Siege Perilous

by Nigel Bennett

  From this vantage Sharon could see across the esplanade to the One Thousand Columns. The pale stones glowed faint in the starlight, a silent army marching in a T-shape toward Highway 180. The columns had supported a roof once upon a time that might have shaded a huge marketplace. Impressive, certainly bigger than the average shopping mall. Maybe it had been a mall or a temple or housing. If she knew which, it might put off the nasty feeling that she was looking at gravestones. Clever people, the builders, but really too fixated on that death business for her taste. It was catching.

  Smoke—rather, something like smoke—rose from each of those thousand columns, from the ground they rested on, from the buildings next to them. It hurried toward Kukulcan's pyramid, joining with the new-formed Otherside storm that circled its base. Within its shadows and in the air she saw the predator monstrosities again. They were different from their English cousins, but no less dangerous. Again she sensed a barrier holding them back, preventing them from entering her own prosaic world, but now she thought that protection might be getting weaker.

  Things were changing. Rivers was making them change. For the worse. She knew it in her bones.

  Another wide door, a breath of hot, humid air from the interior, then farther along the outside wall. She drew a mirror from a pocket and used it to get a view of what was around the final corner.

  The small image jumped in her unsteady hand, showing a flare of sickly light, then settling. He was there, planted solidly in the center of the platform walk at the top of the steps, looking out over the esplanade. The opening to the temple behind him was much wider here, the span supported by two fat columns, giving the initial impression of three doorways. Sharon thought she could ease close along the wall then use the nearest one as cover. She could hit him at this distance, but wanted to be sure. Point-blank range would make the kill certain. She thought she would only get the one chance.

  Shoving the mirror back in a pocket, she put her head around; with any luck she'd be on his blind side. She couldn't remember which eye was covered by the patch. Odd, that.

  His attention was outward, his arms up and wide as before. He wasn't taking anything in just yet, only working on the . . . well, it must be a summoning. It was one hell of a show. Literally. The wild, spinning dance below began to rise like a pool slowly filling with water. Within this one's depths were curious gaudy colors, shreds of light, and bloodred darkness. Lots of that. The memory of those killed in violent sacrifice seemed to take form as thousands of small shadows merged together into a roiling mass.

  Noise. That hideous howling began to build as before. Rivers seemed aware of it and might not hear the scrape of her combat boots on the stone.

  Now or never. She inched forward, got within reach of the nearest pillar . . .

  And hands like iron grabbed, lifted, and threw her hard against the wall. She managed to hold on to the Glock, but the surprise took the breath right out of her and forestalled the pain.

  He had help . . . ? She hastily turned, raising the gun to this second threat.

  But the man she faced was Rivers himself . . . but he'd been standing over there—

  Gone. No others were on the platform.

  Just himself, then. Moving preternaturally fast. Oh, lord.

  Rivers broke into a big friendly grin. "Hey! Sharon? It's Sharon Geary, right? You dated Dickie-boy for awhile. You don't mind that I checked you out, I hope? In my line it's a good thing to keep tabs on certain people. I've so been looking forward to meeting you, sweet cheeks."

  She didn't think, only pulled the trigger. He was five feet away, and the bullets hit him square in the upper center of his chest just the way she'd trained. She emptied the magazine.

  He rocked back, hands clutching, and staggered dramatically. "Oh! Ouch! Ow! Oh! You got me! Ow-ow-ow! Bang, bang, I'm dead!"

  There's no blood, she thought, staring at his insane miming.

  He straightened. "Aw, gee, did the bad man sell you blanks when you bought the piece?"

  No blanks. There were holes in the shirt—just not the flesh beneath it.

  Rivers kept grinning. "Come on, Sherrie-pie! Did you think it'd be that easy to take me out? I been watching you since Salisbury." He gave her no time to reload. In an eye-blink he was behind her, arm fast around her neck, his free hand pressing her head painfully to the side. "Chill out, little mama, or I'll play exorcist with you. One twist and you'll be able to see where you've been walking from."

  She froze against the pressure. Another ounce of force at this angle and it'd be game over, forever. She fought to breathe.

  "You know something?" he gently husked into her ear, intimate as a lover. "I really liked this shirt, and now you done ruined it. What say you drop the toy? 'Cause if you put holes in my pants I might get cranky."

  He shifted his balance. A tiny movement, but it made an opening. She dug an elbow into his gut, rammed a heel into one of his shins, slamming it down hard on his instep.

  That made him grunt. Right, he wasn't totally invulnerable. Physical assault could damage him even if bullets didn't, figure out why later. With the slack gained she cracked the empty gun against his knuckles. Though famous for its polymer frame and grip, there was plenty of steel in the weapon to hurt him. He jerked, giving her more freedom of movement, which she used to break his hold.

  No time to pause and assess, she spun and crashed her heavy boot into one of his knees, full force, intending to blow it out. He yelped and retreated, but the shock didn't last long. A step, then two, and he was nimbly dodging and dancing like a boxer.

  The bastard's playing with me. Whatever hurt she did, he was either faking injury or healing incredibly fast.

  He smirked. "Come on, baby doll. Let's work up a sweat. I heard you chicks liked foreplay."

  Trying to make me mad. Which wasn't going to happen. She had the idea anger was exactly the sort of thing that would help him here. She looked around for alternative weapons.

  Rivers paused as though reading her mind. "What's next? Handcuffs? No bedposts here, sorry. Maybe a club? Nah, who would join? What about some holy water? You can't beat a classic."

  Trying to distract me. From what?

  From that. Her Sight picked up on the sickly radiation glow that outlined his body, which was otherwise dark. It was much dimmer than she recalled. He was using it up . . . yet replenishing. She glimpsed a spider-thin thread of light leading into one of his hands from the growing storm around them. If she could cut that line . . .

  Whether her machete was made from cold steel or not, she rather thought in this case the symbolic intent would be as important as a sharp edge. She pulled the weapon from her leg scabbard, swapping it with the Glock.

  Rivers struck a defensive pose, but held to a smart-ass face. "Oh, you are really getting to me now, warrior princess. I tell ya, I could so do that babe. Hope you're not jealous if I fantasize a bit while we—"

  He ducked when she made her first slicing attack. Wary about his uncanny speed, she kept her back to the wall to deny him the option of gettting behind her. That was when she noticed the bizarre gleam on her own form. It ran along her limbs and right out to the knife blade. What did it mean? That she had power, too? God, but it was bright. Silvery compared to his corpse-light green.

  "Oooh, sweet. How'd you do that, cutie, take a few lessons from Spielberg? Or maybe your last boyfriend's special lady gave you some pointers about converting latent energies?"

  What was he on about? Richard?

  "Of course you know you weren't the only woman in his life. Or did you believe him about all that 'I love you' crap?"

  What? How'd he know that? No, Rivers was guessing. Still trying to rattle her. Shotgunning taunts, hoping to find a weak spot. None today, thank you.

  "I tell ya, he's batted those baby blues at thousands of chicks just like you and fed them the line and, hoo-boy, did they swallow it. Know what I mean?"

  She laughed. A sound of pure delight in her ears mixed with contempt for him, and n
ot the reaction he expected.

  Though he kept hammering. "There's only been one babe for him, though. He ever take you to meet her, get her approval? They got this open relationship thing going, though I don't know what they see in each other. Hey! Easy there! Mind the cojones, I'm gonna want 'em later—so will you, I think."

  Her feint to his crotch had surprised him. Couldn't blame him for that, but he'd retreated out of range, and she couldn't complete the follow-through upswing toward his hand.

  Oh, hell. She had let him distract her. Belatedly, it occurred to her that she need not cut the thread close to his body. Any point where it trailed toward him from the chaos should do just fine. Well, then . . .

  Another feint toward his head, then she side-stepped and slashed strongly downward. Was there resistance to her blade or had she imagined it? No matter, it worked. Rivers roared pain and this time wasn't play-acting his stagger. He fell against the side of the building, going down on one knee with a grunt. The glow about him faded radically.

  "Jeeze, woman, you nuts? You got no idea what—aw, shit." He looked past her, eyes wide.

  Not about to fall for that one, she backed off a few yards, then spared a glance in that direction.

  Holy Mary and all the saints, I SAID I wasn't ready for this.

  The mad flow of Otherside shadow had risen nearly level with them. Seeming to swim in the strange storm was something . . . big. Really big. Its head was the same size as the stone snake heads at the base of the stairs. In fact, it looked quite a lot like those heads. But alive. The huge eyes were jet black and glinting and aware and directed at her. A vastly long body undulated in the stream, the length of its spine topped with a diamond-shaped pattern in bright jewel-colored scales. Each scale was larger than her open hand.

  "Now you gone and done it," said Rivers wearily. "You shouldn't of chopped my control. Kukulcan is one god you don't wanna piss off."

  The serpent—"snake" just didn't cover it—swung its attention toward Rivers. Its jaws opened, showing impossibly long fangs, and it rose high, apparently to strike and swallow him.

  "Oh, no you don't." Rivers raised one hand, then the other. "No hissy fits from you, wormy. You hump back to your little hole in the wherever. Misbehave and I will so burn your ass."

  Sharon gaped, every hair of her body on end as the thing kept rising from the chaos. She shrank toward the temple doorway, thinking to hide in the shadows there.

  Daft idea, this is its HOME.

  With all that size would it be able to squeeze inside?

  It's a god, why not?

  But for the moment it was interested in Rivers, who seemed able to hold it at bay. It swayed around him as he faced it, countering each of its moves with a smaller one of his own. Must have been work for him, too. Sweat poured off his face, which was pinched and pale with concentration. She used the breather to drop the machete and reload the Glock, which took twice as long because her hands shook so much. There, a fresh magazine and a round in the chamber. Certainly useless against the serpent, probably useless against Rivers, but it made her feel better all the same. She picked up the big knife again and thought about throwing it at him, but she'd never been much good at that parlor trick.

  Perhaps while he was involved with company . . . she could try a head shot. He might not shrug it off so easily.

  Brace, balance, two-handed grip, and squeeze, don't jerk the trigger, double-tap, double-tap again.

  What the hell . . . ? The ejected casings arced clear, tumbling . . . slowly.

  She saw the bullets individually tearing from the muzzle, bright as tracer fire.

  So did Rivers. He threw a glance her way, gave a short chuckle, and simply moved clear of their spinning path. They continued out into the night sky, vanishing in the distance.

  The serpent made a try for him then. It was amazing anything that huge could move so fast, but he was faster, and as the head overshot him, he slapped it, his bare hand cutting the scales like a hot razor, making a long deep wound that bled . . . light? The glow around it dimmed; Rivers was absorbing power from its streaming blood. The creature made no sound as it convulsed clear, but Sharon recognized pain.

  And rage. It arched high, and a thickening of the skin behind its head suddenly flared into a great feathered crest of many colors almost too brilliant to look at. Light came from the thing like a beacon in fog. Sharon felt its heat.

  "Come on, who's the big Chee-ken in Eetza?" Rivers called, laughing. He'd resumed his connection to the energies, but instead of a thread, it was a thick rope as big around as one of his own arms, leading right into his back. The serpent's white blood dripped from his hand and down. He flexed his fingers.

  His crooked arm was straight again.

  Rivers stared at the healing. "Whoa, buddy! Didn't know you could do that. Thanks a mil for the favor! Guess I was taking the long way around." He tore off his eye patch and swiped his hand over the damage there. "Oh, yeah, talk to me, baby! Go for the money! That's it. That's it. That's so IT!"

  Not only was his ruined eye restored by the blood, but the gray fled from his hair and beard, turning them black again. Some of the weathering melted from his face. He drew the length of his arm across his mouth, tasting the blood. His body flinched and shuddered as if in orgasm, and he threw his head back. His laughter boomed across the esplanade.

  "Wormy, you are my new best friend!" he yelled up at the god.

  Who wanted no part of it. The huge being shifted swiftly around and lashed its tail at Rivers like a whip. Sharon ducked and rolled as the wall of scaled flesh slammed against the pyramid, shaking it. Otherside stones shattered to dust, pelting her. She missed what happened next, but when the thing moved off it showed fresh wounds, while Rivers was still on his feet, making a banshee-like scream of triumph.

  Where gods and angels fear to tread, then send in the Irish, she thought, shifting the machete to her right hand again.

  Rivers, busy gloating and feeding, didn't see her. He felt her attack, though, if his shriek was anything to judge by. She cut through the cord leading into his spine, then made a swift back-handed slice at his kidneys, connecting. The blade bit deep into his side and was almost pulled from her grip when he whirled on her.

  Her turn to grin at his bafflement.

  Which was only temporary. He fell away, yanking clear of the knife. Once the steel left his body he regained his shark's smile. He put the back of one hand to his mouth and licked at the glowing blood until another spasm of shuddering tore through him. His eyes took on that same glow, but not in a wholesome way. The wound she'd caused knitted up.

  "Whoa. The blood of a god. Now that's a rush! You oughta try it sometime, chickie-girl."

  Extending one arm sideways a tendril from the chaos leaped to his hand, merging with flesh. The power poured into him and bolstered him up. His outline was almost too bright to look at, but the bulk of his body remained stubbornly in shadow.

  He clapped loud, rubbing the palms together. "Okay, honey, sorry to keep you waiting, business, y'know, but now I'm all yours. What say we skip the dinner and a movie part and get right to the screwing over?"

  She'd tried to take advantage of the machete's design, using it as a chopping rather than a thrust weapon, but her fencing training was with epée, not saber. Well, too bad and do the best you can. For an effective hit, she had to get in close. Perhaps if she cut his hand off along with the cord . . .

  And then he was behind her again, moving too fast to track. How the devil—

  Something hard banged against the side of her skull, there was a hot stabbing in her lower back then shoulders, and her legs abruptly stopped working. She hit the stone surface like a bag of sand. When her mind cleared she could hardly stand the barrage to her senses. They were wide open, no barriers to shield and filter; the assault of noise and sight and touch and smell from the Otherside were drowning her. Everything was too sharp, too loud, too much, and ongoing. She shouted, trying to negate at least the sound with her own feeb
le voice.

  It was a relief when Rivers framed her face in his two hands and smiled lovingly down at her. His chill touch seemed to blunt the worst of it. Or absorbed.

  "Oh, baby, I just knew you'd be a screamer not a moaner."

  She tried to raise a weapon, either of them, but couldn't feel her arms. All her strength and the adrenaline that had been pounding through her system to feed it were gone. He lifted her up—had to hold her up—his arms strong around her as he took a step toward the edge of the platform. She couldn't fight him, her legs dragged loose. It wasn't paralysis, that implied being frozen in place, this was absolute bonelessness.

  Her head drooped to her chest, lolling. He grabbed her hair and pulled so she could look at him. "Sweetheart, this has been fun, but the plain truth is when it comes to mayhem, I've just had a lot more practice at it than you."

  Looking into his cheerfully mad eyes, she could believe it. He turned her so she could see out. Her Sight showed her the ordinary esplanade and the Otherside version at once.

  He whispered in her ear again, as though sharing a secret. "You are so privileged. Do you know that? What you're getting now is what the old priests used to see, layers on layers. They kept adding to it the same way their builders stacked a new building on top of an old one. With every heart they cut out, with every drop of blood that flowed down these stones, they added to the darkness—all with the very best of intentions, of course."

  Where was the serpent god? Had it left, or had he fed on it as well? She thought she saw a green and blue shimmer under the faux-water of the encircling storm. Its level was lower than before. How can one man burn up so much power? Where was it going?

  "They'd get their best and brightest—which is a good way to prevent some upstart from taking your job—fatten 'em up and promise 'em paradise, then—wham-bam—cut out their plucky little hearts while they were still beating. Ah, the good old days!"