The Dark Citadel (The Green Woman)

by Jane Dougherty

  “It’s not safe.” Grania’s face took on an expression of distress. “The last young ones to go poking about in that black tunnel never came back. Their parents who went looking for them said there was something in there, something evil. They felt it.”

  “That was years ago,” Maeve interrupted. “You said yourselves the Green Woman is moving. It could all be different out there now. Somebody ought to go and have a look. I’ll go, if Ruairi or Abraham will come with me.”

  “You can just pipe down,” Ezekiel said sharply. “The Council will decide if it’s time to send another expedition and who goes on it. And I can tell you, it won’t be children of fifteen either!”

  “I’ll go. I have nothing to lose.” Zachariah’s voice broke into the discussion that had suddenly become tense and fearful. “I want my mother out of here, that’s all. There’s nothing else in Providence worth saving.”

  * * * *

  Zachariah took a last look at Underworld, at the caves and grottos, the crystals, like solid water droplets in the low roof, shining fire-bright in the flickering light thrown by the candles. Pipes and gutterings snaked their sinuous way above his head, leading to the Outside. Maeve, his guide through the rocky labyrinth, walked silently at his side until they reached a smooth section of rock covered with images.

  “We Dananns know the stories about the time before, and we have the pictures too. She took Zachariah over to the painted rocks. “The first Dananns made images of what they remembered from before the war, the things that have disappeared from Providence.” She pointed out a small running figure with four legs and a lolling tongue. “This is a dog.” She pointed at a sinuous pattern of brown and green. “And these are trees. The Dananns who are good at it still come here to work. They make the colours from minerals in the rock, repeating the old images to make complicated pictures.” Maeve showed Zachariah a long frieze depicting a voyage across curling waves, where monsters and giant beasts swam. “This is the story of Bran,” she said. “I’ll tell you it as we walk along.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Zachariah whispered. “And an Ignorant, a Danann made it?”

  Maeve gave him a strange look. “Who else? None of you people remember anything of the past.”

  * * * *

  They had been walking for almost an hour when Maeve pointed out the first small holes in weak points between the rocks. “See? Rabbits. That’s where they get in. It’s what I keep telling them. It must be different Outside, now that the Green Woman has begun her work.”

  “We have always been told that Outside the air is unbreathable, nothing but poisonous gases.” Zachariah’s voice was uneasy.

  Maeve shrugged. “Probably just lies. Rabbits live there, so it can’t be poisonous, can it?”

  Zachariah bit his lip so as not to snap back. It was all right for Maeve; she wasn’t going Outside, was she?

  “Zachariah,” Maeve took his arm. Her voice grew serious, “what I said about the Green Woman working her magic Outside, I believe it, truly. But there are other things out there too, you know. We see them at night from the tenements. Demons. And things nobody else can see.” She lowered her voice. “Remember, when you find it, that evil walks in the Garden. But evil can be defeated. You have to believe that. It’s in the stories.”

  Zachariah knew he should feel daunted by the enormity of his task, but looking down into Maeve’s frank blue eyes, he suddenly felt capable of moving mountains. Drawing himself up to his full height, he threw out his chest and smiled down at her, reassuringly. “If the Garden’s there, I’ll find it.”

  “Even if it doesn’t look like a garden?” Maeve sounded doubtful.

  “Even if it looks like an overflowing cesspit.” He grinned.

  * * * *

  “Nobody ever comes this far from the Homeland,” Maeve said. “Not even the hunters after rabbits. There isn’t enough light to hunt by—too many of the lamps have gone out.”

  Maeve had explained that long ago, when it had still been the intention to create a huge second city below ground, the ancestors had carved out great thoroughfares and traced the outline of others. The work was lit by globes that once shone white and powerful, but they were never maintained. Rabbits and rock falls snapped cables, and the current had grown feeble. At the limits of the worked areas, the lamps were widely scattered and many of them had gone out. The rocks were slippery now with dampness and glowed faintly in the weak lamplight. Not far ahead, the last lamp cast its feeble light along a rough-hewn wall of stone and earth. In the wall, black and sinister, was a hole. The tunnel.

  The stories said the tunnel led Outside. Stories! Zachariah peered at the deep, impenetrable shadow of the entrance and goose flesh prickled over his arms and neck. For once he wished the Dananns didn’t have quite so many stories. Or rather that they also had something a bit more definite.

  Maeve handed him a homemade lantern, lit it and passed Zachariah the lighter. “If there’s any poison gas the flame will go out. Probably.” She smiled unconvincingly.

  “Or the flame will cause an explosion, and I won’t have to worry about being poisoned,” Zachariah said with an equally thin smile. There was a slight hesitation as he plucked up the courage to take Maeve’s hand. “Thank you,” he said, hoping his voice sounded firmer than he felt. “I won’t forget you.”

  Maeve looked steadily into his dark eyes that shone even in the dingy light of the lamp. “Find the woman with the Memory. Find the Garden for us. The old stories say it’s in the mountains to the north. And don’t forget to come back to show us the way.”

  “I’ll do my best.” Zachariah grinned weakly. He glanced back the way they had come, at the pale line of the road that disappeared among the rock walls and passages. “But will you find your way home all right?”

  “Don’t worry about me. Just find the Garden.” Maeve squeezed his hand encouragingly before he stepped into the darkness.

  Zachariah held up the lantern, sending the beam down the tunnel mouth. The light struggled against the shadows for a couple of yards then gave up. The floor was dry and dusty and completely smooth. Not a single foot or paw print broke its surface. He swallowed hard to get rid of the fear that was constricting his throat and turned. Maeve was waving goodbye. He gave what he hoped was a jaunty grin, though she couldn’t possibly have seen it.

  “I’ll be seeing you then,” he called as he marched with more determination than he felt into the black mouth.

  At first Zachariah turned every so often until the pale tunnel mouth and Maeve’s slim silhouette finally disappeared. A few dozen or so brave paces further on and he held up the flickering lantern, swinging it from side to side in an attempt to flush out the shadows. The light showed him the tunnel floor beneath his feet but little more. The roof was too high and the beam too feeble. He gritted his teeth and tried to put more determination into his stride, fixing his eyes on the far limit of the pool of light cast by the lamp. He had plodded on for what seemed like hours, smooth, unbroken sand passing into and out of his sight with hypnotic monotony, when a faint howling stopped him dead in his tracks.

  The howling grew in intensity and little eddies of dust blew up from the floor as a shrieking wind rushed down the tunnel towards him, tugging at his clothes and extinguishing his little light. He swallowed a cry of fear and reached into his pocket for the lighter. Another howl made him spin round. Something soft and furry touched his ear, and he screamed and lashed out with the lantern. With a sound like a small explosion, the glass shattered against the side of the tunnel, and hot oil splashed back over his hand. He cursed his stupidity as darkness overwhelmed him.

  The shadows were packed so tight he could see nothing at all. His rising terror broke out in a strangled cry as he felt the darkness reaching its sombre tentacles into his ears and throat.

  Lies! Just stupid lies! was his last coherent thought before he gave way to wild panic.

  Chapter 28

  As Deborah slid into the darkness of the passageway, the Ignoran
t quarter erupted in a frenzy of violence. The unnatural quiet was shattered as Black Boys beat down doors and clattered up crumbling staircases. Patrols barred every road out of the sector, hoping to net the Ignorant ringleaders who would no doubt make a run for it. Ringleaders of what, they had no idea, but politics was no concern of theirs. Still the Black Boys were uneasy. In the silence before the raid began, while they waited for the signal, a scream rent the air, an inhuman scream.

  The guards cringed, clutching their weapons and looking furtively at one another. Was it a sign? Did the demon scream seal the guilt of the Ignorants, or did it mean they, the guards, were about the Devil’s work? Shrugging off the latter hypothesis as far as he was able, each guard raised his riot stick and smashed it into the nearest door.

  * * * *

  In a tenement close to the main laundry, Grania heard the demon scream. She grabbed Ezekiel’s arm and shivered. Instinctively, she looked across at the bunks where her children were sleeping. All but one.

  * * * *

  In the wreckage of another dingy apartment later that night, after the Black Boys had left the building, taking with them a random handful of men as trophies, Persephone sat brooding. She picked at a piece of bread, her lips in an angry pout, a deep frown barring her forehead.

  “We were going to go through the door together. And I left her, Ma, just sitting there, holding her head.”

  Her mother tapped her hand affectionately. “You were frightened, pet. She fell, and you heard the raid begin, the Black Boys breaking down doors. Of course your first thought was for us. Then, when you turned back, she wasn’t there. Maybe she fell through the door and couldn’t call you.” She put her arms round her daughter and held her tight. “It’s better this way, pet,” she whispered. “I wouldn’t want one of mine going Outside, following a dream.”

  Persephone shook her head. “It’s no good, Ma. I should’ve gone back to make sure she was all right. If I wasn’t such a coward I’d never have left her there on her own, not with that…thing, whatever it was, hovering. It was looking for her, wasn’t it?”

  Another scream, like the one that had sent Persephone running for home, pierced the silence in the little room, and she clutched her mother, hiding her face in her lap. Her mother stroked her hair, her face betraying her own fear. What was to become of them?

  * * * *

  Out in the wasteland a spider-like shadow detached itself from the deeper shadows round the crematorium and scuttled down a short side road that ended in a mess of broken paving stones and potholes. The boy cast about, peering at the ground with his uneven eyes. He bent down, poking and scraping, turning over lumps of concrete, looking for… Then he saw it, the smooth, sleek metallic surface of a door. His ferreting and spying had found the place! He knew the principal had been right to choose him for this mission; the runaway was his betrothed after all. Agile fingers poked about around the frame, found the lock, pressed. He gasped in amazement as the hole appeared in the earth. Long crooked limbs crouched, slipped into the opening, and suddenly the figure was no longer there.

  Chapter 29

  The steps that led down into the tunnel were broad and even. The path led straight, without a bend, and Deborah felt smooth floor tiles beneath her feet. She set herself a brisk pace, refusing to think of the darkness. As she walked, she thought of what her father had said, turning it over and over, remembering his exact words, the sound of his voice. She could still see the fear in Persephone’s eyes as she turned to run for home, still heard the terrible shriek ringing in her ears and the terrifying noises made by the Black Boys as they hacked their way into the Ignorant apartments.

  But the sharpness of the sensations was fading. She had her own problems. Deborah had a destiny to fulfil; she was convinced of it. Maybe afterwards there would be time to pick up the pieces.

  Suddenly her thoughts were shattered by a sound, the faint but unmistakable whisper of the sliding door. Frozen with terror, she listened. She had been followed! Someone was picking his way cautiously down the steps. She turned and ran, holding her hands out before her, until her fingers struck a metal surface she knew to be a door, the same kind as the sliding door onto the street. The sheet of solid steel was perfectly smooth without handle, locks, or bolts. On the wall by the door was a small pad filled with buttons. On each of the buttons a sign was printed.

  Deborah turned to stare back down the tunnel. The darkness was complete, and she listened hard, not daring to breath. Heavier, firmer footsteps were hurrying confidently now along the tunnel. She even imagined she could hear her pursuer’s excited, panting breath. Her fingers flew over the buttons, pressing them at random. Nothing happened. She paused, her thoughts scattered like a panicked crowd. She took a deep breath, struggling to reorder them, and into the stillness, warm breath brushed her cheek and a jumble of calming words poured into her ear. With a grateful smile, she let out her breath and concentrated on the pad and its symbols, certain it held the key to the opening of the door.

  The flash, when it came, was brief. She saw the pad and the buttons and five of the signs glowing with red fire. She held the vision of those five signs in her head and pushed the corresponding buttons as the sound of distant pounding feet changed to a sharper, distinct clatter. The door slid back with a mechanical whisper. She threw herself into the opening as the clattering and an inarticulate shouting filled the confined space of the tunnel. She spun around—she was in a metal box!

  With an animal-like rasp of triumph, a wild looking figure with outstretched fingers and mad, staring eyes lunged at her out of the darkness. She was caught, cornered. Suddenly, at its most intense, her fear evaporated, and her gaze locked onto the triumphant stare of her pursuer. There was a jolt, a surge of energy and she felt light-headed as something uncoiled inside her—something new, uncertain, but powerful.

  It happened in a second. All she did was glare in anger, and the thing inside her sprang out with a flash of white light, like one of her visions. She felt the bolt fly as the crooked-looking boy leapt across the threshold of the box. She had no time to halt it, had no idea how to. When the blinding light dimmed, the eyes that looked into hers, mere inches away, were not grinning any more; they were filled with terror. Scorch marks seared the skin of the wild face; charred edges of shirt cloth smoked faintly. With a shriek of pain, the boy covered his distorted face with his hands and recoiled.

  The newborn power subsided, leaving Deborah’s body tingling with electricity and glowing with a faint light. The pale glimmer showed her the pad next to the open door, and she slammed her hand down on the only button in sight. Her chest heaving wildly, she watched the motion of the door go into reverse.

  Fear of failure overcoming his fear of the white terror, her pursuer threw himself at the closing door. Long fingers grabbed at the edge, scrabbling at the shrinking gap, and Deborah sucked in her breath. A hoarse voice sobbed in pain and anger, the movement hesitated for an instant, but the fingers released their grip. The door shuddered and slid closed.

  Trembling partly with relief, partly with trepidation at what she had felt coming to life inside her, Deborah searched the back wall of the box for a way out. There was another pad, this time containing a single button. She pressed it. The door slid open, revealing a cavern cut into solid rock, and at the far side of the cavern, a half-disc of faint grey light.

  Deborah took two hesitant steps forward, and, with an ominous click, the door closed behind her. She spun round, but there was nothing to see. The door merged imperceptibly with the smooth-hewn rock around it. She was locked out of Providence. The only path open to her was forward, towards the light of Outside.

  Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Deborah was about to move when the light at the cave mouth was blotted out. She heard a panting and the scratching of claws on the bare rock, and as she backed up in fright, the darkness became a shape. Four legs, thick as young trees, straddled the entrance, and three massive heads with lolling tongues sniffed and tasted the air
, searching the shadows.

  Deborah pressed herself against the invisible door, but the creature had sensed her presence. With a snarl, it lurched into the cavern, blotting out the faint light and baying like a pack of hounds on a scent.

  With a moan of terror she cast about for a hiding place in the darkness. The moan rose to a shriek, rapidly stifled, as someone grabbed her from behind and clapped a hand over her mouth. Her hands pinioned to her sides, she was dragged roughly into a narrow tunnel and pressed against the wall.

  Part Two: Infernal World

  Seest thou yon dreary Plain, forlorn and wilde,]

  The seat of desolation, voyd of light,

  Save what the glimmering of these livid flames

  Casts pale and dreadful?

  John Milton, Paradise Lost: i.180-183

  Chapter 1

  Abaddon stood on the brink of the Pit and looked down into the fiery gulf. Among the black flames darker shadows moved, and from the depths arose the voices of the demons chained upon the lake of fire. Abaddon listened to their pleading. He heard the voices of his faithful soldiers, faint and respectful. His captains’ voices though snarled and cried out in a harsh language older than the world, and they shook their chains, impatient to be done with their torment.

  “I hear,” he growled, and his words rumbled like a gathering storm. “Soon it will be time. Soon I will have the tree of life and the apples of knowledge. Then the world will be ours.”

  In response the clamour increased, echoing from the vaulted coping of the roof of Hell.

  Time! The inhuman voices repeated. Soon it will be time for us!

  The demon king stared into the dancing flames.

  “Soon,” he murmured. “Soon they will all burn.”

  Chapter 2