He was put in mind of an imbecilic child searching for a lost doll. His eyes began to smart and grow desiccated with the appalling heat. When he backed away, the titan hand followed him. The demon knew where he was. It would find him wherever he hid, and he had a sense that it was playing a wicked idiotic game with him. At least the idea gave him back his rage. It was time to bring the ignominious game to an end, and he strode into the open.
He was only just swift enough. The blazing hand snatched at him, and as it missed, the arm pulverised a section of the column. Rubble crashed to the floor behind Kane, and shards of stone hit his back like grapeshot. He ignored them and his wounds as he headed for the enormous oval mirror. The sorcerer had moved in front of it, pinning Meredith to him. As he met Kane’s eyes he raised the knife to hold it almost negligently against her throat. “Stop,” Kane shouted.
“The girl has served her purpose,” Malachi said, tracing a line over her throat with the knife.
“Then you have no need of her.” Kane heard and felt a massive footstep crunch the rubble at his back. “Let her go,” he said. “You can have my soul.”
“Why do you risk everything to save her?” The sibilant voice seemed to hiss with amusement. “Even your soul,” Malachi said.
For a moment Kane had engaged his attention, but it drifted away as Malachi gazed at the demon. Another footstep shook the floor, and Kane felt the heat seize hold of him and heard the clank of an enormous chain. The demon was about to wield it, to strike Kane down or to bind him with the red-hot links, a first taste of the eternal torture that awaited him. He saw a drop of blood trickle down Meredith’s neck from the point of the knife as she stifled a cry. He had one chance to make a difference to her in his final moments, but almost no time to think how. If Malachi’s power was bound up with the mirrors, perhaps destroying the largest might lessen his power, but would closing the portal not leave the demon at large – leave Meredith at its mercy? There was only one way Kane could hope to release her and to mitigate her danger. He snatched his pistol from his belt as a final immense footstep shuddered through the floor. It was so close that it sprinkled him with fire, and he felt the hair on the nape of his neck begin to smoulder. “I made a promise. I must keep it,” he said and pulled the trigger.
The shot struck Malachi in the centre of his forehead. The thin lips stretched wide in a grimace that resembled an unpronounced curse, and the knife clattered to the floor. The arm that had been holding Meredith jerked away, its fingers writhing in convulsive rage, and she darted out of reach, to the side of the mirror. She seemed not to know where to look – at Kane or at the spectacle of Malachi. The gout of blood that had sprung from his forehead was rising above him to stream into the mirror. He was not dead yet, for he uttered an appalled shriek as his body started to blacken and tatter and disintegrate. All the corruption it housed was overwhelming it, and it flew apart in a sluggish explosion of putrefied scraps that were sucked into the blackness of the mirror. Meredith backed away, and Kane thanked God that she was out of range of the process. He was not, however. A fiery hurricane had risen at his back and was rushing into the mirror.
Flaming chunks and particles of fire raced past Kane, and he knew that the demon was bursting apart as Malachi had. He would have been reassured if the violence of it had not threatened to overwhelm him. Before he could attempt to dodge aside, he was raised helplessly into the air, to hover in the midst of the onslaught of fire. Why was it not carrying him onwards? It seemed to lift his arms from his sides and extend them as far as they could reach, so that he could have imagined he was still on the cross. The storm of flame and molten matter rushed past him, not quite touching him, and all at once he understood that the force that had raised him up to crucify him in the heart of the firestorm had nothing to do with the mirror.
It was a kind of purification. He felt as if his sins were being seared from him at last – as if, although the fire was bypassing his flesh, it was penetrating his soul. It gave him a foretaste of eternity, and while it endured it was timeless. At last every iota of fire was swallowed by the mirror, and the power that was holding Kane aloft released him. As he crumpled to the floor the mirror turned black, and it seemed the world did.
FORTY-TWO
Kane was at peace. It was more than an absence of sensation; he had no need of feelings any longer. If there was a gentle light, it showed him nothing that would trouble him; it showed him nothing at all. He might have believed that time had ended for him, since he had no means of measuring it and no desire to do so. Perhaps that was a definition of eternity, but it did not require him to put it into words. He was giving up the last of his thoughts – it seemed to him that any doubts would depart with them – when he heard a distant voice.
It had spoken his name. At first he thought it was praying for him, and then he grasped that it was also calling to him. He had not yet earned peace after all, and he fancied that the voice was summoning him back into the world to continue his task. It returned his senses to him. The light was less constant than he had imagined, and as he glimpsed its flickering he felt soft rain on his upturned face. He was lying on his back on stone, and as the awareness took hold of him, so did the pain of his wounds. That opened his eyes, and he saw Meredith.
She was kneeling beside him, and the rain was her tears. As he met her gaze and held it she wiped her eyes. “Solomon,” she said once more. “It’s gone. You sent the demon back, and it took Malachi instead.”
“Your father told me that if I saved you my soul would be redeemed.” As he spoke Kane was recapturing his memories and his sense of himself. “I have, and it is,” he said. “The Devil’s claim on me is no more.”
He had more to say, but he heard the doors to the antechamber open wide. Meredith helped him raise his head as Telford and a few of his men came into the great hall. “The guards have fallen,” Telford said. “Axmouth is yours, Captain Kane.”
Meredith supported Kane while he struggled to his feet. He steadied himself with an arm around her shoulders, and then he took hold of her left hand. The mark imprinted by the witch had gone, and the palm looked renewed – reborn. “You destroyed the evil,” Meredith murmured. “Thank you, Captain Kane.”
“Thank God.” Kane stumbled to the altar and leaned a fist on it as he stared into the pit in the floor. Its contents had petrified, reverting to the stone of Axmouth, although the bottom of the pit was dark with the blood it had consumed. He remembered sensing that the fabric of the castle was corrupted, possessed with unholy vitality, but he had no such impression now. He saw shadows growing restless beyond the columns of the hall, but they were merely the companions of the torchlight and the candle-flames. Through a window he caught sight of the glint of a star, and knew that the pall no longer loured over Axmouth. He gazed at his father’s chair and could see only the heaps of entangled cadavers that flanked it like tributes. Nor could he avoid seeing his brother’s charred and mutilated remains, profaned by the demonic parasite that lay nearby in an attitude that parodied its host’s. Marcus looked shrunken, reduced to his boyhood stature. “It is not over,” Kane said almost to himself.
Telford came to stand by him. “What must be done? Shall we destroy the altar?”
“And every mirror,” Kane said. “Let no man look within them.”
“It shall be as you say.” Telford gazed aghast at the corpses of Malachi’s sacrifices. “And however long it takes,” he said, “each victim shall have a Christian burial.”
“The guards too,” said Kane. “The demons will have left them.”
“Will there never be an end to it?” one of Telford’s comrades muttered. “Some of us died fighting them.”
“And Captain Kane offered up his soul to fight the evil,” Meredith cried.
Kane felt unworthy of her impassioned defence – he had let her brothers and her father be slaughtered, after all. “The fight goes on,” he said.
He pushed himself away from the altar and wavered where he stood. Telf
ord grasped his arm, and Meredith hurried to him. “You are wounded,” she protested. “Stay and let me heal you.”
“God bless you, Meredith,” Kane said and leaned on them both. “And then I must go forth again,” he said. “I have my work to finish.”
FORTY-THREE
The top of the cliff was the green of sunlit grass after months of rain. Only the two elongated heaps of rock beside the Celtic cross introduced a sombre note. Except for a flotilla of white clouds along the horizon of the sea, the azure sky was clear. A sun like a token of a pure eternal light stood above the gentle waves. A breeze that smelled as salty as a voyage crossed the bay and rustled the grass that had already set about softening the outlines of the mounds of rock. Kane stood for a long time between the mounds, deep in thought and prayer. At last he raised his head and spoke as if those who lay hidden before him could hear him. “Brother, forgive me for all that I did to you,” he said. “Father, I have kept my promise. Meredith is returned to her mother.”
A movement over Axmouth caught his eye. Birds were wheeling in the sky above the castle – birds as white as the crows had been black. They were gulls, which flew with plaintive cries across the cliffs and out to sea. “The demon is gone,” Kane said. “It is banished to the shadows along with the sorcerer who cursed us all.”
He could see just one shadow on the cliff top – the shadow of the cross. It was a sign, and Kane knew what it had to mean to him. “Evil is not so easily defeated,” he said. “I know I will have to fight again.”
He seemed to hear a whisper of response. It was the wind in the grass, a murmur so wordless that it might have been encouraging him or issuing a challenge. “I am a very different man now,” he said. “Through all my travels, all the things I’ve seen and done, I have found my purpose.”
For a long breath he gazed towards Axmouth. The castle was his home now, and perhaps in time he would return. He had kept his pledge to Meredith’s parents, and now it was time to commit himself to another oath. He said a last prayer over the graves and left them with a sign of the cross before mounting his horse. “There was a time when the world was plunging into darkness,” he reflected. “A time of witchcraft and sorcery, when no one stood against evil.” He let his gaze rest on the graves while he remembered the events that had led there – his masked brother laying his hands on his followers to infect them with evil, his father imprisoned as much by having yielded to temptation as by the chains in the dungeon. The memories lent power to his vow, and so did the knowledge that he was the last of his line, its only champion. “That time is over,” he declared and was positive that God could hear him. Spurring his horse, he rode to find whatever might await him.
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
The Oxford Companion to English Literature describes Ramsey Campbell as “Britain’s most respected living horror writer”. He has been given more awards than any other writer in the field, including the Grand Master Award of the World Horror Convention, the Lifetime Achievement Award of the Horror Writers Association and the Living Legend Award of the International Horror Guild. Among his novels are The Face That Must Die, Incarnate, Midnight Sun, The Count of Eleven, Silent Children, The Darkest Part of the Woods, The Overnight, Secret Story, The Grin of the Dark, Thieving Fear and Creatures of the Pool. Forthcoming is The Seven Days of Cain. His collections include Waking Nightmares, Alone with the Horrors, Ghosts and Grisly Things, Told by the Dead and Just Behind You, and his non-fiction is collected as Ramsey Campbell, Probably. His novels The Nameless and Pact of the Fathers have been filmed in Spain. His regular columns appear in Prism, All Hallows, Dead Reckonings and Video Watchdog. He is the President of the British Fantasy Society and of the Society of Fantastic Films.
Ramsey Campbell lives on Merseyside with his wife Jenny. His pleasures include classical music, good food and wine, and whatever’s in that pipe. His web site is at www.ramseycampbell.com.
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RUNESCAPE: BETRAYAL AT FALADOR
T.S. Church
In the Kingdom of Asgarnia, the Knights of Falador are beacons of order and chivalry, but their dominance is threatened by the forces of chaos which plot to shatter the time of peace.
When a mysterious young woman suddenly appears in the city of Falador in the teeth of a storm, her arrival launches a chain of events that will alter the fate of the kingdom forever.
Unless the knights can solve the riddle of Kara-Meir, everything they hold dear may be lost.
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Varrock is the greatest human city in the world, yet its people are disappearing, spirited away to Morytania, the land where vampires rule.
When the King is forced to send representatives to Canifis, in the dark realm of Morytania, he selects the now-famous heroine Kara-Meir, as well as Gar’rth, unique in his knowledge of the land of the dead. They are accompanied by Theodore, Doric the dwarf, the wizard Castimir, and the barbarian priestess Arisha, on a mission that will force Gar’rth to confront his werewolf heritage, and will reveal secrets that will test their loyalties to the limit.
For the price of failure in Morytania is far worse than death: if their mission fails, then a new King will rule in Varrock, who is lord of both the living and the dead.
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When Sir Danvers Carew is brutally murdered, the Queen herself calls Sherlock Holmes to investigate. In the course of his enquiries, the esteemed detective is struck by the strange link between the highly respectable Dr. Henry Jekyll and the immoral, debauched Edward Hyde. Can he work out what it is that connects the two men or is it mystery even beyond the skills of the great Sherlock Holmes?
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Terror reigns on the streets of Whitechapel where horrific murders are being committed. Sherlock Holmes believes he knows the identity of the killer—Jack the Ripper. But as he delves deeper, Holmes realizes that revealing the murderer puts much more at stake than merely putting a psychopath behind bars. In this unique case, Holmes is faced with the greatest dilemma of his career.
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Richard L. Boyer
In deference to Sherlock Holmes’s wishes, Dr Watson kept the tale of The Giant Rat of Sumatra a secret. However, before he died he arranged that the bizarre story of the giant rat should be held in the vaults of a London bank until all the protagonists were dead...
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Paris 1890. Sherlock Holmes is summoned across the English Channel to the famous Opera House. Once there, he is challenged to discover the true motivations and sec
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Philip José Farmer
Holmes and Watson take to the skies in the quest of the nefarious Von Bork and his weapon of dread... A night sky aerial engagement with the deadly Fokker nearly claims three brilliant lives... And an historic alliance is formed, whereby Baker Street’s enigmatic mystery-solver and Greystoke, the noble savage, peer of the realm and lord of the jungle, team up to bring down the hellish hun!
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THE STAR OF INDIA
Carole Buggé
Holmes and Watson find themselves caught up in a complex chess board of a problem, involving a clandestine love affair and the disappearance of a priceless sapphire. Professor James Moriarty is back to tease and torment, leading the duo on a chase through the dark and dangerous back streets of London and beyond.
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COMING SEPTEMBER 2011
THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES SERIES
Solomon Kane Page 24