Timekeepers: Number 2 in Series (19 page)

‘This?’ asked Tinkerbell, nodding at the ruined passages. ‘Asgard?’

‘Uhuh. Valhalla is directly above.’

‘Why’ve we come here?’

‘Because it
is
so riddled with Portals. Of every kind.’

Tinkerbell gave Sam a shrewd look out of the corner of his eye, while picking his way over a pile of rubble. ‘But there are two kinds of Portal in Heaven – Eden, as well as Earth.’

‘Tell me about it.’ Sam sniffed the air, trying to sense the nearest Eden Portal.

‘Why do you need both? You
sealed
the Way of Eden.’

‘I know that too.’ Sam pointed down a dark corridor. ‘This way.’

‘Am I just being thick, or don’t I get it?’

‘That’s a silly question and you know it. You might be thick and not get it, or you might not get it yet not be thick, or you might be thick yet get it. There is no one answer.’

‘What do you want with the Way of Eden?’

‘I’m owed a favour, didn’t I mention?’

‘I don’t like here. Couldn’t you have chosen somewhere else?’

‘Asgard has a higher proportion of Portals per square kilometre than any other area in Heaven,’ recited Sam from a long, long time ago. ‘There’s at least one Eden Portal every seven hundred yards. The difficulty is in pinpointing
which
seven hundred yards.’

He turned a corner, saw a rockfall that blocked the passage and sighed. ‘Do you ever get the desire for a golden ball of thread?’

‘What?’

‘Ever meet Theseus?’

‘Before my time. I’m only a few hundred years old, you know.’

‘Ah, the innocence of the young,’ sighed Sam, stepping carefully round a door that had been smashed off its hinges by some unknown force. ‘Anyway, you know how Theseus really beat the monster in its labyrinth?’

‘Do tell.’

‘He was a Feywalker. He hung around the Way of Fey, lured the monster in and left it there to get lost and die. He then snuck out through the Fey Portal and presented himself before the king with a dirty great big sword and a smug attitude.’

‘Let me guess. You didn’t like him?’

‘We did meet once. He was arrogant. He told me I was a demon of the nether pit and would roast in damnation for ever, and that he, the divine, couldn’t be touched by me.’

‘What did you do?’

‘Set his pants on fire.’

Tinkerbell thought about this. ‘You have a nasty streak, don’t you?’

‘Pal, I’m the Devil Incarnate!’

‘I thought you didn’t believe in conforming to expectations.’

‘Sometimes I make an exception. Ah.’

He stopped and beamed at what he saw. Another corridor. Tinkerbell peered down it. ‘It’s a dead end.’

‘It’s the answer to a lot of problems.’

‘Do you mind me asking, but who are you trying to double-cross this time?’

‘I asked you the same question, and you wouldn’t answer. So why should I?’

Tinkerbell looked worried. ‘Pal, I’m here to
protect
you. That means from yourself, if necessary. But I can’t help you if you piss off some Greater Power and get struck by lightning.’

‘Don’t worry, nothing bad will come of this, I promise.’

‘I’d love to have faith, really. But you push belief.’

‘Calm down. Why are you so edgy?’ As soon as Sam heard his own words he realised,
Hell, he
is
edgy. Why? What is it about this place?

‘Just making sure everything’s going to be okay,’ said Tinkerbell, raising his hands defensively. Too relaxed now, a sudden shift of gear, a loosening up that couldn’t be natural.

Now it was Sam’s turn to be edgy. He turned to stare at Tinkerbell. ‘What is it? Why are you so nervous?’

He thought he saw a shadow move, thought he heard a whisper on the air.
Danger
…

‘Look, can’t we find another Eden Portal? This place is dangerous. It might collapse at any moment.’

‘This place is dead, Tinkerbell. There’s nothing here to harm either you or me.’

A faint, chill breeze, and again, the whisper.
Who’s there?
Sam’s head turned, and he strained to catch the voice again.

A distinct signal now, but still just a whisper. Someone was directly broadcasting into Sam’s mind.

‘Why would Jehovah destroy Asgard?’ asked Sam softly, eyes flickering back to Tinkerbell. ‘What’s his purpose?’

‘Look, let’s go.’

Tinkerbell frowned. ‘You’re broadcasting. Who’s there? I can almost hear, but —’

Sam started forwards, but as he passed Tinkerbell, the other’s hand shot out and caught him by the shoulder. In the gloom, Tinkerbell’s eyes burned brightly. ‘Is he calling you, is that it?’

‘You know who it is?’ asked Sam.

‘We leave here
now
. We shouldn’t have come!’

‘Tell me who’s calling.’

Tinkerbell’s grip tightened to the point where it became painful. ‘We get out of here!’

‘You know something, Brian Hunter, and I’m not budging a step until I know it too!’

‘Who’s trapped in Asgard?’ demanded Sam, pulling free of Tinkerbell. ‘And why do you know about it?’

Sam froze.

So too did Tinkerbell, who must also have heard the thought that filled Asgard with its pleading. Or perhaps he saw it in Sam’s eye. Whatever the cause, he swung his fist. Sam ducked, felt the fist pass him by a hair’s breadth and fled, leaping over fallen debris and running for all he was worth. He was a first-generation Son of Time while Tinkerbell was just third generation, his heritage distilled by mortal blood, however potent. Sam could still win.

He heard a cry behind him. ‘Lucifer!’ He didn’t answer, but pelted through the darkness, fighting fear and running, always running. He saw a flight of stairs to his right and took it.
Down, always down.

In the stairwell he turned, saw Tinkerbell racing towards him, scowled and threw up his hands. Scattered across the floor, the undigested bites some monster had taken out of the walls themselves, the bricks began to move, flying down the corridor towards Tinkerbell. Tinkerbell threw up a shield, but it was weak, third-generation magic. Sam tore it down with a gesture and saw a brick catch Tinkerbell on the shoulder. Another scraped along his cheek, leaving a line of blood, another struck his up-flung arms, another caught his knee and sent him staggering to the ground. Sam let the rest fall harmlessly to the floor and yelled at the panting, battered Tinkerbell, ‘You said yourself – I’m the Son of Magic!’

Tinkerbell made no answer, clutching his bleeding leg. Sam ran down the stairs. Gloom deepened to darkness. He summoned light, a glowing white ball that hovered around his head, but it was barely enough to illuminate the stones beneath his feet. With a gesture he sent it skimming out ahead of him to light the path. Here there was no light, except what he summoned. He heard the voice again.

second.>

Sam saw another flight of stairs, a well of darkness that his glowing sphere of light could hardly penetrate. He summoned more light still, three balls circling around him in ever-increasing orbits, and sent a fourth skirting the passage ahead of him as he descended the stairs cautiously. The stairs were a spiral, the ancient stones loose. There was no rail, and the stone when he pressed his hands against it was warm to the touch. He could smell magic. The place reeked of it, and the smell was getting stronger as he descended. He kept climbing, fingers tap-dancing along the side of the stairwell.

At the bottom he stumbled, hardly aware that he’d reached it, and peered through the darkness. A heavy wooden door looked like it had been smashed open, the wards above it shattered by the impact of heavy magic. Beyond was a room full of brutally sharp metal things that looked too large to be a surgeon’s kit and too sinister to be a juggler’s. He passed through it, pushed open a door torn by the impact of many weapons and saw the cage. It burned his eyes with magic. Wards of every kind were inscribed across it, thick, thick wards, the kind of thing that a Greater Power might weave. The cage looked large – at least he couldn’t see the back of it – but then the darkness was everywhere. He edged forwards and touched a bar. The shock made his arm go numb. He leapt back with a yell.

‘It does that,’ said a weak, hoarse voice to his right.

He followed his ears. The man inside the cage was old, thin white hair falling over a body so worn by age and hunger and disease that it was little more than a pile of bones that looked far, far too frail to support the sagging white skin that bound it all together. The eyes were sunken, which made the nose look far too large, and the thin hair was so worn away that the ears stuck out ludicrously, with nothing to disguise their strange disproportion. He was covered with scars, and wore just a few rags which were themselves filthy – what with, Sam couldn’t tell.

‘Who are you?’ asked Sam. ‘Were you the one who called for help?’

‘Yes. Where’s Brian?’

‘He had to wait. I’ve come instead.’

‘Have you got food?’

Not taking his eyes from the man Sam opened his bag and produced the much-despised chocolate bar. The man stirred, staggered to his feet and worked his way along the cage, holding his hands out hungrily. ‘Food can pass through. They didn’t want me to starve, no, no, they didn’t want that.’ He laughed, a hacking sound that Sam half expected to kill him, as his entire frame vibrated with the effort of it.

Sam passed the chocolate bar through the bars, cautiously. The man took it, then one thin hand lashed out and caught Sam’s wrist, held with a surprising strength. Two terribly sane eyes in a mad face looked out as he dragged Sam’s wrist into the cage, and hissed, ‘Everyone’s dead except you and me.’

‘Who are you?’

The man abruptly let Sam go and stepped back, waddling away from the bars as if he’d forgotten Sam existed. He tore the wrapper off the chocolate bar and began eating loudly while Sam looked on, wondering what could drive a man to this state. Suddenly the man spun and exclaimed, ‘They left me to die!’

‘You wouldn’t die,’ said Sam, taking a guess. ‘You’re a Waywalker.’

The man fell silent, stopped munching. Then he grinned a huge, toothless grin and began eating again. ‘You’re quite right, young man, well done, quite right, you’ll go far. And you, I think, are also a Son of Time.’

‘Yes. How did you end up this way? Waywalkers don’t age.’

‘
They
did it to me, all because… because… where’s Brian?’

‘How do you know Brian?’

‘He… he killed them. Because of me, to help me – isn’t that nice? – because of me. He came here with his friends and killed them.’

‘Brian killed the guards? With the Ashen’ia?’

‘Is that who they are? Ashen’ia, eh? Ashen’ia, a tree of the tropical region in the tropic of Cancer, with large pink fruit and birds. That’s right, isn’t it, that’s right?’

‘Why did Brian kill them?’

‘They were going to let me die, but you… you saved me, didn’t you?’ He raised the chocolate bar in delight. ‘You brought this, you… you’re a good boy, aren’t you?’

‘If Brian wants to help you, why doesn’t he let you go?’

‘Can’t breach the wards, doesn’t have the power – he’s just a grandchild, he doesn’t know real power, he can hardly Waywalk!’

Sam looked up at the wards, then stepped back to look again, adjusting his position until he had the best view. The man watched from the cage with worryingly shrewd eyes.

A Waywalker wouldn’t be able to breach something this thick. But if you could identify the principle component of the wards – say, if they were based mostly on Night –
then the Bearer of Light might be able to breach them by targeting with the opposite power.

Which raises the interesting question – who is this guy, that he should be locked away by wards so thick you need the Bearer of Light to bring them down?
 

Sam looked at the little man, now pacing up and down, beating his hands against his sides as though trying to fly. He said, ‘Brian wants you free?’

‘Yes, he’s a good boy, is Brian, a good boy.’

‘He needs the Bearer of Light to do it?’

‘Yes, that’s right. He’ll bring the Bearer of Light, the Bearer of Light will destroy the wards, always the Bearer of Light, even though I killed him last time we talked, but then Brian knows what he’s doing, does Brian, he knows —’

I killed him the last time we talked.
‘You’re Loki.’

The man stopped dead, looking up at Sam with fear in his eyes. ‘I didn’t do it,’ he whispered. ‘I didn’t do it, I didn’t mean to, please don’t.’

‘You killed Balder.’

The man was backing away, raising his hands to shield his face. ‘No, I… I didn’t do it, I never meant to, it was him! Cronus did it, I couldn’t stop him. I tried, but I couldn’t stop him, I swear!’

‘Why does Brian want to free you?’

‘Please, I’ll be good, I promise. I won’t hurt anyone ever again.’

‘That’s why Brian needs me, isn’t it? To breach the wards?’

‘Left me here to die, I swear I’ll be good…’

‘Loki!’

The old man stopped, stood still, then tried to pull himself to attention. ‘Reporting, sir!’ he stuttered in what was supposed to be a brisk, business-like manner but fell nearer a sob.

‘I am the Bearer of Light.’

Loki looked Sam up and down. ‘No,’ he said. ‘He’s got blond hair, I know, I killed him myself.’

‘I’m his heir. I’m Lucifer. I am the Bearer of Light.’

‘Pleased to meet you, sir, may I offer you our cut-price range of bath salts?’

‘Loki! Listen to me!’

Loki turned, smiled, began to rub his hands, massaging warmth into them. ‘The grand old duke of York had ten thousand men, sir. Did you know that?’

‘I’ll free you, Loki. I’ll let you go.’