Max glanced over and gave a crooked smile. “I’ll know it when I see it. I’ve been around enough magic to get a sense for it and this island is covered by it. But I want to find the right spot before we try to cross back into the past. If we screw this up, we’re done for. The entire world is done for.”
Lazarus said nothing in reply but his mind never ceased working. He wasn’t 100% sure where they would go when they opened the portal into the past. There was apparently a limit as to how far back they could go and still make changes. If that was so, he knew the day that seemed most appropriate and he had said as much to the others. He knew that they wondered if it wasn’t some sort of guilt on his part that he suggested it but it also made logical sense and, in the end, they had agreed to try that time period if they couldn’t go further back.
Lazarus wanted to return to the moment when Darhoth had appeared before him in Washington. That was when she’d revealed her full plan and unleashed the Elder Gods. But what if he hadn’t been alone? What if The Peregrine and Gravedigger had been there to strike her down before she could finish the summoning ritual? She’d wanted an audience, that much had been certain, so Lazarus was sure that she hadn’t completed the spell until the final moment, to be sure that he would bear witness to her victory. There would still be time to disrupt it.
Gravedigger returned, carrying the carcass of some sort of unusual rabbit. It was easily twice the size of the most common breeds, with slightly odd facial features, as well. Obviously, it was from some other time, like so much else on this island.
“Anyone hungry?” Charity asked, holding the beast high.
“I’m starving,” Max replied. “And if it’s our last meal in this hell, then all the better!”
* * *
Night fell… and with it came danger.
The Peregrine had taken first watch, allowing his companions to fall into what he could tell was much-needed slumber. He reached up and scratched the stubble that lined his chin, wishing that he were back home in Atlanta. A nice, long soak in the tub followed by breakfast with his wife. That would be the perfect tonic for all the recent craziness.
Someday soon, I’m going to get that world back,
he silently swore.
Max jumped as he heard the sound of a twig snapping nearby. He peered into the dark gloom of the jungle, thinking that he saw the shifting of shadowy figures, but he wasn’t certain that it wasn’t his mind playing tricks on him.
He drew out The Knife of Elohim, noting that while it glowed softly, it was not bright enough for him to fear anything supernatural. The background “field” of magic that permeated the world in its current state meant that The Knife never stopped glowing completely anymore. If there was danger in these jungles, it was of a natural kind—either men or beast.
The movement he had detected seemed to have ceased and he turned towards the others. To his surprise, he came face to face with a dark-skinned man whose body was covered with black powder. The man drove the hilt of a spear directly into Max’s jaw, knocking him to the ground. Before the hero could respond, a second blow sent him spiraling into unconsciousness.
Seven more men crept from the shadows, moving into the camp with the silence of well-trained hunters. The natives had watched the three visitors for over an hour, their gaze held firmly by one member of the party in particular.
As one, the men crowded around the sleeping form of Charity Grace. She was dressed in her Gravedigger uniform but her mask was stuffed into her belt and her hood was pulled back, revealing her lovely face and dark hair.
One of the natives extended a hand, as if to caress her pale skin, but one of the older men slapped his hand away. This elder withdrew a small bag sealed with leather straps, which he pulled undone with quick, practiced movements. Silvery powder spilled out and this was blown with pursed lips into Charity’s face. A moment later, the act was repeated with both Lazarus and Max. All three of the heroes twitched in their sleep as they inhaled the powder but none opened their eyes, instead falling into an even deeper slumber.
With their prey now properly drugged, the men gripped them by their arms and feet. Soon, the campsite was abandoned, leaving behind few signs that anyone had ever been there at all.
* * *
Charity Grace woke up in another world.
She recognized it at once, for she had been here before. The soft white glow that permeated everything made her wince but the soft burbling of an oversized fountain set her at ease. She was in a large, circular room with windows on all sides, revealing a peaceful, green-grassed field.
This was the domain of The Voice, the strange entity that had resurrected her.
Your time grows short
, The Voice said. It came from everywhere and nowhere, sounding both male and female.
“I’m working on it,” she replied. Looking down at herself, she was surprised to find that she was naked. Was this supposed to symbolize that her period as The Gravedigger would be coming to an end? That she was standing nude and vulnerable before her judgment?
Whatever the reason for it, Charity didn’t like it. Still, she got the feeling that trying to cover her body was pointless—besides, it wasn’t like The Voice was looking at her in a prurient manner.
I speak not of your trials as Gravedigger. I come to warn you that your enemies are in pursuit… They will seek to stop the plan upon which you and your companions have embarked.
Charity paused, blinking in surprise. “Thank you for the warning. You… don’t usually do that.”
The world is in peril. The souls of all humanity are at risk. The Gravedigger’s role is meant to be a small one, bringing justice and light to the dark places, one person at a time. But this situation is beyond that. This could well mark the end of humanity.
Charity took a deep breath. She knew all of this but hearing it spoken in that weirdly unemotional voice still made it all the more powerful. “I’ll fight until my dying breath,” she said. “Not because I’m trying to redeem my own soul and not for vengeance for my fallen friends. I’m going to do this because there’s right and there’s wrong, and what’s going on right now is all kinds of wrong.”
Then do what must be done.
“Are we on the right path? Can you tell me that much?”
You must undo what has been done. You must help slay the Beast. This evil has been slumbering for many long years and even a victory today will not prevent its eventual return. There are some battles that must be fought again and again.
“Wait—so you’re saying that Darhoth will just come back? Even if we win?”
It may not be her. Evil wears many faces, many guises. The Elder Gods have many adherents who will try to revive them. Fear not for the future. Fear for today.
Charity frowned, many questions still dancing through her head. Before she could give them voice, she felt her body begin to sway as her mind was cast out of this place and returned to the mortal world.
* * *
Much to her chagrin, she was still naked when she woke up for real.
She sat up quickly, seeing that she was in a thatched hut of some kind, laid out on a blanket of animal fur. Glancing about for her clothing and weapons, she saw that they were not nearby.
Her brain was fuzzy, as if she had been drugged. But how? And by whom? Just as importantly, where were Lazarus and Max?
Ignoring her nakedness, she crept to the closed door, which was forged of rope and bamboo. She peered out, taking in the village full of natives. Some of them were as naked as she was but most were dressed in loincloths or wrap skirts, their upper bodies left bare. Many of the men’s bodies were dusted in white or black powder.
The village was at the base of a massive wall that spread out to the west and the east, disappearing into the jungles. It was easily thirty feet high, built of bamboo and thick ropes.
From her vantage point, she estimated at least several hundred people lived here and many of those she saw were armed warriors. Though she was an expert in unarmed combat, she was not anxious to test her mettle against these men with no weapons of her own.
A quick self-examination showed no sign of physical assault, which made her feel a bit better about her situation. Still, her clothes were gone which implied some sort of sexual bent to her capture.
As she was finishing her inspection, a rear entrance to her hut unexpectedly opened and a young black woman stepped inside. Charity immediately turned to face the newcomer, dropping into a fighting stance as she did so.
The native woman smiled broadly and Charity found herself instinctively relaxing. There was intelligence and warmth in the woman’s gaze but nothing that appeared threatening.
“There’s no need for that,” the woman said in perfectly unaccented English. “You’re an honored guest.” The woman held up a small bundle of clothing, which Charity immediately recognized as her underclothes and her Gravedigger uniform. The woman set the clothing on a small wooden chair and added, “My name is Minerva.”
Charity moved quickly to pick up her clothing. While getting dressed she asked, “Where are my friends, Minerva? And my weapons.”
“Both are fine, I assure you. Lazarus and Max haven’t woken up yet but they will soon. The Morpheus Powder should leave you feeling quite refreshed.”
Charity paused, realizing that she did feel good… really, really good. In fact, she felt stronger than she had in many months. “Why did you kidnap us?”
“Because you wouldn’t have taken the Powder willingly. You would have rightfully distrusted us and that would have delayed things. This way, you’ll be fully recovered before you make your trip.”
As Charity pulled her mask on, completely her transformation into Gravedigger, she asked, “Are you telling me that you know why we’re here?”
“Of course we do. We are, like yourself, servants of The Voice.”
“You’re kidding me…”
“No. This island, with its ability to allow travel between all eras and places, also connects to the realm of The Voice.”
“And what do you do for him? I’m the only female Gravedigger so you couldn’t have done what I do.”
“We guard the portals and welcome newcomers, mostly. Some of us were born here but others arrived from other times and places. I come from the year 1994.”
“Do they walk around topless in the future?”
“In some places,” Minerva replied with a laugh. “But not generally. I’ve gone native, I guess you could say. The original inhabitants of the island dressed this way and had their own traditions. Most of us who have joined them later on have adapted to them. If it makes you uncomfortable, I can put on a blouse.”
Charity shrugged her shoulders. Ultimately, all she cared about was getting her weapons and her friends back. The other woman’s nudity was hardly her primary concern. “We thought this island was going to be dangerous.”
“It is. Most people who do what you did—approach the island seeking to use its power—end up in the belly of a dinosaur. Or worse. Often, we just watch them, staying out of sight until they’re dead or gone. But you… We recognized your garb.”
“Can’t say I appreciate your methods of introduction but I guess I understand your reasoning. You probably would have been okay if you’d just announced yourselves and stepped out of the jungle, though. We’re not
that
bloodthirsty.”
“From what I understand, not all Gravediggers are as quick to give strangers the benefit of the doubt.” Minerva gestured towards the door. “Come with me and we’ll awaken your friends. We don’t have much time.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Voice has spoken to one of the village elders, warning them that your enemies are en route. We will attempt to slow them down so that you may do what you came here for.” She lowered her voice and asked, “Is it really that terrible out there? We drift in and out of this reality so we only get bits and pieces of what’s going on in the rest of the world.”
“Whatever you’ve heard, it’s not nearly terrible enough.”
“Then I pray that you’ll be successful.”
* * *
Darhoth, now existing as a living shadow-wraith, hovered over the deck of the Nazi U-Boat as it approached Hy-Brasil. She was accompanied by both German soldiers and Deep Ones, all of whom regarded each other with suspicion and disdain.
Darhoth had been unable to locate Mr. Death and with Vulthar dead, she would have to save her masters’ plans on her own, with only this cannon fodder to help.
She waved a wispy hand through the air and she felt a pang of regret for the loss of her human shell. She’d gotten used to the sensual pleasures of the flesh and quite missed them. Perhaps when all was said and done, she’d find some ripe young female and take her body….
Something akin to a mystical “scent” reached her senses, drawing a close to her reverie. They were here—all three of her enemies. Strangely, she sensed something more as well, the kind of magic that she would have associated with The Catalyst. He was dead, however, killed by Vulthar. Surely a new Catalyst could not have been chosen so quickly?
Turning to her troops, she commanded them to make haste. Even with her stern order, it still took time to navigate the rocky waters. By the time they had made landfall, it was mid-afternoon and Darhoth was growing increasingly concerned that she might fail to reach them in time to stop their plan.
She had no sooner sniffed out her prey’s general direction—up into the depths of the jungle—than a barrage of arrows and rocks began to rain down upon the villains. Darhoth hissed, knowing that this could slow her down even more. These were not her enemies, their scent was too far away for that, and she had no time to spare.
“Deal with them,” she said to a nearby soldier. The man nodded briskly and began shouting orders to his men. The Deep Ones operated under their own command, lumbering into the jungles with great haste and a dark hunger.
While this was going on, Darhoth allowed her form to dissipate into mist. She floated nearly unseen into the trees, bypassing the natives. She would have liked to have remained there for a bit and make them suffer but time was of the essence.