by John Burke
“You’ll be cold, Nora,” he said.
“I’m all right.”
“You shouldn’t be out here like this. Come back to the house, Nora; everyone’s up, and they’re all worried about you.”
She said: “You don’t sound particularly worried.”
“I had no difficulty in telling where you were. I came straight to you.”
She throbbed with the fear that he would reach out and touch her; the anticipation set her nerves on edge. But he stood motionless.
“I feel safer out here,” she said.
“You’re being silly,” he said. “Inside, it’s warm.”
“I’ll stay here. Who sent you?”
“I came of my own accord.”
“That’s nice of you, Simon,” she said flatly. “You’d better go back and tell them you can’t find me.”
He said, unexpectedly: “That’s what I intend doing.”
“Then why—”
“Are you cold, Nora?”
She could tell, without seeing, that he had made some small movement, and at once she felt an unaccountable warmth stealing through her. “That’s a useful accomplishment,” she said, with a shaky laugh.
“I have many more,” he said dryly. “The time is coming when you shall see them. I insisted on coming out to look for you because I wanted to make sure that you would stay here. I should have been disappointed if I had been able to persuade you to return to the house: I like your independence; you show that you do not consider yourself bound to the family—that really you feel an urge to get away from them and fight your own fights, as it were.”
She derived no pleasure from this uncanny warmth that he had produced. What he was saying was wild and irrational. She said: “What are you talking about? I shouldn’t have deserted the rest of them, but I felt that I couldn’t stay in the house any longer. I thought…well, I’m not at all sure now. If you think I ought to go back and stick with the others—”
“No, that’s just what you mustn’t do. You’re meant to strike out on your own, to be unconventional. The fetters of this cramped, degenerate world—”
“Keep away,” cried Nora abruptly, then relaxed. It had been a false alarm.
“I’m not going to touch you,” said Simon gently. “Until afterwards, I need all my strength, and it is fatal for an adept to indulge in sensual pleasures before a great ritual. Many have failed in times past because of that: the incantations that followed sensual orgies were doomed to failure.”
“An adept?” Nora echoed. “But you said—”
“Will you promise to stay here if I tell you the truth? I don’t want to keep you here against your will—I shall have to draw reserves of energy from Jonathan in order to enclose your family—so it would be of the greatest assistance if you could wait here during the great consummation…wait until I come for you.”
It was all disjointed; the pieces did not fit together. Nora wondered whether Simon had stepped over the borderline into the world of insanity—or whether this was all a part of Jonathan’s plan, directed towards some end that she could not conceive. And simultaneously other more horrible ideas were forming in her mind as she tried to find some coherence in Simon’s ravings.
“Afterwards,” he said, “when we can say that the task is well done, and then sit back in our new world, strong once more in the glory of the community of adepts—”
“Simon. Tell me what you’re talking about.”
He gave vent to a deep, satisfied chuckle. “Even you have been deceived. I was afraid that you—who I thought might have been close to me in spirit, and therefore able to detect things more easily—might have seen from the start what was in preparation. Will you stay here until it is all finished, and then join me? For in the courts of the dark gods there is no aesceticism, and the wearisome struggle with books and the documents of the Atlantean priests will be at an end. After victory, there is relaxation.”
“You’re Jonathan’s slave,” she accused him.
“No. Jonathan is mine.”
His exultance was like a leaping warmth. She was still afraid that in this new, mad mood he would try to take hold of her. “Simon—”
“It’s warm here,” he said in a coaxing voice. “Stay here, where it’s safe—”
“Safe? What about my mother and father, and Denis, and Frank?”
“They will not leave the house.”
Speech has no meaning when the words are uttered by a madman. Nora, groping, said: “You mean they won’t come out into the open until it’s all over?”
“They mean nothing to you,” said Simon unemotionally. “Be honest: we—you and I, Nora—are of a different breed. They are weak, and they will not be missed. There will be millions more like them, useless. They will not leave the house: they will never leave.”
She said weakly: “During that séance, or whatever you choose to call it—”
“Why don’t you sit down? There is no need to fear the cold or the damp. There is no discomfort from now on. We are the rulers of the universe; the elements are our servants.”
She was lapped in seductive warmth, somehow sitting down, comfortable and almost acquiescent, but with something inside her that would not break before this insidious attack.
“Let me explain briefly,” Simon went on, “so that you will not be frightened when I leave you here alone for a short time. During what you call our little séance, I took possession of Jonathan: Jonathan is the one who is possessed, ready to play his part—not, I may say, the part he anticipated—in the recall of the gods. He knew from the start that I was to be feared, but he could not tell how much I knew. He feared me as a possible White Adept, and he knew that his own powers were not as strong as they ought to be: he believed himself a descendant of the Atlantean priests, but he was puzzled by his lack of real power. It was lust for domination that drove him on. He took the risk of being destroyed because he saw the possibility of a world in which he would be one of the chosen ones. And all the time he was playing into my hands. I am Simon, son of the Black Adepts. Fully conscious, as Jonathan could never have been, of the great responsibilities and the task that lay before me, I have spent my life seeking the books that hold the secret of the great rebirth, and while still a young man I have been fortunate enough to reach the end of this long quest that has covered so many centuries. Jonathan was a dabbler, an amateur magician, a product of spiritualist societies and psychic quacks—a man with some talents but no tradition, nothing to give him the right to summon the ancient lords back to their domain. I was afraid of his coming because I felt he might do great harm. I felt that the time had not yet come for the opening of the gateway; we could not afford to have any mistakes and hideous catastrophes. But then I began to hope that all would be well. I heard the singing beyond the gate, and I knew that this must be an auspicious time. Jonathan was the man—puny, stupid little tool of fate—who had found the missing books that made your father’s library complete. The missing pieces that I had despaired of seeing in my short lifetime were supplied. I let Jonathan carry out the preliminary rites. He opened the gateway, shut the area off from outside interference—and might then have gone ahead and been swallowed up in his own bungling magic, for he had no power to break the Great Seal; unfortunately, his assistant, another foolish dabbler from a circle of spurious occultists, was accidentally killed. When I arrived next morning, I knew it was not merely a matter of breaking the seal or of attempting to close the gateway, as I had originally anticipated.”
Nora said in a choked whisper: “You knew all along, when you were warning us that Jonathan must not come, that this was going to happen…?”
“I don’t seem to have made myself clear,” said Simon patiently. “I knew he was coming. I suspected, from information I was given in a state of trance, that he had a great deal of knowledge that, used on its own, would be harmful. As he was not an adept, I was certain that he could not break the Great Seal, but he might open the gateway—as, indeed, he did. I expect
ed him to be swallowed up: the gods are impatient, and if there was any way of reaching the human and dragging him through into their world, they would do so. All I intended to do was to look at whatever books Jonathan had brought, and close the gateway again, releasing the strain on our universe and on our interwoven dimensions. The time for the return of the gods was, I thought, not yet. But until I came here and probed into Jonathan’s mind, I had no idea how much he really knew. Finding him alive, I knew a different approach was necessary—but I could not have imagined that it would be possible to go ahead with the fulfilment of our greatest dreams. I took possession of Jonathan: he is not an ideal servant, but he has had a certain amount of training, and his mind is attuned, however reluctantly, to the reception of the gods. Jonathan is to be the sacrifice—for that’s what it amounts to—and I am to be that favoured adept whose reward shall be power over the new world, through the temples of the great gods. All knowledge is now mine, and the blood of my ancestors sings thankfully in my veins.”
He drew a deep breath of satisfaction.
Nora struggled to throw off the lethargy that was creeping over her. She could not account for this soothing warmth and the feeling that she was sitting at her ease in a comfortable room, with someone talking to her from afar. Forcing the words out, she said: “Why have you waited until now to tell me the truth? Were you afraid that you couldn’t cope with everyone else?”
“Afraid? There isn’t one of them could hope to stand up against me. If Jonathan, with a certain amount of experience in lesser magic, could not prevail, what chance would there be for an ordinary mortal? No, I was not worried about the opposition of your family: I merely wished to carry on my preparations without annoying interference. All my psychic powers will be needed this morning: I was unwilling to squander them on conflict. I admit I slipped when I allowed him to be taken unawares by your brother and his stupid friend, but it was a minor mistake, easily glossed over. Instead of having to exert myself in the repression of enemies, I have been able to move freely and to spend an undisturbed night—apart, of course, from your welcome visit.”
“If I’d known—”
“You know now,” said Simon. “Do you trust me now? Do you understand what I’ve been working for, and what a wonderful life is opening up ahead of us? This is why I haven’t been as attentive as I might have been, Nora—I know it’s been hard for you to realise why I was neglecting you—but everything will soon be different. Will you wait here while I—”
“You’re completely insane,” she cried, standing up so that she should not be lulled to sleep. “If I’d known what part you intended to play in this ghastly business—”
“Nora,” he said reproachfully; “you know this isn’t your real self speaking. Forget the conventional responses, and speak with your heart. This means power for both of us…and perhaps,” his voice rose with excitement, “perhaps immortality, if the gods are good to us.”
She realised that nothing she could say would make any impression on him.
“Can I trust you?” he said pleadingly.
She refused to answer.
The air became suddenly colder, as though he had spitefully withdrawn his boon. He said: “It’s disappointing to find how much of the old existence still lingers on. You’ll have to learn, Nora. I’m disappointed; it’s annoying that I should have to waste my energies sealing you in here, instead of being able to trust you.”
“You can let me go back to the house,” she said coldly.
“Oh, no…I don’t think you understand. The house is set apart for—well, for a certain purpose. When the gods come through, their retainers will come with them—strange beings such as you saw when you wandered through the gateway, and other wild children of distorted worlds. They have been faithful, and they deserve their reward, crude and bestial as they may be. It is usual for the warriors of a conquering army to be allowed to loot and pillage…and feast. I shall imprison your family in the house and leave them to entertain our hungry friends.”
The absurdity of it rose in Nora’s mind. She began to laugh hysterically, sobbing out appeals to Simon to go away so that she could wake up. Then her conviction that it was a dream faded, and still it all seemed grotesque and funny in its fantastic impossibility. Through her tears and spasmodic laughter she watched Simon’s dark shape flitting to and fro before her, and heard him muttering—to whom? Not to her.
“Who are you talking to?” she asked.
At last he stood still, and his rustling movements subsided into the unholy hush of this wicked dawn.
“You will stay here,” he said flatly. “Afterwards, when you have realised how the world has been changed, you will be glad to accept my protection.”
Fancy, she thought, a great high priest wanting me, when he’ll be in a position to choose anyone he desires. What a compliment, Nora fach. What a world he could make for me. I don’t believe it, don’t believe it, he’s pulling my leg, it doesn’t fit in with those horrors beyond the castle ruins, this is crazy.…
Then she realised that she was alone, and collapsed, her sobs dying away and her head clearing. Simon had gone. She must think.
Think.
She stumbled to her feet and walked unsteadily forward a few steps, to be brought up sharply by a force that pressed her backwards. She put out a hand, and felt it imprisoned by a mocking intangibility that somehow could not be penetrated. Simon had not been threatening idly: he had seen that she was not in a mood to accept his sinister assurances, and had been forced to expend his jealously conserved psychic energies on keeping her a prisoner until he had completed the rite. Nuisance value, she thought, with the return of sanity. The weaker he is, the more hope for the world.
The world of jubilant spring and warm summers, of friendship and delight, of sunsets on red autumn ground…were all these things to be lost? Was there no appeal against this hideous future? Desperately, Nora wondered what prayers could be offered up, and what hope there was of that spiritual force which had once succoured the White Adepts spreading itself now over this threatened countryside, a protective armour against the spears of evil.
It was almost dawn.
* * * *
“Where’s Nora?” demanded Frank.
Jonathan, sitting impassively before the fire, shook his head unconcernedly.
“You sent your henchman out after her,” Denis accused him. “What was the idea—what’s going on out there?”
“I wouldn’t advise you to try to go and see,” Jonathan said flatly.
Denis writhed impotently “If anything happens to her—”
“You’ll shortly have other things to worry about.”
Mrs. Morris leaned forward in her chair. She had raked out the ashes and laid the fire. The first yellow flames flickered icily. The light of the oil lamp seemed less bright than it did in the evening, and failed to dispel the darkness that lingered in expectation of the dawn’s more determined onslaught.
“I’ll put the kettle on in a minute,” said Mrs. Morris.
Jonathan, after a moment, emitted a mirthless cackle. His responses were slow—almost, thought Frank, as though everything that he heard had to be transmitted somewhere else and a reply given before any sound could be uttered. It might be something to do with the state of concentration supposed to be necessary for all occult feats. Jonathan’s remoteness would not prevent his acting viciously and compellingly if needs be.
Then they heard Simon coming back. He scraped his boots on the step, and the door swung open. He was alone.
Denis said: “Where’s Nora?”
“I couldn’t find her.”
Frank started up. “We’d better all have a look—”
“Sit down,” commanded Jonathan.
“We can’t leave her out there, in the cold, while things are happening. She ought to be with us. We’re going to look for her.”
As he spoke, Jonathan was backing away. Simon made a complete circuit of the little group, twisting his hands together and
talking under his breath like anyone who has just come in from the cold outside world and wishes to get warm again. Even so, there was something about his strangely mincing tread that aroused Frank’s suspicions.
“What are you doing?”
Simon stopped his pacing, and stood away from them.
“Fastening you up all safe and sound,” he said complacently.
Jonathan walked around and stood beside him.
“It looks as though we were right,” said Denis. “You’re the one Jonathan took over. That’s right, isn’t it, Jonathan?”
Simon shook his head, smiling. “As I’ve just been telling your sister—”
“Nora? But you just said—”
“As I’ve just been telling Nora,” Simon went on equably, “you’ve all had it the wrong way round. I am in charge here: Jonathan is my servant. While you’ve been concentrating on our puny little friend here, I’ve been resting and taking what steps I considered necessary in preparation for the breaking of the Great Seal. I am the Black Adept who will open the gate wide. When the gods and their followers come through you will, alas, have only a short time left to live. But perhaps that is as well: as true lovers of what you call freedom, you would not welcome an existence of obedience and rigid control, would you?”
Denis and Frank, their faces pale with the anticipation of what they might meet, rose and tried to reach him, but found themselves penned in by that same force that had barred the way down to the village. Simon’s contemptuous smile goaded them to a frenzied attempt to break through, but it was in vain.
“Where’s Nora?” asked Denis.
“Perfectly safe; I didn’t wish her to suffer the same fate as the rest of you.”
“You won’t get away with this,” said Denis, all too well aware of his own futility.
“There’s very little opposition that I can see.”
“Don’t you feel that it’s all too easy?” said Frank in an affable tone. “This isn’t a struggle worth taking part in. All the dice are loaded. You have occult powers that place you far out of our class. There’s no sport in it, no element of chance—no possible surprise. The game’s all yours: is it worth playing that way? Wouldn’t you like to give up your advantages just for a while and see how you get on in a straight fight?”