The Dark Citadel (The Green Woman) (14 page)

Zachariah held up the lantern, sending the beam
down the tunnel mouth. The light struggled against the shadows for a couple of
yards then gave up. The floor was dry and dusty and completely smooth. Not a
single foot or paw print broke its surface. He swallowed hard to get rid of the
fear that was constricting his throat and turned. Maeve was waving goodbye. He
gave what he hoped was a jaunty grin, though she couldn’t possibly have seen
it.

“I’ll be seeing you then,” he called as he marched
with more determination than he felt into the black mouth.

At first Zachariah turned every so often until the
pale tunnel mouth and Maeve’s slim silhouette finally disappeared. A few dozen
or so brave paces further on and he held up the flickering lantern, swinging it
from side to side in an attempt to flush out the shadows. The light showed him
the tunnel floor beneath his feet but little more. The roof was too high and
the beam too feeble. He gritted his teeth and tried to put more determination
into his stride, fixing his eyes on the far limit of the pool of light cast by
the lamp. He had plodded on for what seemed like hours, smooth, unbroken sand
passing into and out of his sight with hypnotic monotony, when a faint howling
stopped him dead in his tracks.

The howling grew in intensity and little eddies of
dust blew up from the floor as a shrieking wind rushed down the tunnel towards
him, tugging at his clothes and extinguishing his little light. He swallowed a
cry of fear and reached into his pocket for the lighter. Another howl made him
spin round. Something soft and furry touched his ear, and he screamed and
lashed out with the lantern. With a sound like a small explosion, the glass
shattered against the side of the tunnel, and hot oil splashed back over his hand.
He cursed his stupidity as darkness overwhelmed him.

The shadows were packed so tight he could see
nothing at all. His rising terror broke out in a strangled cry as he felt the
darkness reaching its sombre tentacles into his ears and throat.

Lies!
Just stupid lies!
was his last coherent thought before he gave way to
wild panic.

As Deborah
slid
into the darkness of the passageway, the Ignorant quarter erupted in a
frenzy of violence. The unnatural quiet was shattered as Black Boys beat down
doors and clattered up crumbling staircases. Patrols barred every road out of
the sector, hoping to net the Ignorant ringleaders who would no doubt make a
run for it. Ringleaders of what, they had no idea, but politics was no concern
of theirs. Still the Black Boys were uneasy. In the silence before the raid
began, while they waited for the signal, a scream rent the air, an inhuman
scream.

The guards cringed, clutching their weapons and
looking furtively at one another. Was it a sign?
 
Did the demon scream seal the guilt of the Ignorants, or did
it mean they, the guards, were about the Devil’s work?
 
Shrugging off the latter hypothesis as
far as he was able, each guard raised his riot stick and smashed it into the
nearest door.

* * * *

In a tenement close to the main laundry, Grania heard the demon scream. She
grabbed Ezekiel’s arm and shivered. Instinctively, she looked across at the
bunks where her children were sleeping. All but one.

* * * *

In the wreckage of another dingy apartment later that night, after the
Black Boys had left the building, taking with them a random handful of men as
trophies, Persephone sat brooding. She picked at a piece of bread, her lips in
an angry pout, a deep frown barring her forehead.

“We were going to go through the door together. And
I left her, Ma, just sitting there, holding her head.”

Her mother tapped her hand affectionately. “You
were frightened, pet. She fell, and you heard the raid begin, the Black Boys
breaking down doors. Of course your first thought was for us. Then, when you
turned back, she wasn’t there. Maybe she fell through the door and couldn’t
call you.” She put her arms round her daughter and held her tight. “It’s better
this way, pet,” she whispered. “I wouldn’t want one of mine going Outside,
following a dream.”

Persephone shook her head. “It’s no good, Ma. I
should’ve gone back to make sure she was all right. If I wasn’t such a coward
I’d never have left her there on her own, not with that…thing, whatever it was,
hovering. It was looking for her, wasn’t it?”

Another scream, like the one that had sent
Persephone running for home, pierced the silence in the little room, and she
clutched her mother, hiding her face in her lap. Her mother stroked her hair,
her face betraying her own fear. What was to become of them?

* * * *

Out in the wasteland a spider-like shadow detached itself from the deeper
shadows round the crematorium and scuttled down a short side road that ended in
a mess of broken paving stones and potholes. The boy cast about, peering at the
ground with his uneven eyes. He bent down, poking and scraping, turning over
lumps of concrete, looking for… Then he saw it, the smooth, sleek metallic
surface of a door. His ferreting and spying had found the place! He knew the
principal had been right to choose him for this mission; the runaway was his
betrothed after all. Agile fingers poked about around the frame, found the
lock, pressed. He gasped in amazement as the hole appeared in the earth. Long
crooked limbs crouched, slipped into the opening, and suddenly the figure was
no longer there.

The steps
that
led down into the tunnel were broad and even. The path led straight,
without a bend, and Deborah felt smooth floor tiles beneath her feet. She set
herself a brisk pace, refusing to think of the darkness. As she walked, she
thought of what her father had said, turning it over and over, remembering his
exact words, the sound of his voice. She could still see the fear in
Persephone’s eyes as she turned to run for home, still heard the terrible
shriek ringing in her ears and the terrifying noises made by the Black Boys as
they hacked their way into the Ignorant apartments.

But the sharpness of the sensations was fading. She
had her own problems. Deborah had a destiny to fulfil; she was convinced of it.
Maybe afterwards there would be time to pick up the pieces.

Suddenly her thoughts were shattered by a sound,
the faint but unmistakable whisper of the sliding door. Frozen with terror, she
listened. She had been followed! Someone was picking his way cautiously down
the steps. She turned and ran, holding her hands out before her, until her
fingers struck a metal surface she knew to be a door, the same kind as the
sliding door onto the street. The sheet of solid steel was perfectly smooth
without handle, locks, or bolts. On the wall by the door was a small pad filled
with buttons. On each of the buttons a sign was printed.

Deborah turned to stare back down the tunnel. The
darkness was complete, and she listened hard, not daring to breath. Heavier, firmer
footsteps were hurrying confidently now along the tunnel. She even imagined she
could hear her pursuer’s excited, panting breath. Her fingers flew over the
buttons, pressing them at random. Nothing happened. She paused, her thoughts
scattered like a panicked crowd. She took a deep breath, struggling to reorder
them, and into the stillness, warm breath brushed her cheek and a jumble of
calming words poured into her ear. With a grateful smile, she let out her
breath and concentrated on the pad and its symbols, certain it held the key to
the opening of the door.

The flash, when it came, was brief. She saw the pad
and the buttons and five of the signs glowing with red fire. She held the
vision of those five signs in her head and pushed the corresponding buttons as
the sound of distant pounding feet changed to a sharper, distinct clatter. The
door slid back with a mechanical whisper. She threw herself into the opening as
the clattering and an inarticulate shouting filled the confined space of the
tunnel. She spun around—she was in a metal box!

With an animal-like rasp of triumph, a wild looking
figure with outstretched fingers and mad, staring eyes lunged at her out of the
darkness. She was caught, cornered. Suddenly, at its most intense, her fear
evaporated, and her gaze locked onto the triumphant stare of her pursuer. There
was a jolt, a surge of energy and she felt light-headed as something uncoiled
inside her—something new, uncertain, but powerful.

It happened in a second. All she did was glare in
anger, and the thing inside her sprang out with a flash of white light, like
one of her visions. She felt the bolt fly as the crooked-looking boy leapt
across the threshold of the box. She had no time to halt it, had no idea how
to. When the blinding light dimmed, the eyes that looked into hers, mere inches
away, were not grinning any more; they were filled with terror. Scorch marks
seared the skin of the wild face; charred edges of shirt cloth smoked faintly.
With a shriek of pain, the boy covered his distorted face with his hands and
recoiled.

The newborn power subsided, leaving Deborah’s body
tingling with electricity and glowing with a faint light. The pale glimmer
showed her the pad next to the open door, and she slammed her hand down on the
only button in sight. Her chest heaving wildly, she watched the motion of the
door go into reverse.

Fear of failure overcoming his fear of the white
terror, her pursuer threw himself at the closing door. Long fingers grabbed at
the edge, scrabbling at the shrinking gap, and Deborah sucked in her breath. A
hoarse voice sobbed in pain and anger, the movement hesitated for an instant,
but the fingers released their grip. The door shuddered and slid closed.

Trembling partly with relief, partly with
trepidation at what she had felt coming to life inside her, Deborah searched
the back wall of the box for a way out. There was another pad, this time
containing a single button. She pressed it. The door slid open, revealing a
cavern cut into solid rock, and at the far side of the cavern, a half-disc of
faint grey light.

Deborah took two hesitant steps forward, and, with
an ominous click, the door closed behind her. She spun round, but there was
nothing to see. The door merged imperceptibly with the smooth-hewn rock around
it. She was locked out of Providence. The only path open to her was forward,
towards the light of Outside.

Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Deborah
was about to move when the light at the cave mouth was blotted out. She heard a
panting and the scratching of claws on the bare rock, and as she backed up in
fright, the darkness became a shape. Four legs, thick as young trees, straddled
the entrance, and three massive heads with lolling tongues sniffed and tasted
the air, searching the shadows.

Deborah pressed herself against the invisible door,
but the creature had sensed her presence. With a snarl, it lurched into the
cavern, blotting out the faint light and baying like a pack of hounds on a
scent.

With a moan of terror she cast about for a hiding
place in the darkness. The moan rose to a shriek, rapidly stifled, as someone
grabbed her from behind and clapped a hand over her mouth. Her hands pinioned
to her sides, she was dragged roughly into a narrow tunnel and pressed against
the wall.

Part Two:
 
Infernal World

Seest
thou yon dreary Plain, forlorn and wilde,]

The
seat of desolation, voyd of light,

Save
what the glimmering of these livid flames

Casts
pale and dreadful?

John Milton, Paradise Lost: i.180-183

Abaddon stood
on
the brink of the Pit and looked down into the fiery gulf. Among the black
flames darker shadows moved, and from the depths arose the voices of the demons
chained upon the lake of fire. Abaddon listened to their pleading. He heard the
voices of his faithful soldiers, faint and respectful. His captains’ voices
though snarled and cried out in a harsh language older than the world, and they
shook their chains, impatient to be done with their torment.

“I hear,” he growled, and his words rumbled like a
gathering storm. “Soon it will be time. Soon I will have the tree of life and
the apples of knowledge. Then the world will be ours.”

In response the clamour increased, echoing from the
vaulted coping of the roof of Hell.

Time!
The inhuman
voices repeated.
Soon it will be time for
us!

 
The
demon king stared into the dancing flames.

“Soon,” he murmured. “Soon they will all burn.”

Long ago and
far away across the mists of the timeless blue sea,
lay a green island circled by forests and mountains. In the hollow of the
mountains stretched a lush green plain, and on the plain rose a hill. A fort
was built on the hill that dominated the green plain, and in the great hall of
the fort, Oscar, the High King’s foster son, woke with a start.

Silver
moonlight flooded the sleeping hall from the chimney hole. Oscar sat up and
threw off the wolfskins from his bed and peered into the silvery darkness. From
far away, the clear, musical voices of the people of the Sidhe, and the
stamping of the hooves of their fairy horses, reached his ears. At the same
time, he heard the faint notes of a woman’s cry. Oscar strained his ears to
make out the name she called, but it was lost on the billows of the misty sea.

Sitting
on the edge of his bed in the great hall of the fort on the hill, Oscar
strained every muscle as he listened. The tension broke with a metallic tinkle
on the flagstones at his feet. In the soft light of the moon, he saw the cause,
a bright enamel pin. He held it in his trembling hand and peered at the small
figure, a green woman with outstretched hand, framed in the flame-red waves of
her hair.

Oscar
closed his fist around the pin and listened. The tremulous silence let fall the
echo, the last syllables of a name.

“...orah,”
the voice breathed, and was lost in the deep silence.

She is calling at last
, Oscar thought, and his heart beat fast. His hand tightened around the
pin, and he wondered how he would follow.