The Chronicles of Jonathon Postlethwaite: The Seed of Corruption (31 page)

                            His intrusion had breached the walls and all they held, the energy of pain and despair stored there was now loosed upon him as if the stone could no longer bear its grim secrets. He moaned as the horrors which had taken place here began to materialise before him. The ante-chamber darkened  before  his  eyes  and  a  great  weight,  like  a blanket of cold, iron chain mail fell upon his soul.

                            The ghosts of the victims of the High Hats and Silus Flax emerged into the hall in their hundreds, their staring horror ridden eyes and  pain  etched  faces seeking out he who had breached the dykes which had held them in the stone sanctuary of nothingness.

                            Howls of anguish, fear, despair, bombarded Jonathon's sensitive soul and he braced himself against the now freezing walls in shock. Spectral arms reached out their icy fingers towards him and, as each touched him he felt himself being savagely leeched of energy. The faces implored him to help them but, as their eyes met his, he felt their misery, the very fear and anguish they had felt here and it was transmitted to him for him to experience. They saw him as their saviour and were unwittingly crucifying him.

                            They pleaded with Jonathon for salvation. He had released them from the nowhere of the halls wall, reunited ghosts with memory. Now they pleaded for him to release them from their renewed agonies. He had to fight them as they came to him and embraced him one after another. He was weakening fast, close to unconsciousness. He grew afraid. He knew of their plight, but he knew who they were, what they were – another product of the corruption of Dubh, their despair the power on which the foul

spirit of this sick City fed and which they themselves, by virtue of their inhumanity, were inextricably a part of. Only Hell would have them and this would be no release, for they were already in another one and, if Jonathon's plan succeeded, he would condemn them  to  it  for  eternity. He was not and never could be, their saviour.

                            With this thought in his head the spectral horde began to dissolve back into the walls floor and ceiling from which they had come. A few lingered for a while and stared at Jonathon who lay slumped in exhaustion at the foot of the wall close to the door to Flax's inner chamber.

                            They had felt hope in his presence but he  had taken it away, he had condemned them all, past judgement on them. So  they  turned  back  to  the shadow and rejoined the darkness.

                            After a short while of exhausted slumber he awoke to the sound of musket fire and shouting outside in the auditorium. He lifted himself wearily to his feet and focused his attention on the battle which was still taking place in the hall in which he now stood.

                            In the freezing cold which still gripped the chamber the two assassins still circled one another, oblivious rapid drop in temperature. The cold air frosted their breath and the warm sweat from their bodies shrouded them in a fog of vapour. Both were now bloodied and close to exhaustion.

                            Morrell's huge muscled and tattooed torso was covered in deep cuts and tears where Chan's dagger had found its mark. The great black boars etched over all his body seemed to be ready to join the fray themselves, twitching and shimmering with Morrell’s exertions The Tan himself, despite his agility, had been unable to avoid Morrell's sword.

                            He bled profusely from at least two wounds and judging from his pale face, which was contorted in pain, he was loosing blood rapidly  and  his  movements becoming slower. Yet as Morrell charged in again and Chan slipped by the attack, he grinned again. Jonathon realised that despite his bravado the Tan could not last much longer and then he himself would be at the mercy of the Chief of Assassins.

                            Then   gunfire   erupted   again   from   outside   the chamber  accompanied  by  the   screams   of   men dying. Then a lone, maniacal howl chilled Jonathon's blood. Whatever was out there, was getting closer and closer and the battle becoming more furious. Jonathon shivered and moved toward the door to Flax's inner sanctum.

                            A stray musket ball ricocheted around the stone walls of the hall and rocked Jonathon into action. He had to escape and only the locked door offered any safe exit.

                            He mounted the steps to the door and swung his sword at the padlock. It took three heavy blows  to break it away from its securing chain sufficiently  to allow him to break it free completely and push the door

inwards.

                            It opened easily and Jonathon pushed inside before looking back into the ante-chamber. The battle between Chan and Morrell still continued, but the latter looked uneasy  now,  his  attention  flitting  from   the   Tan and Jonathon. He dodged an attack from the tiring Chan who rolled forward and positioned himself between Morrell's sweaty bulk and Jonathon.

“Get away from there!" Morrell screamed.

                            Suddenly              the              Chief              of              Assassins              became strangely              diplomatic. “Look  it's  been  a  fair  fight”  he addressed   the  badly  wounded Tan in calm tone of                  voice. “But you will lose, you can gain nothing now. So ask your comrade to come away from there and I promise you free conduct out of here - you may even choose to join us if you wish, you have proved yourselves two good men, we'll need the like of you soon and it'll be worth your while." he panted his promises.

Chan spat at the floor.

Edgar Morrell continued. “In a few moments most of the High Hats in this place will be here, you stand no chance at all. Consider my offer - Life or death?"

                            Neither   Jonathon   nor   Chan   responded.   It was doubtful that Morrell's promises would materialise at all. But he was right about the arrival of High Hats. Six musket men dived into the doorway between the auditorium and the ante-chamber and took up defensive positions at the door, reloading their weapons and firing at the unseen enemy that lurked outside. Others now dashed inside to the assistance of their deputy leader.

                            Morrell smiled victoriously as his men took aim at Chan and Jonathon. The first shot knocked Tan assassin to the ground and the second splintered the door close to Jonathon's head as he dived for cover onto the floor. As he lay weakened and vulnerable at the entrance to the inner hall, the defenders at the door screamed and backed into the hall as their enemy hurtled, howling into view.

                            From beneath a hideous, horned helmet, the beast’s jaws gleamed wetly, red in the dim light of the braziers. Two High Hats fell in quick succession as throwing knives arced out from behind his huge, circular shield and thudded into their chests.

                            Three muskets where levelled at him as he continued his charge undeterred. The High Hats fired, two musket balls rang out denting he shield and the third hit the Turkanschoner's metal jaws, causing a shower of sparks to erupt like a aura around his demonic visage. He came on regardless and at an astonishing speed. In seconds the three who had fired their shots lay broken and torn upon the floor before they could draw their swords. The remaining defender at the door dropped his musket in sheer terror as the horned devil's gaze alighted on him and fled towards the auditorium.

                            Picking up a discarded sword, the Turkanschoner lurched into the ante-room, his eyes wide searching out that which he had come here to find. Morrell and his two companions whirled around to meet the advance of the new aggressor.

                            The two High Hats who had ran to join their leader did not look too enthusiastic as bodyguards and looked to their master for advice, preferably retreat from the beast who had hacked and torn his way through their stronghold to the seat of Flax's empire. Morrell's instructions came loud and threateningly, his sword prodding their backs to emphasise the consequence of disobeying              his order. “Me or IT cowards."

                            The two High Hats hesitated for a moment then charged forwards at their opponent. The beast leapt at them and decapitated the first before he had moved five paces. The second, observing his comrades rapid despatch, stopped and backed off, dropping his sword. Morrell, true to his word, split the High Hat's skull to the bridge of his nose as the High Hat retreated.

                            The Turkanschoner watched silently as Morrell noisily dislodged the sword from the High Hats head and cleaned it casually on the dead man's cloak. Morrell was ignorant of the nature of the beast that he faced. It found his killing of the unarmed and fleeing minion disgusting and unnecessary. Morrell was confidant now, his adrenalin was running high and he laughed in the face of the beast who, to his surprise, threw down his sword and shield and stood unarmed before him.

                            The Chief of Assassins laughed and the Turkanschoner echoed Morrell's last mortal sounds.  In one bound the Tallmen's beast was upon him. His artificial jaws opened up and expanded,  hidden  hydraulic pistons drove the metal jaws onto his skull, the upper and lower incisors cracking easily through the bone.

                            Then he began to apply a slowly increasing pressure, he paused for a while as the sound of splintering bone increased and the sound of Morrell's animal whimpering decreased. With one final effort the Turkanschoner’s jaws closed fully and Morrell's head disintegrated with a loud wet crunch.

                            The Chief of Assassin’s body fell to the floor, twitching as the beast spat out the remnants of his brain and skull as if he had eaten something poisonous. The killing machine that slowly regained its calm had displayed its inhuman talents for a reason. It no longer killed to eat, it showed  no interest in the corpses which quivered in the silent ante-room around him.

                            Jonathon, already weakened by his own experience had been pushed to the limit by the horror of the Turkanschoner's violence. Although he had touched his mind and seen it all in the well shaft below the Castle of Lepers, it had not prepared him for the full graphic horror of what the beast was in the reality of its forced being. Now he watched as its burning eyes searched of the chamber's shadows, its wiry, but impossibly powerful muscles twitching expectantly beneath the Tallman's jerkin it had donned in the tombs. The beasts crooked back with vertebrae that protruded, even beneath the leather of its clothing, combined with his blood drenched and salivating jaws and horned helmet, produced an acutely terrifying silhouette against the light of the anteroom doorway. It was primal and demonic

Jonathon  knew  better  though.  He  had  seen  the beast's mind and had found no beast on all just a product of evil minds and  their  conditioning.  He   stared at the  creature that had endured so much pain, its 'life of pain' it had said to him, and been robbed of all that it had ever had by the Tallmen.

Jonathon's vision began to dim as the Turkanschoner located and walked over to him, occasionally glancing over it's shoulder for more High Hats.

“Master." he whispered. “Master, I find you again. Please not desert me....you make me whole again."

                            Jonathon neither cared for nor wanted any responsibility as the master of this sad abomination, but again, he realised it had saved his life. It hit him that this creature's debt to him had gone beyond loyalty to a master for it loved him … for what he had done accidentally.

                            As he began to slip into a fatigued and unavoidable sleep Jonathon felt himself being lifted gently into its arms and carried through the doors he had forced himself as the sound of running feet and the barking of orders carried into the ante-room from the auditorium.

                            They approached two whirling apertures of light which seemed to bore into the opposite wall. Without hesitation the Turkanschoner entered the smaller of the two and advanced at a measured pace through it. Slipping in and out of consciousness, Jonathon watched the swirl of colour and images around them left and captured in the fabric of time which spun around them.

                            He saw faces, distorted and stretched, but recognisable - Flax and two of his men. The High Hat leaders face was set in a victorious grin. A round faced man with a pale visage of fear and a feminine face, but so cold and devoid of emotion. He saw reflections of himself and  the   Turkanschoner   marching   slowly   and steadily down the centre of the vortex.  He  saw  the future, but not just one...many possible futures.

The Turkanschoner spoke, but it was meaningless to   him.   “Inversion    gate,    many    branches.    Echo of generated primary. I know now. I know!" he said triumphantly reclaiming somthign of his former self.

Abruptly the light and the images were gone as they  emerged  out  of  the  dimension  door  into  a  small building bright with the light of the giant's light orb.

                            Rislo leapt to his feet in astonishment, his lantern jaw agape in shock as he was unexpectedly reunited with his allies. The Turkanschoner stared at him and spat. “Bad man.”  Jonathon shook              his head andwhispered, wheezily              to              the                            Turkanschoner.