Timekeepers: Number 2 in Series (22 page)

Tinkerbell raised the crossbow, aimed straight for Sam. ‘This is a steel tip, Lucifer. It’ll put you to sleep, it won’t kill you.’

‘It’ll put me out of action for days. I’ll be regenerating too long to save the universe.’

‘You cannot win, Lucifer.’

‘I can sure as hell try.’ He screamed the message across the land.

The Ashen’ia heard his words, and charged. Sam lobbed a Molotov cocktail at them and brought his sword up and across as the first blade headed towards his face. All the while he never ceased his frantic transmission. Cut up, across, slash, parry, parry, parry, too many swords coming from too many directions. Parry, parry, turn, hot pain across his back, hot pain down one arm, parry, parry, turn, put magic into every twist and every spin, still too many coming from too many directions. A face looming up large over his own, eyes covered over with a translucent film, grinning.

A fist. An ending in the transmission. A big, dark place somewhere down below. A long way to fall. A still, silent sea lapping against black cliffs. Teetering on the edge of the fall. Pushed over. Waters closing over his head, pulling him down despite his struggles.

Eventually, darkness.

H
e woke intermittently, feeling much too large for his skin. Everything seemed out of proportion, his hands larger than his stomach, his head larger than his chest, his toes larger than his feet, his feet larger than his legs. He tried to speak, but there was no moisture in his mouth, and when he tried to move, he couldn’t. He wasn’t entirely sure why.

Sam could feel a regenerative trance humming away deep inside him, but it was uneasy, uncomfortable. Every second it wanted to snap, for fear of the dangers around him. But as danger became a background constant it began to work nonetheless, healing wounds, pulling at energy he didn’t have, keeping him in warm, empty darkness.

He thought he saw faces, heard voices, saw needles. They were poisoning him. Giving him a small dose at a time, enough to kill an ordinary man and keep Sam himself asleep. Whenever he woke before they wanted him to, they poisoned him a bit more, so that no sooner had one toxin in his bloodstream been washed away by the regenerative system than another had replaced it.

Soon, he thought, they’d run out of poisons, his system would build up immunity and he wouldn’t have to regenerate. Soon, but not soon enough. Not within three days. There were enough poisons in the world for it to take some weeks.

Run out they would, but not in time. Never in time…

Drifting, dreaming.

‘Why did you defy me?’ Soft voice, filling his mind.

Lying handcuffed to a bed, surrounded on every side by wards, poisons, poisons in the blood. Trying to speak, knowing it wasn’t real, knowing there wasn’t an escape.
Father
…

‘Freya has been taken from me. Why did you take her from me?’

You would have killed her, Father. Killed her so I would destroy Cronus. Many lives for One, One for Many, no escape
…
 

‘You cannot win. I will now take what before you offered.’

Let me go, please let me go.
 

‘Give me your soul, Lucifer.’

You’re slipping, Sebastian.
 

‘Let me in. I’ll take the pain away. I’ll purge the poisons from your blood. I’ll keep you safe. Nothing shall harm you. You shall be my new golden child, and your name shall be praised as protector of the universe. You shall be welcomed in Heaven, called a hero. You shall belong once more, my child, my heir. Give me your soul.’

I always found it ironic that people were supposed to sell their souls to Satan. What use did he have for them? Go away, leave me alone.
 

‘Let me in. It’ll be all right if you just let me in. We can do this easily. No pain, none…’

There is a part of Us that can destroy Time. For Time is but a One, and we are Many.
 

‘The Light won’t protect you from me, Lucifer. I created the Light, and you are already slipping into a dark place inside.’

We are the intention and the act, the strength and the weakness, the light and the dark, the individual and the whole, the magic and
…
and
…
 

I can’t make miracles when I’m dead.
 

You’re slipping, Sebastian
…
 

Poisons in the blood
…
 

‘If you don’t give up, I will take by force what could have been gently won. Cronus will be freed, Cronus will fall, and you will take him down. But if you let me in, I’ll keep you safe when the time comes. I’ll hold your mind up, above the others.’

I am many things, you are but one, a part of me. 1 have seen the minds of the world, and in a small way they are all part of me.
 

‘I’ll give you peace.’

Many dying for One, One dying for Many, but that doesn’t matter to you. Just a part of me
…
 

‘Lucifer? Lucifer, why are you hiding in other minds? Why are you burying your soul? I will keep you safe. I will keep you whole. Give in to me, and it will all be over.’

Give in to me
…
 

‘Father?’ Standing in the centre of the summoning circle, holding the knife. A smile. Sam looked down at the floor, gazing through the swirling images until, just for a second, he saw the clock. He seized on it, dragged it up to the fore of his mind, focused on it. Raised the knife.

Give in to me
…
 

He drew a line of blood across his hand and moved it, uncertainly, towards the image. The image danced and shimmered in expectation. ‘Father?’

And Time sensed it. He must have sensed it because the image swirled and spun, tried to leap backwards.
There is a part of Us that can destroy Time.
He drew the knife across the image of the clock, but the knife was no longer a knife, and in his hands it left a trail of pure white fire. As bright and as white as the Light. Sam shoved his bloody hand into this tear, pressing his mind into it. A miracle would save him, that was for sure.
I can’t make miracles when I’m dead
…

He sank into the mind of Time, feeling Time tear, ineffectively, at his own mind. There were too many minds between Time and his own. And the more Time dug, the more minds Sam tossed his way, barring his passage until Sam was sinking behind a world of other minds. Still Time came on, reaching through these other minds for Sam, rushing after him with tendrils of power to turn him into just another puppet, a servant who would live, fight and die for Time. He was crawling through Sam’s blood, reaching for his elusive mind, itself a tiny, tiny dot in a sea of others, so small and insignificant it could hardly be seen.

Poisons in the blood. I have seen the minds of the world, and in a small way they are all part of me.
 

There is a part of Us that can destroy Time. For Time is but a One, and we are Many
…
 

At the last, just one mind in all the universe stood between Time and Sam. Sam smiled, wrapped himself in the memory of this one mind, so briefly touched by the Light, and used it like a shield. And though Time tried, he could not tear through this mind that Sam had found within his own, because it tore back with equal strength.

‘Your mind, Father,’ Sam called. ‘A part of your mind is written into my soul, just like a part of my soul is now written on to your mind. You cannot touch me.’

‘You cannot win.’
It will be easier, I will keep you safe, I will keep you whole.

There is a part of Us that can destroy Time. For Time is but a One, and we are Many
…
 

‘You cannot touch me,’ repeated Sam, as though convincing himself of it, rolling the words around his mouth. ‘But I,’ he said, a gleam in his eyes, ‘I can touch you.’

‘Lucifer —’

Sam raised the knife made of white fire, turned and without a word plunged it into the heart of Time. His father clasped at his arms, face an oval of surprise as it changed – from Jehovah to Seth to Odin to Thor. And lastly to Sam’s own. ‘You… you would kill me?’ he gasped, dragging Sam down with him to the floor.

‘Kill you?’ Sam laughed. ‘Whatever gave you that impression? I’m merely taking out insurance.’ His face darkened. He leant forwards, clutching the useless, helpless copy of himself to his chest, and whispered in his father’s ear, ‘Tell Jehovah where to find me.’

He pulled the other Sam into himself, two Sams becoming one, darkness blending with darkness, a big, black place somewhere down below, a long way to fall, a rushing, roaring sea thundering against dark cliffs, teetering on the edge of the fall, diving over with arms wide, waters closing over his head, pulling him to where he wanted to go.

Eventually, silence.

He thought he saw Jehovah sitting on the edge of the bed. Pale Jehovah, looking almost as ill as Sam felt. Weak Jehovah, who’d borne the ruthless brunt of Sam’s mind. Sam tried to speak, and it must have been real because Jehovah reached forwards and gently poured a few drops of water into Sam’s mouth, wiping away the water that spilled with his sleeve.

‘Where is?’ Sam managed to mumble.

‘Back with the Ashen’ia.’

‘What?’

‘Seth has laid camp around Tartarus. It’s time to go.’

What did that mean? Time to go, Time to… oh. Right.
That
. ‘Please…’

‘I’m sorry, Lucifer.’

‘Thousands will die.’ He was surprised at how flat it sounded in his mouth, a last attempt from an empty tongue falling on empty ears.

‘You won’t see a thing.’

Another needle. Another poison.

‘Jehovah, please.’

Jehovah rolled Sam’s sleeve up, carefully placed the point of the needle against the hollow inside his elbow.

‘Brother, please!’ begged Sam, struggling feebly, a kitten in a golem’s hands.

Jehovah glanced at him. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, almost inaudibly.

Sam felt the needle. He felt the burning of the poison. He whispered, ‘Time asked me to sell my soul.’

‘You didn’t.’

‘No. I asked him to sell his. I need to know. What happened to Loki?’

‘Loki? Why, after he killed Balder he went on the run. To his own, to Valhalla. But even his closest brother turned him over – sent him to be imprisoned by Time.’

‘Which brother was that?’

‘Odin. Is it important?’

Sam smiled faintly up at the ceiling. ‘It begins to…’

Jehovah frowned, but his face was already beginning to swim. Black static flashed across Sam’s eyes. ‘When it comes… find me.’

‘Where could you be that I cannot find?’

Sam smiled faintly. ‘Everywhere. But specifically, I’ll be inside.’

‘Inside my mind?’

‘Inside your soul, brother. In the bit you sold.’

Jehovah’s confused face, fading into the all-too familiar darkness.

He woke. He was very, very careful about waking, because before he’d woken all too often only to be put back to sleep with a needle. His first sensation was of how uncomfortable he was. He seemed to have been dumped on the ground with no consideration of temperature or position. The ground itself was hard and cool and smelled of nothing, which in Hell was unusual.

He let these sensations sink in, and opened his eyes. The ground was black marble that ran into a black marble wall on which some mad child with too much time on its hands had drawn the crude outlines of dozens of men. Between Sam and the wall there was nothing more than a hand. After a little testing, he concluded that it was his own, and was reassured.

Next. Mind. Seemed intact and, when he risked probing around, he found nothing else. He didn’t feel drained, he didn’t feel… anything really. There was just the warm glow of a regenerative trance that had finally,
finally
been allowed to run its course without his system being pumped en route with several more ccs of poison.

He sat up. There was, he discovered, a slight hitch in this scheme, but then he hadn’t expected his good fortune to last for long. Someone seemed to have chained him to the wall, and warded the chains in the process. Thick, thick wards using every kind of magic the writer could find. Clearly someone knew his stuff. That someone, he suspected, was Jehovah.

With his hands locked together in front of him, he fumbled with the chains around his ankles. They failed to budge. There was nothing nearby that might serve to help against the locks, and unpicking the wards would take a lot of time.

He looked round the room again. It was a dome, he realised. A giant dome made out of the same black material throughout, and illuminated by torches that burned with a bright blue flame that didn’t eat at the torch itself. Coldfire, probably. At one end of the room was a giant pair of black iron doors and, at the other, a smaller, narrower entrance.

On the ceiling of the dome the same mad child had drawn a giant woman’s face, complete with red hair, closed eyes and a slightly sad expression. She appeared to be asleep, and dominated most of the room, her shut eyes seeming to stare down nonetheless at the black marble below. On every other wall were more of the same figures. Sam crawled along the length of his chains and, straining, rubbed against the nearest. The white line that defined it didn’t come off, but he felt a slight jolt, as of magic. Yet when he probed, he felt nothing.

He slumped down against the wall, feeling wretched. He was tempted to yell for help, but had the feeling that doing so would only invite more needles.

Sam heard a clank and looked towards the giant doors. A thin beam of white light had appeared. Instinctively he curled up again, head in his hands and eyes closed, trying to appear drugged. He heard footsteps, and the door clicked shut again. The footsteps drew close to him, and he felt a hand touch his shoulder. He didn’t move. The hand took his pulse and felt his forehead, testing temperature. Sam kept still, focusing entirely on regular breathing.

Eventually, the hand went away and the stranger, satisfied of whatever they’d wanted to know, began to walk away. Sam opened his eyes a crack, and saw an Ashen’ia carefully returning a needle to a small box. No need of it, clearly. Patient asleep. Alone again, Sam sat up and looked around once more.