by James Axler
And then, while the whole of the ville folk watched in rapt fascination, the first of the marionettes appeared above the lip of the cabinet.
K hadn’t thought about that since he had awakened from the trancelike sleep to find that the children were gone. Whether that was because it had been hidden from his conscious mind by some exterior force, or simply because he hadn’t wanted to face it, he couldn’t tell. But now it suddenly came to him with an awful clarity.
The marionettes had spoken in natural voices that couldn’t have come purely from Mr. Jabbs alone. The one that was female had sweet, fluting tones that would surely have been beyond the pockmarked man’s capabilities. More than that, the mellifluous tones of the man and the sweetness of the woman spoke simultaneously. They danced an obscene, orgiastic dance as they spoke of the beginning of the world, and the propagation of the species through incessant copulation to create a race of slaves that would serve them throughout time. Then, seamlessly, the marionettes changed so that they were three: a woman and two young boys. The woman danced around the boys, then, without warning, took a rock and smashed in the skull of one of the boy marionettes. Was that really blood and brain that seemed to spurt from the wound and splatter the children at the front?
Then the scene changed once more so that a group of marionettes was gathered around a stone table. They were clad in feathers, and one wore a mask like a bird. They took a young woman and spread-eagled her on the table as the marionette with the mask raised high a knife before intoning something in an unknown tongue, then plunging it into her chest before cutting her open, pulling out the heart, holding it high to the sun, then eating it.
How could one man make all these marionettes move and talk at the same time? Come to that, how did the blood seem so real?
Now, sitting alone and recalling it for the first time, it seemed to K that he was, for the first time, understanding what had happened. It was as though the marionette show wasn’t that at all—rather, it was an illusion. Mist and mirrors to suggest something that was enlarged in their minds by whatever had clouded them enough to allow the strangers to take hold.
And so the procession of brutality continued, with blasters and grens laying waste to humanity in the name of furthering worship to the dark gods the strangers seemed to serve. The carnage fed these creatures, the chilling made them strong. To serve them would mean a glorious afterlife of that pain that tilted on the edge of ecstasy—like the moment he had seen in tortured men, where they gave in to their suffering and embraced it.
And the younger the blood, the more it fed the creatures.
Now he understood what they had been saying. And now he knew why he was too scared to go after the children himself. Blind NORAD, anyone would be if they had seen that! And all his people remembered the show, if only beneath the level of consciousness so that they weren’t aware of that memory. Look how hard he had been forced to look for the party that followed the mercies into the darkness.
Now K understood all this and one thing more. He and his people had known that the strangers wanted the children, and they would do anything to get them. Anything. And he knew that the fear of what that might entail had made him—and the others—cave in. He could remember, now, the way in which they had mutely stood back and watched the strangers lead the children out of the ville after calmly packing away their toys.
Stood and gladly watched them walk away into the barren earth. Knowing full well what they were doing, and doing it willingly.
K sat alone and wept. For himself, for his daughter and for what he had done.
Chapter Nine
By the end of day two, Ryan had little doubt that the time had come to mount an attack. The first evening had seen the light of the palaces dim swiftly come the night. The children were put to bed, and the adults who acted as their guardians were soon to follow. There was a cursory sec patrol, but in truth it seemed that those who lived in the palaces were secure enough in their location for such patrols to be treated as little more than a formality.
Fine. That suited Ryan and his people very well.
But the watches of the night carried on, so for those keeping watch the atmosphere grew more oppressive. Nothing actually happened, but that was what was creeping over them. Was it this quiet because there was nothing to worry about, or was it that the strange mind-bending forces that had almost stopped them from getting this far were aware of their presence, but were merely biding their time?
Now there was a question, one that played in the minds of all of the companions as they stood their watch.
Come the morning, they resumed their jobs in the same manner as the previous day. All of them were, in their own manner, jittery both from lack of sleep and from the phantom that lurked over their shoulder. It was unspoken for most of the day, but loomed large over their every move and thought.
The day itself, over on the side of the canyon where the sun beat down on the bleached stone of the palaces, proceeded exactly the same as the day that preceded it. Every detail was the same, and it was almost as though it followed the movement of the sun so that everything even occurred at the same time as the previous day—all of it, right down to the midday sacrifice, as another willing victim was led to the slaughter, ritually butchered on the makeshift altar over the site that had been marked out in stones. From the distance of the canyon’s yawning mouth, the companions watched in horrified and fascinated silence as the chilling was enacted again.
It had to mean something, but what? And what, if anything, did it have to do with the stone circle that was proscribed beneath? It was Doc who voiced that question, though he wasn’t the only one to be thinking it.
Ryan was brusquely dismissive. “It doesn’t matter what they think they’re doing. That’s their weird shit to worry about. All we need to think about is what it means to us in practical terms. How much are they going to want to defend their rites? How much do they want to hang on to the children, for whatever reason they want them?”
“How hard are they going to fight us?” J.B. said, his face screwed up as though he’d bitten on something foul, which kind of summed up the way he was feeling.
“Plenty,” Jak said simply.
There was little doubt that he was correct. It looked as though this rite had been going on for some time, and that it was of no little importance was reinforced by the way in which the activity around the circle they were building seemed to increase after the sacrifice had been made. It was as if it gave strength and impetus to their action, whatever the end result was intended to be.
By the time that night had started to fall, and the lights of the palace began to dim with the setting of the sun, Ryan had made up his mind. There was, really, only one course of action that was left open to him. He gathered the companions, abandoning his watch and moving them toward the back of the cave, where the torches they possessed were used sparingly to light the darkness. Though the roof of the cave was relatively high, still it would have been stifling to use naked flames for any brush torches. And although it was cool, the buildup of heat in such an enclosed space would have been as stifling as any smoke produced. Come to that, the chances of smoke escaping and alerting those opposite to their presence—assuming that they weren’t already aware—was too great to risk. So they had sparingly used the old flashlights they carried with them, one at a time and only when strictly necessary, to conserve the batteries they carried.
It was by the light of one of these, shining up and throwing their faces into stark relief, that Ryan gathered them in a circle. When he spoke it was low and insistent, communicating the urgency he was now beginning to feel.
“I don’t know what those coldheart crazies are up to over there, and I don’t really give a shit. Whatever twisted schemes they’ve got is their bastard business. But I do know this—K is going to pay us well to get his ville’s kids back, an
d we need the jack to get supplies. Now mebbe we can get the kids, and just mebbe we might even be able to do something that can set the rest of the youngsters over there free before the crazies chill them. Mebbe. But if we’re going do it, then we’ve got to act quick.”
J.B. nodded. “Yeah, I’d go along with that. Looks like they keep on doing everything the same way, day after day, which makes them kind of easy to predict. The only thing that changes is that weird shit circle they’re making. When that’s done—”
“Exactly,” Ryan agreed, “that’ll be when they really start with whatever it is that they want to do. I’m willing to bet that it involves the kids, and that it’s not going to be pretty. So we need to get at them now.”
“Especially if there is some kind of exterior intelligence that has some power over them,” Doc said darkly.
Jak spit noisily. “Nothing do about that. Not doing anything now, so strike before does.”
“I’m with Jak on this,” Mildred agreed. “If it’s playing cat and mouse with us, then let’s get going before it decides to stop playing and start killing.”
Ryan turned to Krysty. “What do you reckon?” he asked her simply.
“I just don’t know,” she said, shrugging. “If it’s some kind of old intelligence, or just some mutie power they have, then it doesn’t feel like it knows we’re here. It’s like it figured that we just couldn’t get past the shit back out there, and so doesn’t bother this close to home. Bit like the way they don’t recce their own land properly,” she added wryly. “Complacent bastards, too sure of themselves. Mebbe that’s how we can get them.”
Ryan grinned. “That’s the kind of talk I like to hear. We need to get our shit together and start as soon as possible. I’ve been thinking about the best way to hit them.”
* * *
TIME WAS OF THE ESSENCE, but there was no way of hurrying what had to be done. The distances that they had to cover were large, and they could only do it under the cover of dark, and by foot. Those who had traversed the canyons in the days before skydark had generally used burros as transport. The surefooted creatures could take the mountain paths down the sides of the canyon at a rapid pace without risk to life or limb, and could then cross the rocky terrain that formed the canyon floor before beginning the slow, painful ascent of the other side.
Human feet were slower and less sure. Moreover, the two groups into which Ryan had divided his companions were hampered further by the need to move only under the cover of darkness. There was no way that they could make their target in a quicker time, and they would have to risk the remote possibility that, in the course of a further two sacrifices, they could lose some of the young they were charged with recovering. The irony of making the target and not being quick enough to save the baron’s daughter was one that would have no doubt been lost on the baron. No way would they get paid: come to that, it was doubtful it would even be worth returning with the rest of the children unless they were ready for another firefight.
But that was a chance they would have to take. The only way to get to where they wanted was to move in the dark and hide and rest during the hours of daylight. Whether they had slipped under the defenses, or whether the mind—or minds—that had created the illusory defenses was aware but biding its time was something they couldn’t consider. All they could do was stay triple red at all times, and deal with the obstacles that they could see—the patrols that ventured forth in the morning to patrol and recce the area.
Having already watched them for two days, it was a marvel to J.B. that they even bothered. It was a thought that had occurred to all in the group, but somehow it seemed to irk the Armorer more than the others. Maybe it was the sense of military tactics and ways of fighting that had become second nature to him, but it just seemed so, well, stupe.
The purpose of a patrol was to scout to see that the perimeters of your territory were safe from incursion. But these people seemed to just do it because it was expected of them. Twice he had seen it from the cave, and now on the first morning after they had started their journey down into the mouth of the abyss, he watched from a secured spot while the sec party rode out from the palaces of light and down into the canyon, circling before returning to their starting point.
And that was all it was: a circuit that took them around the empty space, a perfunctory and pointless trip across the barren rocks and down into the area where the creek ran and dribbled through the dry stone and bare gorse and scrub. The riders looked impressive on their white mounts, but the horses, despite their surefooted stance, weren’t sturdy and weren’t good fighting stock. Neither were the riders, by the look of them. They were tall and thin, as befitted the build of their steeds, and they looked ahead with a blankness that shone from glassy eyes. Like everything else in that bizarre city on the ledge, it seemed that the riders did everything as though to a ritual and one that was performed almost in a trance. Perhaps it had been so long since anyone had ventured this far into the canyon, or since anyone had even been able to get past the mind-bending defenses that lay in wait across the plains, that they had grown complacent.
As J.B. lay in hiding with Jak and Krysty, watching the riders go past and then come back again, sightless and unseeing, he wondered if it would really be as easy as it seemed to take the settlement. Sure, they were seriously outnumbered, but Ryan’s plan was simple enough and took account of the ritual nature of everything in the city of palaces. They lived and worked on rigidly defined lines, and Ryan had figured a way to slip between these and cause the necessary chaos to extract their target and get out. But how had they managed to survive so long? If the story K had told them when he offered them the job was anything to go by, these coldhearts weren’t so bastard slack when they were in their own territory.
So who was to say that they wouldn’t be able to snap out of their usual ways when the first sign of danger hit?
Anyway, he grumbled to himself as he shifted uncomfortably under the shelter of a rock cluster that formed a natural windbreak close to the sluggish and most narrow section of the creek, it just didn’t seem right that they rode out this way without noticing anything. What if they were more alert to what was around them than they seemed? From J.B.’s point of view, it would make more sense if they noted the presence of intruders and lured them into a trap.
Which meant that he and the others should be triple red about this whole operation.
Ah, hell, maybe he was just feeling really cranky. Considering that they knew they needed to move quick, as the stone circle looked near completion, they couldn’t move with anything like the speed he would have liked.
Moving out of the cave and down the side of the canyon under the cover of darkness had been hell on wheels. The narrow paths were slippery and covered with loose shale underfoot. In daylight it should have been hard enough to move with any kind of speed, but under cover of dark it was near impossible. Especially as they had to keep as quiet as possible. In the still of the dark night, even the slightest sound of loose stone or a whispered curse as a foot fell loose could reverberate across the empty space between themselves and the now-silent city.
Parting at the mouth of the cave, Ryan had led his party one way while J.B. was deputed to lead his in the opposite direction. In theory, at least. As Ryan’s unspoken number two, J.B. was nominal war party leader. He was to direct his section in their part of the plan. But in practical terms there was no way he was going to take the lead down the steep and treacherous paths. Not when he had the excellent night vision and the far more sure feet of Jak in his team.
The albino youth was a ghostly white vision under the wan light of the moon. His dark camou jacket and pants blended in with the landscape, leaving only the occasional shimmer of the metal patches on his jacket and the flowing white mane of his hair to mark his passing as he skipped and hopped over the uncertain terrain, picking out the safest path of descent
. Following in his wake, Krysty found it hard to keep pace. J.B. held back a little, watching them skip ahead. This was partly because he was finding the going hard, and partly because he opted to take some stock of the situation.
Below them the floor of the canyon was shrouded in darkness, only the distant gurgling of the water giving any indication of depth to the dark. Ahead of him, the white dot of Jak’s head bobbed up and down in the dark. It wasn’t so bright under the pale moon, but still stood out like a beacon to the cautious Armorer when compared to the blackness that spread around. If anyone cared to look, their curiosity would soon be aroused by the sight of Jak’s head.
Lucky for them, then, that as he looked across at the far city, J.B. could see that it was completely at peace, almost as though everyone within had bought the farm the moment the sun dropped over the horizon.
Dark night, he thought. If these coldhearts felt that secure in their homes, then it had to be more than just arrogance. The Armorer stopped momentarily and looked along the side of the canyon they were traversing, peering into the shadows to try to pick out where Ryan, Doc and Mildred were making their own descent.
J.B. realized that the other two were slipping away from him and picked up the pace to catch them.
It wasn’t the smartest thing he had ever done. His mouth was dry, and his heart pounded as he felt his balance sway on the unsteady ground beneath him. A couple of times he felt the uncertain ground give, and his feet slip from under him, leaving him floundering on the edge of black space. It was little more than some built-in desire for survival that kept him from plunging into the abyss and reaching the canyon floor a damn sight quicker than Jak or Krysty.