Darren Shan - Hell's Horizon

“You’re as crazy as they are,” I sighed. “You, Dorak, Capac Raimi… nuts.”

“And you are the only sane person,” Wami smirked. “How fortunate you are.”

“Look, you can’t really believe—”

“Flesh of Dreams,” he interrupted. “The villacs called you Flesh of Dreams.”

“So?”

“You can be incredibly dense,” he chided me. “Think, boy. If what The Cardinal says is true, Ayuamarcans are creatures of the dreamworld. Dreams made Flesh , if you will. And you are the son of a dream person and a human. One could say you are of Flesh and of Dreams. Plain Flesh of Dreams if you want something that rolls off the tongue.”

I decided not to argue. Partly because you can’t argue with a madman, partly because a small section of me believed the tissue of lunatic lies. The more we discussed it, the more I seemed to be sucked into the madly intricate mire.

“How did you get here?” I asked instead, returning to more practical matters.

“The villacs contacted me through a messenger last Monday, not long after you and I had parted. They knew The Cardinal had put out word for Capac Raimi’s execution and they knew where the fugitive was heading. They said, if I helped him escape, it would lead to the solving of the mystery. So I did.

“They sent another messenger two days later. This one bade me make haste to the train station, to meet Raimi on his way back. He told me to plant a bug on him, then call you when they were in conference, for both of us to listen in on his conversation with The Cardinal.”

“Any idea why they told you to include me?”

“This must tie in with the murder of your bedmates but I cannot see how. Perhaps we will learn more when the pair on the roof resume their talks. I have a feeling there are a few twists left to the tale.”

He got that right.

Capac Raimi started up again. “It’s a trap,” he muttered, and they discussed the downside of immortality and The Cardinal’s insane plan. Raimi didn’t believe the Ayuamarcans could survive their creator’s death. The Cardinal admitted he couldn’t guarantee Raimi’s survival but had made provisions to hopefully ensure it. Raimi mulled this over, then delivered the bombshell that changed the course of the evening. He told The Cardinal he’d replace him, run his empire from here to doomsday, but he wanted an immediate transfer of power. He wasn’t prepared to sit around waiting for The Cardinal to die, worrying about what would happen. Either all would be handed over now, or The Cardinal could go screw himself and cast his nets for a successor again.

I knew that wasn’t an option — The Cardinal was dying — and I expected him to accept the condition instantly, but he acted cautiously, advising against such a move. He encouraged Raimi to make use of his years of experience, to keep him around and exploit him. But Raimi was having none of it. He told The Cardinal to go take a jump. Literally. Off the roof of Party Central.

Wami stiffened when he heard that and the snakes on his cheeks seemed to shimmer nervously.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“He cannot jump,” Wami replied, though he seemed to be talking to himself. “He mustn’t.”

“Do you like the old bastard so much?”

“I care nothing for him. But if what he says is true — if I am one of his creations — then his death means my own.”

“Oh, come on,” I groaned, “don’t tell me you buy into any of—”

“Quiet!” he hissed.

The Cardinal was in the process of throwing Raimi a curveball. Ford Tasso was on the roof with them — he’d been hiding — and now emerged, a bound woman in tow, none other than Ama Situwa. The woman who’d helped me tie Priscilla to Ellen seemed to be the love of Raimi’s life. I was sure this wasn’t mere coincidence, but there was no time to puzzle over it.

Once again The Cardinal acted as if he had years left and tried talking his successor out of calling for his instant death, urging Raimi to keep him around for Ama’s sake. She was also an Ayuamarcan, but without special powers, and would perish when he did.

Raimi hesitated. He asked The Cardinal to remake her, this time granting her the ability to transcend her maker’s death and live forever. The Cardinal said he couldn’t and started to explain why, which was when Wami tore the headphone from his ear.

“What are you doing?” I asked as he launched for the door.

“The fucker’s going to jump!” he shouted. “I have to stop him. I won’t die, not like this.”

“You can’t stop him.”

“I can try,” he growled.

“But he’s going to die anyway. He—” I started to tell him about The Cardinal’s brain tumor, but he was gone, up the stairs like a squirrel, acting rashly for the first and only time of his otherwise lethally precise life.

Picking up his discarded earpiece, I tuned back into the soap opera, now with the benefit of stereo, and placed bets with myself on how it would end.

Raimi betrayed Ama Situwa and told The Cardinal to jump. I heard the sound of the old goat’s footsteps as he walked toward the edge of the roof, his voice coming faintly now. He was preparing for his leap when Wami burst onto the roof, roaring at him to stop. “Wami knows?” I heard The Cardinal ask, and Raimi explained about the bug.

I felt sorry for my father, listening to him issue threats that were worthless. As a merchant of death, he had power only over those who wished to cling to life. A man who’d surrendered himself to fate was beyond the killer’s reach.

The Cardinal disarmed Paucar Wami with a few withering words. Wami vowed to kill Capac Raimi if he survived the kingpin’s death. Then The Cardinal made his final ever speech, wrapped matters up with a hearty “Farewell!”

And jumped.

Tearing off the headphones, I rushed to the window but wasn’t in time to catch the downfall of the city’s legendary leader. But I was in a good position to study his corpse, smashed to pieces on the concrete, arms stretched as if he’d attempted to fly. A crowd of startled Troops was forming around the crumpled mess. Within minutes the place would be black with those wishing to associate themselves with this moment of bloody history.

I wanted to return to the headphones and listen for signs of life on the roof but two thoughts stopped me. One was practical — when word of The Cardinal’s death spread, a cordon would be thrown around Party Central, setting my date with Bill back by hours or even days. The second consideration was more mystically rooted. I didn’t believe The Cardinal’s outlandish story, but part of me couldn’t help speculating on what it would mean if it was true. If it wasn’t bullshit, then a green fog would soon be spreading and minds would be washed clean. People would forget about Ama Situwa, Paucar Wami and Leonora Shankar. The Ayuamarcans would become ghost figures, like those in my father’s file.

What if Bill was one of them?

A crazy notion, but the fear of losing him to the realm of dreams, forgetting about him and what he’d done, would have been enough to galvanize me into action even if I hadn’t already set off running for the stairs.

I raced to ground level and rushed into the yard, not pausing to collect my socks or shoes. I grabbed my bike and was wheeling it clear of the building when I glanced up and noticed — to my horror — banks of thick green fog billowing down from the roof like a giant’s clammy fingers.

I stared at the fog, thinking everything The Cardinal had said was true, rooted to the spot with superstitious fear. Then I snapped out of it, decided to give the fog a run for its money, and struck for the gate as fast as I could.