F. Paul Wilson - By the Sword

"So one would think. But he must have a way—or thinks he does. And something between now and next spring will trigger his plans." Veilleur's expression grew bleak. "The only thing I can think of is that he'll discover my weakened, mortal state."

"Then you'd better stay damn well hidden. But maybe it's something else, something he's cooking up, something we can stop. Any idea what he's been doing behind the scenes?"

"Well, the latest is this so-called Kicker movement and—"

That pricked up Jack's ears. "Whoa. 'So-called' Kicker movement? Why do you say that?"

"Because its leader has no idea what he has tapped into, nor what he might unleash."

"Hank Thompson. I've met him. Definitely trouble. What has he tapped into?"

Veilleur glanced at his watch. "A long story… one I've no time for tonight."

"How long a story?"

"It begins fifteen thousand or so years ago."

Frustration clamped down on Jack's shoulders. "You can't waltz off and leave me with just that."

"My time is not my own. I've a sick wife at home."

"Give me some thing."

He sighed. "Very well. It's courting disaster to concentrate so many Taints in such a relatively small area."

" 'Taints'? What are you talking about?"

"Taints is what we called them millennia ago, before the Taint in their blood became diluted enough that they were no longer a threat. Now their distant progeny are becoming aware of their Taint, and calling themselves Kickers."

"Yeah. Idiotic name, but—"

Veilleur shook his head. "Not so idiotic if you're aware of the story behind it, but that's part of the secret history of the world, so virtually no one knows it."

Secret history of the world … jeez, did that ever ring a bell.

"You're making me crazy." But something else he'd said had struck too close to home, sending a wave of uneasiness through Jack's gut. "This Taint in the blood…"

"A contaminant from the Otherness."

Just what Jack had suspected… and the last thing he wanted to hear.

"Some folks have another name for it: oDNA."

Veilleur frowned. "Never heard of it."

"It's part of what's considered junk DNA, and if I may echo you: Virtually no one knows of it."

"But you do?"

"I was told by an expert." Dr. Aaron Levy had told him a lot—way more than he cared to know. "And I guess it's only right that I know, since I'm loaded with it."

Veilleur gave Jack a long, cool stare, then said, "In a way, that makes a perverse sort of sense. The Ally is trading in the only Taint-free human on Earth for one who is heavily tainted. Maybe it thinks it can turn the Taint against its source."

"There's only one Taint-free human, and you're it?"

Veilleur nodded. "I predate the Taint. The Adversary would be untainted as well, but he was reborn into tainted flesh."

That meant Gia carried this Taint. And Vicky.

No.

"Wait-wait. You said Thompson was courting disaster by concentrating so many Taints in such a small area. You mean Manhattan? Because if we're all Taints, then this town is about as concentrated as you're gonna get."

Veilleur shook his head. "Simply carrying the Taint doesn't make you a Taint. You must carry enough to influence your behavior, enough to taint your relationship with the world around you."

"So… the greater the Taint, the greater the… what? Potential for violence?"

"The greater the potential for making this place more to the Adversary's liking, and pushing it closer to the Otherness."

"Do you know for sure the Kickers are Taints?"

He gave Jack a perplexed look. "I can smell them."

"Then I must stink."

"Oddly enough, you don't."

A flash of hope. "Then maybe I don't—"

A quick shake of Veilleur's head. "Oh, you do. It's just that somehow you've learned how to compartmentalize it—or perhaps you were born with that ability. That talent, or knack, or whatever it is, allows you to bottle up the brutish tendencies so common to Taints, and set them free when you need them."

"Sometimes they set themselves free."

Veilleur stared at him, nodding slowly. "I imagine they do. What's that like?"

"Scary. And yet…"

"An exhilarating high? A dark joy?"

"Yeah. 'Dark joy' pretty much nails it."

"Perhaps that ability to compartmentalize was why you were chosen."

"But where's this Taint come from?"

Another glance at his watch. "Too long a history lesson for now." He rose. "Thank you for the beer, but I must be going. See you here again soon."

Jack wanted to shove him back into his chair and duct-tape him there till he'd told the whole story. Instead he settled for grabbing his arm.

"Wait. So you think the Adversary's got a hand in this Kicker thing?"

"The Adversary or the Otherness itself. That image—the Kicker Man—on the cover of his book and graffiti'd all over town makes me suspect the Otherness. This Thompson couldn't have discovered it on his own. It must have been implanted."

"What's it mean?"

"No time. But I can tell you it's a lure of sorts. Taints respond to it. They see it on the cover of his book and the Otherness within them reaches for it. They can't get it out of their heads, so they tattoo it on their skin and paint it on walls. And they are drawn to others who feel the same way. This Thompson has no idea what he's tapped into."

He slipped his arm free and started for the door.

"Just one more thing," Jack said. "What would be the purpose of creating a super-tainted child?"

Veilleur stopped and turned. "Super tainted?"

"Yeah. Back in the seventies a guy went to a lot of trouble to father heavily tainted children to mate and produce a super-tainted child."

"Did he succeed?"

"Don't know. The child hasn't been born yet and I don't know where its mother is. But I'm sure you've seen her picture."

He frowned. "She wouldn't be the one on those ubiquitous flyers, would she?"

"You got it."

"And she's carrying a super-tainted fetus?"

"Could be—no one knows what the child's made of yet."

"Do you know the name of the man who did this?"

"Started it all? That would be her grandfather—Jonah Stevens. Or so I've been told."

Jack wasn't sure what to believe anymore.

Veilleur's eyes widened. "Really. Jonah Stevens. That's very… interesting."

Then he turned and left Julio's.

"The katana! It is near! It awaits!"

Toru Akechi started at the high-pitched wail. He hadn't been expecting it so soon.

Through the eyeholes of his silk mask he watched the legless monk, naked but for his mask and fundoshi, writhing on the rumpled futon in the Sighting room. He had drunk the Sighting elixir twenty minutes ago and it was starting to take effect.

The windows to the Sighting room had been sealed during the old building's renovation. The darkness was virtually complete but for the glow of the four candles placed at the corners of the futon, wanly limning the dozen figures, robed and hooded in dark blue, encircling the Seer. Some of those figures stood, some sat, and the ones without limbs lay on the floor.

Toru knew them all by the designs on their silk masks and the shapes of their bodies. Some were missing limbs, showed empty sockets through their masks. Those lacking ears and tongues and noses were less obvious.

With his arms jerking back and forth, his torso twisting, the Seer appeared to be suffering an agony of sorts. His empty eye sockets could offer no sign of pain or distress, but his body gave full testament. Suddenly he lay still. All present held their breath, listening.

And then the Seer sat up and swiveled his masked, eyeless face back and forth. Toru knew he wasn't seeing the Sighting room. He was seeing somewhere, some when else.