The World Walker Series Box Set

by Ian W. Sainsbury

  “Save the history lesson for later,” said Seb, “just tell me what the hell that’s for.”

  ‘That’ was a huge mound of soil, spread over the penthouse floor, filling the space between Seb and the nearest tip of the pentagram. It had been roughly spread. In places, patches of the original polished wood floorboards were visible, in others the earth was about four feet high.

  Why all the soil?

  That question was answered almost immediately. Sonia was obviously from the school of villains that didn’t believe in a polite chat with the hero before trying to dispatch him. She had seen Seb survive her signature killing stroke, watched the skin and muscle grow back on his bones right in front of her. She had been shocked to find anyone who could withstand her power, but she was a pragmatist first and foremost. If she couldn’t kill Seb alone, she would enlist the help of all of her senior Acolytes. The rituals had been performed, the blood was pure and fresh, everything was in place. As Seb looked across the room at them, the chanting abruptly stopped and the earth started to move.

  It all happened incredibly fast, but Seb was getting used to the way Seb2 helped slow down his perception of time. Internally, what happened next seemed to take about a minute. In reality it was 2.7 seconds.

  The earth moved in a swirling pattern as if it was made of iron filings and a gigantic magnet was being dragged underneath the floor from the room beneath them. The dirt swirled into a cloud, becoming denser by the moment as more and more material was pulled from the outer edges into the center. A shape emerged from the chaos. Like a picture coming into sharp focus through the lens of a camera, a massive body took form. Onyx black, naked, heavily muscled and stooping slightly under the fifteen foot high ceiling, hairless, its eyes a dull milky gray, stood a creature out of a horror film. The difference was, no CGI monster from the most talented team of creators could ever have a fraction of the solidity and sheer presence of the vaguely humanoid beast in front of Seb. He could even smell its breath, rank, earthy, the stench hospitals cover with antiseptic sprays, bleach and air fresheners. The smell of death. The mouth had no teeth at all, just a long black tongue that constantly wetted its cracked, blood-caked lips. The nose was set into what passed for a face - two holes, purely functional. The hairless skull seemed to be all bone. It made no noise at all, no threats, no roars or growls. Despite its nostrils, Seb wasn’t even sure it was breathing.

  “Fuck me,” said Seb2, his voice suddenly small, “it’s a demon.”

  When it moved, Seb expected it to be slow and lumbering, but it sprang at him with the grace and speed of a natural predator. Even with the advantage of slowed time, he couldn’t move fast enough to avoid the huge gnarled hand that shot out as the thing pounced, took hold of his head which fitted into its palm, then closed its crushing fingers on his skull. Seb screamed in pain as he felt the bones of his skull begin to splinter and fold, one tiny fragment piercing his brain, causing his legs to collapse. Almost immediately, the world began to darken around him, then -

  - he Walked and was in the far corner of the room, sprawled, bleeding. The tips of his fingers tingled as the Roswell Manna began to repair the damage to his body. He didn’t even have a headache. The demon was momentarily confused as its hand continued to close on empty air. Then its huge head swiveled and he sighted Seb. He ran at him, both hands now clasped together and swinging up into the air, coming toward Seb in a roundhouse blow that would have crushed his head through his neck into about the middle of his chest if it landed. His injuries now completely healed, Seb Walked again and appeared at one tip of the pentagram. He looked in horror at the young man on the cross next to him whose life was draining away from carefully made cuts on his wrists and neck.

  One of the Acolytes flinched when Seb appeared and looked at him. The demon, beginning to turn, stumbled slightly, a movement totally at odds with the incredible speed and precision it had displayed up to that point.

  “It’s a homunculus,” said Seb2 suddenly.

  “What? How is that possible?”

  “It’s all of them,” said Seb2. They’re all supplying every bit of Manna they have, focussed through her. Look.” Individual threads of power were now visible, emanating from Sonia and the hooded figures, each strand as individual as DNA to Seb’s enhanced vision.

  “How do we stop it?” said Seb.

  “We either attack the Acolytes, but that means turning your back on that thing…or-,”

  Seb suddenly knew what to do. As the huge shape finished turning and began its sprint toward him, he ran straight at it. Even as he did it, he was aware of Sonia beginning to laugh. She knew their best chance to destroy him was to use speed and strength beyond the capabilities of any human. To her, the demon was real, summoned by their rituals, their Manna merely the fuel it drew upon. That Seb would choose fight over flight was sure, in her mind, to hand the victory to the superior being she had summoned. She watched what happened next in silence, quite unable to process the reality of what was unfolding in front of her.

  Seb’s decision to run straight at the threat meant the demon misjudged its next attack. It had sprung toward the point of the pentagram at which Seb had materialized, and its huge legs had already propelled it into the air when Seb sprinted straight at it. Instinctively, it lowered a knee, intending to pinion the human, then pound his head to a bloody pulp. But the knee didn’t make contact. The demon dropped to the floor and was utterly still, its skin glistening in the light of the candles set into the walls.

  Most of the Acolytes currently had their view slightly obscured by the presence of their leader standing between them and the unfolding action, but the ones at either edge saw Seb vanish again. Sonia could see far more clearly, but still didn’t understand immediately. She watched Seb jump right at the demon and Walk again just before the impact. Her eyes scanned the room, looking for him. She realized the demon had stopped moving. It was utterly still, a statue from a nightmare. Then, more slowly than before, its great head moved as the demon pushed itself back to its feet. It looked straight at her. She stepped back involuntarily as she felt something jolt her Manna-fueled senses. There was something wrong. As the demon moved toward her and the Acolytes, she knew. She turned and ran, jumping as she reached the wall, passing straight through it and, assuming the form her body instinctively used to simulate a kind of flight, stretched out her skin between her elongated, hollowed bones and glided across the New York skyline.

  “It feels weird,” thought Seb, as he looked down at the Acolytes from his new, far greater height. They were just beginning to realize they had lost control, their Manna not reaching the demon. And yet the demon was walking toward them. None of them had the requisite power to do what Sonia could do. As the demon walked on, balling its massive, head-crushing fists, they had to decide whether to fight back, or take their chances and run. They all chose the latter.

  From behind the eyes of the demon, feeling quickly at home in its huge frame, Seb watched them dart for the doors in panic and disarray, tripping over their robes in their haste.

  “Hardly practical, those outfits,” said Seb2.

  Seb knelt and put one dark gnarled hand onto the penthouse floor. Threads of white and silver lightning left his fingers and divided again and again, chasing the Acolytes and catching them all before they could escape. They all slumped to the floor unconscious.

  “Is it possible to - ?”

  “Yes,” said Seb2. The demon shape remained still for another few seconds, during which time all Manna was drained from each Acolyte and absorbed by Seb. As the last particle of power left them, the genetic anomaly that allowed them to use Manna was subtly altered. The Acolytes’ next trip to a Thin Place would result in the knowledge that their abilities had been permanently removed. They were human again, no more. Within a year, all but three would be dead. Of the three remaining, two would be in prison and the other a member of a religious order determined to try to undo some of the damage she had wrought in the previous twenty-seven years.<
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  The five sacrifices were all still alive, although only one had sufficient blood to remain conscious throughout. He stared in blank incomprehension as the demon fell apart, becoming a mound of earth that shook itself out like a wet dog and carpeted the floor with soil.

  Standing in the middle of the dirt was Seb. He walked quickly around the sacrifices, briefly touching each one. Then he made another circuit of the pentagram, this time untying the men. By the time he got back to the first, the man’s wounds were healed. When they were all untied and lying at the foot of each cross, Seb found drinking water and helped them all rehydrate as much as they could.

  “Help is on the way,” he told them, then left the suite before Walking to the pay phone Mason had instructed him to call from once he had accomplished his task. The phone began to ring as he approached. He picked it up.

  “It’s done,” he said. “We need to talk.”

  “Come to the same office. Tomorrow. Noon,” whispered Mason. “She’s dead?”

  Seb looked at his watch. “She’s dead,” he said.

  “Sure of that?” he thought.

  “Yes,” said Seb2. “She’s carrying a small package of your Manna. It will be quick. Not that she deserves it.”

  A little under two miles away, a smartly dressed businesswoman got into a cab and asked for the airport. Contrary to her natural tendency toward glamor, Sonia Svetlana had elected to alter her appearance to resemble an older, slightly frumpy, executive type. She didn’t feel like attracting any attention. She still felt numb about what had happened. Was her Master testing her? Could Varden be defeated? She would fly back to Europe, regroup, find new talents to recruit into the group, step up the intensity and frequency of the blood rituals. She would find answers by reading the signs in the hearts and intestines of properly prepared sacrifices. She would come back stronger. She watched the city passing by through the window of the cab. Shame. So many cattle here.

  The taxi driver’s eyes caught a movement in the mirror as the woman behind him suddenly grabbed at her chest, before sliding sideways on her seat. She gasped a few times before, horribly, going completely quiet. He drove as fast as he could to the nearest hospital.

  The subsequent autopsy was written up in an eminent medical journal due to the anomalies revealed when they investigated the cause of cardiac arrest in a relatively fit woman who looked to be in her early forties with no evidence of previous coronary problems. Both arteries pumping blood around the body had clotted at exactly the same moment. The clots were large, immediately preventing any further blood flow. She had lost consciousness in seconds and was dead before a minute had passed. The clots were perfectly even, looking for all the world like they had been manufactured. The prominent heart specialist who wrote the paper almost made reference to the seeming artificiality of the clots. Almost. He had a reputation to maintain, and any hint of incompetence would do him no favors just months before he intended to retire from practice and take up one of the extremely lucrative consultancy offers he had been receiving.

  No record of the patient’s identity was ever found and she was cremated after post mortem photographs had been taken. A copy of the woman’s fingerprints and a sample of DNA was put on record in case a relative ever came forward. No one ever did.

  46

  Barrington looked very unhappy. He had a medical dressing over the hole where his ear had been removed, because, as Seb had predicted, his Manna could do nothing to replace the missing organ. He scowled across the desk at Seb.

  The old woman and the hippy were absent this time, as was the huge guy who had let Seb in the previous day. Barrington seethed silently for a good three or four minutes before the laptop beeped, at which point he leaned forward, pressed the space bar and sat back again, still glowering at his nemesis.

  “Sources confirm the death of Sonia Svetlana,” came the whisper from the laptop. “It seems the Keystone hotel has been abandoned by the Acolytes. They are in disarray. The crucified men you rescued from the building are all in good health. Many are in better health than they were before being abducted. Only one victim gave a statement, after which he was referred to a specialist psychiatric facility which will nurse his obviously damaged psyche back to normality. All in all, a pleasing outcome.”

  “Meera,” said Seb. “Where is she? You got what you wanted, you’re still top of the tree, the big Manna guy. You don’t need me any more. I’m not interested in your power games. I just want to take Meera home.”

  “You’re a smart guy, Sebastian,” whispered Mason. “You must have thought through some of the implications of this power you’ve been given. I can’t let you walk away. We need to find out the extent of the power given to you by our tall gray friend, then I need to decide how best to use you.”

  “Tall gray what?” said Seb.

  “Please don’t play games, Mr. Varden. The facility holding the alien was run by a government group I have controlled for many years. I know how you came by the power, I just don’t know why. Considering how little we still know about Manna after thousands of years of its use, I don’t expect to find out any time soon. To be honest, it doesn’t interest me. But you do.”

  “I don’t care. I didn’t ask for this. I promise you, I’ll walk away with Meera and you’ll never hear from me again.”

  “That’s not an option, I’m afraid. You are what this generation has started referring to as a ‘game changer’. Every Manna user knows something has altered. By now, there can’t be a User alive who doesn’t know that the Roswell Manna has gone. When they learn that you have affiliated yourself with me, there will be no further power struggles, just obedience. There will be peace.”

  “God help us, every megalomaniac dictator in history sounds the same,” said Seb2.

  “Shh,” thought Seb, “let me think.”

  “I want no part of it,” said Seb to Mason.

  “You have no choice. I intend keeping Ms. Patel as my guest for the rest of her natural life. You will never see her again in the flesh, but you will be permitted to speak to her occasionally. I have no intention of treating her badly, she will be afforded every luxury. She will never want for anything. Neither her, nor her family.”

  “Family?” said Seb, heat rising in his face.

  “I play a long game,” whispered Mason. “Looking at the longevity of other powerful Manna users, I expect to live for at least another eighty years. It is entirely possible, during that time, that Ms. Patel will die, either of natural causes, or by her own hand. When that happens, I lose the leverage over my most powerful ally. I can’t allow that.”

  Seb felt cold and sick. He didn’t want to listen.

  “I imagine Ms. Patel will hold on to the hope that she can escape or be rescued. This hope may persist for some time. Months, certainly, perhaps years. Once that hope has gone, she will deteriorate rapidly, her health will decline, she will die far younger than she should. Humans are predictable that way. We all need something to live for.”

  “This sick bastard has done this before,” said Seb2, as Seb gripped the sides of the chair.

  “I will avoid this eventuality by giving her something worth living for. A child.”

  “What?!” said Seb, half getting up. Barrington stopped scowling and smirked at him.

  “She will be artificially inseminated, there will be no unpleasantness.”

  “She doesn’t want children, your plan won’t work.”

  “Possibly,” whispered Mason. “But I suspect she will want to keep the child when she is told who the father is.”

  “What the hell difference does it make who-”. Seb stopped.

  “Oh, shit,” said Seb2. In the first days of his illness, Seb had given every kind of sample to the specialist. Blood, tissue, saliva. And sperm.

  “Ah. I assume from your silence you’ve made the connection. Look on the positive side, Mr. Varden. You will have a legacy. A new generation, carrying your DNA. Immortality. Of course, ensuring your family line doesn’t die
out gives me a source of hostages that will comfortably outlive me.”

  Seb could barely form a coherent thought. He sat in silence for a few long minutes. Finally, he spoke.

  “You’d do that just to make me work for you?” he said. “Control those lives, make prisoners of children?”

  “I am prepared to do whatever is necessary. And please don’t think I would baulk at causing those children pain in order to keep you in line. Everyone has a price or a weakness, Mr. Varden. Those of us who rise to the top do so because we identify and exploit the flaws in others. I need you to understand your position. Do you?”

  “I think you’ve made it clear,” said Seb.

  “Then our business is concluded, for now. Barrington will give you a cell phone. This is how I will contact you when I need to. Keep it with you at all times.”

  Barrington slid the phone across the desk to Seb. He was still smirking.

  “I’d rather die,” said Seb, quietly.

  “Speak up, please, Mr. Varden. Do we have an agreement?”

  “I said I’d rather die,” said Seb, feeling the truth of it. Now it was Mason’s turn to leave a long silence before finally speaking.

  “That is also an option,” he said. “Less complicated for me, certainly, although not as interesting. However, as you must appreciate by now, I am a practical man. Your death would be an acceptable, if regrettable, alternative to your accepting my offer.”

  “Then that’s what I choose,” said Seb. “Give me a day to settle things. I was pretty much there, anyway.”

  “What the hell are you doing?” said Seb2. “At least think this through.”

  “I don’t need to,” thought Seb. “We have to save Mee.” He spoke aloud.

  “I will trade my life for hers,” he said. “I have to know she’s safe.”

  “That’s possible,” whispered Mason. “But if you are dead, how can you trust me to keep my word?”