Timekeepers: Number 2 in Series (14 page)

H
e expected them to come at night, but in Hell that was difficult. Instead, they came with the storm.

The Whirlpool Ocean, spanning the distance between the part of Hell that hardly ever saw night and the part that drowned in darkness, day or night, had convectional currents to make geographers weep with awe. As a result, it could engender storms of gigantic proportions.

When he first heard the thunder he thought,
This is it. Seth’s freed Cronus and we’re all gonna die
. When death didn’t come he rolled over on the bed and looked out at the desert, just in time to see a shadow pass across it. He repeated his earlier thought, but with more cursing. And when the clouds rolled in like something from BBC nature footage, speeded up to give the impression of days taking hours, he practically got down on his knees and confessed to the deity he knew wasn’t there and asked to be absolved of his sins.
Please sir, the Devil made me do it
.

The failure of the end of the world to come was made no less dramatic by the drop of temperature, by the roaring winds that sent sparks flying off the shield on the ledge outside the cave, and the lightning that stabbed down at the desert as though hating every grain of sand and every critter that had dared to believe it could survive in such conditions.

Then, when the black cloud had spilled across every inch of the sky and the winds were screaming for blood, when the man backstage was raising thunder with the entire cast to cheer him on and when the lighting engineer in his small box overlooking the theatre had been told to let rip – then there came the rain. Sam sidled out on to the ledge, not quite sure he believed his eyes. It struck the shield with so much force that soon the entire globe of magic around the ledge was lit with green flame that sparked and hissed and flashed as each drop struck. The wind tore over the shield, nails across sandpaper, the rain shot pins into it, and above the desert the lightning continued to dance, a mob-handed chorus line trying to upstage the lead. The thunder made a brave retaliation, but against the darkness, and the wind, and the rain, and the lightning, it stood no chance.

Sam heard someone laughing. It was him. He tried to hold it in – then laughed again and again, and went on laughing. If the end of the universe had come he might as well go down with a grin and a flourish.

The door opened, but he ignored it. He stood with his hands in his pockets and watched the storm, feeling better about the universe than he had for a long time. It was exhilarating to see all that power, and know that it was none of his concern.

‘Sam,’ said Jehovah behind him, ‘don’t be offended by this. It’s just a precaution.’

‘Brother mine, it’d take a lot to offend me right now.’

‘Good,’ said Jehovah, as they pulled the blindfold over his eyes, shutting out the storm and plunging him into darkness.

Walking through corridors. He wished he was one of those practical, assured people who could count fifty paces, left turn, ten paces, right, up a flight of three stairs, right – but he couldn’t even keep the route in his head, let alone play it backwards.

Even here, with the Ashen’ia dug into cliffs and caves, he could feel the thunder through his feet. He could feel other things too, just on the edge of his senses. The demons were afraid; they were terrified of the storm. Fear spilled over the usual confines of the brain and infected the entire place with a tang of dread that anyone could register, immortal or not, even without a sixth sense. With every strike of lightning the demons quaked, with every roll of thunder.

They stopped, the hands that had guided him pulling the blindfold clear of his eyes. Sam blinked, his vision fuzzy as his eyes adjusted to the light. He heard a door closing behind him and turned.

Jehovah was watching him with an unreadable smile, the only other person there. Sam turned again and examined the room. This one looked as if it had been properly carved out by somebody determined to make a good job of it – smooth, circular walls, where at one end a mirror had been inset.

There seemed no particular purpose to the mirror; it just sat there. Square and silver and smooth. He tapped it, felt round it. It seemed ordinary, which got him worried. In Hell, last he checked, there were no such things as ‘ordinary’ mirrors. There was bronze and on rare occasions tarnished silver, but a mirror this large —

‘Sam?’

He turned, smile already armed. ‘Jehovah. There’s purpose to all this, right? This the bit where you threaten me with news of a piranha tank, ravenous man-eating penguins and chanting monks with sickles?’

Jehovah gave a sigh, pointedly looking down at the floor. Sam looked too, to see what was so interesting.

It was a warding circle, that much was clear. Inside it was something drawn out in blue and red paint that seemed to pull the eye in and in and in, finding complexities at every turn. He turned his head this way and glimpsed a sword, turned it that way and saw a dove, turned it another and saw a clock, then a square, then a storm, a lightning bolt, a volcano, a tidal wave, a forest…

‘Sam.’ Jehovah was holding out a knife. It was small and dull and looked like the kind of thing someone very dedicated had spent a lot of time sharpening before wrapping it in silk and murmuring incomprehensibly at it. Sam took the knife, glancing worriedly over his shoulder at the mirror.

Then he looked back at the circle on the floor, suspicion mingling with dread. ‘It’s a summoning circle,’ he said flatly. ‘What do you want summoned?’

‘A Greater Power.’

‘Which one?’

‘Time.’

Sam looked up quickly.
They give to everyone
…
but not Time, never Time. We’re all too scared of Time
.

No one dares sell their soul to him. He sees too much, he knows too much
.

‘Tell me about Seth,’ he countered. Buying time with a currency he wasn’t sure he wanted to deal in. ‘Where is he headed?’

Jehovah said nothing. ‘Look,’ said Sam, as reasonably as he could manage, ‘you’re the spy in Seth’s midst, right? You must have some idea where he’s going. Where Cronus’s key is hidden.’

‘I know where the door to Cronus’s prison is.’

‘So do I, so does every Waywalker. What’s important is the key. Where is it?’

‘There is a city.’ Jehovah stopped.

‘Yes?’ prompted Sam. ‘And?’

‘Long before the Children of Time were ever spawned, this city tried to revolt against Time. Through their magic they tried to create a weapon similar to the Light and discharge it against Time. Naturally they failed – there is no substitute for the Light itself.

‘Time punished them. He sent armies of angels, demons, valkyries and avatars against this city and for their crimes bound the souls of the slaughtered citizens to their city for ever.’

‘How quaint,’ Sam said, face and voice as cold as each other.

‘Anyone entering the city who doesn’t bear the mark of a Greater Power will be destroyed by the spirits that guard it.’

‘Can these spirits be destroyed?’

‘If you can destroy the homes they’re bound to – yes, then they die.’

‘But I’m guessing you’d need an army to do it?’

A pause. Then, in an almost embarrassed voice, ‘Yes.’

‘Which is why bastard Seth decided he’d like to pinch my army?’

A longer silence, Jehovah doing his best to look majestic and wise but not quite pulling it off in the face of Sam’s stubborn stoniness. ‘Yes,’ he said finally.

‘Thank you for clearing that up. Where is this city? What’s it called?’

‘Tartarus.’

Sam considered. ‘As in the sauce? Tastes nice with fish?’

‘I knew you’d say that, brother. I saw you open your mouth and I thought, He’s about to say something irrelevant and glib, just as he always does when he’s panicked.’

‘I’m not panicked. A little alarmed, yes. But I’ve been alarmed for well over a century now, and I’ve got used to it. Are you seriously telling me that whatever genius power, Dad I’m thinking of you, created this universe, he decided to hide the key to Cronus’s prison right next to the doorway?’

‘The Ashen’ia are not aware that I know the location of the key.’

Sam stopped. He glanced over his shoulder at the mirror, looked down at the knife in his hand. His eyes drifted up to the door beyond and finally slid across to Jehovah. ‘Why?’

‘They want power. Think how much power they’d have if they could take the key and say to Time, “See, we can free your enemy unless you bow before us.” Therefore I haven’t told them where the key is hidden.’

Sam thought about this. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You’re lying. Partially, at least; I’m not sure about the details. But there’s two ways of looking at it. Either the Ashen’ia really don’t know where the key is. Or they do know, but are too afraid of Cronus to use it. Hence their need for the Bearer of Light, not only to hold the Greater Powers to hostage but as insurance against Cronus being freed.’

Jehovah raised his eyes, and they burned. There was a darkness on his face that sent a shiver down Sam’s spine, but he met Jehovah’s eyes stare for stare. Suddenly, with no apparent cause, Jehovah smiled. ‘You’re close. Worryingly so, but I don’t think it presents a problem yet.’

He began to walk round the edge of the circle, towards Sam. There was no menace on his face, no threat in his stride, but Sam instinctively backed off, talking fast as he did. ‘So you’re using the Ashen’ia, fine. With me as bait. I understand, no problem. You need something big to bait an army like the one the Ashen’ia presents, and the Bearer of Light is a convenient weapon to this aim, fine, okay. But I can’t believe that you, being in possession of a Pandora spirit, being a Prince of Heaven and a Son of Time, ruthless to the extreme, would let Seth get to Cronus’s key so easily. So if you know where it is, why haven’t you moved it?’

Jehovah darted forwards unexpectedly. Sam stifled his gasp of alarm as Jehovah snatched his free hand and held it up, turning it this way and that. Not violently, but with a firm, irresistible force.

Jehovah smiled at Sam. ‘I’ll tell you everything, when I have my guarantees.’ He caught Sam’s other hand, pulling it up with the knife still held there, pressing the blade lightly against the palm of Sam’s empty hand. Not hard enough to draw blood, but the meaning was clear. When he was sure he had Sam’s full attention, he gave him a gentle push, and Sam staggered into the centre of the summoning circle.

‘Summon Time. Call him.’

‘The Ashen’ia fear Time,’ said Sam quietly. ‘He’s the only Greater Power they do not wish to call.’

‘No Ashen’ia serves Time.’

‘You do,’ said Sam. ‘I felt the heartbeat of the universe when I heard your mind. The Light showed me your soul, and it’s only yours by a thread. The strings that pull you are controlled by Time, you can barely command which finger you move, let alone which song you dance to. Yet you would have me summon Time. The Ashen’ia would probably take hard to that. To their illustrious master being a servant of Time.’

Jehovah smiled and nodded slowly. ‘Perhaps the Ashen’ia are not just my pawns, perhaps they’re Time’s too. You see, Father saw centuries ago that Seth would revolt against him. And he also saw centuries ago that the Ashen’ia would be a factor in Seth’s downfall. That’s why he let them endure. But it always pays to make sure, doesn’t it?’

Sam felt realisation creep through him like frost over stone. ‘You’re his insurance. How long have you been serving Time?’

Jehovah looked uncomfortable. ‘I… gave him my undivided loyalty before the Pandora spirits were freed. I originally agreed to help Seth and Odin with all my heart. But I was quickly persuaded that their intents were far different from mine.

‘Father told me I would be destroyed if I didn’t accept his power. So I let him in, and under his counsel I went to the Ashen’ia. It was easy to take command. They were weak and scattered, and in awe of a Waywalker. I hid my identity, because I feared that if an Ashen’ia were captured he might reveal to Seth or Odin who I was.

‘Then, when the Pandora spirits were freed, I caught Gabriel trying to escape them. Not only did she join the Ashen’ia; she also sold her soul to Time.’

‘Did you kill Freya?’

‘No, I said I didn’t!’

‘You lying bastard!’ Sam leapt at Jehovah, not caring about the consequences, and saw the look of fear pass across his brother’s face. He hit him on the mouth with one flailing fist and brought the knife up. Jehovah’s hand closed around his wrist and caught it, centimetres from his throat. Sam’s eye was a few inches from Jehovah’s; he could see his own reflection in the iris. ‘Bastard,’ he hissed, struggling to drive the knife forward. ‘Murdering, manipulative bastard…?’

Jehovah struck back at him, but Sam hardly noticed. He was feeling inside for the magic. They’d never known the true extent of his power, his brothers and his sisters. But they’d always feared him, as a Son of Magic, because they never understood how potent that element could be. The Children of Magic were the ones who, at the last moment, would turn a battle the other way, would heal the dying king, catch the fleeing assassin, save the sinking ship, calm the roaring volcano, purge the plague. They lived in those rare, fleeting futures which had next to no chance of coming about. They would, with their magic, make all Time’s carefully planned out futures collapse and fail, at the very last second, and Time would be powerless to prevent the impossible, and frequently unwanted, conclusion coming to pass…