Glaeken faced the others. “We are ready.”
“How can you be so cold?” Carol said, glaring at him.
“I am not immune to their torment. I ache for that child, but even more for his mother. He may have lost his awareness and his ability to respond to the world around him, but he has lost his perspective as well—he doesn’t know what he has lost. Sylvia does. She bears the pain for both of them. But we must save our grief for later. If the price the child has paid is to have meaning, we must take the final step.”
“Okay,” Jack said. “What do we do?”
“Put the hilt and the blade together.”
“That’s it? Then what?”
“Then the signal reaches the Ally or it does not. And then the Ally responds or it does not.”
“Do or die, eh?”
“Quite literally.”
“Then let’s get to it. We’ve waited long enough. Let’s get this over with.”
Jack seemed in a terrible hurry. Why?
He picked up the hilt, hefted it, and turned toward the blade where it jutted from the floor.
“Wait,” Glaeken said. “There’s something you should know.”
Jack was the Heir. The Ally hadn’t hung a sign on him saying so, but Glaeken sensed it, and everything pointed to it. Even Rasalom had referred to him as such. He was destined to take on the role of Sentinel, Defender, Guardian when Glaeken died. A natural progression.
But Rasalom’s ascension and the initiation of the Change while Glaeken still lived had changed all that. What should have been a simple progression now required an initiation. The Heir would have to participate in the process. When Jack rammed the hilt onto the blade’s butt spike, he would become a different sort of being—ageless, potent, powerful.
And so the easiest thing for Glaeken would have been to allow Jack to join the two parts of the weapon and have done with it.
But he felt compelled to warn the man what he was getting into. Glaeken wished someone had warned him countless years ago before his own first encounter with the weapon.
But I was so reckless and headstrong then. Would it have made a difference?
Jack stood by the blade, waiting.
“If this works,” Glaeken said, “when you join the two halves you will be, in a very real sense, joining yourself to the weapon and the force that fuels it.”
Jack looked at him. “Just by putting it together? No spells or incantations or any of that stuff?”
“None of that stuff,” Glaeken said, allowing himself a tiny smile. “Because that’s just what it is—stuff. Showbiz. This is the real thing. Know that it is an intimate bond, permanent, one you will not be able to break no matter how much you desire to.”
He noticed that Jack seemed to have lost some of his enthusiasm for joining the hilt to the blade.
“What about you?” he said. “Didn’t this used to be yours? Shouldn’t you be handling this?”
Glaeken fought the urge to retreat to the farthest corner of the room.
“No. It’s over for me. This is not my age. I’m from another time, a long-dead time. This is your age. I saved mine. Someone from your time must save yours.”
“So you’re saying if this works I’ll be the new Sentinel or whatever?”
Glaeken nodded. “You are, after all, the Heir.”
The Bunker
Gia saw Vicky leap to her feet and lurch away from her spot, her face a mask of terror. And then Gia knew why: A snout burst through the floor inches away from where she’d been crouching. Vicky slipped and fell and the snout stretched toward her.
“No!” Gia screamed, leaping forward.
She rammed the muzzle of her Benelli into its maw and yanked the trigger three times in rapid succession.
“Fuck you!” she shouted in a burst of rage and horror. “FUCK you!”
Spurting goo, the thing slipped back into its hole.
Too close. She shuddered. Too, too close.
Vicky was staring at her. “Mom, you said the F-word.”
“Did I?” She hadn’t realized. “Well, when some slimy worm is trying to eat your little girl, you’re allowed.”
She looked around. The situation was deteriorating. Some of the burrowers in the walls and ceiling were starting to wriggle from their holes, revealing white, bulbous bodies, ringed with bristling ridges. They reminded Gia of maggots—glistening, human-size maggots.
So many now. Too many. She and Abe simply couldn’t reach them all.
But they had to try.
Gia ran over to one that jutted three feet into the room. As she neared, it whipped toward her, stretching like an accordion. She fell back in shock and it snapped at her shotgun. She fired and missed, gouging a deep pock in the ceiling. Another pull of the trigger and this time the shot shredded an area behind the head. The burrower writhed and twisted, spraying thick yellow goo, but it kept coming, pushing itself farther and farther into the room.
Around her she saw others doing the same.
Manhattan
His mouth dry as sand, Jack could only stare at Glaeken. The moment he’d been dreading had arrived.
Or had it?
“But I’m not supposed to … at least I was told that I don’t take over till you’re gone.”
“The Change alters the rules. I’m as good as gone. My sword was broken and I have aged. Now there’s a new sword, and it needs a new champion, a new Sentinel to wield it. By completing the weapon you accept the role.”
Jack thought of Gia and Vicky … if they’d somehow survived, taking Glaeken’s place meant losing them. Because he wouldn’t be Jack anymore. He’d be the new Sentinel, the immortal watchman. He remembered what Glaeken had told him about how his own past relationships had deteriorated as the women grew old and he did not. He’d had to watch his wives, his children, his grandchildren age and wither and die, until he’d decided to have no more wives or children, or even long-term relationships.
Until he’d been freed … until he’d known that he and Magda could grow old together.
Watching Gia and Vicky age and die while he stayed young … Jack had been struggling for years to find a way to make it work with them, and now Glaeken wanted him to throw everything away—assuming anything was left.
He laid the hilt on the table.
“I’m going to take a rain check.”
Glaeken’s expression slackened. “Jack, you can’t—”
“I can, and I am. What makes you so sure it’s me?”
“You know as well as I that you’re the Heir.”
Looking around, he saw all eyes fixed on him. Confused eyes … they didn’t know what had gone down these past years, what he and Glaeken were talking about—that he’d been drafted into this cosmic war and, without being given a choice or a say, tagged for the generalship when the time came. Glaeken was saying the time was now. Jack couldn’t buy that—wouldn’t buy that.
“Maybe it’s someone else here.”
Glaeken sighed. “You know very well it is not. The weapon chooses who shall wield it—and it shall choose you.”
“It has a say?”
“Of course. What you’ve known as the Dat-tay-vao now resides within the hilt. That is not an inert amalgam of metals, it is very much alive—almost sentient.”
“Then let’s see if it chooses someone else.”
“One of us?” Bill said.
Jack turned to him. “Why not?” He was grasping at straws, he knew, but what if there was more than one potential Heir? “None of you is an accidental bystander. You’ve all played a part in the events leading up to this moment.”
He turned to Ba.
“If there was ever a natural-born warrior, it’s you, Ba. Maybe you were cured by the Dat-tay-vao so you’d be able to travel halfway around the world to wind up here in this room at this time.”
Plus, Jack realized, all this had become personal for Ba. No way he couldn’t be carrying an incandescent grudge against Rasalom after what happened to his frien
d Alan and now to Jeffy. Righteous fury—the perfect fuel.
The big Asian’s expression remained calm but Jack noticed a tightening in the muscles of his throat. His nod was almost imperceptible.
“I will do this.”
Ba stepped forward with no hint of hesitation. Jack glanced around and noticed Sylvia slipping back into the room. She stood in a corner holding her listless Jeffy by the hand. She watched grim-faced as Ba took the hilt from the table and lined it up over the butt spike.
Ba paused and looked at Glaeken. “What will happen?”
“Maybe nothing. It may be too late for anything to work. Rasalom may have us sealed off too completely for the signal to break through.”
“But if it does work, how will I know?”
“Oh, you’ll know,” Glaeken said. “Believe me, we’ll all know.”
Ba continued to stare at him questioningly.
“For one thing, Ba, the blade and hilt will fuse. That will be your confirmation that the sword has accepted you.”
Ba nodded.
Jack noticed that Glaeken took a surreptitious backward step and looked away as Ba inhaled deeply and rammed the hilt home.
Nothing happened … nothing that Jack could see.
After a few heartbeats Ba said, “I do not feel different.” He pulled up on the hilt, slipping it free of the butt spike. “And they have not become one. It has refused me.”
Jack couldn’t read his expression. Relief, or disappointment that he would not have this weapon to protect Sylvia and Jeffy?
Jack ground his teeth and hid his frustration. The big guy would have been perfect.
Without a word, Ba held out the hilt to Bill.
Bill blinked. “Me? But I can’t … I mean, I’m not…”
Jack jumped in. “Why not? I mean, from what you told me in the car, you’ve been Rasalom’s nemesis since his rebirth—since before his rebirth. Is there anyone alive today besides Glaeken who Rasalom hates more? Look what he did to your life.” Jack’s life had been shattered too, but not by Rasalom. “That sets you up as someone ready to administer major payback.”
Yes. It could be Bill. Had to be. He was perfect—a holy man’s soul and a warrior’s heart. Bill had drawn blood and had withstood the death, misery, and horror of Rasalom’s vicious campaign to break him.
They were made to face off against each other.
At the moment, however, Bill looked anything but the fearless standard-bearer.
Carol was clutching his arm, but he pulled free and stepped forward. She stood back with her eyes fixed on the hilt and both hands pressed tight against her face, covering her mouth. The ex-priest approached Ba as if he were holding a poisonous snake. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out with trembling hands and took the hilt from him.
“It can’t be me.”
Ba stepped aside, clearing the path.
Like a sleepwalker, Bill shuffled to the blade, fitted the tip of the spike into the opening—and paused. He looked around.
“It’s not me. I know it’s not.” But his hoarse voice lacked conviction.
Bill didn’t shove the hilt down, he merely let it fall upon the spike. Once again, Jack noticed Glaeken averting his eyes.
But nothing happened—again.
Bill removed the hilt and stepped back from the instrument, his body trembling from head to foot.
Jack closed his eyes and swallowed a surge of bile. He’d run out of denials.
It’s me. Christ, it’s me.
Glaeken’s eyes bored into his, penetrating to his soul. Bill and Ba too were staring at him.
But their faces were replaced by Gia’s and Vicky’s. Even if, somehow, they were still alive, if he cut and run now they’d have no chance. If this hilt-and-blade thing worked—still a big if—things could never be the same between him and them, but at least he’d be able to give them a chance of survival.
“Damn it!” he said through his clenched teeth. “Goddamn it!” He stepped forward and snatched the hilt from Bill. “No sense in wasting any more time. Let’s get this shit over with.”
With a single swift motion he positioned the hilt over the spike and—paused. He didn’t want this.
But if it’s gotta be, it’s gotta be.
He set his jaw and pushed the hilt onto the spike.
And waited.
And waited.
He jiggled the hilt. Loose. No fusion.
He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Maybe cry. Because the inescapable truth was that the instrument, the sword, whatever it was, didn’t work. No signal would be going out.
We’re all screwed.
He looked up and saw Glaeken gaping at him.
Glaeken balled his fists to keep from shouting.
No! This couldn’t be! He’d done everything right! The sword was fresh, new, and ready! Why didn’t—?
“Well, then, who is it?” he heard Carol say in a high voice verging on rage. “It’s got to be somebody!” She turned to Glaeken. “And who said it has to be a man?”
Glaeken had no answer for that, and Carol wasn’t waiting for one anyway. She reached past Jack, lifted the hilt, and slammed it back down.
With no more effect than anyone before her.
“Don’t tell me we went through all this for nothing!” she said. “It’s got to—” She turned to the figure watching from the far end of the room. “Sylvia! Sylvia, you try it. Please.”
Sylvia wiped away a tear. “I don’t…”
“Just come over and do it.”
Leading Jeffy by the hand, Sylvia approached the instrument. She made eye contact with no one.
“This is a waste of time,” she said.
The words proved too true. She released Jeffy, lifted the hilt, and rammed it home.
Nothing.
How pathetic they are.
Rasalom’s expanded consciousness has witnessed the members of Glaeken’s circle stride up to the odd conglomeration of metals and spirit standing in the center of the room, each so full of hope and noble purpose, and watched each of them fail. He relishes the growing despair in the room, thickening and congealing until it is almost palpable.
And something else growing there … anger.
When their trite little totem fails, they will begin to turn on each other.
Luscious.
The Bunker
Burrowers, living and dead and dying, littered the floor. They ran six to seven feet in length and moved with an obscene, undulating motion. They’d backed Gia, Vicky, and Abe into the corner by the bathroom. Gia had Vicky hidden behind the bathroom door while she and Abe did what damage they could to the invaders. The burrowers would have overrun them by now if the live ones hadn’t paused to taste the dead and the nearly so.
Gia’s gorge rose at the sight of them tearing into their inert brothers, knowing they’d soon be doing the same to the three humans down here. The dying burrowers jerked and spasmed as they were eaten. Unbidden images of Vicky at their mercy, eaten alive, flashed through her brain.
For the first time in her life she almost felt it might be a good thing that Emma hadn’t made it.
Almost.
She couldn’t imagine, couldn’t allow her child to die like this. Better a quick clean death than …
But could she do it? Even if it was the best thing for Vicky, a merciful gift, could she aim this shotgun at her daughter and pull the trigger?
Listen to me. I’ve got us dead already. And we’re not. Jack and Glaeken are still out there. They’ll come up with something. They’ve got to.
But when? Oh God, when?
Manhattan
Glaeken watched Sylvia tug the hilt free of the spike and turn in a slow circle. This time she made eye contact—and her gaze was withering.
“This is it?” her voice bitter, brittle. “This is all we get? Alan loses his life, Jeffy sinks back into autism, all for what? For nothing?”
“Maybe it’s Nick,” Bill said.
“No,” Sylvia said, her voic
e rimed with disdain. “It’s not Nick.”
Jack shook his head. “Maybe it wasn’t refurbished right. Or like Glaeken said, maybe it’s too late. Maybe the signal can’t get through.”
“Oh, it’s too late all right.” She continued her slow turn. “Too late for Alan and Jeffy.” Finally she stopped and glared at him. “But it’s not too late for you, is it?”
Glaeken felt his mouth going dry. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Yes, you do.” She lifted the hilt higher, straining against its weight. “This is yours, isn’t it?”
“Its predecessor was, before it was melted down and—”
“It’s still yours, isn’t it?”
Glaeken swallowed. Sylvia was trespassing along a path he dearly wished her to avoid.
“Not anymore. Someone new must take it up now.”
“But it wants you.”
“No.” What was she saying? “I served my time—more than my time. Someone else—”
“But what if no one but the wonderful Glaeken will do?” She spat his name.
“That’s not possible.”
She lifted the hilt still higher, her expression fierce.
“Try it. Just try it. Let’s see what happens. Then we’ll know for sure.”
“You don’t understand,” Glaeken said. His arthritic lower back was shooting pain down his left leg so he eased himself into the straight-back chair against the wall behind him. “It can’t be me. It’s not possible.”
He saw Jack step closer to Sylvia. He kept his voice low but Glaeken made out the words.
“Chill, Sylvia. Look at him. He’s all rusted up. Even if he’s the one it wants, what can he do against all that’s going on out there?”
Sylvia stared Glaeken’s way a moment longer, then shook her head.
“Maybe. But there’s something else going on here.” She handed the hilt to Jack. “You figure it out.”
Jack glanced down at the gold and silver hilt in his hand, then looked at Bill.
The Complete Adversary Cycle: The Keep, the Tomb, the Touch, Reborn, Reprisal, Nightworld (Adversary Cycle/Repairman Jack) Page 230