Star Stuff, page 11
Tom took the crystal. He looked at Amor through the glimmering stone. She appeared deep purple and silver. But when he turned the crystal, she turned to gleaming blue. He kept moving the crystal before his eyes. At some angles, Amor was tall and narrow, at other angles squat. Viewed through some facades, Amor split into a hundred shards.
Tom lowered the crystal. "We have something similar on Earth. We call it a kaleidoscope." He hefted the gleaming stone. "This is nicer."
"The elders believe that one should always view every problem with many angles," she said. "That's why we call this a problem stone. Through it you can view the world in many different shapes and colors. Keep this problem stone, Captain Tom." She smiled sadly. "You'll need it more than us."
She looked away, her tears falling anew. He stepped around her, tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. She trembled.
"Amor," he whispered. "Why are you frightened?"
She blinked and smiled, tears on her lips. "Because we are a patch in your cloak."
He cupped her cheek in his palm and stared into her eyes. "I promise you, Amor de la Luna, that I will never let any harm come to you. I will protect you. I will protect this world. I promise."
She embraced him. He wrapped his arms around her, soothing her. The waves washed over their toes, and fireflies danced around them, and Tom felt like they were floating among the stars.
He brushed her silky hair back from her face, and she trembled like a leaf. But when he kissed her, her trembling eased, and she held him tightly and kissed him deeply.
All the cosmos faded. The loss of his starship. The pain of betrayal. The endless grief and battle to mend a thousand broken things. All faded like castles of sand under the waves until there was only him and her. Only a stranger from a strange land and Amor de la Luna, the love of the moon.
She took a step back from him, stared into his eyes, and pulled off her dress. Her body was slender and dark even in the moonlight, and she seemed to him like Venus born from the waves. He placed his coat on the sand, a blanket for them to lie on. They made love as the waves whispered and the rainforest swayed and the stars shone above.
Afterward, they lay holding each other, and Tom kissed her cheek and smoothed her hair.
I don't know what will happen tomorrow, he thought. Right now, there is only us. Right now, I am here. Right now, there is only one world. Only one color to the night. And I wish I never had anything more.
Yet the dawn still rose. And when Tom put on his coat, he was the explorer again.
Amor stood on the village outskirts, watching him fly away, her hair streaming like a black banner. He piloted his shuttle, leaving the village behind, heading north to seek the Red Cardinal. To find answers. To find another patch for his own cloak of many colors.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Tom took only one shuttle to seek the Red Cardinal. Whoever this mysterious figure was, Tom did not want to startle him with hundreds of visitors. One shuttle would do. One little vessel and only four people, himself included.
Tom manned the pilot's seat. Hancock sat beside him, his white mustache neatly brushed. The bulldog was holding a basket of coconuts between his knees, a gift from the village. Floribeth sat in the back, her hands neatly folded on her lap. Tom needed her here to translate. Winter completed the quartet. The major leaned back, feet on the seat across from her, smoking a cigar. Her collection of rifles topped the seats at her sides.
"This island has the most delicious pork I've ever tasted," Winter was saying. "With pineapple on top … man oh man. I could retire here."
Floribeth laughed. "Me too. And did you taste those mangoes? I've never tasted fruit so sweet."
Winter leaned forward. "Tommy, my dear big brother, can we please send a message to Earth that we're all dead? I don't want a rescue ship."
Tom kept flying, gripping the yoke. "Sorry, girls, but we have no way of contacting Earth. Our only wormhole generator died with the starship. But the president knew where we were heading. She'll send a rescue mission soon enough."
Groans filled the backseat.
"But we don't wanna leave!" Floribeth said.
"Go back to New Siberia after this?" said Winter. "Hell no!"
Tom ignored them. His knuckles tightened around the handlebars. He remembered what Amor de la Luna had told him—to examine every problem from many angles.
We've seen only one side of Bahay, he thought. This crystal has many facets.
The villagers had given them a map. Basilica, home of the Red Cardinal, lay a thousand miles away on a large island. Tom took his shuttle into space, where wreckage from the battle still floated. The shuttle orbited for a few minutes as the planet rolled by below. Then they dived back in, heading toward the island of Bagong Palawan.
They flew over a rainforest, a few other villages with bamboo huts, and terraced hillsides where farmers toiled in rice paddies. Clearly, Bahay was behind Earth technologically. But this world was not without some technology. In the distance, a train chugged along tracks between the mountains. Along one dirt road, Tom saw what looked like an antique car.
"The Bahayans moved here in 1899, according to the village tales," Tom said. "They still have the technology of the era."
"Looks like they haven't innovated much in three hundred years." Hancock hefted a coconut. "Not a bad thing. A simpler life."
"Apparently, there weren't many original settlers," Tom said. "A few nineteenth-century Filipino farmers and fishermen, that's all. They had to start over. Build a new civilization. Spread across a planet. So yes, they're behind us technologically." He sighed. "I wonder if we're doing the wrong thing. Showing them space shuttles. Modern tech. Interfering."
Hancock snorted. "That Red Cardinal fellow has been doing some meddling himself, I would bet."
Tom nodded. "Yes, it seems like the villagers worship him, fear him, or both. He's a god or a demon, depending on who you ask. To them he's a mysterious figure, steeped in legend, who lives atop a mountain so distant it would take months to reach. With our shuttles, we can fly over within half an hour. He'll have a harder time impressing us. Or scaring us."
"You expect trouble from the old man?" said Hancock. At sixty years of age, Hancock was no spring chicken himself. But if the stories were true, and the Red Cardinal was centuries old, Hancock would barely seem like a newly hatched chick.
"I always expect trouble," Tom said. "It's why I've lived this long."
The gruff old man snorted. "I have socks older than you." He placed a hand on Tom's shoulder. "Want a piece of advice, kid?"
"No. But I have a feeling you're gonna give it to me anyway."
Hancock nodded. "Damn right I will. Stay away from the local talent, if you know what I mean. Ain't nothing but trouble there."
Tom took a deep breath. "If you're referring to Amor, I assure you there is nothing to worry about."
"Said the sailor following the siren's song," Hancock muttered.
Tom was about to argue when he saw the city ahead.
He shut his mouth and stared.
"Well, goddamn," Hancock said.
A volcano rose from the rainforest. Rivers of molten magma had hardened in some ancient era, leaving rippled slopes of black basalt. A city draped across the dark mountaintop. On the flight here, Tom had seen several villages, but this was the first city. Thousands of houses clustered together, all built of basalt bricks. Alleyways snaked between them, their cobblestones black, forming a labyrinth that would stump a minotaur.
"This looks nothing like the rest of Bahay," Tom said. "Not a tree in sight."
"A tropical paradise contains the seventh circle of hell." Hancock harrumphed. "Even the fluffiest sheep's ass has a thorn hiding somewhere in its curls."
"You have a way with words," Tom said.
Most of the buildings here were small, barely larger than the bamboo huts back at the village. But one building soared tall. A cathedral crowned the mountain, its steeple scratching the sky. Its flying buttresses clutched the mountain like arachnid legs. Its walls and towers were black. A resplendent rose window, a circle large enough to fly a shuttle through, shone like the white eye of a cyclops. As Tom flew closer, he saw that stained glass filled that round window, each piece another shade of white. If it was indeed an eye, it was milky with cataracts.
Suddenly—a flash of red in an upper window.
Eyes—staring. Piercing him from afar.
Tom frowned, leaned forward, and squinted. But the windows were dark. The color was gone.
"Did you see that?" Tom said. "A red figure in the window."
Hancock's mustache bristled. "I didn't see it, but I felt it. Like an invisible blade slipping between my ribs."
Tom swallowed dryly. "Let's tread lightly here."
He guided the shuttle down, engaged its stabilizers, and descended upon jets of air toward a courtyard. He thumped down outside the cathedral gates.
Tom popped the hatch, and again the heat of Bahay flowed across him, just as jolting as the first time. Already sweating, Tom climbed out and stood on basalt cobblestones. He craned his neck back, gazing at the black cathedral. Gargoyles glowered from on high. Statues of saints in black robes stared from within stone hoods. Tom shuddered.
The others stepped out from the shuttle too. Hancock smoothed his navy blue jacket, raised his chin, and straightened his cap. Floribeth looked around with huge eyes, and her knees knocked. She was the smallest in the group and the only one without a gun. Winter, meanwhile, looked oddly at home here among the basalt statues. With her armored black uniform, she looked like a gargoyle herself. The major surveyed the courtyard, nodded, and hefted her assault rifle with both hands.
Tom looked at his sister, one eyebrow raised. Winter looked back and shrugged.
Clearing his throat, Tom approached the cathedral doors. They towered above him, engraved with biblical scenes. Tom grabbed a knocker. It was shaped like an irate goblin biting an iron ring. Tom gave only a light knock, but the sound reverberated across the courtyard, so loud Floribeth jumped. As if in answer, bells in the belfry far above began to clang. The sound was deafening. Everyone covered their ears—even Winter, who could fall asleep to the sound of gunfire.
Finally the ringing subsided. An uneasy silence draped across the courtyard, and Tom realized that he could not hear the city below. No hum of motors, no crackle of radios, no distant conversation. Not even a dog barking or rooster crowing. Utter silence.
For long moments, nothing happened.
"Try knocking again," Hancock muttered. "They probably didn't hear ya the first time."
Winter raised a steel-tipped boot. "Ah, let's just kick the doors down."
Before she could kick, a creak sounded somewhere deep in the door's inner mechanisms. The sounds echoed through the door—locks clicking, gears turning, metal chains dragging. Iron bands across the wooden doors moved like blooming steel flowers. Finally one of the great twin doors creaked open. Dust flew.
A dwarf hobbled forward, emerging from the cloud of dust. His back was crooked, his legs bowed. He peered at them, head tilted. His left eye was huge and yellow, the right eye small, squinting, nearly lost between cheek and brow.
The little hunchback wore dusty livery. The uniform made him look like some nineteenth-century bellhop, less like a servant of the church. The red fabric must have been fine once, embroidered with golden thread and inlaid with brass buttons. But the years had worn the dye, and the edges were fraying. Tom found himself remembering the tale of Miguel's cloak.
The dwarf scrutinized them with his large eye, his bottom lip thrust out. Finally he nodded.
"The cardinal will see you now."
Grumbling under his breath, the bandy-legged gatekeeper vanished behind the door, leaving it ajar.
"Thanks, Igor!" Winter called after him.
Tom and his crew stepped through the gateway, entering the cathedral.
They found themselves in a dark nave. Polished black tiles, rows of black columns, and lines of black statues stretched toward the shadows. Darkness cloaked the ceiling. The dwarf had vanished. The doors slammed shut behind the crew, enveloping them in shadows and silence.
They turned on their flashlights and swept the beams from side to side. Shadows scuttled among the columns. Dark figures with pale antlers. Hunchbacked creatures with horns. Little pixie children with fluttering wings and white, white eyes in dark faces. They fled from the light, hissing and laughing and chirping, and wings fluttered outside the stained-glass windows as a thousand bats rose into the sky.
Tom pointed his flashlight down the nave, seeking an altar, but the shadows swallowed his beam. Winter and Hancock added their beams to his, but even their combined light could not pierce the darkness at the heart of the cathedral.
Firelight rose from the depths. Red firelight, burning around an altar. It was a red gullet in the jaws of an iron dragon. A furnace churning in the depths of an abandoned starship. A beating red heart among the blackened ribs of a long-dead titan.
The torches crackled, and he rose between them. A man. A figure all in crimson, fingernails like claws, neck bent. A gray head like a chewed-up ball of gum dangled from that neck, a fleshy bulb upon a crooked stalk. Beady black eyes peered over dark sacks and sallow skin. Red lips like well-fed leeches parted, revealing sharp teeth and a serpentine tongue. Not a forked tongue like a serpent's, but a tongue like the serpent itself, covered in white scales, seeking prey. An embroidered mitre hat rose upon the man's head, shaped like a diamond and as glorious as any crown. In one gnarled hand, he clutched the chain of a thurible. The censer swung, leaking flames.
All life, reality itself, any sense of righteousness or sanity—it fled, sucked up by the dark presence, flowing into the cardinal as into a black hole. It was like air fleeing a dying starship. Like the soul fleeing a dying man.
Tom stared at this figure as if seeing a ghost. Surely this could not be a real man.
Yet the apparition stepped down a dais, and he walked across the black tiles. His every footfall left wisps of smoke as if walking upon the charred plains of hell.
"That's close enough, buddy!" Winter said, raising a rifle.
She put on a show of confidence. But Tom heard the fear in her voice.
He glanced at his sister. She was pale. Sweat trickled down her temple.
Tom looked back at the apparition. The creature was closer now, almost by them. Gaunt. He was so gaunt. Skeletal. Eyes sunken. Eyes rimmed with red. The thurible puffed out smoke and the ghostly priest seemed to hover, his body not fully in this world, yet his dark soul spread tendrils across the world.
"Red Cardinal!" Tom said.
And suddenly the figure moved so quickly. So fast Tom barely saw it happen. Within a split second, the Red Cardinal was standing inches away from Tom. A pale hand reached out, grabbed Tom's arm. Knobby white fingers tightened. They were so cold. Fingers like icicles. And Tom realized those fingers had extra knuckles—one more joint than normal hands. Fingers like gray talons.
"Hello, Captain Tom," the Red Cardinal hissed. "You have ignored my warning to leave, I see. Ah! I expected you would. But I'm glad you came." He swept his hand back toward the shadows. "Would you and your people join me for dinner?"
"For dinner or as dinner?" Winter asked.
The Red Cardinal spun toward her. His lips widened, his scaly tongue darted, and he hissed something that sounded like laughter. "Ah, humor. Sometimes I become so serious with my work. Come, come! My brides will serve you a feast."
The vampiric figure turned, walked toward the shadows, and beckoned. His eyes gleamed in the firelight.
Winter leaned toward Tom. "Nothing threatening here," she muttered.
"He's certainly not Filipino," Tom whispered back. "And he does look ancient. So far his story checks out. Let's join him for dinner. Let's peek behind the curtain."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
They gathered in the dining hall. Serpentine candle holders coiled out from brick walls and chipped columns. Candles dripped wax, raising stalagmites on the floor. More candles shone across a scarred oak table, its legs shaped as snarling beasts. A fire crackled in the hearth.
A cross hung on the ceiling, so large its beams were like rafters. A wooden Christ was nailed into the cross. The sculpture hung from the ceiling, peering down at the diners, face twisted in anguish.
The Red Cardinal sat at the head of the table. His dining chair was more like a throne. It was made entirely of bones. Canine bones. Two dog skulls peered with empty eye sockets from the armrests. The Red Cardinal clutched the skulls and leaned forward.
"You must forgive an old man," he said. "I know you're used to electric lights and modern comforts. We on Bahay prefer a simpler life."
"Simple like a throne of bones in a haunted cathedral?" Winter muttered, her voice for Tom's ears only.
The Earthlings had been given humbler seats. Tom and Winter sat at one side of the table. The major still wore her battle armor, and her helmet rested between her feet. Hancock and Floribeth sat across from them. The old bulldog was sniffing at his empty mug, then glancing around, seeking booze. The young helmswoman, meanwhile, sat quietly, her hands on her knees, her eyes darting.
"So, um … Your Eminence?" Hancock said, raising his mug. "You have anything to wet our whistles in this cathedral of yours?"
The Red Cardinal laughed—a shrill sound like the titter of some gangly, featherless bird. His little white tongue darted.
"Of course, my dear officer!" The cardinal lifted an ornate bell from the table. It was engraved with skeletons dancing in a ring. "My brides will gladly serve us."
He rang the bell.
Doors opened along the dining hall. Several young women entered the room.
Tom frowned. The women were Bahayan. He recognized the light brown skin, delicate features, and dark eyes. But there ended their resemblance to villagers like Amor. These women wore golden bracelets and chokers, precious jewels, but they reminded Tom of chains and collars. Strips of white silk flowed down from their collars, barely hiding their nakedness. Aromatic oils filled their long black hair, and platinum powder glittered around their eyes. Those eyes gazed ahead blankly. The women seemed in a daze.
