by Paul Cornell
She followed the call through the portrait-lined halls, stepping over vampires and, she shuddered, the occasional remains of their food.
Yarven sat on his throne at one end of the great hall, one hand cradling his chin as if deep in thought. Ruath was curled asleep at his feet. A great sheet of ruddy light lay over them, the eclipsing screen of the large window that illuminated the throne. The Lord of the Vampires looked up as Nyssa entered.
"You wanted to see me?" she asked, as boldly as she was able.
"Yes. Thank you for being so prompt, my dear. Come sit with me."
Nyssa approached the throne, bobbing a curtsy, and sat primly on the chair nearest to Yarven's. "Aren't you up rather early, your majesty?"
"I like to see the dawn rise, when I can. It reminds me of immortality. Do you know why stars hurt vampires, little Nyssa?"
Nyssa inwardly bridled at the "little", but kept her composure. "No, your majesty."
"Because when Rassilon slayed the Great Vampire, he banished him to eternal darkness. Rassilon thought of that as being outside of the universe of men, but vampirekind took him at his word, and that is why we have lived in darkness ever since."
"Not a very scientific explanation."
"We are not a very scientific people. At least, we haven't been. However, that is changing. Do you want to be a vampire, Nyssa?"
"No. Not at all. I don't want to hurt anybody."
Yarven chuckled to himself. "They all think that until they do. But I wouldn't dream of keeping anybody in this state against their will. Ruath tells me that the technology now exists to reverse your condition, if applied during the next full moon. That is traditionally the time when the process becomes permanent. Before that, killing the vampire that inducted one into the cause, one's progenitor, as it were, cures one. Now, I don't imagine for a minute that you'd harm the baby -"
"No." Nyssa shook her head firmly.
"So I'm offering you this chance to be free. Would you like that?"
Nyssa calmed her breathing. The mention of a cure had been more than she could possibly have hoped for. "Yes. A great deal."
"Well then, we shall arrange it. You have my word on it."
Nyssa paused, expecting the vampire lord to offer her some sort of deal, probably involving betraying the Doctor. None was forthcoming. "Is that ... it?"
"Yes. I have no desire to rule over unwilling subjects." He smiled, showing his teeth, and reached across to lay a hand gently on her shoulder. "You are only a small fish, and I think we shall throw you back. If you can stand living with us until the moon is right, that is. Please understand, I don't want you running off to summon armies of vampire hunters until then. What you do afterwards, of course, is your own concern. Do I have your word on that?"
"Of course!" Nyssa beamed, and took Yarven's hand in her own, kissing the ring in delight. "Thank you, your highness!"
"Oh, tush. You may leave us now. I think it's getting a bit early for both of us."
Nyssa jumped up, still smiling, and dashed delightedly out of the room, turning to clasp her hands together and bob appreciatively by the door.
Ruath opened one eye and looked up at Yarven. "Did you enjoy that?"
"Oh yes," Yarven chuckled, rubbing the tips of his fingers together. "I do so adore tormenting the young and innocent."
Tegan slept late. When she wandered into the console room, the Doctor had just finished sorting things into his cricket bag. "Good afternoon, Tegan. Now, we just have time for lunch before popping over to see Mr. Lang."
"What are we seeing him for?" Tegan sat listlessly on the wicker chair in a corner of the console room.
"Because he and his group are going to find some of what they call "satanic cultists" tonight. I expect that they're actually vampires, or hypnotized human slaves used to guard them. We may find Nyssa, or some clue to her whereabouts. Besides, without our help, Lang will be in for some nasty surprises."
"You don't like him, do you?"
"Like? I haven't really thought about it." The Doctor lifted the bag onto his shoulder, and paused to consider. He took a deep breath, as he often did before venturing an opinion. "Perhaps he ought to consider the way that organizations like his distract attention from the real problem. Villains don't always have fangs and capes."
"Doctor ..." Tegan sighed. "Do you think we're ever going to find her?"
The Doctor squatted down in front of her and opened his mouth as if to say something. Then he closed it again. "Yes," he said finally. "I don't see why not. Now, chin up." He bounced to his feet. "French or Italian?"
"Sorry?"
"Lunch. If we're after garlic, I'm afraid our choices are rather limited."
Lang pressed the button on his answerphone.
"I live near Alderley Edge. It's a very close-knit community. My uncle and his friends take me out to the Edge every two weeks. And tonight's the night. Please come and get me. You can see them in their robes and things if you want. I'll be at the Edge with them all at nine, and it all goes on until midnight. Please come, I can't take it any more. I'm so frightened. Will I still get into heaven? Please come."
"She's a very frightened girl, Olivia." Lang leaned back in his chair, breathing heavily. "How old do you think she is? Twelve? Thirteen?"
"Bit older." Lang's PA. shook her head. "Sorry sir, but do you think this could be a wind-up? I wouldn't put it past some of the kids around here."
"No, no." Lang shook his head. "To do this once, yes, perhaps. But to keep such a story going, such a series of desperate pleas ... No. You can hear the despair in her voice. She needs to know that there's light, Olivia. It bothers me that I wasn't here when she called, she obviously couldn't make the set time. Who do we have for tonight, anyway?"
"About thirty of the group. Three minibuses, which New Light are providing. They've got enough drivers."
"Good." Lang stood up and flexed his arms behind his back. "It's good to confront them directly, to see the faces that I so narrowly missed last night. They must feel that Jesus is angry with them." He gazed at his tired reflection in the panel window of his office. "But they must also feel his grace and forgiveness."
The three minibuses, when they arrived, were carrying a flock of stern-faced men, some of them wearing the decorated leather jackets of various radical Christian groups. Tegan and the Doctor had wandered into the reception area at teatime, having spent a long afternoon at a rather high-class Italian restaurant. Lang had shaken their hands warmly and had asked Tegan if she'd like to stay behind with the wives and girlfriends, who were holding a vigil while the men went out on their mission. Tegan had politely declined, saying that she'd feel much safer beside the Doctor. Thankfully she found herself sitting beside the Time Lord in the back seat of one of the vehicles as they made their way in a convoy through the Manchester night. Lang's bus was ahead, leading the fleet.
"They're going to start singing Cumbaya in a minute," she whispered.
"I doubt it, Tegan." The Doctor was peering out into the lights of the city. "These people are very serious about what they do. They think their way of life's being threatened, and they have a great deal of faith, which makes them rather good opponents for the Undead. Speaking of which ..." He fished in his cricket bag, and took out a small tin. "Anybody care for a boiled sweet?" He handed the tin round, and several of the serious young men took one.
"Garlic capsules?" The Doctor nodded. "Evening the odds a little."
"I wouldn't bet on the other side." Tegan glanced around. "Looking at this lot, I'm not sure who I'd prefer to meet down a dark alley."
The journey took over an hour, which the Doctor and Tegan spent playing battleships. The evangelists struck up several rather martial-sounding hymns. At a garage, Lang knocked on the window by the Doctor and raised a proud thumb.
At 8.45, the little fleet pulled into the car-park that served Alderley Edge, a pleasantly arboreal stretch of gravel, the lights of a nearby pub shining through the trees. Only a couple of cars were about.
"Do you think we should ask if they're satanists?" Tegan suggested archly.
The army assembled, the Christians pulling unlikely things like baseball bats and tyre chains from their jackets. Their breath formed clouds in the darkness.
"Gentlemen." Lang raised his gloved hands for silence. He was dressed in black jacket and jeans. "Our first priority is to rescue the girl who has been calling for our aid these last few days. I guess she'll come to us. Any other obvious victims, I say we rescue now and face the consequences later. I'll take responsibility for that." There was general loud agreement. "After that, those of you with cameras should try and record as much of what occurs here as possible." He gestured to a couple of the team, who were packing film into their pockets and checking the batteries on flash guns. "We will pray over the site of whatever practices go on here, and cleanse the place. I don't recommend trying to capture any of the cultists. Remember, the weapons you carry are only to be used in self-defence. Okay, hands." They all held hands, the Doctor glancing at Tegan warningly. She didn't raise a fuss. "Lord, keep us safe. Let's win here tonight, and save some souls. Okay? Okay. Let's go."
As the team marched up the narrow footpath towards the Edge itself, Tegan nudged the Doctor, worried. "Is this going to be a blood-bath?" she asked.
"I hope not. If I had anything else to go on, Tegan, I would. I'm hoping that at the first sniff of all this mobile and active faith, any real vampires will take off at great speed."
"Take off? But - "
"Hush." The Doctor tapped his cricket bag. "Have faith. Besides, from what Lang says about these telephone calls he's been getting, there may genuinely be an innocent life at risk. And if there are humans serving the Undead, well, we can have a word, can't we?"
Lang fell back, and slapped the Doctor on the shoulder. "I must say, I admire your bravery Doctor. This must be the first time you've done anything like this, am I right?"
"You, ah, could say that."
"And you, Ms Jovanka. You're a thoroughly modern woman. I appreciate that."
"Thanks." Tegan glanced skywards, then caught the Doctor's disapproving glance. "Have you been on many of these yourself?"
"Yeah. Yes, I have," Lang sighed. "You find them out in the woods, doing awful things to children. Things which ... well, I'm a family man myself, and my daughter's... well, she hasn't found Christ, and she's changed her name so people at the gas station don't keep saying ... but I'd never ... Hey, sorry." He clapped his hands together and roused himself. "I'm babbling. These people still scare me, Doctor. They tip the world upside-down. Sorry if - "
"Not at all." The Doctor smiled gently. "I know exactly how you feel."
The party made their way up through the trees, negotiating the slopes by splitting into groups. The Edge itself was a rather sudden interruption in the flat Cheshire countryside, a wooded and steep-sided escarpment which looked down upon a wonderful view of endless fields. In the cold night, however, it was the rock faces at the base of the ridge that interested Lang's people. Natural basins and overhangs made for ideal camp and bonfire sites. Lovers met here, writers sought inspiration. Various pagan groups found the natural surroundings perfect for their earth-magic ceremonies, and the locals whispered about darker events. Lang's group probably wouldn't have differentiated between the latter two categories.
The Christians came to the top of the Edge in fragmented groups, forming a rough line gazing down at the escarpments below them and the sweep of the frozen landscape beyond. Distant lights shone on the horizon. Silence was dotted with the cry of owls or the love-call of a fox. A low mist wavered above the flatlands.
The Christians grouped together and produced flasks, preparing to wait. The silence of the place hushed them beyond the need for secrecy. The Doctor fumbled with his cricket bag, checking tiny diodes that blinked inside it.
And then there came lights in the valley. Blazing torches, and a low chanting that echoed eerily about the crags of the Edge. A line of hooded men stalked into view, leading a goat by a loop of bailer cord. Behind them, others were carrying a large crate. The line of cultists continued its slow procession.
Lang raised a hand. "Wait!"
His cameramen were already clicking away, relying on the light from the torches rather than risking flashbulbs.
"Doctor," whispered Tegan. "That chant of theirs ..."
"There!" Lang gasped.
At the back of the procession, a teenage girl was being led along, a hood covering her head. The cultists put down the crate and began assembling what it contained.
"Come on. Quietly." Lang stepped forward and, crouching, led his men down the hillside.
The Doctor put a hand on Tegan's shoulder, staying put. "What's that you were saying about the chant?"
"I recognize it from somewhere."
"Where?"
"I don't know. I'll get it in a minute, if they get to the chorus."
"Tegan, unlike Mr. Lang, I don't believe that satanic chants make it into the top forty on a regular basis."
The cultists had laid out a black cloth on the ground and were ceremonially taking various glittering silver and black implements from the crate. They kept up the chant. The goat had been tied to a post and had started to eat nearby foliage. The girl was turning her head from side to side, as if listening intently for her rescuers.
The Doctor flicked a switch in his bag. "Well, we may be on a wild-goose chase here, but you never know."
"Got it!" Tegan snapped her fingers. "It's from Evita. You know, the musical? That's the funeral procession of Eva Peron!"
The Doctor frowned. "Oh dear. I have a feeling that things may not be quite what they seem."
Lang's men had gathered in a fern-covered gully at the bottom of the hill. "Wait until they're prepared," the American advised. "We want these photographs to be absolute proof."
"What's that the bastards are putting together?" Stephen, the leather jacketed New Light member whispered. His voice was edged with fear.
"I don't know. It could be some sort of ... magical apparatus?" suggested Lang. "Whatever. We won't let the girl come to harm. How does everybody feel about the goat?" There was a general grumble.
"Okay," Lang nodded. "We'll act to protect the goat also."
The Doctor was squinting at the pieces that had been assembled on the cloth. The hooded figures were fixing them together, slotting a long black cylinder onto a silver frame. The cylinder pointed up at the sky, but the cultists were turning a tiny wheel, lowering it to just above ground level.
"Doctor," whispered Tegan. "You know, if I didn't know that this was a magical ceremony, I'd say that that thing was a - "
The Doctor sprang to his feet. "Lang!" he yelled. "Get away from there! Run!"
Lang looked up, angry at the Doctor's intrusion.
"Go, go!" he shouted, bursting out of cover and sprinting down the hill towards the cultists. The photographers started firing their flashbulbs, turning the action into a strobed sequence of slow-motion flickers.
The evangelists leapt to their feet.
With a crack, something shot out from the cultists' apparatus and hit the ground just downhill from the Christians. Smoke burst from the ground and caught them across their faces as they ran through it, yelling.
"A mortar!" the Doctor whispered. "They've got a mortar weapon."
"No shells, though," Tegan muttered. "They're just firing smoke."
"Are they? Stay here." The Doctor picked up his cricket bag and ran down the hill.
Small explosions were erupting across the hillside as the cultists dropped smoke-bomb after smoke-bomb down the muzzle of their mortar.
Lang, oblivious to the smoke, sprinted across to where the girl was standing. The cultists, he was amazed to see, ignored him, keeping up the barrage of harmless shells. Well, that was fine by him.
He grabbed the hood from the girl's head. "Madelaine? Is that you?"
Madelaine looked at him sadly. "Mr. Lang," she said calmly. "I've been wanting to meet you."
"Let's get - "
"Away from here? Right." She put a hand on each side of his waist. "Hold on to me."
"If that's what you want." Lang glanced around him, still amazed at the lack of urgency the cultists were displaying. He couldn't see any of his own men for the smoke. Up on the slopes, the Doctor was shouting something he couldn't hear.
He put an arm around the girl's shoulders, intending to lead her away. "This is so bizarre, it's like the Lord himself has intervened."
"No it isn't." Madelaine made sure of her grip on him.
They took off straight up. As fast as a firework.
The Doctor gazed up, grimacing at Lang's sudden shout of fear and surprise. He dived a second later to his cricket bag and hit a control.
Down in the valley, awful things were happening.
The Christians, running through the smoke, began to clutch at their throats and mouths. Something was suddenly pulsing through them, a wave of pain and shame.
It was the same for most of them. Mike had fallen to his knees, shivering. He felt distant from the world, an urgent cry changing his body into something that he didn't know at all.
Christ above him on the cross, eyes open.
Mike slammed his fists together, feeling his body being wiped away and replaced by something he didn't understand. It was on the edge of the feelings he associated with speaking in tongues, the slow and torturous buildup that led to a shattering connection with the divine. In those prayer meetings and healing sessions, it had taken hours of prayer and meditation to reach that state, a slow rocking and shaking and repeated intonation. Finally, he'd let the Holy Spirit flood into him, thrown his head back and burst into a babble of outrushing syllables, spending language across his brothers and sisters.
Christ above him on the cross, eyes open.
It was going to happen straight away now. He was going to turn and grab his nearest comrade and push his head into his blood and the two of them would pull in another and another and another until they were one blood and one thing and one grand thrashing mass of life and love and God.