Ghosts of Karnak

by George Mann

  He landed heavily, crumpling onto his side. Ginny and Astrid helped him to his feet, and he dusted himself down, picking a fragment of stone out of his cheek. Behind him, the lion-headed statue was scrabbling at the hole, its arm grabbing frantically at the air as it tried to reach them. They left it there, hurrying after the Enforcers, anxious not to find themselves trapped in another collapsed tunnel.

  Up ahead the passage branched again. The Enforcers had gone left—he could tell from the thundering footsteps and the tide of rubble they’d left in their wake. He pressed on ahead, winding ever deeper into the complex. Here, the tunnel sloped dramatically, and they each had to keep one hand against the wall for balance.

  They were deep below the streets of Manhattan now, and the Ghost could sense they were nearing their target. Ginny had sensed it too; he could tell by the sudden hesitation in her step, the way she was cocking her head, listening intently.

  Below, the sloping passage terminated in an open doorway, dressed in smooth, dark stone, and engraved with a frieze of Thoth and Sekhmet facing one another across the disc of the sun.

  Ginny glanced at Gabriel, and their eyes met.

  He was about to say something encouraging when two sword-wielding cultists burst from the doorway, hurtling up the slope toward them. Ginny dropped them both with a single action, both pistols barking in her fists. The men slumped to the ground and slid back toward the doorway, their swords clattering on the stone.

  “Ready?” said the Ghost.

  “Stop asking that, and just get on with it,” said Astrid.

  Laughing, the Ghost ran on down the slope and through the door.

  The chamber beyond showed the true scale of the construction work that had been carried out down here, and equally, the scale of the devotion necessary to pull it off.

  The space was pyramidal, the walls sloping in as they rose, reaching a pinnacle over sixty feet above them. In the center of the room, a huge set of stone steps led to a distant dais, upon which more flaming braziers stood, casting light that glimmered and reflected off the smooth, polished stone of the walls.

  Above and behind them, the Ghost could hear the wanton destruction of the Enforcers as more and more tunnels collapsed. Soon the whole complex would be destroyed, buried once more beneath the detritus of the city.

  Something stirred in the shadows to his left, and he spun, expecting to see Amaury. It was too big for Amaury, though—perhaps twice, even three times the height of a man. It crept forward, its feet scuffing against the stone steps, moving with an odd, awkward gait.

  Ponderously, it emerged into the light.

  It was covered in gray downy fur, with an elongated nose and two beady red eyes that flicked from side to side, taking them in, one at a time. It opened its mouth, flashing sickly yellowed jaws that could take a man’s head off in one terrible bite.

  “Oh, great,” said the Ghost. “Another baboon.”

  “Not just any baboon,” said Astrid, slowly moving around the other side of him, her gun arm raised. “A bloody massive baboon.”

  It moved across the steps on its knuckles, crawling higher, circling as if making ready to pounce. The Ghost could sense the power behind its limbs just by watching it move; its chest was so dense with rippled muscle that it was practically armor-plated.

  It pounced, and he raised his flechette gun and fired. Shots exploded against its breast as it flung itself at him, each detonation tearing fist-sized lumps of meat out of the thing, but still it came on, screeching as it hurled itself down the steps toward him. He moved, but too late, and its fist knocked him sideways, lifting him from his feet and sending him careening into the wall. He slid to the ground, spitting blood, as it lurched at Ginny, who dropped to the ground and rolled to avoid it. Far from dissuaded, it twisted, plucking her off the ground and tossing her like a ragdoll. She struck the steps and fell limp and still.

  Roaring in frustration, the Ghost fired his boosters, soaring over its head, causing it to swing wildly for him with both fists, as Astrid, below, emptied round after round into its face and throat. The bullets were nothing but irritants to it, like buzzing gnats, and it ignored her, still trying to grab for the Ghost.

  He dipped, going low, coming up under its arm and twisting in the air, so that his boosters were pointing directly at its face. He hovered there for a moment, the flames scorching its eyes until they blackened and burst, and the creature screeched, thrashing out and catching him on the hip. He spun, his boosters guttering, and collided with the doorway, dropping to the floor.

  Astrid had reloaded her gun, and she emptied another round, trying to catch it in the throat.

  The baboon, infuriated and blinded, punched out, bowling her over. She screamed, and its head twitched, its nostrils flaring. It had her scent. It padded down the remaining steps, scratching around for her on the ground. She shuffled backwards, trying to get away, but it was on her now, and it crept forward, looming over her, its yellow jaws dripping.

  The Ghost cast around, searching for anything he could use as a weapon. The swords of the two dead men lay on the ground close by. He rolled, snatched them up, and jumped to his feet, boosting into the air. He climbed higher, trying to give himself enough momentum.

  As the creature lowered its jaws, he cut the power and dropped, a blade in each hand, tips pointing low.

  He soared through the air, keeping his legs together and his back arched, plummeting at the baboon’s back.

  Astrid screamed again just as he struck, the swords sliding to the hilt in the baboon’s neck.

  The Ghost bounced off its back, the wind knocked out of him, his broken ribs smarting. He struck the stone steps and fell, tumbling down to the bottom, bashing his elbow and finally coming to rest a few feet from Astrid. The dead baboon was on its side, slumped on the ground, its tongue lolling from its open jaw. He’d almost severed its head with the force of his blow, and the tips of the blades had erupted from its throat, jutting like a bizarre necklace.

  He looked across at Astrid. She was slowly pulling herself to her feet.

  “Now we’re even,” he said, with a crooked smile, “and we’ve both got baboon stories for next time we’re in the bar.”

  She shook her head in exasperation.

  On the steps, Ginny was stirring. The Ghost went to her, helping her to her feet. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded. “Just a knock to the head. I’ll be okay.”

  He could feel the whole room shaking now, and knew they didn’t have long before the roof started to come down. The Enforcers had done their job too well, and he only hoped Donovan and Mullins had remembered to keep an escape route clear.

  “Up there?” he said.

  “As good a place as any.”

  Astrid joined them, and together they mounted the steps, onwards toward Amaury, and Thoth.

  * * *

  “So, you are true to the spirit of Sekhmet, even as you deny her,” said Amaury, as they reached the top of the steps a few moments later. “You make quite the warrior, Ginny Gray.”

  He was standing at the foot of a large altar, watching them as they fanned out around him, weapons drawn. On the altar, an ibis-headed statue of Thoth presided over a stone lintel with a concave base.

  “You know it’s over, Amaury,” said Ginny. “The temple is destroyed, your cultists are dead. There will be no empire of the gods, not here, not now.”

  Amaury shrugged, a gesture so familiar, so human, that the Ghost almost found it difficult to believe he carried the spirit of a vengeful god inside of him. “We are gods, Ginny! We have infinite patience. It is a simple matter to rebuild, to find slaves willing to bend their knee. Can’t you see that? That’s all these people are.” He waved dismissively at the Ghost. “That’s all he is. He claims to love you, but humans cannot know true love. You’ve bewitched him, is all, enslaved him.”

  “Your words are poison,” said Ginny, “but they mean nothing to me.”

  Amaury sighed. “Must we dance again
? I grow weary of all this fighting.” He threw his head back as his body began to shimmer with the familiar amber light.

  The Ghost raised his arm and loosed a shower of flechettes into Amaury’s chest. His head came forward and he took a step back, surprised, glowering at the Ghost.

  Astrid’s runes had worked, although the weapon seemed to have done little damage.

  Amaury sighed, and his breath was the hot wind of the desert. His wings unfurled, translucent and glittering with the light of stars, and his sword and shield formed from the swirling aura of light around him. His wings beat, and he rose into the air above them, looking down upon them like a man might peer down at ants.

  Ginny, too, was undergoing a similar transformation; this time—the Ghost hoped—at her own behest. The pale light swirled around her, forming ribbons, the sun disk glowing bright and pure behind her head.

  He backed up, holding out his hand, guiding Astrid away from the dais.

  Ginny spread her hands low, and the light stirred, boiling furiously as Sekhmet’s lions took shape.

  Thoth watched impassively, waiting for her to make her move.

  She thrust her hands forward, loosing the lions, and they roared, charging for Thoth. This time, however, he was ready for her, and he raised his blackened shield, battering them away. They burst into clouds of ethereal light, fracturing into tiny sparks that blew away on the hot desert breeze.

  Thoth lurched, then, his sword arm thrusting upwards, so that his blade speared Sekhmet through the gut. She buckled, gagging, gasping for breath, her light suddenly dimming. The tip of the starry blade was jutting from her back, and she clutched at her chest, her face creased in pain.

  Thoth slid the blade free, and she dropped to the ground, crumpling into a heap upon the steps.

  “No!” All sense of reason fled the Ghost’s mind. He boosted high, spraying Thoth with round after round of flechettes, firing again and again, until there was nothing left, until he’d emptied the entire ammunition tube into the god’s face.

  Still Thoth hovered, impassive. “Puny thing,” he said, in a voice that resembled rasping sand blowing across dunes. He held out his hand, and the Ghost felt something close around his throat.

  He choked, scrabbling, but there was nothing there, no physical limb to grab hold of. He could feel the life being squeezed out of him.

  This was it, he realized. He was going to die here, in a vault beneath Manhattan, killed by an angry god for trespassing upon his temple.

  And then suddenly Thoth was burning, wreathed in blue flame. The pressure lifted from the Ghost’s throat, and he fell to the floor, watching through tear-streaked eyes as Sekhmet rose, her fists doused in flame. She thrashed out at Thoth, striking him across the face, knocking him back. She struck again, and again, furious and beautiful, her eyes glowing with untold power, the distant light of the heavens.

  Thoth roared, raising his sword, but she batted it away with a swipe of her arm, grabbing him round the throat, forcing him lower, until his back was pressed against the concave slab on the altar.

  “Now, Astrid!” croaked the Ghost, rubbing his throat. “Do your thing.”

  Around them, the walls were beginning to crack as the weight of the collapsing structure bore down on them.

  Astrid ran forward, throwing open her coat. She reached the altar and pulled a tattered scroll from her pocket, along with a fistful of bone runes. She tossed the fragments of bone at Thoth, and they scattered around him on the dais.

  He howled, struggling to get free, but Sekhmet held him firm, blue flame still searing his wings, coursing over his flesh.

  Hurriedly, Astrid intoned the words on the scroll—the ritual of binding she’d spoken of, back at the church—and then dropped the scroll to the ground, standing back.

  The bone fragments began to glow, hot and amber, as the light of Thoth poured into them, streaming out of his body, siphoned off by the binding ritual.

  He screamed, kicking out at Sekhmet and sending her sprawling back, but it was too late. His light was already fading, and Amaury, at the centre of it all, was burning, still wreathed in Sekhmet’s eternal flame.

  The Ghost watched as his features withered, his human form crumbling to ash. The light faded, and all that was left on the altar was dust.

  The Ghost ran to Ginny, whose own light was already beginning to fade. He searched her chest, looking for any sign of the puncture wound, but could see nothing. She glanced up at him, smiled deliriously, and then collapsed into his arms.

  He scooped her up, calling for Astrid, and together they ran for the exit as the sky began to fall in around them.

  * * *

  Donovan and Mullins were waiting for them on the waste ground outside the wheelwright’s shop. Donovan was pacing, while Mullins was calmly smoking a cigarette. It was a strange reversal, and the Ghost laughed when he saw it, eliciting a look of surprise from Donovan, who rushed over, helping him with Ginny.

  “I thought you were coming for us?” said the Ghost.

  “I couldn’t find you,” said Donovan. “Everything was coming down around us, and we had to get out.” He looked at Ginny, his face creased in concern. “What happened? Is she okay?”

  The Ghost nodded. “I think she’s going to be fine,” he said.

  “And Amaury?”

  “It’s over,” said the Ghost. “Thanks to Ginny and Astrid.”

  “Thank God,” said Donovan.

  “I’d rather not,” said the Ghost. “I’ve had enough of gods to last a lifetime.” He looked around. “What happened to the Reaper’s men?”

  “Gone,” said Donovan. “The Enforcers, too. We lost two of them down there, but the others all made it.”

  “More’s the pity.”

  Astrid was standing by his elbow. “Where to?” she said. “My place?”

  The Ghost shook his head. “No. Long Island, I think. It’s time to rest. You’re all welcome.”

  “Maybe next time,” said Mullins. “I’ve heard about your parties.”

  The Ghost laughed. “Thank you,” he said. “All of you.”

  Donovan clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re the one who said it. We’re a team.”

  “We are, aren’t we?”

  The ground shuddered beneath them as the last of the subterranean tunnels finally gave way.

  “Come on, time to go home. We’ll worry about the rest of it tomorrow.”

  “Yeah,” said Donovan, with a sigh. “We will.”

  Ginny was beginning to stir in his arms. He set her down, and held her to him for a moment. Then, as the others began to peel away into the night, he took her hand, and started out on the long journey home.

  THIRTY

  The Ghost stood on the lip of the precinct building, basking in the twinkling lights of the city. The crosswinds whipped his coat up around him, a rippling black wing at his back. He longed to soar above the rooftops once again, to enjoy the majesty of his city for a short time, with no thought of angels and demons, gods and men.

  Tonight, everything felt fresh and renewed. The pain in his chest was finally starting to subside, and Ginny was back at his house in Long Island, no doubt stirring up all manner of difficulty for Henry as they saw to the packing. He smiled at the thought.

  He felt that if he could only capture that feeling, find some way to hold onto it, then he could find a way to be happy. And if a man like him could do that, then anything was possible.

  Behind him, Donovan was studying the smoldering tip of his cigarette. There was nothing triumphant about his demeanor. He looked thoughtful, standing amidst the ruins of his favorite rooftop.

  “You’re thinking about the Reaper again,” said the Ghost, hopping down beside him.

  “What?” Donovan looked up. “Oh, yes,” he said. “You know, he’s already purchased that plot of land. He’s backfilling what’s left of the tunnels with cement.”

  “A man who’s learned to cover his tracks,” said the Ghost.

  “Now I hav
e to live up to my side of the bargain.” Donovan scratched at his beard. He wouldn’t meet the Ghost’s eye. “How am I going to live with myself, Gabriel? How can I show my face in that precinct building, when that man is undermining everything I believe in, and using me to do it?”

  “You did the right thing, Felix. The only thing you could. You saved the city.”

  “And damned myself.”

  “Sometimes there’s no other way. That’s the world we live in. And besides,” he put a hand on his friend’s shoulder, “you’re only damned if you believe it, too. This is our chance to bring him down. Don’t forget that. To work from the inside, get to know his organization, the major players. Once we know enough about how he operates, we’ll dismantle the whole lot, piece by piece.”

  “And in the meantime?”

  “In the meantime we do what we can to protect the people we love. That’s all any of us can do. They’re alive because of you, Felix. Never forget that. Thoth would have leveled this entire city if we hadn’t stopped him. We’d have nothing left to protect. Everything else has to seem small against that.”

  Donovan had allowed his cigarette to burn down in his fingers. He tossed it aside, dusting the ash from his sleeve. “All right. You’ve said your piece. Now tell me, how’s Ginny?”

  “Remarkably well, considering what she’s been through. But I… I can’t forget about that thing inside of her. What if she loses control again?”

  “She won’t,” said Donovan, with such conviction that the Ghost was taken aback.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because she’s got you looking out for her. That thing, it might seem like a curse, but if she can learn to use it, Gabriel, think of the good it could do. If anyone knows what it’s like to have demons, it’s you. Teach her what you know. Don’t try to make her hide it. Help her embrace it instead.”

  “You’re a wise old fool, you know.”

  “Less of the old,” said Donovan. “Fool, I’ll give you.”

  They stood in silence for a moment, neither of them feeling the need to fill it.