The Key

100

Athanasius had always hated the dark. When he had given his life to God and first entered the Citadel it had never occurred to him that he was also consigning himself to a life of darkness. The tunnels had been vastly improved during his time there, with electric lighting now used throughout most of the mountain, but the forbidden upper sections he now stumbled through had changed little in hundreds of years. In his haste to get here he had not brought a torch and was having to use the glow from the phone screen to guide him. It struck him as apt in many ways that the bright photograph of the prophecy was lighting his path towards the one man trying to thwart it.

He reached the upper section breathless and perspiring and held the screen to his chest to cut out the light. For a moment his eyes were blind, but as they slowly adjusted he could see a glow ahead of him. It was coming from one of the smaller tunnels to his left, not the one leading to the chapel of the Sacrament as he had expected. He followed the telltale light, keeping his own covered and feeling his way along the wall until he came to a forgotten, dusty corridor dotted with piles of rubble that showed how poorly it had been maintained. The glow was coming from a partially open door halfway along it. There was also a breeze, sweet-smelling after the trapped air of the stairwell, and it drew him towards the door.

The source of the glow was a flambeau that had been slotted into a niche in the wall. It guttered in the night breeze that flowed through a loophole cut in the outer wall. In his mind, Athanasius had imagined he was at the heart of the mountain. It had not occurred to him that the higher he climbed, the narrower the mountain became and the closer to its edge he would be.

Dragan was standing by the opening with his back to the door. At first Athanasius thought he must be praying, but then he turned and he saw the phone clutched in the black, leathery grip of his hand.

‘What are you doing?’ Athanasius asked, realizing from his own experience the significance of his position by the open window.

Dragan snarled, his spare hand reaching for the wooden T-shaped crux in his belt. He pulled it clear, revealing the ceremonial dagger inside and lunged at him. Athanasius spun away, grabbing the burning torch from the wall and holding it out in front of him to keep him back. Dragan regained his footing and kicked the door shut, sealing the room. They circled each other, neither one advancing or retreating, clear in the knowledge that only one of them was going to leave here alive.

‘I am trying to put right all the things you have ruined,’ Dragan said, ‘by returning the Sacrament to the mountain. The moment it was removed, everything started to die: first the Sancti, then the garden, and now everybody else. The Lamentation will strike you too; do not think you will be spared. I am trying to save your life too by doing this.’

‘And what about the girl, what about her life? Is she an acceptable sacrifice?’

Dragan scoffed. ‘The Bible is full of sacrifice made for the greater good. Christ himself sacrificed his own life.’

‘Christ gave his life for the benefit of everybody.’

‘And the restoration of the Sacrament to the Citadel will do the same. Look around you: earthquakes, disease… look at me — ’ He pulled up the arm of his cassock to reveal his withered, blackened arm. ‘All of this has come about since the Sacrament was released.’

‘Not true. There have always been earthquakes. There has always been famine, and drought and global epidemics. Shutting an innocent girl into a mediaeval cross full of needles to trap the divine spirit she carries inside her is nothing that we, as men of God, should be party to — whatever the cost to ourselves. I have read the Heretic Bible. I know the true history of the Sacrament and I know the true history of this mountain.’ He held out his own phone, showing the photograph of the Mirror Prophecy and placed it on the ground between them. ‘I know you believe in what you are doing. But there is another way. We have a chance to put things right. Read what it says and see for yourself.’ He stepped back and put the flaming torch to one side.

Dragan edged forward and picked up the phone.

Athanasius watched him read the words of the Mirror Prophecy. ‘We have a chance here to restore balance to the world — but not by repeating our old mistakes.’

Dragan shook his head. ‘You are wrong. All this does is prove the wisdom of what I seek to do. If the girl is carrying the Sacrament, then this is her home.’ He started rubbing at the material of his cassock. ‘She must return here or she will die anyway.’ The rubbing became more frenzied and his voice rose to a shrieking wail. ‘We will all die with her,’ he howled, as his scratching became frenzied and the Lamentation overwhelmed him as swiftly and powerfully as it had all the rest.