Chapter 22
The grimly illuminated shaft of the stairwell resounded with blasts as Kane depressed the Sin Eater’s trigger again and again, rapidly loosing bursts of bullets at the oncoming torrent of rocks. Behind him, Balam watched in amazement as the baseball-size stones seemed to peel from the face of the walls and tumble into the air, throwing themselves at the Cerberus warrior with no sense of order or reason.
“This was a mistake,” Kane scoffed. “We’ve triggered some kind of death trap, and it’s building its attack.”
“Stoned to death,” Balam responded as another of the spherical rocks hurled itself at Kane’s head. “I imagine it’s a nasty way to die.”
“Let’s not find out,” Kane said as he knocked the rock aside with a jab of his fist.
In a moment they had turned back, stepping out into the corridor once more and slamming the stairwell door behind them. “That’ll contain them,” Kane said.
“But it traps us here,” Balam observed.
To Kane’s ears, Balam sounded maddeningly calm about the whole situation. He could afford to be, Kane realized—the rocks didn’t seem to be interested in attacking Balam of the First Folk.
Kane scanned the corridor, his vision popping as it tried to adjust to the change in lighting. He clenched his teeth, feeling strangely disconnected from what he was seeing now, the process of sight no longer truly connected to his body.
The corridor, like the rest of the old redoubt, had jagged struts of stone depending from the ceiling like stalactites now. The walls were rough, blisters of stone running unevenly along them with veins of magma churning through them to act as lamps. Kane led the way back toward the canteen, turning down another corridor, the floor plan of the ancient redoubt still familiar despite the cosmetic changes. As he walked, he heard something moving off to his right, that fabled point-man sense alerting him even before he became consciously aware of the danger. He turned, his free arm going up to protect Balam where the shorter creature walked behind him, his Sin Eater aiming at the noise even though he hadn’t identified it.
There was another of the ball-like rocks there, charcoal dark and rolling across the wall in an uncanny way as if magnetically attached to the vertical surface. Without warning, the rock popped, leaping from the wall and hurling itself at Kane’s head.
Kane snapped off a blast from his Sin Eater as he shouted the command to Balam. “Run!”
Missing Kane by just two inches, the flying rock continued along its arc, smashing into the far wall with such force that it kicked up shards of broken stone from the surface.
Kane was already moving, urging Balam to keep going as more of the strange rocks formed across the surface of the walls and began launching themselves at the intruders.
The two of them ran back to the canteen, Balam waiting just inside the double doors, holding them open for Kane to enter. Ducking from another volley of the palm-size rocks, Kane slid through the doorway on his knees, instructing Balam to close the door as he entered.
“The whole redoubt’s primed to kill us…me,” Kane said, correcting himself without thinking.
“Then we need to get out of here,” Balam concluded, his reedy voice ringing in Kane’s ears as the ex-Magistrate’s eyes struggled to adjust once more, much to his frustration.
“We’ll use the interphaser,” Kane said after a moment’s consideration.
Balam bowed in supplication. “I know—it is how I came to be here. But how do you propose we access the chamber itself?”
Kane scanned the walls, searching for more of the rock balls. They seemed to take time to generate, drawing from the surface of the walls, he had noticed. But it would not be long before they reappeared in this room, tossing themselves at him with savage purpose. He and Balam had to move quickly.
Kane marched across the canteen until he was at the table where they had eaten, sending his Sin Eater back into its hidden housing beneath his right sleeve. With a swift flick of his arm, he cleared the remaining crockery and snatched the plastic tray up in his hands. “Come on,” he told Balam, pacing swiftly back to the double doors.
A moment later they were out in the corridor, hurrying along at a jog, with Kane taking the lead. The curious, spherical stones rolled across the walls as Kane ran by, disengaging and tossing themselves at him with no warning. Kane sidestepped the first and ducked the second, paying no attention as the stones slapped against the floor.
When the third budded from the ceiling and dropped at Kane’s head, the ex-Magistrate responded with lightning-fast reactions, bringing the fourteen-by-eight-inch rectangular tray up and using it like a shield, batting the rock aside. A fourth stone fired out of the wall to Kane’s right, slamming against the ex-Magistrate’s flank before he could move his makeshift shield into position. Kane grunted with the impact, grateful for the shadow suit he wore with its armored weave. Even so, he still felt that blow, and had to move swiftly to sidestep a fifth stone missile.
“Keep going,” Kane said, indicating the door to the stairs.
“What about you? Are you hurt?” Balam asked.
“I’ll be fine,” Kane assured him. “You go on ahead of me. These rocks won’t attack you, so just make your way to the mat-trans chamber and I’ll follow as soon as I can.”
Balam pushed against the heavy fire door leading to the stairwell, turning back once to give Kane a further piece of information. “You must stay close or our bond will lose coherence,” he explained. “You’ll lose your vision again.”
Kane nodded. “How close?”
“Perhaps fifteen feet,” Balam advised. “There will be no mistaking it,” he added ominously.
Kane leaped back as another of the stones bulged from the wall and hurled itself at him. “Just go as fast as you can,” he instructed Balam. “I won’t be far behind.”
As Balam pushed into the stairwell he wondered whether Kane was brave or merely crazy. He was reminded of that ancient human saying, of how fools rushed in where angels feared to tread. Kane had lost Brigid and his home, and was beginning to lose his eyesight. Could his grip on sanity be slipping, too? Balam dismissed the thought as he hurried down the staircase, lifting the skirts of his indigo robe just a little to allow his feet free movement. From above, he heard Kane battling with the bizarre rock guardians, knocking them away or stepping out of their line of fire as he made his own way down the internal stairs.
One turn of the stairwell above, Kane eyed the walls warily, his vision popping with specks of light. Even through the controlled environment of the shadow suit, Kane could tell that the stairwell was icy cold; the temperature of the whole redoubt had dropped since it had been abandoned, its air control broken. The glowing veins in the walls, however, remained burning hot, and when Kane neared them it was like waving one’s fingers through the steam of a boiling kettle: a sudden, palpable heat that seemed to snatch at the skin.
Kane continued down the staircase, his booted feet clattering against the uneven steps that, like the rest of the redoubt, had been overcome by rocky growths.
As he turned the bend in the stairs at the midstory landing, another of the hard, round balls of rock disengaged from the wall and threw itself at him. Kane whipped the plastic meal tray up to block it, bracing himself for the impact as the hard chunk of stone slammed against his makeshift shield with a clatter. The rock dropped away, leaving a hairline crack in the surface of the tray. Kane sidestepped as another rock burst from the stone-clad wall, firing across the cramped stairwell toward him with the force of a cannonball. The ball-shaped rock whipped past Kane, missing his broad chest by an inch as it hurtled onward and into the floor.
Kane watched for a moment as the rock rolled unevenly on the rough surface of the step, before it turned in place and careened back into the wall there. A moment later, like so much dough, it had been absorbed by the rocky surface of the wall itself, the bulge smoothing over as quickly as it had appeared.
Kane moved onward, scurrying down the steps and making his way past the next story. Abruptly his vision seemed to lose color, the bright veins of magma turning to a white-streaked gray in an instant.
I’m too far from Balam, he realized, redoubling his pace and taking the stairs two at a time. Up ahead, Kane heard the heavy fire door crash open as Balam made his exit. Beside his head, another of the budlike stones was forming into existence.
* * *
O
N
THE
DISTANT
P
ACIFIC
COAST
, Lakesh stood on the balcony outside the makeshift ops room, reading the results of the spectrographic study of Edwards’s skull. The man’s head was full of rock, running around the inside of his skull casing in thin, weblike strands. The rock had completely blocked his Commtact, which explained why Edwards had seemed out of touch during field missions in the weeks prior to the successful attack on Cerberus.
“Dr. Singh?” A man’s voice came from behind him, firm but gentle, respectful of his solitude.
Lakesh turned, saw one of the Tigers of Heaven standing there in his techno armor. The man stood with head slightly bowed, his hands clenched loosely together in front of him.
“Yes…Ryochi?” Lakesh said, recalling the man’s name after a moment’s hesitation. Lakesh believed in good personnel relations and he had made an effort to learn the names of every one of Shizuka’s men who had come to support them.
“There is something that you should see,” Ryochi said, “out by the East Gate.”
Lakesh nodded, following the warrior without question as he made his way around the raised wooden balcony that surrounded the winter retreat.
“He was spotted by my partner,” Ryochi explained, “and we brought it to Mistress Shizuka’s attention straight away.”
Indeed, Shizuka was standing at the balcony on the other side of the house, a set of field glasses raised to her eyes as she scanned the easternmost edge of the vast property. At her name, she lowered the binoculars and turned to greet Lakesh.
“It seems we have jackals at the door,” Shizuka stated ominously, handing the binoculars to Lakesh.
Placing the lenses to his eyes, Lakesh located the east gate in a moment. Constructed of steel and painted red, the gate was made up of two dozen eight-foot-high metal struts, standing vertically like spears carried by an invisible army. The gate was more than a dozen feet wide and a sentry box stood beside it. Typically one of Shizuka’s warriors would man the gate, granting access only to those he deemed acceptable. The road beyond was largely unused, an out-of-the-way track off the beaten path. Only those seeking the mansion itself would come up it intentionally.
Steadying the binoculars with both hands, Lakesh scanned the area past the gate until he spotted a figure poised by the long-hanging foliage. The figure was dressed in a dark robe, the hood cinched up to hide its face, a small leather pouch tied to its waist. Loose-fitting and shapeless, the robe left Lakesh uncertain as to whether the figure was male or female. Even so, he knew what the person was and—by association—what he or she wanted.
“Firewalker.” Lakesh cursed, recalling the term Brigid had applied to the devoted warriors of Ullikummis before her recent disappearance.
“He’s been there twenty minutes, perhaps more,” Shizuka informed Lakesh. “He doesn’t seem to be moving, just waiting.”
“He senses we’re here,” Lakesh conceded. He pulled the binoculars from his eyes then, and she saw the weariness cloud his face for a moment.
“Lakesh?”
“We still understand so little about our foe, this Ullikummis,” Lakesh said. “How he communicates with his people, how he spreads his message. It’s part religion but there’s more to it. This…monster seems able to see things beyond what’s there. It’s like facing a grand chess master, knowing you are utterly outclassed yet unable to see the killing move until he strikes.”
Handing the binoculars back to Shizuka, Lakesh turned away from the balcony. “There is a pawn on the fifth rank,” he said. “Tell your men to watch him, but do nothing to attract any further attention. For now, all we can do is wait.”
“As the vultures circle,” Shizuka added as Lakesh departed.
* * *
I
T
HAD
TAKEN
EIGHTEEN
minutes to reach the operations room, a journey that normally would have taken perhaps three or four. Balam arrived first, standing at the open doors beneath the Mercator map. The map was vandalized, rocky spines stretching across it and turning it into something nightmarish—like an alien, stony hand crushing the globe.
Balam watched the corridor beyond, its arching roof a spiny plethora of stalactites. It was silent, showing no signs of movement. Balam waited, watching the heavy fire door he had exited not thirty seconds earlier, waiting for Kane to appear. Their bond was breaking apart, he realized, and Kane’s vision would be in flux until he came close enough to reestablish it.
Suddenly the fire door crashed open and Kane came hurtling through, batting at something with the plastic tray he held. He looked to where Balam stood in the open doorway. “Keep moving,” he ordered through gritted teeth.
Balam turned, hurrying farther into the ops room.
Alone now in the corridor, Kane stumbled forward, feeling the ache in his muscles where he’d been batting the flying rocks aside. Once again, his vision was sailing in and out of reality, the rocky corridor walls swimming in front of his eyes. “Come on, Kane,” he told himself. “Keep it together.”