Shadows Fall

“I didn’t want any of them. I went a little crazy for a while. Though given the nature of my job, it was a while before anyone noticed. I’ve seen deaths beyond number in Shadows Fall, but none of them ever hurt me the way hers did. I didn’t want the baby. I had no experience or interest in raising a child, even if I could have come up with some story to explain him. So I gave him to the Harts. They’d just lost a baby and were glad to take him. And I put it all behind me, and set about my job again.

  “After a few deaths and rebirths I was able to look at things a little more clearly. There’s nothing like growing old and dying a few times to calm you down. I kept an eye on Jonathon. He grew up to be a perfectly normal child, with never a trace of the power I’d sensed in him. Time passed, and I allowed myself to lose track of him. But then suddenly he was a man, and married, and his wife was pregnant. You were such a tiny thing as a baby. For a long time they worried about you, and wondered if you’d live. But I never doubted it. I could see the power within you, latent but potent, blazing like the sun. I kept a close watch on you. I hadn’t been able to be a father to Jonathon, but I tried to be a grandfather to you, if only from a distance.

  “And then, just after you turned ten, somehow the prophecy got out. I went to your parents, and told them everything. There wasn’t time for recriminations or reconciliations; you had to be got to safety. They packed the barest essentials, and I got them out of town without being seen. It seemed the best thing to do, to buy us all some breathing time. And for a while, everything was quiet.

  “Then your parents were murdered.”

  Hart felt as though he should have jumped in his chair, or said something, but really all he felt was numb. He’d felt too many things already. He realized Time was looking at him, waiting for a response. He licked his dry lips and cleared his throat.

  “Who… who killed them?”

  “The Warriors of the Cross. They’re a long-established extremist organization, an army of Christian terrorists dedicated to preserving their version of Christianity by wiping out anything that might threaten it. They mostly work behind the scenes, using political lobbying and economic pressure, but they’re not averse to getting their hands bloody on occasion. They’ve been trying to locate and attack Shadows Fall for centuries. Partly because they see us as a town full of demons and unnatural creatures, but mostly because they want to get their hands on the Forever Door. They believe it will give them direct access to God.”

  “Why would they want that?” said Hart, just to be saying something.

  Time shrugged. “Who knows? Perhaps they have some pointed questions to ask him about the nature of the world. And perhaps they don’t really know themselves. Like all extremist organizations, they get a bit flaky around the edges.”

  “Could the Door really give them access to God?”

  “Maybe. But only on a one-way basis, like everyone else.”

  Hart shook his head slowly, trying to put it all together and make it make sense. Friend flowed up around his shoulders like a shawl and hugged him comfortingly.

  “Take it easy, Jimmy,” it murmured in his ear. “Don’t let him throw you. Just take things one step at a time. And remember, you’re not alone. I’m here with you.”

  Hart nodded briefly, and looked at Time. There was really only one question that mattered. “Why did the Warriors kill my parents?”

  “So that you would return to Shadows fall, and activate the prophecy.”

  Hart jerked in his chair as though Time had hit him. “Are you saying it’s all my fault? They died because of me?”

  “No, it’s not your fault. Don’t ever think that. The Warriors must take full responsibility for their actions, and what those actions will bring. They see you and your prophecy as a lever they can use to pry open the town. I doubt if they give you or your parents a second thought. Shadows Fall is protected by all kinds of guards and shields, but it’s become increasingly clear of late that there are traitors among us. I have therefore taken an unprecedented step. The only power left to me. I have closed the Forever Door and shut the town off completely from the outside world. A desperate step, I know.

  “I don’t dare keep the Door closed for long; the pressure of passing souls is growing all the time, and eventually it would literally blow the town apart. People don’t realize how precarious the nature of this town is. If the balance were ever seriously upset, you’d have to move Heaven and earth to put it right again. Possibly literally.

  “But for the moment, I’m largely helpless. I should be able to tell who the traitors are, but I can’t. The Warriors are shielding them from me, even though only a few months ago I would have said that was impossible. I can’t see their actions either. I’ve always been able to see everything that occurs in Shadows Fall, in all its dimensions, past and present, but not now. Things are hidden from me. It’s very uncomfortable; not unlike having gaps in my mind. Let me show you.”

  Hart jerked in his deckchair as the world suddenly changed. He was flying over the town, so high he could see everything, and yet at the same time he was in the middle of everything, like a spider in its web. Nothing happened that he didn’t know about, nothing moved that he didn’t see, down to the minutest detail. He saw a thousand scenes simultaneously, and heard the roar of a thousand voices gabbling all at once. It was all so huge, and he was so small. He had to fight to hang on to his own sense of identity, drowning in a sea of information. But even as he floundered he saw the beginnings of patterns, and felt the skeins of the town run through his fingers. Given time, he felt he could make sense of it all, and feel the world turn about him. And yet here and there were blank spots, places he could not go, people he could not see, like an itch he couldn’t scratch. And then suddenly the beach was back, single and solitary, and Hart let out a long breath as he slowly relaxed back in his chair.

  “You get used to it after a while,” said Time. “You have the power in you, James. My power. Coming back to Shadows Fall has awakened it in you. It’s still largely dormant; presumably because the world couldn’t cope with two Father Times at once.”

  “Am I supposed to be your… successor?” said Hart.

  “I don’t know. Perhaps. I’m supposed to be immortal and unkillable, but you never know… You saw the blank spots. They’re supposed to be impossible too, but a lot of impossible things have been happening in Shadows Fall, just recently. You never met the archangel Michael, did you? He came down to earth specifically to warn us about the coming changes and what they meant, but someone or something interfered with his memory, so that he couldn’t complete his mission. He was murdered, or rather the body he was possessing was murdered, before he could remember. I’m pretty sure it was the Warriors messing with his mind, but I don’t think they killed him. That was the Wild Childe. I’ll tell you about him later, after we’ve survived the Warrior invasion. If we survive…”

  “An invasion?” Hart sat up again in his deckchair, so suddenly he almost turned it over. “What do you mean, an invasion? Do these Warriors have an army, or something? When are they coming?”

  “The Warriors are an army, and they’ll be here soon. They have agents everywhere, and their own military training camps.”

  “If they’re that big, why haven’t I heard of them before?”

  “You probably have. They exist in many forms, with many names, but they’re all Warriors at heart. They have great, if indirect, power, and are extremely dangerous. Unfortunately for them, Shadows Fall can be pretty dangerous too, and we have powerful friends. I have a strong feeling we’re going to need them.

  “I gave orders that DeFrenz’s body should not be cremated, just in case the angel Michael might come back, but so far he hasn’t. Apart from that, I’m pretty much out of ideas. Which is why I brought you here. You have all my power, buried somewhere deep within you. I always feared the prophecy meant you were destined to use it to destroy Shadows Fall, but now I wonder if perhaps you were meant to use it to protect the town from the Warriors. It is possibl
e.

  “I can’t really appeal to you as your grandfather. You don’t have much to thank me for, and I don’t have much experience with children. Mad comes close, but it’s not the same. I don’t even have much practice being human. The job takes up most of my life, and for centuries I was happy to leave it that way. Things were different after I met your grandmother. My Sarah. She taught me the joys and limitations of being human. I’m still not sure whether that’s made my job easier or harder. I have to keep a certain distance, or I couldn’t do what this job sometimes entails. But I try to do what must be done with compassion as well as efficiency.

  “If you won’t do it for me, James, do it for the town. It’s a special place, and the Warriors would destroy it trying to make it what it isn’t, what they think it ought to be.”

  “But… what is it?” said Hart slowly. “What is Shadows Fall, really?”

  “You’ve heard a dozen explanations, I’m sure, but at heart it’s really quite simple. The world can only believe in so much at a time. Old dreams must make way for new. This is where old dreams come to die and be forgotten, and those for whom reality has proved too much can find final comfort.

  “Shadows Fall is necessary; it eases the pain of the world.”

  They sat together in silence for a while, looking out at the placid sea. The wind was pleasantly cool, and two gulls glided high above, calling to each other plaintively.

  “How long before they get here?” said Hart finally.

  “Out in the real world, not long. But time moves differently here. You can take as long as you need to make your decision.”

  Hart nodded, reached down, and picked up a pebble from the beach. It was smooth and cold and faintly damp. He hefted it in his hand, and looked at Time. “Did you ever throw pebbles into the sea?”

  “No, I can’t say I ever did. Is it a human thing to do?”

  “Yes. It’s a family thing, too.”

  And James Hart and Old Father Time took it in turns to throw pebbles out to sea, sometimes for distance, sometimes to watch them bounce, all through the long, unending afternoon.

  —

  Sapphire Lake had started out as a kids’ holiday camp, but that didn’t last long. It changed hands rapidly over the years as one outfit after another tried to make it profitable, and failed. There were the health nuts, the orienteering nuts, and experts in survivalist training. Who were a whole different kind of nut. Outfits came and went, the camp getting just a little shabbier each time, and no one who lived anywhere near by was at all surprised. Sapphire Lake camp lay in the midst of some beautiful countryside, but it was just too far from anywhere. The surroundings were pretty enough, but nothing you couldn’t find elsewhere in cheaper and more accessible locations. So the huts and dormitories lay empty and abandoned, and the world forgot all about Sapphire Lake. Which suited the Warriors of the Cross just fine.

  William Royce, Imperial Leader of the Warriors, strode briskly through the packed camp, nodding approvingly at the controlled chaos all around him. Men in military uniforms were marching and drilling in their hundreds, the barked orders from their non-coms sounding loud and fierce in the quiet evening. The sun was going down, and generators were starting up all around the camp. Jeeps roared back and forth on urgent missions, and over in the next clearing helicopter gunships were warming up, ready for weapons tests. Everywhere Royce looked, his army was preparing itself for war with pride and efficiency. His heart swelled, and he allowed himself a brief smile. In less than twelve hours he would finally be ready to lead his army of light against the devil’s spawn currently infesting Shadows Fall. Blood would flow, and the ungodly would perish in their thousands, and he would walk in triumph through the streets he’d dreamed of for so long.

  Royce was a short, stocky man in his mid-forties. He had strong, angular features, dominated by a hatchet nose and a disturbingly direct gaze. He knew his gaze upset people, and he used it like a weapon to separate the men from the boys. He’d lost most of his hair, and didn’t give a damn. He’d had a good career in his country’s army, rising slowly but steadily, until the Lord called him to leave and form his own army, an army of light. He’d found the Warriors of the Cross almost by accident, though later he realized the Lord had meant him to find them all along. They’d fallen apart in recent times, split into feuding factions, but he’d come to them with his vision and his military experience, and within a year he’d transformed them into an army worthy of the Lord. All they’d really needed had been a goal to unite them, and he’d found that in Shadows Fall.

  He’d dreamed of the town ever since he was a child, but he knew it was not for him. Not yet. Not as long as demons and unnatural creatures walked the streets with impunity, and witches practised their foul magics openly. Shadows Fall was a human place, meant for humans only. He’d seen all this in dreams, and more, and vowed that one day he would come to purge and cleanse those streets. And now, after years of planning and training and waiting, he was finally ready. He’d turned the Warriors into a professional fighting force, leasing them out as mercenaries in a hundred undeclared wars across the globe, so that they would be tempered by pain and experience. They’d done him proud, time and again; and if some had died nameless and alone in foreign fields, they had not died in vain. The Warriors remembered them, and fought all the more fiercely in their memory. No one ever complained or objected. They knew they did the Lord’s work, and were content.

  Aides came running up to him with plans and papers and last-minute problems, and he dealt with them all calmly and efficiently. He took the time to be courteous with them all, never too rushed or unsettled by the news they brought. A leader must always inspire confidence in his men. Even when he was so tightly wound inside he felt as though he might explode at any moment.

  He stopped outside the long customized trailer that was his mobile Headquarters, and looked out over his people. They were good men and women, Christians all, uncorrupted by the pleasures and weaknesses of the modern world. They would stop at nothing, hesitate at no extreme, to carry out his orders. Either you were a Warrior, and beloved of the Lord, or you were a sinner and worthy only of destruction. They were his children, and he would lead them to victory. It was ordained.

  He pulled open the door and stepped into his Headquarters. The trailer had started out fitted with all manner of comforts and conveniences, but he’d had most of them torn out. In their place he’d had fitted banks of computers and monitor screens, and all the necessary technologies of the modern soldier. In his Headquarters he was never more than a phone call away from any of his people, anywhere in the world. Trained men and women sat always before the monitors, missing nothing. They even had their own satellite to ensure constant communications. Half a million soldiers of the Lord, scattered across the world, ready to kill or die for the cause at a moment’s notice, waiting only for the word from him. It made him feel humble, sometimes.

  He nodded to his secretary at her desk, and she smiled radiantly at him as he passed. As his secretary she protected him from unnecessary visitors and paperwork, and as his bodyguard she protected him from the enemies of the Lord. She was very good at her job. He moved on into his separate office, and closed the door firmly behind him. He felt the need for a little quiet and meditation, while he had the chance. But first, the paperwork.

  He sat down behind his desk and leafed quickly through the day’s accumulation, signing where his secretary had initialled, and ticking the necessary boxes to show he’d read the relevant passages. Everything seemed to be in order, but he couldn’t escape a growing conviction that somewhere along the line he’d forgotten something. Something important. He went slowly through his mental checklist one more time. The last of the helicopter gunships and troop transporters had arrived, and the engineers were checking them now. The last consignment of guns and ammunition had arrived, from various army bases that probably hadn’t even noticed they were missing yet. And every man and woman of the Warriors had answered their Call Up and ch
ecked in.

  From all walks of life they came, from all social standings and economic backgrounds, united by their faith in the Lord and their hatred for anyone and anything that didn’t fit the Warriors’ definition of a Christian. All the filth-mongers and atheists and bleeding-heart politicians had a lot to answer for, and the Warriors would see that they did, once Shadows Fall had fallen to the army of light. Every station had been contacted and placed in readiness, waiting only his word to launch the invasion. He’d done everything to prepare himself and his people. All that was left was prayer. And that was what he’d forgotten. He closed his eyes and put his hands together, and sent his words up to God. His God.

  Dear Lord, hear me. Grant us the power and strength to wipe out the vermin infesting your glorious city of light, Shadows Fall. Guide our weapons, and damn all who dare to stand against us. Every death shall be a gift to you, another soul sent for judgement. We shall prevail, no matter what the odds, for you are with us in this glorious Crusade. Just as our ancestors fought to free the holy lands from the heathen, so shall we purge Shadows Fall, and then the world. The Warriors shall rule supreme, in your holy name.

  The guilty will be punished.

  He opened his eyes, and looked at the television set standing in the corner of his office. He’d had to do many things over the years to build his army, to revitalize the Warriors and hold them together. Some he regretted more than most. One in particular still troubled his dreams, if not his conscience.

  He pushed his chair back from his desk, and stood up. He pulled open the top drawer, took out the television remote control and aimed it at the set like a gun. His mouth was dry, and his hand was shaking just a little. He licked his lips, and slowly lowered the remote. This was not a time for fear, or weakness.

  I fear nothing, for the Lord is with me.

  Oh yeah; which Lord?

  It was in his head, but it didn’t sound like his voice. He squeezed his eyes shut, and then opened them again and stared at the television set. It stood alone, compact and ordinary, inside a chalked pentacle. It wasn’t plugged in, and it had no aerial. Royce took a deep calming breath and triggered the remote. The television turned itself on, and grey static sparked and spat on the screen. Then it cleared, and a game show host in a sparkling suit stood in a sea of fire, the flames licking up around him. He smiled, and his teeth had points. There were nubs on his forehead that might have been the beginnings of horns.