Bound (5 page)

He walked across the pavement, looked up and down the road. Shaking his head he pushed past Welby into the pub. ‘Why should that be any more normal than anything else today?’

Welby followed him to the bar.

Sitting in a quiet corner with pints of London Pride, Welby’s mood was sombre. ‘I really am sorry for how I behaved.’

Alex grunted.

Welby sipped his beer thoughtfully. ‘I can’t expect forgiveness right now,’ he said. ‘But I did promise you an explanation. Darak Uthentia refers to a stone of power. Darak is a stone that used to be wielded by a commanding group of magi known as the Eld. They used the stone to destroy a Fey king, known as Uthentia. Well, Uthentia is an honorific. Of course, to know his real name would give you enormous power over him. But I digress into irrelevancy.’ Welby paused.

Alex shook his head, amusement twisting his lips. ‘You sound like Tolkien or something.’

Welby ignored the comment. ‘Uthentia was an evil creature and he was trapped somewhere outside the known realms by the Eld. Some even considered the Eld to be ancient gods. They exiled Uthentia millennia ago. But doing it cracked their stone, so the legend goes.’

Welby paused again. Alex felt a wave of discomfort. The old man challenged his mockery, dared him to scoff. After all that had happened recently, was a story of Fey kings and magic rocks really so preposterous? ‘Peacock called it all legend and bollocks,’ he said, trying to hang on to some kind of normality.

Welby sipped again, clearly pleased Alex was listening. ‘Of course it is. Or maybe it is. Or maybe it’s all true.’

Alex rolled his eyes. ‘Fuck me. What is it you want from me?’

‘If that book really is some kind of history of the Darak and Uthentia, then it’s possible it might lead us to the stone itself. At least, to the missing pieces of it.’

The sounds of the pub wrapped around them, the hubbub of voices, clinking glasses, electronic beeps from fruit machines. Over it all an old rock song played that Alex couldn’t place. ‘Or it might just be a load of old bollocks,’ he said.

Welby raised both hands. ‘In which case it’s still priceless. That book is an ancient grimoire, written in an eldritch text I’ve never seen before. You can read it when no one else I know can. Even if it’s only a story, don’t you want to read it? There’s enormous power in stories. Look at the Bible or the Koran.’

Alex’s beer tasted good, dark and hoppy. He sipped at it rather than engage in more conversation. Why should he care about the strength or value of this book? He had enough to think about without more complications. But it was fascinating.

Welby grinned. ‘You do. You’ve got the bug. You want to know.’

Alex, though loath to admit it, was hooked. He could still feel the smooth, aged leather of the book on his fingertips. He could smell the vellum of the pages, feel the magic that soaked through the tiny tome. Surely it contained more than a story. The magic seemed to even soak through time and space to where he sat, stroking something at the base of his hindbrain, too seductive to be safe. There had to be something dangerous about all this. But the seduction remained nonetheless and it was strong. Welby’s eyes were serious again. ‘What?’ Alex asked.

‘What if I told you it’s not all legend?’

‘You know more about it than you’re letting on, I suppose. More than Peacock?’

Welby laughed disdainfully. ‘That old fool has no idea. He thinks he knows a lot but he’s like a child with an encyclopaedia. The pictures intrigue him but he has no idea of the deeper understanding he’s missing.’

‘And you do?’

‘The Fey King was the most powerful creature Faerie had ever known.’

Alex smirked. ‘Faerie? Really?’

Welby scowled. ‘Don’t be distracted by cartoon fairy tales. The Folk, Fey, Faeries, they have many names. And they are very dangerous. I’d advise you to do some research at my house. To continue, the Fey King wrought havoc in the mortal plane and started to break down the few rules that kept any kind of balance. Only these rules stopped the Fey Folk from over-running the mortal world and enslaving humanity thousands of years ago. Certain humans, and, some say, gods, constantly waged a war against Faerie.

‘Eventually it was postulated that if the Fey King’s power could be weakened even briefly, there existed the opportunity to control him long enough to exile him. With him exiled, Faerie would have a far weaker grip on the mortal realm. That’s what the Eld managed to do, shattering their stone of power in the process. The Fey King has been lost between realms ever since.

‘Rather than risk anyone else having that kind of magic, the Eld scattered the pieces of the Darak across the world. Anyone potent with that stone? Too much to contemplate.’

‘So it makes a person stronger?’ Alex asked. ‘Like an amplifier?’

Welby wagged one finger. ‘Exactly! Like an amplifier. There are a number of things that a person can use to amplify their ability. This was the greatest of them all.’

‘So what?’

‘So what? Well, if this book really is some kind of history of the stone and that struggle then it might give us clues to find the remaining pieces.’

Alex sensed something in Welby’s tone, a smugness. ‘The remaining pieces?’

Welby reached inside his shirt, pulled out a leather cord that hung around his neck. On the end of the cord was a silver locket, the leather woven through it and back several times so it nestled in a criss-cross pattern of laces. ‘This is how I know it’s more than just myth and legend.’

The locket, though warded heavily, still leaked ’sign. Welby looked around the room then popped the locket open. Alex rocked back in his chair as magesign flooded out, hitting him full in the face and chest with a physical force. Welby sat almost lost in the twist and swirl of arcane energy flooding from the tiny silver box. Sitting inside, strapped into place with fine silver banding, was a shard of grey stone. It looked like nothing more interesting than a chip of slate, but the magic burned deep. It glowed as if a volcano were trapped inside, desperate to blow. Alex gasped as Welby snapped the locket shut again and dropped it back inside his shirt.

‘That’s one piece of the Darak,’ Welby said. ‘I’m sure of it. Legend says it was split into three pieces. The Eld scattered those pieces around the world. But of course, the world is a far busier place these days. What might have been a wasteland miles from anywhere back then could be a bustling town now. When I came into possession of this shard my very meagre powers were increased exponentially. And this stone led me to Peacock and the book. It wants to be found.’

That sounded like something very dangerous. ‘Wants to be found?’

‘It has a certain presence, a personality almost. I can’t explain how, exactly, but it drew me to Peacock and his strange store. Peacock knew he had something special in that book, but he had no idea how special. I became convinced the stone and the book were connected. When you read the title of the book today I knew I was right. I’m sure the book can lead us to the remaining two pieces.’

Alex didn’t like the sound of any of this. A stone with a personality and a book that wants to be found? These were things he definitely couldn’t control. Eventually he shook his head. ‘No, this is all too fucked up. I can still feel that book, like it left a stain on me. This stuff is dangerous. Way too dangerous to screw around with. I’m out.’ He drained his pint and stood.

Welby remained in his seat, his eyes wide, pleading. ‘Alex. I can’t read it.’

Alex stared down at the old man. He had promised himself he’d come along for the ride and retain whatever control of the situation he could. But that control had quickly slipped away. However much of this stuff was true, one thing remained certain: everything about it was drenched in danger. Like the fool who goes to investigate the noise in the basement in a B-grade horror movie, this whole situation was a road to trouble. ‘I’m sorry, Patrick. You’ll have to find someone else.’ He felt a wave of guilt as Welby’s shades swelled in abject disappointment.

Welby twisted in his seat, hands supplicating. ‘Alex, please!’

He left the pub without looking back. As he walked, he started to wonder how he might get home. Getting into the UK with Welby’s assistance had been one thing. It hadn’t occurred to him that he might need to get back on his own and he had no passport. Perhaps he could go to the Australian consulate and claim he’d lost it and needed to get a replacement. It might take a while, but he had ID in his wallet and that struck him as a better idea than trying to replicate Welby’s mind tricks.

He saw the blonde girl standing at the end of the street. She looked right at him, that crooked smile still in place. Something about her eyes grated, as if he amused her. He raised a hand in half a wave. ‘Hey there,’ he called out. ‘How you doing?’

The smile spread and she turned down an alleyway out of sight. Alex quickened his pace, knowing she’d be long gone when he got there.

He needed space and time to think. Across the road a park stood shrouded in darkness, black iron fencing around a small square of grass and stunted trees. A gate stood open in the centre of each side, paths forming a cross. Alex walked in and sank onto a cold bench, elbows on his knees, and put his face in his hands.

He also realised now that, for some reason, he had been living his whole life in denial. Of course his vision was more than some overdeveloped empathy. Somewhere deep inside he had known it was beyond natural, but had refused to admit as much to himself. Why? Perhaps because it allowed him the lifestyle he wanted. Allowed him to dominate as a fighter and fighting had been all he wanted to do, ever since his parents died. He’d found somewhere to focus his rage and he’d used it. He trained, he fought and he lived in peace. House in the country, space, solitude, friends here and there when he felt like company. A good life and, on some subconscious level, he had known if he looked too deeply into why, that life would get complicated.

He cursed Welby and the moment the old man darkened his dressing room door. Right then something had shifted. Was it often a person could recall with crystal clarity the exact moment their life had jumped the tracks? He had trusted his deeper instinct and told Welby to leave him alone, but events conspired differently. And the carefully, intuitively constructed shield around his life had shattered.

He sighed, leaning back on the bench. Crossing his arms, he stared up into the inky city glow. If he were at home, the sky would be awash with stars, a glittering shroud lying over eternity. Here, nothing but pollution and electric light, trapping him.

He could feel the elemental grimoire in the inside pocket of his jacket, pressing into his chest. His heart pulsed one extra-heavy beat as the image of his new leather travel bag passed through his mind. The bag with his new clothes inside, the button-down side pocket. He had taken his wallet and phone from the pocket when he’d left Welby’s house, leaving the grimoire in there. He could see it in his mind’s eye, ’sign gently swimming out over the top of the bag and across the bed. So what sat in his jacket pocket now?

Trembling, he reluctantly pulled the Darak Uthentia grimoire out into the air. The power it emanated burst around him, coiling over his hands and arms, almost wrapping him, as if it tried to gather him into its pages. The smooth leather of the cover felt warm under his fingertips, alive. He had watched Peacock snatch it away and lock it in the safe under his desk. How had it come to be in his pocket now? No wonder he felt the stain of it stay with him. It
was
with him.

Ramming the book back into his pocket he sat breathing hard, trying to think. He wanted no further part of this. He shouldn’t have let himself be dragged into it in the first place, but what was done was done. He remembered a lesson with his Sifu, so many years ago.
Don’t concentrate on the fact that you have just been hit. The fight is fluid, time doesn’t wait for you. When you get hit, let it slide by you, instantly in the past, and concentrate on the now. Always the now. Act and react in the present moment.

Alex stood and strode back towards the pub. Anger burned alongside fear in his chest. He didn’t like to fear anything. He planned to take control back.

Welby sat where Alex had left him, staring disconsolately into his pint glass. He looked up, surprised, when Alex stood over him, eyes dark and furious.

‘Alex! I … I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how confusing all this …’

Alex leaned forward, both hands palm down on the table, his nose an inch from Welby’s. ‘Shut the fuck up. Here’s how it’s going to go. You’re coming with me back to Peacock’s shop and I’m returning this book.’ Welby’s eyebrows shot up, but Alex continued before he had a chance to speak. ‘Then we’re going to your house and I’m getting my fancy new bag and clothes, which I plan to keep. Then we’re going to the airport and you’re getting me on the first plane to Sydney. And you’re coming with me to get me through customs and passport control at the other end. Then you’re going to pay a taxi driver to take me all the way home, regardless of how much that driver decides to charge for a two-hour ride. Then I’m going to get into that taxi and you’re going to fuck off to wherever you like. And if I ever see you again, I will rip you into hundreds of pieces. Got all that?’

Welby’s face softened. ‘Return the book?’

Alex ground his teeth. He wanted out of this whole situation, yet his rage was impotent and he knew it. ‘Yes.’ He pulled the book from his jacket pocket and slammed it down on the table. Welby stared at it for several moments then nodded softly. Alex felt his anger begin to dilute, fear washing away his fury. ‘Why do I have that?’ he asked.

‘I think perhaps it’s chosen you.’

Alex shook his head. ‘Fuck that.’

Welby’s face was resigned, even disappointed. ‘After all that.’

‘All what?’

‘All my trying to convince Peacock to sell it to me, trying to bargain with him. I even tried to break into his shop once but his wards are too strong for me to breach. Obviously put in place by someone far more powerful than Peacock himself. He just opens and closes them. Whoever his ally is, they probably charged him a small fortune for that job.’