The Night's Dawn Trilogy (52 page)

“Father?” she called experimentally. Her voice was loud in the hushed ranks of dusky trees looming all around. “Father, it’s
me, Jay.” She turned a complete circle. Nothing moved, nothing made a sound. She wanted the hunting parties to come marching
into view so she could walk home with them. Some company would be very welcome.

There was a crackling noise behind her, like someone treading on a twig.

“Father?” Jay turned round, and let out a squeak. At first she thought the black woman’s head was hovering in the air all
by itself, but when Jay squinted hard she could just make out the silhouette of her body. It was as though light bent round
it, leaving a tiny blue and purple ripple effect around the edges.

The woman raised a hand. Leaves and twigs flowed flu-idly over her palm, an exact pattern of what was behind her. She put
a finger to her lips, then beckoned.

Sango cantered down the track back to Aberdale, keeping to a steady rhythm as darkness began to pool around the base of the
trees. Powel Manani ducked occasionally to avoid low hanging branches. The route was one he knew by heart now. He rode automatically
as his mind reviewed possibilities.

Everyone would have to stay in the village tomorrow, they could post guards so that work in the fields could continue. Any
major interruption to their lives would be a victory for Quinn, and he mustn’t allow that to happen. People were already badly
shaken up by what had happened, their confidence in themselves had to be built up from scratch again.

He had passed Arnold Travis’s group a quarter of an hour ago on their way home. They’d hanged all their Ivets. And the group
that had gone out to the homesteads was burying the Ivets he’d shot at the Nicholls place. Tomorrow a gang would trek out
to the Skibbow homestead and do what they could.

Which wasn’t going to be much, he admitted bitterly. But it could have been worse. Then again, it could have been a whole
lot better.

Powel sucked air in through his teeth at the thought of Quinn on the loose. At first light he would ride downriver to Schuster.
The sheriff there would contact Durringham, and a proper manhunt could be organized. He knew Schuster’s supervisor, Gregor
O’Keefe, who had an affinity-bonded Doberman. They could go after Quinn straight away, before the trail went cold. Gregor
would understand the need.

None of this was going to look good on his record. Families murdered and Ivets in open revolt. The Land Allocation Office
probably wouldn’t give him another supervisor contract after this. Well, screw them. Quinn was all that mattered now.

Sango shrieked, rearing up violently, He grabbed the reins hard in reflex. The horse came down, and he realized its legs were
collapsing. Momentum carried him forward, his head meeting Sango’s neck as it snaked back. Mane hair lashed across his face,
and his nose squashed into the bristly beige coat. He tasted blood.

Sango hit the ground, inertia skidding him forwards a couple of metres before he finally rolled onto his side. Powel heard
his right leg break with a shockingly loud snap as the horse’s full weight came down on it. He blanked out for a moment. When
he came to he promptly threw up. His right leg was completely numb below the hip. He felt dangerously light headed. Cold sweat
prickled his skin.

The horse’s flank had his leg pinned to the ground. He hunched himself up on his elbow, and tried to pull it out. Red-hot
pain flared along his nerve paths. He groaned, and slumped back down onto the mossy grass, panting heavily.

The undergrowth swished behind him. There was the sound of footfalls on the loam.

“Hey!” he cried. “Christ, help me. The bloody horse keeled over on me. I can’t feel my leg.” He craned round. Six figures
were walking out of the murky shadows which lined the track.

Quinn Dexter laughed.

Powel made a frantic lunge for the maser carbine in the saddle holster. His fingers curled round the grip.

Ann had been waiting for the move. She fired her laser rifle. The infrared pulse struck the back of Powel’s hand, slicing
clean through. Skin and muscle vaporized in a five-centimetre crater, veins instantly cauterized, his straining tendons roasted
and snapped. Around the edge of the wound skin blackened and flaked away, a huge ring of blisters erupted. Powel let out a
guttural snarl, jerking his hand back.

“Bring him,” Quinn ordered.

The demon sprite had come back to the church. It was the first thing Horst Elwes discovered when he returned.

Most of the day was lost to him. He must have lain in the little clearing for hours. His shirt and trousers were damp from
the rain, and smeared with mud. And Carter McBride’s blood-filmed eyes still stared at him.

“Your fault!” Supervisor Manani had shouted in rage. He was right, too.

A sin by omission. The belief that human dignity would triumph. That all he had to do was wait and the Ivets would grow tired
of their foolish rituals and genuflecting. That they would realize the Light Brother sect was a charade designed to make them
do Quinn’s bidding. Then he would be there for them, waiting to forgive and welcome them into the Lord’s fold.

Well, now that arrogance had cost a child his life, perhaps others too if the suspicions of Ruth and Manani were correct.
Horst wasn’t at all sure he wanted to go on living.

He walked back into the village clearing as the penumbra arose from the east and the brighter stars started to shine above
the black treetops. A few cabins had yellow lights glimmering inside, but the village was deathly quiet. The life had gone
out of it.

The spirit, Horst thought, that is what’s missing. Even afterwards, even after they’ve had their revenge and slaughtered the
Ivets, this place will be tainted. They have bitten their apple now, and the knowledge of truth has corrupted their souls.
They know what beasts lie in their hearts. Even though they dress it up as honour and civilized justice. They know.

He walked heavily out of the shadows towards the church. That simple little church which symbolized all that was wrong with
the village. Built on a lie, home to a fool, laughed at by all. Even here, the most God-forsaken planet in the Confederation,
where nothing really matters, I can’t get it right. I can’t do the one thing I vowed before God that my life was for, I can’t
give them faith in themselves.

He pushed through the swing door at the rear of the church. Carter McBride was laid out on a pew at the front, draped in a
blanket. Someone had lit one of the altar candles.

A dainty red star flickered a metre over the body.

All Horst’s anguish returned in a deluge that threatened to extinguish his sanity. He bit his trembling lower lip.

If God the Holy Trinity exists, said the waster sect Sa-tanists, then,
ipso facto
, the Dark One is also real. For Jesus was tempted by Satan, both have touched the Earth, both will return.

Now Horst Elwes looked at the speck of red light and felt the dry weight of aeons press in on his mind again. To have the
existence of supernatural divinity proven like this was a hideous travesty. Men were supposed to come to faith, not have it
forced upon them.

He dropped to one knee as if pushed down by a giant irresistible hand. “O my Lord, forgive me. Forgive me my weakness. I beg
Thee.”

The star slid through the air towards him. It didn’t seem to cast any light on the pews or floor.

“What are you? What have you come here for? The boy’s soul? Did Quinn Dexter summon you for that? How I pity you. That boy
was pure in mind no matter what they did to him, no matter what they made him say. Our Lord would not reject him because of
your acolytes’ inhumanity. Carter will be welcomed into heaven by Gabriel himself.”

The star stopped two metres short of Horst.

“Out,” Horst said. He stood, the strength of recklessness infusing his limbs. “Get ye gone from this place. You have failed.
Doubly you have failed.” His face split in a slow grin, a drop of spittle running down his beard. “This old sinner has taken
heart again from your presence. And this place you desecrate is holy ground. Now out!” He thrust a rigid forefinger at the
gloaming-soaked jungle beyond the door. “Out!”

Footsteps thudded on the steps outside the church, the swing door banged open. “Father!” Jay yelled at the top of her voice.

Small, thin arms hugged his waist with a strength a full-grown man would be hard put to match. He instinctively cradled her,
hands smoothing her knotted white-blonde hair.

“Oh, Father,” she sobbed. “It was horrible, they killed Sango. They shot him. He’s dead. Sango’s dead.”

“Who did? Who shot him?”

“Quinn. The Ivets.” Her face tilted up to look at him. The skin was blotchy from crying. “She made me hide. They were very
close.”

“You’ve seen Quinn Dexter?”

“Yes. He shot Sango. I
hate
him!”

“When was this?”

“Just now.”

“Here? In the village?”

“No. We were on the track to the homesteads, about half a kilometre.”

“Who was with you?”

Jay sniffled, screwing a fist into her eye. “I don’t know her name. She was a black lady. She just came out of the jungle
in a funny suit. She said I must be careful because the Ivets were very near. I was frightened. We hid from them behind some
bushes. And then Sango came down the track.” Her chin began to tremble. “He’s dead, Father.”

“Where is this woman now?”

“Gone. She walked back to the village with me, then left.”

More puzzled than worried, Horst tried to calm his whirling thoughts. “What was funny about her suit?”

“It was like a piece of jungle, you couldn’t see her.”

“A marshal?” he said under his breath. That didn’t make any sense at all. Then he abruptly realized something missing from
her story. He took hold of her shoulders, staring down at her intently. “Was Mr Manani riding Sango when Quinn shot him?”

“Yes.”

“Is he dead?”

“No. He was shouting cos he was hurt. Then the Ivets carried him away.”

“Oh, dear Lord. Was that where the woman was going, back to help Mr Manani?”

Jay’s face radiated misery. “Don’t think so. She didn’t say anything, she just vanished as soon as we reached the fields around
the village.”

Horst turned to the demon sprite. But it had gone. He started to hustle Jay out of the church. “You are to go straight home
to your mother, and I mean straight home. Tell her what you told me, and tell her to get the other villagers organized. They
must be warned that the Ivets are near.”

Jay nodded, her eyes round and immensely serious.

Horst glanced about the clearing. Night had almost fallen, the trees seemed much nearer, much larger in the dark. He shivered.

“What are you going to do, Father?”

“Just have a look, that’s all. Now go on with you.” He gave her a gentle push in the direction of Ruth’s cabin. “Home.”

She scampered off between the rows of cabins, long, slender legs flying in a shaky gait that looked as though she was perpetually
about to lose her balance. Then Horst was all by himself. He gave the jungle a grim glance, and set off towards the gap in
the trees where the track to the savannah homesteads started.

Sentimental fool,
Laton said.

Listen, Father, after what I did today I’m entitled to show some sentiment,
Camilla retorted.
Quinn would have ripped her apart. There’s no need for that kind of bloodshed any more. We have achieved what we set out to
do.

Well, now this idiot priest is heading out to be a hero. Do you intend to save him as well?

No. He’s an adult. He makes his own choices.

Very well. The loss of Supervisor Manani is vexing, though. I was relying on him to eradicate the rest of the Ivets.

Do you want me to shoot them?

No, the hunting party is returning, they will find the horse soon enough, and the trail Quinn Dexter has left. They would
wonder what killed them. There must be no hint of our existence. Though Jay—

Nobody will believe her.

Possibly.

So what are you going to do about Dexter? Our original scenario didn’t envisage him surviving this long.

Quinn Dexter will come to me now, there is nowhere else he can go. The sheriffs will assume he has run off into the wilderness,
never to be seen again. Not quite the perfect solution, but no battle plan survives the opening shot. And Ann’s ova will be
a welcome addition to our genetic resources.

Is my provocateur duty over now?

Yes, I don’t believe the situation requires further intervention on our part. We can monitor events through the servitor scouts.

Good. I’m on my way home; have a bath and a tall drink waiting, it’s been a long day.

Quinn looked down at Powel Manani. The naked supervisor had regained consciousness again now they had finished lashing his
badly crushed legs to the mayope’s trunk. His head hung a few centimetres from the ground; cheeks puffed out from all the
fluid that was building up in the facial tissue. They had spread his arms wide, tying his hands to small stakes in the ground.
The inverted cross.

Powel Manani moaned dazedly.

Quinn held out his hands for silence. “The Night grows strong. Welcome to our world, Powel.”

“Dickhead,” Powel grunted.

Quinn flicked on a pocket-sized thermal inducer, and pressed it against Powel’s broken shin. He groaned, and jerked about
feebly.

“Why did you do it, Powel? Why did you drown Leslie and Tony? Why did you kill Kay? Why did you send Vorix after Douglas?”

“And the others,” Powel wheezed. “Don’t forget them.”

Quinn stiffened. “Others?”

“You’re all that’s left, Quinn. And tomorrow there won’t even be you.”

The thermal inducer was applied to his leg again.

“Why?” Quinn asked.

“Carter McBride. Why do you think? You’re fucking animals, all of you. Just
animals
. No human could do that to another. He was ten years old!”