Empire: Book 2, The Chronicles of the Invaders (The Chronicles of the Invaders Trilogy) by John Connolly, Jennifer Ridyard Page B
Authors: John Connolly, Jennifer Ridyard
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waiting . . .
When he opened his eyes again, Paylea was reflected in the mirror. She stepped behind him, her right hand rose, and the thin blade entered at the base of her husband’s skull. His last thought before he died was:
We are betrayed.
CHAPTER 15
T hey were fortunate, thought Paul, but perhaps they had been due a little good luck. About halfway down the huge rock formation was a narrow ledge, barely wide enough to accommodate the exploration shuttle. Again, Paul marveled at his brother’s skill as a pilot. Here he was in an unfamiliar vessel, a sandstorm threatening to tear it apart and scatter its occupants’ remains across an alien desert, and somehow he managed to descend safely to the outcrop, the rock face so close that, had the windows been open, Paul could have reached out and touched it.
The fury of the storm was astonishing, as though it were a living, breathing thing that was aware of their presence and frustrated by its inability to reach them. Even sheltered by tons of stone, they could feel the shuddering of the ancient tor as the storm flung itself against it. At its fiercest, Paul was convinced that their shelter would finally crumble under the onslaught, burying them under rubble and crushing the shuttle like a tin can.
But eventually the storm passed, and they found themselves still alive.
“I don’t think I want to do that again,” said Thula.
“Agreed,” said Paul.
Steven started the engines and took them up. Paul was staring out of the window, taking in the edifice that had saved their lives, offering up a prayer of silent thanks to it, when something caught his eye. He actually forced himself to blink, so strange did it seem, so impossible to comprehend.
“Steven, take us back.”
“What? Why?”
“Because that isn’t just a rock.”
Steven brought them around again, and allowed the shuttle to hover before the face of the formation. All but the still-unconscious De Souza came forward to look.
The sand had scoured the face of the formation, causing sections of it to tumble to the sands below. Revealed in the spaces were the remains of intricate carvings: doors, windows, even hints of figurative sculptures—an eye here, what might have been a limb there. The doors and windows were huge, many times larger than those that might have been found in an Illyri or human abode. With these constructions exposed, the rock now reminded Paul of a ruined steeple of one of the great cathedrals back on Earth. There was a grandeur to it, even in the small sections visible to them. But age, and the damage caused by the storm—and doubtless many storms before—made it difficult to gain any full conception of the nature of its creators, if they had indeed depicted themselves on its walls.
None of them spoke. They could only gaze. Peris alone, it seemed, was not as shocked as the rest of them. Paul could tell from the Illyri’s face.
And Paul knew.
“You’ve seen something like this before,” he said.
Peris nodded.
“Who built it?”
“We don’t know,” said Peris. “We’ve found traces of another civilization scattered throughout galaxies in this region. This looks old, even by the standards of what we’ve already discovered. Some are more recent than this one.”
“Maybe those silicon creatures ate them,” said Rizzo.
“If they did, they took their time,” said Paul. “They left them alone for long enough to let them carve out a home, or a temple, in the center of a rock.”
“Perhaps there are more,” said Thula. “After all, it is not the only such rock on this planet.”
Yet, Paul thought, this one was different. He recalled the formations that they had passed over, and between, on their journey tothe drilling platform. They were more angled, sometimes lying at a forty-five-degree incline to the desert floor. This rock was perfectly vertical. It made him wonder if it was less a building carved into a rock, and more a building disguised to look like
When he opened his eyes again, Paylea was reflected in the mirror. She stepped behind him, her right hand rose, and the thin blade entered at the base of her husband’s skull. His last thought before he died was:
We are betrayed.
CHAPTER 15
T hey were fortunate, thought Paul, but perhaps they had been due a little good luck. About halfway down the huge rock formation was a narrow ledge, barely wide enough to accommodate the exploration shuttle. Again, Paul marveled at his brother’s skill as a pilot. Here he was in an unfamiliar vessel, a sandstorm threatening to tear it apart and scatter its occupants’ remains across an alien desert, and somehow he managed to descend safely to the outcrop, the rock face so close that, had the windows been open, Paul could have reached out and touched it.
The fury of the storm was astonishing, as though it were a living, breathing thing that was aware of their presence and frustrated by its inability to reach them. Even sheltered by tons of stone, they could feel the shuddering of the ancient tor as the storm flung itself against it. At its fiercest, Paul was convinced that their shelter would finally crumble under the onslaught, burying them under rubble and crushing the shuttle like a tin can.
But eventually the storm passed, and they found themselves still alive.
“I don’t think I want to do that again,” said Thula.
“Agreed,” said Paul.
Steven started the engines and took them up. Paul was staring out of the window, taking in the edifice that had saved their lives, offering up a prayer of silent thanks to it, when something caught his eye. He actually forced himself to blink, so strange did it seem, so impossible to comprehend.
“Steven, take us back.”
“What? Why?”
“Because that isn’t just a rock.”
Steven brought them around again, and allowed the shuttle to hover before the face of the formation. All but the still-unconscious De Souza came forward to look.
The sand had scoured the face of the formation, causing sections of it to tumble to the sands below. Revealed in the spaces were the remains of intricate carvings: doors, windows, even hints of figurative sculptures—an eye here, what might have been a limb there. The doors and windows were huge, many times larger than those that might have been found in an Illyri or human abode. With these constructions exposed, the rock now reminded Paul of a ruined steeple of one of the great cathedrals back on Earth. There was a grandeur to it, even in the small sections visible to them. But age, and the damage caused by the storm—and doubtless many storms before—made it difficult to gain any full conception of the nature of its creators, if they had indeed depicted themselves on its walls.
None of them spoke. They could only gaze. Peris alone, it seemed, was not as shocked as the rest of them. Paul could tell from the Illyri’s face.
And Paul knew.
“You’ve seen something like this before,” he said.
Peris nodded.
“Who built it?”
“We don’t know,” said Peris. “We’ve found traces of another civilization scattered throughout galaxies in this region. This looks old, even by the standards of what we’ve already discovered. Some are more recent than this one.”
“Maybe those silicon creatures ate them,” said Rizzo.
“If they did, they took their time,” said Paul. “They left them alone for long enough to let them carve out a home, or a temple, in the center of a rock.”
“Perhaps there are more,” said Thula. “After all, it is not the only such rock on this planet.”
Yet, Paul thought, this one was different. He recalled the formations that they had passed over, and between, on their journey tothe drilling platform. They were more angled, sometimes lying at a forty-five-degree incline to the desert floor. This rock was perfectly vertical. It made him wonder if it was less a building carved into a rock, and more a building disguised to look like
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