More Than Mortal (24 page)
Authors: Mick Farren
Even though the deranged Katoh had been willing, even happy to sacrifice himself so she might survive, she still felt an unaccustomed guilt about abandoning him as a corpse. The ordeal of enforced burial, the sacrifice of a devoted servant, and the loss of the highly
idiosyncratic and all-embracing culture of the Japanese clans had been a turning point and trauma in her existence that would stay with her through all of her undead eternity, and the current reek of grave earth brought it all too vividly back. The idea of following Renquist into this hole in the ground had so horrified her she had taken it as a challenge, to confront her fear and not to lose face by backing away from the ordeal.
idiosyncratic and all-embracing culture of the Japanese clans had been a turning point and trauma in her existence that would stay with her through all of her undead eternity, and the current reek of grave earth brought it all too vividly back. The idea of following Renquist into this hole in the ground had so horrified her she had taken it as a challenge, to confront her fear and not to lose face by backing away from the ordeal.
Marieko moved forward again. To pause for long was impossible, Destry was bringing up the rear, and none of them wanted to be contorted in the cramped passage for longer than was necessary. The urge to flee, to get away from the confines of the place was powerful, but not so overwhelming that she would fail to steel her courage and continue. First the passage ran straight, but then it descended steeply, making progress even more awkward. Mercifully, the slope eventually ended and after maybe another dozen horizontal yards, it finally opened out into what could only be the main chamber, and the main chamber was sufficiently impressive to cause Renquist to straighten up and stare, and make Marieko forget her cold burden of old fear and bad memories.
Destry, always in touch with the basics, let out a low whistle. “Holy shit.”
Renquist exactly shared her sentiments. “This wasn’t built by any Bronze Age culture.”
The inner chamber was cavernous in comparison to the cramped crawl space of the access passage. Spacious and rectilinear, the blocks of stone from which it was constructed formed an interlocking mosaic, irregular in shape, but cut with such precision a single sheet of paper could not have been slid between any of the mortarless joints. The construction would have been impressive had the blocks been only a foot or so across, but these finished stones were huge, the largest weighing several tons. Not content with a masterpiece of the stonemason’s art, the walls themselves were covered with giant frescoes.
Towering and unrecognizable, the depicted creatures were able to dwarf even the trio of nosferatu with their graphic menace. Monumentally misshapen bodies held contorted poses; writhing tentacles were stilled for all time while floating eyes on dislocated stalks stared mutely at the intruders. The passage of time and chemical interaction had turned most of the murals’ red pigments a uniform rust, but the greens and blues remained clear and pure, which gave the immense paintings a decidedly submarine aspect.
Towering and unrecognizable, the depicted creatures were able to dwarf even the trio of nosferatu with their graphic menace. Monumentally misshapen bodies held contorted poses; writhing tentacles were stilled for all time while floating eyes on dislocated stalks stared mutely at the intruders. The passage of time and chemical interaction had turned most of the murals’ red pigments a uniform rust, but the greens and blues remained clear and pure, which gave the immense paintings a decidedly submarine aspect.
Marieko remained silent, waiting for Renquist to say something, but it was Destry who finally spoke. “These things don’t look like they’re even from this planet.”
“Some of them aren’t.”
The floor was a deep dish of granite chips, which made for perfect drainage, and in the very center of the chamber was a single flat stone, rough-hewn around the edges but perfectly flat and polished on the top, as though a large boulder had been sliced smoothly in half by some thought-cutter or particle beam device yet to be invented. The slab was approximately ten feet long and four feet wide, but with nothing like the geometry of the rest of the chamber. Clearly it had been designed as the resting place of a king, if not a more elevated being. This was confirmed by a pile of armor, weapons, jewelry, and human bones scattered on the floor, as though the previous tenant or tenants had been unceremoniously swept aside when the current occupant had taken possession of the massive stone bier. A gold crown lay among this jetsam if anyone doubted the monarchic status of those who’d been displaced.
The rank of the present occupant hardly mattered. Its outlandish form transcended all mundanely relative nobility. It was a thing of pure strangeness, and Marieko reflected how strangeness seemed to come in degrees, ranging from the merely untoward to objects so alien they brought their own fearful aura with them. This was definitely one of the latter. It lay on its granite plinth
like a giant cocoon or chrysalis. Seven feet long, a ribbed and misshapen, elongated hard shell, dark reddish brown, that might possibly have contained the mummified body of a human or being of similar form. Dagger-like spines extended from it as what could only be a defense against carrion scavengers. Marieko was unable even to hazard a guess from what material the shell might be made. It looked as though layers of a viscous liquid had somehow been extruded, allowed to harden, and then recoated over and over again. How the spikes formed was a secondary mystery all of its own.
like a giant cocoon or chrysalis. Seven feet long, a ribbed and misshapen, elongated hard shell, dark reddish brown, that might possibly have contained the mummified body of a human or being of similar form. Dagger-like spines extended from it as what could only be a defense against carrion scavengers. Marieko was unable even to hazard a guess from what material the shell might be made. It looked as though layers of a viscous liquid had somehow been extruded, allowed to harden, and then recoated over and over again. How the spikes formed was a secondary mystery all of its own.
While Marieko and Destry looked on, Renquist walked slowly toward the object on the slab. “I didn’t believe any still existed. I never even dared hope.”
Marieko looked at him with awe. “You know what this thing is?”
“I think I do. It would seem impossible it’s here, but I think I do.”
Columbine found herself staring up into the death mask that was the face of Gallowglass. Anemic parchment skin was stretched over the contours of his skull like a distorted drumhead, and his nose projected in a vulture beak. One cold, scrawny hand, with thick, ropelike veins, was locked around her wrist like a manacle; his black undertaker’s coat smelled of recent feeding, and the veins in his eyes told the same story. Almost speechless with outrage, she struggled against him to free herself. “Unhand me, damn you!”
Gallowglass smiled, showing stained yellow fangs turning brown toward the roots. “I canna’ do tha’, lassie.”
“Don’t call me lassie! I am not a sheepdog.”
“Would ‘Mistress Dashwood’ be more t’ y’r likin’?”
“What are you doing in my stable? How did you get here?”
“When ye were up i’ th’ turret surveyin’ th’ landscape, ye should ha’ maybe looked a wee bit closer t’ home.
Th’ Children o’ th’ Mist come veiled. We walked through y’ lake an’ ye never saw us.”
Th’ Children o’ th’ Mist come veiled. We walked through y’ lake an’ ye never saw us.”
“How dare you invade my Residence in this way?”
“They do say ‘who dares wins.’”
Angry that this creature should bandy words on the assumption that she was wholly helpless, she pivoted on one foot and kicked a riding boot hard into the back of Gallowglass’s knee. Taken by surprise, he stumbled one pace forward, and she took the instant to wrench her hand free of his. In the process, she ripped the skirt of her riding habit. The outer seam tore so it was slit almost to her waist. Gallowglass came after her, but instead of attempting to flee, she slashed him hard across the face with her whip. “Keep your damned hands off me!”
Gallowglass halted and ruefully rubbed his cheek. The crop had left a red welt. He glanced at the two Highlanders holding Bolingbroke. “She ha’ a powerful lot of spirit, this wee one.”
“This is intolerable.”
Gallowglass sighed. “Just be a good young lady an’ din’a cause th’ lads an’ I any more trouble.”
Five figures stepped out of the shadows. Some massive and some small but virulent. All vassals, henchmen, and bonded companions of the Fenrior Clan, and all with the same, hard, penetrating, undead eyes. They were what Fenrior called his Children of the Mists. All wore the same plaid in various varieties of dash and decay. All carried claymores, save for two. One was a massive brute with a shaved Mohican scalp lock, who packed a long, double-handed broadsword in a sheath on his back, its hilt protruding over his left shoulder. The other was the smallest of the gang, a tensely compact, ferret of a man with a tattooed face and gold hoop earrings, who wielded what looked uncomfortably like a headsman’s axe—almost too big for his small frame if nosferatu strength wasn’t taken into account. Fenrior must be taking something very seriously to dispatch Gallowglass and a total of seven undead cutthroats to invade the
peace of Ravenkeep. About the only mercy Columbine could see was that even these savages shared the universal nosferatu distaste for firearms. The day that taboo was lifted, the world of the undead would wholly change.
peace of Ravenkeep. About the only mercy Columbine could see was that even these savages shared the universal nosferatu distaste for firearms. The day that taboo was lifted, the world of the undead would wholly change.
The two red-haired brothers released their hold on Bolingbroke, pushing the thrall roughly to the ground, where he remained on all fours, alternately coughing and whimpering. While Gallowglass stood apart as the commander of the action, the seven males moved to form a circle around Columbine. The move was carried out with the easy skill of a practiced fighting unit, and for the first time, she saw something beyond just hard barbarism in their eyes. They had a unity, a discipline, a berserker commonality of purpose that made them at one and the same time, formidable night raiders, but also throwbacks to times long past and supposedly outmoded. In the current situation, however, Columbine found these savages anything but outmoded. They certainly had the edge over her. She made a tentative dart to slip between two of them and break for her freedom, perhaps hoping to lose their pursuit in the labyrinth of Ravenkeep’s interior, but they smoothly closed ranks to intercept her, hands going meaningfully to the hilts of their swords. She made a second attempt in a different direction, but was again thwarted by the same maneuver. Unable to break out of the circle of Highlanders, she turned to face Gallowglass. “I don’t know what you want, but do you realize the wrath that would come down on you and your bloody lord if you were to destroy me, here and now, without cause or justification?”
“If it’s harm we do ye, ye will ha’ brought i’ on ye self.”
“You know the penalties exacted for the wanton destruction of another of your own kind?”
“Aye, we ken, but we also ken we want wha’ we want, an’ we’ll no be leaving wi’oot i’, wha’ever th’ cost.”
“So you’re threatening me?”
“Aye, tha’ I am, mistress.”
“I don’t threaten easily.”
“Maybe I should start by breakin’ yon thrall t’ wee pieces o’ flesh.”
“You think that would particularly bother me?”
Gallowglass sighed at how, to the English, self-interest seemed to be everything. “Perhaps no.”
“What else do you have to offer, then?”
Gallowglass took his time reflecting on this. The mark of Columbine’s whip was still scarlet across his face. “The boys could make quite a mess o’ ye wi’oot actually doin’ away wi’ ye, if they took a mind t’ i’.”
“You really think so?”
“Ye don’t?”
Without Gallowglass making so much as a sign of instruction, the Highlanders moved as one, closing the circle. Columbine refused to be intimidated. “I’ve faced far worse than you—and conditioned myself to enjoy the experience.”
Gallowglass made an amused gesture to the Highlanders. “Ye see lads. Powerful spirited.”
“And will not be threatened.”
Gallowglass sighed as though he’d been hoping to avoid what he now had to say. “There may be one thing … .”
“Yes?”
“W’ could maybe set a torch t’ this fine house an’, come th’ dawn, ye’d find ye self between a fire an’ th’ sun. That way w’d no be actually doin’ th’ destroyin’, so t’ speak, but …”
Columbine blanched. He had her. Only pride prevented weakness and shock from overtaking her. “You wouldn’t?”
“Oh, aye, miss, tha’ w’ would.”
“Yes. I believe you.” Columbine knew her only remaining hope was negotiation. “But what do you want with me?”
“It’s not ye w’ want, Miss Dashwood. ’Tis Master Victor Renquist wi’ whom w’ ha’ our business.”
“With the correct rhythms, we might awaken it. It might only require a simple Helmholtz Resonance. A base of around two beats a second with building multiples should do it.”
Destry shook her head warningly. “Don’t you dare, Victor.”
“I was only theorizing.”
Marieko added her weight to Destry’s warning. “Please, Victor, let it remain theory for the moment.”
Renquist moved away from the object on the slab and turned his attention to the inlaid copper strips that formed a complex pattern, along with the ancient and unearthly murals on the walls of the burial chamber. “These are like huge pieces of circuitry.”
The metallic strips, heavily coated with a green layer of verdigris, were approximately as wide as one of Renquist’s hands. “I would even hazard a guess they once tapped directly into the power of the Nephilim ley lines.”
Destry looked at Renquist, her aura flashing impatiently. “You’re having a serious attack of pedantry.”
“I’m sorry. This is something of a revelation. It has to be from the ancient days.”
Marieko moved closer to the thing on the slab, but he stopped a few feet from it, as though reluctant to go any closer. “No Bronze Age tomb?”
Renquist shook his head. “The Bronze Age exterior was added much later, probably to disguise the true nature of the place. In here is pure Zep Tepi.”
Marieko looked puzzled. “Zep Tepi.”
“The era of the Nephilim. The attempt at alien colonization of Earth. The ancient Egyptians called it Zep Tepi, the First Time, the Perfect Time. When the gods, the ones they called the Neteru, lived on Earth and mated with the children of men.”
Destry frowned. “Mated with the children of men?”
“That’s how it’s described in human legend.”
“A primitive description of the Nephilim genetic experiments?”
Renquist nodded. He liked the way Marieko kept up with him. “The very same, as seen through a fifteen-thousand-year filter of ignorance and misunderstanding.”
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