Authors: Mick Farren
More Than Mortal (6 page)
These dreamstate conflicts always seemed to take place in torrential rain with poor visibility. Men and steaming horses, and the huge war dogs—free-ranging mastiffs, heads higher than a man’s waist, with wide studded collars, slavering jaws, and even mail coats protecting their shoulders and ribs—all progressively bogged down and stumbling in a sea of mud turning crimson with the blood of the fallen. Columbine was forced to wonder if she was actually seeing the same battle over and over again. The conflict always came to the same repetitive conclusion, another possible indication that she was, in fact, constantly viewing the same fight. At first the horsemen, who Columbine assumed were the military of the Romanized Britons, had mastery of the field, and it seemed the fight could only go their way. Then rain and mud would prove their undoing. Horses slipped and foundered in the bloody quagmire, and the tightly ordered formations disintegrated, enabling the foot soldiers—she supposed a section of the seaborne Saxon invaders of the time—to drag isolated riders from their mounts and hack them to pieces.
A further paradox in the dreams was the way in which Columbine was allowed to view them. She was observing everything through the eyes of a single individual who, on one level, was supposedly present on the scene, to the point of ducking and dodging thundering hooves and berserk Saxon battle-axes, but playing no part in the actual combat, wielding no mace, lance, or sword, and, most perplexing of all, manifestly invisible to those present. The strange observer evidently sided with, or had some relationship to, the mounted Britons, since, when the survivors retreated in disorder, she found herself going
with them and then later wandering aimlessly through the aftermath of conflict: the overchurned and rust-colored ground strewn with bodies of men and horses contorted in the agony of death or by postmortem rigor. Crows fed on the eyes of the corpses, and scarcely human scavengers foraged for what they could find amid the overturned carts, the discarded swords, broken spears, and shredder banners.
with them and then later wandering aimlessly through the aftermath of conflict: the overchurned and rust-colored ground strewn with bodies of men and horses contorted in the agony of death or by postmortem rigor. Crows fed on the eyes of the corpses, and scarcely human scavengers foraged for what they could find amid the overturned carts, the discarded swords, broken spears, and shredder banners.
Of course, the escalating horror of the visions didn’t disturb Columbine. She was no sensitive and impressionable human. Blood was her life. She was a killer herself. She had seen modern warfare firsthand, and in the context of the huntress. What she resented was her normally entertaining dreamstate becoming so relentlessly bleak. She was being monopolized by the daily repetition, and, worse than that, with this new phase of dreams she was being defeated in dream after dream, and experiencing all the emotional desolation of being repeatedly routed. It proved enervating, a debility that hung over into her waking days, leaving her fractious, dissatisfied, and drained of energy.
“If these damned visions aren’t coming from here, where the hell are they coming from?”
She had begun to look further afield for a possible source. The nearest candidate, even more ancient than Ravenkeep, was the prehistoric burial mound and the broken circle of standing stones about twelve miles away at Morton Downs. Again, the same problem of the Priory came into play there: As far as Columbine knew, nothing had happened at Morton Downs that might cause visions of the fifth century to descend on her with the sunrise. Only by chance she discovered from Marieko that this was not the case.
“They’ve been excavating there for two or three weeks.”
“Who’s been excavating? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
Marieko had raised her already arched eyebrows. “I wasn’t aware you were interested.”
“Well, I am. Who is this
they
that’s digging up the mound?”
they
that’s digging up the mound?”
“Some students from Wessex University.”
“Students? Are they allowed to do that? Isn’t it some kind of desecration?”
“I believe they’re led by a Dr. Campion. He’s apparently very well respected in his field.”
At this point Columbine, who had previously kept quiet about the effects of the latest round of visions, gave up and told everything to Marieko and Destry. The dreams, the puzzlement, the damage to her sleep, and even how, in the last few days, the visions seemed to have slipped into a brand-new phase, showing bizarre rituals of fire, stimulants, and human copulation amid already ancient standing stones. At least a finger seemed to be pointing in the direction of the burial mound. The other two had, of course, known something was troubling Columbine, but in a troika, one didn’t ask. Destry and Marieko were also well aware that Columbine was a virtuoso of deception and concealment, but Columbine didn’t fool herself that they very often fell for her hoopla. What she counted on was their never being quite sure of the exact demarcation between truth and fiction, and that was where she kept her secrets. Thus her total candor in asking for their help and advice impressed them enough to take her completely seriously, and Marieko even offered to make a firsthand inspection of the mound.
Columbine had welcomed the offer. “You think I should go with you?”
Marieko thought about this. “No, it would be better if I went alone.”
Marieko had never been one to delay, and the very same night she had left a little after midnight in the Ravenkeep Range Rover. Columbine knew Marieko’s trip wasn’t only motivated by her mysterious dreams. All
through her wanderings, when not obeying the natural demands or coping with all the other shocks to which her nosferatu flesh was heir, Marieko had maintained a strong interest in human archeology. Under cover of the night, she had observed the places where the short-lived scrabbled in the dirt for physical pointers to their roots, origins, and forgotten past, and was both amused and appalled by their misconceptions and their deplorably narrow perspectives when it came to their own history. Time after time, they used the clues they grubbed from the ground to prove humanity was the only sentient species ever to walk the Earth. Their vanity distorted any scant reality of the past they might discover. Not that Marieko was adverse to humanity wandering in an historical fog, unaware of the origins of its civilizations, or how its very species came into being. The more they floundered in a mass of confused hypotheses, contradictory trivia, and legends entrenched as fact, the easier it was for the nosferatu to operate among them without detection.
through her wanderings, when not obeying the natural demands or coping with all the other shocks to which her nosferatu flesh was heir, Marieko had maintained a strong interest in human archeology. Under cover of the night, she had observed the places where the short-lived scrabbled in the dirt for physical pointers to their roots, origins, and forgotten past, and was both amused and appalled by their misconceptions and their deplorably narrow perspectives when it came to their own history. Time after time, they used the clues they grubbed from the ground to prove humanity was the only sentient species ever to walk the Earth. Their vanity distorted any scant reality of the past they might discover. Not that Marieko was adverse to humanity wandering in an historical fog, unaware of the origins of its civilizations, or how its very species came into being. The more they floundered in a mass of confused hypotheses, contradictory trivia, and legends entrenched as fact, the easier it was for the nosferatu to operate among them without detection.
As Marieko told it later, she had embarked on this first reconnoiter expecting to find the sight deserted, but for absolute safety, she had parked the truck a distance from the roped-off area of the dig and continued on foot across the short springy downland turf. A brisk breeze had sprung up since the sun had set, and all round her, Marieko had felt the busy stirrings and scuttlings of the rural night. Somewhere she could feel an owl patiently waiting on the routines of field mice. A distant flock of black-face sheep stirred in their sleep, troubled by the sense of a predator but were then calmed by an old alpha ewe who reassured them this predator had no interest in them. Before her perfect nosferatu night vision could detect much more than a dark elongated mound at the crest of a low hill, she perceived a faint but pervasive vestigial aura radiating faintly from the first slit-trench breach dug in the mound.
The flickering trace was of something not strictly
alive, neither nosferatu, nor human, nor animal, but far more positive than any residue or ancient imprinting. Marieko had covered the final hundred yards to the burial mound with the utmost caution. Alive but not alive? Or could it be a subtle and specialized lure for the curious? In the long and murderous hostilities between the Yarabachi and the Clan of Kenzu, a number of previously unknown and very dangerous entities had been loosed by both sides as uncontrolled weapons. She’d closely encountered two of the things, and those incidents had been enough to convince her there was definitely more in Heaven and Earth than was dreamed of in nosferatu or human philosophy. While some weapons simply ran amok in snarling frontal attack, others brought destruction, even to the highly wary, by stealth and subterfuge.
alive, neither nosferatu, nor human, nor animal, but far more positive than any residue or ancient imprinting. Marieko had covered the final hundred yards to the burial mound with the utmost caution. Alive but not alive? Or could it be a subtle and specialized lure for the curious? In the long and murderous hostilities between the Yarabachi and the Clan of Kenzu, a number of previously unknown and very dangerous entities had been loosed by both sides as uncontrolled weapons. She’d closely encountered two of the things, and those incidents had been enough to convince her there was definitely more in Heaven and Earth than was dreamed of in nosferatu or human philosophy. While some weapons simply ran amok in snarling frontal attack, others brought destruction, even to the highly wary, by stealth and subterfuge.
She reached the mound without any noticeable alteration in the aura or anything striking at her with paranormal tooth or claw. She had by this point begun to wonder if whatever might be the source of the aura was in a form of slumber, metabolic reduction, or hibernation. A certain slow pulse pattern in the aura tended to indicate as much. Convincing herself she wasn’t walking into a trap, Marieko gave the excavation a cursory inspection and found Campion and his students had hardly begun to dig and were nowhere near breaking through into any inner chamber in or under the mound. The overwhelming temptation was, of course, to start digging herself. With just her bare hands and nosferatu strength, she could probably be into the inner chamber of the mound before dawn, but she knew to do so would alert the humans that something was amiss. She had also spent a great deal of time cultivating her flawless, four-inch, ivory fingernails, and one or more of them would undoubtedly be chipped or broken by such an endeavor.
Instead she took the rational if less dramatic course of returning to the Range Rover and driving back to the Priory as fast she could. Columbine and Destry were
already waiting in the driveway when she arrived. As she parked the SUV and climbed from the driver’s seat, even the unreadable Marieko couldn’t keep the excitement out of her aura. Columbine had been as impatiently girlish as ever, all but bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. “What did you find? What did you find? Was it something? Was there something there?”
already waiting in the driveway when she arrived. As she parked the SUV and climbed from the driver’s seat, even the unreadable Marieko couldn’t keep the excitement out of her aura. Columbine had been as impatiently girlish as ever, all but bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. “What did you find? What did you find? Was it something? Was there something there?”
Destry didn’t make as much noise. Tall and commanding, with her broad-shouldered, long-legged athlete’s body and mane of chestnut hair, Destry was more disciplined and self-contained, but her aura also revealed her curiosity. Marieko carefully closed the door, teasingly making the others contain their eagerness a few moments longer. “I went to Morton Downs … .”
“And?”
“And there is definitely something inside the burial mound.”
“Something?”
“What something?”
Together, the three females walked back to the open front door and the angling serrated rectangle of light that illuminated the steps. Overhead, elongated tresses of pale, wind-driven clouds scudded across a blue-black sky, partially obscuring a yellow and waning moon and adding a perfect backdrop of external drama. As their shoes crunched on the raked gravel, Columbine and Destry interrogated Marieko.
“What do you mean, you don’t know? You know everything.” Destry, who was constantly impressed by Marieko’s wealth of arcane knowledge, wasn’t going to tolerate it failing at this crucial point.
“I know it wasn’t human, and it seemed to be in some kind of extended sleep, but its aura was of a kind I’ve never seen before.”
Destry halted. “Never?”
Marieko also stopped and hesitated. “Never … except …”
“Except what?”
“This is the most intangible of feelings. A theory almost without support … .”
“Yes, yes, we understand.”
“I believe whatever is within the mound is not nosferatu, but it’s somehow related. I think it’s a distant kin.”
“Not nosferatu?”
“No.”
“Kin?”
Marieko’s face was inscrutable, but her aura flickered with equal parts uncertainty and excitement over the potentially important discovery. “I believe that somewhere, in some ancient DNA, there exists a … link.”
The idea opened such a wealth of possibilities that both Columbine and Destry were at a loss to frame the next question, which gave Marieko a chance to pause significantly before delivering her final observation and repeat her caveat: “Again, this is without any foundation except instinct—”
“We’ve already accepted the disclaimer.” Columbine hated how with Marieko you inevitably had to wait.
“I suspect whatever is in the mound is immensely powerful.”
“Powerful?”
Marieko repeated herself with added emphasis. “
Immensely powerful.
It was virtually inanimate, and the aura was little more than a flicker, yet it had a density.”
Immensely powerful.
It was virtually inanimate, and the aura was little more than a flicker, yet it had a density.”
Columbine wanted to ask more about the potential power of this thing, but Destry retreated to the practical. “This Dr. Campion and his humans, have they penetrated very far into the mound?”
Marieko shook her head. “No, not yet.”
“Perhaps we should do some excavating of our own?”
Again Marieko shook her head. “I was tempted, but the humans would assume it was vandalism. The police could become involved, and I don’t think we want that.”
A thought occurred to Columbine. “Could Campion
and his delving students be in the process of waking whatever it is?”
and his delving students be in the process of waking whatever it is?”
Marieko had already considered this. “I doubt they know it, but I think it’s a possibility. In fact, for all we know, the humans may have been unknowingly summoned to do exactly that.”
Even in the comfort, not to say luxury, of the Savoy Hotel, Victor Renquist found he was unable to sleep. He lay flat on his back, in the traditional attitude of repose, legs together and arms across his chest, crossed at the wrists. He slowed his breathing until the black silk of his robe hardly whispered against the fur rug covering the hotel bed, but the best he could achieve was periods of semi-numb daze. The blackouts on the windows effectively cut the sound of the London traffic to a literal dull roar, but that couldn’t possibly be the reason total and inert rest remained so elusive. After all, during his long existence, he had slept through air raids, artillery bombardments, and the sack and pillage of cities. He had slumbered in cellars while buildings burned above him and had shared desert caves with a multitude of bats and the keening of the wind across the dunes.
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