A Quantum Mythology (61 page)

‘In terms of resources both the Monarchists and ourselves can only sustain three Elite each. If he makes you one, and you go your own way, then I will destroy him,’ Patron said.

‘We would need you to fight for us,’ the Elder said, ‘though of your own free will, of course,’ he added hurriedly.

‘That’s exactly the same offer I made,’ Patron pointed out. ‘And frankly, you working for the Monarchists is just one spoiled child doing the bidding of another.’

‘I don’t care if they destroy you,’ Scab told the Elder.

‘You don’t think we’d go after their Citadel?’ Patron asked. ‘Which you’d need to sustain you.’

‘You know, I’m starting to think that you’re just not very bright,’ Talia said. Vic was making gestures for her to be quiet with all four of his limbs, behind Scab’s back. ‘Oh, what?’ she demanded. ‘He’s either going to kill me or sell me. What difference does it make what I say?’

He can still hurt you
, Vic thought.

‘Has it occurred to you that he just likes watching both of you fight?’ Talia demanded. Vic thought that was as good a motivation as any for Scab.

A human walked in. He was wearing a black suit and shirt with an odd white collar, and had short blond hair and bright blue eyes. Vic raised the BAR to his shoulder.

‘A bit melodramatic, isn’t it, Mr Matto?’ the man asked as he moved around the bar and started pouring himself a drink.

‘I brought you here for security,’ Scab snapped at Vic. He drew his Webley .455 revolver with one hand and his Broomhandle Mauser with the other.

‘I’ve always wondered if those really work here,’ the man said.

‘They work,’ Vic and Scab said together.

The man glanced down at the Thompson sub-machine gun on the bar. ‘Probably shouldn’t have left that lying around, then, should you?’ the man asked.

‘Do I know you?’ Talia asked. Her face was scrunched up in confused concentration.

‘I don’t think we’ve ever been formally introduced,’ the blond man said. Then he looked around at the café. ‘Do you know, I think my sister knew Burroughs? In the 50s, though I believe he was frightened of women.’

Vic, Scab and Talia stared at the man.

‘Are you a priest?’ Talia asked.

‘He’s
the
priest,’ Patron said. He didn’t look at all pleased to see the priest, though he showed the man none of the contempt he had for the Elder.

‘Mr Chairman, always a pleasure.’ The blond priest raised his glass. He glanced over at the Elder, a look of distaste on his face.

‘You’re Churchman,’ Scab said.

‘A pleasure to meet you, Mr Scab. In fact, I’ve been trying to meet you for some time now. I believe you killed a friend of mine.’

‘Not so much that she couldn’t be cloned,’ Scab said. ‘The
Templar
?’

‘We’ll deal with the
Templar
the moment we have Miss Luckwicke,’ Churchman said and bowed towards her.

‘It’s been a while since I was this popular,’ Talia muttered.

‘What are you doing here?’ Scab demanded. Vic was sure it was the first time he’d ever heard Scab sound unsure of himself. There were a lot of firsts involved in this. Scab was well outside his comfort zone, and Vic could only imagine that this would end in a severe psychotic episode.

There was a dry chuckle from Patron. ‘Do you not think that we’ve been doing this for a while?’ the tall obsidian-skinned man asked.

‘After all, where did you get the know-how from? One of my ex-employees, perhaps?’ Churchman asked. ‘I’m intrigued – how did you work it out?’

‘St … the Alchemist, he was a bridge tech, not a chemist,’ Scab said. ‘Key is either involved in bridge technology, or more likely a by-product, because the Alchemist retained some residual knowledge of it after he escaped you, even after the Church conditioning had kicked in.’

‘Unlike Miss Luckwicke, I don’t think you are stupid, Mr Scab,’ Churchman said. ‘You may be a screaming red psychotic, but you have an enquiring mind. Have you any idea how rare that is these days?’ Churchman glanced at Patron as he asked this last.

Vic had been puzzling through something. The thought was just out of reach. ‘Are we in Red Space?’ Vic asked.

‘Not quite, Mr Matto,’ Churchman said.

‘We’re not hallucinating?’ Talia asked. Then frowned. ‘It feels a little specific for a hallucination.’

‘What’s going on, then?’ Vic asked. ‘Where are we?’

‘Unknown Kadath, Interzone, arguably Wonderland,’ Churchman told them after a moment’s thought. Vic and Scab looked confused. Talia, on the other hand, was pleased that she actually knew what someone was talking about for once. ‘It’s what we see in the corner of a dream or glimpse on potent drugs. It is the designer-mutated space-time fabric of an engineered universe, or rather the minds that engineered that universe, and it has been explored by creative minds and the ferociously hallucinating a long time before crude metal ships found it. Key, the secretion from the dream dragons’ glands, augments and guides a naturally occurring chemical in the brain called dimethyltryptamine.’

‘DMT?’ Talia asked. Churchman nodded. ‘Hmm, I think I’ve taken that.’

‘I find myself unsurprised,’ Churchman said.

‘It was intense.’

Patron was shaking his head. ‘When did you become such a romantic?’ he asked.

‘I’m starting to appreciate things,’ Churchman said. Vic was surprised to hear sympathy in his tone. ‘I wish you could, too.’

Patron looked out of the window, over the
souq
and the confused-looking city, but Vic had seen the expression of anger on the obsidian-skinned man’s face.

‘And are you here to offer a bid?’ the Elder enquired.

Churchman shrugged. ‘Actually, I was wondering if I could nick a fag,’ he said to Scab. Scab looked at him blankly. ‘A cigarette.’ Scab reached into his suit jacket pocket and removed his cigarette case. He offered one to Churchman, who took it. Scab lit it for him. Churchman inhaled deeply and then exhaled the smoke. ‘So good,’ he said. Vic shook his head.

‘Enough of this,’ Patron said, standing up and walking over to Scab. ‘Listen to me. I can make your dream a reality with such totality – your
true
dream, not this foolish power fantasy that you know can never be realised. That is just an excuse to fail again, to self-destruct.’ Patron paused before speaking again, carefully enunciating each word: ‘I can take your pain away.’

Scab swallowed hard, and again Vic saw something new in Scab’s facial expression, something he’d never thought to see on Scab’s face. Vulnerability. Vic had spent most of his recent existence living in fear – of Scab, the Church, the Consortium, the Monarchists – but somehow what he had just seen scared him the most. Churchman was watching the exchange carefully as he smoked his cigarette.

‘Whereas we have offered something tangible,’ the Elder said in exasperation, ‘rather than vague promises’ – he nodded towards Patron – ‘and spiritual well-being’ – he nodded towards Churchman.

‘I have offered nothing,’ Churchman pointed out.

‘If you want succour, then join with the collective in the Living Cities,’ the Elder said irritably.

‘I am a disease,’ Scab told the Elder. ‘Do you have anything to offer?’ he asked Churchman.

‘I don’t think there’s anything we have that you want,’ Churchman said, ‘and I can’t see an appeal to your benevolent nature being a great deal of use.’ Scab turned away from him. ‘Unless you want answers.’ Scab turned back to face Churchman.

‘Answers to what?’ Vic asked.

‘You’re not seriously considering his offer, are you?’ Patron demanded. Scab didn’t reply. He was studying Churchman. Churchman’s face was impassive.

‘I think we should go with him,’ Talia said, meaning Churchman.

Patron sighed. ‘Being reasonable just doesn’t work, does it? You have no idea how much you owe me,’ the obsidian-skinned man told Scab.

‘What does that mean?’ Scab demanded. Vic noticed his partner/captor’s fists were clenched, knuckles whitening.

‘Do you accept my bid?’ Patron demanded.

Scab glanced between Churchman and Patron. Again Vic saw the indecision on the human killer’s face. Vic suddenly started to feel mounting terror about Scab accepting Patron’s bid.

‘There is a time limit on this,’ Patron said. Vic cringed. He saw his partner’s face harden. Too late, Patron realised his mistake. Patron straightened up and took a step back. ‘Very well. Did it not occur to you that we knew of this place? I mean, if he could find you …’ Patron nodded towards Churchman.

Vic watched in horror as smoke billowed out of two corners in the café. The Innocent opened his eyes and sat up.

‘Father, I had a dream,’ he told Patron.

They leaped out of the corners. They were indeterminate, quadrupedal, crystalline, not fully present and painful to look at. It was as if they were warping local space. Vic brought the BAR to his shoulder and started firing. The bullets elicited little puffs of strangely crystalline smoke that dissipated into hard-to-see places. Patron reached out and took the Innocent’s hand, and they disappeared. One of the crystalline entities leaped. The Elder stood up. The entity leaped through him and the Elder collapsed, his cleanly severed head falling from his shoulders. An acrid, chemical smell filled the air.

Churchman turned and walked into the back room. The other thing leaped at Scab. Scab swung his right arm at it. The Scorpion’s sting tore out of the sleeve of his suit jacket and violated the space where the thing was leaping. There was a strange, discordant, unnatural-sounding howling.

‘Dancing with tears in my eyes,’ Scab said.

They were back in the stone chamber in the monastery. Patron was standing over them. Some very competent-looking people in light-combat exoskeletons had the two monks and Elodie down on their knees and were covering them with assault cannons. The Innocent was standing next to Patron, clothed in the black, liquid glass of Elite armour. He held his weapon, now in a rifle configuration, loosely in his left hand. Something about his body language suggested to Vic that he was asleep. He was twitching as if he wasn’t enjoying the experience.

‘You were like a beacon,’ Patron told them.

Vic glanced over at Talia. She looked terrified. He would try and kill her, but with an Elite present he didn’t fancy his chances.

‘We have a sizeable fleet outside. You need to know this is over, and I want you to remember that you could have been reasonable.’

Scab narrowed his eyes.

42

Ancient Britain

The cave smelled of meat and the copper tang of blood. The Lochlannach lay dead or dying. Guidgen walked among the injured, harvesting their throats with his sickle, muttering prayers and invocations to the Horned God.

Nerthach looked around at the dead Lochlannach, grinning, spattered with blood. ‘This is a good day’s work,’ the big Brigante warrior said.

They killed two horses riding hard to the cave entrance that led to Annwn, in the shadow of the Mother Hill, but they had brought spare mounts. They came in as stealthily as they could, boiled leather armour and scabbards oiled against creaking. All of the warriors had eschewed metal armour, and even Nerthach, the largest of them, had made little noise. It didn’t matter. There was some kind of ghost fence. Tangwen felt it, and she knew the others had as well. It was like walking through cobwebs. Crom Dhubh knew they were there.

They killed the two sentries quietly at the entrance and rushed into the cave mouth, but the Lochlannach were waiting for them. The nine of them fought like children of the gods of war, and the slave warriors in the service of Crom Dhubh fell to the power in their weapons.

Tangwen watched, crouched over a corpse, as Britha walked deeper into the cave. She was surprised by how far she could see into the darkness, though the colours had become strange. She took a step back when Britha turned to look at her and the
dryw
’s eyes glowed. It was only then that she really understood that the other woman was a demon, what she herself and the others had become. She stood up and followed the
dryw
. Slowly, one by one, the others did the same.

Tangwen wasn’t sure when they crossed over into Annwn but she was certainly there now. Once she would have been afraid clinging to a rock wall in a chasm above nothing but darkness. But now her eyes saw in a ghost light, and her companions had become spirits of white and green. She wondered if Brys and Madawg were happy now they were in Annwn.

Where once she would have moved cautiously, feeling for hand- and footholds, she followed Britha’s movements with confidence. She even leaned away from the rock face to look up at the others. Only Britha had kept her spear; the other spears and staffs had been left up at the top of the chasm. Nerthach and Brys had their large shields and Madawg his smaller, lighter shield, slung or strapped to their backs. Likewise, Kush’s axe was strapped across his back.

Tangwen kept climbing down. She could see the black water below her now.

They put their weapons into the two large, upturned shields and pushed out into the black waters of the lake, following Britha, who appeared to know exactly where she was going.

Tangwen was cold to her very bones, but although she did not really feel it, this did not stop her shivering. She felt like they had been swimming for a very long time. Gradually she was able to make out the island ahead of her. With each stroke she saw a little more of it. With every stroke the charnel smell was a bit stronger. She heard muttered curses and the sound of people trying to spit as they swam. Guidgen was praying. She could not imagine anywhere further from the reach of the Horned God. She was disgusted when she noticed that Madawg was smiling. She could not read Britha’s expression, and this worried her.

She glimpsed small, misshapen, bent-over figures moving around in the shadow of the horrible tower of bone. Strangely regular-looking rootlike structures ran from its base and into the water. Behind the island, there was a faint, pale glow coming from the water. Then they started swimming through the boneless corpses, pushing them aside as they bumped against them. She watched the small twisted figures leaping from body to body, feeding on them. They looked like deformed children, but Tangwen assumed they were
dorch
, evil, diminutive spirits that consumed the flesh of the living and the dead alike. Tangwen tasted bile in the back of her throat. Both Nerthach and Germelqart vomited into the water, but managed, somehow, to keep swimming.

Then they were at the island, crawling up onto muddy stones. The tower of bones looked as if it had grown from the rock. There was something both fragile and actually quite beautiful about it. The
dorch
kept their distance, swaying, watching them with eyes like black pools. If they moved towards the
dorch
, the small creatures backed away. Tangwen walked around the tower. On the opposite side of the island she was surprised to discover that the light was coming from under the water. The water looked clear, and she could see the rock bottom of the lake. There was a circle of stones, and beyond that some other structure that she couldn’t quite make out.

‘Where is this chalice?’ Nerthach asked. His voice sounded obscenely loud in this still, dead realm. ‘I like this place not.’

‘It was at the summit of the tower the last time,’ Britha said.

‘It is not there now.’ The voice was like a sickness in the back of their minds, but at the same time was soft and deep, somehow seductive. Tangwen saw him walk out of the water. He was tall, taller even than Kush, and his skin was the colour of pitch. It hurt her head to look at him. She backed towards the others, and they advanced slowly towards her. In one hand Crom Dhubh clutched the chalice of red gold. Tangwen could just about make out its contents, bubbling away inside. None of the red, liquid metal seeped out, regardless of how he tipped the chalice. In the other hand he held a black-bladed sword with a strangely complicated-looking hilt that projected light down the black blade. It made a slight humming noise.

Crom Dhubh held the chalice up. ‘Is this what you have come here for?’ he asked.

‘That can help us heal the land,’ Guidgen said. ‘
You
could heal the land.’ The
gwyllion
dryw
took a step back when Crom Dhubh looked at him.

‘It is not my nature,’ the Dark Man told him. Nerthach spat and made the sign against evil. Crom Dhubh looked at him for a moment.

‘What is your nature, then?’ Guidgen asked.

‘I am pain,’ Crom Dhubh said.

Sadhbh laughed. Tangwen cringed.

‘A hollow warrior’s boast, nothing more,’ the Iceni warrior said. Tangwen had to give the Iceni woman her due, she was doing better at hiding her fear than she was.

‘I don’t think you understand,’ Crom Dhubh said.

‘Are you anything more than a whispering, mocking spirit?’ Britha demanded. Crom Dhubh’s head wrenched around to look at her.

‘I thought you had made your deal with my slave?’ he asked. Britha did not answer, and Tangwen could see pain etched on her face. ‘Tell me, how will you now oppose me without a fifth-dimensional parasite consuming your mind?’

Britha looked confused.

‘I am not sure what you hope to gain here,’ Crom Dhubh said. ‘Go or stay, you are merely postponing the inevitable. The only worthwhile thing you can do is take your own lives.’ He turned and walked back towards the water.

‘You’re not going to try and kill us?’ Britha asked, surprised.

Crom Dhubh stopped but he did not turn around. ‘Why would I offer you the release that my … that I cannot achieve myself?’

‘It is nothing to you to save our land, is it?’ Guidgen asked.

‘No,’ Crom Dhubh admitted. ‘It makes no difference to me at all. I have what I need.’

‘You’re going to the
Ubh Blaosc
?’ Britha asked. Germelqart looked over at her from where he stood behind Kush. Crom Dhubh did not answer.

‘And what is it you have come for?’ There were shouts of surprise and shuffling as people changed position. Bress, wearing only shirt, trews and boots, was standing by the edge of the water, one hand on the hilt of his sword. He held a bronze rod in the other hand.

‘Take me with you,’ Britha said. The others muttered.

‘Traitor!’ Nerthach shouted at her. He started towards her but Bress moved to intercept.

‘It will be the last thing you ever do,’ he told the Brigante warrior. Tangwen squeezed her eyes shut. Britha had told her of the child, and his father, and how the
dryw
had taken her. Though she had no children of her own, she could understand why Britha wanted to cut a deal with Bress, and with his master.

‘If I have walked you into a trap, tell me the purpose of it!’ Britha said to Nerthach. She sounded tired.

‘You would trade us for what you want!’ Sadhbh spat.

Crom Dhubh laughed. Deep and sonorous, the noise was devoid of humour. ‘What makes you think you are so important?’ the Dark Man asked.

‘We have defeated you once,’ Kush said.

‘You changed things. If you could see from my perspective you would understand inevitability, and how utterly inconsequential we all are. You more than me.’

‘I tire of this,’ Nerthach said. ‘We have killed their men.’ He pointed at Crom Dhubh. ‘This one is a coward.’ Then he pointed at Bress. ‘And this one is no more of a warrior than any of us.’

‘You fool, that one is as a god!’ Brys hissed at the Brigante warrior, meaning Crom Dhubh. Nerthach spared the grey-bearded warrior a look of contempt.

Bress wasn’t listening to Nerthach’s words, however. He was staring at Britha.

‘Please,’ she whispered.

‘Your friends are about to kill themselves,’ Bress said quietly, his face an impassive mask.

‘I hate you,’ Britha told him.

He nodded. ‘It is for the best.’

The Dark Man was watching Britha and Bress closely. There was more humourless laughter. Tangwen couldn’t understand why Crom Dhubh was laughing but she saw the look of horror on Bress’s face.

Nerthach strode across the island toward Crom Dhubh. The Dark Man watched him approach.

‘This is the single greatest thing you will ever do in your life,’ Crom Dhubh told the big Brigante.

‘I will not even think of you as I drink from your skull,’ Nerthach told him. He raised his sword to strike. Crom Dhubh stabbed forward with his sword. It touched Nerthach’s shield. A painfully bright white light flared and Nerthach came apart as a silhouette.

Tangwen found herself lying in the water, staring up at the tooth-like protrusions of rock on the cavern ceiling, screaming. It felt like the acid burn she had received from fighting Andraste’s spawn, only much, much worse. The entire front of her body had been charred. Slowly she started to feel better. The blackened dead skin flaked off into the water, and her armour, which had fused with her scorched flesh, was being pushed out of her by pink new meat. Now more than ever, her power, the capabilities of the demons in her flesh imbibed from Britha’s blood, frightened her. This was not natural. She should be dead.

She could see the others now. She had been the closest, but all of them, even Bress, had been knocked down. Kush and Germelqart had also been blown back into the water and were crawling up onto the island. Somehow the tower was still standing.

There was no sign of Nerthach. Crom Dhubh was still standing where he had been, the sword down by his side.

The pain gone, her flesh healed, Tangwen started swimming back towards the land.

‘We have no choice now,’ Guidgen was saying. The old
dryw
sounded frightened, really frightened, as if he was only just holding it together. ‘We must have it.’ As Tangwen reached the island, the others were shuffling around, half-heartedly preparing to attack Crom Dhubh. No one wanted to be the first to strike. Tangwen crouched low. All she had to do was deliver a killing blow without the sword touching her, but like the others she could not quite make herself attack the Dark Man.

Bress moved away from Britha to stand between Crom Dhubh and the others. He still held the rod in his left hand.

‘This bores me,’ the Dark Man said and turned towards the water. Sadhbh threw a dagger at his back. Bress stepped into its path, grunting in pain as the blade embedded itself just below his shoulder. Sadhbh was already moving, drawing another dagger, her short sword in her right hand. The others surged forwards. Bress drew his long-bladed sword one-handed. He stepped to the side and continued swinging the blade up as it cleared the scabbard. Sadhbh didn’t even notice that she no longer had forearms before Bress reversed the blade and cut off the back of her skull. Madawg was close behind Sadhbh. The frail-looking warrior was surprisingly fast. Bress thrust his sword at him, but Madawg reversed direction, grabbed Brys and pulled him in front as a human shield. Brys all but ran onto Bress’s blade, a look of surprise on the old warrior’s face. As Bress wrenched his blade free, Madawg put his hand on Brys’s shoulder and jumped into the air over his dead comrade’s head to stab at Bress’s face. Bress jerked his head back, but Madawg opened a line of red on his porcelain skin. Madawg rapidly backed away. Brys’s body slid off Bress’s blade and fell to the ground. Tangwen was almost on him, but she was brought up short by Bress’s sword. She backed away. The others were doing likewise. Tangwen had never seen a swordsman like Bress. Madawg had been lucky to cut him, even if he had to sacrifice his fellow tribesman to do it.

Crom Dhubh had continued walking towards the water. He stepped forwards, his toe touching the pool, making it ripple.

‘Hello, Sotik,’ Germelqart said. Crom Dhubh stopped moving. ‘I can’t believe you didn’t realise I was here.’

Crom Dhubh stopped and turned around. ‘I was wondering if you’d have the courage to speak. I never knew your name.’

‘Germelqart will suffice.’

‘I do not think that was the name you went by then.’

‘It is who I am, who I have been for so long now.’

All the others were staring at the Carthaginian.

‘Tell me, were you in my wicker man?’ Crom Dhubh asked. Germelqart nodded. Crom Dhubh glanced over at Bress.

‘He had no way of knowing,’ the Carthaginian said.

Crom Dhubh stalked towards the small navigator. The others made way for him despite themselves and Germelqart took an involuntary step back.

‘And if I asked you why?’ the Dark Man asked.

‘We had no idea. You were so full of promise. We sought to communicate—’