Waywalkers: Number 1 in Series

by Catherine Webb

  ‘Personally, I like this existence. So you have no excuse.’

  ‘No excuse?’ Seth lunged, and Sam parried clumsily to save his skin. ‘You were lucky, Lucifer. You got full-out hatred and mistrust, you got to flee Heaven and hide away in Hell, you found comfort in mortals and weaklings.

  ‘But not me. No, I’m the Son of Night, brother to Loki, murderer of Balder. I got the suspicion, the polite mistrust, the cold warmth, the terribly concerned conversations, the eager reassurances that no one held my brother’s sin against me. I got the isolation in a crowd. I could have stood in a sea of people, knowing every one, and nobody would have answered to my call.

  ‘We’re very alike, in that respect. We’re both lonely. But unlike you I have to live every day with the lies of my brothers and sisters, as they exclaim how pleased they are to see me but never invite me home.’

  Sam considered. ‘You’re psycho, aren’t you? Has anyone told you to actually do something about this situation? Or do you really think it justifies ending the universe?’

  Seth snorted. ‘You don’t understand. You can lose yourself at any moment, throw all your worries to the wind just by touching the Light, burying yourself in the minds of others —’

  ‘Oh, for Time’s sake, this is too pathetic! You’d end the universe because you’ve had a bad century?’

  ‘As we know it, Lucifer, as we know it! When Cronus rules we will never be alone – always he will be there, and all life shall be one. No death, no pain, no suffering.’

  ‘No life, no change, nothing to indicate that there was anything else.’

  ‘No more loneliness! Maybe not together, but not alone either!’

  ‘Seth?’ Sam had spoken so softly that Seth almost didn’t realise. Sam was smiling ever so faintly, his eyes distant. ‘Your shoelaces are untied.’

  Seth glanced down. Sam brought his hands sweeping up and for a second the air exploded into light. As Seth shielded his eyes against the light, Sam dived forwards, bringing the butt of his sword around and across, hitting Seth on the side of the face.

  One of Seth’s hands came free from his scimitar and clawed up, closing round Sam’s face. Coldfire burnt, and Sam’s lips turned blue as it wormed its way into his skin.

  Sam felt the sword fall from his numb, frozen fingers. He brought his hands up and closed them around Seth’s wrist. Fire – real fire, hot and orange and hungry – flashed at his fingertips and caught Seth’s sleeve.

  Seth screamed and snatched his hand away from Sam’s face, dropping his scimitar and closing his free hand over the sleeve to extinguish the flames. Sam staggered back. Blood poured from his frozen nose, warming the icy skin as it passed.

  He stared at Seth, who returned his steady look. Sam gave a painful grin, raised his hands slowly, palms together, and opened them.

  Nothing happened. His palms were empty.

  Seth frowned, hesitated, reached a decision, and brought his hands sweeping across and up. The darkness around Sam thickened to a black, living, suffocating mass.

  Sam just kept on smiling, raising his empty palms higher and higher, as if drawing thread from the earth itself.

  Seth looked down and yelled. Grass was knotting itself around his feet even as Sam was all but engulfed in darkness. He struggled to pull himself free, but the more he kicked the tighter the grass wove itself.

  There was another blinding flash of light from Sam, and the darkness was dispelled. A flash of fire from Seth, and the grass turned to ashes at his feet. But Sam wasn’t letting up. He swiped his hands, as if slapping someone, and Seth reeled. Before his brother could recover Sam did it again, back and forth, back and forth, sending Seth staggering with each blow. Seth caught himself long enough to ignite the grass around Sam’s feet. But Sam ignored it and kept on hitting, eyes never leaving Seth’s face, even as the flames lapped around him.

  I’m the Son of Magic, you the Son of Night, but here we play by my rules, with magic, and I can win…

  Seth fell to the ground, bleeding. He tried to crawl away. But Sam, with a cry of disgust, marched through the flames around him and up to Seth, drawing his dagger as he went. ‘You bastard,’ he hissed, ‘you killed them both, you bastard!’

  Seth rolled over, saw Sam and reached up. His hands passed straight into Sam as if he was made of mist.

  Sam froze, eyes wide, a cry choking on his lips. Seth, blood-soaked Seth, bit his lip and held tighter, magic writhing throughout Sam as he sought to pluck out everything that made Sam himself. Lightning darted from Sam’s frozen fingers and earthed itself. His eyes went from black to white, to black again; his mouth worked soundlessly. Seth’s face was a mask of pain and concentration as, through the magic that joined them, Sam struggled to hit back, inflicting damage with every blow. But never enough…

  ‘Father,’ whispered Sam, ‘for Life’s sake, help…’ His eyes met Seth’s. Seth smiled, a tiny twitching of the lips that must have cost him everything. Sam smiled too, and his eyes moved to the dagger clutched uselessly in his left hand. The smile widened.

  Seth’s mouth opened in an ‘O’ as he snatched back his hands – too late. Sam’s fingers opened.

  The dagger fell, far too fast for anything but magic, in a straight line for Seth’s belly.

  At the last instant Seth moved, but his scream echoed off the hills as the dagger sliced through his side. Sam collapsed on to his hands and knees. Tears stung his eyes, every breath inside him was made of fire.

  Seth was crawling away from him – him! Sam would have felt triumph, if his brain wasn’t trying to ooze out of his ears. Blood was seeping from his back and from where Adamarus had wounded him. Until now he hadn’t realised how desperate his yearning for sleep had become.

  ‘Pandora will do battle with you now, even if I don’t,’ hissed Seth.

  Sam looked up. Seth had pulled himself to his feet and stood swaying. Blood poured from his side and he looked sweaty and as pale as the moon. Sam tried in vain to raise his hand to throw fire. Seth started towards him, one jerky step at a time. Again Sam lifted his head, and this time managed to hold up his hand.

  Fire flashed round his fingers. Seth hesitated, then drew back slowly.

  He didn’t run – he was probably incapable of it. But Sam watched his every step as he hobbled away. Twice he fell, twice he pulled himself up again. Once more he stopped, face twisted with pain. A few hundred yards from Sam he collapsed to his knees, hesitated, then heaved himself up with the aid of a fallen branch lying in the field.

  While Sam watched in exhausted silence, Seth must have pulled himself painfully along over that barren landscape for all of ten minutes, before he stopped and raised his hand. A Portal opened. Seth turned, clutching his side and peering through the darkness to get one last glimpse of his enemy, shook his head and stepped into the Portal, which closed behind him.

  Sam laid his head down and closed his eyes. Gratefully, he felt his body brace itself for a full-blown regenerative trance.

  Perhaps he slept for only a few minutes. Perhaps an hour. But when he woke, it was with his entire body in agony and the sensation that his skin was several sizes too small. He could taste salt in his mouth, smell grass and hear the gentle wind.

  That, and the song. It was everywhere around him. He looked up. Nothing. But still it was there, the humming of the Pandora spirits as they wound their way around him. He levered himself to his knees. The stars were white again, but still the song went on. It was almost beautiful, he thought, listening closer. Horrible, terrifying, like the chant of the maddened crowd at a war rally, but beautiful. He stared at the sky and listened.

  Something clawed at his ankle. He looked down. As the grass had come up around Seth, now it wound round him, slicing and tearing to create a maze of shallow grass cuts across his legs. The soil beneath him was growing hot, and he was beginning to sink into it. He gave a cry of dismay and staggered to his feet, but his feet were becoming ensnared.

  Vultures were circling overhead. He saw them div
e for him. He shielded his head as they dived, and struggled to pull himself free. Hot mud sputtered at him, burning his face and hands. He heard wolves howling and saw shapes running across the field towards him. Something hot and hard bit him in the arm and he screamed, falling on his face.

  Rolling over he saw, standing on the edge of the field with their grim staring faces illuminated by torchlight, a long line of Mexicans. The song of the Pandora spirits was everywhere, triumphant, roaring in his ears. One of the Mexicans was reloading a gun to shoot him again. He tried to scramble away, but the land itself held him in place. He had a bullet in his arm, and could hardly think for the dizzying pain.

  The land itself was hating him. The people had risen up to destroy him, fuelled by the spirits. Every living thing, be it bird, grass, wolf or human, was united in an effort to destroy him. He had nowhere left to run. No weapons left, no tricks up his sleeves, no allies and no chances.

  Except one.

  Sam squeezed his eyes shut, and succumbed.

  Sebastian…

  For Time’s sake! Do you want me to discharge the Light?

  You meant nothing to her.

  Sebastian.

  Father, help me…

  You never knew the extent of my power.

  He wondered what thoughts were his own. He could hear…

  Little light, little fire…

  … why do you run…

  … why do you hide…

  To come to this?

  And the Light spread out from him, bending the grass as it passed across the land, making the trees bend and creak, making those creatures who could sense danger better than humans bury their way into the ground and cower from the blinding whiteness that made the stars flinch. Touched the minds of men. Touched the minds of every creature, mortal and immortal alike. Touched the minds of the spirits. Drew them all in together.

  I want…

  I hunger…

  Little light and little fire.

  The Light, it comes, it comes…

  Outrun dawn, outrun Light, run and he will not follow.

  He is afraid.

  We cannot outrun it…

  Little light, little fire.

  Is this me thinking? Or them?

  I am…

  But then so am I…

  My name is…

  But my name is…

  And mine is…

  And I like…

  But I don’t…

  We can’t outrun the Light, brothers.

  He dares not destroy us.

  He has not the power.

  But then you never knew the extent of my power, did you?

  Am I you?

  Or you?

  Who’s you, then?

  Or you? Or you? Or you?

  Outrun the Light…

  Or you? Or you? Or you?

  Or me…

  Or me…

  Or me…

  And as the voices grew too loud to bear, something else came with them. The Light riffled through the filing cabinet of a few thousand memories, isolated three factors, brought them to the surface, and sent them spilling across the land.

  Hovering for miles around Sam, the Light slowed, hesitated for a second, then faded to nothing, leaving a sheepish darkness. Silence. If you ignored the voices of:

  Me…

  And me…

  And me…

  And me…

  Am I you?

  Or me?

  Or me?

  Is this me thinking?

  Or someone else?

  Like me?

  Or me…

  Or me…

  Which one am I? My name is…

  But then my name is…

  And my name is…

  Rising through the voices, came the memories.

  Somewhere, in the darkness, a man who might or might not have once been Sam Linnfer:

  Or possibly me…

  Or me…

  Or me…

  Smiled. Love, Trust, Charity – he was surprised at how much of them was surfacing from the minds of the thousands of creatures he’d touched. A warm sphere, surging to the surface of a sea of never-silent voices, expanding to the same radius as the Light had encompassed and, like everything else, fading. Everything except the voices.

  In the end, when his body was a thousand miles from his mind, which was itself just a tiny speck among thousands, he was grateful that he couldn’t feel the pain.

  A bubble of light, brighter than anything else in the night, rose up before Sam, split into three parts and rushed away from him, west, towards the sunset. The land below them was lit up for a second as if the sun had decided that eight light minutes wasn’t nearly close enough to Earth, before they rose and became parts of the sky. A long silence. Far, far above, three spheres of burning Light containing respectively all the trust, love and charity that Sam – or what might be Sam, he wasn’t sure – could find exploded against three twisted shapes trying to out-run the Light. Which, in the second of searing fire – Trust against Suspicion, Love against Hate, Charity against Greed – crumpled, and fell. In silence Earth consumed them.

  Leaving Sam… somewhere.

  Is this me?

  Or me?

  Or me?

  Which one am I?

  I hear you thinking.

  But it might be me thinking and I might simply hear you thinking…

  Or perhaps I’m all of you.

  Or none of you…

  Did I think that thought?

  Did I?

  Or perhaps I did?

  Or perhaps I did?

  Who am I?

  You?

  Me?

  Him?

  Her?

  Me?

  You?

  Us?

  Somewhere, in the middle of a field in Mexico, emptier still after the Light had scorched it, a small, dark man collapsed, white eyes staring at nothing.

  EPILOGUE

  Brief Victory

  S

  am could hear a kettle boiling. It was a strange sound, one that he hadn’t been expecting. He’d been anticipating at least fire or screams. He lay very still for a long while, staring at the ceiling. It wasn’t the most interesting sight, being blotched by leaks and decorated in a less-than-dazzling paint that had once been white. There was a spider’s web in one corner.

  He was lying on a sofa, blanket pulled up to his chin, wearing someone else’s shirt. His back hurt. So did his arm. He raised the arm speculatively and examined it. There was a blood-soaked bandage, which he cautiously undid, to find a large area of dried blood. He scratched the blood away. Underneath was a pink web of scar tissue where the bullet had entered. There was no bullet, nor any injury, and the scar tissue was healing nicely.

  He sat up, feeling the warmth of his face and hands as if he hadn’t realised he could ever be well again. At that moment the door opened and someone backed round it, carrying a tray. Sam observed the back in utter idleness for a few seconds, then watched the tray approach him. He found that the toast and coffee on it held his undivided attention all the way across the room to his lap.

  Adam sat down on the end of the sofa.

  ‘Hey,’ murmured Sam.

  ‘Hey. Alive, then.’

  ‘I think so. You?’

  ‘Yes. The Pandora spirits seem to have gone.’

  ‘I —’

  ‘You attacked the spirits with the Light. You gathered thousands of minds to your call, thought of trust, charity and love – and bang. Hit them.’

  ‘But… I didn’t kill them.’ Sam’s comment didn’t need an answer. ‘If I’d killed them,’ he said slowly, ‘I would have had to gather every single mind around me in every single world. The effort would probably have killed me, as well as them.’

  ‘You didn’t kill Seth either,’ said Adam. ‘Though you came bloody near. Nor, evidently enough, did you die.’

  ‘But I came bloody near that too?’ Sam asked.

  Adam nodded. ‘Seth’s fled,’ h
e added. ‘The spirits are severely weakened, and gone into hiding. You stopped them, for a while.’