The Burning Man, page 37
part #2 of Kingdom of the Serpent Series
‘It’s about survival, man,’ somebody said in passing. ‘It’s about proving that we’re stronger than what the world throws at us. That working together we’re stronger than anything.’
‘Did you hear that?’
Veitch turned to find Ruth standing behind him. ‘You look different,’ he said. ‘More confident or something. What’s up?’
She smiled, then said, ‘Look at that.’
Miller couldn’t see anything, but Veitch did. Above the various communities, the Blue Fire came and went, shimmering like the aurora borealis. Veitch shivered, but not from the cold.
‘It’s here,’ Ruth said, ‘in this place. And they’re bringing it to life, like our ancestors did thousands of years ago in the stone circles. You know what that means?’
‘I’m not stupid.’ Veitch refused to look at the lights, however much he wanted to, and continued to walk to the middle of the huge crowd that was gathering. The sense of community was palpable. In spite of himself, Veitch couldn’t help but smile.
‘I like it here,’ Miller said.
‘Shut up,’ Veitch snapped.
Anticipation added a buzz to the feeling of well-being. Ahead, illuminated by the orange light of torches, was the wicker man, forty feet high.
‘Wow,’ Ruth said. ‘I think we pretty much know what’s going to happen now.’ She added thoughtfully, ‘The Celts used to build their own wicker men, as part of the harvest festival of renewal. Isn’t that weird, seeing it here, after what we’ve been through?’
‘Yeah, I’ve seen the movie,’ Veitch said. ‘Pity we can’t stick a few coppers in there to stoke the flames.’
Over the next hour, the party atmosphere intensified. People sang and danced, hugged each other, gave performances that ranged from the touching to the bizarre. Finally, as if at some hidden signal, a low chant began. It grew louder, spreading through the crowd, until there was one voice, one heart. Veitch shivered.
Burn him. Burn him.
Suddenly silence fell for a minute or two. And then the flames rushed through the towering figure and a tremendous cheer rose up.
The Burning Man came alive in gold and scarlet and amber, the flames leaping higher and higher, reaching towards the stars, consuming the doubts and fears, the guilt and the hatreds of the old ways, and preparing the path for a fresh start. Veitch was mesmerised.
They watched the spectacle in silence, and then Veitch was overcome with a powerful need. He reached out in the dark and found Ruth’s hand, barely hoping. A second of desperate anticipation and then she closed her fingers around his. They stood like that as the Burning Man blazed, not speaking, not looking at each other. The simplest thing. Veitch felt happier than at any other point in his entire life. He was afire, consumed, transformed.
After several minutes, Miller spoke and broke the spell, but Veitch didn’t mind. ‘I still can’t see why we were sent here,’ he said.
‘Perhaps there was more than one reason,’ Ruth said.
Reluctantly, they made their way back through the crowd towards Rick’s tent. But when they reached the perimeter, a change came over everything, like one discordant note in a symphony.
Troubled, Veitch turned and looked back. Ruth sensed his unease and followed his gaze.
The Burning Man had altered. Around the licking flames, there appeared to be a visual distortion that suggested numerous other Burning Men stretching out to infinity. They merged, became one – not in this world, but looking over it, and in this Burning Man figures writhed: gods, their features tainted by corrupting lines of inky blackness.
‘They’re being consumed.’ Miller’s voice had an unnatural trance-like tone. ‘Apollo … Ra … all the sun gods. Feeding the fire … the black fire …’
Veitch shook him roughly. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
Dazed, Miller rubbed his eyes. ‘Can’t you feel it? It’s reaching out – across the world … across the worlds …’
The crowd was changing subtly, too. The exuberant mood had dissipated to leave a bleak anxiety that echoed the bitter cold of the night. It was in all the faces around them: smiles fading to reveal deep questions that had no answers; worries; a burden of troubles; an infecting emptiness. The Void.
Veitch looked back over Black Rock City. The shimmering patches of Blue Fire were winking out. The dark became darker still.
‘No,’ Veitch said. ‘Leave them alone. They’re not hurting anyone.’
‘Hal said this was the most dangerous time.’ Ruth looked around the unsettled crowd.
‘Fighting back,’ Miller muttered, dazed. ‘Fighting back.’
Veitch cuffed him round the ear for good measure.
And then, in the non-silent silence of shuffling feet, a chant started, quietly at first, growing louder, like the one that had preceded the burning, except this one was grim and despairing. Veitch struggled to make out the words.
Croatoan, Croatoan, they appeared to be saying. Soon there was no doubt. The words echoed loudly to the heavens, one voice, one heart.
‘What does it mean?’ Ruth asked.
‘What does it mean? What does it mean?’ Miller whined.
Veitch grabbed Miller and Ruth and dragged them out of the crowd. ‘We’re going to nab one of those screwed-up cars and get to the nearest city. And then to New York.’
8
Hunter sat alone with his thoughts in the white marble room. He refused to give in to grief, though every time he thought about Laura and what she meant to him it became the hardest fight of his life. For a while there, he’d thought he might have had a chance of a normal life, but now he could see it was just an illusion. But as he battled with unfamiliar emotions, his analytical military mind began to reach other conclusions, and so he was not surprised when Dian Cecht came to him again.
‘Here in the Court of the Final Word, death is not always the end,’ the god said. ‘We have examined the Sister of Dragons again, and we have plumbed the depths of our knowledge, and we have come to the conclusion that there may be some hope – though very slim – that we may be able to bring your Sister back from the Grim Lands.’
Hunter mustered a faint smile.
‘You are not enthusiastic about this prospect?’
‘I’m an optimistic man. Clichéd motto: where there’s life, there’s hope.’
‘Before we continue, I must ask you: what are you prepared to do to ensure that the Sister of Dragons lives?’
‘Anything.’
‘Even give up your own life?’
Yes,’ Hunter said honestly.
Dian Cecht nodded thoughtfully. ‘Then that will be the price. You submit to the Court of the Final Word for exploration and I will return the Sister of Dragons to life.’
‘Exploration.’ Hunter weighed the word. ‘Why do you want me dead?’
‘I do not want you dead as an end in itself. But to excavate the deeply buried secrets of a Brother of Dragons – that would be the greatest thing. Finally to have access to the mysteries of the Pendragon Spirit. What wonders might that open up for my people?’
‘Why don’t you just get what you want from Laura?’
‘She has already been changed by one of my brothers.’
‘Oh, yeah – the plant thing.’
‘We need to divine the secrets of the Pendragon Spirit in its purest form.’
‘Why?’
Dian Cecht hesitated. ‘The Golden Ones, known to your people as the Tuatha Dé Danann, face a period of coming crisis. The Devourer of All Things leads destruction to our door, and though we are at the centre of Existence and can never be eradicated, what lies beyond is even worse. Stagnation. Decay.’ The words were almost too difficult for him to say. ‘Some say we will even be supplanted by Fragile Creatures.’ He gave Hunter a piercing stare, trying to see how much he knew. ‘The small victories of the Brother of Dragons Jack Churchill have allowed your people to take the first steps towards the next level of Existence. As wondrous as my people are, we lack the Pendragon Spirit.’
‘And you want it.’
‘The sole reason for the existence of the Court of the Final Word is to break down the very stuff of reality, to tear apart the fabric of all living things to find the constant mystery at its core.’
‘You haven’t found it yet.’
‘No.’
‘Perhaps you aren’t meant to find it.’
Dian Cecht’s face was like stone.
‘So let me get this straight. I have to give myself up to you so you can cut me into pieces, break me down into my smallest constituent parts and then rip out my Pendragon Spirit. And I’m guessing that is going to be beyond painful. And in return, Laura gets to live.’
‘That is correct.’
‘I don’t even have to think about it. I told you I was prepared to do anything to bring her back. But you’ve got to give me some time to prepare myself.’
‘Agreed.’
Dian Cecht bowed and left the room, almost unable to contain his triumphal air. Hunter continued to sit with his thoughts for a long while. He had done many bad things in his life, bad things that had brought about a good end, and bad things he was told would bring about a good end, but which appeared to have no discernible impact. But saving Laura’s life was clearly a good thing, for him personally and for life in general, and so it justified the use of any means necessary.
With that thought in his head, he set out to explore the court. Word had already filtered out of his impending sacrifice. Wherever he went, he was met with the impassivity reserved for someone already dead. No longer a threat, he was allowed to come and go as he pleased.
In the depths of the court, he saw the abattoir halls where living creatures – many of them blinking, befuddled humans – were broken down into their smallest parts by whirling blades and silver drills, and other implements that he couldn’t comprehend. The screams hurt his ears, and the rich, coppery smell of blood filled the air as it gushed through the network of channels cut into the marble floor.
He witnessed the impressive discoveries that had resulted from the Tuatha Dé Danann’s investigations into the nature of Existence: three-dimensional maps of reality, doors that opened into other times, other worlds, goggles that could see to infinity or just as far within. He spoke to people who had been given strange, troubling powers by the Tuatha Dé Danann’s alterations.
And then he made his way to an enormous underground bunker filled with weapons developed as a by-product of Dian Cecht’s questing. Many were beyond his ability to comprehend; some had sickening biological components that squirmed and spoke when he approached. But for someone whose business was killing, others were clear in their function.
And finally he found his way to a room of silver and glass where Laura was lying on a slab. It looked as if she was only sleeping, and perhaps she was, for around Dian Cecht the truth was as elusive as the Pendragon Spirit. Hunter’s options, though, were limited.
Dian Cecht found him there, deep in thought, his eyes never leaving Laura’s face, but his focus deep within himself. The god was accompanied by six others in crimson robes, masks and skullcaps, the bright colour only emphasising the deadness in their eyes.
‘The time has come,’ Dian Cecht said, with barely restrained eagerness.
‘I reckon it has,’ Hunter replied.
As one of the Tuatha Dé Danann approached him, he turned and plunged his hand through the god’s chest and out of his back. Those unfeeling eyes recognised a moment’s shock, and then the body exploded in a flurry of golden moths.
As the moths soared up through the ceiling, the other Tuatha Dé Danann remained rooted. It was only when Hunter had destroyed the next god that Dian Cecht exclaimed, ‘The Balor Claw!’
Hunter wore an elaborate gauntlet with silver scales around the wrist and on the back of the hand, edging into brass talons. He had recognised its potential in the weapons hall and had forced one of the attendants to describe how it had been constructed from a shard of the essence of Balor, the one-eyed god of death of the Fomorii, the race enemies of the Tuatha Dé Danann.
Another god fell. Dian Cecht fled, but the others were too slow. The clouds of golden moths became a storm.
Hunter had planned his strategy carefully and followed it to the letter. The security of the Court of the Final Word demanded only one entrance, with the worst of its atrocities taking place in the impregnable far reaches of the compound. He jammed the lock of the door, and with no other exit available proceeded to run his quarry to ground.
Moving relentlessly through the court, he sought out every member of the Tuatha Dé Danann and despatched them mercilessly. Gods cowering in the corners of gleaming rooms. Others, oblivious, as they flushed gallons of blood into the sewers or worked silently on some screaming subject. Some saw the Balor Claw and knew what it meant, giving in to their fate with a sense of bewilderment that could only be mustered by those who thought they would never die. Many ran, and Hunter let them, knowing it wouldn’t be long until he felled them. He took his time, searching and herding and slaughtering dispassionately.
He lost count at two hundred and seventy-seven, but he took the time to commit every face to memory before it exploded into shimmering wings. He only paused when he came to the final, extensive killing room, where half-dismembered victims still writhed on the tables in front of the two hundred or more Tuatha Dé Danann packed against the rear wall in shocked disbelief.
He took his time locking the door and then let his gaze wander slowly over the faces. He guessed they could swamp him eventually if they all attacked at once. Mortality, however, and the fear it brought, were new sensations that paralysed them.
Hunter moved forward.
When he was finished, only Dian Cecht remained.
‘What you have done this day is an abomination,’ the god declared.
‘Well, it kind of is, and it kind of isn’t.’ Hunter examined the gauntlet. ‘Nice bit of kit, this. You must be very proud you invented it.’ He stretched. ‘After all that hard work I’m looking forward to some r ’n’ r. Good wine, bit of sex, know what I mean? But first, we’ve got one more bit of business to sort out.’
Hunter herded Dian Cecht back to the glass and silver room. ‘No more double-speak. No more “there’s a price to pay”. Wake her up. Any malarkey and you’ll be spitting moths.’
Seething, Dian Cecht went to work. Hunter had no idea what happened in the room. Afterwards he remembered light and distant chimes, glimpsed the wriggling movement of a silver thing, but all he really recalled was Dian Cecht standing back with hateful eyes and announcing, ‘It is done.’
Hunter leaned over Laura to feel the warm blush of her breath on his cheek. Her breasts rose and fell. Her eyelids fluttered.
‘What you have done this day will not be forgotten or forgiven,’ Dian Cecht said. ‘You will be hunted down and made to pay.’
‘I know. That’s usually how it goes. Which is why I never leave any loose ends.’
Hunter punched the Balor Claw into Dian Cecht’s chest. And within a few seconds, for the first time in its history, there was silence in the Court of the Final Word.
9
Laura came round quickly. She remembered lying on her back in long grass, and then she was looking up into Hunter’s face.
‘No, don’t worry,’ he said. ‘You’re not in heaven.’
‘Can you put me back under?’
‘I’ve just saved your life. A bit of gratitude wouldn’t go amiss.’
‘Big deal. We’re in and out of death so many times they’ve fitted revolving doors especially for us. So what did you do? Give me the kiss of life? Fan me? Hold my hand really, really nicely?’
Hunter laughed, long and loud.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘What’s the joke?’
10
On the blasted heath beyond the Court of the Final Word, above the river of blood, they made love with a degree of tenderness that surprised them both. Afterwards, Hunter traced his finger down between Laura’s breasts to her navel, but there wasn’t even a hint of a scar.
‘So have we worked out exactly what you are?’ he said.
‘Fabulous, and that’s the end of it.’ She rolled over and grabbed her cloak.
‘We could run away together,’ Hunter said. ‘I’d water you twice a day.’
‘Do you really think it would work?’
‘I’m just being charitable. Who else would have you?’
She surprised him with a passionate kiss, then pushed him away. ‘Could you really deprive the world of men of this body … these brains … this wit and intelligence? Hunter, dude, you’d be Public Enemy Number One.’ She held his gaze for a moment, then turned away to dress. ‘Besides, we’ve got work to do.’
‘I had a horrible feeling you were going to bring that up.’
‘I know you, soldier-boy. You were giving me the chance to say it before you had to.’
He didn’t reply.
‘The way I see it,’ she continued, ‘we can both head back to our world, but that leaves the A-team a bit mob-handed. Now, I’m not one to denigrate the power of womanhood, but Mallory could use a little old-fashioned, thick-headed male brutality on his side. And let’s face it, you might as well trademark that description.’
‘We split up.’
‘Not for ever. I still haven’t completely sucked the life out of you yet.’
Hunter realised she was dressing slowly so he couldn’t see her face.
‘Just till this whole thing is over,’ she said.
The sentence hung for a while, but its weight was too great.
‘Fair enough.’ He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice; he was sick of responsibility and obligation, sicker still because she was right. ‘But you’d better not try to skip out on me, ’cause I’ll only have to track you down. In our world, or this, or any other you care to mention.’
And then she did glance back, her gaze challenging, teasing and blasé all wrapped into one. ‘Looks like we’ve got ourselves a deal.’
11
‘Where are we?’
