She decided to leave it there, no point going over the top. Pestilence was looking thoughtful as she walked away.
Denny was looking as if he was going to throw up. Fighting he had been prepared for, but not this! This was far more terrifying. He decided that he would rather have faced a thousand angry vampires – riding dragons – with machine guns – than this.
People were already drifting into the field, just as Death had said they would. They sat on the grass in front of the stage, gazing up at it wonderingly, as if they were uncertain how they had got here, and why. Denny was more afraid of them than he had been of all the devils that Hell could spit out at him. Why the hell, had he agreed to this?
‘To save the world,’ said Tamar, catching his thought. ‘You didn’t think it was going to be easy, did you?’
‘Huh,’ sniffed Denny, ‘s’ all right for you to talk, you don’t have to get up there.’
‘I wouldn’t mind if I did,’ she retorted, twirling a lock of hair around her fingers.
‘No, I don’t suppose you would,’ said Denny. ‘You’re a born exhibitionist. I’m not.’
‘There’s a little bit of the exhibitionist in everyone,’ declared Tamar.
‘Not me.’
‘You’ll be okay.’ She debated telling him to picture the audience in their underwear, but the presence of several extremely pretty girls in the front rows of the burgeoning audience put her off this idea. Besides, that didn’t really work anyway, did it?’
The stage was impressive but not as impressive as the fact that not one of the audience seemed to be in the least surprised that it was there. Pestilence looked out from behind the curtain. ‘Hmm,’ he frowned. ‘Coupla hundred, maybe five or six, not as impressive as usual, I must say.’ He turned petulantly to Death. ‘If we’d played at the Garden,’ he complained. ‘We could have been,’ he gulped, ‘televised.’
‘This is not a large event,’ intoned Death. ‘It is no more than an informal get together. Be told!’
‘It could have been great,’ whinged Pestilence. ‘Our farewell concert, the last hurrah. And you want to do it in a field in the middle of nowhere. I don’t know. Some people have no sense of occasion.’
‘I thought we were doing this for him,’ said War, indicating Denny, who was shivering behind an old packing crate.* ‘if this thing gets any bigger I think the poor bugger might have an aneurysm.
*[These always turn up behind the scenes on stages. Nobody knows why]
‘Stage fright,’ said Pestilence dismissively. ‘It’ll go away once he’s on stage.’
‘Got to get him on stage first,’ said Famine dubiously.
‘Leave him to me,’ said Pestilence confidently. ‘They’ll love him.’
* * *
The lineup went like this.
On Lead Guitar/vocals – Denny Sanger.
On Rhythm guitar – Pestilence / Lazarus Moult.
On keyboards – Famine.
On the double bass (for some strange reason) – Death / The Grim Reaper
On Drums – War.
Tamar’s heart was in her mouth as Denny took the stage. Front and centre, the spotlight shining down on his blond hair, making him look like a skinny rock ‘n roll angel.
But Denny himself suddenly relaxed, with the spotlight in his eyes he found that he couldn’t see a thing anyway; this was not as bad as he had feared. In any case, it was too late to change his mind now. As the inevitability of the situation dawned on him, he felt a strange calm descend on him. He struck a chord. The band started to play, and Denny opened his mouth, and his heart, and began to sing.
He sang about love, about frustration and longing and thwarted desire. And Tamar recognised the early stages of their relationship, when they had been kept apart by circumstance. Yet this was no sappy “lurve song”, it had a rocking beat and it had soul. The audience was transfixed. It was an incredible song and Denny’s voice was ardently compelling.
Tamar wept. ‘He’s singing my heart,’ she told Stiles. Although, she was later to deny having said any such sentimental nonsense.
Stiles just smiled and said. ‘Well of course he is, didn’t you know?’
He then sang another song, this time about his dreams of their being together. It was a vivid portrayal of an apparently unattainable fantasy made real in his head.
The audience was rapt as Denny sang next, with the voice of angels, about the fulfillment of his love and the fear of losing it when the world was torn apart. Behind him, War wiped away a surreptitious tear.
‘Damn me, he’s good,’ muttered Pestilence.
Tamar was in bits. ‘I never knew,’ she said, ‘I never knew he had all this inside.’
He was singing about his determination never to be parted from her, not by death or the sweeping away of worlds. He wished her to be strong, he would find her again. He hoped she would be strong enough to survive without him until he did.
‘I didn’t know he thought like this,’ said Stiles.
Nobody was listening to him. Cindy was gazing at the stage in girlish adulation, and the dwarfs were all sniffing into their beards and trying to hide this fact from the other dwarfs. Hecaté was smiling to herself. She had known.
Tamar had not though; Denny had somehow kept this part of himself rigorously hidden from her. She thought she understood why, as the tears fell fast down her face. Hadn’t she done the same thing, in her way? ‘I mean,’ she thought, ‘I knew he felt this way, sort of knew anyway. I knew he cared, but I didn’t know… I didn’t know… about this! I didn’t know he had thought about it so much, that he could express it this way. No,’ she admitted to herself, ‘I didn’t know about all this, all these feelings, I had no idea that he felt … felt the same as me.’
‘And to think,’ muttered Stiles. ‘I thought all his songs were crap.’
The audience were going wild. Some girls were screaming, not all of them for Denny, it has to be admitted, there are always one or two who prefer the sweaty drummer or the moth eaten rhythm guitarist just to prove their individuality. There was a tentative attempt at underwear throwing, which, fortunately, didn’t catch on. If any fool girl had thrown her knickers at Denny at that moment, Tamar would probably have eviscerated her.
Denny sang. He had finally opened his heart, and now it was bleeding all over the stage, it was a relief in a way. Now that he had started, he did not want to stop. Which was okay with the audience, but the Horsemen were getting tired and Tamar did not think she could take much more.
And then, as abruptly as it had begun, it was over. Death waved a bony hand in a gesture of dismissal and there was suddenly a field full bewildered people all wondering what the hell they were doing there when they had jobs to go to, or kids to look after or exams to take etc.
Denny blinked, the field was emptying rapidly. Within a few minutes everyone had gone, except the Horsemen, Tamar, Cindy, Stiles, Hecaté and a crowd of embarrassed looking dwarfs.
‘You was crying, I seen you.’
‘Was not, you was.’
‘Huh, I’d like to see me.’
‘Well, you should have been standing where I was then.’
This was Monty Python level satire for a dwarf, and his antagonist was temporarily stumped.
Denny stumbled off the stage which then vanished. ‘W-what happened?’
Tamar stared. ‘You don’t remember?’
‘You were singing mate,’ said Stiles.
‘I know that,’ said Denny. ‘Why, was sort of what I was getting at.’
The Horsemen bustled towards them.
‘Well, that’s that,’ said Death ponderously.
Pestilence took Denny by the hand before Denny could stop him. ‘Wonderful show man, terrific, been a pleasure. Oh sorry about that,’ he added, seeing Denny wiping his hand on his trousers, with a look of extreme distaste (And this is Denny, we’re talking about, the man who would turn his skin inside out in order to get another day out of it before washing, were the thing feasible
. It makes you wonder what Pestilence had on his hands. Probably better not to speculate.)
‘That is THAT,’ repeated Death ominously. ‘We must ride out now.’
The other Horsemen looked at each other uneasily. Pestilence stroked his chin. War stroked his beard. Famine kneaded his doughy cheeks. All looked thoughtful.
It was War who spoke up. ‘Well, now,’ he began uncertainly. ‘What if, and I only say if, sort of as a suggestion you understand? And not as any kind of … Ahem. Well, what I mean is, suppose we, and I’m just throwing this into the air you might say, to see where it lands, and not, as it were …’
‘Oh spit it out man!’ snapped Pestilence.
‘Well, then,’ resumed War with an angry look at Pestilence. ‘Suppose that we, instead of riding out, suppose we er – didn’t.’
Tamar gasped. Yes!
‘Didn’t what?’ said Death.
‘Um, ride out,’ said War in a small voice, then hid himself behind Famine, who could have concealed a killer whale with ease.
‘I see,’ said Death with what all recognised as a forced calm. ‘And do you all feel like this?’ he addressed the Horsemen.
‘No, No, well, yes, but …’
‘Well. The thing is …’
‘Um…’
Death held up his hand. ‘Am I to understand then,’ he said in that sarcastic manner beloved of certain head teachers, ‘that my Horsemen have decided, after thousands of years of waiting and preparation, of doing their duty and making ready for the fulfillment of their sacred obligation, that now, on the eve of our finest hour, you have decided not to ride out? Is that it?’
The Horsemen quailed.
‘Oh God,’ thought Tamar, ‘they’re going to give in, they’re afraid of him.’
‘Well, yeah,’ said Pestilence. ‘I suppose that’s pretty much it, yeah.’ He added this last “yeah” with a certain air of hopeless defiance.
‘I see,’ said Death again, steepling his fingers threateningly.
Pestilence took up position behind Famine.
There was an ominous silence and then Death asked the one word question that was on everybody’s mind. ‘Why?’
‘Well, see, it’s hard to explain,’ said War.
‘Try,’ said Death wryly. ‘Humour me.’
‘We don’t want it all to end,’ said Pestilence. ‘No more music,’ he glanced at Denny who smiled.
‘No more food,’ added Famine dolefully.
‘No more War,’
‘No more lovely diseases,’ said Pestilence, ‘and I was just coming up with a lovely line in blotches and boils too.’ He sighed. ‘Nothing lethal,’ he added hurriedly, seeing Denny’s face and realising that this argument was unlikely to win him much support, ‘just disfiguring.’ This was better, but not much.
‘No more Death either, you know,’ added War with what he imagined to be great cunning. Death ignored him.
‘The fact is,’ said Pestilence, ‘we like humans and the lad’s singing reminded us of that. We never wanted to ride out in the first place, you know. And anyway, without humans, we won’t exist anymore either you know. Survival is a natural instinct.’
‘For humans,’ said Death. ‘You are not human.’
‘We look human,’ said War. ‘Sort of,’ he amended glancing at Pestilence, who was looking more and more like a walking sewage farm every moment. ‘And we feel human, it’s sort of catching, you know.’
‘I do not know,’ Death assured him.
The other Horsemen shrugged helplessly; there was no good answer to this, and they knew it.
‘And do you mean to tell me,’ Death continued. ‘That these rebellious thoughts have been stirred up to the surface of your feeble minds by music? Mere sounds, beats to a rhythm? Caterwauling?* ‘How can this be?
*[Death naturally has a dead ear.]
War shrugged again. ‘It’s hard to explain,’ he said again. ‘I don’t think you can understand. You’re dead.’
‘Death,’ Death corrected him.
‘Same difference.’
‘Not so,’ said Death. ‘I have never been alive.’
‘Maybe you should try it,’ suggested Famine.
‘Hmm,’ Death appeared to consider this suggestion. ‘I think not,’ he said. ‘It will not be necessary.’
The Horsemen looked downcast.
‘I have decided.’
And for a moment, Tamar could have sworn that there was a mischievous twinkle in the lights within his empty sockets as he looked at her. She frowned trying to remember … something.
‘We shall ride out,’ there was a groan. ‘We shall ride out …’ he paused dramatically. ‘With them.’ he indicated the bemused assemblage of humans and dwarfs (And one goddess) ‘Not against them.’
His empty gaze settled on Tamar. ‘You remember now, do you not?’
She nodded dumbly.
Death bowed his skull to her. ‘You have won,’ he said. ‘This round, at least.’
* * *
She had lain close to death, after her struggle with the evil god Ran-Kur, and as she had drifted, she had seen Him.
‘Have you come to claim me?’
‘No, not yet, this is what they call a “Near Death Experience” the latest thing in popular theology, so they tell me. It’s playing merry hell with my schedule I can tell you. But I have to keep up with the times.’
Tamar had sympathised she remembered. Then Death had offered her a choice, go back to your life as it was, or make a fresh start in a new life. She remembered thinking that this was all wrong; surely, it was the Angel of Destiny who offered that choice. But she had chosen. She had chosen to go back to her old life … hadn’t she?
Before she had woken up, Death had given her a letter; it had turned out to be a warning.
In an infinite universe, all things are possible. Choices are but forks in the road. Take heed of the other choice, it may come back to haunt you. Beware your enemy.
We will meet again before the end.
Now she understood.
Askphrit had used that other self –the one who had chosen differently on that fateful night and so dropped into a different destiny, in order to change her life around her. She had become that other Tamar; their different destinies had become the same. Didn’t the Fates control all destinies? If it had not been for that choice, that other destiny would never have existed, and she could not have been thrust into it.
‘Well, two can play at that game,’ she thought.
Tamar now understood what she had to do; she just didn’t know how she was going to do it.
Death was watching her appraisingly. Would she figure it out?
‘We need to get back into Hell?’ she said tentatively.
Death shook his head gently. ‘Not yet,’ he admonished. ‘First, we need to do a little dimension hopping. The Fates are destroyed, remember?’
Tamar stared. ‘Of course,’ she said slowly. ‘I see.’
‘I wish I did,’ muttered Stiles.
She turned to Denny. ‘The Athame?’ she asked.
Denny drew it out looking confused. ‘Dimension hopping?’ he said. ‘Where are we going?’
Tamar grinned. ‘We’re going back to the farm,’ she quipped. ‘Now that we’ve seen Paris.’
~Chapter Twenty Nine ~
‘What’s the hold up now?’ snapped Crispin.
‘The Horsemen appear to have stopped sir.’ Replied Talbot
‘What? Why?’
‘Guess?’
‘I am not in the mood for … Wait – it’s her isn’t it? Interfering little …’
‘Actually sir, I meant the other thing.’
Crispin narrowed his eyes. ‘They’re not?’ he said disbelievingly. ‘At a time like this?’
‘Yes sir, I’m afraid so.’
‘They’re having another bloody concert? At the end of the world?’
‘Sorry sir.’
‘Oh my God!’
‘Sir?’
‘Figure
of speech lad, just a figure of speech.’ Crispin groaned. ‘I don’t believe this.’
‘If it helps sir, she is there. I just spotted her.’
‘It doesn’t.’
‘Well, it seems to be winding down sir.’
‘Keep an eye on them; I’m going to call upstairs.’
‘Um, Sir,’
‘Yes?’
‘They’ve gone sir,’
‘Gone? What do you mean, gone?’
‘Well sir, they’ve just vanished.’
‘Vanished? They can’t have vanished,’ Crispin’s voice was rising hysterically. He thumped the desk. Papers flew in all directions.*
*[All offices in the universe have random papers lying about even if there’s no need for them].
‘Find them,’ he hissed menacingly. ‘They must be somewhere. Find them now!’
Talbot frowned suddenly. What did he mean, “upstairs”?
* * *
Clive was also watching events with a certain satisfaction. It was not precisely how he had foreseen events panning out. There had definitely been a few unexpected hitches along the way, but this was to be expected, he decided, when dealing with humans. Free will was always a problem, and yet, without it, nothing would ever get done at all. He had not expected Tamar to abandon her efforts to regain the box and go after the Horsemen, but perhaps, after all, it was as well that she had. Destiny was a powerful thing. Despite her disdain for it, she was as subject to its vagaries as everyone else. Perhaps, he mused, that accounted for her attitude. She was more full of pride and arrogance than any person he had ever encountered. However, they were back on track now. That was the main thing.
* * *
Jamie was now facing his destiny*, although he was, as yet, unaware of this. Unaware, in fact, that he even had a destiny as such. All he knew was that the hatred that filled his soul had to be appeased somehow, and he believed that he had found the way.
*[For background on Jamie’s destiny, see “Reality Bites”.]
He was standing in a dark primordial world and not far ahead of him in the shadow of a great tree, lurked his destiny.
* * *
Denny held up the Athame uncertainly. He glanced at Death. ‘Will we remember?’ he asked. He had got the point of Tamar’s somewhat cryptic remark immediately, and he was not happy about it.
The Day Before Tomorrow Page 19