Chapter 4 – Sign of the Divine
The shocked silence that permeated the cold stone Sanctum was almost tangible. Varden signalled to his men. The Doctor, for once lost for words, allowed himself to be forced to his knees by his two guardian Fosters. The position was becoming, he thought, all too familiar. The Prime Consul then turned to his religious counterpart, pausing to mutter softly on his way back to his chair, his lips close to the Procardinal's ear: "He's all yours Jonaris, as agreed. Just make it quick."
The cleric hesitated, momentarily caught off guard by the events unfolding before him. Quickly recovering himself, he gestured to a nearby member of the Order, who nervously stepped forward with a heavily bound tome. Hurriedly locating a page indicated by a black ribbon inserted between the ancient leaves, Jonaris cleared his throat and turned to face the kneeling Time Lord.
"This noble scripture, born in the aftermath of the obliteration of the Traken Union, has been faithfully preserved by the Order of the Lady for nigh on three centuries. It serves not just as a faithful, and -" he paused to glare at the Doctor "- immutable record of those terrible events, nor solely as a moral guide to the surviving people of that Union. In addition to this, it contains a solemn and sacred duty." The Procardinal puffed out his substantial chest and began to read from the text:
"And know, honourable citizens of Serenity, that the portent to this abominal cataclysm, to the ruination of this harmonious Union, was the visitation of the Herald – the Harbinger of Darkness. It is therefore incumbent upon each and every Serenite, upon all living souls born of this Holy Colony, to keep faithful watch for His ominous return. And should this unholy being ever deign to set foot on Our Lady's hallowed soil once more, it shall be the righteous duty of the Serenite people to wage war on His person, and to bring about His swift and total destruction, such that The Herald's murderous task might never be completed. Thus will the survival of Serenity be assured for all time, and the Lady's people shall live in Her light forever."
Jonaris fixed his close-set eyes upon the prisoner kneeling before him and closed the book, the sound echoing in the silence. The acolyte scurried forward and took the hefty volume from his outstretched hand, replacing it with something altogether more sinister…
The short tunnel beyond the postern gate was dank and dimly lit, but mercifully bereft of life. As Tegan, Nyssa and Suren approached a torchlit corner they began to pick up voices, presumably emanating from the Sanctum beyond. Suren put a hand on Tegan's shoulder, a finger on his lips indicating caution, before warily peering around the corner. After a few moments he turned back to his companions.
"It's safe," he whispered. "There's a crowd at the far end of the Sanctum, but they seem to have their backs to us. The gate at the end of the tunnel doesn't look to be guarded, and it's partially obscured by a screen on the other side."
"Come on then!" whispered Tegan, pushing past him and rounding the corner. Nyssa and Suren silently followed her, hugging the moss-covered wall to join her at the iron gate marking the entrance to the Sanctum. They peered around the screen, trying to understand the events happening across the chamber.
"Is that the Doctor?" breathed Suren, his mouth close to Tegan's ear, "Between those two Fosters?"
Tegan nodded. "But what's going on - why is he kneeling?"
"And what's that?" whispered Nyssa, her wide eyes fixed on the glistening object held by the official in front of the Doctor. "They're not going to – "
"My Lady, I'm sorry. It looks like we may be too late to save your friend." Suren whispered dejectedly. "That looks like a ceremonial blade, though it's different from the one they normally use for executions…"
Nyssa stared at him in disbelief. "'Normally'?! You mean capital punishment is accepted on Serenity?"
"Of course, my Lady, as decreed in the sacred texts. This tunnel is often used to remove the bodies – the ones that are not thrown to the crowd that is…" He looked at her, puzzled at her horrified expression. "How else should we keep order?"
Nyssa backed away from the gate, appalled at the Serenite's casual acceptance of state-sanctioned murder. "But… we grew beyond such barbarism!" she gasped. "There were no executions on Traken for thousands of years! How can this be?"
"Shhhhhhhh!" Tegan hissed, glaring at her companions in frustration. "Listen! The chubby guy seems to be making some sort of speech. There might still be time!"
In his small chamber across the city, the grey-shrouded brother watched his monitor intently. He raised the aged comlink to his lips.
"Is it in place?"
"Yes, Brother."
He closed his eyes, his hand shaking. "Wait for my mark."
Jonaris hefted the ceremonial blade in front of him. It was crafted of brightly polished steel, and boasted several wicked barbs along its razor-edged length. His face betrayed the feeling of power the weapon imbued him with, and he turned to face his victim with a barely concealed sadistic smile. The kneeling Doctor surveyed the blade with trepidation. He tried to rise and back away, but was held firmly in place by the Fosters.
"Now really," he blustered, "this is totally unnecessary!"
The Procardinal stepped forward, paying no heed to the Doctor's protestations. "Our Holy Scripture does not simply present us with this sacred obligation. It also specifies how the act should be, for want of a better word, executed…"
"You're being completely unreasonable!"
"…Forty-five billion people died at your behest, Herald. And so Our Lady deems it fitting that your life should be taken via the infliction of forty-five separate wounds."
"This is NOT justice!"
Jonaris closed his eyes, spread his arms wide and breathed deeply.
"Lady! In return for the gift of bountiful peace you have bestowed on us these three centuries, accept this long-awaited offering from thy humble servants!" His voice reached a crescendo as he raised the shining blade above his head.
"I DO NOT!"
The tableau within the Sanctum froze. All eyes turned towards the source of the interruption.
"What's happening? Brother? Can you hear me? Report! Report!"
The grey acolyte shook the comlink violently, to be met by a shower of static. He anxiously turned to the monitor.
The picture flickered momentarily, but quickly resolved itself to show the assembled citizens, their gazes uniformly locked in one direction. The acolyte started as the comlink crackled into life once more.
"-ther… are you seeing this?" The hushed voice broke through the silence. "Is this part of the plan?"
He adjusted the monitor controls, panning around to reveal the focus of the crowd's attention.
Jonaris slowly lowered the ceremonial blade and turned in the direction of the Keeper's Sanctum. A lone figure stood on the raised dais, clad head to foot in the robes of the Order. The Procardinal strode through the crowd towards the intruder, his face reddening as his rage at the interruption to his ceremony took hold.
"What is the meaning of this, Novice?!" he thundered. "You'd better have a damn good reason for disrupting these proceedings, or by the Lady you'll pay for this indiscretion with your life!"
The white-clad figure spoke, her voice young but containing an air of consummate authority.
"You would do well, Procardinal, to refrain from using my name as justification for any more bloodshed."
Shocked whispers reverberated around the Sanctum. Jonaris clenched his meaty fists and began to visibly shake with outrage.
"How DARE you, Novice?!" he raged apoplectically – "Who the hell do you think you are to speak to ME in this way?!"
The intruder paused before removing her hood.
The Doctor, still on his knees, stared in open-mouthed surprise as the figure unmasked herself.
"I am the Lady Nyssa, daughter of Consul Tremas, last survivor of Traken."
In the hidden chamber across the city, static from the comlink reverberated around the walls once more as the acolyte's jaw dropped in disbelief.
A similar level of astonishment was currently playing across Tegan's features as she crouched, still concealed, at the end of the tunnel. She turned to Suren in shock.
"What the heck is she doing?!"
The Serenite medic smiled beatifically. "Have no fear, Tegan. My Lady moves in mysterious ways."
Tegan shook her head. "She won't be moving for much longer the way she's going!" she hissed, hefting the hypospray and checking the level of liquid remaining in the vial. Suren looked at her with apprehension.
"'Plan B' again?" He sighed.
Tegan clicked the container back into place and mirrored Suren's worried expression. "Unless you've got a 'Plan C'?"
"Nyssa?" gasped the Doctor in amazement – "What the -"
"BLASPHEMY!"
The Procardinal's high-pitched screech cut through the shocked atmosphere in the Sanctum, drowning out the Time Lord's voice and causing all in the vicinity to whip their heads round in astonishment. They found him stood, arm outstretched to point accusingly in the direction of the intruder.
"FOSTERS! Arrest this heretic at once!"
The two Fosters nearest to where Nyssa stood immediately ran forward, grabbed her arms and forced them roughly behind her back, causing the Trakenite to cry out in pain. The Doctor tried in vain to struggle to his feet, only to be forced down by his surrounding guards.
"HOLD!"
The Fosters froze as Prime Consul Varden rose from his chair. Jonaris whirled round to face him, eyes blazing with righteous fury, but Varden raised a finger and cut him off before he could even draw breath to speak.
"I believe, Procardinal, that the Fosters answer to the Consulate, not the clergy." He turned to the Keeper's Sanctum. "Fosters, please disregard the Procardinal's instruction."
The Doctor ceased to struggle, sighing in relief. "Thank you, Prime Consul. At last, a voice of reason around here! Now, if I may just explain – "
Varden's calm, emotionless voice rang clear in the silence.
"Kill her."
Adric moaned and rolled his eyes, drifting somewhere between consciousness and oblivion as the ever-present Sister Novin whispered gently, her lips almost brushing his ear.
"Adric… you must complete the circle…"
The Serenite's words drifted lazily through the back of Adric's mind, surreptitiously weaving their way into his thoughts and shaping his emotions. He dreamed, his fevered brain trying anxiously to make sense of his situation, but hampered by the haze of narcotics infiltrating his system. He felt a strange pressure build up in his skull, a suffocating sensation as if he was rising from deep underwater. Then all of a sudden the pressure lifted, as in his mind's eye his head broke through the surface, into the sunlight. He drew a great, gasping breath, before taking in his surroundings.
He was surprised to find himself floating amid the murky, rippling waves of a wide and extensive body of water. Bright sunshine stung his eyes as it sparkled and danced over the gently undulating waves. Adric shook his head and wiped the wetness from his face, squinting his eyes as he looked across the surface of the lake towards the shore. River flies darted between the reeds as waterfowl screeched, startled into flight by a gang of yellow-clad children running and splashing in the shallows. Through the trees, some way off in the distance, Adric glimpsed the hard metal edge of a large structure, standing out conspicuously against the lush green foliage. He closed his eyes and shook his head once more, unable to believe what he was seeing.
He was on Alzarius.
As he started to swim slowly towards the shore, his attention was drawn by a group of youths, laughing and relaxing in the afternoon sunshine. They were still some distance away, but as he caught snippets of their conversation on the breeze and watched their movements they seemed… familiar somehow. They were laughing and joking good-naturedly, when one of the youths grabbed the girl by his side and ran towards the water with her – she struggled and screamed, hysterical with laughter as he threatened to throw her in.
"Varsh! No - don't you dare! Put me down you idiot!"
Adric stopped in mid-stroke. The last time he had seen his brother he had been still and lifeless, his body broken and battered at the hands of rampaging marshmen. Yet here he was, somehow alive and well once more. The others he began to recognise too - the girl he was teasing was Keara, and Tylos and the some of the other Outlers were there, joining in the horseplay. Then someone shouted and pointed in his direction, and the rest of the group turned, smiling and waving. Adric laughed, overjoyed to see his brother and friends once again. He waved back at them, and began to swim eagerly towards the shore. He lost sight of them momentarily as he increased his stroke rate and dipped his head under the water, but spotted their happy, smiling faces once more as he resurfaced.
Clouds drifted across the face of the sun as Adric ploughed through the water, dipping below the waves once more. But this time when his head emerged the scene before him had changed. No longer smiling and waving, his friends on the shore were now shouting, beckoning… screaming. Adric stopped and trod water, confused. The rest of the Outlers began to turn and run, their faces terror-stricken, whilst Varsh and Keara remained at the water's edge, their voices gaining an edge of desperation:
"ADRIC! GET OUT OF THE WATER!"
An icy chill trickled down Adric's neck, as thin tendrils of cold, white mist began to drift into his vision from the vast expanse of the marsh behind him. The sensation quickly spread down his spine as realisation hit him.
Mistfall.
Suddenly, the murky water started to bubble and churn around the young Alzarian as he frantically resumed his swim towards the shore. The increasingly panic-stricken screams of his friends rang in his ears over the noise of the boiling marsh. Keara, unable to contain her fear any longer, broke and ran for the Starliner, screaming at Varsh to follow her. Varsh remained at the water's edge, glancing back at the fleeing girl but unable to leave his brother, desperately urging him on towards the safety of the shore. Adric drew nearer and nearer – the turbulence of the water made it increasingly difficult to keep afloat, but eventually he felt his booted feet scrape against the marsh bed. Varsh ran into the shallows, reaching out for his brother's outstretched hand. Scrambling to find his feet in the soft, weed ridden mud, Adric flung himself forward, momentarily relieved to find his hand firmly grasped by that of his older brother.
Relief that suddenly drained away to be replaced by a deep, visceral fear as he felt a similar grip around his ankle.
Adric saw the colour drain from his brother's face as Varsh looked beyond him, into the churning depths of the marsh. He reached out with his other hand to grab hold of the older Alzarian's wrist.
"Varsh! Don't leave me!"
Locking fear-filled eyes with his brother, Varsh pulled with every last vestige of his strength, but felt Adric's hands slipping in the wetness of his own.
"Adric!" he cried, his voice breaking. "I can't – they're too strong!"
Adric's feet floundered in the mud, desperately slipping and splashing until finally he found a foothold against a rock embedded in the marsh floor, and used it to fling himself forward, grabbing hold of Varsh's marsh reed belt. But it was no use. The creature gripping his ankle had been joined by another, who now wrapped his clammy hands tight around Adric's other leg.
"VARSH! HELP ME!"
"ADRIC! NO!"
It was a tug of war that Varsh couldn't win. Adric's hand slipped from his grasp as Varsh felt himself pulled forward by his brother's remaining grip on his belt. Then, with an animalistic surge of strength, the marsh creatures hauled the screaming Adric backwards into the water, breaking the marsh reed belt and sending Varsh flying backwards towards the shore.
The last thing Adric saw was the grief-stricken face of his brother, stood helplessly grasping his Outler's belt, before his head was pulled below the waves into the murky depths of the Alzarian marsh.
For a moment no-one moved, and time seemed to stand still as if the Sanctum were frozen within its own, self contained stasis field. It lasted a split second. Then all hell broke loose.
"NO!" bellowed the Doctor, surging to his feet. The violence of his movement caught the Fosters off guard and sent them crashing to the floor. The Doctor began to shoulder-barge his way through the crowd towards the dais, his hands still bound in front of him. Frightened dignitaries screamed and leapt out of his path.
"SEIZE HIM!" shrieked Jonaris, as he backed away from the advancing Time Lord, the ceremonial blade held defensively in front of him. Several Fosters began to push their way through the frightened throng to intercept the prisoner, whilst on the dais the two Fosters guarding Nyssa moved into action, one drawing an energy pistol whilst the other grabbed her arms and forced her to her knees.
Nyssa did not resist. An unexpected feeling of peace washed over her as she knelt, head bowed, calm and accepting, the Foster's gun pressing insistently against her temple. It felt… fitting, somehow, that she, the last Trakenite, should die on the soil of the Union - that her soul should ascend from the crucible of the Source to join her lost brethren. She closed her eyes, shutting out the madness around her for the final time.
Then suddenly, she felt herself fall forward to the floor as the grip on her arms relaxed and the pressure of the muzzle at her temple unexpectedly fell away. Nyssa lay for a moment on the cold stone, as the Foster and his surrounding companions inexplicably thudded one by one to the floor around her, motionless and insentient. Then she felt gentle hands pulling her upright, and found herself looking into a pair of familiar eyes.
"If you ever do anything like that again, I'll kill you myself!" Tegan berated, before drawing her friend into a tight hug. "Now let's get out of here!" She helped the Trakenite to her feet and began to pull her towards the tunnel. Nyssa pulled back, standing her ground.
"No, Tegan. We can't leave the Doctor!"
"Hell's teeth, Nyssa – what do you suggest we do? We can't take on the whole Serenite security force!"
Nyssa frowned, rubbing her temples and trying to concentrate despite the noise of the melee within the chamber. "Just let me think for a moment…"
A few feet away, Suren checked the vital signs of the immobilised Fosters, before surveying the chaos within the Sanctum. The mayhem caused by the Doctor's insurrection had taken the attention away from the dais, and Tegan's mad dash from the postern tunnel and subsequent spree with the hypospray had created an island of calm around them, so they were safe for now, surrounded by a haphazard pile of unconscious Fosters. Beyond this temporary sanctuary the Doctor was engaged in a struggle with a number of guards and a smattering of white-clad brothers who had surrounded him and prevented him from reaching the Lady. At the fringe of the action Prime Consul Varden looked on in disdain from the relative safety of his chair, whilst Procardinal Jonaris had taken refuge behind a couple of his burlier acolytes. Suren looked down at Nyssa, and, finding new confidence inspired by her courage, took a deep breath.
"STOP!"
Though the clamour in the chamber was intense, the medic's bellow was loud and insistent enough to stop people in their tracks and turn to face the source of the interruption.
"Three hundred years." He stood, arms folded, shaking his head in disgust. "For three centuries we have awaited the coming of the Lady, and now, at the moment of her Divine Manifestation, she returns to find her honoured dignitaries squabbling like children, and has hands laid upon her in violence. My Lords, I am ashamed to call myself Serenite this night."
"'Divine Manifestation?'" The Doctor, surrounded by Fosters and frozen in mid-struggle, looked at the newcomer in confusion. "What on Gallifrey…?"
He was interrupted by Jonaris, who had emerged from behind his acolytes, his face like thunder. "I would remind you, medic, of where you are and whom you are addressing! We have suffered enough blasphemy from offworlders tonight, but to hear such heretical claims from a citizen of Serenity is simply too much to be borne! Now hold your tongue, boy, or I'll have it ripped from your head!"
Suren wavered, but stood his ground. "I speak the truth, my Lord Procardinal. You are in the presence of the Lady. Surely her highest and most esteemed servant can see that?"
"I give you one last warning, medic," the clergyman growled. "This loathsome heresy marks you out for death! For the last time, be SILENT, or your next words shall be your LAST!"
The young medic reached into his pocket. "Words are obviously meaningless to you, Procardinal. If you refuse to believe mine, then take a look at this, and judge for yourself!" He pulled the hand reader from his pocket and threw it across the Sanctum. It soared through the air above the heads of the crowd, to be caught by a member of the Order and handed over to the fuming Jonaris. He gave it a cursory examination before glaring at Suren impatiently.
"And is this scientific nonsense supposed to mean something to me?" He handed the reader to Varden, who examined the display with interest, his face unreadable.
"It is the result of a routine DNA scan performed on this patient whilst she recovered from stasis injuries in my Infirmary. It confirms her planet of origin."
"And why, in the Keeper's name, should I care about that?" Jonaris sneered.
Varden spoke, his eyes still fixed on the hand reader.
"She's from Traken."
The Prime Consul's words provoked an outburst of gasps from the assembly, many of whom now turned to look at Nyssa in awe, whispering and pointing out the sleeping Fosters arrayed at her feet.
The Doctor cleared his throat loudly. "Ah, now, I think I can explain…"
Varden raised a finger, and the Doctor stopped in mid-sentence as two energy rifles were shoved into his ribs. "Be silent, Herald. I shall deal with you momentarily." He returned his gaze to Suren, pausing to contemplate for a moment before speaking softly.
"If true, Suren, this is indeed an amazing and wonderful discovery. But DNA alone does not a Goddess make. This may just mean that somewhere, somehow, a small pocket of our Trakenite cousins miraculously escaped the Darkness. Maybe they were merchants, by chance offworld at that vital moment. Perhaps this girl is their direct descendant, and has preserved that noble bloodline. Unlikely and unprecedented, certainly. But possible, I suppose. However that does not, I am afraid, mean that she is our most benevolent Lady." Suren nodded respectfully, taking in the Prime Consul's words and weighing their truth.
"My Lord, as a scientist I wholeheartedly respect your logic and need for further verification. But I would ask you to look again at the report. The results grouped under the heading 'Anomalies' should be the confirmation you desire."
The silence held as Varden scanned down, his eyes widening as he did so. He looked back at the medic. "Is – is this what I think it is?" Suren nodded solemnly. "Then… the Source Marker is there? She is of the aristocracy?"
"She is, my Lord."
"Varden – I cannot believe you are giving credence to this – this scientific trickery!" Jonaris raged, his bloated face becoming purple once more.
"Pray to me."
The small, determined voice came from across the chamber. Nyssa stood on the dais, flanked by Suren and Tegan, her eyes fixed on the Procardinal.
"Nyssa," the Doctor began, disapprovingly, "I don't think this is the time or the place – "
"Pray to me, Procardinal, and I will answer you."
Adric was running out of air. He didn't know how far down into the marsh the creatures had dragged him, but the distant spot of the sun on the surface and the burning sensation in his chest told him it was far enough. His survival instinct kicking in, he ripped his badge from his tunic and, after fumbling with the pin, managed to somehow turn and stab it into the slimy hand holding on to his ankle. He heard a high pitched, underwater scream of pain as the creature swiftly released its grip. He quickly turned his attention to the second beast, plunging the sharp pin again and again into the vice-like claw. He felt ragged talons scrape down his calf, then all of a sudden he was free, the Alzarian sun growing bigger and bigger as he desperately kicked towards the surface, his lungs screaming for oxygen.
He emerged violently into the humid air once more, coughing and spluttering as he took deep rasping breaths, forcing his starving lungs into action. He had surfaced some way down the shore, mercifully close to a small jetty. He quickly swam to it, hauling himself out of the water to lie gasping on the warm, rough-cut wood, his Star of Mathematical Excellence grasped tightly in his hand.
Adric lay still for a moment, cold mist drifting across his vision, the sound of his own laboured breathing filling his ears. He closed his eyes, feeling his heart thudding wildly within his chest. Then, as he slowly regained his composure, he became aware of another sensation: a deep rumbling sound, vibrating through the solid wood beneath his body. He sat up sharply.
The Starliner!
Spray from his soaking wet clothes scattered across the planks of the jetty as Adric leapt to his feet and began to race towards the forest. He could hear the engines now, could feel the ground trembling beneath his feet. A single thought ran through his mind, where it replicated over and over again.
Varsh won't leave me. Varsh would never leave me.
Sprinting with a speed born of desperation, Adric burst through a thicket to be confronted by a wall of heat. The Starliner was across the clearing, smoke billowing as its massive engines began to whine and scream.
Varsh won't leave me.
The airlock was still open. Adric raised his arm to protect his face and ran towards it, the acrid smoke stinging his eyes.
Varsh would NEVER leave me.
He heard a shout from the entryway. His brother was there, beckoning him home, back to civilisation, logic and reason. Adric waved in response, his heart soaring.
Varsh won't leave me!
A figure emerged from behind his brother. A familiar figure, petite, with brown hair tumbling around her face in untamed curls, cascading down onto shoulders clad in plum-coloured velvet. At the back of his mind Adric knew she shouldn't be there, and yet somehow it didn't feel strange.
Varsh won't…
Varsh smiled as her arms encircled his waist, and he bent towards her, their lips meeting in a deep and passionate kiss.
"VARSH!" Adric screamed and stopped dead in his tracks, shocked to the core by his brother's betrayal. Breaking off their kiss, Nyssa turned to Adric, smiling cruelly, an expression Adric had never seen on the Trakenite's face before. Never taking her eyes from him, she casually reached out with her small, slender hand and activated the airlock mechanism.
"NO!" Adric cried, as he stood helplessly and watched the Starliner slowly rise from the Alzarian soil, the laughing faces of Nyssa and Varsh mocking him from the airlock window.
Alone once more, he sank down to his knees and wept.
Varden sat back in his chair, fingers steepled, a sardonic smile playing across his thin lips. "An interesting concept, don't you agree, Procardinal?"
Jonaris turned to the Prime Consul in exasperation. "How dare you give credence to such preposterous blasphemy, Varden? Not a moment ago you passed the death sentence on this heretic, why do you seek to waste our time further?"
"That was before I knew her 'heritage'." Varden smiled at the clergyman, whilst absent-mindedly fiddling with a device on his wrist. "It is a simple yet decisive test – if she passes, you are in the presence of divinity – surely a life's ambition for you? And if she fails…" He turned his eyes to the Doctor. "She dies. What are you so afraid of?"
The Doctor, though fully aware he was being manipulated, could not help but take the bait. "Prime Consul, I must protest!"
Nyssa stepped down from the dais. "Doctor, I know what I'm doing. Trust me."
"Nyssa! I don't think -"
"Pray to me, Procardinal, and I shall answer."
Jonaris looked at the multitude of expectant faces turned towards him, and sighed in irritation, defeated. He had been backed into an inescapable corner, and he knew it. Closing his eyes, he slowly and silently dropped to his knees, raising his meaty clenched fist to his brow.
Nyssa closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let her mind drift into the absolute silence that now ruled the Sanctum. The multitude of disembodied voices resurfaced into her consciousness, a constant yet incoherent stream of words tumbling over each other, their meaning lost in the turmoil. She smiled faintly, growing more confident that she knew their source. Waiting patiently, she opened her mind to the distant and unintelligible syllables that washed over her like a babbling stream.
Then suddenly, there it was - the Procardinal's voice, clear and instantly recognisable, slicing its way through the background murmur like a shaft of light cutting through dense fog. Her inward smile broadened as she heard his words reverberating around her mind, his reluctant prayer enunciated with perfect clarity in the practised tones of a man well versed in the art of communicating with the divine. After a few moments she collected herself, took a deep breath and opened her eyes. She looked at Jonaris, her countenance serenely confident.
"I cannot do that, Procardinal."
Nyssa's calm tones interrupted the perfect stillness within the chamber, provoking a multitude of hushed whispers from the assembled dignitaries, and causing the kneeling clergyman's eyes to snap open. His surprised expression immediately degenerated into a sneering, twisted smile as, with the help of his attendants, he struggled to his feet.
"You see?" he gloated, turning towards the seated Consulate – "She admits it! She is nothing more than a fraud, a vile blasphemer!"
"I cannot do what you ask, Procardinal, because the request you made of me is not within my power, nor would I wish to carry it out even if it were."
Tegan stepped forward to join the Trakenite, who stood at the foot of the dais, her eyes fixed on Jonaris as every other eye in the Sanctum was fixed on her. "Nyssa? You mean – are you saying you heard his prayer?" Nyssa nodded without removing her stare from the Procardinal, whose expression was becoming less self-assured by the second.
"Most Benevolent Lady," Nyssa began, pacing slowly towards him.
"I, your faithful servant implore you and invoke your divine might…"
The colour began to drain from the Procardinal's face.
"Strike down this vile heretic who has dared to defile your Holy Soil with her falsehoods!"
She stood inches from him now, throwing her arms out wide in a dramatic gesture.
"Appear before us now, O Lady, that your true majesty may drive out this darkness forever!"
Jonaris recoiled, speechless, his rotund face a mask of horror. The Doctor and Tegan were similarly dumbstruck. Nyssa lowered her white-robed arms.
"Do you see, Procardinal? I cannot do as you ask. I cannot strike myself down, as you so desperately desire." She smiled sweetly, and spoke in a whisper that only the shaking cleric could hear.
"And I am already here."
Adric looked up into the darkening Alzarian sky, where the Starliner was rapidly disappearing into the ether, the noise from the massive engines fading to a distant rumble. He was alone once more, abandoned, unwanted. He looked down at the star-shaped emblem resting in the palm of his hand. It was a symbol of science, a reward for his hard work and conformity. But where exactly had that got him? He folded his fingers around it, clutching it so tightly that the edges dug into his skin and blood began to drip from his fist onto the wet grass beneath him.
As the far-off roar from the ship's engines dwindled, Adric came to notice another sound, an alien noise that stood out from the background ambience of the forest. He jumped to his feet, recognising it immediately – a familiar, wheezing/groaning sound…
Locating the general direction the noise was emanating from, he ran back through the forest, crashing through trees and foliage, his heart soaring. The TARDIS! The Doctor had come back for him!
He reached a clearing, just in time to witness the welcome sight of the large blue craft fading into existence before him, growing more solid with each passing second. Then with a 'thump' there it was, real, tangible. Adric had never been more pleased to see anything in his life. He started across the clearing, anxious to be inside the protective shell of the Gallifreyan ship once more, in a place that had been more of a home than anywhere else in his short existence.
The time-worn blue door began to creak open, but Adric stopped dead in his tracks when he saw who emerged from the dimensionally transcendental interior. For it was not the fair-haired, younger Doctor he had last seen on Serenity, but the curly-haired, scarf-laden Doctor whose 'death' he had witnessed in the shade of the Pharos Project radio telescope on Earth. The Doctor that had rescued him from Alzarius. The Doctor that had taken him under his wing, and had promised to show him the secrets of the universe as they travelled together, just the two of them. As the Time Lord's head protruded from the doorway, he looked around the clearing to survey his new surroundings. His eyes eventually fixed on Adric, and the wide toothy grin that followed betrayed his recognition of the young Alzarian. The Doctor stepped out of the doorway, beckoning the boy towards him enthusiastically. Adric smiled, overjoyed to see his former mentor, and resumed his run towards the ship, back to the promise of knowledge and science.
He had made it halfway across the clearing when another figure suddenly emerged from the TARDIS doorway. Clad in a purple skirt and blouse, she stared at Adric, smiling cruelly, her eyes and lips reddened as they had been while she was possessed by the Mara. As Adric's voice froze within his throat she moved forward, grabbing the Doctor's scarf from behind and laughing as she pulled him viciously backwards into the TARDIS. The Doctor, choking, held his hands out to Adric in a desperate plea for help. But Adric was too far away. He started forward, shouting at Tegan to stop, but she was too quick, and had hauled the Time Lord back into the console room and slammed the door before Adric was even halfway there.
"NO!" cried Adric, sprinting across the remaining distance and hammering on the doors with impotent rage and frustration. After a few moments he was driven back by a searing, brilliant light bursting from within the TARDIS, streaming out through the windows and door seams. Adric staggered backwards, bringing his arm up to protect his eyes. And then as suddenly as it began, the light faded.
He sat back on the grass, shaking his head whilst his vision cleared. The forest around him had been momentarily silenced by the unusual event in the clearing, but now began to slowly spring back into life as various creatures sounded their alarms in echoing calls, whoops and whistles. Then once again the unnatural sound of the TARDIS door creaking open captured the boy's attention. A familiar pair of striped trousers entered Adric's peripheral vision and began striding slowly towards where he sat. They stopped a couple of metres away, and were joined by a more shapely pair clad in purple, high-heeled shoes. Adric looked up into the younger, newly regenerated face of the Doctor he had last seen on Serenity. The fair-haired Gallifreyan looked down at the muddy, bedraggled boy and smiled. But his words called forth Adric's worst fears.
"I'm terribly sorry Adric, but two companions are enough for any Time Lord. There's just no room for you on the TARDIS crew any more. Goodbye." And with that he turned and walked back into the TARDIS, without a single backward glance. Tegan lingered a little longer. She smiled down at Adric, but the false warmth didn't make it to her eyes, which radiated cruelty and mocking triumph. She turned on her heel and followed the Doctor back into the console room, closing the battered blue door behind her. Adric slumped, dejected, as the rooftop lamp started to flash, and the TARDIS began to slowly dematerialise. As it faded from existence, Adric thought he could make out the sound of scornful laughter echoing around the clearing.
Then he was alone once more.
Luminous green characters from a flickering monitor reflected in the lenses of the grey brother's spectacles as he stared intently at the information presented before him. He frowned, deep in concentration, then rubbed his eyes wearily before reaching across to activate his aged communicator once more.
"Brother - are you there? Can you speak?"
Static filled the room once more before a hushed voice broke through.
" – nding by, Brother. Is it time?"
"No, Brother. Do not proceed with your previous orders yet. I have just received new instruction. Do you have your tools with you?"
"Yes Brother. But what – "
"There's no time to waste, Brother. Now the first thing you need to do is get out of that Chamber quickly, without drawing attention to yourself…"
As Nyssa stood facing the Procardinal, patiently awaiting his response, the silence in the Sanctum was punctuated with gasps, whispers and the sound of rustling clothes. Tegan looked round in amazement to see a significant number of the assembled Serenites getting down on their knees and reverently bowing their heads. She turned to Suren.
"What's going on?" she whispered, confused. The medic smiled, his eyes still fixed on Nyssa.
"They believe."
The movements within the chamber were enough to enable Jonaris to break his eyes away from the girl before him and compose himself. He looked around at the room, taking in the increasing number of kneeling dignitaries with horror, before exploding in high-pitched fury.
"What are you doing?! This is NOT the Lady! I, Her most esteemed servant, tell you so!"
"Are you declaring, Procardinal, that she is wrong?" Varden's voice rang across the chamber, his amusement at the clergyman's predicament barely contained. "Was this not your prayer?"
Jonaris eyed the Prime Consul warily. "It was NOT."
"I think your face tells a different story, Procardinal." The Doctor stepped forward, smiling, his guards now less attentive as they became enthralled by the scene being played out before them. "When Nyssa spoke, you looked for all the world as if she had stolen the very thoughts from your head. I think it's clear to everyone in this room that she voiced the words of your prayer." He turned his gaze towards Nyssa as he spoke, his expression changing to one of concerned bewilderment as he wondered how his young companion had achieved such a feat.
"A cheap parlour trick!" Jonaris blustered, dismissively. "Some sort of scientific ruse no doubt, probably learned at this man's feet!" He pointed accusingly at the Doctor, before turning to address the assembly. "This girl is obviously in league with the Harbinger of Darkness, and her lies are undoubtedly designed by him in order to divide us all, and finish the task he began three centuries ago! Now this has gone on long enough - I will not condone the continuance of such unmitigated, sacrilegious nonsense any further!" He gestured to his attendant acolytes – "Seize her!"
The acolytes hesitated, torn between their duty to the Procardinal and the religious beliefs that had been drummed into them from an early age, now seemingly manifested in the girl before them. Nyssa took the opportunity to speak.
"I am Trakenite, Procardinal – Suren's DNA report has proven that much – and having lived all my life in the light of the Source I find it very difficult to lie." She stood defiantly before him with all the aristocratic poise and regal bearing she could muster. "I am who I am, and I cannot change that, however much it may displease you. I am Nyssa of Traken, daughter of Tremas, Consul of Traken and Keeper Nominate. I have subjected myself to examination, both physical and spiritual, and I have shown myself worthy." She turned her attention to Prime Consul Varden. "Now I ask that you release my companions, end this Inquisition, and let the Doctor go free. He has done no wrong here, and if it weren't for his actions none of you would be stood here today. We all owe him our lives - " she looked at the Doctor and smiled – "some of us several times over in fact."
The screaming cleric clenched his fists and stamped his foot heavily on the stone floor in a display of temper more suited to a chastened toddler than a religious leader.
"SEIZE HER NOW, OR YOU WILL PAY WITH YOUR LIVES!"
One of the acolytes sprang forward, his loyalties decided by the more immediate threat presented by Jonaris, and grabbed the petite Trakenite by the arms, brushing a protesting Tegan and Suren aside in the process. Nyssa instinctively struggled, but the acolyte was too strong for her, preventing her escape further by encircling an arm around her torso and pinning her arms to her sides. She cried out as she felt a crushing pain in her chest and arm, followed by a sickening sound as her weakened bones splintered. She gasped as an agony, beyond the reach of the painkillers still coursing around her veins, erupted across her chest.
Adric lay in the lush grass of the clearing, staring up at the Alzarian sky and the faint, lingering vapour trail of the Starliner drifting away on the breeze. Tears flowed back across his temples into his thick black hair, then down into the fragrant soil below. Disjointed thoughts echoed as his head swam, circling on the verge of despair:
Orphaned.
Outcast.
Unwanted.
Unloved.
Abandoned.
Alone.
The final word seemed to echo around his consciousness, reverberating until it seemed to escape the confines of his skull and fill the clearing, resounding off the trees and growing somewhat mocking in tone, amplifying itself and growing louder and louder until it seemed to fill the whole world and Adric could bear it no longer. He sat up and cried out in anguish, startling the surrounding wildlife and sending a flock of birds into panicked flight. Then all was quiet once more.
Adric roughly drew his hand across his eyes, took a shaking breath and desperately tried to gather himself. He looked around the clearing, trying to focus on something - anything, but the forest swam before him in a dizzying dance. The trees themselves seemed to move and sway, bending themselves into unnatural, twisted shapes. Then suddenly Adric noticed a voice on the breeze... coaxing, pleading, yearning…
"Adric, you must help us come full circle… lead us out of the darkness, back to truth, light and knowledge…"
Dark, snarling shapes began to detach themselves from the trees swimming across Adric's vision. They stalked towards him, uncurling their gnarled, claw-like hands and taking deep, rasping breaths…
"…Our people have been forsaken Adric, abandoned and left alone in the dark… help us right that wrong by destroying those responsible…."
Adric looked down at his hands. His fingers had become gnarled talons, his skin blotched and covered in scales.
"…Help us become again what we once were…"
He felt something building inside him, a deep primal rage that began to course through his veins like liquid fire, seething and burning.
"...destroy those who claim to love us with one breath, while casting us into hell with another..."
A low snarl emanated from Adric's lips.
"...Complete the Keeper's prophecy... Adric? Adric - NO! What are you doing?... Brother – are you there? I think we may have a problem here..."
Adric stood in the centre of the clearing, his body fully transformed. As he raised his arms and let out a raw, animal scream, he was joined by his fellow Marshmen, creating a bloodthirsty chorus that echoed into the darkening Alzarian sky.
With a shout the Doctor leapt forward, escaping his guards and jumping on the acolyte holding Nyssa from behind. He somehow managed to get his arms over the acolyte's head, and pulling his stun cuffs across the larger man's windpipe he heaved backwards. The acolyte let out a strangled cry, releasing Nyssa as he clutched at his throat. The Trakenite crumpled to the floor in a semi-sentient heap. Within the Sanctum the commotion reached a crescendo as Consuls shouted, dignitaries ran screaming and Time Lord and acolyte span, locked together in combat. Then all of a sudden they were surrounded by Fosters, and the clamour subsided as Varden strode towards the dais, barking orders as he tapped keys on the device on his wrist. Fosters grabbed the Doctor and the acolyte, separating and restraining them both.
"Tegan! Help Nyssa!" The Doctor continued to struggle as Tegan rushed to where Nyssa lay, unmoving.
"I've got you Nyssa, you're going to be ok!" she soothed, pulling her friend to her in a protective hug. Suren looked at the Trakenite in concern, before picking up the hypospray from where Tegan had discarded it on the floor. He fumbled in his pocket for another vial before inserting it into the handle and injecting the fluid into the bare skin of Nyssa's neck.
"There are some fractured bones, and from the way she's breathing I think she may have punctured a lung," he said hurriedly over the noise echoing around the walls. "That extra dose of painkillers should help for now, but we need to get her back to the Infirmary as soon as possible."
Varden noted this exchange as he stood, a few metres away, surveying the scene within the Sanctum. As his Fosters began to regain control he turned to Jonaris, a sneering smile playing across his lips that wasn't quite reflected in his eyes. "Well, Procardinal – I must say that's a fine day's work. Not only have you failed to eliminate the Herald, but you have also failed to recognise the very deity that you have spent your life in devotion to, and nearly managed to kill her, all in the space of a few short hours. You must be so pleased with yourself!"
The cleric turned to the Prime Consul, his temper boiling over once more.
"For the last time, this impostor is NOT The Lady! Do you really think Her Holiness would appear before us in this manner? For Keeper's sake, man – there would have been a SIGN!"
"Look!"
The shout from the crowd immediately drew the attention of everyone in the room, and all eyes turned towards the end of the Sanctum, where the Keeper's chamber sat dark and empty beneath the small hearth where the Source flame once danced.
"The Fire! It burns!"