Minutes passed. Maybe hours. Seb’s sense of time was warped in this place. He wondered if any time was passing at all. He had read somewhere that time lost its linear nature at the quantum level, that it became something far more mysterious and unpredictable.
I might open my eyes, find myself back in bed on Innisfarne and no one would know I had gone anywhere.
He thought of Mee and part of him was dismayed to find that he was able to do so dispassionately. He knew she was safe. That was good. But his thoughts were no longer colored by her constant presence. That warm awareness of the love that had slowly blossomed between them was there, but it was compartmentalized, not all-pervasive. He suspected this would, under normal circumstances, be a worrying development, but he also knew he had changed, was still changing. He was still Seb. But he was also T’hn’uuth, a World Walker, and he didn’t yet know how Mee might yet fit into that picture.
Seb realized he had followed a train of thought, getting caught up in it, rather than just acknowledging its existence and allowing it to go its own way. He had fueled the thought by clinging on to it, and it had grown, gained impetus and, finally, taken over. With the discipline born of years of patient, repetitive and often tedious practice, he returned his attention to his breath and let the mental edifice he had created drift apart, lose coherence and finally dissolve like so much mist. Silence grew once more, filling the space left by the evaporating thoughts.
What happened next was something entirely unexpected, utterly novel and yet seemingly completely familiar. Seb felt a greeting. No one said a word, there was no polite cough to announce a presence. His eyes were shut, so he didn’t see anyone coming toward him. He just felt a reaching out, something aimed at his Manna, the nanotech that not only made up his physical body, but trailed around him like an invisible cloud. The approach, the greeting, was careful and polite. Almost formal somehow. It was the equivalent of a butler announcing a guest at a well-heeled gathering a hundred years ago. Someone was here, saying hello, introducing themselves. And Seb knew instantly that it was another World Walker.
He opened his eyes, wondering if he was about to see the tall, gray, glowing figure of Billy Joe - the only World Walker he had ever met. But even before he looked, he knew his visitor wasn’t the alien who had saved his life. The greeting he had just received was as individual as a fingerprint, and it didn’t belong to Billy Joe.
Seb turned and looked at the lake. The water was gently lapping at the shore. About fifteen feet out, there was a dark shadow, gaining definition as it moved slowly closer. Seb stood and watched it approach. At first he wondered if it was some kind of fish, but when the head broke the surface, it was humanoid in shape and features. A hairless black scalp glistened and shone in the sun. The eyes—a bright blue, were small for the size of the head, which was about a third larger than a man’s. The nose was barely there at all, just a slight bump with twin holes which, as he watched, blew out two huge sprays of water. The mouth was more human, the jawline strong. As it strode out of the shallows, its body was revealed; massive, slab-like muscles covering much of its torso.
The ground shook a little at every step once the figure was clear of the water. It stood about eight or nine feet high. It was as if a bodybuilder had eaten a wrestler. Now that Seb could see more clearly, he could tell that there were muscles in places human physicality couldn’t support. The figure was naked. It was certainly male. Either that or he had discovered a novel way to carry a squirrel. Seb winced and felt entirely inadequate. The thought made him smile - he was obviously still capable of feeling some human emotions.
The colossal figure was also smiling - perhaps mirroring the expression on Seb’s face. It came to a halt just outside the limits of the cabin and spoke. Its voice was exactly what Seb had expected from the size of the resonant chamber in that massive chest. Deep, sonorous and loud. Seb felt the words in the pit of his stomach as much as he heard them with his ears.
“Hello. I am Bok.”
“Seb.”
Seb wasn’t sure what was expected of him at this point, but Bok’s movements were confident and assured. He stepped lightly onto the decking of the cabin. Seb half-expected the huge figure, who looked like he’d been hewn out of some kind of dark metal, to crash through the wood to the ground beneath. In fact, the floor didn’t even move as he stepped across the room and lowered his huge bulk into a chair, which illogically refused to fall apart in an explosion of splinters.
After spending a few seconds wondering if he was supposed to make an attempt at small-talk, Seb decided to sit down. Before he could do so, Bok’s enormous head swiveled slightly to one side. He was evidently watching something over Seb’s shoulder. Seb turned and immediately saw what had caught the attention of his guest.
An old woman was walking slowly across the grass toward the cabin. She was tall and very thin, the outline of her skull clearly visible through the almost translucent skin of her face. Her features were covered in wrinkles, giving her the appearance, Seb thought, of a gnarled and ancient tree trunk. Her nose was her most prominent feature. She had long, straight gray hair hanging down to her waist. She was dressed simply, and—it seemed to Seb—symbolically, in an ankle-length dark green dress with long sleeves. In one hand, she carried a wooden staff, in the other, a hat, which she placed on her head as she stepped into the cabin. The hat was also dark green. And pointy.
As she stepped into the cabin, she cackled loudly, as if to dispel any doubt of what kind of creature she was. Seb looked for a black cat and a broomstick, but neither were in sight.
“Kaani,” she said. Seb just stared back at her. The silence grew oppressive. “I already know Bok,” said the witch, indicating the dark giant beside her.
“Oh,” said Seb, finding his voice. “Sorry, ma’am. I’m Seb.”
Another silence followed, broken finally by the rumbling voice of Bok.
“He is young, Kaani, and—whatever your opinion of his provenance—you will not help matters by being obtuse.”
Kaani glanced in Bok’s direction and sighed.
“I do not know how I look to you,” she said, “because you are creating my appearance through cultural filters and your own prejudices. What you see here,”—the witch waved an arm, indicating their surroundings, “is visible only to you. I see something very different, as does Bok. For us to communicate at all, it is best to create a familiar environment. The same applies, to a certain extent, to the physical appearance you have chosen for each of us.
“I didn’t choose any—”
The old woman held up a hand. Her nails were long, dark, and dirty.
“What you see of Bok is a crude representation of his actual form. The same goes for me. Your consciousness shapes our being into something comprehensible, using tropes and images common to the species from which you evolved. You would consider us archetypes.”
Seb wondered if his confused expression could be interpreted as such by Bok and Kaani. Evidently, it could, as Bok elaborated on the witch’s words.
“My species of origin lives in liquid on a planet with a higher level of gravity than average,” he said. “Your image of me is based on the information shared by our Manna - which is communicating between us constantly. My image of you is produced in the same way. I doubt you would recognize yourself if you could see through my eyes. Kaani,”—he nodded in her direction—“was born on a world which initially condemned Manna use as evil, and considered those who used it as practitioners of dark arts. Your view of her is formed partly by how you interpret this information.”
“So I’m creating all this?” said Seb, knowing as he said the words that it was true. “Then where are we, really? And what do you actually look like?”
“To see us as we are,” said Kaani, “you would need to spend time among us as a species. And, of course, you must realize we have more in common with each other than we do with the species which spawned us.”
“Hardly,” said Seb to the witch. He glanced at the
massive figure beside her. “No offense meant.”
“None taken,” rumbled Bok. “But Kaani is correct. You still identify with the species you were born into. To a small extent, you always will. Your physical appearance is unlikely to change radically, though it is possible should you wish it. But you are of no species now. You are T’hn’uuth. As are we. I have been T’hn’uuth for - seven hundred and twenty-six years. Kaani for many thousands.” Seb realized the slight hesitation from Bok might be due to him converting his measurement of time into one Seb would understand. The complexity of such a calculation and the speed in which he achieved it was astonishing.
“Of the two others,” Bok continued, “the oldest has been alive for billions of years. How long have you been T’hn’uuth?”
Seb felt a strange twinge of social embarrassment.
“Nearly two years,” he said. The witch cackled. Seb made an effort not to think of her as a witch, but it wasn’t going to be easy. She had a wart on the end of her nose, after all.
“You have much to learn,” she said. “The universe is open to you, but you must see it, listen to it, and experience it, before you can begin to understand it. This will take time.” She turned to Bok. “And yet his vote carries as much weight as mine, or yours.”
Bok nodded, gravely. “You are toying with us, Kaani,” he said. “You know our ways, you know how this must unfold.”
Kaani folded her arms and looked up to the sky.
“I was witnessing the birth of a star,” she said. “The council’s concerns seem rather trivial in comparison. I do not thank it for the interruption.”
Bok just looked at her impassively, although Seb had yet to see evidence of any other kind of expression on the slab-like face.
“It is the first time in nearly two thousand years that we have been called into session,” he said. “The council does not ask much of us.”
Kaani made a dismissive noise. “And it was Baiyaan who was the cause of that session too, as I recall.”
Bok seemed disinclined to reply. Kaani seemed about to speak again, when she was interrupted by a sound from the trees.
All three of them looked as a small figure leaped from the top branches of one of the tallest trees, spread her limbs and began to glide toward them. As she came closer, Seb recognized Fypp, her small face bearing a delighted grin as she swooped straight at them. Just as it seemed inevitable she would crash, she flipped herself upright, using the stretched skin between wrist and ankle to act as air brakes, slowing her sufficiently to alight on the table, take a few steps, and stop.
“Whoo!” she said, turning toward each of them in turn, and bowing. She jerked her thumb toward Seb. “This one taught me that. Great, isn’t it? He’s going to be fun. Been ages since we had a young one.”
Kaani looked at Seb. “You’ve met Fypp, then?”
“She came by earlier,” said Seb.
Kaani tutted at Fypp, who had now gone over to the piano and started jabbing notes at random.
“She can’t even stick to protocols she initiated,” she said to Bok.
“It is her prerogative, Kaani,” he said. “As the eldest.”
Seb looked at Bok. “Wait. Did you say ‘eldest?’?”
“Yes,” said Bok. “Fypp has been T’hn’uuth for billions of years. She has watched planets evolve new life, she has seen solar systems collapse into white dwarfs, she has borne witness to the first attempts of countless species to reach the stars.”
“And yet, she’s still a pain in the ass,” said Kaani. Fypp giggled from the piano, then sat at the table with the others.
“Kaani’s just jealous because she’s forgotten how to have fun.” She grinned at the scowling witch. “She’ll remember, eventually. It’s not as if there’s any rush.”
“Billions of years…” repeated Seb, weakly, as Fypp picked her nose and flicked boogers at Bok, who endured it with the dignity of a true stoic.
No one spoke for a few minutes. The only sounds were distant birdsong and the tiny, almost metallic ping as the tightly and carefully rolled contents of Fypp’s nose bounced off Bok’s head.
“Where is Baiyaan?” said Kaani, directing her question at Fypp, who responded by sighing theatrically.
“Oh, all right,” she said, and made a gesture with her left hand. “It’s always the quiet ones that cause all the trouble, isn’t it?”
They all looked at the figure now standing directly behind the fifth chair. It was about seven feet tall, thin, humanoid in appearance, although hairless and without any discernible mouth. Its large black eyes could have been looking anywhere, but Seb felt the force of its gaze and experienced a physical shock of recognition - his heart pounding and his eyes widening as he stood and took a hesitant step toward the alien who had saved his life, given him unbelievable power, then disappeared.
It was Billy Joe. And he was in chains.
8
Innisfarne
Mee and Joni looked at Seb. The kitchen in the Keep was silent other than the old station clock ticking away the seconds over the cracked Belfast sink.
Joni rubbed her eyes.
“I was just wondering if there’s ever been a stranger family. Mum can use Manna like a boss, I can travel back along my own timeline and you can hop over to the other side of the universe using magic alien powers.”
Seb watched Mee stretch, extending her arms over her head.
She still looks like a cat when she does that.
She sighed, expelling lungfuls of air in a long, controlled pshhhhhh.
“Was he okay? Billy Joe?”
Seb nodded.
Mee screwed her eyes shut, then opened one, her gaze fixed on Seb. She laughed suddenly, shaking her head.
“What is it?”
“Oh, I was just thinking about Skanky.”
“Who?”
“She was a kid at my school. A the beginning of term, Miss Harrington used to get two or three kids to come up and say what they’d done during the summer holidays. I remember one year, Skanky—Jane Dankworth was her real name—got up and said she’d ridden an elephant through the jungle and we all laughed at her. None of us were rich, but Skanky was poorer than most - tall, pale, streak of piss that she was. She had to walk a couple of miles to school to save on bus fare, and her shoes were always too small and worn through because they were passed on from her older sisters. She got everything third-hand, poor Skanky. Anyway, when she started talking about these elephants, and how her mum and dad shared one, but her sisters and brother and her, they got an elephant each, we all started howling with laughter. The thought of Skanky affording to go further than Margate for a holiday was funny enough, but elephants? She couldn’t make herself heard over the racket. Miss Harrington tried to quieten us down, but you know what it’s like when a roomful of kids starts laughing. There was no way we could have stopped, even if we’d wanted to.
“Anyhow, Skanky just went quiet and stared at us like she hated us all, which was fair enough. Then she sat down. About a week later, she didn’t come in. Miss Harrington said her family had moved out of London. Later on, I found out her dad had won the pools - they were millionaires. She’d gone to some private school, and they’d moved to a mansion in Berkshire. She’d been telling the truth. They’d been to India during the holidays. The thing is, when I thought back to the day she had told us about the elephants, I’d looked at her feet. Her shoes were brand new. I must have known she was telling the truth, deep down, but I laughed along with everyone else at poor old Skanky.”
Seb raised an eyebrow. “And you’re telling me this why? Because you don’t believe me?”
Mee laughed again. “You know I believe you, Seb. It’s just the contrast suddenly hit me. I couldn’t believe a poor kid from East London had ridden an elephant, but right now I have absolutely no doubt that you’ve been playing the piano for a banana-loving Buddhist kid who is billions of years old while waiting for three other immortal super beings to arrive. One of whom is a prisoner.”
Seb nodded again. He looked at Mee. She held his gaze for a moment, then looked away. She was visibly struggling with a constant torrent of emotions for which no one could ever fully prepare. He was alive. He was back. She must know he still wanted her. And, hopefully, she still wanted him. But he wondered if the weight of the last seventeen years of not knowing if he was alive or dead was threatening to overwhelm her. She needed help. She needed something. She needed—
“I need a cup of tea,” she said, looking back at Seb. “Better make it a strong one.”
Seb glanced at the table, and a mug appeared, the dark brown liquid within a steaming blend of freshly steeped Assam and Ceylon leaves. He gestured at his and Joni’s tin mugs and they were instantly refilled. Joni grinned and picked hers up, sniffing it.
“Wow. That smells as good as the real thing.”
“It is the real thing.”
She replaced the mug on the table. “Better not. I’d already had two mugs when you arrived this morning. Mum says a third coffee always sends me nuts.”
Seb snorted. “Go ahead. I’ve just made a tiny amendment. The caffeine will disappear after you swallow it. So you’ll get the full taste without the buzz.”
“Good,” said Mee, as Joni sipped appreciatively. “Cos, seriously, three mugs and she’s absolutely off her tits.”
9
Seb walked forward until he stood just a few feet in front of Billy Joe. Part of him was glad of the alien’s habitual silence because he was certain he’d never be able to begin to find adequate words to express his feelings if he had to engage in conversation. He was alive because of Billy Joe - or Baiyaan, a name which immediately seemed more fitting for him. Or her. Or it. Seb remembered something about the Rozzers cycling through genders during their series of rebirths from a shared genetic pool. Then he accepted the fact that he had always thought of Baiyaan as male and decided he may as well continue to do so.
The World Walker Series Box Set Page 99
