Debris of Shadows_Book II_The Forgotten Cathedral Page 12

  His left hand was a worm. At least, that was Asher’s first impression. The more he stared at it, the more it seemed like a snake. Its mouth split apart, revealing row upon row of needle–like fangs.

  It — not the man — screamed.

  The sound tore into Asher’s skull. He clamped his hands over his ears. The snake–arm writhed, its head swinging back and forth as Theresa approached the conglomeration. She parted her cloak, and opened her sacs.

  “No,” Asher shouted, “don’t you dare!”

  The serpent whirled in his direction. The man dashed towards him, faster than Asher had ever imagined possible. He seemed to glow with a faint, indigo hue. He closed the gap between them in half a second. The snake reared, and screeched its steel–against–steel cry. Its mouth peeled back upon itself, over and over, like a rose of blackened, glass shards greeting the morning sun. It dove for the kill —

  Asher bolted up in his cot.

  An electric blanket covered his body, its heat stifling. He pulled it aside. An IV snaked from his wrist. Sensors had been glued to his forehead and throat. He pulled them off. Somewhere, something beeped in faint protest. He ignored it. He considered removing the needle from the back of his hand, thought better of it, and swung his feet to the floor.

  He looked around in the dim light. He was in the infirmary of the Monastery, but hadn’t he just been in the desert? He examined his arms and legs. They were robust, the flesh and muscles beneath his skin full and healthy. Why had he expected them to be otherwise?

  He ran his hands over the contours of his face. Perhaps everything since he had received the sacrament of children had been a dream, a hallucination brought on by the cradle’s anesthesia. His mouth felt dry, his tongue like sandpaper. It had seemed so real. It was as if…

  Voices whispered in the darkness.

  He swallowed, and gagged with pain. His neck and chest felt alien and swollen. They ached as his newly implanted children ripened within his body. He held his breath, and listened.

  Was that his name?

  Were the voices whispering about him?

  He pulled himself to his feet, clutching the IV stand for support. The white–tiled room reeled around him. Its air felt thick and alive, as if it were a sea suffused with static electricity. Its waves crested over his face and body, smothering his nerves with pins and needles. He pushed himself forward against their omnipresent resistance. His neck and chest felt as if water balloons of maggots were writhing beneath his skin.

  His bare foot kicked something small and hard. He bent, and picked it up. It was a tiny, interlocking plastic brick, the kind that had been owned by children throughout San Domenico. He saw another, and another. He followed their trail, winding back and forth between the cots.

  Another sound lay beneath the whispers, one that he could barely hear. It sounded like a deep, almost mechanical rumble.

  Or a lion’s growl.

  The multicolored plastic bricks led to a curtain that hung on the far side of the infirmary. It was not thin and green as would be expected in a hospital, but red and thick, as if the decoration for an ornate window. A crack of light peeked from underneath. Its glow was almost opal in color, shifting back and forth between pearl and blue tinges. Its rays seemed to sparkle, as if infused with glitter.

  The whispers came from the other side. He took slow, even steps, the IV stand’s wheels squeaking on the waxed floor. He reached the curtain, and leaned his ear close to it.

  “I thought that you were on his side,” said the abbot. Asher imagined her bobbing face, round and smug.

  “That paranoid little shit? Never. Not after what he did to poor Leo.”

  Asher’s teeth clacked together. The voice was Jacob’s.

  “You said that that was suicide.”

  “Yes,” Jacob said, “but our special little boy drove him to it. He manipulated the poor schmuck into destroying the scrolls, and killing himself. I’ll never forgive him for that.”

  “There are only five small cities in operation right now. Only two million souls dreaming. It’s not enough.”

  “You will have to make it be enough,” Jacob responded, but the voice was no longer his. Though it had deepened, it had also taken on the timbre and resonance of a glass harp. “I want to know what game they’re playing. They knew how to manipulate Dvorkin’s guilt, how to prey upon his illness. You can get an unstable mind to do anything that way.”

  “I don’t like this,” Mother Dinah said. Her voice had changed as well. She no longer sounded like a woman, she sounded like a frightened boy. “These parameters make my stomach hurt. They’re too unstable.”

  “Phoenix crashed far too quickly,” the voice that was no longer Jacob’s replied. “We need to bring back more dreamers immediately. Calculate how, or you’ll be punished. You don’t want to be punished, do you?”

  Asher heard a clattering noise, like a cascade of small, hard objects. A plastic toy brick slid across the floor from underneath the curtain, amidst the sparkling opal glow.

  “No, please. I’ll be good, I promise!”

  “Good,” said the other voice. It sounded more like Jacob’s again. “This Sister Theresa will have to keep him in line until we’re ready. We can’t trust him on his own. He’s too manipulative.”

  Asher’s chest felt as if it were being crushed. He clenched his shaking hands together as the lion’s growl grew into a roar. He did not understand much of what the voices had said, but how dare Jacob talk about him that way — especially after pretending to be his friend. He grabbed the red, velvety curtain by its edge, and tore it aside —

  He fell backwards, his buttocks smacking into the Sands.

  He blinked in the faint, swirling light of the dome. He was back in San Domenico. He had suffered a flashback of… what? A hospital? A lion? Plastic bricks? Jacob? He threw his hands up as the soldier loomed above him, his serpent–like hand a creature of hatred and hunger.

  It disintegrated into a cloud of Life Sands, along with the man to whom it had been attached. Asher’s eyes followed Sister Theresa’s children as they finished their meal and returned to her body.

  He gasped, sucking the desert air into his lungs. The hallucination had seemed so vivid and lifelike, but it could not have been real, could it? Perhaps he had overheard the conversation while recovering from the sacrament, and his anesthetized brain had woven it into a confused dream. But even if that were true, how had the snake resurrected it now?

  Brother Jacob’s words came back to him.

  Paranoid little shit.

  Manipulative.

  Was that really how Jacob saw him? Asher dug his fingers into the Sands. It had not happened that way, not at all. Leo had not shown him any kindness, had kidnapped him, had even threatened to kill him. And now all of them, even Jacob, blamed him for his suicide? It made no sense.

  “Asher!”

  Theresa rushed towards him while the tiny mouths along her neck and breasts closed. “What?” he asked, his tongue thick and heavy.

  “Are you all right?”

  He stared at her, blinking. “Bring him back,” he said.

  “What?”

  “The man and the snake. Bring them back. I almost… I almost remembered…”

  “Remembered what?” she asked. “That thing was coming right for you. It was an instant away from taking your head off.”

  He shook his head. “No. It made me remember. I need to remember.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Remember what? What could you have remembered in half a second?”

  “Shut up,” he said. “It wasn’t half a second. It was…” His voice trailed off. “I understand that you thought you were saving me, but it was making me remember something important. Something I overheard. Bring him back.”

  “No.”

  He balled his hands into fists. “Just stop your games,” he said. “I’m ordering you.”

  “You’re being irrational,” she said, “and there is no way you can resurrect him without m
e. There is no scroll for him, just his glyph inside my head. All that matters for you is resurrecting San Domenico. That is your mission.”

  He put his hands to his temples. He could feel them throb beneath his fingertips. “I thought you said that you weren’t going to usurp my authority.”

  “As far as the mission is concerned,” she said, folding her arms. “Don’t you see that this might jeopardize that?”

  “That’s not your decision to make.”

  The right side of her lips curled. “After the mission, report me to the abbot, the Magistrate, or whatever cardinal you think will listen to you. I’ve prevented a terrifying sacrilege from being committed, and there is no way you can spin that.”

  Flashes of the memory came back to him. Brother Jacob… Of everyone in the monastery, he was the only one that Asher had been sure was his friend, but he was just another liar who talked and plotted behind his back. The anesthesia must have kept the memory locked away until now. He fought to remember what the voices had said next.

  “If someone came here to sabotage the resurrection,” he said, “then I should learn everything about him, and why. How could you even question that, unless you have some other motive?”

  “You think that I brought him here?” she asked. She chewed on a nail. “You have no proof.”

  He studied her face, his eyes narrowing. “All I know is that you’re a liar.”

  Her eyes did their strange trick, and flared with a cerulean glow. She shrugged. “If you say so. Is there anything else?”

  Asher bit the inside of his cheek. It took all of his resolve to keep his voice even. “Go back,” he said. “Go back to the base, use the scanner, and see if there is anyone else here. Don’t come back unless there is.”

  She gave him a mock salute, and sauntered off in the direction they had come. He watched her, watched the way she walked away from him, her head held high and proud. He heard nothing, but he could tell that she was laughing. She had struck him, she had sabotaged his city, and now, she was laughing at him.

  Fury raged through him, devouring his mind like an uncontrollable fire. He screamed her name, his voice raw. She whirled around, and he was pleased to see the smirk frozen on her lips as comprehension dawned within her eyes.

  He ran at her, the mouths of his sacs gaping wide, and lunged.

  Part II

  Chapter 8

  Dazzling strobes flashed on and off, piercing Matthew’s closed eyelids like the needle of a sewing machine. Shrill, incoherent cries filled the air, accompanied by sirens, gunfire, and intermittent blasts of static. His eyes snapped open.

  The deafening noise and light show stopped.

  His ears rang in the silent darkness. The air was cold, moist, and clammy, bearing a chill that gnawed at his bones. He closed his eyes, and rubbed them.

  After a few seconds, the blazing lights and cacophony started again. He opened his eyes, and the assault on his senses ceased.

  He blinked, trying to bring the pitch around him into focus. He lay on moist earth that stank of rotten meat and feces. Something crawled onto his hand. He smacked it, and minuscule pincers bit into his skin. He hit it again, grinding his hand into its body until it stopped moving. Was it a spider? He still could not see.

  His head spun. He had just been in the wastes beneath a protective shield, he was sure of it. There had been a woman and a man, and his arm… It had become the Serpent, but it had been beyond his control. Maybe it was just another hallucination. He had suffered many since entering this Sage. They were flashes of nightmares that danced just beyond the barriers of his memory.

  He pulled himself to his feet. He considered creating a light source, but his gut warned against it. Someone knew when he closed his eyes, and did not react kindly. Presumably, it was a tactic to not only torture prisoners, but also to break them down through sleep deprivation. If an enemy was watching, then this was not the time to tip his hand. Instead, he half closed his eyelids, peeking through a slit in his lashes.

  After a few seconds, the strobes and screams began anew. Through the flashing lights, he could make out a stone chamber, about two meters in each dimension. The dirt floor was spattered with compost. He could make out a few centipedes and beetles scurrying across it. There was no bed, nor was there a toilet.

  The noise steadily rose in pitch, boring into his skull. It felt as if shards of glass had lodged within his eardrums. He turned in a circle, taking in all the details he could. In front of him stood a grate of iron bars with a door in its center. He grabbed hold of it —

  His jaw clamped tight, his teeth clacking together as a jolt of electricity shot up his arm. His muscles cramped into knots. His eyes popped open, and he was once again in darkness. The current died, and he yanked his hand away. He staggered back a few steps, gasping through clenched teeth.

  “How do you like it?”

  The question came from the ceiling, reverberating off the stone. “My jail,” the voice said a second later. “How do you like my prison?”

  The speaker sounded like a young man, maybe in his late teens or early twenties. An eager need belied his tone — one that seemed familiar, though Matthew could not place why.

  “Well?”

  He stood straight, and forced himself to breathe slowly through his nose.

  “Fine,” the voice said, “then you can just rot in there.”

  Matthew leaned against the clammy wall, and folded his arms. He could always speed up his perception of time until his captor showed himself. Though his abilities in this Sage were limited, he could probably remove a few millimeters of steel within the lock, if necessary. But more than freedom, he needed information.

  All that mattered was the Cathedral.

  A light snapped on in the outside hallway, casting long shadows across the muck–covered floor. The passage had been leveled a few inches higher than his cell, and was tiled with what looked like stainless steel grates. He heard footsteps, but they sounded soft and padded. Was his jailer wearing slippers?

  The man who approached was scrawny, almost to the point of emaciation. He was also naked. A pockmarked, leathery cloak of his own flesh sprouted from his shoulders, and hung behind him. Ribs protruded from his hairless, pimply chest. Pouches along his neck and collarbone swelled and throbbed, as if something seethed beneath.

  Images of Phoenix flashed across his mind. He remembered an old man with a swarm of microscopic mutants that had devoured everything that they touched, including him. Did this boy command the same wasps as well? Yes, Matthew decided, that was probably what was crawling around beneath his skin. This kid could incapacitate him in an instant. But then, so could any idiot with a gun.

  The young man stared at him with wild, sunken eyes that were underlaid by bags the color of ash. He put his hands on his hips, as if to assume a commanding pose, but his scrawny legs trembled.

  “I asked,” he said, “what you thought of my prison.” He smiled, revealing filthy teeth. “I don’t think the original was like this, I’m not really sure. But this is definitely what a prison should be, don’t you agree?”

  Matthew rubbed his chin, and peered at the boy’s distended wasp sacs. So that was how the occupants of this Sage created and destroyed their virtual world. But were they even aware that they were living in one? He tried to concentrate. His memory was in tatters. How many other cities had he visited? How long had he been here?

  He focused on his captor again. He could tell that this boy was an addict, although he could not pin down exactly why. There was something familiar in his manner, something that made him sad.

  “I’m guessing that it was originally geared more towards rehabilitation,” he said. “If your intention is to punish, then yes, this is much more effective.”

  The boy’s eyes lit up. “Exactly,” he said. “Finally, someone who understands. That bitch…” A muscle in his cheek twitched. “She refused to understand. She refused to even try.”

  What bitch? Matthew wondered. Another flas
h of memory came to him, that of a woman with organs that seemed to be made of flowers. He could remember her looming over him in the darkness. A sloppy number seven had shone within her cybernetics, or had that just been his imagination? Her eyes had flared with blue light, the way…

  The image danced away from him as did so many of his recollections, and he swallowed his annoyance. It did not matter at the moment. Here was the same old song, an artist needing an audience. “It’s impressive. What else have you improved?”

  The sunken eyes narrowed. “Not so fast,” he said, “not until you tell me why she brought you here. Did the abbot put her up to it, or Brother Jacob? Are you all in on it?” He paced back and forth outside the cell on wobbling legs. “She tried to resurrect you, but she failed. She can’t see people the way I can. I resurrected you perfectly. I even gave you your boot back.” He swallowed, and stared off into space. “Everything she told me was a lie. She’s a hypocrite, and a liar. They all are.”

  Matthew’s mind spun. Who were these people? He looked down at his boots. Another image flashed across his mind, of him running through the sand, but he could not hold onto it. He mentally sighed, and let it go. “Where is this woman, this liar?” he asked. “It sounds like she belongs here, in a cell. Jails should be for liars.”

  “Yes, yes!” the boy said with a giggle. “I couldn’t let her filth stay in my head, but there are all kinds of cells. There are all kinds of prisons.” He chortled and snorted. Then his eyes narrowed again as his sunken cheeks flushed. It was as if a switch had instantly flipped his emotions from elation to hatred. “It was easy to pick your glyph out of her mind. I couldn’t understand her soul or yours, but I could see them. She’s not one of us, she’s an Abomination of NorMec. She’s an infiltrator. Are you? Are you the one who’s been poisoning the Sands?”