The Levelling

by William Mitchell

  “So tell me,” he said, looking Howard in the eye, “just how close do you think you would have got carrying this? Or this?” He indicated the revolver then the machete as he spoke, flicking each one contemptuously.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Howard said, trying to steady his voice.

  “Really? You knew enough to equip yourself with this,”—the dagger was still in his other hand—“so you’re obviously not completely stupid. Just idiotic enough to blunder in here with close to ten pounds of ferrous metal distributed around your body. So tell me, what exactly were you expecting to achieve?”

  Howard didn’t answer; he couldn’t have done even if he’d wanted to.

  “I take it this was meant for me?” Ardent indicated the dagger again. “And I imagine you were going to use it on me while I was in communion, otherwise what would have been the point? So I’ll ask again—just how close did you think you were going to get?”

  Howard remained silent, staring Ardent in the eye in an attempt to make his silence look like defiance instead of ignorance. Anything rather than admit to the thing that had been hanging over him since this mission began—the fact he had no idea what he was doing here, or what he was meant to do. That he’d ended up in captivity within minutes of his arrival was testament to that by itself.

  “Did you want to get caught?” Ardent said.

  “No, of course not.”

  “Then why all of this? She sensed you a mile away, all the ironwork you were carrying.”

  No answer.

  “My God, you really don’t know do you? You really are that stupid. What is your name? Do you know that much?”

  Name, rank and number; that was the mantra Howard had had drummed into him during interrogation training.

  “Howard Shale, Squadron Leader, Six Five Seven Two One Eight Delta.”

  “RAF? Now what the hell would one of your lot be doing out here? Did you crash? Bail out?”

  Howard did his best not to react; the “downed pilot” cover story hadn’t even occurred to him.

  “No, you didn’t bail out,” Ardent said, realisation dawning, “but you did fly over. You’ve been here before, haven’t you? That was you… So how did you get here today?”

  Then he stood up rapidly, said “keep him here” to the sentries who’d first caught him, and left the tent.

  Howard’s mind was in turmoil for the time that Ardent was gone. They weren’t going to kill him straight away, that much was clear, but whatever happened next would depend on what he did or didn’t say. He could lie, make up some pretence for being there, or he could play dumb—more truthfully than he cared to admit—or he could stay silent. Or he could make up half truths, give them just enough to leave them wanting more, and force them to keep him alive that way. Every one of those was fraught with danger though, and just as likely to see them kill him sooner rather than later, whether for angering them, appearing useless to them, or telling them too much—even out of mock compliance—and rendering himself surplus to requirements.

  Ardent was back less than five minutes later.

  “Well, quite the adventure you’ve had,” he said. “Tell me, what was it like seeing those men die like that? Doing those things to themselves, wanting to join their dead loved ones at any cost? Must have been quite terrifying I’d imagine. You’d have to be made of stern stuff I imagine. Yet you made it here safe and sound, which can only mean that she likes you. Or at the very least she’s interested in you.”

  Again, Howard wasn’t prepared to admit his ignorance.

  “So who sent you here?” Ardent said. “No, let me guess. I can picture him right now, sliming his way around, flattering himself over every plan he comes up with. How is Little Lord Ponsonby these days? Still flouncing round with his nose in the air? Acting as if every other human on Earth is beneath contempt?”

  It wasn’t worth maintaining the pretence; this man knew so much already. “You mean Simon?” Howard said.

  “Ha! Still calling himself that is he? He needs to change his cover. He’s getting lazy.”

  “You know him?”

  “Oh, I know him. I used to work with him. We studied this field of research extensively as the war went on. Especially when we realised what the Nazis were really trying to do. But he’s still stuck in that ridiculous dogma of his. If he could only see the potential, realise what we could be…”

  Ardent was looking off into the distance now, as if lost in thought. Then his eyes snapped back onto Howard.

  “So you flew over here. We knew you were there by the way, knew the risk you were taking. So what did you see?”

  Howard hesitated, but there was no point keeping up the act. “We saw a clearing on a hillside, cut into a strange shape. Teddy said he could see people in there. Then something happened to him.”

  “Teddy?”

  “My navigator.”

  “And where is he now?”

  “In a hospital somewhere.”

  “And you both saw this shape on the ground?”

  “Yes, but he saw what was inside it. Was it here? Are we near it now?”

  “Yes and no. Different people would have seen different things. It depends what aspect of herself she wants to present. She saw something in you though, that’s for sure. Otherwise you’d be in that hospital too. Or floating down the river like the men who brought you here.”

  “Who are you talking about? Who is ’she’?”

  Ardent smiled. “My goodness, ‘Let’s-Say-Simon’ really stitched you up didn’t he? You don’t even know what we’re doing here, what we’ve already unlocked?”

  Howard shook his head.

  “Do you want to meet her? See for yourself?”

  “Who? Who are you talking about?”

  “Only the most powerful, pivotal individual you will ever meet. The fact you’re still alive suggests she wants to meet you.”

  “That doesn’t answer the question. Who is she?”

  Ardent sat back and ran his hand over his face, as if mulling on a difficult decision.

  “Why not?” he asked aloud after a few seconds. “It would be wrong to introduce you without at least some explanation. So, where to start? I want you to imagine that everything you know about ancient history is wrong. Everything you learnt in school—our primordial past, clubbing each other like cavemen, before blundering into something resembling civilisation, eventually leading us to where we are now, the pinnacle of advancement and enlightenment. It couldn’t be further from the truth.

  “The reality is bigger, more magnificent than you can possibly imagine. We humans are merely a shadow of what we used to be. We were like angels once, powerful and terrible, with every force the universe has to offer at our disposal. And we were not alone in this world.

  “There have been many words for the Elementals through the years, though the Sumerians got closest to their real names. When they took the form of the wind they were known as Jin-Enlil, or the Nagiru-im. When surging waters gave them form, they became Tiamatu-ak, or Apsu-ene. When the ground itself gave birth to them, they were the Etlu-abnu. And when they inhabited the flames, turning conflagrations into living, thinking fire, they were called the Zini-girru.

  “Yet, powerful as the Elementals were, we humans were once just as potent. We had powers and capabilities that would be unimaginable now. And there were some that thought they could defeat the Elementals, and take this world, and the worlds beyond, for our own.

  “If you read the Bible you can still see the story of that war, if you know where to look. It’s in other books too, but you won’t find those propped up on any church altar. It lasted centuries, and laid waste to the entire world. But eventually it ended—and victory was not ours.

  “They could have annihilated us completely, if they’d wanted, weakened and defeated as we were. For whatever reason, they didn’t. But they took our powers instead and let us live, stunted and impotent, at the mercy of the world we’d once tried to conquer. The petty squabbles we�
�ve acted out between ourselves since then—you don’t know what real war is if you think those count as “World Wars”. Even the territorial ambitions of Mr Hitler and the Emperor Hirohito are as nothing compared to the War of the Heavens. You think you’re so powerful, so clever, flying your tin bird around as if you’re the master of the skies. If you could see even a hint of what humans used to have, and what we could do, you would be astounded.

  “Yet now, we live like animals in comparison. Yes, even you, in your safe civilised country with cities and universities and government—you are nothing more than a beast grazing in a field compared to what people used to be. The Elementals let us live, but while they oversee us, this is as close to what we used to have as we will ever be allowed to get. The Levelling you helped inflict on Germany pales into insignificance compared to that which has been imposed on us, for the whole of recorded history.

  “But don’t imagine for one moment that we are at peace. They hunt us, did you know that? Anguish and suffering are like a clarion call to them. When people die in sufficient numbers, and sufficient agony and terror, the Elementals will hear the call and come, taking the form of whatever force is creating the carnage. When people die in maelstroms and tempests, the Elementals will be found inhabiting the very air as it screams and thrashes around them. When an earthquake levels a whole country, Rock Elementals will flow through the shifting strata, turning the very ground into a force of conscious, wilful destruction. And when a blaze rages through a city, claiming thousands, the Fire Elementals will appear in the midst of the flames, guiding and directing them from within. They take the souls, you see. If you’ve ever wondered whether hell exists, then yes, it does, and that is where they take the people they devour. Don’t imagine that going to heaven or hell comes down to saying your prayers at bedtime like a good little boy—the most virtuous among us can be taken if the beasts come hunting.”

  Howard thought of Amy, and the way he’d seen her die in his dreams, the flames chasing her down as if they were alive. It had almost looked as if something conscious, and deliberate, had been pursuing her. Yet still, what Ardent was saying sounded like lunacy.

  “You lost someone to them, didn’t you?” Ardent said, as if reading his mind.

  Howard didn’t answer. He didn’t owe this man any details about his life.

  “You did, I can tell. And your navigator too. The Elementals can sense those ties, those threads of grief that link those they have taken to the living. Let me guess—you were told to fly over here, right. You and your navigator?”

  Howard still didn’t answer.

  “You were led here deliberately, you know. The man who told you to come here knew that people dear to you were in the possession of the Elementals. They wanted to dangle you out, like bait, knowing that the enemy would take an interest in you. Tell me, what exactly happened to you when you flew over here?”

  “Mechanical failure. Mid-air engine restart. We turned for home and got back safe.”

  “Safe? Really? Then why am I only seeing one of you? Did he get a good look, your navigator? Did Amhazrel reveal herself in all her glory? It would have been quite a sight—no wonder it had an effect on your poor friend. She expressed herself as a Lightning Elemental that day—you were lucky anything worked on that plane of yours after getting this close. Yet send you they did, your masters back in London. Amhazrel knows you now, she’s seen you, and she knows she has someone of yours already. I wonder, was that Simon’s plan, to mark you out as someone of interest, someone who wouldn’t be annihilated on sight? Was that Simon’s way of getting you close to me, so you could use this?”

  Ardent turned the wooden dagger over in his hands, then carelessly threw it out of the tent, into the bonfire that was still burning outside. Howard watched it land among the burning logs, its edge glowing with incandescence as the thinnest part of the blade burned first, blunting it within seconds. Even if he could have grabbed it out of the flames it would have been no more use than a burning twig.

  “They were so close, you know, when we beat them,” Ardent said.

  “Who were?” Howard said, still watching the burning dagger.

  “The Nazis. They knew the truth, and they knew that we are not as powerless as we are led to think. All of that equipment out there was built by them for one purpose—to lure and capture an Elemental, then torture it into relinquishing its powers onto the people who held it. That was their aim, all along, the culmination of Hitler’s obsession with the world that lies beyond. And they so nearly achieved it.”

  “Why?”

  “To reclaim the old powers, and fight the war again—the real war, and this time to win. Hitler believed it. He believed that the manifest destiny of the Aryan people was somehow written into the fabric of the world. And this was the way to enact it.”

  It sounded crazy to Howard, but he’d heard about Hitler’s fascination with the occult, and whether the world of the supernatural might have military value. He’d even seen inside an old SS barracks, not long after the end of the war, where the SS troops had held out to the end, fortifying the building on the outside while on the inside painting bizarre murals of Aryan fighters with lightning bolts issuing from their eyes, and strange unearthly creatures fighting alongside them. It was like taking a trip inside the mind of a lunatic—which, given their loyalty to the raving madman in Berlin, wasn’t too far from the truth. For Howard though, the raving madman in front of him was of more immediate concern.

  “And is that what you believe?” Howard said.

  “No. The Nazis were not destined to rule the world. History made sure of that. But the power of the Elementals, and the power that should still be ours, as humans—you don’t have to believe it to appreciate it, you only have to see it. Except, there are those who will not see, who can never see, because they refuse to. It was the Simons of the world who fought to stop this endeavour when it was in Nazi hands, and they continue to fight it now. They are happy to live, terrified and cowering, in this prison the Elementals keep us in, and happy to smash the ambitions of anyone who dares to want more, lest it anger our jailers.”

  At last Howard knew where he had found himself. He’d heard of bizarre religious cults before, communes and colonies springing up in odd isolated locations, usually led by a charismatic leader with a band of followers searching for some kind of meaning, ready to accept any nonsense in the pursuit of enlightenment. And somehow, in the backwaters of what used to be Germany, this man had done just that, and was now trying to indoctrinate Howard with his superstitious rubbish.

  But the jungle. And the deaths of the Marines. And Teddy.

  “I think it is time we introduced you,” Ardent said, standing up. “This way please.”

  Howard was dragged to his feet; the leash was still in place and was now digging in painfully. Before they went anywhere though Ardent stopped, turned to the sentry who was holding the other end, and said “Seine Taschen sind leer? Kein Metall?” The sentry responded by giving Howard a thorough search all over his clothes and inside his pockets, before announcing “Nichts”.

  Ardent was about to lead them out, but then stopped a second time, looking at Howard with a look of wonderment on his face.

  “No, it can’t be,” he said. “Simon’s not that clever. Or is he? Could it be you’re carrying something after all?”

  Then he turned to the sentry and said “Wir sollten seine Aura messen.”

  Howard had no idea what that meant, but it resulted in his being led the other way instead, further into the tent. It was divided into several rooms, each of which spanned the ten-foot width of the tent and therefore led from one into another down its length, each lit by lanterns hung from the tent frame. One was a store room filled with wooden crates, one had desks and piles of papers—many with Wehrmacht markings—piled up on them, with two men studiously reading and annotating. The area after that was a map room, with large charts strung up on the walls, some showing Germany, but others showing the Middle East and th
e Far East, not only present-day boundaries but old empires like Assyria and Mesopotamia. The one after that turned out to be the source of the noises he’d heard, being—unbelievably—some kind of harem, decked with red and gold wall hangings and three mattresses, each of which was occupied by a young woman. None of them wore anything more substantial than undergarments, and they were surrounded by opium burners giving off heady fumes.

  “Johan? Bleib bei mir?” one of them said. She sounded half asleep, and barely coherent. Ardent ignored her and walked straight through with Howard and the other man in tow.

  Then near the end of the tent, there was a section with a narrow wooden-framed bed. It was the kind a field hospital would use, with the carriage poles that let it double up as a stretcher lying on the floor either side of it.

  “Lie down,” Ardent said.

  Some deep instinct told Howard that if he complied, and lay down there, he would not be getting up again without a fight. He’d seen enough now to have a good idea what was going on here: John Ardent, the charismatic cult leader, had stumbled across some old Nazi experiment, some kind of mind control weapon, which he’d used to both ensnare his followers and eliminate unwelcome visitors at a distance. Howard had seen it in operation twice now, and the longer he stayed here the more likely it was that he’d be next. The equipment he’d seen on the way in, still covered in Nazi insignia, was the proof; everything else was just superstitious nonsense Ardent had concocted to create a narrative.

  Howard looked round the room, weighing up his options for escape. If he had so much as a knife in his hand he could have slashed the tent wall and been out of there; with his hands empty, and Ardent and the other man blocking the doorway, he had nothing.

  He’d hesitated too long for their liking; the sentry stepped forward and pulled out a knife of his own. It was jet black, like the knife Simon had provided. The man jabbed it into Howard’s neck and pushed him back toward the bed. They had to untie the leash to let him lie down, but once they had, Howard was forced into position. Then Ardent went to a box in the corner and got some kind of contraption out. It looked like a set of lenses and prisms fixed into a wooden frame, with a handle at one end that Ardent used to hold it like a gun, pointing at Howard’s body. Howard tensed when he saw it, even though it resembled no weapon he’d ever seen, at which Ardent laughed, saying “If I wanted to hurt you there would be simpler ways.”