The Psychonaut - Book 1 Read online

  On the other side, he led Celestia away from the building’s edge and held the gateway open for the rest to follow. Once assembled, Merrick and Celestia sent out a mental probe while the rest waited.

  After only a minute, they picked up the now familiar savage signature of the Simiata. “They’re coming,” Merrick said.

  Jason looked over the side of the building. “I can’t see anything yet, how many?”

  “Two,” Celestia said.

  “Excellent,” he replied. “Not too many at once. Take up your stations, and remember the drill.”

  Merrick could see through the mind-meld, a sight he’d hoped would never appear again in his lifetime. The Simiata, one with black fur and one with red, approached at great speed. They were at the bottom of the skyscraper within seconds. From the top of the building, Merrick, now occupying his body, watched as the two of them looked up and roared in anger.

  What do you think the story is behind these motherfuckers? he sent to Celestia.

  Jason said they’re sentinels. But what exactly they’re protecting, no one knows.

  The thought crossed Merrick’s mind that their presence here was putting the citizens lives in danger, but there wasn’t time to consider this now.

  “Get ready,” Jason said as they watched the duo climb and bound their way up the building. The mercenaries each had rifles raised while Jason carried a pole ending in a claw that gripped a large metal collar. Four more collars hung from his belt.

  “Mon Dieu,” Celestia said, “they are even larger than the one in the museum.”

  There wasn’t time for fear to take hold as the Simiata bounded over the roof edge and stood upright, bellowing and dripping saliva in a display of bestial fury.

  “Hold fire until I give the word,” Jason said. “Just a little closer and you’ll have a clear shot at their groin area—that’s where they’re vulnerable.

  Merrick, standing with Celestia behind the soldiers, contained the urge to release a mind bolt. He felt the power surge within, then quelled it, relieved to know he could still control its release. Once he turned on the tap, there was no way of shutting it off.

  “Fire,” Jason ordered. The crack of the mercenaries rifles sounded across the rooftop. Each fired three times then paused to assess the effect. Hypodermic darts hung from the creature’s pelts. Some had not found their target and bounced off the inch-thick skin, but most fired true. The red Simiata fell to its knees, the eyes glazing over, but the larger, black beast continued to lumber forward. The drug pumping through its arteries had only served to slow it down.

  “Fire again, you fools,” Jason shouted. “Give it everything you’ve got.”

  Johnny had a clear shot at the beast and fired another dart, but the other two shooters had to weave this way and that, to gain a line of sight.

  Merrick watched in horror as it staggered closer to Jason, who stood his ground with the pole held out in front of him. With a turn of speed that defied the beast’s drugged condition, it swung its arm, swatting Jason’s pole aside. It reached out with its other hand and picked him up, struggling and shouting out his ineffectual commands.

  “Oh fuck,” Merrick said, snapping out of his deja vu and moving forward. He grabbed a dart from Johnny’s belt and opened a crackling hole in the air. This caused the beast to pause and sniff, curious and wary. Merrick threw himself through the gap in reality and closed the gateway behind.

  With the beast distracted, Johnny and the mercenaries managed to loose two more darts that found their mark, yet the beast was still standing. It raised its head to the skies and uttered a cry loud enough to wake the dead, then fixed its eyes back on Jason. The Thaumaturgist had passed out, which would have been a small mercy if the Simiata had time to deliver the killing stroke. But it was then that another tear in reality appeared at the beast’s shoulder. Merrick appeared through it, landing on the ape-thing. He scrabbled for purchase, grabbing a handful of its fur while his other hand brought down the dart. He jammed it into the soft tissue of its mouth—an action that caused the Simiata to roar with pain again. Merrick was thrown to the ground as the beast writhed in torment. Then, as if someone had thrown a switch, it dropped the unconscious Jason, toppled forward onto the ground and lay still.

  ~~~

  Merrick watched the three, caged Simiata from his vantage point in the animal house. It had taken a team of twenty Hierophants and considerable application of magickal lore to move them from what was now called Sim-City, to Paraganet House. Destain tended to Merrick and Jason’s wounds while the Thaumaturgist practiced control techniques via the collars that circled the Simiatas’ necks.

  “You’re lucky there’s no internal damage,” Destain said to Jason.

  “Lucky? I feel like a tube of toothpaste that’s been squeezed once too often.”

  Once he’d finished with Jason, Destain smeared salve on Merrick’s bruises and put an ice pack on a twisted ankle he’d sustained in the melee.

  Merrick watched as Jason exerted his will over the larger of the red beasts. “Diablo looks like he’s coming round to your way of thinking,” he said.

  “Wish I could say the same for Ebony,” Jason replied. As if to prove a point, he switched the modules on a control pad wrapped round his wrist. The black Simiata’s muscles immediately tensed but there was no resultant movement, it remained seated in the corner of its cage. “It’s like breaking in a wild stallion, this one’s going to resist my coercive training to the uttermost.”

  “Why don’t you rest up for a while?” Merrick said, “you took quite a beating back there.”

  Jason switched off the control pad and looked at him. “Maybe you’re right. I’ll come back to it later.”

  Merrick rose and tried to put weight on his ankle. “This injury’s buggered me up for a day or two. Wish I knew how to fall properly like Arun. Anyway, mustn’t grumble. I’ve got another reconnaissance party to ship through to Celebrai.” He made to leave, but Jason stopped him.

  “Merrick,” he said. “What you did back there ... I owe you one.”

  Merrick waved a dismissive hand, “Think nothing of it. Let’s just say maybe it makes up for my cock-up that first time I returned with Lucy following on my heels.”

  Jason gave him a rare smile. “Lucy? Now there’s a name to strike fear into the Ukurum.”

  “What’s this, Jason developing a sense of humour? Now I know this world is completely fucked up.”

  ~~~

  It was exactly thirty six hours before the battle that the allies’ armies and Mage-warriors began their passage to Celebrai. Merrick had stocked up on elixir, and was now prepared for the twelve hour haul Karapetian had estimated it would take to complete the transferral. Advance parties scouted ahead to the battle area and secured their side of the field. They reported minimal movement of Ukurum troops on the opposite side of the valley and, though Merrick knew the conditions of the Mage-lock were binding, he breathed a sigh of relief once the first thousand warriors arrived in safety at the allied encampment. When Paraganet House had all but emptied, he and Celestia realm-hopped to Eastern Europe where they enabled the transit of The Vril contingent of troops and warlocks. As they watched the strangely-garbed Vrils pass, Merrick’s thoughts turned back to Destain’s vision.

  There they go, he sent to Celestia, if only the world knew what was happening beneath their feet; the sacrifice this unknown people are making on their behalf.

  It’s like Destain said, isn’t it? The jaded ones continue their mundane existence as if blindfolded.

  If only I could work out what the rest of the vision meant. Destain goes through the torment of seeing these things, but without an interpretation it’s all futile. I don’t even know which scroll reveals the most desired future.

  There was no time to rest once the operation was complete. Celestia stayed in Celebrai to oversee the deployment of Hierophant far-seers, while Merrick, helped by Karapetian, supervised thousands of personnel
on five different continents to transfer to Celebrai. Then there was the equipment, food and weapons of war to transport.

  “It’s an incredible sight isn’t it?” Karapetian said.

  “Yes,” Merrick replied. They were standing on the threshold between Namibia and a realm Merrick had named Riverworld, due to its preponderance of waterways and freshwater lakes. “It’s amazing how you’ve managed to bring this all together. Do you think Shamon has any idea of what he’s up against?”

  “If I know Jagur Shamon, he’ll have planned for several worst-case scenarios. By now, he may have realised we haven’t used an existing gateway. That will unsettle him. It’s just a question of whether he guesses the full size of our capability and the nature of our strategy.”

  “Speaking of which, there’s to be a final war council meeting tonight?”

  Karapetian nodded. “There’s a few minor developments we need to take account of, but it will be a significant morale boost to have all leaders gathered together—including the former Outcasts.”

  Merrick felt no small satisfaction in knowing Arun and Albany had gained the Outcast’s confidence and drawn them together with all their unique talents under one banner.

  A thought occurred to him. “You don’t think it’s a mistake having all commanders in one place the night before a battle? It’s the perfect requisite for a mass assassination.”

  Karapetian smiled. “You still don’t appreciate the nature of the Mage-lock do you? There are much higher powers than even we can imagine watching over this historic conflict. Such demi-gods rarely intervene in the affairs of men. But a breach of the Mage-lock would initiate events of a celestial magnitude. The magickal phenomena you have seen rely on the integrity and sanctity of these ancient laws. If any contravene them without a penalty applied, then chaos results—the demi-gods of Alamar would not stand for that.”

  “I hope you’re right, but you can forgive me for being skeptical about Shamon—he’s not exactly a man of honour.”

  “Not honour in the sense you understand it, Merrick. But even evil has its precepts.”

  Merrick closed the gateway and realm-jumped to the head of the troop convoy. He had planned each route to access the most efficient path through the dimensions, avoiding both danger and unwitting inhabitants of the worlds they crossed. The lifelessness of some realms surprised him, and he began to understand why Shamon had placed his store in Celebrai, a remarkably populated land.

  By late evening, it was finished. In terms of Celebrai’s planetary rotation, their sun was just setting. From the Alliance’s vantage point, Merrick could see the tents and marquees representing their encampment stretch across the lower slopes of the Severed Mountains. As shadows grew longer, the sky became overcast with a heavy blanket of clouds. As the temperature plunged, the Hierophants knew the likelihood of precipitation was strong. Fires were lit in each quadrant and as Merrick saw them appear in their thousands, he knew that he saw only a fraction of the allies’ full strength. There were deployments ensconced in hidden valleys and gulleys on the higher slopes, ready to form second and third assault waves at Karapetian’s command.

  Across the valley, he could see Ukurum fires springing up to mirror the allied beacons, although it was difficult to estimate numbers at this range. Despite regular boosts of elixir, he was weary to the bone and knew that tomorrow would bring even greater demands. He and Celestia, together with a dedicated team of far-seers, would be the allies’ eyes and ears throughout the conflict. Celestia was proud of her team but their capabilities were limited to recognition of terrestrial magickal humanoids. For some reason, impossible to fathom in the short time scale available, Celebrains were invisible to them. Only Merrick, by virtue of his union with Celestia, had a clear and detailed view of the enemy. Yet their unique partnership couldn’t survey everywhere at once, and it prevented them from gaining a complete overview of enemy troop movements.

  Merrick lowered his field glasses and checked the time. The war council would be starting soon.

  He passed several tiers of guards on the way to the central marquee, who each challenged him for identification. Karapetian was obviously taking no chances with security. He sat with the companions and listened to Jason’s last minute briefing. It had changed little since the previous one and he found his mind wandering as a result of fatigue. Celestia nudged him at one point when Jason announced a change of waveband for their communication—the alien atmospherics allowed conventional use of radio and Merrick needed to know this as he was in charge of the communication hub. Despite her prompts, Merrick found his mind wandering again to Destain’s vision. He had consulted Karapetian, but the only insight he received was the obvious identification of the dragon as Shamon, and the many-headed creature that represented the allied forces. The Hierophant leader advised him to put a low priority on such indistinct portents and concentrate on the plans they had formulated.

  He dismissed the War Council after half an hour and Merrick wandered back to his private tent with Celestia. He found four guards stationed outside, reminding him of his VIP status. The one guarding the entrance nodded to him and Merrick exchanged a few pleasantries, thanking him for his service.

  The tent interior was basic but comfortable. A fur-covered bed had been set up for them, and Merrick suggested they get under wraps as soon as possible. Even under canvas the Celebrain air was biting cold, and its lower oxygen concentration tended to bring on wheezing fits despite the weeks of acclimation they had undergone from countless visits.

  A small butanol lamp shed a warm glow at the bedside and they huddled together in its cheery light, grateful for the shared body warmth. “The preparations have gone well on the whole,” she said.

  Merrick paused, then said “Yeah, it’s all going to plan.”

  She looked up at him. “You don’t sound convinced.”

  “It all seems just ... too easy.”

  “You were hoping for a disaster or two?”

  He smiled. “No. It’s just disconcerting that the usual Whyte bad luck hasn’t struck yet. I can’t help thinking that the god of fortune is saving up some particularly bad shit for me.”

  “We have prepared for the worst—now on the eve of war, we deserve a chance to hope for the best.”

  “The best thing to happen is lying right by me tonight.”

  She pressed the end of his nose, a gesture that had become habit between them. Make love to me, she sent.

  He stroked his finger along her jawline, then began the prelude to a union of desperate passion. Afterwards, they fell asleep in each other’s arms, weariness overcoming any remaining nervousness.

  ~~~

  Elsewhere, across the other side of the allies’ encampment, Tessanee shivered inside a makeshift but inescapable cage. The guards had given her a straw-filled mat to sleep on, and enough blankets to prevent hypothermia, but it wasn’t enough to stop her teeth chattering. The one called Johnny had given her some hot broth for supper, but the warmth in her stomach dissipated within minutes.

  She rubbed her hands against her grimy cheeks to generate some heat, but all she succeeded in doing was to take the top off her slowly healing wounds and set them bleeding again.

  Curse you Outsider, she thought as she remembered Johnny’s face and its look of glee as he meted out a harsh interrogation regime. The violence had stopped over five days ago, but the hardest technique to resist had been the relentless probing by the Psychonaut and his bitch mistress. She had made a play of confessing some small detail or two about Shamon’s defences. These had been truthful but insignificant, and it took all her magickal ability to erect a convincing barrier to deflect further infiltration of her mind. She guessed Johnny suspected he had only been thrown a few morsels. Why else would he bring her here, if not to resume the interrogation once time allowed?

  She hated every one of them with a fervency that consumed her, and swore she would make them regret not slitting her throat when they had the chan
ce. The obstacles between her and escape were many, but her resolve and devotion to Jagur Shamon were stronger than her tormentors could imagine. She would bide her time, and wait for the opportunity that must surely come.

  ~~~

  Chapter 40

  Heaven and hell

  Morning broke to a hell-swept sky. It wept flakes of precipitation that seemed to Merrick like dry leaves or ripped parchment. He buttoned down his coat against the chill, dry wind that swept through a pass that gaped like a raw wound in the mountain range above them. It was a dismal coldness, not piercing, more of an insinuation that seemed to spread from the bones outward.

  “Lovely day for an apocalypse,” he said to Albany and Celestia.

  Albany gave a bleak smile. “At least we get to see what we’re up against. Mind you, if the sound of Shamon’s hordes is anything to go by, I’m not sure I want to.”

  The night had been filled with the ululations and deep moaning of the Ukurum. They deprived the Alliance forces of sleep and eroded their resolve. Now, as the gargantuan disc of the sun broke through the haze, they could see the massed armies, laid out in an unregimented smear across the valley.

  “I see you’ve brought your sabre,” Celestia said.

  “If all else fails, I want to go out like Custer at the Little Big Horn,” he replied.

  “Don’t be maudlin,” Albany said, “it’s always darkest before—”

  He was interrupted by the sound of a mucus-laden gob of spit. It was Jason and he’d brought three pairs of binoculars with him, he distributed with a gruff greeting. He took out a telescope for his own viewing and scanned the vista.

  After a full minute, during which no one spoke, Albany gave his appraisal. “Ugly looking buggers aren’t they?”

  Ugly was an understatement. Merrick thought he’d seen extreme mutation during the encounter with the Necrolytes and Amorphic. But the creatures Shamon had assembled on the barren slope opposite were beyond nightmare. Just when he thought he’d seen the extent of grotesquerie, his binoculars picked out another twisted variation of bio-engineering.