The Gates of Winter (51 page)

Carson's smile vanished. Confusion clouded the preacher's gaze—followed by understanding. Before he could speak, Travis stood, clamped a hand on his arm, and steered him away from the row of chairs.

“Hey!” one of the sufferers called out after them. “They told us no autographs.”

Travis turned his back to them. He could feel Carson trembling under his grip. The preacher's eyes were fearful, alive. He was no ironheart.

“So you recognize me,” Travis said. “I figured you would. They seem to like to show my picture to everyone.”

Carson swallowed. “Is this the end, then? Are you here to kill me?”

His words stunned Travis. What had Duratek told the preacher about him? More lies, he supposed.

“I'm not going to kill you,” Travis said. “If you don't believe me, call out to your guards. Go ahead—I won't stop you. They'll take me away, and you can go on with the show.”

The preacher shook his head. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to listen to what I have to say.”

“Why?”

“Because something is happening here. Something terrible, and I don't think you know what it is.”

All at once Carson's trembling ceased, and he grinned. Shocked, Travis let go of his arm.

“I know more than you think, Mr. Wilder.” The preacher smoothed away the wrinkles Travis had left on the sleeve of his suit coat. “I know what the Angels of Light really are. I know what they do to the men and women I send to them. And I know they come from the world you've been to, the world Duratek seeks to claim for its own.”

Travis recoiled; he had made a terrible mistake. He had allowed himself to think they were using Carson, taking advantage of his blind faith to mislead him, that if he knew the truth about what was happening to his followers, he would help Travis. Only the preacher knew exactly what they were doing.

“You're one of them,” Travis croaked. “Duratek.”

A new emotion seeped through the thick layer of pancake on Carson's face: anger. “You're wrong. They need me, that's all. I give them things they cannot get for themselves.”

Travis fought for understanding. “What things?”

However, Carson only shook his head, his eyes distant.

They were running out of time. Travis tried a different tactic. “Why? Why are you giving them whatever it is they need from you?”

“For this, Mr. Wilder. I wanted a great house of worship for my flock.” He looked up, his expression sorrowful, fond. “I love it so much, my Steel Cathedral. It's everything I've ever dreamed of.” He lowered his gaze. “And when I am no longer of use to them, they'll take it all away and dispose of me.”

Travis's mind raced. He didn't understand everything Carson was saying, but there was something strange about Carson—a sadness, a resignation. And a power. Why hadn't he called the guards? It was as if he was the one who was afflicted, the one who needed to be cured. And maybe Travis was the one person who could cure him.

“There's a way out,” Travis said, trying not to rush the words. He had to make every one of them count. “There's a way to stop Duratek. All you have to do is switch on the big screen onstage.”

Carson held a hand to his temple. “I don't understand.”

The voices of the choir rose into a final crescendo. Time was almost up.

“The big-screen television,” Travis said, his words urgent now. “I can't get to the panel that controls it—the guards will never let me near it. All you have to do is turn it on and watch it. Then you'll understand everything. Duratek will be finished for good. They'll—”

The woman with the clipboard hurried over. “Thirty seconds, Mr. Carson. Have you talked to all the sufferers?”

Carson was silent for a moment, then he looked at her. “The healing segment is canceled for today.”

The woman's eyes turned into circles of shock. “But Mr. Carson, it's in the script.”

“Not anymore. It's been replaced with another segment.” He glanced at Travis. “It's a surprise for my congregation, and all my viewers at home. Now run along, Karen.”

The woman looked as if she wanted to protest, then she clamped her jaw, gripped her clipboard, and scurried away.

“You'll be looking for the gate, I imagine,” the preacher said to Travis. “Keep going down until you can go no farther. You'll find it there. But it will be protected.”

Travis searched for words to speak but found none. Was Carson really going to help him?

The preacher cocked his head. It was as if he was listening to something. Then a shudder passed through him, and he looked at Travis.

“Perhaps it would have been better if you had come here to kill me after all, Mr. Wilder.” His hand crept up to his chest, and his eyes seemed to peer into some other space. “But the end will come soon, and perhaps this will be enough. Perhaps it will make amends for what I've done.”

Travis didn't know what these words meant. Was Carson seeking salvation? Or merely death?

The preacher started toward the curtain.

Travis held out a hand. “Can I trust you?”

Carson hesitated, then glanced over his shoulder. His eyes were unreadable in the dimness. “I don't know, Mr. Wilder,” he said. “I honestly don't know.”

The preacher stepped beyond the curtain, and the thunder of applause shook the air.

52.

Travis raced down the stairwell, hurling himself around the corner at each landing, every flight taking him deeper beneath the Steel Cathedral. He pulled the radio out of his pocket and mashed the button with his thumb.

“Deirdre, are you there?”

It was Anders's gravelly voice that crackled through the static a second later. “We're here, mate, though it looks like we're in a bit of a pickle. The show's started, thanks to the production lads here cooperating so nicely, but we still can't get the video up on the big screen, and I think security is starting to get suspicious something's going on in here.”

Travis threw himself around another landing. “Just hang in there. You'll be able to play the video in a minute. Sage Carson is going to activate the panel.”

“Say again, Travis? There was too much interference. It sounded like you said Carson is going to activate the screen.”

“That is what I said.”

It seemed insanity to believe Carson would help them; if that video aired, it would be the end of Duratek as well as the preacher's funding. The doors of his precious cathedral would close forever. Then again, if Travis's hunch was right, there wasn't going to be a cathedral at all soon. Besides, Travis couldn't shake the feeling that Carson was really going to do it.

The end will come soon enough. . . .

Sometimes even a wicked man wanted absolution when his time drew near.

“Travis, what's going on?” It was Deirdre's voice buzzing from the radio now. “What do you mean Carson is going to activate the panel?”

“Just trust me on this one.” He pounded down another flight of steps. “I don't have time to explain.”

There was a pause, then Deirdre's voice came again, a sharp edge to her words now. “Where are you, Travis? What are you doing?”

“You'll know when I do it. Just air that video as soon as you can, and when it's done, pull the fire alarms. You've got to evacuate everybody from the cathedral as fast as you can.”

Before Deirdre could reply, he switched off the radio and shoved it back in his pocket. He hit one last landing and skidded to a halt. This was the level with the laboratory where he had found Jay and Marty. There was a door to his left; that was the one he and Jace had used to enter the stairwell. Another door was closed before him. Through a small glass window he could see more stairs going down. The light on the card reader next to the door glowed red.

Travis laid his left hand on the card reader, and his right hand slipped into his pocket and opened the box. There was no use fearing the wraithlings now; they were already coming for him.

“Urath,”
he said. A rushing noise filled his head, and the light on the card reader changed from red to green. Travis hunched his shoulders, waiting for an alarm to sound, but none did. With a push, the door opened; he started through.

“Hold it right there.”

Travis went stiff, then turned around. The sound of magic had deafened him for a moment; he hadn't heard the door behind him open. A guard stood in the doorway; the gun in his hands was leveled at Travis's chest.

“Don't move,” he said.

Travis knew he could speak
Dur
to yank the gun out of the guard's hands, but then what? The man's eyes were stern but not dead. Travis couldn't be sure—not after Marty—but he didn't think this man was one of
them
. The rune of iron wouldn't stop him.

Then speak
Krond
,
Travis
, Jack's voice said in his mind.
Fire will do the trick.

No, he had made a vow. An ironheart was one thing; it was already dead. But Travis would not speak runes against a living man, even one who pointed a gun at him. He clamped the iron box shut in his pocket.

The sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor behind the guard. More were coming.

You must speak the rune, Travis. Reaching the gate is more important than one man's life. And he serves the enemy.

“Take your hand out of your pocket,” the guard said. “Do it slowly.”

Travis's fingertips brushed the box; all he had to do was open it again, to speak the word.
Krond.

The man tightened his grip on the gun. “I said take your hand out of your pocket.”

Now, Travis. Do it!

Travis opened his mouth to speak.

A gunshot ripped apart the air.

The guard cried out, and the gun clattered to the floor. He fell back through the door, sprawling to the tiles, and clutched his knee, moaning. Blood oozed from between his fingers.

Travis looked up. A figure darted down the stairs, a gun in her small hands. Jace.

“Go, Travis,” she said as she reached him.

Shouts rang out now along with footsteps. The wounded guard groped for his gun, but Jace kicked it away.

Travis stared at Jace. “More guards are coming. You can't stop them all.”

She slammed a new magazine into her pistol. “Maybe not, but I can hold them off for a while. Those stairs will take you down to the primary research area. The gate is there.”

“Oh, Jace . . .”

She looked up at him, her brown eyes solemn. “They were the ones who took Maximilian away from us, Travis. You've got to stop them. Please.”

Pain welled up in his chest. He ached to tell her how sorry he was, and how proud Max would have been of her, but words fled him. All he could do was nod.

Her mouth curved in a wavering smile. “Good-bye, Travis.”

She turned and stood in the doorway, gun before her. Travis launched himself down the staircase. The door closed above him with a
boom
. Or was it the sound of gunfire? The noise was drowned out by the pounding of his own feet against the metal steps. Jace had sacrificed herself to give him a chance; he wasn't going to waste it.

Travis rounded another corner, then skidded down the last few steps and came to another door. It wasn't locked from this side. He pushed through and found himself at one end of a long corridor.

The corridor was dark, the gloom interrupted only by a small circle of light every ten feet. If this was the main laboratory facility beneath the cathedral, it should have been filled with people. Instead it was empty. He held his breath, but all he heard was the thrum of his own pulse.

Travis started down the corridor, moving between the pools of light. He passed openings that led to rooms and hallways, but this corridor was wider than the others; instinct told him he'd find what he was looking for at the end of it.

Something glowed silver-blue in the dimness ahead. It was hard to be sure, but it looked as if the corridor ended in a larger space. He heard the soft whir of machines. Travis quickened his pace.

A fist shot out of the darkness, punching him in the right kidney. Hard.

The air whooshed out of Travis in an exhalation of pain. He tumbled to the floor and rolled into one of the pools of light. There was a clatter as something hard skittered away from him.

A boot kicked into the circle of light. Travis rolled away, and instead of his skull the boot contacted his right shoulder. There was a crunching noise, and more pain. Travis looked up, but he couldn't see his attacker in the shadows.

“Lir,”
he said through clenched teeth.

A faint glow hovered on the air, then dissipated like fog. The rune was feeble; he was too tired. He slipped his hand inside his pocket. It was empty.

“Get him,” snapped a male voice.

Hands shot into the circle of light, groping for Travis's throat. He twisted away from them—then his heart ceased to beat. Ten feet away, lying on the floor in the center of another bright circle, was the iron box that contained Sinfathisar and Krondisar. It was shut.

Travis started to crawl toward the box, but fingers closed around his ankles, yanking him back.

“I've got him.” A woman's voice, shrill and hard. “Tie him up, and gag him, too. This one's words are dangerous.”

Travis looked up, over his shoulder. A figure stepped into the light above him—a man in a blue suit. On the street he might have been unremarkable: just another businessman heading to the office. Except the suit was disheveled, and his close-cropped hair greasy. In his hands was an electrical cord.

“The Pale Ones were right. They said you were here, that you'd try for the gate. They'll be along in a minute. In the meantime, we can have a little fun together.”

Panic shredded Travis's heart. He kicked and bucked against the hands that held him, but they gripped his legs with unnatural strength. The man grinned, pulled the cord taut, and bent over Travis.

“Dur!”

Travis shouted the word, but it was no use without the touch of the Stones. He had no energy of his own left. The man grimaced, staggering for a moment, then his face twisted in rage.

“No more tricks,” he hissed, and pressed the cord against Travis's neck.

Sparks exploded before Travis's eyes. He clawed at the cord, but he couldn't get his fingers underneath it. A buzzing filled his head.

“Don't kill him, you idiot!” the woman said. “The Master wants this one alive.”

“Shut your trap. I'm not going to damage him. At least not permanently. I just want to try a few experiments before—”

His words ceased as his head abruptly turned to one side. The pop of bones breaking echoed off hard tiles. The man slumped to the floor next to Travis. His arms flopped against the tiles, then went still.

A shriek of outrage cut through the darkness. The hands holding Travis's legs let go. He saw the woman as she entered the circle of light. She was short and dumpy, dressed in a bag lady's shabby clothes. Her long gray hair was snarled, and her yellowed teeth were bared in an expression of hate. However, it was not Travis she was looking at.

The darkness rippled, unfolded. A lithe form clad all in black stepped through.

Vani stood with her hands on her hips, her gold eyes shining in the dimness. The ironheart curled her hands into claws and lunged, but the assassin didn't move. Fear stabbed at Travis. Wasn't Vani going to fight?

Something flashed out of the darkness. The bag lady's head tilted at an odd angle, then fell to the floor with a
thud
. Her body collapsed into a heap like a pile of rags. Beltan stepped into the light, an axe in his hands, its edge wet with blood.

He knelt beside Travis, concern in his green eyes. “Are you all right?”

“I think so.” Travis sat up. There was a hot line across his throat, and his side and shoulder ached. Blood trickled from a scratch on his hand, but that was all. He eyed the axe. “Where did you get that?”

“It was in a glass box in the wall.” Beltan grinned. “The sign said it was for use in an emergency. I think this qualifies.”

“Can you stand?” Vani said.

She helped Travis to his feet with strong hands. The iron box still lay where it had fallen. He retrieved it.

“Not that I'm complaining or anything, but how did you two find me?”

Vani turned her gold eyes on Beltan.

“I got lucky,” the blond man said with a shrug.

“I would hardly call it luck. You made not a single misturn.” Vani looked at Travis. “He knew right where to find you. Just as he knew you were in danger.”

Beltan looked away and said nothing, but Travis understood. It was the fairy blood with which Duratek had infused Beltan. Sometimes he knew things it seemed impossible he should know.

“There were guards at the top of the stairs,” Travis said. “She was going to hold them back. Jace.”

Vani raised an eyebrow. “You mean the female guard? We found her dead, along with the other three.”

Travis shut his eyes. He didn't know if he could believe Jace and Max were together at last, but he wanted to with his entire being.

Vani sucked in a breath, and Travis opened his eyes.

“Do you hear it?” the
T'gol
said.

Beltan nodded, his face grim. “They're coming. Ironhearts. And there's another with them.”

A metallic buzz drifted on the air. Silver light oozed like fog from the stairwell, into the corridor.

“A wraithling,” Travis breathed. He gripped the iron box.

Beltan laid a hand on his shoulder. “We know what you came down here to do, Travis. Deirdre told us on the speaking device. You have to go.”

Travis felt sick. “I can't leave you. I can stop them with the Stones.”

“That would only draw more of the Pale Ones to you,” Vani said, standing beside Beltan. “We can hold them back while you go to the gate. You must destroy it. From all we have seen, they have created an army of ironhearts in this place. They must never be allowed to reach Eldh.”

No, Travis couldn't leave them. How could he, if he truly loved them both?

Beltan hesitated, then touched Travis's cheek. “They want you to stay and fight, I can sense it. They want to keep you from the gate as long as possible, to give more wraithlings time to come—more than even you can stop. Don't give them what they want.” He grinned. “Besides, we'll be fine.”

In that moment Travis knew the answer to his question. If he loved them both, he had to leave them. Because if he didn't destroy the gate, there was no hope for them. For any of them.

Despair hardened into resolve. “The artifact of Morindu,” he said, turning toward Vani. “Do you have it?”

She handed him the onyx tetrahedron, then glanced over her shoulder. Shadows moved down the corridor.

“What are you doing, Travis?”

He removed the top of the artifact and pressed his hand against it. Blood oozed from the scratch into the reservoir within the artifact. When it was full he replaced the top.

“Hold them off as long as you can, then get out of here. If I'm right, this whole place is going to go.” He pushed the artifact into Vani's hands and met her eyes. “Promise me you'll use it. That you'll both use it.”

Vani nodded. “We promise.”

“Now, Travis.” Beltan gripped the axe in big hands. “Get out of here.”

Travis hesitated. There was so much more he wanted to say, so much more he wanted to tell them.

Silver light poured from the stairwell. Travis turned and fled down the corridor.

After fifty yards the passage turned. At the corner was a guard station with a bank of closed-circuit television screens. There were no guards in sight.