F Wilson - The Dark at the End

The cabinet contained a metallic box with multiple antennae jutting skyward. To its right lay a remote with a single button; to the left, a set of headphones.

He understood little of electronics and modern communications. He’d spent the decades since his rebirth trying to erase the Lady’s presence through the arcane and traditional avenue of Opus Omega, and then the even more arcane Fhinntmanchca. When those failed-or, in the case of the Fhinntmanchca, only partially succeeded-he’d allowed Drexler to attack the Lady indirectly via modern electronics or cyberspace or whatever it was called. That too had failed, and so now he was compelled to launch a direct assault.

Perhaps compelled wasn’t quite true. He was now free to take direct action, and he relished the opportunity.

Remembering Szeto’s instructions, Rasalom found the power switch on the box and pressed it. Lights began to glow along the front. It made no sound, not even a hum, but Szeto had sworn it would render all cell phones in the top half of the building useless.

Rasalom picked up the remote. This was supposed to activate a switch that would block incoming calls to the landline phone connections in the building. He pressed the button.

He did not know how long he would have to wait here for his moment, or if his moment would ever come. But he would wait as long as it took. He had time.

He put on the headphones and listened…

Glaeken admitted them to the Lady’s apartment. Weezy had called ahead from the road to tell him they would be there soon. The first thing upon entering, she went straight to the Lady and handed her the paper.

“What do you think? Is it a name?”

As the Lady took it, Weezy moved to her side and together they stared at the weird glyphs.

After a moment the Lady nodded. “It has been so long since I have seen this form of writing. It has been dead for ages. But, yes, it is a name.” She then made a sound like two grunts of different pitch connected by a click.

“That’s a name?” Eddie said. He sounded as if he was suppressing a laugh.

The Lady looked up at him. “I believe that is what I said.”

Weezy realized that Eddie wasn’t used to the Lady’s literal nature, so she jumped in.

“But is it the name-Rasalom’s Other Name?”

The Lady shrugged. “Who is to say? I have no way of telling.”

“But it came from the broken sigil,” Eddie said. “It was written on the only remaining section of the border.”

“And the sigil is made of tenathic,” Weezy added.

Glaeken said, “If that’s true, then it can only be from the First Age-the secret of forging it was lost in the Cataclysm. We have no choice but to proceed on the assumption this is his Other Name.”

“But what if it’s not?” Weezy said.

“We will never be sure until we try.”

Weezy finally looked directly at the playpen. Since entering the apartment, she’d kept it in her peripheral vision. Now she had to confront the reality of burdening that baby with Rasalom’s Other Name.

As ever, he sat in his space and gnawed a soup bone. He seemed perfectly content, oblivious to the role he was about to play in a cosmic drama. If Glaeken was right, his limited intelligence would allow him to remain oblivious. And that in turn would protect him.

She watched him and thought about how they were all pawns being moved around a cosmic game board. And now the pawns in this room were about to move him, bringing him into the game.

But hadn’t he always been in play? Wasn’t that what Jonah Stevens had in mind when he started designing his own strategy using his bloodline-a strategy aimed at producing a child that would supplant the One?

So, in a way, Jonah was going to get his wish: His grandchild was going to stop the One, though not in the way he’d intended.

“Even if it’s not the One’s Other Name,” Eddie said, “we haven’t lost anything, have we?”

Weezy looked from Glaeken to the Lady. “Have we?”

“The Other Naming Ceremony can be performed only once on the child. Once given an Other Name, it cannot be undone.”

Weezy looked back to the baby. “So, he could wind up with an Other Name that has no power. Then what?”

Glaeken shrugged. “It is the only name we have. Unless you know of some other inscribed tenathic sigil somewhere, we must accept it as the only name we will ever have.”

“We’ve got to go with it, Weez,” Eddie said. “And the sooner the better, if you ask me.”

She wasn’t asking him. She shook her head. “I want to wait for Jack.”

Eddie scowled. “He could be cooling his heels in a jail cell for all we know.”

“Wait,” Glaeken said. “Where is Jack? Why isn’t he here?”

How did she explain? She wasn’t sure herself.

“Something about the situation bothers him. He thinks it’s too easy, too pat.”

“I can’t argue with him on that. But if the sigil is, as you say, made of tenathic, then it must be genuine.”

“I agree, but he wanted another look at it.”

“We were caught trespassing in the Lodge,” Eddie said. “We were lucky we got away. Jack might not be so lucky a second time.”

“You don’t know Jack,” she snapped, fully intending the double meaning.

Eddie sighed. “I do. Or at least I’ve been getting to know him. But nobody’s perfect. I think it was risky going back.”

“And don’t you think the stakes merit some risk? We’ll wait until we hear from Jack.”

She didn’t have the authority to say that, but she guessed enough of her determination shone through. No one argued.

Rasalom frowned. The Heir was absent. He had expected him there, wanted him there- needed him there.

The woman had just said he wanted another look at the sigil. Why? Did he suspect the truth? But how could he?

This was not going as planned. Rasalom had expected the woman, the one studying the Compendium of Srem, to be the problem. If anyone would have noticed inconsistencies, it should have been she. These electronic countermeasures had been put in place to block communication from her.

Rasalom was suddenly glad he’d had the foresight to order Drexler to remove the sigil from the Lodge. The question was, where was the Heir now? With the sigil gone, what could he be doing?

Jack found the home of the Thomas Mulliner Excavating and Land Clearing Service at the end of a dark, twisty path in the woods off Carranza Road. His headlights picked up a clearing with a leaning shed, scattered backhoes and earth movers, and the Dodge pickup truck he’d seen earlier. He saw no sign of a house nearby, so he backed the little Pontiac around until the headlights were centered on the pickup, and left them on.

He left his car running and approached the pickup with fingers figuratively crossed. The draped object leaning in the bed was the right size. If only…

Using the rear bumper as a step, he hopped up into the bed and yanked the tarp free.

Yes!

The broken sigil gleamed in the headlights. He leaned in for another look at the glyphs carved into the black surface. Before leaving Weezy earlier, he’d asked her to draw him a duplicate of the glyphs she’d copied. He pulled it out and checked it again against the originals.

A perfect copy. So why wasn’t he satisfied? Why-?

A shadow moved into the edge of the light cone from the headlights and a voice said, “Hold it right there!” before Jack could move.

Shit.

He did a slow turn and saw a guy standing about ten feet away pointing a shotgun at his midsection. More than a silhouette-he stood far enough off to the side for the lights to reveal some features. Jack recognized Tommy Mulliner, holding what looked like a Mossberg over-under twelve gauge.