The tunnel wasn’t especially long and ended in a square room filled with a dozen blocky cells, each with iron bars standing in place, all well-maintained and functional despite their obvious age and the general disrepair of the rest of the temple.

“Here,” the man rasped. “Please, free me,” he wheezed from beneath a shaggy pile of tattered clothing. The guy was in one of the cells lining the back of the room, although why anyone would’ve locked the poor schlub up was beyond me. He was a bent and withered Asian man, crushed beneath the weight of time, his skin a pale tapestry of wrinkles, his mouth devoid of teeth, milky cataracts covering both his eyes, while a long wispy beard covered his jaw. He was filthy, what little hair he had was matted, and even from ten feet away I could smell the sour stink of his fragile body.

“You really think this is a good idea, Yancy?” Greg whispered into my ear before continuing his scan of the room. “Could be this old timer’s in here for a good reason.”

“Of course it’s a good idea. Stop being so friggin’ paranoid all the time. We’re here to get a radio, get Rat, and get our asses outta here, but we’re also here to throw a wrench into this freak-deaky music machine. Whoever is running this show sure as shit ain’t on our side. So enemy of my enemy and all that jazz.”

Greg grunted his reply, obviously unconvinced, but offered no more overt objections.

I padded forward slowly, not wanting to startle the old geezer since it was obvious he couldn’t see a lick. “Alright there, old-timer, if I let you outta this cage, you’re not gonna cause any trouble, right? My friend back there thinks you might be dangerous—he’s got a quick trigger finger, so don’t give us any reason.”

“No,” he said softly, “I’ll offer you no trouble at all, young one. That is quite the problem, I’m afraid. I can’t cause anyone any trouble these days. Once, I was set to guard this tomb, this prison, but …” He trailed off, raising rail-thin arms. “It is as plain as the nose on my face that I am not much of a guard. Not anymore.”

I reached out a hand and pushed at the door, expecting to find it locked, but it swung in without a hitch. I scrambled back a step, raising my rifle to the ready, training the muzzle on grandpa. “Gate’s not even locked,” I said. “You’re making me real nervous here.”

“Fear not,” he said, his voice resigned and oddly peaceful. “I cannot walk, cannot move. The lord of this place has already exacted a portion of his revenge. Broke my legs, crushed my pelvis, smashed my feet to pulp, and threw me in this place to suffer endlessly.”

I glanced down at the rags wrapped around his torso and waist. What I’d at first taken to be filth was actually globs of dark, clotted blood. The smell wafting off him was a sickening mix of metal and rancid decay. Meat gone bad, then left out in the heat of the day.

“Aw, shit,” I said, feeling appalled, wanting to look away and forcing myself not to. “I can’t help you,” I breathed out. “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do for you, nothing anyone can do for you.”

“With this?” he asked, waving an arm over his lower half. “No, I should expect you cannot do anything for this. But that is not the help I seek. Please, you and your friend, come here. Sit with me for a few moments. Let an old man say his piece, so I may die with satisfaction and, mayhap, hope.”

“Can’t do it, Yancy,” Greg said from behind. “We gotta move it.”

“Wait, young man,” he said with a feeble smile. “Do not be so rash. Youth are always too rash. Come, sit with me. I will tell you about the lord of this place. Is not a little foreknowledge of your enemy worth a few minutes’ time?”

Greg didn’t say anything for a moment, and I could almost hear the wheels clanking away inside his head. “Fair ’nough,” he replied, “but don’t even think about pullin’ a fast one over on me. Puttin’ you down would give me no pleasure, but you better daggon well believe I’ll be ready to fire.”

“Yes, fine. Fine,” he said. “Now come, boy. Come.” I walked into the cell, Greg following closely on my heels. I copped a squat near a wall a few feet away from the crusty geezer, while Greg stayed standing in the cell entryway.

“Alright,” Greg said. “You’ve got two minutes to make this worthwhile, so …” He twirled his finger in a let’s get this show rolling gesture.

“Do you believe in magic?” the old man asked, speaking to both of us, though clearly looking at me, even though I knew he couldn’t possibly see with those milky eyes of his.

“I’m not twelve,” Greg said, “so no, I don’t believe in magic.”

I, on the other hand, didn’t say anything—couldn’t say anything. Before all this shit started I would’ve said magic was a load of bullshit as deep as the ocean. But after seeing this place? Seeing the music? What the hell did I really know? Hell, according to Rat, I’d turned my E-Tool into a flamethrower. Magic? Hell, maybe.

“But you do believe in God, yes?” the man asked, turning his head toward Greg. “I can see it in you. The White King has marked you.”

“God,” Greg said, “isn’t magic. He’s God. You got a minute and a half left, better move it along.”

“The point is simply this,” the man said, apparently unconcerned over Greg’s threat. “You believe in that which you cannot see. God, angels, demons … Magic. It is true that you cannot see the magic underpinning creation, but it is real nonetheless. Your unbelief does not make it less true. This magic, though, may not be what you imagine in your mind. There is energy, you see, energy in life, in creation. This is the magic. The Vis.” He uttered the last word almost reverently.

He held up a hand, a small smile playing at his lips. A globe of light, nearly the size of a basketball and shifting from blue to violet and back again, sprung up before the old man’s outstretched palm. I thought for a moment that Greg would put a round right into the guy, but for once, it seemed like he was at a loss.

He wasn’t the only one; it sure as hell felt like someone had snatched all the pep right out of my step. In fact, the display of power made me positively squirm in my seat. If that was real, maybe Rat’s accusations were dead-on.

“Now that I have your attention,” he said, his voice a soft whisper, “let me tell you about the lord of this place.” The globe spread and grew, changing and transforming in shape: a miniature three-dimensional banyan tree, towering over a pristine jungle, floated in the air before us. “Once upon a time,” he intoned, his voice taking on the familiar cadence of a storyteller, “before men covered the world, a great tree stood. In truth, it was the tree which now covers this temple. This tree was home to a great spirit, a Leshy of the Fae Court. But he was no ordinary Leshy. No, he was one of the few great Tree Kings of Old.”

Before my eyes, the banyan tree distorted, and a massive face emerged from the trunk’s surface—emerald green eyes the size of car tires sat over a gnarled, bulbous nose, which, in turn, sat above a wide smiling mouth. “Xuong Cuong was his name,” the man said, “and he was a benevolent ruler, a peaceful spirit who cared for the jungle and its inhabitants as any good monarch should. But, as with so many stories, tragedy awaited the great Tree King.”

Tiny lights, the flicker of a thousand fireflies, appeared in the jungle, spanning out from the great tree. The flames drew closer, revealing tiny men and women, holding torches and carrying crude axes. “Man, in his rush to claim dominion over all things, foolishly attacked the Leshy. Xuong Cuong was a creature of peace who had never known war. When they came for him, there was naught he could do, and so he fell.”

In the floating picture I watched as the people swarmed the base of the tree, watched as the poor Leshy looked on aghast, his emerald eyes wide with terror, as the diminutive people hacked through his bark and scorched his leaves with flame. After a time, the tree crashed to the earth like a meteor, ablaze with fire. Dead. Broken. Destroyed. The people celebrated, their voices raised in one accord as they waved their axes in the air and danced around the smoldering ruins of the once great tree.

“Normally,” the withered old man continued, “when a Leshy’s tree is destroyed, they die. Their spirits blink out and go wherever such spirits go. But no one had ever killed a Tree King. Why, no one had ever even heard of such a thing.”

The vision melted and flowed, a jumble of chaos, before coalescing once more into a new image: a hulking creature made of roots, vines, and dark flowers, filled with sharp, biting teeth. A demon if ever there was such a thing. “Xuong Cuong’s spirit did not move on. It … it was reborn, you see. Reborn of death and fire and hate. These things shaped it and gave it form. The creature that emerged was hungry for retribution against all manflesh.”

The beastly thing in the vision moved through the jungle like a ghost, stealing into crude human villages, hunting men and women indiscriminately, its vines choking the life from human throats, while thick thorns opened wrists and spilled too-bright red upon the earthen floor.

“The blood sustained Xuong Cuong’s spirit, nourished him, and bound him to this Earth. And, after a time, the humans built the temple to appease the dark godling. In exchange for peace in their villages, they brought him offerings: human sacrifices as an act of worship and contrition for the mistakes of their forefathers.”

The great tree spirit now sat upon a stone throne in some dark chamber, watching with scornful emerald eyes and a snarling mouth as humans slaughtered bound captives, dribbling their blood over thick tree roots covering the temple floor.

“Many men tried to slay the jungle demon, of course”—images of armor-clad warriors rose and fell like waves—“but it was I who finally managed to subdue the creature … oh, this would be near five hundred years ago.”

A young, fresh-faced man arrayed in flowing robes of blue silk stole into the temple under the cover of night, accompanied by a stunning woman in red.

“That is me there,” he said, looking at the blue-robed figure with a fond sadness, “along with my dearest love, the heart of my heart.” He glanced at the woman in red. “In those days, I went by Du Van Mau. Such a cocky young man.” He sighed, long and wheezing. “A shaman with the Vis flowing powerfully in my veins. I had communicated with the ancient fae beings of the Endless Wood and learned of a way that the creature might be defeated, subdued. The price … well, the price was high, terribly steep. I managed to wound Xuong Cuong, to cast him into a dreamless hibernation, but, in the end, I could not pay the price to end him. An act of betrayal which cost me my love and bound me to this place.”

The light dimmed and faded, bleeding away until the cell showed no sign of the spectacular light show.

“Wait,” I said. “That’s it? Well, what the hell happened? If this demon thing was asleep for five hundred years, why is he awake now?”

The old man offered a wary smile, which never reached his eyes. “Your war happened,” he said softly, then sighed. “Even in his prime, Xuong Cuong was never so efficient a murderer as modern man has become. So much violence, so much killing. The blood, dripping into the soil, soaking into the trees, awoke him from his slumber.” He fell quiet again, letting his accusation linger in the air like a putrid smell.

“I don’t know about this,” Greg said, looking around the room. “About demons or magic, tree gods and human sacrifice. I don’t like it, and I don’t truck with no daggon hoodoo, but I want to put a stop to whatever the hell is going on here. So here’s what you’re gonna do, old-timer. You’re gonna tell us where that music is coming from, and you’re gonna tell us how to shut down whatever operation they’re running here. I don’t want no lights and I don’t want no tricks—you spell it out in plain English for me.”

“A warrior’s warrior,” the man said. “That I can respect. The music is siren song. Upon awaking, Xuong Cuong contacted the sirens, mercenary creatures of the Endless Wood, home of the fae. The music is for a celebration, of course, a party to christen Xuong’s new reign. But the song serves another purpose: Xuong Cuong seeks new disciples. For now, he is bound to this temple, unable to go forth, and so the siren song calls new disciples to him, calls those with a murderous spirit, draws them here to worship at the feet of their new master. When the party is over”—he shrugged his shoulders and lifted both hands into the air—“the sirens will move on, having served their role, and Xuong Cuong will send his pupils forth to sow death in his name.”

“And how do we stop this Xuong and all his nutball followers, huh?” Greg asked.

“Time draws near for me,” the man said in answer, his misty eyes flashing back and forth in their sockets. “I will tell him”—he pointed a finger right at me—“and him alone.” I felt a sinking sensation in my belly—I knew this was coming. Just like when you get on a roller-coaster ride. The car pulls you up that big-ass hill and you know eventually you’re gonna go back down again, but damned if that foreknowledge makes it any easier when the bottom actually drops out.

“Yeah, alright,” I said. “Greg, post up at the end of the room. I’ll be quick.”

He shifted his gaze between me and the dying man on the floor, as though we might be some coconspirators in some dubious scheme, but then finally sighed in resignation and turned away, moving back over to the prison entryway to give us space.

“Alright, bub, spill it,” I said. “I’ve got a missing friend, so say your piece.”

“You are like me,” he whispered, just loud enough for the noise to reach my ear. “You have the spark, the gift. I can see it in you. A latent, inborn talent.” He paused, smacking his mouth to work moisture into his lips. “Marvelous,” he said, “just marvelous. My lord must be merciful indeed, to send me such a boon in my greatest hour of need.”

“The hell you talking about, old man?” I scowled, folding my arms across my chest.

“Don’t play coy, boy. You see the music, as do I. That is but a single manifestation of the Vis. This music, meant to drive men to madness, has instead provoked your own talent into action. Awoken it within you.” He paused for a moment, searching my face with his milky eyes as if he could see right through my skin, all the way down into my heart and soul. “You’ve tapped the power,” he finally concluded. “You will not be able to turn back now. No putting this gift back in the box, I should think.”

“Look,” I nearly spat. “I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t want to know. I want to finish this mission, I want to get the hell out of this shithole, I want to go home to my family, and I want to forget any of this ever happened.”

“We don’t got all day here, ladies,” Greg called from the doorway. “Let’s move this show along.”

I pivoted, looking at Greg. “Almost done, shithead. Just cool your heels for another thirty seconds, kay?” I turned back to the old man. “You heard him,” I said, “tell me what I need to know to put this all behind me.”

“My betrayal … that is the key,” he said with a grimace. Then, moving faster than I could blink, the old man’s hand was in motion—rising up and then plunging into his guts with a sickening squish. I sat there, both petrified and mortified. For a moment my vision seemed to narrow and darken at the edges—pretty sure I was gonna pass out—but then the feeling faded.

He pulled his hand back out, a loop of gray intestine, spotted with black blood, wrapped around his closed fist. His fingers worked over the bulge of gray meat, digging into the soft flesh, before finally pulling free a chunk of brilliant emerald, about the size of a chicken’s egg and beautifully flawless, save for the jagged edge running up one side.

“When I came here to defeat Xuong Cuong, it was to be the end of me—my life was to be forfeit. The ancient fae taught me a way I might bind the Leshy to myself, making both of us neither mortal nor immortal, yet tied together as one creature, straddling the world of life and death.” He held up the stone, looking at it in the low light.

“I ripped this from his face, one of his eyes and a piece of his soul. I bound the creature unto myself, but was supposed to take my own life once the deed was done. In doing so, the Leshy would be made vulnerable, mortal, so long as he remained incomplete. So long as he doesn’t have this stone. I have hidden it within me, these many long years, but now is the time, I think.”

He quietly examined the stone, before carefully holding it out and pressing it into my hand. “Once Xuong was mortal, my love was to use the stone to strike the final blow, ending his existence and freeing him from his suffering, but when the time came …” He paused, a far-off look entering into his milky eyes. “I couldn’t do it, couldn’t take my own life. Xuong murdered her because of my weakness. He couldn’t kill me, nor I him—death may only come to me by my own hand—but in my wrath I bound us both to this place and cast him into his slumber.”

“So what do I do with this?” I asked, holding the stone tight, feeling the force, the power that buzzed within it, like a hive of pissed off bees.

“You finish the job. I will soon die, just as I should have five hundred years ago, and you, you must use the Stone to kill Xuong.”

“Listen,” I whispered, urgency filling my words. “Let’s say I believe you about all the magic mumbo jumbo—I don’t know how to use it. I mean, yeah, I think maybe I touched it before, but I can’t remember jack shit.”

“When the time comes, it will use you. The only question is whether or not you’ll survive the experience.” He coughed, dark blood spraying from his lips. That was it—I bent over and dry-heaved onto the floor, spitting out a mouthful of yellow stomach bile. I righted myself after a moment and scooted back a step, then slipped the stone into my pocket, eager to have it away from my skin.

“You alright?” Greg called.

“Fine, just another second here,” I replied. “So what do I do with the stone?” I said, turning back to the man. “How do I use it?”

“You must channel your power through it. Just as I can only be killed by my own hand, so it is with Xuong. But the stone, it is him, a part of him. Any power channeled through the stone will be, in part, a manifestation of his own power. A clever loophole, you see.”

“So it’ll be like he killed himself,” I said, nodding my head in understanding.

“Aye, aye,” he said. “But be warned. You …” he gasped and shuddered, dropping flat, his breathing slow and shallow, his chest rising and falling less frequently with every heartbeat. “You are weak, untrained,” he continued after a moment. “The stone may turn on you, it will fight you for control, and it may well kill you as surely as it may kill him. But, you must succeed. With my death …” He paused again, his eyes dropping shut, and I thought that might be all she wrote.

“Shit, old-timer,” I said, “with your death, what?!”

He was quiet for a long beat. “With my death,” he finally muttered, his voice wet and slick with blood, “the demon will be unbound. Free to leave the temple once more.”

“You’re crazy, old-timer,” I whispered, standing and turning away, not wanting to watch someone else die. He didn’t respond, though, didn’t acknowledge me with a flick of his eyes or a twitch of his lips. I headed toward Greg, not sparing the old man another look.

“You got what we need?” he asked, carefully surveying my face, as though he might be able to discern just what had passed between the old guy and me.

“Guy’s bat-shit crazy. Let’s just find Rat and get this done.”

He nodded. “Now, that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout.” He moved into the hallway, heading back toward the main passageway.