Brigid suddenly recalled why the woman's name was familiar and significant. Her flesh crawled at the realization. In ancient Greek mythology, Megaera was a Fury, one of three sisters charged by the G.o.ds to pursue sinners on Earth. They were inexorable and relentless in their dispensation of justice. She recalled a bit of verse about them: "Not even the sun will transgress his...o...b..t lest the Furies, the ministers of justice, overtake him."

Eyeing the black, featureless figures, Brigid asked with a forced calm, ' 'Are your sisters Tisiphone and Alecto among them?"

Megaera's response was coldly formal. "They are my Furies, as I said."

"So you did." Brigid slowly removed the point of her blade from the woman's neck. "Tell them to drop their weapons and I'll be on my way."

"They are not weapons."

"What are they, then?"

"The deliverer of the oubolus."

Brigid felt a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. She found herself very interested despite the circ.u.mstances. "As I recall, the oubolus is the collective name for the payment given by souls on their way to the underworld."

"Yes. If payment is not given to Charon, the ferryman for pa.s.sage across the River Acheron, a soul must wander the riverbank throughout eternity."

"You're really playing mix and match with your myths," Brigid stated. "I think I'm starting to get this-you judge the souls and then provide the payment for their final destination in the afterlife. That's pretty considerate."

"You cannot have one without the other," Me-gaera said tersely.

"So I've heard. I don't care what you call those sticks, I want them dropped."

' 'Your wants and your needs are of no importance to me. Only your sins."

"I don't have the time to confess them-" From the tunnel at her back came a faraway click and she felt a weight strike her between the shoulder blades.

Brigid cursed in fear and anger and began to spin. She barely noticed Megaera's right hand dip into the belled sleeve of her left arm. Before Brigid completed her turn, agonizing pain lanced through her torso, impaling her from back to front. It was so sudden and so overwhelming she couldn't even scream.

Breath seizing in her lungs, she fell to her hands and knees. She was dimly aware of something crawling up her back, making a path through her hair, over the collar of her shirt and then she felt tiny pinp.r.i.c.ks on the left side of her neck.The pain in her body ebbed. Gasping, she looked up at Megaera standing over her, her face still expressionless. A metal band studded with what appeared to be opals encircled her bony left wrist. The index finger of her right hand hovered over one of the little gems. Brigid instantly knew the wristband controlled the silver spider clinging to her neck. Pressing the b.u.t.tons on the cuff activated it and sent jolts of voltage to scramble the nervous system.

A black, masked figure stepped close, bending to gather a handful of Brigid's hair. He began dragging her to her feet. The commando dagger was still gripped in her fist and when she achieved a half-standing posture she swung it at the man in a fast backhand slash.

It was a lucky stroke. The blade cut through his long neck just under the right hinge of his jaw, between the rim of the mask and the high collar of his black bodysuit. It laid open his flesh in a clean incision.

Amid a jetting of blood, the gaunt figure uttered a gargling groan and staggered backward, clapping his hands over the pulsing wound. The back of his hips struck the raised side of the bridge, and he toppled over it, plunging headfirst into the shallow waters of the channel. Brigid heard a distant splash.

Megaera shrilled angry, incomprehensible words and with a thumb pressed on an opal. Fiery pain scorched its way along Brigid's nervous system like a flood of molten lava. She felt her muscles lock and spasm, and her back arched. The knife dropped from her fingers, chiming dully on the surface of the ramp. She clawed at the air and then fell facedown, a bundle of loose limbs.

Megaera maintained her thumb's pressure on the gem. Brigid didn't lose consciousness, but the agony was so intense she prayed she would. The pain was like nothing she had ever felt before. It seemed to start in an electric field completely outside of her body, then stabbed like a hundred flaming arrows into the muscles, where it burrowed through the tis- sue and then methodically shredded the nervous system.

Worse than the agony was the sensation of helplessness, of knowing she could do nothing to escape it.

She could not twist or turn or even scream.

Then the pain seeped away, but she could do nothing but quiver and twitch. The burning anguish left her, but all her nerve endings crawled and rippled with the tactile memory of what had been inflicted on them.

She tried to speak, but the words were garbled, meaningless noises. Above her she heard Megaera speak sharply in the unidentifiable language. She opened her eyes and at first saw nothing.

Brigid felt a surge of panic, wondering if she had been struck blind, but when she shifted her head, she glimpsed the dirty, frayed hem of Megaera's robe. She stirred, and the motion sent a hot bore of pain drilling through her back to her chest. Sweat broke out on her forehead. Her mouth was dirt dry, she felt feverish and nausea was a clawed beast trying to tear its way out of her stomach.

Gritting her teeth, she lay quietly, listening to the slow, steady thud of her heart. Then the old woman stepped into her line of vision, towering over her like a bony vulture. Her deeply creased face was still set in a placid mask, as if she took no delight or even interest in torture. Reaching down, she plucked the dagger from the ground and then negligently tossed it over the side of the bridge.

Anger replaced the fear in Brigid's mind, and she tried to get to her hands and knees but her body reacted in a violent and disjointed spasm. Breathing raggedly, she sprawled on the ramp. Her motor centers seemed to have short circuited, and she prayed the damage wasn't permanent. Shadows shiftedaround her, and she felt hands close around her arms and legs, lifting her up.

Head lolling limply on her neck, she could do nothing but allow the black-clad men to pull her to her feet. Two of them took an arm and a wrist, clamping down firmly with their strong fingers and hands.

They were surprisingly powerful, she felt as if her limbs were in the grip of mighty steel talons. She didn't bother to struggle or prevent the other Fury from swiftly searching her. She conserved her energy, hoping her strength would soon return.

The Furies dragged her along the bridge, the toes of her boots sc.r.a.ping against the concrete. She was a little surprised that they didn't take her into the tunnel. Following a harsh burst of words from Me-gaera, they manhandled her toward the alley.

Brigid replayed the old woman's vocalizations in her mind, trying to match it to a language or dialect she had heard before. Although she spoke Russian, a smattering of Chinese, German, j.a.panese and even Lakota, the tongue of the Sioux Indians, she didn't recognize what Megaera spoke as a language. It sounded like gibberish, a succession of noises that had meaning only to her and her Furies.

Control of her limbs returned slowly to Brigid. She tried three times before she finally got her legs under her and made them move, with only a little support from the faceless men. She kept her relief from registering on her face. Megaera trailed along behind them as the Furies lock-stepped Brigid through the rubbish-strewed alley.

She tried to reach up and touch the little silver spider attached her neck, but Megaera uttered a sound between an admonishing cluck and a threatening hiss and the Furies tightened their grips on her arms, wrenching them up behind her back in ham-merlocks. The pain was a pinch in comparison to what Megaera had inflicted upon her, and she kept her face composed. During her years as an archivist, Brigid had perfected a poker face and she wore it now.

It wasn't as if she weren't frightened, but over the past two years she had come to accept risk as a part of her way of life, taking chances so that others might find the ground beneath their feet a little more secure. She didn't consider her att.i.tude idealism but simple pragmatism. If she had learned anything from her a.s.sociation with Kane, Grant and Domi, it was to regard death as a part of the challenge of exis- tence, a fact that every man and woman had to face eventually.

She would accept it without humiliating herself if it came as a result of her efforts to remove the yokes of the baronies from the collective necks of humanity. She never spoke of it, certainly not to the cynical Kane, but she had privately vowed to make the future a better, cleaner place than either the past or the present.

Once they were out on the street, the Furies marched her heedlessly through puddles and mud. The mounds of dirt and rubble on either side of the avenue had been leached over the years by the elements, so they had spread, smothering the pavements and sidewalks and making a new, mulchy floor for the dead city. Plants grew almost everywhere, but they looked unhealthy and stunted.

As they marched through the concrete gullies of overgrown and blackened bricks, they pa.s.sed the remains of several automobiles. The bodywork had long ago been stripped bare of paint and was a ma.s.s of flaking rust. Wheelless axles were buried deep in the muck, and raised hoods revealed missing engine blocks. Brigid, who had rarely ventured out of the sheltering walls of Cobaltville, recognized thework of scavengers and felt a twinge of anger. When the survivors of the nukecaust and their descendants tried to build enclaves of civilization around which a new human society could rally, they inevitably failed. There were only so many people in the world, and few of these made either good pioneers or settlers.

It was far easier to wander, to lead the lives of nomads and scavengers, digging out Stockpiles, caches of tools, weapons and technology laid down by the predark government as part of the COG, the predark Continuity of Government program, and building a power base on what was salvaged.

Towering over the street was an elevated train track, but most of its metal rails and treated timbers had been taken, probably a century or more before. Gla.s.s seemed to have been ignored by most of the scavengers, probably because it existed only in shattered pieces in darkened windows.

Several buildings seemed to have survived almost intact, and one of them appeared to be a cathedral. At first glance Brigid judged it to be older than most of the blighted surrounding structures but it was still wounded by time and the elements. The roof was in disrepair, but its steepled bell tower still pointed tirelessly at the sky, filling now with regathering rain clouds. The bell could still be seen within the cupola, and it might even be able to ring.

The black-clad Furies pa.s.sed the church without giving it a glance. They escorted Brigid through an empty lot overgrown with tangles of shrubbery, along a path between scraggly hedgerows that had been beaten down by the pa.s.sage of many feet over many years. On the far side of the lot rose a collection of flat-roofed brick structures, all built around a low white dome fashioned from thick masonry.

Set in a clearing along a lakefront, the entire compound was half swallowed by creepers and twisting vines. Only the dome looked as if it had tried to put up a fight against the foliage. Apart from a jagged crack arching across one side of it, the dome had remained almost intact. The sign proclaimed it to be the Lake District Central Filtration Plant, even though most of the letters were shrouded by a blanket of greenery.

Brigid sourly but silently noted that if nothing else, the Furies had helped her reach her mission objective, the installation code-named Redoubt Echo. Brigid thought it was an appropriate code name, inasmuch as Redoubt Echo was dedicated to the observation and even the retrieval of echoes from the past.

The men in black pulled Brigid toward the wide stone steps, which led to gla.s.s-fronted double doors.

Only a few shards of gla.s.s remained in the frame, and the metal strips that served as cross braces were rust-eaten. Beyond the doors, light glowed with a flickering, lurid radiance.

Another tall lean man, identically attired, masked and armed with a silver-k.n.o.bbed rod, pulled open the door as they approached. The Furies escorted Brigid through a foyer, down a short corridor and then into a huge central rotunda.

Brigid's eyes swept over the dim ulterior, lit only by a pair of small fires burning in bra.s.s, tripod-mounted braziers. White-hot metal pokers rested in the hearts of the braziers. A metal-railed gallery, about twenty feet high, overlooked the area. All of the chamber's furnishings had been removed, so the floor s.p.a.ce was vast and hollow. Someone had devoted a great deal of time and trouble to cleaning it of rubbish andrubble. Tilting her head back, she saw a maze of catwalks and beams strung from metal cables and wires, surrounding the bowl-shaped ceiling.

In the shadows cloaking the far walls, she was able to make out a vista of machines with giant flywheels, pumps and a complexity of pipes. They no longer worked nor would they ever again, even if anyone had the skills to repair them. They were clogged with the detritus of two centuries' worth of neglect.

Despite the poor illumination, Brigid saw a number of dark figures standing near a slab of concrete elevated almost like a podium. She a.s.sumed they were Furies but when she was pulled closer, she realized only a few of them were Megaera's own. They stood among what she first a.s.sumed were cl.u.s.ters of statues. Then as she drew nearer, what she saw caused her breath to seize in her lungs, adren- aline to flood her system and her heart rate to increase. She instinctively cringed, digging her heels into the concrete floor, but the Furies continued marching forward, pulling her with them.

The statues were as immobile and as jet-black as the man they had seen earlier. Every fold of cloth, every strand of hair was visible. Scattered here and there with no regard for order, they were all distorted in different postures. The one feature common to all of the figures was the expressions of unendurable terror on their faces.

A couple of statues appeared to be shielding their heads with raised arms, while others rested on their knees with their hands clasped together as if they were begging. Another figure, that of a burly, bearded man, looked as if he had been turned to onyx at the exact instant he reached out for his tormentors with hooked fingers. His charcoal-colored lips were peeled back from his sepia teeth in a silent snarl of dying defiance.

Brigid saw only a few women scattered among the collection of three-dimensional still lifes. She noticed that most of the statues were mutilated or maimed in some way-a missing hand here, a lopped-off ear there or fingers sheared away. One of the female statues had half of her nose missing. As she was dragged past her, Brigid noted absently how beautiful she had to have been in life.

The Furies jerked her to a halt and released her, stepping back with swift, mechanical motions. Brigid remained standing, surrounded by the black statuary. She tried not to look at the figures, devoting herself to restoring circulation to her arms by vigorously rubbing them. Carefully, she reached up and touched the silver spider clinging to the side of her neck. The metal surface felt faintly warm to the touch, as if it were alive.

Megaera's voice, hollow and ghostly, wafted through the vast chapel. "The time for judgment has arrived. I have donned my face of judgment."

Glancing up, Brigid saw the woman standing on the podium. The firelight glinted from the thin mask of what looked like beaten gold lying over her face. The mask was worked in the likeness of a woman of ethereal beauty, but like the visage-concealing coverings worn by the Furies, there were no openings for the eyes or the mouth. The eyes were molded as if closed in sleep.

"Justice is blind," Brigid muttered. "I can't say it's much of an improvement."

Megaera said nothing, but only bent her golden face toward Brigid, as if the blank eyes saw into the depths of her soul and examined its worth. Silence hung between them for a long tick of time. Brigid broke it by demanding scornfully, "You're going to kill me, aren't you? So why waste time with this farceof judging me?"

"You have already been judged." Megaera's m.u.f.fled voice echoed eerily beneath the high ceiling. "I must now determine your most offensive sins in order to mete out the appropriate penalty."

Brigid snorted in derision. "You come to a conclusion first and then you look for facts to support it. Not very scientific and certainly not very fair to the one judged, but I suppose it makes your job easier."

"You have an intrusive tongue." For the first time, a hint of emotion colored Megaera's detached tone.

Encouraged that she'd finally provoked a reaction, Brigid retorted,' 'And you have an intrusive att.i.tude.

How long have you been practicing this form of justice? Not for very long, or you would have run out of sinners quite a while ago."

Megaera c.o.c.ked her head quizzically. In a genuinely puzzled voice, she asked, "What do you mean?"

"Where are you and your Furies from, Megaera? I don't recognize the language you speak."

"It is the tongue of the G.o.ds we serve. Only we, his chosen, are permitted to speak it."

"Who are your G.o.ds?" Brigid asked.

"They are our G.o.ds, not yours, so you shall not know them. Certainly not the small, smiling G.o.d who brought us here."

"The small, smiling G.o.d?"

"Of course," the old woman replied, sounding a bit angry. "He brought us here from our home in the mists and the mountains. We had completed our tasks there, and he gathered the mists around us, drawing us into slumber. When we awoke, we found ourselves in this dark land of depravity and sin. We were fearful at first, then the small, smiling G.o.d released us. We understood then he placed us in his realm to seek and cast out the sins that had escaped his notice."

Brigid opened her mouth to ask another question, but she heard a scuff and scutter of feet from behind her and the sound of a straggle. Megaera lifted her masked face to gaze in that direction. Brigid turned to see a pair of the Furies hauling a ragged man through the cl.u.s.ters of black statuary.

Even though the light was poor, she recognized his blistered, terror-etched features. He was the castrated man who had staggered into their shelter. His eyes darted frantically from Brigid to Megaera to the statues and back to Brigid again.

A torrent of hissed syllables issued from beneath Megaera's mask. The Furies obediently forced the man to his knees before the podium and stepped back. He hung his head, making wheezing, strangulated noises like a dog trying to cough up a bone. Pink foam drooled from his lips.

"Do you have something to say before the sentence is carried out?" Megaera asked quietly.After a few seconds of trying, the man managed to choke out, "Why are you doing this to me? To my people? Haven't I been punished enough?"

Megaera lifted her left hand, and the sleeve of her robe slipped down to reveal the metal band encircling her thin wrist.

In a surprisingly gentle, almost sympathetic tone, she said, "We must cast out the sin, exorcise it utterly.

You fled before this could be done. You can't escape because you have nowhere to escape to. You cannot flee your sin and you cannot escape justice. I have the power to remove your sin. It's like cutting out a cancer-a surgical technique performed with precision. It will save your soul."

"The cancer is in you," Brigid snapped. "The disease of self-righteous delusions."

"That is arrogance talking," Megaera stated mat-ter-of-factly, "combined with ignorance. Always a deadly combination for the advancement of the spirit."

Brigid stopped short of spitting at the podium but she said angrily, "Look who's talking."

Megaera returned her attention to the kneeling man. "You are not being punished. Once you've paid your penalty, your sin is cleansed and your soul is purified. Then it will move on, leaving the husk of your physical body behind." She nodded to the statuary scattered about the chapel.

The man didn't respond. His shoulders quaked with barely repressed sobs. The bony fingers of Me- gaera's left hand brushed two of the opals on the wristband. Brigid made a reflexive motion to lunge at the woman. A pair of hands that felt like tempered steel closed around her upper arms, immobilizing her and almost instantly cutting off circulation. Sweat collected at her hairline and trickled down her forehead as fear arose hi her. Megaera lovingly caressed the gems on the wristband, then pressed down hard.

The kneeling man jerked convulsively, straightening so quickly Brigid heard his vertebrae pop. He clawed at the silver spider on the side of his neck. A halo of pale blue light sprang up and shimmered around it.

The air in the chamber seemed to shiver. The man's body swayed, the sway became a tremble and the tremble turned into a spasm. His eyes remained open, but they did not see. His mouth gaped open, but no words came out. He croaked a sound of pain and terror and agony.

With a faint crackling sound similar to that of burning wood, a gray pallor suddenly swept over the man's body, spreading out from the device attached to his neck. Before Brigid's horrified eyes, his flesh and clothes were trans.m.u.ted to an ash-gray substance. It swiftly darkened, becoming like a layer of anthracite between one eye blink and another.

The man's back arched violently, as if he had received a heavy blow between the shoulders. His arms contorted and drew up like the gnarled branches of a leafless tree as the blanket of dark gray petrification crept over his torso and down his legs.

A ghastly dry gargling came from his mouth, then the gray tide covered his lips, smothering his voice.

Within another a pair of eye blinks, a coal-black calcified statue knelt before the podium. The silver spider seemed to have dissolved, absorbed by the same process that turned flesh to carbon.Nausea roiled in the pit of Brigid's stomach, and she swallowed a column of burning bile working its way up her throat. The little spider clinging to her own flesh suddenly seemed to weigh a ton. Her heart pounded frantically in terror, but she forced herself to raise defiant eyes to Megaera's blank, golden face.

Reflected firelight cast red highlights across its dully gleaming surface, lending it an expression of cold, superior mockery.

The woman was not just a Fury, Brigid told herself, trying to control her scattered, stumbling thoughts.

She was a Gorgon; she was Medusa herself.

Megaera tilted her head in Brigid's direction and her sibilant voice announced, "Arrogance and hubris are products of the mind. And the way to the mind is through the eyes."

Two Furies seemed to materialize out of the shadows and slammed into Brigid simultaneously, pressing her between them. They secured painfully tight grips on her arms and held her suspended, with only the toes of her boots touching the floor. Shoulder blades grinding into each other, Brigid was made to stand straddle-legged to support her own weight without having her shoulders dislocated.

Another Fury ghosted into view, holding a poker like a white-hot rapier. He approached slowly and even with several feet separating them, Brigid felt the heat radiating from the glowing tip of the metal rod.

"Through the right eye, I should think," Megaera said calmly. "A swift, straight puncture should suffice."

Brigid stared in horrified fascination as the sharp end of the poker filled her field of vision. The tip shimmered like a sunburst. She started to struggle, but the Furies cinched down their grips and she bit back a cry of pain.

Then she heard the distant tolling of a bell.

Chapter 5.