The Atomic Sea: Omnibus of Volumes Six, Seven and Eight

by Conner, Jack

  “The Order wants permission to address the congregation of the Sisterhood,” the High Priestess said. “To beg for converts and to spread the word of their faith. Naturally I said no.” The corner of her lip twisted. “They can be very persistent, though.”

  “So it seems.”

  The robed figures still said nothing, and Avery had to wonder if they had taken vows of silence. The man in the rear of their group who wore no robes had closed his eyes and seemed to be praying silently, as if before some great act.

  “When they asked permission to display their abilities to me in private for the twentieth time, I finally said yes,” the High Priestess went on, after an uncomfortable moment. The silence of the people of the Order seemed to set her ill at ease, as did speaking of them as if they weren’t before her. Still, since they didn’t speak for themselves, except for their scroll, she spoke for them. “I was curious. The dead, come back to life? I had to see it for myself.”

  “But you don’t really mean to let them, what, become an adjunct to the Sisterhood, do you?” said a woman who seemed more senior than most of the others, and the High Priestess did not rebuke her or look surprised at the outburst. “Gan and Nishi and the other lords and ladies of the Wood would not approve.” In a lower voice, she said, “They’re not right. Just smell them.”

  Avery could smell it, too, now, a sort of musty, rotting odor drifting from the direction of the robed company. Did they lather themselves in dead flesh? Avery could think of no other answer.

  “Let’s just get on with it,” the High Priestess said. To the Father, she said, “I can’t guarantee any sort of joining with your Order, even if your display impresses me. It’s not the arts of illusion or even some alchemical process that will sway the worshippers of Nos Li.” When the robed figure remained silent, she sighed. “Very well. Proceed. But make this quick. Your presence is not … becoming.”

  Avery was tempted to tell the others in his group that it was time to leave, but the truth was that he wanted to see this, too. Besides, the attention of General Vursk was held rapt, and they needed the general’s help before they could get on with things.

  The Father gestured, and the man who wore no robes stepped forward. He was dressed in silken breeches and a tunic of a high quality, what might be some local version of a suit or a man’s formal dress, and he was a genial-looking black fellow with a pot belly and a full, wiry beard with abstract shapes carved into it. He gripped a dagger in his right hand. When the Sisters saw that, they gasped and drew back, all save the High Priestess, who stiffened but stayed where she was.

  General Vursk ripped his pistol from its holster and pointed it at the man, and several of his troops lifted their rifles. The man made no move against any of the Sisters, however, and in fact pressed the knife to his own flesh, shoving its point just below his ribcage so that it drew a bead of red.

  “I do this to join those who have stared past the Veil and returned,” he intoned, closing his eyes again. “I do this to learn the mysteries of the Beyond.”

  Before anyone could stop him, he plunged the knife into himself, deep, thrusting it under his ribcage and into his heart. He shuddered, still standing, then collapsed to the ground. Blood pooled around him. Avery rushed to him, knelt, and felt for a pulse at his neck.

  “He’s gone.” Avery could hardly believe it.

  The Father stepped forward, as did the others in his group, and Avery could smell their rotten stink more strongly now. He opened his mouth to say something, to demand they account for this suicide or be held accountable for it, but something stopped him. Seeing the Father this close up, and from this angle, he could just dimly perceive the flesh of the man’s face, and what he saw killed the tirade before it started. Something moved beneath the Father’s flesh. Something like little worms wriggled under the skin beneath his staring, dry eyes and cracked lips. Even as Avery watched, one of the things squirming under his skin disappeared under the eyeball, which then bulged outward, before settling back into place.

  Avery rose and stumbled backward. Janx righted him, a look of concern on his face.

  “What is it, Doc?”

  Avery couldn’t answer. He knew he had just seen what caused the woman to scream. He mentally applauded her ability to do so. His own throat had closed up.

  The robed figures converged in a circle over the body.

  “What is the meaning of this?” the High Priestess said, just recovering. “I agreed to see your arts, not your … whatever this is.”

  The robed figures, not seeming to listen, knelt over the body, removing the gloves from their left hands, then their rights, as they did so, in a synchronized fashion that appeared to be ritualistic. Avery had no doubt that had this been at their own temple or chapel, or whatever the Order of the Restoration used, there would be drums playing or some other sign of building tension and excitement. Something seemed to move along their hands, but Avery could see little of it, as the hands were quickly thrust against the corpse, finding exposed skin or else exposing it first, then clapping hold.

  The dead man remained inert for a long moment, then shuddered. Avery sucked in a breath. The corpse kicked a leg. An arm trembled. The robed figures bent lower, seeming to redouble their efforts.

  “What the hell?” said Hildra. She had half-raised her hook.

  “Don’t,” said Layanna, and Hildra lowered it, but slowly.

  On the floor, the dead man was trembling violently, and his eyes rolled in their sockets. Avery thought he could see things moving under his skin, but before the doctor could take a closer look the robed figures produced a robe and pulled it around the dead man, who did not seem to be so dead anymore. Gradually, the trembling stopped, and then he laid still—not the stillness of death but of a man at rest. The circle of reeking, vulture-like priests helped him to his feet, and he, just another robed figure now, joined their ranks. He had become one of them. They all shoved on their gloves and turned to face the High Priestess.

  She stared at them, mouth half-agape. With some effort, she closed it, and the two groups regarded each other.

  For the first time, the Father spoke, if it could be called that, but what emerged was no true human speech but some hissing, static-y noise that bore no relation to what normal human vocal chords were capable of. If he spoke any intelligible words, Avery couldn’t tell, but the meaning seemed to be something like, Well?

  The High Priestess glanced to her Sisters, then to the small puddle of blood on the marble floor. Already flies gathered to it.

  “I admit,” she said, slowly, “that was quite impressive, and I wish you well in finding followers. I don’t know how you did it, and I don’t want to know. If it was a trick, it was … very good. If it wasn’t …” She swallowed. “Please, I mean you no disrespect, but I must ask you to leave. Now.”

  The robed figures continued to stare at her out of their shadowed faces, their eyes unseen but felt. Were they all corpses?, Avery wondered. Somehow still moving and given some semblance of life? If so, it would explain the smell. But surely such a thing was impossible, even in Ezzez.

  “Go,” the High Priestess repeated. “Now.”

  Some of the Sisters had remained at the edges of the room, and these carried rifles and spears. At the tone of the High Priestess’s voice, they stepped forward, and their captain told the Father, “I will escort you out.”

  The Father made another hissing noise, which might have been meant as a threat or a curse, or nothing at all, then turned, as if to go. Suddenly, he paused, and, slowly, very slowly, pivoted toward Layanna. Surprised, Avery glanced from the priest to the rogue Collossum, but she merely frowned back at the robed figure. The Father continued to stare at her, and Avery noticed the Sisters growing restless. Even Vursk and his soldiers stirred, some lifting their weapons again. Avery wished he could see the Father’s face, see what expression he wore—was it hunger? rapture? hate?—but he could see only shadow where the priest’s face should be and the glint, only the mer
est glint, of one eye.

  At last, the Father turned back around and consented to have his party led from the room. Avery breathed easier when they were gone. A priestess began mopping up the blood.

  “Never admit one of them into this temple again,” the High Priestess told one of her people, the senior woman who had spoken earlier, and the woman nodded, a ragged look on her face.

  “You shouldn’t have been so civil,” General Vursk said, “I would have shot them for you on general principles if you’d asked.”

  “Then I’m glad I didn’t. They are no strangers to death, if you didn’t learn that just now. Whatever they are, we certainly don’t need them as enemies. The city has gotten quite complicated enough as it is.” Her gaze fell on Avery, Layanna and the others. “These are the outsiders who wish to find the nectar?” When Vursk affirmed that they were, she said to them, “I hope you don’t think this is a normal happening. The Order of the Restoration is new. I’ve never seen their like before. And I don’t care to ever again.”

  “They weren’t natural,” said one of the Sisters.

  “They weren’t of your world,” Layanna said, and she said it with such simple conviction that those in the room turned to her, even the woman mopping up the blood.

  “What do you mean by that?” the High Priestess said.

  But Layanna would say no more.

  Chapter 2

  “What did you mean?” Avery asked an hour later, as they were once more trundling through the streets of Ezzez, this time in the convoy that General Vursk had promised them, bound for the last known residence of Losg Coleel, owner and operator of Coleel Industries. The convoy was led by a certain Major Nezine. Green fog coiled around them, masking much of the city from sight. “Back there in the audience room?”

  Layanna, who sat beside him (but, regrettably, barely touching him), said, “I … don’t entirely know.”

  Janx grunted. He and Hildra sat opposite them in the troop transport vehicle; soldiers ranged to the side, all tense and holding their rifles at the ready. Avery’s party spoke in low voices so as not to be overheard, not that the locals spoke Ghenisan anyway. “Hell of a thing to not know,” Janx said.

  “I only know that those things gave off a feeling …” Layanna shook her head. “It’s hard to describe. But I doubt they’re just some random local trouble.”

  “You mean they’re relevant to us—our mission?” Avery said.

  She bit her lower lip, a gesture that made him want to kiss her, even though he knew she would only refuse him.

  “I hope not,” she said.

  “Fucking aye,” said Hildra. “I hope we’ve seen the last of those bastards.”

  Somehow Avery doubted that they had.

  “But why did he stare at you like that?” Janx asked. “Don’t tell me he wanted your autograph.”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps …”

  “Yeah?”

  “If I sensed something strange about him, maybe he sensed something strange about me.”

  “Honey, you are strange,” said Hildra. “Even I know that.”

  Vague shapes appeared in the eerie fog around them—appeared, then disappeared, like ghosts. The city was breathing.

  “What’s that?” Avery said, some minutes later. The rear of the transport vehicle was open, and he’d been watching buildings recede through the mist to either side of the convoy when a curious figure on the street had caught his attention: seven feet tall, beaked and covered in brilliant red feathers.

  Janx laughed. “That’s a Nisaar. Bird-folk.”

  “Oh, yes, I’ve heard about them. I never thought to see one in real life.”

  Lisam, who had accompanied them, chose this moment to lean forward and enter their conversation; Avery reminded himself not to speak too freely. “The Nisaar are indigenous to the area, just as my people are, and many live in the city. Usually they keep to their own quarter, but what with the fighting, they’ve been venturing out more. Some have joined our side. Others are trying to establish their own power, or joining the Dark Brothers in the Maze.”

  “I ran into some Nisaar in the jungle once,” Janx said, with an exaggerated wince. “Not the friendliest sort.”

  “The jungle tribes are more hostile than the individuals in the city,” Lisam allowed, “but then that’s true of humans, too.”

  Avery thought of the short, thick, curved beak of the creature he had seen before the mist had swallowed it and tried to imagine its bite. Just as well to avoid them, he thought. Then he thought of the sort of humans capable of surviving in the Atomic Jungle. It might be best to avoid them, too.

  The convoy bribed its way through another checkpoint and out into a vast no-man’s-land inhabited by ruined, bombed-out buildings that loomed like deformed giants in the fog. The jungle had overgrown this section even more thoroughly than in the sections they’d been in so far, and much of the vegetation was infected, perhaps even a majority of it—and so was the wildlife.

  Avery saw something that might once have been a tiger crouching atop a crumbling, vine-overgrown strip center; its flesh was transparent so that Avery could see its organs and intestines, and its face had become eerily fish-like, complete with bulging eyes and long needle teeth dripping an orange fluid. Gills pulsed along its neck. Above it, some glowing, bioluminescent flying creatures, possibly mutated birds or bats, arced against a daytime moon, and the great cat watched their glowing shapes avidly.

  “This is where the previous team disappeared,” Lisam said.

  “What do you think got ‘em?” Hildra said.

  “Could have been ambush. A hostile sect or tribe, maybe. Could have been agents of Octung. Could even have been some animal.” He shrugged. “All I know is that they radioed in that they’d reached this area, then never made contact again. Look, we’re entering the Maze of Dark Delights.”

  They were passing through a surprisingly crowded quarter of the city. Peculiar shop signs blazed the alchemical equivalent of neon through the green fog. Red, gold and turquoise shone brightly, all tinged greenish. Avery saw figures moving down both sides of the streets.

  “Why is it so busy here?”

  “You never heard of the Maze?” Janx said.

  “Only vaguely.”

  “Well, if Ezzez is the dark heart of alchemy in the world, Doc, the Maze is its showroom.”

  They passed out of the Maze and came into a district of crumbled, jungle-overgrown mansions. The buildings had been refurbished, but they showed signs of terrible neglect in the past, a posh sector devalued, then made good again. At one particular estate they stopped and disembarked, and Avery stared over a high brick fence to the sturdy mansion beyond, some of its slopes and summits overgrown with greenery. Trees leaned against it, some even jutting through the edges of its slate roofs or thrusting through its windows. Birds fluttered about its summits, or something like birds; they had the texture of sea horses. Slimy white things with many legs scuttled about on wall and roof, and the trees growing on the four chimneys dripped tentacles coated in what was surely poison. The fading sun painted it all in tones of red.

  The gates sagged open, the breath of the city oozing through them.

  Trading looks, the company moved through the gates and into the lushly overgrown grounds. Things moved in the shadows around them, and trees dripped poison to either side. Blanching at the noxious smell, Avery gripped his pistol tighter; even he was armed. His god-killing knife rested in his pocket. They shoved their way through the trees, occasionally having to slash their way forward with machetes, and finally reached the stone doors leading into the massive brick edifice. A finned animal large as a boar shambled away, unhurried. Others joined it.

  “Fuck this place,” Hildra said, but she said it in a whisper.

  Major Nezine pried the door open, and several of his men entered, then called back that the way was clear. Another group entered, then Avery and his party, followed by more troops. Avery glanced uneasily at the silent halls and empty rooms
around him. The place seemed abandoned. It reeked of mold and rotten vegetation … and something else, too. Something sickly sweet.

  “Is anyone here?” Avery called. “Mr. Coleel?”

  He tensed as his voice echoed in the large, ivy-covered halls, but he called again. No one answered.

  “No one’s here,” Janx said. “I think we should go.”

  “Maybe we can find some documents,” Layanna said. “Some record of the nectar or Coleel’s whereabouts.”

  They began a search, going from floor to floor.

  “Anything?” Avery asked Layanna, as they rifled through a study.

  “Nothing.” She was about to say more when shouts came from down a hall, and they all converged to see some of the soldiers standing over a pile of bodies. Flies crawled across the faces of the dead men, who wore the same green uniforms the soldiers did. Blood stained them, and a foul, sickly sweet odor rose from their remains. Animals had obviously been gnawing at them, and Avery was sure that had this place not been so overgrown they would have stumbled across bones before now.

  Looking grim, Lisam turned to Layanna. “These were some of the men sent to find Coleel originally.”

  Layanna gasped.

  Avery spun to see a dart standing out on her neck. Raising his gun, he fired at a shape disappearing into an air vent, and several nearby soldiers fired, too. The shape vanished.

  Layanna sank to her knees. Dropping to his own, Avery caught her.

  “Layanna? Layanna? Are you all right?”

  She blinked, and he slapped her lightly.

  Her eyes popped open. “Francis?”

  Janx and Hildra gathered around. “You alright, darlin’?” Janx said.

  “I’m … fine.”

  The major barked an order, and soldiers poured out in every direction, hunting the would-be assassin.

  Gunfire sounded outside. Looking startled, Major Nezine said, “We’re being attacked. Recon!”

  He ordered a small group to venture outside and report back. Instantly upon their leaving, a bullet storm erupted. Avery and the others hunkered against the walls, Avery dragging Layanna with him. She looked pale and sweaty, and her skin burned his fingers. He plucked the dart out, sniffed it and flung it away. More gunshots sounded down the halls. The group had been well and truly ambushed.