Waywalkers: Number 1 in Series (27 page)

Buddha spoke low and urgently. ‘Pandora spirits can see through shields and wards and magics. They can see me clear as day. They can see you also, but you are different. You carry Balder’s power in you, and you have proven that you are willing to use it where he is not. You are still a good man, Lucifer. If Hate enters my mind and I strike out at you, then you will not strike back. How loud is the song?’

‘Loud. It fills the room. I can hear… Hate. Yes. I can hear it clearly now…’

Buddha had grabbed a coat from a hanger and opened the door. Already Sam could hear the sound of retreating car engines.

‘Don’t trust anyone,’ said Buddha in a low voice. ‘If they find out who you trust, then those are the ones they’ll turn against you. Find Seth, find Cronus’s key. If the Pandora spirits are free I cannot stay.’

He was out of the door already.

‘Wait! Where will you go?’

Buddha half turned, giving him a strange, lopsided smile. The area around the house was already empty and, but for the voices of the invading spirits singing their joy at freedom after being so long imprisoned, the night was unnaturally silent.

‘Work it out, Lucifer! They will turn Greed on to Gabriel; she will say what part I had in this. They will turn Suspicion on to me; I will say what part I had. We are as good as lost. All that matters now is that you beat them.’

‘Beat them? How? What do you expect me to do?’

But then it was too late. The song filled his ears and when he turned his head he saw the shadows moving. Buddha’s eyes were wide, and glowing from inside. Then Sam saw Buddha raise his hands to his ears and with a hollow moan fall to his knees. Sam instinctively rushed forwards, but Buddha raised his head sharply at the movement. His eyes were white, and glowed brighter than the red moon.

‘Run,’ he hissed. ‘Run now!’

Sam didn’t hesitate. He was back through the door, had caught up his bag and sword and was running. The ground was uneven, the song filled his mind.

He ran on, illuminated only by the red moon. Tall grasses tore at his legs but he quickly set into a steady pace, swifter and with more grace than the fastest mortal athletes. He found that if he got into the rhythm of the movement, actually counted each stride as a beat in a bar, the noise of his thoughts drowned out the spirits, and it was possible to ignore them.

The nearest Hell Portal was miles away, but he could run miles.

As he ran, the song grew fainter, or possibly the rushing of blood in his ears louder, until it was abruptly gone. Sam slowed to a stop and looked around. He was standing in the midst of an expanse of dry grass. The only light came from the moon above. He wondered what kind of creatures lived in the grasses, and how much persuasion they’d need to keep away. The night was still. Not even the cicadas dared play their usual scratchy tune.

An orange glow behind him caught his attention, and he peered in its direction. His sharp night-eyes focused on the house where, a few minutes before, he, Gabriel and Buddha had sat. He saw the flames rising from it. Was Hate such a powerful spirit, then, that it could make peaceful, temperate Buddha attack wood and nails as well as flesh and blood? He hoped not.

‘Luc?’

He turned. Adamarus was standing there, unarmed, breathless from running, eyes wide.

‘Light be praised,’ muttered Sam, striding towards him. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Fine, fine,’ he panted. ‘But… the Pandora spirits? The stars and the moon, and then your brother…’

Sam said nothing, feeling shame in his family, and not for the first time. Then he frowned. His sharp ears were hearing whispers again, so faint as to be almost indistinct from the rustling of grass. Almost.

‘Adam?’

‘I’m… glad you’re okay. I thought for a second we were gonners.’ His voice turned disdainful. ‘If I’d the spirits under
my
command I’d certainly have used them better.’

‘Adam?’

Sam had in his hand the silver dagger. He saw that Adam was staring at it, almost hypnotised.

Adam smiled a cruel, unlikely smile. ‘That’s nice,’ he said, in the same way a magpie might speak of a piece of shiny foil. ‘You’ve got a silver crown too, haven’t you? I’ve seen it. Is it powerful?’

‘Adam, I think it might be a good idea if we split up for a while,’ said Sam nervously.

‘Can I look at it? The crown?’

‘This is hardly the time or the place.’

‘I’d like to have a look. I really would.’

‘Sorry, maybe another time —’

‘I’d like to have a look!’ hissed Adam, suddenly angry. ‘I really, really,
really
would!’

‘Oh, shit,’ said Sam, ever so softly, while Adamarus raised himself up to his full unimpressive height, spread his hands wide and sprang. And as he moved he changed. Nails lengthened, ears became pointy, eyes narrowed. He was a shapeshifter spirit, Sam remembered, but like most spirits his shifts were only partial.

And now he was shifting into… yes. Sam saw snake’s fangs, wolf’s claws, owl’s eyes, dog’s nose, lizard’s scale and just a tuft of human hair and a few patches of human skin to suggest that this monstrosity could walk upright and even hold a conversation.

He rolled beneath the creature, and wondered if any of those claws or fangs could do him harm. Then he decided not to bother worrying, and grappled furiously to try and keep a combination of claw and fang away from his neck.

‘Adam! Don’t make me hurt you!’ he begged, rolling over and over. A claw tore through his trousers and drew blood. He felt another claw run along his side and yelled out loud. But he didn’t feel the heat or the dizziness of a fatal wound, and realized that, in his foolish, Greed-induced attack, Adam hadn’t managed to create silver claws.

They rolled again, and in the darkness Sam saw a pair of fanged teeth lancing with perfect aim towards his throat. Instinctively he shoved both his hands up, palm first, to try and throw the creature before it could get to him. He heard a faint thud, as of a balloon filled with water gently puncturing. He felt a warm trickle down his wrist. Felt the silver dagger lodge against something hard.

Adam began to change, still hanging over Sam, teeth ready to bite. Sam pushed him off with a cry of alarm and dropped his blood-soaked dagger in dismay. The blood was a faintly translucent green that shimmered through all the pale colours of the spectrum as it flowed from the wound in Adam’s gut.

Then Adam was in his true form. A little creature, barely five foot tall, with pointy ears and narrowed little eyes, clutching the bleeding hole. Sam felt a rush of magical wind as the spirit of Greed, seeing its subject fall, departed the body and looked round for more fit prey, before fading to nothing as though it had never been. Sam stared at the wound, tearing off the ruined, blood-soaked shirt around Adamarus’s belly. ‘No,’ he whispered urgently. ‘No! You are a spirit, you don’t die like this!’

Adam gave a whimpering sound as Sam’s fingers pressed too hard. He had been struck by a Son of Time, with a weapon enchanted by Time himself. Not even the King or Queen of the spirits would risk such a wound. Sam stared with his cat’s vision at the wound, and finally Adam tried to speak.

‘Just shut up and lie still,’ muttered Sam, working frantically to staunch the bleeding. Where the spirit’s blood fell, grass grew green and strong.

Adam tried to speak again, coughed blood, and fell back. His breathing sounded like a child playing with a grass whistle. Sam sighed, and wished that the real world bore more resemblance to the operatic one – so that Adamarus, though dying, might have the strength to tell him what the hell he was supposed to do next. But no. The blood was pouring slower now, but only because the heart was weakening.

Sam reached a decision. He retrieved his dagger and shielded it. He thrust his hair back from his face regardless of the trail of blood it left. Then he took a deep breath and laid his hands over the injury.

He could hear the sound of the distant flames, and wondered where Buddha was.
This is your fault, brothers mine. Father, why don’t you intervene? What is holding you back from saving lives? Freya’s life! My life! Why are you willing to let your children die?

He heard his own voice, younger, more hopeful, addressing a father who refused to answer.
The miracle makers are all Children of Magic, and miracles are not part of your great scheme of things.

Watch your son make a miracle, Father. See why you are so afraid of me! If your futures depend on this spirit dying now, and since every future cries out that this must happen, then no wonder the Children of Magic are banished from Heaven! For we are the ones who make the impossible come to life, and if you cannot stop my brothers then you cannot stop me!
 

He closed his eyes and lowered his hands over the wound. Light played around his fingertips.
I defy you, Father. There is no such thing as fate!

The wound began to close as the Light built in intensity. Sam’s black shirt darkened further as his own blood began to seep from different wounds. Old wounds, coming undone again as he poured his regenerative power into Adam. He felt blood trickle down his back from the bullet Michael had put there, and prayed that the process of natural healing had been at work for long enough to boost his failing powers.

Adam gave out a gasp, and breathed more easily. Sam fell on to his hands and knees over the fallen spirit. The world was spinning dangerously. Somehow he managed to find his bag and clutch it. He staggered up and began to run again, moving haltingly over the ground, leaving Adam behind and not even giving a thought to the unstable world or his bleeding back. There was no chance of entering a regenerative trance, of that he was certain. Adam had taken his healing gift for the while, and now it would need time to recover.

He didn’t dare think of his own wounds. If he did he’d realise exactly how stupid he’d been and how near defeat he was, and that would never do. He thought instead of the thousand different futures that had just opened up. The chances of Adam surviving had been a million to one, and he’d created the futures that lurked behind that single one.

Eat dirt, Dad.
 

It was a long time before Sam stopped running. When he did, he was even more dizzy. He sank to the ground, put his head between his knees and tried to breathe.

From behind, he heard a slow, mocking sound. Someone was clapping. He turned.

Seth smiled. For want of a better reaction, Sam smiled back, all pride fading. ‘Hi.’

‘You’re doing well, brother,’ said Seth. ‘Your friends are lost to you, aren’t they? Quite driven away, now that the three Pandora spirits are at my disposal. What can you possibly do next, to stop me getting hold of the fourth key? To hinder me from reaching Cronus?’

Sam said nothing.

Seth advanced slowly towards him, a darker figure against the darkness. He was a Son of Night, he was in his element. Sam was already feeling drained, with blood, mostly his, sticking to his back and hands.

‘Of course, the fact that you’re the Bearer of Light is a mild inconvenience, but I don’t think it’ll be more than that.’

Sam eyed the other’s scimitar. ‘Why haven’t you got hold of Cronus by now?’

‘There’s more defending him than just a few wards, you know. Time really doesn’t want him free.’

‘And if you die, does that mean nothing will free him?’

‘And if
you
die,’ agreed Seth, ‘nothing will stop him.’

Sam rose cautiously to his feet, drawing his sword as he went, and looking for reasons to delay. ‘Why are you trying to free him?’

‘Oh, please. Don’t go righteous on me.’

‘I’m not righteous, I’m curious.’

‘After all this? After running hither and yon, searching for a way to stop me, with the Pandora spirits now at
my
command, you’re merely curious? Please.’ Seth stepped towards Sam suddenly. Sam instinctively recoiled, staggering slightly with his own weight. He felt very, very tired.

‘You should hear the spirits, brother,’ whispered Seth. ‘They can make the land itself hate, if they want to. They can turn joy to jealousy in the blink of an eye, make lovers hate each other and brothers suspect their own twin. But
you
… they can’t touch you. You’re dangerous. You’re the Bearer of Light.’

‘You killed Andrew.’

‘He knew things. Where the keys were hidden. Where Cronus was, how to find him.’

‘You fancy telling me?’

Seth gave a snort of disdain and began circling. Sam raised his heavy, heavy sword to a guard position and circled with him. ‘I reckon he’s got to be somewhere in Hell. Somewhere guarded. Otherwise you wouldn’t need Asmodeus to get at him, since Belial is brighter than he looks, and refused you help. I reason you
need
an army of demons, to get to Cronus.’

‘You reason well, for a fool.’

‘Thanks. But not much. Why are you trying to free Cronus?’

Seth feinted briefly in, but Sam wasn’t falling for it. ‘Go on,’ he said, trying to sound persuasive. ‘If you’re going to kill me you might as well tell me
why
. Cronus is anti-Time, the end of everything. What madness could drive you to freeing him?’