Destroyer of Worlds

1

The Last Train thundered out of the world. Behind it, swarming spiders tore apart the land and rebuilt it with a boiling intellect and a cold eye. Hope and wonder and magic could not survive under that scrutiny. The unequivocal image of the Void was all that would remain.

Through the carriage window, Church attempted to see some pattern in the dark pressing in on all sides, but the dream was still heavy on him, distracting, haunting. Lying on some kind of bed or trolley or bench, faces loomed over him uttering familiar yet unrecognisable voices. On awakening, he had been convinced of some life-changing meaning just beyond his grasp, but it was slipping further away with each moment. It felt very much like a death dream.

His reflection in the window revealed the burden of responsibility carved into his brooding features. There was too much darkness about him, from the black hair, to the eyes lost in shadow, to the hollowness of his cheeks. Was this the chrysalis state before he would emerge as the Libertarian, bloody eyes staring from the gloom?

Veitch came up silently behind him. His features carried the hardness of a life lived on the street, his eyes registering every hurt, every betrayal, every disappointment, all too close to the surface. Church still didn't know how much he could trust him.

'You know what we need? Some music,' Veitch said.

'Sinatra,' Church replied.

'Nah. Something… something sunny. A bit of heart, bit of hope. I've got this Beach Boys song stuck in my head. Can't remember what it's called.' He quietly hummed a few off-key bars.

Lounging back in a seat, Veitch's silver hand caught the lamplight, the glow illuminating another hint of uncertainty in Veitch's eyes. 'Laura's never going to accept me,' he commented.

'Surprised? She never liked you much before. Now she knows you've killed about ten times as many people as the worst serial killer in history, all of them Brothers and Sisters of Dragons.'

Veitch gave nothing away.

'Any regrets?' Church pressed.

'I did what I did.'

'You had the spiders whispering in your ears-'

'Don't blame them. I knew what I was doing.'

'The Void deals in despair, Ryan. Once you get infected with that you can believe black is white and up is down. Nothing looks right.'

'You're the one always banging on about accepting responsibility. What I did felt right then. Now…' Veitch gave a shrug that was supposed to represent easiness. 'All that matters is I did it. I'm never going to put it right, no chance. I've got to accept what I did and live with it.' Veitch rolled up his shirt to reveal the mass of colourful tattoos that covered his torso. He indicated a Promethean figure strapped to a rock being attacked by ravens. 'See that? That's me. Being punished for ever for what I've done. No relief. Just pain. You fuck up like I did, you deserve to pay the price.'

Church felt a pang of pity. 'You're here now when we need you most.' 'So you trust me?'

'I do.'

'You're an idiot, then. Even I don't trust me.'

Their eyes locked, and Church was acutely aware of the weight that lay between them. Veitch loved Ruth as much as he did, and neither of them was wholly sure where Ruth stood. What would happen when the time came for choices to be made? Could he trust Veitch to walk away? Could he trust himself?

His transformation into the Libertarian would be sparked in some way by his relationship with Ruth. Before, he couldn't comprehend how that could possibly happen. Now he could see with startling acuity the road begin to appear before him. The question was clear: how far would he be prepared to go for the woman he loved?

Something similar unfolded in Veitch's face.

'None of us are heroes, mate,' Veitch said quietly. 'In the end we just do the best we can.'

'And sometimes we fail.'

Veitch nodded.

'But that's the thing about five. If one screws up, there's always someone else to make sure the job gets done.'

Veitch pondered this for a moment. 'We've all got a part to play. Thinking about this too hard does my head in, but it's like even bad stuff is important. Like you couldn't have had some of the good if the bad things hadn't happened to cause it. So it's all linked. Pull back a bit and you start seeing things for what they are. They're just part of some…' He struggled to complete the concept.

'Pattern?'

'It's like we're so far inside it we don't see how it all fits together, but if you could float above it somehow… you know… Listen to me — I sound like bleedin' Shavi.' He laughed. 'Looking forward to spending some time with that fucker. I missed him. He keeps me calm.'

'We go well together.'

'Yeah. We do.'

Outside the carriage, the impenetrable black was like deepest space, punctuated every now and then by a burst of fire in the far reaches, a beacon crying for help, quickly extinguished. Briefly, a vast mountain of stone came into view, topped by a sharp spire with gargoyles and carvings and windows but no sign of life: the Watchtower between the Worlds.

'You think Miller and Jack are enough to stop the Void?' Veitch was lost to the gloomy view.

'Not without the Extinction Shears. Maybe not even then.'

'It's not going to end well for us, is it?'

'No happy endings.'

'I never expected that for me, but you lot… you deserve better. You've fought hard.'

'Maybe dying won't be so bad. I just feel so tired. All this running, and fighting.'

They were interrupted by the silent arrival of Ahken, the host of the Last Train, his heavy-lidded eyes staring from a skull-like face. His black robes were pristine, but he smelled of the grave, and when he clasped his hands before him in a show of obsequiousness, it hid something darker. 'Brothers of Dragons,' he said. 'Is there anything that would make your final journey more pleasurable?'

His words chilled Church.

'Yeah. Some dancing girls,' Veitch replied.

Ahken smiled slyly. 'You feel at home on the Last Train.'

Veitch stroked the leather seat. 'It's weird. It feels a bit Egyptian, some Chinese, Arabic, Victorian.'

'Oh, the Last Train is very old,' Ahken said. 'It was here in the earliest time, before the Golden Ones, before even the Drakusa.'

'Before the Oldest Things in the Land?' Church asked.

Ahken did not reply.

'What are you going on about?' Veitch asked.

'There's a hierarchy. The gods manipulate us. The Oldest Things in the Land manipulate the gods and us. Puck, the Caretaker…' With an involuntary shudder, Church recalled the two figures he had seen, or imagined, hovering over the cauldron that was not a cauldron while he suffered the Sleep Like Death in the casket of gold and ivory. 'There's always something higher. Apparently.'

Defiance hardened Veitch's features. 'Humans are on the way up, and we're not taking any bollocks from anyone any more.'

Church nodded in agreement. 'This whole period is ushering in the next step of our evolution, if we can follow the right path. Not Fragile Creatures any longer. A lot of the ones above us don't like that.' He eyed Ahken, who smiled, giving nothing away.

'So does that mean we get one of those little silver rats like all the gods?' Veitch said.

'A Caraprix?'

Ahken flinched.

'You know something about them?' Church asked him.

'I know the Last Train, and that is all,' Ahken lied.

'The Tuatha De Danaan can't live without them,' Veitch said. 'But what use are they? They change shape, yeah, but I mean, so what, right? It's not like they serve up your dinner. They're like pets.'

'Except I can never tell which is the pet — the Caraprix or the god,' Church said.