John K. Stevens loved snorkeling, but this was not Florida, and these were not the warm waters of a Spring break Gulf Stream, and he wasn’t surrounded by beautiful girls who rubbed their hands all over his body and treated him like the "Hero of the Beach" from those Charles Atlas ads. Instead of soft, warm tropical breezes, it was late winter on Lake Champlain and even with enchantments keeping him from freezing, he was still very, very cold. He surfaced, hoisting a rather large chest. Two cultists helped him into the boat, and stood him face-to-face with the dispassionate presence of the Golden Face, the leader of the cult of Lordruu.

"Man, is it cold down there!" John K. exclaimed, unzipping his wetsuit and drying himself off.

The Face nodded and his two minions pried off the lock of the chest. The minions - one archeology student, one campus rent-a cop - pulled anything metallic from the container, coins and some old silverware. "Do not forget to catalog them, Mr. Smith. I know more than a few anthropologists who would love to get their hands on these," the cult leader instructed.

Allen Smith nodded, pulled out a laptop and began to record information. The Golden Face had other interests. He pulled several pieces of ruined parchment from the chest, and conducted a long slow ritual. The parchment began to change color, from grey to brown to almost white, and centuries of wear disappeared. In moments the parchment was nearly as good as new, save for some rips and tearing at the bottom. "Ah, the magic is strong in this place." The Face said.

"Is that it? Did we find it?" John K. asked, standing over his leader, his wetsuit half removed, a cup of coffee in his trembling hands..

John wanted the search to be over. He wanted it desperately to be over. He was a decent diver, but the deep waters of Lake Champlain in winter - and at night -- was a diving challenge that would give the professionals pause. He was a strong young man, but battling the undertow had almost completed sapped his strength.

"This might be it." the Golden Face mused, holding a flashlight and scanning the document. "My French is rather rusty, but… Yes. This is promising."

"Does that tell where we can find more treasure?" Decomo, the rent-a-cop asked.

"These are a treasure. The articles of the Iroquois Confederation. Many of whose principles were adopted by the founding fathers of the United States of America… I’m not sure this is the complete document. Perhaps there are some more chests down there."

"Do you want me to make sure?" John K. asked, hoping the answer would be no.

"Yes, you’d better." He could not hide his disappointment from the Golden Face. The cult leader put his hand on his shoulder. "Lordruu might require an older copy. We cannot allow the weariness of the body to deter us from our goal."

"Are you certain we’ll find it?" There was a tone of desperation in his voice.

The Golden Face jerked, and John K. felt himself blush. But it seemed to him that the mask smiled. "No, boy, I don’t even know if these articles are acceptable to Lordruu. This expedition may be a waste of all of our time, except that it’s good to suffer in pursuit of a noble goal."

.John K. bowed his head. The Face knew about suffering. The Cult of Lordruu was a cult devoted to the serpent of Law, but they had recently committed several robberies to raise funds for their cause. To atone for these violation of law, the Golden Face had disrobed and had his back lashed thirty times. John had been one of the ones who had administered the purification rites. At least he knew his leader suffered as he had done.

Why had he joined the cult? It had seemed like a game at first, and then the magical benefits began to accrue. He would have been a second stringer, but now he was the star of Columbia’s football team, uninjured, and a strong NFL prospect. He felt like a god on the gridiron. He slept better, and found it easier to make friends, with both men and women. He was rarely nervous or insecure. And the cause of Lordruu was a just one, the fight against decadence. In the long run, he would be a force for good in the world.

John K. finished his coffee, refastened the wet suit, and waited for Decomo to get ready on the line. He was too busy eyeing the coins. Greedy rent-a-cop bastard.

After a few minutes, the Face got Decomo’s attention, and they prepared for another dive. But before John could get into the water, a blazing light suddenly appeared in the sky. Everyone glanced upwards, looking for a light source that wasn’t there.

And then a woman, a most beautiful woman in a low-cut red and black spandex outfit, materialized in front of them. She was accompanied by two men, one tall man with a physique that Arnold Schwartzenegger would envy, the other, a short and lithe man with a smashed nose and dark narrow eyes. Decomo tried to draw his pistol, but the little man’s hands extended outwards with a blur and snatched the revolver from Decomo’s hands. He pulled the trigger - and out came a giant "Bang" flag. The woman rolled her eyes. The slender man gave an annoying high pitched laugh.

The bigger man advanced on John K. who got the impression he was a more serious combatant than the small guy. John K. tensed and shifted into a fighting stance.

"Beguile, isn’t it?" the Golden Face said, gazing into the woman’s face, and at her costume. If John K. hadn’t been getting into the middle of a fight, he might have whistled at her.

"You have me at a disadvantage," the villainess said. She gave a hand motion and stopped her minions from attacking. The big man looked immensely disappointed.

"If this is an advantage, I would hate to see what a disadvantage is.." The Golden Face replied. "I did not anticipate trouble on this little expedition. Would you care to negotiate?"

"Who are you?" Beguile asked, staring at him.

"Please do not attempt to force my identity from me." the Golden Face laughed. "That is the one thing I will not permit you to take. Suffice it to say that I am merely a servant in pursuit of a larger goal."

"Who is your master?"
"The Stalwart God. The constrainer of iniquities."

Beguile laughed. "A bloody cult. We came after treasure hunters, and instead, we find ourselves in bloody mumbo-jumbo land."

"Madam, it is dangerous to mock my religion." The Golden Face was solemn. "But allow me to offer you something. I have collected a number of Mohawk treasures and artifacts, including some old French gold. I had hoped to use it for my own operations. Leave me the parchment and the silverware, and the gold shall be yours."

"Hmm, I could take it all."

"Yes, and you could kill us." The Golden Face said. "But only a fool makes enemies without a purpose or significant material gain. Don’t you agree?"

"You have a point. Have you extracted all of the treasure?"

"My acolyte was about to return to the deeps and determine if there was anything else we could salvage."

"I suggest a collaboration." Beguile said. "We’ll accept your offer and split any other spoils we gather from this point fifty-fifty. And if Titus or Rabbit can assist you, we shall. Titus, accompany the diver."

"Yes, ma’am." Titus, the bigger of the two men, spoke in a crisp baritone, not taking his eyes off John K.

"We don’t have a spare wetsuit." John K. noted, returning the gaze.

"Don’t need one." Titus replied. He removed his shirt, displaying gills that were set into the side of his neck.

"Do you smell something?" the smaller of Beguile’s minions, a dark little man with sandy brown hair named Rabbit. "I think it’s alpha males in heat!"

"Yes, exhilarating, isn’t it?" Beguile smiled, teeth gleaming like a predator.

The ruined caravel was in deep waters, about two hundred feet below the surface of the lake. Only magic allowed John K. to survive at that depth, a long and painful ritual. And it was mutation that allowed Titus to survive at that depth.

"You know, at the time this boat sank, your ancestors were probably just slaves singing ‘Mammy’ on some plantation." Titus goaded him before the dive. John K. was an African-American, and rather proud of his heritage. Titus wasn’t particularly bigoted, he was the sort of man who liked to offend everyone.

"And yours were probably a pack of horse thieves." John K. muttered.

"So you just found one strongbox? In the Captain’s quarters." Titus wondered, changing the subject.

"Yeah." John K. was briefing his would-be comrade and scrutinizing him at the same time. "Follow my lead. I’ll make a pointing motion when we’re there. I was going to look for a safe."

"What about a paymaster’s chest?"

"This is only Lake Champlain." John K. explained. "They wouldn’t need one for this sort of a voyage. You used to diving in these sort of waters?"

"I’ve dove in the north Pacific a few times. The Japan Current will freeze your balls in late winter."

"I guess it will. How do you expect to see down there?"

"My eyes are better down there than they are up here." Titus said, an off-hand remark. John K. filed it away, just in case they got into a scrap.

"You do much diving? What’s your background?"

"None of your business." Titus spat.

"What the Hell’s your problem?" John K. stood up straight, in a challenging pose. They were chest to chest and glaring at each other.

Titus grabbed John K. by his throat and began to squeeze. Abruptly Rabbit got up, ran around them several times, touched Titus’s hand, and turned it intangible. John K. managed to wrench himself away, and fell to the deck and coughed. Titus’s strength was well into the superhuman. Another second, and his windpipe would have been crushed.

"Son of a bitch…" he croaked.

"Titus…" Beguile’s hands went to her hips, like a master half-heartedly scolding a bad dog. There was a slight smile on her face.

"He started it." Titus snorted.

"This is unacceptable." The Golden Face said. "Unless I receive an assurance of good behavior from your servant, this operation ends now."

Beguile sat down and took some tea that Rabbit created from nowhere. She deliberately ignored the Golden Face. "This isn’t poisoned, is it Rabbit?"

"Why… I… How could you…" Rabbit stammered and blushed. "Well, yeah, but only to lab mice…"

Beguile took a sip, smiled, then turned to the Golden Face. "Of course he’ll behave. You have my word on it." She almost broke into laughter. "Trust us."

How could a mask that was fixed into a neutral expression scowl? The Golden Face was definitely not amused by the promise. "My curse upon you, should you break this covenant," he told Titus.

"Yeah, sure." Titus laughed.

"And do be careful, my boy." the Face told John K.

"Thanks…" John K. said sarcastically. He was as insubordinate to his cult as he ever had been.

The two divers looked at each other. "You take the point." Titus said. He had John K. spooked, ad he enjoyed it. They descended into the water with a splash.

"Tea?" Beguile took a porcelain cup from Rabbit and handed it to the Golden Face.

****

The wreck was called the Marie Sacre, the Blessed Mary. Three hundred and fifty years ago, during the great race to colonize North America, it had been a support vessel for the burgeoning French fur trade and had attempted to make peace with the French’s longtime enemies, the Iroquois. Somehow, perhaps through storm, perhaps through treachery, it had sunk to the bottom of the Atlantic. There was also one other property of the Marie Sacre, one which perhaps only the Golden Face could appreciate.

It was full of magic.

The items contained within the wreck had been remarkably well preserved. Smith, the archeology student had been the first to notice this, although the Golden Face had suspected it. It had been easy to find the wreck via the rituals; only sorcerous objects could be so easily scryed.

Lordruu has blessed us. The Face had said, mere hours ago.

John K. didn’t feel so blessed. He needed only to look back and spot the huge, unfriendly figure of the superhuman Titus to feel very, very unblessed.

It took them about ten minutes to reach the wreck. It was obvious Titus was impatient, but this didn’t please John K. He waved to him, and led him into the caravel, using a head mounted lantern to provide illumination. There was a small nimbus of weak light within a shroud of darkness; nothing could be more of a claustrophobe’s nightmare.

They reached the cabin easily enough. They passed by ancient paintings which even the preservative magicks of the caravel could not protect, and shuffled around a small space uneasily. Titus pushed John K. aside and began to examine the wall.

Rude bastard. John K. shot the behemoth a nasty glance.

Hey, I’m a rude bastard. Titus smiled back at the man. To him, John K. was nothing but an ordinary cultist: an athletic, but overmatched mortal.

John K. tried to find some wall space that Titus wasn’t examining. There was nothing there. Meanwhile, Titus pried planks from the wall and uncovered a steel chest. He moved to grab it.

John K. suddenly had an uneasy feeling. He began to give a warning dry through his gear, but it was already too late. The water around the chest began to bubble.

My Things! It was a woman’s voice, which echoed in their minds from a distance. John K. thought he heard it first in French, then babbling into English a fraction of a second later. Telepathy is such a weird experience!

Titus ignored the voice and the bubbles, and placed his hands on the chest.

The bubbles took the shape of a maiden, which suddenly became illuminated by ghost light. The Indians of the Lakes and Plains called her a nagila, a maiden’s shade. She was the most beautiful thing John K. had ever seen; even Beguile, who was considered one of the most attractive women alive, was not this hauntingly beautiful. The ghost-maiden was a woman out of time; she had dark hair, tied in a bun, and a maiden’s dress, blue with floral ornamentation. Her eyes glowed a brilliant gold-green, like newly cut grass on a hill that gleams when the sun shines on it.

What the Hell? Titus was not particularly versed in the supernatural. He attempted to push it away.

Who are you? John K. was prepared to be a little more diplomatic, perhaps because he was a lot more frightened than his companion.

Bubbles appeared around the chest, harmless bubbles which suddenly formed into serpents, a sick silver-white that was barely visible in the lamplight. With unerring purpose, they began to constrict around Titus, who struggled wildly… and could not move. John K. suddenly realized that Titus needed to move if he was to extract water through his gills; held stationless, Beguile’s servant would surely drown.

I am the Marie Sanctre, the nagila’s voice said, directed at John K.

You are beautiful. The nagila told him.

Weird. John K. repeated.

Let me go, bitch, or I’ll… John K. could now hear Titus through the telepathic link.

I knew men like you. The nagila’s voice was sad and angry. Taking pride in their strength, and only in their strength. Using any opportunity to use it against a man… or a woman, regardless on how obvious the outcome might be.

What the Hell did I ever do to you? The genetically engineered villain had come to the realization that threats would not work.

You touched my things. The nagila said. She drew close to John K. She touched him, and suddenly his garb was transformed; instead of a modern wetsuit, he was now dressed in an elaborate waistcoat with frills everywhere, and he had a long wig on his head.

Now you just touched *my* things. John K. said, scolding the nagila, scared as Hell that he wasn’t going to be getting out of this predicament..

My apologies. I had to see whether you were as dashing in civilized clothes as I had imagined. The nagila was genuinely penitent.

Well, if you feel like changing into clothing from my era…John K. joked. There was a pause, then the water around the nagila shimmered translucently, and suddenly the nagila was dressed in a low cut saffron gown. Her features had shifted slightly, and now she had light brown skin and facial features that suggested African descent.

Does this please you? The nagila asked.

John K.’s libido was flaring about as badly as it had ever done. He bit down on his tongue, struggled to regain self-control. He forced himself to remember some unpleasant legends. Why are you doing this? Lady, if you’re looking for a companion for eternity, I don’t want it. I don’t want to be a prisoner here.

The nagila paused. Titus was screaming a stream of obscenities, which faded as the nagila ignored them. Just answer one question. Am I beautiful?

Will you kiss me? The nagila asked.

No way. John K.’s heart broke even as he said it. Even assuming you’d make it possible through the wetsuit, too many water spirits imprison people with a kiss. I’m not going to get caught. Even though you’re almost worth it, he added silently to himself.

Kiss me, and I will free your companion. The nagila offered.

Go ahead and drown him. John K. said. He was probably going to kill me the first chance he got.

Come off it, man! Help me! Titus was pleading.

No, that was not a fair offer. The nagila said. I am sorry if my kind has a poor reputation. There is a desire for entrapment in the human soul, for control. There is also a need for love. Sometimes, the need for love kindles a need to entrap. Yours is the power to judge my feelings, to determine which currents and eddies governs my course.

John K. stood still for what seemed like an eternity.

John K. was unmoved by Titus’s entreaty. If only you weren’t so perfect. You’re just too good to be true… he told the nagila.

What are you, some kind of a queer? Kiss her, man! Titus goaded him.

John K. allowed Titus’s voice to fade out again. He had to think. Certainly the nagila had the power to constrain him with force. She wanted him to kiss him for a reason, but was it love, or something else?. And if there was an ulterior motive, she could do the same thing to Titus, he’d certainly have no compunctions about kissing her. And if he refused, and her motives were hostile, she’d be able to grab and kill him without a problem. He was probably in a no-win scenario, so he figured that he’d best enjoy it. He approached her, took her hands, gently embraced her, and held her close.

Their lips came together gently. They felt warm, as warm as a woman, moreso for being in the cold deep waters. John K. closed his eyes and surrendered himself to his fate. And for an instant, in the winter cold of Lake Champlain, there was heat, a heat as old as Man and yet burns like a newly created thing every time it is kindled. John K. felt like a god of the gridiron when imbued with the sorcery of Lordruu, but that was nothing compared with the primal power he now felt, the power of a simple act of love.

****

"Hey, Rocky, watch me pull a habit out of my rat!" Rabbit grinned as he entertained Smith and Decomo. "Nothing up my sleeve… Presto!"

He held a rat in one hand, which was smoking on a rat-sized cigarette.

"It looks like a really, really bad habit." Rabbit remarked

"How about giving us something we know we’d really like, like a naked broad." Decomo snorted, and returned to watching the water.

"I’m curious about one thing." Beguile said. "If you’re hunting for treasure, why here? Why not look for gold in the Caribbean?"

The Golden Face chuckled. "There are so many wrecks that have been uncovered in those waters that a Spanish doubloon is only worth the value of its gold. The artifacts from this wreck are much rarer, especially with the preservation magicks keeping them intact."

"Yes, but it’s so much more difficult to fence…"

The conversation was interrupted by a disturbance on the lake. "They’re coming!" the rent-a-cop shouted.

John K. gave a final thrust with his legs and surfaced, holding a chest in one arm, and Titus in the other arm. The Golden Face puzzled at this prodigious feat of strength. DeComo threw him a line, and John K. hoisted himself onto the ship with his cargo in tow.

"Take your share of the loot and get out." John K. told Beguile with surprising forcefulness.

"My boy?" The Golden Face wondered aloud at his brazen speech.

"Not now, sir." John K. felt a small amount of shame, being so brusque with his mentor. "Get out," he repeated to Beguile. He turned to Rabbit. "You too, pooka."

Rabbit’s eyebrows raised, and then he stuck out his tongue, which elongated several feet and left a large puddle of saliva on the deck. His shape shifted, and he became a rabbit in man-form, six feet and three and a half inches tall, dressed in a suit that looked like it would have been in fashion in the 1940s.

Titus began to cough. "Life’s not fair. Not only are you unaffected by this crap, you get to lose your virginity in the process."

"Virginity?" The Golden Face wondered aloud.

John K. picked up the supervillain in one hand -- by the throat - and held him close. "You owe me big time, punk. You owe the serpent of the water, and don’t think one day that we won’t collect from you."

Oddly enough, the mask of the Golden Face was smiling slightly.

The strongbox was open to reveal a woman’s jewelry. The Golden Face fastened a string of pearls and a beautiful broach to Beguile’s costume.

"What, no matching earrings?" Beguile mocked, as best as she could in the situation.

"I don’t see any." the Golden Face returned the mocking with feigned disappointment.

"They’re too good for you." John K. said.

Beguile started and turned around. "I don’t like your tone of voice. And it can be very dangerous when I don’t like someone’s tone of voice."

"Too bad, lady. ‘Cause I don’t like anything about you." John K. spat. "You may be able to pull your crap on Epee, maybe you even pull it on the Guardians, but you ain’t doing it to us. Get out and take your trash with you."

"Yeah, take your trash with you!" Rabbit shouted, his voice sounding a lot like Jimmy Stewart’s, and then he did a double take. "Hey!"

Beguile surrounded the ship in a huge aura of light and pulled the loot close to her. "Well, it’s been fun shopping. Time to get back to work."

Titus’s head was bowed; he was unwilling to look his adversary in the face. The threesome vanished.

John K. smiled, wavered in place for about five seconds, then collapsed onto the deck.

****

Three weeks passed. Whatever supernatural surge of power and will that possessed John K. Stevens on Lake Champlain vanished soon after he regained consciousness. The only thing that was left from the experience was an aching loss, a longing beyond consummation. The nagila was gone, freed from the wreck by an act of love with a pure-hearted virgin. He would never see her again.

"You should have kept your virginity until the serpent ordained it, boy." the Golden Face told him after the next cult meeting. He had told the tale of John K.’s momentary apotheosis to the assembly (leaving out the sex, of course), it had been a good morale booster. "But perhaps it was a gift of Lordruu. The nagila did manifest itself in serpent form when it constricted the young diver."

"I don’t honestly know. Perhaps you could divine it. If you don’t mind."

"I suppose it is important to know whether you are now a sacred vessel." The Golden Face was smiling. "But it shall have to wait. I have taxed Lordruu’s patience with too many questions. I must wait until the next new moon."

"Of course, sir." John K. was once again the compliant cultist.

"Unfortunately, the articles of the Iroquois Confederation were but a copy made by a French scribe, and never touched the hands of anyone who agreed to them." The Golden Face was talking to himself. "They have no power. And I am still not even sure whether it is one of the Six documents we need that will bring Lordruu back to the world."

"What next?"

"We continue our fundraising. And I have another venture planned. There is an artifact in Ethiopia, one whose importance, if the rumors are true, cannot be underestimated. In the city of Axum, in the place where the Queen of Sheba once lived. This is where we must go. As an African-American, it will be easier for you to blend in. You will accompany me."

"Uh, of course, sir." John K. said.

"Very good, Mr. Stevens." The Golden Face stated.

"Uh, sir, what artifact will we be looking for?"