Thief of the Ancients

by Mike Wild

  “You were there this morning,” she said to the Enlightened One, and then turned to the jury, “some of you people too. You saw how I tried to help. Ask yourselves – would I have done that if I had caused the quake in the first place? Why would I have wanted to cause the quake? To hurt you? Again, why? It makes no sense.”

  Faces remained impassive.

  “These... machines,” Kali continued, “I want to know why they’ve destroyed your town as much as you do, but to find that out the first question you should be asking isn’t who’s responsible, but what in the hells are they?”

  “Exactly that, tomb raider,” McCain said from behind her. “Instruments from the very Pits of Kerberos. From the hells themselves. Instruments which you made rise from where you plotted beneath the ground.”

  Kali whirled to face the Overseer. Though his office might, as DeZantez had suggested, be new to the Faith, McCain himself clearly wasn’t. His jowls and girth evidence of a number of comfortable years in its hierarchy. As such, he’d know very well that he was talking bollocks, that his so-called ‘instruments from the pits’ were Old Race technology, whatever their purpose might be. This wasn’t something he’d necessarily care to share with the people of Solnos. After all, the Lord of All Himself might struggle to create such wonders and He couldn’t be seen to be inferior in their eyes. But that didn’t explain why McCain was pursuing her with such zeal. He might still think her guilty, yes, but why not deal with her quietly rather than persist with this whole charade?

  There was only one reason she could think of. McCain enjoyed it. The fat bastard had been tempted to stir from behind his dinner table by the chance to play god.

  “How did you know?” She asked McCain. She and Slack, had, after all, headed to the cave when no one was around and had told no one their destination. “How did you know I was underground?”

  McCain smiled. “Because, Kali Hooper, the Eyes of the Lord are everywhere.”

  “Of course they are.” But what she’d meant as a flippant response took a darker tone when McCain addressed the jury.

  “Would you like to see, my children?” He asked. “Would you like to see what this woman has done?”

  In response there was a murmuring. Kali, meanwhile, looked about in confusion.

  McCain thrust both hands towards Kerberos. “Then let me show you what the Eyes of the Lord beheld!”

  Oh, for fark’s sake, Kali thought, enough!

  But then she froze. Because, between herself and the jury, an image had flickered into view and before their eyes they saw Slack leading her towards the cave and out of sight.

  The view segued to show the machines burrowing from the ground, starting the quake, and then fleeing and terrified townsfolk, trying desperately to escape the effects of the catastrophic machines. Again the image segued, and this time showed Kali alone, emerging from the cave, moving across the crumbling hillside towards Horse, and then mounting him and riding away. There was a collective gasp from the jury as she did, both at what the recording implied and because Horse, with his armour fully deployed as it had been, was something of a disturbing sight.

  The images began to loop, showing themselves again and again, and with every loop the jury shifted more uneasily in their pews. McCain certainly knew how to charge an audience, allowing the images to play a couple more times before raising his hands to stop them.

  “With your own eyes, people of Solnos, you have witnessed how this careless adventurer and her pits-born beast activated the machines that destroyed your town. With your own eyes you have seen her guilt!”

  “Hey, fatso!” Kali shouted. “Horse is no pits-born beast, he’s a bamfcat, okay! And your little performance here proves nothing! The destruction of your town began while I was underground, yes, but that doesn’t mean I started it!”

  “Really?” Randus McCain said slowly, and once more an image appeared.

  This time the image zoomed into Kali’s face in a sudden close-up, dusty and bloodied after her ascent from the cavern, and recoiling, wide-eyed, in shock. “Do you see the blood?” McCain went on. “Proof she murdered your own kinsman lest he interfere with her plans! Do you see the startled look upon her face? Proof she believed she could deliver this act of evil upon us without realising that the Eyes of the Lord see all!” He paused again. “Ask yourself, people of Solnos, why would the Lord of All reveal such things to you unless he wished this evil act to be punished!”

  “But that isn’t what happened!” Kali shouted.

  She was about to launch into an attack on McCain that would reveal him to be the charlatan he was but then realised she was taking the things she had seen in her stride. It had been immediately obvious to her that the images McCain had presented to the jury had come from the dark sphere she had fleetingly encountered on the hillside, but how was she to explain that to the people who, thanks to McCain’s manipulation, held her fate in their hands? Explaining the presence of such technology to them was like explaining magic to Slack. Here, in this once idyllic town, they simply had no knowledge of it, and the Old Races were stories for children.

  Kali looked around. True enough, it was reflected in their faces. Even the face of Gabriella DeZantez. The woman was clearly intelligent, but she was also a dedicated Sword of Dawn, and the Faith carefully chose what they exposed the Swords to. Without something tangible to contradict it, why shouldn’t she accept what she had just seen?

  Only Kali knew otherwise. She stared up into the shadows of the church, following the flickering light that created the imagery, and saw it. The sphere. It had to contain one of the memory crystals she had encountered in the Crucible of the Dragon God, the same kind of crystal that had recorded Jenna’s messages to Slowhand, and was perhaps held aloft by some miniature version of the rotors that had driven the Faith’s ill-fated airships. Makennon’s mob might have lost their battle for the skies in the Drakengrats but they had adapted both technologies for another far more insidious purpose. The Eyes of the Lord were no messengers of the Lord of All, they were surveillance devices.

  Overseers.

  Gods, no wonder McCain was enjoying himself. The Filth had a new toy for its voyeurs to play with.

  Despite how difficult it might be to explain, Kali knew she had to tell the people of Solnos what was going on. It wasn’t just for her or their sakes, but for those of everyone where these things might already have been deployed.

  “This isn’t divine proof!” She shouted to them. “This is a recording of only part of what occurred. The Lord of All didn’t see what happened underground because ‘He’ couldn’t follow us there!” Kali paused, looking up. “There is a device,” she went on, “a device constructed with the aid of Old Race science – a science developed long ago by the elves and the dwarves.” She stared at the blank faces before her and then turned on the Overseer. “Why don’t you tell them, McCain? Tell them about memory crystals and airships and your sphere, and how those machines out there in the sky aren’t from the hells but from civilisations far older and more advanced than our own? Why don’t you tell them that it was they who left the shiny things in the dirt? Or are you afraid? Afraid that if these people learn the truth, know how you use their tools, that you’ll no longer be able to bend them to your beliefs?”

  McCain gave Kali time to take a breath and then turned to stare at the jury as if he had no idea what she was talking about. Only she caught the knowing flare of his eyes as his gaze passed hers. “‘Memory crystals’? ‘Airships’? ‘Sphere’?” he said with a chuckle that became a laugh. “These terms are unknown to me. The only truth I know is that which is shown to me by the Eyes of the Lord.”

  The Overseer raised his hands once more and the images returned, playing over and over again.

  Keep going, Kali thought, seeing Gabriella DeZantez edging forward from the door, peering up into the shadows.

  Unfortunately, just as the Enlightened One was about to become more enlightened, McCain sensed her movement and the sphere, controlle
d by some unknown mechanism, zipped out of sight.

  “It was a trick!” Kali shouted to the jury, but received only unsympathetic glances. She turned to DeZantez. If she was going to bring her onto her side, now was the time. “You have to believe me,” she said. “It was there. The images showed only part of the truth, not the whole truth, and certainly not divine truth. It’s circumstantial. Give me time and I’ll show you the sphere. Give me time and I’ll prove to you what happened.”

  DeZantez hesitated. Her gaze alternated between Kali and McCain.

  “May I remind you,” McCain interrupted, “that the Enlightened One plays no part other than that of an observer in these proceedings. Her opinion carries no weight.”

  “Hey!” Kali shouted at McCain. “You want an opinion that carries weight, you bastard, I’ll show you one!”

  She leapt the podium, intending to land a fist in his smug, fat face, but found her neck scissored between DeZantez’s twin blades before she could swing. Barely able to speak because of the blades pressing on her throat, barely able to move her head, she strained to look into DeZantez’s eyes.

  “Please,” Kali implored.

  “Not until I know.”

  So, that’s it, Kali thought. With four words DeZantez had declared her independence, but shattered her hopes that she would act on the injustice that was happening here. The fact of the matter was there was no evidence of injustice, and until there was, the Sword of Dawn was bound by her oath to the Faith.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” McCain said. “What is your verdict?”

  Kali swallowed, waiting for the word that she knew was going to come.

  “Guilty.”

  “Guilty.”

  “Guilty.”

  One after the other, the jury members stood and delivered the same verdict, and Kali was powerless to do anything about it. DeZantez remained stony-faced during the delivery, even when McCain delivered his sentence.

  “The Eyes of the Lord have witnessed your crime. The sentence is death.”

  “No,” Kali said quietly.

  McCain nodded to DeZantez. “Prepare the gibbet.”

  Kali struggled against the grip of the guards that now surrounded her. She had been fully aware that the gibbet was the Final Faith’s preferred method of punishment – had been fleetingly aware of it hanging outside as she had been led into the church – but had refused to acknowledge its presence until now. Things all of a sudden became very unreal and she felt a dreamlike coldness ripple through her body. As she watched DeZantez exit the church and found herself being hauled after her into the sunlight, Kali realised that her holiday had finally come to an end here, far out in the backwoods, among strangers who intended to burn her. She felt suddenly, desperately lonely and yearned for Slowhand, Merrit Moon, anyone who could say no, don’t do this, this is wrong. But all of her friends were far, far away, thinking other thoughts, and all they would know of her death would be that she never returned home. She was alone and, worse, about to die for a crime she would never dream of committing.

  Well, hells, she wasn’t going without a fight.

  Kali drove her elbows into the stomachs of the goons holding her and slammed her fists into their faces as they doubled over. The pair staggered backwards and she dropped to a crouch, swinging herself around her hands and kicking out, knocking their legs from under them. The guards fell on their backs in a clatter of armour and, as they struggled to pick themselves up, Kali punched both in the face, knocking them cold. She sprang upright, twisting to face Randus McCain. The Overseer swallowed and backed up against the church wall before her less than happy gaze.

  Then, Gabriella DeZantez casually walked in front of her, between them.

  The Enlightened One had both blades unsheathed and assumed a low, defensive stance. One blade was thrust forward, wavering slightly as if tempting Kali to make a move, the other held back and unwavering, ready to follow through. DeZantez was, in short, prepared for a swift and deadly double strike.

  DeZantez spoke one word, but it was enough.

  “Don’t.”

  Kali slumped, her battle tension reluctantly leaving her body, and the guards once more took her. DeZantez sheathed her blades and returned to the duty McCain had given her. Kali stared at the Overseer as he watched DeZantez manipulate the chains that lowered the gibbet from its hanging position on the side of the church, then open the front of the cage. The look of abject terror he had exhibited moments before had been replaced by a twisted smile, and he wiped a small amount of drool from his mouth as he turned to his guards.

  “Strip her,” he said.

  Strip me? Kali thought.

  “Get your farking hands off!” She shouted as the bodyguards began to tear at her bodysuit. Thankfully, she saw DeZantez move forward, at last seeming willing to intervene. Instead of halting their actions, however, she regarded Kali steadily.

  “It’s better this way,” she said. “Trust me, when the naphtha comes, you will not wish it to first burn your clothes.”

  Naphtha. Perversely, the word made Kali feel even colder than she had before, and she stared at the pipes that ran from the side of the church into the top of the gibbet cage, at the spark ready to ready ignite the substance as it poured onto the victim within. Well, nightmare as this was, she sure as hells wasn’t going to entertain McCain more than he already would be.

  “He isn’t concerned about how easily I die,” she said, with disgust. “Let me remain as I am.”

  DeZantez hesitated, then nodded to the bodyguards. They bundled her into the gibbet, slamming and locking the cage behind her.

  “It’s your choice,” DeZantez said, turning away.

  Kali stared after her and, as she did, became aware of McCain laughing.

  “What did you expect?” He said. “That the Enlightened One would balk at the horror of what is about to happen to you, force me to release you from my custody?” He shook his head. “The gibbet is an everyday occurrence, girl, don’t you understand? Your enlightened friend here has burned countless sinners in her career. Have you not, Miss DeZantez?”

  DeZantez stared at Kali, still emotionless, and nodded.

  “This might seem like the ultimate horror to you,” McCain continued. “But it is her job.”

  Kali grabbed the bars of the gibbet. They were rough beneath her grip, coated with a substance that once had been the flesh of ‘sinners’ but was now only a permanently caked layer, as hard as coral.

  “McCain,” she said. “You do this and I promise you I will regret it.”

  McCain smiled. “I like a sense of humour. But I equally dislike modesty. Raise the gibbet, Sister DeZantez.”

  Gabriella DeZantez paused for a second but then turned a wheel on the wall of the church.

  Kali felt the cage floor shift beneath her and sway and creak as it was lifted well off the ground. The climb brought her within the full glare of the sun and she blinked and prickled in the brightness and heat. It was nothing, though, compared with what was to come, and she stared down at McCain, DeZantez and the goons, swallowing dryly as they were joined by the jury, filing slowly out of the church to witness what was to come. Any hope she might have had for a last minute reprieve or hint of compassion was instantly dashed as she saw their upturned faces; vengeful and convinced of her guilt. Suddenly she appreciated the awful reality of the situation she was in. To her this was a waking nightmare, but such was the iron rule of the Faith here in the sticks that to these people, as McCain had said, it was just an everyday occurrence. A normal way to die.

  “The taps, Miss DeZantez,” McCain ordered.

  “No...” Kali said softly to herself, clenching her fists around the rough bars.

  She began to struggle as she watched DeZantez turn the taps on the wall of the church and they vented steam. Drops of moisture fell to the ground. The pipes above her hissed, shook and gurgled as the naphtha entered them and began to build up pressure inside. It would take seconds for the lethal substance
to travel their length and Kali was suddenly overwhelmed by how close to death she was. She had never been afraid of dying – had faced it many times – but to have it occur like this was somehow tainted and wrong, and filled her with despair and fury.

  She renewed her struggle against the bars, rocking the cage violently on its chains. The pipes groaned under the strain of the protest she unleashed and, for a moment, Kali thought that was the way out. If she could only dislodge the pipes, she would escape this after all. But then she saw that the pipes were flexing with her, joined at various points along their length by some rubbery substance that could presumably withstand the heat of the naphtha.

  “Really, Miss Hooper,” McCain said, “do you not think that all who have died before you have not tried the same...”

  Kali looked up at the pipes and then quickly down again, for the gurgling was louder now and closer. Before she jammed her eyes shut in a futile attempt to block out the pain she glanced over at Horse, her loyal mount bucking in agitation beneath the restraining hands of a dozen of the townspeople, and wondered what would happen to him now. Then she felt the first tiny hot spits of naphtha searing the back of her neck.

  Something cracked like thunder, and there was the sound of wrending metal. No further naphtha came and Kali opened her eyes.

  She saw that the pipes had been torn apart at their mid section and were dancing about in mid air, vomiting their lethal content to the ground. Below, McCain and his goons were stepping back awkwardly, trying to avoid the oil, while DeZantez threw herself at the taps to stop any further release before lowering the gibbet to the ground.