The Chosen Seed: The Dog-Faced Gods Book Three

by Sarah Pinborough

  ‘Keep working,’ he said, the child’s voice a chilling contrast with his commanding tone.

  ‘You disappeared,’ Mr Bright said. His eyes were fixed on the man at the desk who had stopped typing, despite the First’s insistence. Jarrod Pretorius was staring at Mr Bright, his dark eyes wide. ‘Is this what you’ve been doing all this time?’ Mr Bright continued. ‘Keeping the Walkways closed?’

  Pretorius nodded slowly. His eyes were full of trepidation, and something else – something Cass couldn’t quite figure out. And then he got it: Jarrod Pretorius looked like a child who thought he was about to be told off. Could he be—?

  ‘Oh, my son,’ Mr Bright said sadly. ‘I wish you’d talked to me. Why?’

  ‘He asked me to,’ Pretorius said. His voice was rough, and he spoke with a strong South African accent. ‘He’s my friend.’ He rubbed his head with one hand. ‘I had to go somewhere alone, to concentrate.’

  ‘For all that time?’

  ‘Do the next sequence,’ the First cut in, and Jarrod Pretorius returned his attention to the keyboard. Cass stared at him. This was Mr Bright’s son? How long had they been separated? He looked up at the girl on the other side of the First. He remembered her red hair, and he remembered the sound of her voice on the telephone. The boy is the key. Her hand rested on Pretorius’ shoulder and her eyes kept flicking upwards to the ceiling. Her face shone with expectation and excitement. Whatever was happening, they didn’t have much time to stop it – but Mr Bright was behaving as if they had all the time in the world.

  ‘Why?’ he asked.

  ‘Believe it or not, I did it to protect us,’ the boy said. ‘After we started all this, after we got settled, an emissary came – I never told you. He was angry; He wanted me to apologise and go home. As if I was still a child.’ He laughed a little at the memory. ‘I told her I’d think about it, and then I spoke to Pretorius. He said he could lock the Walkways back from here, but he couldn’t do both routes.’ He leaned back and crossed his arms. It was a manly pose, relaxed and easy; it looked wrong on the nine-year-old boy’s body.

  ‘I decided to close the return – not just close it, but booby-trap it so that anyone on the other side would hear the suffering of those stuck in the Chaos. It was the safest option – it meant that none of our number would be able to run back with tales of what we had achieved in the hope that he would somehow reward them. And He would know that anyone who came here would not be able to get back. It kept us safe from Him. He wouldn’t send the army, not with no way out.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Mr Bright said. He hadn’t moved from his position by the door but from the corner of his eyes, Cass could see Mr Dublin just beyond him. The blond man’s eyes were starting to Glow.

  ‘Honestly? I didn’t want to worry you. You were working so hard – building everything – organising our new society; this was something I could take care of. Afterwards, of course, when I realised the toll it was taking on your son, I decided that perhaps it was a secret I should keep to myself.’ His eyes narrowed slightly. ‘I think perhaps Mr Solomon suspected something, but he never asked. He was a loyal friend to both of us.’

  ‘And now you’re going to sacrifice us to him – after everything we did together, how we fought with you.’

  The boy sighed. ‘I’m sorry. I’m tired. I just want to go home.’

  ‘Running back to Daddy?’ For the first time, Cass heard the stinging contempt in Mr Bright’s voice. ‘You do know what he’s planning? You know what he’ll do to the rest of us – those who aren’t killed in the battle – and there will be a battle, even if we know we can’t possibly fight the destruction He’s bringing. They will all die, all of them, and we will die beside them. All this will be finished.’ He gestured around him. ‘And all because you’re tired and you want to go home?’

  ‘You weren’t stuck in that old body for all those years,’ the boy hissed. ‘You weren’t dying!’

  Mr Bright laughed aloud. ‘And you’re not in the old body now, are you? I took care of that, just as we planned.’

  ‘I was afraid,’ the First said. ‘I won’t feel that way again.’

  ‘I don’t want you to fight,’ Jarrod Pretorius said. He looked up. There was something strange about him, Cass thought. Was he autistic, was that it? ‘I don’t like it. I didn’t like the fighting before.’

  ‘Just finish the sequence and there’ll be no more fighting.’ The boy spoke to the man as if the man were the child.

  Cass’ head was spinning. Something was happening. The part of him who had travelled so far in the Experiment could feel it. The echo of trumpets was getting louder.

  ‘One more,’ Pretorius said softly. ‘Nearly done.’

  Cass looked from Mr Bright to the First and back again. Did Mr Bright really think they could talk their way out of this situation? Was he that stupid? And the answer came back at him immediately: no. No, he wasn’t. He was keeping the First occupied with chatter, to the point that everyone else in the room was completely ignoring Cass. He wasn’t one of them, after all, and definitely not in the First’s eyes. He was so concerned with the wood, he couldn’t see the trees.

  The gun was gripped firmly in his hand and he raised it suddenly. He might not be able to hurt them too much, but there was one thing he could do. Before the girl or the child had time to gasp out a warning, he fired two shots into the console, nearly taking off Pretorius’ hands.

  ‘Nooooooo!’ the First shrieked as he stared at the ruined machinery, and his eyes burst into golden life. Pretorius had curled up in his chair, his hands clamped over his ears, the moment the shots had cracked through the room and the girl had jumped backwards. ‘Do it from your mind!’ the First shouted, pulling Pretorius’ hands away from his ears. ‘You kept it in your head all this time – you must know how! You must!’

  Cass stared at the brightness in the boy’s eyes as he started to change, to become. It was far more than anything he’d seen before; neither Mr Bright nor Mr Solomon had produced such blinding mix of gold and silver. And now Cass felt his own anger burning inside and there was heat running up his spine, and as Mr Dublin joined the fray and the world tilted once more, Cass raised the gun again. ‘Sorry, Luke,’ he muttered, and he fired again.

  In the brightness that filled the room, Cass saw the bullet hit the child in the shoulder. The boy twisted awkwardly sideways and howled, but it didn’t take him down. The old man was out of his chair and by the boy’s side in a second.

  ‘Try them!’ the boy screamed. ‘Try the Walkways!’

  The beating of wings pushed Cass back against the wall and knocked the air from his lungs, but he stayed upright. The boy was changing and Mr Dublin – whatever Mr Dublin had become – was going to fight him. The room was too small for so much Glow. Cass’ mouth dropped open.

  ‘No, no, no, no!’ Jarrod Pretorius’ mouth moved as he stayed curled up in his chair, and although Cass could read his lips, the sound was lost in the rush of air and heat and the beating of terrible wings. The thing that had been Mr Bright – the thing that was somehow still Mr Bright and yet not, all fire and wings and light, covered the chair, enveloping his son. Why didn’t Pretorius change? Had he forgotten how?

  Cass’ own eyes burned and his heart thumped in time with the wings – his own wings. His skin itched and tingled and he wanted to tear it off and set free whatever was in his blood—

  Two figures met in the middle of the room and their clash, like an underwater explosion, made Cass’ ears scream.

  Unable to stare into the nuclear flash that was the First and Mr Dublin (how was he so bright, so silver and gold and all the shades in between? How was he matching the First?) and unable to peel himself from the wall, Cass watched the two remaining figures. The old man’s head was turned upwards, and his body was glittering and shaking. The girl was shouting something and tugging at him, but her words were to no avail. For a moment, a beatific smile spread across his face and his wrinkles fell away from him. His bod
y filled out, reinvigorated, and his hair thickened. Even as he lost himself in the golden haze, Cass’ heart chilled. Had the Walkways opened? Was this the end? The old man looked at the ceiling, and Cass was sure he heard him laughing, trumpet song in the sound, beautiful amidst the terrible throbbing wind from so many wings. But the laugh didn’t last; the silver glittering across his skin turned to black, an empty black, the colour of the darkness before the Chaos, and suddenly the old man began frantically twisting. His eyes widened and he began to scream, a most terrible scream, as if music itself were dying, and these were its last throes. After what could only have been seconds, but felt like an eternity, he slumped in the chair and began to claw at his eyes. The girl tried to grab his hands, but he kept pulling them away and starting again.

  From within the swirling mass battling in the air came tearing and slashing, and cries of rage and pain. Then the two figures broke apart as one was flung into the corner of the ceiling. Cass saw ice at its core and in its eyes, and across its wings. It was Mr Dublin. Cass had no doubt.

  He looked over, squinting despite his own Glow at the other, the First. He gathered himself and with all his energy and will he fought the pressure that held him in place until his arm was free. He raised the gun again. Mr Bright had better be right: they’d better not die easily. He fired into the light and it roared and dimmed and Mr Dublin moved as fast as thought and dragged it, screeching, to the floor, slashing at it with claws of diamond ice. After a moment, the air stilled. The fight was over.

  Black stars filled Cass’ sight and his legs were so weak they almost collapsed under him. He blinked, pushing away from the wall. The girl sobbed beside the old man in the chair, stroking the bloody mess of his face, the holes where his eyes had been ripped out. Cass stumbled forward, his ears numbed and aching, and crouched beside the boy lying on the carpet. A small pool of blood was forming underneath him, from both the initial wound in his shoulder and the second shot that had grazed his side.

  ‘I can’t move,’ the boy muttered. ‘Why can’t I move?’ Even knowing that it wasn’t Luke, not really, Cass’ heart ached.

  ‘You’ll be all right,’ he said. His voice was rough, dried out by the unnatural wind. He hoped he’d understood Mr Bright. He looked around at Mr Dublin, who was lying a few feet away. The slim man had lost weight in the fight. His clothes hung off him and his pale skin was streaked with blue where the veins beneath pressed against the surface. He breathed in rapid pants.

  ‘Why can’t he move?’ Cass asked.

  ‘He’s restrained,’ Mr Dublin whispered, fighting for air.

  A well-manicured hand pushed the ash-blond hair from the man’s face, and Cass looked up to see Mr Bright crouching on the other side.

  ‘How did you do that, old friend?’ he asked. ‘You were so strong.’

  ‘Old skills.’ Mr Dublin tried to smile, and flinched with the effort. ‘DeVore showed me the Projections and I sent the file to all the cohorts. It was a war cry. They joined with me to fight through me.’ He sighed, and his gaze turned away from Mr Bright to the ceiling. ‘It was good to use the old ways – to become. But it was better to feel we were united again, standing together.’ His eyes flicked back to Mr Bright and his smile was full of joy. ‘It reminded us all of why we are here. It’s a good feeling, Mr Bright.’ His slim hand rose up and Mr Bright took it. ‘You should have told us,’ Mr Dublin said. ‘We would have stood with you.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Mr Bright smiled softly and squeezed Mr Dublin’s hand. ‘Perhaps I had forgotten our united honour. There have been so many betrayals of late; we have been dog-faced, constantly snarling at each other like wolves, not gods at all, and somehow we lost our way.

  ‘And now I have betrayed all who stood together. I have just become so used to standing apart.’

  ‘You have always served us all well, Mr Bright. We should have trusted you.’ He coughed and a trickle of golden Glow leaked from his blue eyes. ‘I should have trusted you. But all is well that ends well.’ He paused to catch his breath. ‘I think I will end here. This is a good end.’

  ‘Why?’ Mr Bright frowned. ‘If you have the cohort with you, how can you be ailing like this? Surely their strength will mend you?’

  Mr Dublin looked at the boy. ‘They’re not with me, they’re subduing the First. They’ll hold him until you do what needs to be done.’

  Cass looked over his shoulder at the First, twitching as he fought against his invisible restraints. The pool of blood beneath him hadn’t got any bigger, and the graze at his side was healing as Cass watched.

  ‘When I die, I will destroy this place.’ Mr Dublin’s voice was weakening. ‘Going out in a blaze of glory, eh?’

  ‘You will sleep well, and the stars will shine brighter for having you among them.’ Mr Bright leaned forward and carefully removed the chain that hung around the slim neck. There were two small silver datasticks hanging from it. ‘My life, however,’ Mr Bright added, ‘will be a little darker for your absence.’

  ‘So we’re not going back?’

  Cass had almost forgotten Jarrod Pretorius. Mr Bright got to his feet and turned to face his son. He stroked the young man’s face with a gentleness Cass hadn’t known was within him.

  ‘No, we’re not going back – no one is. This is home now.’ He leaned forward and kissed Pretorius on each cheek. Silver glittered in the corner of Mr Bright’s eyes. ‘I have missed you, my son.’ He twisted Pretorius’ neck so swiftly that Cass didn’t realise what was happening until he heard the sickening crack and the body fell, slackly surprised, to the floor.

  ‘No!’ Gabbi left the lost old man and crumpled beside Pretorius. ‘Nonononono—’ she murmured. Cass suddenly noticed her glorious hair had lost its shine, the Titian fire was fading. Her fingernails were bleeding. Her strength was clearly waning.

  ‘Why?’ Cass asked.

  Mr Bright stared down at his dead son and the crying girl.

  ‘For the greater good,’ he said softly. Cass thought he could hear the anguish at the back of Mr Bright’s voice. ‘My son knew how to unlock the Walkways. He had transferred the keys to all of this’ – he gestured at the equipment around them – ‘but for centuries he’d had it all in his head. He was an idiot savant,’ he said with a touch of pride, ‘a genius.’ He sighed. ‘But the Walkways can never be unlocked. We can never risk that.’

  For the first time in their acquaintance, Cass thought Mr Bright looked old. Shadows had fallen across his face, highlighting every wrinkle and frown line. As silver streaked from his eyes Cass wanted to cry for him, and the truth behind that emotion hit him like a slap in the face. He bore no hate for Mr Bright, not any longer. It had gone, vanished as if it had been nothing more than a wisp of smoke.

  They were family, perhaps closer than his own had ever been. He’d felt it in the rush of the Glow as the cohorts had surged through Mr Dublin. He could feel it in the atoms of air around him. The world had changed for Cass Jones. He was becoming everything he’d ever been, and ever could be.

  ‘You should go now,’ Mr Dublin whispered. ‘I think it will be soon.’

  Mr Bright nodded. ‘Cassius, you carry the boy.’ He looked down at the girl. ‘Gabriel. You have to come with us. We’ll look after you.’

  Cass swept the child up from the floor. Either Luke’s body was absurdly light, or his own had become stronger. Perhaps it was both. He smelled warm and human, like Christian had when he was small. For a brief moment it had felt as if he held his nephew in his arms, until the twitching of the limbs and the rage in the boy’s eyes dispelled that thought.

  ‘Hurry,’ Mr Dublin said urgently.

  Cass looked at the dying man. Quietly he said, ‘Thank you.’ There wasn’t anything else he could say.

  ‘Gabriel?’ Mr Bright took the girl’s arm, but she shook it off.

  ‘I’m staying here,’ she said, her voice thick with snot and tears, ‘with my friends.’ She didn’t even look at him. Mr Bright rested his hand on her shoulder, but sh
e ignored him and after a few seconds he sighed and walked away. Mr Dublin began to shine, and as the light flooded out into the corridor Mr Bright and Cass started to run.

  The JetRanger had barely taken off when the fire burst through the first floor and flames illuminated the windows of the building. The First had lost his hold on the people in Harwell now and as the helicopter rose higher and the employees started to evacuate they looked like ants as they scurried around, running out of the main building and towards the blaze. Cass looked down at his abandoned car and hoped that Freeman had been wise enough to have had it registered in someone else’s name and reported stolen. Probably, he decided; Brian Freeman had never been a fool.

  The helicopter turned away and as the scene below receded Cass felt he was turning his back on an old life, somehow. He closed his eyes and rested his aching head against the seat. Thinking could wait until later.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Charles Ramsey, Tim Hask and David Fletcher looked on silently as the final flames were extinguished and the building stood dripping in the cold evening. Emergency services personnel ran here and there, brandishing hoses and protective suits. Staff members wandered about, dazed, as the ambulance pulled away with the last of the injured, the receptionist from the smaller facility. Everyone said he’d had a lucky escape; he was suffering from smoke inhalation, but it could have been much worse. The Commander of the ATD, the Detective Inspector and the internationally renowned profiler had been standing there watching for almost two hours with barely a word between them until Fletcher’s phone had broken the silence a few moments earlier. He finished the call.

  ‘The satellites are all functioning normally again. All across the world. Whatever was happening, it’s over.’ His voice was dull, exhausted.

  Hask nodded, but said nothing.

  ‘So what made all these people pass out?’ Ramsey asked. ‘Some kind of sleeping gas?’ His eyes stayed on the burned building.