People who had lived in a democracy all their lives, learned to cower behind false walls or under false floors in their homes when the sound of the booted feet of the Army of Righteousness was heard marching down their street. And there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. Tamar and Denny could not be everywhere at once. But the Army of Righteousness could.
In the early days, troops had been marshalled worldwide and sent out, on foot and in tanks, to meet the death squads, and, for a time, there had been massive fire fights in every place from city centres to ordinary back streets, and from small rural villages to urban centres and even the campsites of the voluntarily dispossessed.*
*[Also known as New-Age Travellers.]
With the fall of the governments, most countries were brought under a state of martial law “for the duration of the current emergency”. For a short time, there had been hope. But only for a short time.
As Tamar and Denny had discovered, for every Nephilim warrior that was knocked down, ten more would appear in his place. It was a hopeless fight. And, as evil warmongers, the army troops that tried to stand against Ashtoreth were shown no mercy.
When the armies fell, the citizens got armed. Those who had not already been anyway, and there had been a considerable number of these, and armed gangs of refugees now roamed the streets, but Ashtoreth’s army was mopping these up too. There was always some excuse. When you are determined to wipe all the sinners in the world, no one is safe.
And Stiles was still in a coma. Some brain activity had been noted; a miracle according to some doctors, a mere anomaly according to others. And, a few months earlier, Hecaté had seen some colour return to his face. Unfortunately, the colour in question was green. Not a good sign according to the medical staff. But it was a weird luminous green and, strangely enough, it gave Hecaté hope.
But today was a day for remembrance. Today the fighting would stop for a while, even if the world went to hell, as they gathered to pay their respects to the first to fall.
A grave in a green place, away from the resting places of mortal men, surrounded by trees and covered in yellow flowers.
It had been tended with reverence over the past year. Jack had not been here in all that time – so who…? Denny looked over at Cindy as she laid a flower on the grave, and he knew.
It was cold – November. But the flowers grew, and the trees were green and gold as the sun sparkled through them. The power of the Faeries lived on.
Jack bent his head in respect, and not to hide the tears that he was not ashamed of. Iffie took his hand in silent sympathy as she had done a year before. ‘I’m sure he’s watching over you from somewhere,’ she said. It sounded trite, and she wished she had not said it. But suddenly Jack’s face glowed.
He knew that his father was not watching over him from anywhere. The thing was flatly impossible. Faeries did not go to heaven; his father was now a part of the ether, he lived on in the trees – the flowers – the gilded sunlight. The sudden light in his face was due to a sudden, blinding revelation that had come to him from Iffie’s casual remark.
His father was not in heaven, but he knew whose was.
* * *
The area was full of sinners, but that was not his task. He turned his back reluctantly on the village and headed for the river.
By the river was a cave. The local people shunned it for reasons of what the rest of the world would describe as superstition, but he did not. Sinners all, they had strong reason to fear the river and the cave. But he was not afraid. Fanaticism burned in his eyes. Of all the travellers that Ashtoreth had sent out, he was the most dangerous, the most determined. Even before the blessing, Henry Blenkinsopp had had an unshakable belief in himself. He had always known he was meant for greatness. He said his faith was in the Lord, that the Lord was always right, but what he meant was, he had faith in himself, that he was always right. Such men are dangerous even without the explicit encouragement given to him in the form of a holy mission.
He entered the cave boldly and struck quickly.
Once he had taken the power (and he fully intended to return to his master and deliver it as instructed). But surely, since he was here, the sinners within his grasp should not be allowed to escape retribution. The fact that the villagers had taken him in and shown him hospitality meant nothing to him. He was doing them a favour. Sinners needed to be cleansed. It was for their own good, before they sank deeper into sin, that he would take them away from temptation.
He clutched the new source of his power to his breast and stalked purposely toward the village.
* * *
Tamar kept in regular touch with Cindy, who seemed happy with Slick but filled with a horrendous self-reproach that was threatening to overwhelm her. For her sake, as much as anything, Tamar was determined to sort this out. If only it were that easy.
It seemed not unlikely that Cindy knew more than she realised. Perhaps with enough subtle prodding, something useful might come back to her, or slip out accidentally.
In any case, it was good to have her back on the team; indeed, it might prove, in the end, to be invaluable.
Cindy herself was certain that she had nothing to remember. The person who had done those things was not herself. She was not capable, could not believe herself capable or perhaps she did not want to believe herself capable, of such blind hatred, such incalculable cruelty. She considered that she had been possessed. Looking back, that was what it felt like. As for how she had created a secret base – she could not remember. She remembered the palace, but it was as if it had been a dream. No, not a dream – more like a living nightmare. She had lost herself for a while; even the mind living helplessly behind the eyes of the goddess had not quite been her own but that of the pathetic Succubus. No wonder her memory seemed scrambled.
It had occurred to her, as it had to Iffie – witches tended to think alike even ones as different as these two – to ask Slick how he had found her in the first place. What had been going through his mind at the time?
‘I used the Agency,’ he said. Which was not really helpful, since the Agency had been unable to find her or her son since she had moved her base of operations.
‘I erased all my findings as soon as I knew where you were anyway,’ he said. But I had a good idea where to start, in any case. I knew you would be close to the source of the power – the origin of the ring. It’s what I would have done, stayed close until I was sure it was going to take. And I knew we thought alike in some ways. Reading people was my business if you remember. I understood you far better than you would have ever believed back then. So I used the Aethernet to scout likely locations. No one knew I was any good at computers, I kept that to myself, I’d always been secretive anyway, and there were only two possible locations that fitted the bill – the Rhine itself which was obviously out of the question and the ancient forge where the ring was cast the first time. And hey presto, there you were. But as to where you took us after that. I don’t know any more than you seem to.’ He frowned. ‘How is that you don’t remember?’ he said.
‘It’s like there’s no room in my head to understand what I did then. My mind was so different then. So much more power. It’s like I wrote a paper on quadratic equations in my sleep then woke up and tried to read it and found I couldn’t understand a word of it. I can see the words, but they make no sense to me.’
‘Ah,’ said Slick, finally understanding.
‘What do you remember about that place?’ she asked. ‘And about how I was then. There might be a clue in that. You said you were good at reading people, when I was a mad goddess, what sort of a home would I have chosen do you think?’
‘Somewhere safe, yet somewhere ostentatious. That place was like a fairy tale palace I remember, but it was like a fortress underneath, and like a fantastic dream on the surface.’
‘Try to be more specific,’ said Cindy slightly acerbically.
Slick raised an eyebrow. ‘Did you just tell me off?’ he asked. ‘Thank God for that. I wa
s beginning to think you never would again. It’s okay, you know. It’s all very well to be penitent, but you can’t let it crush you down forever.’
‘I did some terrible things,’ she said. ‘Things I can never pay for, and it’s like I’m not even being punished for it. I feel terrible.’
‘That’s a punishment,’ Slick pointed out.
‘The only one I’m getting,’ she said. ‘I deserve more.’
‘There’s your son. That’s a punishment too.’
‘Well deserved,’ she said, and bowed her head.
‘Everyone has forgiven me!’ she howled suddenly throwing her head back. ‘Well, everyone except Hecaté. I haven’t … I can’t face her yet.’ (Cindy had not yet faced Denny either, but she knew from Tamar that he had forgiven her too.)
‘But the others … How can they? I don’t understand it. I’m not sure I want to be forgiven. It would be easier if they all hated me, but they don’t – you don’t.’
‘And you don’t think you’re being punished?’ said Slick shaking his head. ‘Perhaps forgiveness is the most potent revenge of all. Although I’m sure that’s not why they’ve done it,’ he added insightfully.
‘We should go back to help them to find my son,’ she said suddenly. ‘It’s my fault this has happened. His crimes are on my head. I don’t think I can handle any more guilt. We have to stop him before he does anything else.’
Anything else?’ thought Slick. He remembered once thinking that Ash needed to let off some steam. He was certainly doing that now, he reflected. Fifteen years of inactivity had built up a considerable head of steam too. And now that he had started Slick, for one, didn’t think he was going to stop any time soon.
‘And do you think you will forgive him if he does?’ he asked.
‘I wouldn’t be so cruel,’ she said.
* * *
He had done it. Oh blessed be the beloved master. Whose power he could feel burning within him, who had nursed his weary limbs and fed his soul with the strength to carry on when his suffering had been almost too much to bear. He had done it at last. Young Frank had no need of faith in the ordinary sense; he believed because he had seen and felt and knew his master’s power. Frank was an idealist and Ashtoreth was his hero.
And now, here he stood at the door of his destiny, in the depths of the Amazon jungle. Beyond the waterfall, he could see the reddish glow that signalled the end of his quest. He was almost unbearably excited. He pushed the creepers aside with shaking hands and plunged through the rushing water. The glowing green eyes that shone through the misty air behind the falls faltered and shrank back as Frank raised his weapon and shouted. ‘I am the power of the Lord.’ Then he struck.
* * *
For Cindy, coming face to face with Denny this time was even worse than the last time. There was an awkward silence that extended into a black hole of dead time into which all hope of ever being able to speak again was sucked into an interminable void of embarrassment. They had met accidentally, after avoiding each other for three days, at the foot of the stairs. Cindy wished she had followed her first instinct and turned on her heel and walked away.
‘Fancy a coffee?’ said Denny eventually.
‘Got anything stronger?’ she said in a strangled voice.
‘In this house? Naturally,’ he said with a grin.
‘Vodka?’
‘How many would you like?’
‘About ten I think,’ she said.
‘I think I’ll join you,’ he said.
They did not talk about the past; they did not talk about the impending doom of the future (which would have been like a rebuke to Cindy). It was a rambling conversation that covered a multitude of extraneous subjects from football to music. But it breached the barrier and let Cindy know that she was forgiven, and Denny know that he was forgotten.
Denny had made Cindy grow up and shed her superficiality – never again would she judge a person on their looks alone. She had truly loved him, in spite of all her previous convictions. But a person can fall out of love. She would always have a soft spot for him. Actually, the truth was, if he had offered to run away with her, she probably would have gone like a shot. But he would never do that. And that was okay now. All that mattered was that he had forgiven her, and they could be friends. Cindy had an intuition that, in the coming days, she was going to need all the friends she could get.
Jack was not going to be one of them; he did not want anything to do with her. And who could blame him? Cindy certainly did not.
‘I’m only surprised that he doesn’t hate me more,’ she said to Iffie who had relayed this sentiment.
‘Oh, he hates you a good deal,’ said Iffie candidly. ‘But Jack’s a pretty gentle person. He won’t give you any shit. Just stay out of his way for a bit. I reckon he’ll come round eventually.’
‘He has no reason to,’ said Cindy. ‘What I did was shameful, and he was hurt the most by it. You care for him very much, I can see. I don’t know how you can bear to even talk to me yourself.’
‘We all make mistakes,’ said Iffie. ‘I can deal. I’m not perfect either. What happened to you could happen to me one day. Being a witch is a dodgy business if you ask me. I mean, I wouldn’t mind some extra power. It’s like … being a witch is good, but it means that you get to know that there’s more out there. More power, you know. Kinda tempting, if you can get hold of it.’
‘Take a lesson from me,’ said Cindy. ‘It’s not worth it.’
‘Oh, I know, I know, you’re right. God, you ought to know if anyone does. And mum too, she was a slave for 5000 years before she got powerful. And dad nearly turned into a demon. It’s never that easy, I get that, I do, really. All I’m saying is I can see how it happened, you know. I don’t judge.’
‘You have that luxury,’ said Cindy. ‘I didn’t do anything to you.’
‘I met Ash, you know?’ said Iffie suddenly.
‘Yes I heard.’ Cindy clearly did not want to talk about that. But Iffie was relentless and somewhat inconsiderate when she wanted something. ‘I thought he was okay,’ she said. ‘He’s a good guy I think, just a bit messed up.’
Cindy winced, but Iffie did not notice. She thought she was being comforting.
‘Even if he did try to kill my dad,’ she went on. ‘He didn’t mean it. I mean if he knew him … My dad’s the best man in the world,’ she finished, having gone completely off the original topic.
‘I can’t argue with that,’ said Cindy.
And Iffie blushed a deep crimson as she realised her faux pas.
‘One day,’ said Cindy, to change the subject. ‘You’ll realise that someone else can fill that title, for you at least.’
‘I can’t think who,’ said Iffie.
‘I can,’ said Cindy as Jack walked into the room and then abruptly walked out again.
‘He’ll come around,’ Iffie reiterated, as they both watched his retreating back.
‘Don’t feel sorry for me,’ said Cindy. ‘For one thing, I brought it on myself. And for another, I may not look like it, but I’m a survivor.’
And she thought to herself, ‘I wonder if she realises how her eyes shine when she talks about him?’
* * *
‘So, you have come to kill me?’
The Nephilim formerly known as Janeck shook his head.
‘Many have tried.’
Janeck was a bit bewildered by this turn of events. He had charged in here ready to take the power for his master, and the next thing you know, he was being asked to please slow down and wipe his feet. That sort of thing can put the most gung- ho warrior off his game.
‘I usually offer them a cup of tea,’ said the voice in the darkness. ‘Would you like one?’
‘Tea?’Janeck’s thoughts skidded to catch up.
‘I used to tear them limb from limb of course, but I’ve mellowed. Sugar?’
‘Have I got the right place?’ wondered Janeck. He had never been the sharpest tool in the box, and he was painfully aware
that he was easily confused. It was happening now. He had never in his life felt so confused.
The Nephilim was not confused. This was a ploy, and he was not falling for it.
‘This foolish boy might be easily confounded,’ he said, apparently referring to himself. ‘But look into my eyes and see who I am.’ Two orange glowing eyes moved cautiously closer to his face.
Then he struck.
* * *
The army was coming. This was such a common occurrence nowadays that the people had an almost Pavlovian response. They heard the distant sound of marching feet and emptied the streets instantly like cockroaches when the light comes on. As the Army appeared suddenly in the street, row upon row of black clad warriors marching in long lines like a parade, only a few people, maybe forty or so, remained, and they were all armed to the teeth. Except for a small group who had once been rather dismissively and discourteously described as a “rag tag band of adventurers”, and this was what they looked like too. Anyone who had been told that these few represented the strongest concentration of power in the world would have laughed out loud. Until they saw them fight.
To see the women, who looked as if they might be more at home on a catwalk in Paris or, at least, in the case of one of them, between the pages of a lingerie catalogue, swing swords almost as tall as themselves with the viciousness of Berserkers, cutting a swath through the enemy as if they were straw dummies, was an unlikely sight at best. And where had those swords been concealed? They had not been carrying them before the fighting started.
Then there was the badly dressed slacker type with the untidy blond hair and the slight build. Who looked as if a strong gust of wind might knock him down. Who would have thought that such a specimen would have the strength of ten men, but this was apparently the case – at least, ten of the Army of Righteousness were not enough to bring him down. It was quite something to see him disappear under a scrum of hammering fists (perhaps with your heart in your mouth) and then watch the pack fly apart in all directions as this man stood up and threw them aside as easily as if they had been rag dolls.
Rise Of The Nephilim (The Tamar Black Saga) Page 17
