The Myth Hunter

The small speedboat bobbed in the Caribbean waves as Elisa Hill anchored it to the small island via a large rock. She was dressed in a black tank top and khaki cargo pants. Her long, dark hair stayed out of her way by virtue of being tied into a tight bun.

There came a sound of metal scraping against something and Elisa sighed. She turned to the source and saw five men standing before her, wielding curved swords which she recognized as Middle Eastern scimitars. Each of them appeared to be of mixed ancestry, almost impossible to determine. Elisa's hands went behind her back, wrapping around the hilts of her own weapons she had holstered at the small of her back. She drew both blades at once. They were Nepalese kukri daggers, her personal weapon of choice. Curved blades which allowed for a more efficient stabbing motion.

One of them jumped from the rock formation he stood on, bringing the sword down in a large arc. Elisa defended herself, bringing the kukri together above her head as the sword clanged against them. She allowed his force to push her down a little, still holding on to her footing and then thrusting upwards, forcing him back. She crossed her arms in front of her and rapidly separated them, the kukri slicing open the man's chest. A quick kick to the head took him out of the fight completely.

Fighter number two came at her next, swinging his sword like an axe. Elisa bent backwards and the blade passed harmlessly over her torso. She used her hands to brace herself as she brought her legs around, kicking him in the jaw as she flipped over. When she got back to her feet, she brought a kukri down directly into his chest, sliding it between his ribs and piercing his heart.

She fought off the third and fourth men simultaneously, using her daggers to deflect their swords. She concentrated mostly on defense, bobbing and weaving where necessary. Elisa found herself trapped between them and as one of them thrust forward, she jumped, his sword impaling his partner. Elisa landed behind him and quickly slit his throat.

Only one left and Elisa eyed him carefully. Despite watching her take out four highly-trained assassins single-handedly, his confidence seemed to remain intact. He charged towards her and Elisa took careful aim, throwing one of her kukri daggers and it struck him right between the eyes. He made it a few more paces before he fell dead right at her feet.

She moved forward, to the reason for her trip. A short hike up the hill from the shore was an opening in the ground. Elisa took a few glow sticks from her pack and cracked them, dropping them into the cove. She anchored a rappel cable to the top and hooked the other end to her belt, then climbed over the edge. Due to the limited light, she moved slowly down the hole.

Once she reached ground, Elisa produced a flare and removed the top, the sparks bursting on ignition. Carefully, she moved through the cavern, using it to illuminate the spaces a few feet in front of her.

The walls were covered with ancient engravings and scripture, which she barely even recognized and knew it would take some time to translate. Holding the flare in one hand, Elisa drew a digital camera from a side pocket on her pack and took a few photographs of the ancient scribbling. She checked them in the camera's display—the flash had illuminated them enough to see, so that much was good.

Moving deeper, the light from the flare fell on something  in the distance. She moved closer towards it, hovering the flare over what she found.

A map of the world engraved into a stone tablet, affixed to the wall. And in the Pacific Ocean was an additional landmass she had never seen on any official maps of the planet. Beneath the map were more engravings and ancient writing she could not decipher. Elisa took a photo but when she checked the camera, she saw that it fell short of her expectations. The tablet was dirty, covered with grime and it'd be difficult to translate it just from the photo.

Her hands felt along the edge and she was surprised at how she could easily pull it loose from its mounting. It had a surprisingly light weight to it and she knelt down on the ground, laying it carefully on the stone floor. The pack was on the ground in an instant and she wrapped it in a cloth before sliding it inside.

The caverns began to rumble and quake. Elisa pulled the pack back on and ran to the hole she entered from, hooking the cable to her belt and began her ascent.

As the quakes continued, she pushed her legs against one side of the hole, resting her back against the other and gripping the cable tightly, waiting for them to subside. Once her window came, she pulled herself up to the opening, the warm sun bathing her in heat and light.

As she gathered her cable, she heard the sound of a helicopter up ahead. Her eyes went up and she noticed something come out of the side door, something aimed at her boat.

A grenade launcher.

“NO!”

Her cry came too late and all she could do was shield herself as the grenade launcher reduced her speedboat to flaming splinters. Elisa started to move towards it, but she heard the cocking of a shotgun behind her. Muttering a curse under her breath, she carefully raised her arms.

“That's a girl. Now be a doll and drop those pig stickers of yours. Slowly, please.”

The voice carried tinges of a Mediterranean accent. One of the Greek islands. Elisa Hill cursed herself for not planning for this eventuality to begin with. Instead, she did as the gunman ordered, slowly drawing the kukri and letting them clatter to the ground.

He grabbed something from her pack and then shoved her forward. Elisa turned around and saw the shotgun wielder. Shaggy, sand-colored hair and green eyes. The sun reflected nicely on his olive skin tone and his face needed a shave. He wore khaki cargo pants and a black tank top with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, the high-powered shotgun kept fully trained on his target. “I see you're still relying on those ancient toys,” he said.

“Lucas Davalos.” She almost spat the name.

“Elisa Hill,” said Lucas with a smile. “When are you going to wake up and join the ranks of twenty-first century weaponry?”

“Why don't you come a little closer and I'll show you just how effective they can be?”

“I'm good.” He held up the tablet. “Can't thank you enough for this. Promises to make me a lot of money. What is it anyway, Mayan?”

“You don't even know what it is,” said Elisa. She looked at the dead assassins. “Were these men because of you as well?”

“Not entirely, call it a partnership,” said Lucas.

“I wonder if you'll end up leaving them in the middle of the desert, too. Stone tablets aren't really your style. Not shiny enough.”

“Still sour over that little misunderstanding, eh?” asked Lucas. “Listen babe, just so you know, that was nothing personal—just business.”

“Fine by me,” said Elisa. “And just so you know, when I tear out your throat, that won't be personal. Just business.”

He placed the tablet inside the duffel bag and zipped it up. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarillo and a lighter. “I'd offer you a smoke, but I've only got one left.”

“A gentleman to the end.”

Lucas lit the cigarillo and puffed on it before speaking once again. “Doesn't have to be this way, Elsie. If this tablet is what I think it is, I could use a partner on this one.”

“No thanks, I've seen how you reward your partners,” said Elisa.

Lucas shrugged. “Your loss. The people I'm working for pay very well.”

Elisa slowly nodded. “Right, of course. Ancient artifact, skilled assassins, you're working with the Order, aren't you?”

“What can I say, they're my biggest fans,” said Lucas. “By the way, I can't apologize enough for what happened to your boat. But you know how these things go.”

“You're an asshole, Davalos. Always have been. Nothing but a typical grave-robber.”

“Oh, and you're so much better?” asked Lucas. “Don't make me laugh, Elsie. You see, at the end of the day, we're the same. We've both killed...” He glanced at the bodies. “...although, I think you've got me beat for today. And we've both used people to get what we want.”

“Difference is my ends justify the means,” said Elisa. “I'm helping people. What are you doing? Who are you helping?”

“Myself, who else?” asked Lucas. “See, I'm a believer of the pay it forward principle. I help myself and that in turn leads to other people being helped. If I'm a rich bastard, I buy a lot of things, I hire a lot of people. I'm helping people put their kids through college.”

“That's some twisted logic you've got.”

“Helps me sleep at night.”

Elisa glared at him, her crystal eyes seeming to flash with anger. “Lucas, I am warning you.”

“Oh no, she's warning me. I just may shit my pants.”

“If you give that tablet to the Order, there's no telling what sort of chaos you'll unleash,” said Elisa.

“See, now you do have a point there, Elsie. But there is a simple flaw in your logic.”

“And what's that?” she asked.

Lucas raised his arm in the air and the helicopter hovered closer to them. As it did, a rope ladder fell from it and Lucas caught it in one hand. “I just couldn't care less. Enjoy the swim back to Tortuga.”

Keeping the gun trained on Elisa, Lucas started to climb up the ladder as the helicopter pulled away from the small island.

“Oh and Elsie? Better luck next time!”

There were few people who would risk climbing Mount Rushmore alone. Even fewer would do so in the dark. And to perform a free solo climb, without the use of any support equipment in the dead of night is what most would term insanity.

Elisa Hill might be termed insane by many. To begin with, despite being a respected professor of mythology at the prestigious Burroughs University in Lester City, she spent her off-hours operating as what many in academia might refer to as a “crank.” Elisa spent her time away from the university exploring the legends and mythologies of the world. Stories which any rational person knew were pure fiction.

A cool wind chased away the heat of the day as she dangled between the monolithic features of Theodore Roosevelt and Abraham Lincoln. She ignored the hooks driven into the cliff face for the use of the National Park Service, because a rope climb would take more time than she could afford.

The night-vision goggles she wore were indispensable on such a climb and the pack fixed to her back was light. She carried only emergency supplies, flashlight and smartphone onto which she had downloaded maps of the area. Affixed to the back of her belt were a pair of scabbards filled with kukri—curved Nepalese daggers. Hanging by her side were a rope and grapple. Normally she preferred to travel with a bit more protection, but she had to travel light on this expedition.

Elisa’s hands were gloved, the grips on the palm aiding her ascent. As she chimney-climbed up an opening, the anticipation almost made her mouth water. She was on the verge of uncovering a myth long associated with the North American continent, one which Coronado had set out to discover centuries earlier.

Her night-vision goggles flooded her eyes with a sudden brightness that blinded as she reached for a handhold.  She slipped, skidding down the rock, blindly scrambling to catch some projection that might arrest her fall. She stuck out a foot, managing to land some slight leverage on a climbing hook for the National Park Service maintenance team. Her hands found some cracks she could jam her fingers in and maintain her balance. Once she was sure that she could maintain her grip, she removed the goggles. At first she saw nothing but spots swimming before her eyes and she wondered if the sudden flare of light might have permanently damaged her vision, but slowly her eyesight returned and when she looked toward the summit she saw the night sky illuminated by a floodlight.

She feared that momentarily the spotlight might be shifted to reveal her hanging on the face of the cliff so she shifted her body in order to reach the grapple. Elisa had to act fast to avoid detection, but nothing could prepare her for what came at her next. Looking up at the summit, the light was obscured by a silhouette of a man. The silhouette raised his arms and something he held in them.

Elisa threw the grapple and it clattered across the bridge of Roosevelt's nose. She carefully reeled the rope tight and breathed a sigh of relief as the grapple latched  onto Roosevelt’s mustache. She released her body from its tenuous perch and swung from the rope just as the man opened fire on her with an automatic weapon. The muzzle flash strobed against Roosevelt's features and bullets cast past Elisa. On the apex of her swing, Elisa realized that her rope wasn't long enough to take her to safety. With the black chasm of the steep cliff face yawning below her, Elisa took a horrible chance and released the rope. Her momentum sent her flying to the tip of Roosevelt’s nose. She impacted and made a grab for some sort of hold, but her hands could not beat the force of gravity which pulled her inexorably downward.

Elisa exhaled in relief when her feet found leverage on Roosevelt's mustache. She drew one of the kukri, jamming it into a crevice between strands of Roosevelt's mustache hair and holding her grip. The gunman changed position on top of the cliff and Elisa drew her second kukri. It was forty feet from the spot where Elisa clung to below Roosevelt's nose and where the gunman took up his new vantage point. Forty feet was a considerable throw on flat land, let alone straight upward—but Elisa rarely let the odds deter her. She threw the kukri at the gunman, striking him in the shoulder just as he was about to open fire again.

The wound was a surprise and the gunman lost his hold on his rifle. It clattered down the side of the monument, echoing as it fell.

She rested atop Roosevelt’s mustache and pulled the kukri from the stone. Before she could continue her ascent, the wind began to pick up and Elisa heard the thumping sound of a rotor. Looking over her shoulder, she witnessed a helicopter rising through the gloom, a belly-mounted spotlight sweeping across the craggy faces of the past presidents as it neared her location.

“Oh you have got to be kidding!” she muttered.

The helicopter hovered with the side door facing Elisa. It opened and a gunman emerged, taking aim with his rifle. Before Elisa was revealed in the spotlight she knew she had to take decisive action—something unexpected. Something crazy. She clamped the kukri between her teeth and sprang from the monument. She soared over the gap, the jagged slopes yawning beneath her, as the gunman opened fire. Bullets whined past her, narrowly missing her athletic form. Elisa’s hands latched onto the skid and the gunman tried to peer over the edge of the copter to get a good shot off. Elisa switched her orientation so she was facing the monument and swung her legs up with all her might.

The soles of her boots struck the gunman’s rifle, shoving it back into his chest. She swung again, this time releasing the skid and flying into the copter’s cabin, temporarily pinning the groaning gunman to the ground beneath her legs. She could see his fallen rifle lying on the floor of the helicopter and she reached out to grab it—the kukri still between her teeth.

Her intention was to turn the rifle on the pilot before the gunman beneath her legs could recover from the stunning blow she had dealt him, but her attention had been so focused on that gunman that she had failed to realize there were actually a total of three men in the chopper.

The second passenger pushed a Beretta against her head and she heard the click of the bullet loading into the chamber as he pulled back the slide. This passenger's face was deadly serious beneath his closely-cropped brown hair and thin beard. “Drop the rifle. And the knife.”

Elisa opened her mouth, the kukri falling from her teeth and clattering on the floor.  Then she uncurled her fingers from around the stock of the rifle and let it drop. She raised her arms in surrender. The gunman relaxed a little. “I have to admit, I’m impressed. I’d heard stories about how good you were but they’re not as impressive as seeing you in action.”

“You know me?”

The man chuckled and relaxed the Beretta. “You’d be hard-pressed to find a myth hunter who doesn’t know about you, Ms. Hill. Not to mention your family.”

“Who are you?” asked Elisa.

“My name is Jason Shroud,” he said.

“I’ve never heard of a myth hunter by that name.”

“No, you wouldn’t have,” said Shroud. “My organization goes to great lengths to keep our activities a secret.”

“What organization?”

“If you’re willing to remain civil, I can put this gun away and explain everything to you once we land. Deal?”

Elisa nodded and Shroud smiled as he clicked the safety on the Beretta. “That’s better.” He turned to the pilot. “Take us home.”

The pilot nodded. “Yessir.”

The helicopter banked and flew around Washington’s head. Part of the mountain ridge seemed to flicker as they approached. Elisa watched as that small portion of the mountain suddenly vanished, revealing an entrance carved into the mountain.

The skids touched down in a hangar bay within the entrance. Shroud motioned to Elisa. “Leave the knife and gun. You won’t need them.”

He climbed out of the chopper first. Elisa was tempted to pick up at least her kukri but given the number of armed men she saw in the hangar, she felt it better not to tempt fate. Her eyes glanced around the hangar area and found a few other helicopters housed within the gleaming walls. They were sleek and black with no identifying marks on them. The soldiers in the hangar also wore all black uniforms. Again, no markings whatsoever.

“A military base inside Mount Rushmore?” she asked.

Shroud smiled. “Welcome to a conspiracy theorist’s wet dream, Ms. Hill.”

An automatic door slid open and Shroud led Elisa down a series of corridors. He took several twists and turns along the way and each hall looked identical to the last. Elisa assumed this was done intentionally so that any visitors who came to this facility would be unable to remember the layout with any sort of clarity.

The corridors were essentially tunnels in the mountain, with metal walkways laid on the ground and rows of lights embedded into the rock. Still, those lights were bright enough to illuminate the corridors quite clearly.

They finally came to another closed door and Shroud opened it by punching a code into a keypad. It wasn’t a traditional keypad, however. The buttons were labeled, but with symbols Elisa couldn’t decipher at first glance.

The door opened and inside was a decent-sized office with a desk, a large chair behind it, and a smaller chair in front. On the wall behind the desk, a symbol was carved into the rock. The symbol was a square ruler positioned as a V with a compass centered over it in a pointed arch.

“This is a joke, right?” asked Elisa.

Shroud walked past her and sat behind the desk. “I take it you recognize the symbol?”

“Who wouldn’t?” she asked. “I wasn’t aware the Freemasons were myth hunters.”

“Not completely,” said Shroud. He gestured to the chair in front of the desk and Elisa sat. “But it’s definitely part of our interests. Although we do like to keep it secret.”

“And why did you bring me here instead of killing me or turning me over to the NPS?” asked Elisa.

“As a rule, we should have. And had you come to this place on your own, that’s probably what we would have done,” said Shroud.

Elisa scoffed. “You make it sound like you knew I was coming.”

Shroud smiled even wider.

“Oh bull,” said Elisa. “How did you know?”

“The Zuni.”

“Why would the Zuni tell the Masons anything?” asked Elisa.

“Because we intentionally fed them the wrong information,” said Shroud. “Planted evidence that pointed you to Rushmore as the site of the Seven Cities of Cibola. I felt it was time to have a face-to-face with you.”

Elisa fidgeted in her seat. Shroud seemed to know an awful lot about her and she wasn’t the least bit comfortable with that.

“We’ve been following your exploits with great interest, Elisa.”

“But why?”

“Because you were well-trained by Finch and your parents,” said Shroud. “And when you started off hunting for the Order, we were suspicious. We had to keep an eye on you. Luckily, you came around to your parents’ way of thinking.”

“Are you telling me you knew my parents?” asked Elisa.

Shroud shook his head. “They weren’t Masons if that’s what you’re asking. On occasion, our interests aligned and we’d contract them out for jobs—just as we do with other myth hunters from time to time. And your recent investigation of Lemuria definitely caught our interest.”

Shroud leaned forward, his eyes filled with excitement like a kid at Christmas. “So tell me, did you find it?”

She folded her arms and frowned. “Your men shot at me. Almost got me killed. And you put a gun to my head. All as some form of test. And now you want me to sit and chat with you?”

Shroud sat back in his chair. “You’re right, probably wasn’t the best way to go about things. But I had to know if you were as good as your reputation.”

“You know my reputation, then I’m sure you also know how I feel about men who try to kill me.”

“I do. That Seth character’s disappeared ever since he was last spotted in Japan. Your doing?”

“Figure it out, you seem to know so much already.”

“I’ll draw my own conclusions. And for the record? My men were using blanks. You were never in any danger from their weapons.”

Elisa almost jumped from her seat at that revelation, but restrained herself. “You mean to tell me that I risked my life jumping around Roosevelt’s face just because you wanted to test me?”

Shroud sighed and stood. He turned and faced the Masonic emblem. “Do you know the history of Freemasonry?”

“For the most part. Began in the late sixteenth century in Scotland, right?”

Shroud turned his face to Elisa. “Actually, the order was founded by the very same men who built the Temple of Solomon.”

“I thought that was just an allegorical myth.”

“No, it’s true. Throughout the ages, we’ve adapted and been called by different names, including the Knights Templar and the Illuminati. And there are lots of legends about us—how we’re plotting to control the world, how we manipulate world events for our own means, all sorts of nonsense.”

“So what are you, then?” asked Elisa.

“We’re like you—seekers of knowledge,” said Shroud. “Solomon was known for his quest for knowledge and we’re no different. And that’s why I arranged this meeting—because I want to know just what you discovered about Lemuria.”

“Then I’m sorry, but you wasted your time and mine,” said Elisa, standing from her seat. “If you came to me directly, I might be willing to talk to you. But after you pulled this cloak and dagger shit, I’ve had my fill of you, Shroud.”

Shroud sighed and approached her. “I want you to think carefully about this, Elisa. Our resources could be a great help to you.”

“You’re right, they could,” said Elisa. “But I’ve just about had my fill of secret societies. So until you’re willing to tell me what you’re all about, I want nothing to do with you.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” said Shroud. “Of course, your position is understandable.”

Shroud came up to her and handed her a card. On it was a simple phone number. “If you change your mind, just call this number.”

“You’re giving an outsider your cell?” asked Elisa. “Seems a little strange to me.”

“Actually, it’s a cloned number, but after rerouting your call several times, you’ll eventually get to me,” said Shroud. “I hope in the future we can find a way to trust each other.”

“We’ll see about that,” said Elisa.

Every February, the woman known only as Asami made it a point to embark on a journey to Odori Park, one of the sites of the Yuki Matsuri, Sapporo’s annual snow festival. Sapporo held the distinction of being the largest city in Hokkaido, the northern-most island prefecture of Japan.

Asami had the honor of being present at the inaugural Yuki Matsuri in 1950, when six local high school students built six snow statues in the park. Since then, the event has only grown, with hundreds of snow statues across the three sites of the festival. Odori Park was not only the original, but also still the source of the largest number of statues, with a majority of them located in the large expanse.

While the other festival-goers were decked out in heavy winter coats to combat Sapporo’s frigid winter cold, Asami wandered the park in the clothes she practically lived in—a black, pinstripe suit tailored to her lithe figure, a deep crimson shirt, black tie and fedora. A normal person wearing just that get-up in the middle of Sapporo in February would have been freezing, but for Asami, it was of no consequence.

Asami was not the typical Japanese woman. Technically, she wasn’t a woman at all. She was one of the yokai—supernatural beings known throughout Japanese mythology. Specifically, Asami was kitsune, a type of changeling who could shift between the guises of a human or a fox. That accounted for not only her immunity to the cold, but also the strange copper eyes she sported.

The last time Asami was in Asia, she was not in her homeland, but rather China. The experience was far from a pleasant one, and she almost lost her life and the lives of her companions. Normally a solitary woman, Asami had, for the first time in decades, found herself tied down.

She lived in America these days, accompanying an adventurer named Elisa Hill. Her kind referred to themselves as myth hunters—individuals who seek out the mysterious and supernatural elements of the world. Some, like Elisa, sought to satisfy intellectual curiosity. Others, like the type of individuals they often butted heads against, were more interested in profit and exploitation of those elements.

Although Asami promised herself she would return to Hokkaido for the Yuki Matsuri, she still felt a sense of loss. Her and Elisa shared a bond far stronger than simple friendship—they were intractably linked for as long as Elisa walked the Earth. That was the responsibility Elisa took on when she saved Asami’s life last year. The bracelet of white orbs Asami wore around her wrist was a constant reminder of that bond.

As dusk fell, spotlights of various colors lit up the sculptures. Asami wandered past the sculptures. There were some characters from popular Japanese animation or comic books, while others were made of celebrities. Asami walked to one of the various food stands set up and placed an order for yakisoba. She cradled the plastic container in one hand, the other using the wooden chopsticks to draw the noodles, pork, and lettuce up to her mouth.

“…Was the weirdest thing. Could’ve sworn I saw a woman from the lift.”

The Yuki Matsuri was a very popular event, drawing visitors not only from other parts of Japan, but also the world. Many foreigners living in the country would take time off work and travel up for the festival. So the sound of English was not uncommon in Odori Park, but the context of the conversation caused Asami’s ears to perk up.

“You’re full of it.”

“Hey man, I know what I saw. And what I saw was a woman with white skin in a kimono just walking through the snow.”

“Bullshit.”

Asami listened closer. It was a group of three young foreigners. One of them had an English accent, but the other two were less distinctive—probably American or Canadian. They all had cups of warm sake in their hands to help them battle the cold.

“I’m telling you, I was on the gondola and heading up to the mountain. I look down and there she is, plain as day.”

The Englishman chuckled. “Nonsense.” He looked at the third member of their group. “Did you see her?”

“Nope, I was taking pictures of the mountain. He told me about it once we got up there.”

Pale woman, white kimono, wandering in the snow. It was a tale as old as time, one Asami had known very well in her travels. She was inclined to discover some more, but…no. She told herself not to get involved. No one was hurt and it was best to just leave it at that. Ignore what she’d heard and continue enjoying her vacation.

Asami slurped a few sauce-covered noodles. She started to wander from the three travelers. That’s it, girl. Just keep on walking. Don’t get sucked in. After all, she wasn’t Elisa Hill.

That was the thought that made Asami pause. Elisa wouldn’t have just walked away from the situation. At the very least she would have investigated it. Made sure there was nothing more going on. If Asami’s suspicions about what the man saw were true, that meant a yokai was near a populated tourist area. That couldn’t end well.

She sighed and turned, walking back toward the foreigners. “Excuse me,” she said.

The three men looked at her. One of them smiled at her. He was likely fresh out of college. Maybe here on vacation, or perhaps he worked as an English teacher. “Hey…umm…konnichiwa. Atashi no…namae wa…Jimmy de-su.”

She rolled her eyes. “I live in America, Ace. I’m not the kind of girl who thinks a foreigner butchering my language is charming. So save yourself a lot of embarrassment and just stick to English.”

Jimmy turned away, sipping his drink as he did, trying to hide his humiliation by pretending to admire the lights and sculptures.

“What do you want?” asked the English guy.

“You.” She pointed at the third one, who had yet to talk to her.

“Me?” He pointed to himself and then extended a hand. “I’m Craig, nice to me—”

“Not interested in your name,” she said. “I overheard you talking about that woman you saw from the gondola. Tell me everything. And don’t spare any details.”

Craig looked at Jimmy and their English friend. He shrugged and cleared his throat. “Okay…umm… Jimmy and I were up at Kurodake for some skiing. And we were on the gondola and I looked out the window. Just sort of glancing around. Then down at the bottom, trudging through the snow, there was this woman. She was wandering out there, looked like she was wearing nothing but a kimono. Could’ve sworn she had white skin, too.”

“Pale skin or white skin?” asked Asami.

“What’s the difference?” asked the Englishman.

Asami glared at him out of the corner of her eyes. “You have no lines in this play. Please make yourself useful and go wander in traffic.”

“Whatever.” He motioned to one of the food stands. “Come on, let’s get something to eat.”

Jimmy nodded and looked at Craig. “You coming?”

“I’ll be along,” said Craig.

Once his friends left, Asami smiled. “There, much more peaceful. Now, did she have pale skin or white skin?”

“I-I’m not real sure, I was kind of far away,” he said. “But I think it was white.”

“And was she trudging through the snow?”

“What?” Confusion fell upon his face.

“Was she actually trudging through the snow?”

“Yeah. I mean, again, I was far away,” said Craig. “But there was a lot on the ground. She would have to have trudged through it…right?”

“Any signs of that? Footprints, shifting snow banks, anything?”

Craig took another sip of his sake as he thought back. “Well…now that you mention it, I don’t think I saw anything. But I was—”

Asami nodded. “Right, right. You were far away. I got that part. Thanks for the help.”

She turned and walked off. Craig just watched her go and called after her. “Umm… you’re welcome? I guess…?”

She ignored him, dropping the now-empty plastic container in the nearest trash bin. From what Craig had told her, it seemed her suspicions were correct. Asami groaned at the prospect of spending her holiday vacation hunting down a yuki-onna.

Somewhere in the waters of the South China Sea, two stowaways on a freighter ship were brought before the captain at gunpoint. The entire crew was composed of members of the Chinese Triads and they kept their submachine guns trained on the two intruders as they escorted them to the captain on the ship’s deck. The captives’ hands were bound behind their backs with cable ties and they were forced on their knees before the captain.

“So, what do we have here?” he asked, pacing before the two young women. “An American and a Japanese sneaking aboard my ship. And such beautiful specimens. If you wanted to work for us, you should have simply volunteered.” He punctuated his statement with a sickening grin. “Beauties such as yourselves will fetch high prices.”

One of the crew approached the captain and told him something in Cantonese before handing him a pair of daggers. The captain accepted the weapons and scoffed as he looked at them. “Why invade my ship?”

“You’re in possession of an object you shouldn’t have.” The American had tanned skin, possibly of mixed ethnicity. She had long, dark hair brushed behind her shoulders and piercing, crystal eyes, dressed in khaki pants and black top beneath a brown leather jacket.

The crew laughed and the captain joined in their revelry before kneeling down before his prisoner. “You’ll have to be a bit more specific.”

“This was a great idea,” the Japanese woman mumbled to her American companion. She wore a black, pinstripe suit with a fedora and had unique, copper-colored eyes. “‘Hey, why don’t you meet me in Malaysia? I’ve got a lead on a Hand of Glory. Should be a quick gig, low stress.’ Last time I listen to you.”

The captain’s smile faded. “I see. So you planned to steal the Hand with these as the only weapons between the two of you?” He held up the daggers with their curved blades—Nepalese weapons called kukri. “Tell me, before I put the two of you to work once we reach Hong Kong, who are you?”

The American grinned. “Asami, why don’t you show the good captain just who you are?”

The captain cast a confused glance at the Japanese woman. Asami smiled as well and her copper eyes flashed. Orange fur emerged from her pores and her nails elongated into claws. She pulled hard on the cable ties, snapping them easily.

“What the f—”

The captain’s curse was silenced when the American sprung from her knees, ramming her shoulder into his abdomen. Asami’s appearance was something of a hybrid between a human and a fox and the few Triad who weren’t still in shock turned their focus—and their guns—on her. She hopped around the deck, moving like an orange blur to take out her attackers.

With the kukri free from the captain’s grasp, the American rolled towards one of them, gripping the handle and working the blade on her ties. Within seconds, she was free, just as the captain rose to his feet and took a pistol from his jacket. She performed a leg-sweep to bring him to the ground and she hopped to her feet, stomping on his chest for good measure.

“That’s Asami, in case you didn’t know. And as for me, the name’s Elisa Hill.” She pinned her knee on the captain’s chest and held one of the kukri against his throat. “Now tell me where I can find the Hand of Glory.”

“My cabin…just below this deck.”

Elisa flashed him a smile. “Very helpful, thanks.” She punched him in the forehead with her hand still grasping the kukri’s hilt, knocking him out cold.

“Get down, Hill!”

Elisa glanced over her shoulder to see one of the Triads readying his weapon. Asami hurled the man she’d been grappling with at Elisa’s would-be assassin, his gun going off as he was struck and firing wildly off its mark, taking out a few of his fellow brothers with friendly fire. Elisa darted across the deck to find some cover behind a crate to avoid the bullets. Asami came up to her side, startling the myth hunter enough that she almost stabbed her friend with one of her daggers.

“Whoa!”

Elisa stopped herself and let out a breath of relief. She peered around the crate and could see the entrance to the lower decks. “You think you can stay alive for five minutes?”

“Sure, no problem.” Asami did a double-take and shook her head. “Ohhh no, you are not leaving me alone!”

Elisa sheathed her daggers and held up five fingers. “Honestly, five minutes, that’s all I need to get the Hand.”

Asami huffed. “Remind me why I stick around with you?”

“Saved your life and now you’re eternally bonded to me.”

“Oh, right. Damn mystic blood debt…” Asami sighed. “Okay, fine. What do you need me to do?”

“Draw their fire long enough for me to get to that door.”

Asami gave a nod and leapt onto the crate. “Hey, over here!” As expected, the Triads on-deck threw their attention—and their bullets—directly at the changeling. Asami jumped from the crate and darted across the surface of the ship—fast enough to avoid injury but just slow enough that they could still see her.

With the diversion in play, Elisa had a clear path to the door. She double-checked the coast and then darted across the distance. Elisa opened the door and stepped inside, shutting it behind her.

As she moved slowly down the metal steps, she could hear footsteps coming down the corridor adjacent to the stairwell. Elisa drew her kukri and kept her back to the railing, taking each step slowly. The stairs ended in a small clearing where there was an opening leading to the corridor. She listened as the footsteps grew louder and she sprung out at the right moment, delivering a high-kick to the Triad’s head. She jammed one kukri into the arm holding his gun. He screamed in pain and let out a string of expletives in Cantonese, the gun falling from his fingers. Elisa took her other kukri and stabbed him between the eyes. She took both weapons from his corpse and shook off the blood, staying low as she moved carefully down the remainder of the corridor.

The hall curved to the right. Elisa pressed up against the wall, moving to the corner and holding a kukri in a reverse grip with the edge in. She crossed her arm over her chest, listening for footsteps rushing closer. Elisa swung her arm out, stabbing the approaching Triad in the throat. She pulled the dagger, cutting across his neck until the blade came free from the flesh.

She sprinted towards the door at the corridor’s dead end. Elisa sheathed one of the knives and took hold of the handle, glad to find the door unlocked. One of the few things that had gone right on this job. The captain’s quarters were not very large, just enough room for a bed against one wall, a table against the other, and a small bathroom. The table was scattered with papers, but Elisa ignored those. Her eyes were instantly drawn to the wooden box ornately adorned with gold hinges. Elisa unhooked the latch and raised the lid, looking down at the prize.

Inside was a severed, shriveled hand with a brownish-green color, a result of the pickling and drying process. The legend said that the hand, cut from a murderer as he still hung from the gallows, could render any lock useless. Whether or not this crew meant to use it themselves or simply procured it for another party didn’t really matter to the myth hunter, she was only interested in keeping that power out of their grasp.

Elisa closed the lid and took the box.

* * *

Asami shifted completely into her fox-form to better contend with her attackers. She moved swiftly across the deck, avoiding the bullets to the best of her ability. Although she looked to be in her twenties, in reality she was over a century old. Asami was a kitsune, supernatural beings known as yokai by the Japanese. In addition to her ability to shift between human and fox forms, Asami also possessed some degree of magical ability, which would grow more powerful as she aged.

She found herself cornered by five Triads and Asami’s copper eyes burned like hot coals. The pearl bracelet she wore hummed with a soft glow and she opened her mouth wide. A small spark appeared above her tongue and moved from her mouth, growing into a larger fireball. All of the Triads ran when they saw this display of power, but one remained frozen in place and the fireball quickly engulfed him in flames.

“Huxian!” shouted one of them, uttering the Chinese name for the kitsune.

By the time the smoke had cleared, there was no sign of Asami. The captain strode amongst them, holding his pistol up. He walked up to the man who said huxian and slapped him on the back of his head. “It’s a trick, you moron! Fan out, find her!” He repeated the command once more in Cantonese. The remaining Triads searched around the deck, the captain turning his attention to the door that led to the lower decks. He’d seen Elisa gone down there and wouldn’t let her get away with his cargo. Their client planned to pay handsomely for it and he’d be damned if he let some interlopers ruin such a profitable opportunity.

One of the Triads stalked along the side of the ship, his eyes focused forward. A clawed, furry hand reached out from over the rail and grabbed the sleeve of his jacket, pulling him overboard. Asami hung from the edge and shimmied further along just as she heard the splash. She pulled herself up and threw her legs out, locking them around the neck of another Triad and yanked him over the edge as well. Asami flipped up and landed on the deck gracefully, but found herself staring down the barrels of several guns.

“Well, shit.”

* * *

Once Elisa emerged from the door onto the upper deck, she felt the barrel of a gun pressed against her head. She groaned in annoyance and held up her arms, one hand holding the box. A glance out of the corner of her eye confirmed it was the captain standing beside her, his finger ready to squeeze the trigger on his pistol. He held out his free hand.

“The box. Give it to me.”

Elisa sighed and passed the box to him. The captain smiled and backed away, still keeping the weapon trained on her. His men escorted Asami over, bringing her beside Elisa.

“Any fireworks?” Elisa asked her partner.

“Already used that trick, gonna take some time before I can do it again,” said Asami.

“I was a little surprised when my client asked me to procure this item for him,” said the captain. “I thought, why would anyone want some mummified hand? And now you come aboard my ship to steal it from me? Perhaps it’s worth more than he told me.”

“We’re doing you a favor,” said Elisa. “That thing is cursed and the best thing you could do is throw it over the edge.”

The captain laughed. “I think not. And now here we are again, where we were before your attempted escape. But this time, my men are prepared for your tricks. There is no way out of this—”

The sound of a helicopter was heard above. A spotlight shone on the deck of the ship. Everyone gathered looked up to see the helicopter hovering above and moving closer to the deck. The wind it generated threw hats off heads and made it hard to hear the Cantonese shouts of surprise. A few warning shots from above came next, striking the deck.

“We have weapons trained on you,” came a voice over a megaphone from the helicopter. “Release the women and you get out of this alive.”

Someone in the helicopter threw down a rope ladder. The crew looked to the captain, who nodded. Elisa and Asami exchanged confused glances but they weren’t about to throw away their one chance. They quickly scrambled up the ladder and as they climbed, the helicopter started to rise.

“Let them go!” said the captain, shouting over the sound of the blades. “At least we still have the hand.” He lifted the lid to find the box was completely empty. The captain cursed and shouted back at the helicopter, but it had already departed.

1946

He felt the cold even through his winter clothing, moving carefully through the snow-covered mountains of the Himalayas. Walter Horn paused for a moment to reach into the pocket of his heavy coat and draw out a compass. The medieval scholar-cum-soldier opened the lid and saw the needle spinning all round.

“That won’t be much help to you, friend.”

Walter looked up at the voice of his partner, a man he had met just before boarding the plane for this expedition. Kenneth Hill was slightly younger than him, with a thick, black beard that now had flecks of snow covering it.

“What is this?”

“We’re in a part of the world largely untouched by modern man. The things that exist out here, they’re far beyond even your expertise.” Kenneth patted Walter on the shoulder and moved ahead towards one of the sloping valleys.

Walter’s brow furrowed. “If the compass cannot tell us where we are, how can you be so sure you know where you’re going?”

Kenneth paused and glanced over his shoulder. “Because I’ve been here before. I know these mountains like the back of my hand.”

Walter sighed and placed the compass back in his pocket, walking with haste to catch up to his companion. “I appreciate that my superiors felt you were the most appropriate man to accompany me on this expedition, but I must say I still don’t quite understand this situation.”

“Situation’s pretty simple, Walt. You retrieved the Habsburg Spear but told your bosses that you don’t think it’s the real McCoy. If you really think the Nazis have it, then it’s likely they’d take it somewhere it can be safe from their enemies. That’s why we’re out here in this damn cold.”

“But what makes you believe that the Nazis would have come to the Himalayas?”

“Because on my last trip out here a few years back, I stumbled on Agharti, their hidden city. There I was against a few dozen Nazi bastards,” said Kenneth. “Barely got out alive.”

“How did you escape?”

Kenneth flashed a knowing smile. “Let’s just say I had some help. But that’s a story for another day. Right now, we gotta get to that city.”

He turned back to the valley, carefully moving down the slope. Walter wasn’t quite sure what to make of the man. His superiors in Washington said that if there was a missing artifact, no man was more qualified to retrieve it than Kenneth Hill. In addition to his impressive physical prowess, Kenneth was also a man of great knowledge with degrees in fields such as archaeology, anthropology, and mythology. And he had been to the Himalayas on more than one occasion, the most recent of which led to his presumed death before he suddenly turned up again six months later.

Walter followed down the slope and once he reached Kenneth’s side again, the two men moved together from then on. They hiked through the valleys for what felt like several hours. Every now and then they would stop to rest, a rest that was mostly characterized by its silence. Walter would check his compass periodically, but found it still useless.

As day turned to night, they came to a ridge and Kenneth signaled for Walter to stay low. When Walter appeared by his side, Kenneth looked at him and held a single finger to his lips. He then took that finger and pointed over the ridge. Walter was shocked at what he saw. Just past the ridge was the mouth of a cave. And flanking the cave were two men in heavy winter clothing, just as they were. But what drew Walter’s attention even more were the stylized double-S marks, almost like lightning bolts, and swastikas on their arms.

“What should we do?” asked Walter in a low voice. He glanced out the corner of his eyes to his right but saw nothing there. Walter quickly turned his head and saw that Kenneth was gone. He turned his attention back to the cave and saw a figure moving on the overhang above the entrance.

Kenneth dropped down behind one of the soldiers and covered his mouth with one hand. With the other hand, Kenneth held a curved dagger and drew it quickly across the Nazi’s throat, the blood spilling out on the snow and staining it crimson.

Walter rose to his feet in surprise and the second Nazi spotted him. He shouted something in German but before he could raise his gun to fire, Kenneth drove the knife into his back. The Nazi’s chest arched forward and then slumped over. Kenneth waved for Walter to approach.

Walter jumped from the ridge and hurried through the snow, looking at the bodies, one of which Kenneth was in the process of dragging away from the entrance and tossing over the edge of the mountain, but not before taking the submachine gun off him. He gestured to the other and Walter understood, doing the same with the remaining body.

The disposal complete, Walter walked up to Kenneth, who bent down to use a handful of snow in order to clean off his blade. Walter stared down at the strange knife. It was a curved dagger with a very sharp edge. Kenneth felt his partner’s eyes on him and met his gaze. He raised the dagger up so Walter could get a closer look at it.

“Kukri,” he said. “Picked up a pair of them on my last trip to Nepal. Pretty handy to have in a fight.”

Walter drew his Browning service revolver. “I prefer this.”

Kenneth shrugged and picked up the submachine gun, pulling the strap over his shoulder. “Whatever works for you, I guess.” He took the remaining submachine gun and tossed it to Walter. “C’mon.”

They moved into the mouth of the cave, which connected to a tunnel that led down. A few lights had been installed to illuminate the path and the two men stepped cautiously into the depths of the Himalayas. The further they got from the surface, the louder the sounds from within could be heard.

The tunnel ended in a massive cavern far larger than Walter could have imagined. The Germans had surrendered almost a year previously, but to look upon this sight, one would think they were still in full service. There were dozens of soldiers moving about the large cavern, performing duties on some sort of giant device in the rear. It was metal, with a giant dome on top and a brim. It almost looked like a giant safari hat.

“The hell?” whispered Kenneth.

Walter shook his head. In all his time during the war, even when he was still living in Germany, he had never seen anything like it. But what shocked him even more was the white circle painted on the side, a circle that contained something that resembled the swastika. But though the swastika was rotated, this symbol had straight lines forming a cross. And the legs weren’t straight lines but rather curved, each one reaching to the edge of the cross.

“The Thule Society? But the Nazis shut down all esoteric organizations,” said Walter, his voice still hushed.

Kenneth scoffed. “Seems there’s a lot you don’t know, pal. You see that guy up there?”

Walter saw what Kenneth meant. One of the men in uniform had a bald head and a dark mustache. The scholar recognized him immediately as Dietrich Eckart, once the leader of the Thule Society. Until his death over twenty years ago. Or supposed death, it seemed.

“The Thules never went away, just went underground. You’re lookin’ at the real power behind the Nazis,” said Kenneth.

Walter watched Eckart’s movements carefully. The man should be pushing eighty by now, but he looked to be in his fifties, the age at which he was said to have died. “How is this possible?”

“Magic.”

“I don’t believe in—”

“Well, believe in your own eyes, professor,” said Kenneth.

An SS officer brought Eckart a small, ornate box with the symbol of his organization carved on the top. The Thule patriarch took it from him and carried it over to a table. He raised the lid and grinned as his eyes fell upon the object inside. Eckart reached inside the box and drew out the head of a spear. The metal looked old and worn, with a gold plate wrapped around the center.

“That’s it,” said Walter. “The Spear of Destiny.”

Eckart placed the spear back in the box and closed the lid. He shouted something to the soldiers and they gathered up supplies, taking them over to the large metal object. A ramp lowered from it and they moved inside.

“What is that thing, some kinda vault?” asked Kenneth.

Walter’s voice was hushed. “I don’t believe so…”

The device lit up with strange lights all around the side. There was a rumble that sounded like an engine roaring to life. Walter realized that what they were looking at was a vehicle of some sort. And if they didn’t act now, they may lose their chance to obtain the Spear of Destiny.

“We can’t let them escape!” he said in a hushed exclamation.

“Way ahead of you.” Kenneth readied the submachine gun and rose from his hiding place, spraying the cavern with ammunition. Walter followed his lead, standing as well and firing round after round into the SS troops.

Several soldiers were eliminated immediately, but others took cover and returned fire with their own weapons. Eckart watched it all happen with a deathly calm gaze. He raised the lid once more and took the spear from its container, grasping it tightly in his hand.

Walter rushed at Eckart, turning his gun on him. The Thule continued his approach, never breaking stride even as the bullets from Walter’s gun slammed into his chest. Once within reach, Eckart grabbed the barrel of the gun. The barrel must have been scorching, but Eckart didn’t seem to notice. He tore the gun from Walter’s grip and threw it behind him. It struck the wall of the cavern and clattered to the ground.

Eckart wrapped his fingers around Walter’s throat, raising him into the air and slamming him against the cave wall. Walter tried to pull the old man’s fingers, but his grip was like steel. Breathing quickly grew difficult and Walter knew he didn’t have long to go. He stared into Eckart’s eyes and saw an emptiness there he’d never known before.

Kenneth had moved from several points of cover and retrieved discarded weapons whenever he ran out of bullets, quickly resuming the fight. He saw Eckart squeezing the life out of his partner and drew one of the kukri. Kenneth threw it with pinpoint accuracy, the kukri striking Eckart’s bald head, the blade embedded in his skull.

Eckart dropped Walter and reached for the kukri, gripping the hilt and in one swift motion, pulling it free. He dropped it to the ground and turned his attention to Kenneth Hill. Eckart strode towards his new foe, his grip tightening around the spear.

Kenneth tried to force him back with shots from the submachine gun, but they had no effect. Once the ammunition was spent, Kenneth took the second kukri and lunged at Eckart.

The German deflected the blade with his spear. He swung his arm, the back of his hand striking Kenneth across his face. With the spear in his grip, the blow hit harder than normal and Kenneth felt pain running all along the side of his head.

“Vermin,” spat Eckart. “You have no comprehension of what you have gotten yourselves into.”

Eckart raised his arm, holding the spear in a reverse-grip so the sharp tip pointed down at Kenneth’s head. But before he could strike, Walter tackled him from behind. Eckart stumbled forward with Walter on his back and when he hit the ground, the spear slipped from his grasp, clattering along the cave floor.

The two German men grappled on the ground, with Walter now on Eckart and driving his fists into the old man’s face. Eckart was far stronger than his age and appearance made him seem. He struck back, head-butting Walter with such force that the younger German stumbled, disoriented.

Eckart rose to his feet and grabbed Walter’s head. He squeezed it hard, placing his thumbs over Walter’s closed eyelids and pushing in. Walter screamed, feeling the pain as Eckart was about to crush his eyeballs.

But then Eckart’s grip became slack and Walter was able to pull away. He saw Eckart standing there, staring down at his chest in shock. And from the center of his chest was the point of a spear.

Kenneth pulled the spear from Eckart’s back and the Thule collapsed to the ground, his eyes fixed in an open position. He examined the spear’s bloodstained surface and watched as the strange artifact seemed to absorb the crimson liquid inside itself. Kenneth couldn’t describe the feeling of having his hands on this weapon.

There was a thundering noise and both Kenneth and Walter looked to the strange vehicle. Seeing their master slain before them had apparently been enough to convince the rest of the Thules to depart.

The vehicle rose off the ground, hovering for a moment before rising higher and striking the ceiling. The entire cavern rumbled with the blows and Kenneth and Walter exchanged nervous glances before they both ran for the tunnel that they entered through.

As the vehicle burrowed through the mountain, the rocks came down behind them, crushing Eckart and any remaining soldiers. The two heroes charged up the tunnel as fast as their legs could take them, rushing for the surface.

Just ahead they could feel the cold, night air and some flakes of snow blew in and landed on their face. They ran faster, pushing their legs harder, both too frightened to look behind them to see how much time they had left. But the sound of the cave-in told them they didn’t have long before they would be crushed, too.

Once they reached the entrance, the two men jumped and the cave completely collapsed behind them. They landed face-first in the snow, laying there for a moment before rolling over onto their backs. Slowly they sat up and viewed the remains of Agharti. Up in the sky, they saw the lights of the strange vehicle as it rose above the wreckage before flying off into the clouds.

Kenneth looked down at the Spear of Destiny, studying the inscription on the plate. “Nail of Our Lord,” he read aloud. And then he saw the nail fused with the spearhead. Kenneth passed it over to his partner. “Think this is what you came here for.”

“Indeed,” said Walter, examining the strange artifact. He saw that Eckart was nearly invulnerable while holding it. More than that, he could feel its power as he held it within his grasp. He didn’t quite understand what it was, but he knew that he had to ensure it never fell into the wrong hands again.

Elisa Hill opened her eyes and found herself staring out the window of the small plane, looking directly at the foliage-covered ground. They were suspended quite far off the ground, nose-first. She reached for the buckle on her seatbelt and used the seat to help her fight against gravity pulling her towards the plane’s console.

It wasn’t clear just how they were being suspended in the air, but if Elisa had to guess, she would say they’d crashed into a pretty strong tree. But the tree wasn’t likely to support the plane’s weight much longer and she had to step carefully so as to not trigger a fall.

She moved gingerly from her seat to the pilot next to her. He was slumped over and if not for his seatbelt, would be splayed out on the flight stick. Elisa approached him carefully, reaching a hand out to him.

“Smith? You okay?”

Smith didn’t answer. Elisa gripped the back of his seat and pulled herself close enough so she could lay two fingers on the side of his neck. She couldn’t feel a pulse and she sighed.

The plane started to move and she heard the sound of wood cracking. Her fears were confirmed, the tree wouldn’t hold her much longer. Elisa braced herself against the seats to move from the cockpit and into the small cabin. Her backpack sat on one of the passenger seats and she picked it up. Slowly, she pulled the straps over her shoulders and fastened the belt around her waist. Elisa went to the door and the plane dipped. She grabbed onto the open door frame, the plane now almost completely perpendicular to the ground. Elisa used both hands to pull herself out of the plane and onto the surface.

The cracking and snapping of wood was like an alarm bell for her. There was another branch that seemed to be within jumping distance. The massive branches that held the plane finally gave and the vehicle fell from its position.

Elisa jumped, reaching her hands out for the closest branch. Her right hand missed, but she caught on with her left. She dangled from there, hundreds of feet in the air and watched as the plane crashed beneath her.

With her right hand, she reached behind her back. Elisa gripped the gold-lined handle and drew the kukri dagger from its sheath. Pulling up with her left hand, she jammed the curved Nepalese dagger into the wood.

Once Elisa reached the branch, she gave herself just a minute to rest as she stared at the twisted wreckage of the plane. It was her way into this place and now she had to find some other way to get home. That was her first priority.

Elisa pulled the dagger from the tree and sheathed it while surveying the area. There was a cliff ledge not far from her and a line of trees she could follow to reach it. Elisa moved from one branch to the next, never staying on one for more than a few seconds before jumping to a new perch. She swung from a vine and released, falling until she landed in the soft grass on the cliff’s ledge.

Now on solid ground, Elisa removed the backpack and set it on the ground, bending down over it. She dug through the supplies and until she found the satellite phone. Elisa quickly attempted to call, but all she got in response was static.

“Goddammit…” She looked at the phone and tried another number. Still nothing. One final attempt. She tried to call her mentor, Max Finch back in the States, but that also was met with nothing but static.

There was some sort of interference in the area. That could be what caused the plane’s instruments to start going out of control and led to the crash. There was indeed something strange about this island and if Elisa was going to have any hope at getting out of here alive, her first course of action was to figure out just what this place was.

She turned off the phone and returned it to her pack, then geared up and began the hike down the cliff. As she walked, she thought back to how she’d gotten roped into this mission in the first place.

It all happened so fast. One minute, Armand Estopa stood aboard the fishing boat he worked on, staring at clear skies. And the next, the skies had darkened with a speed he’d never seen in his twenty-five years. The sun’s illumination was blocked, replaced by flashes of lightning in the black clouds.

The rain poured down in buckets, drenching Armand and the rest of his crew within moments. The winds picked up next, tossing their tiny trawler to and fro. The captain tried to keep a firm grip on the wheel, but it did no good. The men braced themselves for the worst, scrambling for life vests and quickly distributing them.

But one sound emerged from the chorus of screams, the only sound capable of overriding them. It was the sound of thunder. Armand had never heard thunder of this nature before. It was deafening, violent. For some reason, the image of a wounded lion appeared in Armand’s mind.

Lighting struck down on the deck of the ship, the bolt going right through the chest of Emilio. He and Armand had been friends since they were children and now, Armand had to watch as Emilio’s entire body stiffened, his face contorting in agony as the electricity coursed through his body before he collapsed on the deck.

Another wave lifted the ship and then dropped from beneath them. They hung in the air for a moment before crashing right back down onto the ocean’s surface. The impact threw the boat again, nearly capsizing.

Armand held tight to a rope, but he was helpless to prevent Emilio’s body from rolling across the deck. With the next wave, the boat was thrown and Emilio was gone, hurled over the edge.

There was another clap of thunder, this one louder than all the others. So powerful that it drew Armand’s eyes to the heavens. The clouds parted and something fell through them. Bolts of lightning streaked from the clouds, all of them converging on the mysterious object.

Armand screamed, but in the throes of the storm, no one could hear him. And the strange object struck the deck, burrowing right through it. The boat broke in half and the winds whipped around them, pulling the remains of the ship and its crew into a vortex.

For the briefest of moments, Armand could see into the center of the vortex. The water had parted and there, on the bottom of the ocean floor, was the strange object that had struck them. Despite having the force of a comet, Armand was shocked by how small it really was.

But more than that, he was amazed at the appearance of the thing. The lightning ceased striking it and for just a moment, he was able to clearly see the object. It seemed to be constructed of some kind of metal, engraved with strange, glowing runes along its surface. Armand wasn’t quite sure what it was he saw, because before he could put any more together, the water closed in on him.

Armand was swept beneath the waves, choking on the seawater that surrounded him. Even in what he believed would be his final moments, all he could think of was the strange object.

Maxwell Finch looked out the window as the waters of the Atlantic Ocean whipped past them below. He sat back in his chair and took off his glasses, cleaning the lenses with a small cloth obtained from the inside pocket of his blazer.

“We should be arriving shortly, Professor,” said the pilot.

Max gave him a nod and a polite smile. When he put his glasses back on, he could see the ship off in the distance, the Ignatius. The home of this deep-sea Atlantic excavation grew larger as the helicopter approached.

The pilot maneuvered the helicopter over the ship’s helipad and slowly descended. The landing skids touched down on the surface and as the spinning blades slowed, crew members rushed up to the helipad to secure it to the boat.

Max’s door was opened for him and he climbed out of the helicopter. The crewman who did offered his hand and a smile.

“Professor Finch, it’s an honor to meet you. I’m Peter Webber, the ship’s captain.”

“Pleased to meet you, Captain.” Max was grateful as helicopter engine stopped so that now he didn’t have to raise his voice.

“Dr. McCartney is waiting for you below deck.” Captain Webber turned, leading Max from the helipad.

“Do you know what this is at all about, Captain?” asked Max as he followed, holding the strap slung diagonally across his body, attached to a leather bag.

“Oh yeah, but I’m under strict orders not to reveal anything. Dr. McCartney said he wants you to see it for yourself.”

“Can you tell me anything about it? I’ve come all this way…”

“Yeah, there’s one thing I can tell you.” Webber paused and turned, smiling at the professor. “It’s gonna blow your mind.”

Max raised his eyebrows in interest, then followed the captain in silence. They entered a stairwell and climbed down a few decks before exiting into a narrow corridor. Captain Webber continued to lead Max to a closed door and he banged on the heavy metal a few times.

The door opened and a young man with a thick beard and dark eyes stood on the other side. Once he laid eyes on Max, he offered a broad smile and stepped out. Max returned the smile and the two men hugged.

“Good to see you again, Russ,” said Max.

“You too,” replied Russell McCartney. “Come in, come in.”

Russ stepped deeper into the room and made a path for Max to follow. Webber stuck his head into the doorway but didn’t cross the threshold. “I’ll leave you two. Gotta keep an eye on this rotten crew of mine.”

“Thanks, Pete.” Russ gave him a departing wave. Webber closed the door behind him and his footsteps receded down the corridor.

“So, while it’s great to see a former student, please tell me you have a good reason for making me fly all the way out here.”

Russ gave a chuckle. “So you were in London?”

“Lecture tour, also looking into some things for another former student.”

“Well, I think you’ll find this worth the trip.” Russ led Max to another door and opened it. “We’ve been combing the ocean floor, sending out divers to see what they could find. And we picked up the motherload.”

He held the door open and gestured inside. Max took a few steps, but they slowed considerably when he saw what was on the other side. His jaw fell open and he removed his glasses. Max inched closer and closer. He looked over his shoulder.

“Is this…what am I looking at?”

“You tell me.”

Max stepped closer. The find was kept behind glass and he slowly placed a hand on the surface. It was fused into the rock but it was clear what they were looking at was a skeleton—definitely a human. Except it had a very unique characteristic. The bones of what looked like wings protruding from its back.

“Are you telling me this is an angel?” asked Max.

“I have no idea what it is, that’s why I called you here,” said Russ.

“We have to keep this quiet. If the public gets wind of this, do you imagine what sort of chaos it will cause?”

“Religious groups will go nuts, I agree. But what do you think it really is?”

Max shook his head, eyes still wide as he examined the fossil. “Russ, I’ve seen a lot of strange things in my life. I know there’s a lot more to the world than most people are aware of. But I’ve never in all my years seen anything to suggest that angels are real.”

“Then either you’ve just been proven wrong, or this is something else.”

Max’s eyes continued to travel up and down the specimen. “And you said you found this on the ocean floor?”

“Yeah. But judging from the condition, it seems like it must’ve been buried deeper. We were checking out some ruins and we found this.”

Max turned away from the fossil and put his glasses back on. “What ruins would those be?”

“Rumored resting places of Atlantis.”

Max looked at the skeleton again. He bit his bottom lip as he thought about how coincidental this seemed. Elisa asked him to investigate any potential leads on the Thule Society, whose goal was to resurrect Atlantis. The Society’s leadership was gone, but there were still factions out there. And it was Elisa’s hope that they could use any information on the Society to help them discover what their old enemies, the Order, were up to.

* * *

Black, unmarked helicopters armed with mini-guns approached the Ignatius. The man who sat in the co-pilot’s seat looked behind him at the commandos who were ready to go. They all wore masks and were armed with automatic rifles, their uniforms as black and unmarked as the attack choppers.

This man, however, was dressed in a white suit with a black shirt and a mandarin collar. He had long, silver hair and a sheathed katana sword was lain across his lap.

“Target in range,” said the pilot.

The silver-haired man smiled and said one word: “Fire.”

Not only the chopper he rode in but the others that accompanied them unleashed salvos of rounds on the Ignatius’ deck. The first thing they targeted was the helicopter Max had arrived in, rendering it useless.

The crew scattered across the deck, struggling to find some way to defend themselves or simply abandoning the ship. The choppers continued their approach, opening fire whenever they had an opportunity.

“Get ready,” the silver-haired man said to the commandos. “Remember, everyone but the target is expendable.”

The helicopters positioned themselves over the deck and one by one, the commandos dropped down from ropes. They brought their guns to the ready and started moving about, shooting anyone who got in their way.

* * *

The sounds of gunfire reached down to the lower decks where Max and Russ were standing. Max gave Russ a questioning look, but Russ’ expression showed his confusion. The older professor moved into the main room, but remained by the door.

“Do you have any weapons?”

“What?” asked Russ. “The Ignatius’ a research vessel, Max.”

“I guess that’s a no.” Max sighed. He’d been retired from the myth hunter profession for some time now, but he cursed himself for not coming prepared. He needed a weapon if they were going to have any hope of getting out of here.

Something else occurred to him. Max walked back to the artifact, taking his cell phone out of his blazer pocket.

“What are you doing?” asked Russ.

“First thing’s first.” Max held up the phone, activating the camera feature. He snapped a picture of the find and sent it in an email, along with the Ignatius’ coordinates. “In case we don’t make it out of this.”

“Make it—what?”

“Quiet.” Max returned to the door and waited. He heard footsteps moving rapidly. Then a burst of gunfire and a thump. An unlucky crew member trying to escape, it seemed.

Russ looked like he wanted to make a break for it. But Max held out his hand to steady him. They heard the door handle turning. Max prepared himself. When the door opened inward, a commando stepped inside.

Max delivered a punch to the commando’s face with his right hand, while grabbing the gun with his left. He wrestled it away from the commando and turned it on him, opening fire. The commando slumped to the ground and Max stepped out into the corridor.

“Stay here,” he told Russ.

With slow, deliberate steps, he moved down the hall. He kept his footfalls as quiet as possible, getting to the stairwell. Max climbed up the decks until he reached the top. Upon opening the door, he saw the body of Captain Webber and muttered a curse under his breath.

Something struck him from behind and Max went tumbling across the deck. He regained his footing and spun around. But when he saw the man standing in front of him—all dressed in white, silver hair caught in the wind, emerald eyes fixed upon him—Max lowered the gun in surprise.

“It can’t be,” he said. “You died. In Lemuria.”

“Yes, I did,” said Seth. He moved like a silver blur, crossing the distance between them before Max could recover from his shock enough to raise the weapon. Seth’s blade was drawn and struck the gun, the force knocking it from Max’s hands.

A kick to his legs brought Max falling hard on his back. Seth pointed the tip of his blade at the professor’s throat.

“You should have stayed retired, old man. But fortunately for you, my employer has need of your services.”