The Source

by Michael Cordy

  Bazin's face showed more shock than pain when the bullets punched into him, knocking him to the floor. As he fell, he dropped his gun, which clattered across the hard rock into the shadows. Torino walked over to him and shook his head contemptuously. 'I offered you redemption, Marco, and you threw it away. For what? To save a worthless garden.' He held out the detonator and raised the safety catch, exposing the button and turning the light green. 'You haven't saved it. You've saved nothing.'

  'You're wrong, Leo,' said Bazin. 'I have saved something.' A movement in the passage to the garden made Torino turn. Kelly was crawling into the antechamber. Now Torino saw why Bazin had been able to burrow so quickly through the fallen rocks. He hadn't been working alone. He had only pretended to shoot Kelly. The others were probably outside, too. Torino grabbed the gun from his pack, aimed it and pulled the trigger.

  Click. No more bullets.

  Kelly was almost inside now, rising to his feet. Torino threw the gun down with his backpack and clutched the detonator. His first priority must be to protect the Church. He glanced through the gap into the garden.

  Then he pressed the detonator button.

  The resultant firestorm sounded more like a hurricane than a bomb blast. It raced round the eye-shaped crater, gathering momentum, sucking up all the oxygen and incinerating everything in its path. When the fire reached the soldiers' stored ammunition, there were more explosions. From inside the cave it sounded as if a war had broken out. A plume of flame shot through the narrow passage Bazin had made in the fallen rocks, knocking Kelly to the floor. Torino's chest felt tight as oxygen was sucked out of the antechamber into the garden. There was a loud whoosh of displaced air, and black dust and smoke swirled through the opening.

  Suddenly, it was over. What evolution had taken billions of years to create had been destroyed in minutes.

  'What have you done?' groaned Bazin from the floor.

  Peering through the acrid, smoke-filled air, Torino saw that the garden was no more. In its place was a charcoal wasteland, surrounded by the bare granite walls of the crater. The stream had mostly evaporated and the lake was black with ash. Small fires still raged where there was anything left to burn but the destruction was total. Despite Torino's satisfaction, the desolation saddened him. Doing one's duty was never easy.

  Kelly lay on his back on the rock floor, blood pouring from a gash on his forehead. One side of his clothes had been blackened where the plume of flame had scorched him. He appeared unconscious or dead.

  Torino saw Bazin's pistol glinting in the shadows beyond his body and moved to claim it. He would return with more incendiaries and purge these caves of any remaining abominations: the hydra, the nymphs and the worms. Only the Source, which brought glory to Rome, would remain. The Holy Mother Church would build a new Vatican here. Leaving his backpack on the floor by the entrance, he stepped into the shadows to retrieve the gun.

  80

  Bazin groaned as Torino passed him. It was now painfully clear to him that his half-brother had not led him to salvation but to damnation. When he had been the Left Hand of the Devil, Bazin had sinned against man, but when he had killed for Leo, in the name of the Church, he had sinned directly against God. This pained him more than the bullets embedded in his gut.

  After a lifetime of killing with impunity, it seemed odd to Bazin that his last act – sparing the lives of Ross, Zeb Quinn and Hackett – should be the one for which he was punished. He was glad, though. As Ross was fond of saying, deeds were everything, and this one had been a rare act of selfless good in a life of selfish evil. As Bazin glanced at Ross's motionless body, however, he realized that this last attempt to save him, the others and the garden appeared to have been in vain.

  As his lifeblood leaked on to the rock, he called to his half-brother, 'I know I sinned, Leo, but I came to you for absolution. I wanted to do the right thing. God may still forgive my sins but He'll never forgive yours. You've turned Eden into a wasteland in His name. Look around you, Leo. This isn't Heaven. This is Hell, and it's of your making.' Bazin knew he was close to death now, but he felt no fear. Not as he had in the clinic when he was ill.

  Torino shook his head sorrowfully. 'You're dying, Marco. I tried to help you, I really did. But you turned against God and now you'll be damned for ever.'

  Watching Torino bend to retrieve the gun, Bazin blinked at the shapes moving in the shadows behind him. As death closed in he turned again to Ross and something he saw made him smile. He called again to his brother. 'You should fear Hell more than I do, Leo.'

  Torino laughed. 'I'm not going to Hell.'

  Bazin summoned his final breath. 'No, Leo. Hell is coming for you.'

  Marco's last breath sounded like a sigh of relief. Torino felt sad at his half-brother's passing – but only because he had thrown away his last chance of redemption. If he had kept the courage of his convictions and helped secure the Source for the Church, he would have saved millions of souls instead of sacrificing his own.

  It was time to finish this. Torino retrieved the gun from the rock floor and turned to Kelly. He peered into the gloom. Kelly was no longer there. Neither was Torino's discarded backpack, which contained the Source fragment. Panic surged through him. He whirled round and saw something moving in the half-light. He fired a shot into the dark.

  'Kelly,' he shouted, 'there's nowhere to run. Give back the fragment.' Even as he spoke the words, Torino understood that the other man was trying to do exactly that: give it back. He was heading for the tunnel of blood. He had to keep to the shadows, though, to avoid being seen. Torino didn't. He ran directly for the tunnel.

  Ross kept to the dark recesses until the last minute, but as soon as he broke cover and ran into the tunnel entrance he saw that he was too late. The tunnel was darker than it had been. Much of the luminous crystal had fallen from the walls and ceiling and lay in the stream or under fallen rock. But Torino was still visible. He stood five feet inside the entrance, smiling, his gun pointing directly at him.

  'I have my brother's blood on my hands because of you, Dr Kelly. Now you see why I can't let scientists like you misinterpret this place with your poisonous theories. If you could use the garden to turn my brother against me, think of how your fellow scientists could have used it to turn the faithful against the Holy Mother Church.' He stepped closer and Ross clutched the backpack to him, feeling the warmth of the fragment within it. 'Give me the backpack, Dr Kelly.'

  Ross looked up and froze.

  'Have you nothing to say, Dr Kelly? No more arrogant attacks on the Church and my faith?' Torino seemed to want Ross to argue with him again, as if it might make shooting him easier, sweeter. He looked disappointed when Ross said nothing. 'Give me the backpack. I want the Source.'

  'I know you do, but there's a problem,' Ross said. 'A big problem.'

  'What's that?'

  'I think they want it, too.'

  Torino smiled. 'You mean those creatures behind you?' he said, pointing past Ross. 'I have a gun. Your friends don't frighten me.' Ross glanced over his shoulder. The ranks of silent nymphs blocking the tunnel behind him no longer seemed friendly. They were angry. 'Stop wasting time,' said Torino. 'Give me the backpack.'

  Ross shook his head as calmly as he could. 'Actually, I wasn't talking about the ones behind me.' He pointed past Torino. 'I'm more worried about the ones behind you.'

  'Do I look stupid?'

  Ross didn't answer.

  Torino glanced over his shoulder. And froze. The tunnel behind him was a seething mass of serpentine shapes. Some were tuberous, plant-like growths that ended in pods – like those depicted in the Voynich. Others were flailing rock worms that ended in grotesque, bullet-shaped heads, complete with red eyes and razor teeth. Torino raised his gun towards the creatures – or creature, as Ross now understood the hydra to be. 'I wouldn't fire at it if I were you, Father General,' he whispered. 'That's Father Orlando's Tree of Life and Death. That creature draws life from the monolith and delivers death to protect it.
I'm guessing it's pretty pissed at what you did to the monolith and the garden. I suggest we give back the fragment.'

  'The monolith is a gift from God,' Torino hissed. 'It belongs to the Holy Mother Church.'

  'As I've been trying to tell you, I don't think God or the Church has much to do with this.'

  Torino pushed the gun into Ross's face. 'Shut up and give me the fragment. It belongs to Rome, to the Church. Not these demons.'

  Ross paused, then crouched, reached into the backpack and pulled out the fragment.

  'Give it me!' demanded Torino.

  Ross held out the fragment to him, then threw it past him so that it landed further up the path, in front of the swirling hydra.

  For a second nothing moved.

  Then Torino leapt on the fragment – as the branches of the hydra stretched out towards it.

  Then the nymphs poured into the entrance, pushing Ross up the tunnel, towards the hydra's waiting arms.

  81

  Torino was so focused on the fragment that when he grasped it and pulled its luminous warmth to his chest, he felt a rush of almost orgasmic joy. Though God might have been testing him, he knew he would overcome whatever demons or evil stood in his way and secure the Source for the Holy Mother Church. Even as two serpentine tentacles wrapped themselves round his leg and neck, he didn't despair. That this demon was attacking him only reinforced the righteousness of his cause. As he struggled, other tentacles wrapped him in their embrace, dragging him up the tunnel.

  He watched Kelly, surrounded by angry nymphs. For a second their eyes met and the horror in the scientist's eyes amused him. He almost felt sorry for him. Kelly still didn't understand that Torino had nothing to fear. He gripped the fragment tighter, confident that God would deliver him from this evil. He thought of the Jesuit motto: ad majorem dei gloriam, for the greater glory of God. As Superior General of the Society of Jesus he was only doing his duty: claiming the Source for the greater glory of God.

  As the sinewy tentacles tightened their grip and dragged him away from Kelly, Torino scrabbled on the floor, trying to find anything that would give him purchase. But the tentacles were too strong. The worms hovered around him but didn't strike, which reinforced his belief that God was protecting him. Even demons, whose purpose was to test the righteous, served and obeyed God.

  After passing the scant remains of Petersen's corpse and numerous nymphs' bodies, Torino was delivered to the crystal cavern that housed the Source. Despite the devastation, the monolith and the hydra were seemingly untouched. A crowd of white nymphs stood motionless, watching, humming a two-note refrain like a perverse choir of angels.

  Suddenly the tentacles released him. The hydra and the nymphs fell silent and still, as though waiting. Clutching the fragment to his chest, he scrabbled to his feet before the monolith and clasped his hands in prayer. 'In the name of the Holy Mother Church I claim this gift from God. I vow to deliver it from the demons that surround it and use its power to spread God's will throughout the world.'

  One of the nymphs approached him and extended its hands, as if expecting something from him. He shook his head. 'This belongs to the Holy Mother Church.' He pointed to the monolith. 'This all belongs to Rome.'

  The nymph waited a moment longer, then stepped back into line with the others. One of the hydra's tentacles encircled Torino's right leg and another his left. Two more grasped his arms and began to pull them apart. He kept his hands clasped for as long as he could but the tentacles were too strong, forcing him to release his grip. As the fragment fell to the ground and the nymphs placed it by the monolith, he expected the tentacles to release him. But they didn't. They kept pulling his arms until they were stretched out on each side of him like a cross. Then they pulled apart his legs. Slowly and inexorably he felt his muscles, tendons and ligaments being stretched as if he were on the Inquisition's rack.

  Now the pain came. Torino had never known such agony.

  With it he experienced the first flicker of doubt: how could God let this happen to him? Surely the Lord must save him so he could finish his sacred mission.

  The trunk of the hydra pulsed and throbbed as its tentacles slowly and relentlessly pulled him apart. Torino could feel his muscles tearing. Why was this happening to him? He had done nothing wrong. Everything he had ever done had been designed to bring glory to the Holy Mother Church. He heard his left elbow pop and his shoulder tendons tear. And he heard himself scream: 'Why, God, why?'

  More serpentine tentacles hovered before him. However, unlike the appendages pulling him apart, these had bullet-shaped heads, razor teeth and baleful red eyes. The nymphs watched as the worms studied him: angels and demons united in their mission of torment. However, as terrifying as the worms were, Torino almost welcomed the release they offered. But how could he die now – here? He still had too much to do. Why had God forsaken him?

  The first attack was so fast he barely saw the rock worm as it bored a perfectly circular hole in his stretched abdomen, then recoiled, dragging his entrails with it. Torino looked down at the intestines spilling over his belt and cried out in despair. The second worm bit into his left hip. Even as the third attacked, severing the fingers of his right hand, he still couldn't believe that the Lord wouldn't save him.

  Only in the last seconds of his life, as the tentacles ripped his left arm from his torso, and the worms bored into his face, did his cries for salvation curdle into the screams of the damned.

  Ross could hear Torino's screams from down the tunnel but he felt no satisfaction at his enemy's downfall. When the sound stopped, and the priest's blood flowed past him in the stream, he felt only fear – and shame. He had come here for no other reason than to save Lauren's life and, in this selfish quest, he had never once considered the garden's own need to survive. He had trespassed into the cradle of life, bringing death and destruction in his wake. Not only had he led Torino here but he'd failed to stop him and his men destroying the garden, killing nymphs and attacking the monolith.

  As the angry nymphs and hydra closed in, he saw that he was as much an intruder as Torino, an unwelcome alien who had brought nothing but harm. The nymphs had saved him once – from his own kind – but now he was convinced they must punish him. As the tentacles came closer, he resisted the urge to turn and fight his way out. Instead he found himself reaching involuntarily for the heavy crucifix round his neck. The Latin cross, with its three-inch-long shaft and two-inch crossbeam, was crude in the palm of his hand. Etched into the soft metal at the centre were the initials AMDG, which Sister Chantal had explained denoted the motto of Father Orlando Falcon's Jesuit order: ad majorem dei gloriam, to the greater glory of God. He now understood that Father Orlando and Sister Chantal had lived and died by that dictum, putting their belief in their God above the doctrine of the Church. Whatever Ross himself believed, the purity of their faith humbled him now.

  He felt something brush his skin. As he looked up, two tentacles touched his arm and dread coursed through him. Then the nymph with the red flowers in its hair appeared and reached for the cross. He took it off and surrendered it. As the nymph examined it others gathered round to touch it with a kind of reverence. He remembered how Sister Chantal had held it up to calm them when she had first entered the antechamber with him.

  They gathered round it for some minutes, stroking it. Then the nymph with the red flowers returned it to him. Before he could replace it round his neck, the nymph pushed him hard in the stomach, forcing him to step back. It pushed him again and he took another step. The hydra's tentacles followed him, but when he glanced over his shoulder the nymphs behind him parted and formed an avenue. He continued shuffling backwards, holding the crucifix in one hand and Torino's backpack in the other, until he was out of the tunnel of blood. The nymph continued to push him through the antechamber until his back rested against the fallen rocks blocking the entrance to the garden. He knew he was no longer welcome and had to take his chances outside, however hot the garden might be. He backed into the narr
ow passage through which he and Bazin had crawled, keeping his eyes on the nymphs. The rocks on each side were hot but he dared not stop until he was in the garden, safe from the nymphs and the hydra.

  As he left, he could see and hear rocks being moved, blocking the passageway, sealing the forbidden caves. The ground was hot underfoot and he coughed in the smoky air. He appeared to be in a vast incinerator, a grim funnel of granite in which all life had been extinguished. Nothing remained of the garden. The trees and plants were gone and a thick blanket of charcoal and soot covered the ground. Everything was black. Even the sky above was so thick with ash that it obscured most of the sunlight. The sooty lake betrayed no hint of its earlier phosphorescence.