The Circle Line (8 page)

He led Kya along the centre of the room, down a wide aisle between two enormous racks of books, all the while Kya staring in wonder at the room around her. Eventually they reached a round space from which the rows of books led away like the spokes of a cartwheel.

'Here, the line.' said the man.

Kya could hear it, sense it, humming. The sound seemed to reach her mind without travelling through her ears. She looked around at the books again. How she would have loved to have stayed and searched for secrets amongst them. But time was not her ally. She sent her presence into the line and pulled it open.

She turned then to the green man 'Thank you.' she said.

'You are welcome.' he said 'I hope in happier times you will be able to return from the other world and visit us again.'

Kya smiled and took one last look at the books. 'I hope so too.'

Then she stepped into the Great Line and vanished.

She appeared at the crest of a hill, underneath a cloudy sky and a monument of some kind. A square pillar made from a pale grey stone stretched high above her. Looking at its very top she could see a blue-green dome which sat at the summit like a crown. Around her, in a circle, was a stone wall. She left the circle through a black iron gate and found herself on a grassy plain, not dissimilar to that across which she had so recently been pursued, albeit this seemed to be smaller. Ahead of her, down a steep bank lay a large town. Rows of box-shaped houses ran in long lines in various directions. The Great Line did not seem to have brought her somewhere particularly great, but there was no doubt that she was in the new world. She had been told to find Fort Amhurst, a small castle of some sort which lay nearby. Choosing a direction almost at random she set off.

Aleksy felt a veil lift from his mind like mists evaporating from a pond. It was like waking up slowly, as though his head was being turned on by a dimmer switch, but he hadn't been asleep. He blinked a few times, and tried to think about where he was but he felt extraordinarily tired and it was hard to hold a coherent thought.

He was still in his cell but a vague memory told him that he hadn't been in here recently. As his tired brain began to function more normally dull aches and pains began to filter through and memories of, he concentrated, memories of working with a pickaxe, hacking at rock, each blow sending a painful vibration though his hands and along his body. He looked down at his torso. He was naked to the waist; a sheen of sweat covered a muscular chest underneath patches of dirt and grime. He looked at his body more closely. It was thin but his muscles were bunched under the skin in a way they had not been before. What was going on? How long had he been insensible in this hell that his body should be so changed? He moved a hand to poke at his stomach muscles but as he moved his arm he felt a sting and tightness across his back. Cautiously reaching a hand behind him he gingerly touched his lower back. He could feel rough cuts there and he winced as his fingers explored what he couldn't see. When he brought his hand back before him he could see blood on his fingertips, dark against his pale hand in the dim light. His hands hurt too. Blisters dotted his palms and the soft area at the base of his thumbs was raw and weeping.

With another grimace Aleksy forced himself to his feet. His body felt as though it was made from lead, every movement was an effort. Turning he was startled to see movement. He was not alone in his cell.

A shape, huddled in a corner, began to form itself into a person. It was another man, grimier and thinner than Aleksy but similarly stripped to the waist. Where Aleksy was barefoot this man seemed to have fashioned himself a pair of shoes of sorts from something that looked like old leather and rag. A shaggy beard and long tangled hair made him look mad and wild but when he had forced himself into a sitting position he seemed fairly normal. The man pushed his hair from his eyes and stretched his filthy legs ahead of him in a stretch before crossing them at the ankles and making himself comfortable. He gave Aleksy a careful look as he scratched at his beard.

‘It would seem that we are momentarily free of our mental capture. A changing of the guard. Do you speak English?’

Aleksy nodded and putting his hand to his own face was surprised to find a heavy stubble there.

‘Excellent. How long have you been here? Do you have any news or messages?’

Aleksy shook his head.

‘Come on man, speak. We don’t have long before presence robs us of our clarity. Who are you?’

‘Aleksy. I, I don’t know where I am or how long I've been here. Am I, am I dead? Is this hell?’

‘Ah, a new chap, eh?’ said the man ‘Thought so. Well, at least it will be good to have someone to talk to I suppose. Alec was it?'

'Alek-see' said Aleksy.

'Alek-see. Hmmm. Well, my name is James Worson, but everyone here calls me Worsen. I can tell you that you are not dead, but, I'm afraid, you are not far wrong when you speak of hell.’

Worsen rose and crossed to the featureless bars and peered out into the gloomy corridor.

‘Anyone else awake?’ he called.

When there was no answer he turned back to Aleksy. ‘Always takes a while for folks to wake up. I'm surprised that you were awake first. You must have a certain mental fortitude. Well, Aleksy, you wish to know what on earth is going on?’

Aleksy nodded.

‘Well, the first revelation is that what is going on is not going on on earth, if you follow. We are currently hundreds of metres below a temple called the Rivenrok Complex and we are slaves to its residents. Whatever you were before, you are now a miner. We dig for crystals. Where and when were you captured?’

‘London.’ said Aleksy ‘I was underground.’

Just then several quiet voices floated down the corridor and Worsen turned his attention back to beyond the bars.

‘Who's awake?’ he called softly.

A series of voices floated back, voicing names. Aleksy heard men and women call out, a mixture of accents. When it was quiet again Worsen called his own name before adding ‘and Aleksy, new man.’

He turned to Aleksy again. ‘There are usually new names but the old names get shorter. We're missing many people today, or tonight, whatever time it is. It sounds like we’re down to a single Stonehenge hippie.’ He gave a grim laugh then called ‘Any sign of Middie?’

A deep gruff voice came back through the darkness. ‘I'm here, Worsen. Took me a little time to find my voice, that's all. Who's the new guy?’

Worsen beckoned Aleksy forward. When he reached the bars Aleksy looked out but could see little in the faint light. The other cells must be to the sides he thought.

‘My name is Aleksy. I am a labourer on the London Underground. I was in a tunnel when I saw a flash and I went to look. Then there was someone there I think. I was pushed into a, a hole of some sort. I ended up in this cell but I must have been here a long time. I don’t remember.’ He rubbed his heavily stubbled chin.

‘And when were you taken Aleksy?’ came Middie's voice.

‘I don’t know.’

‘He doesn't understand, Middie.’ came a woman's voice.

‘I haven’t had time.’ interjected Worsen.

‘Well, friend Aleksy,’ came Middie's gruff voice. ‘You are in a place that exists separately from our world. This place is run by a race of men called the Riven. They’re magicians of sorts. They use telekinesis, telepathy and general brutality to keep a hold on this place but they’re increasingly seeking to force their way into our world. Your world. There are pathways, lines, between our worlds and every now and then they cross over to collect a few slaves. Sometimes one or two, sometimes a whole bunch. You’ve probably heard of their actions, although you haven’t realisssss...’

Middie's voice tailed off and Aleksy felt a thought come to him although he couldn't focus upon it. It was distant.

Worsen whispered in his ear. ‘They’re coming back. They must be changing shifts. Good luck.’

As the pressure of the thought in his head began to build Aleksy watched Worsen stiffen until he stood, immobile and slack jawed as though his mind had been removed. Aleksy felt his own mind grow increasingly clouded and panicking he fought against the presence that threatened to overwhelm him. He felt the pressure ease a little and had a vague impression of surprise before the pressure returned, much more intensely this time. He continued to try to keep his mind clear but the force seeking its way into his head was relentless. He felt angry and again pushed as hard as he could but the effort was exhausting. His last thought was that he would not let them beat him. He tried to shout out but the sound died on his lips and he slipped into a waking unconsciousness. He did not see the black robed figure stop before his cell and peer at him curiously. He did not see the thick iron bars bend as though made of cloth, pulled apart like a curtain. He did not see the black hood fall back from a misshapen and ugly face but then a little of his mind leaked back in and, although he could not move, Aleksy was startled to see a face so close to his own. Aleksy's mind was still present but he was unable to even flinch when the horror before him showed him a whip and began to lash his back.

Chapter Eight

Sam stared in terror at the beast before him. It had the build of a lean, but muscular man, standing on two legs.  It wore no clothes but shaggy, matted grey fur covered its body. Its face was human but dog like too with a muzzle and round eyes. Werewolf. The word came into Sam's mind like a punch to the stomach. It snarled, revealing yellow canine teeth and then dropped onto all fours looking at Sam and the others in turn. It seemed to quickly decide on Sam and its muscles tensed ready to spring.

Weewalk darted in front of Sam and as the creature pounced he threw up his hands. The beast seemed to hit an invisible wall. For a moment it froze in the air, then Weewalk's shoulders slumped and the animal dropped to the ground again, getting ready to spring.

Sam had thrown his arms over his head, sure he was about to be killed. As he straightened again he saw, from the corner of his eye, that Hadan had moved into the kitchen area. There was a clatter of cutlery and then Hadan cried Weewalk's name.

The tiny bearded kobold tensed again, the muscles in his neck drawing taught, his face set in a grim expression. Sam could feel the atmosphere in the room change and the little man seemed to become a source of light and focus whilst everything else became dim. Time seemed to slow. Weewalk stood immobile with his arms out, his fingers splayed and his yellow dress moving softly in a breeze from the door. Hadan had grabbed handfuls of knives and forks and now he threw them towards the beast and time seemed to reassert itself on the room. The animal did not move. Hadan had not thrown the metal with much force and, although some of the pieces were sharp, none looked capable of inflicting any real damage from Hadan's underarm throw. Then a strange thing happened. Weewalk moved his arms and the blades which had, a split second earlier, been tumbling in a lazy arc through the air, suddenly twisted and sped up, darting towards the creature like a swarm of angry wasps. The animal yelped and tried to dodge but too late. Several of the knives struck it in the face. Weewalk moved his arms again, more implements turned and swung around to attack from behind, a squadron of little fighter planes.

There was a howl from the creature. Several pieces of cutlery bristled from deep within its face and blood began to drip on the floor. One eye was gone, a knife embedded in the socket. The beast raised a paw-like hand and began to rub at those blades that were embedded in its head.

They all saw the chance. Grabbing their bags they dashed towards the door at the same time, dodging around the flailing monster. Sam noticed that Weewalk seemed to be moving slowly, as if suddenly exhausted. Hadan burst through the open doorway first, Sam hot on his heels. Then there was a roar and a bang behind him and, turning, Sam saw that the beast had lunged as Weewalk had passed. Weewalk lay on his back. The creature's outstretched arm had caught his boot, two long claws hooked into the side. It roared again and adjusting its balance readied itself to make the kill. Weewalk seemed to have no energy left.

Sam stopped as quickly as he could and turned back, standing in the ruined doorway. ‘Noooooo!’ he cried, bringing his hands up to point at the terrible scene before him. Then he felt something. His hearing was suddenly muffled, as though his ears had popped. The beast, almost on top of the tiny kobold, flew backwards and cracked into the back wall of the shack with enormous force. There was an almighty smack as it hit the wall, punching part way through it so that splinters flew. The beast fell to the floor and lay still, its stare fixed, its remaining eye empty.

Sam grabbed the tiny figure before him, picked him up and ran, almost colliding with Hadan in the process. Together they escorted the little man outside and lay him onto the grass.

‘Keep going.’ he croaked ‘I'm okay. I can walk.’ They picked him up and set him on his feet and, with Hadan leading the way, the three of them hurried away.

They followed the line of the coast for half an hour or so, keeping to the tussocky grass rather than leaving footprints on the flat damp sand. The waves crashed endlessly on the beach. Gulls span overhead. Sam was wishing that he had never left home but with no idea where he was or how to get back he had little choice but to follow. Besides Weewalk had certainly saved his life. Surely he could be trusted. He noticed that Weewalk was studying him carefully. When they were far enough away that he felt able to break the silence Sam spoke. ‘What was that? A werewolf?’

‘Yes and no. It was a garoul.’ said Weewalk who was limping slightly from the injury he had received from its claws.

‘It's essentially the same thing.’ said Hadan. ‘They come from our world but the Riven have been sending them into your world over hundreds of years. It's where your legend of the werewolf comes from.’

‘But I thought that they were just that, a legend.’

‘There are few unexplained things in your world that do not have a basis in ours’ said Hadan ‘Name me a myth, a monster, a miracle, a civilisation that suddenly prospered and gained knowledge ahead of its time and chances are it will be something from Mu. It might be misunderstood or mis-explained or the reality may have been lost in the retelling but these things are real.’

Why do the Riven send things like the garoul through?’ asked Sam, horrified but interested and pleased that Hadan was offering information.

‘For fun. To kill.’ said Hadan. ‘They might bring one through to some remote village and turn it loose so they can watch it kill from the comfort of a rooftop somewhere. The legend of the garoul goes back a long time in Mu too. It's said they were men once but when Pyxidis came and scoured the world with magic they were created then. I don’t think they were supposed to be so vicious then. They’ve become more monstrous, more beastlike, over hundreds of years, partly thanks to the involvement of the Riven King.’

‘Who's Pixie dust?’ asked Sam.

Hadan just shook his head.

‘Pyxidis.’ laughed Weewalk, ‘I haven’t told you about him yet. He was a great mage, some revere him as a God, who came to our world from the heavens many thousands of years ago. Our people lived differently then and were constantly at war. When Pyxidis saw the mess that we had created he burnt the world to the ground and clouded the skies. The impact of his wrath created the lines to your world that we still use now. Most of the people at the time didn't survive but Pyxidis allowed a few who he deemed worthy to continue to exist in Mu. These chosen few were given the seed of new powers in the expectation that they would develop these powers and grow to be better masters of our people. Over generations, the power, the presence as it became known, waned in some. In others it became stronger. But peace did not last and new wars were fought by those who claimed to be the most worthy to lead and the most pure recipients of the gifts that Pyxidis had given. The different races were created by Pyxidis too. Kobold and yeren and others, and the beasts, garoul, Sitecah, ropen and countless others. The powers that men acquired allowed them to shape some of those early creatures and turn them into weapons.

‘So Ferus is one of these powerful people then?’ asked Sam.

‘Oh yes’, said Weewalk. ‘Legend tells that his ancestors were always powerful but when Ferus was born, the power grew dark. He is one of the Riven, a body of powerful men and women with great presence. They're zealots. They want to rule and conquer and see themselves as superior. You know they're the basis of your legends of black-robed magicians. They appear in all sorts of fiction in your world, don't they?

Of course, the Riven King is the most powerful of them all. Ferus is nothing compared to him. The Riven King rules Mu from the Rivenrok Complex. It is claimed that his presence is the most clear, that his ancestry can be traced back to the visitation of Pyxidis himself. As such he tolerates no challenge to his authority and seeks to weed out and destroy any who show the slightest degree of presence in order to keep the line of power clean. He is the most powerful being who has ever lived. Thousands of those showing potential have been recruited into the Riven or killed at his command.’

Sam was silent for a moment.

‘What kinds of powers does he have? The Riven King?’

Weewalk's face clouded ‘It's best not to speak too much of him out in the open but the extent of his presence is mysterious. You’ve seen some of my power but that's like the power of a mere mosen to him. They say he can control energy giving himself impossible strength. He can move any object at will. He can speak directly into your mind. He sits, a silent statue, on top of an ancient throne. Above all he is malevolent and twisted and he never forgets, he remembers everything, he remembers everything.’ Weewalk's voice trailed off and he hung his head with his eyes on the ground.

Sam had not expected such an emotional response from the otherwise cheerful character and realising that he had touched on the wrong subject Sam changed it quickly despite a burning desire to know what all this had to do with him.

‘Where are we headed now?’ he asked.

It was Hadan who answered.               ‘There's another line up ahead. Although they're fairly rare Dragsholm has quite a few of them dotted around. The one nearby will get us away from here and hopefully we can find somewhere a bit safer. For now we need to keep moving and hope that no-one is on our trail. We need to protect you from Ferus and the Riven King.’

Sam was about to ask why he needed to be protected when he became aware of a hum in the air. Weewalk spoke first.

‘Nearly there.’ said the kobold.

They heard the line before they saw it. Guided by Weewalk's compass which seemed to work like a lodestone they found the source of the low hum. Within a series of lichen speckled boulders they found an entrance to a small cave. At the back of the cave was the patch of darkness.

As before Weewalk tensed and tore the hole open. Hadan went first followed by Sam. This time having some idea of what to expect Sam had more of an opportunity to prepare himself and think about the feeling as he entered the void behind the dark portal. As he stepped through the world throbbed. The very air pulsed like the inner workings of some giant speaker emitting a deep bass note in extreme slow motion. And as it did Sam fell, not down to the floor of the cave but though it and to another place entirely.

'Welcome to Tongue's Scar.’ Ferus spread his arms, pointing at the blank grey walls of the square room. ‘I've made myself quite at home here, away from civilisation. I've set up a small prison here, not even the King can see us here I think. It gives me the space to work.' He ran his hands over the chains and serrated blades that hung from the wall.

'I've got some questions for you. Answer them and things will be less painful. I want the secret that you carry. This boy. Sam. He survived the fire. Does that mean that he is the subject of the prophecy? I want to know where I can find him? When was he born?' He stopped with his hand against a heavy hammer which had a little dried blood and matted hair on its head.

Tarak still seemed to be quite drunk, he lolled against his bonds and when he sat up to peer through his straggly hair at Ferus his neck looked like it was made of rubber and seemed unable to steady the weight of his stubbled jowls. He swore and then dissolved into a fit of coughing that threatened to choke him. After a moment he spat a gob of blood to the floor near Ferus' foot.

‘So, we’re going to do this the hard way then?’ said Ferus to himself, drawing a box of matches from the inside of his cloak. He opened it and a single long match flew into the air and hovered before his face. He plucked it from the air and struck it against the side of the box so that it flared, bringing a quick scent of sulphur flashing in the room. The match floated back into the air and Ferus directed it towards the man's face.

As the match moved Ferus chatted amiably

‘I only recently found this place you know. But I like it very much. I found a line that no-one else knows exists. It's well hidden. I took the line and ended up here. We must be far across the sea from the Rivenrok Complex. When I arrived I found a man wrapped in furs herding some strange beasts through the snow. He spoke a language I didn't know and the only useful thing he was able to tell me before he died was the name of the place, Tongue's Scar. Unusual isn't it? It's a bit cold, lots of snow, but, well, you know me, I'm always happy to light a fire.’

The match danced closer to the bound man.

‘Now, where shall we start Tarak?’ Ferus laughed ‘Shall I make Tongue's Scar live up to its name?’ The flame moved towards Tarak's jaw. Ferus made a movement with his hand and Tarak's mouth opened, his jaw muscles clenching as he fought to close it. He tried to blow the match out but only succeeded in breathing heavily, spraying spit over his chin. With his other hand Ferus put his thumb and forefinger together and cocked his wrist. Tarak's tongue slid over his teeth until it was held out ahead of him, the match hovering above it. Tarak made frantic noises in his throat, unable to speak. His eyes were wild as he stared at the yellow flame.

‘No, you're quite right, of course.’ said Ferus ‘I need you to be able to talk.’

He tapped his chin in mock thought ‘I could melt your eyeball. You know, that's what I did to your wife in the end. And she screamed and screamed. But still she wouldn't tell me what I wanted to know. I don't think you'll give me the same problem. Will you?’

The match moved close to the man's watering right eye.

‘Hmmm, no, maybe we'll start with your nose first.’