"That's what we thought," Hurricane answered. "But look around. There's no lost city here. Or if there is, it's under tons of earth."
"Maybe no one has looked in the right place," Dalton suggested. "Maybe there's a locked door, just waiting for someone to come along with the right key."
"You mean the Staff?" Molly asked. "But we don't have it."
"True, but if we can at least find the keyhole, we'll know we're on the right track."
"We may not need the Staff," Hobbs said quietly.
The dour priest's tone was unusually grave, even for him and Molly felt a chill shoot down her spine. Though she didn't know what he meant, she felt like the explanation would be as dire as a death sentence.
"The pillar in London," Hobbs continued. "It came alive when I touched it. Me. How many others had touched it with no effect? But when I touched it, it awakened."
Hurricane seemed to share Molly's formless dread and when he spoke, it was almost as if he was pleading with the priest to keep his silence. "A coincidence. The time was right."
"There are no coincidences, Brian." Hobbs gave a heavy sigh. "I've lived my entire life with the knowledge that there was something…dark…within me. I've kept it at bay with my faith, with my opposition to the unspeakable evil that men do, but it's all been a deception. I cannot change what I am."
Molly felt tears welling in her eyes even as she shook her head in denial. Winterbourne and Hurricane both stood by solemnly and only Dalton appeared to be confused by what the priest was saying.
"I suspected it was true when I touched the Pillar," Hobbs said. "But when you told me the date the prophecy was given, Mr. Winterbourne, I knew it with certainty. My own birthday, the summer solstice of 1883. The priest that raised me told me I was the son of missionaries, but who were they? Where are their graves? Why could I find no relations in the United States? What if the priest simply saw that I was a white-faced child and assumed that I was the offspring of foreigners? What if he knew the truth and hid my true heritage?"
Molly felt the word form on her lips: Coincidence. But even if she could have forced it past the knot in her throat, it would have still rung hollow.
"You think you're the Child of Skulls?" Dalton asked, incredulous. "That's the most absurd thing I've ever heard. We know who the Child of Skulls is."
"I'm inclined to agree with Mr. Dalton," Winterbourne intoned. "Nightjar's prophecy was explicit. The Child would leave the earth devastated. Surely, you would never do such a thing. This Schadel fellow is working with the Nazis, raising an army, trying to build terrible weapons. I don't see where this is open to interpretation."
Hobbs spread his hands. "Would that I could take comfort in such false hopes. But I felt that column come to life at my touch; I can think of no other explanation."
"You've always fought evil," Molly protested. "You save lives. You won't even kill your enemies."
"I've heard enough," Dalton declared, startling Molly with the intensity of his ire. "I don't believe for a second that you are the Child of Skulls. None of us do. What matters is finding the ancient city before the real Skull Child arrives. We need to stop sitting here worrying about some crazy coincidence and search these ruins to find it."
Hobbs pursed his lips, then nodded. "You are correct. And whether I am right or wrong, the truth will become apparent."
Concealed in the relative shelter of the dig office, Chevalier Savile listened intently to the conversation taking place only a few feet away. He glanced over at his acolyte, whom he had named Ishmael in honor of the sole survivor of Herman Melville's fictional whaling ship Pequod and saw the horror in the man's eyes as he overheard their quarry discussing the events that had wiped out several of his brethren.
He did not consider himself to be a spiritual man and talk of prophecies did not concern him overmuch, but this supernatural manifestation was not something he could simply discount. Nor did he consider himself to be a particularly moral man, but the possibility that he was involved in something that might cause the death of thousands… millions even… Well, that was enough to make even the hardest mercenary reconsider his ethical obligations.
There had been no word from the client and the Grandmaster had directed him to use his best judgment in seeing the assignment through. He had known all along that they were working with representatives of the Third Reich — politics too, did not concern him — but it was hard to believe that the Fraternis Maltae would knowingly involve itself in any enterprise that had as its ultimate goal, widespread destruction. It benefited no one to have the status quo upset to that extent.
He gripped the hilt of his ceremonial sword, pressing the crucifix deep into his palm and considered what to do next. The discomfort helped him focus, bringing much-needed clarity of purpose. His ultimate goal had not changed; a successful outcome to this affair would ensure his place as Chevalier Premiere and eventually Grandmaster of the Fraternis Maltae.
As the group outside made up their minds to explore the ruins, he made up his. "If there is something to all this," he told Ishmael. "If they find something, we will seize it for the Brotherhood."
They kept apart from the tour group as they roamed the site and therefore were unable to put the statuary and petroglyphs in a proper historical context. This was of little concern since what they sought would not be found in the existing body of knowledge. Moreover, Hobbs was able to supply the spiritual background.
The site was known as Udayagiri, which meant "mountains of the sunrise" but once it had been known as Vishnupadagiri, "the hill of Vishnu's footprints."
"Vishnu is the supreme god of the Hindu pantheon, but he is nothing like our one true God. He exists in a variety of forms or avatars, each of which engages in some epic battle against evil." He pointed to shallow niche in the rock where stood an enormous sculpture of a man's body with the head of a tusked animal. A smaller female figure dangled from the tusks. "That is Vishnu as Varaha. In this incarnation, he battled the demon Hiranyaksha, who had captured the earth goddess, Prithvi and imprisoned her at the bottom of the ocean. The battle between Varaha and Hiranyaksha lasted a thousand years."
"Who won?" Molly asked.
Hobbs gave a tight smile. "Vishnu Varaha, of course. The hero always wins."
The site consisted of more than a dozen such cave sanctuaries hewn into the rock. Some, were merely scallops carved out around the statuary, as was the case with the image of Varaha. Others were much more developed. The cave immediately next to the Varaha sculpture had an elaborate T-shaped doorway and immediately inside, featured more animal-headed figures from Hindu mythology. Hobbs entered the cave, casually identified a couple of the statues and then shook his head. "Nothing here."
The next cave was an enormous domed chamber, partly carved by natural processes, with a massive hanging slab that had been recently buttressed to prevent collapse. The back wall, beneath the slab, was extensively decorated with carved inscriptions, but instead of entering, Hobbs abruptly turned away and moved into an adjoining cleft that opened like a canyon between the rock walls. The passage was longer than Molly first reckoned, with a series of carved stair steps that resembled a fractured riverbed at first glance, descending seemingly into the heart of the hill. A few tourists meandered on the steps, admiring the Sanskrit inscription and decorative niches, but Hobbs swept past them all, hastening to the lowest step. Dalton was right behind him.