It would work. It had to.
A young runner dashed up to the command post. “General Wellesley!” he panted. “The revenants! They are…they are attacking!”
Wellesley looked at the boy with a mix of astonishment and annoyance. “Of course they are, boy! That’s why we’re here!”
“No, sir! No…they’re different! They’ve attacked the French officers! They’ve broken ranks and…”
Screams echoed from the field in front of them, and Wellesley saw a wave of Corps Éternel surging forward haphazardly. They ran in groups of three or four and dispatched those before them with not only their amazing strength, but also an agility that he had never seen from the revenants before. They were no longer mindless undead.
They were feral beasts. Hunters. And they were coming up fast.
“To arms!” Wellesley cried. “Fire all cannon at the oncoming French!”
Arkhest crouched down beside him. “Your men,” she sang quietly, mournfully.
Wellesley sighed. “They will die faster than at the hands of those creatures,” he said.
He then turned to his artillery commander. “FIRE AT WILL!”
Wellesley turned back to Arkhest, but she was already gone, a blur of robes heading out to meet the horde head on.
He drew his sword. “CHARGE!”
CHAPTER 27
January 30, 2135
May 29, 1809
“This is not good at all,” Shaila breathed as she helped Stephane to his feet. Thankfully, Greene and Huntington simply hit him in the head rather than shooting him, and that was about all the good news Shaila expected at this point.
Above her, two zombies stood watching. And yes, they were watching. Dead eyes, milky and cold, set inside withered faces with grinning, lipless teeth looked down at them. Their fists clenched over and over and they shifted from foot to foot—they were itching for a fight. Whatever they might have been, they were sure as hell alive now…or as close as they’d been to living for quite a while.
Two other revenants shoved Berthollet toward Weatherby, Finch and Anne, while the rest held them at gunpoint and seemed to regard them as little more than gnats. In an odd way, it was the same look Huntington had on her face as she covered the room with her AK-740—a Russian-made semi-auto that could fire five rounds each second. And the ammo belts she wore were evidence that she wasn’t afraid to waste bullets.
“Will one of you learned alchemists do me the honor of explaining what has happened?” Weatherby said softly as Greene continued his work on the Emerald Tablet and The Book of the Dead in the middle of the room.
“Somehow, the convergence of the two realms, along with the realm of Maat, has allowed these revenants to acquire…souls, I suppose,” Finch ventured. “I can only assume they are Martian souls, or the souls of some allied force. His device—the datapad, I believe you call it—was likely linked to an exterior source, and needed but the power of these two artifacts to complete the working.”
Greene stood up from his work. “Very good, Dr. Finch. Shame you stuck with these guys. You’d be a great asset to us.”
“Thank you, but I shall continue to ‘stick with these guys,’” he replied, venom in his voice.
“Your call. You already helped the cause a lot, anyway. By now, every revenant in Napoleon’s army has become one of us—the great race of Mars, reborn on Earth. And armed to the teeth,” Greene said. “Finch’s research and workings opened the door, and this French guy here provided the empty vessels.” Greene pointed at Berthollet, who, to his credit, looked aghast.
“And the souls? Where did they come from?” Anne asked.
“You can thank Jain and Durand here for that,” Greene replied with a magnanimous wave of his hand. “They went to Enceladus and allowed one of our great leaders, Rathemas, to enter this world through a little microscopic virus. Rathemas took over Stephane, then blew up Enceladus to free the rest.”
“Right,” Stephane said angrily. “But how did you get those viruses into these zombies? I didn’t do that.”
“But you did! And you did so well. We’re really proud of you, champ,” Huntington replied. “The viruses were just codes—strands of genetic material that represented ancient alchemical principles. While Rathemas was inside you, he took those codes and used the Emerald Tablet to translate them into data—data that could actually exist in both worlds thanks to the Tablet—then transmitted them to us on Earth. And we brought them here, where we set up the convergence in the one place where we could find willing bodies for them. And the one place where Althotas can arise once more.”
Weatherby stood dejected. “We played right into your hands.”
“You bet,” Greene said cheerily. “You all did. We knew Diaz and Jain would follow us to Venus to figure out what we wanted with the satellites—which we needed to create the convergence just like Yuna Hiyashi did back on Mars. And Althotas seeded ideas in the mind of our friend Cagliostro here—dreams and whatnot, the stuff that he used to do—but in a way that made this idiot think he was stopping us, rather than helping. Because we knew he felt burned the last time. Which makes it so cute that you’re playing nice now, Cagliostro.”
The old alchemist merely hung his head and trembled slightly.
“Once there was an overlap, we knew you guys would meet up,” Huntington added. “Just like the old days. Get the band back together and play the greatest hits. Use the items we needed to try to stop us. God, you’re so fucking predictable.”
“So the book and the Tablet—they can stop you,” Shaila ventured.
Greene held up a finger. “Don’t even try, Jain. Althotas may want you alive to see his return, but if you get in the way, I’m happy to apologize to him for killing you beforehand.” The possessed physicist suddenly stopped and smiled. “I guess part of me is still a holovision host. Always explaining. But Althotas really wanted you to know just how badly you fucked up.
“And now, all we need is Doctors Finch and Durand, and we’ll be all set,” Greene added. He then hissed a stream of commands to the zombies, who immediately grabbed Finch and Stephane and dragged them toward the pool.
“What do you need them for?” Shaila shouted. A zombie reached out and punched her in the face for her trouble. She staggered, but remained standing. “And fuck you, mate,” she added.
The zombie smiled. It was one of the worst things she’d ever seen.
“Tired of explaining now, Jain,” Greene said as he took more wiring out of his bag. “If it were really up to us, you’d all be dead by now. Althotas is a little old-school, I guess. It’s not just about him winning. It’s about you losing.”
The two zombies forced Finch and Stephane toward the pool. Finch was shoved toward The Book of the Dead, while Stephane was dragged toward the Tablet. Shaila looked on in horror as Stephane began to sweat profusely, his eyes widened to an almost unnatural degree, his skin growing sallow.
Rathemas clearly wanted out.
Finch seemed to be undergoing something as well. His skin grew exceptionally pale, the circles under his eyes growing unusually dark in the span of a few seconds. He was sweating, but the look on his face was one of utter confusion. Shaila wondered if some part of Finch found the whole thing fascinating.
“What do they intend?” Weatherby asked his wife.
Anne watched as both men were forced to the ground, and Greene began placing wires on their palms, foreheads and chests. “Durand carries the soul of Rathemas, and Finch has apparently become something of a conduit for dark energies from the land of Maat beyond death. If Dr. Greene is to revive Rathemas—or Althotas, for that matter—both Finch and Durand must release the energies they’ve held from their respective objects.”
“Will they survive?” Shaila asked, fearing the answer.
“I cannot say,” Anne said quietly.
Weatherby turned to Berthollet and spoke sternly. “Monsieur, your marshal is dead and your troops turned against you. If you’ve any notion of reversing this disast
er, I would hear it now.”
The French alchemist watched as Cagliostro staggered toward the pool and, to his evident shock, began helping Greene. “That spineless fool,” he muttered. “So committed to stopping Althotas he was—I even used the Great Work to ascertain the truth of his words! And now he meekly becomes a lap dog for the dictator to come.”
Shaila turned on Berthollet as well, grabbing him by the lapel of his greatcoat. “Hey! The admiral asked you a question. Answer it,” she hissed.
Stunned, Berthollet stared at Shaila for a long moment before replying. “I…well, I…nobody can know for certain! The answer lies in the memories of the Venusians here, I have no doubt, waiting for us to view and interpret them. But if I were to hazard a guess, I would say one or both of those men would have to die before this Greene person finishes his rituals—ideally, they should die just before the rituals are fully resolved.”
“Not good enough,” Shaila growled, grabbing Berthollet’s coat with both hands now. “Try again.”
This time, Berthollet’s stare grew hard. “Mishandling me will not alter the laws of the Great Work, woman!”
Suddenly, Shaila was wrenched away from Berthollet by a strong hand at her shoulder—one that managed to throw her halfway across the room and flat on her back. When she looked up, she saw Huntington standing over her with that creepy, wolf-smile on her face and the barrel of her gun right at her forehead. “We’ve never met. Diaz talked highly of you. Kind of makes me want to shoot you right here and now.”
Shaila edged up onto her elbows. “Diaz spoke highly of you, too. Shame if she could see you now. Probably make the tough old bitch cry. She’s a softie when it comes down to it.”
Any further conversation was cut short by a scream.
Turning toward the pool, Shaila saw Stephane writhing on the ground next to the Emerald Tablet, which now glowed even brighter. Strands of light snaked through the wires connecting him to the object, and when Stephane opened his eyes, the light was in there as well.
“Oh, God, no. Please, God, no,” Shaila said.
Finch also convulsed suddenly, his look of confusion giving way to pain. His eyes grew completely black, and when his mouth opened, his scream was a bare hiss. A black mist escaped his mouth and rose into the air for a moment…before snaking into the pool between the two men.
Greene viewed all of this dispassionately, looking at one man, then the other, then the datapad in his hands. Shaila saw him tapping on the screen, and when he did, one or the other man jerked and convulsed even harder—and Greene’s face started to grow concerned. “Mags, get over here,” he ordered.
“What?” Huntington demanded as she crossed the room in an almost unnatural blur.
Greene glared at Finch. “This one’s too strong. Either that, or he didn’t go far enough in his work with the book. Either way, he’s fighting the connection between the book, the tablet and the pool. He’s getting in the way.”
“Fuck. Why didn’t we try to infect him?” Huntington spat.
“We didn’t have the means. The Siwa experiment…wait! We can still infect him!” Greene scrambled over to Stephane and began tapping furiously on his datapad. “If we draw Rathemas out of Durand and transfer him over to Finch…it might work!”
“That might kill him,” Huntington warned. “Don’t we need him alive?”
“Only if Rathemas were still inside him,” Greene said as he adjusted wires, his hands flying at high speed now. “But with Rathemas inside Finch, Finch can be the conduit for both light and dark. And if Durand dies, well…too bad.”
Suddenly, Stephane let out another scream, an unearthly echo of pure pain and pure rage. His mouth opened so wide, Shaila thought his jaw would dislodge. His eyes shone with alien light and his hands started fluttering around his chest. Shaila started to get up and run toward him, but she was intercepted by Weatherby, who practically had to tackle her in order to stop her. “They’ll kill you,” he said as gently as possible.
“Don’t care. Let me go,” she said dully, trying to squirm her way out as the tears began to well in her eyes.
“They will kill you and you will not be able to avenge him,” Weatherby said. He was soon joined by Anne, and between the two of them they managed to at least keep Shaila in one place.
“I believe I have seen this before, long ago with Philip,” Anne said in a rush. “He may yet survive. Philip did, and he was but a boy at the time. Stay your hand. He may soon be out of danger.”
“Or dead,” Shaila growled. “Let me go! I—oh, God. Oh, God, what is that?”
Weatherby and Anne turned to look at Stephane. He was on his side on the floor, writhing, and his mouth continued to open wide.
Then a hand reached out of his mouth—a green, taloned hand covered in glowing slime.
Another hand soon joined the first, both clawing at the air before the fingers wrapped themselves around each side of Stephane’s mouth. Then the crown of a head appeared, pushing through with its dull dark eyes, its tiny nasal slits, its maw of teeth biting and gnashing as it exited its host.
It was a Martian.
It was Rathemas.
Soon, spindly arms emerged as well and the whole of the alien began to grow to enormous size as it left its host. Its torso was bony and ribbed in odd ways, and its legs were long and sinewy. Finally, the creature withdrew one taloned foot, then another, and Stephane slumped to the floor of the vault like a worn coverall, and the Martian grew to its full three-meter height.
“I NEED A HOST,” the creature demanded, turning toward Green. “WHERE IS MY HOST?”
For the first time since he arrived, Greene looked properly scared. “That one, my Lord Rathemas!” he cried, pointing toward Finch. “He is the gateway to the underworld where Althotas lies in exile, but he is fighting it! He is too strong!”
Rathemas smiled a truly terrible smile, full of teeth and hatred and sadistic joy. “HE IS NOT STRONG ENOUGH. PREPARE HIM.”
Huntington grabbed Finch’s face in both hands and forced open his mouth.
“Finch…” Weatherby breathed. “I am so sorry.”
It took only a few seconds for Rathemas to enter Finch. The creature practically dove into Finch’s mouth in a flash of green-yellow light, and the alchemist immediately began convulsing violently, green light coming from his eyes and black mist once more flowing from his mouth.
Shaila turned to look at Stephane, unmoving on the floor. Please breathe please breathe please please breathe come on breathe.
His chest moved up and down once. Then again. Slowly. But regularly.
And in that moment, something clicked inside Shaila. She realized that with Stephane the focus of Greene’s attention, she’d been paralyzed with fear and anger. She accepted the situation instead of acting, all because of Stephane. But Stephane was safe. Rathemas was out of him, finally. She felt like an idiot, but she felt free, too.
Next.
She immediately scanned the room. There were five zombie-guards left—two behind her and Weatherby and Anne, one over by Berthollet, and the fifth near the pool. And all of them, every single one, was watching Rathemas take over Finch.
Shaila put her finger to her headset. “Jain to Diaz. Come in. What’s your status? Requesting assistance. Over.”
It took several seconds for Diaz’ voice to come through. “Jain, I’ve got an utter shit show out here. We got a fuck-ton of zombies now acting like goddamn ninja warriors. Heavy losses. I’m barricading our survivors in the pyramid. Going to blast the entrance so the rock fall will keep ‘em safe inside. And then I’ll be out of laser power and my main power just kicked into emergency reserves. So what’s your goddamn status?”
“Greene and Huntington just released Martian souls into the zombies, they’ve pulled Rathemas out of Stephane and into Finch, and it looks like they’re going to bring Althotas back any minute now,” she replied quietly and quickly. “Roger your status. We’ll manage in here. Over.”
Diaz actually laughed at t
hat, the kind of hopeless laughter reserved for the worst situations. “Well, fuck. Hurry it up then, will ya? Diaz out.”
Shaila turned to Weatherby. “Diaz is losing badly out there. We have to do something.”
Weatherby looked around, a pained look on his face. “Dying now is not going to help,” the admiral said, glancing at Anne. “They have us by the heel.”
“So let’s not die,” Shaila replied. “Three of us against five zombies and Huntington. Greene’s too busy to help. Not impossible. They’re distracted. Options?”
Anne raised an eyebrow at this, then a look dawned on her face. “Oh! I may have something.” She rustled around her skirts for a moment before pulling out a vial and a small stone. “Curative here, blessed lapis lazuli here. With the right incantation, I could strike nearly everyone in here blind for…well, at least several moments.”
“Do it,” Weatherby said, seeming to gain strength from her. “Quickly, my love.”
Finch had stopped twitching and was now lying on his back on the stone floor. The green light now seemed to emanate from his very skin, while the dark mist now seemed to be a torrent of inky blackness flowing into the pool.
And the zombies—and Huntington—were all watching raptly.
“Ready,” Anne said after whispering a prayer over her concoction. “Be sure to avert your eyes. I cannot say how long you’ll have.”
Weatherby turned to Shaila. “Grab the weapons and fight, then?”
“You and Anne, yeah. I’m going to take on Huntington. We have to get that gun out of commission or this fight ends way too fast.”
Weatherby turned and nodded. “Now.”
Anne threw her elixir into the center of the room and, a moment later, the revenants staggered slightly and began casting about blindly. Without looking back, Shaila dashed across the room and tackled Huntington, sending both of them sprawling to the floor near Stephane. Shaila immediately scrambled for the gun, which had clattered across the floor next to them. But strong hands grabbed at her clothes, pulling her back across the floor as if she were a doll.
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