9th January, after midnight
Church of St. Helena at night seemed a black hole on the other side. The sergeant, although he clarified with Brennon whether they really can all go, led the police away with obvious relief. The commissar had no idea how the guys stood here for six hours in each shift, especially at night, and made a note about the prize in his memory. As soon as they disappeared from sight, as Valentina slipped out of the consultant's carriage and crossed the parvis. The commissar was waiting for her at the steps leading to the church portal. She stopped and frowned, looking under the dark arches. Nathan raised the lantern higher.
"Is there anyone?" Brennon asked.
"Yes. Nine souls."
Nathan felt a burning sense of shame. For all this time, he only once remembered the souls of children imprisoned in the portal, as if, having been horrified once, he had completely fulfilled his duty in relation to them. Even now, asking a question, he had in mind some beasts from that side, and not at all ...
"Are they alive?" He asked timidly.
"Souls are immortal," Valentina answered, but the Commissar recognized this cold hostility that he had already seen when they interrogated Hildur Lindquist.
"Are they badly tormented?"
"They're scared," Valentina sucked in air, as if smelling their odor. "They are locked in darkness, alone with the portal to the other side. They are exhausted and frightened."
"But... but they won't turn into utburds or what else when we release them?"
"I do not know. No one can guarantee you, Nathan. No one even knows if the whole Church will fall to the other side with the ifrit."
Brennon only sighed. Valentina climbed the stairs, and the Commissar, after a moment, followed her. He did not leave the thought that he entrusted the most dangerous part of the work to Longsdale, the hound and the witch, which means he should be with them. Of course, the consultant calmly declared that he would track down the ifrit, lure it out of its den and deliver it to the church - but what if the evil spirit turn out to be stronger?
The entrance to the temple was blocked with boards, and Nathan grabbed an ax from Longsdale's house to cut down the passage, but at first glance he realized that it would not be needed. The wood was blackened with soot and crumbled into crumbs, as soon as Mrs. Van Allen pressed her hand on it. An impenetrable, ink-colored darkness reigned inside, so thick as if there was no air left in the church. The commissar caught a strange smell reminiscent of campfire smoke and burnt meat; throat locked up.
"Are you sure?" He asked, because he was rapidly losing confidence in his right to let a woman go there. Valentina turned on him, and her eyes softened.
"Don't be afraid," she said. Her eyes darkened again to a deep blue. She dropped her coat on the sooty stone railing and ducked into the darkness. Brennon stayed outside. He listened to her easy steps and involuntarily clutched an ax, ready to rush inside at any second, after the first cry.
"She's not a human," Nathan reminded himself. "So calm down and don't twitch."
He leaned against the wall at the entrance and was unpleasantly surprised at how warm it was. It was not warming warmth, but some kind of stuffy heat, as if a hot furnace was inside. But in the father's forge it was much nicer in the midst of work than here, near the calcined walls. Nathan ran a hand over the masonry - there was soot and black brick dust on his palm. Will the walls crumble to hell, when the ifrit starts to rage inside?
There was a booming sigh in the church, from which a vibration went down the porch and walls. Brennon jumped up and jerked to the portal. The trickles of dark dust glided across the walls. The sigh was repeated, and a white light appeared in the impenetrable gloom of the temple. It was so dull and small, as if Nathan was separated from him for few miles. The twinkle flickered weakly. Gradually, a transparent glow appeared around it. Throbbing like a heart, it gradually increased, snatching flap after flap from the darkness.
The lick of flame grew brighter and taller until finally Brennon saw the floor slabs in its light. The Commissar recognized the deepening the hound had shown him. Granite slabs bent and sank, more reminiscent of dirty spring ice in soot stains.
The narrow flame petal tensed and flared. For a moment, the commissar seemed that it was not fire, but a tall female figure, shrouded in a lush cloud of pale golden hair. But the vision immediately disappeared behind the flicker of the intensified glow.
Now Brennon could see the remains of the altar niche, a pair of narrow columns and steps leading to the altar. A soft golden haze fell on the walls, highlighting a thick layer of soot and ash. In the pale light, the Commissar noticed something else - a thin column of swirling smoke to the left of a dent in the floor. Another was a little further, barely noticeable on the verge of light and shadow.
The fire fluttered, as under a gust of wind, a flickering ball around it often pulsed. There was something of the heartbeat in this rhythm. Suddenly a vibrating tremor passed through the dense blackness of the church. She passed to the walls, porch and air around the Commissar. Brick dust and cinder burnt from the walls with flakes, and Brennon recoiled, almost twisting from the steps.
The fire in the church blazed dazzlingly. Nathan instinctively covered his face with his elbow, but color spots danced in his eyes anyway. There was a ringing sigh and inarticulate dull whisper for ten voices, as if from the ground. Or nine. Goosebumps ran down the commissar; he lowered his hand and blinked.
The church was empty. Dim moonlight penetrated through window openings, snatching pieces of walls and floor here and there. In the middle of the altar niche a round light burned, hanging above Valentina's head. She sat on the floor and with both hands drove along wrinkled granite slabs. Looking up at Brennon, she gestured impatiently for him to approach, and the commissar crossed the threshold. He took a careful breath. The air was saturated with the smell of burning and burnt flesh, but he could breathe.
Nathan swept the room with his lantern. His suspicions were confirmed - nine thin columns of translucent black smoke rose above the slabs under which Jason Moore walled up the vessels for the portal. The pillars stretched to the ceiling, bent and intertwined in a complex tangled arch with a small round hole above the center point.
"Our the ifrit isn't very well-fed," Nathan remarked, approaching the widow, and poked his lantern up.
"He is incorporeal, he doesn't care," Mrs. Van Allen moved away from the dent and frowned. "The point is not the size of the gap, but the correctly performed ritual."
"Well, I hope Longsdale manages to cram it back," Brennon looked around. Not the most pleasant place, what is already there...
"Give me a knife," Valentina demanded sharply.
"What?"
"It will be safer than if you start cutting your veins yourself."
"You think I can't handle it? Will the hand tremble?"
"How did you even think of this!" The widow exclaimed reproachfully.
"Well, something like that," the Commissar shrugged. "I'm a human, so I fit in."
"You have no idea what you're facing! You can die," she added quickly, clearly hoping to dissuade him.
"I might not. You'll be around."
"Give me the knife. Then I can control the bleeding from the very beginning."
Brennon lingered, and finally reluctantly handed her a flick-knife.
"Oh, why are you?" Valentina asked.
"Because catching Jason Moore is a long and dreary business, and the police are not involved in sacrifices. And how do you even imagine it? No court will pass such a sentence on him."
"And so you must..."
"And who else?"
"I don't understand," Valentina shook her head. "I don't understand why you, mortals, sometimes act like..." she bit her lip.
"Like?" Nathan encouraged her.
"It's like you never die."
"Sometimes it's necessary," the Commissar grunted.
"But if you bleed, you won't open your eyes the next morning, alive and well."
She looked at Brennon angrily and excitedly, as if she was outraged by a similar attitude to his own life.
"You are here so that it doesn't get to the extreme," Nathan said softly.
"But I can't guarantee..."
"So I cannot guarantee that Longsdale, Jen and Paw will survive. And I do not like that they are there, and I am here," the commissar threw off his coat and frock coat, spread them on the floor and invited the widow to sit down. She sank down beside him. "But what to do. I can't to be everywhere at once. And to be live bait already twice a night - also so-so amusement."
"Are you not at all afraid?" after a moment, Valentina asked.
"Why? I'm afraid of course."
"But you do it very insensibly," Mrs. Van Allen said with a smile. Nathan rubbed his beard thoughtfully.
"I don't know," he finally admitted, "maybe the fact is that I have seen worse things. Taghs in Mazandran, for example, and their temples, all kinds of sacrifices for the glory of their black goddess, what's her name… There is nothing to say about the civil war. People do this without the help of all evil spirits. By the way," Brennon started up, "won't the ifrit notice you are here? Well, in general, what has become cleaner here?"
"Notice," Valentina answered with a sigh. "But I can't hide from him. Honestly, this is the weakest part of your strategy."
"Yeah," the commissar agreed, and he himself saw in his idea this hole the size of a foundation pit under the cathedral. "Hopefully Longsdale will still find a way to drag this beast inside."
"Do you trust him?"
"You should not get down to business if you do not trust the one with whom you work. And when you can't do it yourself, it's better to find someone who can."
"I'm not talking about that. I mean... he is not... not quite human."
"I know."
"Do you know?" The widow asked incredulously. "But how can you be with him then?"
"When I find the one who made him that way," Nathan said through set teeth, "I will certainly ask this critter of what he's up to."
Valentina looked at him in surprise. A strange ringing sound came from outside, as if the windows in all the shops in the district trembled at once. Brennon rose quickly and turned off the lantern. Valentina caught a luminous ball and squeezed it in a fist so that the light flickered weakly between her fingers. However, the church did not plunge into complete darkness - the smoky pillars exuded a dull gray glow.
The Commissar retreated to the wall, hiding in the shadows, and drew Mrs. van Allen with him. The ringing subsided, but immediately a familiar to Nathan roar came, from which the soul went to heels - and the hound would not shake the air in vain. Valentina trembled violently and stepped forward, trying to close the commissar with herself.
"Approaching," she whispered. The roar of the hound broke; after a moment of deafening silence, such a ringing and clanging slammed, as if a grenade had exploded in a china shop. The commissar rushed to the exit.
Jumping out onto the porch, Nathan saw that the window of the nearest store had burst, and Longsdale was head over heels rolling in the snow; splinters scattered around like a fan. The witch rushed to the consultant, the hound, growling and dripping in the snow with fire, swept around. Longsdale stood up, leaning on Jen's arm. His eyes glowed predatory in the night, blood oozing from numerous cuts on his hands, face and torso. He was again without a coat, frock coat and even a vest.
"To here!" The consultant cawed hoarsely. "To me, beast! I'm here!"
Nathan froze in place. He could not be mistaken - it was the same man again. The commissar recognized him by his intonation, the wild fire in his eyes, and his fierce cruel gaze.
"Come on!" This man shouted. "Come on!"
Shards of glass suddenly flared crimson, and thin whips of transparent flame burst silently from them. The hound roared. Longsdale staggered, blinked, ran a hand across his face - and cried out, darted to the church. Above the roofs of the houses, a purple translucent something woven and wheezed eagerly. The witch on the run thrown a huge fireball into this and rushed to the temple after the consultant and the hound. Something arched, opened its ghostly mouth and rushed after them.
Brennon bounced inside, making way, but Longsdale hesitated on the threshold, and the hound practically pushed him into the church with all its weight. Jen ran in last and immediately threw the commissar into the wall. The ifrit burst inside, scorching everything around with hellish heat, on the fly he made half a dozen circles around the church and braked only in the middle of the seventh under the dome. It hovered near the arch of the portal, fluttering like a flag in the wind, and Nathan was finally able to see this creature.
It was heterogeneous - purple was becoming then more transparent, then thicker, and it seemed as if something was moving inside the ifrit all the time. But even now, being visible, it did not look like a creature from the flesh, whatever it was, but like a hole in the fabric of this world through which Nathan saw the other side, felt its breath and heard its voice - those sounds that the beasts make, living there. The look was drowning in the body of the ifrit, and the commissar fancied that in the purple haze muzzles, paws, wings - and almost human faces, hands, and bodies of distorted wild outlines replace each other...
"Stop it!" the witch hissed and poked Brennon with her fist under his ribs. The vision at once disappeared. The ifrit reared up, bent its hump and hissed deafeningly. The corrosive sound screwed into his ears like a corkscrew, and the commissar squeezed them with his hands - it seemed that the skull was about to burst. The temple darkened. Nathan, instinctively covering his head, raised his eyes - the roof and walls of the church showered down with fine ashes, obliterating like a pencil drawing. The exposed sky pulsed crimson and slowly sank. Brennon knee-deep stuck in the ashes and cried out hoarsely, surprised that neither the witch nor Longsdale were doing anything, although they were all about to be buried under the waves of ash...
...and suddenly everything disappeared. Sound, ashes, crimson light - all of this. The commissar aghast looked around - the church was in place, the moon was shining through the holes in the roof, smoke was streaming in the columns and arches of the portal. In the middle of it, under the hole, Valentina stood and silently looked at the ifrit. She did not move and did nothing, but evil spirit clenched into a ball under the dome and hersed weakly, throwing out and pulling in short tentacles.
"Vale..."
"Quiet!" someone gave the Commissar a hoarse hiss. Turning around, he saw orange witch eyes burning in the dark.
"It's time," the consultant said quietly.
"What? Time for what?" Brennon stupidly asked. He is here, not in the portal! In silence, the flip knife snapped. The Commissar finally realized.
"Valentina!" He roared. "Do not dare!"
He rushed to the portal, and a multi-pound hound carcass fell on top of him. The hound impressed Nathan on the floor, carefully rumbling into his ear and holding his tightly with its paws, like a puppy. Brennon rushed with all his might.
"Don't be afraid," said Valentina, and ran a knife along her arm, cutting a vein from her elbow to her wrist. "Nothing will happen to me."
A long narrow wound, from which blood flowed, opened on the milky white skin.
"Let go!" The commissar growled, desperately tearing himself out of hound's mighty paws. "Let go of me, you bastard!"
"Nothing will happen to me," the widow repeated gently, not taking her eyes off Nathan. "Do not be afraid."
She also confidently opened the vein on her other hand and dropped the knife. It rang on the slabs, and then the ifrit finally realized what was happening. It let out such a scream that pierced to the bone that Brennon froze, crouching on the floor. Evil spirit rushed to the hole in the roof. Something like a long torch flared in the doorway. At the same time, fire burned in all the cracks, holes and windows. The ifrit with a roar hit the flame, flew into a corner, stretched out in a whip and slashed a long tail on the wall. It was may be disembodiy, but pieces of brick sprinkled with hail.
"Valentina!" recalled Nathan. "Valentina!"
He dodged, kicked the brute in the belly and jerked to the portal. The hound panted reproachfully and gritted his teeth tightly against the commissar's shoulder, grabbing he near his neck. Brennon cursed with impotence. The ifrit whipped his tail closer: there was a deep crack in the floor, a stone crumb splashed into the commissar's face, and granite flared like a cardboard. Crimson flames danced across all the floor. The hound beat down the nearest lights with its paw, but the evil spirit kept howling and lashing the walls and floor with its tail, and soon Nathan could no longer tell which was the crimson fire and which was the red one.
Longsdale's legs flashed before the Commissar, and through the roar and howl, Brennon made out that he was reciting some verses in a foreign language. The smoke columns of the portal suddenly became so dense as if they had been blown out of a dull glass.
"Valentina..." Nathan hissed, realizing that it was too late to intervene: he continued to break free only because he could not and did not want to leave her there alone. She shouldn't... nobody should do that! No one should die like that!
The Commissar froze only when the ifrit lunged at Longsdale. A ring of fire flashed around the consultant, instantly turning into a pillar up to the ceiling. The evil thing slammed into it with fury, wrapped itself around it, and tried to chew its way in. But Longsdale's voice still sounded from the fire, reflected low from the walls and filling the temple.
Nathan stood up on his elbows. The four-pointed star of the portal has now become completely distinct. Valentina lay in its center. Blood flowed into the recess under the hole in the arch and was twisted with a funnel. The smoke pillars at the base turned red.
"Oh God, let go of me," the Commissar croaked, and the grip on his shoulder became stronger. The round hole faintly lit around the edge and became foggy: behind it, instead of the church arch, the sky appeared. Blood poured in the smoky pillars, rising in clouds to the arch. The smoke swirling inside turned pinkish gray. A gentle melodic ringing floated around the church, as if the wind was played through nine strings intertwined into an arch.
Brennon suddenly realized that Longsdale was silent, the ifrit froze, wrapped around a pillar of fire, even the flame in the cracks and windows froze. Only a low chime was heard; and then Nathan felt something. The ringing became louder, and a wind blew through the church, breaking free from the portal. Brennon closed his eyes and pressed himself to the floor - the breath on other side was so alien, poisoning the air that he hardly suppressed the urge to run away. It became difficult to breathe - the wind from other side blew air from the church.
Brennon forced himself to open his eyes and, instinctively covering them with his palm, stared at the ifrit. Evil spirit flowed down the pillar. Gathered in a blot on the floor, it froze for a moment, and then dashed with a long stroke to the exit. Jen screamed furiously and flashed in the doorway so that the Commissar felt hot. A whirlwind burst out of the portal with a roar - Nathan saw thus thing only once when he was sailing home from Mazandran, but that one consisted of water and wind, and this one was a long narrow funnel of something gray, some paws, muzzles and distorted bodies flickered in it. Brennon decided not to peer.
Overriding the ringing, Longsdale's voice boomed in the church. The tail of the whirlwind dug into a deepening in the center of the star, spinning, threw out a long tentacle and grabbed the ifrit. The beast screeched; the tentacle dragged it across the floor, leaving a deep furrow and granite dust curling through the air. The walls of the temple cracked like eggshells. Finally, the tentacle was drawn into the whirlwind along with the ifrit, a loud pop was heard, and everything disappeared.
For a moment, complete silence reigned in the church. The pillar of fire protecting Longsdale fell and went out; the hound got up from the commissar and stepped aside; Nathan, feeling like a toad after the cartwheel, somehow got to his knees. He looked around - Jen, no longer resembling a living torch, leaned against the wall and was breathing heavily. A long thin crack went along the masonry next to her, in a split second it sprawled into a cobweb, and then the remains of the roof collapsed inside.
"Run!" The witch shouted piercingly. The walls of the church crumbled like sand. with the scream "Valentina!" jumped to his feet and rushed to the portal. The hound's teeth in vain clicked behind the commissar's leg.
"Wait!" Longsdale shouted. As Brannon neared the portal, it was like being kicked in the chest by a giant hoof, and he fell on the hound. A sparkling ice ball flashed in the consultant's hand, and he threw it at the base of one of the pillars. Granite splinters spattered like a fountain; in the pit, the Commissar caught a glimpse of a luminous vessel, but Longsdale instantly pulled it out and slammed against the wall. The smoke pillar blinked and vanished. Nathan rushed into the gap.
The floor inside was dry, without a trace of blood. Brennon grabbed Valentina in his arms and shot a quick glance at the hole above his head - all kinds of creatures crowded there, trying to claw their way in.
"Run!" Longsdale snapped, destroying the second pillar. The commissar rushed to the exit. Valentina's body was very light and completely lifeless.
Brennon burst out into the fresh, clear from the frost night, breathed deeply, ran down the steps and galloped across the parvis. He so wanted to be as far away from the church with its damned portal that he could stop only fifty yards from the temple. In fact, he was beginning to run out of breath and finally felt frost breezing to the bones. Brennon sank into the snow and carefully laid Valentina on his lap; her head bowed limp on his shoulder. Blood was not visible in the long, narrow wounds, and Nathan did not feel the beat of her heart, although he held her as tightly as if she could warm herself from it.
"Valentina!" He called with a plea. "Valentina!"
Although what's the use of call?? There was not a drop of blood left in her, because he, a moronic idiot, gave her a knife without even thinking what she could do.
"Valentina," Nathan raised his hand to her lips in the hope of catching even a faint sigh, "you are not one of us, how can you..." she did not breathe. The commissar touched her face, hugged her tightly, as if she could still freeze. His throat was suddenly constricted, as if someone had seized it. Nathan pressed his cheek to her hair.
That's how he saved her...
He did not immediately realize that he was warming. Frost still bit his back, but a soft, pleasant warmth spread over his face, chest, arms and knees. Startled, Brennon stared disbelievingly at Valentina and blushed deeply. In his arms lay a tall slender woman, shrouded in only a gentle golden radiance and her hair. Where all the clothes went and why - Nathan did not understand, but tried not to stare anywhere except her face, fortunately the blond curls were almost to her feet. She was amazing - at the same time young and no, beautiful - Nathan knew this for sure, but could not make out the features of her face behind the soft haze. And as keeping his gaze above her neck became increasingly difficult, Brennon closed his eyes and did not open until warm fingers touched his cheeks. Then he carefully opened one eye to make sure that he would not see anything frank.
"Don't be afraid for me," the widow Van Allen said. The Commissar was relieved to find that she was dressed again, and although her skirt and blouse were covered with blood stains, there was not a trace of scars on her hands.
"How are you feeling?" He muttered awkwardly.
"Much better than..."
They heard a booming rumble; the earth trembled. Brennon turned to the church and jumped to his feet: one of its walls folded like a house of cards, and sank to the ground with a pile of debris, dragging the roof and other walls.
"Longsdale is there! And the hound!"
"You will not help him," Valentina held his hand. "And he hardly needs your help."
"What do you mean - hardly?!"
Four or five bright stars soared above the shuddering ruins of the temple and disappeared into the dark sky.
"These are souls," Valentina said in relief. "He set them free."
Brennon resolutely rushed to the church. Mrs. van Allen hurried after him.
"Why are you so worried about him?"
"And what not? How is he worse than any of us?"
"He's not one of you," Valentina protested. "And even if he once was..."
"Exactly," the Commissar said grimly. "And I will find out when and why he ceased to be. And for this I need to at least interrogate the victim."
The closer they got to the church, the more felt the trembling of the earth. Brennon irritably noticed that onlookers, despite the deep night, again climbed out of all the cracks and crowded away from the parvis.
"What are we worth?" The commissar barked. "Do not crowd, diverge, diverge!"
"What is that?" someone asked from the crowd.
"Demolition of the building," Brennon muttered through his teeth: the church was spreading out like dough from a sourdough. The crowd parted, passing the carriage, on the gantries of which Jen was sitting. The witch was grayish-pale and dangerously tilted to one side.
- Oh, child! - the widow was alarmed.
"Take care of her," the commissar commanded, and walked quickly toward the temple. The exit was already tightly littered with broken bricks and tiles, one memory was left of the steps and the porch. However, remembering Valentina's words about the fact that the church could fail to the other side, Brennon was in no hurry to call men to the rubble, so that at least they would be useful.
"Longsdale!" He called out. "Paw! Where are you?"
The ruins rustled menacingly, moved, and suddenly shot, like buckshot, with fragments of brick and stone.
"F***!" The commissar growled, barely dodging a heavy piece of granite. At first the red dusty muzzle appeared from a narrow hole, then the mane, then, not without effort, the hound got out completely and sneezed with relish, and finally, he shook himself heartily, showering the commissar with dust. Brannon reached for the hole and grabbed Longsdale's hand, which rummaged around the exit. The hand was dust and blood, but the rest of the consultant was more or less intact, not counting hundreds of bruises, abrasions, ecchymoses and cuts.
"Why the hell don't you wear armor?" the commissar grumbled, helping the evil spirits' hunter establish himself on his feet.
"What are they all doing here?" Longsdale asked perplexedly, looking around the crowd. "Disperse them home, here now..."
The remains of the temple shook. The Commissar dragged the consultant away. The hound ran ahead, looking anxiously to they.
"Get out!" Brennon barked, reaching the crowd. "To home, quickly!"
"No need to rush," Longsdale said quietly. Nathan turned around. The former church, crumbling before their eyes in black and gray dust, quickly went underground. In a matter of minutes, only a handful of dark dust was left from it in the middle of the foundation pit.
"That's it," the consultant concluded and leaned wearily against the carriage.
Yeah, right, Brennon thought. It was necessary to pull the policemen out of the warm beds, put up a cordon, report to the boss, notify the clergy... And how to do all this without breaking into three or four parts?
"Move to the department," the Commissar finally decided. "Get the attendants to get a dozen policemen and send them here."
"And you?" The witch asked weakly.
"And I will stay," Brennon muttered, "to guard the local idiots."