Paradox - Progeny Of Innocence (bk2) (Paradox series) (6 page)

Bakari squatted on the damp grass in the ancient forest and made a small clearing with his hands. He gathered twigs and sticks and began to prepare a small fire. A rustle of leaves made him stop for a moment. He squinted, and scanned the dark forest around him. A bluish mist glowed ghostlike and rose slowly from the ground, distorting his vision. Dark shadows darted between massive tree trunks. The forest owned its own noises and creatures at night. Somewhere deeper in the forest, a heavy throb, throb, throb sounded in the darkness. An owl hooted four times, then the throbbing began again as the owl took flight. The wings of a giant owl, Bakari could tell. He sucked in a breath. The owl, the foreseer of the underworld, and the messenger of evil. He was not ignorant of the ancient legends of the forest and its people. Even the spectre hounds that foraged on the edge of the forest at night in a bid to search out any meaty morsels were cautious when it came to the ancient forest. They knew that danger lurked in the long shadows cast by the soaring trees and their inhabitants. Bakari had been into the forest many times, but never alone, and now he wished he had waited by the stone gateway with its bright burning torches. There wasn’t a wall to speak of, just the heavy wrought-iron gates that creaked a little when he eased his way through. He could quite as easily have entered at any place along the dense tree line, but he knew better than to do that. He rubbed his arms briskly and considered going back to wait for Temulun and Keyla by the gate.

Then he heard something else creeping in the darkness. He began rubbing the palms of his hands faster and faster together until a small spark ignited between his palms. He offered the spark down toward the small pile of twigs until a wisp of smoke began to twist in the air. He leaned down further and gently blew on the smoldering twigs until a stronger, brighter flame began to rise. The night had turned suddenly cold, and he had not come prepared. Just his trousers, sandals, and an open leather vest that he now buttoned up quickly in an effort to ward off the icy chill. He reached for the mound of larger sticks and gently laid them across the orange flame. Another noise, much closer now, held his attention.

Something slithered across his foot, and he jumped. A haunting giggle echoed through the forest.

"Who goes there?" He asked quietly. "Is that you, Temulun, Keyla? Stop playing games."

Then a loud thud as a large boulder fell from the dark sky and landed just three hands away from him. He jumped back quickly, pressing his back into the trunk of a Blackthorn tree and slicing his arm open on a protruding thorn. It wasn’t a boulder, he saw, but the bloodied severed head of a spectre hound. The beast’s black eyes were open wide and staring up at him in urgent warning, as if to say, you’re next, fool.

"Praise the Gods," he muttered. He picked up a long stick and poked at the head of the beast. The eyelids flickered with a spasm, then black pupils rolled back in their sockets until white. Suddenly there was the familiar throbbing in the air, and the brush of feathers on his arm as a giant white owl swooped down from the treetops. Razor-sharp talons reached out in front and collected the huge hound’s head in one swoop. Then the owl banked left and flew effortlessly off into the mist hanging high in the treetops.

"I know you’re there, Thorn. No one else cuts the head from a spectre hound like a blade cutting through lard like you do." He looked up just as a slender figure descended from a high branch, like a spider gliding down an invisible thread, a long, bloodied blade clenched ready in his hand. He landed almost silently on the forest floor. A light scatter of leaves fluttered around his feet in half-hearted protest. He holstered his weapon in a leather sheath that hung across his back with a second blade.

"That is one beast that won’t be going home to sleep by his master's hearth this fine evening." He took Bakari’s hand and shook it firmly in greeting. His brown hair was disheveled and rested on strong shoulders. His ears, with closer inspection, were ever so slightly pointed on the top, an almost extinct trait of his Ancient Forest ancestors.

"Thorn," Bakari said, letting go of his hand to return his inquisitive gaze to the treetops, and what lay secreted there.

Another figure stepped gracefully from the shadows.

When her face became visible in the firelight, Bakari bowed. "Your highness, such an honor to see you again," he said, giving her a respectful tilt of his head. She wore the traditional earthy tones of the Forest People. Her hair was long, past her waist, and wavy, like an ocean of golden waves. A braid intertwined with twigs, leaves, mistletoe, and flowers of the forest crowned her head. A crystal acorn on a golden chain hung between her breasts. A vine of gold and bronze leaves entwined her arms.

"Bakari," she said, walking toward him gracefully, noiselessly, "please, call me Willow." Her hazel eyes shone like precious gems as they sparkled in the firelight. "You are foolish, you know, to walk into the forest alone at night. Do the legends about our forests not frighten you?"

"The giant owls cause me some fear," he blurted nervously, feeling a little embarrassed at admitting such a thing to a woman.

She smiled and took the stick from his hand, her hand pale compared to his darker skin. "Yes, the owls. That beast could quite easily have been you, you know. Do you fancy losing your head, Bakari, to Thorn and his owls?" Willow poked him in the chest playfully with the stick. Her voice was soft, and as gentle as a breeze as it carried her Celtic accent to his ear. The branches above her stirred; leaves floated gently to the ground. There were others up there out of sight, he knew. Their long bows, unseen, would be pulled taut, with arrows aimed and ready to fly. He would be dead in a heartbeat, before his body had time to hit the earthy carpet of leaves beneath his feet. The Forest People had grown defensive, and with good reason since the night the Grigorians had ripped through their forest, all but destroying the village with flame, during their pursuit of the fleeing Bulguardian Army and the city’s people.

The Forest People had sat in council on the night of the equinox, with the three remaining Guardians. The Guardians had requested safe passage through the forest to the desert lands beyond, in an effort to reach the sanctity of the high mountains in the south.

Willow, having listened to their plight, had agreed immediately, and offered them safe passage through her forest, believing that the Grigorians would not break the laws of the ancient Celtic treaty, a treaty that had stood fast for thousands of years, stating that no being that feasted from the flesh of another soul could pass through the sacred Forest Of Doors, for fear that their evil would pass through the portals to the outer worlds.

Willow had been wrong, and their magic had failed them. They had all been wrong. Instead of the Grigorians traveling east to pursue a path around the forest, as they had previously done centuries past, they entered the forest. Lord Cerberus, with his Grigorian warlords, had ignored the Treaty, and plundered his way straight through the forest, all but destroying all in his path. The spirits of her dead still swam fretfully in the blue mists from dusk until dawn. The shapely moulds of their discarded bodies, covered now with moss and grasses, still littered the ground where they had fallen. It was the way of her people to allow the bodies of the dead slowly to decay back into the forest floor to rejoin the ancient earth spirits from which they came.

Bakari had cringed the first time he had seen the mossy mounds. It had been Temulun’s quick reflexes that had stopped him from mistaking the mossy mounds for rocks that he was preparing to sit on. Now he knew better, and understood the Forest People and their ways. Born from earth, return to earth. However, the sight of the mounds still made him shudder, and sent a silent chill down his spine when he came across them.

"I am afraid I have let my people down,"
Willow said with palpable sadness.
"We have become too complacent, and our magic has become weak. The Grigorians ripped through our forest without a second thought. Only their hounds turned back. And now, I fear," she thought about the spectre hound that the owls fed on somewhere in the treetops as she spoke, "even the hounds appear to be impervious to our magic. There have been three others to pass in the last six moons, and I fear there will be manymore in the days that follow. Many of our people reside high in the treetops now, for safety. And although happy enough, they yearn to rebuild their village, tend their fields and their herds. Return to their old way of life, with the sacred earth beneath their feet."

"Your mistletoe magic still works to block the Grigorians’ ability to hear one’s thoughts," Bakari said, in a bid to reassure her. "And Keyla assures me that she can restore your magic. She has the gift of the Ancients. I have seen it. Temulun has seen it, too."

Thorn shook his head. "She is but one child, and time is against us, against us all. The Grigorians will stop at nothing; they will continue to forge through our lands while they have the upper hand."

Bakari nodded in understanding. Thorn was correct. None of them was safe.

"Give Keyla a chance, let her show you her abilities, what do we have to lose that we have not already lost?"

"We will listen to the girl, see what-" Willow fell silent and tilted her head.

Thorn rushed to her side, drawing his sword. The blade made a sharp hissing sound as it glided effortlessly from its leather scabbard. They listened to branches, the rustling of leaves and twigs snapping under foot. Three figures fell silently from the branches overhead, their weapons drawn. Several more remained concealed in the treetops, but were ready for battle. The throb, throb, throb of the giant owls, although masked by the heavy canopy of foliage, grew louder.

Willow held up her hand.

Bows remained poised as two of the figures recoiled back up their invisible threads to a fortress camouflaged by leaves. Only one remained, a girl, with bow holstered across her back and sword ready in hand. She was clothed in animal hides and fur; her fair hair was fixed in place by a leather braid crowning her forehead.

"Holly?" Willow asked as a worried frown creased her brow.

The girl shook her head, "It is nothing, Mother." She holstered her sword and walked toward Willow. "It is only our guests, they have arrived," she said, looking toward a dark winding path in the forest.

"I apologize, your highness, for our lateness," Temulun said, as she and Keyla stepped into the clearing.

Tanami Desert, NT, Australia 

Year: 2004

Wade sat hunched on the end of a crumpled bed in a small airless room. He listened to the message on his mobile phone over and over again until the batteries, inevitably, went flat. A bedside lamp cast a dim sphere of light in the otherwise darkened room. The hum of the air-conditioning droned overhead, like a blowfly circling his head, looking, but not finding a suitable place to land. He sniffed, wiped a tear off his cheek with the back of his hand, and stared at a color photograph in his hand.

A woman with shoulder-length fair hair, and a face that made you want to smile just looking at it, beamed out from the photograph. Beside her stood two girls, both eight, twins, tiny replicas of their mother, dressed in matching jeans and pink t-shirts. He closed his eyes and ran his fingertips softly across the glossy paper. But it wasn’t the paper he felt beneath his fingertips but soft skin, lips, the tiny dimples that followed a smile. He could even imagine breathing in the smell of their hair, ripe with the scent of strawberry shampoo.

"I’m so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," he said softly to each of the faces that he held firm in his memory. He opened his eyes and let a fresh stream of tears run down his cheeks. He placed the photograph down on the bed beside him, and then he turned away, as if in shame, and picked up a pistol from the top drawer of his bedside table. He grabbed a bottle of bourbon and swallowed down the last of its contents before discarding the bottle on the floor. He turned the weapon over in his hands, acutely aware of the weight of the cold steel against his palms. The pistol was empty, except for one perfect bullet. That was all that was needed to complete his final task. He lifted the pistol and pressed the cold steel barrel hard against his right temple. His eyes were wide open; he was not afraid to die. Death would be a welcomed blessing.

"You don’t want to do that. Lower the weapon, lower it now," said a voice beside him, inside him; he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t hear the droning of the air-conditioning anymore, just the voice. The voice was all around him, in him.

"Put the gun down; put the gun down, put the gun down."

Wade lowered the weapon. "Where the hell are you?" he asked, scanning the confines of his darkened room. "What do you want?"

A figure stepped out of the shadows and stood beside him.

"Who are you? How the hell did you get in here? I locked the door..." Wade said, looking up into the man’s face then over his shoulder. The door was still locked.

"I don’t know how you got in here, but you can turn around and get the hell back out." Then another thought crossed his mind. He realized that he recognized the man’s face. "They told me you were in an accident. I thought you were dead."

"I need your help," the man said.

"Well, you’re asking the wrong guy. I can’t help you. I can’t help anyone. Just get the hell out… go and find someone else, for God's sake."

"There isn’t anyone else; you’re the only one here that can help me now."

Wade rubbed his eyes with the ball of his palms. "For Christ’s sake, go and ask someone else…I can’t help you."

"I’m asking
you,
" the man insisted.

"And I told
you
, I can’t help you," Wade replied, a ripple of anger spurring his words.

The man reached down and picked up the photograph lying on the bed beside Wade. "Your wife and children?" he asked.

Wade snatched the picture from the man’s hands, looked at it and smiled, "yeah." A new wave of sadness tore through him, tears blurring his vision. The pain in his heart was excruciating. He blinked tears away and exhaled long and slow. "You don't understand…" Wade buried his head in his hands and let his tears come.

"You will see them again, you know," the man said softly.

Wade, with his face wet with tears, looked up and smirked. "Yeah, right. Are you a messenger from God? Well you ask
your
God where the hell was he when my family was dying. You ask him that. Then you can get back to me. But you better make it quick, because I don’t intend to be here for much longer."

The man said nothing.

Wade continued. "So, I’ll see them again in heaven, waiting for me by the 'white pearly gates' with smiles on their faces. Is that what you are telling me? Or are you more of a ‘bright shining light’ kind of guy?" Wade spat sarcastically. He looked at the empty bourbon bottle on the floor and wished he had another. He wiped his hand across his cheeks, the prickles of his unshaven face rough against his hands.

"I’m the kind of guy that is asking you for your help. I’m the kind of guy whose little girl is about to be told that her father is dead. Whose wife is not going to cope with finding out that her husband has just died. I’m asking you to help
them
. Will you do that, will you help them? Or do you want to sit on that bed feeling sorry for yourself, and splatter your brains out all over the wall? Tell me, who is
that
going to help?"

Wade lowered his head and stared silently at the picture in his hands.

"Do you think this is what your wife would have wanted you to do? Blow your brains out?"

Wade shook his head. "Without them I have nothing. I am nothing! They were my life. Do you get that?" Wade pleaded. "My whole reason for living, and in a blink, they're gone. They were coming to pick me up at the airport. It’s raining and there’s this dog. It ran out on the road and she swerved to miss the god-dammed thing. She drove straight into the path of an oncoming truck. They never stood a chance." He put the pistol down and buried his head in his hands. "It’s my fault. I should have caught a cab... but she insisted." He shook his head, trying to free himself from the unyielding guilt.

"The worst thing is - when Natalie wasn’t there, at the airport, I called her on her mobile. The thing went straight to message bank. So I left a message, and said, if she knew she was going to be late, the least she could do was call me, not leave me just standing around. I was so angry with her." He shook his head and wiped his hand across his nose. "When I hung up there was a missed call." Wade lowered his head. "It was Nat, she was apologizing. She said there had been an accident; she said the paramedics were there. She wouldn’t stop apologizing. I could hear sirens, voices, Natalie screaming. Then this guy gets on the phone, leaves a number for me to call, and hangs up." He raked his fingers through his hair. "God, why…?" he screamed. "I was angry at my wife, and all the time she was dying. Do you know how hard it is to live with that memory every day? Not having the chance to take it back, say sorry. Tell her I loved her. And my kids, they were too young to die. They hadn't even begun to live, for Christ’s sake."

"I understand." the man said. "I understand that if you have never suffered a broken heart, then you have never really known what it is truly to be alive. And I understand that at that precise moment, when your heart breaks open, that all you want to do is lie down and die, because you know that is the only way the pain is ever going to stop." He turned his back for a moment and walked away, refocusing his mind, then returned to Wade. "And this is why I’m asking you to help my family. Because I know you understand."

"Why can’t you help them?" Wade asked. "You messed up with the wrong kind of people?"

"Something like that."

Wade thought for a moment. "What do you want me to do, do you need money?"

"You have to let me step inside you, take your body."

Wade heaved himself up off the bed. "What? You want to step… What the hell are you talking about, step inside... me?"

Brian grabbed Wade’s arm, calming him. "Listen, listen. Just listen. Calm down and I’ll tell you everything."

Wade struggled for a moment then slowly began to relax. He listened to Brian’s voice, Brian's story as it began to infuse itself into his very being. Into his mind, his body, and his soul.

"So, you’re telling me you’re… dead? You’re just this soul now and you want me to let you… step inside my body? You want to be me? That is how you want me to help you?" Wade asked incredulously. "I’d rather just give you the money," he said nervously.

Brian let go of Wade’s arm. "I don’t need money. I need your body."

"Jesus, do you have to keep saying that?" Wade asked, running his fingers through his hair anxiously. "What about my memories, will I remember my wife, my kids?" Wade, asked letting himself fall back down onto the bed. He ran his hands over his face, trying to fathom everything Brian was telling him.

Brian sat down next to him. "You will remember them, for as long as your heart needs to," he said reassuringly.

"Will they, your daughter, your wife, know it’s you, when they see me?"

Brian shook his head. "They will see you, only you, but instinctively, they will trust you. Not right away, but soon enough." Brian put his hand on Wade’s shoulder. "I will be there with you the entire time. Until you are ready to let go. And if you need to take a break, if it starts to get too hard, we will step back. Okay?"

"And this will keep your family safe?" Wade asked. "Me, you, being there?"

"Yes," Brian answered. "It will help keep my family safe."

Wade stood up and paced around the confines of the tiny room. He heard the droning of the air-conditioning struggling to keep pace with the humidity outside. He looked up at the ceiling and studied the dust pressed tight in between the grey ceiling panels. That was where his life was now, pressed between the cracks of life and death, more dead than alive. He should do this, this thing that Brian was asking him to do. He hadn't been able to save his own family... Perhaps this was his only opportunity for absolution? He could help save Brian’s family and find some comfort in that.

"Okay," he said finally. "What do I have to do?"

Brian stood up and walked toward him. "I want you to be the one to tell them, be there for them. Now, close your eyes, it’s a lot easier if you close your eyes. Don't fight it. Just let it happen." But Brian need not have worried about Wade fighting him. Wade had no fight left in him. He had already given up.

Wade took one last look at the photograph of his wife and children, memorizing them, solidifying them into his mind. Then he closed his eyes, exhaled, and let the last of his essence drain slowly away.

* * *

A day later, Wade climbed out of his black four-wheel drive vehicle and walked toward the front door of a house. He knocked four times.

A blonde woman opened the door and just looked at him for a moment. The first thing that he noticed about her was the spark in her eyes. They literally danced, as though they had never rested on sadness. She gazed calmly into familiar green eyes and smiled. "Can I help you?" she asked cheerfully.

God, she looks so much like Natalie, Wade thought to himself. He had never thought to ask Brian about that, what Kate looked like. He had felt what she looked like through Brian. But seeing her like this, just standing there... The sight of her nearly stole his breath away. The resemblance was uncanny. It took everything he had, every ounce of energy, not to reach out and pull her to him. He could feel Brian’s sadness stirring inside him, Brian’s loss; it was Brian who wanted to reach out and touch her cheek, hold her face in his hands and kiss her. Wade struggled with the overwhelming desire to trace his fingers down her cheek. He cleared his throat instead. "Is your name Kate Connors?" he asked, knowing without a single doubt that it couldn’t possibly be anyone else.

Kate frowned then. Her eyes dropped, taking in the uniform for the first time. "Officer, what is it?" she asked, hesitation clipping her voice. Her hand reached up instinctively and covered her mouth. She swallowed. "My daughter, is it my daughter, what’s happened to Grace?"

"Oh no, ma’am, it’s not your daughter. Please, I promise you. Your daughter is just fine."

Kate relaxed and let out a long sigh then laughed. "Oh, thank God. I saw the uniform and just thought; well, I thought the worst…"

Wade felt the weight of his heart grow heavier in his chest. He was about to shatter this woman's world, and that of her child. Suddenly, it didn't feel like absolution anymore.