Southmore had tied them to a pillar close to where his henchmen had put down the machine. They had walked to the other side of the pillar, out of immediate sight of the worshippers and Southmore’s group. Caradon had nosed at her throat and then started gnawing at the rope at her neck.
There are some people with heightened senses of intuition, he told her. Have you ever heard of mediums and psychics?
I had always thought that most of them were frauds.
Most. But some aren’t. Many of the people who do have an affinity with energy—the kind that we use to switch forms or the kind that formed the barrier to the old city tonight—do not know that they have the ability. They mostly believe that they just have a good sense of intuition or that they are just lucky that they have a better chance at guessing than the regular person. Or when they have visions, they simply write them off as hallucinations or dreams.
She lowered her head to his neck and found the rope imprisoning him. She bit through it and felt a few strands give way. So let us suppose that Southmore is one of those people with an affinity with energy, chi, magic. And we know that my uncle’s machine—with certain modifications—can help harness that energy. Do you suppose Southmore is trying to do something with that? This is a place where the Ancients accounted as a place of power, but why now—during the conjunction when we’re all trapped in the old city and those cultists are preparing for their summoning ceremony?
“How much power does this generate?” they heard Southmore ask.
“I have no idea,” Pendergrast answered.
“Well, you must, you old bat. You built this thing!”
The portly inventor snorted. “Resorting to insults now, dear emissary? And must I remind you again that I did the modifications? I did not design this thing. And your associates had damaged the dome in their haste to retrieve this from the Museum. Do you know how much effort I put into just replacing it?”
“I don’t care if you sailed all the way to the Far East to get it from the Emperor himself. You haven’t answered my question.”
“Well, there was that preliminary test we did earlier.”
“Yes, yes, that worked fine. I was able to enhance my abilities so that I could actually see what was happening in the next room. But that isn’t good enough. I need to be able to see farther distances and not just the neighbor’s house. Like the Queen’s court, for instance.”
“That would require quite a lot of power, Southmore. How much, I’m not sure, but would this machine be able to generate enough? I’m afraid you’re getting ahead of the available technology.”
“But you had explained it to me before. From what you’ve deduced, the power output from the generator would be proportional to the amount of energy in the ground, isn’t that right?”
“As far as I understand it—but I don’t see how…”
“The time and place is right for all that.”
“But we haven’t tested it yet.”
Southmore gave a harsh bark of laughter. “We don’t have time for more tests. And the thing is harmless from the time I first tried it. You worry too much, old bat. The only thing to worry about is if there is enough power. If everything goes as planned—with the help of an unwitting old god who is nothing more than some powerful creature we can use as an energy source—I shall be able to see vast distances, both in space and time. Do you know how much control of the word events I will have with that?”
So that’s what he’s doing, Zan remarked. Old Pendergrast never knew what he was talking about anyway. This is all wishful thinking. Nothing will happen.
Are you so sure? Caradon responded. He gave one last tug at the rope around her neck and it fell away. Well, that was a rather poor restraint. My ships would never use such a bad quality.
I’m sure you don’t. With a last snap of her jaws, the rope fell away from him as well. With the freedom of movement, they darted off behind another pillar to watch and listen from a few more paces away.
The robed figures began to chant lowly. One of them walked forward with the usual offering of a chicken in a crate and then hurriedly scuttled backward when he finished putting the crate at the base of the pedestal where the old god was to appear. The air in the Temple began to move and some of the torches lighting the area began to splutter out. Smoke, energy, and odor spilled out of the black bowl and onto the floor of the Temple. The agitated sacrifice began clamoring at the sides of the cage, terrified. A tentacle unraveled itself from the bowl and took the sacrifice.
It was the third time that she had witnessed the rather gruesome offering, but she still ducked, hiding her eyes briefly with her tail. Caradon nudged her.
Look. Something else is happening.
As the tentacled god was preoccupied with its meal, the worshippers began to move in a formation, circling the pedestal in a wide circle. All of the people holding staves and crosses laid them on the floor so that they laid end to end in a circle of black stone and brass. On the sidelines, Southmore nodded to Pendergrast who awkwardly bent down and flipped a switch on the electricity generator that Zan suspected had been modified to become an energy generator.
As the gears and pulleys inside the machine slowly ground up to speed in a scratching noise that echoed in the quiet main hall, the crunching sounds emanating from the black bowl suddenly stopped. There was a loud, inhuman shriek that filled the air.
Zan and Caradon flattened their ears to their heads as everyone else dropped everything they were holding and covered their ears with their hands.
After a long moment, the shriek subsided and the black oozing tentacle snapped out angrily—quick as a whip. But as it attempted to go past the point where the staves and crosses had marked off a boundary, it crashed into an invisible wall and an explosion of sparks rained inside of the boundary. There was another shriek.
But while everyone else was busy trying to keep the sound out of their heads, a strange light came into Southmore’s eyes as he put his hands on the metal dome of the machine. Dark energy which had been pouring out of the old god’s resting bowl and spilling across the floor of the Temple was now being pulled back, towards the machine. The generator was gathering the energy from the ground, just as negative charge was gathered in an electricity generator, and pulling it up to the dome where anyone who touched it would have access to it.
The emissary was grinning now as the dark energy traveled up his hand and through his body. Even in the torchlight, his body seemed to take on a weird sheen. His eyes were fixed at a point beyond the pedestal as he peered into a distance far from the current place and the current time. “Yes,” he hissed. “I can see it. I can see everything. This will make me into a sage, a prophet, a god!”
We have to stop him!
Caradon grabbed onto her tail with his mouth before she could bound off. No! It would be terribly foolish.
At that moment, the tentacle crashed into the invisible wall again, followed by a second tentacle. And then a third. Something was emerging from the black bowl. Something large, dark, and horrible. The smell became overwhelming and Zan and Caradon turned their heads to gag and retch. The worshippers with their less sensitive human sense of smell began detecting this as well and their hands moved from their ears to their mouths. After yet another shriek, one of the tentacles punched through the invisible wall, reaching out.
The pagan worshippers screamed and they all started to run toward the exit. Censer bowls were dropped and incense scattered in a burning cloud of ash. The floor itself trembled and vibrated under the pounding feet and the sudden influx of more energy from the manifestation of an angry creature from a different plane breaking into the world. The tentacle wiggled out of the barrier further like a birthing snake.
“The sacrifice!” yelled Southmore. His skin had turned a shade darker and when he opened his mouth to yell, he showed black teeth. A thin wisp of smoke rose from the ends of his hair. “Quick, old bat, there are two animals tied to that pillar. Throw it to the monster!”
Pendergrast was slowly edging away, eyeing the emissary and the black tentacle in growing horror. “I only see bits of rope on the pillar. You must be seeing things, Southmore. And get away from the machine. Something’s gone wrong. Turn off the switch!”
“What? And let all this power go? No!” Southmore threw back his head and laughed, his mouth stretching inhumanly wide. Pendergrast gasped and ran off, following the rest of the pagan worshippers as they attempted to break out of the Temple through the main exit.
Let’s get out of here! Caradon tugged on her tail.
She turned to follow him against the back wall. For once I agree with you.
“You!”
At the sound of Southmore’s now distorted voice directed at them, the two fox-shifters froze and turned to look at him.
“I know who you are.” The emissary grinned and smoke began to rise in earnest from his clothes. He opened his mouth and his tongue flickered out, black, like a miniature tentacle. Zan and Caradon stared, transfixed, unable to look away.
Then the old god’s tentacle outside the barrier swung, cracking the air, and smashed the generator which went up in a small ball of fire. Southmore fell over from the impact and as the dark energy was loosed back into the environment, it swarmed over the screaming emissary like a hungry fog and turned him into a pile of ash.
Finally let go of the emissary’s mesmerism, the fox-shifters leaped into a run as the tentacle moved again, slapping the place on the floor where they had been standing a second before. As they reached the small room tucked back in the Temple, there was a fiery rip as the creature tore through the rest of the barrier. And then, there was an explosion that rocked the ancient building.
They scrambled down the steps to the underground tunnels. At the bottom of the stair, they stood panting as glowing green skulls lining the walls of the tunnel stared at them. Above, they heard a roar. Zan looked up at the stair and saw flames. She yipped in alarm and Caradon looked up as well. Both of them sprang into another run, rushing straight down the tunnel as the flames roared closer, chasing.
The wooden stairs up to the Cathedral wine cellar were still present and the trap door to it had been thrown open—perhaps left that way by Southmore’s henchmen.
This isn’t a safe place, Caradon panted as they emerged into the wine cellar. If the flames reach this place…well, let’s just say that wine is quite flammable.
They found the door to the wine cellar unlocked. They ran through the basement—the place was as silent as a tomb except for the distant roaring of the following fire. The door up to the main floor of the Cathedral was open. When they finally stopped for a second time, they had emerged from the Cathedral and back to the street, North Bishop, in front of the cemetery. The wind was stiff and cold. The sky was completely dark with clouds. But the Temple was afire like a brilliant torch—its white dome blackening within the licking yellow flames.
As they watched the Temple burn, glass shattered behind them. The stained glass windows of the Cathedral were blown outward and the lower windows of the house of worship were bright with fire and smoke.
