Taels Online

“Go down, Moses. Way down to Egypt-land.”

 

Moses Lawd woke to the sound of his grandmother’s voice. Except joined with it were the voices of yesterday. They had dissipated slowly the night before, as he lay in bed, waiting for sleep to come.

 

The anticipation was there also, excitement in his veins as he pushed himself out of bed.

 

“Tell old old Pharaoh, To let My people go.”

 

He was now thirty-three years old. He looked out at the sun rising over the hills. Yesterday’s strangeness had begun with the dawn.

 

As if to welcome the sight, the bright orb in the sky, the song in his head, now wordless, rose in exultation.

 

Moses turned away, and thought about eggs for breakfast. The phone rang, putting an end to that.

 

It would be a long time before Moses ate food cooked in his kitchen. But Moses didn’t know that yet.

 

“Moses, it’s Ted.”

 

Moses waited, as per usual, but there was a different tone in Ted’s voice. Strained.

 

“They have Sue and the kids. They’re going to kill them if I don’t get you to come.”

 

Ted never joked about his family. It must be serious. Moses grabbed at the phone.

 

“Ted, who has them?”

 

There was shaking on the phone, noises in the background. A muffled thump. Bam. Crash. Then another voice came on the phone.

 

“Mr. Lawd. You would be wise to stay at your home until my people arrive. Do not leave, we will find you. If you do leave, this man’s family is dead. As it is, they are nearing death. Perhaps it would be merciful to kill them.”

 

Moses heard Ted shouting, “Noooooo! Moses, I don’t want them to die!”

 

This is crazy. What is happening?

 

“Stay where you are Mr. Lawd. All will be well. For them at least. Possibly for you, but time will tell us the answers.”

 

Another saying from his world. “Time will tell us the answers.” Allan James was fond of that. A father figure to Jesse who died early in the stories. Giving his life for Jesse, who had betrayed the old man at the end. It had brought Jesse back from blackness.

 

“Listen, what do you want? I’m just a writer, and Ted is just my editor. What’s the problem? Money” Is that what you want?”

 

The laughter on the other end of the phone was deep and abrasive.

 

“Fool.” Click.

 

The phone went dead. Moses wondered whether he should call the police.

 

And tell them what? But if I do nothing ..”

 

He was dialling the number for the local police station when the doorbell rang.

 

Moses froze, hand halfway up from the phone. He wait, listening.

 

“.. Police. How can I help you?”

 

Moses put the handset down, cutting off the call. He crept along to the stairs. Rushing up them he came to the room above the entrance and looked down. There were no cars in sight, and a single old woman stood at the door. Something made him look across the fields that lay between him and the main road. A line of black station wagons drove into view.

 

What was that movie? Twister. Ha.

 

But he had the lady to deal with, and pushed the entourage of black out of his mind.

 

Coming to the front door, he brushed his hair back before opening it. Reaching for the handle, the song within him burst forth anew.

 

“Hello Prophet.”

 

It was Mischa. At least, a very old version of Mischa. Seventy years if a day.

 

“I have returned for you,” She looked back over her shoulder. “And you must come now. They are approaching.”

 

Moses stood there, looking at her. The eyes were the same, and the voice. But just yesterday he had seen this woman in vibrant strength and beauty. The figure before him was a little stooped, gray-haired, and handsome instead of stunning.

 

“This is not a request Prophet. You will come now.”

 

She grabbed his wrist with the same strength, maybe a touch weaker, but iron still. Moses looked up at the sky for the last time. The world spun, turned into gray, and then there was blackness.

 

Her voice spoke in his mind.

 

“Rest easy Prophet. You are travelling between the worlds. This place is peace. But even it is passing.”

 

Moses looked about. There were cracks appearing in the fabric of whatever reality they were passing through. Glaring red light broke through, and he could see it eating away at the darkness. Although it wasn’t darkness. His eyes were adjusting, and it was not dark. There was light, but it was fading.

 

“Careful now, we pass the boundary again.”

 

There was a flash, and Moses felt his body gain weight again. His legs were unprepared, and he stumbled to the ground. Mischa’s hand was still grasping his wrist. He pulled his arm slowly away. Where their flesh had touched was pink, like newborn skin. It tingled, and very quickly a streak of blue flashed across it.

 

“We have arrived.”

 

It was the land in his mind, but more .. and less. Time had passed from the land that existed in his mind.

 

“How long has it been since you came to see me the first time?”

 

Mischa looked at him, speaking with some regret. “Three score and ten. The power of the Three ..”

 

Moses cut her off. “I know, I wrote this remember?” He grinned, in spite of the growing fear. The song was sweeter here, if possible. Resounding in his head. It should have hampered his thoughts, but he found himself thinking very, very clearly.

 

“Why did you call me Prophet?”

 

Mischa looked away. “I cannot tell you.” Moses could see her tiredness.

 

But he needed time to think. If this was his world, then it should abide by his rules. The ones he had created. However, seventy years is a long time. A lot could happen in that time, if the world was alive and breathing.

 

And it certainly looked to be that. They had arrived on a slight hilltop, lush short-cropped grass was under their feet. A line of stone made a circle around them, deep blue color moving through the stone.

 

Shows it’s power.

 

He had been fascinated by the mythos that was Stonehenge. The Druids, the magic, their respect for nature. It was here. The deep blue was the power of the Three. But it was more. At least, in his mind it was.

 

Still. First things first. He needed to find the Three. That was important. They held the key. They were the cords that held creation in place.

 

A three-fold cord is not swiftly broken.

 

Mischa turned away and began walking south. “Follow me Prophet. The King will want to see you immediately.”

 

The King? Is that Jesse?

 

Moses had put within the story the similarities between Jesse King and a king (ruler). But Jesse King, so far, had abandoned all attempts to make him leader. His was a single journey, a lone wolf, like the Phantom. Although not dressed in purple tights.

 

If seventy years has passed, who knows what is different. King could have died. If the world grew on as I wanted it to, anything could have happened.

 

He followed Mischa White along the road, through the woods. Sounds of life echoed across the ground. Birds, animals. Fish danced across the water of the creek they crossed.

 

Ulrik’s Stream. And the standing stone .. Jesse’s Door.

 

Coming out of the woods, they reached the road. A car was coming around the bend, it’s motor noisy. Mischa took up residence on the side of the road, following the road towards the car. Moses followed. He had a pretty good idea where they were going.

 

Jesse King had owned a mansion. It was large, sprawling, and very very debonair. Lavish parties were held there, the beautiful and famous congregating to socialise at the home of one of the richest men in the country. Of course, to Jesse, it was a game. His riches had come in the first few books, after rescuing various people, and investing in some very nice ideas. Henderson was the brains behind Jesse King’s money. Jacob Henderson. A man with the golden touch.

 

As they came to the edges of the city, Jericho, Moses was struck anew by how real everything was. Moving. Alive.

 

This is real, as real as anything can be. I can touch the ground, feel the air. I can walk, run. I can probably be killed.

 

Jericho had been a magnificent city, and then a broken place, retaining some vestiges of the haunting beauty that once brought the greatest of kings and presidents to visit.

 

They would gaze upon it’s beauty, and be lost for words.

 

Jericho had sung with magic. It’s fall was terrible, and the magic broken.

 

But the city before him had taken on a look of new life. It sparkled.

 

The magic is here again.

 

Jesse King’s mansion had been on the outskirts of Jericho, and as they crested a hill, it’s towers came into view. Almost. They shimmered, as though a mirage. Moses looked hard at the buildings, and saw them fall away. There was nothing but a lonely house. Single and desolate.

 

“What happened here?”

 

Mischa did not look back.

 

“Madness came upon the King. Daerin Sarvant returned from the dead and befriended the King. Nothing is as it was.”

 

Moses stopped. “Wait a minute. We are talking about Jesse King right?”

 

At that Mischa also stopped, and turned to face him. There were tears in her eyes. “Jesse King has been dead almost seventy years. Not long after I first visited you.”

 

Her back was stooped, though vigour still remained in her body. Her mind sharp. But Moses saw the pain that rested in her.

 

What kept her going? Mischa White had been experimented on as a child, and this probably accounted for her extra long life. Her other talents, her mutations had come about during and after the experimentation.

 

“Prophet. You should have returned with me then.”

 

Moses’ anger leapt. “How could I have known? You were my imagination! None of this should be real!”

 

That doesn’t ..

 

“.. Make me any less alive.” Mischa had anger in her too. “Come. We must go. The King, Joshua King, son of Jesse, awaits us.” In a lower tone she added. “As does the Sarvant.”