The Tower (37 page)

Desmond looked at him. ‘It’s about your mother, I know . . . but it’s the same question I’ve asked myself all these years without ever finding an answer. I loved both of you, Philip, in the only way I could love you, but this didn’t stop you or your mother from suffering . . . It’s like when you’re sitting in front of a campfire in the winter: your chest is warm in the reflection of the flames, but your back is stung by the chill of the night.’

‘And you believe that this battle will absolve you of blame and do away with my regrets?’

‘No. But it will be the most challenging moment of our lives. If we survive the fire and the sword, whatever part of us remains will be closer to our true nature than anything we’ve ever known. If we fall, at least we shall cross the bounds of night at a gallop.’

They jumped into their saddles and rode across the oasis, advancing into the open desert. Three kilometres on, the track split in two different directions: one led due south, while the other took off in a south-westerly direction, where the strange bloody aurora had nearly vanished. Without getting off his horse, Desmond unfolded a sheet reproducing an ancient map of Ptolemy’s. He used the flame of his lighter to illuminate the area crossed by the trail on their right. A word was splayed across the empty space in cursive characters: Blemmyae.

‘Let’s go,’ he said, spurring on his mount.

C
OLONEL
J
OBERT STOPPED
on the top of a dune that was flushed with the last light of sunset, then got off his horse, took the compass from his saddle and marked a spot on his military map. ‘We’re here, Hogan,’ he said. ‘That’s where we were attacked, in that valley down there. The topographical site you are seeking is a few kilometres beyond the valley, more or less where we saw that red halo shining last night.

‘Amir and Princess Arad will be approaching from that direction any minute now. If the Blemmyae appear, our friends will attack from that side. We’ll hem them in on this side and tear them to shreds. How are you feeling?’

Father Hogan had his binoculars out and was scanning the sinuous line of the dunes, where the wind was whipping up tall swirls of dust. He suddenly stopped. ‘My God!’ he said. ‘What is that?’

‘What?’

‘There’s something down there, in that saddle between the dunes, a construction of some kind. Look. That’s where the halo of light was coming from . . . and we haven’t heard the signal since the light went out.’

Jobert grabbed his binoculars and looked in the direction Father Hogan had indicated. He saw a cylindrical construction that looked as if it might be made of stone, although no joints were apparent; it seemed to be a gigantic monolith. It was topped by a hemispherical dome made of the same material, with a seam running all the way around its edge.

‘How is that possible?’ he mused. ‘Who could have cut such a colossal structure out of stone, transported it here and erected it in the middle of all this desolation?’

‘That’s it,’ said Father Hogan. ‘It’s the receiver. I have no doubt.’

‘The Tower of Solitude,’ said a voice behind them. ‘Finally . . .’

They turned to see Selznick staring at the huge monolith with a strange smile on his lips and a hallucinatory ecstasy in his bloodshot eyes. He had lost weight, and his face was tired and gaunt. The yellowish stain seeping out onto his uniform jacket was the revolting reminder of his curse.

‘Take off my shackles,’ he said. ‘Where could I run to? And give me back my sabre, at least. Those monsters could attack us at any time. Let me have a blade so I can take my own life if they capture me.’

Jobert hesitated.

‘Come now, Colonel, where is your spirit of humanity? Your values?’

‘Give it to him, Colonel,’ said Father Hogan.

‘All right,’ said Jobert.

He loosed Selznick’s bonds, then slipped the sabre from his saddle and handed it to him.

Jobert turned to his men. ‘We’ll advance now,’ he said, ‘in a double file. Keep your weapons ready. Two men on foot for each machine gun, at the head of the column. At the slightest sign of danger, drop to the ground and open fire at will. Remember that this sand covers the bones of your fallen comrades.’

He turned to Father Hogan, who was putting on a sort of backpack with the radio inside. ‘What do you intend to do?’

‘I’ve connected the radio via a cable to the magnetic recorder that the camels are transporting. I’m going to try to get as close as possible to the receiver. The cable is quite long. You see? It’s wound up here in this coil. I’ll have sufficient freedom of movement,’ replied the priest.

‘Stay between the two lines for protection. Do you want a weapon?’

‘No, I don’t need one.’

‘Take something,’ insisted the officer. ‘You haven’t seen what I saw. They’re absolutely atrocious, beyond any imagining.’

Hogan shook his head. ‘I’ll be too busy with this,’ he said, nodding towards the radio. ‘I wouldn’t be able to use a weapon.’ He hadn’t finished speaking when the signal echoed clear and strong from the radio, while a blaze of bright light flared from the monolith. The dome seemed to become luminescent, casting a vermilion halo into the dark sky.

‘It’s the signal,’ shouted Father Hogan. ‘Forward, we must go forward!’ But his voice was drowned out by a bloodcurdling sound, like a deep, hollow death rattle. The soldiers blanched and remained rooted to the spot, paralysed by fear.

‘Forward!’ shouting Jobert, unsheathing his sword and urging on his steed.

But at that very instant he heard another sound behind him and it filled him with dread: the bestial screeching that marked the presence of the enemy, the scorpion men who populated the sands. He turned around and terror twisted his features into a grimace. ‘The Blemmyae!’ he cried out at the top of his voice. ‘The Blemmyae! They’re behind us! Fire, men! Fire! Where is Amir? Damn it! Damn them all!’

Father Hogan turned round and saw the advance of the nightmarish creatures that Jobert had described so often around their desert campfires. He felt his blood freeze in his veins, but he forced himself to turn back towards the tower, dragging the camels behind him. The soldiers manning the machine guns turned as well, but they could not shoot, for fear of mowing down their own comrades, who were already engaged in hand-to-hand combat.

‘Look! Amir’s warriors!’ shouted one of the officers.

‘Square off, men!’ shouted Jobert. ‘The machine guns! Let the machine guns through!’

He had the guns moved to the flanks, one on the right side to cut down the advancing Blemmyae and the other on the left, turned in the opposite direction, to cover Father Hogan, who was making his way undaunted to the tower.

On their left, about a kilometre away, the column of Hallaki warriors suddenly appeared. A shrill cry echoed and two squads rushed headlong down the dune in two parallel columns, urging their horses into an unrestrained gallop. The monolith’s dome was throbbing more intensely, its bloody light flashing even brighter, and Father Hogan realized that the bursts coincided with the signal, which was becoming increasingly loud and clear and more frequent. His face was dripping with sweat and his eyes felt wounded by the continuous flashing, so strong now that it was lightening the darkness that had fallen upon the desert.

He suddenly saw the sand stirring up under the feet of the blue warriors’ steeds, as though it were teeming with thousands of monstrous insects. The Blemmyae burst out in every direction and flung themselves upon their adversaries, waving their shiny black metal scythes in the air. Amir’s warriors forged onward, dropping the jars that were hanging from their saddles onto the ground, while fending off the attack of the scorpion-creatures that rose from the sands. The horsemen who fell were replaced by a continuous stream of fresh warriors who pressed on towards the tower, from which the beastly growl was unleashed once again, only louder and more cavernous.

Another couple of squads rode in to attack the Blemmyae, shooting at them with repeating rifles, spraying their bullets over the entire surface of the desert sands. Some of the soldiers leapt from their horses and took the enemy on in close combat.

Amir appeared then at the top of the dune, with Arad at his side. Both held lit torches in their raised hands. They exchanged a glance and then hurtled down the hillside until they had reached the tower, where they threw their torches to the ground. Two high walls of fire shot up and everything in their way burst into flame, including the Blemmyae and warriors locked in mortal combat.

The flames opened a corridor from the top of the hill all the way to the tower. Between them descended Rasaf at a mad gallop, holding a terrified woman in front of him on the saddle: his bride, Altair!

Father Hogan continued to advance through that incredible bloodbath, not really understanding how he could still be alive. He was astonished to see Selznick running towards the empty black portal at the base of the monolith, ripping off his clothes as he ran, stripping them from his bleeding wound. He was shouting, ‘Heal me, Lord of Solitude!’ He watched as Selznick crossed the threshold of the wide red halo that issued from the tower and then fell to his knees, screaming and pressing his hand against the wound that was sizzling as if it was being cauterized by a red-hot iron.

Father Hogan felt a sharp yank. He turned and saw that the camels behind him were terrified and trying wildly to escape, and he felt an ever deeper anguish wash over him. All would be lost if the cable broke! He grabbed a rifle that was lying on the ground and aimed it at the two animals, discharging all the rounds in the chamber in quick succession. When he saw that he had brought them down, he turned and continued to make his way towards the black doorway leading into the tower.

But a cry echoed to his right, over the din of the battle: ‘Selznick!’ Three horsemen were rushing down the hillside at a gallop, brandishing their sabres.

Selznick turned. ‘Garrett!’ he shouted. ‘This time will be the last!’ And he drew his own sabre.

The growl that was emanating from the tower was transformed into a thunderous roar which seemed to instil new courage into the Blemmyae as their comrades continued to rise from the sand. At that moment, Desmond raced past Father Hogan and then jumped to the ground with his sabre in his hand, engaging Selznick in a furious duel. The man was back on his feet and was returning every blow with wild, unsuspected energy.

The battlefield all around the tower was an inferno of fire and smoke, human screams mixing with the eerie sounds made by the Blemmyae. Philip found himself surrounded by four of the creatures, who had suddenly burst up around him, and he fought them off desperately. El Kassem flew to his side, cutting down one and then another. He shouted, ‘The fire! Race to where the fire is. They won’t dare to get close to it.’ Philip dug his heels into his horse’s flanks. The animal seemed ready to drop, attacked on every side, but with a powerful effort he righted himself, reared up and galloped off as El Kassem, like a lion surrounded by a pack of hyenas, spun his scimitar, spraying sparks off the black scythes of the Blemmyae. With every blow, he cried, ‘
Allahu- akbar!
God is great!’

Philip tried to drive his horse towards the wall of fire but the animal was terrified by the blaze and bucked at the last moment, throwing his rider to the ground. Philip rolled through the flames and found himself inside the corridor. He got to his feet and found Arad in front of him, supporting her mother with Rasaf ’s help. The woman was unconscious, but they were still trying to lead her towards the luminous halo that surrounded the tower, so that the supernatural light could clear the darkness from her mind.

‘Arad!’ Philip shouted. ‘Arad!’ She looked at him in astonishment, but did not stop. The roar that was erupting from the tower ripped through the air, even louder, like a howl of infinite pain, and a strong wind gathered out of nowhere, raising a dense cloud of dust. The fire was abruptly extinguished and the Blemmyae resumed their advance. Philip caught a glance of a brave young warrior who was completely encircled, fighting on with unflagging fury. He heard the crackling shots of the machine guns coming from another direction. He desperately sought Arad in that swirling soot. ‘Arad!’ he shouted out in anguish. ‘Arad!’

He saw her all of a sudden, distinguishing her by the light blue cloak that fluttered in the fog. There was something in front of her, a shadow in the wind, a dark shapeless mass that advanced slowly, letting out a long, low growl. He tried desperately to reach her, struggling against the strong wind. He found her and shielded her body with his own against the beastly sound that was drawing closer and closer. The dark mass was looming before him. He fired one, two, three shots with his pistol. They had no effect and he tossed it to the ground.

Philip retreated slowly, seized by terror, his foremost thought that of protecting Arad. He could already feel the beast’s hot breath upon him. Backing up one step at a time, he tripped on a discarded weapon and the metallic clang reminded him of what he had in his pocket. The sistrum. He searched frantically through his jacket until he found it. He clasped it tightly in his fist at first, then held it out and waved it in front of him until the argentine sound flew over the scorched field and pierced the dust. The wind and the roaring stopped all at once. The beast’s voice became a hoarse, panting breath, a pain-filled wheeze, and then vanished completely. Isolated shots could still be heard, suffocating cries, the distant whinnying of horses running wild, and then nothing.

The only sound still to be heard was the furious clash of swords inside the tower. The duel was not over. Selznick was still striking back hard, raining down close, incessant blows on his enemy. They flew at each other, soaked with sweat, animated by raging hate. Selznick fought as if he were possessed and Desmond felt his strength waning; he realized that he would soon no longer be able to resist the furious onslaught of his enemy.

The red glow descending from the vault dimly lit up the vast interior cavity as well, allowing Desmond to make out a large black stone sarcophagus that stood alone at the centre of the chamber. He sought shelter behind it, hoping to gather his strength. Then, sensing a moment in which his enemy was off guard, he lunged forward with a sudden thrust, holding his sword out in the same way as he had when he wounded Selznick that first time. But Selznick eluded his blade with a swift sidestep, sending Desmond rolling in the dust. His adversary was immediately upon him, ready with a cleaving blow, but Desmond managed to dodge it with a wrench of his shoulders. Selznick’s blade plunged deep into the ground and Desmond violently smashed it with his own as he twisted away, breaking it in two. He sprang to his feet, pointing his weapon at Selznick’s throat, forcing him to retreat until he was backed up against the sarcophagus. Fine, thought Desmond, this would be his sacrificial stone. He’d nail his enemy’s evil spirit right to that tomb. He had raised his sabre when Father Hogan’s voice sounded loudly behind him.