Omega

by Stewart Farrar

  May had barely finished when the doctor arrived. He examined her, thanked Eileen and approved her treatment, and promised to look in again later in the evening about nine o'clock. He was obviously a friend, and Eileen wondered if he, too, was a witch; she could not help noticing that he never mentioned the police, not even to ask if they had been informed. Witch or not, he must know the local situation – and it seemed that May had not been exaggerating.

  After the doctor had left, May asked slowly but clearly: 'Eileen – Angela – you've been right good, an' I'm grateful. Would you do just one other thing – please?'

  They both said 'Of course'.

  May went on: 'Just sit with me for an hour or two. Jimmy an' our friends, they got a job to do.'

  They looked at Jimmy, surprised, and Eileen asked: 'You're not going to do anything stupid, are you? I mean, of course we'll stay, if May wants – but it's you May will be needing over the next days and weeks, and you wouldn't be much help to her in jail would you?'

  Jimmy looked her in the eyes and told her: 'I know that, don't you fret. The job's right there beyond that wall, in the next cottage. You need me, you bang twice on the wall, an' I'll be here in no time. But don't you bang unless that's real urgent. That job shouldn't rightly be disturbed in the middle, see?'

  Eileen didn't see but she caught May's pleading look and nodded to Jimmy. Jimmy leaned over and kissed his wife, taking her face in both his large hands. Then he said, 'Thank you both,' and was gone. '

  Over the next twenty minutes they saw, through the window, at least a dozen men and women arrive at the next-door cottage-May appeared to be' asleep, so they could do nothing but wait and wonder. No more people came next door and for a while there was silence. Then their ears picked up what sounded like a low, rhythmic murmur from a number of voices, more like a vocal drum-beat than a chant. After a gradual crescendo, it stopped dead; they thought they could hear movements and the clink of metal against metal; then again silence.

  May opened her eyes and smiled. 'He'll be back now.'

  Miss Smith asked, 'How do you know?', but May did not answer.

  A minute later Jimmy walked in and said pleasantly: 'I reckon you'd like something to eat now, wouldn't you? Mrs Wainwright next door, she's cooking for all of us. Half an hour, she says. How'd you like to try May's elderberry wine, while you're waiting? That's middlin' good.'

  While they drank May's elderberry which Miss Smith pronounced more than middling good, Jimmy apologized for not having spare beds but said they were welcome to put their caravan in the field on the other side of the cottage as it was getting a bit late for them to move on tonight.

  May had brightened a lot and even joked about not being allowed wine on top of the sedatives she'd had. By the time Mrs Wainwright produced her substantial meal, they were chatting happily about safe subjects – Miss Smith in particular enjoying herself exchanging country lore with Jimmy.

  It was nearly ten before the doctor came back.

  'Sorry I was held up,' he said as he timed May's pulse. 'I got called to the sergeant's house – you know, the new fellow. Heart attack. No apparent cause – he was sitting down watching telly at the time. I had to get an ambulance to whip him off to Ipswich General. Reckon he won't be back on duty for a month or two at least – and then they'll probably give him a desk job… Well, young lady, I'm very pleased with you. Picking up nicely. What you need now's a good night's sleep and I'll be round to see you in the morning. Here's some calamine for that sunburn and a couple of knock-me-out pills to take when you're ready to settle down.'

  On the way out, he turned and said casually: 'I wonder if they'll send old Sergeant Wells back? Everyone was sorry to sec him go. Knew our ways, that man did.'

  When he had gone, Jimmy and May gave each other a secret smile. Eileen and Miss Smith said nothing because neither of them knew what to say.

  Next morning was a Saturday, so Jimmy was off work without having to ask for it. The doctor, though still pleased with May, told her to stay in bed, so Miss Smith and Eileen said good-bye to her indoors.

  As Jimmy walked with them to the caravan, Eileen asked suddenly: 'Jimmy, do you trust me?'

  Jimmy grinned. 'That's a damn fool question after all you done for May.'

  'Right then, listen to me. If the earthquakes come back, watch out for a kind of mist or Dust that comes up out of cracks in the ground. It's absolutely deadly. But you can protect yourself by breathing through gauze soaked in vinegar, while the Dust's visible and for at least a couple of hours afterwards. Please believe that I know what I'm talking about. See that everyone you care for has gauze and vinegar handy from now on. But don't say who told you.'

  'You haven't told many people about it, have you?' Jimmy asked, looking at her shrewdly.

  'No. I worked for a while, after the Midsummer quakes, at a place where they were investigating the Dust, and that was about the only thing they'd found out about it by the time I left. And every time I tell someone, I'm leaving" a clue which could put them on my trail.'

  'Then I am grateful. We'll remember.'

  They climbed in, waved to him, and set off for the Midlands.

  9

  Moira jumped involuntarily when the knock on the front door came just before midnight on 2 August. Dan went to the bay window and peered through a chink in the curtains.

  'It's all right, love. It's John Hassell and Karen.'

  Moira let out a sigh of relief and hurried to the hall with Dan to welcome them. The last few days had tautened her nerves. Since they were a small coven, compact in their three adjoining houses and not publicly active, they had not so far been molested at home. This was a quiet, mainly middle-class area of Staines which might be expected to lag behind less inhibited places in open violence and they had always got on well with most of their immediate neighbours. But the signs were already there, in the eyes that were beginning to avoid theirs and in the whisperings just out of earshot. Besides, it was clear from their phone talks with other witches (the phone hardly stopped ringing these days) that the Crusaders were becoming more methodical in their intimidation, as though they were building up local lists and working their way through them. Their commonest tactic so far was the brick through the window, though there had been many street attacks on individuals, several of them brutal and none of them reaching the newspapers or, apparently, leading to arrests; and one house in Kettering and at least four cars had been burned.

  One policeman friend who was himself a witch had, riskily, phoned Moira and told her what he knew was happening in the Metropolitan force at least. All ranks had been told, though only verbally, 'not to interfere if possible in sectarian disputes', as the formula went. It had soon become clear that 'if possible' meant in practice 'except where a witch can plausibly be charged with an offence' and that any arrest of Crusaders would be frowned on. The order had aroused a good deal of resentment among the more conscientious officers but any who tried to ignore it found themselves promptly disciplined, directly or indirectly. At one police station in Lambeth everyone from the superintendent downwards had stood together on the issue and for a few days had been able to keep the local Crusaders under control. Within a week, all of them down to the rank of sergeant had been transferred elsewhere and the station restaffed under a notorious martinet.

  This call, disturbing as it was, had had the effect of strengthening Dan and Moira in their determination. They had had their moments of doubt as they checked and re-checked their vehicle stores; sometimes they had wondered what on earth they were doing, contemplating the abandonment of homes and jobs in the face of what might be a passing hysteria. But their instincts told them the hysteria was not passing but planned, and their police friend's call had confirmed it. As for jobs – Rosemary's had already gone, Dan's was becoming impossible, and even Greg's employer at the service station was beginning to talk vaguely of 'reorganization'. Dan, aware of his partner Steve's growing worry and embarrassment, had openly raised the question of Steve buying hi
m out. Steve's rejection of the idea had been hasty and not very coherent and Dan was sure it could not last. They had been friends for a long time but the business was patently suffering from Dan's known presence. It had reached the stage now where their typist was bringing him paperwork to do at home and even this was becoming increasingly nominal.

  And beneath all this, there was the certainty – indefinable but growing – that the Midsummer earth tremors were only a curtain-raiser. No, they were right to prepare for flight and they knew it. They found themselves spending more and more time studying maps.

  They were both glad and shocked to sec John. They had not met him since the inquest, and although they had expected to find him badly hit by Joy's death, they found the contrast between the bitterness in his eyes and his unnaturally controlled voice disturbing. In the hall, he received Moira's kiss and Dan's handshake with a flash of the old warmth but it was quickly veiled.

  They kissed Karen too, as was Wiccan custom, and Moira led them into the sitting-room while Dan went to fetch Greg, Rosemary and Sally, who were all still up.

  'When did they let you out, John?'

  'This morning. Mary Andrews and Nigel Pickering were in the same nick and we were all brought in front of the bench together at ten o'clock. We expected to get a chance to protest about being arrested and to plead our case, but all we got was a lecture from the beak – a warning to behave ourselves and give no trouble. Then he dismissed us before we could even open our mouths.'

  'Yes,' Moira said, 'it seems to have been the same all over. One or two of the others have phoned. Looks like the drill was cut and dried.'

  'What else did you expect?' Karen asked.

  'Oh, I don't know – a bit of local variation, I suppose. Magistrates have the reputation of being pretty individual.'

  Karen said 'Huh!' and at that point the others came in. Greetings exchanged, they all sat down and looked at John expectantly; he had the air of one about to deliver a statement.

  'You all know, I suppose, that Karen has taken over as High Priestess,' he told them almost stiffly. 'Sonia Forde has been appointed Maiden in her place.'

  'Good choice,' Moira said, looking at Karen with deliberate friendliness. 'Sonia should be a big help to you.' She had known Joy's uneasiness about Karen and had shared it, but the poor girl's in a difficult situation, she told herself, arid it's up to me to show support – for John's sake if nothing else.

  'Yes, she is,' Karen said;

  John went on: 'We came to ask what you are planning to do, in the present situation.'

  'Keeping our cars packed ready for a camping holiday at a moment's notice,' Dan said.

  'So are we, except that we're not waiting for notice. We're getting out the day after tomorrow, during the small hours. Our coven and Anna and Joe Fenton's. Nineteen of us altogether. We've got a place recce'd in Savernake Forest. Will you come with us?'

  There was a moment's silence. The others look at John with immediate interest but a warning bell seemed to ring in Moira's mind. |

  'What about Jean and Fred Thomas?' she asked. 'They were your oldest members, before you all hived off. Aren't they taking theirs with you?'

  'No, I'm afraid not,' John said. 'They think we're being premature.'

  Dan, who for all his logicality could still surprise Moira with his sudden shafts of intuition, shook his head. 'There's more to it than that, John – isn't there? More than just being premature?'

  John did not seem put out. 'Yes, Dan, there's more to it than that. Jean and Fred don't agree with our plan of campaign and their coven support them – all except one, Harry Earley. He's opted to come with us, so Jean's let him transfer.'

  'What plan of campaign?'

  'Dan, all of you… We have to face it – this is war. The powers that be are out to destroy the Craft. We can't let them.'

  'Of course we can't,' Greg put in. 'Why d'you think we're getting ready to take to the woods, too? Self-bloody-preservation. Not just as people but as witches.'

  'But how as witches?' John asked, with sudden vehemence. 'The other side are using every weapon they can lay their hands on. And so should we.'

  'What you mean is,' old Sally said, 'that you're going to work black.'

  Karen laughed. 'If you like to call it that. Yes.'

  'What do you call it?'

  'As Greg just said. Self-bloody-preservation. Which of us is pure white, anyway? Aren't we all various shades of grey?'

  'Of course we are – we're human. But most of us are grey trying to get whiter; grey trying to get black is something else again.' Sally did not often make speeches but once she got the bit between her teeth she did not pull any punches. 'You know the law of the Craft as well as I do: "An' it harm none, do what you will." Set out to harm people – worst of all, to use psychic power to harm them -and you're on the long slippery slope. You're heading for self-destruction.'

  'Even when the people you're fighting are evil?' John asked.

  'Good God, John – you're a High Priest, and you're talking as if you were initiated yesterday! You've seen what happens to people who turn black. They get away with it for a while, then sooner or later they crash. And only the Lords of Karma know how many lives it takes 'em to climb out of what they've done to themselves, never mind other people.'

  'In ordinary times, Sally, I'd agree with you all the way. But this is war. In war you shoot to kill – you have to. In peacetime it'd be murder. In war it's survival – not just yours, but the people you're protecting.'

  Dan came back into the argument. 'We've got other weapons, John. If somebody's doing evil, we can work magically to bind him – and it does work, you know that. Attacking him magically's different.'

  'Can you honestly say you never would?' John asked.

  'Oh Christ, of course I can't – like Sally says, we're human, and I can get angry like the next bloke. Look, John – say you'd known who it was had killed Joy and you'd used all your powers to hit at him – d'you think I'd have blamed you? I'd probably have helped if you'd asked me and there was no other way of getting at him. Maybe we'd have been wrong but we're not saints yet. I know if anyone harmed Moira, I'd lash out first and ask questions afterwards. But that's personal – and if you get too pernickety about how you defend people you love, could be you're piling up other sorts of Karma instead. But unless I'm mistaking you, what you're proposing is calculated, wholesale, impersonal black magic against opponents of the Craft in general. And that's different.'

  John had not yet said as much in words but Moira knew Dan was not mistaking him; still less was he mistaking

  Karen. And it was Karen who answered.

  'It is not different,' she said, and her dark eyes were burning with intensity. 'They're being calculating, wholesale and impersonal, and in everything but magic they're stronger than we are. We must be the same – with the weapon's we are strong in. Otherwise we go under.'

  'I don't believe it.'

  Karen laughed. 'I expect there were some who said that in the Burning Time. And they'd be the first to die.'

  'I'd rather die clean,' Dan said, too quickly and dramatically. Karen pounced on the opening he'd given her.

  'And watch Moira die clean, too? And Diana, and Sally, and Rosemary?'

  Dan darkened with anger and Moira stepped in. 'Let's cool the melodrama. John – Karen – I'm sorry, we can't go with you. We'll survive, but that's not our way.'

  There was silence again. John looked round them all; they could see the pleading behind the hard bitterness in his eyes but everyone was with Moira. There was no pleading in Karen's eyes, only a hint of triumph. She stood up, with a kind of sensuous arrogance.

  'Come on, John. We're wasting our time.'

  She made for the hall and after a moment's hesitation John followed her. Moira and Dan went with them.

  At the front door, John turned. 'Even if you can't join us – you won't let anyone know about it being Savemake Forest, will you?'

  'Oh, John!' Moira said, her voice full
of reproach.

  John sighed. 'Blessed be, you two.'

  'Blessed be. And please – think again…'

  But John shook his head and Karen smiled unashamedly in Moira's face. Then they were gone.

  10

  For about ten days Britain was suspended in what looked, on the surface at least, like an uneasy calm. Sporadic attacks on witches continued but at least they did not seem to be intensifying and no more major incidents or burned houses were reported, either on the media or on Moira's telephone. The Crusade was recruiting fast. Ben Stoddart and Quentin White had become national figures, and the organization had launched its own weekly paper, The Hammer. Street corner and door-to-door sales of the paper were obviously absorbing some of the energies which might have gone to smashing windows, but The Hammer was also providing a new focus around which the Crusaders could build both their public presence and their intelligence network. It was clear that any respite was only temporary while the Crusade absorbed the influx of recruits and consolidated itself. The paper was a clever mixture of religious, intellectual, and sensationalist appeal, and its main strength was that it went virtually unanswered. Press, radio and television were becoming more and more reluctant to give any prominence to liberal viewpoints. The Times and the Guardian still retained some semblance of balance but as Dan sourly remarked: 'When it comes to building up mass hysteria, it's the populars that matter. Get them in action and you can let the posh dailies do the fig-leaf job. They're just preaching to the converted and bloody few of them at that. It's the "don't knows" who swing the balance – and "don't knows" don't read long sentences.'

  'But how have the Government got the media doing as they're told so quickly?' Moira wondered. 'It's not natural – this is still England. They can't twist everybody's arm at once.'

  'It must be something to do with the earthquakes,' Dan said. 'The establishment knows more than we do, that's obvious. And they're blackmailing the top brass of the media with it.'