Wordscapist: The Myth (The Way of the Word Book 1) (35 page)

     The door opened with a loud sound. The bartender who had been trying to catch a snooze jumped awake. I would have jumped too a couple of days back. But living around the insane woman who was now walking furiously toward me had numbed me somewhat to little things like loud sounds. I saw someone hurrying after her. Ah, Chains. Another of the psychos. I wondered where Isis and Wind were. They were the sanest. They hadn’t joined us for the Scotland leg of the Free Word version of the Insane Race.

     I saw Zauberin signalling to Chains to get her a drink, and then she came to the table I was at, sitting down heavily. Her body clearly screamed out her exhaustion and anger. I wisely kept quiet. At times like these, silence was a lot more than golden. After a point, my curiosity got the better of me.

     “Any word on the boy yet?” I asked, keeping my tone benign and mildly curious.

     I got a dirty look in response. I took it with stoicism and washed it down with another sip of the whiskey. Chains walked over with two huge mugs of stout. He let Zauberin swig down half of it in one go, while he delicately sipped at his mug, apparently not much a fan of the beer. He was doing the me-too version of the yes-man.

     He leaned closer to Zauberin, “Mistress, I think we should bring Akto’s colleagues into the hunt. There aren’t enough Free wordsmiths. We are spread out too thinly to be effective. The boy and the girl are moving too fast. Their movements are completely random and cannot be second-guessed.”

     Zauberin ignored him and kept at her beer till it was done, and then looked at him meaningfully. He scuttled across to the bar to get a refill.

     “So, what happened?” I asked, trying my luck again.

     “Silvus is here. The CCC is on its way. Everyone is here. It’s a fucking party!” I thought fondly of the icy but civilised Lily Pendleton I had known. This waterfront version was definitely a downgrade. Zauberin was beginning to come undone at the edges.

     “Is the boy here then?” I asked, trying to stick to the topic. I couldn’t help but wonder about him. I had the strangest feeling of a very deep affinity with him. The Wordscapist! The greatest wordsmith ever! Ah, to tell his story!

     “Our CMs point Skye-ward,” she growled, as Chains returned with her refill. She threw a contemptuous look at his nearly full mug and got started on her second. He blushed red, and picked up his mug, trying to swig too. He came to a spluttering stop a couple of seconds later. After a sustained coughing spell, he apparently decided to give up, and laid his still fullish mug down.

     I had been trying to figure out this statement in the meanwhile. “You mean the 220 reading we got somewhere off the coast?” She grimaced at that. 220! By one boy, all by himself. I remembered the 180 odd we had hit on Galapagos just a couple of days back. It had taken four of the most powerful wordsmiths on the planet to get there. 220! One boy! By the Word, he was powerful!

     “The source is in Skye. It’s an island off the coast. We cannot head there now though. Silvus and his gang are already there. And the CCC will be coming.” She sounded mighty angry at the turn of events, and took it out with a vengeance on the beer. The second mug was fast disappearing too. Chains picked up his mug rather petulantly and started sipping cautiously again.

     “But if he has woven something so flamboyant, isn’t it likely that he’s gone by now?” I couldn’t help but say the obvious but damning thing.

CRASH!

     Zauberin brought down her mug on the table with enough force to send a few wood splinters flying around. The mug survived the experience though. I carefully removed one splinter from my glass, watching with dismay as a dark drop of stout dissolved slowly into my whiskey.

     “He will not escape us. Not this time. There are too many people hunting him. One of them will get him sooner than later. And then we make our move.” She gave a terrible grin as she raised her mug to drink again, realising belatedly that it was empty. She threw Chains a dirty look, and he scurried off. I didn’t say anything more. I didn’t want this woman bashing that curiously strong mug down on my noggin. I took a sip of my stout sullied scotch. It wasn’t half bad. 

     Chains brought back her beer and again, moved up close, ready to deliver another smart suggestion. “Norms, mistress. That is the answer. Loon is furious enough at Dew’s defection. He will summon all the help we need to post surveillance all around Scotland. We will know the moment they are spotted and will have enough time to mount an ambush. We need careful planning to take him down.”

      Zauberin took a deep swallow of her third mug, staring balefully into the distance. “Do whatever it takes. I want that cipher’s head on a platter. It’s not just about Sign anymore. It’s personal.”

Slick

     I could see the way the both of them were looking at me. I knew it meant trouble. Oh well, it was time to talk this out anyway. But first, to use one of my all-time favourite tactics. I went on the offensive.

     “You know everything that happened, don’t you?” I asked De Vorto, looking at him accusingly.

     “Yes?” De Vorto said, with an unintended question in there, not quite sure where this was going.

    “You were weaving back there with the faerie. You apparently managed to resolve that situation just fine. You meddled with Dew’s head and gave her a brain infusion to teach her teleporting 101. You have been lying to us, De Vorto,” I wrapped it up in style. He had a lot of explaining to do before he could take the high and mighty stand with me. I also managed to get Dew unsure. She was also looking at De Vorto expectantly. These were questions she needed answers to.

     “Well played, my boy,” De Vorto said softly. “You are so much like me, it’s scary. I see I might have chosen a little too well.”

     I didn’t dignify that with a response and continued to stare at him, waiting for the right response.

     “Yes, I can weave. I am more than a...” he stopped to gesture at himself, “whatever you have made me. I wield my gift, but am forced to use it sparingly because I do not have a host to anchor me on this plane. I am in danger of being sucked into the Continuum every time I open myself to it.”

     “OK, so you never stopped being the Wordscapist,” I said, speaking slowly, trying to understand this.

     He made a funny sound, which I guess was his version of audible scoffing. “You never stop being the Wordscapist. You need to be dispersed into the ether for that to happen.”

     “So how am I the Wordscapist, then?” I asked. This was definitely the million dollar question.

     De Vorto looked a little uncomfortable at that. When he realised that the question wasn’t going away, and both Dew and I wanted it answered, he finally spoke.

     “You’re not the Wordscapist, boy.”

     It wasn’t what I had expected. I had suspected it, but to have it put right out there put things in perspective.

     “OK, I guess that makes sense,” I said.

     “No, it doesn’t!” Dew said sharply. “I have seen this ‘boy’ pulling off stunts that I suspect you would have trouble with, let alone any other wordsmith. How is he doing it then?”

     De Vorto looked even more uncomfortable now. Dew did have a good point. And anyway, I didn’t know enough about the wordsmith world to be a good prosecutor. I let her take over.

     “He was a powerful wordsmith, to begin with. I might have changed things inside his head when I was there.”

     “Changed things how?” Dew asked. She was good!

     “A little tear that opened him up to the Continuum. Made him a source, so to say.”

      Dew didn’t look like she understood this. For once, I had company! But I didn’t like the sound of that. So I kept listening.

     “Wordsmiths have the ability to shape the energy around them. I, on the other hand, draw directly on THE source of energy, from the Continuum itself.” De Vorto explained rather reasonably.

     “And Slick is the same too now?” Dew asked.

      “In a way,” De Vorto said.

     “And what way is that?” I asked, unable to resist the opportunity to slip in a prosecution sting.

     “You are an accident, boy. You weren’t born a source. You’re not made to be one. But you are one now.”

      “So, doesn’t that make him the Wordscapist too?” Dew asked, “Or should I say, a Wordscapist?” 

     “No, there is only the one - me.” De Vorto sounded pretty final about that. “He is a portal to the energy, and while he retains control of his consciousness, he can control it, in a manner of speaking.”

     “And how is that different from you?” Dew asked, a hint of frustration beginning to spill over into her voice.

     “The tear in his head is not stable. Sooner or later, he will do something that will rip it open. And that will be the end of him, and everyone else around him. Well, more like everyone else on this plane.”

     There was a long silence after that. I had heard the words but wasn’t sure I’d heard them right. De Vorto had just called me a time bomb that could bring about global apocalypse in an instant. I didn’t know how to react to that. How does a bomb feel anyway?

     Dew looked at me, and then back at De Vorto. “And there is nothing we can do to stop this?” Dew asked.

     “If he were like me, perhaps there was a chance,” De Vorto said, after a long pause. “I wondered if I could teach him. But the power spills over. It surges each time he is in danger, and given how things are, that is going to be all the time.”

     I still didn’t have anything to say. I was feeling a little sorry for myself, but considering that I had a rare case of die-and-the-world-dies-with-you, it was confusing. Did it make sense to feel sorry for myself?

     “He swallows up a legion of spooks like they’re a pint of beer. His eyes glow different colours each time he weaves, or even if he’s excited. He thinks up scapes that are beyond my understanding in his head and releases them with a breath,” Dew spoke slowly, deliberately. “He has to be the Wordscapist.”   

     De Vorto shook his head slowly, from side to side. He wasn’t Indian, so I guess that was an emphatic ‘no’.

      “OK, so I’m not the Wordscapist,” I conceded again. “But can I not learn to control this power? Wield it so that it doesn’t rip apart something in my head.” God, it sounded bad no matter how I said it! I definitely deserved some self-pity!

     “You’re not the type that can be taught, Slick,” De Vorto said. “You’re like me. You pick it up. You learn on your own. You have to make mistakes to figure it out. Only here, you cannot afford to make mistakes.”

     “But I do have control,” I said eagerly, trying to salvage something out of this situation. “I froze the faerie, I got rid of the spooks, I have even figured out a way to resummon Sliverette with a word!”

     “You will do no such thing!” De Vorto thundered, a surprisingly loud voice coming from his little frame. “Stop meddling with the faerie! It took me forever to reason with them! The thing you call Sliverette is one of them, an ancient one, Eomeain. I summoned her because I felt her presence nearby. You, on the other hand, recast her in a terrible image and gave her deadly purpose. You are reckless and foolish! You will not weave, I forbid it!”

     I felt myself losing my temper, thought of controlling it, and then thought, ‘what the hell!’

     “Sure, De Vorto. Why don’t you just stick around and protect us then? Every time you disappear and leave us to fend for ourselves. I then find myself on the verge of dying a painful death or worse. And every time I have to pull something out of a hat I didn’t even know existed, hoping desperately that the rabbit that comes out will prove sufficient. And you forbid it! I’m sorry, but I’m not going to allow you to forbid it. You try and figure out a way to keep me and the rest of this miserable planet alive. In the meanwhile, I will continue keeping me and anyone else I care about alive. And that definitely does not include you any time soon!” I ended it on an ugly personal note. I had a gift of getting nasty when I lost it. It was one of the reasons I tried not to lose my temper.

     “Stop it, you two,” Dew said, her tone quiet and menacing. “We are in enough danger already. Slick just pulled off a massive scape where he swallowed up a couple of hundred spooks. I’m sure it has got the CMs ringing all over. We can expect company very soon. We should leave.”

     “We can go back into my home,” De Vorto offered. “We will be alright there.” 

     “No,” Dew shook her head firmly, “we cannot risk that. The CCC will figure out a way to get in, even if the others don’t. They have stuff these days that work around glamours and scapes. Your protection will not work with them.”

     De Vorto, surprisingly enough, didn’t protest. He merely nodded and looked off into the distance.

      “You do realise that we are fighting a losing battle here, right?” Dew asked. We both turned to look at her.

     “We might dodge the Free Word. We might escape the Guild too. But the CCC will catch us sooner or later. If we continue fighting, Slick will end up weaving again...and we all know what that means.” Dew sighed, as she let that sink in. It wasn’t a revelation, merely a summary. “We might as well give ourselves up to the most reasonable pursuer, no?”

     I couldn’t believe Dew had said that. Not Dew. Not the girl who never gave up! I gaped at her, wondering what had happened to her. Did she want me to turn myself in? Had she had enough of this madness? I turned to De Vorto to see what he would say. He looked pensive, like he was struggling with something. Dew just continued looking at him, not even acknowledging my presence or my dumbfounded expression.     

     “No,” De Vorto finally said. “We’re not giving up. We will figure this out. I have someone I can talk to, someone who will help simplify this situation. The both of you will need to take the norm way out of Skye. Head to the mainland, and then find some place safe to hide out. I’ll find you.”            

      “Sounds like a plan,” Dew agreed readily enough. “Let’s go, Slick.”