Forever Shores (18 page)

‘It has been suggested, Barker, that the rise of information may have to do with the rise of magic … but it will not. It will be via material means, rather than ethereal. It will be resolutely physical in nature. But that is not the most important of matters. The fact of the matter, of matter itself, in fact, is that atomic testing is the most rampantly chaotic of mankind's many follies. Far more so than they imagine!'

‘Well we're in agreement upon that!' Barker managed a weak, humourless laugh.

‘The ancient races are real, Barker, and they cannot tolerate such desecration of the powers of nature. They call it exploitation … but in splitting the atom, mankind has touched the very core of nature! And nature will begin to unravel. It has already begun! But they see worse, yes, worse to come. A great warming of the earth which shall render life here intolerable, impossible for them.'

Barker nodded, primarily to himself. ‘I've seen these things … the mushroom clouds … oh God, the book was
showing
them to me,
telling
me. The book is something to do with time, isn't it?'

‘The book,' said the bark man, his voice a little shaky, ‘
is
time, Barker.'

Barker and the concierge looked to the bark man as one, amazed that he had spoken, astonished that he had spoken English.

‘I beg your pardon?' asked the concierge in a high, fearful pitch.

‘At the beginning of the world,' the bark man spoke in an eerie hush, ‘there were those who were the first to reach consciousness. Their first imaginings were recited, repeatedly, to create the reality we share. Under this process, our reality was made separate from others.'

‘You mean, our dimension …' Barker was struggling. So tired. ‘It was created with a spell?'

The concierge cackled. ‘Of course that's what it means, you idiot!'

‘This was the first spell,' bark man continued. ‘The spell of dimension. But dimension was static. Existence was static. Experience came from this knowledge, blossomed from it, and thus momentum was derived. This was the second spell, the act of momentum … of time itself, moving forward.'

‘The Spell of Time?' It seemed incomprehensible to Barker. ‘The spell that
create
d
time?'

‘The Spell of Time is written in the book.' The bark man pointed at Barker. ‘The book you brought with you.'

‘Then … time is coming apart,' Barker told the bark man. ‘I've seen it.'

‘We know, Barker. Mankind's atomic testing is destroying the fabric of reality. Slowly at first, but surely. That is why this man must not possess the book …'

‘Nonsense!' the concierge spun around at Barker. ‘We must have it! My kind! The world is falling apart and who better to oversee that chaos? You would stop it, recast the first spells, but why? Out of the chaos will come a new mankind! A dark and terrible mankind not bound by dimension or time or—'

‘You're completely addled,' Barker groaned. ‘Utterly insane …'

‘My kind! We are made for this time, Barker! Made for this time!'

‘Open the book, Barker,' said the bark man. ‘Show him his time.'

And Barker knew what to do. As the concierge came at him again, Barker hit him in the face. He fell backward, but was furious. Energy surrounded him, occult energy. His patience was lost. He was preparing a spell that would destroy Barker. Barker's hands moved clumsily, unbuckling the satchel. Purple velvet within, the feel of the spine of the book and a rush of energy.

Barker opened the book and spread the pages at the concierge.

The concierge withered in bright white light and was gone. Within the passage of the three, maybe four seconds in which Barker had opened and closed the pages, the concierge had aged, died and come to dust.

As Barker came to sleep.

‘The messenger awakens,' said a voice. Barker recognised the bark man's eerie English. He was in his hotel room, in bed. Freshly laundered sheets and pyjamas, he noted. ‘He has required only thirteen hours to regenerate,' the bark man uttered. ‘Remarkable after such exposure.'

He could not see the bark man, but in a chair at the foot of the bed near the trunks was an old sorcerer with a white beard, dressed in a modern grey suit.

‘It is why he was chosen,' the sorcerer smiled at Barker. ‘He comes from a long line of defenders, but was not of the temperament to become one. For this mission, however, we needed someone who did not know their own ability. Their own reserves of the art. My name is Markson. I'm your contact, Barker.'

Barker was puzzled. ‘Where's Frederick?'

‘Frederick?'

‘Frederick … I waited for him, every day to … oh, never mind.'

‘You've done extremely well, Barker. We expected you to last a week or two, but thirty-three days … you've shown reservoirs of will no one could have expected.'

Barker shifted his bedding aside and sat on the edge of the bed. He felt remarkably refreshed. ‘I don't understand.'

‘What the concierge told you was true. What our friend here told you was true. But we needed someone to bring the book here, to Australia. Someone the black practitioners would not at first suspect.'

‘And, of course,' Barker rubbed some sleep out of his eyes, ‘who would suspect me?'

‘We knew they would eventually work it out, and that when they did, we needed someone they would underestimate. We needed you, Barker, to draw them out.'

‘I was bait?' Barker didn't like the thought.

‘I'm afraid so. It does sound cruel, doesn't it. Perhaps it was. Yes, to a degree I believe so. However, the Supernatural Council are largely unfamiliar with this part of the world … we know little of the identities or structures of the sorcerers who reside here. Previous agents, sent out to determine such matters, all vanished. But a few sorcerers have passed through, and we thought a tourist, or someone who seemed at first like one, might be good cover.'

‘I might have been killed,' Barker growled. ‘I almost was.'

Markson shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘Barker, let me explain. Nations are forged in darkness. In war, in the elimination of cultures. This is a young nation, and the darkness remains very strong. It is a time for the black practitioners, and they have established a presence here. But there is also great potential. Thanks to you, we now have a place from which to move forward. The identity of the concierge as a leading black practitioner means that we can follow his path back … and make this country safe for the tasks ahead. You have cleared the way, Barker.'

‘Cleared the way …' Barker leaned forward, head in hands, trying to remember what the concierge and the bark man had told him. ‘For the exodus of ancient races? Is that correct? Did I dream that?'

‘No, you did not. They will depart … at a crucial juncture. Barker, what you've learned here in the past few days is known by only a few select sorcerers. One less, it seems, as of yesterday afternoon. It must remain that way.'

In this, at least, Barker could remain solid. ‘I understand. You can trust me.'

‘We know,' said the bark man.

But from where did his voice come? Barker looked around the room, as Markson's gaze shifted deliberately to a new shrub by the window, a larger one. Its leaves ruffled, as though a soft breeze had moved through it. But the window was closed. No … the shrub hadn't moved, something in front of it had. There was something there, camouflaged against the shrub. The shape shifted and stood. It was the bark man.

‘You're …' Barker couldn't believe he was going to say it. ‘You're an elf?'

‘Yes,' the elf spoke in English. ‘We are able to reside in and around … you say flora, foliage, plant life … however it may be. The voyage across the ocean was distasteful for want of movement, but I slept, meditated. As did my companion.'

‘You saved my life; that first assassin on the liner.'

‘The assassins boarded the liner secretly,' Markson offered. ‘After the ship had departed London. We don't know how.'

‘It took much from me,' the elf explained. ‘To leave cover. But you were our guardian, and we were pleased to be of service.'

But Barker's mind was centred on a previous comment. Something
else
had saved him from the second assailant.

‘Your companion?' he asked.

Then he realised. There was a dwarf asleep in the ancient trunk.

‘May I speak with him? Thank him?'

‘He is very old. It took more from him, than it did from me, to come to your aid. The concierge disturbed him, and now he slumbers. It is best to allow him rest. The ocean is not a place for either of our kind. The people of the seas, of our time … it is their domain. But they communicate very seldom these days … we do not know if they will participate in the great leaving.'

Barker shook his head. He was starting to feel groggy again. He felt like a beer, a cold one. ‘The time of great leaving …' he repeated.

‘Mankind has begun to make the world unbound, and the spells of creation must be recast,' the elf spoke gravely. ‘Although our people have been present on this continent for a hundred years or more, we two are of noble birth, the first official representatives of our kind here. We have come to speak with those of a race long separated from the elves and dwarves, many thousands of years old. We shall form a council for the great leaving.'

Barker pondered some more. ‘Why here? In this country?'

‘It is the most virgin of lands that still follows the old ways and possesses the necessary landscapes for the ceremonies required. But even here, we cannot tolerate long. When the first spell, the spell of dimension, is recast, there will be a gap, a great gap, when we shall gather. The last of the ancient races will depart for a dimension more green, more fertile, where we might thrive once more. What mankind does here after that is not of our concern.'

Barker wondered what this meant. How long had it been foreseen, planned?

‘So,' he thought hard, ‘in starting the unravelling of reality, in playing with the atom … and making life unbearable for you here in this dimension, mankind has also, unknowingly, provided you with a means of escape, to a new start?'

‘It is so. Perhaps it is the way of things.'

Barker smiled, grim, and finally faced the truth. ‘So, I was a decoy.'

‘You were manipulated, Barker,' Markson apologised. ‘And for this we offer you any reward you care to name.'

Barker shook his head. ‘The concierge. I should have known.'

‘We did not,' the elf smiled.

Barker pondered. ‘When will all this happen?'

Markson shrugged. ‘Fifty years, maybe more. But preparations must be made. And this book, and the other two, must be hidden in the meantime.'

‘The other two … what is the third spell?'

‘I cannot say. It is dangerous for one as young as you to know as much as you do already. Suffice to say that another means entirely must be found to bring it here … and not for many years yet.'

‘Search for the knowledge, Barker,' the elf responded instead. ‘You'll find that the third spell will become apparent.'

Barker nodded. He was sure it would.

‘There are very few sorcerers here, Barker, compared with our own continent.' Markson stood. He was tall, muscular. ‘But the majority are evil. We shall change that, in time, and do what is right by those who have lived here in the ages long past.'

Do what is right, Barker thought.

Few sorcerers here … the majority evil.

Meant for another war …

Barker nodded. ‘You said,
anything
?'

Barker sat at the bar and drank the cold beer he had come to enjoy.

‘We meet again,' said someone with an impish voice.

‘Frederick?'

Barker turned and there he was. Lean, elegant, but not an elf. A man.

‘So have you had an adventure yet, Barker? Or have you just been sitting right here on the same bar stool for six weeks, waiting for me to come back?'

Barker smiled. ‘A bit of both, really.'

‘Well that's good. It's good that you had an adventure, and it's good that I came back.'

‘Where have you been?' Barker asked.

‘I have simply been a tourist,' Frederick responded as he waved at the bartender for a beer. ‘How about you? How are those visions coming along?'

‘They're finished. I found out what was causing them.'

‘And what was that? Nothing in the water, I hope. Melbourne water takes getting used to.'

‘No,' Barker smiled. ‘It was something else. My part in it is done, but …'

‘Your part in it? Well, so is mine. I have played my part and now I'm going home. How about you? Back to England?'

‘No. No, I can't leave this place now. I feel as though I'm part of it. Part of its history.'

‘Well. What did I tell you? Let a city know you and … Barker, what business are you in?'

‘I was a bookseller. But my associates here are helping me with something else. I've purchased a movie house. I think images are going to be very important. Movies and those television boxes, and even more, perhaps, one day. I'm bringing my nephew out here.'

‘The projectionist,' Frederick recalled.

‘Yes!' Barker was delighted that Frederick remembered. ‘It seems like a good place for young people who are willing to make a go of it.'

‘Television,' Frederick nodded. ‘It's coming. Soon it will be everywhere.'

‘Yes. I believe you are right. The concierge asked me if I wanted one in my room.' Barker smiled. ‘But I didn't think I needed it.'

Frederick laughed. ‘Too many visions of your own.'

‘Exactly. But I learned from them. I learned a lot.'

‘How so?'