Necroscope - Deadspeak Part 39

The devolved man threw up his arms and sighed his last . . . and fell in a cloud of grey-green chemicals.

Janos roared his mad laughter, leaped to take up the fallen warrior's s word. He advanced on Harry, sword raised high - and the Necroscope knew exa ctly what to do. For Harry was a mage, a master in his own right; and in hi s mind right now, crying out from all of their prisoning urns, a thousand d eadspeak voices instructed him in the Words of Power!

He pointed at the jars scattered all about, and turning in a circle uttered t he rune of invocation: 'Y'AI 'NG'NGAH, YOG-SOTHOTH,.

H'EE - L'GEB, F'AI THRODOG,.

UAAAH!'.

The vaulted room filled with stench and purple smoke in a moment, obscu ring Harry, Janos and all. And out of the rush and reek came the cries of t he tortured. There had been no time for the mixing of chemicals; these resu rrected Thracians, Persians, Scythians and Greeks would all be imperfect. B ut their l.u.s.t for vengeance would be entirely in keeping.

Janos knew it, too. He careened through their stumbling, groaning ranks as they shattered their jars and grew up like mushrooms out of nothing; bu t as fast as he could target a group and put them down again, so the Necros cope called them up! There was no way the vampire could win. He couldn't be llow his words fast enough, and the ranks of resurrected warriors were rapi dly closing on him.

Blasting a path of dust before him, he fled to the steps winding up to ruined regions above and pa.s.sed from sight. The hideously incomplete army w ould follow after, but Harry cautioned them: 'Stay here. Your part is played. But this time when you go down, you kno w that you may rest in peace.' And they blessed him as he returned them all to their materia. All except the warrior king Bodrogk.

And taking Bodrogk with him, he stepped through a Mobius door . . . and out again into the ruins of Castle Ferenczy.

They waited, and in a little while Janos came, grunting, whining and pan ting into the night. He saw them, choked on his terror, gagged and reeled as he stumbled away from them out of the ruins. He was spent; he had no breath ; he tottered to the cliff behind the castle and climbed it along a path . .

. and half-way up found Harry and Bodrogk waiting for him. The huge Thracia n carried a battleaxe. There was nowhere left to run. Janos looked outwards to the night and hi s crimson eyes gazed on empty s.p.a.ce. In all his life there'd been only one W amphyri art he never mastered or counterfeited, and now he must. He held up his arms and willed the change, and his clothing tore as his body wrenched i tself into a great blanket, an aerofoil of flesh. And like a bat in the nigh t, he launched himself from the cliffside path.

He succeeded! - he flew! - with the tatters of his ripped clothing flutteri ng about him like strange wings. He flew . . . until Bodrogk's hurled battleaxe buried itself in his spine.

Harry and Bodrogk returned to the ruins and found the monster writhing there where he'd crashed down in the rubble. He choked and coughed up blo od, but already he'd worked the axe loose and his vampire flesh was healin g him. The Necroscope kneeled beside him and looked him in the eye. Man to ... man? Face to terrifying, terrified face.

'b.a.s.t.a.r.d Necroscope!' Janos's eyes bled where they bulged.

'You have a man's body,' Harry answered, without emotion, 'but your mi nd and the vampire within you were raised from ashes in an urn.' He pointe d a steady hand and finger. 'Ashes to ashes, Janos, and dust to dust! OGTH ROD AI'F, GEB'L - EE'H.'.

The vampire gave a shriek, wriggled frantically, choked, gagged and reg ained his man-shape.

And the Necroscope continued: 'YOG-SOTHOTH, 'NGAH'NGAI'Y.'

'No!' Janos howled. 'N-n-noooooooo!'

As Harry uttered the final word, 'Zhror, so Janos's entire body convulsed in instant, unbearable agony. He writhed frantically, vibrated, then grew st ill. Finally his head flopped back and his awful mouth flew open, and the lig hts went out in his eyes. Then - - His ma.s.sive chest slowly deflated as he sighed his last, long sigh. No air escaped him but a cloud of red dust, drifting on the air. The rest of his body, even his head, must be full of the stuff. And as the dust of that devo lved vampire leech settled, it reminded the Necroscope of nothing so much as the spores of those weird mushrooms at Faethor's place on the outskirts of Pl oiesti.

Which in turn served to remind him of something else as yet unfinished . .

Bodrogk's lady Sofia came up out of the ruins, and Sandra came with her.

She came ghosting in the way of vampire thralls, her yellow eyes alive i n the night, but Harry knew that she was less than Sandra now. Or more. Brie fly, he remembered his precognitive glimpse back at the start of this whole thing: of an alien creature that came to him in the night and l.u.s.ted after him, but only for his blood. Sandra was now an alien creature, who would l.u.s.t after men for their blood.

She flew into his arms and sobbed into his neck, and holding her tightly - as much to steady himself as to steady her - he looked over her sallow sh oulder to where Bodrogk gathered up his wife. And he heard Sofia say: 'She saved me! The vampire girl found me where Janos had hidden me and set me free!'

And Harry wondered: her last free-will act, before the monstrous fever in her blood claims her for its own?

Sandra's beautiful, near-naked body was cold as clay where it pressed ag ainst the Necroscope, and Harry knew there was no way he could ever warm it.

A telepath, she 'heard' the thought as surely as if it had been spoken, and drew back a little. But not far enough.

His thin sharp stake, a splinter of old oak, drove up under her breast and into her heart; she took one last breath, one staggering step away from him, and fell.

Bodrogk, seeing Harry's anguish, did the rest . . .

Epilogue.

All night Harry sat alone in the ruins, sat there with his thoughts, with Faethor trapped within him and the teeming dead held at bay without. He let no one in to witness his sorrow.

He had thought he would be cold, but strangely was not. He had thought t he darkness and the shadows would bother him, but the night had felt like an old friend.

With the dawn spreading in the east, he sought out Bodrogk and his lady.

They had found a sheltered place to light a fire, and now reclined in each other's arms, watching the sun rise. Their faces greeted him with something of sadness, but also with a great resolve.

'It doesn't have to be,' he said. The choice is yours.'

'Our world is two thousand years in the past,' Bodrogk answered. 'Since then . . . we've prayed for peace a thousand times. You have the power, Necr oscope.'

Harry nodded, uttered his esoteric farewell and watched their dust mingl e as a breeze came up to blow them away . . .

And now he was ready.

He returned to the ruins and set Faethor free.

What? that father of vampires raged. And am I your last resort, Harry K eogh? Do you enlist my aid now, when all else has failed you?

'Nothing has failed,' Harry told him. And then, even by his standards, he d id a strange thing. He deliberately lied to a dead man. 'Janos is crippled, dyi ng,' he said.

Faethor's fury knew no bounds. Without me? You brought him down withou t me? He doesn't know I had a hand in it? I want to feel the dog's pain! H e crashed out of Harry's mind and discovered Janos - dead!

Astonished, Faethor knew the truth, but of course Harry had known it befor e him. He triggered Wellesley's talent to shut Faethor out. 'I told you I'd be rid of you,' he said.

Fool! Faethor raged. /'// be back in, never fear. Only relax your guard by the smallest fraction, and we'll be one again, Necroscope.

'We had a bargain,' Harry was reasonable. 'I've played my part. Go back to your place in Ploiesti, Faethor.'

Back to the cold earth, after I've known your warmth? Never! Don't you know what has happened? Janos made no great error when he read the future . He knew that a master vampire - the greatest of them all - would go down from this place when all was done. I am that vampire, Harry, in your body !.

'Men shouldn't read the future,' said Harry, 'for it's a devious thing. And now I have to be on my way.'

Where you go, I go!

Harry shrugged and opened a Mobius door. 'Remember Dragosani?' he sai d. And he stepped through the door.

Faethor shuddered but went in with him. Dragosani was a fool, he bl.u.s.ter ed. You don't shake me off so lightly.

"There's still time,' Harry told him. 'I can still take you to Ploiesti.'

To h.e.l.l with Ploiesti!

Harry opened a past-time door and launched himself through it, and Fae thor clung to him like the grim death he was. You won't shake me loose, Ne croscope!

They gazed on the past of all Mankind, their myriad neon life-threads dwindling away to a bright blue origin. And now Faethor moaned: Where are you taking me?

'To see what has been,' Harry told him. 'See, see there? That red thread among the blue? Indeed, a scarlet thread . . . yours, Faethor. And do you s ee where it stops? That's where Ladislau Giresci took your head the night yo ur house was bombed. That's where your life-thread stopped, and you'd have b een wise to stop with it.'

Take . . . take me out of here! Faethor gasped and gurgled, and clung like an incorporeal leech.

Harry returned to the Mobius Continuum and chose a future-time door, wh ere now the billions of blue life-threads wove out and away forever, speedi ng into a dazzling, ever-expanding future. He drifted out among them, and w as quickly drawn along the timestream. And: 'This thread you see unwinding out of me,' he said. 'It's my future.'

And mine, said Faethor doggedly, steadier now.

'But see, it's tinged with red,' Harry ignored him. 'Do you see that, Faethor ?'.

/ see it, fool. The red is me, proof that I'm part of you always.

'Wrong,' said Harry. 'I can go back because my thread is unbroken. Becaus e I have a past, I can reel myself in. But your past was finished back in Plo iesti. You have no thread, no lifeline, Faethor.'

What? the other's nightmare voice was a croak. Then - - The master of the Mobius Continuum brought himself to an abrupt halt, bu t the spirit of Faethor Ferenczy shot on into the future. Harry! he cried out in his terror. Don't do this!

'But it's done,' the Necroscope called after him. 'You have no flesh, no p ast, nothing, Faethor. Except the longest, loneliest, emptiest future any crea ture ever suffered. Goodbye!'

H-H-Harry! . . . Haaarry! . . . Haaaarrry! . . . HAAAAAAAAAA- But Harry closed the door and shut him off. Always. Except that before t he door slammed shut he looked again at the blue thread unwinding out of him self. And saw that it was still tinged red.

Men should never try to read the future. For it's a devious thing ...