Paradigms Lost

by Ryk E. Spoor

  “As were so many monsters, they were created by sorcerous experimentation. In the case of the Maelkodan, a misguided attempt to create a creature capable of hunting down werewolves produced a monster with the requisite abilities, but with its own agenda. As nearly as Master Verne can determine, this was due either to a genuine mistake by the wizards creating the design, or to deliberate interference by someone—perhaps Virigar, perhaps one of the magicians themselves playing a deeper game. The Maelkodan was created from a combination of werewolf, human, and Teranahm souls and bodies.”

  “So,” I said, “a group of powerful but possibly not very forward-thinking wizards went ahead and made this weird crossbreed. Um, what was that last species? Tera . . .”

  “Teranahm,” Morgan repeated. “The translation would be ‘Great Dragon.’”

  “Ooog.” It wasn’t the brightest-sounding rejoinder, but I wasn’t able to think of an appropriate word.

  “Indeed, sir. The resulting creature lacked the fluid shapeshifting ability of the wolf, but as both wolf and Teranahm have this as an inherent ability, a Maelkodan nonetheless has three forms. The first is its true form, which from the fragmentary descriptions available would be something akin to a slender lizardlike body with a vaguely humanoid torso rising, centaurlike, in the front. It has wolflike claws and teeth, and the scales are excellent armor. Unlike the werewolf, it is in fact not vulnerable to silver, but on a much brighter side is vulnerable to ordinary weapons, as a general rule, though if they become powerful enough their armor will withstand blows from swords and so on wielded by mortal strength. Master Verne and I are of the opinion that bullets will remain effective.”

  “Well, praise the Lord and pass the ammunition, will wonders never cease; a horror from beyond time that I really can just shoot dead,” I said. “By the fact that the wolves are scared of this thing, though, I guess it must have something to make up for the fact that it can be killed conventionally.”

  “Indeed, sir. Several.” Morgan paused, knowing I liked to work things out myself if possible.

  I considered what he’d said so far. “Okay. Given what you say it originated in the way of legends, it has a death gaze. If it looks at you, you die. I’d guess that you would have to also be looking back at it—not only is that what the legends say, but if it could just kill by looking around, the thing would be virtually impossible to defeat, and I’d guess the things did get killed on occasion.”

  “Scoring pretty well so far, Wood,” Baker said from the doorway, carrying a box of papers, presumably the records I needed.

  “What I don’t get is the different methodologies. Why did Mansfield end up just plain dead and Karl playing statue?”

  Baker shook his head. “Not different methods, Wood. Different kinds of beings are affected by the Mirrorkiller differently.”

  “Um, ‘Mirrorkiller’?”

  “It’s what we call the things. For what it’s worth, the damn things fulfilled their design purpose. They like hunting us. They just like hunting everything else, too.”

  “Quite so,” Morgan said. “They were supposed to inherit some human behavioral traits, but instead apparently became mostly wolfish in their outlook.”

  “Enough,” I said, as I realized Baker was taking it personally as a snipe—which it may have been, but with Morgan’s English-butler reserve, there was no way to tell. “Three forms, you said. What are the others?”

  “One is human,” Baker said after a moment. “A secondary shape it can assume while hunting. The third shape is the shape of the last person it killed. So when first hatched, it’s only got two forms until it succeeds at killing.”

  “Why does it cause humans, for instance, to drop dead, and wolves to turn to stone?”

  “That has to do with the difference in the essential nature of human versus wolf,” Morgan answered. “Correct, Mr. Baker?”

  “Yeah,” Baker said. “Ya figured out our basic nature when ya made that gadget, right?”

  I nodded. I thought I was starting to get the picture. “You’re really energy matrices inhabiting a physical form. That’s why you can perfectly duplicate a human being without becoming the human being.”

  “Right. Now, the Mirrorkiller, it eats the soul—the essential energy of any living thing. Being related to us, it’s basically the same kind of thing.”

  “Now I understand. Since it was made using part of your essence, your people can’t simply sense it—it can hide from you just as well as you can hide from us.”

  Baker grimaced. “Uh-huh. Now, when it gets you in its sights, it tries to eat your essence. But a human being, he’s tied to that body. The body and the soul, they’re just part of the same thing for you people. So it’s got to rip the energy out of you, bit by bit, until the meat that’s left falls over.” Baker gave a shiver, a genuine sign of fear. “With us . . . it establishes, um, whattyacallit, a resonance, two similar patterns, and it damps part of ours out—negates part of the will to move, to fight. The resonance makes it take on the shape of the one it’s killing.”

  “Thus ‘Mirrorkiller.’”

  “And then it moves to the target body, eating directly, leaving its own behind and taking over the shell.”

  I blinked. “So it’s not really Karl’s body out there carved in stone?”

  “Not really, no. That’s the mass which the Mirrorkiller was using beforehand. The next victim we found, well, that was Karl’s body after the Mirrorkiller was done with it.”

  I had to admit that it was a pretty creepy picture. “But then Mansfield’s body . . .”

  “Well, of course that was the real body,” Baker said. “The Mirrorkiller doesn’t waste energy forcing its body to maintain a biological structure when it’s moving to a new one. And it can’t move into a human body the same way—it needs a soul connection to do the move, and it has to rip the soul out of a human first, rather than being able to move in via the resonance. It can use the resonance to paralyze the same way for a human, but that’s the most it can manage.”

  “Okay, so it killed Mansfield. Then, as itself or Mansfield, it could—”

  “No, not as Mansfield—where’d you get that idea?”

  I looked at Baker. “You said its third form is the last person it . . . oh, I see, the usual wolf attitude: we’re not people. It only takes the form of people whose bodies it’s taken over.”

  “Right.”

  “In the legends,” I said, “basilisks could be killed with mirrors. Is this true?”

  “As it so happens, yes,” Morgan answered, consulting some notes. “The Maelkodan retain some tendencies of physical creatures; they must see their target with physical sight first, before their soulsense can engage. For them, the eyes are indeed the window to the soul. The mystical connection between sight and soul is exceedingly deep for them; therefore, when they are engaged in the hunt, seeing themselves in a mirror—in attack mode only, mind you—triggers an attack upon their own soul.”

  I nodded slowly. “I see . . . yes, that makes perfect sense. The energy matrix is of course its own, and by trying to establish a suppressive phase shift, it’s going to in essence cancel itself out.”

  Morgan blinked, as did Baker. “If you say so, sir.”

  “You emphasized ‘in attack mode only,’ Morgan. I suppose that means that we can’t track down the Maelkodan by looking to see who might have no mirrors in their houses, or by lining the streets with reflective glass?”

  Baker chuckled. “Sorry, nope. Only when it’s chasing prey is it using the death-stare, focusing its own soul to attack. And they’re all pretty well aware of the Perseus dodge, so it ain’t easy to catch one off-guard.” His tone became more serious. “And a wolf don’t have much chance of getting away with it. A human, he can catch a glimpse, get a jolt but maybe stumble on, break eye contact and keep going. One of us, once the lock starts . . . it’s over.”

  “So there’s two things you’re more vulnerable to than us,” I said, musing.

  “Mr. Car
ruthers mentioned that these creatures gain in power as they kill,” Sylvie said. “Can you clarify that, Mr. Baker? Do they have other abilities besides this death-gaze?”

  “Ayup,” Baker said dismally. “Humans ain’t got much, for the most part, on the power scale. Oh, there’s a few what have trained in certain disciplines whose souls burn more bright, but for the Mirrorkiller they’re strictly potato chips—you gotta eat a whole bag to get much out of ’em. One wolf, even one of the puppies around here, gives ’em a kick like fifty or sixty mortals. As they get more soul energy, they get stronger. More powerful energy matrix, in your terms—they can do a lot more with it. Physically, they get more powerful, no doubt—by now, the bastard we’re up against could probably toss a small car with effort. And at some point, they’ll be able to access the Draconic heritage those damn-fool wizards mixed in. That means magical effects. What with the pathetic magic ratio on Earth these days, at least we don’t need to worry much about ’em casting spells, but inherent magical effects ain’t out of the question. Poltergeist stuff, at least.”

  “Moving things by sheer will? Telekinesis?”

  Morgan responded. “Yes, sir. Now, it’s tied to the spiritual side, which means that it cannot directly affect people—of any sort—but other objects are fair game.”

  “What about the cosmic mind-woogie?” Sylvia asked.

  “Beg pardon, Lady Sylvia?”

  “I mean, both the wolves and the vampires can mess with people’s heads. How about these things?”

  “Ah. Yes, well, they apparently have some small ability to do this, but it is more along the lines of standard hypnosis—anyone who is aware of what they are facing is really in no danger.”

  I noted that down, looked at the rather intimidating summary. “That about it?”

  “Think so,” Baker said.

  “Okay. So let me summarize. The thing kills by mutual sight—even a glance is enough to lock down a wolf; a human has a chance to break eye contact if he’s lucky, but a few seconds will finish anyone. It has three forms—one a lizardy-centaur kind of thing, one a base human form—that’s a preset, right? I mean, it’s born able to turn into some specific human appearance?”

  “Right.”

  “One base human form, and one form that changes with each kill of a wolf or similar, um, energy-matrix being. So if it kills Joe Wolf, it can then be either its default form or Joe Wolf until it kills Jack Wolf, at which point it loses the option of looking like Joe, but gains the ability to look like Jack. Can these things kill each other?”

  “Probably,” Baker said. “They don’t seem to hunt each other down much, though. There never were many of them, thank the King.”

  I nodded. “Okay, then we’ve got several possible investigative avenues. First, where’d the thing come from? Your people seem to keep fair contact with each other, at least for big important stuff, and I’d guess you’d have known if there were statues turning up before now. Besides that, I’ve been doing a search through police files across the country and even in other countries I’ve gotten access to, and there doesn’t seem to be any pattern of people being found dead without marks on them. So as a first guess, this thing just recently became active. How and why, and from where?

  “Second, we follow the movements, as best we can, of the victims; see if we can come up with anything they had in common that might lead us to the killer’s home. It’s a damn shame about the statue trick; it doesn’t give us much info on time of death, and that means that since the killer can take on the appearance of its last wolf victim, sightings of the victim at any time during the day preceding the statue’s discovery could actually have been the Maelkodan using the victim’s shape.

  “Third, we remember that the creature has to be living here somewhere. Probably in the form of a human. If that’s so, it must be using its default form. So, you want to look for people who have arrived here recently but who have been here since the first killing. Aside from myself and Sylvie, of course.”

  “You, I’ll grant,” Baker said. “But just out of sheer cussedness, why can’t she be the one?”

  I stared at him, speechless for a moment.

  “Y’all gotta admit, the timing fits. And I hear tell she can sense us coming. That’s impossible for a human. Nothing can find us except our own kind, and even that depends on how strong the other one is and how bad they want to hide. So just how can she sense us . . . unless she’s either one of us, or a Mirrorkiller?” Baker’s gun was out now, pointed straight at Sylvie . . . but his head was turned sideways, keeping him from looking at Syl’s eyes.

  “That would be extremely good evidence,” Morgan said quickly, “were your statements entirely accurate. They are, however, not quite correct. It is true, sir, that there are very few things capable of sensing the wolves, but as Master Jason’s device demonstrates, it is not entirely impossible. In point of fact, there are a few examples in Master Verne’s experience of human beings and others who had the true Sight—they were not seeing through the disguise, so much as sensing an outcome of events, watching the very flow of time in the short term. From my experience with Lady Sylvia, I am convinced that this is, in fact, how she senses your people.”

  Baker’s gun hand wavered slightly. He was listening.

  “And also,” I said, “Syl’s been living in Morgantown for years. No such killings ever took place there, and hell, during Virigar’s visit there were so many wolves around that I can’t imagine one of these Maelkodan things being able to restrain itself; instead of Verne killing wolves in a warehouse, he would’ve gotten there to find a wonderful display gallery of statues and a Maelkodan so juiced up it’d be telekinesing city blocks for fun.”

  Slowly, Baker lowered the gun and raised his head cautiously. Looking at Syl, I saw what he did in her eyes; mild amusement, relief, and a trace of sympathy. “Well, even a Mirrorkiller would’ve thought two or three times about trying that with the King nearby, but I guess y’all have a point.” He sighed. “Damn, but it would’ve been a simple solution.”

  “The simple solutions rarely work out,” I said, relaxing. “Now that we’ve got an idea of what we’re up against, let’s get to work finding the damn thing before it kills anyone else.”

  CHAPTER 65

  They Don’t Just Come From Nowhere

  “Baker, what do you think about this?”

  He looked up from his desk and took the sheet of paper from me. “Hmm. Ayup, I was wondering about that.”

  “Three disappearances in the same general time period. One of them from your department. Think maybe the Maelkodan might be responsible?”

  He frowned. “Problem is . . . why the hell are these guys disappearing when there are others standing out in plain sight? It ain’t like hiding some of its victims is going to put us off the trail, the thing’d have to hide all of ’em. Or at least all the wolf victims, anyways.”

  I nodded. “It’s a puzzler, that. But I’m still putting these guys down as possible victims. Are these people all wolves?”

  He glanced at the names again. “Yep. All of ’em.”

  “I’ll make that ‘probable’ victims, then. You’ve made it clear that you people work together and talk to each other in this town, so people don’t go running off without a word to anyone . . . and offhand, I can’t think of easy, accidental ways to kill you people off.”

  “S’trewth,” he agreed.

  “Any progress on movements?”

  “Damn little,” he growled, obviously frustrated. “Karl Weimar, easy enough—we know he busted in on you, then left, talked with a couple others, then said he was heading back to talk to you again. Timing makes it likely he got nailed right after that. Mansfield, well, he was all over town the last few days, bein’ one of our contact men and all. Since he was killed at home, though, that don’t tell us much. Same for the other victims—looks to me like the killer’s picking vulnerable times and places, not waitin’ to ambush a sucker who gets close.”

  “Which means
we’ll need to trace movements of people who might be the killer, rather than tracing the victims’ movements.”

  He nodded. “O’course, without some decent suspects, that’ll be a mite difficult. Can’t run a trace on everyone.”

  “How about the correlation with recent arrivals?”

  “Aside from you and your wife, you mean? Ain’t looking very promising neither. If I give it about a month for new arrivals—assuming the thing decided to take a couple weeks to settle in an’ decide how it wanted to start the killing—we’ve got about eight possibles. Problem is that so far it looks like at least half of ’em have ironclad alibis for Mansfield’s murder, an’ the rest might be a problem for some o’ the others.”

  “Damn.” It was starting to look like the creature might be hiding somewhere in its actual guise, not living among regular citizens. While in theory that might make it easier to find because of the limitation of how many isolated, hidden areas there might be, in practice, the thing could just pop out in its unknown “default” guise whenever it needed something, and since that default still wasn’t known, no one would think twice about its appearance. Baker and I agreed that we might get somewhere by seeing if a stranger had been seen in the general area—that is, if our monster was at all interested in living the civilized life, it had to be picking up its cokes and chips somewhere, and even if it varied the routine, after a few weeks it had to be repeating locations. If we were lucky, someone would remember that. If it wasn’t into the comforts of the twentieth century, we might be in for a long, hard search.

  “How about your end?”

  I shrugged. “Depends on how the thing got here. So far, we haven’t found any probable entry times or points, but hell, we don’t know if it slithered here under its own power, walked in as a human being, or got shipped here as a Ronco Peel-O-Matic in a little cardboard box.”

  “Maybe not, Wood, but you’re missing the point.”