by Simon Clark
Elsa watched Dominion and the Brigadier stand over the half-alive wreck that was Saiban. They were waiting for him to wake so he could reveal his secrets. Their impatience was clear to see. The Brigadier’s sausage-like fingers fretted with the hem of the sheet that he wore like a Roman’s toga. Dominion slapped his hand against his thigh. All the time his dark eyes burned into Saiban’s face as he waited for the first flicker of true consciousness. Elsa reacted with shock, just like the rest of the God Scarers in the room, when the gunfire started. For the priest it appeared to be a signal. With a gasp he sat up on the trestle table. Rather than a dazed appearance, which was usual when one of the newborn woke after their transition, the old man’s gaze roved about the room. There was a keen intelligence in those grey eyes.
Old man? In years yes, Elsa thought, but the regenerator had opened to reveal that the disease-ravaged derelict of a human being had been reconfigured into a muscular man with aristocratic features. All signs of the gaunt frame had gone. Instead of clawed fingers there were now strong hands covered with smooth skin that was as flawless as that of his face. Where the black clothes had hung on him like rags on a scarecrow, the body had filled out into them perfectly. When he noticed his hands he studied the backs, then turned them to see smooth palms. The new growth of skin wouldn’t have creased yet, there wouldn’t be a line on it. His eyes absorbed the healthy pink of the nails, then he slid back a sleeve to reveal a muscular forearm.
That’s when Elsa detected an expression of shock. Both his hands went to his face as he quickly ran his fingers over his lips, cheeks, forehead, then lightly rested the tips of his fingers on his eyes. The skull-like appearance had vanished. Instead, new muscle moulded his handsome face. Where the eyes had been sunk deep into the skull they were now in perfect harmony with the rest of his features. She thought: Say what you like about us, but one thing is true: we make beautiful monsters.
When he took his hands away his eyes met Elsa’s.
‘Look what you’ve done to me,’ he hissed. ‘Have you no shame?’
35
Siege
Paul Marais arrived at the makeshift transit station to see the priest sitting upright on the trestle table. There was no doubt he was fully conscious. His eyes blazed with anger as he stared at Elsa.
Dominion and the Brigadier stood beside the table where Saiban lay. Although he was still unconscious, he twitched as spasms of pain shot through his nervous system. The rest of the transients stood anxiously in the room as the sound of gunfire echoed about the castle walls.
Dominion turned to Paul. ‘Why isn’t Saiban awake yet?’
Paul jerked his head at the hourglass shaped regenerator. ‘I told you that thing was an antique. I never guaranteed it would bring Saiban back.’
‘But he has important information.’
Caitlin jerked her thumb back at the courtyard. ‘Forget Saiban. You’ve got the entire population of Scaur Ness trying to break in here.’
Dominion’s face hardened. ‘Elsa, stay with Saiban. Let me know the minute he’s conscious.’
Elsa shook her head. ‘The priest is awake. I need to monitor him. There’s always a danger that respiration can—’
‘Elsa, someone else can take care of the priest. Watch Saiban!’
Caitlin shouted, ‘If you don’t do something soon you’ll have the mob jumping all over you.’
At first Paul thought she was frightened but there was excitement in her expression, too. The prospect of her neighbours being paid back for all the abuse that they’d hurled at her through the years was Christmas come early for her.
‘Elsa, I’ll monitor the priest,’ Beech told her. ‘Do as Dominion says.’
Elsa relented. She went to stand with Saiban. The wooden spikes in his chest moved in a tremulous way as his body shivered. A fever gripped him now. Without penicillin there was a chance Saiban would be dead within the hour.
‘Remember.’ Dominion marched toward the door. ‘Call me if Saiban wakes.’
Paul and Caitlin followed the gigantic figure.
When Paul spoke he found himself surprised by his own force of emotion, ‘For God’s sake, Dominion, don’t do anything rash.’
‘I can’t allow them to fire on us. I have to teach them a lesson.’
Caitlin joined in with equal passion. ‘Make sure it’s a lesson that those bastards remember.’
Paul sensed events were running out of control. ‘If you can see the portcullis, they can see you; then they’ll open fire.’ Dear God, all this is going nuclear; they’re not going to stop now. They want our blood. The words chattered inside his head; a weird monkey babble. That’s fear taking control, he told himself. Rather than being preoccupied with raising that bloody spook Saiban from the dead we should find a way of escaping this place. It’s not a castle: it’s a prison. Even though he tried Paul couldn’t stop the mind-chatter. Nevertheless, he noticed that flares had been thrown through the bars of the portcullis. They burnt with blood-red flames on the stone cobbles. Why they’d bothered to throw these, he didn’t know. Nothing would burn nearby; it was all solid stone. Perhaps the townsfolk think we’re like wild beasts, because we’re not human we’ll be afraid of fire? Maybe we’re all as insane as one another? This country’s being going crazy for years. The economy’s in the garbage grinder. The rule of law has collapsed. Politicians are crooks, or self-deluded incompetents. A bullet smacked against a wall.
‘Caitlin,’ he called out. ‘Keep back.’ Dominion scaled the steps to the battlements. For some reason he headed away from the side of the castle where the saps gathered. ‘Dominion,’ Paul shouted. ‘Use the stairs in the tower. They lead out above the portcullis.’ Dominion ignored him. ‘Yeah, because you’ve gone insane, too.’ Paul saw a mad delight in Caitlin’s eyes as she followed Dominion. This madness is infectious. Townspeople, God Scarers, the entire fucking world. All gone loopy … because what’s that saying? He hissed the words to himself ‘Those whom the gods wish to destroy they first drive mad.’ Words to that effect anyway. He paused. What the blazes is Dominion doing?
Paul had anticipated that Dominion would position himself on the walkway above the portcullis, and above the mob outside the castle walls, then bellow down at them. Probably the same threat as before. That Dominion would kill their children. Only now, big, bad, stark staring mad, Dominion ran along the elevated walkway in the opposite direction to the portcullis. Heaven preserve us. This is it: he really has flipped over into lunacy. What now? Punish the flagpole? Shout profanities down a chimney?
‘Dominion? Where do you think you’re going?’
Dominion was a man with a plan. He ignored Paul. All that mattered to the giant was to run along the walkway. Caitlin had been ensnared by the drama of that headlong dash, too. And that was the moment that Paul thought: Good God, they’re going to throw themselves from the tower. The image came with shocking brilliance – of the pair holding hands to swan dive from the 100 foot tower.
Idiot, he told himself, this insanity’s contagious. It’s infecting you, too.
By now the sun rested on the hills above the Scaur Ness. It drenched the world in a light that was as red as blood. The sun itself became a titanic warning light that signalled danger to Man, Monster and God alike. This route of madness led to the twin destinations of violence and death. Paul tried so hard to stop the weird mind-chatter his head ached. In the darkening sky gulls hung there. Instead of appearing as white specks they were now black, as if they’d become transformed into a dozen black holes in the heavens. Into those black holes an infinitely powerful gravity sucked light and sanity from the world. This is the end of the days. There will be no more tomorrows. Only the unending thunder of the apocalypse, forever and ever, amen.
‘Shut up,’ he hissed at that clatter of thought inside his head. Only it wasn’t insane now. That inner-monkey was a wise old soul. When he saw the sun lying broken on the hilltop as it haemorrhaged a bloody light, he knew, to the roots of his bones, that this was th
e start of the end of the world. OK, the ocean hadn’t evaporated, the town was still the town, the sky hadn’t ruptured, the dead weren’t rising from their graves … And yet there was such a powerful premonition that the world had reached the end of its life that he felt crushed. The vision left him breathless. His chest ached. Every breath became a struggle.
And even though it seemed to him as if his body sagged under the pressure of that premonition Caitlin didn’t even notice when she glanced at him with such a radiant expression of glee. ‘You just watch,’ she shouted. ‘Dominion’s going to make them suffer!’
‘But why’s he running away from them? They’re on the other side of the castle, not …’ Paul stopped wasting his breath. No doubt about it, a vision unique to the giant man drove him. On the walkway were mounds of building materials that had been abandoned years ago. Sacks of cement, a mound of yellow, builder’s sand. There were also stone blocks against which a wheelbarrow rested; the steel work of the barrow had begun to crumble before the onslaught of the elements; its single wheel had perished. Nevertheless, Dominion set the wheelbarrow upright. There were no tools there but with hands the size of spades it didn’t matter; quickly he filled the wheelbarrow with sand, using those giant paws. When the yellow mound had risen high above the lip of the barrow he grabbed hold of a sack that stood by the blocks. Even though the sack remained sealed a small hole in the side released a trickle of pebbles. These were the size of cherries and had probably been intended for use in reinforcing any cement works the long-departed builder had intended. Dominion hefted the bag onto his cargo of sand. For him it appeared to have no weight even though Paul guessed the bloated sack must have weighed a hundred pounds. The giant appeared to exude a ruddy glow in the setting sun as he wheeled the barrow on its single, rotten tyre to the section of wall that spanned the portcullis. In the yard below, a pair of road flares still sputtered crimson flames against the cobbles. The firing had stopped. Probably due to a lack of targets rather than a shortage of ammunition. If anything the crowd had grown. The saps gestured with their firearms as they debated what to do next. Paul noticed Caitlin’s father in the midst of the mob. They were so wrapped up in the argument they didn’t see what Dominion did first. Instead, they felt it.
With those vast hands he scooped sand from the barrow then pelted the people below. Even though they were forty feet beneath him the force of those particles striking bare faces invoked a burst of yells. Caitlin watched their discomfort with obvious enjoyment. Paul had to drag her behind the stone cornice before anyone started firing. Each handful must have contained the best part of five pounds of sand. What’s more, Dominion threw with such force that it formed a fast-moving cloud of yellow that spread out to encompass the entire mob by the time it struck. From the shouts Paul realized that the sand hurt more than he could have imagined. If anything, the castle’s attackers became a seething mass of shoulders as people ducked their heads as the sand struck. A couple of men fired off wild shots. One youth tried to fire a shotgun one handed as he covered his smarting eyes with a free hand. The birdshot tore away an ear of the tall man next to him.
During all this, Dominion never said a word to the townsfolk. He could have been a farmer pelting stones at crows. When he’d used up the sand he tore open the sack of pebbles. They spilled out in a brown heap in the bottom of the barrow. By now a number of the people had recovered enough to fire off better aimed shots at the battlements, although the angle made it difficult for them to hit anything, that and the grit in their eyes. Bullets ricocheted from the outer wall. More red-hot slugs of lead flew vertically into the sky. The gulls that were tiny black specks in the evening sky squealed in anger at this trespass into their domain.
Paul shouted, ‘That’s enough, Dominion. They’ve learnt their lesson.’ This wasn’t strictly true. If anything, the accuracy became better. Those red-hot bullets zipped ever closer to Dominion’s head.
Dominion said nothing. He now scooped up pebbles by the handful. This time when he threw the cries were real body pain rather than irritation. Paul risked a look over the parapet. With each throw more than a dozen of those cherry-sized pebbles blasted the saps. They howled when struck. Paul saw trickles of blood running down faces. OK, those little stones weren’t moving at the same velocity as bullets but Dominion’s muscular throw must have delivered them at close on a hundred miles an hour. This time the mob retreated in an untidy scramble. Some were knocked over to be trampled by their neighbours. The symphony of pain rose in volume.
‘Just listen to that.’ Caitlin shouted. ‘Just listen! They’re suffering! It’s about time, too, after everything they did to me!’ Then she shoved her head between the battlements to howl her glee at them. ‘See how you like it!’ Her fists pounded the wall. ‘There! You felt that, didn’t you, Magda? I remember how you treated me like dirt. I hope that knocked your bloody teeth out!’
Paul saw the one called Magda clamp her palm to her mouth as blood trickled between her fingers.
When the last of the pebbles left Dominion’s hand in another blistering barrage he stood back from the wall. Beyond the portcullis the mob scattered. Some scrambled, half-falling down the steps. Others fled along the road away from the castle. Caitlin exulted. A torrent of curses shot from her lips at her departing tormentors. Dominion simply watched them leave.
‘They won’t be gone for long,’ Paul told him. ‘You haven’t killed anyone this time. You’ve left some walking wounded, that’s all.’ He nodded across at the building materials. ‘There were some meaty stone slabs back there. Did you not think what kind of damage you could have done with those?’
Dominion met his gaze. For a moment his eyes were troubled as if on the verge of remembering an important fact. ‘I knew I could use the stones. I could have killed, only …’ When he couldn’t recollect what was important to him he let it go with a sigh. ‘Not yet.’
‘What do you mean, “not yet”?’
Beneath them came the sound of shouting. They looked down into the courtyard to see Elsa waving up at them.
‘It’s Saiban.’ Her voice echoed from the walls of the Pharos. ‘His condition’s changed.’
36
Darkness Descending
Elsa asked, ‘Have they gone?’
Paul’s face was grim. ‘The mob? Dominion drove them off, but they’ll be back. We killed their priest. We’ve given them a reason to unite against us.’
Elsa paused as they crossed the courtyard. ‘Wait, do you hear that?’
‘Hear what?’ Paul tilted his head to one side.
That’s the song of the dead. You must hear it. It’s starting to sound like a storm … Elsa found herself framing the words; she had to talk to someone about that ethereal music that ghosted in from the ocean. There was an urgency now. It really did feel like a storm ready to break with devastating force.
Dominion urged her forward. ‘Hurry. You’re exposed here; if they come back they’ll fire at you through the gate.’
Paul caught her arm. ‘Elsa? You said you could hear something. What is it?’
‘It’s all right.’ She spoke through gritted teeth as Dominion waved them toward their makeshift transit station. ‘I’ll tell you later.’
Only there is no sense of ‘later,’ she told herself. ‘Later’ has become a concept like that of an afterlife. It requires faith to believe in Heaven. Now even her faith in words like ‘later’ and ‘tomorrow’ were faltering. Events were reaching a climax.
Dominion bustled through the doorway, a gigantic figure on a mission. Curtly, he ordered West to keep watch outside in case the mob returned. The Brigadier’s monstrous form occupied a chair by Saiban’s table. Saiban lay there with a white sheet draped across his waist. The pieces of chair leg that served as plugs in the wounds shook.
Elsa explained, ‘Saiban’s condition has changed. Although he appears to be nearer to consciousness there’s a fever.’
‘Is it serious?’
‘Might be.’ Paul touched Sai
ban’s face that burned as if he’d stood too close to a camp-fire. ‘The wounds are infected. And we don’t have the right drugs.’
Saiban muttered. His eyelids fluttered but didn’t remain open more than a second. The man’s long fingers drummed with a fevered rhythm.
The Brigadier regarded Saiban. ‘Don’t transients have a strong immune system?’
‘Normally.’ Paul checked the pulse. ‘Rapid and shallow. Not looking good.’ He jerked his head toward the portable regenerator. ‘That thing is decades old. If you ask me it’s a miracle Saiban made it this far.’
‘He’ll survive?’ Dominion gazed down at the trembling figure. ‘It’s more important than you can know.’
‘We’ll do what we can but it isn’t much. I’ve said it before: we’re hard to kill; we’re not indestructible.’
‘You cannot fail.’
‘Is that encouragement or a threat, Dominion.’
The Brigadier reached out a pulpy hand to grip Paul’s wrist. ‘Make him live.’
Elsa saw a grim smile turn up one side of Paul’s mouth. ‘Brigadier, we’re monsters not gods.’
The creature’s voice rasped – dry as bones in a grave. ‘Do it. Make Saiban live.’
‘Elsa, keep pushing fluids into Saiban. The only medicine we have is good old-fashioned aspirin. If you dissolve a couple in water it might beat down the fever by a degree or so.’ Paul checked his patient. ‘See, gentlemen, reddened flesh on the lips of the wound. Inflammation. A seepage of pus. Smells like yogurt. Gangrene? Maybe, maybe not.’ Paul’s accent grew stronger. The Scottish brogue always came to the fore as he grew angry.
‘You’re the doctor,’ Dominion told him. ‘You should have brought drugs from the transit station.’
‘The transit station had been looted. All the medication that humans could use was gone. They only left the witches’ brew we use for raising the dead. And you know something, gentlemen? Even though I’ve pushed a corpse into a regenerator then pulled out a living individual I don’t know what’s in that stuff. For all I know it might really be made of bats’ wings, blood of newt and cobwebs found in graveyards when the fucking moon is full. My God, I’ve used it hundreds of times. I’ve seen how it works – but do I know how it works? Why haven’t I ever asked myself that question? In the early days I’d chuckle when I saw it arrive in boxes labeled Lazarite – yes, Lazarite, how bloody witty is that? I’m a doctor. Yet I play God. I’ve brought hundreds of men and women back from death into the wonderful, shining province of life. My colleagues have done the same for the last fifty years. I don’t know how I did it. No, what was important was the why. Science had vanquished the Grim Reaper. Death is extinct. Well, as near as damn it. So, my colleagues in transit stations throughout the country, made the dead live again. We restored their health. They emerged the beautiful, athletic people you see around you today. But now I wonder what the real purpose was. It’s not important how it was done. But why was it done? What was the greater purpose? The grand scheme? All those thousands of God Scarers, transients, monsters? Call them what you will. What was the point?’ His eyes blazed. ‘Where have they gone?’