The two of them parked the station wagon and got out. The lot was silent, but once again quite packed. Cars of all shapes and sizes were stuffed inside the lines, and looking up, a faint light shone from the huge buildings slitted windows.

The two of them walked up the steps. Along the way, Alejandro asked Clark: “So, how are you going to track the Prophet down?”

Without missing a beat, the wizard replied: “You know why I had to come here again?” The boy shook his head, and Clark continued: “I showed you the picture. It was another journal entry. The rubbing came from the shield, which you told me is in your possession.”

“Half of it,” Alejandro said, nodding.

“Well,” Clark said, “your Prophet writes that he has infused the weapon with his blood. Where he speaks faith, I see magic.”

“Okay,” the young man said, not quite understanding.

“Without magic,” Clark said, “the shield—even a broken one—is just a relic. It isn’t much use besides for symbolic reasons. In the words of Dr. Jones, ‘It really does belong in a museum’.” That got a chuckle out of Alejandro, and Clark continued: “But with magic, it becomes something like a beacon. I’m hoping to get a look at yours, and then, track the Prophet on earth with it.”

The two men stopped. Alejandro whirled; googly eyed: “You can do that?”

The wizard nodded: “I think I can. Finding someone, or something, is horribly imprecise otherwise. It’s like typing randomly into a search engine. But with the proper clues—keywords, in this case—it can also be very precise.”

Alejandro wanted to know if such things were possible, why wasn’t it done before.

Clark answered: “You’re asking me why nobody has thought to use magic to find your Prophet.” He concluded, after thinking: “My answer is, the only people who know of his existence are members of your secret order, and you are not true practitioners. You don’t believe in it; and like most religions, you even think it’s evil.”

That brought a flush to the young man’s cheeks, but he did not deny it. Clark continued:

“If I looked into the history of your Order, I think I might find more incidents of you waging war on any sorcerers you come across than working together with one.” He saw how green in the face Alejandro had become, and reached out to pat him on his shoulder. “But don’t worry. As far as I can tell, true wizards are very rare. In fact, throughout history, I couldn’t even find evidence of more than one or two in any given Age. You’d need both together at the same time—a willing wizard, and your Order with a progressive outlook on magic—to come to the conclusion we have. Also—” he waved the travelogue in his hand, “—a little luck. Thank Jake Hickwick. Without him, no one would have ever guessed that the broken shield is the key to bringing this millennium old chase to an end.”

Jake Hickwick was the man who wrote the travelogue.

He did it for his wife, who took the pictures, and Clark had looked into the couple online. He found them through their social media. They were very old now, and retired after selling their small travel agency business in Florida. Apparently, neither one of them had realized what they had come across in their journeys.

“You said the shield is in here?” Clark pointed up at the church’s closed double doors.

Alejandro nodded.

“And so is everyone else, judging by the number of cars we saw in the parking lot.”

Another nod.

“So, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Clark said. “What happens when we find the Prophet? How many of you does it take to trap him?”

Alejandro replied: “If you find the Prophet for us, any one of us can do it.”

Clark stopped in his tracks. He whirled on the young man: “Really?”

A nod. The young man continued walking, but when he saw Clark was not following, he stopped and turned back. “Why?”

The wizard took a moment. Eventually, he said: “I did a lot of studying. I know the Prophet passed his knowledge to the first of your people, which was then safeguarded throughout history. The spell, however, is very powerful. So powerful, in fact, that the truncated message I got was difficult enough for me to recite that my throat hurt for hours after.” A pause. “You’re right. Anyone else speaking those words aloud would have burned in righteous fire before they got to the third syllable. Yet, you’re telling me all your friends can work this magic on a whim.” Clark laughed. “Forgive me for saying so, but none of you seem that powerful, and—”

 “No,” Alejandro said, interrupting him. He shook his head solemnly.

Clark immediately stopped talking.

He waited.

When Alejandro didn’t answer, he pried: “No… what?”

A long sigh from the other. Alejandro looked up warily at the church steps. “You’re asking me to give up more secrets of my Order, Mr. Clark.”

The wizard shrugged. He waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the building.

We’re already here, he seemed to say. No sense in holding back now.

Alejandro apparently thought the same.

He finally nodded: “Okay. You’re right, Mr. Clark. We can’t all use such powerful incantations. Where you see magic, I hear the Words of our Lord, and those are never to be uttered lightly. We never could consciously wield these godly energies to build worlds—”

The other nodded.

“—but subconsciously is another matter entirely.” Alejandro placed a hand on his chest. “What I’ve not told you is what Father Julien has told me when I was adopted into the Order. There is a ritual.” He did not elaborate to its contents, and Clark didn’t ask. “It is the same ritual which the Prophet subjected his first acolytes to, and its purpose has also not changed over the thousands of years we have existed. The power to remake worlds is bound in each and every one of us; but buried deep within our subconscious mind so that we cannot access it. If and when one of us meets our Prophet, and detect he has truly lost himself to the devil inside, the trigger will activate. The Words of the Lord will be spoken. The prison will be remade.”

This was heavy information, but Clark only nodded at it. He said, “I know of this kind of magic. It is called a Death Rattle.”

Alejandro looked confused: “A what?”

Clark didn’t elaborate. He merely pointed up at the church entrance and said: “Are you telling me inside there are dozens of fanatical, holy warriors, each equipped with a magical suicide vest that can break and remake the earth—and all of human civilization—with it?” His voice was quiet, but the words spoken struck a chord. “Because that is what you mean when you say, ‘remake’. You have to tear down the old prison in order to erect another in its place.”

Bombshell dropped!

Clark was talking about the destruction of the world either way, and judging from Alejandro’s lack of reaction, he knew he was not wrong.

He held the young man’s gaze, and Alejandro shuddered in his vision. When he spoke, he only replied to half of Clark’s question: “Everyone is very scared of you, Mr. Clark. Father Julien has called all-hands-on-deck, just in case you prove to be difficult to be reasoned with.”

Clark’s eyes flashed: “You do realize they jumped me last time, and not the other way around.”

The young man nodded.

That was true.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Clark waved it away. “Well,” he told Alejandro, “I’m still willing to give this whole thing another shot.” They resumed moving, and made it to the top of the steps in two, spirited bounds. Clark nudged towards the doors with his chin. “You first, and I’ll wait like we agreed. Then, when you’ve assured them that I’m can be reasoned with, I’ll go in with my hands up. We’ll talk like civilized people. How’s that?”

The young man gave him a thumbs up.

Clark acknowledged it with a smile, before bowing him towards the doors with an exaggerated, theatrical sweep. Alejandro pulled open the door, squeezed inside.

The moon crawled across the sky overhead. Clark put his hands in his pockets. He whistled, waiting on Alejandro’s signal. When it finally arrived, he nearly jumped out of his shoes.

Screams.

Bloodcurdling cries pierced his eardrums. The wizard whirled on the church entrance, where the yells continued as one long, hopeless shriek. Clark immediately recognized it as coming from within. He also understood it was the harrowing shrilling of the helpless; of panic and desperation.

Of—

Death.

Without waiting another second, Clark lunged towards the doors. He pulled both sides open in one, taut motion; and entered the building as he flung back his arms.

To no one’s surprise, he found doom inside.

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