Dominion by Fred Saberhagen (spiritual books to read TXT) 📗

a hand on either side gripping the edges of the broken wooden screen. It sank in on him now that the door had been literally blown away, as if by a charge of high explosive. Traces of strange odors reached his nostrils. He put his head forward, into the passage.

   When he looked down the narrow, stone-walled passage to his left, what little the darkness let him see appeared normal. But to his right, the darkness and the light were both different. There was brightness, somewhere in that direction, but the source of light, whatever it was, was far off now and still receding. A faint but savage howling persisted, as of a remote wind. Simon wondered, with a sudden chill, if it could be a man’s voice that made that noise, if a human voice could be distorted so by superhuman agony and hatred.

   Even as Simon watched and listened, the light and the sound continued to recede. There was no clue in the passage of Marge, or indeed, except for the distant howling, of any living thing.

   A hand fell on Simon’s shoulder, startling him. From the touch there flowed into his body a trickle of some force that felt like electricity. He turned, knowing he would see Vivian. Her eyes looked into his.

   “The roof may have been struck by lightning,” she said quietly. Her tone shared with him the knowledge of how widely that statement missed being a real explanation. “So I’m going up to take a look. I wish you’d come along.”

   “Sure,” said Simon automatically. He paused to look around the great hall, where the flames of torch and candle were once more burning peacefully upright. The vanished servants had not reappeared.

   The Wallises, he standing behind his wife’s chair, were clutching at each other’s hands in shock. Emily Wallis’ face was white and she looked ill. Saul, his expression that of a man who has been through all this before, was also trying to comfort and calm his wife; Hildy was quiet now, but silent sobs still racked her sturdy body as she clung to her husband. Thin Sylvia stood alone, studying the others as if for some clue as to what her own behavior ought to be. Arnaud was nowhere to be seen, nor was the man who had been introduced as Reagan.

   “This way.” Like a guide conducting a private tour of some disaster, Vivian led Simon diagonally across the great hall toward the elevator. He let himself be led. But he was gathering his determination.

   “What happened?” Simon asked when they were alone in the elevator, going up, and Vivian had released his arm.

   “I don’t want to tell you what happened, Simon. Instead I want you to tell me what you saw.”

   “I saw…” He broke off, swallowing. “Vivian, wait.”

   “Tell me what you saw.” Her voice had become a coaxing caress.

   “Listen. I want you to tell me a few things first. I’m missing about three hours out of this afternoon. I want you to explain that. I feel sure you can. And then tell me what we’re going to do about Margie.”

   Vivian seemed to find it hard to believe that he could be so difficult and argumentative. “All right, Simon. We had to help you to your room this afternoon and put you to bed. You arrived here in a confused state. It’s not the first time in your life, I’m sure, that your special powers have given you a hard time. But now you are with those who want to help you.”

   “Special powers?”

   “Let’s not go on pretending. Yes, special powers.”

   He sighed. “All right. No more pretending. But about Marge, my helper. The girl you saw working with me at the dinner theater. She was here, hidden in that passageway. She was going to pop out; that was the big effect I had planned, why I was going through all that mumbo-jumbo with the fireplace. I think you knew all along that she was in there. Where is she now? What’s happened to her?”

   “Yes, Simon dear, I knew.” Vivian took him by a hand, which suddenly lacked strength to pull away. “Not quite soon enough, unfortunately. So there’s been some trouble. But we’ll do what we can to get Marge out of it. Just as soon as you’ve finished helping me in what I want.”

   “Marge…”

   “As soon as you’ve finished helping me.” Vivian patted his hand firmly.

   Simon had made his effort. There was only so much of an effort that he could make. Now he obediently forgot—whatever it was that Vivian wanted him to forget. He went back to the moments in which his act had started to go wild, and told Vivian what he had seen and experienced then. She listened, hanging on his words as if she thought them of great importance.

   The telling was finished before the elevator reached its highest level and eased to a stop. They got out of it and Vivian guided Simon along a short, stone-vaulted corridor and through a door. He realized that they were entering the tower; what must be its highest flight of stairs curved up before them. A wavering, eerie glow from somewhere above let Simon see the stairs clearly as they climbed.

   The highest round of the stair was thickly littered with loose stones, fragments of mortar, singed bits of wood, unidentifiable debris. Cool night air, carrying misty rain along with a whiff of acrid smoke, was blowing in through a jagged hole in the tower wall. Up here the walls were much thinner than those of the lower levels of the castle, and the hole was big enough for a man to climb through. Above it, the normal door at the head of the stairs was closed.

   When Simon reached the hole, he found himself looking out with his eyes at the level of the flat roof. Solid, physical forms were moving on the roof, people were