Gorgon: An Alex Hunter Novel (17 page)

‘How do you know this?’ Alex asked.

‘Margaret, my great-aunt, has been studying the Minoans all her life,’ Rebecca said. ‘The language, the people, the culture – it was as beautiful as it was mystical. But what intrigued her most was the evidence of them turning up in odd places – Japan, Italy, the Middle East, Russia. The Minoan culture, the mightiest on earth in its day, collapsed and disappeared, seemingly without reason. Some of the remnant Minoans must have scattered – fled, or perhaps they were led away.’

‘To Sauramatia,’ Matt said softly. ‘How did your aunt find them?’

Rebecca smiled. ‘She used her detective skills and contacts, and something else we modern types hardly ever use anymore – books!’

Alex grunted. ‘I guess those statues were just an unexplained oddity … until now.’

‘Until something happened in the Basilica Cistern in Istanbul,’ Rebecca confirmed. ‘Where Emperor Constantine secreted or imprisoned Magera, or its remains. You see, I don’t think Janus Caresche stole what he found in there. I think he somehow . . . freed it.’

Casey Franks scoffed. ‘You reckon it was still alive after nearly 2000 years? That’s bullshit, babe.’ She tilted her head. ‘What is it you do exactly, Ms. Watchorn?’

Rebecca met Casey’s flat stare. ‘I teach at Cambridge University – both evolutionary biology and anthropology, specializing in myths and pre-Christian religions. And yes, it’s my belief that something came out of that urn, even after 2000 years, that’s not like us, or like any other living thing on this planet.’

Casey gave a hard laugh. ‘Some
thing
came out of the urn, by itself? Really? I thought we were looking for a weapon.’

Rebecca shrugged. ‘It might be a weapon – in the wrong hands.’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake.’ Casey turned away.

‘Let’s hear her out,’ Matt said, his own mind buzzing. ‘After all, reptiles and some fish can hibernate for decades. Why not something unique hibernating for even longer?’

Rebecca smiled at Matt. ‘Thank you. So, let’s back up a moment and talk about some historical events. You’re up, Professor: tell us what you know about Gorgons.’

‘Gorgons? The three cursed sisters?’ He looked at Alex, who nodded. ‘Ah, okay.’ He looked to the roof as he searched his memory.  ‘Okay, let’s see. The most famous Gorgon was Medusa, but she also had two sisters, Stheno and Euryale. All three were the daughters of the Titans, giant beings of immense strength, who were eventually overpowered by Zeus. Originally, the Gorgons were priestesses to the goddess of wisdom, Athena. However, Poseidon, the god of the sea, lusted after the beautiful Medusa. She repelled him, but he raped her inside Athena's temple – a huge insult to the goddess.’ He paced as he warmed to his subject. ‘Athena blamed Medusa for Poseidon’s act and for the defiling of her temple – some legends say that Athena was jealous of Medusa’s beauty. Anyway, she turned Medusa and her sisters into horrifying beasts with scaly skin, needle-like teeth, and dozens of coiling snakes for hair. In a final act of revenge, Athena made sure no man could ever look upon Medusa again. Anyone who did would be instantly turned to stone.’

‘Right, that’s the legend,’ Rebecca said. ‘Now let’s imagine for a moment that it’s not a legend. Let’s analyze it based on the new evidence, as if it’s a historical account.’

Alex raised his eyebrows. ‘Turned to stone.’ He turned to Sam. ‘Remember the reptile scale embedded in the wall of the deep chamber below the cistern? Fits, sort of.’

Sam nodded, picking up Matt’s thread. ‘According to the legends, Medusa was killed by Perseus, who was given gifts by the gods to do so – winged sandals, a helmet of invisibility, and Athena’s own silver shield. Perseus avoided looking at Medusa directly by using the shield to see her reflection and so didn’t get turned to stone. He cut off her head and gave it as a gift to Athena, who placed it in the center of the protective shield on her armored breastplate.’

Rebecca looked impressed. ‘Very good, big guy. Brains and brawn.’

‘The face of Medusa is still used today to ward off evil,’ Matt added.

‘Superstition,’ Alex said.

Rebecca nodded. ‘Sure, superstition, magic, myth – but if you take any myth back to its roots, you find the kernel of truth. There’s always a genesis event, even if it changes and evolves over millennia, and I guarantee something like that created the myth of the Gorgons. We need to keep an open mind, and use current technology to work it out.’

‘Well, yesterday’s magic is tomorrow’s science,’ Matt said. ‘The Gorgon faces in the Basilica Cistern – they were there to guard something. Or to warn against something.’

‘That’s a big help,’ Casey scoffed. ‘Could they have made it any more fucking obscure? Why didn’t they just write in big Roman letters,
stay the fuck away
?’

‘Well, obscure to us, but perhaps not to someone in 300 AD,’ Matt said. ‘Or maybe they wanted it to be obscure. Maybe Constantine didn’t want anyone going looking for Magera, or finding it. Now we know why.’

Alex nodded. ‘So, Medusa was beheaded, but what happened to the other sisters?’

Matt shrugged. ‘They vanished from the formal mythological record. There are vague references to them being scattered to the four corners of the world. There are ancient tales of snake-headed women in Japan, India, the Middle East, Russia, dozens of countries; and there’s certainly evidence of stone man syndrome down the millennia too. Just bits and pieces though.’

Rebecca pointed at Matt’s chest. ‘Think harder, Professor. We need to broaden our search. There might be clues we’re failing to see. There’s Aboriginal rock art in Australia showing images of snake-headed creatures dating back 40,000 years; but the earliest formally recorded information is in Crete. I still think that’s the source.’ She began pacing again. ‘You know, there are deep caves all through Greece and Crete, some displaying evidence of structures dating back many thousands of years – some even pre-dating the Minoans. And there was evidence of habitation down there. As well as the usual artifacts, the archeologists found things that they simply termed Cretan troglodytic anomalies.’

There was silence in the large hangar as Rebecca looked around the group.

‘Boo!’ Casey Franks said, then burst into laughter as Matt jumped. ‘Something living there? Yeah, people. That’s why they used to call them cave men.’

‘Not
just
people,’ Rebecca said coldly.

‘So what then?’ Casey asked.

Rebecca didn’t answer; she just raised her eyebrows at Matt.

He rubbed his chin. It sounded crazy, but he’d thought the Sasquatch was a myth until he’d come face to face with one on Black Mountain. ‘If the Gorgons actually existed, surely they’d all be dead by now?’

‘Or in hibernation,’ Alex added, ‘like whatever was in that bronze urn in Turkey.’

Rebecca nodded. ‘Hibernation . . . waiting to be set free again.’ She tilted her head at Alex. ‘So, how about you guys let us in on what you have?’

Sam and Matt looked to Alex, who slowly shook his head. ‘We don’t know much more than you just told us. And the reason for that is, no one does. The Turkish military and science teams are in the dark on this. We still haven’t had access to all their autopsy records, but obtaining them is a priority. When we know how the creature is killing, we can work out how to defend ourselves against it.’

Reece Thompson grunted. ‘The Turks are the only ones on the ground, and so far their strategy seems to be to get out of its way.’

Alex nodded. ‘Makes sense – observe, gather data, identify weaknesses. But we can’t let them continue with that strategy. Bottom line is, it’s heading for Izmir, and we’re not going to let it get there. Added to that, the Russians are on the ground, and now in front of us.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Spetsnaz … and worse.’

Thompson winced.

Rebecca threw her arms up. ‘Great. So let me sum this up: we’ve got something called Magera that might or might not be a weapon, or might or might not be a Gorgon, turning people to stone, and it’s unstoppable. However, we’re sitting on our hands over here, but the Russians have some sort of super hit-squad already in there.’

Alex smiled. ‘That’s about it.’

Rebecca glared at him. ‘Then we’re stuffed.’

Casey Franks glared back. ‘It’s been beaten before, the prof said – some guy cut its head cut off. I’m happy to provide that level of surgery myself, even without an invisible helmet.’ Her lips curled into a ruthless smile.

Matt grinned. ‘That’s a helmet of invisibility, not an invisible … Oh, forget it. Look, it might not be that straightforward. Yes, Medusa was beheaded, but the Gorgons had different powers and … tastes. Medusa turned you immediately to stone, but others liked to torture their victims first, then eat their flesh, and others only appeared during a full moon. We don’t know what Magera does specifically.’

‘We know we can’t look at it directly, even electronically,’ Alex said. ‘One of our technicians suffered some sort of seizure just by seeing its image remotely. That happens in the field, we’re all dead.’ He began to turn away. ‘We’re not ready.’

Sam nodded. ‘Agreed. We need more intel. Don’t like the idea of dropping in and then fighting blind. Or even trying to fight a reflection and then finding out that strategy doesn’t work with Magera.’

Casey Franks snapped to attention, staring straight ahead. ‘Officer on the floor.’

Colonel Jack Hammerson strolled toward them, and all the HAWCs came to attention. Even the SAS soldiers, Thompson and Jackson, stood erect and saluted.

‘At ease, people.’ Hammerson walked in between them, hands clasped behind his back. ‘All good here?’

‘Sharing information, sir.’ Alex had a slight smile on his lips.

Hammerson stopped in front of Sergeant Reece Thompson. ‘Good, because it seems to me we’ve all got pieces of the same puzzle. At ease, soldier.’

Thompson dropped the salute. ‘Sir, perhaps there are too many holes for it all to fit together just yet.’

Hammerson shook the SAS man’s hand. ‘Good to have you with us, even though it seems to have been a little forced.’

‘We’ll try and keep up, sir,’ Thompson responded.

‘You better do more than just try, soldier.’ Hammerson half-smiled and turned to Jackson. He shook his hand, then stood in front of Rebecca.

‘I was told we needed to join you so we could get this mission moving,’ she said. ‘Seems all the movement is around in circles. You guys know less than we do.’

‘Pleased to meet you too, Ms. Watchorn.’ Hammerson smiled flatly, and walked a few paces away from the group so he could take them all in. But Matt saw his eyes were on Rebecca as he spoke. ‘So why don’t you help us poor dumb Yanks out and tell us exactly what we’re dealing with?’

Rebecca shook her head. ‘No one knows. At least, no one living today.’ Her eyes held a hint of mischief. ‘But I bet a centurion of the fifth cohort knew.’

‘The codex – the second half.’ Matt shook his head. ‘We don’t have it.’

’I know you don’t … because we do.’

Within fifteen minutes, they were all gathered in Hammerson’s office, and the second page of the codex was projected onto the large wall-screen. Matt and Rebecca hunched over the parchment itself, a large magnifying glass between them.

Matt nudged her. ‘You can’t read it, can you?’

Rebecca pursed her lips, then smiled. ‘Just a word here and there. Margaret’s not well. We could have spent days finding another translator, or …’ She shrugged.

‘Or do the right thing and bring it to us.’ Matt smiled back. ‘But how the hell did you get it? Not from Monti?’

Hammerson looked from Thompson to Sam from underneath lowered brows. ‘That’s what I’d like to know.’

Sam shook his head. ‘Monti had nothing else. Believe me, if he did, he would have given it up.’

The SAS soldier grinned. ‘Yeah see, that’s what happens when you blunder in and crap all over everything. You can miss the important stuff.’

Sam’s jaw jutted and Thompson snorted. He held up a hand to Sam’s glare. ‘Ease up big fella; you were right, he gave you everything he had. But what he didn’t tell you was where he got the codex page, and what else he left behind. Mr. Gianfranco Ruffino Monti happily informed us that he’d obtained the first page on the Greek black market, and…’

‘And it seems the price for the second sheet was exorbitant, but he didn’t think he needed it anyway.’ Rebecca folded her arms and paced towards Thompson. ‘He felt he had enough information to confirm there was a high-value artifact to recover in Istanbul, and sent Caresche on his mission.’ She turned and nodded for her colleague to continue.

‘That’s about it.’ Thompson half smiled at the interruption. ‘Monti just needed to be persuaded to tell us who the seller was.’

Sam folded tree trunk like arms. ‘And let me guess; you guys went over there and splashed all that Euro funny money around. Nice to have deep pockets.’

Thompson smiled grimly. ‘No money changed hands.’

 Rebecca placed a hand on Thompson’s shoulder. ‘The sergeant can be very persuasive.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘And he wouldn’t take no for an answer.’

Casey Franks winked. ‘Yep, we know how that works.’

Hammerson folded his arms and turned to Matt and Rebecca, who had resumed her seat. ‘Good. Now let’s hear again from our centurion friend. He’s been waiting nearly 2000 years to tell us something important.’

‘Sure. Just need to make sure it all checks out okay.’ Matt used forceps to drag the first page of the codex across and align it with the second – the fibers lined up perfectly. He hunched over the parchment again with the magnifying glass. ‘Looks good – the papyrus has the right amount of aluminum salts in the fibers. Also the edges line up to form a single long roll. In my opinion, it’s the real deal.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Okay, here we go . . . it picks up with the blinded priests …’

 
Constantine dismounted, and his Praetorian Guard formed up either side of him. I fell in behind, along with Titus and Varinius.

Sauramatia had been subdued, but there was one stronghold not yet fully under our control: the citadel in the center of the walled city. It was built of mud-brick, strong, and ancient. Several priests lay dead at its entrance. Others were kneeling, their empty eye sockets turned toward us, as though seeing without their orbs. They were of strange appearance: their heads were shaven, and their skulls heavily tattooed with raised markings that gave the appearance of blue ropes constantly coiling across their heads. These men were fanatics, and some had gone so far as to nail themselves to the stout wooden door to the temple.

Andronicus, a centurion charged with taking the city, stood bloody and weary, but his eyes still burned with the fury of war. ‘No one has yet entered, my Emperor.’

Caesar placed a hand on his filthy shoulder. Such was this great man, never fearing the grime of battle. He looked into Andronicus’ face. ‘The priests – have they spoken?’

‘
Yes, sire. They say they will die before standing aside.’

Constantine looked over the wretched beings. ‘Not this day. Free those men nailed there.’ He then motioned to the translators. ‘Tell them we are the mightiest power in the world and we will enter their temple. Tell them Sauramatia has fallen, and they are alone. We will care for them now; all will be treated with respect.’

The three translators conferred, as if deciding on the right words. One of them spoke to the priests; the tongue was harsh and grating, spitting words like sharp chips of stone.

Many of the priests began to wail; others simply fell forward and rubbed their faces into the dirt. But there was one, taller than the rest, who stood at the very center of the massive door, his chin up, his black eye sockets trained on Constantine. His own words poured forth, and the translators listened and responded, seeming to rebuke him.

‘
Speak!’ Constantine’s word cut the air and made the translators cringe. ‘Tell me what he says – all of it.’

The three men looked pained. At last one swallowed and then spoke. ‘His name is Hemlagh, the chief priest. He says they do not fear you, or us, or death. He says your power is nothing but a blink of the eye, and Caesar is a flea compared to their mistress. They fear you not, but they do fear for mankind if she is freed.’

‘
She?’ Constantine looked from his translators to the priest. ‘Magera?’

Hemlagh’s lips became thin, and then he nodded.

Constantine looked up at the sky. Crows wheeled above us, cawing impatiently, waiting to feed on the mounds of dead throughout the city.

Our Emperor exhaled. ‘Tell them they are free. Tell them to stand aside and no one will be hurt. Magera is now the property of Rome.’

The tall priest responded in the lingua latīna.

Matt looked up at Hammerson, gauging his understanding.

‘Latin, I get it.’ The HAWC commander waved him on.

 
‘
Your property? No. Your curse,’ Hemlagh said. ‘If you have gods and fear them, you know what becomes of mortals who defy them. Enter if you wish, Caesar, but do so knowing that man is a bug before the Gorgos.’

Constantine pointed at the door and its single long bolt as thick as a man’s leg. ‘Open it.’

One of his generals, Titus, stepped in front of him. ‘My Emperor, let me enter first.’

Constantine looked as if he were about to object, but he glanced back to me, and I nodded. It would not be brave but foolish for our Emperor to enter an unknown place.

The great bolt was drawn back, and Titus covered his lower face as a draft of humid air escaped. Those nearby also covered their faces, such was the stench.

Hemlagh sucked in the air, his hollowed face rapturous. ‘The scent of a God.’

Titus coughed. ‘The scent of death.’ He draw his sword, and crouched down to see past the thick walls of stone bordering the doorframe. He called over his shoulder for a flame. A burning torch was handed to him, and he glanced back once, before ducking under the heavy lintel.

We waited several long minutes for him to reappear. Just as our patience was stretching, there came a coughing sound from the doorway. A figure stepped out: Titus, but not the Titus who had entered only minutes before. His face and entire being were pale, not with illness or fear, but something worse. He staggered painfully toward us, staring, but not seeming to see. His mouth opened, but no words came. Instead, he uttered a gurgling sound followed by a rush of liquid stone.

I was first to him, placing an arm around his shoulders. To my shame, I recoiled, for I did not touch flesh and blood, but skin as hard and cold as a column of stone.

While we watched, his paleness became absolute, and even his dark eyes frosted over to a milky whiteness. Now down on all fours, he raised his face to our Emperor one last time, his face twisted in hellish agony. And then he froze.

We did too, in horrified silence, as mute as Titus, now turned to stone. Our eyes lifted to the door of the citadel, and we waited, expecting some monster to emerge.

Bit by bit, the world crept back – a tiny whisper of wind rustling a standard banner, a crow calling high overhead, the snorting of a horse.

Constantine breathed out the first words. ‘Those who behold the Gorgos will be forever imprisoned in stone.’

A new sound began – small at first, but rising. The tall priest, Hemlagh, was laughing, but there was no humor in it.

He spoke again in our tongue. ‘She will lay waste to all of you.’

Titus’ body was wrapped in a rug and removed. Constantine ordered that no one was to speak of him to the men. Next he had his Praetorian Guard line up before the door. Each soldier was half a head taller than any normal man, his iron-hard body encased in gleaming armor. All stared into the dark doorway, waiting for the word.

Constantine stood before the priest and placed his hand on the man’s shoulders. He looked deep into the dark eye sockets. ‘She comes with us, or she burns.’

Hemlagh shook his head. ‘You cannot kill her. You cannot take her. She needs us. She has promised to take us all to heaven in her golden chariot.’

Constantine narrowed his eyes. ‘Where she goes, you go. You may continue to serve her.’

Hemlagh remained silent, and Constantine leaned in closer. ‘I did not come here to kill her. Tell us how to … save her.’

Hemlagh’s head turned to the open doorway. ‘Kill her? She and her kind have walked this world since before we men rose from the dust. She will be here long after we and all our kind are food for the worms.’ He turned back to Constantine. ‘But without the warriors to serve us, we can cannot serve her. We must go with you.’

Constantine nodded. ‘Good man. Now tell us how the mighty Magera can be controlled.’

‘
With words, not swords. You must … sing to her.’

Matt sat back. ‘This is it.’

Hammerson’s forehead creased. ‘Huh? Sing to her? What the hell does that mean?’

Matt found his place, and continued reading.

Hemlagh began to sing in a language that was like nothing any of us had ever heard. It was not beautiful, nor lyrical, more like the sibilant hissing of a serpent. Still singing, the tall priest entered the citadel, and bade Constantine to follow. Against my advice, he entered the dark doorway, and I, along with his guards, rushed to follow.

The only light inside the large domed room came from the sputtering torch dropped by Titus. In the gloom, I could make out a large throne upon which a lone figure sat. It was tall, taller than the biggest man in our entire army. I have faced death a dozen times on this campaign alone, but in the presence of this thing I felt my knees weaken and an illness boil in my belly.

Thankfully, it seemed to sleep, and I pulled all my courage together and stepped closer. What at first I took to be a crown was a mass of thick sightless worms, each with a mouth of its own, continually opening and closing as if tasting the air – no, tasting us. The face was scaled, and though it had features, they were not at all like our own. There were two eyes, closed thankfully, and a double slit for a nose, which flapped open as breath rushed in and out. The mouth, slightly open, was a circle of gristle, like a single lip, and inside rows of needle-like teeth were just visible.

Even our mighty Caesar was sickened by the sight. I half-turned to him, not wishing to look away entirely lest the creature spring to life in that moment. I whispered my words. ‘Kill this foul thing now.’

Hemlagh had continued to sing softly, but on hearing my words, he stopped and turned his sightless face toward me. ‘Kill Magera? You could not. The Gorgos cannot be cut, or burned, or drowned. She lifts herself from the ashes, reassembles herself from the blade, and rises again, more powerful and vengeful than ever. She is truly a god.’

Caesar’s features were drawn in disgust. ‘Maybe it is a god to some. And perhaps it knows of other gods.’

Magera shifted, and Hemlagh began to sing again.

Caesar turned away. ‘If the thing wakes, its gaze will kill us.’ He spoke to his guard. ‘Bind it … cover its head.’

And so Magera became Emperor Constantine’s possession, burden, and curse. The priests sang to it constantly, taking turns to keep the creature in a stupor.

The long journey home took many months, and we lost many men – not by sword, or ambush, or misadventure, but by a sickness that affected us all, and seemed to suck the life from us. Some woke with a rash, that eventually opened and ran with black blood. Others shrank down to their bones, no matter how much they ate; and others went mad, biting at their fellow soldiers. It was as if Magera drew our souls from our bodies.

When Constantine asked where the being had come from, Hemlagh pointed skyward. ‘Caelestis,’ he said, then, ‘Creta. She came from Caelestis to live in the Caverns of Zeusa.’

Matt sat back and rubbed his hands through his hair. ‘
Caelestis
– heaven. And they lost 5000 men on their march home.’

Rebecca frowned. ‘Sounds like some sort of virus or transmitted disease.’

‘Or something from Magera,’ Alex said. ‘Something it radiates.’

Matt ran his eyes down the rest of the scroll. ‘That’s pretty much it. A bit more about the arduous trip home, and then it ends.’

Hammerson exhaled. ‘Let’s see what we’ve got. Constantine captured this … Magera nearly 2000 years ago. He brings it back to Constantinople, now Istanbul, and hides it deep under the Basilica Cistern. Janus Caresche somehow wakes it up, sets it free, and now it’s stalking the Turkish landscape and turning anything in its path into stone.’ Hammerson placed one hand on his forehead. ‘I feel nuts just saying that out loud. I can’t take that to the brass.’

Matt shook his head. ‘Amazing; the legend of the Gorgon … not a legend at all. They’re freakin’ real.’ He rubbed his face. ‘The song must have hypnotized it – you know, the same way you can hypnotize snakes. I’ve seen it.’