He looks up and sees Joel running toward him. He tries to get out of the way, but he can’t move. The ground holds him and pulls him down. He is sinking, being dragged under.
Joel grabs Highwire by the collar of the brown jacket he is wearing. He pulls against the ground, but the earth bucks and Joel falls to his knees, still holding the jacket.
“Give me my freedom!”
Highwire shoves with his upper body, and Joel falls backward. He hits the ground on his back and does not rise, although he tries. Highwire watches as the earth moves around Joel, the cracks opening, the dirt eating his hands, eating his legs. He pulls and struggles and cries out, but he is held fast, flat on his back, as the earth drags him down.
Nezha says NOW! in his ear and Highwire yells out and tears himself from the ground, sending a shower of earth skyward. He rolls forward and grabs Joel’s arms. He pulls, trying to free him from the ground. The ground fights back, pulling even harder. There is pain in his legs, feet. Highwire looks down, and sees the earth is trying to swallow him too.
Joel screams. He is almost under. Highwire pulls, afraid he will break Joel in two. Then a shaft of earth – an arm, blackened, as hard as stone – shoots out of the ground. The hand grabs Highwire’s neck, as strong as steel cable, and squeezes.
And then Highwire sees…
…Emerald robes and Chinese logographs and a man with a long beard and fireworks shooting from the tips of his fingers as he stands in the warehouse and laughs, and laughs…
…and a man in a top hat walking through darkness steel cable stretched in his hands then fire then darkness then…
…A world. The Earth, young, hot, its surface liquid rock. There is power here, energy, and that power and that energy is so great it is alive. It squirms in the magma, circling the globe, and then the world cools and it slows, and cools and curls, hidden far below, sleeping, waiting, alive in the rock, in the Earth, part of planet itself. And as it cools and falls into slumber, it turns, sometimes, and when it turns the Earth shakes and energy is released, but not enough, not enough, not until…
Bob’s black prison squeezed in, the space becoming smaller and smaller, the golems pushing together, fusing into one form, a dome of black stone and hot earth.
The earth rumbled, cracks opening beneath him. The golems wouldn’t crush him; they were merely holding him in place so the Thing Beneath could come up and consume him.
Bob was a god. Gods had power. And if the Thing Beneath could get just a fraction of that, then it would awaken fully in an instant. The Cold Dark would wrestle with the unleashed monster, but it was strong, and it would win. Together they would consume the world. Build and spread. Build and spread.
Bob had no choice. He had to use his power, flex his muscles, become Kanaloa once more. He knew he wouldn’t be able to resist the power. When he had been a god, millennia before, he had been content to rule over his island and over the seas. He was worshipped, and while he had the power to swallow the world, there were other gods walking the Earth, many more powerful than he. This had kept him in check, because to go out into the world would mean meeting the other gods, his brothers and sisters. They would have stopped him.
So he had been content to rule over his domain.
But now there was nobody else. The gods had gone, abandoned the Earth, abandoned humanity. He’d stayed behind, disavowing his powers and nature to live among the people he had once ruled. Some had come back, now and again – like Nezha had – but they didn’t care, not anymore.
And now he was alone, and he was Kanaloa, and he would rule the world. And all he had to do was–
There was a knock on the black rock above him, like someone had struck it with a hammer. Bob looked up, and saw light. There was a hole in the canopy, jagged and fresh, the lights of the carnival shining through.
And there was light from the ground. Bob looked down and saw a large gold coin sitting on the earth. The ground smoked around it, flames flickered around its edge. The coin seemed to be glowing – not red, not like it was hot, but white, like it was reflecting the light of the sun on a brilliant summer’s day.
Joel’s coin. The totem of the thing that had controlled him for so long.
Bob had his answer.
The rock canopy shrank further and the ground roiled.
He reached forward, picked up the coin in his fingers, and he saw:
…Darkness and light in equal measure, the black of space, the blaze of a billion stars. He was blind, swimming in nothing, swimming in space and…
…He saw a worm as big as a god swallow a galaxy whole… He saw things crawl in the heart of stars… things that were cold, so very cold, colder than space, colder than the empty nothing inside atoms… things that craved heat and energy… things that curled inside stars and wailed at the cold… things that shone brighter than galaxies…
…He saw supernovas, he saw stars explode, he saw stars fall. He saw comets, colossal balls of ice that burned in the depths of space, trailing debris, seeding the universe with life… seeding the universe with a disease, a pathogen, one that was cold and dark craved heat and energy and light, that needed to grow and spread… grow and spread… grow and spread…
…He saw a comet arc across the sky above a desert…
…He saw a star fall…
…He saw a star fall…
Bob smashed through the stone canopy on a column of roaring water. It bounced under his feet, carrying him into the air. The salt water sprayed against his bare skin, soaked his jeans, saturated his hair. Bob felt alive, the power surging through him as he commanded the sea
But not his power. He raised his hand and uncurled his fingers from around Joel’s coin, the totem. He used the power of the stars, of the Cold Dark. The more power Bob channeled through the coin, the colder the coin got, siphoning the power from some dark corner of the universe.
Bob smiled and the crest of water dropped. He stepped onto the ground. The earth was hot and cracked, but still. The night was quiet. The lights of the carnival were on but there was no movement. The machines were still.
“Ted?” Then Bob saw him. He rushed forward, past the platform to where Ted lay in front of the Ferris wheel, half buried in the ground. He fell to his knees, shook the wet hair from his face, spraying Ted with water.
“Come on, brah, don’t make me bring you back to life.” He leaned over and began breaking great chunks of burned earth off him. As he worked, seawater ran off his hair onto Ted’s face. Ted spluttered, then coughed, and tried to sit up. Bob broke the last of the dirt free and helped him up. Bob peered at him.
“What?” asked Ted, rubbing his head.
“Is that Ted, or is that Highwire? Or am I talking to Nezha?”
Ted shook his head. “It’s me. Ted. I think, anyway.” He looked around. “What the hell happened?”
They were alone among the carnival machines. The earth dome formed by the fused golems was half-collapsed. Around it half of the wooden soldiers were standing, the rest lying on the ground, lifeless.
“I don’t think the powers that be liked what Joel had in mind.”
Ted crouched on the ground. He ran his fingers over the cracked earth, but there was nothing there. Joel had been swallowed up. Nearby lay his black stovepipe hat.
“He was trapped,” said Ted. “Stuck between a power from the stars and a power from the earth. Wasn’t there any way we could have released him?”
Bob knelt down next to Ted and stared at the ground. “I don’t know, brah. Maybe. Maybe not. He’d been following the power a long time.”
The pair stood, looked around. And then the earth shook.
“What was that?” asked Ted.
Bob shook his head. He squeezed the coin in his hand and floated up off the ground. He turned in the air, looking out over the circus, and then rose higher so he could see into the city proper.
“There’s some fires in the city,” he said. “But we stopped it. I guess we’ll get aftershocks for a while y
et. But look, I need to get back to Benny. I lost my grip on her soul.
“Alison!” Ted looked up at Bob expectantly. Bob nodded.
“Alison too. Gotta make sure they’re safe.”
Then Ted swore in Chinese. Bob floated to the ground and grabbed Ted’s shoulder as he knelt down. Ted had his eyes screwed shut, like he was listening to something far, far away.
“Ted?”
Ted shook his head. “There’s something coming. Nezha says… says it isn’t safe. Not yet.”
The ground shook, throwing the pair sideways. Bob squeezed hard on the coin. He couldn’t let that fall out of his hands, not now. He rolled and pulled himself to his feet immediately. Shaking the dirt off him, he looked around.
The carnival was moving, every machine. The carousel began to spin, the whine of the pipe organ building. And the laugh of the monkey: hollow, metallic, like something trapped at the bottom of a well. Its eyes shone red.
The machines dragged themselves out of the ground. They twisted into shapes that could crawl, corner by corner, edge by edge, over the shaking ground. Machines touched, swung toward each other, crunched together, forming new shapes in twisted metal. Lights shattered, neon flickered as panels bent, were torn, were fused together.
The ground shook. Bob rode the movement. Ted reached out and Bob pulled him up, then yanked him to one side just as the ground opened and fell away where he had been lying.
The carnival was one single mass now, twisted and rattling, a frame of mashed metal and rippling canvas. The construct heaved and creaked, and then unfolded upward. It stood, teetering, on two legs. The thing was shaped like a person, thirty feet high, a mangled sculpture of scrap. The only thing missing was the head.
As Bob watched, the construct took two giant steps toward the carousel, now spinning so fast the pipe organ and carved monkey were clearly visible in the center, the animal rides just a blur. The construct reached down, unfolded two gigantic arms, and picked the carousel up.
The Victorian machine was huge, a circular structure twenty feet in diameter. As it was lifted, it continued to spin, the construct carrying it into the air like a gyroscope. With a crunch it placed the carousel on its shoulders. It stood tall, carousel spinning, the makeshift head absurdly large.
Ted and Bob looked up at the teetering machine. “This is bad,” said Bob.
The voice blasted from the carousel – a cacophony of high and low notes from the pipe organ. It was mournful, wailing, like the death of a church organ.
WE ARE BELENUS, said the construct. WE DEMAND THE HEART OF THE WORLD.
— XLII —
SAN FRANCISCO
TODAY
The smell woke her. Rich, strong, bitter as anything. Hot steam tickled her nose, and she blinked.
“Drink this.” Benny held the cup of coffee in front of Alison’s nose. She took the cup and took a big gulp from it. It was hot, hot enough that she had to gasp afterward, a cloud of steam puffing out of her mouth.
“Thought you’d need that,” said Benny. She smiled and sat on the arm of the sofa opposite.
Alison pulled herself upright. On the other sofa was a large, middle-aged man dressed in shirtsleeves. He snored softly, his breath vibrating his waxed handlebar moustache. He looked like the ringmaster of a circus.
“Don’t worry about him,” said Benny. “His name is Jack, and yes, he’s from the circus. He’s going to sleep for a while now.” Benny looked down at Jack and patted him on the head. Then she sighed, her other hand clutching her chest.
“Benny? Are you OK?” Alison sat the coffee down on the table and went to stand up, but the room spun around her. She sat down heavily, shaking her head.
“You need to sleep too,” said Benny. “The coffee will help with post-resurrection synapse realignment. Trust me.”
Alison blinked. “OK,” she said. She closed her eyes and the sensation of being on a ship in a rough sea stopped. She frowned. “Are you telling me I’m dead and brain damaged?”
“Were dead,” said Benny. “And any brain damage is temporary. That’s what the coffee is for. Drink up, dude.”
Alison opened an eye and reached for the coffee. She glanced at Benny, and she looked pained again. She also looked pale. Very pale.
“You’re the one who looks like the walking dead,” Alison said. She took another sip of coffee, then another. She felt better already. “And who said coffee was good for zombies?”
“That’ll be Kanaloa.”
Alison paused, then sipped again. “We haven’t met.”
“He’s the Hawaiian god of the ocean, life, and death.”
Another sip of the coffee. “OK.”
“You know him better as Bob.”
Alison nodded. Maybe there was something in the coffee, because she was in Ted’s apartment with a circus ringmaster asleep on the other couch, and Benny had just told her that the homeless guy who taught tourists the foxtrot down at Aquatic Park was a god.
“He doesn’t look like he’s from Hawaii,” she said, not quite believing what she was saying herself. “More like Oregon.”
“Then you don’t know your Hawaiian mythology,” said Benny, with a laugh. “In legend, Kanaloa was fair, while his brother Kane was dark. Two sides of the same coin, I guess.” She shrugged, then coughed and fell off the arm of the sofa.
“Benny!” Alison dumped the cup and knelt by Benny’s side. She was white, her breathing long and deep. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt? I’ll call an ambulance.” She looked around but couldn’t see a phone.
Benny grabbed her arm. “It’s OK. Figured this would happen. Kanaloa has a lot to worry about right now. Don’t worry.” Then her eyes rolled back and the air left her lungs. She slumped on the floor.
“Shit, Benny, wake up!” Alison shook her, felt for a pulse. She didn’t find it. She wasn’t breathing. She pulled her arms out of the way, tilted her head back, ready for CPR.
Benny’s hand gripped her wrist, and Alison yelped in surprise.
“She is being looked after,” she said. Her voice was deeper – masculine, hollow and echoing. Her eyes were still closed. Alison shook the hand off her wrist and felt again for her pulse. Nothing. She pulled back her eyelids, but she didn’t react.
“Fear not,” said Benny in the deep voice. Alison backed away until she was against the sofa. Benny remained where she was on the floor. “This mortal has served the Heavenly Ones well. But she has endured too much and I cannot prevent the passing of this life from one form to the next.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Alison tore at her hair. This was all some twisted nightmare. Had to be. “Who are you?” she asked.
“I am Tangun, King and Founder. I returned to the Earth on a quest for a lost power, but my Golden Child has suffered too much. Kanaloa fights for us. I will protect the girl as we journey together beyond to the shadow realm. She has served with great honor.”
Benny stood, her image flickering between the Benny Alison knew, in a sports shirt and baseball cap, and a warrior clad in ceremonial garb from the Far East, gold plated armor over richly embroidered white robes.
“Benny?” Alison’s voice was tiny.
“It’s OK.” Benny now. She opened her eyes. “Look after Jack until Bob gets back. He’ll be able to explain everything. I have to go now. I’m being taken to meet the Heavenly Ones.” Then her image flickered and the warrior was standing there.
“We ride to the heavens, my friend,” said Tangun. He raised his arm, there was a flash, and the armor collapsed to the floor. Alison slid forward, but the robe was empty. Sitting on top was the huge helmet. Its front was a golden mask molded into a face. The face was laughing, frozen in time.
— XLIII —
SHARON MEADOW, SAN FRANCISCO
TODAY
The ground shook, another tremor, stronger this time. The carnival construct – Belenus – staggered on its gargantuan feet, the carousel head spinning, the pipe organ wailing. Then it took a step forward, the ground sha
king.
“And it’s awake,” said Bob, backing away.
Ted stared up at it. “What the hell is it? Is Belenus one of you?”
Another crashing step forward. The giant machine was unsteady, its framework of twisted metal grinding and screeching as the body moved. But it seemed to be adapting. It took another step, this time faster, with more certainty.
“Belenus isn’t real,” said Bob. “It’s a work of fiction, a fake Celtic god someone dreamed up. The Thing Beneath doesn’t have an identity. It’s alive, but it doesn’t think.”
BELENUS DEMANDS THE WORLD.
“You sure about that?”
Bob looked around at the torn-up carnival, the ground cracked from the tremors and carved up by the moving machines.
“It’s the two of them together,” said Bob. “The Thing Beneath, and the Cold Dark that lives in the machines. They’ve become one thing.”
Another step, another roar of the pipe organ.
“I hope you have a plan, Bob,” said Ted, “You’re a god, aren’t you?”
Ted was right. Bob was a god. He was Kanaloa. He could do anything. And if he did, then he may as well let Belenus destroy the city, because that was exactly what Kanaloa would do once he started.
Unless…
“Can you talk to Nezha?”
Ted looked at Bob. “Talk to him?”
“If he’s in there with you, then I’m not the only god in town.”
Ted blinked, and looked over his shoulder quickly. Then he turned back to Bob and nodded.
“He’s here. He’s… me… I think.”
He held his hands out. A green glow played over his skin, increasing in brightness, crackling with gold sparks like a firework.
Bob smiled. “Then maybe Nezha the Last Magician and Kanaloa, god of the ocean, can fight this together. I need you to help control me. If I get out of hand, you need to stop me. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Ted lifted his hands, and nodded. The green glow surrounded his whole body now. As Bob blinked, Ted’s image flickered between the ordinary guy in a brown jacket and a Chinese man with a long beard and long green coat.
Hang Wire Page 28