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“Ah,” said Chandra. “And have any of these people ever actually transcended?”
“Fu
“Why is everyone staying well away from that one?” said Chandra, pointing entirely unselfconsciously. “Even the tourists are taking their photos from the other side of the Street.”
“Ah,” I said. “That is the Church of Sacrifice. Its priests have an u
“This whole Street is a disgrace!” said Chandra, rather more loudly than I was comfortable with. “None of these Beings are gods! Powerful creatures, yes, but not gods! Nothing worthy of worship. In fact,” he said, his voice suddenly thoughtful. “Many would seem to me to qualify as monsters . . .”
“Let us not go there,” I said quickly. “We really don’t want to start anything. We’re here to stop the Walking Man.”
“But I’m right, aren’t I?” insisted Chandra.
“Well, yes, quite probably,” I said. “But it’s still not something you want to actually a
“You think that will stop the Walking Man?” said Chandra.
“No. But then, his god is bigger than everyone else’s god.”
“I am a khalsa,” said Chandra. “I do not believe . . . that this Walking Man can do anything that I ca
“You can believe anything you like, on the Street of the Gods,” I said. “But that doesn’t necessarily make it true.”
There was the sudden sound of loud and angry confrontation, from further down the Street. I started ru
Lots of other people were ru
You just knew it.
I pushed my way through the crowd surrounding the Walking Man, and most people only gave me a quick glance before getting out of my way. Probably because they were curious to see what I was going to do. My name moved swiftly through the crowd, along with a sense of Now we’re going to see something . . . Chandra Singh stuck close behind me. I was huffing and puffing from the run, and he wasn’t even out of breath. And then the Walking Man opened his mouth to speak, and everyone fell silent.
“You aren’t gods,” he said, in a calm but still loud and carrying voice. “You’re spiritual con men, confidence tricksters offering false faith and false hope. Is there a greater sin?”
“Even false hope is better than none,” I said. “Especially in a place like the Nightside.” Everyone around me fell back to what they clearly hoped was a safe distance. The Walking Man looked at me, and I met his gaze firmly. I needed to get him talking, try to reason with him, before the horror I sensed hanging on the air erupted into bloody murder. There had to be a way to reach him. Before all hell broke lose.
The Walking Man did me the politeness of considering my words for a moment, then shook his head. “No. All of... this is just a distraction from the true God, the real God, and a real state of grace. God is God, and none of these pretenders can be allowed to continue in their offences. There’s no room for mercy when souls are at stake.”
“What are you going to do?” I said bluntly. “Fight your way into all the churches and temples, drag the gods out into the Street, and shoot them all in the head? Even if you could do that, which I rather doubt, there are so many of them, you’d still be at it years from now.”
“I have faith,” said the Walking Man. “And faith can move mountains, never mind a false Church or two.” He stopped and glared across the Street at a grimy stone edifice. “I mean, come on, look at that. The Temple of the Unspeakable Abomination. Who in their right mind would want to worship that?”
“Someone looking for an unfair advantage, probably,” I said. “It’s all about the deals you can make on the Street of the Gods. Faith is currency here, with valuable prizes to be won by the faithful. You can win good fortune, bad cess to your enemies, transformation or immortality, and everything in between, if you make the right kind of deal with the Being of your choice. Though the price will almost certainly be your soul, or someone else’s. And I don’t see that you’re in any position to protest. You made a deal, didn’t you? To put your humanity behind you and become the Walking Man?”
He glared at me, all the casual humour gone from his face, and when he spoke his voice was flat and calm and very dangerous. “Don’t press me, John Taylor. And don’t you dare compare me to the debauched fools and heretics of this corrupt and corrupting place. I serve the real deal, the one true God.”
“That’s what they all say here,” I said easily, refusing to be intimidated.
“But my god has made me strong enough to destroy all their gods,” said the Walking Man.
“Is that who you serve?” I said. “A god of blood and murder?”
He smiled suddenly, and I realised I hadn’t even touched his faith and conviction. “I am the wrath of God. I punish the guilty. Because someone has to.”
Chandra Singh pushed in beside me, positively quivering with eagerness to join the debate. He still thought we were only talking.
“I have no interest or affection for this place, but still, everyone has the right to worship who or what they please, in their own way,” he said earnestly. “There are many paths to enlightenment, and none of us are fit to judge them. Do you intend to kill me, for worshipping my god in a way that is different to yours?”