Simon Toyne - Sanctus

Liv stared at the slender blade, the horror of why she had been brought here suddenly manifested in its cold point. She tried to drop it, revolted by its intended purpose, tried to twist it away but the hands that held her were too strong. Samuel’s words rose up in her frantic mind as she struggled against the men who held her.

If others die for your sake then God has spared you for a reason.

She’d often wondered what her reason in life was, but she knew this was not it. This exquisite, tortured woman could not die. Not by her hand. She looked up into the pale, elfin face, felt the breeze flowing through her, the smell of toasted grass stronger now as the sound it carried changed to something liquid, like ripples on a shore, that seemed to wash through her, bringing strange comfort and a rush of memories.

She saw herself sitting by the lake with Samuel in the sun-bleached grass of her childhood, listening to their granny telling stories from their Nordic past.

It’s not supposed to be obvious to just anyone, Arkadian had said about the message scratched on the seeds.

It was meant for you.

The smells and the memories it brought now made everything terrible and clear. ‘Ask’ had not been an instruction. It referred to the legend of Ask and Embla — the first two humans. The message Samuel had sent her was:

Ask +?

Mala T

The Tau and the question mark both underlined because they were the same thing. The Mala cross — the Tau — was Embla. The Sacrament was Eve.

When Cornelius had seen the green eyes staring out at him from the slit in the Tau, he’d thought for a shocked moment it was the woman in the burkha, brought here by some miracle. Only when the Abbot had revealed her identity did he realize the true marvel of the Sacrament. She wasn’t just the woman in the burkha, or the mother who had abandoned him as a newborn — she was the fountainhead of all female treachery.

Eve had to die, for the crimes she had committed against man and against God; it was the only way to rid the world of her poison, and somehow the squirming girl in his arms was the key. He felt her struggling, saw the dagger in her hand twisting away from the symbol of his hatred trapped inside the cross and, without thinking about his actions, he shoved her forward with all his strength, slamming her into Eve.

Liv gasped at the impact and breathed in an ancient smell, like rich earth, and the promise of rain. It was the smell of Eve and it comforted her. She could feel the dagger between their bodies, held tight by their embrace and rendered useless by it; but she also felt the burning sensation of pain. It was coming from her throat and her right shoulder where the force had driven them on to the spikes inside the Tau.

She heard angry instructions from behind her and felt herself yanked back as quickly as she had been shoved forward. She gasped as an astonishing pain ripped through her, felt wet warmth gush from her neck and spread down across her chest, then her legs buckled and she slid to the stone floor.

The Abbot watched her fall and saw his dreams topple with her.

He looked up at Cornelius with murder in his eyes and reached for the dagger in his Crux. Then a sound made him stop.

It was a soft sound, like surf on shells, and it had come from Eve. He turned to face her. She was sobbing. The bottomless green eyes were turned downward to the crumpled form of the girl and her slender shoulders shook. He watched a tear fall through the darkness and disappear into the slowly spreading puddle of the girl’s blood.

Then another sound tore through the chapel, a scream so powerful both the Abbot and Cornelius clamped their hands to their ears to block it out.

It was like the splintering of a great tree, or the crack of a shifting glacier. It was the song of the siren — and it was filled with grief and anger.

The Abbot stared at Eve through the force of the scream, defying her fury. Then, just as the terrible howl started to subside, he saw blood begin to flow from her wounds. It started as a trickle but grew steadily faster, dripping from the puncture holes all over her skin and flowing from the deeper ceremonial cuts on her arms and legs. He watched in wonder as it ran down her body, flowing far more freely than he had ever seen it, into the stone channels where Liv’s blood also ran.

She’s dying — he thought with a swell of triumph.

Then Eve spoke, in a voice that was more air than substance.

‘KuShikaaM,’ she said, like a soothing whisper aimed towards the ground where the girl lay bleeding. ‘KuShikaaM.’

The girl looked up from the floor, like a child looking up at her mother. Then she smiled, and as her eyes gently closed — so did Eve’s.

Gabriel had just reached the top of the stone steps when the terrible shriek split the darkness. He was up and running as soon as he heard it, using the awful sound to cover his rapid movement. He ducked into the faintly illuminated tunnel it had come from, leading with his gun, scanning for movement, edging forward as fast as he dared. The pain in his arm was now almost unbearable and he was starting to feel sick with shock.

He reached the end of the tunnel just as the scream abruptly stopped. He pressed himself against the wall. Ducked his head round the edge. Saw the glowing furnace on the far side, the sharpening wheels in front of it and the large circular stone on the back wall with a Tau carved into it. A monk stood by, looking into the blackness beyond the partly opened door where Gabriel guessed the sound had come from. Liv was in there, and so was the Sacrament. He stepped into the room.

The monk turned, saw Gabriel, pulled his arm free from his cassock to raise his gun but never made it. Two bullets hit him in the chest, jerking him backwards against the large stone door. His finger tightened reflexively, loosing off a round that hit nothing but rock.

He was dead before he hit the ground.

The Abbot and Cornelius spun round at the sudden sound of the gunshot. It had been close. Right outside the door.

‘Go. See what it is,’ the Abbot said, then turned back to the figure of Eve, so pale now she almost glowed as her eternal life force deserted her. The weaker she got, the stronger he felt. The prophecy had been fulfilled after all. Now he would be immortal. By killing a god he had become one. But even as his soul swelled with the ecstasy of this thought he became aware of a prickling sensation on various parts of his body. He looked down at the deep ceremonial wound circling his left shoulder and watched the recently knitted scar tissue slowly start to open. He raised his hand and pressed it against the cut, feeling the sudden wet warmth of blood rising beneath it, forcing its way between his fingers. He glanced at his other scars, each one now opening up in the same way, and watched for a few moments like a detached observer witnessing something macabre that was happening to someone else. Then he felt weakness settling on to him, as if the energy and rapture of his recent triumph was draining steadily away with the blood that now dripped to the floor. He reached out to steady himself, his hand resting on the edge of the Tau, and for the first time in all his years of being in the presence of the Sacrament he felt fear.

Gabriel reached the entrance, blinking to restore the night vision the guard’s muzzle flash had stolen. He pressed his back against the round stone and slid along it until he reached the edge. Whoever was inside the chamber would have been alerted by the gunshot so he had to do this fast, and he had to do it right. He took a deep breath to steady himself and felt a strange itching sensation beneath the skin of his broken arm. He flexed his fingers tentatively, bracing himself for more blinding pain. Instead he felt an ache deep in his bones and his formerly useless fingers now closed neatly together. It still hurt and the grip was too weak to be useful, but incredibly it no longer felt broken. He was so distracted by this discovery that he didn’t see the blade flash through the darkness until it struck him high in the chest, scraping agonizingly along a rib. Instinctively he twisted away, paring skin from bone, and brought his left arm up to knock the blade aside, jarring fresh pain into the injured limb and a cry of pain from his throat. Then he saw his attacker, naked from the waist up and covered in blood. A waxy patch of skin on his face glowed in the firelight. Gabriel recognized the evil in front of him. He remembered the scream that had brought him here, and his grandfather’s shattered body on the warehouse floor. He caught a glint of realization in the demon’s eyes as he saw how Gabriel cradled his arm — the look of a predator assessing the weakness of its prey.