Wordscapist: The Myth (The Way of the Word Book 1) (5 page)

     I had seen the father of the family give my bike a look as he rushed past. He might have noted the license plate details. It did have an easy-to-remember number. The irony was that I had paid a premium for that number. I remember this and a thousand other abstract thoughts going through my head as I stood there staring at my reflection. Finally, something clicked and I snapped out my shocked daze. I pulled my blazer off and used it to wipe some of the blood off my hands and face. I gave my favourite, very expensive and completely ruined blazer one last rueful look, and then dumped it in the nearest bin. I picked up my phone. There were five missed calls; two from my friend and three from my client. I hit cancel and shoved it into my pocket. I strode quickly to my bike, started it and rode like hell out of there.

***

     I came back to the present; drained, exhausted. I was still staring sightlessly out the window. I could not make sense of anything I was seeing. It did not seem important anymore to do so. Life was no longer based on logic or sense. I had no clue what it was based on now.

     Point of light, deep inside your head, let go of your thoughts. Forget who you are, who you think you are. Let go of your past, your identity, everything that is you. Let go and float away, to a place that is pure energy. Give into it. Plug in. Recharge. Until you’re born again.

     The old litany came back to me. But for once, it didn’t work. My head was host to far too many thoughts for me to visualise the pristine point of light.

CHAPTER 3

Weaving Scapes

He was born to crawl

And mayhap to walk

Imagination unfurled its wings

He painted himself an illusion

He leapt

And the end began

The Historian

     The scape site was a bleak, uninhabited excuse for an island; a clump of volcanic rocks somewhere in the midst of the Galapagos archipelago. There were no inhabitants there, unless you counted the thousands of seabirds that flew and crapped all over the island. That day, there was a wicked wind blowing in cold spray from the sea, ensuring that everyone and everything on the island was cold and damp. Every exposed inch of land on the island was coated with guano. The wind did not help the smell much and it was acrid enough to make my eyes water.

     We had landed at the nearest airport on the mainland and boarded a Guild yacht that had been waiting to bring us to the synch point. None of the remaining members of the group had spoken a word to me, though Lily Pendleton looked like she might a couple of times. I was done with my survey of the place and my forebodings. The weather, the location, the atmosphere…it was the perfect setting for disaster.

     The scape was scheduled to begin in a few minutes. I was setting up my recording equipment. Most of it had been arranged by Silvus’s team. I just added the special lenses and filters that marked my personal recording signature, and installed and calibrated the equipment. Seven specialised high resolution video cameras with infrared sensors were set up at strategic locations on the perimeter. It was not easy, considering the unfriendly terrain and the vicious winds. I had to calibrate every stand and use drills to screw the equipment to the bedrock itself. I finished with the directional microphones and the satellite uplink that synchronised all recorded data to a terminal at the headquarters. The scape was always recorded and preserved, even if there were no survivors left at the end of it. I could not get over the fact that Silvus had asked for a historian on this scape. Given the number of shortcuts he was taking and the singular ruthlessness with which he was proceeding, I would have assumed that he would need no witnesses or evidence. Why bother recording? Once again, I went back to thinking about the report on the scape as I set up the solar panels and the backup power equipment.

     The file had been a professional report of a proposed scape. Apart from the sheer lunacy of the proposal, it seemed pretty kosher, at least in the beginning. All the information that I would need to record the scape was provided in the folder, along with profile details of the participating members. Everything was in order right up to the ‘Risks and Mitigation’ section. As expected, there was the mandatory note on Sign, and the measures the group would need to adopt if she attacked. There was a special handwritten note scribbled at the top of that section.

“Please assume that a Sign visitation is inevitable. The proposed scape is expected to rate close to 200 on the CM.”

      200 on the Continuum Meter! Group scapes that rated higher than 75 on the CM were flagged red because of a high probability of being attacked by Sign. Only five scapes had ever been attempted that registered over one hundred on the CM. All five had been utterly routed by Sign and their teams hunted down to the last wordsmith. With a CM reading of 200, we might as well have officially sent Sign and her hellcats a formal invitation, with special funeral arrangements for all wordsmiths on the team.

     The other concern was the legality of the scape. I was sure that Silvus had not gone through the formal approval procedure with the Continuum Control Corps. Any scape that managed a CM score of 50 or more implied a Continuum violation and needed CCC approval prior to actual weaving. 200! CCC would have given Silvus hell for even thinking about such lunacy! I was sure though that the CCC had no clue of Silvus’s little adventure. I wondered what would happen when the warp showed up on their global surveillance meters. I checked all my equipment. I was ready to record. If the CCC could lay their hands on the records of this scape, Silvus would spend the rest of his life in the detention sector of Alter. He would of course have to survive the scape to get there. With a scape this powerful, Sign would be vicious in her attack.

     At the thought of Sign, I shuddered. Sign was the age-old nemesis of all wordsmiths; an elemental being whose singular purpose was the fatal disruption of any wordscapes that modified reality beyond a point. Very few wordsmiths had survived an attack by Sign, and no scapes disrupted by her had ever been completed. “How will Silvus deal with Sign?” I wondered. That was indeed the million word question. I was not very worried for my safety though. Sign usually did not hunt the historians recording the scape. But then, if Sign did not get me, Silvus would.

     As I tinkered with the equipment, the rest of the team got there. Lily was the first. She saw me and hesitated for a moment before walking up. I straightened from my last camera and gave her a very tense smile as she approached briskly, struggling a bit with the wind that was whipping her long overcoat against her. As far as I knew, Lily was in the same leaky boat as I was. She returned the smile, adding her bit of tension to the atmosphere.

     “Nasty day for a scape, milady,” I said noncommittally, sticking to the safety of the weather cliché.

     “Nasty scape, Historian,” she muttered back, watching Jimmy and Zyx walking towards the scape-field, “The day has nothing to do with it”.

     I nodded at the wisdom of the statement. I decided to be a bit braver. “Milady, have you considered the possibility of Sign…” I started.

     “Attacking and slaughtering the entire group?” she finished.

     “I was hoping for historian immunity myself,” I said with a sick smile, trying a bit of morgue humour.

     She gave me one long look that froze me inside, leaving me with a feeling that I would never be warm again.

     “Historian,” her voice added to the chill, “wordsmith or not, when you see Sign and her hellcats, you run. Try and skip into the Alter rabbit hole as soon as you can, or keep running till they give up or till you die. Sign does not specifically hunt historians, but her hellcats do not ask for your ID before they rip you apart.”

     With those comforting words, she walked away to study the runes inscribed on the rock that marked the centre of the scape-field.

     “Making small talk, Historian?” The voice tinkling with warmth instantly caught my attention.

     I turned around to see Zyx’s smouldering eyes. “Good morning, milady,” I gulped. “Bleak day for a scape, isn’t it?” I decided to give the weather topic another shot.

     “Is it now?” she purred. “I always liked the shitty, frozen charm of this place. It makes you think of ways to stay warm.” Her eyes smouldered some more as her words made my heart skip like a giddy teenager.

     I noticed how the wind fluttered her silky coat against her body in a very flattering manner. I got a grip on myself and looked away from those eyes. “Milady, it is forbidden to use your gift on historians,” I managed to croak in protest.

     She laughed. That intensely musical sound made my blood rush to my ears in a hot roaring torrent. I thanked God (or whatever kept the Continuum going) for the protection woven around every historian that kept my mind safe from the brutal scape-enhanced flirtation this woman was directing at me. She dismissed me with a toss of her pretty head and walked away towards Lily. I took a deep breath and braced myself for Jimmy Sau.

     He walked right up to me, and gave me a deep bow. I managed to stagger forward in a sorry excuse for a bow, acknowledging his silent greeting. He moved on too, checking all the recording equipment set up around the scape-field. I heaved a sigh of relief. Those two were a very nasty pair and I was not letting Sau’s ‘I-am-the-peaceful-Tibetan-monk’ bullshit fool me for a minute.

     As I walked around my camera, trying to gauge its range, I saw Silvus walking towards us. The immense power of the man struck me; his sheer physicality and the aura around him. It was like he had shaped himself in accordance with his insane dreams. He was huge and yet very lithe. He walked like a predator, taking long, powerful strides. He carried a scape-staff. Most wordsmiths had a custom-made scape staff that they crafted all their lives, adding runic symbols to the slim totem pole that was their personal weaving tool. Silvus’s staff was a huge one, thick in girth and about six feet tall, a few inches less than his incredible height. It was carved with powerful symbols that enhanced his scapes and spells. It must have weighed a fair bit, but he carried it lightly. He nodded at me with a faint smile. I nodded back, not trusting my voice to make normal sounding conversation.

     He walked to the centre of the scape-field and said something to Lily. I checked the master console. The microphones caught the words and the software transcribed the speech into text for the records. I hit a button and the transcript scrolled on the screen, “Good morning, Lily. All set for the scape?”

     Lily’s reply was to the point, “Yes, Master Silvus. I could not find my scape-staff though. It seems to have disappeared.”

     “No problem,” Silvus dismissed this with a wave of his hand that I could see from the corner of my eye. The transcript scrolled on, “The spells are unusual and would not have been aided by your staff. I have my staff for what enhancement we need. So let’s get on with it.”

     He gestured to Zyx and Jimmy who were talking outside the perimeter, significantly beyond the microphone field. As they started walking over, he turned to me and nodded once, clearly aware of the fact that I was watching them closely. I abandoned my pretence of being busy with calibrations and started walking towards them.

      “Wordsmiths, Historian,” Silvus started, the charm in full force, “We are here for a historical scape, the first and probably last of its kind. If this works, the Guild will be empowered beyond imagination. I trust all of you are sufficiently prepared with your spells and other arrangements.” This last bit was said with a nod to me. “I am going to lead you all through the scape strategy. As you will have noticed, I have listed in the briefing the spells we will be using in the scape today. The rest of the scape will be woven by me and me alone. I do not want any of you to add to it. You will contribute to the spells only. With the kind of experience and capability this group has, I do not think a rehearsal is required for spell incantations, even ones as obscure as these. And yes, we do not have much time. The moment we define the scape and its intent, Sign will become aware of our little initiative. That gives us a few minutes before she gets here. We need to connect to Alter and set up the special defence I have designed to prevent her from tracing the rabbit hole.”

     He was being cryptic and was leaving nothing at all to the others. The spells were complex but child’s play for a group like this. They were only to add the collective strength of their gifts to the scape, while Silvus manipulated the scape to its completion with his words. Spell incantations were standard, and when rendered in chorus, there would be no innovations and therefore no chance for any misinterpretations. The strategy was well thought out and left no scope for Lily or even the faithful Zyx and Jimmy, to sabotage the scape. Lost in my thoughts, I did not notice that the wordsmiths had all fallen into position.

     “Historian?” Silvus’s voice was a query and a reprimand. I quickly muttered an apology and ran back to my console. I checked all the equipment readings one last time and raised my thumb to signal that I was ready.

     “Wordsmiths! Make me proud!” Silvus roared out.

     Snatches of words floated to me, carried by the wilful wind. I brought up the master console to check the scrolling words. They were the opening words of the Covenant Seal; a spell to bind the group to its common objective, extracting an oath of intractable fidelity from them. I switched to the camera perspectives to ensure they were all capturing the group members. I then brought up the master camera perspective. It was focused on the scape-field centre, over the runic rock. The space over it was already warping as the combined words of the most powerful wordsmiths on the planet shaped reality against its will. The air was charged with raw power and the strange smell of split air peculiar to lightning strikes. The master camera had special filters that captured warps and shades that were beyond the ability of regular lenses. The filters had been scape-enhanced by a team of wordsmiths to be able to capture these details.