Monstrous Devices

by Damien Love

  The old man spun. “How’s that, now?”

  “Left,” Alex gasped, nodding in that direction. “It’s gone down that way. Not far ahead. I can . . . you know. Feel it.”

  “Uh-huh. Well. Lead on, then.”

  They moved off at a run, Alex a step ahead, sensing more than seeing the path to take. Up stairs. Along another little street, another larger. Blunt footprints dotted the way now. Alex realized they were back on the same street as the old synagogue. And then all the lights went out.

  They stopped, stumbling into each other. The night was solid black.

  “Is that . . . ?” Alex asked the dim shadow that was his grandfather.

  “Probably.”

  A few lights came weakly on, then went off again. Then on. Then off. On and off, rapidly, without rhythm, strobing the street in flickering light, interspersed with long periods of total darkness. Snow came storming around them, wild.

  Alex nodded along the empty street ahead. He had to shout above the whipping wind. “It’s heading toward the square.”

  They looked at each other in the glimmering silence. Then both cried simultaneously:

  “The Christmas market!”

  XXIV.

  RIOT, SPIRE, VISION, MOON

  THEY RAN, FASTER, jerky in the light, like a series of still images, the old man and the boy flashing in and out of existence as they moved.

  Alex didn’t need to see where he was going, anyway. He could sense the golem, the tablet, ahead. He could feel it reaching out to him. Feel what was inside him reaching back. And even if he couldn’t, he could still have found the way. Simply by following the screams.

  As they drew near, they ran into a panicked group of people rushing blindly in the opposite direction. Pushing their way through, Alex and his grandfather stumbled to a halt in the snow piled up around the edge of the square. Alex tried to take in the scene.

  With the frail light flashing, harsh snow slashing his eyes, it was almost impossible to make sense of what was going on. The Christmas market had degenerated into a swarming arena of chaos, all flickering, stuttering black confusion. Several of the buildings lining the perimeter were damaged, windows smashed, walls ripped and torn.

  A ragged mass of people was in constant motion around the square, a strange parade of festive figures going nowhere, panicking and pushing, running into one another, reaching out to one another for help. Throwing one another to the ground.

  More and more were fighting, Alex realized. They seemed increasingly senseless, lost in the weird current of dread coursing through the place.

  People crashed into him as they passed, and he felt himself suddenly caught up in the tide of heaving bodies, drawn helplessly away from his grandfather. Struggling to turn, he dimly glimpsed the old man, striving to reach him.

  Several figures had turned on Alex’s grandfather—men, women, and children, screaming in their merry hats and scarves. The old man was trying to fend them off without harming them. But more kept piling in, arms and legs swinging, teeth biting. Alex saw his grandfather look up, raise his cane to him, wave it in an obscure, frantic signal. Then he was gone, lost beneath his assailants.

  Pulled and pushed farther and farther away, Alex called out, tried to force a path back. It was useless. Carried along on the panic, he had no choice but to turn and go with it, trying to keep his feet.

  A cacophony of screaming roared above his head. He could really feel it now. The sensation inside him had swollen. The pressure was enormous. And the people around him were completely in the grip of the same feeling: drenched and deranged by waves of fear, grief and loneliness, giant, nameless horror. They no longer knew where they were, what they were doing. As they circled faster around the square in their terrible conga line, Alex caught glimpses of more figures being drawn to the turmoil from the streets beyond, pulled helplessly in, like leaves into a whirlpool.

  Stumbling in the wild stampede, he could now see a great commotion at the center of it all, some great thrashing of darkness. The eerie feeling in his head shifted to a new pitch, pointing toward it.

  He looked back in the direction he had last seen his grandfather.

  “This isn’t a good idea,” he said.

  He ignored himself. He started forcing his way through the seething mob toward the disturbance at its heart.

  Ahead, in the middle of the confusion, a huge, shapeless mass churned in the flickering light, like an intense chunk of a storm that had become trapped somehow. It took him a few seconds to work out what it was.

  A great number of the little wooden kiosks lay smashed and broken around it. As Alex looked, the enormous black thing reared up and lashed out, sending another small cabin flying through the snow in a rain of splinters and glass.

  Ducking, Alex realized he was looking at the enormous Christmas tree, ripped free from its foundations and whipping madly around, flaying at the crowd. From the confusion of cables that hung from it like tangled roots, it looked as though half the city’s electrics had been pulled up with it.

  And there, among the wires, wielding the tree as its weapon, stood the golem, tearing the square apart.

  Alex gagged at the force of the horrific vibration emanating from the thing. He could barely make the creature out, but the golem had grown taller, over eight feet now, whirling the mighty tree as though it were weightless, flattening a circle around itself.

  It brought it smashing down, then whipped it savagely at the people struggling to get away. Alex saw some get hit, sent sprawling, senseless, to the ground. Unable to take his eyes from the creature, he moved tentatively closer. As the golem thrashed around, he could make out a curious detail, an almost delicate tinkling sound mixing with the harsh noise of screaming and weeping: the smashing of the thousands of tiny Christmas lights strung through the tree’s branches.

  As he stood gawping, it turned, saw him. Then it came rushing. Slipping in snow and broken glass, Alex backed away but found himself pushed forward again by the raging crowd. The creature was upon him now, barely six feet away. It raised the tree high, ready to smash him—and it stopped.

  They stood stock-still in the maelstrom, watching each other through the precarious light. A boy and a shadow monster holding a Christmas tree. Alex felt the eerie, invisible current flowing between them reach a new intensity.

  Snow came down, wild on the wind. Flakes settled on the golem’s shoulders. They disappeared instantly, as if absorbed. The shuddering gray flesh was mottled with countless dents, like finger marks. Its face blurred constantly in and out of focus, one second bearing traces of features—a nose, cheeks with a hint of red, even a mustache—then just a claylike lump, with sad eyes like holes pushed by thumbs into putty.

  At times, the creature seemed almost to vanish. Alex recalled something his grandfather had told him. It was supposed to have access to all these great powers and knowledge: invisibility, the ability to raise the dead, all sorts.

  From the maddened throng behind him, someone shoved Alex roughly, knocking him to the ground at the golem’s huge, half-shaped feet. The monster flinched. Its face flickered into a vicious grimace as it struck out furiously with its tree, smashing at the wall of bodies.

  Crushed by the vibration howling in his head, Alex sensed rather than saw the creature come closer, dragging the tree behind it. Now it stood over him. He could barely see it, just rumors of its outline, a strange empty space carved out in the falling snow.

  Then he felt it touch him, and the unnameable feeling in his head sharpened painfully and burst apart, like a radio signal coming into full reception, sudden silence amid all the roaring static.

  The wavering lights of the square pulsed faster, fusing into a solid blaze. Something went off deep inside him, a flash of unearthly sheet lightning breaking across his being. For a moment, he could see nothing but a blinding blue-white glare, veined by thin, wriggling black l
ines. The black lines joined up, a writhing mass of roots, growing rapidly, growing blacker, until black was all there was.

  Black.

  Silence.

  Black.

  Faint screams, growing louder.

  Gradually, his senses returned. He felt he was in motion. He opened his eyes. The sky was moving over him. He had been lifted. The golem cradled him tightly but gently in one huge arm. Half-visible, the creature charged through the crowds, stamping out a violent path, swatting bodies aside with the tree.

  “C-careful.” Alex croaked the words out past his heart, hammering in his throat. “You’re hurting them.”

  He heard the thing grunt, a noise like gravel pouring down a well. The migraine feeling in Alex’s head remained clear, but now he detected something else coming over the wavelength: the uncanny sensation of a thought forming in his mind that was not his own.

  “You . . . think they’re trying to hurt me? No, listen . . .”

  The golem grunted again. It battered determinedly through the square toward a building ahead. Throwing the Christmas tree violently away, it leapt, smashed a blunt fist through the wall, and started pulling itself up, ripping out chunks of concrete for handholds.

  In an instant, they were on a roof, then across it, heading toward another, more massive wall ahead. The thing jumped and began climbing again.

  Alex realized they were scaling the face of the huge gothic edifice he had seen looming over the square. The golem climbed fast, heading up through shadow toward one of the tall, spiky towers. The creature had become visible again. Bundled in its arm, Alex could smell a cold, old smell. Damp, not quite unpleasant. He craned to look down.

  The ground was far below. The square writhed in dread and confusion, but the effects of the field of fear that the golem generated seemed to be lessening as it moved away. Freed from its grip, people were no longer attacking each other. Streams were pouring out of the square in all directions. Aside from the unconscious bodies littering the ground, the smashed Christmas market soon seemed almost empty.

  As the few flickering lights struggled on and off, Alex thought he could see his grandfather, a small gray figure, running from body to body, now looking up. He started to call down to him but gave up as the bitter wind ripped his breath away.

  Up and up. High enough now that he could see the parts of the city where electricity still flowed, clustered around the darkness that rippled out from the square. Flashing lights moved through the streets, closing in. Police, ambulances. Sirens whooped, sounding small.

  The golem had stopped climbing. They were among a cluster of spires at the top of the tower, beside one of a number of small windowed turrets that clung to a central spire. Bracing itself, the golem reached out and casually ripped an opening in the turret, gently placing Alex inside the ragged hole.

  Sitting gingerly on serrated old bricks, he looked at the monster beside him. Snow danced between them.

  The square below was strafed by the lights of police cars and ambulances. Flashlights flitted. Two larger, harder lights blazed to life. Spotlights being set up, directed across the carnage.

  He turned back to his strange companion. The holes in its face blinked at him with strange sadness. A hint of a bright, cold blue light glimmered in their depths, then was gone.

  Words formed shapelessly inside Alex.

  “You’re . . . scared? Confused,” he said, hearing himself speak without knowing what he was going to say. He leaned toward the thing, and, before realizing what he was doing, reached out, touched its arm. The golem didn’t move. Alien emotions swarmed Alex’s mind.

  “It’s the city. The city isn’t right. Things aren’t where they should be. Things are where they shouldn’t be. It’s like the city, but it’s not. You can hear the river. You have thoughts coming back. Memories. Work, so much work. Violence, so much violence, a world full. You’re . . . lonely.”

  The thing shifted, an oddly pathetic movement. Its head hung, gazing below. Alex strained to pick up its thoughts. Nothing. He sighed.

  Far beneath them, there was a new small commotion. A number of matchstick figures had gathered around one of the spotlights. They seemed to be arguing animatedly with the policemen operating the lights. Several were pointing up. Up toward Alex and the golem.

  With a sickening feeling, Alex saw the light turn slowly toward them, the bright white circle beginning to climb the tower.

  The golem moved quickly. It swung deftly up to the nearest spire. The point tapered into a long silver spike. The creature snapped it off, hefting it like a spear. Before Alex could get out the word “No!” it hurled it earthward.

  Even with the wind storming around it, the spike struck down in a straight, deadly line. It hit the spotlight dead center, the lamp exploding with a concussive bang that threw those standing nearest to the ground. The explosion was loud even up at Alex’s perch.

  Figures were running to the other spotlight. It started to turn. The golem swung to another spire, ripped off its spike, and launched once more. There came another huge bang as the second light vanished.

  The creature climbed up again. With a violent heave, it tore off the massive tip of the tower itself. Its eyes blazed. Bolts of blue light shot out, setting the chunk of roof burning with a ghostly fire. It flung the blazing heap downward. When it struck the ground, waves of the blue light rippled out. Alex could hear people screaming as the pale flames touched them.

  “Stop!” The word ripped out of him. The golem stopped. Images poured from it into Alex.

  He saw bodies now. Mounds in many uniforms, piled along the sides of a bare road cutting through the rubble of a devastated city. Fires at the far edges. The rim of the world burning, red, black, and blue.

  He saw the golem, forty feet tall, straight, sleek, dark, finished. Muscles rippled as it strode through the ruins. Its eyes blazed a strong, hungry blue light. He saw himself riding on its shoulders, silhouetted against the burned sky, pointing the way ahead, pointing to the next task.

  He leaned forward, pushing further into the pictures in his mind. Now his perspective shifted. He was looking out from his place high on the golem’s back, watching everything fall before him.

  Kings, queens, princes, presidents, prime ministers, and all their anonymous advisors. Billionaires, business tycoons, terrorists, religious leaders, military masterminds, media moguls. Teachers, doctors, bullies, Kenzie. All of defeated humanity lined up behind him and his beast, terrified, keeping their eyes down. Back along the line, he thought he saw his mother and Carl. Behind them, a tall man in black, a small girl. An old man in gray, head bent in sorrow.

  He leaned forward again, felt himself lurch, almost fall. He grabbed at rough brickwork, opening his eyes. Beneath his wrecked tower, the vortex of Prague yawned up at him. He pulled back, panting.

  “No.” Alex shook his head, trying to dislodge the dissolving pictures. “No, no, no, no, no.”

  He tried to keep his voice calm, make it strong. The golem hulked beside him, impatient after centuries of sleep. A stray thought of Alex’s own popped into his head: a time a few years before, when he had been cornered by a snarling dog. The memory was quickly followed by another: a scene from an old black-and-white movie, a woman soothing a giant monkey atop a tall building. Little planes were shooting at them.

  Hungry for work, Alex thought, recalling his grandfather’s words. He gazed at the night spread under him, thinking fast. Power, knowledge, secrets, questions.

  “I know,” he said. “I’ll give you a question, just to give us something to do. Okay? So: where is my dad?”

  He waited. Nothing happened. The golem sat motionless.

  From his jacket, Alex pulled out the photograph. He held it up, one finger pointing at his father. He tried again. “Where?”

  For several seconds, the golem remained still. Then it stretched one thick arm out, pointing
in a definite direction.

  Alex could barely breathe. He felt certain the creature was gesturing back toward the old synagogue. A moment later, it moved its arm through a forty-five-degree arc, then stopped, pointing in that direction. Then it turned forty-five-degrees again, pointed that way. Then again. It pointed straight up into the sky. Then straight down. Finally, it pointed straight at Alex. It dropped its arm.

  It was Alex’s turn to blink. He thought about it.

  “Garbage in, garbage out,” he muttered. More sirens were sounding below. The golem shifted restlessly.

  “Okay,” Alex said. “Forget that. We need to get you out of here. Away from here. Somewhere quiet.”

  The golem blinked, pointed below. Police were hauling another, larger, spotlight from a van. Another brief but very bloody image flashed into Alex’s head.

  “No. We need to get away. Now.”

  The golem blinked, loomed over him, raised an angry arm—then scooped him up. He had the clear sense it had gone into a mood. It swung to the far side of the tower, stepped to the edge.

  “Wh-what?” Alex stammered. The sheer fall stretched sickeningly beneath them. “No, don’t do . . .”

  Too late. The golem, ignoring him, leapt. Stomach lurching, Alex watched the night streaking up past them in a lethal blur.

  The creature landed with a crash that pulverized the cobblestones of a dark little street and tossed Alex’s bones around in his skin. A strange, fast trip through dark Prague followed, the surly monster running, climbing, leaping. Hunting and hiding in empty streets. Occasionally smashing parked cars, tearing lampposts from the ground. Over roofs, along alleys.

  Carried in its arms, Alex watched the unknown city slip by in shapes and shadows. His mind churned. Sirens shivered in the night, sometimes coming nearer, sometimes going away. He had the idea they were moving in circles. Eventually, he lost all sense of time and direction. Maybe he slept, or passed out. When he became aware again, he felt that the creature was growing calmer, placid. He had no idea how long they had been running.