The Blood Line (11 page)

Sam turned back to the article. It said that men had had their psychic abilities developed to the point where they could affect the world around them with their mind. Well, that was presence wasn't it? Something which most people would refer to as telekinesis. In the course of his training in how to use his own presence Sam had learned that a minority of people had a latent presence. Vallalar had unlocked Sam's in the courtyard of the Mermaid. What if the chair and the experiment had been a way to unlock it in others, but in a more destructive way? But presence was rare, Sam had learned that too. How could so many Riven have become powerful through the experiment? Unless they didn't. Unless it was only a few and it was simply that over generations they had found more. Or it could have only been one man. The worst of them all. Sam's thoughts turned to the Riven King as he read back in the article about the chair that developed power whilst turning the subject mad. Sam thought back to the room, to the debris that he had thrown around the laboratory on that shockwave of presence. He didn’t remember seeing an unusual chair of any kind.  Suddenly another piece of the puzzle clicked into place and Sam shook his head in wonder. Aleksy had mentioned a throne. Perhaps that was how the King had created himself an army of madmen. The chair still existed, or at least existed in some other time, and the Riven King was still sitting in it.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

London

Present day

S
am spent three more days in the library. His grandfather had done most of his research into the paranormal through conventional books and newspapers. But Sam was more experienced with the internet and he read everything he could find. He read about crop circles, UFOs, the Bermuda Triangle, the Egyptian gods, Area 51, cryptozoology, disappearances, legends, myths. It was all there. The entire history of the mixing of the future with the past. Every time that some being or creature had managed to pass through a line and had ended up somewhere in man's history there was a story. Goblins, pixies, the Loch Ness Monster, the Mothman, the Jersey Devil, bunyips. All real or at least an interpretation of what was real by men and women who were frightened or who lacked understanding. Sam found it difficult to take it all in.

At Amy Shore's suggestion he also started to look up the location of various nuclear shelters around the world, put in place ostensibly to protect Presidents, Prime Ministers, Kings and Queens from a nuclear bomb but also capable of housing large numbers of people from a wide range of disasters and apparently well stocked with provisions.

Sam added his own notes about general topics to his grandfather’s journal but some pages, where there was some more specific mystery about a place, person or event which he thought might be useful for the resistance, Sam printed and bound into a bundle using treasury tags borrowed from the librarian. He had told her that he was researching material for a book.

Sam felt as though he had made connections that had never been made before. A big part of him thought it was incredible that he should be uncovering such information but the more he thought about it the more he became certain that he was simply the first one to have so many parts of the puzzle with the opportunity and technical experience to make use of the internet. It was more right place and right time than Sam being some intellectual who was able to think around the problem. The information seemed to flow to him naturally, almost as though the universe was feeding it to him. Each time he clicked on a link something caught his eye and he would be led onto something else which was relevant. The links between everything were incredible. He felt that there was a pattern that he could not quite grasp just under the surface. Signs were everywhere. He could see how at first sight Norse, Germanic and old Anglo Saxon legend was all separate but actually when you looked it was all interlinked. The same stories cropped up again and again. The same visitors from Mu. So, for example, here was an ancient English fairy-tale of giant Tom Hickathrift who battled another giant with a makeshift hammer. When Tom’s weapon broke he used his great size and strength to pick up the local miller as a weapon. And here was the Norse God Thor, who battled giants with a hammer called Mjolnir. Miller. Mjolnir.

Accounts of presence too showed common threads throughout human history, although it was never known by that name. The concept of a life force popped up in almost every culture. Sam had heard of the Chinese ‘chi’ but not ‘Odic force’, which again came from Odin the Norse God, or ‘Vril’ a force that was said to be used by magicians in the late 1800s and was the origin of the name of Bovril.

Other concepts were similarly repetitive. Sam saw clear links emerge. Kobold. Boggart. Brownie. Goblin. Hobgoblin. Hob. Hödekin, Oberon and Owd Hob all seemed to be more or less the same thing viewed through different eyes. Sometimes these types of beings were known as redcaps. Well, Hödekin wore a red cap. Even the legend of Robin Hood seemed to have been born out of the same tradition. The English legend of the green man was linked too and had spawned a thousand pub names.

And through it all lurked black dogs as harbingers of doom, the garoul, and the fear of strange black-cloaked men and woman capable of fantastic things. Cunning folk. Witches. Wizards. Magic.

Next, Sam turned his attention to the end of the world. He needed to see whether there was any truth to what Aleksy had said about the Riven King, Allende, being the cause. Sam thought back to what Weewalk had told him about Pyxidis, the God and supposed creator of Mu. Weewalk had said that in Mu’s distant past, which Sam now knew to be his own world’s future, Pyxidis had come from the skies to burn the world to ashes before building it anew. The big secret, as told to him by Tarak, was that Pyxidis had not been a God, but an event, a supernova, a comet, an asteroid, whatever. Perhaps someone simply wanted to create the myth that the end of the world could not be stopped, that it was beyond control.

Sam typed Pyxidis into the search engine and hit go. He found results fairly quickly. T Pyxidis was the name of a star and a fairly well known one judging by how easy it had been to find online. In the 1940s which was, Sam noted, around the same time of the Montauk Project the star was seen to have brightened suddenly by astronomers, leading to fears about it posing a threat to the earth and a potential risk to mankind.

Now, in Sam’s own time, man knew it was highly unlikely to be a threat. Further investigation by scientists had shown that the star was not likely to become a danger until well after it and the Earth had drifted too far apart for it to matter. He jotted down some notes in the back of his grandfather’s journal.

So, there it was in black and white. Two stories, one certainly false and the other almost certainly a lie too. Lie number one. Someone had convinced the people of Mu that their world was the product of some god called Pyxidis. But this so called god was actually the creation of someone who had researched stellar events which might affect the Earth. Someone who wanted man to think that the future was beyond saving. That nothing could be done. That there was no point in fighting. That man's fate was sealed and beyond control. It was not Pyxidis, but a more credible threat from space.

But, the second possible lie was that there wasn’t even going to be some kind of unstoppable asteroid or supernova. Perhaps it was the Riven King who would cause Sam’s world to die so that Mu, his domain, could surface. Sam ran his hands through his hair. It was looking like there could only be one explanation for all this. At some point the world was going to be almost destroyed, that seemed fairly clear. But not by a God. Not by a supernova. But because of a madman, driven crazy by an experiment which Sam had destroyed just a few years too late. Aleksy had been right. The Riven King was going to end the world, so that far in the future he might become its ruler, the most powerful man ever, sitting at the pinnacle of a planet that was entirely under his control. To become the King of the future he would first have to destroy the past. And he was mad because of Montauk.

Even as he followed his research to his conclusion Sam could hardly believe it. But he was worried enough that he grabbed his rucksack and left the library. He needed to talk to someone like Weewalk or even Tarak. He had read enough. It was time to meet back up with the others. He had already decided to go to one of the few places he felt safe in the hope of finding his old friends again. The Mermaid Tavern. Going solo wasn’t working. But there was some place he wanted to go first. Something else he could do at the Mermaid when he got there.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Yosemite National Park, California

Present day

T
arak Everune stood staring into the cascade of water as it leapt from the cliff top and threw itself down towards the valley of Yosemite below. It was not a particularly big or spectacular waterfall, at least not yet. The evening was cool and the sun was setting, it would become cold soon. The forests and cliffs were already growing dark.

Kya stepped up behind him as he stood there. She put her hand on his arm.

‘It’s getting cold. We should go.’

‘Wait just a few more minutes. There’s something you ought to see.’

They stood in silence for a while. Then Tarak spoke again.

‘I brought your mother here once, to Horsetail Falls. Ah, here it comes.’

The setting sun began to hit the waterfall then and Tarak heard Kya gasp in astonishment. The water began to glow orange and red with the sun’s rays until it looked like a stream of lava rather than water. It glowed brightly against the dark cliff.

‘It’s beautiful,’ Kya whispered.

‘It’s known as the Firefall,’ said Tarak. ‘One day every year, if the skies are clear, the sun sets in just the right place to make this happen. Right place, right time. If only everything else were so predictable. There’s a shift happening. Can you feel it, Kya? The lines are coalescing into a more definite path. Doorways that were once fluid are now becoming fixed. Fate, destiny, whatever you want to call it, is asserting itself. I don’t know why. Maybe something has happened which has changed the future, but the universe is somehow treating the lines like wounds, and it is healing.’

‘I thought the lines were becoming more numerous,’ she said.

He turned to face her, silhouetted by the glow of false fire behind him.

‘They were. Something is changing. I need you to convince Sam to come back,’ he said.

‘I thought you said that he wasn’t important. And anyway, I don’t think he will come back. Not for me. He went to Mu.’

‘Will you try anyway?’

‘I guess I could. But I don’t know if he’ll listen to me. And it will be hard to find him. It was hard enough last time.’

‘I expect you might find him near the Mermaid Tavern. I think he’ll be back in this world. But don’t go just yet. You might want to hear what I say to Weewalk first.’

‘Okay, I’ll try to find him,’ Kya shrugged, turned and disappeared into the darkening night.

Tarak turned back to the Firefall and clasped his hands behind his back. Watching the not-lava fall into the valley he could imagine it truly was fire. The end of days when the world would melt and burn around him. War was coming to this world and the next. The Riven King was moving to snuff out the last bit of resistance. The strike against Ferus had ensured that. He would take the bait. But Tarak wished he knew what the King’s plans were. He needed information. The King seemed to be looking for something or someone. People with presence were disappearing. The resistance was getting smaller. They needed to pick a time that they could all get to and make a stand and fight. Well, he would see what Sam had uncovered.

As the sun began to move out of the optimum position the light of the Firefall faded until it was just a dark waterfall again. Tarak sighed. It was time to unite those who were resisting the Riven, time to make a stand. He had known that Ferus was to have been critical in the upcoming battle. Tarak had not known how Ferus was going to be so important, but he had trusted the signs he had seen. Now that Ferus was gone, destroyed by trying to kill Sam, Tarak could move on and take the fight to the Riven King. He needed more information about what the tyrant was planning and when. He looked back to the waterfall, now he could imagine it was a stream of ashes rather than fire. He would get answers eventually. But first he would need to send Weewalk to rally his old allies, the scattered kobold army. With another sigh he turned from the dark falls behind him and moved off down the path after Kya, back to the line. In the coming war only one world could be saved. Tarak would ensure it was Mu.

*

Later, back at the house they were using, Tarak and Kya found Weewalk the kobold standing in front of the fireplace, staring into the flames.

'Weewalk,' said Tarak gently as he came up behind the diminutive figure, clad in his usual yellow dress. 'I think we need to discuss our next steps. Hadan is gone. Sam has left. I think it is time for you to return to Kalapa. We need help. The kind of help that only you can find.’

'I’ve been afraid that you might say that. I am reluctant to reprise my old role, as you know,' said the kobold turning around and glumly scratching his beard. 'What benefit do you think it will have? There may be no-one there to find.'

'I think war is coming. Our strike against Ferus will goad the King into action and the King will draw all his allies to him. We should do the same.'

'What makes you think that my being in Kalapa will make any difference?'

'We are a divided bunch. We need to unite under someone who commands respect. It cannot be me. I have damaged my reputation by allowing myself to be captured by Ferus. We may have changed the future by getting rid of Ferus but people still think I am a drunken sell-out. But you. You they still admire.’ Tarak lowered his voice. ‘I know why you wear that yellow dress. Do not tell me it is for comfort. You do not wish people to see you as a leader, someone of authority. But clothes do not make the kobold, Weewalk. It may be time for a change.’

Weewalk gave a heavy sigh. 'I am not sure that anyone thinks highly of me. I failed the kobolds. But, I'll think about it,' he said and stomped off.

When he had gone Kya turned to Tarak.

'I don't understand,’  she said. ‘Why does Weewalk need to go to this place? What did you call it? Kalapa?'

Tarak smiled. “Weewalk is more than you know. Would you believe that he was once crowned Owd Hob, King of the Boggarts. An ancient title for the ruler of the kobolds. He has been known as Owd Hob and Oberon and more recently Weewalk. He ruled from the Palace of Kalapa, sometimes known as Shambhala, sometimes pronounced as Shangri-La.'

'What?' gasped Kya in surprise. 'How is that possible? Weewalk is fantastic, but a King? He wears a yellow dress!'

'Oh yes, one of the greatest rulers we have ever seen, and he is, I think, much missed. He was not perfect perhaps, but better than he realises. A long time ago, or perhaps in a time yet to come, the Riven waged a persistent campaign against koboldkind and the small folk could not withstand it. The kobolds scattered, many were killed. Hundreds of black-cloaked Riven came on the Palace at once. It was a terrible day. Weewalk, Old Hob, saw that they must fight their way free. He led a band which punched through the line of attackers and escaped. But many were killed and he has not been home since. He sees it as a personal failing that he was unable to stop the attack and save more of his kin. Once the group he rescued was safe he denounced the throne. He has always carried guilt that so many died yet he survived. But the truth is he saved more lives than you can imagine. He fought to the very end, at great personal cost. He is one of the bravest people I have ever met. Following the battle he resolved to make it his life's work to undermine the Riven in every way he could. But I know that he is still held in high regard by all who saw him fight on that last day. The kobold, and indeed, other races of people from Shangri-La, lay no blame on him. If he returned to the Palace they would follow him, I'm sure. But he is reluctant to revisit such terrible memories. He has been ever hopeful that he might find a line which allows him to return to the Palace at a time before the Riven attacked so that he might sound the alarm, but I am sure he will not find one. The kobolds knew every inch of those lands, if there had been such a doorway they would have known about it. There were only ever two ways in and out and one of the doorways was utterly destroyed.’

'Wow, I had no idea that Weewalk was so important,' said Kya, still in some disbelief. 'Although, now I think about it, I do remember kobolds acting strangely around him sometimes.'

'Yes, Weewalk has decided to forget his past, but others have not been so quick to see him as anyone other than Owd Hob, King of the Boggarts. Now, please. See if you can find Sam.’

Outside the room, Weewalk moved away from the door. What kind of a ruler was he listening at keyholes? He sighed as he walked off. A heavy weight settled into his stomach and seemed to drag all his insides down towards it. What if Tarak was right about needing to reunite the scattered remnants of the good peoples of Mu? What if bringing them together only encouraged the Riven King to drive his fist in harder? Or more accurately? He walked out into the grounds of old house where they were staying and put his head back and took a deep breath, looking into the sky. He had to admit that he had been thinking about this for some time. The unavoidable fact was that the Riven King was not going to stop simply because the size of the resistance had dwindled almost to nothing. He was still hunting down and killing those with presence.

As Weewalk he had been able to be frustrating to the Riven, but no more than frustrating. Could he do better as Owd Hob? Owd Hob had prided himself on being decisive and clear-minded but he had lost some of that as Weewalk, living the itinerant lifestyle which allowed him to undermine the Riven's plans. Now was a time for decisiveness.

He walked across the damp grass to where Hödekin sat under an enormous Scots pine tree whittling a stick. The house-kobold looked up from under his red cap as Weewalk approached but he didn't speak. Weewalk stopped and held out a hand to him, pulling him to his feet.

'Hödekin, old friend, it's time to go home.'

A broad grin split the face under the red cap.

'Hob, do you mean? Are you?'

'Yes,' Weewalk nodded. 'Let's round everyone up. We need to make a stand before we're too weak to even kneel.'

Hödekin jumped into the air and cheered, his cap slipping over his eyes. Owd Hob smiled too and stood straight for the first time in many years.