by Eric Brown
The others had halted. Mackendrick was pointing. ‘There,’ he said, his voice unsteady. ‘I saw it too. It had . . .’ He looked at Bennett. ‘It was watching us. It had red eyes, and it was watching us.’
Perhaps, had he been alone, Bennett might have persuaded himself that he was hallucinating. Mackendrick’s confirmation that he had indeed seen something filled him with unease.
They moved on. Bennett led the way with Hupcka, keeping close to the big man. The valley widened, and soon they left the forest in their wake. Now the terrain was flat on either side, a smooth expanse of dun rock stretching as far as the eye could see. At least here they knew that they were not being watched.
One hour later the ground began to slope downwards, and Bennett hurried ahead and then came to a halt as the valley floor dipped more dramatically. He caught his breath and stared, aware of the others pausing beside him and gazing in wonder at what stood before them. They were standing on the edge of a vast amphitheatre, perhaps two kilometres across, though more amazing still was the structure that occupied its centre.
A towering, monolithic ziggurat rose in a great series of steps connecting the floor of the great hollow to the stone high above. It was as if the ziggurat had been laboriously wrought from the solid heart of the mountain, as if the chamber had been expressly excavated to produce this startling feat of architecture, and then the jet stone polished to create a lustrous, midnight gloss.
The others halted at the edge of the amphitheatre, staring down in silence.
Only then did Mackendrick speak. ‘Christ,’ he whispered. ‘Christ almighty, look!’
He swung his arm in a gesture encompassing the entire circumference of the chamber which contained the amphitheatre.
The pink radiance was faint here, and the distant walls were in shadow, but even so the serried rows of hollows in the surface of the surrounding rock could be seen, and within their dark depths the twin ruby points of staring eyes.
Bennett tried to deny the fact of what his senses were communicating, but as he stared with a mixture of awe and fear, he made out more than just the staring eyes. It was, he thought, a vast gathering of the august beings, a convocation. He guessed that there were hundreds, maybe even thousands, of individuals stationed silently in their hollowed caves. They sat with their great shanks crossed, their backs ramrod straight, their heads held high and staring ahead.
Mackendrick looked at Bennett. ‘Quineau said . . . over and over he said one word: temple. It didn’t mean anything at the time, of course. I didn’t give it a second thought.’ He stared down at the polished jet ziggurat.
‘I feel,’ Ten Lee said in a whisper, ‘I feel as if I am being drawn towards the temple.’
Bennett nodded. Perhaps it was nothing more than the knowledge of the aliens’ massed regard that suggested to him, too, that they were being tacitly invited to continue.
He turned to Mackendrick. ‘Are you sure it’s safe?’ he began.
‘Of course it’s safe!’ Mackendrick almost snapped at him. ‘You don’t think I came all this way . . . ?’ He gestured impatiently. ‘Enough talk. Let’s get down there.’
They set off again, slowly this time, moving in a group down the steep slope towards the rearing ziggurat. The slope eventually bottomed out and they stood in the great dish of the amphitheatre, still perhaps a kilometre from the first step of the ziggurat. Only when they began walking again, and the structure grew before them so that they had to crane their necks to make out its summit, did the ziggurat’s true size become apparent. They were reduced to the size of ants as they stood in the shadow of the first step.
Before them, a long stairway was carved through the rock of the great step, leading to a shadowy archway high above, itself the size of a three-storey building. They began the steep ascent, the high steps - clearly not designed for human use - a final torture after so long a trek.
Perhaps ten minutes later they reached the top of the stairs. A wide apron of polished inlaid rock, as midnight dark as obsidian, stretched away to the arched entrance of the ziggurat proper. As one they made their way towards the awesome portal, their footsteps echoing on the burnished rock.
Bennett stopped suddenly. He made out movement in the shadow of the archway. The others came to a halt around him, staring.
A figure stepped from the entrance and paused before them, a human figure dressed in a simple robe and smiling at them with an expression of beatification.
‘My friends,’ he said, his voice as calm as his expression. ‘Do you come in the name of peace?’
Mackendrick stepped forward. ‘We come in peace,’ he said. ‘I ... I knew Quineau. He told me of the Ancients.’
The man smiled. ‘So Quineau made it back with word of the truth.’
‘Carstairs?’ Bennett said. ‘Is it really you?’ He shook his head. ‘We thought you were dead.’
The gaunt, balding man, his face thin and pale from so many years spent underground, inclined his head. ‘Iwas dead,’ he said. ‘A man called Klien shot me, many years ago.’ He turned and gestured up at the ziggurat. ‘Welcome to the temple of the Ahloi,’ he said.
* * * *
23
To return home after all those years, to leave behind the evil of Earth . . .
Ezekiel Klien sat on the floor of the engine compartment and listened to the slow burn of the vertical thrusters as the Cobra came in to land. The impact was gentle, followed by silence, and Klien closed his eyes. The descent through the atmosphere of Penumbra had been much less of a trial than the take-off from Earth, but he still felt shaken and bruised from the roller-coaster ride. He gave thanks that he was home at last.
He activated his ear-piece. Muffled voices came to him from the flight-deck. ‘You have the softscreen, Josh?’ someone asked.
A period of silence, then Bennett asked about Mackendrick and someone called Ten Lee. Klien listened intently, trying to work out precisely where he was, who Bennett was talking to.
‘We’ll study the screen and plot the position of the entrance to the underground caverns,’ Bennett’s contact was saying. ‘Can we make the journey in the ship?’
Bennett replied that they could if there was a suitable landing place. Klien heard their footsteps on the ramp as they left the ship.
Bennett seemed to be in contact with people who wanted the softscreen as a guide to the subterranean cavern - obviously, then, opponents of the Council of Elders, and therefore his own enemies. He guessed that they were somewhere in the mountains, in hiding from the council. Soon they would attempt to fly to the entrance to the underground lair of the Ancients.
He considered the wisest course of action.
It had been a strange four months for Klien, effectively alone as the Cobra lighted through the void. He had had the freedom of the ship. He had eaten well from the stores, and slept in the comfortable beds one at a time, for variety.
During that time he had contemplated the years since leaving Homefall. He was satisfied with his achievements. He had successfully eradicated Quineau, though the fact that the softscreen had remained at large had been a constant source of regret. His time spent in Calcutta he considered a success. He had worked hard to gain his position of eminence at the port, and he had done his best to eradicate evil from the city. Granted, the execution of those he considered unworthy had done little to undermine the rampant spread of evil, but the fact remained that he had done his best. Thanks to him, Earth was a better place, and it was his duty to do the same for Homefall.
He listened to Bennett as he spoke to Mackendrick. A period of silence was followed by Bennett talking to a woman called Ten Lee about how he had discovered the softscreen on Earth. Then they were joined by a number of the renegade colonists. Evidently they were looking at a map, charting the position of the mountain entrance.
‘When do you want to set off?’ Bennett asked.
‘We’ve been ready for months,’ a renegade said. ‘It really depends on how you’re feeling. Are you up
to an immediate start?’
‘I can’t think of any reason to wait,’ Bennett said.
Klien felt his pulse quicken. Soon they would be flying to the entrance of the underground passage which, sixteen years ago he, Quineau and Carstairs had stumbled upon. He considered the fact that, but for that accidental discovery, the entire course of his life would have been completely different. He could only assume, in the circumstances, that his had been a God-given mission.
Thirty minutes later he heard the sounds of footsteps moving through the ship. The ramp was retracted and the engines powered up. He reached out for his laser pistols, reassured by their presence. Soon, he would be fulfilling the very last act of his long and arduous task.
The Cobra lifted. Klien closed his eyes and waited out the journey. In the warmth of the engine compartment, lulled by the vibration, he dozed. He was awoken, later, by the sound of voices. They had landed. Bennett and the others were preparing themselves for the descent into the subterranean caverns. He listened to their brief conversation, heard the ramp go down and the sound of departing footsteps. He waited ten minutes. Judging by the laboured breathing communicated through his ear-piece, Bennett and the others were climbing up the side of the valley.
Klien moved from the engine compartment and hurried to the flight-deck. Through a sidescreen he made out five tiny figures climbing towards the overhang. He considered what to do now.
If he could contact the Council via the ship’s radio and tell them that he had returned . . . But how would that help the council? He had no idea of the position of the renegades’ hide-out.
Then, on the console before the command-couch, he saw a folded map. With trembling hands he opened it out.
There were two red circles marked on the map, and a line marked in red which he judged to be the route he and the others had taken sixteen years ago. One circle was situated high in the western mountains, and could only be the entrance to the underground chambers. The other was two hundred kilometres to the south. This southernmost circle had to be the position of the renegade camp.
He activated the radio and attempted to get through to someone, anyone, on Homefall. If he could contact the Council, inform them of the whereabouts of the renegades’ camp . . .
He tried every wavelength, every band, but without luck. The receivers relayed only the white noise of static. Evidently he was too far away, or perhaps atmospheric conditions were scrambling the signal.
Very well, he would try later. He would follow Bennett and the others underground, choose his moment and kill them. He would take their protective thermals, return to the ship, and try to contact the Council again. If unsuccessful, he would make the long trek to home valley, equipped with supplies from the ship, and the map. He had done it once before; he would do it again.
First, though, he had to eliminate the enemy.
In his ear-piece he could hear the heavy breathing of Bennett, the sound of ringing footsteps on rock.
He lowered the ramp and left the ship with his laser pistols. The wind was biting, and he was hardly dressed for the conditions, but soon he would be in the caverns, warming himself with the thrill of the chase. He followed the trail of footprints through the snow to the overhang of rock. The sight of it, the grey slab jutting out over the valley, brought back a slew of memories. He moved from the snow and clambered up the slope, soon locating the narrow entrance.
He began a cautious descent, the sound of Bennett’s breathing playing in his ear.
He removed the ear-piece so that he might hear his quarry naturally and so judge how far away they were.
Over the period of the next six hours, Klien followed Bennett and the others down the sloping corridor and the long, panel-flanked passage, until they came to the head of the natural valley. For the first time he caught sight of them as they stopped to make camp for the night. He inserted his ear-piece as they settled down to sleep, so that he would be alerted when they awoke and set off again. He found a natural mattress of fungus and napped.
Hours later they set off again, and Klien followed at a safe distance. Soon, he knew, they would be coming to the amphitheatre containing the ziggurat of the Ancients.
He recalled Carstairs, and what they had witnessed in the chamber so many years ago. He had not been able to let Carstairs go after that, could not let him spread the word of the Ancients. So he had killed him . . . and tried to kill Quineau as well. But Quineau had managed to flee the temple, escape the mountains before he, Klien, could silence him.
He tried to shut out the terrible images, concentrate on what lay ahead.
He realised that he could have killed Bennett and the others ten times over during the past few hours, but something had prevented his doing so. Not mercy, or anything like compassion, because he knew he would take great delight in eliminating Bennett and his cohorts, preventing their disseminating the evil ways of the Ancients to the universe.
No, something else had stayed his hand so far.
Only as he came to the end of the valley, and paused on the lip of the vast amphitheatre, did he understand. As he watched Bennett and the others climb the steps of the ziggurat, Klien knew suddenly why he had been brought to this place.
Not only would he kill Bennett and the other humans, he would use his considerable firepower to rid Homefall of every last Ancient as well.
Filled with the fervour of the righteous, Klien activated his lasers and descended into the amphitheatre.
* * * *
24
Bennett stared at the gaunt figure of Carstairs in the entrance of the temple.
‘Welcome,’ Carstairs repeated. ‘We are preparing a ceremony of reception for you.’
‘Klien killed you?’ Mackendrick said, voicing Bennett’s incredulity.
‘We never really die,’ Carstairs said. ‘We merely relinquish our physical forms when the time is right, and, move on. When I died, the time was not right for me to move on. First, I had to learn.’
Bennett heard Ten Lee beside him. ‘Yes . . .’ she whispered to herself.
Carstairs lifted a hand. ‘Come, I will explain. If you would care to follow me.’
Mackendrick looked around the group, his face frozen with shock and hope. He gripped Rana’s hand and followed as Carstairs turned and walked into the shadowy portal. Bennett, Ten Lee and Hupcka joined them.
They passed down a wide, high corridor, leaving the pink fungal glow behind them. They switched on their flashlights and filled the corridor with a hundred dazzling reflections.
Carstairs turned. ‘Please, in the temple, only the light of naked flames.’
Obediently they switched off the flashlights. Bennett walked on, blinded by the absence of light in this midnight tunnel. As his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, he saw a faint source of illumination far ahead. He felt a hand grip his, small and warm: Rana. They left the corridor and entered the great circular chamber, illuminated by the flames of perhaps a hundred tiny candles set high in the curving walls.
Mackendrick, Rana and Bennett were the first into the chamber after Carstairs, and they stopped and stared at what was revealed in the fitful candlelight. Bennett’s pulse quickened and fear clutched at his chest.
Stationed like silent sentries around the circumference of the chamber, Bennett made out the tall and shadowy shapes of the Ancients - the Ahloi, as Carstairs called them. They stood unmoving, their long arms by their sides, even longer legs slightly bent at the knees. Rana almost collapsed against him in shock. He took her weight, wishing that someone would likewise support him.
Carstairs, ahead, turned to them. ‘Please,’ he said. ‘Follow me.’
‘Where . . .’ Bennett began. ‘I mean, where are we going?’
‘There is much I must explain,’ said their guide. ‘This way.’
He turned and led them across the chamber, past a short, central stone, towards a dark square set into the floor. As they approached, Bennett made out a flight of stairs. He followed Carstairs down the
steps, Rana supported between himself and Mackendrick. Ten Lee and Hupcka brought up the rear.
The meagre illumination from the candles in the chamber lit their way down the short staircase. Then they were in another wide, high corridor, receding into absolute darkness. Bennett heard Carstairs’ footsteps ahead, checked that the others were with him, and followed.
They walked for perhaps ten minutes before the darkness was alleviated by a light in the distance. It appeared tiny at first, a mere speck like a star, but rapidly grew as they approached. At last they made out the shape of the tunnel ahead, the walls, floor and ceiling receding in perspective to form a square exit filled with a familiar opalescent glow.
Bennett knew where he had seen such light before, but he found it hard to believe that this was the same. Then he felt the lapping of a faint wind about his face, and knew that his eyes had not been deceived. They were emerging from the mountainside, into the light of Tenebrae.