Waywalkers: Number 1 in Series

by Catherine Webb

  Sam said nothing, feeling the hate rise inside him. Seth had everything I never had, and look what he’s doing with it.

  ‘No,’ said Seth finally, still looking Sam over. ‘I don’t think you’ll be a problem. It’s a pity, really. You could have been a great ally. If Balder had been alive today, if he had been my enemy instead of you, I would probably have asked you to join the cause.’

  ‘Oh, right. And thank you, my back is fine.’

  Seth’s eyes glowed. ‘I wanted you dead. But Jehovah gave the job to that fool Michael. He should have remembered archangels don’t kill archangels, however fallen.’

  ‘And your so-called cause?’

  ‘Will make us free.’

  ‘I feel free enough right now.’

  ‘Then you’ve never studied French philosophy. Nothing else goes on quite so much about the separateness of being and the imprisonment of the soul.’

  ‘I prefer good old scepticism.’

  ‘Did it get you where you are today?’

  ‘You achieved that.’

  ‘Nonsense! I’ve merely helped, over the past few weeks. It was Father who put you where you are now.’

  ‘I have nothing to do with him,’ said Sam coldly.

  ‘But you’re part of him. He’s part of you. You can’t get much more together.’

  ‘The same great link connects you to him. Yet you defy.’

  Seth looked scornful. ‘Come on, Lucifer. You’ve spent your life defying Father. You’ve spent years trying to get out of his grasp, turn away his plots, be something he doesn’t want you to be. Your entire life has been one long lone act! I’m simply taking it a step further.’

  ‘How? What exactly are you going to do? Tell me!’

  ‘Can’t you find out? You have friends who can construct tight, tight shields and know the game our beloved sister, Freya, has finally stopped playing. You’ve been shot, chased, fought, made to dance to any beat but your own – can’t you find out? Or do you genuinely expect me to tell my greatest enemy?’

  ‘I’ve never crossed you before. You had to kill my sister to make me fight!’

  Seth was unruffled. ‘You’d fight me anyway. Time will make you. You’ll die, I fear, of an overdose. Of Time, I mean.’ He frowned, then laughed. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It amuses me that I, the Son of Night, who’s masterminded this whole affair, from Freya’s death onwards, am talking to the one weapon that might prevent me from finding freedom.’

  A weapon. Not a person. ‘What freedom?’

  ‘Freedom from Time, of course. You see, Lucifer, you’re thinking in a mere four dimensions. That was always your trouble. Just a little too pragmatic; a bit too here-and-now. Time might be life. But he’s also death.’

  ‘You cannot defy Time.’

  ‘You did. You were supposed to be the Bearer of Light, Balder’s glorious successor. But you spat at his throne and dared him to make you discharge the Light. You said you wouldn’t be his servant. A risky policy, if you ask me.’

  ‘Believe me, I’ve paid the price. Banished to Earth for thousands of years before they even invented toothpaste. And Father, for my defiance, didn’t stop his own children exiling me, when I sabotaged the Eden Initiative.’

  Seth was silent. When he did speak, his voice was serious, almost concerned. ‘Join me.’

  ‘No.’ Sam fought the impulse to violate this place of sanctuary by hitting Seth hard in the face. ‘You killed Freya.’ His face was flushed with anger and bitterness.

  ‘Why do you care? Surely she’s just something you can’t touch from a world you can never go back to. What did she matter to you?’ Seth’s tone was light, but he was watching Sam closely.

  Sam’s features had frozen over.

  ‘Why,’ murmured Seth, ‘I believe that’s it. What did Freya mean to you? What would you do for her memory, now that she’s dead? Is that what you’re fighting for?’

  His voice darkened, even while it resounded with triumph. ‘But she rejected you. She went to Thor. You meant nothing to her. Stop this stupid game, Lucifer. Not even you are powerful enough to win against us.’

  ‘I did love her.’ Sam spoke as much as anything for his own sake. ‘But I see now’ – looking pointedly at Seth – ‘that loving someone is rarer than even I used to think.’

  Seth ignored him. He moved suddenly towards Sam, who instinctively stepped back. ‘Why don’t you discharge the Light now? Balder would forgive you. You’re his heir, practically his son, albeit not by blood. So read my mind, then destroy me. That’s what you really want to do, isn’t it?’ His smile was immovable. ‘Go on. Fight. You’ve always fought before, why not now?’

  Sam said nothing.

  ‘Ah.’ Seth’s grin widened. ‘But you are fighting!’

  Sam’s eyes flashed, but still he didn’t respond.

  ‘Though it’s not me you’re opposing,’ breathed Seth, growing more confident. ‘You’re fighting Time. You think he wants you to strike at me. So you won’t. You’re fighting inevitability. You’ll lose, of course. In truth, you’ve always lost. Like Freya.’ Sam’s hands, hanging limply at his sides, clenched into fists. ‘You know,’ breathed Seth, ‘it was Jehovah who killed her. He had his fun first, of course. Does that upset you?’

  Just let me find another time, another place…

  The look on Sam’s face was not lost on Seth. ‘How about poison? Much more efficient. Or the Light? Burn me to a cinder, feel your mind being dragged into a sea of a thousand other minds, forget your name, forget your troubles, forget —’

  Sam’s hand lashed up, and the silver dagger was in it. The tip came within an inch of Seth’s face, and froze. Seth’s own dagger was out, an inch from Sam’s gut. The water around Balder’s statue rippled in concentric circles. Sparks filled the air around their weapons. Neither could move their hand towards the other.

  ‘Another time, another place,’ Sam said out loud. He smiled grimly. ‘Besides, there are things I need to know.’

  They watched each other as both daggers disappeared. Seth demanded, ‘Where will you get your knowledge? There’s no one left.’

  ‘Yes there is.’ Freya’s diary. Gail. Remember me, Freya? I’m the one who treks around the world fighting other people’s battles. Miss me, Freya? I’m nicer than I look.

  ‘But I might get there first,’ said Seth. ‘And I fear that unless you get yourself out of this affair fast, you’ll never learn anything again.’

  ‘No. You stop this.’ Sam said. ‘It’s well known that a man with nothing left to lose will fight ten times harder. You legitimate children never really knew or understood the extent of my power. Magic was never made an official Queen of Time because the other queens feared her; she was one of those powers that could defy all futures to make the most improbable, the most lonely little possibility come to life. Miracles have always been an unpredictable factor that defies prophecy and divination – that is why my mother was reviled. And that’s why you fear me!’

  For once Seth’s smooth manner was nowhere to be seen. His eyes burned, but he looked at Sam with a face as expressionless as a visor.

  ‘Remember this. I’m the one worshipped as God of Destruction.’ He turned before Sam could speak and strode to the door, pausing to look back like an actor leaving the stage. ‘As a Bearer of Light, fighting alone, you may be interesting. But nothing more.’

  He vanished into darkness, leaving Sam staring at vacancy.

  You meant nothing to her.

  ‘Sebastian?’

  He knew the second he heard her speak what she was going to say. ‘Sebastian’ had told him all.

  ‘Lucifer. I am Lucifer,’ he replied quietly, knowing it to be futile. ‘Call me by my proper name, please.’

  He had been sitting in front of the television, watching man taking his first steps on the moon and wondering what humankind would dream up next. Sam had been waiting several hours for her, and when she’d knocked diffidently on the door he’d known. She never usually knocked. They
understood each other too well for that.

  ‘You know I have to go,’ she said suddenly, desperately, wanting him to believe. ‘I can’t stay with you any longer.’

  ‘Why?’ he asked simply.

  ‘My house is dying.’ She almost shouted the words at him, knowing he couldn’t care less for Thor or Odin or any of the rest of her ancient, declining family. ‘Valhalla is dying!’

  Good riddance. ‘And you must go and be Thor’s companion princess. Yes, I think I know this story. It’s the one about the princess, the prince and the pauper, where the fair princess is forced to marry for the sake of country and duty, right? And the unfortunate pauper is left to shovel the shit like all other banished peasants.’

  ‘Lucifer…’ she began, a note of pleading in her voice.

  ‘Go,’ he snapped, suddenly determined. ‘Do the right thing. You know you must. Do it now, and don’t look back. I’ll honour our agreement; I swear I will. You won’t hear anything from me. Not unless you want to.’

  If anything this made it worse, but then hadn’t he known it would?

  ‘Sebastian! Lucifer! Look at me.’ Freya could go through all emotions at once, and they would all be true to her. That too, was a gift of the Daughter of Love.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  He shrugged.

  As she approached, he stared determinedly at the black and white flickering screen, watching a man in a white spacesuit bouncing up and down on a rock a quarter of a million miles away. He wondered if it would be possible to Waywalk to the moon or farther worlds, or if Time had other children for that purpose.

  He felt Freya, inches away, kneeling next to him. He felt her breath tickle his neck and closed his eyes.

  ‘You can’t turn a blind eye for ever, you know,’ she said softly. ‘I have to do this. You know I do. We’ve all had to do things which at the time seemed rash or hurtful or hard, but in the long term it pays off! We lead such long lives. You can’t always live for the present – sooner or later you have to think of the future, because there’s simply so much of it. And when the future has wound its way into the present again – why, then you can live and laugh and be the creature of now rather than tomorrow and have not a care in the world. But to make that future become the present, you must do as Father does. Be a child of necessity, do the hard thing. I want you to understand!’

  ‘Understand,’ he replied with a little laugh. ‘You’re trying to teach the necessary, bastard Son of Time to understand?’ He turned, and stared at her straight in the face. The action unnerved her, but she held her ground, staring back.

  ‘I love you. And though I can understand why and where you go, I don’t understand why I, who have spent a lifetime understanding all too well, cannot let you go. I have lived all my life by reason and logic, but now…’ He shrugged again and looked away. ‘Your reason and logic seem to have undermined all mine. I think there’s a limit on the amount of reason or logic in the universe. The more one has of it, the less another has. It’s a balancing act, trying to find that point where reason and logic is the same in all parties concerned so that they can finally see eye to eye.’

  She smiled faintly, but there was no humour in it. Very carefully she gave him a long, tender kiss. When she pulled away she was smiling still, but all he could do was stare at her in silent wonder and wish for more.

  ‘I do love you, Lucifer. I want you to know that.’

  ‘I love you too. I know it doesn’t matter, though.’

  ‘If you know that then you are truly ignorant.’ She began to walk towards the door.

  He turned, straining to see her retreating back, wishing for her to go as though she had never been, praying for her to stop and come back. ‘Freya!’ he called as she reached the door. He scrambled to his knees, holding his hands out like a beggar. His face was hot, his heart racing. ‘Freya!’

  She didn’t turn.

  NINETEEN

  Extended Powers

  Y

  ou never knew the extent of my power.

  Even in Heaven, before his banishment, he hadn’t shown them his powers. Even when he was fighting to survive, he had never fully let himself go. But now, with things picking up at such a frantic pace?

  He walked straight into the Hell Portal, unhesitating, and strode through pleading shadows without a qualm. In Hell once more, he took a deep breath and turned about, spending not more than thirty seconds in that world. As when he’d tried to find his weapons, he gave no particular direction, but a target. Lights flickered in the mists ahead, multiple Portals vying for position near where he wanted to go. Sam kept the image strong in his mind, until just one Portal shone out in the mists ahead.

  He broke through it, heaving in gasps of breath as he emerged into the cold light. Looking round he could find no immediate clue as to where he was, but heard a giggle of voices nearby. He’d come out behind a small building where a typed notice declared in English that this was the ranger’s hut. Moving round from it he beheld a playground full of laughing children in hats and gloves. The sun was still high in the sky; the weather was cold but clear. A drastic time-difference then, between Russia and wherever this was. He estimated anything from seven to nine hours.

  Refusing to be bothered by the uncertainty of his situation, he quested around for his target. Felt it. Began to move, slowly at first and then faster, breaking into a light jog. There were a lot of joggers, he noticed. White-teethed men and women wearing tight lycra that only the incredibly fit could get away with and listening to teach-yourself Spanish or music tapes as they loped along paths beneath trees still not in full leaf. Sam jogged with them, easily moving faster.

  He saw the edge of the park, recognised the new-old stone walls and the tall street lights, saw the yellow taxis jostle against the huge gas-guzzlers of the suburbs. Saw the densely ranged, many-storeyed apartment buildings, their doors manned by gloved porters. Heard the young men by the old lamp-post rapping unselfconsciously to some unheard beat. Saw the station and the signpost. Central Park West. Eighty-fifth Street.

  What, he felt like asking, was the archangel Uriel doing in New York?

  If mortal commuters got jet-lag, so Sam quickly found himself getting Way-lag. His body told him it was nearly that late time of the night when the only things on television are repeats of last week’s episodes and cheap porn disguised as authentic drama or documentary. But his eyes were telling him that the busy New York subways were only just filling up with suited men and women, homeward bound but still talking urgently on mobile phones. New Yorkers, he had learnt a long time ago, never stopped working, even when on holiday. The golden word ‘opportunity’ hung before their eyes at all times and yes, they worked as Time worked – making small possibilities reality, making money, making their luxurious dreams come true.

  Uriel’s signal still felt distant – but he was locked on to it. Years in Jehovah’s service had made him especially alert to the unseen auras of other archangels, and he followed his senses like a dog follows its nose. It was easy to find people in New York, if you knew what you were looking for. As the signal swung to your left or right like a compass needle, you simply kept going straight towards it, using the north-south, east-west grids of the streets for your guide. He walked, bumping into people and paying no attention to the roads around him save when he had to cross.

  Going south down Central Park West, he felt the signal swing again. He crossed the road at the Natural History Museum and walked past the huge building, with the banners of dinosaurs and stars waving gently in the breeze, to Columbus Avenue. Twenty-four-hour supermarkets jostled against greasy cafés, and long single-decked buses roared north towards Harlem while limos sped south and west towards Broadway. A pair of tired Hispanic women carted their blond charges home to their playrooms, a couple flirted on a bench in a small fenced-off area where dogs were legally allowed off their leads.

  Sam felt the nearing presence of Uriel swing to his east again, suddenly. Was she taking t
he subway? To be moving that fast, it seemed likely. He turned, padding patiently south and east as the sky turned blue-grey and the street lamps began to flicker on. He crossed Sixth Avenue where young shoppers in trendy suits forgot the hour and those who could not afford the luxuries on display pressed their noses hungrily against the windows. Here there was more traffic and, though the street was heaving with life of every kind and apartments ran into huge towers and the Empire State Building loomed over them all, there was little or no greenery. Sam found himself wondering what the anti-technocrat Whisperer would think of a scene that was such a dramatic, glamorous change from Russia, where… Hell, yes, where he’d been only three hours before.

  Uriel was motionless again. Now that Sam was drawing nearer, the archangel’s presence seemed to cry out to him, beckoning him on. He crossed Fifth Avenue, hardly noticing the heavy traffic or the landmarks that seemed to thrust from every street corner. He continued east, crossing roads where the glamour seemed to have run out, leaving only huge office blocks and dull arcades full of overpriced jewellers and specialist tailors. He struck glamour again, lost it, passed a restaurant where the director of one business flattered his hated rival over a glass of fine Italian wine on a red and white checked tablecloth. The sign on the door declared authentic Italian cuisine. Everything in New York was authentic, even those things which blatantly weren’t.