Sian stopped walking and looked up. The sunglasses were still in place, she was wearing dark pants, a short jacket, and a dark scarf. There was something different about her.
Her hair. It’s shorter. The style is slightly different. She must be starting to take an interest in her appearance.
Joni smiled as Sian acknowledged her with a nod. She waited for her to catch up.
“I’m just taking a quick walk through the forest, then heading back,” said Joni. “Do you want to join me?”
To her delight, Sian nodded again, and they started walking together. Joni wondered if her eyes might have deceived her, but—for a moment—she could have sworn that Sian had actually smiled.
The ancient oak was still her favorite. The fact that she had fallen out of it on her ninth birthday, and—without the power to reset—would have died that day, hadn’t dampened her love of the tree in the slightest. She came to a stop in front of it and looked up into its intricate canopy of forking branches, a stunning sight now that most of its leaves had turned a rich, golden color.
She turned to share her feeling of joy with Sian, but the woman wasn’t at her side. Confused, Joni looked around the small clearing. Sian was about ten yards away, walking backward, her face strangely impassive.
Something’s wrong.
Joni looked to her left and right, seeing nothing that might have spooked the other woman. Then she looked down. A few feet away, nestled in a pile of fallen leaves was an ugly, black object. Joni recognized it, she had seen one before. But seeing it in this context made no sense at all.
It was an EMPty.
There was the beginnings of a noise and a feeling like being punched by a giant fist. Then a gap in consciousness.
52
Before Joni opened her eyes, she knew. It was Sian’s hair that gave it away. The idea swam into her mind as she floated back into consciousness. Why would a horrifically traumatized woman suddenly decide to cut and style her hair? It made no sense.
She was half-sitting, slumped to one side. She could feel rope around her wrists, her arms pinned behind her. Her ankles were also tied. Without opening her eyes, she tried to move, but the rope was secured to something else - she was held tightly in place. She flexed her fingers and felt rough bark through the loose leaves. She was tied to the tree.
Her body was twitching, and there was a sharp pain just below her ribs. Joni knew what it meant, but she had to try, in case there was any chance…She reached back with her mind, looked for the tingling, listened for the humming, stretched out toward the last reset point. There was nothing there.
She half-opened her eyes to confirm what she already knew. The exposed metal of the Manna-spanner glinted in the sunlight. The barbs that carried the current into her body were buried in her side, a little blood seeping through her shirt. She could hear a voice speaking, the tone low, the words ritualistic, prayer-like.
She didn’t have to open her eyes fully. She didn’t have to look. No one was there to judge her if she kept them closed. No one would blame her for going to her death without looking into those awful eyes again.
But she was Joni Varden. Her mum was a force of nature, her dad was the fairy king. This was her place. If she was going to die, so be it. But she would see her forest one last time, see the glory of autumn around her as she took her last breath of crisp, cold, pure, Innisfarne air.
Joni opened her eyes.
Adam was on his knees, a few yards away in the middle of the clearing. His eyes were shut, and his words were indistinct as he chanted. He was naked, the makeup he’d applied as Sian incongruous now, clown-like. There was sweat all over his body and glistening on his bald head. The knife was on the ground in front of him.
There was a sound. A humming. Joni listened, a flash of hope suddenly distracting her from the horror that was coming. The humming got louder. Joni frowned. It was more of a droning sound, like a huge insect. Her whole body sagged as she realized it wasn’t coming from within her. It was coming from the sky. And it was getting closer. A plane.
Adam’s eyes flicked open, and there was a split-second when he looked straight at Joni and she felt a physical revulsion at his expression. She didn’t see anger, rage, passion, or any hint of murderous intent there. She just saw a lack of…everything. As if he was an empty shell masquerading as a human being. Whatever was pulling his strings was deep inside him, and Adam was emptying himself so that it could come to the surface.
The moment passed, and Adam stood up, listening intently. They both heard the plane’s engine note drop from a shriek back to its more usual buzz. It was very close now. The trees obscured Joni’s view, but it sounded like it was heading along the same shoreline she had just walked. After ten, maybe twelve, seconds, the engine note changed again and she heard a faint splash just before the hum grew louder. Looking above the trees, she actually saw the small plane climbing into the sky before it banked slowly and flew away from her.
Joni shouted as loudly as she could. She didn’t know if it would do any good, but she wasn’t just going to wait to be killed. She shouted for help until she collapsed in a fit of coughing.
Adam had heard the splash, too, and Joni’s screams seemed to break his trance and spur him into action. He picked up the knife and walked over to her. Joni had managed to push herself into a sitting position, her back against the trunk of the oak.
“You’ve been unexpectedly challenging, Joni Varden,” he said, kneeling in front of her, as the Manna-spanner continued to make her twitch. “The way you managed to escape me is unprecedented. It intrigues me. Some new use of Manna. Not that it truly matters. You can’t do it this time, can you?”
She said nothing and turned her head away from him to look at the trees. Her beloved trees.
Adam held the knife in both hands.
“Ialdabaoth,” he said, “I offer you this life, this final sacrifice. Joni Varden, the daughter of Sebastian Varden.”
Joni remembered the words from the beach. It seemed so long ago.
“Come back to your creation and rule over us as you promised.”
There was another sound. Rhythmic. Faint, then getting louder fast. Someone running. Running impossibly fast. Coming toward them from the direction of the beach.
If Adam heard it too, he gave no sign. This was the end of the ritual, Joni remembered.
Adam lifted the knife.
“Ialdabaoth,” he whispered.
The knife flashed down straight toward Joni’s heart, but as Adam spoke the last word, she threw herself to the left as hard as she could. The sharp blade slipped through her flesh and buried itself up to its hilt in her right shoulder.
There was no pain, at first. Just a sensation as if someone had jabbed her with their fingers. Irritating, not painful.
Adam had released the knife, his eyes closed in ecstasy as he had struck. Now he opened them, and Joni saw a tiny hint of emotion, a flash of anger. He tilted his head as if listening, then got to his feet and turned in one fluid movement, before running directly away from her.
The pain arrived at that moment and wiped away Joni’s speculation about what Adam might be doing. It was a white-hot pain that came in rapid waves, like pulses of agony spreading out from her shoulder to encompass her entire upper body. She whimpered and gritted her teeth, hissing each breath out, panting as every nerve seemed to catch fire.
Joni’s eyes followed Adam as he moved. It was all she was strong enough to do through the pain.
He had picked up something from the ground and was standing by a tree on the far side of the clearing. He flicked his hand and Joni saw what he was carrying. It was an extendable truncheon, banned for years in Britain but brought back for police use under the Manna laws. Adam brought it up to his shoulder, taking a two-handed grip.
The running steps were close now, each separate step so close to the previous one that it sounded like a drum roll.
The man that burst out of the tree line must have been traveling at close to t
hirty miles per hour. Which made his impact with the truncheon that much more devastating.
Adam’s swing looked too lazy and slow to do any damage, but he knew his weapon and the weighted end picked up speed as he hefted it in an arc toward its target. The runner—a man in his thirties and a stranger to Joni—had no time to react before the weapon caught him across the right-hand side of his chest, snapping his right arm and two of his ribs as the unforgiving laws of physics sent him spinning. He hit the ground hard, bounced twice, then came to rest face down. He didn’t move.
Adam didn’t waste any time on him, just walked quickly back toward Joni. He wouldn’t miss her heart a second time.
She finally found her voice again, and let loose with a scream full of pain, fear, and loss. With the rest of her life measurable, not in years or months, but in seconds, it suddenly became clear, beyond any doubt, just how precious a gift life is to those who possess it. The sound that burst from Joni’s lungs was a howl of grief and of disbelief, as that all that she was, and all that she might become, was about to be snuffed out forever.
When Adam calmly twisted the knife in her shoulder and a fresh burst of pain spasmed across her body, she felt her brain shift into a different state, pulling her back and away from normal consciousness, cushioning her somehow, protecting her from feeling the full import of her own imminent death. Time seemed to slow, colors faded to monochrome, sounds became muffled and distant.
And that was when the impossible finally happened.
53
The oak tree moved. There was little wind, but even a hurricane couldn’t have caused the ancient tree to bend in the way it did. Joni was aware of a shadow falling across her face, and when she looked up, her uncomprehending eyes saw the gnarled bark moving above her blotting out the sky.
The oak bent like an actor taking a curtain call. Adam stopped short and looked up in disbelief as the branches swept down and wrapped around him. Before he could react, dozens of branches had slithered around his body, encircling him, holding him tighter and tighter as other branches joined them. The oak unbent itself and held him captive about fifteen feet from the ground, only his shoulders and head visible as he fought for breath, wheezing and coughing.
Joni looked away from him, out into the clearing. The day seemed to have darkened. She realized it was her sight beginning to fail. She imagined that various connections between her brain and body were shutting down one-by-one in some kind of pre-arranged order designed to preserve her life as long as possible.
So, when the dryads came to her, she never knew—then, or later, because she could never quite bring herself to ask—whether they were real, or just a product of her misfiring synapses.
She felt warmth in her shoulder. The pain, gone now as her brain shut down, fluttered back into life briefly as she became aware, once more, of the existence of her body. Then a sweet warmth flooded her, and the pain was washed away in seconds. She felt blood flowing back to her extremities. She flexed her fingers and found the ropes loose, the knots gone. Joni risked a look at her shoulder. She saw the hilt of the knife. Then a slender, semi-transparent hand reached over from her right, as if someone was kneeling next to her. The hand took hold of the knife. There was no pain, and no fear. She didn’t even tense up as the hand pulled the knife out in one smooth movement as easily as if it was coming out of a piece of fruitcake, not bone and muscle. The blade felt warm and soft and, as it emerged and was exposed to the air, it melted away from the hilt like ice dropped into hot water.
Joni felt every part of her body coming alive again, starting with her shoulder. Each separate limb seemed to be reporting to the brain that all was well, everything was functioning at one hundred percent. As her hearing returned to normal, a roaring sound filled her ears. She blinked a few times. The dryads had gone, but a new figure stood about ten yards in front of her.
The old man stood at the center of the clearing, although Joni hadn’t seen him arrive. He wore sneakers, jeans, and a plain, gray, hooded top. His hair was long, wild and white, his beard fulsome. If it wasn’t for the incongruous outfit, he’d have made a great Old Testament prophet.
The sound was coming from his mouth. It was a sound full of rage, frustration, and regret. It was a formless scream of pain and love. Joni had never heard anything like it. It seemed not only to come from the old man but from the trees, the ground, the sky.
The old man had one arm extended, and it was pointing at Adam, who was coughing and spluttering in an attempt to snatch a breath, pinned as he was by the branches of the oak. His eyes showed no fear, just a blank, impotent fury.
There was movement in the trees to Joni’s right. Mee and Kate ran into the clearing and stopped short, both of them taking in the scene and trying to absorb what they were seeing. Mee looked about her frantically at first. When she caught sight of Joni, she let out a burst of laughter, combined with tears. The relief she felt hit her so hard, she only managed a couple of steps before sinking to her knees.
“Joni?” She had to shout to be heard.
Joni smiled at her and shouted back. “I’m ok, Mum, I’m ok.”
Kate, meanwhile, had run to the fallen man who had entered the clearing only minutes earlier. He was moving slightly now, and moaning. She knelt next to him and checked his injuries gently, leaning in and talking to him softly.
Joni looked back at Mee, who was getting back to her feet. She looked up at Adam, then back at Joni. Finally, she looked at the old man. Looked at him properly. And Joni watched her face change from bewilderment, through hope, doubt, then, finally, certainty. Then, the way Mum looked at the old man made Joni look away. It felt too much like she was intruding on the most intimate moment. After a few seconds, she made herself look back.
Mee was walking slowly toward the old man, who, Joni could see, was still looking at Adam. Only now, the screaming had stopped, replaced by a kind of guttural growl. And the old man was crying. No, not crying, weeping. The tears were wet on his face. Mee was speaking to him.
“That’s enough,” she said. “It’s ok, now. That’s enough. She’s safe, it’s ok. You saved her, she’s ok.”
Mee was a few feet away from the man now. He was shaking. It was as if he wanted to look at Mee, wanted to turn toward her, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. As if he was terrified of what might happen if he did,
Terrified? A man with that kind of power?
“You did it, you saved her. You don’t need to do this. He can’t hurt her anymore. She’s safe now.”
Joni looked up at Adam. His eyes were so bloodshot, they looked almost entirely red. His skin was a dark brown. He was still jerking rhythmically, trying to draw breath, but no air was getting into his lungs.
Mee stood beside the old man and reached out a trembling hand, placing it on his cheek.
“This isn’t you. Let him go. You saved her. You saved her.”
Another second went by, then the old man went quiet and dropped his arm. The ensuing silence was broken by Adam sucking in a huge breath and coughing as his lungs began to re-inflate.
Mee took one more step and stood in front of the old man. Joni watched her reach up and smooth his hair away from his face. Then she stood slightly to one side and led him toward where Joni was sitting.
For the longest time, the old man looked straight ahead of him, his eyes glistening. Joni looked at his strong features and noticed something strange.
Is he breathing?
Finally, he dropped his gaze, shut his eyes briefly, then opened them and looked straight at Joni.
And she knew.
“See? She’s safe now. It’s ok. Your daughter’s safe. You’re home, Seb. You’re home.”
Years later, when Joni finally wrote about that day, her story ended with those words, the words she heard her mother say to the old man. The moment she knew her father had returned. It was the perfect ending for a piece of work she would publish, under a pseudonym, as fiction.
The reality, naturally, was far me
ssier.
Her father held out a hand and she took it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. Then the three of them stood in silence, each wondering which words they could use to help begin to make sense of what they were feeling, knowing none would ever be up to the job. Silence seemed the only honest option.
The peace was short-lived. A single shot rang out, and they all turned as one. The injured man had taken a gun from Adam’s backpack and was holding it at arm’s length. He was using his left arm, although it was clear that the injuries to his right side had already begun to heal at an unlikely rate.
Adam had slumped in the tree’s embrace. There was a hole in his forehead.
Kate walked over to the stranger, who put the safety on before handing the weapon to her, butt first. She backed away from him.
“Oh, come on,” he said, smiling “Rehabilitation just wasn’t gonna cut it with that guy. Secretly, this is what you all wanted. Admit it. Pussies.”
The old man spoke then, and his voice was exactly as Joni had imagined. It had a physical effect on her. Like hearing a beautiful piece of music for the first time. The sight of sunlight skipping across the tops of waves. The smell of the earth after rain.
“Sym,” he said. “Long time.”
The younger man smiled and stretched experimentally, testing how well his ribs were knitting back together.
“Hey, Pop. Loving the Moses look. Suits ya. Sorry about the mess.”
“Are you?”
“Nope. Heads up. I have a question for you, Sebby, and I think I speak for all of us. Where the actual fuck have you been?”
Epilogue
Four Months Later
Nothing on Innisfarne was more than a forty-five minute stroll from the Keep, but the fresh snowfall over the past few days made every walk slow going.
The World Walker Series Box Set Page 94
