Celia Friedman: When True Night Falls

“And you think these rituals will change all that?” Case asked harshly.

“I think they’ll give us a tool. A means of communication. That’s the challenge, don’t you see? We have to impress the power here with Terran symbology, so that we have some way to reach out to it. To control it, Leo! If we don’t manage that, then we may as well pack it in here and now. Because all our technology won’t stop it from killing, when it controls the very laws of nature.”

“So you answer it with more killing? Feed it blood—”

“Sacrifice is the most ancient and powerful symbol we have,” Ian told him. “Think of it! When primitive man sought to placate his dieties, it was that blood of his own kind that he burned on the altar. When the God of the Jews decided to test Abraham’s faith, it was the sacrifice of his own flesh and blood that He demanded. Moses saved his people from the Angel of Death by smearing the blood of animals on their doorposts. And when God reached out His Hand to man with His message of divine forgiveness, He created a Son of His Own Substance to serve as a sacrificial offering. Sacrifice is a bridge between man and the Infinite—and it can work for us here, Leo. In time it can end the killings. I believe that.” When Case made no response, he added desperately, “You can’t understand—”

“I understand,” Case said quietly. “All too well.” He gestured with the gun. “Move away from the tram.”

“You can’t stop it now. The offer’s been made. The sacrifice—”

“Is canceled, here and now. Move back from the tram.”

For a moment Ian just stared at him; comprehension dawned at last. “You thought I was going to kill them,” he whispered hoarsely. Incredulously. “You thought I would kill my own people—”

“What the hell was I supposed to think?” Case snapped.

“You took them from the camp. You dedicated a sacrifice, then came at them with a knife. You tell me what conclusions to draw from that!”

The botanist opened his hand; the knife fell beside his feet. “I was going to cut them loose,” he said. “I brought them here so they wouldn’t get hurt . . . Commander.”

Case shook his head sharply. “You forget that we were here. We heard you. I give you the lifeblood of Terra- ”

He stopped. Stared. Through the eyes of a man, into the madness that lay beyond.

And he knew.

He knew.

Oh, my God . . .

The sky to the east filled with light, with fire; he wheeled about to face the source of it, and the sound and the force of the explosion knocked the breath from his body as they struck. Flames were roaring upward from a point some five miles east of them, lighting the sky with a reflected blaze a thousand times brighter than lightning. He staggered back in despair as the hot wind buffeted him, laden with the smell of burning. “You fool!” he hissed. “You goddamn fool!”

The ship. He could see it in his mind’s eye, not the proud ceramic shell of their landing capsule but a ravaged, blackened husk, a cloud of shrapnel and ash where there had once been a wealth of computerware, lab equipment, bio-storage . . . and at the foot of the flames a sea of hot slag, a molten lake which was quickly dissolving all their hopes and their memories and their dreams . . . all their heritage. All gone now. All gone.

Eyes squeezing forth hot tears, he managed to regain his feet. A burning dust had begun to fall, fragments of metal and plastic charred black by that terrible fire. He shielded his eyes with one hand so that he could see where Ian Casca knelt—his hands clasped as if in prayer, a look of terrible ecstasy on his face—then he brought his gun hard about and fired. Once, twice, as many times as there were bullets, until the trigger clicked futilely against an empty chamber. And even then he kept firing. The fury in him had a life of its own, and even the sight of Ian’s chest and skull peppered with bloody holes could not quell the storm of despair that was raging inside him.

At last it was Lise who took hold of his arm, who forced the gun from his shaking fingers. Her yellow hair was dusted with ash, and blood smeared one cheek where a chunk of debris had struck her.

“We’ve lost it,” he whispered hoarsely. “We’ve lost it all. You realize that. Everything we had . . .”

Ever the pragmatist, she whispered, “We still have the settlement. A few trams. Two generators—”

He shook his head. “Won’t last. Can’t repair them. Oh, my God, Lise . . .” His hands were shaking. A cinder fell to the ground before him, extinguishing itself on the damp soil. He struggled to think clearly, to plan. Wasn’t that his duty? “We’ll have to record what we can. All the data we can come up with . . . before people forget. Put it down on paper, write down everything we know—”

“They won’t want to do that.” She said it quietly, but he knew as soon as she spoke the words that they were true. “They’ll want weapons first. Security. They won’t want to waste time recording dead facts when there are things out there waiting to eat them.”

“It isn’t a waste—”

“I know that. You know that. But will they understand?”

He shut his eyes. The sound of the explosion pounded in his brain, a heartbeat of loss. “Then we’ll lose everything we have,” he whispered. “Everything we are.”

There was nothing she could say to that. Nothing she could do but hold on to him, while the sky filled with the black ash of their dreams. The fallout of Casca’s sacrifice, the last shattered remnants of their Terran heritage.

In the firelight it looked a lot like blood.

To the Patriarch Jaxom IV, Holy Father of the Eastern Realm, Keeper of the Prophet’s Law,

Signed and sealed this 5th day of March, 1247 A.S.

Most Reverend Father,

It is with a mixture of joy and trepidation that I write I you on this fifth day of March, from the port city of Sattin. Joy, because I am able to report at last that our mission in the rakhlands was a success. The sorcerous tyrant who was draining that region of life and power has been sent to her final judgment, and the hordes who served her have likewise been dispatched. (Praise God, who makes such triumphs possible!) Trepidation, because I have come to believe that something far more deadly has finally turned its eye upon the human lands. And I fear that our recent victory, so hard won, may prove to be no more than a prelude to a far more bloody battle. But let me record these things in their proper order: We left from Jaggonath on October 5th of 1246, a party of three: myself, the Loremaster Ciani of Faraday, and Ciani’s close friend and professional assistant Senzei Reese. You will recall that the lady had been attacked at her place of business by a trio of demonlike creatures, whose malevolent Workings had robbed her of her memories and her most precious powers. We had determined that these creatures came from the rakhlands and would be returning to that place. It was our intention to follow them to that secret land and destroy them, thereby freeing the lady from their dire influence, and the human lands from further threat by their power.

You know that we set out for Kale, intending to hire passage to the rakhlands from that port. Such a journey meant five days of hard traveling, but nights could be spent in the relative safety of the daes. Since our quarry appeared to be night-bound, we anticipated little risk during this period. I served in my capacity as priest and Healer more than once along this road. And once, following a young boy’s tragic death, I made the acquaintance of a man who shared our road, a traveler named Gerald Tarrant.