The Age of Ra (45 page)
''I can,'' said the old man. ''Or at least, I hope I can. It may not seem that way right now, but I honestly believe a change is coming. I have grounds for optimism.''
''I wish I did.''
''Not that long ago, you see, one man stood up and led a rebellion. You know who I'm talking about, of course.''
David half laughed. ''I have a fairly shrewd idea.''
The old man looked at him sidelong. ''Thought you might. And although this man turned out to be a charlatan, and the poor people who followed him just a bunch of well-meaning dupes, he nonetheless proved a point.''
''He did? And what was it? There's a sucker born every minute?''
''He proved that it was possible. Possible to stand up and tell the gods to, as you so decorously put it, bugger off. Possible to do that and have a significant number of others fall in line behind him.''
''But he was a fake. An opportunist. They're also saying he was a Setic stooge. The Setics set him up as a patsy, then shot him down once he'd done what they needed him to.''
''Maybe so,'' said the old man. ''But, for all that, he got a message out to the world. And perhaps someone, somewhere, has heard that message and been inspired by it. Perhaps, even as we speak, there's a young man, a young woman, who's seen what the Lightbringer stood for, not what he was, and is thinking, 'Yes, I understand. I refuse to be dictated to by the gods.' And that person will gather like-minded individuals around them, and another revolution will begin. A quieter, non-violent one this time. The kind of revolution that has a chance of success precisely because nobody has to die to promote it. A movement that spreads via word of mouth rather than the sound of a gun. And gradually, but in increasing numbers, people will turn their backs on the Pantheon, until a time will come when the gods have no more power here and there will be peace.''
''You're quite the dreamer, aren't you?''
''I am. Oh, that I am. But my feeling is, if I say this sort of thing to enough people, spread a message of my own, then I'm doing my bit. With every stranger I speak to, such as yourself, I'm helping pave the way for this other revolution to happen.''
''You do this a lot, then?''
''All the time now, my friend. All the time. It has become my vocation. Once I was quite an important chap, you know. Held high office. But I gave that up to become this. A wanderer. A traveller. From king of the earth to king of the road, you might say.''
David grinned. ''I could spin you a similar yarn. About giving up status.''
''Tell me, did you do it for a good cause too?''
''I thought so. The first time. I'm sort of doing it again now, and this time I
know
it's for a good cause.''
''Love?''
''How did you guess?''
The old man tapped his forehead. ''I'm smart. And, you have that look about you. It's in your eyes. You're seeing beyond that horizon over there. You're seeing something - some
one
- far away. And that's where your heart lies.''
''Couple of days and I'll be back there. Freegypt.''
''Freegypt? Fine place to be. Been meaning to visit it myself again, one day.''
''Again?''
''Oh, I was there. Long time ago. Before you were born. If I could call anywhere home, that's it.''
''Maybe we'll run into each other there, sometime.''
''That would be nice, I think.''
''I'm down Luxor way.''
''I like Luxor.''
Bast the cat let out an impatient meow.
''All right, little one, all right,'' the old man said, picking her up and stroking her. ''Let's move on then, if you insist. No manners, cats,'' he said to David. ''They do as they please. Mind you, they let you do the same. They don't judge. They don't make demands. That's why I like them.''
He held out a hand to David.
''Nice chatting with you,'' he said, as David grasped and shook it. ''And don't forget what I said. It's not hopeless. This age we're in - the age of Ra, I suppose you could call it - it won't last. The time has to come when an age of wisdom and clarity takes over, an age of Reason. We just have to keep hoping and trying, and it will happen.''
He shuffled away, petting his cat. David watched him and watched him till he was a dot at the far end of the beach.
He didn't know what to make of the encounter, or of the man himself. Crazy tramp with delusions of having been some sort of dignitary once? Eccentric ex-dignitary with delusions of being a tramp? Who could say?
The wind continued to bluster and the waves to crash, and the glitter of sunlight on the sea deepened from platinum to gold. David kept wanting to turn and head for the house, but his feet seemed entrenched in the pebbles, stuck fast. The tide crawled in. The day ebbed.
Soon the sky was red and the sun was setting.
David thought of Ra on his barge, and Set slaying Apophis.
And then, with an effort, but not a great one, he banished the thought.
And the sun went down like...
... like...
... like the sun going down.
Acknowledgements
I'd like to thank many of the usual suspects. The author friends who've shared thoughts, ideas, jokes, whinge sessions, alcohol, and games of online Scrabble with me: Keith Brooke, Eric Brown, Pete Crowther, Roger Levy, Adam Roberts, not forgetting the mighty Vole Pogrom. The non-author friends who've done much the same, especially Ariel, Beak, Chris, Johnny, Larry, Ron, and Tim. The brilliant blokes at Solaris - George, Christian, Mark - for giving me this opportunity. And Lou, of course, for the continuing love, support, and inspiration.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
James Lovegrove published his first novel at the age of 24 and has since had more than 20 books out, including The Hope, Escardy Gap (co-written with Peter Crowther), Days, The Foreigners, How The Other Half Lives, Untied Kingdom, Imagined Slights, Worldstorm, Gig and Provender Gleed. His short fiction has appeared in magazines as diverse as Interzone and Nature and in numerous anthologies. He has written extensively for reluctant readers, with titles such as Wings, The House of Lazarus, Ant God, Cold Keep, Kill Swap and Dead Brigade. He has also produced a sequence of teen fantasy novels, the Clouded World series, under the pseudonym Jay Amory. He is a regular reviewer of fiction for the Financial Times and lives in Eastbourne on the south coast of England with his wife Lou, sons Monty and Theo, and cat Ozzy.
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This ain’t a complicated story, but then Cade wasn’t a complicated man. He didn’t exactly care about people, did Cade, but if one of the people he almost cared about was in trouble, he’d help out if he could. If that meant heading down to San Francisco – even though nobody ever came back from there alive – well, fine. If that meant taking on whole armies of religious maniacs, coupon-clipping cannibals and helter-skelter hippies who dealt out free love and fast death in equal measure, armed with nothing but his two fists and a decent hunting knife… well, I’m kind of runnin’ my mouth here. This ain’t a peaceful story, is what I’m tryin’ to say. And Cade… Cade wasn’t a peaceful man.
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