The Anathema

by Rawlins, Zachary

  Mitsuru reached for her knife, and without any conscious thought, the blood ran in rivulets up it, coating the length of the metal, a flowing, ruby tint that dripped slowly from the fine edge of the blade. She smiled at it, almost involuntarily, then she saw Leigh take another hesitant step back, and that was all she needed. She was like a bull seeing red, assuming bulls could actually see color. She charged Leigh and Leigh tried to defend herself.

  Anyone could see that it was losing battle. Leigh had to put all of her energies into avoiding the constantly shifting sanguine blade in Mitsuru’s right hand, and that meant she had no time for achieving position, or avoiding the black blood that splashed her every time they closed. Better, Mitsuru could see that she was slowing down, whether due to accumulated damage or just fear and distraction, she couldn’t say. She watched Leigh’s eyes move, locked on to the crimson blade, and decided to try a left knee to the body, which landed solidly, staggering Leigh backwards. She checked the low kick that Mitsuru followed with, but it brought them close. Mitsuru feinted high with the blade and then hit Leigh with a left cross instead, landing solidly on the orbital just below the eye. That must have made the vampire angry, because she threw a punch for Mitsuru’s body. Mitsuru let it connect, wincing as it struck, but again, it paid off. The streamers of black blood on her stomach were quite adhesive. Leigh stared at her arm in horror as the boiling, black liquid sheathed her fist. She struggled helplessly and Mitsuru laughed as she advanced, leading with her knife, aiming for the vampire’s neck.

  She heard Gaul in her head, trying to tell her something, but the bloodlust was too much.

  “There is a lesson to be learned here, Leigh,” Alistair said contemptuously, from right behind her. “No matter how powerful you may are, you are never too powerful to bring a gun.”

  She tried to dive and roll, she tried to turn and strike, but it was too late for any of that. Alistair had used his telepathy to mask his presence until he was close, and she could feel him in her head now, slowing her reaction time. She didn’t hear the shots, but she thought she felt the impacts. She closed her eyes automatically. She opened them, reeling backwards, to find herself uninjured, and facing a surprising tableau.

  She wasn’t sure when Margot had managed to make her way back to her feet, or how she was even still moving after the beating she had absorbed, but she was there, one hand on Alistair’s wrist, bent at the waist as if she was coughing. Across the chest of her grey shirt, blood blossomed like chrysanthemums. Bone and bits of flesh burst from her back like shrapnel. The explosive lead azide rounds had torn such a huge hole in her head that it made almost no sound at all, when her body hit the ground and the contents of her skull spilled out across the stone in front of Alistair’s shiny, patent leather shoes. He stepped neatly aside.

  “You bastard,” Mitsuru hissed, clenching her fists while black blood oozed across her body, adhering to her skin like hot oil, thick and viscous, coating her from head to toe. “Alistair, this ends here.”

  Alistair leveled the gun, a small smile playing about his face.

  “I couldn’t agree more, Mitzi,” he said softly. “I’ve been waiting for this for a very long time.”

  * * *

  Alice’s specialty was, to put it simply, creating bad days. Bad days for other people.

  But as she picked herself up off the ground for the third time, nursing a bruised elbow, burns on her shoulder and back, and a wrist that was so badly swollen she couldn’t really use it, she was starting to wonder if maybe she hadn’t gotten too old for this stuff. The only reason she was still alive, she knew, though she never would have admitted it, was that Korean woman was unfamiliar with Xia’s protocol. If Xia had been himself, he would have cooked her already.

  The problem was twofold – she was getting tired, for one, and for another, she couldn’t get close enough. Michelle’s telekinetic strikes were invisible, and they sent her sprawling back on her ass every time she tried to get close. She’d gotten lucky, once, and sidestepped it based on where the bitch was looking, but all that had done for her was get her close enough that Xia could set her on fire, which he promptly did. She had been through a lot, and she was feeling drained, M-Class or not. She could port until her body collapsed under the strain without ever running out of power, but that very well might happen in the near future, given her exhaustion and battered body. To do what she had in mind, and put a bullet in Song’s head, she needed to be no more than about thirty meters away. She’d managed thirty-five so far, but she’d been on fire at the time, and unable to capitalize.

  The sad fact was that, even if she did get inside, there were still four of them, and Christopher Feld, for all his cowardice, was not someone to take lightly. Anyway, Xia was her partner, and she had no plans to hurt him, no matter what the situation was. This meant her hands were more or less tied. Besides, she had landed on her ass so many times in front of these people that it was getting embarrassing.

  Then, there was a series of gunshots, echoing, from the other side of the enormous room, if Alice’s guess was right. The French bitch and zombie-Xia turned to look at the noise, just for a moment, and Alice took a deep breath.

  Three jumps, three quarters of a second, fifty meters. She was genuinely afraid that she would end up puking all over whoever was on the other side when she got there.

  The first port was to a shadow cast by a beam of refracted sunlight, about halfway between them. She was there and then gone again, feeling weaker than she could remember.

  The second jump was to the left and about ten meters away from them, in the shadows of one of the support buttresses. Christopher, always the bright one, saw her this time, and moved like he was going to grab Michelle, but Alice was gone again…

  The third was tentative. She stalled in the Ether, and found herself remembering what she had taught generations of apport technicians – never jump when you are uncertain of your strength. Or you won’t wink in and out of the Ether, on your way to wherever you are going. You’ll make it that far and then you’ll stall, hanging there in the cold and the mists. Maybe forever. Nobody was sure if you even could die, out there in the Ether.

  Alice watched the Ether roil and tighten around her like the walls of a cell, a claustrophobic and frigid embrace, and figured that she might have the opportunity to find out.

  * * *

  Chris saw Alice flicker, saw everything going very definitely wrong, and reached for Michelle’s shoulder, to try to warn her, to turn her in the right direction.

  Alice stepped out of the shadow behind Michelle, looking like a corpse and smiling like a jackal. She wasn’t fast with her gun. She didn’t need to be. Michelle went flying backwards, but Chris didn’t see if she had the time to get a barrier up or not. Song Li had already started the transfer back to her own body, but it was a process. Alice fired four shots into her prostrate body, and then glanced hopefully over at Xia while she started to reload. Chris moved before she had the chance, his claws emerging in mid-lunge, and then he reeled back, in terrible pain, his arms and chest alight. He beat his arms against the flames frantically, but they only died down when the man wearing goggles sank down, first onto his knees, and then sprawled out sideways on the stone, as naturally as if he had planned a short nap there.

  “Hello again, Chris,” Alice said, slapping the chamber on her revolver back into place. “I warned you not to fuck with me.”

  “Not out of cards yet, Alice,” Chris snarled, running his hands over his ruined blazer and the burnt skin beneath it. And then he said a word, a word she didn’t recognize, and she fell to her knees so suddenly that she actually bruised both of them, hitting the ground.

  Chris grinned despite the pain, despite the smell of cooked pig that hung around him in a vile miasma.

  “Starting to understand now? You were never your own creature.”

  He said another word, which she recognized only as a command. She slammed her head down, her forehead hitting the stone with a resounding impact
, leaving behind a little red splotch on the stone, like one of those red Chinese stamps they used to put on documents. She had only just started feeling the pain, radiating out from her forehead like liquid, seeping into her facial structure, her eyes, her brain, when her body repeated the gesture, arching like a snake ready to strike, and then driving her head into the ground again.

  “Don’t you ever get tired of being told what to do, Alice? Don’t you get tired of doing things and not knowing why? Or are you that comfortable, being a pawn?”

  Again. She heard Chris laugh distantly, the next time, when he caused her to fall to the ground, half-blind from the blood seeping down her forehead. Her hands were still clambering for purchase against the stone, trying to pull her back up into sitting position, when he said another word, and she was finally released from the compulsion, and fell back down to the ground in an injured heap.

  Alice bled and held her head and laughed weakly, as hard as someone could who could barely manage to keep her eyes open. Then she said something. He could see her lips move, but he couldn’t make it out.

  “What? Something to say? Even now, my dear, it isn’t too late to turn back.”

  She tried again, and again he couldn’t hear her. He leaned close.

  “Thank you…”

  “For what?”

  “For standing over me,” she said, smiling with a mouthful of stained, red teeth as she disappeared into his shadow.

  Chris turned fast, but he wasn’t fast enough. Alice had both of her hands on his cheeks before he managed to turn his head. She could feel his jaw unhinged, and she knew that he meant to speak. It didn’t matter. He wanted to turn around. She helped him, and he spun, off balance.

  She held his face close, pressed his lips against hers. They tasted like sweat, salt and water, just like tears. She wasn’t entirely sure where she sent his head. It took the body a moment to realize it, before it fell over sideways, pumping dramatic gouts of blood out onto the stone from the severed line of the neck, all over Alice’s old boots. She was upset about the boots.

  “Oh, Alice Gallow, centuries pass and you never change,” the man in the purple robes chided gently, looking at Alice from behind with obvious benevolence. “But this is not the moment for our reunion. Until then, my dear.”

  His voice was low and musical. He sounded like he’d just heard something really funny. Then he said something else, something that was like a word, in a voice of command, a voice that carried even throughout the massive dome. At once, Alice and Mitsuru fell to the ground, folded neatly like origami and then slept. Leigh stared in uncomprehending horror as the black blood drained slowly off what remained of her body and fell inertly to the ground. Xia had made it up to his feet just in time to catch Alice halfway to the floor, turning to face the Rosicrucian. It wasn’t entirely clear how a man with goggles and a mask could look angry, but Xia managed it.

  “Enough, Xia. Your protocol won’t work on me. Anyway, do want to risk it? I know the word that will put her to sleep forever, the one that will kill her instantly, and the one that will take longer, but allow her to feel it. Would you prefer I picked one of them, instead of the word I implanted in her to cause instantaneous, sweet dreams?”

  The man waited, smiling his small smile, and eventually Xia turned away.

  “Don’t worry about it,” the man said gently as he passed by, his purple robe scraping the ground. “I’m here to see your boss anyway. He knows I’m coming.”

  * * *

  “It has been a very long time,” the man observed.

  “It has,” Gaul agreed. “I’ve heard the ridiculous name you go by these days, and I’m telling you right now, John, I refuse to use it. Tell me, did it come with the robe?”

  John Parson threw his head back and laughed.

  “You’re the same as always,” John said, chuckling. “It makes me feel quite nostalgic. And the Rosicrucian thing, that was just a hint for you. A secret society of scholars and doctors, devoted to the good of man, working covertly in concert toward enlightenment for all. I thought the reference was rather obvious.”

  “Is Mark with you?”

  “Mark is contemplating the Outer Dark, as he always does. I do not believe that he will ever leave it again, though he does still live. He has found something, and sometimes, he tries to explain some of it to us. From the words he speaks, we have occasionally been able to fashion tools. Mark is still translating the old language, Gaul.”

  “I assumed as much. There were a few survivors who heard part of a terrible word, a word that ate their minds out from the inside, during the first part of the attack,” Gaul said, shaking his head. “Mark must have gone mad years ago. Moreover, you must have, too, if you are trying to do what I think you are. Really, John, have you looked at your company? Weir? Even Witches?”

  “You being bitter,” John said lightly. “I have subjugated a small number of Witches already, and more will follow. They are uniquely vulnerable to telepathy under duress; once you learn the techniques it is actually quite simple. Nevertheless, they are just tools, Gaul, a means to an end. It must bother you, the war you’ve been fighting for lifetimes, that I could end it so easily. Surely, you see it now? What we have discovered, the Outer Dark, those technologies you deem forbidden, they hold the key to the world we always wanted Gaul. No more fighting between Operators. An end to the war. No mass introduction of nanites to the population at large, no accommodation with the Witches. Just victory and a better world.”

  “A better world?” Gaul demanded incredulously. “You can’t be serious. The Hegemony lost two-thirds of their cartel leadership. The Black Sun lost two full combat brigades. Not counting all the civilians you massacred in Central. I’ve seen the things you’ve made out of the Operators that followed you, the walking corpses you’ve created. No, I’m afraid that our definition of a better world is radically different, John. I assume you are here for the Source Well? I’m afraid you won’t be going any further.”

  “You think that you can stop me?” John Parson asked as if he was genuinely curious, taking a step toward the door behind Gaul. “I can see that you are exhausted, you know. You’ve been overworking that marvelous brain of yours, and you’ve used too many downloaded protocols.”

  “Nonetheless,” Gaul said firmly, crossing his arms. “I can stop you. And I believe that you know that.”

  John Parson paused and looked at Gaul, evaluating. Gaul’s pink eyes were even more bloodshot than usual, and his skin was pale and feverish, his forehead glistened with sweat. He’d slept in the shirt and pants he was wearing, and they were wrinkled and dirty. He looked tired beyond any measure, but he didn’t look afraid. He looked both confident and resigned. John Parson sighed theatrically, and then stepped back.

  “Perhaps you could, at that,” John said, with a small smile, “though don’t be certain that you have my measure anymore, Gaul. But, perhaps a deal, then, instead of a confrontation?”

  Gaul couldn’t hide his surprise, though the break in his composure was momentary.

  “Let us say,” John suggested, rummaging through his robes to emerge with what looked like an empty wine bottle, “that I were to simply take as much as I can pour into this bottle here, and then depart, with all of my servants, peacefully? What would you say to that?”

  “I can stop you,” Gaul insisted, “so why would I allow you anything? That bottle could hold enough nanite doses for a few hundred introductions. Why would I allow you that kind of power?”

  “Because there is something you haven’t considered. My people haven’t been slaughtering the population of Central, Gaul, they’ve been gathering them,” John Parson said modestly. “Thus far, most of them remain alive and well. As long as I am satisfied with the outcome, they will live. However, if you were to try to stop me – and I am far from certain that you could – I will simply return to the Outer Dark with them, to use as fodder for my experiments, instead of the nanites. We can do remarkable things with Operators in the flesh-pi
ts, you see.”

  There was a pause while Gaul did the math, and checked the probability streams, looking for flaws, alternatives, traps. Then his shoulders slumped.

  “Alright,” Gaul said, holding out his hand. “But I fill the bottle. You watch. You don’t even go in the same room as the Source Well.”

  “Deal,” John said, with a toothy grin. “You see, Gaul? Even you can be reasonable, when you have the proper motivation.”

  Gaul didn’t say anything. He walked to the doorway and John trailed behind him. The room on the other side was small, five meters in diameter, and roughly circular. A stone well was set in the center of the room, the narrow mouth capped with a flagstone. Gaul turned back to check that John remained by the door, and then, once he was satisfied, pushed the flagstone aside. He took a dipper from the side of the stone well, and filled the bottle with it, careful to make sure the excess water dripped back into the well. It looked no different from any other water, but both men knew it was rich in dormant nanites, nanites that would only function once introduced into a living being.

  “The Rosicrucian?” Gaul asked contemptuously, carefully tipping the dipper so that the water poured into the half-full bottle. “Really, John. Your flair for the dramatic is getting the best of you.”

  “I told you, it was a joke, a joke meant for you,” John protested, holding up his hands. “It’s not like I actually make people call me that.”

  “So you found things at the Outer Dark. Language, technology – but no nanites? No Source Well of your own?”

  John hesitated for a moment before his smile returned.

  “I wouldn’t be here otherwise,” John admitted. “It’s really the only thing we lack. With this, I can complete my experiments, and build an army that you will not be able to stop. You know that, right, Gaul? When I return, there will be no fighting the Anathema.”

  “Looks to me like we did alright,” Gaul said, continuing to fill the bottle. “If it wasn’t for Alistair’s treachery, you might have been defeated entirely. Your people didn’t hold up very well against the Auditors.”