The Burdens had grown more bold, and were only two yards behind me on a long run of steps that spiraled round the inside wall of a hollow chamber running down the center of the spire at these levels. As yet they showed no signs of pressing an attack; the sword stayed cool in my hand, and, besides, I had no time to worry about them. The drop in the middle channel was vertiginous in the extreme, making me dizzy just contemplating it, and I hugged the left hand side of the steps, my shoulder almost touching the wall as I made sure I was as far as possible from any fall. I was concentrating so hard on just moving one step down at a time that I didn't notice that the eggs hung in the center of the hollow space, already calving.
Sixty-four, each a shimmering pearl of black light.
The colors filled the whole turret, spilled out over the stairwell, crept around my feet, danced in my eyes, in my head, all though my body. I strained to turn my head towards the eggs. A hundred and twenty eight now, and already calving into two hundred and fifty-six. I was doing arithmetic in my head as they calved again, and again. By the time there were more than two thousand of them I was coming to the certainty that they would not stop—unless I stopped them.
The sword gave me a blast of fiery heat in my hand as I raised it. The spinning mass of eggs had now grown large enough to be within the reach of my arm if I stretched over the chasm. Four thousand and ninety six eggs spun and danced and seemed to mock my cowardice.
I took a hefty swing—one that almost overbalanced me, but I hit my target. An egg—one right at the edge of the group—popped. The swirling colors blazed in a flash of blinding light. The mass of eggs broke up and fell apart in wisps of black ash that drifted down and away into the depths. The Burdens squealed and took flight, bat wings fluttering like sheets in the wind in the middle column high above me, but I was blind and deaf to everything but the thing that now stood below me on the staircase.
It was impossible, here in this cold tower. But equally, here it was, a fifty-inch television set, tuned and broadcasting static despite it having no obvious power source. The picture coagulated and congealed, the grays thickening until a crude picture showed, grainy and as if seen through thick fog—but all too familiar. A black haired girl climbed up out of an old stone well and came forward toward the screen. I knew that there would be wide, yet distinctly Asian, eyes under that veil of hair—just as I knew that if I let her crawl out of the screen, I might never be sane again. I stepped forward, bringing the sword around in a strike that I intended to smash into the TV. Just before it hit the scene sharpened and changed, a verdant wash of green lawn, yellow flowers, and a voice coming loud and clear—my Annie's voice, singing softly, the same lullaby she used to sing to me on those long empty days beside my hospital bed.
"Should somebody meet somebody,
Coming through the rye,"
I tried to pull out of the swing, overbalanced, and nearly tumbled into the depths, but even then I wasn't in time to stop the weapon cleave its way through the TV, which also fell apart into black ash, all too quickly gone.
"Annie?" I whispered.
Above me, the Burdens screeched.
I get it now—the eggs are indeed possibilities, but they are not places I can go—they are places I have been, and they too came with me when I came here, like the ever-present Burdens. They are my nightmares, and I shall have to defeat them, once and for all, for my Annie is there—right in the middle of them.
—Day 7—
Another level, another nightmare.
I finally reached the foot of the huge internal spiral staircase and found myself in an open, almost airy chamber some twenty feet high, with tall vaulted window openings. Once upon a time they might have looked out over the moon and dark seas below, but now there was only more of the swirling fog, so dense it almost looked like gray soup.
Instead the windows looked inward, to the center of the room, where eight eggs hung and spun, throbbing with a bass drone that was taken up by the choir in my head from the sword. The weapon send me another blast of heat as I stepped forward and, not waiting this time, struck the small group of eggs, hard, right in the center.
A blaze of light blinded me, and when my eyes adjusted he was there—as I said, another nightmare, and one of the oldest, a figure that had stood at the foot of my bed on more nights than I cared to remember.
A hood hung over the face obscuring the features in deeper blackness. But there was no mistaking the tall scythe in his white, almost skeletal hand. The blade was near four feet long, gleaming, red as blood.
“I have come for what is mine,” the voice said. The robe hung in folds around his feet, making it seem as if he flowed forward in a single smooth motion. A high sickly stench of corruption hung in the air.
The sword sent a blast of such intense heat to my hand that I nearly dropped the weapon, but managed to raise it in defense in front of me.
“You cannot naysay me,” the figure said, and raised the scythe.
I was ready for its descent and blocked it with the sword held high. Sparks flew where the blades collided. Heat leeched from the room. Frost ran in spider-webs across the walls. My breath condensed in front of my face.
“You cannot naysay me,” the figure said again. “You too are mine.”
“Not this time,” I said. I gripped the sword tight. It sent a sheet of blue flame running along its length as I thrust the blade hard, deep into the folds of the robe.
A scream rent the air. Ice gripped every inch of my body and my sword arm went numb, like a cold stone.
“You cannot naysay me,” the voice said, but now it came from far off, like an echo in the hills. I could hold the sword no longer. It fell from my grasp. I followed it to the ground, but even as I fell I saw the scene above me.
Where the eggs had floated was now a diffuse patch of lightness, with sunshine seeping through. Once again I saw grass, smelled flowers. Once again Annie sang the old songs, and for a second I felt I could almost reach out and touch her.
"Should somebody meet somebody,
Coming through the rye,"
"Annie!"
Blackness took me.
—Day 8—
I woke out of blackness some time later. The right side of my body felt hot and burning, while the left was still cold. I heard crackling, fire on wood. I opened my eyes and found I lay on my back in front of the large fireplace. Someone had wrapped a cloak around me.
I tried to sit, but couldn’t find the strength.
“John?” a voice said softly. The Rat King bent over me, a smile on his face. “I thought he had taken you for sure.”
I might have struggled, or just backed away, but I was rolled up tight in the confines of the cloak, and my hand was empty—the sword was no longer in my palm. I tried to speak, but only a hoarse whisper came out. I finally managed to roll myself out of the cloak and sat up slowly. My head felt light, as if a puff of wind would be enough to blow me away.
But I'm alive. For now.
The Rat King somehow caught my thought.
"Yes, John. You can die here. Again. Your reckless abandon was almost the end of you."
"I don't understand."
He laughed.
"No one ever does. It's the way the game is played. But you have seen your grail now, haven't you? You know what guards it. And you know what your choices are?"
I looked around me. I was still in the high vaulted room. The sword lay where I had dropped it on the stone floor, and the Rat King pointedly did not look in that direction.
"So I was right," I said. "I can go somewhere else?"
That got me another laugh.
"Haven't you go it yet?"
"Obviously not."
He smiled.
"Oh well, there's plenty of time. Are you sure you won't take me up on my offer? As much fresh air as you can handle, the freedom of the skies and no pesky nightmares?"
I wasn't even tempted. I was thinking about grass, and sunshine, yellow flowers and Annie's voice. My 'grai
l' he had called it.
And he saw the decision in my eyes. He sighed.
"Just don't let the scythe touch you. If that happens, it's all over bar the shouting and all deals are off. Some nightmares build strength with repetition, and that one has been feeding for a very long time." He stepped—more like waddled—away from me, and once again his talons tapped a military rhythm on the stone slabs. "I've asked you twice now. Third time is the charm—after that there's no going back. Go find your grail, and do with it what you will. You know where to find me when the time comes."
And with that he launched himself headlong at the tallest window and was out and away, lost in the fog in a second. I heard him after he vanished from sight; the fog quickly swallowed the sound as he let out a long whoop of joy in his flight.
When I stood, fetched the sword and made for the stairs heading down, a score of his brethren chittered and chattered excitedly just above me.
I hear their talons scrape and tap on stone as they follow my descent once more.
—Day 9—
It gets darker. The gloom has been growing for several hours and the windows are fewer and further between, although even when I do find one and look outside the fog is black and thick, like oozing tar.
Today I met another nightmare—a teenage one this time, borne out of Hammer horror movies, young lust and poor choices in reading material. It started when I found four eggs spinning in the air just at the entrance to another chamber. I didn't even consider waiting—I struck with the sword, hard and fast, remembering to close my eyes against the flash of light that came immediately after the blow.
When I was just about able to see again, the eggs were gone and there was only darkness in the room beyond, a deep black that seemed sinuous and alive. It took long seconds for my sight to adjust, but as I stepped forward it was into a long hall. A high ceiling arched overhead, with heavy, dark-stained wood paneling on all sides. A massive stone fireplace dominated the far end of the room, and dark portraits of long dead knights, horsed and armored, lined the walls.
But it was the mosaic on the floor that drew my attention most. It was done in blood-red and black tiles, each no bigger than a fingernail, and it covered the whole floor—some thirty yards long. It was a serpent; a great, segmented, wurm with scales that flashed such that, even in the dim light, the serpent seemed to writhe and squirm.
“The old one knows you,” a voice said to my left.
I turned to face an enormous, bloated vampire. The thing was gorged with blood… so much so that its eyes leaked red and drips ran from its nose and ears. If it had been still a man it would have been over forty stone in weight, but I saw that it had left no tracks in the dust, as if it floated just above the floor. It wore a single long smock that covered it from neck to feet. The garment was covered in both wet and dry blood, and even at a distance of several yards the smell of it made gorge rise in my throat.
Perversely, it had paid great attention to its appearance above the neck. It wore a long white powdered wig that was combed and set in perfect ringlets. Its eyes were shadowed with mascara, and its cheeks were rouged and polished.
It stepped backwards as I moved toward it, the sword raised in front of me.
“Oh, you do not need that here,” it said. “Not among kin.”
“I am no kin of yours,” I said and stepped closer.
The vampire fluttered its arms in front of itself, like a wounded bird trying to escape a cat. It moved away from me. The great serpent on the floor seemed to writhe and squirm as I stepped onto the mosaic. The vampire initially looked shocked, then turned and ran. I jumped forward, but it was already far off down the next flight of steps. Its laughter echoed through the corridor as I chased. But no matter how fast I ran, I was unable to catch up as it seemed to fly down the stairwell.
Finally, after what seemed like an age of descent, I started to make headway, and was soon closing fast. I took the stairs two at a time and burst through into another chamber, almost within striking distance of it, only to be stopped dead in my tracks by the sight that awaited me.
I was in a bedchamber, one dominated by a huge ornate four-poster. A woman lay on the bed, on top of the covers. She had her head turned away from me, but she was blonde, and the right general size and shape.
"Annie?"
A guard stood at each corner of the bed; four ancient knights, each heavily armored with only their faces showing beneath thick iron skullcaps. Each rested their crossed palms on the hilts of heavy broadswords, and their eyes stared at me with a cold disdain. They did not move as I walked into the room.
“A newcomer should be more circumspect in a lady’s chambers,” the voice said.
I turned to my left. The huge bloated vampire stood by a cold empty fireplace.
“I refuse to take lessons in manners from such as you,” I replied, looking him up and down.
The fat one studied the blood and gore smeared over his clothing and smiled. “If I had known you were coming I would have made myself more presentable.”
I showed him the sword. “I fear you will not have long to worry about your appearance,” I said, and moved forward.
The guards finally moved. I just had time to get my sword in a defensive position as the first knight pressed an attack. I got caught off balance for a second, and that was enough for him to force me across the room so that my back was to the fireplace. Even as I fought, the three remaining guards moved to lift the woman from the bed. I parried a stroke from the knight that was heading for my heart, and stepped forward into the attack.
I realized immediately that I was faster, and stronger than he was. The knight realized it as well, and went on the defensive. I understood his plan—he meant to hold me up while the woman was spirited away.
I had no time for niceties. The knight drew back his arm, and I stepped inside the stroke, giving him no room to swing. As he struggled to free himself I leaned forward and tore a bloody hole in his neck with my teeth. He stepped back in confusion and I took my chance. I turned sharply and brought my sword arm round in a flashing arc. There was still confusion in his eyes as his head bounced on the floor. I was out of the door and after the departing guards before the head stopped rolling.
The three guardsmen had reached the top of the next flight of downward stairs when I caught the rearmost of them by the neck and twisted, hard. The noise the spine made as it broke was loud in the sudden quiet.
The body fell at my feet, but killing it had given the remaining two a chance to prepare. The pair of them stood at the top of the stairs, their swords raised. Behind them I saw the girl. She stood perfectly still, her back to me, looking down the stairs.
"Annie!" I shouted, and jumped forward.
The knights were perfectly silent as they met my attack, but I was more than ready for them. I swung to the left, leaving one opponent’s slash to cleave nothing more than thin air. The second one swung high, and, instinctively, I blocked it with my forearm, taking a deep gash in the muscle there as I punched my own weapon right through the armor and into the knight's heart.
He fell aside, and I turned fast, just in time to parry a blow that would have taken my head off had it connected. My new opponent pressed me, hard, in a flurry of steel clashes that kept me on the back foot. Over his shoulder I saw the bloated vampire take the woman’s hand, leading her away.
“No,” I shouted, and stepped into the attack. Metal clashed, sending white sparks flying. I left myself open to an attack, and took the knight’s sword deep into my side. I leaned over and pulled his weight with me, heaving him off balance. A backhand chop from my own weapon nearly severed the head from the shoulders, and a second finished the job.
Barely pausing, I pulled the sword from my side and leapt toward the staircase. I caught the bloated vampire full in the back, punching my weapon completely through the body. I hit the heart. Blood poured in furious gouts, flowing down the staircase in a river of steaming gore.
“An unfair blow,” the
vampire said in a whisper, “I had thought better of you.”
I started to reply, but it was too late—it was fully dead.
The woman turned to me.
"Annie," I said, and pulled her into my arms.
She looked up at me, bloody tears running down her cheeks.
It wasn't Annie—but I did know her. Janice somebody—I'd asked her out, back when I was watching all those bloody movies. She'd said no at the time—and it didn't look like my luck was any better now. White fangs slid from her bloody gums and she hissed like a snake as she made a lunge for my neck. I threw her away from me, back into the room.
The winged Burdens were there in the dark, waiting.
She didn't last long.
—Day 12—
I go down in darkness. The sword gives off a faint glow that lights the steps just at my feet, but I can't see anything beyond that small pool of illumination. There have been more eggs, more nightmares. I have fought the three blind men in black suits, the spider thing that hides in the corner, the red eyed goblin that lived in the toy cupboard, and the zombies that were all taking finals exams in the long hall at Glasgow University. But there have been no more glimpses of grass and sunshine, no sign of my Annie.
Any wounds I take heal within minutes. And I have remembered where my sword came from—I brought it here with me too, from a series of fantasy novels I read in the years just before those vampire movies took hold of me. Stormbringer is its name, and it has a black demon inside it—one that will suck my soul if I'm not careful, although sometimes on this endless descent into darkness I wonder if that has not already happened.
At one point—hours, maybe days, ago—I almost gave up. I sat on the steps in the dark with the sword in my lap, and I wept, long and hard. Above me the Burdens laughed and squealed, as if mocking me, and it was that laughter more than anything else that got me on my feet and moving again, down, always down.
The Burdens Page 2
