Black Sun Rising

Chapter Eighteen

"Anyone else who saw the hunt? Over here if you saw the hunt! Don't worry, ladies and gentlemen, this is not a test! Just go to whichever event matches the dream you had. If you saw the hunt, you're with Sara over here. Anyone who saw the condor, head over there and speak to Jefferson. Anyone who saw blackness, come talk to me. If you're confused, just stand in the center, and we'll help you in a moment."

Sam followed the direction of Cody's waving arms and walked toward the connection tent. Sara was waiting for them in the entrance, motionless and regal as usual. Quickly, he performed a head count of the others and checked where they were going.

Nina was shuffling reluctantly toward Cody. Sam could tell that she too was suffering the effects of nicotine withdrawal. Her shoulders were sloped, and she wore dark glasses in a vain attempt to counter the effects of the glaring sun on her aching head. She had told Sam and Purdue that she did not really believe that she had dreamed of darkness, but simply that she had fallen into the kind of dreamless sleep that accompanied exhaustion. Nevertheless, since that did not seem to be an option that was available and she was happy to admit that she was not ready to "connect" in the way that the FireStorm officials wanted her to, she went dutifully toward the appropriate meeting.

It had been impossible to ease her mind regarding Hunter. Sam had suggested that maybe Hunter had got up early and gone to help with breakfast or have a particularly long wash in the river. I hope that's the answer, Sam thought. He's a sweaty bastard, so he could do with it. Purdue had questioned whether he might have changed tents, or whether he might have been taken ill. "They must have some facility for caring for anyone who is taken sick," Purdue had said, and Sam had bitten his lip to avoid confirming that he was right.

Despite the rational explanations on offer, and certainly despite her dislike for Hunter, Nina remained concerned. She planned to keep an eye out for him during the day's events, and then ask Cody about him if she could not find him. Maybe he's had a sudden pang of remorse and gone to steal our cigarettes back, Sam thought, as he lost sight of Nina.

With him in the connection tent were Julia Rose and Henley Daniels. Quite by chance they were standing together, Julia Rose watching Sara intently, and Henley picking idly at her fingernails. Suddenly Sam was hit by a flashback, as violent and unexpected as a kick in the head. He saw a moment from his dream, a vision of Julia Rose standing over the beast. She was trembling, her breathing shallow and her eyes wide. Her knife was loose in her grip, until the black-masked figure that Sam knew to be Sara approached and wrapped her hand around Julia Rose's, guiding her as she plunged the knife into the beast's mutilated carcass. Sam shook his head, trying to expel the image from his mind.

Henley glanced up, noticing the sudden movement, and accidentally made eye contact with Sam. He gave her a smile and a friendly nod. She flushed pink and immediately dropped her head. That's weird, Sam thought. I wonder what's wrong.

Before he could give it too much thought, Sara clapped her hands together, commanding everyone's attention. "Initiates!" she cried. "Yes, I can call you initiates now. Anyone who has seen the hunt is and will forever be a part of FireStorm. Your own divinity within has called out to be a part of this exciting, exhilarating new movement, a more effective way of attracting the right people to us than any conscious initiation would have been. You are now ready to join us on a deeper level, to learn more about our ultimate goals. For this we must welcome you into the depths of our organization, deep in the heart of the fire giant's home."

With a flourish, she swept aside the reed mat that covered the floor beside her, revealing the outline of a trapdoor in the floor. She uncovered a button beside it and stepped on it, pushing down with all her weight. The trap slid open to reveal a dark hole in the group, a gaping invitation into the heart of the mysterious group.

The dark hole led down to a door, beyond which lay a corridor. The delegates — or initiates, as Sara insisted they must now be called — were instructed to walk along it one by one, because each of them must face three challenges in order to enter the inner sanctum.

This must be where the medical facility was, Sam thought, as he emerged from the darkness to stand before the door. Though there must be more than one door down here. This one looked as though it had been there for centuries. Certainly it had been designed for smaller people than Sam to fit through with ease. Knotted, sandy wood twisted together with gnarled vines and roots. He could see the remains of a tiny barred window, but it was reduced to little more than a small slit now that the wood had expanded in the heat and shifted over the years. Sam peered through the remaining sliver. He saw no sign of the last initiate to go through, which meant that it was his turn. Taking a deep breath, he turned the wrought iron handle and stepped through.

Why am I so nervous? Sam asked himself, feeling his heart pounding in his chest. It's nothing. This is nothing to be scared of. It's just daft. I know it's daft. A few mind games in the dark, like asking someone to put on a blindfold and stick their hand in a shoebox full of jelly worms or something.

Ranged along the dimly lit corridor were three alcoves, one for each of the three challenges. Sara's instructions had been to approach each one in turn and not to move on until he was certain that the challenge had been completed. He stepped into the first alcove. He could not be certain, but he thought that the corridor grew dark behind him.

"When you face the first challenge, do not turn around," Sara had warned him. "Do not turn back or look away, not even for a moment. What you will see during the challenge, I do not know. But no matter what, you must keep looking into the pool. Do not flinch, and do not close your eyes."

The pool resembled a font, but hewn from stone, perhaps carved out of the volcanic rock. Hot water bubbled from a natural spring below the ground, filling the pool and spilling over onto the floor. The air in the alcove was hot and sulfurous, and Sam felt giddy as he held his head over the steaming water.

Gazing into the pool, Sam felt his mind beginning to wander. Amid the smells of brimstone and wet earth, he could have sworn that he smelled the herbs that had been thrown onto their campfires. He laid his hands on the stone wall in front of him for balance, leaning over the top of the pool, staring down. Slowly images began to form, somewhere between his eyes and his mind. He saw the hunt again, saw his own hands smeared with hot, dark blood, flaking off his skin as it dried. He saw the look on Nina's face as she had seen him again for the first time in that hotel corridor. He saw her as she had been in the submarine, tear-stained and desperate, ready to offer their surrender to the approaching destroyer, seconds before she had kissed him — like just before Björn pulled the trigger of the gun he had pressed against her forehead.

He saw Nina's face blending and changing into another, her hair lightening and face lengthening, flesh melting away and bone breaking through until she became Trish, who stared out of the water at him with disappointment in her one remaining eye. Sam felt his own eyes pricked by tears before the face changed again, darkening a little, and the flesh repairing itself until it was Sara who gazed at him from the water.

A high, sweet note sounded from elsewhere in the corridor. Instinctively Sam followed the sound, which led him into the second alcove. There he saw another rough-hewn pillar, but this time there was no pool. Resting on top of it was a large ball of polished stone, dark green in hue. "The stone is moldavite," Sara had said. "It is a powerful, transformative crystal that came to this world on a star that fell to earth. Borne here by a meteorite, now it serves to open a connection between anyone who touches it and the universe."

He followed her instruction to rest his fingertips on it. As with the previous challenge, he was to stay where he was and not let go of the stone, no matter what. He wondered what kind of challenge this could possibly prove, because the stone was inert, but he quickly found out. He gasped as the stone began to cool beneath his touch, rapidly draining the heat from his fingers until it became as cold as ice. Am I imagining this? Sam stared at the moldavite ball, trying to figure out how it could be manipulated. But before he could reach any kind of conclusion, he was distracted by the swift rise in temperature under his hands. The moldavite was growing warmer with every passing second, becoming hot — too hot. It was glowing beneath his fingers, but Sam refused to let go. Just as he began to find the sensation unbearable, it subsided. He left his hands resting on the ball until the high tone sounded again, beckoning him to the third alcove.

"Close your eyes for the third challenge," Sara had said. "Do not open them, no matter what. It is a test of endurance, much like the first two — but many people find it more difficult to endure. It will ask more of you, probe more deeply. Your task is simply to withstand it.

This time it was not just the corridor behind him that was plunged into darkness. As Sam stepped into the alcove, the dim light faded and died. As per Sara's instructions, he shut his eyes tight and waited to find out what would happen.

The first thing he felt was a light brushing sensation against his cheek, like a feather, or perhaps a spider's web. It tickled slightly, but it was not unpleasant. What followed was a gradual buildup, the brushing becoming a slightly scratchy feeling, which developed into the sensation of thin, bony digits pressing against his face. Evert instinct he had screamed at him to run, that he was having his face pawed by a skeleton hand, but he knew that he had to wait it out. The hand moved over his eyelids, down his nose, traced the shape of his lips — then without warning, two long, stick-like things pushed inside his mouth.

Sam forced himself to keep his eyes shut. He kept perfectly still, refusing to give in to the desire to open his mouth, to spit out the intruding fingers — if indeed they were fingers — or to gag. One of the fingers ran down the inside of his cheek, pushing it out — then, just as suddenly as they had arrived, they were gone. Through his closed eyes he could feel the change as the soft lights came back on.

That wasn't so bad, he thought, and followed the sound of the sweet music out of the corridor and through the far door.