Simon stood up. ‘Reynald seems unstoppable; few are brave enough to confront him. Come. We must root him out of the church once and for all.’
‘What makes you think we can stop him?’ Lechasseur asked.
‘There’s more to you than meets the eye, Lechasseur. Anyone can see that. Search inside yourself. You have to be able to defeat him. You embody what little hope we have left.’
Lechasseur sighed. ‘I wish I had your faith in me.’
Simon led Lechasseur out of the building and through the streets of the city, being careful to stay in the shadows.
‘So, how many knights have you gathered?’ Lechasseur asked.
Simon looked sheepish. ‘Few will face Reynald. Most are busy outside the city fighting Kerbogha. Those that made it inside have been scared away by the creatures.’
Lechasseur shook his head. ‘And you call yourselves soldiers. He’s bound to have some weakness. We’ll go to the church soon, but I need to find Emily first.’
Simon looked nervous. ‘Honoré, I’m afraid I have not been completely honest with you. When I said that Emily was safe...’
Lechasseur looked levelly at Simon. ‘If she’s been harmed...’
Simon shook his head, his eyes showing longing. ‘She is as safe as possible, but the Fendahleen are everywhere. Please, let me explain.’
13
Emily’s horse slowed as she neared the city walls. Moonlight reflected off the long line of watchtowers encircling the city, and she had to be careful not to be seen.
She dismounted and adjusted her chain mail tunic. The creatures inside Antioch had so far proved themselves to be ruthless, and if the crusaders were to consolidate their hold on the city in the face of the battle with Kerbogha, they couldn’t afford to lose any more people, even apparent servant women like Emily. It seemed that word had got around about her prowess as a warrior. The crusaders now numbered barely a few thousand, the rest having died, deserted or settled along the way, but they were so close to their goal, there was a sense that it was only a matter of time before God finally rewarded them for their efforts.
This was not a place to stay forever. If the crusaders survived their current battles they would soon begin their journey to Jerusalem, something Emily definitely did not want to be around for. It was at times like this, separated from Honoré, in a completely foreign and confusing situation, that she really missed home. But a small voice inside her kept saying that London of the 1950s was just where Honoré lived, just where she’d settled after she appeared there one day as if from nowhere. It was no more her true home than this world of the 11th Century. But she tried not to listen to the voice. However she’d got to London before her amnesia set in, she had been put there for a reason, and whatever that reason was, she was sure Honoré Lechasseur had a part to play in her eventual destiny. As she stared up at the citadel of Antioch, and at the magnificent buildings that stood before it, she prayed that her friend was still alive.
Simon and Lechasseur arrived at the Church of Saint Peter and manhandled the heavy wooden door open.
‘Reynald!’ Simon called out. ‘I know you’re here somewhere!’
From the shadows at the edge of the room, Lechasseur heard a laugh and the clink of chain-mail.
A man stepped forward into the red light. It was Reynald.
‘So you survived,’ he said, impressed. ‘After you disappeared in the time storm, I assumed the manifestations of my master would have killed you by now.’
‘What are those creatures in the city?’ Lechasseur asked.
Reynald smiled. ‘For the return of the Fendahl to this world, several things are needed. Those creatures are part of that process. They feed off the energy created at the time of death, each one passing that energy to feed me in turn, giving me the strength to be reborn into my true destiny, the core body for the Fendahl. The creatures ensure we have a constant supply of energy until that time.’
‘Your madness stops here, Reynald,’ Simon muttered.
‘And we haven’t time to chat,’ Lechasseur added.
From the corner of his eye, Lechasseur noticed a corpse lying on the ground. He recognised him from the crusader camp at Antioch. It was Eudes, another of Simon’s vassals.
‘I’m not the first one to try to stop you, am I?’ he said.
Reynald smiled. ‘Many believe that they can exorcise the devils within me, but they are all wrong, and they all die trying.’
‘“Few will face him...”?’ Lechasseur glowered at Simon. ‘You lied to me, Simon. They have faced him, they’ve just all been killed!’
‘I had to say something to make you come with me,’ Simon insisted. ‘If you’d known about the deaths, you would have kept away. But please, I know you’ll succeed. He can’t hurt you, Lechasseur.’ He glanced at the corpse. ‘You’re not like the others.’
Lechasseur took a step back and began speaking quietly. ‘No, Simon. There’s more to it than that. How do you know so much? Why are you so desperate for everyone else to have a go at Reynald here. What’s to stop you doing it yourself?’
‘I...’ Simon looked worried. ‘I would, of course, but I’m just a humble servant of God. If I go near him, I’ll surely die.’
‘And I won’t?’
‘You’re special, Lechasseur. You’re different.’
‘So you keep saying.’ Lechasseur had long suspected that Simon had a hidden agenda, but now he was convinced. ‘Every knight I’ve met here so far has been prepared to fight unflinchingly for his faith, convinced that he was assured of a better place in the afterlife if he happened to get killed.’ Lechasseur looked into Simon’s eyes. ‘You’re not a coward. I can see that. I have seen that. But there’s something else going on. I think you’re hiding something.’
Lechasseur reached out suddenly, grabbed Simon by the arms and spun him around. Caught by surprise, Simon toppled off balance, and Lechasseur pushed him stumbling straight into Reynald, like a bowling ball into a pin.
Reynald caught hold of Simon, and restrained him with one arm around his throat.
‘Foolish knight!’ Reynald said. ‘Another victim for the Fendahl!’
‘No!’ Simon screamed. ‘You can’t do this to me!’
‘You should have been warned away by the Fendahleen,’ Reynald gloated. ‘They’re making sure that no-one interferes with my plan. As servants of the Fendahl, they’re invincible. All their victims will soon become part of the most magnificent experience in all creation. But only the chosen few are transformed into Fendahleen themselves. Now you will have the honour of becoming the twelfth and final disciple. With you as a servant of the Fendahl, the gestalt will be complete and my master’s summoning can be achieved!’
‘What are you going to do?’ Lechasseur demanded, but Reynald ignored him. The robed man raised his other hand, in which he held the shard of bone. He gazed at it in admiration, and slowly lowered it to press against Simon’s neck.
‘Hold still,’ Reynald giggled. ‘This may hurt.’
Lechasseur had suspected there was more to Simon than he was letting on, but had he been mistaken? Had he in fact just pushed the man to his death? He could only look on as Reynald dug the shard into Simon’s neck, and Simon screamed in agony.
Simon’s face seemed to be drawing in, getting thinner, as a green vapour appeared and surrounded him. Reynald smiled and held the shard in place.
Simon let out another cry, but then his voice quietened and he closed his eyes, as if he was preparing himself for death. The expression of pain seemed to lift from his face, and soon he seemed calm and composed.
Lechasseur stared at him, amazed. ‘What’s happening to you?’ he asked. Rather than the life draining from him, as it had from those of the knights who had gone before him, his face seemed to be liquefying and breaking up, shifting like molten wax.
Simon looked up at Reynald, wha
t was left of his face showing grim determination. He then reached an arm up and grabbed the older man around the neck. The bone shard clattered to the floor as Reynald tried to break free, but Simon began to squeeze, tightening his hold on the older man’s throat. Reynald groaned, struggling for breath.
Lechasseur was impressed by Simon’s newfound courage in the face of death. As he watched Simon’s features continue to melt away and he saw the determination in his eyes, a realisation started to dawn on him. Unless he was mistaken, it seemed that the courage came from being the one in control of the situation. It wasn’t Reynald who was causing Simon’s skin to peel from his flesh, his flesh to peel from his bones, it was Simon who was doing it to himself.
Lechasseur watched, captivated, as Simon’s now-exposed bones grew whiter, brighter, and began to burn like magnesium. Suddenly a magnificent aura surrounded him, a bright silhouette of white against the church wall. His back appeared to be growing, to be expanding, until, with a sound like tearing cloth, huge white-feathered wings burst free, pushing through his flesh and sending clumps of blood and muscle tissue splattering across the room.
Simon flexed the wings, stretching them out into the air like a hatching chicken, then used them to pull himself away from Reynald, who lay on the ground, shocked almost senseless by what he had witnessed.
Simon’s form continued to change, his bones and flesh splintering, blood raining down as his old body was literally ripped apart, replaced with what looked like white robes, glowing hot and bright, illuminating the room.
The light spread across Simon’s face, and gradually his human features began to reappear, making him look fresh and youthful.
It was the most powerful sight Lechasseur had ever seen, like a vision of Heaven, a creature combining an unspeakable beauty with a primal, alien form. It was intoxicating to look at, and impossible for Lechasseur to take his eyes from. He could feel raw emotion coming from Simon. A mixture of pain, joy, fear and hope. Lechasseur remembered the creature he had seen with Barnaby in 1921[1]*. That had exuded the same sense of power and emotion and he felt honoured to be a witness to it. ‘What are you?’ he asked in awe.
Simon beat his wings, and they thumped powerfully in the air, lifting him several feet off the ground. ‘I’m sorry you had to see me like this, Honoré Lechasseur.’
The creature that had once been Simon looked sad, dejected. ‘You made a big mistake, Honoré. Like your friend, Emily, I have the gift of channelling time, of being able to move through it to do my master’s bidding. I journeyed back from an era long after yours to help the people of this year, but my arrival caused a ripple in time that allowed the Fendahl to begin its manifestation. Now, I can do little except watch while the people I was sent to help bring about their own destruction.’
Simon swooped down until his face was inches from Lechasseur’s. ‘I know what you are, Honoré Lechasseur. I know you are no Eastern merchant. I know about you and Emily, travelling through time, changing history and interfering.’
‘We don’t interfere,’ Lechasseur insisted. ‘We just get caught up in other people’s messes.’
‘You interfered in my plans,’ Simon sneered. ‘I’m an envoy, sent back in time to ensure Reynald’s defeat, to ensure this timeline did not occur. The Fendahl was not supposed to return for a millennium yet, but something happened. You changed history, Honoré. Reynald started his plan early, before I could find a way to stop him, and now the Fendahl has returned to bring death to the world!’
As Simon finished speaking, the ground began to tremble. ‘The Fendahl approaches!’ Reynald cried. ‘Another victim must have been converted to a Fendahleen instead!’
The church began to shake as the earthquake grew stronger. Pieces of tile and mosaic began to flake and fall from the ceiling, unable to resist the stress. If the quake grew much stronger, the church would be in danger of collapsing. ‘My plan is complete!’ announced Reynald joyfully, rising to his feet. ‘The Fendahl lives again!’
There was a bright flash of light and Simon surged upwards toward the roof of the church. Then he was gone, as if he had passed straight through it.
‘Wait!’ Lechasseur cried. His first instinct was to follow Simon, and it seemed that Reynald had the same idea. The hooded man snatched up the shard once more and darted through an archway on one side of the nave, disappearing up a flight of steps into darkness and presumably up to the roof. The church was shaking alarmingly now, and Lechasseur realised that moving to a higher level with the building on the point of collapse probably wasn’t the wisest course of action. But it seemed he had no choice if he was to stop Reynald and learn more about the creature Simon had become.
He raced after Reynald and eventually caught up with him as he reached the very top of the flight of stairs and stepped out onto a small ledge surrounding the roof, overlooking the city. Winds blew violently above the church, the force of the gathering storm increasing all the time. The Simon creature was hovering above, as if waiting for something. Lechasseur gripped the wall tightly as the earthquake continued to rumble.
‘What the hell are you playing at, Reynald?’ he cried. ‘Get down from there.’
‘My dear Honoré,’ Reynald shouted over the rumbling noise, ‘Hell is exactly what I’m playing at!’
Lechasseur was distracted as a familiar female voice called from the steps behind him.
‘Honoré?’
From the shadows, Emily emerged, clad in a dirt-covered suit of armour, her hair knotted and grimy. ‘I knew you were alive!’ she said, rushing to give her friend a hug.
‘I’m relieved you’re safe,’ said Lechasseur, returning her hug. He gestured to where Simon was hovering above them. ‘You have to see this.’
Emily turned to the source of the screeching coming from her right and saw Reynald standing on the narrow ledge that encircled the domed rooftop, staring into the eyes of the creature that had once been Simon. Emily’s eyes widened in awe. ‘What... what is it?’
‘Simon. He... he had more than a couple of secrets.’
Emily studied the being before her. Like an angel, or a tornado, or a monster... She looked at the expression on the creature’s face and somehow knew that Lechasseur wasn’t lying. This was indeed Simon.
‘How...?’
‘Whatever he is, I think he’s a time channeller.’
The blood drained from Emily’s face as Lechasseur’s words sunk in.
‘Look at my work,’ Reynald shouted back at Lechasseur and Emily, pointing across the city. The view was terrifying. Burning buildings, mounds of corpses strewn around like beacons, all under an angry crimson sky. ‘All this glory, all to prepare for the coming of the Fendahl, and now that moment has arrived!’
Reynald lifted up the shard he’d been using to extract the life-force from the soldiers. ‘Show yourself in me, oh ancient one, I call you forward to fulfil your destiny.’ He held the piece of bone high above his head and began chanting in a tongue that sounded to Emily like something less than human.
The storm raging far above in the clouds seemed to descend, the noise increasing to a deafening level. As Reynald continued to chant, a bolt of lightning shot forth from above and struck the roof near him, but no damage appeared to have been done.
Reynald turned to face them, his eyes now orbs of pure black, his hair writhing like snakes, his body glowing, illuminated in a bath of bright gold light. ‘The moment of summoning is complete!’ he announced. ‘The Fendahl lives once more!’
‘Not if I can help it,’ Emily cried, pulling her sword from its scabbard and lunging forward towards Reynald. Reynald’s reactions were quick, and he too drew his sword. He swung the heavy weapon round to parry Emily’s blow, and it seemed that she had lost her advantage.
‘Foolish girl,’ Reynald shouted. ‘You can’t stop the Fendahl!’
The blood-red sun was setting, the skies darkening, the storm
clouds above swirling frantically.
‘Well it can’t hurt to try!’ Emily said, flinging herself forward and into Reynald, doing her best to push him over the edge of the parapet. Reynald grasped hold of Emily and attempted to steady himself, his feet scuffing at dust on the ledge, knocking pebbles of rock down to the ground far below. Then he fell backwards, and Emily went over after him.
‘Emily, no!’ Lechasseur cried as he saw them begin to fall, helpless to do anything to stop it. He reached out, hoping to be able to touch Emily, so that they could jump through time to safety, but she was too far away.
But then time seemed to freeze, like a photograph. Looking on in astonishment, Lechasseur realised that Emily and Reynald were still falling, but only by a miniscule amount each second. Was this his time sensitivity going into overdrive, he wondered? Was he himself frozen in time, immobile as he had been when the Fendahleen approached? But then, as the storm fired another bolt of lightning down to the roof, he realised it wasn’t frozen time he was witnessing. Emily and Reynald were clashing on a psionic level, locking each other where they were, both time travellers, both equally powerful. Sparks of blue electricity began to circle around the warring duo and a gust of wind, a miniature cyclone, surrounded them.
‘Help her!’ Lechasseur cried to the angel above, watching in horror as Emily hung in mid-air, just moments away from meeting a bloody end hundreds of metres below.
‘I can’t touch him,’ the creature that had been Simon insisted. ‘She must do this herself.’
Emily screamed.
‘Fight him, Emily,’ Simon urged, flapping his wings and circling the warring duo. ‘You can do it if you believe you can.’
Emily’s mind was in turmoil. On the edge of her perception she could see the ground far below, the battered city of Antioch. In the centre of her vision was the craggy face of Reynald, staring wildly into her soul. His eyes had merged with the time storm, the phenomenon she had encountered before only when jumping through time with Lechasseur. As their minds touched, she felt a moment of true kinship, and saw Reynald’s naked soul in a way few others ever could. It was at that moment that Emily realised what Reynald was. He wasn’t a time channeller like her, he was a time sensitive, like Lechasseur. He was trying to push her away, force her to the ground below, but she fought back, using her mind as well as her physical energy. She didn’t understand quite how it was that they had come to be suspended in mid air, but she somehow knew it was as much her doing as Reynald’s. But he was strong, and she could not fight him for much longer.
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