Zenka laid a hand on Lanningham's arm. Instantly his wide shoulders relaxed and she smiled. "That's better, yes? Come, the caves are shallow. You need not fear."

Lanningham nodded and walked right in like a sheep led by a shepherd.

The one-eighty in his behavior made me pause. Zenka had touched Uncle Mike earlier, too, when she suggested we follow her out here. He had put on his backpack and followed without question after that. Did she have some kind of persuasive power? Apprehensive, I trailed them inside.

Zenka was right; the cave was shallow and not very tall, maybe seven feet, and enough sunlight streamed inside to give it a twilight vibe. More interesting, though, were the walls. Prehistoric drawings were painted onto nearly every surface: hunting scenes, ceremonies, a group of women skinning an antelopea"daily life type stuff. The paintings were faded and the style was old, simple and crude. It was like the cave drawings in my history textbook had come to life right in front of me.

"Hereathis one." Zenka pointed to a drawing dominating the back wall.

The scene was two-feet tall by four-feet wide. An upside down pentagram had been carved into the rock on the left side, and it's center pentagon was painted black. At each point of the star, some kind of monster or demon stood. At the top, two creatures. One looked like the Gators we'd fought in Peru. The other was a giant winged creature, resembling the Zoroastrian's fallen goda"the one Parker and I had killed in Afghanistan. At the side points were drawings of a humpbacked creature with talon-tipped hands and feet, and a great lizard breathing fire. But it was the bottom point that made me gasp. The figure was indistinct, a blur, but built like a powerful man. It carried a spear ending in a hooked point. All the creatures appeared to have been painted a long time ago, faded like the other drawings in the cave, all except the blurred figure. Its black enamel shone in our flashlight beams.

My hands shook. It was the Shadow Man from my nightmaresathe same smeared figure the professor said he'd seen in the missing physicist's office. These ancient people had seen or knew about the Shadow Man. How could they have known about him? Were they in league with this thing?

I looked around wildly, half-expecting a platoon of demons to emerge from the walls. Tink gave me a steadying nudge. The taint here is old, weak. The power is long gone. You need not fear this cave. Other caves, perhaps, but not this one.

Not the best of reassurances, but my breathing slowed.

"Is someone restoring these paintings?" Uncle Mike asked, pointing at the shadow man. "That one looks fresh."

Zenka grinned, revealing three missing teeth. "Oh, no. These figures are very old. Each generation has been taught never to touch the dark figure. Its paint runs like blood if you do, and your hands burn."

Holy crap. "No touching. Right."

She pointed at me. "What about the other figures? What do you see there?"

A right-side up pentagram had been carved across from the first one, and it's center pentagon was white. At each point was a man. They were in various positions, crouched, standing with an arm in striking position, lunging. Each one held a knife.

Brandt sucked in a breath behind me. "Look at the top."

The top figure stood tall, feet apart. His head was tilted upward, as if receiving instruction from the heavens, and he held the knife aloft, pointing at the sky. Lines emanated from the blade, like rays of light. He was painted white, and the paint was as fresh as the dark figure's.

"It'sa us," Brandt whispered.

"Yes," Zenka said. "One of the dark, one of the light, you see? Come back to my home, I have more to show you."

I stumbled along at the back of the group. Five wielders, five knives. We'd seen the Gators and the winged creature. But what about the lizard or the taloned giant? Did this mean we'd have to fight those, too? And what about the Shadow Man? After my nightmares, I knew a time would come when I had to face him.

The prophecy of the knives pounded my brain. Born of the ground, tied to the heavens, meeting their brothers in combat for men's souls. That's what Jorge's people believed, and why they worked for so long to bring the knives into existence. Then there were the Zoroastrians, with their notion of a savior fighting to end the dark. And what about that tale from the professors in Canada, about the Iroquois and their boy leader?

Now we had Zenka with her ancient cave drawings. All these culturesa"these very different culturesa"had legends depicting the same thing, evil spirits doing battle with their equals on the good side.

What did this mean for the team?

What did it mean for me?

My doors were flat blown off by the time we reached Zenka's hut. She gestured for all of us to sit on the ground in front of her home. After disappearing inside for a minute, Zenka returned carrying a large, leather-bound sketch pad. "Ahmatku's. He studied the caves, couldn't seem to get them off his mind toward the end of his life. Shortly before he died, he had a series of visions about the men, the blade-carriers. And he started drawing what he saw."

She flipped the book open. The first picture was a half-sketched face. The head was shaped kind of like Brandt's, but the features weren't drawn in, so it could've been anyone with a slightly large noggin. "This one he couldn't ever quite finish."

Brandt grunted. "Pretty."

Uncle Mike glared at him. "Show some respect."

Zenka flipped the page. "How about this one?"

This man's face was fully drawn in. Aristocratic nose, slightly buck-toothed, with a buzzed flattop haircut. Uncle Mike leaned forward. "My Godathat's Parker!"

Jorge was next, his sharp cheekbones and dark eyes fully captured. He crouched by a fire, wearing his regular outfit of field pants and tunic, along with a mysterious expression, and he had his knife clutched in his left hand. The handle was even right a" solid black.

Then Ramirez, standing, head cocked to one side. His knife hung loosely from his fist, the hint of the black markings on the white handle showing through. His dark hair, his build, everything was perfect, almost like Ramirez had posed for the portrait.

"The four points," Zenka said. "Guardians of the elementsa"of the earth herself. Protectors of the people."

She leaned forward, catching our eyes in turn. "But there is one more knife-carrier. The one we call the Sentinel. The guardian of the spirits, he who watches over that which gives us lifea"the keeper of light. The one directly opposed to the dark Master, who gives nothing but death. The Sentinel leads the four points, the guardians."

Sweat ran down my back as Zenka flipped the last page. Unlike the others, this sketch was done in color. The man in the picture was about eighteen, maybe nineteen, and he wore desert-hued fatigues. He stood proud, with his chin up, clutching the white bone handle of his knife in his right fist. Brown hair, shaved in a close-cut buzz. Dark blue eyes.

Tiny silver pentagram tattooed on his right wrist.

The world blacked out and suddenly I was fifteen again, leaning against a tree in the jungle on a pitch-dark night. Seeing a vision of myself leading a strike force against a dark army. Looking exactly like the man in the portrait.

"Jesus," Mike breathed.

"No, not exactly," Zenka said, rasping out a chuckle. "But someone who certainly carries our lives in his hands."

Chapter Eleven.

"Well, if Archer didn't have a God complex before, he's bound to now," Brandt said with an ugly sneer as we rode back to camp.

Quick as a snake, Uncle Mike got right in Brandt's face. "Let's get something straight, Captaina"we're all on the same team, whether you like it or not, so no more comments about Matt. And since you have time to complain, I'll add one more thing to your list. From here on out, I'm taking over as mission commander and Matt's lead wielder, no objections allowed."

I watched the scene without passion. My mind was still reeling with the idea that I held the fate of the human race in my hands. I'd heard this before, more than once, but seeing my older self in Ahmatku's sketchbook made it more real.

There's no use worrying about this now. The wielders' roles were set before any of you were born. We've been waiting for you longer than Zenka's people have. Longer even than the Maker's people. We've waited for all the ages of the world, since dark arrived.

All the ages of the world?

"Why so long?" I whispered, scared to hear the answer.

For your blood to be strong enough. It took generations, but finally you all were born under the right stars, with the right blood, at the right times.

"I don't understand. What stars?" I asked. Brandt shot me a look, but didn't comment.

I lack the human words to explain. But there is one who can. He is far away, but coming closer. In time.

The knife-spirit retreated from my mind, leaving me frustrated and annoyed. Questions rattled around my head like billiard balls after one of Will's better trick shots. Like that old show The X-Files, the truth was out there, but I had no idea when it would come, or what I'd find.

"I have a question," Johnson said, dragging my attention back to the dusty Humvee just in time to hit a bump that nearly jarred my hips out of joint. "If this Ahmatku is dead, why are the monsters still roaming around here? They finished what they came for, it seems like."

"Maybe it's something else," I said. "We don't know for sure these new monsters are related to the Lions from the last set of eclipse attacks." I nodded to Brandt. "Right?"

"Truth is, we don't know exactly what's prowling around out here," Brandt said. He glanced around the cab of the Humvee, looking defensive. "They mightabe Lions. We're not sure."

"Wait," Uncle Mike said, his voice dead calm, but I could tell it wouldn't stay that way. "Are you saying a few of the old monsters may still be alive?"

"It's possible, based on the remains of the victimsa"claw and bite marks are similar. But I took out the exact number we expected to see last time, unless the whole multiples of thirteen thing was a bad assumption." Brandt's shoulders drooped. "That's not all, though. The reports we're getting, they don't make sense. Some baloney about devils in the desert, haunting the cliffs. We've been out to various sites a half-dozen times, but we didn't find a thing."

"What if this is related to those cave drawings?" Uncle Mike asked. "Because what you're talking about sounds unrelated to the original infestation, even if the monsters are cat-like in some way."

I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes, letting their theories wash over me. I'd need to send Mamie an email when we returned to base camp. Maybe she could turn something up for us. She was really good at researching ancient religions.

"Maybe the messiah over there knows," Brandt said. "He looks like he's receiving divine intervention as we speak."

A flash of annoyance caused my hand to fly without my consent. Before I even opened my eyes, I had Brandt pinned to the back of his seat with my forearm across his throat.

Well, wasn't that just awesome? As much as he deserved it, I'd be in some deep crap now. I tried to pull my arm away, but it stuck in place like I'd been magnetized. Brandt's face turned purple as he scrabbled at my wrist. Behind me, Uncle Mike was telling everyone to calm down. Lanningham stared at me over the front seat like I'd grown a tail and horns right there in the vehicle. And Johnson? He sat back and let it all play out, looking kind of pleased by my reaction.

Tell him that's a warning, Tink commanded, and the words echoed, like Brandt's own blade-spirit was agreeing with mine. Tell him, or we won't let him go without pain.

I blew out a breath and tugged at my arm. Brandt tried to pry me off, too. Still, I held him in place; neither one of us would win this battle of wills. A millennia-old spirit had a lot more patience and no actual skin in the game. She was also more stubborn than any human I knew. She could wait us out, easy.

"It's not me," I said to Brandt, glaring right into his bugged-out eyes. "You know it's not. But the knife-spirit says she won't allow me to let up unless you stop acting like a jackass. Uncle Mike warned you first. Now my knife's saying to cut it out. If you're not careful, your knife will be next. I've been punished by them before. You won't like that much."

A hush fell inside the Humvee. God, I hated it when the knife-spirits made me look completely insane. "Look, all Captain Brandt has to do is agree to take the mission more seriously. He does that, and we're all cool, okay?"

"Fine," Brandt croaked. "No more messiah jokes."

"And you'll pull your weight from here on out? Because I know you've been slacking off, and don't even try to lie about it."

"You have my word."

My forearm went limp and I sat back to let Brandt get some air. My temples started throbbing immediately after. Bleeding off the magic after a hostile takeover sucked, and I put my head between my knees, feeling like I might puke. "Can we go back, now? It's probably not a good idea to keep me in a confined space for much longer."

Brandt's guy put the Humvee in gear. "Sir, yes sir."

The headache lasted three hours despite a prescription dose of ibuprofen and all the water I could drink. It was dusk before I staggered out of the tent to forage for dinner. Everyone stopped talking when I appeared, quieting around the small campfire like they were afraid I'd conjure up some voodoo and turn them all into flying monkeys. Brandt's guys looked particularly wary, watching me with furtive glances. The news of my strangler act on the ride home had been shared in full.

My pulse sped up and my nerve-endings started feeding me garbage about how I need to brace for a fight. This time, though, I wasn't in the mood to let Tink run the show; it was my turn to control our programming. I breathed in a lungful of smoke-tinged air. Something about the smell of a campfire always took me back to campouts with Mike when I was younger, to a place where I was happy and safe. For a moment, I could forget I stood in the middle of the Kalahari. I could forget that an ancient spirit of Light wanted me to get into a rumble with a half-dozen Green Beretsaor that my uncle was keeping an extra close eye on me, in case I went into overdrive for no good reason.

I just couldn't forget what Zenka told us, and what it meant.

Feeling the weight of the universe crashing down on my shoulders, I waded through the group, picked up an MRE and went back to my tent without addressing anyone. I thought it was pretty obvious I wanted to be alone, but five minutes later Uncle Mike pushed through the tent flap and took a seat on the cot next to mine.

"You okay?" he asked, then rolled his eyes. "Strike that. Of course you aren't okay."

"Not the best day I've had, no." I scraped the last of my enchiladas out of the pouch and forced them down. This might've been the worst MRE I'd had yet. The whole thing had congealed before I took a single bite, and the tomato sauce smelled like ketchup rather than something you'd put on Mexican food. "The rations suckaat least that's a constant. I'll cling to that."

Uncle Mike wasn't deflected. "You know somethinga"more than what we heard from Zenka before. I could see how unsettled you were on the way home, muttering something about stars. You have me worried, Chief."

I lay on my bunk and stared at the ceiling. "The knife told me it's been searching for our bloodlines, for the wielders, for all the ages of the world. Searching for me. What if Brandt's right? What if I'm the Sentinel?"

Mike was quiet for a long while. "And so what if he is? We already knew you were special to some extent."

"To some extent?" I said, feeling a hollow ache growing in my chest. "This is a whole new *extent,' Uncle Mike." I sat up, clenching my fists in my lap to keep my hands from shaking. "If it's true, this means I have to save the human race, or die trying. And if I do die trying, then so does everyone else."

Uncle Mike reached across and gripped my shoulder. "Then we don't let you fail."

"But what about that missing scientist, the Australian lady who got kidnapped in Canada? Or the new stuff popping up in China? What about the next round of eclipses? The first one is only two months away. It's all happening at the same timeait's just so much to take on."

"Don't forget there are five wielders, Matt. Five. And Jorge is pretty formidable in his own right. You do not have to shoulder this burden on your own. We won't let you." Uncle Mike gave me a rueful smile. "Hey, you know how you eat an elephant?"

I groaned, but the corners of my mouth turned up, too. "One bite at a time."

One bite at a time.

Chapter Twelve.

The next morning, I woke up early and decided to knock out some studying before Mike prodded me into it. I started up my satellite connection to log onto the school's website, fully intending to read more about the exploits of old Millard and the gang, but decided to check my email instead. Good thinga"Mamie had sent me a message. I smiled; sometimes my sister seemed to have ESP. I'd forgotten to send her an email last night, but it's like she knew I had planned to.

Matta"

How are you? Is everything okay? I just had a bad feeling all day.

At that, Tink chuckled in my head. And you're concerned about our shared consciousness? It's almost like she's reading your mind.

"She's just a pro worrywart. It must've been my day on her *concerned' to-do list."

You should tell her that worrying is a waste of time, but I assume that would fall upon deaf ears.

"I would say, *you have no idea,' but you do, soayeah. On the other hand, are you able to read what I read?"