Beyond the Wall of Time

by Russell Kirkpatrick

  Lenares felt as though she was about to expire. “Are you the Undying Man? Kannwar of the North? The man my Emperor sought to defeat?” But she knew the answer. The numbers poured through her mind.

  The tall man nodded. “At your service,” he said, and held out his hand.

  She slapped it away. “You lied to me. I can’t be of any use to people if they keep lying to me! I need truth!”

  Red mist swirled in her brain. A small part of her mind spoke. Don’t lose control, they’ll think you’re a lackwit.

  “Why can’t people tell the truth!” she screamed.

  Her numbers began appearing in her mind, rising into her consciousness, obliterating her sight. She no longer saw nor cared how the others reacted. She was ready to abandon herself to her sea of numbers, to the way the world really was, when someone whispered in her ear.

  “Lenares, I love you. Please don’t leave us.”

  At his words she fell in a swoon.

  “—was all the things you say, and more,” a voice was saying. “You have every right to be horrified. But as I explained, my goodness or evil is not the issue. I’ve been asked to do something important that is also in my own interest, and I have agreed.”

  Someone said something Lenares did not catch.

  “Proud? Of course I am proud! Knowing that, you should ask why I would tolerate being questioned by people like yourself, having to put up with your suspicion and hatred, when I could wipe you out with a gesture. The Lord of Bhrudwo, suffering the scorn of the ignorant! I am here, hazarding so much, including my empire and even my life, to save you and your world.”

  Lenares opened her eyes to darkness and a howling wind. The air on her skin was warm, bringing her out in a sweat.

  “Why is there a fire?” she asked, her words coming out as a croak. “It’s too hot for a fire.”

  “There is no fire,” said a voice in her ear. His voice. “The wind is warm.”

  At his words she relaxed, sank back to the ground and closed her eyes. Let her numbers learn as her ears listened.

  “That may be so,” said a Falthan voice. Sauxa. “But I lost an uncle and three older brothers in the Falthan War. My father told me what it was like having to grovel on the road as you and your army rode by. He told me what you did to those who stood up to you. My father himself lost a hand to one of your generals for refusing to draw water like a woman. Destroyed him, it did.” The man’s voice was taut, nothing like the laconic, teasing tone he normally used. “Even if you offered us eternal life,” he finished, “I can see no reason to insult his memory by cooperating with you now.”

  “You have it all wrong. Well, actually you have it mostly right. But you are not cooperating with me; I am cooperating with you. Isn’t it your desire to bring down the gods and heal the hole in the world?”

  “Aye, but not at the cost—”

  “Then I can help you. In fact, I am commanded to assist you by none less than the Most High himself.”

  “Makes no odds,” Kilfor said, his voice prickly like the hiss of a cat. “We’re not staying with you. If I thought it would do any good, I’d bury this knife between your shoulders and consider my life well spent.”

  “Already been tried.” The voice was weary. “Ask your friend Robal how successful he was at killing me. Ask Stella what the consequences were—ask her whether she misses her arm. Please listen: I’m not defending my actions. You already know as much of my story as anyone alive, and more than I’d care to tell you. By your lights I’m evil, and I’ll not waste your time denying it. But consider this. You’re a farmer, well used to pragmatic decisions: if your hated neighbour died, wouldn’t you use his bullock if he left it to you in his will? Wouldn’t you count every day on the plough behind that animal as a victory? Don’t you see that every day I remain in your service, pulling your plough, is a victory for you? The Most High has had his way with me after all, two thousand years after I first resisted him, and I have had a bare few months to come to terms with the futility of all I have done throughout those long years. It will take time, but you’ll come to terms with me, I’m sure.”

  “Never,” Sauxa said. “My sons and I, we’re leaving. Come, Robal, be my son in this. Don’t submit to this monster.”

  Somewhere a woman drew a deep breath but did not speak, and Lenares’ numbers filled in the gaps. Robal will not leave because Stella remains with Heredrew. Connections between the travellers were more complicated than she’d realised.

  “I’m staying,” the soldier said. “I ignored your advice when you bade me remain in Chardzou and marry your daughter, and well I did, sharp-tongued and loose-moralled as she was. No offence, old man, but I’m telling you the truth and you know it. I’m ignoring your advice again now, even though I know that, against all odds, it’s actually good advice. I am a guard, and I’m guarding Stella. I will guard her until she releases me from service.”

  The old plainsman struck his leathery palms together in ironic applause. “Fine speech, son, but your woman don’t need guarding. If anything, you need guarding from her. Cards on the table, since we’re discussing our business for all to hear: you’re staying because you’re thinking about what’s between her legs. You still think you have a chance with her, while anyone with eyes can see she’ll take up with Mister Magicman when all this is over. No, don’t interrupt me, boy, nor you, my queen; you owe me at least a few moments’ courtesy for all I’ve done. Robal, you’re here to do the dying, while these fine folk play games with the world. What do they care about anything but themselves? When have the nobles and the rich ever cared? And after you and the miners and even young Miss Scholar are dead, all stare-eyed and cold, they’ll find solace in each other amid the ruins of the earth. ‘Oh, if only we could have saved them all,’ the queen will say. ‘Let’s build a temple here to remember them by,’ the Destroyer will reply, smiling his most sincere smile. That’s how it will go, don’t doubt me, son. And the few people left alive will worship the immortals, just as they wish, and we’ll be no better off than if the gods had wiped us all out.”

  Robal coloured, but took a step towards the belligerent old man. “So your advice is to do my duty only when there’s no danger in it. But as soon as circumstances turn against us, let’s bugger off and leave them to it. No, Sauxa, I will stay. You would think less of me if I left with you.”

  “You’re a fool,” the old man said flatly.

  “You’d be the best judge of that,” Kilfor snapped. “If we’re leaving we’d best go now, before my friend persuades me to stay. I’m not sure we wouldn’t be safer here with these people, hateful as at least one of them is.”

  Lenares opened her eyes. “Please do not leave us,” she said, and heard the rustle and scrape of people turning towards her. “Danger draws near, and you will have no protection against it. Remember that Umu and Keppia want your deaths to help break open the Wall of Time. What magic do you have to keep yourselves safe?”

  “We might indeed die,” the old man said proudly, “but at least we’ll die free of this man’s evil.” He waved a hand towards Heredrew.

  “Then go,” the tall sorcerer said. “But when trouble comes, try to find us. We won’t turn you away.”

  Within minutes the plainsman and his son collected their gear and strode away. Robal hung his head as they trudged into the forest, intent on retracing their steps all the way back to Faltha.

  “Nothing good will come of this,” he muttered, then turned to Heredrew. “Even when you try to be good, evil comes of it. I heartily wish the Most High’s plans did not include you.”

  For another full day Duon and Arathé practised their code, debating whether they could trust Conal with their secret.

  “We have no choice,” Duon argued, moving his fingers seemingly at random while suiting his thoughts to the signals’ meanings. “I have a plan that must involve him.”

  “A plan?” Arathé eventually replied. This code took so long, it was difficult to remember what had been said. />
  “The voice is vulnerable,” Duon signalled carefully, taking many minutes to frame thoughts capable of carrying the words he wanted. “He explained this to you. Your struggles weakened him. He had to put forth much strength to keep you alive, making it harder to retain his grip on all three of us. We must damage him more severely still.”

  “What are you suggesting?” she gestured slowly. “That one of us should die?”

  “Yes.”

  Her fingers stilled for a long time after that.

  They continued to walk daughterwards into the lowering sun, talking desultorily as they went, spirits seemingly broken. It was so difficult thinking of innocent thoughts with the code embedded within, while at the same time trying to talk of other things and even on occasion rail at each other and their fate. Duon felt as though his mind had fragmented, one part listening for the voice, another trying to work out what was intended for them—nothing good, he could be sure of that—and still another engaging in the wordplay of their code. He would not have believed he was capable of such mental acrobatics.

  “Why does this concern him?” Arathé signalled, flicking a finger towards Conal. “He won’t volunteer. He is more likely to give us away.”

  “Because we need all the strength we can get,” Duon replied. “And Conal is strong.”

  “Stubborn.”

  “Yes.”

  “I volunteer,” Arathé signalled firmly.

  “Of course you do. So do I. So this must be decided by chance. Once we have explained things to Conal we will draw lots.”

  Duon subsided into silence while Arathé worked at establishing contact with the priest. For the better part of an hour he seemed unresponsive. Duon gritted his teeth and hoped the young woman would not press too hard. It would take only one mistake and the voice would—would what? There was nothing he could do, short of burning out their minds, save pinning their hands to their sides. Even if he realised they had employed a code, he would not be able to understand it, at least not in time.

  Understand what? The voice turned up just when least wanted.

  Understand what you want with us, Duon extemporised. A chill ran down his back. Had the voice seen through their ruse? If you are so powerful, why do you need us?

  Warm bodies, Captain. There are things I need to do, people I need to kill or at least delay, and you three are my weapons. Get used to thinking of your body as a killing device. I’m considering making you sharpen your nails and file your teeth. And we need to find blades for you and the little swan. Don’t dissemble: I know you’re both adept. A shame the fisherman got away. His sword would have been perfect in her hands.

  Who are you? He’d asked that question so many times.

  The knowledge can do me no harm now, the voice said. I am halfway to becoming a god. You may call me Husk, the broken man, one who has endured a lifetime of pain and is now emerging to bring justice and recompense to the world. And you, my brave captain, are to be my hands—for now, until my elevation is complete. Then I will find some end for you as inglorious and bitter as I can conceive, to repay you for the way you’ve struggled against me.

  He would not beg, would not show any emotion at the threatened fate awaiting him. You have been drawing lots of power from the three of us, Duon thought, making careful signals as he shaped the words in his mind. How far short are you of making the godhood stick?

  The clever Bhrudwan girl understood him, as he knew she would. She brushed past a bush and snapped off a few sticks, ostensibly using them to clean her nails, but in doing so discarded all but three and shortened one of them. Around them the light began to fade; soon the three of them would effectively be struck dumb by the darkness.

  I do not rely on you for my power, the voice—Husk—said with contempt. My strength comes from elsewhere. In a matter of only a few weeks the world will bow before me.

  A few weeks? Duon could not wait one more night. Even now Conal could be blurting their plans to Husk, earning them a burned mind. He was prepared to die—would welcome death—but he wanted a chance to take their enemy down with him. He was sure Arathé felt the same way.

  You need to strike now then, before the world goes dark with the reign of the Son and the Daughter. Fingers shaped the relevant words. You may only get this one chance.

  You are right, Husk replied, and I’m touched at your concern for my wellbeing, but why would you wish to promote my cause after what 1’ve done to you?

  There are others I care about. I want them safe now, and if that means I have to volunteer to die, I embrace death. One earthly ruler is surely better than two evil gods bent on breaking the world apart.

  There, that was as much as he could risk. Now to think of something else, anything other than—no, he must not think about it.

  You’ve promised alliance with me in the past, only to work against me. I know how badly you wish my death. And now you profess some sympathy with what I intend to do. Why should I not be suspicious of this?

  Because I have friends whom I wish to live, Duon replied, frantically keeping his thoughts calm. If you can kill the gods, you offer the best hope for us all.

  Except for you.

  Duon nodded a mental assent.

  And any of your friends I decide to take captive. If you are uncooperative, of course, or if you decide to try any more tricks.

  No more tricks, Duon promised, projecting as much sincerity as he could muster.

  This was the most dangerous part. A three-way conversation where surface thoughts had to match what was spoken, all to disguise the real discussion taking place. Duon had real doubts about his own ability to sustain this two-level mode of thought, let alone what mistakes might be made by Conal the priest.

  Surprisingly, the youngster proved adept. They had been granted an evening’s respite by their captor, who had allowed Duon to choose the level summit of a tall rocky outcrop as their resting place. As they made the necessary preparations for sleep, the signing began.

  “Arathé, do you have the sticks?”

  “Yes.” She placed them beside the fire Conal had lit.

  “This is foolishness.” The priest made little effort to hide his anger; Duon could only hope he’d disciplined his mind. “We ought to wait for the voice to make a mistake. He can’t keep us all under control all of the time.”

  “He’s managed so far.”

  “We’re wasting time,” Arathé signed, and picked up the sticks. She held out her arm, her hand masking the true length of the stick. Though one was far shorter than the other two, all appeared to be the same length. “Time to choose.”

  “I choose not to participate.”

  “Then, priest, you are the volunteer.”

  No need for a comment; his face made his response clear.

  Arathé pulled out one of the sticks, about the length of her longest finger, then cast it into the fire. “Cold tonight,” she said aloud, though Duon had just been thinking how warm the night was.

  “Long,” she added.

  “One chance in two then,” Conal said. He took a stick, groaned, and hurled it into the flames.

  “Short,” Arathé said unnecessarily.

  “I’m not doing this!’ Conal cried aloud.

  “You have to,” Duon signalled urgently, not able to mask his thoughts. “Jump or we’ll push you!’

  What is this?

  The dirty little Falthan is insulting us, Duon said, aiming a reckless swing at the whey-faced Conal. After all we’ve been through. I’m going to knock his head off.

  He charged at the priest, taking him in the midriff. The man gave a tiny squeak of fear, then bellowed as they hit the ground. Their momentum took them a few paces further.

  A pace too far.

  Looks like I drew the short straw too, Duon thought as blackness opened up below him. The two men went over the bluff together.

  The back of Duon’s head seemed to explode with light and heat. Magic snatched roughly at his falling body. His limbs stiffened, relaxed
, then stiffened again. The voice in his mind screamed in pain and fury. Just before he hit the ground, Duon heard a dull thud. Then the world flashed white and he vanished into it.

  Lenares had no idea what time of the night it was. The wind howled around them like a vengeful mother trying to destroy the killer of her children. At least that’s what it felt like to Lenares, who wondered at one point whether the Padouki had conjured up the storm. For storm it was; the gods were bringing something catastrophic towards them, a greatly enlarged hole in the world wrapped in cloud, wind and rain.

  While the night was blacker than the insides of her eyelids, she didn’t need sight to be able to see the hole drawing nearer. The slowly rotating circle, still many leagues out to sea, had ripped a hole clear through her comforting pattern of numbers. The red tinge of wrongness impressed itself straight onto her brain, bringing with it nausea, constant shaking and a fear such as she’d never known.

  “This will be very bad,” she told Stella, who, along with the rest of the travellers, had given up trying to sleep. They stood or sat in small groups in various places around the campsite, mostly near the remains of the fire, which the wind had extinguished some time ago.

  “Are we in serious danger?”

  “Yes. It’s coming directly towards us.”

  “Is there anything we can do?” Stella asked Heredrew.

  You should be asking me, Lenares thought but didn’t say.

  “Not much against such a storm,” he answered. “Deflect the wind a little, strengthen any shelter we construct or take refuge in, fend off any debris the wind blows at us and keep ourselves dry, that’s all.”

  “It might be enough.”

  “What would be better’n any ’mount of magical protection would be t’ move further inland,” said Seren the miner, having to raise his voice against the wind. “These storms aren’t common this far south, but we’ve seen them burst against the coast and arrive at Eisarn as little more’n heavy rain. A big storm’ll take plenty o’ lives on the coast. Further away we are, the better.”