Infanticide (Fallen Gods Saga Book 2)

by T. W. Malpass

  FALLEN GODS

  Infanticide

  by

  TW Malpass

  Published by Sericia

  Copyright © T.W. Malpass, 2013

  You can find news of upcoming titles by T.W. Malpass at:

  www.fallen-gods.com

  Come and talk to me on Twitter: @TW_Malpass

  Editing: Kate Dunn

  Cover Art: Michael Buxton

  eBook formatting: Guido Henkel

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher at the email address below.

  FOREWORD

  For those readers that are still with this book series, I’d like to thank you for joining me again for the next instalment of the Fallen Gods Saga. I plan to write much more contemporary work in the future, but as strange as it sounds, I doubt they could ever be more personal than this trilogy. Beneath the monsters and the mayhem lies an autobiography of sorts. I’m so glad I can share it with you. Enjoy Infanticide, and I hope to have the final chapter, Mind Over Matterless, ready some time in 2014.

  It Is Hell That Created Me

  1

  6 weeks ago…

  The voices of the children drifted out through the assembly hall and whispered around the main building at the front of St Margaret’s primary school. They sung Frere Jacques under the scrutiny of their elderly music teacher. One of the groups making up the round on stage drifted off key and she looked at them over her chained spectacles, tapping her walking cane against the side of her piano. ‘Now, now, Group B. Come on, Clara, concentrate.’

  The little girl she addressed scrunched her nose in defiance and sped up her singing to catch up with her classmates. The music teacher smiled when she realised that her class was back in perfect harmony. ‘That’s it – focus.’ Striking the piano keys with even more gusto than before, she glanced up from her playing with pride at what she had assembled. In little over three weeks, she had moulded this rag-tag group of no-hopers into a well-drilled vocal unit. She was certain this would be the one performance to wow the parents at the annual charity concert towards the end of the month. It was her favourite date on the term calendar, and she always made sure that her act did not disappoint. She continued to gaze at the children, imagining how the background scenery and drapes would look around the stage on the night. Normally, the pupils and teachers would make everything, but this year she had managed to secure some semi-professional backgrounds – canvas-covered flats and drapes –from a friend she knew in theatre; everything was coming together nicely.

  When the children’s voices started to peter out one by one, she tutted and stopped playing. ‘For goodness sake! You were doing so well.’ The children did not seem to be listening to her. Instead, they were half-turned towards the centre of the stage, taking a few steps back from where she had positioned them. They gazed at something, bemusement and concern painted on their faces.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked, but before she could get up from her stool, the black bowler hat of Cradleworth began to rise above the heads of her pupils. She had no time to gasp, or draw her clenched fist up to her mouth; Cradleworth’s eyes were already upon her. Frozen with fear, she watched his long, suited frame fully emerge from the crowd.

  The children were speechless. They might have run from the hall if instructed to do so by their teacher, but like them, Ms Kerner was trapped within his invisible grasp. Cradleworth regarded the minors surrounding him, as if they were his disciples, come to worship at his feet. He then turned his attention beyond the stage. ‘Your pupils have the voices of angels, Ms Kerner. You have tutored them well. You must be very proud of their achievements – and may I also say – what an excellent song choice. So many have speculated on the origins of Frere Jacques. The French believe it refers to Jacques de Molay, a templar knight, executed in thirteen fourteen.’ Cradleworth paused, then gave a contrived laugh. ‘You know, it’s strange. I have lived in so many vessels, across thousands of worlds, but never have I felt more insignificant than in this one. Your entire history and cultures form merely a side-note in my mind.’ He leaned forward, pretending he had distanced himself from the children, lowering his voice to a whisper. ‘Between you and me, I don’t know how much more I can endure…but alas, I must. There is a great deal to organise, and much fun to be had. I thought I’d begin with your merry band of vocalists. Would you like me to begin here, Ms Kerner? After all, in the end, what difference does it make?’

  ‘Are you the devil?’ The tiny voice came from just below Cradleworth’s right arm. The boy with curly blonde hair asked the one question all the others were thinking, including Ms Kerner. The child looked up, more in wonderment than terror, unaware of what awaited him.

  ‘Ahh, bless him.’ Cradleworth placed a gloved hand upon the boy’s head. Gripping his scalp, he continued to address Ms Kerner. ‘That is what you say, isn’t it? Bless him – do you know why you say that?’ He stabbed his elegant cane in front of him as a cue for her to answer.

  ‘No,’ she whimpered.

  ‘It’s a plea to someone, or something, to do what you cannot – to control the fate of your young – your dynasty. It is an unregistered admission that your species is truly extraneous.’ In the moment before Ms Kerner could catch her breath, Cradleworth took the fear away, as if he were toying with a light switch. She now belonged to him; black eyed and obedient, staring back at him through her hollowed out soul. She began to caress the keys of the piano again. The tune resembled the one they had been singing along to, but it was not taken from the sheet music. It sounded off-kilter, discordant. Their new conductor began to beat time.

  ‘Come along children. Ms Kerner does not suffer slothfulness. You have a show to put on, and practice makes perfect.’ The class had barely moved a muscle since his appearance, one or two of them started to sob, mouthing the words of the song. Little by little, reluctant, vulnerable sounds began to form the melody, as Ms Kerner played on with the new and dark arrangement, jerking like a clockwork mannequin as she struck each key.

  Cradleworth gazed up at the ceiling, disregarding his playthings, whilst still commanding them. His attention was already elsewhere. ‘All roads lead to me,’ he whispered.

  The Price

  1

  Briaridge Orchard, Bedfordshire

  It had been three days since Celeste gathered the first-born and delivered unwelcome answers to some of the riddles that had plagued their lives.

  The first morning they awoke in the manor, they discovered that the burning red cloud, which Jerrico, Stuart and Barnes had seen descend over the ill-fated express train, blanketing the skies as far as they could see. To begin with, observers believed it to be a blood red thunderhead forming over the south of England. As it continued to spread at an unprecedented rate, experts began to realise this was a phenomenon never witnessed before in human history. When darkness fell, the cloud covered half the globe, burning in the sky like a floating sea of fire. By the morning of the second day, nephologists started to launch intensive studies into the cause, and could only surmise that the cloud was not a cloud at all. With no official answers, or even theories, mass pani
c began to take hold. People were encouraged to stay in their homes and only leave in the case of emergency. Rioting was widespread. Most countries were forced to deploy a military presence on the streets to try to keep order. Various religious groups described the cloud as the first stages of a reckoning – an inevitable consequence of man’s desertion from God. Others believed the causes originated from the environmental damage that we had perpetuated and ignored. Everybody had a hypothesis.

  The areas around London were as problematic as anywhere, mainly due to the fact it was the first point the cloud was sighted. An unsubstantiated rumour grew, that whatever cosmic event was taking place, London and its neighbouring towns were ground zero. A great number of citizens wanted out – attempting to travel as far north as they could. After that, the government sanctioned heavily barricaded checkpoints around those areas and issued a virtual media blackout to ensure the public were not alarmed by any further speculation.

  2

  Stuart had been in the manor’s study with Barnes for the past hour, until Evelyn, Martha and Vladimir joined him. He gazed up at the ominous sky from the window. ‘It makes you wonder if we’ll ever see the sun again.’

  ‘I’m guessing the cloud cover is going to be the least of our worries,’ Vladimir replied.

  Martha scowled at him.

  ‘What? The kid was here the other day too. He heard what she said, so quit babying him.’

  Under normal circumstances, she would have acknowledged it and apologised, but these were not normal circumstances, and she knew she wasn’t the only one twisted up inside with tension.

  ‘It’s her silence now that worries me more than anything else.’ Evelyn moved to the window as she spoke, placing a hand on Stuart. The boy refused to avert his eyes from the burning clouds.

  ‘Jerrico hasn’t spoken a word to me since he tried to—’ Stuart closed his eyes, trying to block out the memory of his friend’s lifeless body draped over the kitchen table.

  ‘Don’t take it personally, honey. He hasn’t spoken to anyone,’ Martha said.

  ‘That’s because he’s been spending most of his time with his pet gimp,’ Vladimir said.

  ‘He’s right. Jerrico has been with it ever since he recovered. I don’t understand. That monster killed his parents.’ Stuart turned from the window and looked up at Evelyn.

  ‘As Celeste explained, it’s a part of him. So he can’t ignore it.’ Evelyn sounded uncertain of her own remark.

  ‘So technically…’ Vladimir said.

  ‘Do you get withdrawal symptoms when you’ve not been a dick for five minutes?’ Martha scowled again. Vladimir’s stare back was defiant. He slumped into a nearby armchair, resting his feet on the table and lighting a cigarette.

  ‘I’m concerned about the times it’s not with Jerrico. I’m sure I’m not the only one who has felt it watching me,’ Evelyn said.

  ‘Fuckin A, lady. Can’t remember a time since I’ve been here when I haven’t felt its eyes, or whatever they are.’ Vladimir shivered at the thought, as he blew out his first lung full of smoke.

  The others – even Barnes – knew exactly what Evelyn and Vladimir were referring to. Curled up in the corner, he’d been having his usual afternoon thirty. His response was to raise an eyelid for a moment, before sighing wearily through damp nostrils.

  ‘What’s his problem?’ Vladimir said.

  Stuart looked down at the dog. ‘Same as all of us. He wants to go back to where he came from.’

  Vladimir sniggered. ‘Didn’t he see the newsflash? Home’s a long way from here.’

  Stuart guessed right, not that Barnes was about to communicate it to him. The dog had felt it ever since he’d left his old home. Originally, the feeling was nothing more than a nagging doubt. The nagging, however, increased until doubt became certainty. The boy who used to feed and walk him, the boy who used to love him and loved him still was sick. Whatever the illness, it had struck quickly, weakening him to the point where Barnes couldn’t be sure whether he could feel Eric at all. Eric Page. That was his name. It was difficult for Barnes to remember something as simple as that, because his memory recall was so reliant on the smell of things. Eric’s scent was so unmistakable – the fragrance of the bark from the birch tree in the back garden, mixed with the elderberry shampoo his mother used to wash his hair. How he wished to fill his senses with Eric’s signature again, if only for a moment. The guilt of abandonment anchored Barnes to the ground.

  ‘Why hasn’t she called for us? What good is it doing to wait like this?’ Martha said. She traced her hand down her arm, feeling a groove in her skin as she did so. Not all of her cuts and bruises had fully healed from her accident at the Switchblade.

  ‘Mind you, I don’t know whether we are right to be so eager to speak to her again. I’m not so sure I’ve fully accepted what we’ve been told already,’ Evelyn said.

  ‘After everything you’ve been through, you still don’t believe?’ Martha was amazed.

  ‘I didn’t say that. It’s obvious that something beyond our understanding is happening here. I’m just saying, at the moment, we are taking an awful lot of details she’s given us on faith.’

  ‘I ain’t got no faith, lady – and I believe. This Cradleworth’s bad fucking voodoo, so we better hope we’re as important and as powerful as Celeste says we are,’ Vladimir said.

  ‘I hate to say it, but I agree with him. Time is running out. If we don’t act soon, he’s going to bring hell down on us all.’ Martha glanced down at Stuart in apology.

  ‘Remember what she told us about helping Jerrico, and how important he is if we are going to stop Cradleworth? What if she is waiting for us to follow her instructions?’ Stuart asked.

  ‘What are you saying?’ Martha said.

  ‘I’m saying, maybe we should have a meeting with everyone, and figure out how we are going to get him back on side.’

  ‘Kid’s right. If Jerrico can do what Celeste says he can do then he’s the best weapon we have against what’s coming.’ Vladimir puffed out another mouthful of smoke. He’d already sucked the cigarette down to its butt.

  ‘I think that’s an excellent idea.’ Evelyn smiled and winked at Stuart.

  He tried to smile back but it was hard. Even if Jerrico was ok, how he wished he were tucked up in bed right now, unaware that Barnes sat across the road in the rain, staring in at his window.

  ‘Fair enough. Let’s get the others – but if she hasn’t spoken by tonight, we go to Ashley and demand some answers,’ Martha added.

  ‘Agreed,’ Evelyn said.

  ‘Where’s Heven?’ Stuart asked.

  ‘He’s upstairs – playing with his disco.’ Vladimir sniggered at his own remark, taking his feet down from the table in an effort to rouse himself.

  ‘Kaleb’s up and about now too. I’ll go get him and Josie down here,’ Martha said.

  ‘How is he?’ Evelyn asked.

  ‘He seems much better, but he’s still pretty weak,’ Martha said.

  3

  Kaleb took a couple of days to get up and walk again. Josie stayed with him the whole time – even slept in his bed. Ashley made him a hearty cooked breakfast that morning, and Josie returned to his room after collecting it from the kitchen. When she entered, he was getting dressed. He turned away to hide his nakedness, realising belatedly there was no need.

  ‘Ashley didn’t tell me what’s on here, but it smells delicious. Wish I hadn’t refused a plate myself now.’ Josie lowered the food to the table at his bedside.

  ‘You can share mine,’ Kaleb replied.

  ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘Better…strange.’

  Josie reached out to brush his arm with her fingers. ‘It must make the pain worthwhile – being able to heal people like that.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  To her surprise, Kaleb pulled away from her caress to go in search of the watch that she’d taken from his wrist while he slept. ‘Did I do something wrong?’ she asked. ‘What aren’t you telling
me?’

  He turned to look at her, running his hands through his curly hair and down across his beard. Josie couldn’t sleep since arriving at the manor, working hard to nurse him back to health, but she still looked so fresh to him – beautiful. All he wanted to do was lay her down on the bed and forget the world. ‘There are lots of people who have remained sick and injured, even died because I allowed them to.’

  ‘You can’t save everyone, Kaleb.’

  ‘I’m talking about people I knew – people I loved.’ He closed his eyes in shame, dropping down to the bed, as if his legs had given way on him again. ‘I had an aunt who was diagnosed with cervical cancer. She suffered for eighteen months. It almost destroyed my mother, and I did nothing. I even refused to visit her. The guilt was eating away at me…it still does.’

  Josie moved over to stand astride him. She cupped his bristled cheeks with her hands, forcing him to look up towards her. ‘This is what you’ve been holding back.’ She felt the cold channel of a tear roll from the back of her hand down to her wrist.

  ‘Every time I touch someone – every time I heal them – I give them part of me, something I can never get back. The more serious their illness or injury, the closer they are to death, the more it takes from me. It didn’t take me long to realise what it was doing to me. I could feel something die inside whenever I placed my hands on someone.’ Kaleb buried his face into Josie’s palms.

  Her empathy could never match Jerrico’s or his own, but she could feel his guilt filling the room like it was about to drown them. Reaching under his arms, she helped him to his feet. ‘Don’t you see? Knowing what you did, even to help one person took tremendous selflessness – the kind of courage most people will never know. But you’ve healed several times, given so much of yourself. If anyone deserves to be free of guilt, it’s you.’ She wanted to tell him so much more – how special he was, how he made her feel whenever she was in his presence. As soon as she tried to speak, his lips met her mouth. They pressed hard against hers with a desperation that only increased her arousal. By the time his tongue slid inside, she was already panting and clutching at his body.