The Medieval Murderers - The Lost Prophecies

‘Did he hurt you?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

She looked at his bloodied hands. For a second Shiva was afraid she might guess the truth, but she must have thought James had cut him, for she said: ‘So I see. He doesn’t think you’ve told him the truth. You should, or he’ll hurt you badly.’

Shiva laughed. ‘Have they sent you to play nice policeman to James’s nasty policeman?’ He looked at her. ‘Bad choice. Nice is the last thing you are. I thought that ever since I saw the photographs of that murdered watchman in Birmingham.’

‘Everything I’ve done has been for the Shining Light. That old man would have died soon anyway. He just went to hell a little early. The end is almost here.’

‘You’re bringing it.’

‘We’re fulfilling the prophecy. It’s God’s plan.’

‘Your God. How cruel and vile He is.’

She laughed contemptuously. ‘Who are human beings to set themselves up as more moral than Jesus Christ and Almighty God? He led Pastor Smith to the Black Book. Many others have had the book in the past, and none realized its significance. We are the instruments God has chosen to bring His plans to pass. The whole purpose of the prophecies was to give us, here in the Last Days, proof of what God wished us to do. And it was He that brought us to the submarine.’

‘There were several nuclear submarines never accounted for. I bet there are others washed up on uninhabited shores around the world.’

Her voice took on a note of cold intensity. ‘You’re saying it isn’t strange that an undamaged, fully armed submarine should be washed up on the remotest shores of the country where the Shining Light burns strongest, where one of us found it? No, this was meant.’

For a brief moment Shiva wondered if they could be right. But even if they were, it didn’t matter. Shiva knew what he must do now. Looking at Parvati, he knew he could kill her and do it with little feeling. And then he gave a long, shuddering, involuntary sigh.

She misread what the sigh meant. ‘You’re afraid of James coming back?’ she asked. She made her voice gentle. ‘There’s no shame in that. Tell me the truth, Shiva. Nobody’s coming after us, are they?’

Her body had taken a relaxed, unthreatening posture, and Shiva saw her hold on the gun relax a little. He kicked out with his right foot, the ropes flying away, knocking it from her hand. Parvati gave a cry of astonishment. He launched himself from the floor and butted her in the stomach. The gun dropped to the floor as Shiva’s weight toppled her over. She gagged and gasped for air as he pressed his elbow on her windpipe, but she still struggled fiercely, trying to get her arms free. Shiva reached for the gun, picked it up and smashed the butt down on her forehead. She gave a little grunt and went limp. He brought the gun down on her head twice more, until he was sure she was dead.

He stood up shakily and leaned against the wall. While attacking Parvati he had felt no pain, but now it washed over his shoulders and cut hands in waves. He felt faint and sank to the floor again, allowing himself a few seconds’ rest. Then he got up, walking around the room a couple of times to test the strength of his legs. Not looking at Parvati’s face, he bent and felt in her pockets for the key to the shed.

Now he must be quick, not hesitate for a moment. He took a few more deep breaths and felt himself fill with purpose, certainty. Hold this feeling, he told himself, hold it to the end.

He put out the lamp and opened the door quietly, just a crack, holding Parvati’s gun behind him. Lights shone out into the darkness from the buildings around. Though he had feared James might be coming back, the complex seemed deserted. The night air was warm and still. From somewhere he heard singing, hallelujahs, God’s elect preparing themselves for the End. He looked down the length of the jetty, the submarine visible as a black shape in the moonlight against the beautiful vista of Milford Sound at night. A full moon was reflected in the still water. The missiles the men had been dismantling had been covered by a tarpaulin. He made out two guards standing there, wearing dark kaftans. One looked young, slim and slight. The other was larger, older, and carried a rifle.

Shiva closed the door again and stood thinking. Somehow he had to disable the guards without shooting them, for the sound would bring people running. Then he would fire the gun at the detonator of one of the torpedoes. The whole lot would go up, and so would the missiles on the submarine. This corner of South Island would probably be devastated, but there were few people here and he hoped that the gigantic natural funnel of Milford Sound would absorb much of the energy. And the whole world would not go up in a nuclear war that devastated, shrunken humanity could surely not survive. And if God meant that he should fail, at least he would have tried, and if he found himself at some seat of judgment and an angry God thundered at him and asked if he believed that his morality was greater than God’s, Shiva would answer ‘yes’ and go proudly down to hell.

He opened the door again, just a crack. The guards looked bored and listless. Shiva slipped the gun into his belt behind him, then opened the door and stood in full view. He raised his hands above his head and started walking slowly towards them.

They looked at him in astonishment. The one with the rifle raised it and pointed it at Shiva. He was in his fifties, fit-looking. The other guard was just a boy. He reminded Shiva of Michael at the church in Dunedin. He felt sorry for what he must do.

‘Stop right there!’ the older guard called. Shiva slowed his pace further, to a shuffle, but still walked on. ‘I want to confess everything,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen the light.’

He was still too far away for the guards to hear properly. ‘What?’ the older one asked.

‘I have to tell you. God himself has visited me. See, my bonds are gone. See the stigmata, the blood running on my wrists.’ He made his voice tremble with emotion. The guards looked at each other. Shiva knew he sounded convincing; he had always been able to sound convincing. Even his clothes, ragged and dirty and torn now, added to the image. It was enough to throw the guards off balance. He came to a halt, perhaps twenty yards from the tarpaulin. He had walked at a slight angle, taking him near the water. He stopped and the two guards came slowly up to him.

‘How’d he get out?’ the young guard said. He sounded afraid. They both stepped right up to him. Shiva was in great pain, but he turned quickly and threw all his weight against the older man. He gave a shout and toppled into the water with his rifle, hitting it with a loud splash. Shiva pulled the gun from his waistband and pointed it at the young guard. ‘On your knees,’ he said. ‘Hands on your head.’

The boy obeyed. ‘Please,’ he said. ‘I’m not ready. I’m not prepared yet. This isn’t the time.’

Shiva swiped him across the side of the head with the gun and he went down with a groan. Shiva rolled him over and over until he too fell into the water. He could hear splashes and gurgling cries from the other guard, but there was no way for him to climb up again.

Shiva walked over to the tarpaulin and pulled it away. The pyramid of ugly, snub-nosed bombs lay there. Shiva picked one up and laid it on end as he had seen the technician do earlier. He had a momentary fear that he would not be able to unscrew the top, but it was surprisingly easy. He looked at the complex mechanism. The guard in the water was shouting now, loudly, his voice carrying far in the clear night. Shiva heard the singing stop. It must be now. He hesitated, then out of the blue remembered the two children fishing in the lake at Birmingham and felt a sudden overwhelming love for poor, fractured, weak, helpless humanity. God help them all, God should help them all if He existed.