Authors: Mick Farren
More Than Mortal (22 page)
The three of them were now nearing the humans’ excavated trench. Renquist halted and indicated the females should do the same. He wanted to make a careful scrutiny of what had been unearthed before he went plunging in. Campion and his volunteers had already uncovered stonework; a heavy lintel of a pale limestone, supported by two granite uprights. Set back between the
uprights was a third block that acted as what Renquist could only interpret as a door. Sometime in the past, one of the uprights appeared to have slipped slightly, and the door was no longer of a fully flush fit. Through the gaps left by this movement of the ground, all the energy was leaking. It flowed out from the imperfections around the door frame, and then immediately rose straight up, following the sides of the trench, to dissipate in the circular movement in the air above the mound.
uprights was a third block that acted as what Renquist could only interpret as a door. Sometime in the past, one of the uprights appeared to have slipped slightly, and the door was no longer of a fully flush fit. Through the gaps left by this movement of the ground, all the energy was leaking. It flowed out from the imperfections around the door frame, and then immediately rose straight up, following the sides of the trench, to dissipate in the circular movement in the air above the mound.
Renquist stepped closer, and Marieko followed. Destry, meanwhile, stood and watched, acting as rear guard for the exploration. The door troubled him. From a distance, it didn’t appear to match with the surrounding stone either in period or composition, and he was at a loss to know from what material it was made. He needed to get down into the trench and look more closely, but that would involve him in passing through one of the energy streams, an action about which he had distinct misgivings. Power abounded even at a distance, and to physically touch one of the denser streams could be courting disaster. Renquist was torn. To stop here would not only be an intolerable frustration, but also a considerable loss of face in front of the females. To press on, though, was an advance into the concealed and totally unpredictable. In the end, a combination of curiosity and vanity overrode his qualms, and he decided to play the hero. He jumped lightly down into the trench, but, for the moment, he still avoided contact with the direct flows of energy. Marieko made to follow him, but he waved her back.
“Don’t come down here.”
Destry was beside her. “Don’t try to claim some male monopoly by taking all the risks.”
“If something happens, I may need you two to drag me out.”
Renquist might, to a degree, have been showing off, but he also knew that if he was to learn anything, he had to brave the glowing escape of shining psychic energy.
He extended a wary hand toward the nearest roiling tendril of light, but Marieko spoke before he could actually touch it. “I don’t think you should do that, Victor.”
He extended a wary hand toward the nearest roiling tendril of light, but Marieko spoke before he could actually touch it. “I don’t think you should do that, Victor.”
“I don’t see any other way.”
“Then take it very slowly, and pull back if you feel any ill effects.”
“That’s exactly what I intend.”
“I still don’t like it.”
“Can you think of a better solution?”
Marieko shook her head. “No.”
“Then let’s see what happens.”
Very gently, a half inch at a time, he extended his finger until his whole hand was in the energy flow. To his surprise, he initially experienced little sensation at all. The silver band of his onyx ring seemed to shine, and the metal felt cold on his finger, but that was about the sum total. If he been looking for thunderbolts of static discharge, or a sudden upheaval of his entire nervous system, he was mercifully disappointed.
“Are you okay?” Marieko’s voice was concerned.
Renquist removed his hand from the power flow. “So it would seem. Let me try it again.”
He put his hand back into the stream of energy. The silver of his ring again glowed, but very little else happened. “Remarkable.”
Then, even as he spoke, things changed. He had expected fireworks, but instead, gradually at first but with increasing force, he found himself inundated by images. It seemed to be a haphazard and totally disjointed assault of jumbled visions and data coming at him in the form of abstract hallucinations. He must have shown some outward sign of what was happening to him because, as though from a great distance, he heard Destry calling to him. “Victor. Are you all right?”
He diverted the hallucinations as best he could in the direction of his already distorted subconscious and tried to confine the frontal areas of his mind to analytical thought. “I … think so.”
“Should we pull you out of there?”
“No. I can handle it.”
“Handle what?”
“I can’t explain. It seems to want something.”
A central theme in the strange data—and the only one with a real urgency—was something wanting him to look at the left-hand upright. Renquist allowed himself to be swayed. He moved closer to what he accepted without question as a door. This involved him in moving bodily through three of the primary source energy streams. The strange force howled around him like sound made visible. The hallucinations became totally incomprehensible. One idea kept drumming in his head. The left upright. The left upright. Scarcely able to see with all that was battering on his mind, he pulled himself out of the direct path of the power flow. He leaned against the door; his first impression had been right. The door didn’t fit with the otherwise Bronze Age structure. It was metal, but no metal he recognized. After being buried for hundreds, maybe thousands of years, it was blemished only by the faintest dulling patina of corrosion. He had no time to ponder, though. The left upright. The left upright. He turned his head and looked at it. The print of a human hand suddenly appeared, glowing on the surface of the rock, as if etched there in light. He knew instinctively that this was the access mechanism to whatever was inside. He was being told what to do. He needed only to place his hand over the glowing handprint. He was also being informed he had no choice in the matter. He would do it whether he wanted to or not. Somewhere he could hear Marieko and Destry, but he couldn’t answer them.
“Victor!”
“Victor! What’s happening?”
He placed his hand over the glowing rock and felt something like a mild electrical shock, but at first, that was all. Then dust began to cascade down from the joints where the uprights supported the lintel. The door was
starting to move, but because of the misalignment of the uprights, it was sticking. Then it seemingly freed itself and grated slowly open, moving back and to the side. As the aperture widened, an all-consuming brilliance streamed out. A floodgate had been opened. Renquist had a chance to utter a single cry of warning to Marieko and Destry before the blazing force swamped him. “Protect yourselves any way you can!”
starting to move, but because of the misalignment of the uprights, it was sticking. Then it seemingly freed itself and grated slowly open, moving back and to the side. As the aperture widened, an all-consuming brilliance streamed out. A floodgate had been opened. Renquist had a chance to utter a single cry of warning to Marieko and Destry before the blazing force swamped him. “Protect yourselves any way you can!”
R
enquist’s mind had become a whirling kaleidoscope, his undead brain fragmenting as every neuron independently saved its own life. Sound was a multiple scream, spiking way above and deep below the limits of even his undead hearing. Vision was nothing more than a blinding arc speckled with a spider-net of nervous blood vessels. As the full discharge of energy engulfed him in the previously sealed entrance of the burial mound, the only comparison was being exposed to the full and deadly glare of the sun. More than once in his long existence, Renquist had come dangerously close to being caught in the sun. The most recent near-miss had been back in New York City when he’d found himself engaged, with extreme prejudice, in struggle for dominance with the young upstart Kurt Carfax. After barely a second of full daylight (and with as much protection as his street clothes could afford him), his skin had singed and smoked, and he’d been deprived of all sight for a number of hours. He knew the mind protected itself
by never remembering the full intensity of physical pain, but he truly believed the agony and confusion now dragging at him like a cosmic riptide was worse than that Manhattan exposure.
enquist’s mind had become a whirling kaleidoscope, his undead brain fragmenting as every neuron independently saved its own life. Sound was a multiple scream, spiking way above and deep below the limits of even his undead hearing. Vision was nothing more than a blinding arc speckled with a spider-net of nervous blood vessels. As the full discharge of energy engulfed him in the previously sealed entrance of the burial mound, the only comparison was being exposed to the full and deadly glare of the sun. More than once in his long existence, Renquist had come dangerously close to being caught in the sun. The most recent near-miss had been back in New York City when he’d found himself engaged, with extreme prejudice, in struggle for dominance with the young upstart Kurt Carfax. After barely a second of full daylight (and with as much protection as his street clothes could afford him), his skin had singed and smoked, and he’d been deprived of all sight for a number of hours. He knew the mind protected itself
by never remembering the full intensity of physical pain, but he truly believed the agony and confusion now dragging at him like a cosmic riptide was worse than that Manhattan exposure.
Renquist had all but resigned himself to the end and was attempting to hold off his fury, albeit unsuccessfully, at eternity being snatched from him by a stupid mistake on an English hillside. Fatalism might claim a life span of a thousand years constituted a reasonable run, but he wasn’t about to buy that. As he prepared not to go quietly into the poet’s dark night, the chaos began to mitigate, and the anguish diminished. The blazing arc was split into strobes and afterimages, and a certain awareness of his surroundings returned. Although he hurt, the possibility presented itself he might survive the ordeal. His stomach spasmed, and cramps locked his muscles like a DC electric current was being channeled through them, but his actual integrity of being was gradually reasserting itself. As the power flow visibly ebbed, enough of his mind once again functioned for him to realize that what he’d first believed was a continuous force was only a limited surge, a flash flood of pent-up energy being released from a long confinement.
Still deprived of a sense of time, Renquist did not—and would never—know how long it took the accumulated force to discharge itself and for Morton Downs to grow quiet again, with only small glitters of aftermath crackle-dancing in the air. When he was finally released from the tumult’s furious vise, he found himself lying on his side, fetally curled in the damp bottom of the trench, mud all over his pants and leather jacket. Even the effort of straightening his legs was a reprise of pain, and he waited awhile before he attempted to stand. As his normal sight returned, he discovered the silver-topped sword cane just a few inches from his right hand, but when he used it to assist him to his feet, his entire body protested. His nosferatu control and resilience left him unaccustomed to purely physical suffering, and he
refused to accept it with fortitude. Renquist didn’t like to hurt to this degree, and only a major effort of will stopped him howling out his anger and frustration.
refused to accept it with fortitude. Renquist didn’t like to hurt to this degree, and only a major effort of will stopped him howling out his anger and frustration.
He was also unaccustomed to lying in the bottom of a trench. The last time he had been obliged to do such a thing was during the Great Slaughter of 1919, when he had been forced to hide not only in abandoned World War I trenches, but also in ditches, cellars, and broken shell-shocked ruins, to save himself from the axes, fires, and sharpened stakes of the howling and highly mobilized followers of Bishop Rausch, the last great vampire hunter of the Catholic Church. When the Slaughter finally passed, Renquist had sworn he would never be forced into such skulking again, yet here he was, maybe not skulking, but muddy, sick, and with his head spinning. He felt a growing fury at the thing, whatever it was, that evidently lurked in the burial place, generating such careless levels of psychic radiation.
“Victor? Marieko?”
The voice was Destry’s, and it sounded lost and confused. Up to that moment, Victor had been so completely absorbed by his own pain and outrage, he hadn’t given a thought to whether the two females from Ravenkeep had survived the psychic onslaught, or in what condition it might have left them. He regretted the lapse as, if nothing else, extremely ungentlemanly, and he was about to speak when the equally weak voice of Marieko preempted him.
“Destry?”
“Marieko? Where are you? I still can’t see properly. I think I’ve been blinded.”
Marieko’s voice was soothing. “Don’t be frightened. It’ll pass. I’m over here. The same thing happened to me, but I’m starting to recover.”
“What the hell was all that?”
“I don’t know. The last thing I remember was looking down at Victor in the trench, and then it was like a door opened and the terrible light escaped.”
Renquist, as he leaned on his cane, trying to clear his senses, could hear Marieko and Destry moving. After a few moments they appeared to find each other. Marieko sounded as though she was caring for Destry. “Are you starting to see again?”
“A little.”
“Can you stand?”
“I think so.”
“Here. Let me help you.”
“Do you know what happened to Victor?”
Marieko’s tone was bleak. “I don’t know. One minute he was there, and the next he was completely swallowed up by the light.”
“What will become of us if the world thinks we destroyed Victor Renquist?”
Renquist was grimly amused that Destry’s first thoughts were of the possible repercussions of his destruction, and he felt less guilty about his own self-absorption. He raised his voice and called from the trench. “Don’t worry. I’m still here. The discharge didn’t kill me, although I’m not sure it made me any stronger.”
Two faces appeared over the edge of the trench. “Victor!”
“The very same.”
“You’re all right?”
“That might be a slight exaggeration, but I have survived.”
“What was that?”
“I think we’ve confirmed that something is alive inside this. mausoleum.”
“But all that energy.”
“Perhaps generated by its changing metabolism. I think you were right, Marieko. Whatever it is, it’s slowly waking from a very long sleep.”
A bright confetti of charged particles wafted from the door. Destry flinched. “Will it happen again?”
“I don’t think so. What we just saw was most likely
a discharge of buildup. Now the tomb is unsealed, it shouldn’t occur again.”
a discharge of buildup. Now the tomb is unsealed, it shouldn’t occur again.”
She didn’t seem too convinced. “How do you know that?”
“I was the one that opened the door, wasn’t I?”
Renquist had now recovered almost all his strength. He gathered himself and leapt from the trench. To be holding a conversation between the top and bottom of the excavation was absurd. He landed lightly between Marieko and Destry, who looked hollow-eyed and shocked but otherwise undamaged. They were also considerably cleaner than he, having only been thrown to the turf and not the mud of the trench. Marieko looked him up and down, sufficiently recovered to be amused by his condition. “When confronted by a mysterious door, do you always open it?”
Renquist exhaled and leaned on his cane, but he was able to return her smile. “It’s the fastest way to learn what’s on the other side.”
“Maybe you should go a little slower next time.”
Destry was showing distinct signs of returning to her former self. “Yeah, Victor. Next time think twice, okay? I mean, those visions …”
Marieko and Renquist looked sharply at her. “Visions? You had visions?”
“It was like I was getting the entire history of the world, except in random, out-of-sync cutups. I saw it all. I saw hominid apes fleeing from the advancing ice sheets. I saw the great ships of the Nephilim descending from the sky. I saw the lifting rays and the pyramids under construction. I saw the Original Beings and the other creatures of Marduk Ra’s experiments. I saw them being hunted by the skycraft, the deathrays burning them down and the sunbombs detonating—”
A weirding seemed to be gathering force inside Destry, an amped-up, poststress hysteria. Marieko quickly put a hand on her arm. “Easy, my dear.”
Renquist made his voice as gentle as possible. “We
have all dreamed dreams of the ancient times. The memories are bonded into our DNA, but I will admit they usually surface in the dreamstate and not some insane energy field.”
have all dreamed dreams of the ancient times. The memories are bonded into our DNA, but I will admit they usually surface in the dreamstate and not some insane energy field.”
Marieko had recovered sufficiently to nitpick. “Who’s to say what might happen in an insane energy field. Isn’t such a thing, by definition, unpredictable?”
Renquist conceded. “You have a point.”
Destry shook her head. “No, you don’t understand. I’ve never had those dreams before.”
Renquist was surprised. “You’ve never had DNA dreams?”
“Never. I’d started to assume something was wrong with me.”
“They take time. For some, it can be truly hard. I had a number of teachers who helped me awaken them.”
Destry avoided Renquist’s eyes. “I never had a teacher.”
The statement was so forlorn, so out of character, Renquist knew a story was buried there. This was not, however, the time for speculation over Destry’s history. “The real question is, do we go on?”
“What?” Destry pointed to the dark entrance of the barrow. “You want to go back in there after all that’s happened?”
“I think it’s a chance worth taking. Also we can’t afford to waste any time. After such a massive psychic explosion, this place is no longer a secret.”
“Are the humans aware of it? Could they see any of that?”
“I would have thought they felt something. Although, these days, when the majority are so heavily drugged on one thing or another, maybe not. Right now, though, humans are not my primary concern. They’ll rationalize anything they might have seen or felt as unidentified flying objects, or angels, or another of their pet paranormal fixations. I’m thinking more of the others of our kind. For them, that discharge blazed to the high heavens
like a comet. It must have been visible halfway across Europe.”
like a comet. It must have been visible halfway across Europe.”
Marieko spoke softly. “Fenrior must have seen it.”
Renquist gave her a sidelong look. “His people could hardly have missed it. In fact, if I were him, I’d already be on my way.”
“Gallowglass is already here.”
“All the more reason that we should go inside right now.”
“You used the word
we
.”
we
.”
“I did, didn’t I?”
“Does that mean you’ve united with us in this endeavor?”
Renquist was not so easily hooked. “It means I would like to be the first to look at this thing that all but finished me. I think I’ve earned the right.”
“I think we all have.” Destry seemed to have recovered enough to assert herself.
Renquist made a slight bow. “I wouldn’t argue about that. My only concern is how much time we have left. My timesense was scrambled back there.”
Marieko frowned, as though making the same discovery. “Mine, too.”
Destry looked up at the sky. “We have a few hours before dawn.”
Renquist was surprised. “You can tell time from the stars?”
“It’s something I taught myself. I’m better near the equator. That’s where I had the most practice.”
Again Renquist was curious about Destry’s background. Now she talked almost as though she were some nosferatu jungle girl raised by undead primates. Sooner or later, he would find out for sure. In the meantime, he wanted to see inside the mound despite all that had happened. “Shall we go?”
Marieko hesitated. “Are you sure that was just a discharge of buildup?”
Renquist jumped down into the trench and looked
back up at her. “I believe so. I could, of course, be wrong. I was, after all, the one stupid enough to open the door in the first place.”
back up at her. “I believe so. I could, of course, be wrong. I was, after all, the one stupid enough to open the door in the first place.”
Columbine could only watch in awe as the sky exploded and soft, dreamlike shock waves tingled through her body and mind. At a distance, it was spectacular and pleasurable, as though her very cells were being energized, but she could imagine it would be a burning trauma to anyone near ground zero, and she knew ground zero could only be Morton Downs. No line of sight existed between Ravenkeep and Morton Downs. Two or maybe three hills were in the way, and she hadn’t climbed to one of the high turret rooms in the oldest part of the building specifically to see if Marieko, Destry, and Renquist’s visit might produce any visible reaction. Nothing had occurred during any of Marieko’s visits, although it did appear that, where Renquist went, drama and exhibition tended to follow. Climbing to the ruined turrets had long been a solitary habit for Columbine. High above the pile of brick and stone, above everything save the highest flying birds, she felt a connection to reality she found in few other places. Leaning on her elbows, hands cupped under her chin, she could become part of that perfect conjunction of past, present, future that is the unique joy to those for whom death is not a certainty.
When totally alone, Columbine harbored few illusions about herself. She knew she lacked standing among the serious nosferatu of Europe. Many thought she wasted her time and talent on hedonism and gratuitous evil. In illusion she could adopt the scales and posture of the reptile, but never its implacable patience and singleness of purpose. She played the scatterbrain with flounces, airs, and perfumes because, in most respects, she really was a scatterbrain. Her attention span was short. She was driven by emotion rather than reason. When she made plans, they were often marred by a lack of attention to
detail, as had happened during the Fenrior debacle. She didn’t study and could in no way equal the erudition of Renquist. Even Fenrior had more education. She lacked both Destry’s fast practicality and Marieko’s creativity. Raw power was really her only hope. If she couldn’t command the skills, her only alternative was to grasp and hold the power. Even in that, though, she had let a certain indolence get the better of her. If she was to be absolutely honest, she’d all too often been criminally lazy, content to lord it over mere humans, content to impose her will on thralls, slaves, serfs, darklost, and craving obsessives. Easy worship and effortless adulation had ever been too much of a temptation.
detail, as had happened during the Fenrior debacle. She didn’t study and could in no way equal the erudition of Renquist. Even Fenrior had more education. She lacked both Destry’s fast practicality and Marieko’s creativity. Raw power was really her only hope. If she couldn’t command the skills, her only alternative was to grasp and hold the power. Even in that, though, she had let a certain indolence get the better of her. If she was to be absolutely honest, she’d all too often been criminally lazy, content to lord it over mere humans, content to impose her will on thralls, slaves, serfs, darklost, and craving obsessives. Easy worship and effortless adulation had ever been too much of a temptation.
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