by Steve Cole
Kason watched her sourly. She didn’t judge; she suspected many Huns suffered stoically with resting bitch face. Instead she made him jump by sweeping away the foliage from the table.
‘Set dressing!’ the Doctor cried. ‘Third-rate theatre to impress the likes of you! I mean, isn’t this just exactly what you’d expect from a witch’s lair? Props, aroma, colour scheme, it’s perfect! But it has zero bearing on what’s really been going on in here. N-O-W-T, nothing.’
‘Work,’ Kason hissed.
‘Exactly, no sign of any real work being done at all.’
‘You work.’
‘Oh. Yes, I remember. Attila wants something horribly dangerous and destructive, doesn’t he?’ The Doctor leaned her elbows on the workbench. ‘You know, a hero of mine once said that nothing in all the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity. So, as weapons go, Kason – how could I ever improve on you?’
‘You work, or the brown-skinned woman will be killed.’
‘See? Point proved.’ The Doctor started pacing the tent. ‘Is there a back way out of these things?’
‘No.’
‘Not one we can see, at least.’ The Doctor pulled out the sonic. ‘Unless, of course, we try looking very, very closely.’
Yaz drifted in and out of uneasy sleep. When she opened her eyes she found she was dazzled; the sky was still cocooning the Earth below with that golden glow. Looking away she realised that Bial – her Executioner-in-Waiting – had grown bored and given up. He was talking with another soldier, who was smearing his horse’s nose in something dark.
‘Where’d you get the blood, Chegge?’ asked Bial. ‘Rabbit?’
‘Yeah, but it looks scary, right, Bial? Like he eats Romans.’
‘Or like he ran into a tree.’
(Yaz thought she caught movement behind Chegge and Bial, just a glimpse. Wild white hair, a wrinkled face watching, hanging lopsided from shrunken shoulders; not Inkri, this one was somehow more revolting still. Yaz started, looked again, but saw only the soldiers.)
Bial held up a golden amulet on a chain around his neck. ‘You should wear one of these. It has magical powers and will protect me.’
‘Who says it’ll protect you, your mother?’
‘No,’ laughed Bial. ‘Your mother, while she lay with me!’
(Yaz froze as the Tenctrama hag blinked into sight again, closer now, dressed in dark sackcloth rags and standing just behind Chegge. The shining eyes were fixed on Yaz. How could Bial not see her? There was a knife clutched in both of her claw-like hands. Yaz opened her mouth to call out a warning but no sound would come.)
Chegge had drawn his sword on Bial. ‘Show me how your amulet will shield you from this blade, that has sent a hundred to their death!’ But as he shouted, his horse whinnied and reared up, and snorted blood over his shoulders.
Bial only laughed. ‘Perhaps I should trade in my amulet, eh, Chegge? Your horse protects me in its place!’
He was still laughing as the Tenctrama pushed the knife in his back. At the same time, she swept up her arm under Chegge’s chin, and his head flew back with a crack of bones. Yaz tried again to shout out, both in horror and to raise alarm, as both men fell dead to the ground. The horse just stood there, dazed and forlorn with its bloodied muzzle. It took no notice of the Tenctrama that now stood beside it, advancing on Yaz with a gloating smile.
Keep away, Yaz wanted to scream, but the scream wouldn’t come. She turned to run, but found men in ragged robes walking from the white tents with crimson throats, arms joined together to block her retreat, chanting softly over one another: ‘All in the Pit, growing inside me, taken from the Pit, all from the Pit …’
Yaz turned again, saw the Tenctrama hag flicker in her vision. Suddenly the ancient woman was standing right in front of her, the lined, lopsided face up close and cackling. Yaz recoiled, rolled over the hay bale and started to run, circling behind the tents, aiming to get back to Attila’s wooden palace. But another Tenctrama stepped out from between the tents, right in front of her.
It was Inkri.
Yaz tried to shove the old woman aside, but as she touched the old robes it was like they magnetised her to the scrawny form beneath. She couldn’t pull away, couldn’t shake herself free. Inkri’s wrinkled fingers were digging into her own, the toothless smile became one of delight. Yaz felt the other hag place a hand on her shoulder, tangle her fingers in her hair. She caught cold breath on the back of her neck, a smell of decay that made her want to gag. The bony bodies pressed against her like two sides of a vice.
Then Inkri raised her dagger and thrust it down into the other crone’s shoulder. For a confused moment, Yaz thought she was saved, that Inkri had had a change of heart. But a golden light enveloped her now, the glittering trails exploding outward, stretching up to the sky. Yaz looked down at her hands and saw they were transparent. She was fading away with the Tenctrama. They don’t die if you wound them, Yaz realised, it just releases some energy trapped inside. But, energy for what?
‘Doctor!’ Yaz shouted, finding her voice at last, even as the hags’ gurgling laughter drowned it out.
Chapter 20
The Doctor had made a study of the tent with the sonic. ‘Found that back way we were talking about, Kason.’
The guard glowered and said nothing.
‘Guess what? There’s evidence of molecular excitation in the local area on multiple wavelengths. Or, in other words, a spell of teleportation. Perhaps the golden glow in the sky is evidence of the real Tenctrama lair, concealed up there among the clouds? It could operate the same way as a ceiling grid at the dodgems provides power to the vehicles below …’ She gasped, her voice rising with her enthusiasm. ‘Yeah, vehicles. What if the Tenctrama are only vehicles for some kind of motivating force – an energy, or animus. Physical projections of an alien will.’ She started dancing from foot to foot. ‘Yeah, if you split open the flesh, the body unravels with the animus, and both are conducted back up to the Tenctrama ship, ready to be transported back down to Earth whenever! What do you reckon to that?’
‘Work,’ Kason said.
‘Yes,’ came a rasping whisper behind her. ‘Work.’
The Doctor felt a sharp stab of foreboding and knew before she turned, from the sour, rotting stink in the air, that Inkri was back. Kason’s resting bitch face was now a resting blank face; he showed no reaction at all – the same as Yaz and Attila in the war tent.
‘By work, d’you mean the noble and exacting work of an unexpected escape?’ The Doctor turned her sunniest face on the cadaverous crone. ‘Thanks for switching off Kason, I’ll be away now.’
Inkri seized her by the shoulder. ‘You will stop seeking our secrets, Doctor. You will do as Attila asks, use your technology to make his weapons.’
‘Of course, you’re well up for that,’ the Doctor said, ‘cos it’ll make the slaughter worse. Like you did when you separated Attila from his army and directed thousands more to their death going out in search of him. Why are you interfering in human wars? What do you stand to gain from this senseless killing?’
‘Life,’ Inkri hissed. ‘The life of Yasmin Khan is now in our hands, not those of the Huns. And we will deliver on his threats so much more … unkindly than Attila ever could.’
The Doctor went cold to see Yasmin’s pained and pleading expression staring out from the fire in the Tenctrama’s ancient eyes. ‘Let her go.’
Now the toothless smile returned. ‘When you have finished your work.’ With that, she crossed to Kason, who’d already drawn his sword. The Doctor looked away but heard Inkri’s deranged screech as she exploded into vapour trails of light once more.
‘Good getaway.’ The Doctor checked the sonic with a smile. ‘But maybe not as clean as you think.’
‘Work,’ said Kason, and the Doctor got busy doing just that.
Graham sat in Aetius’s personal tent, still dressed in the big, fur robe, with his wrists tied. Watching over him was Consus the slave
and between them both stood the big brass’s big brass bathtub. What Graham wouldn’t give for a good, hot soak right now! Well, perhaps after a change of water, which looked to be more of a soup of mud and blood. But since a bath was off the menu, what else could he do?
Escape, he told himself. With a big old battle ready to kick off, who would stop and question some well-to-do noble in fancy furs?
In the neighbouring tent, Aetius was having his conflab with King Theodoric, restored now and ready for active service. Voices were being raised.
‘I am grateful for my life, Flavius Aetius,’ Theodoric was saying, ‘but you cannot ask us to cast out the Tenctrama as battle is about to begin!’
‘I ask only that you forbid your witches from raising the dead to fight anew. Do they not serve their king …?’
Graham knew he needed to act before Aetius’s discussion had ended. ‘’Ere, Consus. Want me to get rid of that scar? I’ve got a bit left, I’d rather use it on you before your master nicks it.’
The slave looked unhappy, but nodded. ‘Thank you.’
Graham fumbled inside the folds of his cloak for the pot of gel, listening to the diplomatic meeting.
‘Our trenches mill with gibbering corpses,’ Aetius proclaimed. ‘What soldier will give his full life in battle knowing that this is his reward?’
‘Let us hope some will,’ said Theodoric, ‘or else the Huns, dead or alive, will overrun us. Especially if Attila has found himself a new and stronger witch.’
‘I have in my custody a man who knows Attila’s new witch.’ Aetius kept his voice strong and steady, keeping a lid on things. ‘As the overtures of battle begin, my assassin will smuggle him into Attila’s camp, where he shall lure out the witch to her death …’
‘Oh, no.’ Graham felt his blood harden in his veins as the men went on talking. He found the pot of gel and pulled off the top. There were only smears left inside, but Consus didn’t need to know that. ‘Here you go.’ He tossed the open pot into the bathwater. ‘Oh, no! Rotten shot, sorry …’
Graham got up slowly: this was the point in the plan where the slave would fish inside the tub for the miracle cure and, while distracted, Graham could push past him and make a break for it. Consus, though, just looked disappointed, staring glumly at the water.
‘You, er, wanna fish that out, son?’
But the slave wasn’t even looking at him. He was still gazing at the bath, his features slowly twisting in terror.
Graham looked too. ‘Oh, my …’ The muddy, bloody water was churning; then suddenly, impossibly, the figure of a Tenctrama was rising from the tub; like he’d planted a magic bean in the water and this nightmare was growing from it. Gore and filth dripped from her matted hair and dribbled down her face as she stared at Graham, constellations of gold drifting in her dark eyes.
He managed to find his voice. ‘Needed a bath, did you?’
Then he saw that she clutched the pot of gel between bony fingers; somehow, it had brought her here.
The crone put a fingertip to her lips as if to taste it. ‘You bring science from distant stars,’ came the chorus of voices. ‘You wish to interfere with our rebirth.’
Graham shook his head. ‘Not me, mate.’
She looked at Consus then recoiled from him and rounded on Graham. ‘You are disruptive,’ she hissed, ‘and must be removed.’
She took a threatening step towards Graham through the water.
No, you don’t! thought Graham. He rushed forward and tried to shoulder charge the witch, and get past her, but as he ran he tripped on a fold in the rug and headbutted the Tenctrama right in the face. There was a splintering noise as her nose caved in on itself, and a stinking dust flew up from her face. His knees struck the heavy brass tub, he fell and the crone tumbled out of the bath with him.
Graham landed on top of her. She writhed under him, mouth yawning open like the maw of some hideous beast as if to suck him inside. He felt her talons grip his back, start to sink into the flesh as she shook from side to side, panting and slobbering like a dog …
Before he could even scream, Graham realised something was wrong. The Tenctrama’s maggot-white skin was peeling and bubbling, her weird eyes scaling over, movements growing jerky. Graham pushed away from her, rolled clear as she shook like the lid on a pressure cooker and finally ignited into a storm of light and glittering dust.
He blinked in the aftermath, shocked and trying to process all that had just happened. But this was no time to look a wrinkled old gift-horse in its gaping mouth. The drone of voices in the war tent was humming on and Consus was just stood there, staring at the spot where the Tenctrama had been.
‘Reckon I just saved your life, mate. You’re welcome.’ Graham quickly snatched the dagger from the slave’s belt and held it out to him. ‘Now, cut me loose, before another witch comes.’
Consus did as he was told, frantically sawing at Graham’s ropes until they gave way. ‘Now, I’ve got Aetius’s robes.’ Graham pulled the hood over his head to hide his face. ‘The troops might just take me for Aetius off for a wander – if you’re out there with me. You could lead me to the camp exit. What d’you think?’
Consus hesitated, took another lingering look at the dark, wet stains the Tenctrama had left behind on the rug. Then he nodded quickly. ‘I’m deserting.’
‘You and me both, kid.’ Graham grinned and slapped him on the back. ‘Nothing to lose but our chains, right?’
As they left the tent, Graham only wished that it was true.
Chapter 21
Yaz woke without opening her eyes. She could smell earth, and something rotting. For a horrible moment she thought she’d been buried alive, but no. There was dark space about her, and golden flecks like fireflies dancing in it …
With a gasp, Yaz tried to sit up but found she couldn’t move. A Tenctrama was standing over her, eyes narrowed as if peering inside. ‘The child carries no trace of our genetic modifications.’
‘But she is human,’ came the deep-high scratch of another Tenctrama voice. ‘Her ancestors must have passed down the preparation.’
‘No.’ The crone-creature paused, then licked her lips. ‘She shows no exposure to our treatments whatever.’
‘The Doctor must possess the power to undo our work.’
‘She does,’ Yaz hissed.
The Tenctrama moved away, allowing Yaz a better look at her surroundings: it felt as if she were in a forest glade at night, surrounded by the stark shadows of dead trees. She was lying on a slab of stone that seemed to pulse with a slow heartbeat. It was cold. Hidden systems whirred and wailed around her.
‘Is this your spaceship?’ Yaz whispered.
‘This is our haven,’ came a familiar voice, as Inkri came out from the darkness. ‘Anchored in the troposphere of this world until we finally gain what we need.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘What we need to thrive through the centuries instead of merely endure them. And the Doctor will not stop us …’ The old crone hobbled closer, then stopped and screeched. ‘Naelsa!’
The background rush of the haven’s systems seemed to scream with her, shifting drunkenly between pitches.
‘Naelsa is sick. Dying.’ The other Tenctrama started to retch and shake. ‘That trace of technology she detected in the Roman camp …?’
‘Poison.’ Inkri looked straight up into the darkness. ‘I don’t understand …’
‘Reabsorption into the Pit has begun,’ said the other. ‘Her body will reform. She will tell us.’
‘No, Enkalo!’ Inkri was making shapes in the air over what looked to be an enormous, blackened tree stump. ‘This poison will contaminate the Pit. There must be no reabsorption. Naelsa’s remains must be vented. Vent her!’
Enkalo gripped a gnarled branch twisting out from another stump and heaved hard; the branch snapped in a cloud of golden spores. ‘Naelsa endured for so long … How did this happen?’
‘Let us see.’ Inkri’s eyes looked wet as she straightened
and crossed to some white vines like enormous maggots growing on the wall. She plucked strange fruit from among them: a slimy round crystal, into which she peered. ‘Naelsa detected something unnatural in the Roman camp. She left her tent among the Visigoths to learn more and came in contact with an unknown regenerative agent.’
Sounds like the healing gel, Yaz realised.
‘Naelsa told us the Visigoth king was brought back from the point of death.’ She hissed like an angry snake. ‘Some alien unguent?’
‘Anyone tainted with this atrocity will be useless to us.’
‘Tainted? It’s medicine, healing gel – that’s an atrocity to you?’ But as Yaz spoke, she could see shapes and movement in the crystal: the little pot held in wrinkled fingers. Her heart banged harder as she recognised Graham – You’re alive! He was staring in horror as if straight to camera; these had to be events from Naelsa’s viewpoint, she realised, a record of her last moments. Graham hurled himself at Naelsa, there was a confused snatch of movement, a horrible scream …
Then the crystal cracked and crumbled in Inkri’s hand. A single sparkling tear fell from her eye as she scattered the pieces on the floor. Was it sadness, wondered Yaz, or had Inkri felt the pain of Naelsa’s death? The Tenctrama really were all linked in some way … but individuals could apparently be removed from the whole, their energy vented from the Pit.
‘This healing gel your friend has used …’ Inkri loomed over her. ‘The Doctor made it?’
Enkalo came closer too. ‘Is this how she cleansed your body of our mark?’
‘I don’t know what you’re on about!’
‘To undo what we have done to the humans, the Doctor must know of our plans.’ Inkri placed a talon to Yaz’s cheek. ‘How? Where is she from?’
‘Why do you interfere?’ Enkalo added.
‘We’re just travellers.’ Yaz tried to stay calm but could feel the Tenctrama trying to force their way into her thoughts. ‘We came here in the TARDIS.’
‘The blue box in the forest. It is a spaceship?’
‘Kind of.’
