Denver Cereal Denver Cereal

Chapter Six Hundred-twelve: The making of a Grand Master (part three)

CHAPTER SIX HUNDRED-TWELVE

(part three)

Castle Ponferrada

Spain

“I know where it is,” Nelson said. “I’ll just need some help getting there.”

Or at least he thought he had. He remembered Alex Hargreaves laughing. The Goddesses too. But now…

He was standing in a long dark corridor that appeared to be underground. The hallway was made from hand hewn blocks of solid stone. He turned to look at the wall itself.

He was inside some kind of archeological… something.

“Hello?” Nelson called.

His voice echoed down the corridor. No one responded.

Where were the Goddesses? Where was Alex? Where was Bestat or…?

“Hello?” Nelson called again.

Nothing stirred. The air was completely still. The dark of the hallway pressed into his flesh. His nose picked up the scents of ancient incense, dust, and decay. In an attempt to confirm that he was underground, he touched the wall.

It was cold. Frigid.

He was buried alive!

Panic coursed through his veins. He fell to his knees to catch his breath.

“Hello?” Nelson asked.

No one, not even Bestat’s amazing attendants, responded. He was alone in the dark buried under hundreds of tons of rubble and dirt. He shivered with fear and cold.

His hands instinctively tucked themselves into the pocket of his tunic. To his surprise, there was a Zippo lighter in his pocket. He took out the lighter out of his pocket to look at it.

This lighter had belonged to his friend, Jax. It held the emblem of his Special Forces team on one side. It held a hand painted Templar cross on the other side. Nelson had painted the cross to protect Jax. Of course, it didn’t help when he was murdered. Nelson swallowed back the sorrow and rage that came with losing Jax. His fingers closed over the lighter.

He should have the light. The love of Jax’s life had kept most of Jax’s possessions. The last time Nelson saw the lighter, it was sitting on the mantle at the home they’d shared together. Nelson wouldn’t dream of taking it. Yet somehow, it was sitting in his tunic pocket.

Trying to sense if some magical being was with him, he looked around. Maybe he wasn’t as alone as it seemed.

He grinned at the thought. He’d missed the fact that there was a torch on the wall next to him. For a moment, the doctor in him debated the potential cancer implications of the torch.

He groaned at himself.

“Man of action I am not,” Nelson said out loud.

He took the torch down from the wall. Jax’s Zippo lighter sprung to life. The torch was ablaze in a moment.

“Love you, Jax,” Nelson whispered and put the lighter back into his pocket. “Here goes nothing.”

He took the torch down from the wall and took a step forward. And then another.

Nothing happened, so he kept walking. He’d gone about twenty feet when he was forced to make a hard left. Up ahead, warm yellow light spilled from a room or hall.

Denver Cereal continues tomorrow…

Next: Chapter Six Hundred-twelve: The making of a Grand Master (part four)

Previous: Chapter Six Hundred-twelve: The making of a Grand Master (part two)

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