The Resuurection Fields

by Brian Keaney

  Between the pedestals of Night and Morning,

  Between red death and radiant desire

  With not one sound of triumph or of warning

  Stands the great sentry on the Bridge of Fire.

  James Elroy Flecker, The Bridge of Fire

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Commander Belinski’s Dilemma

  Osman

  Kidu

  The Beehive Huts

  The Sumaire

  The Funeral of Dr. Sigmundus

  The Circle of Undoing

  The Resurrection Fields

  Enil’s Tree

  The Chief Justice

  The Traitor

  The Duchess

  Stones

  The Forest of Secret Fears

  The Great Flock

  The Heart of Evil

  The Hidden Path

  The Bridge of Souls

  Looking at the Stars

  The Lizard’s Mouth

  The Summoner

  Epilogue

  PROLOGUE

  The storm that had raged over the south of Gehenna had finally blown itself out. On a cliff top overlooking a stretch of dark water, a girl in mud-stained clothes stood motionless, a look of shock and terror written across her face. She was staring at two figures a little way off, one lying on the ground, the other crouching nearby. The figure on the ground should have been familiar to every man, woman and child in Gehenna, for he was the leader of their nation. But most people, if they had been told that Dr. Sigmundus was nearby, would have expected to see a much younger man. The pictures of him that hung in official buildings everywhere in the land showed a man in his prime. In truth, however, it had been a very long time since Dr. Sigmundus was in his prime. Only supernatural power had sustained him for all these years, and now, as it drained away from his body, it became clear that he was really very old indeed.

  Beside him, Dante Cazabon crouched and waited. He could hardly believe that the struggle was finally over. It had taken so long and cost so much. His friend Ezekiel Semiramis, who had rescued him from the asylum on Tarnagar and taught him about the secret world of the Odyll, was dead. And so was Luther, Dante’s brother, whose existence he had not even known about until recently. Indeed, the two of them had only just met, but what should have been a joyful occasion had turned to horror when Luther had tried to kill those who would have been his friends.

  Not all of this was Dr. Sigmundus’s fault. The dictator had been treacherous, greedy and tyrannical. But he himself had long ago fallen victim to a will far stronger than his own. A being from the depths of the Odyll, a dark current of energy, had possessed him, taking over his mind and body. The name of that being was Orobas, and if his plans had been successful, he would have taken possession of Dante in the same way. It was only the sacrifice of Luther that had defeated him. For rather than kill Dante, Luther had stepped off the edge of the cliff and fallen into the dark waters below.

  Dante leaned closer to the body of Dr. Sigmundus. There could be no doubt about it. The old man’s eyes were closed and his breathing had stopped. Relieved, Dante let out a long sigh. Then he stood up. He felt no joy at the defeat of his enemy and spat on the ground in disgust.

  In that instant Dr. Sigmundus’s eyes opened. His thin lips curved upwards in a twisted smile.

  “I thank you for your hatred, Dante Cazabon. It was all the invitation I needed.”

  It was the voice of Orobas. Dr. Sigmundus might be dead, but the creature that possessed his body was still undefeated.

  Dante opened his mouth to reply, but instead his whole body shuddered as the creature began to transfer itself to him. He felt his true self shrinking and diminishing. Now he would lose his body and his mind forever. His words faltered. He heard himself screaming. But even as the inarticulate cry of terror tore itself from his lips, in a still place at the center of his mind, he heard his mother’s voice. “Remember, Dante,” she told him, “it is always now.”

  Yashar Cazabon had been the first one to uncover the mysteries of the Odyll, and although she had been killed when Dante was only an infant, she had found a way to defy death and come to his aid when he faced his greatest challenges. Now, as she spoke each word with careful emphasis, he suddenly understood what she was trying to tell him. Time could be stretched infinitely. Each moment could be divided again and again without end, and someone who had learned to unite himself with the power of the Odyll could move and act within that extended moment.

  He reached into the Odylic realm and immediately sensed the great torrent that was time itself. It surged and boiled around him, like a mighty river, impelled by an endless drive towards the future. He summoned all his strength and held it back. As he did so, he was aware of his enemy’s will, angrily responding, determined to overcome his resistance.

  He could not hold out against the fury of Orobas forever. They were like two animals that had locked horns, each driving against its opponent with all its might. Sooner or later one of them would weaken. Nor could the river of time be permanently stopped, only paused. He would have to find another way to overthrow his enemy.

  Dante searched his mind for the place where he had heard his mother’s voice. There it was: the stillness at the center of the hurricane.

  “How can I resist him?” he asked.

  “You cannot,” she replied.

  “Then all is lost?” Even as he spoke, he felt the obscene delight of Orobas and knew that his enemy sensed his disappointment.

  “You are beaten,” Orobas whispered, his words insinuating themselves into Dante’s mind like a vile smell.

  But his mother spoke again. “Listen to me,” she told him. “There is still one course of action open to you. There is a small white bird on a branch of the sycamore tree to your left.”

  Dante turned and saw the tree she had indicated. It was not yet dawn but there was light enough to make out a bird sitting on a low branch, watching him with its beady eyes.

  “Separate your mind from your body,” she continued, “and send it forth to take up residence within the body of the bird.”

  “No!” Orobas hissed. His mind sought to close around Dante’s, as though he were catching a fly in his fist.

  But Dante was too quick for him. He sent his thought out towards the bird, felt its tiny protest and its bewilderment at finding another being within its body. Then he watched, helpless, as the creature from the depths of the Odyll took possession of the empty body he had left behind.

  When the girl on the cliff top heard the scream and saw Dante slump to the ground, she ran towards him, anxious to help. But as she drew nearer, something about the expression on her friend’s face made her hesitate. His eyes seemed full of hate.

  “Dante?” she said. “Are you all right? It’s me, Bea.”

  Dante got to his feet and lunged clumsily towards her, as though he were unable to control his body properly. Then his hands grasped her by the throat.

  “I’m going to kill you,” he said, and his voice was as shocking as his words, for it was horribly distorted, as if his tongue had grown too big for his mouth.

  Bea struggled furiously to fight him off, but his grip was like iron.

  Suddenly a blurred shape appeared between them, and with a cry, Dante released his hold. A bird had appeared from nowhere, pecking at his face savagely, so that he was forced to flail about, trying to drive it away.

  Bea did not wait for an explanation of what had just taken place. Sobbing with relief, she turned and fled into the darkness.

  COMMANDER BELINSKI’S DILEMMA

  Commander Belinski had been security chief of the southwestern region of Gehenna for nearly ten years, but in all that time he had never received an order lik
e this one. He scratched his head and reread the letter, which had arrived by special delivery the night before. It still didn’t seem right. With a sigh he summoned his assistant, Gorky, who appeared in the office a moment later, clicking his heels and saluting energetically.

  “I want your opinion,” Belinski told him.

  Gorky nodded. “Certainly, sir.”

  “This letter arrived yesterday,” Belinski continued. “It’s from Dr. Sigmundus himself. There’s no doubt about its authenticity. I’ve spoken to the Leader’s private secretary by telephone. This is what it says: ‘For the attention of Commander Belinski, Thirteenth Southwestern Region. You will meet with your Leader at map reference ST549827 at 0500 hours tomorrow morning, bringing with you a detachment of armed men. You will then transport him without delay to his office in the capital.’” He paused.

  “That seems fairly straightforward, sir,” Gorky observed.

  “Yes,” Belinski agreed, “though I’ve looked up the map reference and it appears to be an abandoned quarry in the middle of nowhere. However, that’s not the part that worries me. Listen to what comes next: ‘You will not recognize your Leader at first. He will appear to be someone else altogether. But you must not let this stop you from carrying out these orders.’ What on earth am I supposed to make of that?”

  “It sounds as though Dr. Sigmundus is going to be disguised in some way,” Gorky suggested.

  “So how the hell am I supposed to recognize him?”

  Gorky thought about it. “I expect he’ll be the one giving the orders, sir,” he said.

  Bea returned to the Púca camp and described what had taken place.

  “This doesn’t make any sense,” said Bea’s friend Maeve, pushing back her long red hair and frowning. “I spoke to Dante before he left here. He was planning to rescue you.”

  “Yes, that’s what it looked like at first,” Bea agreed. “But then he suddenly screamed and collapsed, and when I went over to help him, he grabbed me by the throat and tried to kill me!”

  “It must be the shock,” Albigen said. One of the Púca’s most respected leaders, he was a tall young man with light brown skin, tight curly hair and a jagged scar that ran across his forehead. “Think of all he’s had to cope with. I expect he’s come to his senses by now. I’ll go and talk to him.”

  “No, wait!” Bea said. She recalled the expression in Dante’s eyes as he had lunged towards her. She was certain it would not be as easy as Albigen seemed to think. “I believe something has happened to him, something that has changed his personality.”

  “What sort of thing?” Albigen asked.

  “I don’t know. I realize it sounds crazy. But it didn’t feel like it really was Dante at all. It felt like he’d been taken over.”

  Albigen looked skeptical.

  “He was Dante when he left here,” Maeve pointed out.

  “Yes, but something very strange happened on the cliff top,” Bea said. “I can’t explain it, but I don’t think Albigen should just walk right up to him.”

  “I’ll be careful,” Albigen told her.

  “She’s hysterical,” he said to himself as he walked away. No doubt Dante was also hysterical. It was understandable. The world had been turned upside down for all of them in the last few hours, and shock did strange things to people. When he had lived in the north amid the Ichor mines, he had seen a woman burst out laughing when she was told that her husband had been killed in an accident underground. She hadn’t known what she was doing, and Dante was probably in the same state. The important thing was to keep a cool head. He would approach Dante carefully, talk to him gently and remind him that they were friends. Then he would bring him back to the Púca and all would be well.

  It was easy enough to follow the trail of footprints left behind in the mud, and it didn’t take long to find the place where Luther and Bea had left the cover of the trees for the cliff top. Albigen paused and squinted into the distance. Yes, he could see Dante standing outlined against the sky. Albigen hesitated. It was important to remember that, whereas he had only his powers of persuasion and his own strength, Dante had the power of the Odyll at his disposal.

  He could just about make out a body lying on the ground beside Dante. So it must be true, as Bea had claimed, that Dr. Sigmundus was dead. If so, then the struggle was really over. But Albigen was not ready to accept that yet. At least, not without proof. He had been fighting Dr. Sigmundus for too long to be easily taken in.

  Cautiously, he prepared to step out from among the trees, but before he could do so, he heard the sound of an engine in the distance. He froze and listened. There must be a road on the other side of the cliff, hidden by the rising ground. Soon the sound grew louder, and it was clear that more than one vehicle was making determined progress towards this location. Suddenly, three trucks appeared on the horizon. Keeping under cover of the trees, Albigen drew nearer until he was close enough to see and hear what was happening.

  The trucks came to a halt. Security officers jumped out and immediately surrounded Dante, their weapons pointing directly at him. The commanding officer glanced at the body of Dr. Sigmundus and then at Dante. “Don’t move an inch!” he barked. “Tell me what has happened to the Leader.”

  Dante stared calmly back at him. “I am your Leader,” he replied.

  The commander frowned. “Shoot him if he moves,” he ordered his men. Then he stepped towards the body of Dr. Sigmundus and crouched down beside it.

  “I am your Leader,” Dante repeated. His voice was cold and hard, and despite the fact that more than a dozen rifles were being pointed at him, he managed to sound incredibly threatening. “You have had your orders, Commander Belinski,” he continued. “You are to take me to the capital without delay. We can bring this body with us, since you seem so concerned with its welfare. But let us waste no more time here.”

  The commander stood up. His face was only inches from Dante’s now. “Are you completely insane?” he shouted. “You are under arrest for the murder of Dr. Sigmundus.”

  He turned his head slightly to give an order to his men, and in that instant Dante grabbed him by the throat. Then two things happened simultaneously. The world appeared to ripple. That was the only way Albigen could describe it. At the same time he heard the sound of rifles firing, and the commander fell to the ground.

  Intellectually Albigen knew what had happened. Dante had used Odylic Force to change reality. But emotionally it was still hard for him to accept. He stared at the scene in confusion. The soldiers, too, looked utterly bewildered. Only Dante remained unperturbed.

  “Who is next in command?” Dante asked.

  One of the security guards stepped nervously forward. “I am.”

  “And your name is?”

  “Assistant Commander Gorky.”

  “Very well, Assistant Commander Gorky. Listen carefully, and let’s hope that you are not a fool, like your ex-colleague here. Your men will not be able to kill me. If you order them to try again, they will kill you instead. Is that perfectly clear?”

  Gorky nodded slowly.

  “Good. Now, it may seem to you that the world has come to an end. But that is most assuredly not the case. Yes, your Leader is dead, but I am his successor in every way. The country will be secure in my hands because I am the new Dr. Sigmundus. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Now, are you ready to take me to Ellison?”

  Assistant Commander Gorky’s heels snapped together and he saluted crisply.

  Albigen watched with fear and confusion as Dante and Gorky got into the lead truck while the other security guards lifted the body of Dr. Sigmundus into an accompanying vehicle. Had Dante really chosen to follow in the footsteps of their enemy, or was he playing some elaborate and deadly game?

  When the vehicles had disappeared over the brow of the hill, Albigen rose from his hiding place and walked slowly back through the trees, trying to decide what he would say to the others.

  * * *


  From its perch on the sycamore tree, a little bird observed the scene. Behind its eyes, Dante—the real Dante—watched with a profound sense of gloom. His former body had become a mindless puppet, with Orobas pulling its strings. He wanted to cry out in anger and frustration, but all he could do was force a tiny note of protest out of the creature’s beak.

  “Do not despair,” his mother’s voice promised. “I will help you.”

  The bird spread its wings and took to the air.

  OSMAN

  Nyro Balash knew he ought to forget his friend Luther, but in practice he simply couldn’t do it. The arguments for putting Luther out of his mind were both powerful and convincing. First there was the fact that Luther had got him into the worst trouble he’d ever faced. This had happened when the two of them were hiking in the wilderness that lay between Tavor, where they lived, and Gehenna, the closed country to the south.

  During this hike the two boys had stumbled upon a field of exotic purple flowers surrounded by a wire fence. Those flowers, which had looked so beautiful, had nearly proved deadly to Luther. He had experienced some sort of seizure when he tried to smell them. If soldiers had not turned up with an antidote, he might not have survived. But the arrival of those soldiers was no coincidence. It turned out that Nyro and Luther were trespassing on government property. They were arrested and interrogated for hours. When they were finally allowed to return home, it was made very clear that if they even whispered about what had happened, both they and their parents would be charged under the State Secrets Act.

  Nyro’s parents, frightened out of their wits, had warned him firmly to stay away from Luther in the future. But if that had been the only consequence of their mountain hike, things might not have been so bad. His parents couldn’t keep tabs on him all the time. Eventually, when all the fuss had died down, the two boys could have quietly resumed their friendship. But from the time he got back from the mountains, Luther began acting increasingly strange. He became silent and withdrawn. And the few words he did say—they didn’t make any sense. He took to sleeping outside in the yard, and one night Nyro secretly followed him to Liminal Park, a stretch of open land on the outskirts of town, and watched as Luther stood on a hilltop, howling at the moon. On another occasion he had looked on in dismay as his friend caught a fly in his hand, put it in his mouth and ate it!