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section7mfu2015-10-27 11:45 am
"From the depths of darkness"~ the conclusion for PicFic Tuesday 10/27
The prompt:
Napoleon waited patiently in Salzburg to meet up with his partner; once Illya had completed his milk run the two would have a few days of R&R in Austria, where ever they pleased. It was rare for Waverly to offer such time off and they were more than ready to accept.
There was no place in particular they wanted to go, just relaxing, enjoying the local beauties and cuisine were on their minds...well for Solo it was the women, with Illya it was of course the food first, then came women. He had a preference for European ladies, as he found Americans a bit too...liberated.
Solo waited and waited at the agreed upon meeting point, checking his watch several times. Something was wrong; he should have heard from Illya by now.
“Hello handsome,” a woman spoke to him in German.”Care to buy a girl a großer Schwarzer?”
He was distracted enough to not have heard her. ”Beg pardon?”
“Napoleon Solo are you ignoring me?”
“Oh hi Wilhelmina, I wasn’t paying attention...what was it you wanted, a double mokka?”
“Since when do you call me that? It's always been meine liebe schatzi?" Wilhelmina Phfleger was well asquainted with Napoleon Solo as she worked in communications in the Munich field office.
“Umm, of course Mina, you’ll always be my little sweetheart. I’m just concerned about a friend who was supposed to meet me here.”
“A woman/ You’re seeing another woman?” Mina presumed and she began to pout.
“No, no really I’m not.”
It was too late as the beautiful brunette had already spun around, walking off in a huff.
“Thanks a lot tovarisch,” Solo muttered.
.
Illya was in pain when he woke, though at least he no longer had the feeling of being grabbed. His head was spinning, but finally settled down to a dull throb.
At first he couldn’t see a thing but as his eyes adjusted to the dim light he saw the outline of a figure hovering nearby.
“Welcome Illya Nickovich Kuryakin. Your time has arrived.” It spoke, sounding gruesome, like that of a hundred garbled tongues talking at once.
“Who are you?” The Russian demanded.
“I am he who has many names, but you may call me Legion. I am one of many servants to Lucifer himself and I have come to take your soul.”
Illya shook his head, fighting off the dizziness as he snickered.
“Who are you really? Napoleon is that you? Is this one of your sick practical jokes?”
“SILENCE! You are coming with me mortal. Hell awaits you!”
Flames erupted, encircling the bewildered Russian. He found himself covered in slithering snakes that hissed and snapped at him.
“Like hell I am, whoever you are.” He reached for his gun but as soon as he’d uttered his words of defiance, he felt himself being grabbed. His body was lifted into the hair, held there supine by invisible hands and no matter how hard he struggled, Illya couldn’t free himself of their vice-like grip.
“You are wrong!” He cried out.” I have always fought on the side of good. I have helped save the world again and again, at risk to my own life. I have rescued countless innocents!”
“And how many people have you killed in the process, doing so with ice in your veins. Are you not called the Ice Prince? You have a sadistic streak in your heart Mr. Kuryakin, admit it. Serve the Master and you will be free to go. You can continue to do your work but as his agent…”
“NO! I serve U.N.C.L.E. and my heart! My parents...my babushka taught me what is right and I will not deter from that!”
“Illuysha, Moya prekrasnaya Vnuk…”
He heard his grandmother’s voice calling to him.
“Come to me boy, I am so lonely without you. Do what he says and we will be together again. All of us...your mama and papa, Dimitry, Misha, Sasha and your beloved little Katiya. We’re all here waiting for you.”
“You lie! That is not my baba!” Illya shouted. “You are nothing but a trickster and a liar, you servant of evil!”
“Then you lose Mr. Kuryakin.” The shadow extended its open hand, making a sudden fist.
Illya screamed at the pain he felt in his chest, and being pulled upwards he was forced forcing him to arch his back. It was as though his heart were being slowly crushed.
“Give in and the pain will go away. Become a servant of the great dragon and your life will be filled with nothing but wealth and success.” The voice echoed from the darkness.
“Stop!” Another called out, but this voice was one filled with light and joy.” To Illya he heard Russian.
“Do not try to tempt this one! He is not yours to take.”
Out of the shadows stepped a most startling sight, it was a gold and jewel encrusted skeleton; its eye sockets dark and empty, its teeth in a permanent, and ghastly grin.
“You will not have him spawn of Satan!” It pointed a bony ring-covered finger at the shadow. “Begone, this one does not belong to you! In the name of all that is holy, in the name of the Risen Christ, I cast you out. Begone! I command you now!” The voice was booming and the very ground shook from it.
The words repeated over and over in Russian, German, Spanish, French and finally Latin. Illya understood it all as he fought back the pain until it suddenly stopped.
The body of the Kuryakin dropped to the floor with a thud, and he watched as a gaping maw opened behind the shadow and swallowed it as it howled in frustration.
Illya lowered his head, feeling dizzy again, and passed out.
When he awoke on he was laying on the the floor of the church, with a pounding headache.
There was no gaping hole there, the candles had burned down and the light of the sun was shining through the windows, casting the brilliant colors from the stained glass throughout the interior. The cobwebs shimmered and moved in a delicate dance on soft breeze. The smell of moldy mildew and death were gone, replaced by the distinct scent of roses, yet there were no flowers to be seen.
He picked himself up, dusting off his clothes and slowly he walked to the door. Illya opened it, hearing the chirping of birds and felt the warmth of the sun on his face as he stepped into the light.
He pulled his communicator, figuring to give it another try.
“Open channel F.- Solo.”
“Illya? Where the hell have you been?”
“Good question. My car broke down and I spent the night in the ruins of an old church. I could not get a signal until now.”
“Well stay put and I’ll come get you. Keep the channel open so I can home in on your signal.”
“Will do. Kuryakin out.”
He left the church, not looking back and walked back to the Citroen; there waited there for his partner to arrive. Illya found the car more quickly than he thought he would, supposing the walk to the church felt longer because it was in the dark.
He slipped into the passenger seat and closed his weary eyes, trying to make sense of that bizarre dream he’d had. A demon was trying to take his soul, and turn him to serve Satan? And what the hell was that bejeweled skeleton?” Illya shook his head, as he believed in neither a hell or a heaven...at least that’s what he usually tried to convince himself, though as a child he’d been taught otherwise.
An hour and forty minutes later Solo pulled up in a posh black Mercedes; greeting his partner with a smile and carrying a bag containing schnitzel. and a pastry box with several pieces of punschkrapferl, an Austrian confection...small cakes filled with cake crumbs, nougat chocolate, apricot jam and soaked with rum.
“Hello there, need a lift?” He called out. “I bring vittles as I’m sure you’re hungry.”
“Napoleon do you have your flask with you?” Kuryakin gave a look of relief upon seeing the American.
“Of course,” he pulled it out of his pocket, handing it to the bedraggled looking blond. ”It’s scotch, remember?”
Illya took a long swig from it, coughing as he finished swallowing...he was never a fan of scotch, but at the moment it would have to do.
“Are you okay partner? Solo squinted at him. Illya drinking whisky before touching food said something was definitely off.
“You all right?” He studied the Russian for a moment, thinking he was paler than usual.
“I am now. My mission to deliver the documents was a failure and perhaps we could have someone else do it...I, I need to rest. I must have slipped and fallen last night; I have a rather sizeable lump on the back of my head.”
Napoleon decided not to push his partner. Something else happened and it was obvious Illya didn’t want to talk about it.
As they drove down the road they passed the church where he’d taken refuge.
“Is that where you spent the night?”
“Yes but now that I have seen it in daylight, it is more like a small chapel, and severe disrepair by the way. I did not sleep well there as I had a very disturbing dream.”
“After you got knocked on the head?”
“One would think that is the logical conclusion,” Illya snickered.
“Oh, well here’s a fun fact. Did you know that exact church is where the remains of St. Albertus once reposed?”
“St. Albertus Magnus, a Doctor of your Catholic church?”
“No this St. Albertus was one of many said to be the remains of Catholic martyrs dug up from Roman catacombs. Thousands of skeletons were brought in the 16th century and installed in towns around Germany, Austria and Switzerland on the orders of the Vatican. They were sent to churches to replace relics destroyed in Reformation but none were actually canonised, so many were stipped of the honors.”
“Were these skeletons decorated in any way?”
“Yes,” Napoleon eyed him, wondering how Illya knew to ask that. “As a matter of fact when they were first brought to the churches, most of them were garishly adorned in gold, silver and gemstones. When many of these so called saints fell into disfavor they were hidden away, not to be seen again, some stripped of their adornments.”
“So they were never saints to begin with? No miracles associated with them?”
"Apparently not. So you didn’t see any bejeweled skeletons in there did you tovarisch?”
“Skeletons...umm, no not at all.” He decided he wasn’t going to tell his partner about his dream, as it would entail endless questions on the American’s part; that was something with which Illya did not want to deal.
“How do you know all this Napoleon? I have never heard of these things.”
“Well number one it’s a Catholic thing and number two...I did some reading while I was waiting for you in Salzburg. There was a rather interesting article in a magazine by a fellow who’s researching these so-called saints.”
“So you were in Salzburg and not with a woman?”
“Well I almost was, but that’s your fault by the way.”
“My fault? I was languishing in damp church fighting for my soul..” Illya blurted out but bit his tongue, as he’d said too much.
“Fighting for your soul? Now don’t you think that needs a bit of an explanation tovarisch?”
“Nyet,” Illya turned his face to the side window, ending the conversation.
Napoleon understood his partner well enough not to try to force him to talk. He’d be told eventually or perhaps not at all...that was Illya’s way. He settled in to driving back to Munich. Maybe that R&R would get the Russian’s tongue to loosen up?
Illya reached into his jacket pocket for his handkerchief, as he felt a sneeze coming on; he most likely caught a cold from his chilly, dream-filled night, but what he withdrew made him swallow hard and his sneeze disappear.
In his hand was a small blue jewel half the size of a dime encased in gold wire...
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This wasn't a typical 'Halloween' story was it? I was stuck for an idea with my own prompt, but finally came up with the brainstorm to start it with yesterday's Short Affair.
Glad you liked it and thanks for the comment!
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