The Ruby Cross

By Katie Hanna

The sunken cathedral walls swallow me as I lower myself through the depths, past the missing roof, one hand gripping my tether, the other cradling my flashlight.

“Jamaica?” Rasheed’s voice crackles through my headset. “You got eyes on the rubies yet?”

Before I answer, I swing my flashlight across the cathedral walls. The beam pierces the darkness, revealing my surroundings. Crumbling stone here. Eerie green stained glass there. The looming bulk of the altar, still intact when so much else has fallen to ruin.

“It’s the Ruby Cross, not a pile of random rubies, Rasheed.” I land on the cathedral floor with a soft thump, my boots stirring murky clouds of sand. “You know—the legendary Ruby Cross that supposedly destroyed an entire fleet of enemy submarines when this cathedral was under siege. That Ruby Cross.”

“An entire fleet?” Rasheed fakes a gasp, pretending to believe every word. “Aren’t you worried about being the first person to disturb such a powerful relic after four hundred years?”

“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes as I move along the central aisle with slow, clomping steps. “We’re archaeologists, not mystics! We both know that old story isn’t true!”

“If you say so,” my partner teases. I snort.

Even with Rasheed cracking jokes over the radio, it’s a cold, lonesome world down here. The ocean is almost as frigid as the glares the STYLUS officials gave us when we applied to explore the cathedral. Our bureaucratic overlords—who haven’t even bothered to explain what STYLUS stands for—claim archaeology is a waste of time. But they signed the paperwork anyway. That’s all that matters, I tell myself firmly, shelving my resentment toward STYLUS for another time. If Rasheed and I can find the lost relic, everything will be worth it.

I swish my way deeper into the cathedral, marveling at the elaborate stained glass above the sanctuary. Our research tells us the Ruby Cross should occupy a place of honor beside the altar.

Assuming it hasn’t been lost forever.

Silencing my doubts, I peer through the black depths. My flashlight snags a dull, greenish-gold box. I whisper, “There!”

Rasheed catches his breath. “Jamaica? Do you see it?”

“Gimme a second.”

I plunge forward. My gloved hand fumbles with the latch. When I yank the door open, a crimson glow bleeds into the dark water.

I gasp.

The Ruby Cross!

The relic shimmers at me from its nest of ancient gold. Translucent pink glass encases six enormous rubies. Their rounded, red gleam could illuminate the cathedral all by itself.

My blood fizzes with the heady rush of discovery. The Ruby Cross isn’t lost in the mists of time, after all! It’s right in front of me!

I reach for the jeweled treasure. Then I pause, swallowing uneasily. That ancient legend can’t be true. How could this fragile glass object destroy an entire fleet of submarines? But face to face with the Ruby Cross, the old story sends a shiver up my spine.

An impatient huff escapes me. I’m an archaeologist on a mission. I won’t be cowed by superstitions and rumors!

Gritting my teeth in determination, I stretch my hand toward the Ruby Cross once more. I’m about to grasp it when a loud clunk startles me.

I whirl in the direction of the noise, my flashlight beam dancing wildly.

Another diver materializes from the inky darkness. His suit is sleek and black, except for the golden STYLUS logo on his chest.

He steps forward.

“Jamaica?” Rasheed sounds panicked. “Jamaica, do you read?”

My heartbeat thuds in my eardrums. What would a STYLUS agent be doing here? STYLUS doesn’t care about archaeology! Their press memos are always blathering about “forgetting the dead past” and “moving forward” with only “the power of science to guide us.”

The diver reaches for his utility belt and pulls out a gun.

My blood turns to ice.

“Jamaica!” Rasheed yells. “Talk to me!”

“I—I don’t have a weapon!” I scream. “I’m an archaeologist!”

“A weapon? What’s going on?” A loud crash tells me Rasheed either slammed the console or kicked over a chair. “Screw this, I’m coming down there!”

The diver’s finger slides to the trigger, and my heavy, rubber limbs finally awaken enough to scramble backward—

The golden box lights up from the inside, a pulsing, red glow accompanied by an eerie hum.

The Ruby Cross sends a beam of brilliant scarlet that pierces the darkness and cuts an unerring path straight for the diver, striking him in the chest.

The man tumbles backward. Streams of bubbles mark his spiral through the black water. He smashes into the cathedral wall, and the ancient building shudders from the impact. Around me, the stones tremble in a gentle warning.

I snatch up the relic and stuff it in my utility belt.

“Pull me up!” My flailing fingers grasp the tether and hang on for dear life. “Now!”

The tether begins to spool, faster and faster, at the maximum speed allowed for safe ascent. I zip toward the missing roof, and the cathedral begins to shake.

Shock waves wash over me as the building collapses. The force buffets me back and forth, a rag doll on a string. Fragments of stone swirl and eddy around me. I dodge a glass shard hurtling straight for my head.

“You okay?” Rasheed whispers as stillness falls once more.

My gaze travels over the ocean floor where the cathedral stood. Hundreds of years of work and dedication, gone in an instant. Crumbled to dust.

Snug in my belt, the Ruby Cross winks at me, a deceptively tranquil light in the cold, black water.

Did this relic just… save my life?

At the expense of its own home?

How did the relic know I was in danger? Did I trigger its power somehow, with my panic and desperation? Am I responsible for destroying this hallowed place?

“Rasheed?” My voice shakes. “How much do we really know about the legend of the Ruby Cross?”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Katie Hanna is a writer in her spare time and a Hufflepunk all the time.  She has a Master’s degree in history from the University of Memphis, and puts it to work writing historical fiction and historical fantasy.  Katie likes strong women in her adventure stories and Oreos in her ice cream.

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