by Simon Clark
‘Yes, it’s stronger than ever.’
‘But it’s not faith in God?’
‘Father’ – Dominion gazed at the monstrance – ‘I believe in a real life after death.
Dominion turned to see the ancient priest push down on the arms of the wheelchair to help him stand. ‘That belief,’ panted the old man. ‘is your own version of life after death. That’s a blasphemy. If you deny death you must deny life. Life is an education for joy in the hereafter. When we are born we begin a progression. Each stage prepares us for Heaven.’
Dominion’s heart thudded in his chest. The three women sat on the pew with their hands clasped together. They lived in terror of him. How they must have shuddered at his appearance – the dark head with its blond stubble, the pale hands; the scars that ran around his wrists and neck. He turned back to face the priest who stood there in his black clothes as if they were now the strongest part of his body. The man’s wrists were nothing more than twigs from which skeletal fingers dangled. The face was a death’s head.
The priest managed to point at the door. ‘Go.’
Dominion shook his head. ‘I believe in life after death.’ He strode forward seized the man by the lapels of his long black coat then dragged him across the floor. The priest didn’t shout. He gripped Dominion’s hand in his own hand. His eyes never left Dominion’s face.
When Dominion reached the stone baptism font he swept away the timber lid. By now the old women might have been screaming. He didn’t care whether they were or not. Their reaction didn’t interest him. Still the man didn’t cry out when Dominion lifted the weightless husk of a body in one hand before plunging the white-haired head into the holy water. The font must have stood there for 800 years or more. Generations of babies would have received the church’s blessing as they were Christened. Gradually they grew into adulthood. They were married in this church. Their children were baptized here in this carved stone bowl that contained a gallon or so of ritually sanctified water. Then, eventually, the funeral. Hundreds down the centuries. After that, internment in the consecrated grounds beyond the church door. There, the men and women whom the transients called saps, a diminutive of Homo sapiens, would rot.
Now maybe this was a first … Dominion gazed almost dreamily at the head of the priest beneath the surface of the holy water. A tiny drowning pool for one.
When Dominion was satisfied the priest was dead, he lifted the dripping head clear of the water, and then slung the body over his shoulder. The three women clung to the altar as if they were adrift at sea and were clinging to a ship’s wreckage. There they wept as they prayed.
Moments after Dominion left the church he climbed the cliff steps to the Pharos. The priest’s corpse hung over his shoulder. One of its arms swung from side-to-side as if waving goodbye to the town that had been home for the past fifty years.
33
Dead Mouth – What Sweet Melody it Sings
The moment Dominion returned to the Pharos with his macabre burden Dr Paul Marais thought: He really has gone insane.
The sun cast a hard light on the pair as Paul and Xaiyad winched up the portcullis.
‘Dominion!’ Paul shouted. ‘This is crazy. If the priest’s died you should have left him for the town to bury.’
‘He wasn’t dead,’ Dominion replied. ‘I killed him.’
Xaiyad was stunned. ‘You what?’
‘The old man would have died soon anyway.’
Paul stared at the priest in the long black coat, his body slung over the giant’s shoulder as if he was nothing more than rags. Water dripped down the priest’s skull-like face. A shade of deathly blue spread around the lips. ‘Dominion, don’t you understand? You’ll bring the whole town down on us.’
‘Paul, once Saiban is out of the regenerator you can bring the old man back to life.’
‘Dominion, you are a liar if you claim the priest wanted to make the transition.’
‘He believed the process was blasphemous.’ Dominion walked across the courtyard to the room that housed the regenerator. ‘But I want you to show him how good it feels to come back from the dead to a new life. The priest will be living proof to the town that we aren’t monsters.’
Xaiyad rolled his eyes. ‘I wish I could believe you, Dominion. But you’ve just gone and made life difficult for us.’
‘Difficult?’ Rage made Paul breathless. ‘That’s an understatement. The people down there in the town are going to erupt!’ His rage intensified when he saw how casual Dominion appeared. ‘They’re going to rip this place down stone by stone to get us. We’re finished!’
Dominion didn’t even turn back as he carried the corpse over one shoulder. Instead he simply called out, ‘Once Saiban is out, start work on the priest.’
‘You, bastard, Dominion. You great, mechanical, uncaring bastard!’
When Saiban opened his eyes he screamed. The cries blasted back from the walls, until it became a howl of human feedback. Beech jumped so violently at the sound that the bowl of disinfectant she held sprang from her fingers to shatter on the floor.
Elsa helped restrain the man as he convulsed on the table. ‘It’s the plugs in the wounds. They’re reacting against the new tissue growth.’
Paul forced Saiban’s shoulders down. ‘I can’t remove them yet. The blood will empty out in seconds.’ He grimaced. ‘I’m sorry, Saiban, old pal, you’re just going to have to live with it.’
Dominion stepped forward. ‘Can he talk yet?’
‘Not on your life. If the pain subsides he might be coherent sometime tomorrow.’
‘He’s got to start speaking.’ Impatience flashed in Dominion’s eyes.
‘You’ll get plenty of screaming before then, but mark my words, nothing sensible will pass his lips.’
The Brigadier sat on a chair against the wall. He was still swathed in sheets. ‘If he does have information then we’ll have to be patient, Dominion.’
Dominion turned to Paul. ‘I’ll keep him still. You start work on the priest.’
Elsa said, ‘You know, I can’t decide what’s worse: that you killed the town’s religious leader, or that you want us to bring him back to life against his wishes.’
Dominion’s conviction was relentless. ‘Once they see one of their own has made the transition, then they’ll change their minds about us.’
The Brigadier nodded his misshapen head. ‘Dominion has a point.’
‘Then I just hope you’re right.’
Most of the God Scarers were in the storeroom. Right then, close proximity to one another gave them a greater sense of security. Even though that sense of security is probably an illusion, Paul told himself. He glanced up as Dominion waved him back with his spade-sized hand.
‘I’ll take care of Saiban. You start on the old man.’
‘I just need to check my handiwork first.’ Paul examined each of the wooden plugs in turn. The chair legs he’d used to stopper the wounds in Saiban’s body resembled spines. Around each one where it met the skin puncture was a pink collar of flesh. This was the new tissue growth propagated by the regenerator.
‘Hurry up.’
‘I’ve got to make sure that old Saiban here doesn’t spring a leak.’
‘But he’s going to live?’
Paul shrugged. ‘No guarantees. That regenerator is positively geriatric. Saiban breathes, twitches and yells … but whether there’s any meaningful activity in that melancholy brain of his … well, that’s another matter entirely.’
‘Make sure he lives. Now work on the old man.’
Paul caught Elsa’s eye. He knew what response he was tempted to make to Dominion’s demands; however, he merely said, ‘Next patient, Nurse.’ A smile played on his lips. ‘Just like old times again, huh?’
‘No, Paul. To me it feels like we’ve all died and gone to hell. Will you pass me the syringe kit, please?’
As Saiban lay there he gave such a deep groan of pain that even Dominion grimaced in sympathy.
Paul gla
nced across at Dominion. ‘I hope Saiban’s secrets are valuable. If he does wake, that poor devil is going to be in so much agony I pity anyone having to be in the same room as him as he screams the place down.’
Two hours later Elsa went with Beech to visit Luna’s tomb. At last the silence the crypt had enjoyed for centuries had returned. Luna was still now. Outside, the evening sun had shone so brilliantly it had hurt Elsa’s eyes. Here, the gloom seemed to creep out of the graves to drown the crypt in shadow.
Yet the peace was something to be relished. Every time Elsa closed her eyes her memory replayed the sight of Saiban writhing on the table. That palely arching body, the jaws open wide, teeth snapping down on the tongue. Worse, was the sight of the chair legs that formed a surreal bristling spine down the centre of his body. Even though the man was unconscious his vocal expression of pain had to be heard to be believed. During that outpouring of sound she and Paul worked on the corpse of the old man. The emaciated body revealed clear signs of being ravaged by illness. Dominion, however, had not damaged it more than necessary. Shock had killed the man as much as being immersed in water. Anyway, the preparations were complete. The priest had taken his turn in the regenerator. What would that man of God make of being deprived of death? Elsa suspected that new experiences waited for all of them in the coming hours. None of them pleasant.
Beech broke the silence. ‘If only Dominion had decided to fetch one of the regenerators earlier we might have been able to rescue Luna.’
‘But then Luna didn’t harbour any secrets Dominion wanted. We’re all expendable in his eyes, aren’t we?’
‘I suspected Dominion was insane, but now I wonder if we all haven’t gone mad.’
‘We’re surviving.’
‘But why do we obey him like he’s some god or something?’
Elsa smiled; it felt more an expression of sadness than happiness. ‘We’re desperate. Perhaps he’s our only chance.’
‘But we were beginning to co-exist with the townspeople. Now he’s murdered their priest there’s no telling what they’ll do in revenge.’ Beech flushed with anger. ‘Dominion is crazy.’
‘I’ve gone crazy, too.’ In the gloom she saw Beech’s expression of surprise. ‘It’s true, Beech. I’ve gone totally off the rails. Yesterday, I … how can I say it politely? Yesterday, I found comfort … no, gratification, in the arms of one of the men from the town.’
‘Elsa? A sap?’ Beech let out a breath. ‘You mean you …’
‘I know I hurt him, but it was like I was ravenous. I couldn’t stop myself.’
‘My God.’
‘And if I got the chance I’d do it all over again.’
‘Does anyone else know?’
Elsa shook her head.
‘Then keep it a secret. Times are weird enough without causing any more complications.’ Beech checked her watch. ‘My turn to watch over Father Lazarus … uh, ignore me, I’m picking up Paul’s dreadful sense of humour. Coming?’
‘I’m going to stay. After the racket Saiban made I need the quiet.’
Beech left the crypt. Elsa stood surrounded by the stone coffins topped with their ancient carved effigies. Here the dead stayed dead. The simplicity of their world exerted its appeal right now. Whatever traumas these long-extinct people experienced in life; all the dreams they had for the future; the tangled web of relationships – all that was gone. Where were the souls of the occupants of these tombs? Were they anywhere? Or was heavenly bliss, in fact, everlasting nothingness?
At that moment the sound ghosted through the walls to touch her. The song of the ancient dead that she’d heard before. Could they really call out to her? Were they beckoning her to cross over some great divide?
Paul had chosen to bask in the light of the evening sun. He stood on the castle’s walls. The sea air chased away chemical and corpse odours. The screams from Saiban’s mouth still reverberated inside his head. With luck another ten minutes up here would see the breeze chase those away, too. He gazed out over the town that had become submerged by shadow as it lay there between the cliffs that hemmed it in.
Today, he told himself, Dominion pulled the lever. Things are happening. I don’t know what those things are exactly. But he’s set something in motion.
And that sense of motion was quickening. It was as if they’d become a runaway train that sped downhill where shortly it would smash into a gigantic obstacle. The thought had barely passed through his mind when he saw movement in the streets below.
‘Here they come,’ he whispered, as a chill crept up his spine. ‘You knew it would only be a matter of time, didn’t you?’ He gave a grim chuckle. ‘They’ve made up their wee minds at long last.’ He called to West in the courtyard. ‘Make sure the portcullis is locked down tight.’ He nodded toward the town. ‘The mob are on their way.’
34
Final Hours
Paul watched them swarm up the cliff steps, leaving the shadows behind to emerge into the evening sun. In a happier place this could have been the start of carnival night. However, Paul sensed the charge of fury that ran through the mob. We’ve killed the man they loved, he told himself. What else could we expect? The priest was the only man in that Godforsaken town that gave them hope.
Paul leaned forward over the battlement to look at the roadway below, which separated the massive stone wall of the fortress from the edge of the cliff. So far, that was deserted. At least the army hadn’t returned; he half expected to see tanks appear to batter their way through the portcullis. Once the gate had been breached it would seal the doom of all the God Scarers in the Pharos.
A body suddenly pressed against his. He looked down.
‘Caitlin, you should stay inside.’
‘My place is here with you,’ she said firmly.
‘They’ve not come bearing gifts, that’s for sure.’
There must have been 200 or more in that mass of people snaking up the cliff face. Most carried firearms – a motley collection of hunting rifles, shotguns, pistols. Most were civilian but he noticed a dozen or so in police uniforms. Even the cops had merged with that pack of hate-fuelled humanity.
‘Caitlin, it’s not safe up here.’
She gazed down at them. The setting sun illuminated her face. The combination of beauty and fragility tugged at his heart. At that moment he wished more than anything he could grow wings so he could carry them both away from here to safety.
‘Just look at them,’ she breathed. ‘They’re frightened as much as angry. So they want to fight. That’s all they know. It was the same at school. They knew there was no work; they watched their relatives drinking themselves to death, so what did they do? They beat up the smaller kids, or fought one another. If they were punching out it felt like they were battling against what threatened them. All they were doing was making it worse. Now they find it convenient to blame transients for their own lives being a mess.’
Paul slipped his arm around her shoulders. ‘Dominion’s focused their hatred. He should have left the priest alone.’
‘He would have died anyway. Dominion saw it as a means to prove that your people aren’t monsters.’
‘Aye, but Dominion’s mind works in a funny way.’ He pulled her closer to him. The need to protect Caitlin became a source of pain inside of him. How could he save her if the mob broke into the castle? Images flitted through his mind of the woman fleeing along these walls as the men raced after her. Her father couldn’t protect her now. Once they had their hands on her they’d savour their punishment.
‘Ah,’ she sighed. ‘There’s Dad with his old shotgun. Behind him, the ones with the rifles, are Mel and Karl. You can see Mel’s enjoying this. He’ll be looking forward to raping me again.’ She gave a grim smile. ‘That’s right. Scaur Ness went rotten years ago. Neighbours feed on neighbours, one way or another. Theft, rape, intimidation, bullying, cheating. The police ignore it.’ She tilted her head to one side as the saps began to surge onto the roadway. ‘And there’s nothing like an old friend f
or carrying a grudge. Those two in the short skirts are Fran and Magda, they were my best friends at school. We even formed a band and told each other all these stories how we’d be signed to a record label. Then we’d go to the best hair stylists, buy new clothes, tour the country. All the best hotels. Then a stretch limo to the arena.’ Her eyes became dreamy as if that flow of townspeople hypnotized her. At that instant it was strangely silent. If anything, all that could be heard was the soft roar of surf on the beach. ‘We even composed a song. It was called Out of Here. That summed up our hopes of leaving for a new life. Some hope.’ Caitlin nodded at the pair of hard-faced women with whom she’d once spun daydreams. ‘Those two will be among the first to stick their knives into me.’
Whether someone gave the order, or whether it was spontaneous, Paul didn’t know. The swarm raised their guns. Shots snapped out on the still evening air. Paul saw red flashes of tracer speed toward them. He dragged Caitlin back so violently that the air in her lungs came out as an ‘Uff.’ The mob were at such an angle that they fired their weapons almost vertically upward. There was little chance of them causing any harm now Paul and Caitlin crouched down behind the battlements. Nevertheless, this wasn’t sharp shooting: it was an elemental discharge of sheer rage. Dozens of bullets smacked into stone. This Gothic fortress had been built to withstand cannonballs, so bullets from rabbit guns and revolvers wouldn’t do much damage. Paul saw the danger would be real if, or when, the townspeople broke into the castle. The God Scarers wouldn’t fight for their survival. They’d have to rely on Dominion to save them then. As more bullets ricocheted away in a piercing whine Paul beckoned Caitlin to follow him to the doorway in the tower.
In the storeroom that served as their own temporary transit station two figures were stretched out on trestle tables. One lay on his back with the pieces of wood bristling from his chest. He groaned as his eyelids fluttered.