by Simon Toyne
The Tau was not a cross, it was a metal coffin filled with needles, each one shining darkly with the same wetness Liv had thought was sap. Now she saw the terrible truth. It was not sap but blood, leaking from hundreds of evenly spaced puncture marks on the frail and naked form of the woman inside it. She was young. More like a girl than a woman, yet her long hair shone white in the darkness, sticking in thick coils to a body mired with blood and gouged with ritualized wounds, each one terrible and familiar.
‘The scars we bear are reminders of our failure to rid the world of its evil,’ the Abbot chanted, as though he was reciting a prayer. ‘The rituals we practise keeping it bloodless and weak until justice can finally be done.’
Liv looked into her eyes. Green like a lake, and wide like a child’s, yet fathomless and silted with pain. Despite the grotesqueness of the situation Liv experienced a rush of intimacy with her, as if the chapel was just a room, and the girl before her just a lost friend from childhood. Looking at her now was like encountering a version of herself, like catching an unsuspecting reflection staring up from a deep well. It was as if the soft breeze that flowed out of her, carrying with it the scent of grass, connected them somehow. The green eyes stared deep into hers, and she felt laid bare and accepted; seen but not judged. And like a window they let Liv see too. And she saw everything in her, and her in everything. She was the desolation of every woman who’d wanted to be a mother but had never become one. She was Liv’s own mother screaming in agony as she gave her own life for that of her two children. She was all the hearts that had ever been broken, and all the tears that had ever been shed. She was woman, and woman was her. Their pain was her pain, and hers was unimaginable. And Liv saw all this and felt a yearning to just reach out and give her the simple comfort of her touch, as though she was the mother and the tortured child pinned inside the vicious cross was hers, lost in a nightmare too long to measure. But her unseen captor held on too tightly and her hand was not hers to command, so she reached out with what words she could muster.
‘It’s all right,’ she said, blinking away tears that spilled unchecked down her face. ‘Shhh. It’s all right.’
Eve’s limpid green eyes held hers for a moment, then she smiled the faintest of smiles and sighed like something released, then Liv felt something press into her hand. She looked down. Saw the thin blade of a dagger tapering away from her palm into the darkness.
‘Fulfil your destiny,’ the Abbot said, holding her hand tightly in his. ‘Rid mankind of its great betrayer.’
Liv stared at the slender blade, the horror of why she had been brought here suddenly manifested in its cold point. She tried to drop it, revolted by its intended purpose, tried to twist it away but the hands that held her were too strong. Samuel’s words rose up in her frantic mind as she struggled against the men who held her.
If others die for your sake then God has spared you for a reason.
She’d often wondered what her reason in life was, but she knew this was not it. This exquisite, tortured woman could not die. Not by her hand. She looked up into the pale, elfin face, felt the breeze flowing through her, the smell of toasted grass stronger now as the sound it carried changed to something liquid, like ripples on a shore, that seemed to wash through her, bringing strange comfort and a rush of memories.
She saw herself sitting by the lake with Samuel in the sun-bleached grass of her childhood, listening to their granny telling stories from their Nordic past.
It’s not supposed to be obvious to just anyone, Arkadian had said about the message scratched on the seeds.
It was meant for you.
The smells and the memories it brought now made everything terrible and clear. ‘Ask’ had not been an instruction. It referred to the legend of Ask and Embla — the first two humans. The message Samuel had sent her was:
Ask +?
Mala T
The Tau and the question mark both underlined because they were the same thing. The Mala cross — the Tau — was Embla. The Sacrament was Eve.
Chapter 141
When Cornelius had seen the green eyes staring out at him from the slit in the Tau, he’d thought for a shocked moment it was the woman in the burkha, brought here by some miracle. Only when the Abbot had revealed her identity did he realize the true marvel of the Sacrament. She wasn’t just the woman in the burkha, or the mother who had abandoned him as a newborn — she was the fountainhead of all female treachery.
Eve had to die, for the crimes she had committed against man and against God; it was the only way to rid the world of her poison, and somehow the squirming girl in his arms was the key. He felt her struggling, saw the dagger in her hand twisting away from the symbol of his hatred trapped inside the cross and, without thinking about his actions, he shoved her forward with all his strength, slamming her into Eve.
Liv gasped at the impact and breathed in an ancient smell, like rich earth, and the promise of rain. It was the smell of Eve and it comforted her. She could feel the dagger between their bodies, held tight by their embrace and rendered useless by it; but she also felt the burning sensation of pain. It was coming from her throat and her right shoulder where the force had driven them on to the spikes inside the Tau.
She heard angry instructions from behind her and felt herself yanked back as quickly as she had been shoved forward. She gasped as an astonishing pain ripped through her, felt wet warmth gush from her neck and spread down across her chest, then her legs buckled and she slid to the stone floor.
The Abbot watched her fall and saw his dreams topple with her.
He looked up at Cornelius with murder in his eyes and reached for the dagger in his Crux. Then a sound made him stop.
It was a soft sound, like surf on shells, and it had come from Eve. He turned to face her. She was sobbing. The bottomless green eyes were turned downward to the crumpled form of the girl and her slender shoulders shook. He watched a tear fall through the darkness and disappear into the slowly spreading puddle of the girl’s blood.
Then another sound tore through the chapel, a scream so powerful both the Abbot and Cornelius clamped their hands to their ears to block it out.
It was like the splintering of a great tree, or the crack of a shifting glacier. It was the song of the siren — and it was filled with grief and anger.
The Abbot stared at Eve through the force of the scream, defying her fury. Then, just as the terrible howl started to subside, he saw blood begin to flow from her wounds. It started as a trickle but grew steadily faster, dripping from the puncture holes all over her skin and flowing from the deeper ceremonial cuts on her arms and legs. He watched in wonder as it ran down her body, flowing far more freely than he had ever seen it, into the stone channels where Liv’s blood also ran.
She’s dying — he thought with a swell of triumph.
Then Eve spoke, in a voice that was more air than substance.
‘KuShikaaM,’ she said, like a soothing whisper aimed towards the ground where the girl lay bleeding. ‘KuShikaaM.’
The girl looked up from the floor, like a child looking up at her mother. Then she smiled, and as her eyes gently closed — so did Eve’s.
Chapter 142
Gabriel had just reached the top of the stone steps when the terrible shriek split the darkness. He was up and running as soon as he heard it, using the awful sound to cover his rapid movement. He ducked into the faintly illuminated tunnel it had come from, leading with his gun, scanning for movement, edging forward as fast as he dared. The pain in his arm was now almost unbearable and he was starting to feel sick with shock.
He reached the end of the tunnel just as the scream abruptly stopped. He pressed himself against the wall. Ducked his head round the edge. Saw the glowing furnace on the far side, the sharpening wheels in front of it and the large circular stone on the back wall with a Tau carved into it. A monk stood by, looking into the blackness beyond the partly opened door where Gabriel guessed the sound had come from. Liv was in there, and so was the Sacr
ament. He stepped into the room.
The monk turned, saw Gabriel, pulled his arm free from his cassock to raise his gun but never made it. Two bullets hit him in the chest, jerking him backwards against the large stone door. His finger tightened reflexively, loosing off a round that hit nothing but rock.
He was dead before he hit the ground.
The Abbot and Cornelius spun round at the sudden sound of the gunshot. It had been close. Right outside the door.
‘Go. See what it is,’ the Abbot said, then turned back to the figure of Eve, so pale now she almost glowed as her eternal life force deserted her. The weaker she got, the stronger he felt. The prophecy had been fulfilled after all. Now he would be immortal. By killing a god he had become one. But even as his soul swelled with the ecstasy of this thought he became aware of a prickling sensation on various parts of his body. He looked down at the deep ceremonial wound circling his left shoulder and watched the recently knitted scar tissue slowly start to open. He raised his hand and pressed it against the cut, feeling the sudden wet warmth of blood rising beneath it, forcing its way between his fingers. He glanced at his other scars, each one now opening up in the same way, and watched for a few moments like a detached observer witnessing something macabre that was happening to someone else. Then he felt weakness settling on to him, as if the energy and rapture of his recent triumph was draining steadily away with the blood that now dripped to the floor. He reached out to steady himself, his hand resting on the edge of the Tau, and for the first time in all his years of being in the presence of the Sacrament he felt fear.
Gabriel reached the entrance, blinking to restore the night vision the guard’s muzzle flash had stolen. He pressed his back against the round stone and slid along it until he reached the edge. Whoever was inside the chamber would have been alerted by the gunshot so he had to do this fast, and he had to do it right. He took a deep breath to steady himself and felt a strange itching sensation beneath the skin of his broken arm. He flexed his fingers tentatively, bracing himself for more blinding pain. Instead he felt an ache deep in his bones and his formerly useless fingers now closed neatly together. It still hurt and the grip was too weak to be useful, but incredibly it no longer felt broken. He was so distracted by this discovery that he didn’t see the blade flash through the darkness until it struck him high in the chest, scraping agonizingly along a rib. Instinctively he twisted away, paring skin from bone, and brought his left arm up to knock the blade aside, jarring fresh pain into the injured limb and a cry of pain from his throat. Then he saw his attacker, naked from the waist up and covered in blood. A waxy patch of skin on his face glowed in the firelight. Gabriel recognized the evil in front of him. He remembered the scream that had brought him here, and his grandfather’s shattered body on the warehouse floor. He caught a glint of realization in the demon’s eyes as he saw how Gabriel cradled his arm — the look of a predator assessing the weakness of its prey.
The knife flashed again as Cornelius pressed closer, aiming for Gabriel’s good arm. Gabriel stumbled backwards, raising his gun, but the nightmare vision pressed on, slashing again, this time catching more than just darkness. Gabriel felt the impact of the blade like a punch to his wrist but felt no pain. He levelled the gun at Cornelius. Saw the demon’s eyes over the sights of his gun and pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened. Then he noticed the blood dripping thickly from his wrist and in a slow-motion moment of battle clarity he realized exactly what had happened. He dropped down and twisted away as the demon flew towards him again. He hit the stone floor and rolled, cradling the gun against his body as it flopped uselessly in his limp hand. The blade must have cut through the flexor tendons in his hand. It was now as useless as his other. He was defenceless.
He rolled again, keeping low and gaining distance, coming to rest just short of the furnace. He looked up and saw Cornelius, already standing above him. In his hand he held a thick metal pole, like a branding iron. He looked down at Gabriel and smiled as he saw the gun cradled now in his two useless hands. Then something distracted him, just for a moment, and he glanced down at his body as blood seemed to well up inside him and spill through the neat cuts in his flesh. Gabriel pushed away with his feet, sliding backwards across the gritty floor, gaining himself a precious few yards as he slipped the finger of his broken arm through the trigger guard.
Cornelius came to attention, alerted by the movement, and raised the bar high above his head, grinning maniacally as he stepped forward, towering above his defenceless victim. Gabriel clenched his hand into a tight grip around the gun, all the pain suddenly gone, all the strength returned. He angled it up at Cornelius and fired three quick shots.
Cornelius stood motionless for a shocked moment then looked down at the holes that appeared in his body. He watched the blood begin to ooze from them, joining the torrent of red already cascading down him. Then he looked up at Gabriel, took one step forward and fell dead to the floor.
Chapter 143
Liv felt like she was sinking deep into water that was warm and thick with memories that swam before her as she sank; images from her life, flashing and fading like glittering fish. The breeze she had felt rinsing through her was now a current, bringing whispers of forgotten voices and fragments of distant memories with its flow. She sank deeper and the images thinned out, drifting upwards and away as a much brighter light rose up beneath her.
This is death, she thought as she watched it rise from the darkness to meet her. The light overwhelmed her and new images crowded behind her eyelids.
There was a garden, green and lush, and a man walking through it, and the sun shining down, or something like the sun. Then the shadow of a tree rose up and cut out the light, and she was in a cave, surrounded by men with hate in their eyes.
Then there was pain.
An eternity of pain and darkness as her flesh was ripped, and cut with blades, and burned with fire and boiling oils.
And there was the smell of blood.
And an endless, desperate yearning for the sun, to feel it on her skin and walk soft across the cool earth.
And pain was everywhere, flashing out of the darkness, imprisoning and overpowering her, for ever and ever.
Then she saw a face, with eyes full of sorrow and compassion.
Samuel’s face.
She fixed on the image, not wanting it to flit past like the others, holding it with her eyes until more things appeared within it.
She saw his body, naked from the waist up, flowing with blood from cuts deep in the skin. Then a cave, crowded with other men who reached up as one to draw bloody lines round their left shoulders with sharpened blades. And she heard a sound. An echoing chant of low voices bleeding together in an ancient language she somehow understood.
‘The first,’ they said over and over. ‘The first. The first.’
And pain flashed out of the darkness and exploded in her left side along with the sound of shearing flesh. And a new voice rang out, full of anguish and pain.
‘Where is God in this?’ Samuel cried. ‘Where is God in this?’ Then the images fled. And for a moment all was silent, and all was dark.
Then she felt herself starting to rise.
Chapter 144
Liv’s eyes fluttered open.
She was back in the chapel, lying on the spot where she had fallen. As she focused she saw Gabriel’s face filling her vision, smiling down at her like warm sunshine. She smiled back, thinking she was still in her dream, then he reached out, laid his palm on the side of her face, and she felt the warmth of him and realized he was really there.
She glanced across at the Tau. The blood miring the spiked interior was now the only sign that Eve had been there at all. Liv traced its flow, down to the floor and the wet channels where it mingled with hers. Then she saw the figure rise up from behind the iron cross, his body running with blood, making him look like a demon in the dim reflected light. He raised the burning flambeau he held in his hand, the flames throwing ghoulish light a
cross his hate-filled face. Gabriel sensed movement and started to turn but the heavy torch was already swinging down, aimed at his head, the flames roaring as it fell. A thunderclap shook the room, knocking the demon away and back towards the altar.
Liv looked across at the entrance, to where the sound had come from. A slightly built monk stood in the doorway. He had a gun in his hand and from where she lay his smooth scalp seemed to shine like a halo in the candlelight.
Athanasius looked upon the slaughterhouse scene he had discovered. The gunshot had thrown the Abbot away from him towards the vile needles inside the empty sarcophagus that dominated the far end of the room. He took a step into the room, the gun still trained on the bloodied figure of his former master. The Abbot wasn’t moving.
He looked at the other two figures, a man and a woman. They were both looking at him warily. He lowered the gun and moved towards them. The man wore a cassock but Athanasius didn’t recognize him. He had a cut in his side and another on his arm, judging by the blood that stained the sliced material.
The girl was much worse. She had a deep slash across her neck from which blood still flowed on to the ground and into the channels carved in the floor. He bent down to look closer. Then froze as the flesh around the wound started closing up, watching in silence as the miracle unfolded before him. Within moments the blood that had flowed so freely became a trickle then stopped altogether. He looked up into the girl’s face, saw something timeless in her eyes and remembered the words he had read in the Heretic Bible.