Heaven's Gate (36 page)

There is no pain to prompt the soundless screams that, burst from Rugan’s mouth and find an echo in the bellows of the zombie carrying him. What little sanity had still lingered in the lich’s mind melts before a tide of darkness, as his last link to the living world is severed. Left aimless by its master’s plunge into madness the corpse of the Chief Pardoner allows the head to fall from its hand and begins to slowly meander off into one of the darkened corridors of the complex. Trapped in his own private cage of flesh and bone Rugan feels himself hit the dusty floor and roll, there is the dryness of the dust against his
moistureless
skin, the cold of the metal floor, other than that all there is left to him is waiting to rot.

Blake has no time to savour his enemy’s fate, without new instructions the silver monstrosity in front of him is intent as ever on breaking down his defense and reaching the girl behind him.
Sparks
flash from another impact then another as Blake struggles to bring the twisted hunk of metal in his hand on line for yet another parry. The weight of the mangled trolley and the effort of fending off the heavy blows are causing his arms to shake with fatigue but he maintains his defense, doggedly refusing to relinquish his last chance at salvation. Suddenly the weight lessens and the metal parts in his hand, a silver tendril, its momentum only partially diminished by the broken trolley lashes down tearing into the metal links sown into his long coat and throwing him backwards into the erratically flickering lights that flash on the wall behind.

Her protector gone, Lillian is left prone and helpless as her attacker rears over her, there is no way that she can replicate Blake’s speed or strength and nothing with which to divert the thing’s frenzied attacks with if she could. The first silver whip falls and somehow, she manages to move her legs in time, so that instead of slicing her in half the blow leaves a deep dent in the floor and causes a cloud of old, sharp-smelling dust to bloom. Lillian strains to see through the darkness and the dust, waiting for the next blow to fall but instead, she sees Angus Leedon throwing himself against the silver side of the monster and thrusting his sabre between two of the articulated plates that make up the construct’s over long torso. Split between the rage of the Strigoi trapped within the armour and the single mindedness of the machine, the automation pauses for a fraction of a second and that is all the half delirious General has been hoping for. Before any one else can act, he scoops up the orange covered book and bolts with his last remaining strength into the darkness. He does not need to look back to confirm his suspicion that the silver monster is following him, all that matters now it getting the demonic book away from the Gate. If Hell itself had been chasing him, he would have done nothing differently; the child had been a pawn like him, all of them manipulated by the foul undead that still hid behind his Crusade. If there is still a horse outside, something to drink, if I live I will redouble my efforts he promises himself, forcing his dying body back up the red lit steel artery that leads to the surface. If I can make it, the General promises himself, as the sound of the automation’s pounding legs grows louder behind him.

“General!
Aden
?” Yorick calls out into the dim corridor before making his way over to the mutant’s crumpled body and feeling for a pulse.

“No!” the dwarf mutters then more loudly. “No! Not so close! she’s won again!”

Before either Blake or Lillian can recover themselves enough to ask what that cryptic statement means, Yorick begins to become transparent, his form seeming to come apart, mingling and falling with the dust still swirling in the air.

“I am sorry, Samuel,” the dwarf says in a voice no louder than a whisper, “I will try again.”

The aftermath of the chaotic seconds spent struggling for survival is like the exhalation of a long held breath. The silence that has ruled the long forgotten passage ways rolls back, interrupted only by the breathing of the last two living people in the musty ruin. The dust settles slowly on the two
survivours
, who still sit staring in disbelief at the space that Yorick had occupied only seconds before.

“What now?” Lillian asks at last, at the sound of her voice the severed head at the room’s entrance begins to work its jaw in a vain effort to make itself understood.

“Nothing has changed, we still seek the Gate.”

“And what makes you think I ever wanted to find it?”

“If you are grateful for the many times I have saved your life, then you will help me find it.”

“And then what? You expect me to just wander back across the desert on my own?”

“I have come this far, Lillian I will not go back again! Now if you do not want to go on with me then you must indeed make your own way back but you must help me before you do.”

“Why should I? Because you saved my life? I don’t think it would have been in danger if it weren’t for this mad quest of yours.”

“You know that isn’t true, you are part of this.”

“Which only makes it worse, how strange do you think it feels to find your name in a book that’s hundreds of years old, to be able to open doors in this place?”

“We all have our crosses to bear, Lillian. I have lived a long time and done things I shudder to recall, I have done them all in the name of salvation, in the hope of finding this Gate and the redemption that I can find nowhere else.”

“And what if it isn’t here? What if this has all been for nothing?”

The Pilgrim stares into the shadows, his eyes that had burned in the half light now look like pools of tar, his face almost as drawn as the murmuring head of the confessor.

“Then Lillian I am more damned than you can know.”

“I don’t even know how to open the door, Angus took the book.”

“I think you know how to go about trying,” Blake says, looking pointedly at the indent of a hand in the still open panel.

“Alright, but it won’t work.”
 
Lillian answers, getting to her feet and trudging over to the open panel. She hesitates for a moment then places her hand flat on the slightly larger imprint in the wall. As she expected there is another sharp prod in the tip of her finger and a whirring sound from within the wall.

“You see, nothing.”

“Speak again, use the words from the entrance.”

Lillian opens her mouth to comply but instead the second line of text springs into her mind. “
Failsafe confirmation; quarantine override; ready Gate for evacuation status. Confirmation code Carter 33H-Z77.
”

“What are you waiting for? You have to at least try.”

Lillian wishes she could do anything but try but as soon as she remembers the words the pressure to speak them is almost unbearable. “Why are you so sure this is a good thing?” she asks not moving her hand from the panel.

“I’m not, why are you so sure it is bad?”

“Because I know what to say and I shouldn’t, doesn’t that bother you? I couldn’t have seen the book more than twice but I know what to say.”

“Then you must say it,” the Pilgrim says softly, “I have run from fate for a lifetime, in the end I am still here and fear has nothing to do with going on.”

“You think we are meant to be here?”

“Why else would you know what to say? Open the door, Lillian, please.”

Nodding her acceptance, Lillian turns back to the panel and despite feeling stupid about talking into the wall, she repeats the phrase.

No sooner are the strange words out of her mouth than the wall slides aside, to reveal the most massive chamber that either Lillian or Blake has ever seen. The lights are still powering up as they make their way into the room that must be big enough to accommodate a small village but already the many levels of the great chamber reflect the defuse light from perfectly smooth railings and pillars. Blake blinks in the increasingly harsh light, taking in the rows of benches and high counters that litter the massive hall. Here and there the skeletal remains of those trapped in the cavernous hall, sit slumped or huddled as far away from their fellow human beings as their numbers and the size of the huge room will allow. One or two of the crumbling mummies even have snub nosed objects that Blake guesses are fire arms of some type, clutched in their long, skeletal fingers.

In his mind’s eye, Blake replays the last tortuous weeks of these poor unfortunate’s lives. No doubt there had been food at first, perhaps even hope of leaving the place, if you knew the right incantation or the rules the enchantments worked by. The lights had probably not gone out at first, if they had even shut off while anyone was still alive, there might be a different reason for people to light fires that they would not share with their fellows. Blake had hunted Strigoi long enough to know of their hatred of flame. The bodies of the undead did not last long beyond their destruction so there was no telling how many battles there had been by those fires. The living had almost certainly won but even then without sunlight, they had no way of knowing if their victory was complete so they had all died alone, slowly in corners or beside their choking fires. Blake takes the fact that there has clearly been no attempt at cannibalism as a sure indication that the people trapped in the hall still feared contamination. From somewhere old recordings begin to play a refrain that has been copied and expanded on by musicians throughout the long sad history of the Bowl.

“I know that tune,” Lillian says, seeking the comfort of her own voice in the echoing emptiness of the hall

“I do not doubt it,” Blake replies, “it was probably brought from here by the First Fathers.”

“What could this place have to do with the founding of the
Union
?”

“Everything,” Blake answers still struggling to get a grasp on his own suspicions, “I always wondered how the first soul I drained could have actually seen the Gate, seen it and not used it, he sought its salvation almost as strongly as I did. The answer is simple.”

“What?”

“We all had access to the Gate before the Strigoi came, these people died trying to defend it.”

“That’s if this Gate of yours even exists at all! The only thing I see is a tomb.”

“It is here I can sense we are near, we must be.”

“Or it’s all wishful thinking, whatever happened here happened so long ago that it could have been about anything, if this was some kind of Church or holy site I don’t see much evidence of it.”

“Not all faith requires outward show and if you doubt that there is always, Yorick.”

“What does he have to do with anything?”

“He is a prophet and he sought the Gate here, so it must be close.”

“Or he simply told you he did like everyone else has, it seems to be the surest way to get you to do anything.”

“That is not so.”

“Then why did he leave as soon as
Aden
died? The Gate would soon be here wouldn’t it?”

“I cannot fathom the mind of a creature such as Yorick.”

But you can understand this place? Only the dead could tell you anything about what went on here,” Lillian argues

“It’s just as I remembered it, a woman’s voice says from behind them, of course I was only a child when I last saw it.”

Chapter 19:

“Genesis”

“Julia,” Blake breathes, not needing to turn round to identify the speaker. It has been decades but she still fills him with both dread and need.

“You don’t need to tell me, child, you thought I was gone, they all did, it was necessary.”

Lillian turns to look back at the woman behind them, “Julia?” she echoes the Pilgrim’s confusion and Blake can tell that there is genuine recognition in the girl’s face, “what are you doing here?”

“How do you know her?”

“Julia? I’ve known her since I was a child. She was my nurse and then my tutor.”

“What part have you played in all this?” Blake voices his suspicion to the empty air before using all his courage to turn and face his former mistress. He nearly falls to his knees at the sight of her.

“Yes, still beautiful,” with a great effort of will Blake looks away from his mistress,
 
“You say you’ve known her for your whole life?”

“Yes, how do you know her?”

“From a long time before that,” Blake murmurs, “ though she always had a talent for making the years run fast, I bet you’ve never asked why, in all the time you’ve known her, she has never changed.”

“It never seemed important,” Lillian answers lamely, suddenly uncomfortable when confronted by the truth. “Father just sent me to the tower to see her.”

“And you always read by candlelight.”

“Why should that matter?”

“It matters to Samuel, my dear, as far as he is concerned you and your General’s amulet have lead another vampire to his precious Gate.”

“It is not my Gate, it belongs to the Almighty.”