Queen, Bishop, and Knight leaned over and looked out of Queen’s window. For endless miles in the distance the jungle grew in a flat sheet of green, but here it rose up high into the sky, as though mountains had sprung up in the middle of a plain. But they weren’t mountains. They were ancient temples and pyramids built by the ancient Mayans. Near the peak of the tallest rise, the jungle cleared enough to see the dirty white stone hidden beneath. To most, the site felt both ominous and wondrous.
To Queen, Bishop, and Knight, it was something else entirely. For each knew that if they found the man they were looking for, it would become a place of violence and death not seen since the ancient Mayans soaked the forest floor with the blood of human sacrifice.
FORTY-FIVE
Amesbury, England
A GRAY HAZE hung over the late-afternoon sky, threatening to descend and cover the landscape in fog. If not for the patchwork of green and yellow fields on either side of the road, the day would have been depressing. Despite the gloom, the drive from Heathrow International Airport in London had gone smoothly, once again thanks to the plush black Mercedes awaiting King and Alexander.
King found himself riding shotgun as usual. Alexander knew the way and enjoyed driving his cars fast, which didn’t normally bother King, but a driver that can’t be killed may not take as much care as a mere mortal.
To distract himself from the breakneck driving, King opened his cell phone and placed a call he’d been avoiding. Not because he didn’t want to speak to his parents, but because he didn’t know what to say. There was no time for a conversation and calling just to check in seemed wildly inappropriate given the fact that his mother was supposed to be dead and his father had been recently freed from jail.
“Hi honey!” his mother answered on the second ring.
“Hey Mom.”
“Have you found them yet? The men behind the attack?”
King grinned. It was business as usual with Lynn. “You know I can’t tell you anything.”
Alexander took a right turn at a fork in the road. Stonehenge loomed to the left. After driving through the city and now the country, the megalithic monument seemed out of place, like it had been transported from someplace far away. Then his phone rang. After looking at the caller ID screen, Alexander answered the call with a hushed voice.
King strained to hear what he was saying, but Peter’s voice shouted from the background in his own phone. “Is he in Iraq? That’s still a hot spot for these kinds of things.”
“Are you in Iraq, dear?” his mother asked.
King sighed. There was no harm in telling them he wasn’t in Iraq and it would stop them from worrying. “No, I’m not in Iraq.”
“Will you be?”
“No, Mom, Iraq is not on my radar.”
“Oh good. Good.”
With the monotony of the conversation already getting to him, and a desire to eavesdrop on Alexander’s conversation, King spoke quickly. “Listen, Mom. I was just calling to make sure you were both okay, that you’re both safe.”
“Oh, we have nothing to fear here,” Lynn said. “We’re safe.”
They entered the parking lot across the street from the monument and pulled into an empty space. A large red, double-decker tour bus pulled up behind them. Eager to get out of the car and not thinking about what might be outside, King exited the Mercedes and was greeted by an amplified voice.
“Welcome to Stonehenge, ladies and gentlemen, and thank you for choosing London Hills Tours.”
King closed his eyes and sighed. Maybe she hadn’t heard. She certainly hadn’t reacted. “Mom, I have to go now.”
“Okay, hun. You’ll call back when you can?” she asked. “Don’t make us worry.”
“I won’t. I will. I have to go. Love you.” King ended the call as Alexander finished his own.
“Just the two of us,” King heard him say. “A few days, and make sure it’s dry. Good.”
Alexander hung up the phone, slid it inside his pocket, and exited the car.
“Dinner date?” King asked as he exited as well.
“Reservations of a sort, but not for food.” Alexander closed his door. “Nothing to concern yourself with.”
But King was concerned. Everything Alexander said and did raised more questions, and with each unanswered question, his trust of Alexander ebbed. Who was he talking to? Who were the two people he mentioned? And what were these secret reservations? The only reason Alexander had to keep secrets from King—who wasn’t interested in money, power, fame, or immortality—was that he wouldn’t like what he heard.
“Throwing me a surprise party?” King asked, searching for information without an outright confrontation.
But Alexander acted as though he hadn’t even heard the question. “I can hardly remember my parents,” he said. “But I know I’m glad I didn’t have a cell phone when they were alive.” He shook his head with a grin.
King saw through the phony smile and understood the meaning behind Alexander’s deflection: back off. Not one to back down from anyone, including immortals, he was about to push the subject when a mob of tourists exited the tour bus. Some went to the visitor’s center for pamphlets, restrooms, and drinks while the rest made a beeline for the subterranean passage that led to the other side of the road and a spectacular view of the stones. Other than the new arrivals, the parking lot was largely empty, save for a few cars. By Stonehenge standards, they had the place to themselves.
The air smelled of wet grass and car exhaust—a strange mix of nature and civilization that reminded King of more than a couple battle zones. But it was mildly cool and comfortable, despite the dreary weather.
“Sorry if I blasted you,” the tour guide said as she exited the bus. She was tall, all smiles, and had a tangy British accent. Her short brown hair was partially tied back in a ponytail. When she smiled, her thin eyes became squints and her lips became slivers of pink. “Saw you gabbin’ on your cell.”
“Ah, no worries luv,” Alexander said.
King flinched and glanced at Alexander. While his accent was spot on, they hadn’t discussed any kind of cover.
“Locals are ya?” she asked.
“Born an raised in Amesbury,” Alexander replied. “But my friend here’s a highlander fresh out of the mountains. Never seen the stones before.”
“Ohh,” she said flirtatiously, sidling up next to King. “A Scotsman, eh?”
King did his best not to roll his eyes and said, “Aye.”
“Well if you have any questions about Stonehenge, I’m the one to talk to. Never mind the guides in there,” she said, motioning to the visitor’s center. “They’re dead from the neck up.”
King couldn’t help but smile at the woman. Making sure to keep his accent, he said, “Are all the lassies in London this highfalutin?”
She gave King a funny look and laughed. He knew he was laying on the Highlander role-play a little thick, but he intended to come off as flirtatious. Given the broad smile on the woman’s face, he was succeeding.
“I just know my shit is all,” she said and then motioned to her bus. “Been top banana on this crimson cruiser for five years now. And no one knows more about the wonders of Wiltshire County than me. It’s why I get top whack for my tours.” She nudged King in the ribs. “But I’ll give you handsome gents a first-rate tour on the house.”
King extended his hand. “The name’s Calum. And my counterpart here is Humphrey.”
The woman giggled. “Bit of an old-fashioned name, eh?”
“He’s older than he looks,” King said.
She shook his hand. “Lauren Henderson. Owner and operator of London Hills Tours.”
“You know,” King said. “There is something I’ve been wondering about.”
Lauren cocked her head to the side. “Oh? And what might that be?”
“I’ve asked Humph a few times, but when it comes to history, he’s something of a dolt.”
Alexander chuckled and began wandering toward the tunnel entrance, scanning the parking lot, the visitors, and the site across the street. While listening to the conversation, he was also watching for anything unusual. King and Lauren followed him.
“Are there any examples of words, umm, spoken language being used to manipulate the elements?”
She stared at him for a moment, then cracked a big grin. “You highlanders are into some cheeky stuff.” She elbowed him again. “Ahh, I’m just winding you up.”
They stopped in front a tall green sign at the tunnel entrance. “So, just to be clear, you’re asking about magic, right? Casting spells?”
He hadn’t considered magic as a term to describe what Ridley was able to do, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that’s exactly what it was. And with the realization came the epiphany that the mythology of magic most likely developed as a result of this ancient language. And there may have been genuine magicians who had learned certain phrases that allowed them to do amazing things.
“Aye,” King said. “But specifically spoken magic. Is there any association with Stonehenge?”
“In fact, there is,” she said, excitement in her eyes. “It’s said that the bluestones were quarried in a remote region of Africa and were brought first to Ireland by giants.”
“Giants?” King asked. “Stone giants?”
Lauren’s smile disappeared for a moment, her train of thought ruined. “I dunno. Giants are giants.” Her smile returned and she continued. “But the man responsible for bringing the stones from Ireland to Britain was none other than the grand wizard Merlin himself. If you’ve got the time, you can read about it in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Prophetiae Merlini, the Prophecies of Merlin. Stonehenge was referred to as ‘the giant’s circle’ back then, on account of being built by the giants.”
Lauren had just confirmed a slew of suspicions: Merlin’s spoken magic and giants that smacked of golems. It all made surreal sense. What King didn’t understand was that when he spoke again, his voice shook like he was being rattled around in the back of a bus.
Then he realized what was happening.
The ground was shaking.