No. Not him too! I scramble to my feet, dashing down the stairs to the lower floor of the building. I have no plan, no idea what I can do, but I burst out the lower level and into the street. Looking up the steps and between the fire-lit arches I can see Jay up close.
His hands are clamped to his head, grasping and clawing frantically at his skull. I can almost feel the pain in his eyes as I watch him searching vainly for the fingers tearing at his mind. He is yanked to his feet, joints locking, but he is held upright by a will not his own. His mouth opens and he begins to speak, but the words are also being spoken by Zurvan at the same time. The image is reminiscent of a ventriloquist with a dummy, though I can see Zurvan’s mouth moving and he is not touching the boy directly. He is controlling the boy’s movements with a single outstretched hand.
“The Almighty Zurvan sends this message to his faithful brethren: The Lost Star returns as I have promised your prophets. You will bring it to me and I will grant your reward—spare you from the fate that consumes humanity. Those who would be saved should heed my words. Bring the Lost Star to the eternal fires of Yanar Dag. Restore me to my body and assure your eternal salvation.”
As soon as Zurvan finishes his speech, he releases his grip.
Jay collapses toward the ground, but his body never strikes the surface. I watch with horror as his robed form evaporates into the ether. A moment later there is no evidence that he ever existed.
Holy shit.
I’m frozen in shock, chiding myself for my foolishness in getting so close to this man again and praying that he hasn’t yet detected my presence. Watching the boy vanish has been enough to replenish my terror. My desire to discern Zurvan’s methods of communication has twisted to a knot in my stomach. He’s a monster. If the only way to receive messages involves someone in the real world sacrificing children to the Neverwhere, I can’t wish for that. I could never be a party to anything so cruel.
I back slowly away from the archway. Zurvan’s eyes are closed. He’s standing still, seeming to relish the violence he has just performed.
I crawl slowly back through a hole in the wall of the building next door, then climb the steps of the stairwell to the first landing, hiding myself from view. There is a tiny hole in the cement blocks still allowing a view of the robed man next door.
How is he doing that to people? And why would anyone be helping him?
I struggle to process what I just saw.
The part of Zurvan’s speech that nags at me is his talk of a “promised deliverance.” He’s getting out of here somehow, or at least hopes to, in return for this supposed salvation. How do they plan to manage that? Whatever his relationship with these disciples and this Elgin person is, it’s supposed to benefit them both somehow. The rest of the conversation was out of my depth. I don’t know what the Alpha is, or what the temple they referred to was. It doesn’t sound like a religion I’ve ever heard of and, if it involves sacrificing people to the Neverwhere, I plan to steer clear. He also mentioned a scientist. I only know one of those, but he would never have anything to do with these people, would he?
Zurvan is still relishing his moment. He’s staying on the platform, staring at the space where the disciple vanished. Jay was treating him like a god. Worshiping him. Watching Zurvan, I wonder at his real origins. He’s powerful, true. I’ve felt what he can do here. I’ve felt him get inside my head. But a god? I highly doubt that. So what is he then?
Out the hole in the building wall, I watch Zurvan extinguish his fire pit. He’s scooping ash onto it from the platform. No. It’s not the platform anymore, and it’s not ash but sand—
Quick as thought, my building vanishes. I plummet out of the air like Willie Coyote belatedly recognizing he’s run off a cliff. Gritty dunes rush up to meet me and I thud into them, tumbling downhill into a miniature valley between two rises. The dune is smoking. Flames lick from the very stones themselves. I can smell gas. Methane?
Zurvan’s memory shift was even faster than I could have anticipated. I spit dirt and sand from my mouth and spring to my feet. Did he hear me? Am I discovered? The smoking dune I’ve rolled down lies between me and where I last saw Zurvan. If he saw me fall, he could be on me any moment.
I wrack my brain for the memories I had planned to use for my escape route, terrified to find that my mind has gone blank with fear. My hands are out in front of me waiting to open a portal. To where? Where am I going?
His shadow falls across me before I see him. He looms on the hilltop, wiping out the sun. The dark silhouette is silent, statuesque in his stillness. Will he attack? Am I about to lose my mind?
I’m through the portal and running. I’m in left center at Tropicana Field. The baseball stadium is not where I had intended to escape to, but it was what occurred to me in the moment. Good enough for now. As I tear across the Astroturf and onto the infield, I don’t look back. If he’s chasing me, I can’t imagine how knowing will help me now. The dugouts are foggy in their depths. I’ve never been inside one here. No escape that way. I vault the low wall beyond first base and land in the first row of stands, bounding up the concrete steps to the next level and the exits. Only when I’ve reached the landing and am about to descend into the corridor that circumnavigates the stadium do I finally turn around.
He’s there. Standing in center field with all the calm of a seasoned pro awaiting fly balls. He isn’t chasing me. He’s come though, and he’s watching me. I won’t be staying now. My hands shoot into the air ahead of me, opening another memory. The right one this time. I tumble through the portal and close it violently behind me.
As I lie on the soft mossy embankment of the stream running through the Redwood National Forest, I gulp the cool, just-minted air—tasting the freshness of it—seeming every bit as real in my memory as it was in life.
He didn’t get me. I’m still okay.
The trees around me are ancient giants, their tops piercing the sky nearly three hundred feet above. This place is old, with roots that delve deep into history, but I’m praying Zurvan hasn’t ever been here. At least not to this spot, a site burned into my memory from childhood camping trips and family hiking adventures. I suspect if I looked for it, I could walk and find my dad’s old RV parked nearby, complete with faded interior and a seventies paint job.
But I don’t wander.
I remain.
My fear of Zurvan and his mysterious power is renewed, but I also feel a mix of relief, and pride. I’ve escaped. I didn’t require saving this time.
My pride is dimmed by the loss of Jay. I never knew that version of the boy personally. Whatever path brought him here, he’s become another victim of this place and I failed to save him.
When I find Benny again, I mean to tell him what I’ve learned. Zurvan has help in the real world—someone searching for an Alpha, a scientist, and a way to bring Zurvan to life. What those pieces mean in the final puzzle is yet to be determined, but the bits of the picture I’m putting together don’t look like they form anything good. What’s clear is that these disciples have a way of putting people into this place and presumably a way to get them back out. My best bit of news for now is that someone in the real world is looking for me also, and maybe, just maybe, I can discover a way out of here too.
But now I need to find him, or pray he finds me first.
<><><>
St. Austell, Cornwall, UK- April, 2165
A biting wind is flinging mist and rain at us as we motor along the cliff-side road toward the coastal hamlet of Porthpean. The road is narrow, twisting, and claustrophobic, hemmed in on both sides by thick vegetation and occasional garden walls. I imagine the drive would be charming in sunlight. Glimpses through gates show cozy homes and sprawling ocean-side villas, but the dimming twilight and patchy fog robs the scene of cheer.
As we pass through the village, I marvel at a diminutive chapel made of fieldstone bordered by an ivy-covered wall with a quaint arch. It looks ancient, as though the entire town has been kept in a bubble t
he last few centuries.
We pull up to the gate at our destination address and pause at a security station. I’m not sure what I expected Ebenezer Sprocket’s home to look like, but this wasn’t it. The creations of the eccentric inventor that I’ve seen so far had given me the impression he might be a mad scientist type—Doc Brown tinkering in a cluttered garage on a flux capacitor. To the contrary, the view of this English home is tidy and serene.
The waves breaking against the far bluffs add a soothing monotony of sound to the already calm surroundings. The manicured lawn and neatly trimmed hedges are wet and dripping. The locked wrought iron gate is likewise covered in droplets of moisture. The only touch of modern technology is the clean, transparent screen to the left of the entrance. There are no call buttons or obvious cameras, but the screen illuminates when we look at it, showing a family crest. A pleasant voice greets us. “Good evening. To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?” Mym and Tucket look to me for a response.
“Yes, we’re here to see Jonah Sprocket, please. My name is Ben Travers. He’ll know who we are.”
“Your name has previously been approved for our guest list. I will alert Master Jonah to your arrival. Please enter.” The screen dims and the gates swing open for us, admitting us to a short winding driveway. I park the motorcycle in the corner of a roundabout and we cover the sidecar to protect our belongings from the drizzle. The house itself is cheerful with bright white walls that seem to have retained the warmth of sunnier days. The many windows have curtains flung open and the orange glow of lamplight inside looks very inviting. I catch a snatch of violin music drifting out from some interior room. The home looks like it holds as many as a dozen rooms if I had to guess.
The broad door at the side of the house flies open to reveal a boy in a thick sweater and khaki trousers. He is only wearing wooly socks on his feet, but doesn’t seem to mind as he comes dashing out to meet us. “Ben! You came!”
Jonah Sprocket has lost none of his enthusiasm in our time apart. His untidy blond hair is partially obstructing his wide, blue eyes as he sprints into my arms. When he lifts his face from my chest I try to place his age. Perhaps ten? I’d guess it’s been only a year or so since I’ve seen him last, though for me it’s been less.
“What’s up, buddy!” I give him a squeeze. “You remember Mym, of course.” Jonah grins and gives Mym a hug too. “And this is my friend Tucket.” Tucket extends a hand. Jonah shakes it and hops up and down a couple times, unable to contain himself.
“I’m so excited you guys are here! Are you having another adventure?”
“Something like that. You mind if we get out of the weather?”
“Oh sure. Come in!” Jonah leads the way indoors and we follow his soggy sock prints into a broad foyer. A staircase ascends from the foyer to a balcony where a lanky, white-haired man has arrived to greet us. Barley, Jonah’s golden Labrador, sprints to us from the back of the house and licks my hand before investigating Tucket. The dog looks about the same as the last time I saw him, though possibly a little better fed. Ebenezer, Jonah’s father, is wearing a wool sweater, not dissimilar to Jonah’s. He smiles at us as he descends the stairs.
Handshakes and introductions are again made for Tucket before we are offered tea in the parlor.
“You’ve certainly made Jonah’s weekend,” Ebenezer says. “You should hear how much he talks about you.”
“He was quite the hit with my friends as well.” I smile at Jonah. “He had some of the fastest race times per round in chronothon history from what I hear. Pays to be clever.” I rub behind Barley’s ear as the dog lays its head in my lap.
“I understand they awarded you first place,” Ebenezer says. “Well deserved after what you went through. The chronothon committee has been almost entirely replaced from what I hear. Sacked or demoted for incompetent security.”
“I hope they awarded you some compensation for what you went through,” I say.
“They did. Jonah received his due as a racer and we were awarded a settlement for ‘distress’ I believe they called it. Money to keep us from suing, I suppose. I also received an additional severance package from Ambrose Cybergenics for the way I was treated, and got the rights back to a few of the inventions I’d made while working for them.” As he is speaking, the door opens and a chrome-bodied figure enters bearing a tea tray. “I’d like to introduce my chief of house, Darius.”
The metal man sets the tea tray down and bows. “It is an honor to meet you all. I’ve a heard a great deal about you from Master Jonah.” I recognize his voice from the entrance screen out front. “And Mr. Morris, it is an honor to have you here as well. A distinguished graduate of the Academy.”
Tucket smiles at this and bows in return. He is watching the metal man with interest. “Were you produced as part of United Machine’s meta-human series?”
The metal man straightens up and studies him.
“I only ask because my girlfriend, er, ex-girlfriend, was an Echo Seven Series meta-human,” Tucket explains.
“My predecessors were of the Echo Series,” Darius replies. “I am a Gamma Series human.”
I notice he doesn’t use the meta prefix.
“Lovely place to work,” I say, doing my best to steer the small talk to somewhere I’ll be unlikely to offend anyone.
“Darius has been working here for about five years now,” Ebenezer says. “Couldn’t get by without him. He’s my general assistant and does some design work for me in the lab. He also makes a mean shepherd’s pie.”
“I won’t interrupt you further,” Darius says. “But call if you need anything.”
Barley’s tail is wagging, and Darius tosses him a dog treat from an opening in his thigh that serves as a pocket. He then takes his leave.
“Jonah has certainly had plenty of good things to say about you,” Ebenezer says. “I appreciate your responding to our invitation to visit. Are you able to stay long?”
“We weren’t sure how long you intended us to visit. The invite wasn’t really specific.”
“That’s likely my fault,” Ebenezer says. “Not much good at these ‘real mail’ apps they have out. Would have sent you an actual hand-written note, but my handwriting is atrocious. You never would have deciphered it. There has been a bit of confusion on the best way to reach you. Don’t usually have much need to contact folks who are off-Grid. ASCOTT said they were doing their best to contact you for us, but I guess even they didn’t know for sure where you lived until they got help from the Academy.” Ebenezer looks to Tucket. “Happy to see it all worked out in the end. Jonah has talked so much about you that we felt it was time to get you over to the house. I thought it would do the boy good.”
“I was excited to get the message.” I straighten up on the couch. “It was actually great timing that you invited us to visit because you were the only person I knew that might be able to help us with something we’re working on.” I turn to the boy. “Jonah, when we were racing together, you told me about your brother, Jay.” Jonah nods. Ebenezer’s face takes on a slightly more serious expression. “You also mentioned he knew about the Eternals.”
The name hangs in the air between us, no one responding at first. Finally Jonah pipes up. “Jay doesn’t really want us talking about them, but they are his friends.”
Ebenezer frowns. “Friends would have been welcome. The Eternals are more to him recently. Almost an obsession. We were wondering if you had heard the rumors about them lately. I confess, that is part of why I wanted to speak to you.”
“Who are they?” Mym asks. “We did a little research, but there isn’t much information in standard databases. It’s a religion, right?”
Ebenezer scratches at his stubble and fidgets with his collar. “I suppose you’d call it that, but not one you get much contact with. If Jay had been spending his days in the village chapel or thumping a Bible in the square like you see sometimes, I think that might have been preferable. I could have put up with a few lectures on my sinful way
s if he was becoming a Methodist or a Catholic or something, but this was different. He didn’t go out. Didn’t get many visitors. He’d just stay up in his room all day and night, muttering to himself and smoking the place up with candles and such. Thought for a while he was getting into witchcraft, or voodoo, or something of that sort. When he did come out, he kept his eyes closed as often as not. Just talking to himself.”
“What did he say it was about?” I ask.
“He didn’t. That’s the trouble. Didn’t want to talk about it with us. There was no trying to convert anyone or any of the usual zealousness that comes with dabbling in spiritual stuff. I just left him alone and he left us alone.”
I can’t help but notice that Ebenezer is referring to Jay in the past tense. It’s clear that he is not at home currently and may not be living here any longer.
“It wasn’t till I got a call a few weeks ago from the constable that I knew something had changed for the worse. He had gotten himself arrested. Grave robbing, they said.” Ebenezer shook his head. “Only it wasn’t really. The boy had gone to our family plots and dug up his mother. Laid her bones out in the moonlight. Told us it was an abomination to bury the dead. Wanted to let her remains get eaten up by birds. He’d started digging up her parents too when they found him.”
Ebenezer stares out the window. When he returns to looking at me a few moments later, his eyes are moist. “The constable thought he was ill in the head. Let him come home with a warning, since he’d only disturbed graves belonging to our own family. But it got around the village. My wife was raised in this house. Her family has old roots here. And people in this area have long memories. Jay digging up the cemetery made him an instant pariah.”
Ebenezer sighs. “I tried talking to him, but he wouldn’t have any of it. Said it was his duty and that we would be cursed for burying her again.”
Mym speaks up next to me. “Did he ever mention the name Zoroaster, or anything to do with Zoroastrianism? From what I’ve read, the old beliefs involving the dead might match up.”
In Times Like These: eBook Boxed Set: Books 1-3 Page 121
