The Sixth Seal

Ana locked eyes with Martin, though not by choice. There was an unmistakable, uncomfortable pressure in the room. Every fiber of her being struggled against his impositions, but to no avail. His will was ancient, unmoving, malevolent.

“The Eye, child.” He stretched out his bony fingers.

She watched as a spectator. Her legs trembled and lurched forward, the black, smoke tendrils still gripping her ankles. The same black smoke still swirled where his pupils should have been as he took possession of the Eye from her.

“Now, child, you will accompany us to the place of power.” He looked over her shoulder then back again. “Don’t worry, we’ll bring your father along. He may prove useful should you become uncooperative.”

The pressure in the room increased and a gentle humming flooded her ears. The black smoke billowed up from the floor until there was only darkness. The floor beneath her gave way, and she felt the force of movement. Her stomach dropped and her hair tingled with electricity. Wind whipped at her face and arms from every direction. Somewhere in the distance the monotonous drone of chanting, strangely tremulous.

An instant later the floor came back to her feet. The black smoke dissipated, slithering in between the stones that made up the floors, walls and ceiling of the massive chamber they now occupied.

Two torches flanked a stone altar, casting hypnotic shadows up the walls and across the surface of a series of large stone sarcophagi positioned at equal distances around the room. Each sarcophagus was engraved with a strange symbol, and stood on end. The book sat atop the altar. Its desire to reunite with the Eye of Jupiter was tangible, though neither artifact spoke to her. The eight clear gems that encircled the recess where the Eye was supposed to sit pulsed in time to the relentless chanting. A hooded figure stepped from behind the altar.

“Prepare the vessels.” Martin’s voice came like metal on stone to her ears.

Although her gaze was still locked on Martin, she could see Verner and Flins moving around the periphery of her vision. One by one, they opened the sarcophagi two to her left, two to her right, two behind the altar, and presumably one behind her.

Her eyes flicked to the right. There inside a sarcophagus, eyes shut, was the little boy from the Horsemen’s estate.

“Don’t worry, child.” Martin’s voice hissed from the front of the room. “Once the process is complete, the boy will be immortal like the rest of us. I’ll take him under my wing and mold him in my image.”

Just the thought of anyone being molded by him made her sick, let alone an innocent child. “Damn you to hell you sick bastard.”

The laugh that followed surprised her. “Defiant to the end. You should know better than anyone that hell exists only in the mind.” He reached out and stroked her cheek with a spindly finger. “You shouldn’t resist us, child. The process will benefit you as well. Although, just like the boy, I’ll have to exert a certain measure of control over you. And who knows? If you’re a good girl, I might even make you my queen.” He laughed again at her obvious discomfort, stroking her cheek. “We can rule the world together, side by side.”

“Never.”

He shrugged. “Have it your way, pretty one. Queen or slave, I haven’t an objection to either.”

“Fuck you, Martin.” Her father’s voice broke through from somewhere behind her.

Martin shook his head. “Tsk. Tsk. What kind of language is that for the father of the bride? Play your cards right, and there’ll be a place for you in my new world order, too.”

Verner came to Martin’s side. “It is done, Martin. We are ready.”

Martin waved him away. “Take your place. I’ll secure the sixth.”

Her body moved without her will, gliding backwards away from him. His eyes locked on hers, his thoughts coursing their way through her body like a sickness. The cold stone of the sarcophagus pressed back against her back, enveloping her body in its icy embrace. He moved behind the altar and took his place in the circle. His strangely accented voice spoke the words played in her mind. She could feel herself falling, her will giving way to his demands.

The chanting stopped and his voice became clear, as though he stood right next to her. “Whatever you’ve done to the Eye of Jupiter prevents me from commanding it directly.” He raised his arms and held his palms out toward the altar. “So I’ll just have to command you instead. You’re going to be my surrogate.”

There was a sudden pressure on the back of her skull. Her body tensed, grating her exposed skin against stone. The strange chanting resumed. She pushed back with her mind, but met a brick wall for her efforts. The mental exertion reverberated through her head, forcing her to stop her advances.

“Save your strength, child. You don’t have the fortitude to take me on. I’ve been studying the dark arts for centuries. Besides, once the process is completed, you’ll be a goddess.”

“Never.” She pushed out into nothingness, wondering if her feeble effort even registered.

Her vision darkened and the feeling of her physical body drifted away. But she sat inside the Eye, Martin’s dark eyes watching from above. He drove his will through her like a spike into soft soil. She resisted, but found herself relaying his commands to the Eye.

“Imperio solum digamma.” Her words were strained, but the Eye still pulsed lightly. “Respondere!”

Sicut dicitur. Awaiting digamma.

The gateway opened, Martin pressed harder, reciting command after command in a litany.

She tensed as the words were forced from her lips, unleashing unfathomable founts of power. The ground shook as bright golden threads erupted from the center of the eye and snaked their way upward and through the ceiling. She was both inside the Eye and outside it at once. She bore witness to the Eye as it unleashed the power, and felt the surge of that power dance over the skin of her body. Brilliant light burst from the top of the Eye, through a shaft in the ceiling, and finally, disintegrating the rocky apex of the mighty pyramid of Khufu. She recognized where they were now. One of the seven places of power, a stone chamber some three-thousand feet below ground, hidden for thousands of years.

The book beneath the Eye trembled. The first seal broke. A peal of thunder boomed above the pyramid. A spider web of golden threads arched out across the land, diving below the surface and racing toward the core. Some of the threads rocketed back up from below the Earth and returned to the chamber, fanning out like spokes in a great wheel, until one by one each protector was pressed back into their sarcophagus, held in place by a pulsating beam of light. Ana could feel the energy from the beam as it radiated from her chest and through her body. Still Martin’s litany continued.

The second seal broke. Oceans boiled as chains of massive volcanoes erupted and spewed their molten contents upward. The eye reflected the devastation as though pleading with her to stop. She was powerless.

The third, fourth and fifth seal opened in succession, and rained fire from the skies, sweeping across plains and mountains alike. Tears streamed from her face and she called out in agony, writhing against stone, unable to call back what had been unleashed. The collective anguish of a thousand souls assaulted her. Still more of his words tumbled from her lips.

The sixth seal broke and brought a momentary stillness. Just a short reprieve before the ground lurched upward. The Earth fractured, opening up great chasms, pushing up mountains and reducing others to rubble. Whole cities sank into the ground within the span of her heartbeat. The sun was obscured and the moon became as blood, as though witness to the death and destruction at her feet. The golden threads drew energy from the core and pushed it back toward the protectors. Ana knew she was becoming stronger, even as the world weakened and was pushed to the brink. The light inside the chamber blinded her, forcing her to look back into the Eye.

The seventh seal slipped free. The Eye of Jupiter rose above the altar, and the great book flew open, its pages turning as if propelled by a mighty wind. The alien script written therein retraced word by word as Martin spoke, his voice like nails on stone. She recognized it now, the tongue of her forefathers, creators of worlds, gods and plunderers alike.

She wept.

The trembling ceased, the pressure fell, and the brilliant light subsided. She wiped the tears from her eyes and scanned the chamber. The only protector who still looked familiar was the child. Verner and Flins had stepped out of their coffins. Her eyes focused on Martin. Was it truly the same man who was a withered shell only moments ago? Yes. The eyes were still dark and full of malice. But now they resided in the body of a god. His form looked as though the great master, Michelangelo himself, had chiseled it. His hair fell in great golden locks over his shoulders and his skin was taut and smooth. His smile, though brilliantly white, was laced with the same malevolence his eyes held.

This time he spoke aloud. “It worked, child. Now come take your rightful place as my Queen and we will remake this realm in our image.” Gone was the gravelly tone. His words carried the presence of youth.

“Your image sickens me. I’ll not stand by your side.”

Fire danced behind his eyes and she fell to her knees. He pushed his will back into her skull again. “Either stand as my Queen or kneel as my servant. The choice is yours and I care not which.”

Her physical being had been strengthened by the process, but her will was still no match for his. He was a mountain of force and she was but a breeze.

Even a breeze can move mountains, Protector.

Had the book spoken to her?

Reach within.

Yes. It had spoken directly to her.

The answer is within.

Had Martin seen the smile forming? Had he seen the glimmer of jade from within the Eye still hovering above the book?

From behind her, her father screamed and launched himself over the altar. Martin’s grip on her mind lessened for just a second. A second was all she needed.