Iástron

by James C. Dunn

  ‘But not close them?’

  Ferranti examined the inner hatch, still intact. ‘No. No, these hatches seal themselves, if left open too long. But I agree with Justus: from one hatch to another they realised how to open it. And that’s not good.’

  ‘It’s not?’

  ‘No.’ Justus stepped through the rubble.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because . . . before we were dealing with beasts. Now we’re dealing with intelligent beasts.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Naffan. ‘Never a good mix. Just look at Crilshar.’

  ‘We need to move,’ Ferranti said. ‘Now.’

  Justus ignited his coil and they all moved through the ruined metal. Anna remained behind the three, gazing around at the black-rock walls. It all seemed so alien, so unreal. Like a nightmare. But, as though a cold wind had suddenly collided with her, she lurched over. Naffan did so too; and then Ferranti. She felt sick to her stomach, and a tear rolled down her cheek as she thought about Gílana. She couldn’t go on. It was over. They were dead.

  Justus’ gloved hand took hers and pulled her up. ‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘I’m here. Ignore what you’re feeling. I’m here.’

  Anna looked up at him; and as the torchlight entered his visor for but a fraction of a second, she glimpsed the man from her nightmares. He was pale and fearsome, and unlike anyone she had ever met. ‘You all right?’ he asked her. She nodded. ‘Good. Come on.’

  After only a minute they descended a short ladder, and entered into a larger tunnel. Justus stopped. ‘This is the boundary of the labyrinth. It’s where my torch stopped working the last time I came here.’ He held up his ignited coilbolt. ‘I doubt this will be much use in here either.’

  ‘Your friend told you to bring it,’ Ferranti reminded him. ‘Just try it.’

  Justus walked forwards and the coil maintained its bright red glow. ‘That genius,’ he whispered. ‘A secret, I’ll bet! I don’t know how he did it, but he’s just given us a chance.’

  Anna’s swiss-knife, however, did not work, so she put it back inside the front-pocket of the suit. For twenty dark minutes they stumbled on, unable to see very much, but always wary of a darker being in the overwhelming shadows around. Anna could hear nothing but her own unsteady breath, and saw nothing but the gleam of the red coil and the haunting shadows it formed, bent and twisted. The passage they had taken wound steadily uphill, and as far as they could tell they seemed to be going a constant left. Unable to fathom the courage to lead them down one of the many tunnels turning off from the main passage, Justus continued through, perhaps hoping to recognise something akin to a way out—something new; something human. But they were met with nothing.

  Small gaps in the black rock formed near impossible pathways. Justus took them through anyway; although Anna thought he really had no idea where they were heading.

  ‘Can we . . . please . . . stop?’ said Naffan after a while. ‘It’s so hot.’

  ‘Good idea,’ agreed Ferranti. ‘Let’s stop for a moment.’

  ‘It really is hot,’ Anna said. ‘Is it just me or is it getting harder to breathe, even with the oxygen tanks?’

  ‘It’s not just you.’ There was alarm in Ferranti’s voice. He took the coil from Justus and proceeded to help Naffan as he struggled to breathe in the corner in which he had almost collapsed.

  Anna shuffled towards Justus and they sat at the edge of a large rock. She had not found the chance to talk to him alone yet. He had been in her dreams for so long; she had so many questions. For a minute or two they simply sat, before Anna plucked up the courage to speak. ‘You had the dream, didn’t you?’

  He looked up. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I dreamt of you,’ she said.

  ‘And I, you.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I don’t . . .’ He sighed.

  ‘I ran away from home,’ she said. ‘I thought I was running from you, from my nightmares, from—’

  ‘Gilaxiad.’

  Anna nodded. ‘It’s that word. It brought us here, called to us. We weren’t running away. We were running here, only we didn’t know it.’

  Justus said nothing.

  ‘What’s Gilaxiad?’ she asked.

  Again he did not reply.

  ‘Antal?’

  He continued to stare ahead. Unable to see his face, she could hear his breathing quicken. Unnervingly, he whispered, ‘Don’t move, Anna.’

  She froze. ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Just don’t move.’

  Her body shook. She stood and went to turn her head. ‘What can you see?’

  ‘Anna, don’t move!’ said Ferranti. ‘Stay still, and don’t turn around.’

  CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

  JUSTUS STARED DEAD ahead. They couldn’t breathe the air; couldn’t move without feeling disheartened; yet somehow they could still hear the sound of a distant call. A slow, lingering hiss, deadly and ominous. He knew what it was from, but no matter what he did he couldn’t bring himself to move. He froze where he was.

  Directly behind where Anna stood, balanced upon a jutting rock face, metres high, crept one of them. Ferranti and Naffan stood, petrified. They had to run. The beast above stood still, and shifted its dark, horned head from side to side as though playing with them as a cruel and vicious predator toys with its prey. Surely it had seen them.

  Justus peered with bated breath as Ferranti moved slowly towards Anna, the coil humming in his hand. Anna knew something was behind her, but couldn’t turn. Ferranti reached with his hand to find hers and pulled her away, ever so slowly. Where was there to run?

  Out of the corner of his eye Justus spotted old Naffan, who had backed up towards another tunnel. But in his haste he reversed too quickly and fell sideways into a pile of black stone, which shifted. They all heard it, and the beast’s attention stirred. It seemed to perceive Naffan, before climbing down slowly and almost mechanically to their level, standing upright and rising almost eight-feet in height. Skeletal and black, it moved between them.

  Justus gritted his teeth. He couldn’t let it hurt anyone. It was his fault they were here. But he was unarmed. The demon passed by Anna and Ferranti and moved slowly towards where Naffan had fallen. Then without warning it bounded forwards, knocking Justus over and landing on top of the screaming old man. He shrieked and cried in terror, but the hiss of the creature blocked out his cries as it pulled him away. Into the dark.

  Ferranti seized the moment and wrenched Anna down one of the smaller openings in the rock to their left. Justus hesitantly went to follow, praying that whatever the creature was doing to Naffan he would have a quick death. There was nothing he could do for him now. The screams ended, the life-suit now out of range. He turned and went to follow the others down the passage. But something was in his way. A vast shadow cut off his escape. A towering, horned wraith. It rose above him, still, silent, ravenous.

  The red glow of the coil faded fast.

  Justus froze.

  Light disappeared down the tunnel.

  He was alone.

  A cruel and bellowing hiss filled Justus’ ears and he was picked up and thrown into the air. Landing hard on jagged rock he felt beneath him and crawled for his life. No! Please no! He stretched out his arms, clinging to whatever he could, but hidden hands stole him from the ground, lifting him up and hurling him once more. He landed upon a large rock, and crawled between that and the wall, winded. He felt his way between them, crawling on his back with all the strength he could summon.

  A vast shade towered above. Something collided with his chest. Breath was knocked from his body. Disorientation numbed his mind. He backed up a little more, struggling to stay alive in the overwhelming darkness.

  Another screeching hiss filled his ears. Arms grabbed at him. He pulled himself deeper within the rock. Rage-filled horns battered the black stone. In the dark he couldn’t tell how close they missed him by—if they’d missed him at all.

  In his life he’d done things most men dreamed of. His crew thought he
was brave. A hero. But he knew he was merely stubborn. And now stubborn is how he would die.

  In seconds he found his chance. The dark shadow of the horns passed by him, and Justus took hold. Deep within his crevice, he didn’t let go. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. The beast pulled back and he wrenched the horns within the cavity towards him. They became lodged within the gap. Hisses cried all around. The creature twisted and turned. Justus held on, pulled left and right, back and forth—

  Snap!

  The hissing stopped. A large form collapsed to the ground.

  Justus picked himself up and felt around. Was it dead? Where were the others? What could he do now? All was dark. All was silent, until—

  ‘GILAXIAD!’

  His stomach twisted, heart shattered.

  ‘GILAXIAD!’

  ‘ANNA!’ he yelled, feeling his way along the jagged rock, then the tunnel, breaking out into a run, hurtling in the direction of the voice. But it wasn’t Anna’s voice. It was something deeply horrifying.

  ‘GILAXIAD! GILAXIAD!’

  He felt his way towards the sound, the way the others had run. He moved down a long passage. At once he could see a light at its end, dim and flickering. He ran and ran, his heart beating faster and faster. He came to the end of the tunnel. And there he saw it.

  * * *

  Ferranti dragged Anna down the jagged tunnel so hard she thought he would tear her arm from its socket. She knew he wasn’t about to let her fall back, but through the heat of the life-suit and the weakness of her failing limbs, she knew she couldn’t go on; they was so exhausted and the beasts were right behind.

  ‘Antal!’ she said. ‘Ferranti, wait! We’ve left him!’

  ‘Keep going!’ he said. ‘We can make it!’

  ‘But Antal!’

  ‘Come on!’

  Anna looked back, unable to see a single thing, and charged headlong into Ferranti, who had stopped in front. They both collapsed to the ground, breathless and burning. Anna looked up, and in those few seconds she thought she had stopped breathing, or perhaps fallen from consciousness. Everything that had occurred, for good or for evil, had brought her to this place; and as Anna Berenguer stood in the black-rock chamber into which they had charged, the enormous and terrifying, black-fired and beautiful, sadly-stunning, evil, and utterly unspeakable orb hovered before her, beckoning her across the abyss of space like a clear siren caught in the wind. She picked herself up and drifted forward, her heart pummelling her chest. She knew this was why she had dreamt of the black sphere; she knew it had existed, but how and for what reason she knew she was about to discover.

  The chamber surrounding her curved about the orb, and it was larger than she had dreamt, reaching unknown heights and depths. She came to the brink of the fissure which swelled out beneath, above, and all around the black fire. It was calling to her, and she knew what it was.

  ‘GILAXIAD!’ she heard and the words echoed around her in a voice, dark, deep, and terrible. ‘GILAXIAD! GILAXIAD! GILAXIAD!’ She stretched out her hand and bowed over the gap. She had to touch it. She was meant to touch it—

  But a hand grasped her shoulder, pulling her backwards. ‘Anna, no!’ Antal Justus cried and he hauled her back and into his arms. ‘Anna, you mustn’t!’

  ‘It’s the orb!’ she said. ‘The orb from our dreams!’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘It’s calling to us!’

  As he pulled her back Ferranti stumbled over and the two captains studied the chamber, searching in panic for another way out, pointing the coilbolt in many directions. But shrieking hisses called out, getting closer.

  ‘Over there!’ Ferranti said.

  ‘No,’ Justus replied. ‘That’s the way we just entered. I can’t see another way out!’

  Anna turned back to the orb. It gave off a faint, deceiving light; rolling limbs of shadow reaching out. She looked down, and there she spotted something, half-buried in a small mound of stone. Soft, glistening metal. A splintered jewel. Kneeling down she picked it up.

  ‘GILAXIAD!’ she heard. ‘GILAXIAD! GILAXIAD!’

  She twisted and turned in all directions. ‘Can’t you hear that?’ The captains did not reply. They hadn’t heard it . . . hadn’t felt it calling. It came from the orb . . . from the glistening bracelet she held in her palm—the stunning circlet of silver she had stolen from the black-rock floor.

  Another hiss bellowed through the chamber.

  The bracelet was calling to her. She could feel it pulsating through her body, her mind, and her soul. She placed it over her wrist, on top of the gloved life-suit.

  And at once she knew her mistake.

  The black flames leaping from the orb began to dance and flicker, jumping towards her faster and closer, licking the air around her. A strange smoke rose from her wrist and she realised the bracelet had burned through the suit, now attached to her skin. She could feel it burn. It felt good. She felt strong. Powerful. Unshakable.

  Then the dark flames of the orb altered, and they began to swell into a burst of bright white as though a mortal eclipse was ended; they continued to attack the far walls of the chamber and stretch around Anna like a weightless, draping blanket of light.

  ‘GILAXIAD! GILAXIAD! GILAXIAD!’ called the cavernous orb once more. The dark bracelet urged her forward. She leaned over the edge and touched the flaming sphere.

  The chamber disappeared and Anna looked down upon a green and blue planet; behind it the sun faded and a silver moon circled perpetually. The sun then set, leaving behind a darkened world, broken and dying in flame and death and despair . . .

  . . . the face of her uncle, worn and weary, looked down upon her and tears streamed down her face. He lay lifeless, pale and cold . . . his image faded and Gílana looked up at her, smiling; she held out in offering something small, clutched in her arms. What it was she could not see . . . at once Callista materialised beside her, and reached out a hand to her, whispered, ‘No.’

  Anna stepped back. The dying world was gone.

  ‘Anna!’

  ‘NO!’

  Ferranti and Justus veered towards her but were thrown back and down to the ground. Anna shook wildly from what she had just witnessed, and found herself thrown forward too. But like a thrashing wave in the ocean she was wrenched back. Ear-splitting drums rumbled through the chamber: the screams of hell and a million voices crying out in agony. Hisses and snarls rose up and around. White flame surrounded her. The captains held onto the jutting rock but Anna was unable to maintain her grip. The surge dragged her back, screaming and crying for help. Justus leapt forwards and took her hand as she fell over the edge of the fissure. His grip did not hold and she plunged, slow and silent, down into the dark.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY

  THE DRUMS THAT rolled and beat paired with the pounding in Ruben Berenguer’s chest as his heart danced in a symphony of sporadic pulses. His soldiers marshalled before him, their coilbolts at their sides, each carrying a secure screened helmet. All would die for him today; each and every one would give their lives for the cause. And in return their faithful, legendary general was going to betray them all.

  The briefing had been going on for the best part of an hour. Crilshar was the most difficult planet in the entire Four Systems to assault. The star at the centre of the Second System bowed in comparison to the other three, especially in mass and power. Life existed on Crilshar only because of the fact that it was all settled below it. The many caverns, mined for centuries, offered protection from Proxima’s lethal solar flares, deadly radiation, and immense heat.

  The invasion of Crilshar was sure to be the deciding battle, and no doubt the pivotal moment, of Ruben’s life. And now he was sure: he would give the lives of every last legion and risk whatever war would arise as a consequence, just to see his girls safe once more.

  Large machines of war consumed the backdrop and a careful humming drilled through the ground, walls, and ceiling. As the drone slowed to barely a murmur everybody knew the leap had been
completed. They had arrived at Crilshar.

  ‘Steady yourselves!’ Captain Mendoza shouted. ‘All ready at the General’s word!’

  Ruben nodded to her, and then turned to the screen behind at the projection being transmitted from the viewing platform. There, waiting for them, the molten planet Crilshar loomed in the distance. A moment later and another screen had taken its place. The rotund, red face of Retani Iraan, the inept son of Master Gobisla, appeared; it did not bare its usual joyous smirk, but a much graver and without doubt more fearful expression. The fear, however, did not stop the corpulent man from tucking into a seven course selection of artery-clogging fodder.

  Alongside the image sprang another. Chief Vasily stood, flanked by half a dozen Rotavarian warriors. He had agreed to remain with his vessel, the Maelstrom, and aid in the orbital strike. Regarding the General with a sturdy nod he brought a fist to his breast in salute. The General reciprocated; Vasily had been loyal ever since he’d first met him on Rotavar, and he could not have been more indebted.

  A third picture then appeared above the other two and the thin figure of an elderly, bespectacled gentleman smiled weakly back.

  ‘Von Viticus,’ Ruben said. ‘Good to see you.’

  Viticus raised his chin and his wrinkled features relaxed into a brave grin. He moved his dry lips as though chewing and blinked many times as one with an ocular condition.

  ‘So,’ Ruben said, ‘this is it. The Four Systems of Humanity have chosen four allies to oppose the mightiest threat. I know each and every one of you will have read, re-read, and thoroughly retained the preliminary outline of attack. But of those for whom this design remains uncertain, I will say this: we attack, not to preserve Crilshan, or indeed Proximan, culture and society, but to remove the principles by which the Dishan and their forces rule without sympathy, without clemency, and without humanity.

  ‘Lives will be lost. Damage taken. But within our shells of strength and metal we will descend through every last level of Crilshar, until we control the world itself!’ Every single soldier and every last captain, all ambassadors and politicians, leaders, and other worlders hung on to his words. ‘We confront a dark and powerful enemy. But together victory is ours. It was done fifty years ago. It will be done today!’