The Night's Dawn Trilogy (48 page)

The morning after Horst Elwes encountered the Ly-cilph in the church, Carter was down by the river where he and the other
kids were building a raft from scraps of timber left over from one of the adults’ construction projects. He realized that
he hadn’t seen Chomper for about fifteen minutes, and looked around the clearing. A flash of ginger fur in the trees behind
the community hall made him shout in exasperation at the silly animal. There was no immediate response, so he set off in vigorous
pursuit, boots kicking up a splash in the thin layer of mud. By the time he reached the boundary of the jungle he could hear
Chomper barking excitedly somewhere inside the crush of trees and creepers. He waved at Mr Travis, who was hoeing the soil
around his baby pineapple plants, and plunged into the jungle after his dog.

Chomper seemed intent on leading him directly away from the village. Carter called and called until his throat felt raw. He
was hot and sticky and his fraying T-shirt was smeared in long streaks of green-yellow sap from the broken creepers. He was
also very angry with Chomper, who was going to be put on a choker lead as soon as they got home. And after that there would
be the proper obedience-training classes that Mr Manani had promised him.

The chase finally came to an end in a small glade of tall qualtook trees, whose thick canopy of foliage didn’t let much sunlight
through. Spindly blades of grass grew up to Carter’s knees, vines with a mass of lemon-coloured berries foamed up around the
glossy trunks. Chomper was standing in the middle of the glade, his hackles raised, growling at a tree.

Carter grabbed hold of his neck, yelling out exactly what he thought of dogs at that moment. The spaniel resisted the pulling
and urging, yapping frantically.

“What’s the matter with you?” he demanded in exasperation.

Then the tall black lady appeared. One second there was only a qualtook tree in front of him, the next she was standing five
metres away, dressed in a grey jump suit, and pulling her hood off. Long chestnut hair tumbled down.

Chomper had fallen silent. Carter clung to him, gazing at the lady with his mouth open, too surprised to say anything. She
winked and beckoned. Carter smiled up at her trustingly, and trotted over.

Got him,
Camilla said.
He’s very sweet.

So is my neck,
Laton replied curtly.
Just make sure you leave him where they can find him without too much trouble.

“Horst, this can’t go on,” Ruth said.

The priest just groaned with immense self-pity. He was lying on the cot where he’d been dumped the night before, crumpled
olive-green blankets wound tightly round his legs. Sometime during the night he’d been sick again. A congealing puddle of
waxy vomit lay on the floorboards below his pillow.

“Go away,” he mumbled.

“Stop feeling so bloody sorry for yourself, and get up.”

He rolled over slowly. She could see he’d been crying, his eyes were red rimmed, the lashes sticky. “I mean it, Ruth. Go away,
right away. Take Jay with you, and leave. Find a boat, pay whatever it costs, get yourself back to Durringham, then get off
this planet. Just leave.”

“Stop talking like an idiot. Aberdale isn’t that bad. We’ll find a way to deal with the Ivets. I’m going to have Rai Molvi
call a town meeting tonight, I’m going to tell people what I think is going on.” She took a breath. “I want you to back me
up, Horst.”

“No. You mustn’t. Don’t antagonize the Ivets. Please, for your own safety, Ruth. Don’t do it. There’s still time for you to
get away.”

“For God’s sake, Horst—”

“Ha! God is dead,” he said bitterly. “Or at least He’s banished this planet from His kingdom long ago.” He beckoned her down
with an agitated hand signal, glancing furtively at the open door.

Ruth took a reluctant step closer to the cot, wrinkling her nose up at the smell.

“I saw it,” Horst said in a throaty whisper. “Last night. It was there in the church.”

“What was there?”

“It. The demon they’ve summoned. I saw it, Ruth. Red, gleaming red, blinding red. The light of hell. Satan’s eye opened and
stared right at me. This is his world, Ruth. Not our lord Christ’s. We should never have come here. Never.”

“Oh, shit,” she murmured under her breath. A whole host of practical problems ran through her mind: how to get him back to
Durringham, whether there was even a psychiatrist on the planet, who could take over the little clinic he ran for the village.
She scratched at the back of her sweaty hair, looking down at him as if he was some kind of elaborate riddle she was supposed
to solve.

Rai Molvi ran up the wooden steps to the door and barged in. “Ruth,” he said breathlessly. “I thought I’d find you here. Carter
McBride is missing; kid’s been gone a couple of hours now. Someone said they saw him chasing that damn nuisance dog of his
into the jungle. I’m organizing a search party. Are you in?” Rai Molvi didn’t even seem to have noticed Horst.

“Yes,” she said. “I’ll get someone to watch Jay.”

“Mrs Cranthorp is taking care of that, she’ll get the kids into a group and give them some lunch. We’re assembling by the
hall in ten minutes.” He turned to go.

“I’ll help,” Horst said.

“As you like,” Rai said, and hurried out.

“Well, you made a big impression on him,” Ruth said.

“Please, Ruth, you must leave this place.”

“We’ll see after tonight. Right now I’ve got a child to help find.” She paused. “Damn, Carter’s about the same age as Jay.”

The drawn-out whistle brought them all running. Arnold Travis was sitting slumped against the foot of a mayope tree. He just
stared brokenly at the ground, silver whistle hanging from a corner of his mouth.

The villagers arrived in pairs, crashing through the vines and scrub bushes, sending hordes of birds screeching into the baking
sky. When they did stumble into the little glade the sight which greeted them seemed to suck the strength from their limbs.
A semicircle formed round the big cherry oak tree, stricken faces staring at its grisly burden.

Powel Manani was one of the last to arrive. Vorix was with him, loping easily through the lush undergrowth. Canine senses
bubbled into Powel’s mind, the monochrome images, the sharp sounds, and the vast range of smells. There was an overpowering
scent of blood in the air.

He pushed and elbowed his way to the front of the shocked crowd, caught sight of the cherry oak tree—“Jesus!” His hand came
up to cover his mouth. Something deep inside wanted to let loose a primaeval wail, just to shout and shout until all the pain
was disgorged.

Carter McBride was hanging upside-down against the tree. His feet had been bound to the trunk with dried vine cords, making
it look as though he was standing on his head. Both arms were spread wide, held parallel to the ground by a pair of stakes
at each wrist. The long wounds were no longer bleeding. Tiny insects wriggled through the saturated grass below his head,
gorging on the bounty.

Dimitri McBride took two tottering steps towards his son, then sank down to his knees as though in prayer. He looked round
at the circle of ashen faces with a faintly bewildered expression. “I don’t understand. Carter was ten years old. Who did
this? I don’t understand. Please tell me.” He saw his own pain reflected in the weeping eyes surrounding him. “Why this? Why
do this?”

“The Ivets,” Horst said. Little Carter’s scarlet eyeballs were staring right into him, urging him to speak. “This is the inverted
cross,” he said pedantically. It was important to be right in a matter like this, he felt, important that they should all
fully comprehend. “The opposite of the crucifix. They worship the Light Brother, you see. The Light Brother is diametrically
opposed to our lord Jesus, so the sects perform this sacrifice as a mockery. It’s very logical, really.” Horst found his breath
was hard to come by, as if he’d been running a long distance.

Dimitri McBride crashed into him with the force of a jackhammer. He was flung backwards, Dimitri riding him down. “You knew!
You knew!” he cried. Metal fingers closed round Horst’s throat, clawing. “That was my son. And you knew!” Horst’s head was
yanked up, then slammed down into the spongy loam. “He’d still be alive if you’d told us. You killed him! You killed him!
You!”

Horst’s world was turning black around the edges. He tried to speak, to explain. That was what he had been trained for, to
make people accept the world the way it was. But all he could see was Dimitri McBride’s open screaming mouth.

“Get him off,” Ruth told Powel Manani.

The supervisor gave her a dark look, then nodded reluctantly. He signalled to a couple of the villagers, and between them
they prised Dimitri’s fingers from Horst’s throat. The priest lay as he was left, sucking air down like a cardiac victim.

Dimitri McBride collapsed into a limp, sobbing bundle.

Three of the villagers cut little Carter down, wrapping him in a coat.

“What do I tell Victoria?” Dimitri McBride asked vacantly. “What do I tell her?” The reassuring hands found his shoulders
again, patting, offering their pathetically inadequate sympathy. A hip-flask was pressed to his lips. He spluttered as the
acidic brew went down his gullet.

Powel Manani stood over Horst Elwes. I’m as guilty as the priest, he thought. I knew that little ratprick Quinn was trouble.
But dear God,
this
. The Ivets, they’re not human. Somebody who could do this could do anything.

Anything
. The thought struck him like a twister of gelid wind. It cleared away even the remotest feeling of pity for the wretched
drunken priest. He nudged Horst with the toe of his boot. “You? Can you hear me?”

Horst gurgled, his eyes rolling around.

Powel let his full fury vent into Vorix’s mind. The dog lurched towards Horst, snarling in rage.

Horst saw it coming, and scrabbled feebly on all fours, cringing from the hound’s ferocity. Vorix barked loudly, his muzzle
centimetres away from his face.

“Hey!” Ruth protested.

“Shut up,” Powel said, not even looking at her. “You. Priest. Are you listening to me?”

Vorix growled.

Everybody was watching the tableau now, even Dimitri McBride.

“It’s what they are,” Horst said. “The balance of nature. Black and white, good and evil. God’s kingdom of heaven, and hell.
Earth and Lalonde. Do you see?” He smiled up at Powel.

“The Ivets didn’t all come from the same arcology,” Powel said with a dangerously level voice. “They’d never even met each
other before they came here. That means Quinn did this since we arrived, turned them into what they are now. You know about
this doctrine of theirs. You know all about it. How long have they been a part of this sect movement? Before Gwyn Lawes? Were
they, priest? Were they all involved before his odd, unseen, bloody death out here in the jungle?
Were they?
”

Several of the watchers gasped. Powel heard someone moaning: “Oh, God, please no.”

Horst’s mad smile was still directed up at the supervisor.

“Is that when it started, priest?” Powel asked. “Quinn had months to turn them, to break them, to control them. Didn’t he?
That’s what he was doing all the time inside that fancy A-frame hut of theirs. Then when he’d got them all whipped into line,
they started to come after us.” His finger lined up on Horst. He wanted it to be a hunting rifle, to blow this failed wreckage
of a man to pieces. “Those muggings back in Durringham, Gwyn Lawes, Roger Chad-wick, the Hoffmans. My God, what did they do
to the Hoffmans that they had to incinerate them afterwards so we wouldn’t see? And all because you didn’t tell us. How are
you going to explain that to your God when you face him, priest? Tell me that.”

“I wasn’t sure,” Horst wailed. “You’re as bad as them. You’re a savage, you love it out here. The only difference between
you and an Ivet is that you get paid for what you do. You would have gone berserk if I even hinted that they had turned to
the sect instead of me.”

“When did you know?”
Powel screamed at him.

Horst’s shoulders quaked, he hugged his chest, curling up. “The day Gwyn died.”

Powel threw his head back, fists thrust into the sky. “QUINN!” he bellowed. “I’ll have you. I’ll have every fucking one of
you. Do you hear me, Quinn? You’re dead.” Vorix was howling defiance into the heavens.

He looked round at the numb expressions centred on him, seeing the cracks opening into their fear, and the anger that was
beginning to spark inside. He knew people, and these were with him now. At long last, every one of them. There would be no
rest now until the Ivets had been tracked down and exterminated.

“We can’t just assume the Ivets are guilty like this,” Rai Molvi said. “Not on his word.” He glanced scathingly down at Horst.
That was how Vorix took him unawares. The hound landed on his chest, bowling him over. Rai Molvi yelped in terror as Vorix
barked, long fangs snapping centimetres from his nose.

“You,” Powel Manani said. It was spat out like an allegation. “You, lawyer man! You are the one who wanted me to ease off
them. You let them have their A-frame. You wanted them walking round free. If we had done this by the book, kept those dickheads
in the filth where they belong, none of this would have happened.” He called Vorix off from the panting, badly scared man.
“But you’re right. We don’t
know
the Ivets had anything to do with Gwyn or Roger or the Hoffmans. We can’t prove that, can we, counsel for the defence? So
all we’ve got is Carter. Do you know anyone else out here that is going to rip apart a ten-year-old child? Do you? Because
if you do, I think we’d all like to hear who.”

Rai Molvi shook his head, teeth clamped together in anguish.

“Right then,” Powel said. “So what do you say, Dimitri? Carter was your boy. What do you think we should do to the people
who did this to your son?”

“Kill them,” Dimitri said from the centre of the little knot of people who were trying to comfort him. “Kill every last one
of them.”