Requiem for the Burning God by Cummings Shane Jiraiya

Author:Cummings, Shane Jiraiya
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-01-18T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 4

Light speared between the boards from the world outside, criss-crossing the enclosed end of the mine shaft. The slivers of sunlight were painful in their brightness, deepening the shadows with the contrast. It could have been morning or afternoon for all Max knew, but he had little time to worry about the hour. Lehmann had completed his mission. The cavern had been stripped of its malevolent ooze, the native slaves and his injured friend MacKenzie had been cleared out along with it.

After what could have been a lifetime of dreams from his dark self-imposed tomb, surrendering to and then subduing the pains that plagued his body and mind, he had emerged, bent on revenge and stopping whatever New World Incorporated had planned.

He had found the NWI excavation cavern empty and descending into shadows as the few remaining torches sputtered on their dregs. At the centre of what had been the largest of the ooze pools, a huge glyph of arcane design had been chiselled inches deep into the bedrock. The symbol was dizzying to look at, which made holding the image in his mind difficult. He rationalised it as like a flower comprised of short, scratchy lines but bent in the middle as though about to be snapped by an invisible hand. The design was reminiscent of the symbol etched into the handle of his Webley. The revolver tingled in its holster the moment he made the connection.

Although wary, Max had forced himself to stand over the giant glyph. There, he found the tiniest portion of ooze deep within one of the chiselled lines. Against his better judgement, and with a churning stomach, he had scraped the handful of ooze into his empty water canteen with the aid of a nearby flat rock. With Pendle's bizarre and ghastly demise uppermost in his thoughts, he had been careful not to touch the stuff. He had then picked his way clear of the network of empty rock beds to follow the a-frame pulley system, but his eyes stubbornly refused to look at the pool where Pendle had died. He'd needed to look, to somehow mark the young man's passing, but something deeper within him denied it.

He had suffered the meandering, poorly lit trek up the gently-inclined mine shaft with a heavy heart.

Pushing the dark thoughts aside, Max heaved his weight into the timber gate that sealed the mine shut. It shuddered and the three shiny new chains stretched taut. He pushed with all his weight, straining his shoulder in the attempt, but the chains held. The best he achieved was a fist-width sliver of daylight. Escape appeared impossible. Three heavy duty padlocks secured the chains and the links were each the thickness of his thumb. He glanced at his revolver but only half-heartedly, deciding almost immediately against wasting bullets. He was saving those for Lehmann and as many NWI lackeys as he could find.

He moved to the side of the enclosure, squinting as a particularly bright shaft of light fell across his face.

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