Church of Sin (The Ether Book 1) (40 page)

Chapter 83

Ash heaved open the oak door to the Church of Our Virgin Saint Mary and peered into the gloom. He let his eyes adjust for a few seconds before walking toward the font. His hand curled around the handle of an ASP spring cosh: a twenty one inch extendable baton, a favourite of CID officers and a weapon he had never actually had to use in anything other than a simulation. This was one of those times when he regretted not going to the station gym more often. He felt out of shape, confused and exhausted. The baton felt unfamiliar in his hand.

He looked up the central aisle toward the altar, expecting to see the pyre of naked flesh and blood but there was nothing. The bodies had been removed and forensics had cleaned the church up pretty well.

He saw behind the altar, the image of Christ on the cross, silhouetted against the moonlit window. He hadn’t recalled seeing that the last time he was here.

She murmured his name but was too weak to project her voice enough above the rattling of the wind in the window frames.

He walked up the central aisle apprehensively. He felt that someone was watching him from the distant corner of the room, felt something move in the shadows. His grip on the cosh tightened. He flicked the switch on the end of the handle, releasing the telescopi
c inner shafts to their full length.

He stopped mid-way. Stared, his brain struggled to process what he was seeing.

It couldn’t be. Impossible.

Sat on chairs, looking for all the world like little manikins
: the Laicey sisters. Megan
and
Katelyn. He tried to speak but words didn’t emerge, just a strange gargling noise. His instinct was to run to them, radio in, call an ambulance. But it wasn’t real. Couldn’t be real. Katelyn Laicey was
dead
.

Must be a trick. They weren’t moving. Stock still. Their eyes just two black hollow gauges, like fish eyes.

His name on the wind. Faint and distant.

He faltered, dropped the baton. It hit the flagstone and rolled under one of the pews.

Christ’s head had moved.

It felt like something had punctured his lungs and sucked all of the air out of them, such was the intensity of the realisation. He struggled to breath, to speak. His legs felt untenable, he was supported on nothing but matchsticks bound together with brittle twine. If he moved, he felt sure his whole frame would collapse.

“Ash,” she breathed through her pain. 

For what seemed like an age, he was paralyzed. Katelyn alive. Megan here too. Alix. Alix,
nailed to the cross.
Like Speck had been. But alive. At least, alive. Slowly, the colour returned to his cheeks and the adrenalin began to pump through his system. The feeling was like nothing he had experienced before. The mixture of fear, of wrath, of devastation, of
need
all clouded together, like a storm raging.

And she looked into his eyes, past the tears that had accumulated at the corners and down his neck and straight into his heart and for a moment her pain seemed incidental to what passed between them. He returned her gaze, realised that the empty chasm festering at the pit of his being yearned for her, yearned to save her from this death. It felt like every mistake he had made in life was suddenly weighing down upon him; as if the floodgates that he had erected in his mind were finally breached and all of his regret – the dark, secret feelings he had incarcerated within him –inexorably spilled out through his body and, for the first time, he was truly and mercilessly awake.

“Ash,” she wheezed, swallowing hard and bit her tongue to try and relinquish the dryness in her mouth. “It’s a trap...”

The spell was broken as quickly as it was cast. From out of the darkness of the northern transept bolted the tall figure of a man.
Ash felt something pierce his skin on the side of his right shoulder, fell back against the pews opposite and clattered to the floor. His assailant was upon him quickly and had the advantage of surprise, catching his face with a punch that split his lip open and could have broken his jaw had he not managed to deflect some of the force with his arm. For a split second, he blacked out, instinctively bringing his knees up over his stomach, trying to protect his vital areas from the assault. But the beating never came. Instead he heard the sound of metal scrape against stone.

It gave him enough time to roll backwards and haul himself up with his back to Alix. His hand fumbled against his arm, checking the damage. It seemed only superficial but there was blood on his hand when he pulled it away. He glanced around but couldn’t see the baton.

“Detective Fielding,” said a voice with a familiar Russian accent. Grigori, stepping forward, the Spear of Destiny lowered towards him. “It’s nice to see you again. How’s the investigation going?”

“You?” Ash stammered, backing up the aisle and stepping into the apse. “
You! I’ll kill you!”

“You don’t have much chance of doing that, detective. Better stand aside and let the end of the world happen around us instead.”

Grigori lunged but Ash was ready, catching the spear head as it glided past his chest and knocking it sideways sending it clattering to the floor. He thrust the back of his free elbow into Grigori’s face, felt the satisfying split of his septum, bringing a gush of blood from his nose. The Russian brought his fist hard into Ash’s kidneys. He yelled in pain and fell to one knee. Another hit to the face and he was tasting the cold flagstone again.

“Fucking hell!”

Alix,
said the Necromire urgently.
Think, hard. Focus. Focus on Ash. Focus on what may help him. You can do it.

She tried to, looked around for something, anything. Propelled her thoughts to where he lay, clutching his side and trying to pick himself up
. Grigori had already found the Spear again and was turning back to finish the job off.

“You’ve proved to be quite a nuisance, detective. You cannot possibly comprehend the importance of this moment or the significance of the object that I am going to impale you on but needs must, I suppose.”

Ash looked up into the mad eyes that came at him, Spear levelled, aimed at his head. He was bent over beyond the last pew, just before the apse rose by two steps toward the altar when the baton came skidding across the surface of the stone. He grabbed it, flicked it out and parried the spear, the metal sparking as it collided. Grigori found himself wrong footed, helped on his way by Ash’s foot in his ribs. He fell hard against the steps and lost the Spear.

He turned quickly.

Saw the baton glint in the moonlight.

His skull shattered against the stone steps.

Chapter 84

What followed didn’t seem real. None of it seemed real. His sensation of it was fragmented, like trying to recall the moments of a particularly aloof dream.

He heaved the altar across to the crucifixion, the sound of the wood scraping across the floor shattering the silence of the night. Standing on the altar, he placed his hand over her leg. He murmured words of comfort. Meaningless words of comfort.

Heard her scream as he extracted the nail through her feet.

Felt his body go numb, his limbs heavy and clumsy. Every inch of him wished he could swap her pain for his.

Felt her arms wrap around him, the smell of her skin. Supported her as the third nail finally gave and she collapsed into him. Her dead weight threatened to topple him but he
stabilized himself and eventually got her to the ground.

They sat facing each on the floor of the apse, breathing
low and heavy. Their arms were entwined round their necks and their heads lightly rested against each other.

Minutes passed and they remained there and it seemed to them that, despite the pain, that moment was the most precious thing in the world.

“The children,” Ash said at last, their breathing now synchronised.

How to explain what she didn’t even understand herself?

He began to turn his head toward them but she held it tight.

“No,” she whispered. “No, don’t look. Please. They’re...”

“But, Katelyn-”

“It’s not Katelyn,” she interrupted. Then quieter: “It’s not Katelyn.”

“Alix,” he tried to find the words but they seemed so elusive and everything seemed so complicated. “I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t understand but I’m-”

“I know. I know that everything is wrong. But you came back for me.”

He laughed a little, a sad, distant laugh. “Of course I came for you.”

“Why? Why did you come back for me?”

Time had passed so slowly between them for what seemed like an age and Ash was then reminded of the weight of his mistakes bearing down on him. He thought about the million different answers he could give and the consequences of each. The air hung heavy and stale around him. Like his whole life depended on what he said next.

He settled for the truth.

“Because-”             

*

The Harbinger stopped and bent low to the ground; felt the turf beneath the ice, watched as the frozen dirt crumbled between his fingers. The drops of blood from where they had carried the body had congealed into a purple tar and partially frozen. The evidence of what had happened here was all around him.

He looked up. The moon was a pale yellow, hanging low in the sky surrounded by pin prick stars peeking through wispy, purple clouds. At the foot of the hill, the empty village of White Helmsley spread out across an undulating landscape of snowy fields, little stone walls and illogically shaped streets and beyond that, if he listened hard enough, he could hear the low rumble of the A-road traffic.

A perfect night for the world to end.

He trudged calmly across the graveyard towards the church. He was in no hurry. As he neared the entrance he knew instantly that Grigori was dead. But it didn’t matter. The Prophet had played his part well but wasn’t written into the final scenes in any event.

He stopped just before the entrance and glanced down at the gun in his hand. A 9mm Glock 18 with a lever-type fire selection switch allowing the user to change between automatic and semi automatic modes. It was used mainly by American counter-terrorism units but, through certain contacts, it had been easy for him to pick one up for less than a thousand pounds. It was small but powerful. At a short distance, the bullets penetrating a body would feel more like the size of a milk-bottle.

It was a beautiful weapon to kill with. 

He flicked the safety off, wiped his nose on his sleeve and entered the church.

Chapter 85

For the first time, they held each other close. It occurred to Alix that, whatever she felt for Asher Fielding – that private flame that flickered persistently at the back of her mind – she had never been so close to him, never felt the warmth of his skin against hers, the touch of his hand, the smell of his hair. It was the utopian moment she had lived for so long in fear of.

“Because why?” she whispered in his ear, begging the truth to spill out onto the floor and surround her. She felt his breath on her cheek. The rise and fall of his chest, the beating of his heart quicken. She thought back to Harker and the last tick of the old grandfather clock in the corner of her office. If she could stop time, she would freeze this moment forever.

But it was as fragile as it was wonderful.

Hearing the door of the church open, Ash stood and the spell was at once broken. Some troubling cloud had descended down on him.

A figure emerged through the dimness and began walking down the centre aisle.

“Guv,” he said, “Does your radio work? I can’t get a damned signal here.”

An alarm bell sounded in Alix’s head.

Something was wrong.

Alix,
said Azrael uneasily.
That’s... wait. Alix, can you stand?

She used the pew to support herself. Her feet hurt like Hell but she managed to get up off the floor. There were red marks where the nail had penetrated her and the wound looked angry but the Necromire had begun to repair her broken bone and muscle. It was a disillusioning feeling, to heal so abnormally fast. But she was thankful for it.

Ash had stepped forward, blocking her view, but the sound of footsteps on the flagstone meant that Baron was still advancing.

“This is going to take some explaining, sir, but Katelyn Laicey-”

“No, No!”

The shot resonated round the stone building, startled a flock of birds perched in the branches of the old oak tree. The sudden noise, amplified tenfold by the echo, caught Alix off guard and she stumbled, the pain in her feet forcing her back down to the floor.

The bullet burst through Ash’s chest, knocking him off his feet and sending him sprawling past her. She watched him land a few yards behind her. At first, it didn’t register. He lay before the crucifix, silent and still. She turned back to Baron, her eyes wild and disbelieving.

“No,” she said quietly. This wasn’t real, wasn’t happening. A thin cloud of wispy smoke meandered skywards, seeping from the barrel of the Glock like a serpent from its lair. Baron looked at her, almost apologetically, and lowered the gun.

“Wha’... Why?” was all she could say.

But she knew why.

Because he’s the one, Alix. He’s the one.

Baron looked at her, the way one might look at a wounded animal, a mixture of pity and nonchalance.

“A regrettable incident,” he said. “But collateral damage was always a risk. If I could have achieved this without harming Ash I would have done so but he is so persistent. I guess, ironically, I only have myself to blame for that.”

“You fucking Judas,” she whispered, barely able to speak. Trying to soak up the nonsensicalness of what she had witnessed.

“No, no,” he replied. “A common misconception. Judas didn’t betray Christ; he was simply acting out a part written for him by a higher power. Christ wasn’t betrayed. He was fully in control. How else could one so powerful have been deceived by a mere mortal?”

The horrible truth began to bleed into her brain. She looked back at Ash. Was he dead? She gritted her teeth, swallowed the pain and rose to her feet again but Baron levelled the Glock at her head.

“If you could remain where you are, doctor Franchot, I would be obliged.”

She looked into his eyes, saw only madness. Resolute, unwavering madness. Every inch of her yearned to turn to Ash, pull him round, see his face. Feel the blood pulse through his veins. But she remained still, knowing he held all the cards. She could hardly walk at the moment anyway. She lowered her eyes, every part of her exuberating hatred for
him
, the man who had sent her back to Innsmouth. The man she had trusted. The man Ash had trusted.

They had all been deceived.

“In Dante’s Inferno,” said Baron, “Judas Iscariot is depicted as writhing in agony in the jaws of a Three Headed Satan where he will stay for all eternity in the very lowest circle of Hell, or the Ninth Circle for Traitors. And yet he was, arguably, merely the participant in a pre-planned coup engineered by God to lead Christ to suffer on the cross and die for the sins of mankind. It’s always fascinating to me how wrong you creatures can get things.”

“Your
friend is dead,” she told him.

He looked uninterested and merely glanced at Grigori’s bent figure on the floor.

“The Prophet?” he said. “He had outlasted his use in any event. His company was entertaining for a short while but I have no further need for his assistance. I have everything. The Portal, the Spear of Destiny, the Vessel.”

He looked at the Laicey children, sat quietly and still in the corner and to the Spear abandoned by the altar.

“The Spear of Destiny,” he said. He strode past her. She was powerless to stop him but managed to turn to see him scoop the ancient weapon up in his hand and examine it. “I find it upsetting, doctor, to see that you still don’t fully understand what’s happening.”

Baron took the Spear and sat down facing her on the front pew, crossed his legs, spread his long coat out so it fell open revealing a pin-striped three piece suit. He looked perfectly groomed, hair swept back showing a
widow’s peak, beard cut and trimmed, eye brows slanted in that permanent frown. There was something very vampire-like about his face that drove a cold fear into her heart.

Alix,
said Azrael,
listen to me. The Harbinger and the Necromire within him, Belial, are very powerful. He will try and get inside your head and drive the sanity from you, like he did with Anwick. You must focus and you must beware of whatever he says. It is likely to be a lie. He will influence you, you must not let him in. Do you hear? You must not let him in!

She made to move again but Baron lightly tapped the gun, the barrel of which was just visible on the inside of his coat, a reminder of her untenable position. She stopped, half crouching, half sitting, and looked at him, her eyes burning with hatred.

“Harker will stop you,” she said. Baron laughed.

“Harker? Oh dear, how misguided you are, doctor Franchot. No, Harker isn’t going to swoop in and save mankind. She and her blasphemous Necromire have no interest whatsoever with what happens to the Ether. Harker has and has always had her own agenda, although quite what
it is, is both elusive and irrelevant.”

She couldn’t think straight. Baron remained quite still, appraising her from the pew. He seemed in no hurry. She looked at Ash. A small pool of blood had accumulated beside him. She couldn’t tell whether he was breathing or not.

“Do you believe in fate, Azrael?”

She didn’t answer.

“You are there aren’t you, my old friend? That’s how you managed to escape the night I set a small fire in Innsmouth, isn’t it? Lucky for all of us that the good doctor was there to provide you with sanctuary.”

A conceited grin had formed on his face. She wanted to rip it off.

“I’m not sure I like the idea myself. Fate, I mean. If everything was pre-determined then the prophecy will be fulfilled, tonight, and the world will be destroyed by two young girls who haven’t even reached puberty yet and are, in their present state, not even technically alive and I find that rather
un
satisfying, don’t you? Cronos worked hard on this world. Its life forms are some of the most unique, bizarre and varied out of all of the Nine Great Worlds and the most intelligent species – which I shall call
man
for convenience – are one of the most illogical and complex as any I have encountered.”

Ask him what he means. I don’t understand. He
is
a man
, said Azrael.

“But you’re one of us,” she said. “You’re part of this world. Whatever demon is driving you to destroy this world... it’s your home as well as mine.”

Baron laughed again, but this time it came out as more of an unpleasant cackle, not too dissimilar from an engine misfiring.

“Oh, doctor. You and that creature inside you are rather charmingly naive. I’m no more part of this world than you are.”

“What do you mean? I am part of this world. Azrael-” was that the first time she had said her name out loud? It sounded odd, unreal, “- isn’t but... But I am.”

Baron’s expression had changed from someone lightly entertained to someone gravely concerned.

“Very well. A history lesson for you, my dear doctor.”

His words sounded distant, and the room seemed much smaller all of a sudden. Like she was a child again watching the cardboard theatre her father had made for her. Little characters stuck on to ice cream lolly sticks bobbing up and down to her delight.

“Of the Nine Great Worlds created by Cronos, the Ether is the last, and his most volatile creation. But its history is comparatively short when one considers the eons of time that the other Great Worlds have existed for. As one might expect from such circumstances, some of the beings that inhabit other Worlds have evolved to a state far beyond the comprehension of man. You yourself have already discovered the power that a simple Necromire has. Not quite God-like, but certainly supernatural at the very least, wouldn’t you agree?

“But then again, a powerful Necromire and Host can achieve the unthinkable,” a nod in the direction of the Laicey twins. “Not quite resurrection, because that suggests the reanimation of the body
and
the soul. But
regeneration
. Our ability to heal is so advanced that, given the right circumstances, we can regenerate bodies. Just look at your wrists. Anybody else would have died from blood loss by now or at the very least passed out. This is exactly, of course, what I did with Megan and what I would have done to Katelyn had Anwick and your new friend not intervened. Never mind. I was able to acquire Katelyn’s body and was fortunate to find the decaying process wasn’t advanced enough to frustrate my attempts at regeneration. 

“Despite these near miracles, most of the creatures that inhabit the Nine Great Worlds have limitations. More particularly, almost all are unable to cross from one World to another.
So it is that I need the Laicey girls and of course the Spear to assist me. But there once was a species, doctor, that
had
mastered inter-dimensional travel without having to go via the Inter-World and, albeit at great risk and at the great expenditure of energy, pretty much at will. These beings are known as the Ancient Travellers.”

The Ancient Travellers are a myth. Don’t listen, Alix, he’s lying. It’s just some mind trap.

“They exist, doctor, despite the Necromire’s protestations. Or at the very least, their descendants do. They came to the Ether ten thousand years ago, a time when man had finally put down the stone implements he was hunting with and began developing language and trade. An age of cities, of civilisations, of houses, of society. A vulnerable, scared age. A time that coincided with the Confinement. And they left their mark with us, doctor, although only a few came. Quite why they bothered visiting a world so infantile in its evolution has always puzzled me. Curiosity perhaps. But whatever attracted the Ancient Travellers to the Ether – and, by the way, I have no idea where they came from because no one knows which World they first migrated from – they obviously found some connection with it because it seems, for a short while at least, they stayed.

“And they procreated. Taking human women as their own, appearing before them in the form of man and, well, doing what man does best.”

“This is bullshit,” she said.

“Oh, but your own texts record the story. The Book of Enoch, for instance, is a Jewish text and part of the Dead Sea Scrolls. It tells the story of the Watchers – or angels as perhaps you would better understand them – who were sent to Earth by God to watch over mankind but who, on getting here, abandoned their task and lusted after human women instead. Perhaps it is just coincidence but I like to think there is some truth to the tale. But whether or not the Book of Enoch tells the story of the Ancient Travellers is neither here nor there; the important thing is that they were – are – very real indeed.”

But your beloved Sin isn’t one of them,
said Azrael.

“No. He isn’t.”

“You can... you can talk to him
directly
?” she stammered.

“We can do many things, doctor.”

She paused, watched the dust particles sparkle like Saturn’s rings along a strip of silver light separating them. It seemed like the Church was holding its breath, the air thick and oppressive. Everything was waiting for something to happen.

“So what about these Ancient Travellers?” She said. “So what if they were real.”

“It isn’t necessarily the Ancient Travellers, doctor, that interest me. It is their legacy. What they left behind.”