Gorgon - читать бесплатно онлайн полную версию книги автора Greig Beck (CHAPTER 20) #21

CHAPTER 20

Within fifteen minutes, they were all gathered in Hammerson’s office, and the second page of the codex was projected onto the large wall-screen. Matt and Rebecca hunched over the parchment itself, a large magnifying glass between them.

Matt nudged her. ‘You can’t read it, can you?’

Rebecca pursed her lips, then smiled. ‘Just a word here and there. Margaret’s not well. We could have spent days finding another translator, or …’ She shrugged.

‘Or do the right thing and bring it to us.’ Matt smiled back. ‘But how the hell did you get it? Not from Monti?’

Hammerson looked from Thompson to Sam from underneath lowered brows. ‘That’s what I’d like to know.’

Sam shook his head. ‘Monti had nothing else. Believe me, if he did, he would have given it up.’

The SAS soldier grinned. ‘Yeah see, that’s what happens when you blunder in and crap all over everything. You can miss the important stuff.’

Sam’s jaw jutted and Thompson snorted. He held up a hand to Sam’s glare. ‘Ease up big fella; you were right, he gave you everything he had. But what he didn’t tell you was where he got the codex page, and what else he left behind. Mr. Gianfranco Ruffino Monti happily informed us that he’d obtained the first page on the Greek black market, and…’

‘And it seems the price for the second sheet was exorbitant, but he didn’t think he needed it anyway.’ Rebecca folded her arms and paced towards Thompson. ‘He felt he had enough information to confirm there was a high-value artifact to recover in Istanbul, and sent Caresche on his mission.’ She turned and nodded for her colleague to continue.

‘That’s about it.’ Thompson half smiled at the interruption. ‘Monti just needed to be persuaded to tell us who the seller was.’

Sam folded tree trunk like arms. ‘And let me guess; you guys went over there and splashed all that Euro funny money around. Nice to have deep pockets.’

Thompson smiled grimly. ‘No money changed hands.’

Rebecca placed a hand on Thompson’s shoulder. ‘The sergeant can be very persuasive.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘And he wouldn’t take no for an answer.’

Casey Franks winked. ‘Yep, we know how that works.’

Hammerson folded his arms and turned to Matt and Rebecca, who had resumed her seat. ‘Good. Now let’s hear again from our centurion friend. He’s been waiting nearly 2000 years to tell us something important.’

‘Sure. Just need to make sure it all checks out okay.’ Matt used forceps to drag the first page of the codex across and align it with the second — the fibers lined up perfectly. He hunched over the parchment again with the magnifying glass. ‘Looks good — the papyrus has the right amount of aluminum salts in the fibers. Also the edges line up to form a single long roll. In my opinion, it’s the real deal.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Okay, here we go… it picks up with the blinded priests …’

Constantine dismounted, and his Praetorian Guard formed up either side of him. I fell in behind, along with Titus and Varinius.

Sauramatia had been subdued, but there was one stronghold not yet fully under our control: the citadel in the center of the walled city. It was built of mud-brick, strong, and ancient. Several priests lay dead at its entrance. Others were kneeling, their empty eye sockets turned toward us, as though seeing without their orbs. They were of strange appearance: their heads were shaven, and their skulls heavily tattooed with raised markings that gave the appearance of blue ropes constantly coiling across their heads. These men were fanatics, and some had gone so far as to nail themselves to the stout wooden door to the temple.

Andronicus, a centurion charged with taking the city, stood bloody and weary, but his eyes still burned with the fury of war. ‘No one has yet entered, my Emperor.’

Caesar placed a hand on his filthy shoulder. Such was this great man, never fearing the grime of battle. He looked into Andronicus’ face. ‘The priests — have they spoken?’

‘Yes, sire. They say they will die before standing aside.’

Constantine looked over the wretched beings. ‘Not this day. Free those men nailed there.’ He then motioned to the translators. ‘Tell them we are the mightiest power in the world and we will enter their temple. Tell them Sauramatia has fallen, and they are alone. We will care for them now; all will be treated with respect.’

The three translators conferred, as if deciding on the right words. One of them spoke to the priests; the tongue was harsh and grating, spitting words like sharp chips of stone.

Many of the priests began to wail; others simply fell forward and rubbed their faces into the dirt. But there was one, taller than the rest, who stood at the very center of the massive door, his chin up, his black eye sockets trained on Constantine. His own words poured forth, and the translators listened and responded, seeming to rebuke him.

‘Speak!’ Constantine’s word cut the air and made the translators cringe. ‘Tell me what he says — all of it.’

The three men looked pained. At last one swallowed and then spoke. ‘His name is Hemlagh, the chief priest. He says they do not fear you, or us, or death. He says your power is nothing but a blink of the eye, and Caesar is a flea compared to their mistress. They fear you not, but they do fear for mankind if she is freed.’

‘She?’ Constantine looked from his translators to the priest. ‘Magera?’

Hemlagh’s lips became thin, and then he nodded.

Constantine looked up at the sky. Crows wheeled above us, cawing impatiently, waiting to feed on the mounds of dead throughout the city.

Our Emperor exhaled. ‘Tell them they are free. Tell them to stand aside and no one will be hurt. Magera is now the property of Rome.’

The tall priest responded in the lingua latīna.

Matt looked up at Hammerson, gauging his understanding.

‘Latin, I get it.’ The HAWC commander waved him on.

‘Your property? No. Your curse,’ Hemlagh said. ‘If you have gods and fear them, you know what becomes of mortals who defy them. Enter if you wish, Caesar, but do so knowing that man is a bug before the Gorgos.’

Constantine pointed at the door and its single long bolt as thick as a man’s leg. ‘Open it.’

One of his generals, Titus, stepped in front of him. ‘My Emperor, let me enter first.’

Constantine looked as if he were about to object, but he glanced back to me, and I nodded. It would not be brave but foolish for our Emperor to enter an unknown place.

The great bolt was drawn back, and Titus covered his lower face as a draft of humid air escaped. Those nearby also covered their faces, such was the stench.

Hemlagh sucked in the air, his hollowed face rapturous. ‘The scent of a God.’

Titus coughed. ‘The scent of death.’ He draw his sword, and crouched down to see past the thick walls of stone bordering the doorframe. He called over his shoulder for a flame. A burning torch was handed to him, and he glanced back once, before ducking under the heavy lintel.

We waited several long minutes for him to reappear. Just as our patience was stretching, there came a coughing sound from the doorway. A figure stepped out: Titus, but not the Titus who had entered only minutes before. His face and entire being were pale, not with illness or fear, but something worse. He staggered painfully toward us, staring, but not seeming to see. His mouth opened, but no words came. Instead, he uttered a gurgling sound followed by a rush of liquid stone.

I was first to him, placing an arm around his shoulders. To my shame, I recoiled, for I did not touch flesh and blood, but skin as hard and cold as a column of stone.

While we watched, his paleness became absolute, and even his dark eyes frosted over to a milky whiteness. Now down on all fours, he raised his face to our Emperor one last time, his face twisted in hellish agony. And then he froze.

We did too, in horrified silence, as mute as Titus, now turned to stone. Our eyes lifted to the door of the citadel, and we waited, expecting some monster to emerge.

Bit by bit, the world crept back — a tiny whisper of wind rustling a standard banner, a crow calling high overhead, the snorting of a horse.

Constantine breathed out the first words. ‘Those who behold the Gorgos will be forever imprisoned in stone.’

A new sound began — small at first, but rising. The tall priest, Hemlagh, was laughing, but there was no humor in it.

He spoke again in our tongue. ‘She will lay waste to all of you.’

Titus’ body was wrapped in a rug and removed. Constantine ordered that no one was to speak of him to the men. Next he had his Praetorian Guard line up before the door. Each soldier was half a head taller than any normal man, his iron-hard body encased in gleaming armor. All stared into the dark doorway, waiting for the word.

Constantine stood before the priest and placed his hand on the man’s shoulders. He looked deep into the dark eye sockets. ‘She comes with us, or she burns.’

Hemlagh shook his head. ‘You cannot kill her. You cannot take her. She needs us. She has promised to take us all to heaven in her golden chariot.’

Constantine narrowed his eyes. ‘Where she goes, you go. You may continue to serve her.’

Hemlagh remained silent, and Constantine leaned in closer. ‘I did not come here to kill her. Tell us how to … save her.’

Hemlagh’s head turned to the open doorway. ‘Kill her? She and her kind have walked this world since before we men rose from the dust. She will be here long after we and all our kind are food for the worms.’ He turned back to Constantine. ‘But without the warriors to serve us, we can cannot serve her. We must go with you.’

Constantine nodded. ‘Good man. Now tell us how the mighty Magera can be controlled.’

‘With words, not swords. You must … sing to her.’

Matt sat back. ‘This is it.’

Hammerson’s forehead creased. ‘Huh? Sing to her? What the hell does that mean?’

Matt found his place, and continued reading.

Hemlagh began to sing in a language that was like nothing any of us had ever heard. It was not beautiful, nor lyrical, more like the sibilant hissing of a serpent. Still singing, the tall priest entered the citadel, and bade Constantine to follow. Against my advice, he entered the dark doorway, and I, along with his guards, rushed to follow.

The only light inside the large domed room came from the sputtering torch dropped by Titus. In the gloom, I could make out a large throne upon which a lone figure sat. It was tall, taller than the biggest man in our entire army. I have faced death a dozen times on this campaign alone, but in the presence of this thing I felt my knees weaken and an illness boil in my belly.

Thankfully, it seemed to sleep, and I pulled all my courage together and stepped closer. What at first I took to be a crown was a mass of thick sightless worms, each with a mouth of its own, continually opening and closing as if tasting the air — no, tasting us. The face was scaled, and though it had features, they were not at all like our own. There were two eyes, closed thankfully, and a double slit for a nose, which flapped open as breath rushed in and out. The mouth, slightly open, was a circle of gristle, like a single lip, and inside rows of needle-like teeth were just visible.

Even our mighty Caesar was sickened by the sight. I half-turned to him, not wishing to look away entirely lest the creature spring to life in that moment. I whispered my words. ‘Kill this foul thing now.’

Hemlagh had continued to sing softly, but on hearing my words, he stopped and turned his sightless face toward me. ‘Kill Magera? You could not. The Gorgos cannot be cut, or burned, or drowned. She lifts herself from the ashes, reassembles herself from the blade, and rises again, more powerful and vengeful than ever. She is truly a god.’

Caesar’s features were drawn in disgust. ‘Maybe it is a god to some. And perhaps it knows of other gods.’

Magera shifted, and Hemlagh began to sing again.

Caesar turned away. ‘If the thing wakes, its gaze will kill us.’ He spoke to his guard. ‘Bind it … cover its head.’

And so Magera became Emperor Constantine’s possession, burden, and curse. The priests sang to it constantly, taking turns to keep the creature in a stupor.

The long journey home took many months, and we lost many men — not by sword, or ambush, or misadventure, but by a sickness that affected us all, and seemed to suck the life from us. Some woke with a rash, that eventually opened and ran with black blood. Others shrank down to their bones, no matter how much they ate; and others went mad, biting at their fellow soldiers. It was as if Magera drew our souls from our bodies.

When Constantine asked where the being had come from, Hemlagh pointed skyward. ‘Caelestis,’ he said, then, ‘Creta. She came from Caelestis to live in the Caverns of Zeusa.’

Matt sat back and rubbed his hands through his hair. ‘Caelestis — heaven. And they lost 5000 men on their march home.’

Rebecca frowned. ‘Sounds like some sort of virus or transmitted disease.’

‘Or something from Magera,’ Alex said. ‘Something it radiates.’

Matt ran his eyes down the rest of the scroll. ‘That’s pretty much it. A bit more about the arduous trip home, and then it ends.’

Hammerson exhaled. ‘Let’s see what we’ve got. Constantine captured this … Magera nearly 2000 years ago. He brings it back to Constantinople, now Istanbul, and hides it deep under the Basilica Cistern. Janus Caresche somehow wakes it up, sets it free, and now it’s stalking the Turkish landscape and turning anything in its path into stone.’ Hammerson placed one hand on his forehead. ‘I feel nuts just saying that out loud. I can’t take that to the brass.’

Matt shook his head. ‘Amazing; the legend of the Gorgon … not a legend at all. They’re freakin’ real.’ He rubbed his face. ‘The song must have hypnotized it — you know, the same way you can hypnotize snakes. I’ve seen it.’

‘But we don’t know the words or the tune,’ Sam said, folding his massive arms.

Alex paced toward the screen. ‘No, but we do have a place to start. Creta is Crete, right?’ He turned to Matt. ‘Okay, Brains, where are the Caverns of Zeusa?’

Matt snorted. ‘That’s an easy one.’ He pulled up a map on the wall-screen and started to drill down toward Greece. ‘The Caves of Zeus are part of a large system excavated in Crete in 1886 on the Lasithi Plateau. Today we refer to them as the Psychro Caves. There are signs of human visitation there dating back tens of thousands of years.’

‘And they’re deep,’ Rebecca added. ‘Mostly explored, but there are collapsed passages that are now closed off to the public. A lot of relics were taken from the caves in the late 1800s — there might be some clues there.’

‘Collapsed passageways?’ Alex repeated. ‘Maybe there’s evidence of this thing still down there somewhere … buried. Who knows how old Magera was… is? If it had already been alive for a long time when Constantine came across it, it must operate on a different chronological plane to us.’

Matt nodded. ‘Remember the words scratched into the wall? They were Minoan. And the Minoans were established as a great race at least 5000 years ago.’ He looked around at the others, excited. ‘You know, it all actually fits. The first people in Crete were Neolithic, then came the Minoans who worshiped cave deities. Maybe the priest in the codex was singing in Minoan — I mean, it was a dead language even by the time of Constantine.’

‘I can’t believe I’m saying this,’ Sam said slowly, ‘but maybe it truly is an immortal.’

Matt got to his feet and started pacing. ‘Okay, stay with me here… but how about a wild theory? When Hemlagh was asked where Magera came from, he pointed skyward and said, “Caelestis”.’ Sam groaned, but Matt waved him to silence. ‘Did he mean heaven, Olympus? Maybe. Certainly fits with Greek mythology. But … but what if he meant something more than that? What if he meant somewhere higher, much higher, like the stars?’

Sam covered his face with his hands and shook his head. He spoke from between his fingers. ‘Yeah, maybe it’s a Klingon.’

Rebecca rolled her eyes at Matt. ‘Don’t you dare go there, Professor.’

Alex held up his hand. ‘All theories are worthwhile right now. Go on, Matt.’

Matt smiled, and shrugged. ‘There’s no such thing as immortality … on Earth.’

Hammerson folded his arms. ‘I’m not convinced. Sure, the priest pointing skyward is interesting, but not even mildly conclusive. Even I know that to the ancient Greeks Olympus was up in the stars.’

‘But Hemlagh wasn’t a Greek,’ Matt said. ‘And there’s more that points toward something other than a Greek legend. The gods of the Minoans were mostly women — they had goddesses for fertility, the harvest, animals, the city, the household, and one we should be most interested in, the underworld.’ Matt looked around the group. ‘A serpent goddess.’

Rebecca tilted her head back and scoffed. ‘Interesting, Professor, but not science. I can tell you right now that most mythological-based religions — the Greeks, Romans, Cretans, Egyptians, Vikings — involved an axis mundi, a heavenly cosmic center. No one stepped out of a flying saucer.’

Alex switched off the wall-screen. ‘Well, I think we’ve got all we’re going to get from the codex. I’m not convinced this thing is from anywhere other than right here, on Earth.’ He looked at Matt. ‘I do, however, think it could be some sort of creature not seen for thousands of years — perhaps it’s just come out of hibernation, or was reanimated somehow. Sounds strange, but we’ve dealt with plenty of strange stuff before.’

Hammerson nodded, smiling grimly.

‘Everything points to this Magera thing being the genesis for the Gorgon myth,’ Alex continued. ‘Not sure how that helps us, if at all, but at least it’s given us somewhere to start. Now it’s time to fill in the blanks and find some way to take it out.’

Matt stepped forward, about to speak, then stopped.

‘Well, go on … spit it out, son,’ Hammerson said.

Matt cleared his throat. ‘It’s just… before we try and kill it, we need to consider that this thing, or being, or whatever it is, has to have intelligence. I’m convinced we could communicate with it first; maybe even instead of killing it.’

Hammerson glared. ‘Really? So far, anyone who’s got close enough to say “how you doing” gets turned to goddamn stone. Last I checked, communication was a two-way street. So far, Magera’s only form of communication is death.’

Sam smiled without humor. ‘Maybe after sleeping for nearly 2000 years, it just woke up in a bad mood.’

Matt rolled his eyes. ‘Just promise me one thing. If we can work out the words, or song, or whatever the priests used to subdue it, you’ll give us a chance to try it?’

Alex’s voice was unyielding. ‘No.’

Matt turned to Hammerson. ‘Colonel, not every problem has a military solution. Just … keep it in mind.’

Hammerson was silent for a few seconds, then nodded. ‘Gentlemen, never hurts to have more options than we need. But just so we’re all clear: the primary option is termination.’

Alex and Sam nodded, and Matt half-bowed. ‘That’ll do. Thank you.’

‘One more thing, Professor Kearns.’ Hammerson’s eyes were unblinking. ‘In my experience, every problem does have a military solution.’ He went to the phone on his desk, and began punching in numbers. ‘I’ll get your rides fueled up. Professor Kearns and Ms. Watchorn, you’ll be going to Crete to look for clues among the recovered artifacts, and also to scope out the Psychro Caves. Thompson, you’re going with them. Hunter, you’ll take Reid, Franks, and our other guest into Turkey, to stand in front of Magera. Put your team together, and be on the pad and ready to go in an hour.’ He paused and looked at Alex. ‘Don’t forget that you’ll probably have Borshov at your back. Dismissed.’

At the mention of the Russian’s name, Matt saw Alex’s face change, as if suddenly there was someone else looking out through his eyes. Matt recognized the look: up in Canada once, he’d seen two huge wolves face off over a deer carcass. Before they tore each other to shreds, there was a look that passed between them — unblinking, focused, and without fear. Then the two massive bodies had hurled themselves together in a brutal fight to the death.

These guys are a different species all right, he thought. He was glad he was going to Crete.