Luxuria (12 page)

“Dustin?” Jessica called rounding the corner where she had left him ten minutes before, camera now in hand. “Where are you? You better be done taking a piss, cause I don’t need to see that.”

She wandered the length on the alleyway taking pictures as she went expecting him to pop around the corner at any moment to try and scare her. Something she was sure to make him regret. After several minutes, she knew that was not the case.

“Dustin!” She called out louder, exiting the other end of the alley, her eyes scanning all she could see, hoping he had just wandered off and was looking at something else of interest.

“God damn it,’ she muttered, annoyed now. “I swear Dustin if one of those bimbos caught your attention and you abandoned me to make a fool of yourself, I will be so pissed off!”

Soon, she found herself back near the garden alcove and still there was no sign of him. She walked up the alabaster terrace that they had met on that morning and sat down, frustrated. The gentle sound of flowing water caught her attention and she glanced over to the outlandish, yet somehow powerful looking fountain. From here, it didn’t look like anything more than an old, forgotten fountain in the middle of a lost world.

Jessica looked around - she was alone. Curiosity over took her. She got up and moved towards it. She stopped and took several pictures of the eccentric, glowing night flowers that had captivated her the first time she’d arrived here. She had to remind herself to come here again tonight and take pictures while they were glowing, or no one would ever believe her.

She looked around again - there was nothing but an eerie stillness all around her in the alcove. She took the final steps to the fountain and took several more pictures, then lowered the camera.

The fountain was built into the side of a moss and vine covered stone wall - she had to guess was the temple of Senhor Escuro was behind. She was surprised to see that it was taller than it seemed from the terrace .  She guessed it was nearly twelve feet. A single misshaped head of a man-beast jutted out of the wall and crystal clear water poured languidly from its open, twisted mouth and into the large half circular base.

Jessica saw that the fountain’s water level was oddly low and couldn’t have been more than a few inches deep. “What’s so special about this water anyways?” She whispered, reaching her hand down.

“Do not touch the scared waters of O Sangue do Morto Dá Vida!” A loud voice boomed from behind her.

Jessica jumped with a start spinning around to see Callisto standing a mere arm’s length away. “I was just taking pictures and was curious as to what made the water so special.”

“Curiosity can be a very dangerous thing.” Callisto warned, her eyes heated.

“Why?” Jessica pushed, not liking her tone.

Callisto’s eyes softened. “For an outsider to drink from the waters of Senhor Escuro fountain without it first being blessed by a sister could result in horrible tragedy.”

Jessica looked back at the water almost fearfully. “I thought the waters were gifted for healing?”

“The divine waters that trickle from this fountain can do so much more than just heal,” Callisto informed her, “the waters offer the greatest of desires to be fulfilled.”

“How long have you and your sisters been here?”

Callisto smiled. “I have seen the passing of seasons more than a thousand times over.”

Jessica’s eyes widened. “Wait, are you saying the powers of the fountain have made you immortal?”

“And so much more than that.”

Jessica felt a wave of uneasiness settle on her. “That’s impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible for Senhor Escuro,” she dipped her fingers into the waters, “and those he wishes to bless.” Her fingers graced Jessica’s face and moved for her lips.

Jessica looked over and saw Dustin walking beneath the archway, yet he looked different, his demeanor had changed in some way. “Dustin, where did you go?” She pulled away from Callisto’s gentle touch.

Dustin chuckled lightly. “I actually fell into a hidden wall or something and ended up in the basement of an old dungeon.”

“Are you okay? What happened to your glasses, did you lose them?”

“I have never been better Jess,” he grinned. “Alcina heard me crying out for help and came to my aid. A good thing too, or I would like be stuck down there still.”

Jessica looked at him curiously. “And your glasses? You can’t see without them - where are they?”

“That was before I was cured.” He beamed, “I can see perfectly now, my asthma is gone too.”

Jessica’s eyes widened in shock. “You made a promise to them didn’t you?”

Mark stopped in front of the massive, crumbling pillars that supported the imposing archway that marked the entrance to the forgotten cliff-side temple. Fallen rocks, crumbled statues and other broken debris littered the ground all around him. The jungle had slowly started to reclaim this portion as the dense growth had begun enshrouding all that it could find.

He climbed the crooked, warped steps to the vast open doorway. A burst of cool, musky air blew out from the temple’s entrance and a void howl was quick to follow.

Mark felt the hairs on his neck stand on end and he had to chide himself like a fool. “It’s just a backdraft,” he told himself as he entered the gloom, his flashlight gripped tightly in his hand.

Inside the sister’s temple, it smelled of damp mildew and aged rot. Dust and spider webs reigned supreme, clogging up entire sections of the impressively crafted sanctuary.

The long hallway opened up into a large, high-domed foyer. Tattered and rotting tapestries hung in rags from the walls and ceiling. How they had managed to stay up through the years, Mark could only guess. Dust caked, cracked stone benches lined the room in a semi-circle around a raised podium, and behind was a hallway leading further into temple’s bowels.

A rattling noise to the side of the room drew his attention and he saw a ragged, cloaked figure shuffling aimlessly about the debris upon the floor. “Hello?” He called out surprised to see someone else here.

The figure stopped its awkward movements and slowly turned to face him. Mark shone the light upon the figure and his heart nearly stopped in his chest. A grotesque, decaying skull stared back at him with vile and empty, dripping eye-sockets.

“What the hell?” He mumbled in disbelief.

A raucous hissed erupted from its broken jaw and the thing charged him with a crazed, unnatural speed.

Mark stepped back, not sure if what he was seeing was even real or if somehow his mind and eyes were deceiving him. His foot caught on something and he pitched backwards, crashing to the floor, losing his flashlight. A cloud of choking dust dispersed into the air, stinging his eyes and burning his lungs.

The scrapping of bone on stone and the horrid sound that came from the thing was his only savior. He rolled off to the side as the sound of the thing madly attacked the dust-cloaked spot he had just been in.

Mark’s searching hand found something long and solid, grabbing it desperately as he scrambled to his feet. The dust began to clear and the outline of the hostile creature was before him. By some unholy means, it could sense him in the dimness and turned with a grating howl. Mark lunged the heavy bronze candle-holder forward, the prongs tearing through the skeleton’s tattered robes and smashed into its bare ribcage, breaking several with a noxious crunch. If the creature felt it, it did not show as it scraped and clawed at him trying to get closer.

Mark struggled to hold the unholy thing at bay as he reached for the pouch of water at his side. Callisto had told him it would not kill the wraith but would wound it enough to finish his task. He bit the cork off and splashed the water at the thrashing fiend…and nothing happened. He cursed and dropped the sack of water and with a growl pushed forward, slamming the creature into the wall. A loud crack sounded as the creature’s skull bounced off the back of the stone and for a moment, it seemed dazed. Mark pulled the candle prongs from its ribs and flipped the shaft around, driving the solid base forward, crushing the thing’s skull to powder against the rock.

Mark staggered back, the candle-holder still clutched in his hands as the skeleton crumbled to the floor. “What the hell was that?” He muttered to himself. “This can’t be real... this can’t be happening - skeletons don’t just come back to life...”

A loud, angry shriek tore through the room from the hallway behind the podium and he knew that was not the wind this time but the wraith he had been warned of. All of a sudden, all the torches within the temple flared to life, violent faces flickering within the flames.

Mark remembered the water bladder and cursed as he retrieved it from the floor. Nearly all of it had spilled upon the dusty stone, rendering it useless to him. Another vicious wail echoed around him and he almost ran for the freedom that outside offered. But he couldn’t - if he didn’t honor his promise, Josh would die. He shook the leather sack and hoped there would still be enough water for the task ahead.

He climbed up the raised platform and looked down the short, eerie hallway, the torches wavering in an non-existant breeze. He stepped forward and something crunched beneath his foot. He glanced down to see the bones of a long dead warrior, his armor all but rusted away. Mark dropped the long candelabra and picked up the warrior’s short sword. The blade was rusted and brittle and he doubted it would hold up if he had to strike anything solid but it felt better in his hand then the candle holder.

Mark entered the hallway and a warm burst of rotting air struck him and he almost retched as he covered his nose.

“Come into my domain, mortal,” a deep voice crackled from the room beyond, “if you dare...”

“You owe me, Josh.” He cursed moving further down the corridor to the room beyond, the open water in one hand the sword clutched fearfully in the other.

The air grew colder the closer he got and by the time he reached the opening he could see his own breath, but he could also see the diamond-encrusted altar he had come for. He peered into the room slowly but could see nothing of threat, yet his instincts told him differently. There was something evil in that room.

“I just need to run in, find the diamond, pry it free and run out - it’s that simple.” He told himself, fidgeting with the pouch of water in his hand.

Before he could even move, a twisted, clawed hand reached down from above the doorway and grabbed him, pulling him into the icy room. It threw him against the stone wall.

“You think you can come in here kill my minion, then steal from me mortal?” The wraith hissed violently. “Foolish mortal, you should not have come here!”

Mark gasped for air, desperately trying to rise to his feet; the impact had winded and disorientated him, he could hardly hear or see. He finally found his balance and stood, his eyes taking in the translucent, disfigured being that hovered before him.

His hand was wet and he looked down to see the bladder of water had burst as it had struck the wall and the warriors’ sword lay several feet away. He looked up just in time to see the wraith charge, he frozen in sheer terror knowing he was doomed.

The wraith’s twisted hand clutched his throat and lifted him from his feet, slamming him against the wall. Bright light exploded in front of his eyes and he thought his skull would split open. The creature’s grip was ice and he could feel his skin freezing beneath its unholy touch as it choked him. Desperate for air, Mark grabbed its arm; it howled in agony and released him as the water on his hand burned into its vaporous flesh.

Mark crashed to the floor once more, the horrid wails of the wraith was near maddening - he knew he would die here if he didn’t act fast. He scrambled across the stone and snatched up the rusty blade, the wraith’s crimson eyes seethed with bitter hatred as it came for him again. He swung the sword, but it passed through the fiend as it would air.

The wraith crackled with laughter. “You cannot harm me with mortal weapons.” It came at him again.

Mark threw himself to the side, barely avoiding a deadly swipe from its vicious clawed hand. He came up to his feet as the wraith attacked again. He stabbed the sword down into the leather bladder and slashed again.

The wraith shrieked in surprised agony as it flailed back, a furious light erupting from the open wound.” Impossible!” The wraith wailed.

“Or just lucky.” Mark growled, lunging forward, the dampened blade pierced through its misty form. It threw itself back against the wall in a desperate attempt to get away but Mark was relentless. The wraith’s wails of anguish were deafening, every blow of the sword ringing against bone and stone.