die trying to stop me, so much the better.”

A toothless grin spread across the oldwoman’s mouth.
“Then I will help you.”

“You will be paid, if you wish it. Have you any needs?”

She shook her head.
“My only need is to remove those men from my home. If you accomplish this, that is payment enough.”

Iris bowed to her.
“Then our needs are the same.”

After walking hallways for thirty minutes, light came into view at last. Silas saw the glow from quite a way off, as his vision adjusted to the darkness during the trek. As they drew closer to the orange spot ahead, faint outlines became visible in the shadows. Then, the rumblings of conversations reached his ears. It was nothing intelligible, but it was clear there were many people waiting for them ahead.

That was indeed the case. From only a casual count as he passed, Silas saw over one hundred men gathered here. There were more still he couldn’t see, but as they neared their destination, the eyes upon him concerned him less and less. Something far more important was in sight.

The passage expanded into a large open cavern. Massive metal doors lurked at the far end, resembling a nightmarish beast hulking in the middle of the rock, blocking the way forward. An interlocking geometric pattern created the illusion of a giant head with two diamond-shaped eyes. These black hollows swallowed the light, rather than reflected it. The archway rose more than fifty feet to the ceiling of the cavern, resembling the hunched back of an animal. He gulped involuntarily.

The crowd stopped roughly forty yards from the doors. It was lit well enough to see all of the faces around him, save one. At the left edge of the crowd, three men in cloaks gathered. All but one of these let their hoods fall behind them. The obscured one was unnaturally still, and even though Silas could not see his eyes, he could feel them. An icy trickle of sweat rolled down his neck, causing him to shudder. The involuntary movement broke the spell. Silas blinked, and when he looked again, the had figure moved. Now, it stood next to Rachel.

Bile rose in his throat as he saw her stiffen. If that man’s shrouded eyes unnerved him, what must it be like to hear the voice and feel the breath of someone like that? In a moment of bravery, he surged forward. It caught his captors off guard and he was free. Silas plowed through the half dozen men between himself and Rachel, but when he reached her side, the mysterious figure was gone.

Rachel blinked at Silas as he grabbed her arm. He saw confusion, then relief wash over her face.

“How very noble of you, Mr. Jensen.” Mortimer Cross pushed through to the front. “But too little, far too late. And now,
Captain
Sterling.” His smile was cold and self-satisfied. “If you’d be so kind as to open the door for us…”

She smirked. “Open the door?
That
door? For
you
?” She chuckled. “You’re quite the comedian, Mr. Mustache. Ever considered a career in the theatre?”

His hand flew up to strike her, but the sound of a throat clearing held it at bay. Instead, he plastered another greasy grin on his face. “I highly suggest you make an effort,
Captain
Sterling. Should you refuse me, my superiors might take matters into their own hands. You should trust me when I say that you don’t want that to happen.”

Rachel barked out a laugh. “Your superiors? Wouldn’t that be damned near amy—” her quip was silenced with a sudden chokehold. In a panic, she scrabbled at her neck, searching for the source of the asphyxiation.

As she fell to her knees, Silas reached for her. “Rachel? Rachel, what’s wrong?” He looked around, hoping to find the source of her distress. One younger man stood out from the rest. His right arm reached out towards her, but not in a show of assistance. The man’s silver hair flopped in front of his face as he cocked his head to one side, watching the effect of his actions with curiosity. Enraged, Silas threw himself at the cloaked man, tackling him around the waist and sending him to the floor. While many angry hands pulled Silas away, Rachel coughed violently, air filling her lungs. A single, powerful punch to Silas’s gut knocked the wind out of him.

Mortimer Cross looked down at the prone inventor. “Mr. Jensen, if I were you, I’d behave myself from now on.” He turned back to Rachel. She was still on her knees, heaving. “Let me give you a bit of motivation. Do you see those piles on the floor up there?”

Grudgingly, she looked up. Several heaps of cloth and something wet dotted the open space before the door. “What… are those?” she rasped, still catching her breath.

“What you see there are the remains of a few men who sacrificed everything in an attempt to further our great cause. It appears that only someone very special can breach the defenses of this ancient domain. All others who try are reduced to the mess before you,” he explained. Reaching down, he hooked a finger under her chin and angled her face up to him. “As a descendant of this people, who better to open this fortress to the new world power?”

“What makes you think I’d ever do anything to help you and your delusional cult?” She glared at him.

He dropped his hold. “If you don’t, your Mr. Jensen will be the next soul to try his hand.”

She looked at Silas. He met her gaze without fear. “They must not win, Rachel. My life is not worth your sacrifice.”

“And again you play the chivalrous savior, Mr. Jensen.” Mortimer Cross rolled his eyes. “But it’s really for her to decide, isn’t it…
Rachel
?”

She growled audibly at his use of her first name. That was definitely more grating than what he usually called her. She pushed herself up to her feet and brought herself nose to nose with him. “By the time this is over, Mr. Mustache, you will die by my hand.”

“I hardly think so,
Rachel
. Now, the door? At your leisure, of course.”

She held out her wrists, prompting them to unshackle her. Brother Cross regarded her for a moment before obliging. “Don’t harbor any silly notions of escape,
Captain
Sterling. I assure you, you won’t get far if you try.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,
Morty
.” The corner of her mouth twitched in a suppressed smirk. The new nickname rankled him.

He grabbed her arm and tossed her towards the door. “We’re waiting.”

Rachel examined her raw wrists absently as she stepped around the heaps of former men. Something more disturbing about the carnage took her upon a second glance. It was what she didn’t see that alarmed her. For all the ripping and tearing the corpse remains underwent, not a drop of blood could be seen. What little fluid there was appeared to be water. What in Heaven had happened to these men?

As she crept closer, the air around her vibrated. Something besides her own two feet drew her onwards. The immense door loomed before her, ominous and forbidding. The pattern of interlocking shapes broke only once: a single handprint indentation in the center, roughly four feet above the floor. Her fingers itched. There was a yearning in her to touch it, a reason beyond the sparing of Silas’s life. Beyond this portal lay her heritage; her lineage began here.