Mark Chadbourn - The Burning Man

Sophie was aware of Niamh’s closeness, the arm trailing behind her, gently touching her hair. An atmosphere of honeyed warmth enveloped her. It appeared to be exuding from Niamh, and it brought a fluttering deep in Sophie’s belly. ‘How can we help you?’ she asked lazily.

‘Advise me in my negotiations with the other courts, and in my preparation for the coming battle.’

‘Of course we’ll do what we can.’

‘Fragile Creatures … so beautiful,’ Niamh said gently.

Sophie smiled. ‘Oh, that’s good, coming from you.’

‘The Golden Ones do not see the surface. We look deep inside. And that is where the beauty lies in all you Fragile Creatures.’

Sophie felt Niamh’s fingers gently play with her hair. She almost jumped when the fingertips brushed her scalp.

‘Church opened my eyes to the beauty of your people,’ Niamh continued. ‘Each of you shines like a star. So far beyond us … rising so fast.’

Sophie lost herself in Niamh’s ethereal eyes.

‘It takes my breath away,’ Niamh whispered. ‘All of you. You.’

Niamh’s fingers exerted a slight pressure on the back of Sophie’s head, easing her forward. Niamh’s eyes pulled her in with the depth of her yearning.

‘I am so lonely,’ Niamh whispered.

Sophie felt the bloom of Niamh’s breath on her cheek, then on her lips. The shimmer of golden light blinded her. A touch on her lips, an electric jolt, pressing harder. Heat rose inside her. Slowly her mouth responded, warm and soft.

Dombas was a small town almost lost in the folding snow of the majestic Norwegian highlands, about an hour’s drive from the hotel. At five a.m. it was deserted, but the tiny railway station was open for business, though equally devoid of life. In the warm waiting room, Hunter continued to swig Jack Daniel’s while keeping watch. The others huddled by the fire.

‘We could call the Last Train,’ Shavi mused. ‘Perhaps it would help us reach our destination quicker.’

‘What?’ Tom said with angry disbelief. ‘You have ridden the Last Train?’

‘It wasn’t exactly the Orient Express.’ Laura’s face was lost in the hood of her parka. ‘More like a cattle carriage for freaks. And it smelled just as bad.’

‘Stay away from it!’ Tom shouted. ‘Do you know where it has come from? Do you know where it is going?’

‘No,’ Laura said in a couldn’t-care-less tone.

‘Be thankful you don’t.’ Tom delved into his pocket for the tin that contained his roll-up materials. ‘Bloody know-nothing idiots,’ he muttered.

‘Oslo’s going to be a problem,’ Hunter said. ‘Big city like that, we’ll have to be careful wandering around.’

The sound of the approaching train rumbled through the walls. Church stirred himself from his brooding and went to the door for one final look out. ‘She’s not dead,’ he said. ‘She can’t be dead.’

Veitch made his way down Karl Johans Gate, dodging the artists lining Oslo’s main street. It was late morning and the bars, cafes and restaurants along the route were already beginning to fill.

There was a bright optimism to the city that dovetailed with his own mood. It was a strange feeling. The only other time in his life when he’d felt even vaguely hopeful was when he had discovered his heritage as a Brother of Dragons alongside Church, Ruth, Shavi and Laura. Good people striving to be better. It had given him a sense of purpose that had always been missing.

But then he had been manipulated by higher powers, forced to betray the only people in the world he cared about, and his reason for living was exposed as the sham it truly was. He blamed the gods, he blamed Church. But in his darker moments he knew the truth: he was a loser who had brought it all on himself. When the Void had originally brought him back into the world, he had considered suicide; there was no way to fill the emptiness inside him.

But now things were different.

On the edge of Vigeland Park, he paused and took a deep breath of the cold, crystal air. He thought he could smell juniper berries and a hint of the fjord beyond. So many experiences since he had returned, so many new sights and thoughts that it was difficult to process it all. He remembered Church telling him once that every new experience turned you into a new person. So who was he now? That was the question.

The park was a vast, green sprawl of trees, lawns and duck ponds interspersed with life-size statues by the sculptor Gustav Vigeland. Veitch found his target in the dead centre, near the most impressive piece, a forty-six-foot-high sculpture of a mass of writhing bodies called The Monolith .

Standing next to the sculpture was a man in his mid-twenties with a sickly appearance, pale skin and lank brown hair. Every now and then someone would come up to him — an elderly person with frailty etched in their features, or a mother with a child swaddled tightly. With a kind expression, the man would exchange a few words with them, then take the person’s hand lightly. After a moment the visitor would try to press money upon him, and he would politely refuse.

Having seen enough, Veitch strode up to him. The man greeted Veitch cheerily in Norwegian.

‘Sorry, mate. Don’t speak the lingo.’

The man’s face brightened. ‘You’re British.’

‘London born and bred.’

‘Every time I hear the accent, I always get homesick.’ He took Veitch’s hand tentatively. ‘Jez Miller. From Swindon.’

‘Somebody has to be. Ryan Veitch.’

‘Are you here for help?’

‘What kind of help?’

Miller shifted uncomfortably. ‘People come to me … y’know, when they get sick.’

‘And you heal them?’

‘It’s a gift,’ Miller said bashfully. ‘I have to use it to help.’

‘Yeah, you’re the one I’m looking for all right. Come on, walk with me.’

Miller was taken aback, but did exactly what Veitch said. ‘You’ve been looking for me? But no one knows I’m here. I’ve lost touch with my family, and …’ His brow furrowed.

‘You can’t even remember why you’re here, right?’

‘Things have been a bit fuzzy for a while. I’ve been going to the doctor, but the medication isn’t working.’

‘You are so off the radar, mate, you don’t know it. Not even the big evil bastard running the universe could find you. But I did.’

‘I don’t understand.’ Miller looked troubled, as though he was half-remembering something long-forgotten. ‘How did you find me?’

Veitch held up an amber stone that glowed with a dull, warm light. ‘Picked this up in the Temple of the Dead in the Grim Lands. They’ve got all sorts of weird stuff stashed away there. It’s called a Trace-Stone. Locates missing objects. Or people.’

Miller tried to evaluate how sane Veitch was. ‘Why did you want to find me?’

‘Because you’re one of the two Keys.’

‘To what?’

‘To a whole load of trouble. Success or failure. My future.’ Veitch smiled tightly. ‘You got anyone here? Wife, girlfriend, kids? Boyfriend?’

Miller shook his head.

‘All right, here’s the deal. You come with me and I’ll show you everything you need to know. Why your memory’s so screwed up. The whole reason you’re here. Who wouldn’t want to know that?’

The hope in Miller’s face was evident. ‘You’re lying. How could you know something like that? Who are you?’

‘If you don’t come with me, you’ll never know.’

Miller dropped onto a bench and thrust his head into his hands. ‘I’d be crazy to go with a complete stranger. You might be someone who kills people.’

‘Yeah. I might.’

Miller looked deep into Veitch’s eyes. ‘Whatever I’ve got inside me, it makes me a good judge of character. I can see, deep inside you, there’s something good.’