The Undying Legion

by Clay Griffith

  Hogarth vaulted the pew box and raced to the moaning werewolf as she was blindly trying to rise. Blood dripped from her toothy mouth. Charlotte pushed briefly, but then collapsed again in a gasping pile.

  “Stay down,” Hogarth whispered close to the girl’s large ear. “Wait until Simon has a plan. Then you can fight.” He stroked Charlotte’s panting snout, watching her canine eyes flick about in terror and pain.

  The four illuminated zoas came to the sides of the altar. Ash dragged herself out of their circle and collapsed against the Ten Commandments. The four heavenly figures stretched out their hands, intertwining their fingers. Light began to pulse from one godling to the next, slowly at first, then increasing in pace until a growing constant flare swirled between them.

  The air in the church shimmered, caught in the birth of a new beginning or a new end. Every column and all stonework, Simon included, shuddered as the energy inside the fragile building filled it to its capacity. The simple stone walls didn’t seem capable of holding such an act of creation.

  The light surrounding the four turned to white fire. It enveloped the figures and spread out to fill the four corners of the church, sweeping over all. Simon heard gasps of fear and surprise around him. One of them would have been his own if he could’ve drawn breath. But the fire didn’t burn, just like the Sinai bush that appeared to Moses. The energy that had spread throughout the church was sucked back to the altar and swirled tightly about the four figures, pulling them all into the center of the engulfing vortex. An even more brilliant light emerged from the four, a new, singular, beating heart. Simon couldn’t look away. His lungs burned with starvation. He felt his consciousness slipping.

  A new figure coalesced above the altar in the center of the whirling galaxy. It ripped the particles of the four emanations into the air, pulling them apart and absorbing their essences until finally they were no more. The vast ocean of aether that had coalesced in the church began to pour into the thing that was rising now. It was a giant of human shape, devoid of gender, beyond perception, clothed in fire. This being was no mortal. It was a thing outside this world. Its gaze drifted about the church, taking in all present.

  Ash struggled awkwardly to her feet and looked up at the magnificent creature even though they were the same height, and announced in slurred speech, “Great Albion, I have called you. You are bound to me.”

  Albion lowered its gaze to Ash.

  “You are my sword.” The necromancer raised Barnes’s arms to the glowing god. “You have been brought here to find the one called Gaios and destroy him.”

  Albion’s face grew full of sublime resolution.

  Simon felt no fear, only a sense of awe. His hardened skin started to crack and fall away. He managed a deep gasping breath to ward off unconsciousness. Pain stabbed at every joint and lanced his heart. His knees buckled, but he immediately whispered his strength into being and stumbled to Kate’s side. His still-shaky hands began to pry the amber from around her hips.

  A cackling laugh came from the main door beyond where Hogarth crouched with Charlotte. Two people entered the church. The first was Ambassador Mansfield, staring at Albion as an engineer studies a new bridge. He carried the ebony box in his arms. Just behind him came a second figure, hardly five feet tall swathed in a long cloak with a full hood. Then it threw back the hood and slipped off the cloak to reveal a woman mummified in linen. The hieroglyphs on the linen illuminated in a random chaotic pattern, creating a weird, syncopated vision as the mummy walked forward.

  “Holy God.” Simon’s shoulders dropped momentarily and he looked at the faint tattoo on the back of his hand. “Nephthys used the Skin of Ra. If she’s here, what’s happened to Malcolm and Penny?”

  Charlotte and Hogarth were blocking the main aisle. Despite Hogarth’s efforts to quiet her, the werewolf rose, snarling at the mummified Nephthys. The mummy raised a hand and her hieroglyphs blinked faster. Tendrils of linen shot from the bandaged fingers. They latched onto Charlotte and the beast thrashed with agony as aether snakes twisted about her, binding and constricting. Charlotte’s furious howl became a feverish scream as she began to shift back to the form of a little girl. With a flick of her hand, the mummy sent her flying over the pew box to crash into the back corner.

  Hogarth raced to her, skidding to a halt beside her still form. He did a quick expert check for broken bones and serious wounds. Satisfied she was merely battered, he took his waistcoat and covered the naked girl.

  The mummy now looked at Simon and Kate, daring them to make the same foolish mistake. Simon took a deep breath and clenched his fists. At the same time, Albion raised a hand and pure light lanced the mummy. She staggered. Simon squinted at the spectacle through painful tears. The hieroglyphs flared on the mummy and she regained her stance, straightening. The gods stared at each other in silent reflection. Simon could see an aether storm swirling around Nephthys. She was gathering power.

  Albion raised both arms and twin bolts of radiant energy struck the Skin of Ra. This time the massive power didn’t stagger Albion’s opponent. The swirl of linen cascaded around the swathed figure, moving so fast the naked eye could barely keep up, sucking up the excess energy like a sponge, glowing ever brighter.

  “Archer!” Ash stumbled away from the altar.

  Simon drew his sword and spoke it into a blue glow. He handed it to Kate. “If she escapes me again, cut her down.”

  “My pleasure.” Kate brandished the sizzling blade, her tangled hair a wild halo around her.

  Then Simon launched himself at Ash, seizing the cadaver by the throat and shoulders. The lolling head turned to him and Simon felt a strange burst of cold inside his chest. The grasping knife-edge of the necromancer’s curse vanished. The sudden absence of pain was almost euphoric.

  “What did you do?” Simon whispered.

  “I’ve cured you,” Ash slurred through flaccid lips. “I need you.”

  “Simon, you owe her nothing,” Kate called out.

  Ash said, “I am an idiot, Archer. I never saw this coming. Gaios knew I would activate Pendragon’s spell and raise Albion. He was just waiting for it. I was so focused on you; I thought you were his agent, trying to stop me.”

  “Damn it. Nephthys is working with Gaios.” Simon pulled Ash close. “That’s her inside the Skin of Ra.”

  “Yes!” Ash’s voice was growing weaker in the husk of Barnes. “That creature carries the power of the godkiller. The Skin of Ra is a magic eater. If we don’t stop her, she will strangle Albion in his cradle. The reign of Gaios will begin here tonight. The bloodbath will start. Choose a side, Archer: me or Gaios.”

  “Jesus! Enough!” came a booming voice.

  All heads turned to see Malcolm and Penny standing behind Ambassador Mansfield. Malcolm had the barrel of his pistol to the American’s head. He shouted, “Stop whatever the hell you’re all doing or he dies.”

  The mummy didn’t alter her attention. Her hieroglyphs pulsed intermittently as the pure white power of Albion continued to pour over her.

  Malcolm waited with an annoyed squint on his face. When he realized the two gods weren’t listening to him, he bashed the heavy pistol against Mansfield’s temple. The ambassador toppled to the floor with an insensible grunt. Then the massive Lancasters came up and starting thundering. The heavy balls struck the mummy in the back and knocked her to the floor in a tangle of writhing linen. The pistol barrels smoked and rotated, shot after shot. Eight .577 caliber balls slammed into the small, linen-wrapped body. The mummified figure jerked grotesquely from the pounding impacts that pushed her along the stone floor. Then she lay still.

  Malcolm strode up the aisle, stepping over the crumpled mummy, reloading his pistols as he went. He raised his guns at Albion. Before anyone could speak, the Lancasters roared again.

  Bullets flew in impossible directions, everywhere except at the shimmering specter. Plaster chipped near Simon’s head. Wooden splinters flew from a shattered pew. He ducked, releasing Ash. He and Kate droppe
d to the floor. Hogarth went prone, covering Charlotte. Penny dove for cover near the door.

  Malcolm stood in the aisle, staring at his pistols in surprise.

  “Malcolm,” Simon shouted. “Stop shooting at gods and come over here.”

  The Scotsman backed away from the unmoving Albion, his disloyal weapons still aimed. The radiant figure paid him no mind. He joined Simon and glared at Ash, who stood with chest cut open and heart exposed.

  “Barnes looks terrible.” Malcolm reloaded his pistols.

  “Long story.” Simon brushed plaster and wood from Kate’s hair and turned to Malcolm. “Glad to see you and Penny are all right.”

  “Who’s that then?” Malcolm jerked a thumb toward the immobile god.

  “That’s Albion.”

  The Scotsman huffed in dismay. “Good thing Blake is dead or we’d never hear the end of this.”

  Strange tendrils rose out of the center aisle. Strips of linen quivered in the air, touching the pews and grasping the edges of the high gallery overhead. The mummified Nephthys rose off the floor into the air, suspended by her wrappings, which twisted and reached like incredible appendages. The hieroglyphs sparked furiously. She turned toward the small group, expressionless, but full of intent nonetheless.

  Simon whispered and dropped to his knee, slamming his hands flat against the floor. A shock wave rolled out from him, cracking pews and sending them erupting into the air. Nephthys took the brunt of the savage attack and the linen surrounding her flew away from her body briefly, revealing the blue skin beneath. The linen quickly swirled back into place.

  Malcolm’s fingers tightened on the triggers. “Right. Her, at least, I can hit.”

  A flashing strip of linen reached for the Scotsman in an arc of jade light. The cloth wrapped his hand and squeezed. Malcolm roared in pain as fingers were crushed against his weapon.

  Simon leapt for him, grasping the linen. Several tendrils swarmed him at the same time. Suddenly, beyond his control, all of his tattoos flared at once and aether roared from Simon’s body in an explosion so great it was visible to all. The room swam around him and glowed green, then red. He could barely draw a breath. The ever-brighter linen strips withdrew, leaving Malcolm clutching his hand, but he forgot it when he saw Simon collapse to the floor in a silent scream.

  Kate was first to the stricken magician, taking him by the shoulders. “Simon! Simon! Say something.”

  Simon’s eyes lowered from where they had been rolled up in his head. “My God. Such power.”

  Kate searched him for injuries. She gasped. “Simon, your tattoos.”

  “What of them?”

  “They’re gone.”

  Simon looked down where his shirt was torn over his chest. Indeed, the dark greenish runes that had once covered his torso had disappeared. And he could feel no magic around him. He tossed his head back and forth, staring around like a man suddenly struck blind. He saw no aether. Panic surged at the thought of the horrible mystic cataclysm that must have occurred to rip all the aether from the air. But then, with a terrible, seeping, cold realization, he knew that the aether was not gone. He simply couldn’t see it. Simon was cut adrift from the world he had known. He felt a deep ache. He was alone in a way he never had experienced before. He felt mortal. Simon closed his eyes to shut out the world.

  Malcolm leapt to his feet and cracked his heavy pistol across Ash’s face. The corpse’s head spun with a sharp crack, and the body collapsed to the floor.

  Ash lay quivering on the tiles, with her head turned sideways. The cadaver brought arms up slowly and adjusted the head with grinding sounds of bone. The voice was slurred. “What did that gain you?”

  “Not for me.” Malcolm turned and went toward the front to check on Charlotte. Penny followed him, regarding the dark hunter gratefully.

  Simon opened his eyes again, fighting the hopelessness. He felt Kate’s hands on him and concentrated on that. He had to keep working; too many people depended on him. Then a rush of blunt heat pounded into him. Everyone was shoved back by the wave of energy from the two gods facing one another.

  Albion seemed to have grown to incredible size. The god was strong and beautiful, with the crystalline music of spheres coming from its every motion. The light of heaven bathed it.

  The mummy, on the other hand, had become a chaotic thing. She had become a swirling mass of linen tendrils. The body of Nephthys was carried in the center of the mire like an insect wrapped in the middle of a nightmarish spider’s web. Her tentacles struck out in all directions, slithering along the ground at Albion’s feet, striking at its well-formed trunk like adders.

  Albion’s halo of white furiously deterred the probing tendrils as the linen caromed off the god’s light and smashed against walls, cracking the plaster and sending showers of dust and debris flying. As the fingers of linen were thrown around the church, the intensity of the colors and lights flowing along the hieroglyphs increased. Then finally a strand of linen slipped through and struck Albion. Its eyes widened, but its expression remained staid. Another strip of cloth snapped onto Albion’s arm.

  “No, no,” Ash howled frantically. Barnes’s body was bent with one of its arms twisted in a horrific angle. “Do something! Albion won’t survive her!”

  Simon struggled back to his feet, intent on trying something, anything, to stop the warring gods. Several tendrils tore up the heavy wooden pews near him. The massive benches crashed around them. He bore Kate to the ground and it felt as if half a hundredweight of bricks had dropped onto him. His head pounded and his ears roared from the pain.

  “Kate?” he called out roughly.

  Her green eyes blinked up at him. “Still alive. We’re nothing more than an afterthought to them.”

  Simon tried to lift the pew off, but it was immovable. His whispered commands failed to bring any strength. The enormous flood of aether cascading around ignored him. It was infuriating, like a phantom limb that seemed to respond but didn’t move. He could do nothing as blow after blow of power rolled across them, pounding their mere human senses into stunned complaisance.

  The insane weaving mass that had been Nephthys filled the church, smashing columns, breaking galleries, bringing down showers of stone. A portion of the roof gave way and a huge avalanche of slate and timber crashed to the floor.

  Albion raged against the increasing barrage of linen. The countless strands of cloth struck, caressed, and bound the god’s arms and legs, then its chest and neck. Albion braced with a roar that shook the crumbling structure. The glowing giant seized the linen in powerful hands and began to try to draw the horrifying mass that had been a mummy toward the altar. Albion’s divine face was furrowed with pain and effort. Bare feet gouged furrows in the floor as the god fought to pull the Skin of Ra ever closer.

  Albion was soon barely visible because of the horrendous linen crawling over it. The light emanating from the god was suffused by the chaos. Albion wrenched a mighty arm out and plunged it into the center of the roiling mass. Light flared from the darkness in the core of the mummified thing. Albion seized the physical heart of Ra, the body of Nephthys. The massive hand of light, fighting against the steel-strong linen that pulled at its fingers, strained to close around the human shape amidst the terror. Albion’s glowing eyes narrowed in triumph, and its mouth tightened in righteous fury.

  Then the divine expression changed. Eyes widened with alarm. A blinding burst of light roared from its strong back. Linen strips had sliced deep along Albion’s spine, releasing a raw explosion of power that shattered the stone commandments behind the altar. Multitudes of tendrils suddenly shifted in their attacks and descended on Albion’s back, fighting and crowding for the chance to burrow into the god. Albion looked frightened now, fearing the approach of the void. The glowing white power was being eaten by the ancient cloth.

  Countless tendrils clutched Albion. They tightened and tensed. Every hieroglyph flared at once. The god screamed as it was ripped into four pieces. The raw quarters of Albion�
�s body bled pure light and an exquisite song. For a brief moment, the four zoas re-formed. They appeared panicked and agonized in the grasp of Ra before the tendrils hurled them into the abyss. Darkness fell in the church.

  The heavy wood of the pew suddenly shifted and Ash’s dead face peered in. Decaying fingers seized the edges of the bench, and Simon found enough strength to push, sending the wreckage clattering off him and Kate.

  Across the church, the hideous tangle of linen drew back into itself, re-forming around the female body at its core. The victorious god stood in the center of the aisle.

  “Albion is destroyed.” Ash’s voice was the flat wheeze of the dead. “Everything Pendragon prepared has been wasted. All is lost.”

  “That’s rather fatalistic,” Simon said. “I’d always heard there was more steel to you, Ash.”

  “There is no sense denying millennia of reality, Archer. I healed you hoping you were more than I suspected, but you are not. The Skin of Ra was crafted to destroy gods and prepare their followers for conquest. Gaios has won. There is no reasonable path now but to hide and pray we survive his wrath.”

  Simon grimaced in anger as he used Kate’s shoulder to stand. “I’ll be goddamned if that’s so.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  “How are we going to fight that thing?” Kate asked breathlessly.

  “Since we’re in a church, we might want to pray,” Malcolm offered, climbing to them over a large piece of marble. The few stained-glass faces still intact on the walls watched with silent empathy.

  Simon stared in wonder at the destructive machine of Ra. The mummy was motionless, as if unsure of its next move now that the primary mission was accomplished. Clearly, it felt no threat from Simon and his team. It was immensely old magic that held Ra together, but Simon knew that any magic could be undone. They only needed the proper spell and the time to enact it. At the moment, they had neither of those things. His tattered group formed around him, looking expectantly for answers. “We have to break its anchor to our world.”