Mark Chadbourn - The Burning Man

The wind caught droplets of blood from Veitch’s arm, and from Church’s cheek. They were evenly matched in skill and motivation.

Occasionally, Church would duck a blow and come sharply up against the precariousness of his position as he teetered on the edge of the path, fighting to regain his balance, the world rushing beneath him. Veitch didn’t give him a second to recover. Returning his attack, Church drove Veitch back, trusting his own instinct to keep him in the centre of the path.

‘What are the pair of you doing?’ Ruth’s desperate cry interrupted them. Fearfully, she clung to the mast.

Veitch was distracted. Unable to stop carrying through with his thrust, Church sliced Veitch’s upper arm. In his pain, he lost his footing and went over the edge.

Ruth shrieked.

At the last, Veitch’s silver hand crashed against the edge of the path and clung on. The strain was clear on his face.

‘Go on, then. Let me die,’ he shouted. ‘You get your girl back. I pay the bill for all the shit I’ve done. You win.’

Veitch was right — everything would be simpler if Church just let him fall. For a moment, he even considered it, but then he saw the Libertarian’s grinning, cruel face in his mind, and wondered if this was the turning point on his path to becoming that twisted mass murderer: one death for his own benefit could easily become two, become many. In the end, wasn’t Veitch right? They were both capable of the same thing, given the right circumstances. Veitch had slaughtered in the past and Church would do so in the future. The seeds were inside them, two brothers from the same stock. How could he judge?

He grabbed Veitch’s forearm and hauled him back onto the path.

‘You’re so bleedin’ noble, you make me sick,’ Veitch said.

‘You’re welcome.’

‘Don’t get all girly and think just ’cause you saved my life it’s going to be all smiles. All you’ve done is help balance things out a bit.’

‘Ryan, we’re more than a thousand feet above a messy death. This isn’t the place.’

Veitch glanced back at Ruth, who was tearing herself apart with concern. ‘All right. But I’m coming with you.’

‘So you can stab me in the back and take the Key?’

‘You’re going to have to take a punt, aren’t you, ’cause you haven’t got a choice.’

Now that his anger had subsided, Church could see Veitch was right. Creeping to the edge of the path, he began to spray.

‘Just like old times,’ he heard Veitch say sarcastically.

Church kept one eye on Veitch, fearing that if he dropped his guard he would be pitched off the path to his death, but Veitch followed sullenly, keeping several feet back. Progress was slow. The path dog-legged, twisted, turned back on itself and ran in long, straight lines until they were well out over the city and the Empire State Building and Ruth were far behind. And that was when the paint ran out.

‘Now what?’ Veitch said.

‘We can’t go back.’ Church pondered the point, swaying uneasily in the wind. ‘We’ll just have to feel around and do it without any help.’

‘You’re nuts.’

‘We don’t have a choice.’

Bracing his right foot, Church felt out with his left. Slowly, they edged onwards. Their progress was even more gut-churning without the meagre comfort of the sticky paint path beneath their feet. It felt as if they were floating in thin air.

‘If I throw up, don’t look back,’ Veitch said.

At that moment, the path took a sudden turn to the left and Church’s foot skidded over the edge. His weight carried him over after it. He saw the streets spinning far below, the air rushing into his lungs.

Veitch caught him by the back of his jacket and held him there. Church could tell Veitch was weighing whether to let him drop.

After a moment, Veitch pulled him back. They exchanged one look, and then continued on their way in silence.

Half an hour later, Church came up hard against what appeared to be a wall in the air, though he could see straight through it.

‘Maybe the path goes round the edge,’ Veitch suggested.

Church tested. ‘No, this is it. Dead end.’

‘That’d be plain stupid. All this way to a dead end.’ Veitch thought. ‘A door?’

Church felt around and something gave beneath his fingers. The door opened into a small room that was unmistakably floating in the air, but the walls, floor and ceiling had a translucent quality that gave it some solidity.

Inside sat Jack, Mahalia and Crowther, in a trance. Church immediately sensed another, invisible presence.

‘Where are you?’ he said.

‘All around you, Brother of Dragons. I am Apoyan-Tachi, Sky Father God, and this is my home.’

From the corner of his eye, Church saw Veitch’s hand moving towards his sword. Church signalled for him to stop and Veitch paused, but remained wary.

‘I’ve come for these three Fragile Creatures, Sky Father God,’ Church said.

‘One is too dangerous to remain in this Great Dominion. He will only draw unwanted attention.’

‘I won’t let him stay here. We’re going to the Far Lands. He will help us defeat the Devourer of All Things.’

‘Too late.’ There was a sound like the sighing of the wind through branches. ‘The Devourer of All Things has closed all the doorways to the Far Lands. It knows your plans, and it wishes to keep you trapped here in the Fixed Lands where you are forever limited.’

‘That’s it, then?’ Veitch said. ‘It’s all been for nothing?’

‘No, it’s not been for nothing,’ Church said firmly.

‘I’ve always admired your optimism.’ For the first time there was no sarcasm in Veitch’s voice.

‘Sky Father God, let me take these three and I promise they will be removed from this Great Dominion.’

Another moment of whispering wind. ‘You have made your way across my ritual path, and so you are worthy, Brother of Dragons. But know this: the moment the One is in your hands, the Devourer of All Things will rise up. Your End-Time will be close.’

‘I’ll take that risk. And thank you.’

‘Hurry, Brother of Dragons. The path back will not remain in place long. Hurry!’

Veitch muttered under his breath, ‘I don’t bleedin’ like the sound of that.’

When Church opened the door, the invisible path now sparkled as if it was sprinkled with gold dust. Veitch led the way, followed by Jack, Mahalia and Crowther tramping like sleepwalkers. Church brought up the rear and kept a close eye on them in case they woke suddenly and fell.

Halfway along the return journey, Church glanced behind him and saw the sparkling dust drifting down towards the grimy streets. The path was falling away.

‘Ryan, you have to move faster!’ he called out.

Veitch saw the reason for Church’s anxiety and increased his pace, though the danger of slipping increased with it. Church herded the other three along as fast as he dared, but the disappearing edge of the path was racing towards his heels.

A loud noise, like a heavy, metal object being dragged, echoed all around.

‘What the bleedin’ hell is that?’ Veitch called out.

‘Don’t think about it now,’ Church said. ‘Just get a move on!’

The edge of the path was only a few feet behind him, and he was jostling against Crowther’s back. The wind gusted stronger, and on the horizon storm-clouds gathered rapidly; there was something unnatural about the speed with which they were rolling together.

The Empire State Building appeared in the gathering gloom ahead. Church could see Ruth still gripping the mooring mast, the wind whipping her hair. At the window, just below, the others watched anxiously.

‘Ryan, you’re going to have to run or I’m dead!’ Church shouted.