'The price of it all was easy to pay,' he whispered. 'Dissension, wherever it could be spread. Atrocity, wherever it could be encouraged. Malevolence, wherever it could be nurtured. I learned to disperse my disruption, took it to many countries and let it fester. Because that was his way, and I am his disciple!'
Kline's hands were raised to his chests palms upwards, fingers curled into claws. He shuddered, a movement that threatened his collapse. But he righted himself, his mouth open in an agitated grin.
'There was another part to this bargain.' Now he was stooping, twisting into himself. 'An alliance between us. I was to keep Bel-Marduk forever with me, to sustain his bodily self, to keep it living.' A shiver ran through Halloran. There was nothing here of the Kline that he knew. The thing before him was unrecognisable in voice and body. Halloran felt weakened.
'You'll see,' said the form opposite. 'You'll understand how we breathe together.' Kline moved away, tottering as if about to fall. Yet still the Arab by his side was reluctant to take hold of him. Kline walked awkwardly to an alcove behind the altar, and the others watched, all of them motionless.
He entered the shadows.
Halloran heard something being opened.
Shuffling footsteps.
Kline returning, carrying something clutched to his chest, into the candle-light . . .
45 NETHERWORLD RISING
Away from the bubbling lake they ran, throats roughened by harsh breaths, disarray in their stride. Two of their companions had been lost to the lightning-seared cauldron, and these remaining three had no intention of joining them; clumsy their flight may have been, pounding rain rendering earth and grass slippery beneath their feet, but their progress was determined, panic lending its own pace.
Despite himself, a terrible fascination tempted Danny Shay to look back over his shoulder and he uttered a single alarmed cry at what he saw; he stumbled, went down, the man at his heels sprawling over him so that they both rolled in the soaked grass, kicking out at each other.
Shay sat up, rain streaming into his open mouth, while the other man, Flynn, beat at the earth in pain.
McGuire realised he was alone and stopped, searching behind for the others.
'Glory God . . .' he moaned when he saw the lake.
Shay scrambled to his knees and Flynn reached out to grasp his shoulder. 'I've done me ankle, Danny'
he shouted over the downpour. 'Give us a hand up!' But Shay stayed motionless, staring into the rain.
Flynn followed his gaze and collapsed back into the grass.
A shining came from beneath the water's boiling surface, a milky greenness that spread to the shoreline.
A curling mist rose from it, turning in on itself like vapour reaching cooler air. Geysers popped and spouted, foamy liquid showering down to create ripples, more turmoil. But something else was disturbing the broad lake's centre. A great mass, hindered by its own weight, was slowly emerging like some huge sunken wreck pushed to the surface by an eruption on the sea bed.
This was nothing manmade, though. It might have been regurgitation of a long-lost island, the waters finally relinquishing their claim. Except it was a living, pulsating thing. A mass that swelled and writhed, a gathering in oozing mud of all those nebulous creatures the men had glimpsed earlier beneath the lake's unsettled ceiling, the forms clinging together as if congealed. Pieces—living things—dropped away as this ill-shaped mountain grew; lake-water drained off to fall with the rain. Monsters of immense size were among that curling, viscous mass, while leaner shapes wriggled and clung like parasites, the ascending heap never still, constantly bulging and quivering as it rose.
As the three frightened men watched, a bolt of lightning struck the top, sizzling and charring its uppermost layer as if it were flesh. Steam rose as the whole mass shrunk in spasm. It stretched once more, continuing to ascend. They thought they could hear a shrill wailing beneath the roar of thunder.
'What is it!' Flynn shrieked close to Shay's ear, the grip on his leader's shoulder tight.
Shay could only shake his head in a stupefied gesture.
'Let's leave this heathen place, Danny! There's no good for us here!' The leader climbed to his feet, bringing Flynn up with him, his eyes never leaving the monstrosity growing from the lake, this seen through a screen of driving rain. McGuire joined them, afraid to be left standing alone. He clutched at Shay's other arm.
'There's no turning back!' the leader yelled. 'Whatever devil's work this is, it doesn't matter! It'll not stop us doing our job!'
'No, it's a bad business, Danny!' McGuire protested.
Shay hit him, a back-swipe of his hand. 'You'll do as you're told! The house is close, an' he's in there!
We'll not leave until it's settled!' He shoved both men from him, forcing them to turn their backs on the lake with its phenomenon that could only be some kind of illusion—there really couldn't be any reality to such a vision. Although . . . although didn't he see for himself two of his own men dragged down into its terrible depths?
Shay began running, cutting out further thought, intent on one purpose alone, urging McGuire and Flynn to follow. They did for, scared though they were, disobedience was unthinkable.
They did their best to ignore the squishy gurgling of the sinuous island as it heaved itself from the water, resisting the temptation (it was as though there were whispered entreaties in their minds to do so) to turn round and watch. They kept their eyes on the manor house which was now but a short distance away.
Most of the lights were on, a welcoming relief despite the duty they were bound to perform, a glorious beacon in the darkness they had travelled through.
They found themselves on firmer ground, gravel crunching under their feet as they dashed forward, no caution in their untidy gait. There was a porch at the front, an entrance like a darkened cave. Flynn strove to keep up with the others, the pain in his ankle a handicap, his hand tucked into his anorak pocket touching the revolver there for comfort. He suddenly slid to a halt.
There were headlights coming towards them!
A car on the road, moving fast, freezing them in its searching beams. It skidded to a stop twenty yards away. Doors were opening. Someone was shouting.
46 TOWARDS DESTRUCTION
Candle flames flickered and dimmed momentarily, smoke curling from them, as Kline came closer, his hands livid against the blackness of the robe he wore. In them he held a black chalice, a cloth draped over the top.
All eyes were on the shuffling figure emerging from the alcove and instinct told Halloran that this was the time to make his move. Yet he could not. Like the others, he was mesmerised.
Kline faltered, as though the weight of his burden was too much. But after drawing in a deep, grating breath, he continued to approach.
Thunder grumbled in the distance and it seemed to came from below, from the earth itself, rather than the atmosphere above.
At last Kline, or the disfigured thing that Kline now was. reached the stone slab. He attempted to grin, perhaps in triumph. but his lips merely wavered, his stained teeth bared only, partially. His hands were trembling when he placed the chalice on the altar. He removed the cloth, allowed it to fall to the floor.
Then Kline dipped both hands into the vessel, the abject he removed still unseen by the others. He held out his prize across the furred belly of the paralysed bodyguard.
A husky whisper. 'His disciples, his loyal priests, preserved his poor mutilated body. They hid Bel-Marduk away, a deep place where no one could find him. Hidden in darkness, his secrets around him, waiting out the centuries far one such as I . . .' He placed the object on the stone beside the bodyguard” and there it rested for the others to see.