Iy Correction: Chapter 17 Extracts

Iy Correction
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Atalan awoke in total darkness. His hands were firmly secured to a stout, metal bracket some two feet from the ground while his legs, although free; still bore the leather thongs of their earlier bondage. The air was damp and cold containing a peculiar fishy odour – he was no longer in the water desalination plant.

‘Where am I?’ he wondered. ‘Why have I been moved?’ Deprived of even a glimmer of light, he fell prey to a terrifyingly morbid thought. Was he blind? Frantic, he drew his face close to his fingers, straining to see their outline – they remained invisible. He struggled to control his fear, forcing himself to believe that there was no logical reason for him to have lost his sight. The explanation was simple. For some reason he had been transferred to a disused, experimental tank. Tank! The word sent shockwaves racing through him. He was sitting, propped against a wall, on an uneven, water-soaked stone floor. There was no light, and the atmosphere smelled of the sea. ‘By the Gods,’ he groaned. His new prison was one of the underground, water storage tanks that fed the desalination plant.

A faint scuffling at Atalan’s feet abruptly switched his anxiety to a new horror – rats. Like all civilisations, the Iyceans lived side by side with many species of vermin. Some walked on two legs masquerading as men, while the more familiar, four-legged variety inhabited the drains and sewers beneath the cities. Atalan kicked out wildly in a desperate attempt to discourage his unwelcome visitor. He heard the scurrying of tiny feet fade into the distance, but as he relaxed, his legs became the focal point of further attention. A scream rose in his throat, only to dissolve into a renewed fit of coughing. To his surprise, however, his gruff bark proved an effective repellent for, amid much squeaking and squealing, the foraging animals fled. Atalan remained tense, dreading the moment of the next visit. Gradually his apprehension faded, and with some confidence restored, he concentrated on the device binding his hands. Its feel was unmistakable – he was secured by a set of energy bracelets. He managed a half smile. This time there would be no convenient escape. Obviously, Gandric had no further need of him. A vision of his adversary emerging from clouds of steam made him wince. Gandric’s expression had been so unnatural, as if he were filled with insane hatred – a sad and horrible sight.

Recognising the path to despondency stretching out before him, Atalan shook his head to dispel the unpleasant thoughts and images, then forced himself to consider his own plight. He glared into the blackness, still concerned about his sight. Then he saw it – a tiny glowing mound above his head: faint at first, but intensifying with every second. His heart rate quickened as he silently implored the mound not to fade. For a few moments, the dull, yellow glow persisted then, to his dismay, was engulfed by the darkness. He cursed out loud, his anger echoing across the hostile void. As the oppressive silence returned, his reason gave way to panic. Had he really seen a light? Was it only his imagination playing a cruel trick? Mustering his self-control, he banished such malignant thoughts. The light had existed. There were, after all, many species of phosphorescent algae and sea flora known to the Iyceans. It was only logical given the nature of his surroundings that primitive life forms could survive there. Comforted by the conviction that his vision was intact, Atalan’s spirits rose, and he again attempted to take stock of his predicament. Superficially his situation could be much worse. He was for the most part unhurt, he had sufficient air to breathe, and he was not alone. It was difficult to consider a horde of rats as companions, but their presence raised an important point. There must be a way in and out of the chamber – an overflow pipe or air duct perhaps. The idea was plausible enough, but, on reflection, such openings would, through necessity, be located near the ceiling of the tank. He sighed. Every avenue seemed blocked.

Atalan shuddered as the distant sound of running water attracted his attention. ‘The sea-intake doors,’ he mouthed. He held his breath, steeling himself against the mountain of water he expected to sweep over him. Waiting to greet death, tied to the floor of a cold, dark chamber – this had once formed the theme of a nightmare he experienced as a boy. He was never more terrified, then or now. Creaks and groans joined the chorus of unnerving echoes, but the flood failed to materialise. By degrees, Atalan relaxed the tension holding his back rigid, then, prompted by frustration, tugged at his bonds. They refused to yield. Fear and anger now dominated his emotions. What had Sonnoclysteral hoped to gain by sending him on a hopeless errand? He must have realised that Clytra was untrustworthy. Even a simpleton would know she couldn’t be swayed by mere words. And yet, the ancient Guardian had seemed so confident of success. Madness, sheer madness!

The thought of Clytra drew her image into his mind’s eye. What depth of hatred she must harbour to have delivered him so readily into the hands of his enemies. He painfully recalled the expression on her exquisite face, as they returned to Isothea with Protrass. She despised him. Atalan screwed up his eyes, striving to break free of the vision. How could he and his friends have come so far only to be thwarted in this final hour? Somewhere in the vast labyrinth of the institute, Forillion Jenor was waiting patiently for a redeemer to come. What would be the fate of his old mentor now?

Engulfed in a well of self-inflicted torment, Atalan failed to register a repetition of the unidentified sounds he had heard earlier. Suddenly, a deafening clang shook the floor and a wave of ice-cold water cascaded over his legs. The underground tank was filling. Shock and panic gripped his pounding heart. He struggled violently to free himself. Water was gushing into the chamber at an alarming rate – already it was above his waist. As he writhed and twisted, an inner sense exerted a calming influence over him until, finally, he ceased his futile efforts and heaved himself into a kneeling position. The inflowing torrent battered his torso with unrelenting force, determined to sweep him to his death. He clung defiantly to the metal bracket and eventually held himself steady. Somehow he must break free – but how? As if in answer to his plea, his thoughts were directed back to the young, US airman and his encounter with Dorak. Atalan gasped as water lapped against his neck, breaking his concentration. He tried to stand, but the swirling currents were too powerful. Brief recollections of Hannigan lying mortally wounded in his arms merged with the gruesome spectacle of his own death, struggling beneath the black waters – it was useless.

Saltwater splashed into his eyes and mouth, startling him. He instinctively sprang upwards, but unable to secure his balance, was plunged helplessly into the frothing turmoil. The shock sent a rush of adrenalin rocketing through him, charging his arms and legs with renewed energy. Taking hold of the bracket with both hands, he hauled himself back to the wall and, after much kicking and thrashing, planted his feet firmly on the floor. With his lungs bursting for air, he again thrust his head above the surface only to discover that the fearsome currents were gone. He listened in amazement to the eerie sound of water thumping against the tank’s walls. Unbelievably, the intake of water had ceased. For many moments he stood panting, still rigidly holding onto his sole support. The water level steadied just below his chest, and although painfully cramped with his hands tied at knee height, he silently gave thanks for his deliverance. What had happened? It was a question he had no time to answer. Renewed rumbling somewhere close to the floor was followed by the advent of a powerful suction that dragged the body of water around his legs. The chamber echoed with a deep, mechanical whir, prompting him to brace against a second deluge. He breathed in deeply, expecting to be submerged, but his effort was premature. Instead of rising, the water level fell rapidly. Within thirty seconds the tank was empty.

Cold and shivering, Atalan slumped to the floor. Which was the worse fate: to be drowned or to die of exposure? During his years at the institute, he had studied many things but not the operation of the water purification system. After a brief consideration, however, he decided that he had probably experienced a sluicing stage to remove debris deposited by the previous cycle. His next thought struck to his stomach. If his assumption was correct, then it was only a matter of time before the tank refilled. Acting like a catalyst, the certainty that he would soon occupy a watery grave crystallised his concentration. Frank Hannigan! The name thrust itself to the forefront of his mind. In the midst of his struggle, he had remembered that the sergeant had released Dorak from the energy bracelets. There had been no time then to ask how, but somehow Hannigan had successfully broken the bonds. Atalan viewed the problem from every angle until, at last, he was forced to accept the one explanation he found hardest to believe. He knew the bracelets could only be deactivated by the person attaching them or by a central controller. Since neither individual had been to hand, Hannigan’s touch must have been sufficiently alien to disrupt the structure of the bracelet’s energy field. A light suddenly shone on Atalan’s failing hope. He should have made the connection earlier. The same bracelets had fallen from his own wrists in the transference port, apparently at the instigation of Torfon Sonnoclysteral. However, the energy required to effect such a result under those circumstances was colossal. By his own admission, the ancient Guardian was compelled to reserve his power and, therefore, could not have succeeded alone. The answer struck him with increasing certainty. David Franklin at that time had undergone his transformation and was a hybrid: half human, half Iycean.

Gripped with anticipation, Atalan bent his fingers, pressing them against the bracelets at their point of contact between his wrists. He had almost succeeded, when the sound he feared most filled his ears. Water was returning through the inlet pipes.