"The power of prayer?" said Bob.
"Amongst others," said Diane. "There are so few of us that we can only make a tiny contribution toward the alleviation of hunger and sickness, but we do what we can."
"Many of the so-called witches burned alive in the seventieth century were members of the Order who'd got a little careless," said Lo.
"People fear what they don't understand," said Diane. "It's a cliche for a reason."
Mee fidgeted a little. "So Manna is what? Magic?" she said, her mistrust still obvious in the tone of her voice.
"Many Users think so," said Diane. "The Order has been far more hesitant about labeling it, although there is speculation even among us. We are taught to think of it as a natural resource. Just one that is little known or understood. We had no way of comprehending what it is we were encountering until the 1940s, when one possible explanation became a clear frontrunner."
"What explanation?" said Bob at the same time as Meera said, "What happened in the 1940s?"
"Advanced technology," said Lo to Bob then turned to Meera. "You've heard of the Roswell crash?"
"Aliens?" said Mee, snorting. "You get your power from aliens?"
"Well. Not exactly," said Diane. "Manna was around before humans crawled out of the slime, so far as we can tell. As I said, we've always treated it as a natural resource. But in 1947, the conspiracy theorists had it right for a change. There was an event of some kind. We know because of what was left behind after the crash at Roswell."
"Which was?" said Bob.
"A new thin place," said Diane. "The first time it's ever happened, we believe. And it caused a stir among users of Manna worldwide. Whatever the beliefs of Users, we all felt this event take place. It was like an earthquake felt globally, we were all shaken up by it. Some Users found a way of fitting this new development into their existing world view. Many found themselves scared and confused by what had happened."
"Why?" said Mee. "If you've been using this stuff for centuries, what real difference does it make if some new place shows up full of it?"
"Three reasons, really," said Diane. "First, as I said, this was apparently an unique event in human history as far as anyone knows. Second, everything pointed to extraterrestrial involvement."
"But I thought all that was discredited pretty quickly," said Bob. "I remember the military report saying it was a barrage balloon. If anything bigger than that had landed in Roswell, someone would have found some hard evidence by now."
"The government covered it up quickly and thoroughly," said Diane. "No trace of any extraterrestrial was ever found. Most users of Manna are only vaguely aware of other Users, but the Order has always been extremely sensitive in this way. We can even sense those who have been touched by Users recently. It's how Lo found you."
Bob and Meera exchanged a look. This wasn't getting any less weird.
"If an alien carrying a new supply of Manna had arrived on Earth, we'd expect to know about it. It would be like every car alarm in your street going off simultaneously. Not something you could miss. We sensed a brief flare, a fraction of a second, so we knew where to head for. And we went."
"To Roswell," said Meera.
"Yes," said Diane. Thousands of Users made their way to Roswell the first few months after the event. Blended in with the sight-seers and alien spotters. They wanted to absorb Manna from this fresh thin place, they were inexorably drawn to it."
"You said there were three reasons people were scared," said Mee. "What was the third?"
Diane's hands were absently smoothing the dirt. Tiny blades of bright green grass pushed up between her fingers as she spoke. "The third reason was the most disconcerting of all," she said. "No one could use the new thin place. Not a single User. The most powerful people tried, the oldest and holiest member of the Order tried. Nothing. We could all feel the potential, the energy waiting. It was as if the ground itself were humming with power. But not a single soul could access it."
"It's like an itch we can't scratch," said Lo, "but it feels far worse than that. Imagine going without water in the desert for a couple days then finding an ice box full of bottles of cold water. But there's a huge padlock on the door and no way to get to the water. That's how it feels."
"An unfortunate result of Roswell was that the factions of Users hardened their positions, stopped talking to each other," said Diane. "Threats were made, there were skirmishes. For a while it looked like open fighting would break out, but the main players saw sense in the end. There's still a lingering suspicion among many Users that Roswell is being secretly controlled by one of the groups."
"Which groups? What factions?" said Bob. "Who the hell are these people and what do they want with Seb?"
"Users of Manna suffer from the same frailties as everyone else," said Diane. "Although many are loners by nature, they like the security of belonging to a group, something that provides a belief system making sense of what they can do. There are many such groups around the world. Most are harmless."
"Most?" said Mee.
"There are some factions that believe Manna is an evil power, so they must commit evil acts to keep using it," said Diane. "The Order believes that whatever we bring to our encounters with Manna taints it somehow. That's why we try to bring so little. We want to be part of Manna, not bend it to our will. Other belief systems employ complex rituals in their quest to control Manna. We have anecdotal evidence of animal sacrifices, perhaps even human sacrifices. Outside America, many such groups have grown over the centuries."
"But not here? Why not?" said Bob.
"Oh, there are groups, but they are kept small by the faction that pretty much runs the country."
"What?" said Bob and Meera together.
"This country has a proud history of striving for freedom, with some serious missteps along the way," said Diane. "But we have a concurrent history of corruption and organized crime. Our political system and these criminal groupss grew in a symbiotic way over the last few centuries."
"In other words, the mafia and the rest of them always had politicians in their pockets," said Bob.
"Exactly. Then, in the 1970s, someone carefully and systematically took overall control of all notable crime syndicates. It was an unprecedented and audacious move by a group with enough information and resources to bury every politician or gang boss of note in America."
"Oh, come on," said Meera, "no one could get away with that. What is this? The Illuminati? The Knights Templar, some shadowy group pulling the strings of puppet governments?"
"Not quite," said Diane.
"Then what?" said Bob.
"One man controls this faction," said Diane. "He has no real interest in power in the traditional sense. He is only interested in finding out more about Manna. Eventually, controlling it. He is so powerful that no one has been able to stand against him, and every User in America, sooner or later, has to pledge loyalty to him or be eliminated."
"Eliminated?" said Bob.
"Killed," said Diane. "He doesn't make idle threats. He doesn't tolerate disobedience. And his use of Manna is unmatched, anywhere. Or was."
"So you pledged loyalty?" said Mee.
"No,"said Diane. "We think he doesn't see us as a threat. Or, more significantly, as an opportunity. He can't use us in any way so he lets us be. Or, at least, he has done so far. But everything has changed now."
"What's changed? And what do you mean this loser's use of Manna was unmatched," said Mee.
Diane and Lo stood up, as co-ordinated in their movements as two dancers. They walked to the middle of the garden. Mee looked at Bob. He shrugged and followed them, Mee trailing behind.
The women had stopped by the stone words. Diane pointed at the last word: περιμένετε.
" 'Wait'," she said. "That's what the Order has done for nearly 2,000 years. Waited. Learned, yes, taught, yes, but mostly waited. In 1947, some of us thought the wait was over, but it was a false alarm. Then, early morning, three days ago in Los Angeles...
" Her voice faded. For the first time, she seemed unsure which words to choose.
Bob stepped closer to her. "What happened to Seb?"
"We don't know," said Diane, "but we know he feels different to us. Unlike any other User we've ever come across."
"Different how?" said Mee.
"The way Manna forms within him," said Diane, "we recognize it. And if we recognize it, everyone, every User worldwide recognizes it."
"Recognizes what?" said Mee.
"The Manna he carries," said Diane, "it's similar to the earthquake we felt in 1947. Somehow, your friend is using something like the Roswell Manna."
Bob was silent, thinking. Eventually he looked up. "What exactly have you been waiting for for 1800 years?" he said. Diane didn't answer, but Lo turned toward him, eyes shining with tears.
"The Messiah," she said.
Chapter 30
Waking in a king-sized bed with three sleeping naked women draped across him while a fourth snorted cocaine from the surface of an antique roll-top desk, Seb couldn't help smiling. He slid out of bed and padded over to the bathroom, turning the power on full in the massive shower. As he grabbed the body wash, he heard the door open. And two other bodies joined him in the steam.
"Looks like we're going to need more soap," he said, "'cause you girls are very, very dirty."
Later, the house empty apart from Walt who was preparing salad in the kitchen, Seb looked at himself in the mirror, marveling again at the way nothing seemed to have an impact on his appearance or mental state. He should look like hell, really, not like a poster boy for male grooming products. It seemed he wouldn't have to worry too much about living a healthy lifestyle any more. Up to now, he had always tried to take care of himself. The rest of the band had teased him about the relatively early nights - "it's not even 3am, man, where ya going?" - and the post-soundcheck run he'd always take before a gig. And he played it safe in other ways, never quite going as far as the others with alcohol, pot and pills he didn't even know the name of. He had partied, sure, but he'd didn't like to lose control. He remembered Mee - after their brief fling - telling him he should live a little more dangerously. "If you let yourself go a little," she said, "I think you might find you have a real gift for hedonism, Seb Varden. Go out there and get yourself laid more, say yes more, don't be so uptight." He had looked at her gentle brown eyes offset by that permanently slightly-mocking smile and decided this might not be the time to tell her he thought he was in love with her.
"Come and get it," called Walt from the kitchen. "You need your strength. Advanced training this afternoon."
Advanced training turned out to be more than an afternoon's work. Seb and Walt spent the rest of the day and all of the next working on the same thing. Walt explained what they would be doing after they walked out to the yard at the back of his property. The yard was a surprise. Seb was expecting fountains, Greek columns, a maze. Something. Not this, just a square, fenced off patch of dirt and nothing more, apart from an old punchbag hanging by the back step.
"No near neighbors," said Walt, "so no awkward questions."
There was a bench set against the fence on one side. They sat.
"This is not my area of expertise," said Walt, "but I'm not bad at it. There are at least four Users I know who specialize in this, but even they are very careful about when and where. It takes a great deal of power and a hell of a lot of concentration to do it well. We'll have to refill at Red Rock after a few tries." He shot a look at Seb. "Well, I will, anyhow."
Seb just nodded. He was a way off getting used to the idea of Manna at all, let alone the knowledge that he was carrying it - whatever it was - in his own body. Now he had a little time to relax and think, he'd half wondered why he wasn't more scared about what had happened. He wasn't an anxious person by nature, but the most laid-back guy in the world would surely expect to feel some stress about the events of the past few days. His usual calmness appeared to have been augmented by Manna, meaning he felt effortlessly present in each moment, aware of what was around him. It wasn't that he was ignoring the past or the future, he just seemed to have it in perspective. And each moment opened up many possibilities, all of which seemed to be present in his consciousness without any real effort. He felt his personality had changed. He just wasn't sure whether the change was good or bad, because there was no way to stand outside himself and make that call. He was different. But he was alive and that was enough for now.
On the bench next to him, Walt slowed his breath and Seb felt the hairs on his arms stand up as the Manna began to build. Walt's eyes unfocussed and he gazed unseeingly into the middle of the yard. Then he brought his concentration to bear on a patch of dirt about six feet in front of them. The earth moved slightly, like a stew coming to the boil.
"Ok," said Walt, speaking with difficulty, "ok. This is where it gets difficult." His breathing got faster and Seb looked away from the dirt for a moment. Walt's forehead was beaded with sweat, his nostrils flared as he concentrated. Seb remembered how easy it had been for this man to change his entire appearance - and voice - to become that of a middle-aged woman. How easy it had been for him to make that napkin move or make that beautiful paper shark in the car. But this was really costing Walt. His breath was coming in short gasps now and he seemed oblivious to anything other than what was in front of him.
Seb turned back to the scene in the yard. The bubbling dirt had risen in a column about five and a half feet high, millions of tiny specks of dirt roiling, spinning. Dust surrounded the swirling mass as its shape began to change, separating in places, stretching in others, elongating, compacting, becoming. Before long, a vaguely human shape became visible, like a child's clay sculpture: a rude, elementary sketch of a figure, misshapen, lumpen, but unmistakably that of a person. The legs were thick and ended with feet too big for its body. The torso was barrel-like, no discernible change in shape between the broad shoulders and the thick waist. The arms were heavily muscled, ending in club like hands. It had no genitals. As the dirt slowed its swirling, Seb raised his eyes to the thing's head. There was something resembling a face, but it was crude, hurried, frightening to look at. It had no hair, its ears were obviously not designed for anything other than rudimentary hearing, as they were holes in the side of its head with a lumpy curve of dirt behind them. The mouth, nostrils and, worst of all, eyes, were just also holes. As the shape settled, the dirt changed texture, smoothing itself out, lightening in color, becoming flesh. That was when Seb found it hard to look at those eyes - when the face had grown skin and become close to human. The eyes, or rather, the absence of them, the dark sockets where eyes should have been, stared back at him like an accusation. He shivered in the Las Vegas heat. Next to him, Walt held his breath for 20, 30, 40 seconds. The thing in the yard was utterly still. Walt let all his breath out in one long exhalation and slumped back against the fence. He mopped his forehead with a napkin and smiled shakily at Seb.
"Don't think I'll ever get good at this," he said. "I mean, look at the thing. It's hardly gonna win any beauty contests now, is it?"
Seb hesitated before answering and Walt laughed.
"Look," said Walt, "I'm not going to be offended by your opinion. I know what I'm good at, and this really isn't it. But it's a useful skill to develop and some Users can produce results that might be taken as human on a dark night, if you've had a drink or two."
"What the hell is it?" said Seb.
"That," said Walt, "is a homunculus. Say hello."
"A homunc-" said Seb. "A what?"
"Homunculus," said Walt again. "Technically, it means 'little human'. In the Middle Ages it was believed tiny people lived inside sperm and grew into adult humans. The same idea also appears in folklore and myths. Maybe the concept of pixies, gnomes and the like evolved from homunculi. I don't know. We call them" - he gestured at the creature - "that because they are tiny in terms of their capacities. No brain, just some kind of residue of its creator. See for yourself. Ask it a question."
&n
bsp; "What," said Seb. He looked at the unmoving creature in the yard. Short, misshapen and utterly still, that blank stare still made him nervous. He glanced back at Walt, wondering if it was a joke of some sort.
"Go ahead," said Walt. "Ask him what his name is. Or her. Hard to tell. I was going for a he."
Seb stood up and, reluctantly, moved a little closer to the creature. It looked like something out of a low-budget horror movie. Very low budget. He moved slightly to the left and flinched as the head moved. As he stopped, the head stopped. He walked slowly from left to right. The thing's sightless eye sockets tracked him as he moved, the rest of its body still as a statue. Seb shivered involuntarily. It reminded him of an optical illusion he'd seen, where a cardboard dragon's head appeared to follow you as you moved around the room. Until you got behind it and realized your brain had been tricking you into thinking it was moving. Seb moved carefully in a circle around the homunculus. No optical illusion here, it was solid. Flesh - of a sort. It looked pallid, clammy. Worst of all, as Seb walked past the point where a human would have been unable to keep watching, the thing's neck carried on twisting, sinews and muscles stretching like old rubber bands. When Seb came back to the front, the creature's neck had gone through 360 degrees and there was a corkscrew of twisted flesh where the skin had stretched and contorted. Seb stood still and felt his skin crawl as the homunculus slowly turned its head back through the same process in reverse, untwisting its neck to face forward and look normal again. Well, as normal as a crudely-formed semi-human with holes for features can look. Seb cleared his throat.
"Hello," he said, hesitantly. "What's your name?"
Five or six long seconds passed while the thing seemed to consider the question. Then the mouth stretched open a little. This movement was horrible in itself, as it looked as if invisible fingers had reached into the creature's face and pulled open the hole where its mouth should have been. Then it made a noise, a kind of wet, grating gargling that was all wrong. The sound seemed to just form in the mouth and resonate oddly and artificially, as if the head was hollow. The voice had a slightly metallic, damp quality to it and - although it was probably inaccurate to ascribe feelings or emotion to the creature - it sounded like it was painful to produce.
World Walker 1: The World Walker Page 23