Savage Prophet: A Yancy Lazarus Novel (Episode 4) (37 page)

“Might as well do it ourselves,” the grandmother face replied with a nod. “We formally welcome you to our realm, Yancy Lazarus, and we hope you enjoyed the tour. Sadly, we are terribly busy, so let’s be about our business. We dispatched our handmaiden”—the spider-woman dipped her enormous head toward Lady Luck—“because there are several crucial developments you really ought to know. First, there is him.”

One spidery leg, slim and knobby, lashed out, and in its wake was a brilliant light like shifting quicksilver, which resolved into the image of a man: young, bushy beard, ice-chip eyes. The Savage Prophet. “You have already met him,” Lady Fate said, “and the fact that you stand before us is good news—the monk did his duty, and in so doing prevented an absolutely disastrous outcome. Just disastrous. But, it is an ephemeral victory. One pitfall avoided, with a thousand more before us. Moreover, that insufferable Prophet is a big part of the headache we’re dealing with here. He’s preventing us from properly discerning your fate.”

“How in the hell is that possible?” I asked, genuinely confused. I mean, who could pull one over on Lady-friggin’-Fate? That’s like trying to beat a guy named “Huge-Arm” Mike at arm wrestling. Crazy.

“It’s the nature of the Tapestry,” Fortuna said, next to me. “Though my mistress is responsible for spinning, enforcing, and protecting the Tapestry, the information contained within is of divine origin. Now, many choices are left to chance, left to the whims of mortal free will, but the White King also has a will of His own. Though He does not often act directly, when He does elect to act, it is the absolute final word on the matter. And, since the White King exists outside of space and time, His direct actions are recorded beforehand in the Tapestry of Fate—the divine decrees upon which reality is built.”

She swept one hand toward the expansive cavern filled with golden silk.

“Since the Tapestry is of divine origin, only divine power may influence and distort it.”

“What’s that got to do with the Prophet?”

“It has everything to do with the Prophet, because he has acquired a Seal of his own—the Fifth Seal to be precise, and it’s making matters nearly unbearable for us on this end.”

“That’s not exactly a revelation, ladies,” I replied, rubbing at my chin. “The whole demon-thing, I mean. I saw him slinging around a little Nox during his battle with the abbot, so I kinda assumed there was something more going on than strictly meets the eye, but why would that affect the Tapestry? Shit, seems like everybody and their friggin’ brothers has one of these Seals, so what’s so special about this clown?”

“Not everyone and their brother has a Seal,” Fortuna replied sternly, “and it’s such a big deal because of
which
Seal he happens to have.” She popped her briefcase and pulled out a manila dossier, rifling through its contents before pulling out a glossy photo of a sigil—a goofy looking set of wings, encompassed by a circle. “Each demon has their own specialty. Azazel is a lord of war and dark magicks, for example. The Fifth Seal, however, contains the essence of Orobas the Chrysós, Great Prince of Hell, and Deceiver of Humanity. He’s an oracle spirit.” She paused, mouth lingering open. “He’s a prophet of sorts, which is a title he’s gone by for ages.

“Orobas is not nearly so vicious or powerful as Azazel, but he is crafty and loyal to his Bearer, almost to a fault. Not to mention, as an oracle spirit, he has the utterly unfortunate ability to glimpse portions of the Tapestry. He can’t see everything, but he can see enough to be a real thorn in our side. He’s using that power to predict our moves and stack the deck in his favor. And, perhaps even worse, he is a fulcrum, like you. I’d wager he’s your counterpart, the Champion of the enemy.”

Well, shit on a stick.

So not only did that toolbag have access to a friggin’ demon
and
the power of Old Man Winter at his disposal, he also had the ability to predict the future. Perfect. In what universe was that fair? What a complete load of shit.

“Wait a minute,” I finally said, frowning, thinking back to my few limited encounters with the guy. Something wasn’t adding up right in my head. “If he already knows the future, why did he need to get answers from the monk or from Beauvoir in the first place? Shouldn’t he have been able to read the future in advance and know where the Fourth Seal Bearer would be long before I ever found out?”

“You have a sharp mind, boy,” said the grandmotherly face of Lady Fate, her weathered mug breaking into an uneven grin. “But the Tapestry, and indeed Fate itself, is not so simple as you think. Aside from the direct decrees of the White King, the future isn’t set in stone. It’s fluid, flexible, and often changing. Some possibilities are more solid than others, more likely, but they are not written in stone until they
are
written in stone—and even then, minute alterations are still possible. And reading those endless deviations with any degree of accuracy is a tricky business.”

“Moreover, he can’t control this ability of his,” Fortuna said, “not the way you’re thinking. The Tapestry is in many ways like your interweb. All the information you could ever want is readily available, but the
quantity
of information is far too great for any mortal, or even demon, to handle—so you must know precisely what you want to see. And even if you do find what you’re looking for, there’s no guarantee what you find will be useful. At most, he can direct the Sight only enough to catch snippets of the most probable futures. But those snippets, those images, are little more than pictures, and pictures without context at that.”

She took another photo from her dossier: an ancient jungle, filled with stately old trees. “Case in point. What do you see?” she asked.

I frowned, shrugged. “A jungle.”

“Correct,” she said. “And if you wanted to locate this jungle, where would you go?”

“How the hell would I know that?” I said. “That could be anywhere.”

“Precisely, though in point of fact this is actually a snapshot of Bhogavati
,
” she replied. “Such is the Prophet’s gift. Vision without context.”

“Sounds like a pretty shitty gift if you ask me—not that I’m complaining, mind you—just saying. I mean, what good is it?”

“Do not underestimate him,” Fortuna cautioned, glancing at me over the top of her glasses. “To one well-trained in its art, the Sight is a powerful tool. With it he can read a myriad of possible futures and orchestrate events to give him the best possible outcome. Using the Sight, he located Ferraro in Haiti and arranged your escape from Beauvoir, knowing that doing so offered him the best possible chance to capture both the Seal Bearer’s location and his crook. He is dangerous. Treacherous.”

“Okay, fine, but he’s not the only one who can see into the future. You’re Lady Fate,” I said, then gestured toward the grand cavern of silken cables. “You have the Tapestry right here. So how’s about you level the playing field a little—just tell me what this shitweasel’s planning and how to stop it. Boom. Done.” I brushed my hands together.

Fortuna and Lady Fate lapsed into an uneasy quiet.

“What?” I asked eventually. “Do I have something in my teeth?”

“No,” Fortuna replied, “it’s just that we can’t help you in that department.”

“Can’t or won’t?” I asked, eye squinting, brow furrowing. “If you tell me this is more bureaucratic bullshit, meant to dick me over and make everything fifty-friggin’-times harder than it needs to be, I’m walkin’, ladies. I swear, I’ll leave you to mop up this shitstorm on your own.”

“Can. Not,” Lady Fate responded finally, then issued a haggard sigh. “As in it isn’t possible, boy. Though there are rules about how much we may directly interfere, that is not the issue. The Tapestry is of divine origin, so only divine power can influence it. Someone is using one of the Seals to obscure my vision. At this point, we know little more than you, or so it seems at times. But what little we do know we will give you.”

I folded my arms. “Figures,” I said with a shake of my head. “Well, lay it on me so I can get this show on the road.”

“Excellent, excellent. Now that’s the spirit,” Lady Fate replied, the hag face breaking into a mad cackle. “We have three warnings to offer you. And these are imperative, boy, so pay careful attention. First, unless you intervene in the next eight hours, the Prophet will murder that lovely partner of yours, Ferraro, and if she dies, all is lost. Perhaps you will battle on for a time, but eventually the future goes black. An endless void, which, I must confess, I do not understand. But a void future cannot be good, I should think, so you must prevent her from perishing.

“Second, should you allow the Prophet to obtain the Fourth Seal from Ong, all will be lost. Along that path there is a future of sorts, but one where the Prophet and his master—who is still shrouded to me—reign supreme. In some shadow futures along this path you live. In most you die. But in all futures the world as we know it is gone. Thus, no matter the cost, you must stop the Prophet from gaining the Seal. There are no second chances in this—if you fail, you fail completely.”

The words hit me hard, a baseball bat to the gut, and I didn’t know how to respond, what to say. I knew the stakes were high, but it seemed like everything was coming to a head. Just a few days ago I’d been locked up in a Guild holding cell, without a lead in the world, waiting for those bathrobe-clad geezers to decide my fate. And now? Now, I had to save Ferraro and stop the Prophet or the world was over. Done. Everything important to me would be gone.

No pressure or anything.

“What’s the third thing?” I asked, somehow knowing they’d left the absolute worst for last.

Lady Fate stared at me for a long beat, all three of her mouths twisted in concern, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “You must save Ferraro and get the Seal
without
killing the Prophet. He must survive this night. Alive, he will
almost
certainly kill you and bring about the New World Order.
Almost
is the operative word. With him dead, however”—she paused, a look of concern bordering on terror sliding across her face—“the world’s fate is worse still.”

“You kidding me? What could possibly be worse than the nightmare I saw in future Seattle?” I asked.

“A world under
your
thumb, Yancy Lazarus,” the Hag said solemnly. “And a cruel thumb it shall be.”

My legs, still weak, collapsed, and I found myself sprawled out on the oddly warm stone beneath me. I heard the words, sure, but they all sounded like a bunch of indecipherable gibber-speak.

“What?” I asked, voice hollow. “What?”

“If he dies tonight,” Fortuna said, sliding up next to me, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder, “a series of events will leave you with unspeakable power. And you will do terrible, terrible things with that power.”

No, that couldn’t be right. I wouldn’t do that.

I’d fought my whole life against corrupt monsters and would-be tyrants—I stood up against the dark godlings, stood in the gap against the things that wished to reduce humanity to ashes. What Lady Fate said was impossible, had to be.

“How?” I asked, subdued, nauseous.

“It is not permitted to tell you the
how
, but know this, should you kill him, you will go from reluctant hero to ruthless warlord. A warlord completely lost to demonic power. A murderer far worse than Pa Beauvoir and the Savage Prophet combined. You tread a very treacherous path, Champion—you must thread the eye of the needle—and if you fail in this you shall lose yourself. And the world will follow you to hell. Like it or not, you are the Champion of Fate. Our savior. Our destroyer.”

I grunted, staring at the floor, feeling the weight of terrible responsibility settle on my shoulders like a rucksack loaded down with gear.

I didn’t want this, any of it.

All I wanted was to keep my head down, cruise around in the El Camino, sleep in shitty motels, and play the blues for beer money. I wanted to disappear. To live out my years in relative peace. Was that too much to ask for, too much to want?

And the worst thing was I could.

Lady Fate had made it clear to me the first time around—this was no magic prophecy. If I intervened, there was no guarantee I’d win. And if I chose to stay out, no one would stop me. Lady Fate wouldn’t
make
me do this—hell, she
couldn’t
make me do it. But if I ran away from this, there would be no one else to stop the Prophet and his boss.

“Fine,” I said halfheartedly, still surveying the smooth stone below me—slick gray, threaded with spidery veins of silver and gold. “I got the message. I’ll do what I can.”

Suddenly, I found the thin fingers of a shriveled old hand under my chin, lifting my face upward. Lady Fate, the Three-Faced-Hag, stood before me, clad in a gauzy gown, no longer a terrifying spider-horror, but a bent old woman. “I know,” she said, all three faces bearing thin smiles. “That is why you were chosen. Not because you are the best man, but because you are a persistent man. There is good in you, Yancy Lazarus, a better heart than you know. And, mayhap we cannot tell you all that you would know, but there are a few tricks I have yet for you. This is the seat of my power, after all, and that comes with perks.”