by Simon Clark
Paul, Elsa and West waited for Dominion’s reaction. He merely nodded at the huge timber case that housed the mobile regenerator. ‘We’re running out of time. Move this to the truck.’
31
The Remaking of Saiban
Noon arrived on the twelfth chime of the church clock in Scaur Ness. The sun raised the temperature of the garbage lying in the streets. That trash can aroma of sweet decay reached the Pharos. This is what Elsa exchanged for the smell of fish in the back of the truck as it stopped outside the portcullis.
Dominion beat the sides of the truck as he called out, ‘Hurry up. We don’t have much time left.’
As the occupants of the Pharos winched up the portcullis Elsa and West helped the creature that they’d found in the regenerator.
‘Hurry up,’ Dominion repeated. ‘You should bring the regenerator out first.’
Elsa disagreed. ‘We put the patient first.’
‘Thank you.’ The man’s huge, misshapen head gave an exhausted nod. ‘You’ll find I’m a rotten patient. By the way, I’m the Brigadier.’
‘Brigadier…?’
‘Just Brigadier. My name became redundant a long time ago.’ He grunted. ‘Warn your friends; I’m not a pretty sight.’
Elsa said nothing, but it was hard to disagree. The man must have been as tall as Dominion, towering a couple of feet over the rest of the God Scarers who could hardly be described as diminutive. Only where the God Scarers were aesthetically beautiful with their athletic physiques, flawless skin and bright eyes, the Brigadier walked with a stoop. The huge bulbous shoulders made him top heavy. From the head blazed two protruding eyes that had the appearance of hens’ eggs squeezed into a pair of eye sockets that were clearly too small. The rounded dome of the head was hairless, apart from that odd hank of long hair that sprouted above a malformed ear. The man was hardly complimented by his garb. In the rush to load the regenerator there’d been no time to find clothes that fitted him. Instead, Elsa had swathed the naked, lumpy figure in white cotton bed sheets that gave him the appearance of an ancient Greek whom the Gods despised so much that they’d transformed him into a living gargoyle.
Paul must have been thinking the same. ‘I’ll let the others know’ – he gave an awkward shrug – ‘that they should expect an addition to our happy clan.’
When he’d gone inside, the Brigadier turned his distorted head to Elsa, ‘Does your friend always have this trouble in expressing himself?’
Elsa forced a smile. ‘I like to think that Paul masks his sensitivity with humour. Well … a poor sense of humour.’
Dominion strode toward them. ‘Get him inside. Then bring the others to help with the regenerator.’
‘Can’t you see that the Brigadier is having difficulty walking.’
‘You must hurry, Elsa. Saiban’s body will deteriorate in this heat. He must live again. That’s all that matters.’
The Brigadier murmured, ‘I prefer Paul’s crappy sense of humour. Dominion isn’t the same man any more.’ The mouth formed a wide slit.
Elsa realized the Brigadier was attempting a smile.
The croaking voice continued, ‘But do as Dominion says. He doesn’t yet know why he’s acting in this way.’ The man tapped a fat finger against his head. ‘Programming. Years of dedication to the cause has created an iron instinct. And if I know Dominion he won’t even let his own death get in the way of his quest.’
‘Move faster,’ Dominion barked, as they manhandled the regenerator into the storeroom where Saiban lay. The men and women perspired as they lugged the vessel across the stone floor.
‘We had to take it out of the packing case,’ West panted.
‘You haven’t damaged it?’ Paul looked up from where he worked on Saiban’s body, which lay flat on its back on a trestle table.
‘Fuck knows.’
Paul grunted, ‘Don’t let Dominion hear you say that. He wants Saiban back in the land of the living. Nothing else matters. That includes your neck, Westie.’
‘Fuck him.’
At that moment Dominion loomed through the doorway. West reacted with a start, then glanced at the others as if to ask, ‘Do you think he heard me?’
‘Are you ready yet?’ Dominion asked.
Paul nodded at the body. ‘It takes time to prepare for transition. We have to flush the circulatory system then pump in the primer.’
‘Hurry.’
Dominion’s impatience prickled Elsa. ‘We’re doing our best.’
Paul eased a hypodermic needle into the anterior median vein in the forearm. As he did so he glanced at Saiban’s face. The flesh was waxy now. The post-mortem convulsions had stopped. At least I’m not having to wrestle with a thrashing corpse, he told himself. Administering injections to a lively cadaver’s no fun.
He glanced at his fellow God Scarers who stood there panting after shifting the so-called mobile regenerator from the truck. In truth, it was no smaller than the static units they’d used at the transit station. It was seven feet tall. Wide at top and bottom with a narrowing at the waist. It resembled a gigantic hourglass as it stood there upright in the centre of the room. Of course, an hourglass cast from glittering surgical steel. At the top were three small observation windows where medics could check on the progress – from corpse to newborn.
‘Uh, he’s spurting again.’ Paul wiped the sweat from his eyes. ‘Elsa, can you use the towel? Maximum compression, please.’
Dominion prowled like an angry grizzly bear. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘It’s the penetration wounds made by the fence spikes. There’s no coagulation so the flush is leaking out as fast as I can pump it in.’
‘Close the wounds.’
‘Easier said then done, Dominion. I need a laser to suture the lesions.’
‘Improvise.’
‘That’s what we’re doing with the towel.’
‘It’s not working.’
‘Full marks for observation, Dominion.’
‘Seal the wounds. You’re running out of time. If Saiban isn’t put in the regenerator it will be too late.’
‘Dominion, we can’t work miracles.’ Paul scraped away the persistent trickle of sweat. ‘One: we don’t have the medical equipment. Two: we’re in a bloody medieval castle, if you hadn’t noticed.’
‘Seal the wounds, Paul, or I’ll show you Caitlin’s womb.’
‘You’re a bastard, you know that, Dominion? You’re a big, ugly, bullying bastard.’
Paul reached across to a second table where there were instruments he’d been employing to prepare Saiban’s body, one of which was a hefty carving knife from the kitchens. As he snatched it up the others in the room drew an intake of breath. Dominion locked those onyx eyes on him. The black stare was the entrance to hell.
Elsa watched the glittering blade in Paul’s hand.
‘OK, Dominion,’ Paul told him. ‘Watch how we doctors improvise.’
He crossed the room to where a bunch of wooden dining-room chairs had been left. In one savage movement he seized one and smashed it against the wall. Then he picked up the broken legs. Using the knife he shaved away the ends until they’d formed slender points. When he’d fashioned seven pointed stakes he returned to the table where Saiban lay.
‘OK, Elsa, take away the towel, please.’
Paul scanned the body. The steel fence had left seven puncture wounds that ran from just above the knee, up the thigh, then followed a centre line up the torso, spearing belly and chest as far as the collar bone. Paul positioned the point in the wound beneath the collar bone, then tapped the end of the stake with the flat of his hand. The stake penetrated the wound. It made a wet sound as it slipped into the chest. Paul picked up one of the book-size plastic cases that had contained the syringes then used it to firmly hammer the sharpened chair leg into the wound.
‘See this, Dominion? I’m improvising.’
Paul sensed the giant’s eyes burning into him. The comment about Caitlin’s womb had been an oblique one but h
e didn’t doubt for one moment what Dominion had meant in a broader sense: make Saiban live or Caitlin dies.
For the next ten minutes Paul drove the makeshift wooden stakes through the wounds. After each one he’d roll the body sideways to ensure the stake had gone through. With the last one done he paused to wipe the sweat from his eyes once more.
‘All right, Elsa. Now that we’ve plugged him up we’ll inject more flushing agent.’
Together, each using a full syringe, they injected the agent into the veins: femoral in the leg, axillary upper torso, jugular in the neck, then 100cc blasted through the superior vena cava to flush the heart. Once that was done they set to work injecting the primer into a whole sequence of arteries from the minor dorsal artery in the foot to the arch of that great internal highway of the aorta in the upper chest.
‘Have you finished yet?’ Dominion was close to grinding his teeth with impatience.
‘We’ve flushed and primed Saiban’s plumbing.’ Paul dropped the empty syringe into a bowl. ‘Now Elsa and I require some spare pairs of hands to help us move Saiban to the regenerator. Xaiyad? Do you know how to open up?’
Xaiyad flicked the catches down the side of the hourglass-shaped vessel. A moment later he opened it up to reveal the gleaming interior.
Paul whistled. ‘Good. I expected cobwebs and a rodent’s nest or two.’
Elsa caught his eye. ‘It still might not work.’
‘And a wee birdy tells me the warranty expired a while ago.’ He beckoned the medical staff closer. ‘All right. I’ll take the head. I need four people to take an arm and a leg each. Elsa can you guide them in?’ He grimaced. ‘And for heaven’s sake watch my carpentry. If anyone dislodges the stoppers the primer will leak out all over the floor.’ He glanced at Dominion. ‘And that would annoy one of our gang, so if you value your necks … one, two, three. Lift.’
With as much care as they could they carried Saiban’s body to the regenerator.
Elsa called out, ‘Wait!’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Leakage.’
‘Much?’
‘Just a few drips from the thigh.’
Paul gave a grim smile. ‘I can live with thigh leakage. Get him in the can.’
After some anxious manoeuvring they inserted the body into the regenerator. It remained in an upright position. A metal band secured the waist. Clamps in the upper half took care of the neck.
Paul clapped his hands. ‘Good work. Elsa can you help me with the lid?’ Again, he was conscious of Dominion’s watchful gaze. ‘It’s OK, pal. I’ve done this hundreds of times. If it doesn’t work it’s not our fault; it’s the machine. Understand?’
Dominion said nothing. At that moment Paul’s confidence returned. He’d trained for this. His experience was second to none. Slipping into auto he helped Elsa fasten the clips. When he was satisfied the vents were closed he checked on Saiban by looking through a glass panel set in the upper section of the hourglass vessel. The face was as mournful in death as in life.
‘Nurse, our patient is ready for a little gas therapy.’ He smiled at Elsa. She returned the smile. Doing what they knew was good therapy for them as well. It was like coming home.
Dominion asked, ‘What’s in the cylinders?’
Paul screwed the threaded neck of a cylinder that was the size of a beer can into one of the regenerator valves. ‘M-Stock. Elsa’s going to do the same at the other side with the V-Stock.’
‘What’s in it?’
‘Ah, this is the witches’ potion. The necromantic soup that will bring Saiban back to the bosom of his colleagues.’
‘What is the chemical exactly?’
‘That’s the beauty of it, Dominion. Frogs’s eyes, blood of newt, essence of phoenix, a pinch of rainbow dust? Nobody knows. It arrives at the transit station in sealed canisters. We simply squirt it into one of these beauties once we have the cadaver nicely tucked up inside. Then bake for three hours until done.’
‘All we can figure out,’ Elsa added, ‘Is that the two gases react with one another.’
Paul nodded. ‘And they appear to release an electrical discharge – together with a number of other exotic properties.’
Dominion gazed at Saiban’s inert face through the glass. ‘How long until you know that it’s worked?’
‘We should register the first signs of life an hour from now. That’s if this old lump of iron works.’
‘It must.’
‘And even if it does, Saiban here won’t be winning any beauty pageants.’
‘As long as he lives long enough to tell us what he knows.’
Paul didn’t comment; he simply exchanged glances with Elsa that said clearly enough, ‘Heaven help us if this thing doesn’t bring Saiban back.’
The gasses that hissed through the valves began to mingle with each other in the steel vessel. One vapour had a red tinge, the other was lilac. As tendrils of the two gasses met threads of blue light ran inside them: lightning in miniature. Through the steel came a faint crackling. When one forked strand of light snapped against Saiban’s waxy forehead it left a luminous patch of purple there, which took a number of seconds to fade away.
Paul folded his arms. ‘So far so good. All we can do now is wait …’
He addressed thin air. Dominion had walked out through the doorway into the courtyard.
32
Sacred v Profane
Dominion went down into Scaur Ness. Mid-afternoon, the heat of the sun teased the stink from blocked drains. Garbage rotted in the streets. Scattered newspapers raised their listless corners in the rank air.
Dominion still didn’t understand what drove him. The Brigadier had returned with them to the castle on the cliff. Brigadier? He didn’t recognize the name, though there was a resonance when he rolled the name through his mind. Brigadier? Impressions of urgency, noise, speed, violence. Now an instinct drove him down to Scaur Ness again. That near-ghost town on the edge of the sea, where ships lay rotting in the harbour. He didn’t know why he was here anymore than he recognized the searing need to return Saiban to life. The dour-faced man had to be the key to why he was here, and why he did the things he did.
The wretched town unfolded as he entered it. Cottages sagged in shabby profusion. Many of the cars that lined the street sat on deflated tyres. Cats brawled with rats in overgrown gardens. Men and women who were as shabby as their homes skulked along the sidewalks. Some were drunk on homemade liquor. Vapour of coffin paint. It made his nostrils prickle. Most of the people melted away into alleys when they saw Dominion marching down the road. Some children, however, shouted insults before rushing away into the back yards. One youth threw a beer bottle. It struck Dominion on the chest. He turned to stare at the youth with such an intensity that the kid sank back against the wall as if the gaze crushed him.
Dominion entered the graveyard, the same one he’d stormed through the night he arrived in Scaur Ness. Ahead of him on the hill was the church. A tingle ran through his limbs. That deeply buried instinct guided him now. He passed through the field of bones; smell the rot below my feet … death listens to me walk above it … we’re old enemies … it longs to hold me … but death wants what it can’t have. Dark thoughts throbbed in Dominion’s mind. At the church door he paused to look up at the tower. In his imagination it became a massive nail that fixed the buried corpses to the ground. It nails man and woman to the cross of death. The church doesn’t allow them the chance of escape. But Dominion sensed change. A huge tidal sweep of change. He pushed open the church doors. Inside, candles burned. The priest sat in a wheelchair before the altar. On the front pew three old women prayed. Incense made the air heavy and sweet.
Dominion entered the church. ‘I am the First Man,’ he boomed. ‘I am the bringer of life.’
When the priest turned his head to look at Dominion it was with enormous difficulty. Dominion saw the face had become bloodless as the old man’s heart weakened to the point it failed to pump the fluid into the skin tissue
s.
The priest’s voice was dry as dust in a tomb. ‘I forbade you from entering the church. I forbid it now. You are profane.’
Dominion shook his head. ‘I am life.’
‘You are deluded. I wouldn’t even describe you as a devil. I know you were dead. Science brought you back to some mocking appearance of life, but science is inadequate. You are mentally damaged. That’s all. Anything else you might feel is a delusion of grandeur.’
‘I have a mission.’
‘Then leave this church and pursue it.’
‘You are part of it.’
‘No, creature.’ The priest smiled. ‘You might have noticed I am close to death. Besides my purpose in life belongs with these people here in this town.’ The old women kept their heads down to pray, yet they shot glances back at Dominion as he walked toward the altar where the monstrance stood, a silver column that radiated silver rays in a sunburst effect from a silver cross.
‘I once carried the monstrance,’ Dominion said. ‘A long time ago.’
‘In your first life you were a priest?’
‘I don’t know. But I had such faith. It was such a powerful force inside of me. There were times I believed I could will an entire building to fly through the air.’
‘And do you still have faith?’ the priest asked, his deep-set eyes locked onto Dominion’s face.
