Mark Chadbourn - The Burning Man

He vaguely remembered the time before he had been plucked out of the vast superstructure of reality to become an overseer of stability. Adrift from the ordered procession of events, it was often difficult to place memories in any consistent pattern that made sense, but he had a clear recall of emotions. Some images came back to him, of a kiss in the light of the setting sun, of a slow drive into the countryside with music playing, of his father pointing out his present next to the tree. He remembered the face of the girl who broke his heart, and his first dead body. In those days, when he was lesser, his existence had been shrouded with doubt, unease, depression. Now there was none of that, and he felt the better for it, as anyone would.

‘This place,’ he said to no one in particular, ‘is characterised by two things: lights and the shadows they cast. Once the former is extinguished, there can be no darkness, no misery, no suffering, and so the work I do is right. I shall not rest until the last candle is snuffed out.’

Behind him a shiver ran through the corpus of spiders.

‘Where is he?’ Fighting to suppress her anxiety, Ruth roamed the circular ticket office, her spear drawn.

‘It was a trap,’ Laura said. ‘That’s why the gate opened so easily.’

‘If that is the case, why were we not all taken the moment we set foot in this place?’ Shavi remained calm. Turning slowly, he tried to read any subtle signals that might reveal Church’s whereabouts.

‘Because we’re not important,’ Laura snapped. ‘It’s always been about Church. He’s the one with the big destiny thing going on. We’re just here for target practice.’

‘Will you shut up.’ Ruth forced herself not to shout at Laura, who managed to irritate her even in stress-free moments.

‘You don’t get the monopoly on worry just because you’ve opened your legs for him,’ Laura replied spitefully.

As Ruth bristled, Shavi stepped between the two women. ‘The Enemy is undoubtedly on the way, perhaps even here already. We do not have the luxury of waiting here to search.’

‘You’re saying we should leave Church?’ Ruth said.

‘I’m with the Ice Princess,’ Laura added. ‘You don’t abandon a friend.’

‘I do not want to leave Church either. But if we allow ourselves to fall here, the price will be paid by all of humanity.’

Ruth considered Shavi’s words, then nodded and headed towards the escalators. ‘Church knows how to look after himself. He’ll find his way back to us.’

Laura watched her coldly before following. ‘You’re such a weakling. I can’t believe you’ve cut him loose.’ Shavi reached out to calm her, but she threw him off.

‘The difference between us,’ Ruth called back, ‘is that I have faith in him.’

They climbed over the ticket barriers and made their way quickly down the unmoving escalators. Dimly, they could hear the carnage above ground echoing through the walls.

As they made their way through the network of tunnels, Laura whispered to Shavi, ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but I keep getting flashes of us doing the monkey-dance. Yeah, yeah, I know you dream about it every second, but it feels like it really happened.’

‘I do not recall that, but I remember other things that are confusing. I think, perhaps, that our memories of our past time together are coming back. And that can only be a good thing. By all accounts, we achieved great things together. If we come to know each other as well as we did then, we can achieve great things again.’

‘You’re such a sucky optimist, Shavster, you’re like a walking cheese machine,’ she gently mocked.

On the platform, the head of Ruth’s spear glowed gently, bringing out a beauty in her features that Shavi had not noticed before. She was still fighting to contain her worry over Church, and when she saw him looking she turned away.

A distant, insane shrieking brought them up hard. It echoed from the gaping tunnel mouth, and was intermingled with haunting string music. The hairs on Shavi’s neck prickled; the sound was drawing closer.

‘What in the name of Billy Bob Thornton is that?’ Laura said, spooked, trying to hide it.

The shrieking rushed towards them, a raucous counterpoint to the music that grew more beautiful as it neared. The tracks began to sing in tune, and eventually a dim wash of light appeared on the walls in the far depths of the tunnel.

‘There shouldn’t be any trains running at this time of night,’ Ruth said.

‘Better recheck your timetable.’ The apprehension in Laura’s voice suggested they should all run, but they were transfixed by the sounds and the light, and by then it was too late.

When Church entered the ticket office, he was instantly aware of the cloying aroma of honeysuckle. He remarked on this to Shavi, and when he received no reply he turned to find himself alone in the echoing room.

His arms turned to gooseflesh. He caught a fleeting movement, a glimpse of sealskin and dangerous eyes, and that Cheshire Cat grin, and he knew.

‘What do you want, Puck?’ he asked loudly.

‘Ho! No fool you, Master Churchill!’ The voice echoed back, laced with mischief.

Emerging from the shadows far from where Church had seen him, the sprite appeared on the brink of breaking into dance, and though his mood was potent bonhomie, Church could sense the lethal nature behind it; he could turn as quickly as the weather.

‘Many miles have fallen underfoot since we last met, hale and hearty, not far from this place.’

Church blinked, and Puck was only a foot away, staring deep into Church’s eyes. ‘You are a merry wanderer yourself these days, it seems.’

‘What have you done with the Anubis Box?’ Church was concerned that such a powerful object was in the hands of so unpredictable a force.

Puck held out his open palms and feigned an expression of puzzlement. It was pointless questioning him further.

‘I’ll ask you again: what do you want?’

‘To light your way along a dark road. The Puck is a friend to the lost. If the lost are a friend to the Puck.’ A hint of a threat shaded his comment.

Church tempered his tone; there was little point risking his life or his sanity. ‘Any help would be gratefully received.’

‘Then listen, Master Churchill. This world is a frightful place, and will grow more frightful still when the Devourer of All Things finds a home for his dark thoughts. They are building him a body of meat and cobwebs so he can more easily influence this mundane world he rules.’

‘I thought a god could just snap his fingers and everything happened.’

‘Can you snap your fingers and make a house of bricks and mortar crumble to dust? No, no, and thrice no. You would take a hammer to it. The Devourer of All Things is building his own hammer. There are gods, Master Jack, and gods and gods and gods. But each must follow rules, and not all of them are known. Not even to the Puck, who knows more than most.’

‘Where is this happening?’

‘Somewhere. But not here.’

‘You don’t know.’

Puck grinned. ‘The finding is part of the solving.’

Church cursed under his breath.

‘Follow the Burning Man. He will light your way.’ The sprite vanished again, only to reappear at Church’s shoulder. ‘Light, light, and light. You carry a fire, too, that sears the Enemy and strips the darkness from its heart. It fears that light, like an imp feels good iron, for it cannot exist in its glare.’

‘We know what we’ve got to do. We’re not going to turn away from it.’

‘What courage! What daring!’ The Puck danced. ‘But have you found your own hammer, Master Jack?’