The Complete Adversary Cycle: The Keep, the Tomb, the Touch, Reborn, Reprisal, Nightworld (Adversary Cycle/Repairman Jack)

by F. Paul Wilson

  “Why would anyone want to hurt him?” she said in a small voice.

  Alan noted how she avoided saying Jeffy’s name.

  The man who wanted to be called Glaeken smiled sadly and ruffled the boy’s hair.

  “He’s not the target. It’s what resides within him.”

  Sylvia leaned back and closed her eyes. Her voice was a whisper. “The Dat-tay-vao.”

  Alan sagged with relief in his chair. Finally, after all these months, she’d admitted it. Now maybe they could get on with the problem of dealing with it.

  “Yes,” Glaeken said. “There’s an instinctive enmity between the things from the hole and something like the Dat-tay-vao. That’s why I’d like you to move into this building with me.”

  Sylvia looked at him as if he’d just propositioned her. Before she could answer, the doorbell rang.

  “Will you get that, Bill?” Glaeken called toward the kitchen. “I believe it’s Mr. and Mrs. Treece.”

  Father Ryan came out of the kitchen and headed for the door, tossing Glaeken a baffled look along the way.

  An older woman entered, a slender, attractive ash blonde who had an immediate, bright smile for Father Ryan. The woman and the priest seemed to know each other. Alan sensed that they might be more than simply friends.

  The priest asked her something but she shook her head. He introduced her around as Carol Treece, then she seated herself on the other section of the angled sofa. The priest stood behind her, but kept an eye on the entrance to the kitchen.

  “I was hoping your husband would come,” Glaeken said.

  Carol looked flustered as she shook her head. “He was delayed on business … in Denver.”

  “Too bad,” Glaeken said. “Well, at least everyone else is here. But before you can fully grasp why you are here, I must give you some background. It’s a long story. Eons long. It begins—”

  Suddenly there came screaming outside the window. Glaeken turned and Alan looked with the rest of them.

  A woman floated there—portly, middle-aged, dressed in a white blouse and a polyester pantsuit—rising through the air a dozen feet beyond the glass, twisting, turning, kicking, writhing, futilely reaching for something, anything that would halt her helpless ascent. Her face was a study in panic. Her terrified screams penetrated the double-paned windows.

  We’re twelve stories up! Alan thought, as everyone but he, Ba, and Nick ran to the windows.

  As quickly as she had appeared, she was gone, rising above the glass and tumbling out of sight like a lost balloon.

  Sylvia’s face was white, her lips tight; Mrs. Treece’s hands were pressed over her mouth. The one named Jack turned to Glaeken with an uncertain smile.

  “It’s a gag, right?”

  The old man shook his head. “I’m afraid not. That woman is a victim of another kind of hole that will begin appearing at random intervals and locations—a gravity hole.”

  “Can’t we do anything for her?” the priest said.

  “No. She’s beyond our reach. Perhaps a helicopter…” He sighed. “But please, all of you, sit down and let me finish. Perhaps it’s a good thing this happened now. It’s no accident that it occurred outside my windows. But even so, what I’m about to tell you will strain your credulity. I had little hope of any of you believing me before now. However, the events of the past two days—the bottomless hole in Central Park, the depredations of the first wave of night creatures, this unfortunate woman outside—I hope they have put you all in a more receptive frame of mind. It is important that you believe me, because our survival, the survival of most of the human race, will depend on the course of action we take from this day forward. And for you to act intelligently and get the job done, you must know what you are up against.”

  Alan glanced around the room. At the rear, Ba was listening intently, but the man named Jack looked like he’d heard all this before. Nearby on his right, Sylvia wore her this-had-better-be-good expression. Father Ryan hovered behind the sofa with a faraway look in his eyes; Alan got the impression that he too had already heard what Glaeken had to say. On the far side of the sofa, Carol’s expression mirrored the priest’s.

  Then Glaeken began to speak. He told of two warring forces existing beyond the veil of human reality—ageless, deathless, implacable, nebulous, huge beyond comprehension. One inimical to humanity, feeding on fear and depravity; the other an ally—not a friend, not a protector or guardian, an ally simply by circumstance, simply because it opposed the other force. He told of the endless war between these two forces, raging across the galaxies, across the dimensions, across all time itself; of the human named Rasalom who in ancient times aligned himself with the malign force, and of another man, equally ancient, who’d had thrust upon him the burden of bearing the standard of the opposing force. And now the ages-long battle was coming to a close with only one army on the field. The outcome depended on this small group of people collected in this room. Unless they acted to muster an opposing force, all was lost.

  Emotionally, Alan believed Glaeken—deep within he felt the truth of what he was saying. Perhaps that too was the result of his entanglement with the Dat-tay-vao.

  But intellectually he rebelled.

  This was it? Humanity depended on this group gathered here?

  He hoped the old man was crazy. Because if not, they were all doomed.

  “Why are we so important to these … forces?” he blurted.

  Glaeken shrugged. “It’s almost impossible to divine the motives of such entities, but long experience has led me to conclude that we have not the slightest strategic value to either side. We are fought over because we exist. We are a piece on their game board. To win the game, you must have the most pieces—perhaps all the pieces.”

  “Then why—?”

  “I think we are needed by the side that’s come to be known as the Otherness. It is inimical to everything that gives our lives meaning, that makes life worth living. It thrives on what’s worst in us, feeds on the misery and pain we cause each other. Perhaps it gathers strength from our negative emotions. Or maybe we’re only a potential snack. Whatever, it is here to feed.”

  “And this other power,” Sylvia said, leaning forward. “It wants to protect us?”

  “Not us, as humans, per se. The Ally power cares not a whit for our welfare. It laid claim to us in prehistory and simply wants to keep us in its collection. Or did. The Otherness needs us, and so is a little more aggressive.”

  “Where was this Ally last night?” Alan said.

  Glaeken looked away. “Gone.”

  “Dead?”

  “No. Just … gone. Turned its attention elsewhere. Back in 1941 it thought it had won the little skirmish and pulled back.”

  “That’s it?” Alan said. “This Ally or whatever battles for eons, thinks it’s won, then goes ‘elsewhere’? Didn’t it want to hang around and show off the prize, or maybe just gloat a little?”

  Glaeken fixed him with his blue eyes and Alan felt the power behind them.

  “Tell me, Doctor: In chess, do you really want the other player’s pieces for their intrinsic value? Do you have any plans for those pieces? After you’ve taken an opponent’s knight in a match, do you give it another thought?”

  The room was dead quiet for a long, breathless moment.

  Glaeken glanced at Mrs. Treece. “You may wonder why Carol is here. In ancient times a man named Rasalom sided with the Otherness and became its agent. In so doing he became something more than human. Eventually, in the fifteenth century, he was imprisoned in Eastern Europe. He should have remained so forever, but the German Army inadvertently released him in 1941. Before he could escape, however, he was destroyed. Or at least appeared to have been destroyed.”

  Alan wondered at Carol’s stricken expression, how she wouldn’t look at anyone, as if she feared what Glaeken was about to say next.

  “Through luck and unique circumstances, Rasalom was able to incorporate himself into the unborn body of an embryo who would g
row to be James Stevens. But Rasalom was powerless within Jim Stevens. He could only watch the world pass by from within Jim’s body … until Jim married Carol and they conceived a child.”

  Dear God, Alan thought.

  He noticed Sylvia stiffen, saw her suppress a gasp.

  Poor Carol.

  Glaeken pushed on. “He moved into that child—became that child. For decades after his rebirth he lay low while his new body matured, soaking up power from the world around him, from the wars and genocide in Southeast Asia, from the slaughters in Africa and the endless hatred and bloodshed in the Middle East, and from the countless spites, acrimonies, antipathies, rancors, and casual brutalities of everyday life as well. He has been preparing to make his move, setting the stage by deceiving the Ally into believing our world is dead. A few months ago he discovered he was unopposed here and succeeded in extinguishing the beacon that proclaimed our sentience to the multiverse. Since only sentient worlds have value in the game, the Ally has turned away from us and shifted what little of its attention it focused on us to other realities. Rasalom’s first overt move was delaying the sunrise on Wednesday morning. He has been steadily escalating since then.”

  From the back of the room, Jack said, “What he’s telling you is that in the old days we had some heavy backup, but now we’re on our own. This is the Little Big Horn and we’re not the Indians.”

  Glaeken’s lips twisted. “You could put it that way. But we might have a chance of calling in reinforcements, so to speak.”

  “The necklaces,” Jack said.

  Necklaces? Alan thought. What necklaces?

  Glaeken nodded. “The necklaces, plus the right smithies, and…” He gestured toward Jeffy. “This little boy.”

  “Would you mind being just a little more specific?” Sylvia said. She was speaking through her teeth. “Just what the hell are you talking about?”

  Alan’s sentiments exactly.

  Glaeken seemed unfazed by Sylvia’s outburst. He smiled her way.

  “To put it in a nutshell, Mrs. Nash: We need to let the Ally know that this is not a dead world and that the battle here is not over; that we are still sentient, and that the Adversary is still active and about to take complete control of this sphere. We need to send the Ally a signal.”

  “And just how do we do that?” Sylvia said.

  “We need to reconstruct an ancient artifact.”

  “A weapon?”

  “In a way, but what I’m talking about is as much a weapon as an antenna, a focal point.”

  “Where is it?” Alan asked.

  “It was deactivated more than a half century ago when it supposedly destroyed Rasalom in a Romanian mountain pass outside a place called the keep.”

  Alan’s mind continued to rebel against Glaeken’s words, more intensely now than ever, but his heart, his emotions insisted that he believe.

  “All right. Suppose we accept all this at face value.” That earned him a sharp look from Sylvia. “How do we go about reactivating the focus deactivated in Romania?”

  “We don’t,” Glaeken said. “All the essences that made it a focus were drained off by the act of destroying Rasalom—or what appeared to be Rasalom’s destruction. The remnant of that instrument was reduced to dust when Rasalom started on the path toward rebirth.”

  “If it’s gone and we can’t get it back,” Alan said, “why are we talking about it?”

  “Because there were two. The other was stolen in ancient times and dismantled—melted down into other things.”

  “Oh, jeez,” Jack said. “The necklaces.”

  Glaeken smiled. “Correct.”

  “What are you two talking about?” Sylvia said. Alan sensed her anger edging closer to the surface.

  “The other instrument—the other focus—was stolen and melted down. The melting process dislodged a powerful elemental force within the focus, releasing it to wander free. But a residue of that force remained in the molten metal. The metal was fashioned into a pair of necklaces which have been used for ages by the high priests and priestesses of an ancient cult to keep them well and to prolong their lives.”

  “And the elemental force?” Sylvia said, leaning forward, her face pale, her expression tight, tense.

  The answer flashed into Alan’s mind. He suspected Sylvia had guessed it as well.

  “It wandered the globe for ages,” Glaeken said. “It’s been called many things in its time, but eventually it became known as the Dat-tay-vao.”

  Alan thought he heard a faint groan escape Sylvia as she closed her eyes and slipped an arm around Jeffy.

  Just then a voice broke through from somewhere in the apartment.

  “Glenn? Glenn!” It rose in pitch, edging toward panic. “Glenn, I’m all alone in here! Where are you?”

  As Glaeken glanced toward the rear rooms, Alan saw genuine concern and dismay mix in his eyes. This was the first time he had shown a hint of uncertainty. He took a hesitant step in the direction of the cries.

  “Let me go,” Father Ryan said, moving from his spot behind the sofa. “She knows me by now. Maybe I can reassure her.”

  “Thank you, Bill.” Glaeken turned back to his audience. “My wife is ill.”

  “Anything I can do?” Alan said.

  “I’m afraid not, Doctor Bulmer, but I thank you for offering.” Alan saw no hope in the man’s eyes as he spoke. “She has Alzheimer’s disease.”

  Alan could only say, “I’m sorry.”

  But Sylvia shot to her feet. “Now I get it!”

  “Get what, Mrs. Nash?” Glaeken appeared confused.

  Sylvia was leaning forward, jabbing her finger toward him over the coffee table. Her core of anger had fully uncoiled, baring its fangs, lashing out.

  “I should have known! Do you think I’m an idiot? You want Jeffy here so you can use him—or rather use the power you think is in him—to cure your wife!”

  “Not at all, Mrs. Nash,” he said softly with a slow, sad shake of his head. “The Dat-tay-vao will not work against a degenerative process like Alzheimer’s. It can cure disease, but it can’t turn back the clock.”

  “So you say.”

  Then Jeffy tugged at Sylvia’s sleeve. “Don’t yell at him, Mom. He’s my friend.”

  That did it. Alan saw Sylvia wince as if she’d been jabbed by a needle.

  “We’re leaving,” she said, taking Jeffy by the hand and guiding him away from the sofa.

  “But Mrs. Nash,” Glaeken said, “we need Jeffy to reactivate the focus. We need to reunite the Dat-tay-vao and the metal from the instrument.”

  “But you don’t have the metal, do you.”

  “Not yet, but—”

  “Then I see no point in discussing this further. When you’ve located this magic metal, call me. You have my number. Then we’ll talk. Not before.”

  “But where are you going?”

  “Back home. Where else?”

  “No, you mustn’t. It’s too dangerous. It’s better that you stay here. I own the building. You can have your choice of the empty apartments. You’ll be safe here.”

  “Here?” She stopped at the door. “This place is practically on top of that hole out there—all but falling into it. I’ll take my chances in Monroe.”

  “This place is protected, in a way. It will be preserved until the end. You and Jeffy and your friends can share that protection.”

  “Why? What’s so special about this place?”

  “I’m here. I’m to be saved until the last.”

  … and then he plans to make you suffer the tortures of the damned!

  Alan remembered Nick’s words and wondered why the old man didn’t look more frightened.

  “Toad Hall will be protected too. Alan and I have already seen to that.”

  Alan turned his chair and wheeled it toward Sylvia and Jeffy. He’d been on the phone first thing this morning and called around until he found a contractor who could immediately start installing steel storm shutters. He’d offered a substantial
bonus if the job was completed by sundown. Now he wondered if shutters would be enough.

  Why not stay here? It might be a good move. Alan felt at home with this group, had a feeling they’d find safety here among this disparate, unlikely crew.

  Something going on here. A subtle chemistry, a subliminal bond.

  But Sylvia seemed oblivious to all that. When her anger-core broke free and took the helm, she’d dig in her heels and refuse to budge. Alan knew he couldn’t talk to her when she got like this. Nobody could. He’d learned to recognize the signs and—when the storm came—to sit back and let it have its way with her. When the clouds and winds had blown past and she was cooler, calmer, she’d be a different Sylvia, and able to discuss it.

  He might be able to change her mind later.

  Sylvia’s anger could be inconvenient, frustrating, even infuriating at times, but the anger was part of what made Sylvia who she was. And Alan loved who Sylvia was.

  Jeffy, though, clearly wanted to stay.

  “I don’t want to go, Mom.”

  “Please don’t argue with me, Jeffy,” Sylvia said in a low voice. “It’s time to go home.”

  He tried to pull away from her. “No!”

  “Please obey your mother, Jeffy,” Glaeken said softly.

  The boy abruptly stopped struggling. The look Sylvia threw Glaeken was anything but grateful.

  “There’s something you should realize, Mrs. Nash,” Glaeken said. “The creatures that attacked your house last night are active only in the hours between sunset and sunrise. They must hide from the sun during the day. However, as I’m sure you are all aware, the daylight hours are shrinking.”

  “But that can’t go on forever,” Alan said. “Can it?”

  Glaeken nodded. “The pattern will continue. And accelerate. Sunrise was late again today. Tomorrow it will be even later. Sunset will keep coming earlier and earlier.”

  “But if that keeps up…” He looked at Sylvia.

  “You see the pattern?” Glaeken said. “Shrinking daylight hours, lengthening periods of darkness. The hole creatures will have progressively longer time for their feedings, and shorter periods when they must be in hiding. And when daylight is gone completely…”