by Tony Moyle
“Roger,” said Primordial calmly.
“Oh, I didn’t see you there.”
“Well, you do now,” added Primordial. “I have a request.”
“Anything, sir.”
“Fuck off.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Roger, padding back to the animals crowded further up the glacier.
“Interesting. How did you do that?” asked Graphite.
“He’s a pussy,” said Primordial.
The walrus groaned and for a moment everyone got excited. A hush swept through the plastic world. It was a false alarm. Walruses groaned even when they weren’t passing over.
“You can’t sit there.”
“Sit where?” said Mr. Bitumen.
“I’m not talking to you.”
“Then who are you talking to, Mr. Virus?”
“I’m not blocking anyone,” replied Virus.
“I’m talking to you. Yes, you.”
“Who, me?”
“Yes.”
Everyone reassessed their positions to see who they might, or might not, be blocking from seeing a groaning walrus in the last moments of its afterlife. Asmodeus went back to assumptions.
“What’s happening, Mr. Noir? Have you made contact with Brimstone yet?”
“It’s happening everywhere.”
“What is?”
“Someone is sitting in my space.”
“But don’t you occupy all the space in between all other stuff?” said Mr. Silver.
Mr. Gold put his fingers in his ears.
“Yes. But someone else is sitting there?” said Mr. Noir.
“Well, where do you want me to sit? Everywhere I go you seem to be there.”
“That’s because I’m everywhere and nowhere at the same time.”
“Well, that’s a little selfish, isn’t it?”
“The point is, I don’t normally interact.”
“Bugger off, then.”
“I can’t because you are also everywhere. Everywhere that I should be,” replied Mr. Noir indignantly.
“Am I? Interesting.”
“Mr. Noir, what are you going on about?” said Asmodeus breaking out of his internal strategising.
“Someone is where I am?”
“Do I need to assume they are…?”
“No, they really are.”
“But who is?” said Asmodeus.
“Me,” said John.
*****
François, the Jungfrau guide, stood on the path a few metres from the viewing platform that used to be the only vantage point to see the ball of Celestium down below. Now you could see it from multi-locations. They still called it the viewing platform because you could still view things from it, only now if you stood on it you’d be seeing the inside of that metal. The once thin fissure that zigzagged across the mountain range was widening by the day. Now the distance between the sides was only passable with a helicopter or a massive amount of stupidity.
Pushing through the earth like acne on a teenager’s skin, the top of the metallic dome was visible between the cliffs of rock and ice. At the speed it was expanding, soon the whole valley would be pushed to one side as it accelerated its dominance over the terrain. Today’s group of visitors were not paying tourists.
Seismologists, geologists, climate scientists and physicists from all corners of the globe had made their way at the request of the Swiss Government. Rogier Hofstetter was not there in a scientific capacity. It was he who had made the request.
On arrival, the group of experts had immediately scattered to commence their own assessments of the metal bubble poking out of the landscape. They’d never seen anything like it. The Swiss Prime Minister motioned for the congregation to gather around.
“Ladies and gentlemen. As you can see, this is a significant crisis for my country,” stated Rogier. “At the current speed of expansion we estimate that this object will overcome this valley by the end of the month. What answers can you give me?”
“Geology-wise it can’t keep expanding without some way of replicating itself. Metals don’t do that,” said a voice from the crowd of experts.
“In my opinion a seismic event must be occurring somewhere below. Perhaps a new type of volcano erupting without breaking through the Earth’s mantle,” said another.
“Prime Minister. We are dealing with a substance none of us have any experience of,” added a third voice desperately.
“Not strictly true,” came a fourth voice.
Mr. Hofstetter tried to identify the last opinion. A man in a suit had his hand in the air. “What is your particular area of expertise, sir?”
“Endgames,” said the Clerk with a heavy heart.
- CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT -
GRACE LAND
A small ball of metal, no bigger than a marble, rolled into grass that extended across the plain like an army of paper soldiers. The individual white blades waved in welcome as it trundled to a stop amongst their throng. The rays from a dark red sun overhead glinted off its surface. The grass sheaths checked their simple hairdos on its reflective surface. The liquid metallic ball danced to an unknown alien tune in a world that only it occupied.
The ball soon got bored. It wanted to know what else there was to see. Its internal energy rotated it forward as it rolled through the crowded plain. Seeking a solution that had never been found, it dashed through the maze of purity. As it moved it gathered pace and size, able to gaze over the tops of the stems by the time it reached the edge of the meadow.
It stopped quickly as it felt itself reach the edge of something deep and wide. Below, a vast cavity had been purposely excavated in the ground with the precision of a major mining corporation. Whatever had been mining, or mined, here had gone long ago. The remaining chasm was the only evidence of either. The ball sat in quiet nostalgia. It was no ordinary metal. It was Celestium and it had found the way.
*****
If the beautiful island of Tresco was going to continue to offer tourists a wondrous experience of exotic plants, and not just become a large body of water with too many jagged edges, one of them would have to move. When the storm began, Donovan had reacted first. As was his tendency, he floated off on the south-easterly slipstream. Gods had plenty of energy and the unique power to control some of the elements. Air was to Donovan as fire was to Byron. The question remained what powers the third deity would take as their own.
Donovan departed because, in his naivety, he believed it proved the ‘third coming’ had come and gone. David had passed away and the unique amalgam of his and Byron’s polar opposites combined violently to demonstrate it. Byron wasn’t so sure. A few things didn’t make sense.
The meteorological disturbances had been slow to develop, as if David’s final journey had been delayed and drawn out. Souls didn’t work that way. If his final neutral soul was released it would only survive seconds before being drawn to Limbo.
Then there was the whole question of time. Sure, in Hell moments could last hours, and hours last days, but not here. Something or someone had tampered with it, moved it forward without him noticing. Six or seven hours had been stolen, if his watch was anything to go on. What happened to that time? Had he just lost it or was someone holding it hostage, expecting him to pay a ransom?
Byron continued to stroll along the beach, watching Bryher’s shore a few hundred metres across the water. The tide was low and a path opened up across the estuary. He followed it casually. If he so wished, he could get there quicker, but he wanted time for thought and only his brain was going to steal it from him.
Two battles loomed in the near future. One would be fought over the fate of the world. The second would be one final devastating battle of gods. Help would be needed. It would not come from Hell. Its fate was out of his hands now. It might come from the only soldier who still fought by his side. Sure, Victor was a simple man. You paid him more than the opposition, and he worked for you with a ruthless efficiency and very little moral afterthought. That might still come in
useful.
He mounted the rocks that led up onto the beach. A track lay to the side of a small chapel where a number of people were congregating outside, clothed in casual dresses and short-sleeved shirts. It must be a Sunday. The stained glass glistened as he passed the congregation with a smile. The sight of a bald-headed man with complex tattoos doodled on the back of his head, wearing a shambolic, wet, red velvet suit, didn’t generate much of a warm welcome. They hurried into the small graveyard that acted as the chapel’s welcome mat.
Which war would come first? The war against man had already begun. Limbo would be swelling with emotional energy, unable to escape the Celestium that ensnared it. Eventually, he guessed, there were two likely outcomes. Limbo would engulf the world, or humans would start to trigger the Limpet Syndrome in large numbers, unaware of their own fate. Just as some had done when Heaven’s Soul Catcher had been deactivated all those years ago. Neither outcome was desirable. That battle must be fought first.
He’d been played for a fool for too long. Blindly he’d fallen into the trap of believing that Baltazaar’s ploy to destroy the gateway to Heaven was a good thing. Hell had gorged on the flood of souls pushed there by a Limbo. They’d grown fat and lazy whilst Baltazaar had worked his plot to bring them to their knees. They were complicit in the demise of humankind. How had he fallen for it so easily? John may have helped him out of Laslow’s old body, but the cost had been extortionate. Those responsible would feel his terrible anger.
Over the heathland he climbed. Vast boulders, carried and dropped by giants of a bygone age, lay paralysed amongst the heather. The occasional honesty box, selling fudge or fruit, nestled at the front porches of isolated properties. The only noise came from the oystercatchers that swooped like spy planes under the radar of the fog. At the top of the hill the expanse of Hell Bay opened up in front of him.
At the gateway to the old farmhouse he paused as he had done less than twenty-four hours before. The building stood peaceful, stone bricks idle in their duty to hold up wooden frames and terracotta tiles. It would not remain so for long. His normal calmness was being tested. The fire, in nerve and sinew, struggled to be freed like a stallion restrained by a railing. He pointed at the chimney with an outstretched finger and pulled it like a trigger. The chimney burst into flames and sent smoke billowing down into the house.
“That was just a warning shot,” he said.
Violet had heard him. The family were still boarded up in the lounge as David had suggested. Chipboard had been placed up against the windows and larger furniture dragged in front of doorways. They’d never thought the chimney was a weakness. Now a steady stream of toxic, black smoke was filling the room. Nash, Violet, Faith and Fiona worked to remove the mock wooden shutters to allow the windows to be opened.
“I want you to let Victor go. Deliver him to me and I will not harm you. Delay and I will burn you all.”
A littler paler than normal, due to the loss of blood, Victor was sitting in an armchair scheming a route out of his predicament. This intervention was a welcome surprise.
“Let him go,” said Violet to the others.
“What? Why?” said Nash.
“Because if you don’t, I fear we will all die.”
“Why?” said Faith.
“Because he has told me,” Violet pointed to her head and Nash got a flashback.
“It’s not John, is it?”
“No. I think it’s worse.”
“It’s Satan,” said Victor pulling himself to his feet. “Or Dad, if your name’s Faith.”
Faith ran to the window to dispel the trick that was being played on her. The man was thinner and more appealing than the hard and unattractive face that once belonged to her father.
“That’s not my father,” she said.
“It’s his body,” replied Victor. “Open all the doors. I’m a little injured and low on medication to be messing around with door antics right at the moment.”
Victor hobbled through the opened entrance and out into the cool autumn freshness. A macabre ‘dot-to-dot’ of blood was cast on the ground as he made his way down to the gate.
“Byron, I appreciate your support,” said Victor. “Did you find David?”
“Oh yes.”
“Why did you come back?”
“I need your support,” replied Byron. “There will be a war, Victor.”
“Excellent. Good money, is it?”
“If we lose, you’ll have nowhere to spend it. This war will be bigger than greed. Did you find Faith?”
“Not before the shadow returned to her.”
“That is a shame. At least she’ll be whole for her next journey.”
Byron’s eyes burnt so fiercely that Victor had to move away from the heat. His hands came together above his head in prayer. In one slow handclap every part of the farmhouse caught fire. Soon Limbo would have to accommodate a few more. He watched it burn. Or at least he thought he did. The flames weren’t moving. It was almost as if someone had painted flames on the building, and for the briefest of moments he thought he saw the glimpse of a white-haired girl entering the house to the right-hand side.
*****
None of the occupants knew how they’d escaped the burning building, but it was safe to say they had. From the precarious sanctuary of Merrick Island, Hell Bay opened up in front of them. Its large inland lake of water was being buffered from the sea by a ring of land. A small boat was tied to the rocks below them.
They counted themselves. Two children and four adults, one more than the family was used to. The imposter, they knew now, was family. Nash held Faith close to him to keep her warm from the icy breeze battering the exposed mass of rock.
Grace was reunited with both her father and mother and yet there was no joy or emotion in either. Scrumpy skimmed stones into the sea as Fiona and Violet found comfort in hugging each other. Grace was watching the smoke billow from the only home she’d ever known. Whereas the women wept for their loss, Grace was unmoved. It was just another puzzle, one of the biggest she’d ever seen.
“What just happened?” asked Nash. “How did we get out alive. One moment we were in the house and then we weren’t.”
“She does that,” said Scrumpy.
“Does what?” asked Nash.
“Solves puzzles,” replied Grace.
“She just puts her finger to her lips, and there we were on the Unicorn. Really amazing. I’ve seen her do it a few times now,” said Scrumpy.
“I really don’t understand,” replied Nash.
“It’s just another puzzle,” said Grace. “It may be that I’m the puzzle.”
*****
After what only seemed the briefest of pauses to Byron, the fires came back to life. Where they’d become static and lifeless, they transformed into a ferocious, all-consuming blaze.
“It keeps happening,” he said angrily.
“What does?”
“Time. It keeps cheating. Didn’t you feel it? It moved.”
“Really? I didn’t feel anything.”
“Something isn’t right here. Who was inside?”
“Nash, Fiona, Violet, Byron’s daughter and part of my foot. I don’t know where the other girl went.”
“What other girl?”
“They spoke about Faith’s daughter. David went to find her and the boy.”
He grabbed Victor by the collar. “How old was she?”
“I didn’t see her, but they said she was born after Faith was given Emorfed. So, eleven, I guess?”
Byron sank to his knees. How could he have been so blind? His fingers clawed at the sandy soil until his fists were squeezing the life out of handfuls of dirt.
“What’s wrong?” asked Victor.
“We were never waiting for him,” Byron said under his breath.
“Waiting for who?”
“The third coming. Maybe you are right about the world, Victor. Things have changed. We were never waiting for the possibility that he would arrive. It was always a
her.”
“I’m not with you,” said Victor.
“This girl is the third coming. The master of all things neutral and ruler of a Universe sealed off for eternity. To add insult to injury it appears she has the ability to manipulate time itself. If she can open the way, the energy of souls will be drawn there and leave nothing for the rest of us.”
“Is she important in the war to come?”
“Yes. She might not know it yet, but she will determine who wins. Mankind or gods, only one will survive what is to come.”
