“The chamber is widening the further we go. Perhaps we’re almost there.”
“There?” Bennett asked.
Hupcka shrugged. “Wherever it was that Quineau claimed he made contact.”
They packed away their bedrolls and ten minutes later were ready to move on. Bennett and Hupcka led the way, striding down the gentle incline. They kept to the bank of the river which bisected the valley. On the far side was the forest of pale, leafless trees, as intricate and delicate as undersea coral. This side of the river was bare of vegetation save for a pale fungal growth which covered the ground and made walking treacherous. They made slow progress until the incline levelled out and the fungus gave way to bare rock.
Perhaps one hour later, as they were still trooping through the vast cavern, Bennett saw something. He happened to be looking to his left, to where the wan, ghost-like trees climbed the slope on the far side of the valley, when he caught a flash of movement from the corner of his eye. He turned and stared. He could have sworn that he saw a tall, upright figure move quickly into a stand of distant trees.
The others had halted. Mackendrick was pointing. “There,” he said, his voice unsteady. “I saw it too. It had…” He looked at Bennett. “It was watching us. It had red eyes, and it was watching us.”
Perhaps, had he been alone, Bennett might have persuaded himself that he was hallucinating. Mackendrick’s confirmation that he had indeed seen something filled him with unease.
They moved on. Bennett led the way with Hupcka, keeping close to the big man. The valley widened, and soon they left the forest in their wake. Now the terrain was flat on either side, a smooth expanse of dun rock stretching as far as the eye could see. At least here they knew that they were not being watched.
One hour later the ground began to slope downwards, and Bennett hurried ahead and then came to a halt as the valley floor dipped more dramatically. He caught his breath and stared, aware of the others pausing beside him and gazing in wonder at what stood before them. They were standing on the edge of a vast amphitheatre, perhaps two kilometres across, though more amazing still was the structure that occupied its centre.
A towering, monolithic ziggurat rose in a great series of steps connecting the floor of the great hollow to the stone high above. It was as if the ziggurat had been laboriously wrought from the solid heart of the mountain, as if the chamber had been expressly excavated to produce this startling feat of architecture, and then the jet stone polished to create a lustrous, midnight gloss.
The others halted at the edge of the amphitheatre, staring down in silence.
Only then did Mackendrick speak. “Christ,” he whispered. “Christ almighty, look!”
He swung his arm in a gesture encompassing the entire circumference of the chamber which contained the amphitheatre.
The pink radiance was faint here, and the distant walls were in shadow, but even so the serried rows of hollows in the surface of the surrounding rock could be seen, and within their dark depths the twin ruby points of staring eyes.
Bennett tried to deny the fact of what his senses were communicating, but as he stared with a mixture of awe and fear, he made out more than just the staring eyes. It was, he thought, a vast gathering of the august beings, a convocation. He guessed that there were hundreds, maybe even thousands, of individuals stationed silently in their hollowed caves. They sat with their great shanks crossed, their backs ramrod straight, their heads held high and staring ahead.
Mackendrick looked at Bennett. “Quineau said… over and over he said one word: temple. It didn’t mean anything at the time, of course. I didn’t give it a second thought.” He stared down at the polished jet ziggurat.
“I feel,” Ten Lee said in a whisper, “I feel as if I am being drawn towards the temple.”
Bennett nodded. Perhaps it was nothing more than the knowledge of the aliens’ massed regard that suggested to him, too, that they were being tacitly invited to continue.
He turned to Mackendrick. “Are you sure it’s safe?” he began.
“Of course it’s safe!” Mackendrick almost snapped at him. “You don’t think I came all this way… ?” He gestured impatiently. “Enough talk. Let’s get down there.”
They set off again, slowly this time, moving in a group down the steep slope towards the rearing ziggurat. The slope eventually bottomed out and they stood in the great dish of the amphitheatre, still perhaps a kilometre from the first step of the ziggurat. Only when they began walking again, and the structure grew before them so that they had to crane their necks to make out its summit, did the ziggurat’s true size become apparent. They were reduced to the size of ants as they stood in the shadow of the first step.
Before them, a long stairway was carved through the rock of the great step, leading to a shadowy archway high above, itself the size of a three-storey building. They began the steep ascent, the high steps—clearly not designed for human use—a final torture after so long a trek.
Perhaps ten minutes later they reached the top of the stairs. A wide apron of polished inlaid rock, as midnight dark as obsidian, stretched away to the arched entrance of the ziggurat proper. As one they made their way towards the awesome portal, their footsteps echoing on the burnished rock.
Bennett stopped suddenly. He made out movement in the shadow of the archway. The others came to a halt around him, staring.
A figure stepped from the entrance and paused before them, a human figure dressed in a simple robe and smiling at them with an expression of beatification.
“My friends,” he said, his voice as calm as his expression. “Do you come in the name of peace?”
Mackendrick stepped forward. “We come in peace,” he said. “I… I knew Quineau. He told me of the Ancients.”
The man smiled. “So Quineau made it back with word of the truth.”
“Carstairs?” Bennett said. “Is it really you?” He shook his head. “We thought you were dead.”
The gaunt, balding man, his face thin and pale from so many years spent underground, inclined his head. “I
23
To return home after all those years, to leave behind the evil of Earth…
Ezekiel Klien sat on the floor of the engine compartment and listened to the slow burn of the vertical thrusters as the Cobra came in to land. The impact was gentle, followed by silence, and Klien closed his eyes. The descent through the atmosphere of Penumbra had been much less of a trial than the take-off from Earth, but he still felt shaken and bruised from the roller-coaster ride. He gave thanks that he was home at last.
He activated his ear-piece. Muffled voices came to him from the flight-deck. “You have the softscreen, Josh?” someone asked.
A period of silence, then Bennett asked about Mackendrick and someone called Ten Lee. Klien listened intently, trying to work out precisely where he was, who Bennett was talking to.
“We’ll study the screen and plot the position of the entrance to the underground caverns,” Bennett’s contact was saying. “Can we make the journey in the ship?”
Bennett replied that they could if there was a suitable landing place. Klien heard their footsteps on the ramp as they left the ship.
Bennett seemed to be in contact with people who wanted the softscreen as a guide to the subterranean cavern—obviously, then, opponents of the Council of Elders, and therefore his own enemies. He guessed that they were somewhere in the mountains, in hiding from the council. Soon they would attempt to fly to the entrance to the underground lair of the Ancients.
He considered the wisest course of action.
It had been a strange four months for Klien, effectively alone as the Cobra lighted through the void. He had had the freedom of the ship. He had eaten well from the stores, and slept in the comfortable beds one at a time, for variety.
During that time he had contemplated the years since leaving Homefall. He was satisfied with his achievements. He had successfully eradicated Quineau, though the fact that the softscreen had remained at large had been a constant source of regret. His time spent in Calcutta he considered a success. He had worked hard to
