Jeff glanced back at Ashley, careful not to leave her too far behind as they ran, but hoping they weren’t too late. Jeff gripped the shaft of the makeshift spear tighter. The corridor turned twice, headed into the heart of the temple.

  Finally, the child’s screams were close. They slowed down as the end of the corridor came into sight.

  Jeff urged Ashley into the shadows. They pressed their backs against the wall and looked into a gate yard. It was much like a courtyard in the center of the temple, however, there was a roof far above, with slatted windows under the overhangs of the pagodas that let in filtered sunlight.

  Against a rounded pillar, engraved with furrowed rows of Chinese characters from the floor to the rafters, stood Mei-Mei.

  Ashley gasped and buried her face against Jeff’s back. With a grimace, Jeff took in the gruesome sight. Mei-Mei was stuck to the pillar by a spear thrust through one eye and through the back of the skull. The shaft protruded from the broken bone-shell of her parietal plate, greyish pink brain matter dripping from the exit wound, the hole dark with coagulating with blood. A portion of the wood shaft was visible behind her slightly slumping head. Her thick glossy tresses did nothing to hide the smear of gore that coated the pillar behind her.

  Ragged strips of yellow fabric were twisted around her arms, tying her to the column. Her legs, likewise, were bound. Crammed into her mouth was a large wad of the same fabric.

  It seemed Mei-Mei had outlived her usefulness, meeting a violent end in the shadow of Shamian Gate.

  Jeff squeezed Ashley’s hand and turned his attention to the courtyard and the ornately carved circular gate beyond. From where they stood in shadow at the end of the corridor, they could see a gathering of monks twelve-strong. All were clad in saffron yellow robes save for one. The single stand-out wore yellow and red, with multi-colored embroidery on his ceremonial adornments. It was this monk who clutched Fu-Han’s arm, raising the wailing child’s deformed hand to the gate before them.

  The gate itself was a vision of artful majesty. It stood twelve feet high, engraved with Chinese writing and bas reliefs of dragons, mountains, and pagodas. Characters and symbols were carved in amazing detail into the stone. Symbols encircled the center of the gate which contained an inset circular bronze mechanism. The bronze was tarnished green, with a deep, star-shaped hole in its center.

  The leader of the ceremony approached the gate with Fu-Han in tow. The boy alternated between struggling to escape, and falling limply to the ground with plaintive whimpers.

  The other monks chanted: “Guānjiàn, Guānjiàn, Guānjiàn…”

  The key, Jeff realized. No sooner had he come to that realization, than the meaning became clear. What also became clear was that these madmen were not peace-loving monks. If they could murder Mei-Mei in cold blood, dispatching her with a spear through the skull, what fate was in store for a mere boy once he had served their purpose—an orphan, a throw-away child no one would miss? His flesh squirmed over the back of his skull as he imagined what more these fiends might be capable of.

  Ashley had already forgotten the murdered agency imposter. Her eyes were focused on a shrieking, screeching Fu-Han, who cried for her, his Ayah, and a litany of unfamiliar names that she could only guess must belong to orphanage teachers and workers. She sobbed as Fu-Han tried desperately to dig his little heels into the ground, but the boy was no match for the grown monk herding him toward the gate.

  Fu-Han stared, terrified, at the bleeding, bound figure of Mei-Mei. The boy tugged on the monk’s hand trying to escape. The monk dragged him along. Fu-Han made several attempts to step on the monk’s flowing robes, to kick the man in the shins. He bit the monk’s wrist, hand and arm, but nothing deterred the lunatic from his task, and Fu-Han continued to be pulled toward the Shamian Gate.

  Finally, the monk stopped and stood before the great stone gate. Despite Fu-Han’s struggles, he cruelly yanked him to where he wanted him to stand, and forcibly pressed the boy’s star-shaped hand against the bronze mechanism: the child’s twisted digits fit perfectly into the lock.

  A brilliant yellow flash filled the room.

  The monks stopped chanting and collectively gasped. Ashley gave a shriek of surprise, which no one seemed to notice, faced as they were with the brilliant display of light.

  “My god,” Jeff whispered. Goosebumps rose upon his flesh, making him feel even colder than he did seconds ago. Once the after-effects of the golden flash faded and he was able to see again, Jeff blinked rapidly to check his vision, struggling to focus.

  Fu-Han’s deformed hand retained the yellow glow for just a moment, but in that moment, his twisted fingers unfurled. His tiny, deformed fingers straightened and unknotted. The boy stared at his own fingers in wonder.

  “Jeff, do you see it?” Ashley whispered, clutching him. She pressed herself against the wall behind them, while straining to watch what was unfolding before them.

  He saw it: Fu-Han’s star-hand was now the hand of any typically formed child.

  The monk still clutched the boy’s arm in a violent grip, his attention rapt on the results of the brilliant flash of light emanating from the Shamian Gate. After the mechanical sounds of unlatching gears trembled through the ground, the elaborate stone gate shuddered and slowly opened a gap a few inches wide.

  The saffron-robed monks rushed the gate, chattering, excited. They thrust their bodies against the cold stone, using their combined weights to push the gate further open. As the opening widened, a cold draft encircled the yard, filling it with an unnerving energy.

  Jeff strained to see into the darkness beyond the Shamian Gate, into the unknown waiting on the other side. The dust of centuries drifted over the floor like tendrils of swirling fog. Musty air like the breath of forgotten ages filled the gate yard, rushing out with a chill from the depths of the newly opened chamber. Was it a mountain fortress … or a tomb?

  The monks rallied, removing torches from bronze sconces on the walls, preparing for a journey into the ebon shadows. In a few moments, the mystery of the temple’s forgotten ages would be revealed, the riddles of Líu’an solved.

  But, what would happen to Fu-Han?

  What would happen to them?

  As the monks filed through the open gate and into the dark expanse on the other side, Jeff found himself torn between wanting to grab Fu-Han from the monk to make a surprise escape and wanting to see what lay beyond the Shamian Gate.

  Ashley’s hands clutched his shoulder, fingers biting into his flesh. She knew him. She knew what he was thinking. She shook her head, grimacing. Their lives were not worth satisfying curiosity.

  The monk holding Fu-Han stood near the open gate, talking with two others. Jeff and Ashley made a run to the next niche in the wall, and stood, panting, waiting for their opportunity to seize the boy. Jeff peered around the corner. He could feel Ashley huddled behind him, pushing his shoulder down so she could see over.

  Their vantage point gave them a straight line of vision through the gate. They watched in silence as the monks forged through a narrow passage thick with spider webs and littered with the corpses of long-dead vermin. It was clear the monk in charge of Fu-Han had no intention of relinquishing his charge, and he led the boy by the hand into the dark hall, his torch illuminating the expanse before them in a wash of golden light. Jeff felt hope crashing around him. Once they went into the passage they might not make it back out. For all he knew, that passage was the only way in and out. Listening to Fu-Han protesting, and the monk silencing him with a curt order, they knew they had no options but to follow the procession of monks wherever the dark hall led.

  When the last monk’s yellow hem disappeared around a corner, Jeff took a step into the corridor, pulling Ashley by the hand behind him. The monks ahead were too focused on following the winding, low-ceiling passageway and what lay ahead to realize Jeff and Ashley were following the procession.

  The passage sloped downward, sometimes breaking into crudely hewn steps and then resuming in a ramp-like tilt. They continued to follow, staying just outside the dim halo projecting from the last monk’s torch, reaching behind him and in front of them. Ashley’s hand gripped the waistband of his pants. Eerie shadows danced along the ancient walls.

  To guide them, Jeff kept a hand to the wall until something moist slithered between his fingers. He resisted the urge to yelp in disgust and quickly withdrew his hand. He switched the spear to his left hand. Removing Ashley’s hand from his waistband, he clutched it tight. She said nothing, but kept up with him, her eyes reflective black pools in the near darkness.

  The dank corridor suddenly opened onto a vast chamber, with high ceilings and multiple landings with steps leading down to a marble floor. As the monks chattered in hushed, excited Jianghuai Mandarin, and some Wu dialect, Jeff jumped back, forcing Ashley behind him against the wall.

  They inched backward into the darkness of the hall, hovering there, watching. Ashley was rigid, fear and exhaustion puffing from her mouth in short, jabbing breaths. He could feel her breasts heaving against the back of his arm. They stood there, undetected, observing the chamber bathed in the bright torch fire, until one of the monks turned around, aimed the torch toward the mouth of the corridor, and looked right at them.

  His almond-shaped eyes widened. Then he turned and shouted. A few of the others looked to the monk making the commotion, but they were mostly transfixed by the vastness of the chamber.

  The protesting monk shrieked louder, waving his torch and gesturing wildly toward the corridor. It was clear that, up until that moment, the monks believed the two Americans were still securely imprisoned.

  The monk who led the ceremony at the Shamian Gate stared into the darkness of the hall. Several torches came closer; their light revealed the huddled forms of Jeff and Ashley.

  Fu-Han shouted, “Ba ba!” The monk holding his hand, yanked him farther away.

  The lead monk squinted against the blackness, then a look of rage flushed his face, and he pointed and yelled one quick command: “Kill them!”

  Chapter Ten

  “Go!” Jeff said.

  They darted into the tunnel from which they’d come.

  They had a head start on the two monks running after them. Not much, but just enough that they were able to make a quick plan. Rather, Jeff made the plan, and made sure Ashley was in on just enough to help execute it in the brief seconds they had to save their own lives.

  Jeff told Ashley to extinguish the torches along the wall as they ran, casting the passage into crypt-like darkness. She didn’t ask why, just did as he said. Then, when they had a far enough lead, he grabbed her hand, hissed a quick instruction in her ear, and they both fell quickly to the floor, one on each side of the hall.

  There was enough back-lighting to see the yellow-robed monks rapidly approaching. Jeff positioned the knife tipped spear like a stake in a palisade, aiming for one of the runner’s mid-section, just below the breast bone. He intended, without thinking too much of the awful implications of what he was doing, to drive the spear through the man’s heart.

  He counted: … two … three …

  “Uffff!” The monk on the left, leading the chase, hit the spear solidly. Jeff’s plan succeeded better than he hoped; the spear rammed through the man, impaling him. The monk made an agonized gurgling sound, exhaled loudly, and tried to push himself from the pike, but instead fell to the side, taking the makeshift spear with him.

  At the same time, Ashley extended her legs, tripping the second monk who came for them. The second monk went sailing head-first through the air with a curse. He hit the brick floor with a solid thud of his skull, but he was still conscious. The monk rolled quickly, shaking off the fall. He leapt to his feet in a flurry of speed and full of potential violence.

  Jeff had never moved so fast in his life. He jumped on the monk before he could regain his bearings. The dazed monk, still fighting, caught Jeff in an arm hold, intending to pull him down, but then—by some divine stroke of fortune—Jeff’s weight carried them down, wrestling, to the side in such a way that the monk’s head hit the stone wall with a jarring blow. Already befuddled, the monk shook his head, trying to shake away the confusion left from the impact. Jeff’s veins surged with adrenalin and a need to survive. He grabbed the monk’s neck, and throttled his head against the stone floor two more times, until the body in the yellow robe went limp.

  Jeff released the warm flesh of the man’s neck. Shock settled over him. He looked at the dark shape below him. The saffron of the man’s robes was gray in the darkness.

  Ashley sidled up next to him, resting a hand on his forearm. He could smell her breath, her body in the darkness near him. It was as if all of his senses were heightened to their utmost in the moment of danger. He could see her shape next to him.

  She pulled him into an embrace.

  “Their robes,” she hissed.

  He nodded, though she probably couldn’t see it. They had been partners in life long enough to know what each other was thinking. Jeff put his foot against the impaled monk’s chest, pushing the body away as he yanked the spear from the gored man. Blood gushed from the wound, over the shaft of the spear and over Jeff’s hands.

  Together they stripped the monks of their yellow robes. The adornments smelled of the strange men’s body odors, but that was good. They wholly intended to go back, and they were counting on the rest of the monks being preoccupied with their newly opened tomb. They would sneak into their midst, slowly maneuvering closer to Fu-Han, and at their first opportunity….

  Pray, Jeff thought. Just pray we have a chance to get him, and get out of here. All the way out of here. Out of here and home.

  Wrapped in the robes, satisfied that their would-be assassins were either dead or solidly unconscious, Ashley and Jeff navigated the corridor back to where they’d started. Into the darkness they crept. Toward the chamber. Toward Fu-Han.

  The monks were down there, torches in hand, fire flickering in the moldy air. Jeff and Ashley descended further, still unified in their mission to rescue their son from these crazed lunatics bent on unearthly power.

  Jeff realized he hadn’t breathed in a while.

  He drew strength from knowing Ashley was next to him. He looked at his robe, sticky and stained by the dead man’s blood. He arranged the fabric in folds to conceal the stain. Not that it would really matter if any of the monks bothered to turn around and look at them. Ashley was the right size, and with the cowl pulled over her head, could pass for one of the Chinese men if no one looked too closely at her breasts. Jeff, on the other hand, was much too tall, and much too thick to pass for anyone other than an overweight, banana-colored Obi-Wan Kenobi.

  In any event, the robes would keep them from being too obvious in the periphery of someone’s vision. The robes emanated with the dead monks’ body odors, masking their own sweat and perfumes. Even cloaked as they were, they didn’t expect to withstand a close scrutinization if it came to that. They just needed to get close enough to get their boy, and run.

  He exhaled and focused on locating Fu-Han.

  They neared the stairs. Staying close to the wall, they took a breather and sized up the current status of the situation. The boy was still held in the clutches of the monk who’d led the ceremony. Miraculously, the monks had only descended part of the way down the stairs leading to the marble-floored chamber. There was obvious discord among them as loud arguing echoed through the halls. Every few paces or so, the cluster of men halted, arguing ensued, and then the yellow-robed men continued down the stairs.

  As the light from the monks’ torches filled the chamber beyond, Jeff saw the marble floor reflecting light upward. He cursed as they went down into the crypt-like darkness, silently trailing the others.

  The lead monk pulled the sobbing Fu-Han deeper into the unknown.

  Jeff heard Ashley curse under her breath. He set his jaw and tightly gripped the spear, which was hidden in his robes. He realized, with an ill feeling, he had to get Fu-Han now, no matter what it took. None of this would be in vain.

  “Stay here,” Jeff whispered to her, so low as to be barely be heard.

  Ashley shook her head vehemently: No.

  He looked at her sternly. There wouldn’t be any convincing her. For that matter, there wasn’t any guarantee that staying on a higher landing was any safer, but he had a feeling that whatever lay below, at the foot of these never ending stairs, was something bad.

  He thought back to the old man’s story. If this truly was the secret temple of Líu’an, then perhaps the Gōnglǜ gǔndòng, this Scroll of Power, was indeed real. Skeptic or not, faced with the prospect of unearthing something created with the help of necromancers in the Han Dynasty, Jeff felt a curious sense of desire and dread. Desire to see what lay beneath this temple—if for no other reason than he’d spent his whole life in ancient Chinese studies—but dread because there was a very real possibility something awful existed here. And after what they saw happen to Fu-Han’s hand … he had to believe in magic, both good and evil.

  The group of monks continued cautiously down the age-worn stairs. Curious as he was, Jeff focused on keeping Fu-Han in sight, looking for an opportunity to get the boy and run. The lead monk in the ornate robes descended, trance-like, clutching the boy’s arm now more as an afterthought than as a necessity.

  Down they went, into the stygian darkness. The air was thick with the scent of dust, rot, and wet stone, confined for ages. The monks reached the bottom of the stairs and dispersed into a massive chamber, where they found ancient braziers, and lit them one by one.

  Slowly, light filled the massive subterranean chamber.

  Standing on the stairs, Ashley gripped Jeff and peeped with terror, just as Jeff’s heart seemed to stop in his chest. For just a second, he thought the room was filled with hundreds of men, standing still and stoic in that eternal dark. But as the monks lit more of the drum-shaped braziers, illuminating the chamber, he realized the truth: rows and rows of terra cotta soldiers lined the sides of the room, standing at attention as far into the darkness as they could see. Instantly, images of Qin Shi Huang’s necropolis came to him. Here before him stood yet another terra cotta army, until now completely undiscovered…and this one appeared undisturbed by naught but the secret whispers of time.

 

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