by Martin Dukes
“Stop that boy!” he shouted at last, pointing a finger accusatively at Alex.
A sea of pale faces was suddenly around him, all turning to regard him curiously. Alex ran. He was seized by blind panic, rushing headlong past the penny arcade, pushing past groups of children, knocking aside a man’s outstretched arm, a stick of candy floss sent flying from a loose grasp. “Hey!” said a protesting voice.
There were two men after him now, shouldering their way through the crowds and bawling for him to stop. Alex’s heart was pounding in his chest, his throat constricted. Another pair of black-clad men were suddenly in front of him, emerging from behind the carousel. Alex turned aside, careered straight through the dodgems, the cars whirring and crashing around him, the music, the dull thuds of the cars, the cries of his pursuers ringing in his ears. He turned and had the momentary satisfaction of seeing, amongst the sparks and the whirling movement, one of the men tumble amongst the darting cars. He emerged gasping from the dodgems, glanced left and right, and then lunged through the queue for the ghost train and into the darkness within, ignoring the cars moving steadily along the track. He charged heedless through a succession of dim chambers, swiping furiously at the fake cobwebs and luridly coloured witches and skeletons that accosted him, stumbling past another car whose occupants stared after him and then emerging blinking into daylight once more. Where now? A clown stood at the entrance to a striped marquee, holding a huge bunch of coloured balloons. He was beckoning. What the hell? What choice did he have? Alex staggered towards him, panting, clutching his side where a searing stitch was stabbing at his vital organs.
The clown placed a white-gloved hand on his shoulder and whipped off what proved to be a clown mask.
“Surprise, surprise!” said a sarcastically beaming Garek. “Don’t you just love clowns?”
“How many do you reckon there are?” asked Will.
Henry, standing precariously on Amjad and Jemail’s shoulders, was peering through a small gap between the roof of their makeshift prison and the top of the wall.
“I’d say about a dozen,” said Henry jumping down. “Including those two guys out front. They’re going in and out of a building on the other side of the courtyard, so I guess they’re bunked down in there. Shirman’s just been having a go at one of them about something or other, but they were too far away for me to hear. I reckon we can take them,” he said, wiping his hands on his trousers.
“That’s what you always reckon,” scoffed Will. “You’re insane. They’ve got guns.”
“Will is right,” said Zoroaster, coming back from where he had been listening at the door. “We can’t hope to fight them.”
“Well, we’ve got to do something,” said Kelly anxiously. “They’ve got Alex.”
“What are they going to do to him?” asked Tanya, eyes wide. “You don’t think they’ve…” She seemed unable to complete the sentence.
The Outlanders looked at her awkwardly.
“They can’t hold us here forever,” said Rakesh, breaking the silence that had settled on the room. “There was other shipping at sea that may have witnessed our capture. My people will come looking for us.”
“They will,” agreed Jemail. “However, I fear the Sultan will also come looking for us.”
“Exactly,” said Henry. “So, like I say, we need to make a break for it.”
“Hang on a mo’,” said Kelly, inspiration suddenly striking her. “Have you still got that stuff Malcolm left for us?”
“Of course,” said Henry, rummaging in the pockets of his jacket. “Good thinking.”
He brought out the two grey pebbles. Everyone except Kelly gathered around to regard them curiously.
“This one cuts through steel like a knife through butter,” said Henry, holding it up for inspection. “I’ve got no idea what the other one does. Be funny if it was just a pebble.”
“Go on then,” said Will. “Show us how it works. You could cut the hinges on the door.”
Henry remembered that it had been Alex who had used the cutting device. He frowned.
“Well, it can’t be too difficult,” he said, working his fingers over the surface. Nothing happened. His small audience began to drift away. “Give me a minute,” he said with increasing desperation. “Nearly got it, I think.”
“You’re not convincing anyone,” said Will, going off to sit on a pile of sacks in one corner. “Not even yourself.”
“Maybe it’s on some kind of timer,” said Henry at last, resignedly slipping both pebbles back into his pocket.
“It’s Alex, isn’t it?” said Kelly glumly. “There’s something about Alex. He can do angel stuff, can’t he? That’s what it is. You can’t.”
“So what are you saying exactly?” spat Henry crossly, rounding on her.
“Nothing. I’m just saying Alex’s different, that’s all.”
“Different – not better. Huh? You got that? Yeah, I guess you’re right,” said Henry after a moment’s thought. “Yeah… I hope he’s okay. I hope he’s not looking shorter.”
“Shut up, Henry!” said Tanya, Kelly and Will in unison.
“Did you really think that you could escape?” asked Garek nastily. He laughed, tossing the mask over his shoulder. “You are sooo pathetic. You really are. You don’t know the first thing about Elysium, do you?” He gestured around him. “Where did you think you were, exactly? The fair? Did you think you were at the funfair, Alex? Hmmm?”
He snapped his fingers and the fairground disappeared. Alex span round, eyes wide, to see a flat grey landscape stretching away on all sides. The sky was a paler, undifferentiated grey with no clouds to mar its smooth uniformity.
“It was a construct, Alex. Think of it as a kind of hamster house, one of those big ones with lots of tubes and ferris wheels. I made it for you to keep you busy and entertained. You were entertained, weren’t you?”
Alex felt dazed, confused. He could only nod bleakly.
“Of course you were. Reality and illusion, it’s hard to tell the difference, especially in Elysium. We can tap into your neural pathways and feed in exactly what we like. What you see, what you hear, what you smell, what you taste, even what you touch – they are all part of a construct that we feed into your brain. It’s a fully immersive experience, to use the jargon. What you see around you right now is what we call ‘D3D’, which is default three-dimensional space. Think of it as a kind of blank canvas on which we can make pretty things for you. Good, isn’t it? Didn’t I do well?”
“Yeah, it’s good,” agreed Alex sulkily. “You’re getting to be my absolute fave angel.”
“Ha!” said Garek punching him jovially on the shoulder. “Such good news. All those dull years waiting for you to come along were worth it. Such a wit you are. And there’s more good news. Guess what, Alex? Guess what I just heard? They’re dancing in the aisle up in the sanctum. It seems your skull is actually the one– THE ONE, Alex! What everyone’s been waiting for, working towards for millennia, the answer to all our prayers. Aren’t you a lucky boy? How does that make you feel, Alex?”
“Well, naturally, I’m thrilled,” said Alex dully. “Why me? What’s so special about me?”
“I’m really not qualified to tell you,” said Garek. “But I know a man who is. And he wants to see you now. Shall we?” He made an expansive gesture, the air rippled around Alex and the world readjusted itself to the shape of Ezekiel’s study.
Ezekiel’s face had previously seemed ill-suited to the expression of strong emotion. Not now, though. Now his thin face was split by a tight smile, his eyes animated by a kind of feverish excitement. Ezekiel was apparently warming his hands at the fire when Alex materialised in front of him, but now he advanced and placed those long white hands on his shoulders.
“You are the one,” he said, eyes gleaming. “The long wait is over. The end approaches. Do you know what that means to us, Alex?”
“Yes,” said Alex, feeling a curious mixture of indignation and disbelief. Not for the f
irst time, he found himself unable to accept the reality of what was happening to him. This enabled him to discuss it with some degree of self-control. “Garek told me. It means I’m going to die. You’re going to kill me.”
“We’re all going to die, Alex,” said Ezekiel, a perceptible catch in his voice. “We are all going to return to the Maker. The Great Plan approaches completion. The last piece in the puzzle is about to fall into place.”
“What if you’re wrong?” asked Alex nonchalantly. “Then you’ve just murdered me, haven’t you? Some kind of angel you are.”
“We are not wrong,” said Ezekiel, giving Alex’s shoulders a shake for emphasis. “Come with me.”
Rather than de-materialising and re-materialising in the manner usually adopted by angels, Ezekiel opened the door and led Alex along the dark, stone corridor. At the end of the corridor was a set of tall double doors, made from some dull metal, the surface of which was wrought into fantastical shapes, skulls prominent amongst them. They appeared to writhe vaguely as Ezekiel turned a round silver handle. The door opened with the satisfying reverberating creak that it was presumably intended to make, and Alex found himself in a high circular chamber with light streaming in from a circular hole, a great oculus, a hundred feet or so above, at the centre of a coffered stone ceiling. It reminded him of a picture he had seen of the Pantheon in Rome. The floor beneath his feet was of inlaid marble, the walls broken by pairs of huge columns with ornate gold capitals. Alex saw these things almost subliminally, from the periphery of his vision. What engaged his attention immediately, what was meant to engage his attention, was the low dais in the centre of the floor. On this stood a circular platform. On the circular platform, held in place by an elaborate structure of jewels and precious metals, was a circle of skulls. With a gap. Alex placed his fingers on either side of his head. He stared, open mouthed, as a sensation of grim horror washed coldly over him. The skulls grinned back at him.
“This is our sanctum,” said Ezekiel, bowing reverentially before the structure. “And this, as you will have gathered, is the holy of holies, the Dodekakephalon. Your skull completes the circle.” He rounded on Alex, spreading his arms wide. “If only you could see it, Alex. Your own skull. If only you had the sensory organs to appreciate its true magnificence in the sixth, seven and eighth dimensions. It has the noble proportions of a cathedral, the perfect interplay of space and ornament. What is more, it clearly completes the pattern established by the others. The moment we have awaited since the moment of creation approaches, the moment of destruction that completes the Maker’s work.”
“What about the other dimensions,” asked Alex, thinking desperately. “What if it’s all wrong in those? You mentioned eleven dimensions. What about the fifth? What about the ninth, tenth and eleventh?”
“The last three you name are closed to us,” said Ezekiel, crossing to place his hand thoughtfully on one of the skulls. “Although we can detect their existence. We call them the ‘God dimensions’. It is there that we believe the Maker resides. The fifth is accessible to all of us. The fifth dimension is how we travel from place to place through the Universe. All of the first three dimensions are held together by the fifth. Think of it as a piece of paper. Better still, see it as a piece of paper.”
He made a vague gesture in the air and a piece of ordinary A4 paper was suddenly there, hanging motionless in front of Alex.
“Imagine that this is the Universe. You wish to travel from point ‘A’ to point ‘B’– let us say from one star to another in a distant galaxy.”
Two black dots appeared, at either end of the paper, labelled ‘A’ and ‘B’ respectively.
“Now, how shall we travel from one point to another? Hmm? Show me, Alex.”
Alex lifted a finger and began to trace a path across the paper from one point to the other.
“Wrong, Alex!” said Ezekiel, snatching the paper away with the twitch of a finger. “Observe.”
As Alex watched, the paper folded itself neatly in two so that the two points lined up against each other on opposite sides. A glinting silver pin appeared, which suddenly pierced the paper so that the two points were united. Just as suddenly, the vision disappeared. Alex blinked.
“You see? It is simple, at least in principle, although in practice a great deal of energy and what you would term ‘technology’ are required to perform the operation. Can you imagine tapping the vast power of a supernova, Alex? That is what we do. A supernova.” He nodded. “The death throes of a star that we were alive to see brought into existence. We are old, Alex; older than you can possibly imagine, older than the stars themselves, and we are tired. It is time for us to go.”
When Alex had seen Ezekiel’s little demonstration a curious sensation had rippled across the surface of his mind, a sensation he was at first unable to recognise, buried as it was amongst competing sensations of fear, horror and anger.
“And that gives you the right to kill me?” said Alex, this last emotion rising to the top of the pile. “I don’t want to die. Not yet. I’m still young. There’s stuff I want to do.”
“It is a sacrifice that has to be made,” said Ezekiel regretfully. “And I mean that in its most literal sense. There are others who would seek to prevent us from doing what must be done. Even now they are watching us. And so, at the end of time, there is no time to waste.” He smiled a tight little smile at this thought. “We are about to enact a sacred ritual for the liberation of your spirit.”
Alex wheeled around, conscious suddenly that they were not alone, that the space around the Dodekakephalon was occupied by eleven more figures, black-clad, hooded and cowled, the emblem of the skull writhing across their garments.
“The Brothers,” said Ezekiel, introducing them with a vague gesture of his hand. “My Brothers. Together we have probed the dark mystery across the ages. Now we stand on the brink of the final elucidation.”
“What’s going to happen to me?” demanded Alex anxiously as a rectangular carved stone platform emerged smoothly from the floor before him. The circle of skulls, he noted grimly, had begun to glow and a faint trembling had begun beneath his feet. The pale faces of the Brothers were weirdly uplit by the ghastly radiance of the skulls. His head began to ache, a dull throbbing ache that made him press his forehead between his hands, his hands contorted tensely into claws.
“Do you feel it?” asked Ezekiel, his voice suddenly magnified and booming around the sanctum. “They know. The skulls are aware. They sense that you are about to make them complete.”
“No!” shrieked Alex as he found himself suddenly borne up by invisible hands and pressed down onto the great slab. The cold hardness of stone was on his back and shoulders, the dazzling light from the high oculus shrinking his pupil to pinpoints. He was aware of the dark figures moving around him, of chanting, of the intoning of what might be prayers. A hard projection rose up beneath the back of his neck, forcing his head back and his throat upward in a smooth, naked curve. He moaned.
Ezekiel appeared above him, his thin features framed in black.
“The rituals have begun,” he said. “Rituals as old as the Universe itself, and when they are complete, we shall part your head from its body, your spirit from the fleshly prison in which it resides. You will be as one with the Maker. So will we all.”
“Nooo!” cried Alex, struggling feebly against the powerful unseen forces that confined him.
“Relax,” said Ezekiel, pulling a gleaming black sword from a fold of his garments. “Reconcile your spirit to the moment of its departure. The hour approaches.”
Alex closed his eyes tight shut, so tight that tiny pinpricks of light danced in the darkness within. So this was it. He sobbed, a great heaving sob. He was going to die. In a moment, in a few moments, he would feel the cold steel on his throat, feel the piercing agony as it sliced down through his flesh and bone.
“Nooo!” he screamed again, jerking his head frantically from side to side and then finding even this movement denied to him. Th
e chanting continued. There were drums too–a low, heavy beat– and Ezekiel’s voice intoning strange foreign words.
Alex’s body was now immobile, his lungs gasping for air, his heart pounding frantically in his breast. His spirit, gripped by panic, was similarly paralysed, but as the hypnotic chanting and rhythmic pounding of the drums continued the panic began to abate. Thrown back from the dreadful reality assaulting his senses, his spirit began to explore the curious space that was there in the dark recesses of his mind, as though feeling his way away from the light and into the depths of a cave, his fingers brushing cold against the rough wetness of stone. There was something in what Ezekiel had said to him that had shed a glimmer of light on knowledge that was deeply buried inside him. He sought now to uncover it, to bring it within the reach of his understanding. Part of him was aware that the tempo of the drums had increased, that the chanting was louder and Ezekiel’s voice more impassioned. It would be soon, now. Part of him continued to grope its way along the dark passage, fingers reaching out, stumbling, and he was yet aware that there was something there, something to be found. Already the darkness had a different texture. He probed it with his mental fingertips. It yielded.
His eyes sprang open to see the dark silhouette of Ezekiel poised above him, the sword held high and glinting in the light. The drumming approached a crescendo. The voices of the Brothers were raised in a single, long triumphant note.