Edge of Dawn

by Melinda Snodgrass

  “The second part of that statement sounds good.”

  Weber gave a shout of laughter, and Richard felt the blood rising in his face. “Oh, God, Damon, I’m sorry. My internal editor must be out to lunch. I get this way when I’m tired.”

  Weber took the chair across from him. “Actually saying what you’re thinking and stating what you want? I like it.” He continued in a more serious tone. “So, what’s keeping you awake?”

  “What’s not? But mostly Mosi. I’m not doing right by her. She’s getting very restless, and who can blame her? We can’t go on living like Morlocks. She’s a kid. She needs to go outside, play, and I’ve got to get her started with some kind of study regimen.”

  “So let’s go out.”

  Richard shook his head. “It’s too dangero—”

  “And so are we … dangerous, I mean. We can protect her from most human threats, and if an Old One shows up—well, we’ve always got feet.”

  Richard stood up and stretched. “What’s that line from Monty Python and the Holy Grail? ‘When danger reared its ugly head, he bravely turned his tail and fled.’”

  “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with a strategic retreat.”

  Richard sighed. “We just seem to be doing a lot of it right now. As for Mosi … I’ll think about it.”

  General Çelik came into the mess. The smile of greeting that curved Richard’s lips curdled into a grimace when he saw the expression on the old man’s face. He came quickly to his feet.

  “We have a situation,” Çelik said.

  Chapter

  TWENTY

  ONCE again Richard found himself aboard the Mi-17 chopper as it beat its way east toward the village of Boğazkale. The beams of the rising sun came through the front window like fragments of golden glass to pierce his eyes and set a hammer beating against the inside of his skull. The noise, the movement, and the light combined to have gorge rising up the back of his throat. Richard pulled a bottle of water from his pocket, took a sip, closed his eyes, and swallowed hard. Çelik was aboard with eight soldiers. Lumina was represented by Richard, Weber, and Cross. Richard had left a note for Mosi and woke Brook and Jerry to ask if they would entertain the child until he got back.

  “Is this going to be dangerous?” Brook had asked.

  “No,” Richard had replied. He hoped that proved to be true.

  Weber, head thrown back against the side of the helicopter, was snoring. His feet were resting on his big bag o’ guns. Cross was on the other side of the chopper, matching the security chief snore for snore. Richard looked out the window as they passed over a narrow two-lane highway, a ribbon of black against the green of the grasslands stretching out in all directions. He wondered if it had changed much since long-forgotten conquerors had swept across these lands. Power poles marched along the side of the road. A number of them looked like they were wearing wide sombreros. Richard squinted. A soldier grinned at him and offered binoculars. Richard nodded in thanks and took a closer look.

  The telephone pole was topped by an elaborate birds’ nest that looked to be at least four feet in diameter. “What the hell?” He nudged Weber with his elbow. “Damon. Wake up. You’ve got to see this.”

  “Huh.” Richard offered the binoculars and pointed. Weber took a look. “Damn, didn’t know there were pterodactyls in Turkey.” As they watched, an enormous stork flapped its way beneath the helicopter. Because of its size, the immense wings seemed to beat in slow motion. It came to rest in one of the massive nests, settling down with almost prissy care.

  “Well, that was pretty amazing,” Richard yelled over the rotors. He leaned across toward Çelik. “What can you tell me about Boğazkale?”

  “Kurdish village. They farm, but mostly they are herdsmen. Following the goats and the sheep into the mountains in summer, returning to the village in winter. They make money guiding tourists through the ruins, working as laborers on the archaeological digs.” Çelik gave a grim little smile. “And of course they sell rugs. We all sell rugs … or have relatives who sell rugs.”

  The helicopter banked hard to the right, throwing Richard against Weber, who placed a steadying arm around his shoulders and left it there as they began their descent. Gray stones formed lines, squares, and rectangles against the grass. Sheep and goats dotted the hillsides, and scrambled through the ruined foundations of what had once been a great city.

  Four thousand years ago, Richard thought. They roared past a large building with crenellated walls that seemed to be constructed from adobe. Clearly a reconstruction in the Hittite style. Which looked a lot like Assyrian architecture to Richard. He wondered who had been here first.

  Ahead of them, a cluster of buildings with red-tiled roofs and whitewashed walls lay cupped in the folds of the valley. It was probably just his imagination, but Richard felt like the modern village was huddling, trying to pull away from the lowering ruins on the hillsides.

  They drew closer. No people rushed out to investigate their arrival, and what had seemed dark spots on the cobbled streets and in the meadows resolved into huddled bodies. Richard looked at Weber and grimaced. There was a coldness in the small of his back where the hilt should have rested. The soldiers were murmuring to each other, and Çelik looked as old as death and just as grim.

  The chopper set down with a lean and a sway. Cross woke up when Çelik barked orders, and the soldiers deployed immediately, forming a perimeter around the general and the foreigners. Richard jumped down and drew his gun. There was something about the silence that had the back of his neck prickling. The soldiers maintained discipline, but Richard saw their eyes flicking rapidly in all directions. Cross stretched and sniffed.

  “Yep. Old One stink.”

  “Is it still here?” Richard asked. Cross shook his head.

  Çelik gave more orders, and the troops began leap-frogging into the village, which seemed to possess only one actual street. They found bodies almost immediately. Men in rusty black pants and embroidered white shirts. Women in calf-length dresses wearing head scarves. Children, some clutching toys. A dog howled mournfully and thrust his muzzle into the limp hand of a girl near the city square. The thin wrist was encircled by a bracelet of almost abstract blue glass eyes. There was no human sound. Just wind, and howls, and the distant chime of bells. Richard whirled at the sound.

  “Bells. On the goats,” Çelik said.

  Richard and Weber knelt next to a man’s body and searched for some indication of the cause of death but found nothing. One pocket held another of the glass eyes hanging beneath an embroidered image of St. George slaying the dragon. Çelik waved to his troops to break order and begin searching the buildings. Many of the buildings had the blue eye hung at the door. Richard touched one that was attached to an elaborately crocheted peacock tail. More of the glass eyes formed the eyes in the bird’s tail.

  “What are these?” he asked Çelik.

  “Nazar boncuğu. The blue eye. They’re believed to ward off evil.”

  “Sure didn’t work here,” Weber said unhappily.

  Richard entered building after building and found only death. It was the infant in a crib in an upstairs room that sent him reeling back to lean against a wall, choking on tears, overcome with horror. He gasped for a few moments, mopped at his face, which ran with equal parts tears and sweat. He knew it was stupid, but he wrapped the tiny baby girl in her embroidered blanket and carried her downstairs. He placed her gently on the breast of the young woman whom he guessed was her mother. The woman had been struck down as she stood at her stove. The burner was still on, the contents of the pan burned to an unidentifiable sludge that resembled charcoal. Richard turned off the burner and backed out of the charnel house.

  They all rendezvoused back in the main square. The soldiers were muttering, looking in all directions. “What killed them?” Çelik demanded.

  “An Old One,” Cross said. “We need to find the opening. See if it’s still open.”

  “You can locate it?” Richard asked.
r />   “Oh, yeah, but with its stink all over everything, we’re gonna have to get close.” Cross glanced at the hills across the valley, the gray stones like broken teeth in the grass. There was something chilling about those enigmatic lines.

  “Damn, those ruins have gotta cover five or six square miles,” Weber said.

  Richard looked around the square. There was a sign in several languages indicating a museum. “Let’s see if there’s anything about the site that might narrow the search.”

  They went inside. Past the ticket taker dead in his kiosk. The museum itself was small. Some pottery, tools, clay tablets with cuneiform pressed into their surfaces. There were pictures of sunburned men and women working in test trenches assisted by local citizens, and photos of points of interest in the site. Richard skimmed down the long description. He learned that the site had been discovered in 1834, but no real excavation begun until 1906. The most notable discovery was of a peace treaty between King Hattushili III and Pharaoh Ramses II. The original was in a museum in Istanbul, and a copy was on display at the United Nations. Proof, Richard thought, that diplomacy had a long history. It was recommended that they view the Lion’s Gate and the King’s Gate, also a temple in the lower city. There were pictures of stairs ascending the city walls and tunnels that ran beneath the royal enclosure.

  Çelik, reading the Turkish version over Richard’s shoulder, reacted to something. “It was known as the City of a Thousand Gods,” the general said softly, as if worried that some of them were still listening.

  “Well, that’s never a good thing,” Cross grunted.

  Richard read about the last days of the city when a mysterious illness had swept through, killing almost everyone. He and Çelik exchanged glances. “Rather like what happened last night, yes?” the old man said.

  “Yeah.” Richard resumed reading, and had just about resigned himself to a long search across the entire ruin when his eye was caught by a small section about the mystery surrounding a strange green rock, almost perfectly square and about two feet high that stood in the temple complex in the lower city. Geologically, the rock matched nothing in the area. The closest analogue was to a quarry in Egypt, but even that was in some doubt. There were also handprints that had been worn into the surface of the stone by thousands of worshipers over decades. The rock was just one of the many enigmas of Hattusas. Richard mutely pointed at the section. Everyone leaned in to read.

  “Want to bet that rock really isn’t from around here? As in, not even from this world? Or even this universe?” Cross said.

  “I don’t take sucker bets,” Richard replied. “Let’s check it out.”

  “Any idea where it is?” Weber, ever practical, asked.

  Richard shrugged. “In the lower city.”

  They stepped back outside. It was now midmorning and it looked to be a warm September day. Which meant the smell of corruption was rising along with the temperature. Back in Albuquerque, Richard had always kept a small jar of Vicks on hand to try to overpower the smell of a rotting body. Other cops used cigarettes, and as if on cue, a number of the soldiers lit up. The Turkish tobacco was pungent and rough, and Richard was grateful for it. He was trying to hold the horror at bay. Go back to a cop’s clinical analysis. This was a crime scene. An enormous crime scene, but still a crime scene.

  * * *

  The actual ruins were some distance away. Çelik jerked his chin toward a truck parked nearby whose driver had half fallen from the cab in the act of fleeing death. “It will be faster,” he said almost apologetically. Richard nodded in agreement.

  The soldiers and Cross climbed into the bed of the truck. Weber pulled the body free and slid behind the wheel. Richard found himself wedged in the middle between Weber and the general. A blue eye swung from the rearview mirror as they jounced down a long dirt road, past the mock Hittite building, and stopped at a pole gate. Çelik ordered his troops to take defensive positions, then he, Richard, Weber, and Cross moved into the ruins. Richard froze at the sound of low moans and realized it was wind through the rocks. He shook off the fear and started walking.

  Remembering lessons from Chaco Canyon, Richard at first tried to stay off the gray stone foundations, but the footing was treacherous. The tall grass hid loose stones and holes. The foundations offered a stable walkway. They moved past one deep trench in which enormous pottery jars, buried in the earth almost up to their rims, yawned like screaming mouths. There was one weathered gray rock on a pedestal that resembled a drunken abstract artist’s vision of an animal. Richard looked more closely and had the vague sense of eyes and fangs. He remembered the lion statues that lined the entrance to Atatürk’s tomb. This weathered stone, like the embryo of a lion, had been the model.

  “Let’s split up,” Richard said. “We’ll cover more ground that way.” Weber looked like he wanted to object but finally nodded and moved off.

  Cross stood tensely erect, his neck stretched, nostrils fluttering. “There are voices on the wind,” he said, and walked away.

  Richard shuddered, feeling isolated and very vulnerable. Behind him, a man cried out in fear. Richard whirled, drawing his gun. But the soldier was simply kneeling on the ground, arms wrapped around his head, rifle in the dirt in front of him. Keening, he rocked back and forth, and Richard realized they were not inoculated. Richard was a genetic freak immune to magic, and even he felt a soul-crushing dread in this place. How much worse for a young soldier, a normal human sensing an unnatural evil and unable to flee? An older officer ran to the boy and placed a comforting arm over his shoulders.

  And I can do nothing to help them.

  Setting his jaw, Richard forced himself to walk on. He spotted a body in the midst of the ruins, and just beyond it was the stone. The vivid green was easy to spot. Richard moved first to the body. It was a heavyset man of middle years, and he had been shot in the temple and at close range. The brass shell casing glittered among the rocks. Richard yanked out his handkerchief and picked up the casing, tucked it into his pocket. He then turned to the stone.

  It stood near the back of what had once been a rectangular room, and it had clearly been hewn and shaped. On at least two sides the corners were still fairly sharp. Cautiously, Richard approached. The green stone reached to roughly knee height, and the top was stained with dried blood. He circled it, and from one angle the sunlight struck in a way that allowed him to see the shadowed handprints that had been worn into the sides. Some of the blood that had been poured over the stone had caught in the indentations.

  “Damon! General! I found it!” Richard yelled. The others made their way quickly to join him. Cross literally came loping up with the air of a hunting cat. He studied the rock, and his eyes went completely black. Even after all this time, it was still disturbing to Richard when he watched it happen. Weber and Çelik arrived.

  Weber looked at the stone, then slowly pivoted, studying the gray stone ruins that stretched out in all directions. “Yeah, this baby is clearly not from around here.” The drawling tone broke the bubble of tension that had settled in Richard’s chest. He gave a short laugh.

  He turned to Cross. “Well?”

  The creature didn’t answer, and then from the corner of his eye Richard caught movement. Çelik was approaching the stone, his hand outstretched. His face had gone slack, and his eyes were unfocused. With a yell of alarm, Richard threw himself at the older man, catching him around the waist and knocking him off his feet. They came down on one of the low walls, and the general gave a grunt of pain as his hip hit hard against a notched stone that looked like it had once carried water. Çelik suddenly seemed aware of Richard, arms locked around Çelik’s waist, knee planted on the older man’s thigh.

  Çelik looked around, then tore his eyes away from the stone. “Thank you,” he said simply.

  Richard climbed to his feet and offered a hand to assist the general. “Don’t look back. Walk away. Let us handle this.”

  The old man nodded and started limping slowly and painfully back toward
his troops. He paused but didn’t turn, just called out, “I wanted to touch it. The desire consumed me.” He shook his head and resumed his painful progress.

  “Yeah, and he would have found himself in a less than fun place,” Cross said from behind Richard.

  Richard turned. “You back now?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So?” Richard nudged.

  “One of your kind did some magic shit, and one of my kind came slithering out.”

  “So it’s a tear?” Weber said. “It’s not like any one we’ve ever seen before.”

  “That’s ’cause it’s not a tear. It’s more like a portal. I haven’t ever seen anything quite like this before either. Pretty cool,” Cross answered.

  “That wouldn’t be my first reaction,” Richard said dryly.

  “So what can we do about it?” Weber asked.

  “Nada since the paladin here lost the sword.”

  “He didn’t lose it. It was those scientists’ fault.”

  “Yeah, that’s right, defend your sweetie.”

  “He’s not.… And how did you…”

  Richard stood staring thoughtfully at the ground, almost unaware of the bickering behind him. He whirled on Weber and Cross. “I feel like this was a message, or maybe a gauntlet being thrown … to me.”

  “You know, not everything is about you,” Cross said.

  “I think this one is.”

  Weber accepted his statement. “So, who?”

  “Let’s find out. We need to keep looking around.”

  “What if this was an attempt to draw you out?” Weber asked. “Staying here could be dangerous.” He nervously scanned the hills.

  “They couldn’t be sure”—he ticked off the points on his fingers—“that I was still in Turkey. If I was, that somebody would inform me. That I’d respond. This is chess, Damon, and this is just the opening gambit.”