Destroyer of Worlds

5

Church came round tied to a chair in a hot room filled with scores of sputtering lamps. Together, they just about held back the dark that swelled in the corners of the room. It was spartan, with bare boards, plaster walls and only an empty chair across from Church. His head ached and his throat was unbearably dry; it took him a second or two to recall where he had been when he was last conscious, and another second to recognise where he must be now.

'Where are you?' he called out.

'Right here.'

The voice came from behind him. Slowly the Libertarian sauntered into view, his sunglasses reflecting the glittering points of lamplight. He spun around the empty chair and sat astride it.

'I must have seen a lot of bad eighties movies,' Church said.

The manufactured flamboyance evaporated and for once the Libertarian stared at Church with cold contempt. 'I am not you.'

'That's not what you said in Beijing.'

'I'm better. Right now I'm what you could never dream of being. In the same way that I could never imagine being you.'

The Libertarian continued to stare. Church was puzzled by the barest hint of emotion in a voice that previously had been all role-playing, and he had the strangest impression, although he did not know why, that behind the Libertarian's sunglasses there were tears in his eyes.

'So you've brought me here to debate our different philosophies?'

The Libertarian laughed; the facade returned. 'Oh, what's the point in that! Any difference will be over very shortly.'

'Not going to happen.'

'Yet here I am. And if there was even the slightest chance of you continuing down the primrose path with your unrealistically idealised world-view, I would not be standing before you.' He waved a finger slowly at Church to emphasise his words. 'Thousands of threads over thousands of years are finally tying together. Oh, if you could only see the full extent of the tapestry you would marvel at the wonder of it all! The rich complexity! I have the luxury of standing on the mountaintop and seeing how a stitch here and another there can create the world we want, while you are mired in the swamp, swatting away insects and wondering when the rain will come.'

With as little obvious effort as possible, Church strained at his bonds.

The Libertarian smiled. 'I know what you're doing. I remember that quite clearly, as I remembered exactly where you would be this day when my agent brought down the darkness. I find I'm remembering more and more the closer we get to the point of transformation.' His lips quirked as if he was tasting something unpleasant. 'A small price to pay, I suppose, for being able to interact with you at these vital junctures.'

'But there are still a lot of variables, aren't there? Or you wouldn't be bothering with me. These x-factors… the little pushes and shoves I'm getting from the Oldest Things in the Land-'

'Forget about those deluded creatures,' the Libertarian snapped. 'Their days are numbered. As you are aware, we have already eradicated one of them. The rest will follow. You cannot understand the magnitude of what we have achieved. The Oldest Things in the Land! Playing their little games since your world was built out of shit and piss. Always a part of everything, always powerful, and now they are falling before us, one by one by one.' He stood up and bowed. 'Our brilliance, incarnate. I thank you!'

'What killed the part of you that cared?' Church asked, sickened.

'You think I am the villain of the piece. I am not. There are no villains in life, my young Jack Churchill. Nor any heroes. There are only people who want the things you want, and people who want the opposite. At the moment, you are caught up with your vision that people would be happier if they were completely free. That, in itself, is a trap. The choices, the striving… they only bring misery. No, better to be happy with your lot. To be content, and at peace. The Mundane Spell… the lack of meaning in everyday existence… surely that is a small price to pay for being content.'

'War, corruption, abuse, sickness-'

'All small prices when seen from the view of humanity as a whole. They do not affect everyone. Most people have steady lives.'

Church thought for a moment, then said, 'Don't you miss Sinatra?'

Pausing, the Libertarian appeared to be struggling to recall something just beyond his grasp. A shadow crossed his face.

' "Fly Me to the Moon"? How about your parents' faces, on a summer day, when you were a kid? Don't you miss Ruth?'

'No!' The Libertarian whirled, his features fixed with anger. 'I thought I had already strangled the life from her in Greece, that's how little I care!'

'Don't you miss the magic, Jack?' Church said quietly.

In a rage, the Libertarian threw the chair to one side with such force that it shattered into pieces. Hurling himself at Church murderously, he pushed his furious face so close that it filled Church's vision. When he spoke, each word had the stab of an assassin's knife. 'I know how much you love her. I know she is the prop that holds your fragile life together. And I know that she is the thing holding you back from reaching your destiny. Which is why I now have her.'

Church flinched as if he'd been hit.

'Do I miss Ruth? I'll show you. First I'm going to torture her till the pain blooms in her face and she can see no good in life. And then I'm going to murder her, slowly and agonisingly, and I'm going to dump her body somewhere you will never find it. No chance for mourning. No closure. Your ravens will peck away at her flesh, and then her bones will yellow, and crumble, and she will be gone, as if she never existed.'

Tears stung Church's eyes. 'I'm going to kill you.'

The Libertarian smiled. 'That's the spirit.'