Billy: Seeker of Powers (The Billy Saga)

by Michaelbrent Collings

  Billy stepped forward and fell at Mordrecai’s feet. He kissed them loudly, making sure to leave generous amounts of slobber behind. It worked with Mrs. Black, he thought. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

  Out loud, he said, “Oh, your generoush lordship. May I be the firsht to congratulate you on the removal of your hernia. I hope the new one ish jusht ash good.” He coughed loudly, and then blew his nose on Mordrecai’s pants leg. “May your yearsh be full of happinesh and light, may every ray of shunshine shine down on you ash though you are the favorite nut in a chipmunk’sh nesht.” Billy was on a roll now, the inanity flowing from him like a river of non sequiturs.

  I must be spending too much time with Tempus, he thought.

  Unlike Eva, Mordrecai didn’t jump out of the way. He kicked out, and Billy felt a sharp jolt as the point of Mordrecai’s shoe caught him on the chin.

  Billy fell back, pain ringing through his skull. Everything seemed to be vibrating around him.

  Well, so much for this idea, he thought. We’re done.

  But in that instant, Nehara stepped forward. “How dare you strike him!” he shouted.

  “Who is this oaf?” demanded Mordrecai, refusing to back down.

  Apparently, however, the kick had snapped at Nehara’s pride as much as it had shaken Billy’s skull. Nehara’s voice grew so cold Billy expected to see icicles growing off Mordrecai’s shoes. “Who are you to ask me anything?” demanded Nehara. Billy felt the Blue Power reach down and grab him by the shoulder, hauling him roughly to his feet and propelling him toward the nearby steps. “He is a Darksider, and he has volunteered to try to climb the stairs to the City of the Sky. And,” added Nehara, his voice now so cold that it seemed the very air around them might freeze solid, “he has my blessing in his attempt. So move out of the way.”

  Another long moment in which no one spoke. Then, slowly, Mordrecai moved aside. Nehara propelled Billy past the Darksider. As they moved by him, Billy heard Mordrecai say something under his breath. It was low, but Billy could make it out. “Thy time is nigh, slave,” muttered Mordrecai.

  Billy shuddered. The word choice was strange. Archaic. But familiar. Mordrecai was speaking almost the same way Billy had when he was gripped by that strange force that sometimes seemed to speak through him. But it was a dark version of what Billy had said. Unpleasant and creepy. But strong.

  Apparently even Nehara felt the strength in the words, because he stutter-stepped for a second, before continuing to stride forward.

  The stairs were suddenly before them. Billy’s feet stopped moving, seemingly of their own accord. Something about the steps was… wrong. He couldn’t put it into words, but the steps were alien in a way that unnerved him. It wasn’t a visual thing; they were actually quite beautiful. They were so white they seemed to shine from within, the purity of the whiteness broken only by shining veins of gold that threaded through them. But in spite of their beauty they frightened him. They seemed to be speaking. Warning.

  Don’t even try it, they seemed to be saying. Billy felt a sense of déjà vu, and remembered being escorted to the whales’ graveyard. Only no, that wasn’t quite right. It was more like… like the feeling he got from the mermaid Blue: a sense of otherworldliness. A feeling of being in the presence of something powerful, but that did not understand the rules of humanity.

  Billy shivered, and felt the movement ripple through his grotesque frame.

  “Go ahead,” said Nehara. The Blue Power was clearly trying to sound commanding and haughty and contemptuous. But apparently the otherness of the stairs affected him as well, for his voice sounded strange and tight.

  Billy willed himself to step forward. It was like pushing through a wall made of Jell-O. He could do it, but only very slowly. It took almost everything he had to set his feet on the first step.

  As soon as he made it onto the step, the air seemed to thin to its normal consistency once more. But Billy didn’t have any time to enjoy the feeling, because a sudden gasp went up from the assembled Darksiders who were standing around the stairs.

  Billy turned to look at what had caught their attention.

  It was him.

  What’s going on? he wondered. Granted, I’m not so hot-looking right now, but –

  The thought cut off as he realized something: he was looking at the Darksiders. At their faces. Not their feet.

  How could I have been so stupid? he thought in that same instant. Nehara had said that something about the stairs kept spells from working. Like the spell that had disguised him.

  Billy looked like Billy again. And he was standing in the middle of thousands of Darksiders.

  CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH

  In Which Billy Climbs, and in Going Down Goes Up…

  “Kill him!”

  It was Mordrecai, his mouth open and his eyes wild with unconcealed rage. Billy was surprised. Not at the words themselves, but rather at the fact that it was Mordrecai who had shrieked and not Mrs. Black.

  An instant later, he realized that Mrs. Black was not wasting time with words. She held her hands apart, and a darkness surrounded her. Billy could hear shouts of agony wailing thinly from within the black cloud. Shadows moved in the gloom that cloaked Mrs. Black like a shroud, strange wraiths spinning in a maelstrom of pure evil.

  Billy instantly recognized what Mrs. Black was doing. It was the Dread. Billy himself had survived the spell, but it had cost him greatly. Besides, he knew that even if Mrs. Black didn't fell him outright with her spell, it would render him helpless long enough for someone else to finish the job.

  Billy didn't even have time to think the shield, sword, and dagger to existence. Mrs. Black flung her arms upward, and the inky cloud around her streaked toward Billy like a missile of pure evil. Billy threw out his hands instinctively, trying to protect himself against the pain he knew was coming. And then... nothing happened.

  A gasp went up from the Darksiders. Billy lowered his arms, and saw them staring at him open-mouthed. Mrs. Black moved again, and another dark projectile hurtled through the air toward him. And it, too, dissipated before touching him.

  “Don't just stand there!” screeched the Black Power to the assembled mass of Darksiders. “Destroy him!”

  The barest fraction of an instant passed, and then the spells started to come. Watery whips and spear-like tongues of flame fought each other to reach him first. Tornadoes whirled toward him, and dark Death came to claim him. Nehara put his hand in his pocket in that instant and disappeared, no doubt Transporting himself somewhere safer – like the inside of a malfunctioning fission reactor.

  Billy had no such means of escape. The energy concentrated in the spells being hurled at him seemed to make the very air itself come alive and howl in pain, and Billy saw with horror that the Darksiders were actually striking each other down in their eagerness to destroy him, evil soldiers getting hit by their own unfriendly fire.

  But none of it touched Billy.

  He was confused for a moment, then realized that the very thing that had betrayed his existence to the Darksiders was also protecting him: the spell-dampening properties of the white stairs were keeping the Darksiders' attacks from reaching him.

  Mrs. Black raised her hand, signaling the Darksiders to halt their attacks. They ceased their barrage, and Billy was horrified to see how many of the surrounding Powers slowly sank into the depths of the cloud, dead at their own fellows' hands. They were his enemies, they were sworn to destroy him and all Dawnwalkers – to enslave humanity itself – but he still felt ill at the death that had been visited on this place.

  Billy stared at Mrs. Black for a long moment. Mordrecai sidled up to her, and Billy saw him whisper in her ear, a serpent in a garden of evil.

  Mrs. Black's thin lips grew even thinner as her mouth stretched into a wide smile. “You're right,” she said. Then, to Billy, she added, “You may be shielded from our spells, but there are more than enough of us to kill you the old-fashioned way.” She pointed at him and screeched, “Half my
world for the Darksider who brings me that boy's head!”

  No one moved.

  “Well?” she shrieked. “Kill him!”

  Still no one stepped toward Billy. And now he realized how dangerous the stairs he stood on must be: not a single Darksider was willing to so much as climb on the first step to grab him.

  “You heard her,” shouted Mordrecai. “Kill the usurper!”

  Billy thought that was a strange thing to call him, but was mostly relieved that people seemed even less inclined to listen to Mordrecai than they were to listen to Mrs. Black.

  Finally, one Darksider stepped forward. It was a woman who looked to be in her mid-forties, her face curled in a stomach-churning mixture of hatred and greed. It was clear that she saw a way to ascend to the heights of the Darksiders' ranks and was willing to risk the stairs to do so.

  Now Billy thought of the weapons, and instantly the shield was on his left arm, the Dagger of Flame clenched in his left hand, and Excalibur in his right. Apparently the White King’s weapons had power, even on the stairs.

  A gasp went up from the mob, and the woman stopped instantly.

  “So it's true,” said Mrs. Black. “You have three of the weapons.”

  “And I'll have four pretty soon,” said Billy, wishing he felt as brave as he was trying to sound.

  “We shall see,” said Mrs. Black. But she didn't move to stop him as he backed up, the shield held in front of him protectively. He ascended several steps, trying to keep his eyes on everyone at once. He hadn't felt this enormously exposed since the time he appeared in a roomful of zombies on Powers Island.

  Billy backed up a few more steps, then finally turned and began running up the stairs. Even though the stairs had dampened all previous spells cast against him, he felt his shoulder blades tighten, expecting at any moment to be struck down. No attacks came, however, and eventually he started to relax. He looked behind himself and saw that he had already ascended well over a hundred feet. The Darksiders watched him in a sinister mass far below, their hatred for him still almost palpable even at this distance.

  Billy looked up. The stairs continued for what seemed an eternity. It wasn't simply that they went on for a great distance, either, he realized. Now that he was actually on them, he could see that the steps seemed strangely blurry after a certain point. Like they had been drawn into the sky and then half-erased by an impatient child, only vague outlines and the shadow of substance left behind.

  Billy tried to figure out what could cause such a thing, but finally decided he might as well work on that problem when he got there. He continued to climb. After a while he glanced back again, and couldn't even see the Darksiders. Surprisingly, he wasn't the least winded. In fact, he realized with a start that he wasn't even breathing! He started to panic and had a bad moment where he felt the world spin around him. Giving in to vertigo while climbing an infinite stairway anchored only in cloud probably was not a good idea.

  Gradually, Billy calmed down. He realized that the air must be too thin to breathe at this height. At the same time, he recognized that the spell Blue had cast on him – the spell that allowed him to survive without air in the depths of the sea – must be working here, too.

  No wonder no one has come back alive, he realized. There's no air.

  He felt better than he had for a while. For a moment he allowed himself to think that everything was going to be all right. He raised his foot, put it down on the next step... and almost fell to his doom when his foot plunged right through it. The step was an illusion! Billy's arms wheeled in great circles as he tried to keep his balance, but he felt himself losing the fight with gravity. His stomach lurched sickeningly as he pitched forward, falling directly into the gap that the false stair had hidden. His mind replayed the terrible sight of the woman plummeting to her doom, and knew that it was going to be him next.

  Billy fell... and then stopped falling in almost the same instant. His body fell into the empty void before him, but the rim of his shield caught on the real steps on either side of the fake one. He hadn't fallen. He was saved!

  Of course, he was now hanging below the stairs, and couldn't see any way to get back onto them. Even if he had had the upper body strength to pull himself up, the shield was in his way, acting like a cover above his head, one that was sealed in place by his own weight pulling on it. The very thing that had saved him now made it impossible to do anything but dangle helplessly. Billy realized that as bad as falling to his death would have been, hanging in place and waiting to starve to death, die of dehydration, or simply have his shoulder slowly yanked out of its socket by the relentless pull of his own body weight would be infinitely worse. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, running down his cheeks in steady streams that joined at the tip of his chin and then fell into the endless oblivion below.

  Billy envied them. He suddenly realized that dying wasn't always the worst thing that could happen; sometimes not dying could be far worse.

  He looked around for a way out of his predicament. Nothing. He was as alone as he could ever remember being. And his arm hurt.

  It hurt far worse, then, as something yanked him upward. Billy shot into the air, landing on the stairs again.

  “Why won't you just fall?” someone said at the same time.

  Billy had only an instant to steady himself before realizing that the someone was actually a something. It was a bear.

  A bear? shouted Billy's mind.

  The bear was standing in front of him, growling loudly as it barked, “Why?” in an angry voice. Unlike most bears, though, this one wasn't brown or black. It was gray, such a perfect shade of gray it was almost colorless, caught in a tonal purgatory between absolute white and darkest black. The bear was holding onto Billy's shield, and it gave him a shake that caused Billy's teeth to clatter together like castanets.

  “S-s-s-stop sh-sh-sh-shaking m-m-m-me,” Billy stuttered.

  The bear stopped shaking him, but Billy had a feeling that the great gray beast wasn't doing it because of any desire to respect his wishes. Rather, it was staring at the shield.

  “Where did you get that?” growled the animal.

  “Uhhhh...,” Billy answered.

  The bear advanced on him. “Answer me!” it bellowed, and raised a huge paw above Billy's head, clearly ready to batter him to a pulp.

  “Uhhhh...,” Billy managed again. Once more his trademark lack of ability to talk under pressure – like when speaking to the beautiful Blythe, or when being threatened by angry gray bears on a stairway in the sky – caught his tongue and held it fast.

  The bear roared, which Billy thought insanely was a pretty neat trick considering the lack of air around them, and then its paw dropped like a furry rock with claws.

  Billy knew the shield was a powerful Imbued Object, but as fast as it was, the bear was almost as fast. Billy barely managed to raise the shield in time to intercept the animal's attack. He expected to feel the impact tear through him, probably even hurling him off the steps and into blank sky, but to his surprise the bear's paw glanced off the shield as thought it was a stuffed animal rather than a one ton talking beast.

  The bear stared at its paw, looking surprised (which Billy thought was a strange look for a bear). “It can't be,” whispered the bear. It swiped at Billy again, and once again Billy barely managed to raise the shield in time to stop the attack. The bear's paw bounced off with a muffled thump, and Billy allowed himself to hope that he might actually survive this encounter.

  The bear stopped staring at its paw, and instead looked at Billy with a strange expression. Billy stepped back in spite of himself, dropping down a step. He wanted to back away even farther, but had no idea which of the stairs below were the illusory ones. He didn't want to fall again, so he held his ground.

  “Are we meeting?” asked the bear.

  Billy didn't know exactly how to answer that. He thought about saying “Uhhh” again, but decided against it. The world wasn't ready for that much eloquence. He substitute
d it for an “Um,” instead.

  “Are we meeting,” the bear said again, “or are we saying goodbye?” It shook its head, clearly confused.

  Join the club, thought Billy. A talking bear on a stair in the middle of the air. It sounded like a line from a Dr. Seuss book... if Dr. Seuss had been an evil madman intent on giving children nightmares.

  “I don't remember you,” said the bear in a low voice. Or growl. Or whatever.

  “I... don't remember you, either,” said Billy after a long moment. This is the weirdest conversation I've ever had, he thought.

  “But I should remember you,” said the bear. “Especially if we've never met before.”

  Billy started trying to unravel the logic of that statement, but it was such a tangled mess that he quickly gave it up as an impossible job.

  The bear refocused on the shield Billy wore. Its muzzle curled as it growled. “You got that from her,” it muttered.

  Billy felt his stomach tighten. Clearly the answer would matter to the bear. He didn't want to get it wrong.

  “Well, I –” he began. But before he could finish the thought – a good thing, since he had no idea what he was going to say next – the bear suddenly disappeared.

  Billy remained motionless for a long time. What had just happened? At this point he was getting used to weirdness, but that had seemed weird even by his new “Powers-adjusted” scale.

  He probably would have remained there forever, stuck in his own thoughts like they were some kind of psychic glue, but Blythe's face suddenly swam into focus in his mind. He didn't know how long she had left. Not to mention Ivy or any of the other Greens. Veric was gone. Vester was dead. There was no time to waste if he wanted to save the others.

  He trudged onward. Step after step passed under his feet, so many that he knew counting them would have been futile. He had no idea how long he had been climbing, but it must have been hours. The stairs became a blur under his feet, bleeding together into a featureless mass of gold-veined white. He felt his mind grow dull, and realized that even if he wasn't growing short of breath, he might die of boredom if he didn't get to the top soon.