The Dark at the End

by F. Paul Wilson

  Enough with these damn feelings. Feelings-feelings-feelings. What the hell? They were driving him crazy. He needed facts, damn it.

  He reached the Lodge, a pale blob against the darker trees behind it, and not a single light on inside. He parked a block down on the street and walked back. Old Town had fewer streetlights than the newer sections on the other side of the lake, and that was a good thing tonight. He'd taken his lock-pick set and bump keys from the Crown Vic and carried them now, along with a flashlight, plus one of Weezy's Sharpies and a pad, all in a small backpack slung over a shoulder.

  He went straight to the back door. He'd noted the brand of the door lock before, so he had his Quickset bumps ready. The third one fit and in seconds he was in. Turning on his flashlight for only a second at a time for guidance, he found the basement door . . . leaning against a wall. The black rectangle of the doorway gaped before him.

  His gut twisted. Not good.

  Discarding all discretion, he turned on the basement lights and pelted down the stairs. The basement looked different, rearranged since they'd left. He fairly ran to the opening in the floor. The ladder had been pulled out and lay beside it. He lowered it back into the hole and descended.

  No sign of the sigil.

  Shit.

  Heart pounding, Jack raced back up the ladder. The sigil was too big to hide, so the only explanation was they'd removed it. That guy Tommy had been leaving Johnson. Had he had the sigil in the back of his truck?

  What was his phone number? Weezy had rattled it off. She'd know. But as he pulled out his phone to call her, he heard her voice in his head reciting the number. Instead of speed-dialing her, he punched in that number. After two rings he reached the voice mail:

  "You've reached Thomas Mulliner Excavating and Land Clearing Service. Leave a number and we'll call you back as soon as possible. "

  Got him. Jack left his cell number, said he had to speak to him ASAP.

  So, Tommy was one of the Mulliner clan. The Pinelands were full of them, going back to revolutionary times. Jack wasn't going to sit around waiting for a call back that might not come till morning. He had to find a Mulliner with an excavating business.

  He punched in 4-1-1.

  TUESDAY Chapter 10

  Rasalom rose through the darkness at the rear of Glaeken's building. He had fed well and was strong enough now to reassert his mastery over gravity.

  The drug rehab center had served him well. He had identified certain centers - the ones that offered detox programs - as excellent feeding grounds. Not all detox programs were equal, however. The more high-tech centers, catering to the upper socioeconomic strata, performed rapid detox under general anesthesia, rendering their clients worthless for Rasalom's purposes.

  The more run-of-the-mill centers, the ones that oversaw withdrawal from alcohol and opiates and other drugs the old-fashioned way, offered a veritable smorgasbord of pain, fear, and self-loathing. A couple of hours in proximity to a few addicts in varying stages of the process had replenished him.

  He reached the fifth-floor level. He willed the window latch on the other side of the glass to rotate to the unlocked position. With the box pinned under his left arm, he used his right hand to lift the sash. He climbed into the apartment without fear of disturbing a tenant. That was the wonderful thing about Glaeken's building - only Glaeken and the Lady and a few others lived here.

  He left the apartment and ascended the stairwell.

  After the revelation of Glaeken's mortality, Rasalom had had no trouble locating him. He had then enlisted Szeto to find someone who could make certain modifications to the quarters below the Lady's.

  He reached that floor and entered the bare apartment. Szeto had told him that the equipment had been hidden in a built-in cabinet. Rasalom laid the box before it. He opened the cabinet to reveal its electronic contents.

  He could not help but marvel at this modern world. His body had matured in these times but his consciousness and the predominance of his reference points were anchored in vastly more primitive eras. Communication now was a wonder, astoundingly convenient - unless one wished to sever communications. And Rasalom so wished. But he'd had no idea how to accomplish that, so he had left it up to others.

  The cabinet contained a metallic box with multiple antennae jutting skyward. To its right lay a remote with a single button; to the left, a set of headphones.

  He understood little of electronics and modern communications. He'd spent the decades since his rebirth trying to erase the Lady's presence through the arcane and traditional avenue of Opus Omega, and then the even more arcane Fhinntmanchca. When those failed - or, in the case of the Fhinntmanchca, only partially succeeded - he'd allowed Drexler to attack the Lady indirectly via modern electronics or cyberspace or whatever it was called. That too had failed, and so now he was compelled to launch a direct assault.

  Perhaps compelled wasn't quite true. He was now free to take direct action, and he relished the opportunity.

  Remembering Szeto's instructions, Rasalom found the power switch on the box and pressed it. Lights began to glow along the front. It made no sound, not even a hum, but Szeto had sworn it would render all cell phones in the top half of the building useless.

  Rasalom picked up the remote. This was supposed to activate a switch that would block incoming calls to the landline phone connections in the building. He pressed the button.

  He did not know how long he would have to wait here for his moment, or if his moment would ever come. But he would wait as long as it took. He had time.

  He put on the headphones and listened . . .

  TUESDAY Chapter 11

  Glaeken admitted them to the Lady's apartment. Weezy had called ahead from the road to tell him they would be there soon. The first thing upon entering, she went straight to the Lady and handed her the paper.

  "What do you think? Is it a name?"

  As the Lady took it, Weezy moved to her side and together they stared at the weird glyphs.

  After a moment the Lady nodded. "It has been so long since I have seen this form of writing. It has been dead for ages. But, yes, it is a name. " She then made a sound like two grunts of different pitch connected by a click.

  "That's a name?" Eddie said. He sounded as if he was suppressing a laugh.

  The Lady looked up at him. "I believe that is what I said. "

  Weezy realized that Eddie wasn't used to the Lady's literal nature, so she jumped in.

  "But is it the name - Rasalom's Other Name?"

  The Lady shrugged. "Who is to say? I have no way of telling. "

  "But it came from the broken sigil," Eddie said. "It was written on the only remaining section of the border. "

  "And the sigil is made of tenathic," Weezy added.

  Glaeken said, "If that's true, then it can only be from the First Age - the secret of forging it was lost in the Cataclysm. We have no choice but to proceed on the assumption this is his Other Name. "

  "But what if it's not?" Weezy said.

  "We will never be sure until we try. "

  Weezy finally looked directly at the playpen. Since entering the apartment, she'd kept it in her peripheral vision. Now she had to confront the reality of burdening that baby with Rasalom's Other Name.

  As ever, he sat in his space and gnawed a soup bone. He seemed perfectly content, oblivious to the role he was about to play in a cosmic drama. If Glaeken was right, his limited intelligence would allow him to remain oblivious. And that in turn would protect him.

  She watched him and thought about how they were all pawns being moved around a cosmic game board. And now the pawns in this room were about to move him, bringing him into the game.

  But hadn't he always been in play? Wasn't that what Jonah Stevens had in mind when he started designing his own strategy using his bloodline - a strategy aimed at producing a child that would supplant the One?

  So, in a way, Jonah was goi
ng to get his wish: His grandchild was going to stop the One, though not in the way he'd intended.

  "Even if it's not the One's Other Name," Eddie said, "we haven't lost anything, have we?"

  Weezy looked from Glaeken to the Lady. "Have we?"

  "The Other Naming Ceremony can be performed only once on the child. Once given an Other Name, it cannot be undone. "

  Weezy looked back to the baby. "So, he could wind up with an Other Name that has no power. Then what?"

  Glaeken shrugged. "It is the only name we have. Unless you know of some other inscribed tenathic sigil somewhere, we must accept it as the only name we will ever have. "

  "We've got to go with it, Weez," Eddie said. "And the sooner the better, if you ask me. "

  She wasn't asking him. She shook her head. "I want to wait for Jack. "

  Eddie scowled. "He could be cooling his heels in a jail cell for all we know. "

  "Wait," Glaeken said. "Where is Jack? Why isn't he here?"

  How did she explain? She wasn't sure herself.

  "Something about the situation bothers him. He thinks it's too easy, too pat. "

  "I can't argue with him on that. But if the sigil is, as you say, made of tenathic, then it must be genuine. "

  "I agree, but he wanted another look at it. "

  "We were caught trespassing in the Lodge," Eddie said. "We were lucky we got away. Jack might not be so lucky a second time. "

  "You don't know Jack," she snapped, fully intending the double meaning.

  Eddie sighed. "I do. Or at least I've been getting to know him. But nobody's perfect. I think it was risky going back. "

  "And don't you think the stakes merit some risk? We'll wait until we hear from Jack. "

  She didn't have the authority to say that, but she guessed enough of her determination shone through. No one argued.

  TUESDAY Chapter 12

  Rasalom frowned. The Heir was absent. He had expected him there, wanted him there - needed him there.

  The woman had just said he wanted another look at the sigil. Why? Did he suspect the truth? But how could he?

  This was not going as planned. Rasalom had expected the woman, the one studying the Compendium of Srem, to be the problem. If anyone would have noticed inconsistencies, it should have been she. These electronic countermeasures had been put in place to block communication from her.

  Rasalom was suddenly glad he'd had the foresight to order Drexler to remove the sigil from the Lodge. The question was, where was the Heir now? With the sigil gone, what could he be doing?

  TUESDAY Chapter 13

  Jack found the home of the Thomas Mulliner Excavating and Land Clearing Service at the end of a dark, twisty path in the woods off Carranza Road. His headlights picked up a clearing with a leaning shed, scattered backhoes and earth movers, and the Dodge pickup truck he'd seen earlier. He saw no sign of a house nearby, so he backed the little Pontiac around until the headlights were centered on the pickup, and left them on.

  He left his car running and approached the pickup with fingers figuratively crossed. The draped object leaning in the bed was the right size. If only . . .

  Using the rear bumper as a step, he hopped up into the bed and yanked the tarp free.

  Yes!

  The broken sigil gleamed in the headlights. He leaned in for another look at the glyphs carved into the black surface. Before leaving Weezy earlier, he'd asked her to draw him a duplicate of the glyphs she'd copied. He pulled it out and checked it again against the originals.

  A perfect copy. So why wasn't he satisfied? Why - ?

  A shadow moved into the edge of the light cone from the headlights and a voice said, "Hold it right there!" before Jack could move.

  Shit.

  He did a slow turn and saw a guy standing about ten feet away pointing a shotgun at his midsection. More than a silhouette - he stood far enough off to the side for the lights to reveal some features. Jack recognized Tommy Mulliner, holding what looked like a Mossberg over-under twelve gauge.

  "The fuck you think you're doing here? Get your ass off my truck!"

  "Just looking," Jack said as he sifted through ways to play this.

  "Bullshit!"

  "If I'd seen anyone around, I would've asked, but the place was deserted, so - "

  "I know you. I seen you at the Lodge. You was trespassing there and now you're trespassing here. Get down. "

  Jack thought about that. The sigil was too important and he wasn't through with it. He couldn't go for his Glock without the Mossberg tearing a hole in him, so . . .

  "No. "

  In the following seconds of stunned silence, he turned back to the sigil.

  "What?" Tommy finally said.

  "No. It's a simple word. Also known as uh-uh, non, nein, nyet, and that's a negatory. "

  "I'll blow your fucking head off!"

  "Well, go ahead, Tommy. I'm here only to look, not steal, but you go ahead and do what you think you have to do. By the way, you related to Luke Mulliner, the guy who used to run the canoes at Quaker Lake?"

  Another pause - Tommy probably hadn't expected a question about his family right after a death threat.

  "Yeah. My uncle. What about him?"

  Jack knelt beside the sigil and ran his hand over the glyphs. Again that feeling of something not right, but he had to keep Tommy talking.

  "Knew him when I was a kid living in Johnson. "

  "Easy to say. "

  "I know he had brothers named Matthew, Mark, and John. Their mother was into the Gospels. And you're Thomas. Another apostle. Doubting Thomas. You still doubting me, Tommy?"

  "I'm doubting you've got your head on straight. Get off my truck or I shoot. "

  "Your family's related to Joe Mulliner, the Robin Hood of the Pines, right? Would old Joe approve of that?"

  He ran his fingers over the glyphs, outlining their shapes.

  "Old Joe was hung in the seventeen hundreds. "

  And then it hit Jack like a sucker punch to the gut.

  "Oh, no. "

  He rose and turned toward Tommy. He didn't want that itchy trigger finger to twitch so he gave him a preview of what he was going to do.

  "I'm getting off your truck and going to my car. "

  "Now you're talking. "

  Jack jumped to the ground and pulled open the passenger door. He found the pen Weezy had given him on the seat.

  "And now I'm going back to the truck. "

  "No, you ain't!"

  Tommy made the mistake of stepping in and trying to club Jack with the barrel. He wasn't experienced in this sort of thing and, before he knew it, the shotgun had changed hands.

  Tommy raised his arms and cringed back as Jack pointed it his way.

  "Hey, no! Don't!"

  Jack lowered the weapon, saying, "Not here to hurt anyone or anything. I need about two minutes with that crazy black thing and then I'll be on my way. "

  He took the shotgun with him when he climbed back into the truck bed. He took out Weezy's drawing and laid the sheet over the glyphs, then began rubbing the pen over it. Gradually the writing began to appear. When he was finished he held the sheet up to the light. He leaped to his feet when his worst suspicions were confirmed.

  "Shit-shit-shit!"

  The same glyphs but in a different order. An optical illusion. The visible glyphs weren't the same as the carved glyphs. A different name. Rasalom had hidden his true Other Name. Had all of the Seven done that, so that even if someone outside their circle found their sigils, he still wouldn't know their Other Names? Over five thousand fake variations remained, after all. Or had Rasalom been the only one?

  Didn't matter. What did was the Lady using the wrong name in the Ceremony.

  He had to tell them.

  He opened the Mossberg's breech and pulled out the two shells, tossed them over his shoulder, then closed it. He laid it at the foot of the sigil and hopped dow
n to the ground again. Without a word, he jumped into the car and slammed it into reverse.

  "What the fuck's going on?" Tommy shouted as Jack backed around. Jack heard him repeating, "What the fuck?" two or three times as he roared down the driveway.

  WTF, indeed.

  TUESDAY Chapter 14

  When Jack turned back on to Carranza Road, he faced a straight shot back to 206, allowing him to make some quick calls. He speed-dialed Weezy's cell number but her voice mail picked up immediately. He tried two more times with the same result. Another post-crash cell dead zone? They were happening less frequently, but still happening.

  Or had she turned off her phone? She wouldn't do that. Not unless they'd started the ceremony.

  No-no-no. They wouldn't start without hearing from him. Or would they?

  Feeling a little frantic, he dialed her home landline: no answer. No surprise there - she had to be at the Lady's - but he'd needed to give it a try. He dialed Glaeken's apartment. He'd no doubt be down in the Lady's place too, but he usually left a nurse with Magda. She'd answer and he could ask her to go downstairs and -

  Glaeken's voice mail picked up immediately too.

  He wanted to smash his phone against the steering wheel. What the hell was going on?

  He gunned the car around the traffic circle onto Route 70 and headed west, weaving through the traffic, but carefully. He faced a frustrating gauntlet of traffic lights between him and the freeways, and he couldn't risk a cop stop for being too aggressive.

  Every cell in his brain and body screamed at him to stop that ceremony. But why? As if some part of his subconscious - the primitive crocodile hind brain perhaps - was sensing danger but unable to explain it to the higher centers.

  All right . . . what did he know? Why this gnawing feeling that they'd been gamed?

  It all centered around the Other Naming Ceremony. Where had that come from? Discovered by Weezy in the Compendium of Srem.

  The Compendium . . . it kept opening to the Ceremony - so often that Gia had remarked that it seemed to be "trying to tell you something" - a quip they could have brushed off had it referred to any book other than the Compendium. Because the Compendium was sui generis, and its page order seemed to be in constant flux. It frustrated you by making it almost impossible to return to a page after you'd seen it. And yet here it was, opening to the same page time and again . . . the page about the Other Naming Ceremony.