21: Machinations of a False Prophet
The words delivered by that deep, echoing voice from within the helmet made Theseus shiver as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice over him.
“The terrorists are ready for execution. They are to be burned alive, and their flesh will be consumed in sacrifice. These three will join their conspirators. Strip them, pound their flesh soft and take them above ground. For their valiant efforts in coming this far they will not receive the mercy of the flames before their sacrifice.”
Theseus had never heard John cry before, just as he’d never heard Andromeda panic. He didn’t hear much, though, because a moment later he found himself vomiting over the metal floor and his own reflection. If only he’d had the foresight to direct it at the knights, he thought as he gagged.
***
Phoenie was trying her best to sever her consciousness. She wanted to pass out before the flames got to her, so she could die in peaceful sleep rather than agonised screams. Once again she held her breath, but once again she couldn’t stop gasping for air, as if her subconscious wanted her to suffer. The sight of Amanda marching forward without remorse was like Death’s final joke at her expense.
All these years she’d struggled. All the time and effort she’d dedicated to her study, all the corners she’d cut and people she’d manipulated and friends she’d deceived: maybe it was karma that Phoenie should die like this. Realising her death wouldn’t be painless, she smiled and closed her eyes, knowing well who the last person she should think of had to be.
I’m so sorry I couldn’t avenge you.
Phoenie waited, her image embedded in her mind’s eye. She waited for the fire, for the heat to explode into life, for the pain to tear her flesh and bone asunder.
It never came.
Just the patter of the rain.
And then the shouts.
When Phoenie opened her eyes, she saw Amanda fleeing back towards the church, the flaming torch sitting feet away from the pyres on the gravel. She saw robed figures dive towards the flame with grasping hands desperate to complete the execution, only to be stopped by a flash of lightning. Then there was panic and chaos all around, as the Godhand faithful deserted the courtyard in droves and the towering knights drew glistening swords and spears into battle. Above, the Patriarch flailed his hands around as if he were trying to swat down a cloud of insects. His anger pierced through the storm like thunder.
“Kill them all!”
***
Theseus was gasping for breath and fighting back the bile in his throat when the murmurs began to spread. He could tell something was wrong because the knight walking towards them faltered, as if he really were a robot and someone had just scrambled his circuits with an electromagnetic pulse. The other knights also looked dazed, while the ‘scientists’ were mumbling among themselves like gossiping schoolgirls. Then the gold-plated knight shook his head, his armour rattling.
“The Patriarch,” he said. The other knights jerked back to life and began to move towards their leader with awkward steps. “His connection to us has been severed. We must investigate immediately!”
