World Walker 1: The World Walker

by Ian W. Sainsbury

  "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?"

  "That's my problem," said Seb. "I'll think of a way. There's a pizza place on the Upper East Side. Send Walt there tomorrow evening. I'll tell him how we're going to do this."

  "You appreciate your head will be separated from your body and both parts burned up?" whispered Mason. "There will be no opportunity for trickery. It doesn't matter how powerful you are, if the brain and body are utterly destroyed, you will die."

  "Hey, I almost died a couple weeks back," said Seb. "It's not that bad."

  "You have until tomorrow night, Mr. Varden. You may wish to reconsider your decision during that time. Ms. Patel will have a long, healthy life. As will your children. If you choose the second option, those children will never be born."

  "Send Walt," said Seb, getting up. "He'll tell you how it's going to play out."

  Chapter 47

  Seb spent the next day on a world tour any travel agent would have sold their soul to provide. From the Zhangye Danxia Landform in Gansu, China, with its breath-taking multicolored mountains, to an Orthodox monastery 1300 feet atop a natural sandstone rock pillar in Greece. He breakfasted at the base of an ancient redwood in Yosemite, had mid-morning coffee in a packed market in Istanbul, walked through a Japanese bamboo forest where tall green stalks waved over his head like living tower blocks. He spent an hour on a beach in Peru, the only human for miles around. He paddled in shallow pools inside a huge cave, lush with exotic vegetation, in Hang Song Doong, Vietnam. He swam in the Dead Sea and watched a rainbow over the Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe. He saw the sun go down over Paris from the top of the Tour Montparnasse, saw lights dancing on the Eiffel Tower. Apart from three hours in the afternoon, he spent the day as if it might be his last.

  The three hours were spent in the Syrian desert, his body automatically adjusting to the heat and screening out any harmful UV rays in the harsh sunlight.

  "This is where the founder of the Order is rumored to come from," said Seb2.

  "I know," said Seb. "It seems fitting, somehow." He walked up an incline to the mouth of a cave. Bones around the entrance hinted it may have housed some kind of animal, but their dry, brittle condition suggested it had long since been abandoned. Seb sat in the shadows and held out his hand. A plate, jug and glass took shape, the jug full of ice-cold water, the plate seeming to grow fresh sushi directly from the white china base. Seb ate slowly, savoring each mouthful. Then he looked at the empty plate and it became sand again. He sat, his mind becoming still, silent and focused.

  ***

  When he arrived at the pizza restaurant, Walt was already in a booth, drinking bourbon and nervously folding and twisting a paper napkin.

  "You gonna make that attack me?" said Seb as he slid into the chair opposite.

  Walt half-smiled. "I wouldn't dare," he said.

  "Mason tell you what was going on?" said Seb.

  "Yes," said Walt. He stopped playing with the napkin and tossed it onto the table. "You trying to make a point?"

  "Maybe," said Seb. "There's always a choice. Always, Walt."

  "What kind of a choice is death?" said Walt. "Giving up. What good can you do dead?"

  "I might not be able to do any good," said Seb, "but I won't do any harm, and sometimes that's the best option."

  Walt stared at him steadily, shook his head, then drained his glass and called the waiter over for more. "You're making a mistake, kid, that's all I can say. All for a girl? You're young, it might seem to make sense to you now, but give it 10, 20 years, you're gonna feel differently, trust me. No one's worth dying for, Seb."

  "I'm not sure you entirely believe that yourself," said Seb. "That's why I wanted you here."

  "Whatever," said Walt. "You do what you've got to do. But you've been given an amazing gift. Manna makes us better, better than them-," he waved his arm to include everyone else in the restaurant. "And you have the Roswell Manna. You were given that for a reason. You're gonna throw all that away? You're crazy." He shook his head in disgust. Seb could see he had been drinking for a while, and wasn't using Manna to negate the effects.

  "I'm no better than anyone in here," said Seb. "Neither are you. You forget that, it makes it easier for you to carry on helping that psychopath. But I can't forget it. I won't. I've made my choice."

  Walt didn't answer, just drank his bourbon and looked across the table.

  Seb stood up, reached into his jacket and tossed an envelope at Walt.

&n
bsp; "There's a construction site in the Bronx," he said. "The address is in that letter, along with details on how this needs to go down. Sun up is 6:26am, I'll arrive then. Make sure you're there with Meera. I won't be alone, I need someone to drive Meera away, and I won't let you near me until I know she's safe."

  "What's to stop you killing me and walking away with Meera?" said Walt.

  "Two things," said Seb. "Firstly, I don't want to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. Secondly, I give you my word. By now, you should know that's enough." He started to walk away, then changed his mind and returned to the table.

  "Make one thing clear to Mason," he said. "If he tries tracking Mee, puts a bug on her, or has anyone nearby ready to follow her, I'll know about it. Ask him what happened in the Keystone hotel. Tell him I will know if he plans to double-cross me, and if he does, you all die. I know Mee will die too, but it will happen quickly and painlessly. I can make sure of that. But the rest of you will die slowly in the kind of agony you can't even begin to imagine. And then I will devote the rest of my life to hunting down Mason and doing the same to him."

  Seb leaned across the table and looked into Walt's eyes.

  "Understood?" he said.

  "Yes," said Walt.

  "I'll see you at dawn," said Seb, and walked out.

  Chapter 48

  Seb had often been awake at dawn, not because he was an early riser, but because most shows finished in the early hours, and if the band wasn't staying overnight, they'd board the tour bus and get back on the road. Some of the best musical ideas he had ever come up with had come to him while half-dozing on the Interstate as the first thin sliver of red light began to warm the landscape. He still had hundreds of pieces of scrap paper in the apartment with fragments of lyrics hastily scribbled down, many indecipherable. He thought of it as a haunting time of day, unformed, full of mystery and possibility.

  An hour before dawn, an old station wagon arrived at the building site named in Seb's instructions. The occupant got out, walked over to the site, then returned to the vehicle 12 minutes later. During this time, the sound of a large engine could be heard within the site itself, a sound which continued to rumble. As the sky slowly lightened, colors and textures bled into the scene like someone turning the color dial in an ancient television set. The occupant of the car was revealed to be a man in his sixties, dressed in the plain black habit of a Catholic priest. He was gripping the steering wheel tightly, taking long deep breaths as if to calm himself.

  A second vehicle arrived at 6:35am. It was a black SUV, the privacy glass making it difficult to see the occupants. It stopped near the site entrance, opposite the station wagon, about 50 feet away. Both doors at the front opened. Two men stepped out and stood still, their breath making wisps of smoke in the cold. It was Sunday, so no interruptions were anticipated.

  The older man in the station wagon watched intently as another figure appeared, this time walking out of the site entrance. The newcomer approached the two waiting by the car.

  "Where is she?" he said. Westlake took a step back and opened the rear door. A few seconds later, Meera emerged. She looked older, her eyes still sparking with feisty intelligence, but her face drawn and pale. She was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, no coat. She was shivering, partly from the cold, partly through fear. Her right hand was bandaged. She looked up at the man approaching from the site.

  "Seb," she said.

  "Mee," said Seb, a small smile on his face. "Are you ok?"

  "I've had better weeks," she said, trying to smile back. "Didn't I tell you to stay away, you stubborn idiot?"

  "You did," he said.

  "Well, you're even more stupid than I thought, then," she said.

  "I love you too, Mee," said Seb. She started crying then, silently, her eyes never leaving his face. Seb turned to Walt.

  "Take her over to the car," he said, pointing out the station wagon. "She leaves now."

  Walt walked up to Mee, who promptly punched him in the face as hard as she could. Walt staggered backward, blood pouring from his nose.

  "You broke it," he said as the nose straightened itself and the blood turned transparent before sinking into his skin like moisturizer. "You really are charming. But not much point trying to hurt me."

  "Good point," she said, and kicked Westlake in the balls. She winced as her sneaker collided with something far harder than the testicles she had hoped to crush. Westlake rapped his knuckles on his crotch, which sounded like someone knocking on a door.

  "Had dealings with your type before," he said. Mee suddenly launched herself at him, screaming. As she shouted, she pummeled him with her fists, not caring about the pain from her missing finger, trying to reach his face with her nails. He fended her off with smooth, practiced ease.

  "Don't you lay a finger on him, you vicious bastard," she yelled. "Don't you touch him, you do what you like to me, just leave him alone, don't you dare-." She slumped suddenly as Westlake sprayed a puff of something from a small bottle into her face. Walt caught her. Westlake turned to Seb and shrugged.

  "You want this to go down smoothly, this is the best way. She'll only be out for a couple minutes."

  Seb shrugged right back at him, the distaste he felt barely concealed.

  "Take her to the car," he said. "I want to see her leave."

  Westlake nodded at Walt who hoisted the unconscious woman over his shoulder and walked over to the station wagon. The driver got out and Walt's eyebrows went up at the unexpected sight of a priest.

  "Who the hell are you?" said Walt.

  "An old friend," said the priest. "Sebastian asked me to help him."

  "He might trust you. Why should we?"

  The priest looked at Walt, his expression unreadable, but gentle. "He made me swear to treat everything I heard or saw as if it was protected by the sacrament of confession," he said. "I don't like what I'm seeing, and I'd strongly suggest you give some thought to the state of your immortal soul. You are a precious child of God just as much as this girl is. But you needn't worry about my telling anyone anything. As far as I'm concerned, this morning never happened."

  "Good," said Walt, as the two of them laid Meera onto the rear bench of the car. He walked back to Westlake, who went to the trunk and handed him a flamethrower. He hoisted the harness awkwardly over his shoulder. Westlake went back into the trunk and produced a large axe. Then the two men walked to the site entrance and joined Seb.

  The priest waited for Seb's nod, then got back into the station wagon and started the engine. Meera stirred in the back and opened her eyes. She propped herself up on one elbow and looked quizzically at the man in the driver's seat.

  "You're the guy in the photo," she said. "The photo Seb keeps on his piano."

  "Father O," said the priest, turning and smiling at her over his shoulder. "I need you to trust me. It's going to be all right."

  "How?" said Mee, pushing herself into a sitting position as the car moved away. She looked out of the window and saw Seb walking through the site entrance, the two men following. "How can it ever be all right again?"

  Father O'Hanoran put the car in gear and drove away. Mee looked over her shoulder but Seb, Walt and Westlake had disappeared into the building site. The last she thing she saw before the car rounded the corner was diesel smoke rising from behind the fences. Her tears blurred the scene, but she didn't wipe them away.

  Chapter 49

  Walt looked at Westlake as Seb led them a hundred yards into the site to the edge of a pit. Two large mechanical diggers stood near the side. The engine noise and smoke was revealed to be coming from a cement truck, the huge mixing shaft slowly rotating to keep the concrete in its liquid form. It had been backed up to the edge of the hole, ready to start on the foundations.

  "What's he gonna do, build something?" said Walt.

  "Shut up," said Westlake, his eyes never leaving Seb's back.

  Walt opened his mouth, then thought better of it. Although Westlake had no Manna ability, he
was the closest thing Mason had to a second in command, so antagonizing him was never going to be a wise option. He had also once seen him snap a man's neck while making a phone call. Seb stopped near the edge of the pit and turned to face them. He said nothing.

  "Let's get this over with," said Westlake, taking grip of the axe and stepping forward.

  Seb held up a hand. "One more step and I'll superheat that plastic box between your legs so that it melts onto your genitals." Westlake visibly paled, and hesitated. He had a very high tolerance for pain and a below average libido, but enough imagination to decide to do as he was told.

  "We wait," said Seb. "I know I can't trust you, I assume you're having Meera followed. However, I allowed for this when I planned this morning's adventure." He pulled out a cheap cell phone and held it up. "If I don't get a call on this phone in -" He glance at his watch, "- four minutes, I'm going to reduce both of you to your composite atoms and spread them all over Manhattan."

  Walt put the flamethrower on the ground and held up his hands.

  "Look, Seb, think this through," he said. "There's no need to rush this decision. Why not take a few weeks and really consider your options? No one's going to hurt Meera, she's just insurance. But do you really think she can hide from Mason when you're gone? By doing this, you're killing her as well as yourself."

  "I'll take that risk," said Seb.

  "Ok, you think you can out-smart Mason, I get it. But what if you're wrong? What if-"

  Seb held up a hand. "Shut up, Walt," he said.

  They stood in silence, the only sound the steady rhythmic chug of the truck's engine. Finally, the cell rang. Seb held it up to his ear, listening intently. Then he smiled, turned it off and tossed it into the pit.

  "Ok," he said, "I'm ready." He walked over to the truck, pushed a button at the rear, and the trailer lifted, liquid cement pouring out of the back into the hole. He came back to Walt and Westlake, turned his back on them and knelt on the edge, without saying another word. Westlake hoisted the axe and walked forward. Without knowing why, Walt looked away.