The Witch Hunter Chronicles: Hunted

My heart hammered in anticipation as I led the way down the creaky wooden stairwell. After a quick loop, the stairwell opened into a square vault. The room was grey stone walls and cobbled floors, and bare except for two white coffins.

“It looks like we’re in the right place,” Marc said.

It sort of smells that way too.

There were torches on the walls, but since we didn’t have lighters, we were stuck using flashlights. I shone my light on the foot of the larger coffin. It was adorned with a gold sign marked with the crest of a lion standing on its hind legs and the words, ‘Here lies Roland, Prefect of the borders of Brittany and hero of the Battle of Roncevaux Pass’. The smaller coffin was marked, ‘Here lies Oliver, Knight of the Realm and Martyr of the Battle of Roncevaux Pass’.

“I’ve never desecrated a grave before,” Jordan said. “Where do we begin exactly?”

“Have some respect Jordan,” Marc said. “This is my ancestor.”

“Sure, I understand,” he replied. “But we are robbing the man’s tomb, right?”

Marc didn’t have a snappy comeback for that one.

“These coffins are marble,” Lucía said, “and there’s no hinges. I think the lid was placed on top. Probably by a lot of big dudes.”

Jordan unzipped the backpack and removed the crowbar but couldn’t find a seam big enough to get any leverage. The lid was cut to fit perfectly into the body of the box and weren’t meant to be removed.

“I have an idea,” I said to Marc, “but you may not like it.” He raised his perfectly shaped eyebrows a quarter of an inch. “Do you have home remodeling shows in Spain?” I looked from Marc to Lucìa, and they both looked back at me blankly. “Well, anyway, when the contractors want to replace marble or granite countertops in a kitchen, they usually smash the old one with a sledgehammer.”

“You’re right, I don’t like it,” Marc replied evenly.

“Do you have a better idea hermano?” Lucìa asked softly. “I don’t want to disturb our ancestor’s rest either, but we don’t have a lot of options. There’s only the four of us and that pathetic crowbar.”

“And Mackenzie can barely even lift her cat,” Jordan added.

I decided to take the high road on that one.

Marc sighed. “I don’t have a better idea, but I seem to have left the sledgehammer in my other pants, hermana,” Marc said with a smile.

“And besides,” Marc continued unabated, “can you imagine what that will do to the body?”

“I promise you, he won’t feel a thing,” Jordan quipped.

“That’s why I said you wouldn’t like it,” I replied, ignoring Jordan with equal skill. “If we get a big rock and drop it on the lid a few times, I’m betting it will cave.”

Marc looked around for help, found none and sighed. “Fine,” Marc said. “I’ll go find something heavy.”

“Why don’t you bring Jordan along to help, hermano,” Lucia added.

“Fine with me,” Jordan said, crinkling his nose. “This place smells like dead dude.”

The boys made it up a few steps when Marc turned around, saw where Jordan’s eyes were glued and said, “Why don’t you go first.”

“Why should you get the better view?” Jordan asked.

“We both know I’m not doing it for the view,” Marc replied.

“Sure, keep telling yourself that,” Jordan added.

Their banter continued as they climbed the stairs and passed out of sight.

“Are you excited about finding your sword?” Lucìa asked.

“Yeah, but I really don’t know why,” I replied. “I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to do with the thing once I get it.”

“Other than stab my uncle,” she said.

“Sure, other than that,” I replied.

“It’s an important symbol if nothing else,” Lucìa said. “It adds legitimacy to your claim.”

“Who do I need to convince?” I asked. “You believe me, and the witches certainly do.”

“I’m talking about world leaders, news organizations, the general public,” Lucía said. “People like that.”

I could feel my butterflies in my stomach start to take flight.

I’m not going to be the crazy chick in the National Enquirer.

Lucìa must have seen the look on my face because she added, “We can worry about that part later, Kenzie.” She took my hand and gave it a friendly squeeze. “I’ll always be by your side.”

Two crazy chicks on the cover of the National Enquirer. Cool, cool, cool, cool...

Marc and Jordan appeared at the top of the stairs carrying separate broken chunks of the old Abbey wall, the whole time arguing about whose piece was bigger.

“Why exactly did you bring two separate rocks?” Lucía asked.

“Well, because there’s two of us, and the first one probably won’t break the lid,” Marc answered. “Really hermana, this isn’t rocket science.”

Marc started down the stairs, while Jordan stopped at the top. Lucia looked at me in exasperation.

“He’s so pretty it doesn’t matter,” I said.

She shook her head.

“What?” Marc asked.

Lucía asked. “You didn’t think that, perhaps, you could take turns dropping the same rock?”

Marc paused halfway down the steps, and he sighed deeply. “Then why send both of us?” he asked.

“Mostly to get you out of my hair for a few minutes,” she replied. “But, I mean, you could have carried one bigger rock together.”

Jordan’s rock dropped to the ground. Marc turned and looked up at him.

“There’s no sense in both of us carrying heavy rocks down the stairs,” Jordan answered. “And besides, you’re closer.”

Marc finished his walk of shame down the stairs, approached Roland’s coffin and dropped the rock on the marble lid. It landed with a dull thud, but if it did any damage, I couldn’t see it. He sighed and his shoulders slumped, and he smartly avoided eye contact with his sister.

“Don’t say a word,” Marc warned. Lucía made the ‘lock and throw away the key’ gesture over her lips.

I’m so glad I was an only child.

“Let me try something,” Jordan said.

Before Marc could object, Jordan was standing on the foot-end of Roland’s tomb. He squatted down and got both hands under the rock, and then shot up bringing the rock high overhead. We all gasped when it looked like the momentum was going to take him backwards over the edge. It took a few wobbly seconds for him to get his balance.

“This may not be such a good idea,” Lucía started. “Maybe if-”

Jordan winked and brought the rock crashing down towards Roland’s coffin. The slab split with a loud crack, and then the lid caved imploded in a cloud of dust and Jordan yelled as he fell into the opening. As the dust settled, we all crowded around the casket and peered in.

“Ow,” Jordan said.

He was covered in dust, and probably dead-guy dander. But I didn’t see any blood.

“Jordan, are you ok?” I asked.

He turned his head back and forth and wiggled his arms. “Everything but my ego I think,” he finally replied.

“I was going to say that you should have been standing on the Squire’s coffin,” Lucía added.

“Very helpful after the fact,” he replied.

“Yeah, that looks embarrassing,” Marc said. He snapped a pic and took a look at the screen. “That is a keeper.” He looked back at Jordan and said, “Now get off my ancestor you pervert.”

Lucía and Marc each grabbed an arm and they pulled Jordan out of the coffin. The occupant was, thankfully, in metal armor and the breast plate had caved in partially in the middle from the weight of the lid. We removed the rock and the pieces of the slab, uncovering a body covered head to toe in steel plate armor. At Roland’s right hand was scroll sealed with a wax stamp, and at his left, a rhino tusk intricately carved into a horn.

“Damn,” I said. “No sword.”

“Please say the sword is under the body,” Lucía said.

“Please say it isn’t,” Jordan said. I glared at him. “What? I’m the one that’s gonna have to move him.”

I nodded. “Good point,” I agreed. “Is this actually Roland?”

Marc picked up the horn and looked it over. “This certainly looks like Oliphant.”

Lucìa picked up the scroll and broke the wax seal. We all crowded in and stared down at the fancy script:

‘The sword of Roland is hiding in plain sight awaiting its worthy successor.’

“What exactly does that mean?” I asked.

“I think I know,” Marc said. He closed his eyes and sighed. “It’s been there all along.”

I remembered the story that Lucìa told me about the sword stuck in the wall of an Abbey. We both looked at each other.

“It’s not a fake,” I said. She nodded and smiled. Jordan looked from face to face, a confused look on his own, “What the hell is going on?” he finally asked.

“Well,” Marc started, “the sword isn’t here-”

“I kind of got that part,” Jordan said.

“-and we think we know where it is,” Marc continued. “There’s a sword stuck in the stone face of a cliff outside an Abbey in the village of Rocamadour, not far from where Roland died. The story goes that Roland threw the sword away so it wouldn’t fall into the hands of the Saracens. The sword was found imbedded in rock and an Abbey was built around the relic.”

“So why didn’t we just go there in the first place?” Jordan asked.

“Because everyone thought the story was nonsense and the sword was a hoax,” Lucìa replied. “The locals admit as much.”

I jumped as a pair of tan colored rats scurried across my feet and ran up the stone stairs.

“Ew, I hate rats,” I said as I gave an involuntary shake.

Suddenly, Marc looked concerned. “We’ve been down here too long,” he said. “It’s time to go.” He slipped the horn and the note into a pouch in Jordan’s backpack and then led the way up the creaky stairwell.

“We should call in a tip to Vincent after we check out,” I said. “So, they can protect what’s left in there.”

“Once we’re out of the city,” Marc agreed. “Before that, I need a few hours’ sleep.”

No one argued with that statement. We squinted in the sunlight as we left the secret passageway. It was after six and we could see a few people leaving their homes to start the workday. They seemed too engrossed in their morning coffee to notice us as we trudged down the grassy hill towards the street below.