Sword of God(25)

Then again, Colonel Harrington stressed that Schmidt was no longer the same man he had been. That he ceased to exist after the incident at Taif. Those were Harrington’s exact words. Schmidt ceased to exist. Like Schmidt had died with everyone else in the incident. As if he were unable to shoulder the pain and loss of the tragedy and had simply given up. Jones had seen many soldiers who could no longer handle the pressures of war, who could no longer bounce back from their emotional scars and remain on active duty. But he had never heard it described in Harrington’s terms. His friend had ceased to exist.

A loud ding echoed throughout the cave, a sound that snapped Jones back to reality. He glanced at Sheldon, who told him not to worry. The sound meant that Sheldon had received a classified e-mail. Probably the test results he’d been waiting for. Jones wasn’t sure if he was allowed to see them, but there was no way he was going to miss this opportunity. He followed Sheldon into the next room, hovering over his shoulder at all times, hoping to catch a glimpse of the e-mail. But his persistence wasn’t necessary. After Sheldon scanned the report, checking and double-checking the information, he passed it to Jones. No fanfare. No explanation. No games of any kind. He knew Jones was smart enough to figure things out, so he simply handed it to him.

Unfortunately, the news was worse than Jones had expected. A lot worse.



Payne made sure he heard the term correctly. “The Altar of Blood?”

The old man nodded, refusing to look at him, focusing on Kia instead. “No matter who was taken there, they always screamed to their gods, begging to be saved from the pain they endured. Sometimes this went on for days. Sometimes weeks. But their prayers were never answered. Their blood was always spilled.”

The old man trembled, remembering the time he had spent in the cave and all the family he’d lost. Kia tried to soothe him, touching his shoulder, whispering words of encouragement in Korean before she asked him another question. “And the Altar was recently reborn?”

“Our village was quiet for many years. But a few months ago the spirits were reawakened. The screams started again at night, in a language I’ve never heard. An ancient language. Something barbaric. Like the Devil speaking in tongues.” He glanced toward Payne, still refusing to look him in the eye but making sure he heard every angry word. “But the Devil didn’t come here alone. Your people brought him here. Your people lost control. Yet my people were the ones who suffered.... Why does my village always suffer?”

Payne wanted to tell him that he had nothing to do with this, that he’d come to this island to help his people and his village, but the old man wouldn’t have listened. There was too much anger, too much history for Payne to overcome. At least with words. The only way to make a real difference was to find out what happened and close the cave forever.

Thankfully, Kia continued to ask the right questions, proving to be a valuable asset. “Speaking of your village, where is everyone?”

“They’re out back.”

Without saying another word, the old man stood and walked out of his side garden, stepping carefully on flat stones that had been laid in the ground. Kia followed closely behind, while Payne brought up the rear. He walked with his weapon drawn, eyes scanning the terrain, ready for the unexpected. Pruned trees and shrubs filled the landscape, everything perfectly manicured, as if the old man spent all his time doing nothing else. During the summer months, the flowers would have been in bloom, a rainbow of colors bursting in every corner of the yard. But this time of year everything looked dreary, as if a curtain of gloom had been dropped on the entire village. The sky was gray. The mood was dark.

Originally Payne had assumed the stench of burning pine had come from the old man’s chimney, which continued to belch a steady stream of smoke, but as they rounded the corner of the house, he noticed the actual source. A giant fire pit had been constructed in the middle of the backyard. Volcanic rocks lined the exterior, stacked three feet high and fifteen feet across. Wooden embers smoldered on the inside, casting no flames but burning intense like a furnace. No sparks. No light. Just a lot of heat. The type of fire that was used to cook meat.

An ancient wheelbarrow, covered in rust, sat abandoned in the yard, next to an ax, a pick, and a variety of cutting tools. All of them splattered with the same hue. The same rust color as the wheelbarrow. In a flash, Payne sensed what had happened. What the old man had done.

“Where are your neighbors?” Kia wondered. “I thought they were back here.”

The old man nodded, his eyes filling with tears as he stared into the fire. “They are.”