Doctor Who_ Cat's Cradle_ Times Crucible - Marc Platt [29]
Pekkary made to grab at her, but found that Amnoni was also running. "Get back!" he shouted and followed the others.
Through the line of shadow arches they ran, their footsteps echoing against the walls like gun fire. Behind them, the dark figure slid around the corner of the first arch and stared after them.
Reogus reached the wide circle of the atrium and launched himself at Vael, lifting the slight young man right off his feet.
The first guard, squealing horribly, dragged Reogus back with one claw and threw him to the ground. The second raised its scorpion whip, but Chesperl hurled herself onto its back. They staggered together in an insane, grotesque dance.
"Stop!" yelled Pekkary. "Get out of here!" He grabbed at Amnoni, pulling her clear of the first guard's whip. They both scrambled away but lost their footing on the rubble, falling headlong to the ground. The creature loomed over them through the rising dust.
The air froze. Out of the dark passages beyond the atrium rose a scream. A nightmarish wail of misery or agony that cut at their very thoughts. A single, thin, bloodcurdled lament of doom to come.
In the silence that followed as if the world itself was shocked, the Phazels and their tormentors stared about them, half horrified at their conflict.
They heard a slow creak from above. The great hand had started to sway in its net on its cord. It moved slowly at first, turning on the start of a growing spiral. A rain of rust and glass splinters began to fall from the trembling grid of the dome. The Phazels crawled to the edges of the atrium, gazing helplessly up at the searching hand of Fate.
The little figure that crouched in the arcade watched fascinated as the iron cord sang and thrummed its scything path through the air.
"Well wicked," she whispered.
A hand clamped over her mouth and dragged her backwards. The walls and ground had begun to shudder under the great hand's inexorably widening spiral. The terrified Phazels clung to the quaking floor, cowering at each pass of the vast circling instrument. Where would it rest? Who would it crush? Above them, the stone fingers massively churned the air as it flew.
The air rumbled with storm. Out of the darkness beyond the atrium came the apparition. A dark figure, robed and collared, sweeping across the floor beneath the turning stone. Its features hidden in shadow. A walking spirit that answered the disturbance of its shrine with baleful horror.
The Phazels hid their faces before it.
With a crack like thunder, the iron cord snapped. The apparition was gone. The great hollow hand turned sidelong in its flight and fell, crashing to the ground. Two of its grey fingers smashed and tumbled across the area.
Vael clung to the wall, unable to move through sheer terror. The other Phazels were rising from their places and running from the arcade. The guards stared around them, chittering in bewilderment.
The third finger remained on the shattered hand of Fate. It was extended out, pointing in accusation at Vael, the traitor and collaborator.
9: Telling Tales
A relentless chittering sounded across the decaying city like an alarm.
"Along here." Ace found herself being forced off the open street into a shadowy passage. She was too faint with hunger to resist. "Keep going." She ran, or staggered, because the figure she was with had a tight grip on her arm.
"Let go, will you?"
"I'm protecting you." He brought her up abruptly beside a bare wall.
"Now where?" she said, supporting herself against the wall.
"Up there." He pointed to a porthole about ten feet up the wall's surface.
"You're joking." She looked at him for a moment, the first real chance she'd had.
He was about her age, maybe a big younger. Thin-faced with fierce blue-green eyes, he had a dusty blue bandanna wound tightly round his head like a pirate. Planted on top of it was a battered straw hat that was almost falling apart. The other people Ace had seen were wearing ragged and heavy coats. He wore a grubby medieval-style tunic of what might once have