1348 A.D.
The northern Tian Shan mountains.
Central Asia.
The Kyrgyz Region.
The lake of Issyk-Kul.
Enzo looked at his gory work, blood dripping from his blade. Beneath their robes of brown, the tainted monks were armored in various designs and make – hardened leather lined with iron or steel evidently being the popular choice. The senior priests among the dead wore chain mail hauberks. Cervelliere helmets were the norm, easily hidden by the large cowls of their plain robes.
He looked at his two companions. Agmand, the Magyar, was unhurt. But the man’s sabre was also bloody, and his shield was gone. The panting Magyar was resting against the stone wall of the room, his mail coif unhooded. The Venetian, Francisco, was worse off. He sported a large bleeding gash on his left arm. The man’s bevored breastplate was heavily dented, and his vambraces were gone. His buckler was on the floor, split into several pieces. But he still had his barbute and mail coif, though the steel headgear showed several nicks and small cavities in the metal.
“Agmand, watch the door,” Enzo ordered as he moved towards the Venetian. The Magyar moved to the side of the inner door where the hostile and armed monks emerged. He reached Francisco just as the man slumped to the floor on his knees. The man was already pale from the loss of blood, which gaudily decorated his armor.
Enzo placed his right palm on the wound and his left on the Venetian’s face. A warm glow, yellow in hue, softly suffused both men. He removed his hands.
“I’ll never get used to that,” said Francisco. His pallor was returning to normal, and the bleeding wound had disappeared, leaving a faint red welt instead.
“The power of Our Father is more than enough, my friend,” replied Enzo as he stood up. “Rest for a while. Agmand and I can handle matters for a few more minutes.”
Francisco dragged himself to a wall and sat down, his mace still in his hand.
“How about you, Agmand? Wounds?” Enzo asked as he wiped his sword on the robe of a fallen acolyte.
“Tired, Jehoel. Extremely. I didn’t expect these tainted monks to come rushing at us like that.”
Enzo smiled.
“You really must be exhausted, calling me by that name.”
“I guess I am,” laughed the Magyar, whose armor was covered with blood. “Though why the name ‘Enzo?’ It could be something else. One closer to your true name.”
“There are very few, if any, Italian names which start with ‘J.’ I could call myself Jovanni, but that would grate on a lot of ears,” Enzo chuckled.
“That would be an unforgivable atrocity,” came Francisco’s exhausted comment to the laughter of his companions. The immediate battle over, some of the stress induced by the surprise attack and of fighting while outnumbered was released by humor.
“Though it appears this lot was expecting us,” added the Venetian, pointing with his mace at the twenty or so dead bodies around the room.
“It does appear that way. I expected a warm welcome from the Nestorians, but not this hot a greeting,” commented the being known as Enzo. “And by the Heavenly Host, the rumors are regrettably true – the Adversary had gained a foothold in this ancient land.”
“If it had, then I believe this small monastery is empty of its minions. I don’t hear anything moving. With the ambush we broke, reinforcements should be here already. Either that or they have fled towards the cathedral on the lake.”
Enzo stood silent for a while, his youthful countenance deep in concentration. Finally, he opened his eyes.
“The cloister is empty. We can all rest while we plan our next move. But let’s find another room. I can smell the faint stench of Hell from these corpses.”
The three transferred to a nearby chamber, one with a window through which they could observe a cathedral in the middle of the lake. It was built on an eyot, and even at a distance, they could see people moving about.
“Looks like a hard nut to crack, Enzo,” remarked Agmand as he brought in their supplies from the horses hitched in the courtyard.
Enzo didn’t answer but grinned in reply.
“Oh, I know that smile,” said the Magyar as he shook his head. “Well, the two mortals in the room will eat and get some rest.”
Enzo’s grin gave way to a full chuckle.
As his companions rested, the former angel kept watch. Enzo needed a clear mind to fill out the details of his plan. It was painfully obvious that they couldn’t rush across the narrow human-made earthen approach to the cathedral. Three men didn’t make an army. Their bodies would look like porcupines with arrows instead of quills by the time the defenders were finished with them. That left the lake. A night swim across its frigid waters would be one solution. But it would be risky. The three of them would be vulnerable once the defenders discovered their attempt. And after that would be the ramparts. The walls themselves were crenelated. He did notice the change in the cathedral’s layout when they arrived, but he put it down to increased bandit raids. Enzo knew the Mongol tribes had been active in the region. Never in his darkest imagination did the possibility arise that the bishop and most of his priests had been turned. This monastery was supposed to be the window of the Church of the East to new lands of the sun. He knew it had already made inroads into China and India. This location was intended to be the new center of the church for the additional ecclesiastical territories.
Enzo keenly observed the stone battlements. He could see the bobbing helmeted heads of guards. Definitely a problem, he mused. Relatively inexperienced priests we could handle even in lopsided numbers. But mercenaries? That would be another story.
His memory went back to that fateful meeting in the plains of Megiddo a few months earlier. An urgent petition came to the Order of Malakha, one of the organizational faces of the Khamsa, signed by religious heads of churches and emperors having spiritual power over their domains—all the major denominations and some smaller religious congregations. The Orthodox East, Catholic Rome, the Caliph of the rising Ottomans, the Chagatai Khanate, the Khan of the Golden Horde, from Coptic and Muslim Egypt, the Nestorians and Christian churches not of Rome nor the Orthodox line. Even the Hebrews sent the Order its separate message. It was an urgent matter too important for the Khamsa. The organization knew it was a momentous test. Another of many. Each century seemed to bring its own challenges and the need to reaffirm its status among the churches of the era.
Five members of the Order attended the dawn meeting. It was a cold day. The wind was whipping on the plains, blowing dust among the gathered field of tents, pennants, and banners. Representatives of the Order were Enzo, Markus—formerly known as the angel Uriel—and three mortals. Agmand and Francisco arrived with Enzo, and Ibrahim with Markus. All those gathered knew of the old agreements and the purpose of the Order. Enzo recognized that the respect given to the Order was also tinged with fear. He didn’t doubt that the secret archives of the represented spiritual and temporal institutions now gathered on the plain were full of accounts of what the Khamsa had done against the incursions of the Adversary. Meanwhile, Markus was clearly amused by the colorful and disparate elements of the host gathered on the field. He wryly remarked that there was still hope for humanity, considering that those assembled with their tents and pennants side by side would, on a different occasion, be hacking each other to pieces.
The extraordinary petitions dealt with the plague known as the Black Death. Millions had already died. After separate investigations, the churches and authorities began to suspect an infernal hand in the disease. The scale of the terminal infection and its terrible effects were unnatural, almost demonic in character. For many, it seemed that the Apocalyptic Horseman of Pestilence rode in various lands at the same time.
Informal exchanges of information among the secret societies of the disparate religious and intelligence groups finally tracked down where the deadly disease started. The Nestorians eagerly volunteered the knowledge that they did have a community in the region and gave Enzo a letter of introduction to the bishop of the monastery. Faced with petitions from so many, the Order of Malakha, the Aramaic word for “angel,” had no choice but to investigate.
It appears I didn’t need the letter after all, thought Enzo. But they knew we were coming. That means they were expecting the Order to be present. But that ambush nearly did us in. Good thing I was with the men. Otherwise, they would have missed the alarmingly unclean aura of this place.
He looked at the sky. Daylight was fading. A decision would have to be reached. He had no doubt the answer to the outbreak of the plague rested within the bowels of the structure he was watching. The wasting disease didn’t have any effect on him or any of the Diminished, a term Enzo and those who volunteered to come down to the mortal plane called themselves. “Fallen” was an accursed word given to those they were fighting.
But while they were with mortals, the humans around them were also immune to the plague. Unfortunately, the Order, as well as the Khamsa itself, was kept busy with numerous outbreaks involving sorcerers and ancient creatures of darkness – ghouls, vampires, mad mages who believed dark magic was the solution to the plague, and other such vermin. On reflection, Enzo realized that something about the Black Death brought out the monsters from their hidden holes.
The millions of mortals who died from the horrific disease painfully affected all members of the Khamsa. They had seen the piles of corpses heaped on the wagons of death as they went around the cities gathering the dead, witnessed the huge bonfires burning the departed, and heard the wails and cries of those left behind. The sight of plague doctors with their bird masks was a familiar sight to members of the Khamsa as they hunted and pursued their inhuman or mad opponents. Terrible sorrow marked the suffering mien of diminished angels and mortals alike whenever they gathered in their sanctuaries.
But the divine limitation imposed on them was clear and couldn’t be crossed. They were on Earth to fight Hell, not to interfere with the tribulations, ills, affairs, and mistakes of humankind.
But the Diminished were so few, he sadly acknowledged. Of the forces arrayed against us, there are twenty fallen angels, watchers, and archangels among them, leading two hundred more former high members of the Heavenly Host. They have legions of fallen angels and demonic creatures under them, not counting those they have corrupted among men. Even those mortals tainted with their corruption inflicted great suffering and tribulation among the peoples of this world.
He looked at the cathedral again. Even in the fading light, he could see men positioned on the top of the structure. Bowmen, he noted. I guess swimming would be one of only two viable options. But it posed a great danger. If they started illuminating the watery approaches, that would leave one last choice.
And as if the men on the other side could hear him, Enzo saw small rafts with lamps on them being shoved into the water. Well, that sinks the swimming approach.
Enzo considered the only remaining means of crossing the lake. He could open a small portal for a few minutes and pass directly into the eyot. But that in itself posed another danger. The resulting mystical gate was usually manifested when the one who was casting it had been to the intended area of destination. Enzo had not been to the cathedral or even to the small island. If he blindly opened the gateway, they would be going in not knowing where they would end up. They may reappear on the other side of the portal ludicrously stuck in stone. The guards would have a field day torturing them. He didn’t have an idea of how thick the walls were or what was inside them. Another critical factor was the extreme exhaustion brought on by the exertion of energies in the creation of the portal, and it was apparent that more enemies awaited them on the island. Weakened, he would be functioning at a barely tolerable level. His companions didn’t know that disadvantage.
With a heavy sigh, he turned to Agmand.
“Can you take over the watch for a while? I’ll try to see if I can find a better vantage point nearby while there’s some daylight left. A lofty perch which will enable me to see inside the walls. I hope they have tall trees around here.”
“Take care you don’t fall off,” laughed the Magyar. “I’ll let Francisco rest some more. He did take the brunt of the attack.”
“Thank you, my friend,” said Enzo as he went out the door.
As darkness fell and entered the hours before dawn, Enzo was forced to use his energy to create a small portal. He warned his companions about the deleterious effect it would have on him. It would typically take him a day to recover from the effort, but there was urgent work to be done. The Diminished and his companions knew the disastrous consequences of failure. As they suddenly appeared in the courtyard before the cathedral, the three rushed to the entrance, each warrior’s back covered with a large shield they had scrounged from the abandoned cloister. When they reached the massive wooden ornate door, it was locked. Arrows started flying in their direction, the shafts embedding themselves in the shields and the panels of the enormous doorway. Enzo hurriedly placed the palm of his hand on the part where the two entrance sections met. He felt the massive plank on the other side preventing the doors from opening, stopping them from entering the cathedral.
“They’re coming,” said Francisco in a calm voice.
“And holding these shields against those arrows doesn’t allow me to use Hajna,” added Agmand, referring to the recurve bow strapped to his back. “Pity. There’s a lot of spare arrows around.”
Enzo focused and coursed a force of energy through the wood, violently cutting in half the blocking log on the other side. The doorway yawned open.
“Move!” shouted Enzo as he rushed through the entrance, drawing his long sword. The two quickly followed, and each immediately took hold of a door panel and slammed the opening shut. The two used one of the spare lumber from a pile near the door to block it. The intruders were in the narthex, the space right after the main door. The central aisle, or nave, was directly in front of them, but the central area of the cathedral was empty. The group quickly removed the shields attached to their backs.
“Hey, Francisco,” called Agmand. “I think they like me more. My shield cover has more arrows.”
“Must be this helmet,” replied Francisco with a laugh. “They didn’t recognize me. Otherwise, they wouldn’t waste their arrows on you.”
Francisco moved to the door and slid open the letterbox slit. He looked out. Agmand had his Hajna in hand, an arrow loosely fitted in the bowstring, his eyes examining the interior of the cathedral for enemies.
“You know, I do find it a bit bizarre for the vassals of our hosts to stop just before the well of the courtyard. They’re just gathered there, milling about. I do count around fifty of the gentlemen,” remarked Francisco.
“Now that is strange. Unless they have prior instructions. But I find that improbable,” said Agmand. “We are interlopers, are we not? Armed and clearly of no good intent against their employers.”
“Be on your guard. Those were Kyrgyz mercenaries. Fearless but very superstitious. There is something about this cathedral which gave them pause. I believe their fear of this place is well founded. I sense no sanctity in this formerly holy ground. The very stones reek of Hell. I am afraid I can’t tell you more than a lingering suspicion that this may be more than a devilish cult led by that bishop,” advised Enzo.
“Imps again? I hate those things. Sometimes hard to hit, quite quick on their hooves, and very imaginative about their insults,” commented Francisco.
Agmand sniggered at his companion’s observation.
“Laugh all you want, Agmand. You were not the one locked in with three of those creatures in that cellar back in Seville. I confess I lost my temper once or twice,” added Francisco.
“Hush,” remonstrated Enzo. The Diminished had lowered his sword and was intensely concentrating. The two stopped their banter conducted in low voices and went back to observing their surroundings.
After several minutes, Enzo took a deep breath and signaled for the two to come closer.
“I believe I might have underestimated the danger, my friends. A power is now loose here. Of what, my abilities cannot say. That it is of the Abyss is clear. I have heard reports about this lake covering the remnants of ancient cultures, but that’s all. This region had been beyond the Order’s reach until a millennium or so ago. It appears our enemies have been more active than we previously thought.”
“Ancient devil worshippers? Here?” asked Agmand.
“That seems to be the situation. The bishop assigned here must have known about the legends about Issyk-Kul lake. He must have collected knowledge about it. Come to think of it, this cathedral would be the perfect cover for our wayward host to start digging down to whatever he was searching for. The lack of a welcoming congregation only means there are no mortals to be encountered here, except for the bishop and whoever he deemed worthy to accompany him.”
“A lesser demon, then?” asked Agmand. “We can handle that kind.”
“I really don’t know, my friends. Finding the excavation somewhere in this cathedral is the only way to learn about the nature of the threat. If it’s a ritual, then we have to cancel its hellish effects. If it is a demon, then respond accordingly.”
“Our Father will guide us and strengthen our hands,” said Francisco.
“But I hope it’s not the cellar. Dark and musty places, sometimes with big spiders. I hate those things,” remarked Agmand.
“Then you’re in luck. The entrance is right in front of us. Behind the altar, in the apse.”
The two looked down the nave, the middle aisle which led directly to the altar. At that point, they noticed that the curved wall at the back of the cathedral was bereft of any religious icons. Instead, the stone was smeared with a red substance which covered half the wall.
“Oh, I thought those were banners,” commented Agmand.
The three slowly walked forward with Enzo in the lead. As they reached the apse, a large hole in the ground greeted them. Looking down, they saw that torches lit the excavation. A stout ladder led down to an ancient stone platform. The landing was wide, and hewed stairs showed a curving path downward.
“Shall we?” said Francisco. Agmand grinned, but Enzo went ahead, quickly followed by the Venetian. As the Magyar started down the ladder, his gaze fell on the crimson smears on the wall. He noticed they were glisteningly wet. Drops were already collected in red puddles on the floor. Despite himself, Agmand shuddered.
They didn’t encounter any hostile beings or creatures on the way down, torches at regular intervals along the way. As the three continued on their seemingly interminable trip to the bottom, Francisco noticed Enzo’s face grew increasingly grim. Seeing a former angel’s face in such a demeanor shocked him. It was the first time he saw such an expression on Enzo. Anger, worry, determination, and anxiety were all there. Fear was absent.
Finally, they reached the bottom of the stairs. Another stone landing awaited them. In front was a metal door with no handle. But engraved on every inch of its surface were strange symbols connected by arcane swirls of an unknown language. It hurt the eyes of the two mortals just to look at the eldritch sigils. Enzo, on the other hand, was furious the moment he saw the door.
“This is blasphemy of the highest order!” he muttered in a low voice. Enzo then turned to the two.
“I fear this is where we part, my friends. If my suspicions are correct, and they have sounded clarions of alarm every step we took down those stairs, then matters have grown to something beyond what you would understand.”
“Why, Enzo? We have been through a lot together. The three of us. We’ve faced and beaten down everything the enemy has thrown at us,” protested Agmand.
“This is the one difference. The great pestilence must be stopped. I can’t even mention the name of who waits beyond this door. It will just give him power. The mere fact that he was able to cross into this plane forebodes the death of almost all of humanity. If I don’t come back, tell our brothers that I faced the Lord of the Merihem. They would understand and make the appropriate preparations if we all fail.”
“Enzo, I agree with Agmand. I say we face this monster together,” replied Francisco.
“He is very powerful. One of the First Hierarchy of our Adversary’s domain. A purveyor of pestilence. It was clever of him to spread the plague in such an innocuous manner, avoiding the use of mystical or demonic powers. But by the grace and will of Our Father, I will send him back to his prison. In the meantime, the two of you have something to do,” said Enzo as he pulled a scroll from under his armor. “The heart of the plague is here. I know the bishop and his minions are gone. They will get the reward they least expect from their new masters. But I need your help. I have already charged this scroll. Go up and throw it in the well found in the courtyard while I confront this demon. He knows we’re here. The effect of the parchment would be to flood the land and bury this place underwater. Once you’re done, seek out Markus. Don’t look for me anymore.”
The two then realized what was going to happen, and that nothing was going to sway Enzo’s mind. Francisco and Agmand each embraced their comrade for the last time.
“Hurry,” said Enzo. “I will first try to delay him as long as I can. There’s no telling if he’ll go after the two of you. Now, go!”
Enzo turned and quickly went through the door. As the two started the long way up, they could hear the exchange between Enzo and the beast within the room downstairs.
“Jehoel! Welcome to my new home!” The mocking laughter that followed shook the ground, dislodging small rocks onto the two warriors heading up at full speed.
“Why are you here, purveyor of filth? It is not your time!” they heard Enzo answer. His voice had changed. It was as loud as that of his enemy, and tinged with outrage and fury.
“What’s the matter, Jehoel? Such name-calling. Call me by my name! I still remember your part in the War which brought me to the Abyss! Jehoel! The Hammer of the Sky! But you haven’t faced me then, brother. Others of the Light-Bringer’s host might be easy prey for you. But not me. So, call me by my name! Or I’ll make you shout it to the heavens!”
“Never, accursed of the Abyss! And you are not my brother anymore.”
Enzo’s opponent laughed out loud, triggering another rain of rocks on Agmand and Francisco.
“Then Belial shall be the death of you!”
(to be continued)
