Nekropolis n-1

by Tim Waggoner

  I finished reloading and turned to Devona. “Time to get your crystal back,” I said.

  She nodded grimly, and we started toward the dais, but before she could get three steps, she stiffened, grimaced in pain, and fell to her side. In my concern for Devona, I momentarily forgot about the Sentinel, the Dawnstone, the Lords, and the quaking of the Nightspire. I knelt by her side.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She touched the side of her head and between paingritted teeth forced out, “My head…feels like it’s…on fire…”

  I feared she was suffering from some delayed reaction to viewing the Dawnstone’s brilliance. I wanted to help her, wanted to take away the pain, but I didn’t know how.

  “Forget about me, go…stop…Dawnstone…”

  I didn’t want to leave her lying there in agony, but I knew if someone didn’t do something soon, we’d all be destroyed. I nodded, squeezed her hand, then stood and half-ran, half-limped toward the dais. I weaved between weeping and wailing guests, my mind racing to come up with some sort of plan of attack.

  I couldn’t hurt the Sentinel by shooting it, couldn’t shatter the Dawnstone. I certainly couldn’t physically battle the golem, nor did I have any mystic knowledge that would allow me to attack it magically. And I didn’t have anything in my jacket of tricks that would help. If only the damned thing’s hide wasn’t so blasted tough! Then I could-and then I realized: its skin might be impenetrable, but what about its insides? There was a gaping hole in its chest now where the Dawnstone had been concealed. If I could just get a shot at that hole…

  I circled the dais, looking for an angle. It wasn’t easy, considering the other motionless Sentinels in the way, not to mention the Darklords and Father Dis. But I finally found a space between a Sentinel and Talaith that, while not perfect by any means, would have to do. I aimed, doing my best to ignore Dis’s cries and the chamber’s shaking. Steady, steady…I fired.

  One, two, three shots right into the open gash in the Sentinel’s chest. Success! The creature staggered and the Dawnstone’s beam winked out. But the golem didn’t go down. Instead, it leveled the Dawnstone at me and I was blinded by the crystal’s blazing light. I raised an arm to protect my eyes, but I felt no heat and no pain.

  The light extinguished, and I blinked furiously, trying to force my eyes to work again. Within seconds, I could see once more, although my vision was peppered with floating purple and orange afterimages. I took a quick inventory of my body, and as near as I could tell, the Dawnstone hadn’t harmed me. I was grateful the crystal produced no heat; otherwise, I likely would have burst into flame.

  The Sentinel seemed to regard me for a moment-it was difficult to tell for certain since it possessed no facial features-and then it turned and began descending the dais. I checked Dis. He knelt in the middle of the pentagram, obviously shaken. The Darklords were still emitting beams of darkness at him, though, and the Nightspire continued quaking furiously. Dis got to his feet and looked up at Umbriel once more. The shadowsun was covered with gray patches, many more than before, and jagged fissures criss-crossed its surface. The Renewal Ceremony was failing.

  Dis opened his mouth and released a shout of equal parts frustration and determination, and pure darkness fountained from deep within him and rushed upward toward Nekropolis’s dying sun.

  The Sentinel, meanwhile, had reached the chamber floor and was stomping toward me, the Dawnstone held at its side in one massive hand. Magic hadn’t harmed me, so it looked like the big bruiser was going to get physical. No problem; this kind of fight I understood.

  I aimed for the gash and squeezed off three more shots.

  The Sentinel took a step back, swayed, and then dropped the Dawnstone, which fell to the floor with a loud clack! but was undamaged. The rent in the golem’s chest widened, and out spilled a black flood of tiny hard-shelled insects.

  I stared in surprise, and suddenly a whole lot of things began to make sense.

  I didn’t have time to reflect on my newfound realizations before the insects were upon me, covering me completely from head to toe. I slapped at them, tore at them, hit the ground and rolled in an attempt to crush them, but while I got a few that way, there were just too damned many, gnawing, chewing, ripping away at my undead flesh. It didn’t hurt, of course; I felt a certain distance from what was occurring, as if it were happening to someone else.

  And then I couldn’t move my left arm anymore, nor my right. I fell to the floor, my legs useless. I couldn’t see, for I no longer possessed eyes. And my thoughts became erratic and sluggish, and I realized the insects had penetrated my brain.

  I experienced a moment of vertigo, followed by darkness. Then I could see once more, only now I was looking down upon a carpet of insects that were picking clean a rag-covered skeleton, and I understood what had taken place. The insects had destroyed my body and released my spirit. I was dead, for the second time.

  I wasn’t upset by this development, didn’t feel anything about it one way or the other. It just was.

  Although I had no body, at least none that I was aware of, I did appear to have a limited range of vision, as if I were still using eyes to see. I wanted to know what the Sentinel was doing and, as if having the desire was all that was necessary, my vision focused at the golem.

  It stood motionless while the insects finished their work, and then like a movie in reverse, they flowed back into the Sentinel. When they were all inside once more, the golem gripped its chest wound and pinched it closed, in order to hold the insects in, I presumed, and then stomped back toward the dais where Father Dis and the Darklords still struggled to renew Umbriel.

  I watched, unconcerned, as the Sentinel retrieved the Dawnstone and mounted the steps of the dais. The golem then raised the mystic crystal and once more unleashed a blast of light at Dis. The ruler and founder of Nekropolis screamed, and the dark power he channeled upward to Umbriel was cut off again. He fell to his knees as the tremors which shook the Nightspire grew even more violent. I wondered idly how long the structure could withstand such shaking, not that it mattered much. Nothing mattered. The concept no longer held any meaning for me. Everything just was.

  And then I felt a pull, as if something were drawing me toward it. I “looked” in that direction and saw a light a thousand times brighter than any the Dawnstone could ever produce. I began drifting toward that light, slowly at first, and then faster, leaving the struggles of the flesh creatures behind me, already forgotten.

  And as I neared the light, I heard a voice, a voice that I hadn’t heard in almost two years.

  It’s not like you to leave a job unfinished, Matt.

  With a jolt, I remembered the Sentinel and the Dawnstone, Dis and the Darklords, Umbriel and the Nightspire.

  And Devona.

  Dale was right; I still had work to do.

  Thanks for the reminder, pal.

  I turned away from the light and moved back toward the chamber and the struggle taking place on the dais. I had no idea what I could hope to do as a disembodied spirit-I just knew I had to do something. I wished Lyra were here to give me a few pointers. She’d spent enough time as a spirit and probably could…And then it hit me. Lyra and Honani, one soul exchanged for another.

  I didn’t have a spell designed by Papa Chatha to aid me, but I did have a hell of a lot of determination. I concentrated on drifting toward the Sentinel, who was still unmercifully blasting Father Dis with the Dawnstone.

  More specifically, I aimed for the gash in the thing’s chest.

  I slipped into the Sentinel’s body and was suddenly aware of another consciousness within it. A fragmented, alien consciousness that I experienced as a million tiny voices whispering back and forth to each other. And then I sensed the voices become aware of me and begin speaking as one, only they weren’t whispering this time: they were shouting-shouting for me to get out.

  But I wasn’t about to go anywhere. I concentrated my entire will on merging with the Sentinel, on becoming one with it,
being it. I could feel the alien presence’s grip on the golem begin to weaken, and I took advantage of the opportunity to seize control of the Sentinel’s arms.

  The alien presence shrieked within my mind as I brought the crystal to the chest of the body we shared, pried open the gash, and aimed the stone within. I sensed that all I needed to do to activate the Dawnstone was will it.

  I did.

  Light flooded through our shared being, and I could hear the presence’s agonized screams, feel its death throes. And then the presence was gone, and the Dawnstone’s light grew dim and went out altogether, leaving me alone in the Sentinel’s body.

  I began to feel my thoughts slipping away then, to feel my very Self begin to dissolve into an approaching night that was warm, welcoming, and eternal.

  I didn’t care, though. All that mattered was Nekropolis-and more importantly, Devona-was safe. I only wished I’d had a chance to say goodbye.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  I walked down the steps into Gregor’s basement, my flashlight on high this time. I half expected him not to be there, but he was, crouching against the wall in his usual position, masses of his children-more than normal, I thought-all around him, covering the walls, floor, and ceiling. The ones scuttling across the floor remained outside my flashlight beam, but only just.

  “Hello, Matthew,” Gregor said.

  “You don’t seem very surprised to see me alive, or at least my version of alive. But then you wouldn’t be, would you? We never did find the child of yours which Devona carried in her head. She thought it had somehow been destroyed by her proximity to the light of the Dawnstone. But it really escaped while Devona was half unconscious with pain and came back here to report to you, didn’t it?”

  “Getting into the Nightspire is one thing,” Gregor said. “Getting out another. Your surmise is correct.”

  “Why’d you implant it in her? As a sort of fail-safe device?”

  “As a precaution, in case either of you came too close to interfering with the plan. We would have tried to manipulate you into hosting one of us, Matthew, but we knew you would never agree to it.”

  “You were right. Speaking of people being right, I’m still shocked that crazy Carl actually reported a legitimate story.”

  “Even a lunatic is occasionally correct,” Gregor said.

  “That’s what you are, isn’t it? One of the Watchers from Outside…meaning outside the city.”

  “Yes, but despite our pose as Gregor, it is incorrect to refer to use as separate individuals. We are One.”

  “That’s what I saw back in the Cathedral, when I looked out the window over the Null Plains and viewed what I took to be shifting waves of darkness. It was really millions upon millions of bugs, wasn’t it? Millions of bits and pieces of you.”

  Gregor, or at least the part of the Watchers’ group mind that appeared to be Gregor, nodded.

  I became aware of insects gathering quietly around us. I had no doubt that if I turned to look, I’d find the entrance to the stairs blocked. But I continued talking.

  “You know, I always wondered just what species you were. You didn’t seem like any other being in Nekropolis. Now I know why.”

  “This dimension is our home, and has been for more years than your birth planet has existed. When Dis and the Darklords first entered this dimension and created Nekropolis, we had no idea what had happened, for as One we had no concept of otherness. No concept of invasion. But we learned. We entered the city, tunneling beneath the flaming barrier of Phlegethon, and we spread throughout Nekropolis. It took over fifty of your years before we began to understand what had taken place, understand that others had come to our home, had stolen part of it and claimed it as their own. We became determined to do what anyone from your world would do in similar circumstances: repel the invaders and reclaim what was ours.

  “We merely observed for the next century, learning as much as we could about Nekropolis and its denizens, their strengths and weaknesses, desires and fears, wants and needs. And when we felt we had learned enough, we decided it was time to begin. We created the guise of Gregor and began trading information. Not because we needed it; we collected more than enough on our own. But because we wished to make contacts with others that would be able to serve us. This is why we aided you over the last two years, Matthew, in the hope that we might eventually find a way to use you. Unfortunately for us, you proved adept at resisting manipulation.

  “As the years passed, we slowly, cautiously began to shape the course of events in Nekropolis. Through our agents, we helped foment dissent between the Darklords, founded the Dominari and the Hidden Light, established street gangs, encouraged the growth of crime on all levels. We worked especially hard to make sure the Darklords did not cut off all contact with Earth. We wanted not only to make certain the Others had a way to leave our dimension, but that the developing technology from their former homeworld would continue to flow into the city to provide us more tools to fight with. And for the next two centuries, we gathered information, made contacts, manipulated, plotted, and schemed. And finally we saw our opportunity.”

  “The Dawnstone,” I said.

  “Gregor” nodded. “We have worked hard the last dozen or so years aiding the development of various thaumaturgically enhanced drugs such as tangleglow and mind dust. But when one of our agents created veinburn, a drug so powerful it would prove addictive even to the strongest of supernatural beings, we realized its awesome potential. As Gregor, we made arrangements with the Dominari to begin producing veinburn in limited quantities-”

  “And made sure Morfran, who was the supplier to a bloodson of a Darklord, distributed it.”

  “Yes. Varma, indolent pleasure-seeker that he was, eagerly sampled Morfran’s new product. And from that moment on, he was ours. By threatening to cut off his supply of veinburn, we convinced Varma to cooperate with us. He told us anything we wanted to know, all the secrets of his father that he was privy to. Including the contents of his vaunted Collection. And we learned of the Dawnstone.

  “We had acquired much mystical knowledge over the last few centuries, and were instantly aware of the potential a crystal that produced actual sunlight would have here in a city of darkness. The Renewal Ceremony was fast approaching, and we realized it would be the perfect time to strike, for if Dis and the Darklords could not revitalize Umbriel-the power source which actually maintains the existence of Nekropolis within this dimension-the city would be destroyed and we would finally have gotten rid of the hated Others.”

  “So you had Varma steal the Dawnstone. After using your magical know-how to make sure his aura matched his father’s so that he could get past Galm’s wardspells.”

  The insects were all around me now; I was surrounded by solid walls of them. Only the illumination of my flashlight protected me. Still, I did nothing.

  Gregor went on. “Varma delivered the Dawnstone, and we resumed his supply of veinburn. We saw no need to slay him at that time; there was no chance he would report his crime to Lord Galm, and we did not wish to draw any undue attention to the theft of the Dawnstone. Eventually, of course, it became necessary to have him killed in order to keep him from talking to you. He was a pathetic, weak creature, and would have told you everything with little prompting on your part.

  “We had previously managed to implant some pieces of ourself into one of Dis’s Sentinels, and we realized we could use it to ferry the Dawnstone into the Nightspire and then, once inside, use it to attack Dis and disrupt the Renewal Ceremony.”

  “So you stuck the Dawnstone inside the Sentinel, and waited for it to be recalled for the Ceremony. Tell me, why did you leave a scar on the Sentinel, even a faint one?”

  “Our mystic knowledge, gleaned as it has been in scattered fragments over the centuries, is less than complete. The spells Dis used to create the Sentinels were unfamiliar to us, and we could only partially heal the golem’s flesh. We had no choice but to go forward with the plan and hope no one would notice.”
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br />   “I should have known it was you all along, Gregor. One of your children was on the wall listening when I first spoke with Devona. You were the only being in the city besides the two of us who knew we were investigating the theft of the Dawnstone, the only one who could have sent the Red Tide vampires to kill us after we left the Great Library.”

  “We knew you, Matthew. You wouldn’t let go of this until you saw it through to the end, one way or another. You had to be stopped. Ms. Kanti was of lesser importance. If she had been been killed, it would have been solely due to her association with you.”

  “How did you manipulate the Red Tide members?”

  “They were pathetically simple-minded creatures. To secure their services, we had only to promise them unlimited access to whatever technology they wished. They were no different than Varma, in that regard. They cared only for seeing their lusts fulfilled. Vampires’ need for blood tends to make them highly addictive personalities in other regards.”

  “Thanks for the psychology lesson.” The insects were only inches away from me now, and edging closer all the time. “I suppose you were behind all the attempts on our lives?”

  “Most of them. Through various agents, we made sure Thokk knew you were in the Broken Cross, and that Talaith was aware of your passage through her realm. And of course, we made certain the Red Tide vampires were waiting for you after you left here. We also had the Dominari order Yberio and Skully to kill you. Unfortunately, the warlock proved too weak for the task, and Skully prized your friendship more than he feared his masters.”

  “And the insect we saw in the alley?”

  “An error. It was one which we had implanted in Varma in order to keep track of him. The sheer amount of veinburn the Red Tide vampires injected into Varma was enough to affect the child, and slow its escape long enough for you to see it.”