The second door showed him pale and broken, alone in the flat the day after Marianne had died. Seeing the terrible torment frozen in a face that had never experienced such depths before brought back the intensity of the emotions and he slammed the door and ran down the corridor before any more of the tableau could present itself to him.
What could it all mean? He suspected that wherever he was lay outside of the existence he knew; time seemed to flow back and forth randomly and he wondered if it were possible to see any point in the past or the future. If he opened a door at the exact right moment, would he see Marianne in the weeks or days or hours that led up to her making her tragic decision to take her life? The thought brought with it a blast of such hope it made his head spin.
As if in answer, he rounded a corner and came upon another door. Nervously he stood before it for a full minute until he found the courage, and then he swung it open.
He was instantly deflated when the scene was unfamiliar: a green bank running down to a fast-flowing stream that passed under a stone bridge. Someone lay on his back in its shadow, the head and shoulders submerged in the foam, unmistakably dead. Church knew who it was before the white water cleared for a second to allow him to see the pale skin and staring eyes.
This was how he would die.
He threw the door shut and pressed his back against it, his head in his hands. He hadn’t looked much older than he was now.
How he kept going he didn’t know; his head was spinning and his emotions were so raw he wondered if he were having a breakdown. Nothing made sense. There was just a queasy disorientation and a sense of growing despair.
He wandered on in a daze until he realised something had changed: there was a faint trail of incense in the air, like the hint of a lover’s perfume in an empty room. Then, as he progressed, the music grew noticeably louder-for the first time since he had been in that place. The melody was powerfully evocative, of warm summer nights beneath a full moon, of the smell of pine forests and the taste of a cool mountain stream; yet despite the images that flashed through his mind the words seemed to be in some alien language, so exquisitely formed they wove in and out of the music to create something greater than the sum.
It made Church’s heart quicken until a sudden joy overcame all the negative thoughts that had been consuming him. He broke into a jog and then a sprint, any reticence left behind in the rush.
When the corridor opened into a wide, lofty room he almost tumbled into it. Ahead of him, windows twice as tall as a man ranged in a semi-circle, offering a prospect out into the void. An ornate, gold telescope stood in front of them. On either side of the hemisphere, braziers burned, filling the air with the sweet, soothing incense. Intricately designed tapestries hung on the walls showing a vast range of scenes like a more exquisite Bayeux Tapestry, while thick rugs lay on the stone flags. And looking through the telescope with her back to him was the woman who had appeared in his childhood bedroom.
She turned as he entered and her beautiful face was even more potent than in the vision through the door. Her cheekbones were high, her lips full and her skin seemed to glow with an inner, golden light that mesmerised him; her cool, blue eyes, filled with wisdom and passion, were so deep he felt he could never reach the bottom of them.
“Who are you?” In his head his voice sounded weak and pathetic.
She smiled and he instantly felt like his veins had been flooded with honey. “A friend.”
“Was that you singing?”
She nodded gently. “It is a song from the old world, from the time before times, about two star-crossed lovers capturing one night for themselves before they are torn apart. It is sad but beautiful, like all things that move the soul. Come closer.”
She held out one delicate hand and Church descended the three steps into the room. “You came to me when I was a boy.”
“Many times, always on the edge of dreams.”
“Why?”
“To convince myself you are who you are.”
“Which is what?”
“A Brother of Dragons.” She looked at him with a faint, curious smile, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Church shrugged. “I don’t know what that means.” But at that moment it didn’t seem important. What mattered was the tint of her skin, the faint emotion that flickered around the edges of her mouth, the musical timbre of her voice, the smell of her, like lemongrass and cardamon, so seductive he was mesmerised. Right then she could have said anything of importance to him and it wouldn’t have registered. Finally he became aware that he was staring and he blushed, looking around uncomfortably. “Where is this place?”
“It is called the Watchtower. A place between the worlds, neither human nor faery, neither sun nor moon, neither sand nor water. Time flows around it.”
“Is it your home?”
Her laugh was as musical as her voice. “It is a refuge for now. And, if you like, it is an adequate stepping stone for someone from your land. I would not wish to present the majesty of my true home to you until you were fully adjusted.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be here. I was curious-“
She took his hand and her fingers were as cool as a stream in summer. “You should be here,” she said forcefully, leading him to two carved wooden chairs, between which was a table on which was a jug with a thin neck and twin pewter goblets. “I have been waiting for you.”
Church looked at her curiously. “I didn’t know I was coming here until today.”
“I knew you were coming here.” She sat him down and poured him a drink from the tall jug. “Do not worry. The laws of my home do not apply here. You are free to take of this place what you will.” It looked like water, but the taste was heavenly, so complex on the palate that Church experienced a new flavour every instant until he gave up and just let it slip down his throat; it felt like liquid gold, glowing bright as it infused him.
“That’s amazing,” he said.
She nodded. Then her face slowly darkened. “There are many things of which we must talk, and time is growing rare. Your world is turning from the light.” Church felt a sudden frisson; Tom had used the same phrase. “The old Covenant has been broken and now the Night Walkers have returned to the land of man to shape it to their own way. They must not be allowed to succeed. In the time before time they defeated my people and brought in the Season of Eternal Night, a rule so bitterly vicious the Filid’s lays can bring tears from the coldest heart. The land was blighted, the people lived in permanent shadow and no corner of the world was free from suffering and despair. Never again.”
“The Night Walkers.” He knew whom she meant without questioning her further.
“They have always existed in darkness, crawling along the edge of the light, envying it and fearing it.” She looked down so Church couldn’t see her eyes. “They were the worst of the old races. The Great Destroyers, leeching the heat of life, leaving only the cold of the void. Their corrupt power laid waste to all before them.”
There was an odd tone in her voice that filled him with a creeping dread. If the creatures were as powerful as she intimated, it didn’t sound like all the mil itary might of humanity stood a chance against them. “Then who are your people?” he asked.
When she looked up her face was filled with such sadness he winced. “Most Glorious of the old races, known as the Golden Ones, Shining People of the Light, raised above all others.”
Suddenly Church could feel some of the pieces falling into place. “Your people and the Night Walkers were on our world sometime in the distant past? And you interracted with humanity in some way-“
“We ruled peacefully until the Night Walkers came,” she said proudly. “They defeated my people through trickery, not power, but only for a while. And when we struck back they fell before us and were made to pay for their deception.” Her flashing eyes were frightening in their intensity. Church knew he would not want to have her as an enemy.
But here was something that mad
e Church give pause: an age-old story stitched into the very fabric of human understanding. Two immensely powerful races, one of the light, the other of the dark, opposing each other in a war that shook the world while humanity trembled beneath them. He wondered how this woman and the terrible creatures they had seen under the bridge and at the services must have seemed to the ancient people who first encountered them. It was hardly surprising they had resonated down the millennia in legends and race memories, spawning the archetypes that were buried deep in the human subconscious. Suddenly he felt on the edge of something monumental, transcendental; the source of everything that mattered to mankind. He felt humbled by it all. “But where did you come from? Some other galaxy? A different planet?”
Her expression suggested she didn’t seem able to comprehend what he was saying. “We came from the Far Lands.”
“The Far Lands?”
She nodded. “And after the Covenant was forged, in the days of sorrow and joy that followed the second great battle, we returned to the Far Lands once more. The Night Walkers accepted their bleak purgatories beneath the lakes and seas. As victors, we occupied all that remained, the cloud-topped mountains, the thick, dark forests, the lush fields. We returned to our courts glittering with wonders.”
“And you left our world behind?”
“That was the Covenant.”
“And now it’s been broken. But then your people could help us! You have the power to-“
“The Night Walkers unleashed the Wish-Hex.” There was fire in her voice. “My brethren were swept away. A few of us escaped, to places like this, or to your world. Some were tainted by the Night Walkers.” Whatever this meant, it seemed to fill her with horror.
“And the rest?”
“In some empty place beyond the land, hidden from all our searching, prisoners-
“Isn’t there anything that can be done?” he asked passionately.
She smiled at his display of emotion. “That is why you are here, Jack Churchill.”
“What can I do?” It seemed such a ridiculous question he had trouble restraining the self-contempt in his voice, but he instinctively knew she would not accept any disrespect.
“You are not yet in tune with your heritage. When you find your true heart, the strength to act will come with it. Yet it is true, even then the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons would not have the power to defeat the Night Walkers alone. Yet you do have the power to free my people-“
“How?”
11 -given the right calling, given the correct conjunction of important things. And that is your task, Jack Churchill, should you accept my patronage. Indeed, it is your destiny, and if truth be told, you have little choice in the matter. Assemble the five Brothers and Sisters of Dragons who are one in spirit, the quincunx that make the hero foretold by the Faithi, who will save the Age of Man from the final threat. Locate the objects of power that will make the summoning.”
“This is all moving too fast. I don’t understand-” Church’s right hand began to shake uncontrollably and he had to replace the goblet on the table; he couldn’t tell if it was the weight of her words that had triggered the violent tremor or his subconscious rebellion at the threat of what lay ahead if he did as she said.
“Tell me,” he said, staring off into space, “those things I saw in the rooms-“
“They will come to pass.”
“Even if I refuse to take part in this?”
“They will come to pass.”
Church could still see his pale, dead face submerged in the water, his torment as he watched the burning city, and it seemed whatever life stretched ahead was bleak and despairing; but then, was that any different to the days since Marianne had died? Deep within him, something stirred; if he knew his burden, he would shoulder it as best he could, and if he could do some good for others then that would be enough. The woman was smiling as if she could sense his thoughts. “I’ll do what I can,” he said.
“The fire burns strong within you, Jack Churchill, though you cannot see it yourself.”
He sighed. “I wish I could say that gave me some comfort.”
He was surprised when the woman took his hand and wrapped her own around it, even more surprised when he felt some strange succour from the act; his heartbeat subsided, the stress seeped from his muscles, his shoulders relaxed gradually. Her voice, when she began speaking, was quieter than before, as if she were afraid the walls would overhear the secrets she was about to reveal. Church looked into her eyes, entranced.
“When my people first came to your land, they brought with them four objects of the most remarkable strangeness and power. They were touchstones for my people, prized above all else, celebrating our origins and our power, the culmination of our great tradition. Though our beginnings are lost to time, for we are an ancient race, the Filid tell of our days in four marvellous cities of the northland: Falias, Gorias, Finias and Murias. There, buildings of glass and gold soared to the clouds; the days were filled with glory, the nights with wonder. There, we learned magic, craft and knowledge, became aware of the weft and weave of nature and, eventually, transcended our humble beginnings to become gods. When we ventured abroad, we took a talisman from each of the magical cities so we would never forget our transformation and grow arrogant in our power. And finally, for we are a nomadic people, our journeying brought us to your land.”
There was a sadness in her smile as she recounted her tale; the heart of her melancholy, Church guessed, lay in whatever had encouraged her people to leave paradise, for having seen heaven, how could they truly know peace again? “And you want me to find these four talismans?”
She nodded slowly. “They will be like a candle in the night, leading my people across the void.”
“What are they?” Church asked.
“There is a stone which can recognise the true king of your land. The sword of our great war leader, which inflicts only a fatal blow. The Spear of the Lord of the Sun, forever exalted as the slayer of the Adversary, bringer of victory over the Night Walkers. And finally, and most importantly, the Cauldron of our Allfather, an object filled with such power to heal or destroy that few can survive in its presence.
“When we left your land for our new home, the talismans were hidden, for we knew the Night Walkers envied them and we could not risk them falling into their hands. And by then the talismens were too tied to the land to take with us,” she continued. “The Night Walkers would never have been able to use them, for they would have been consumed by the light the talismans contained, but they were such a vital part of my people’s tradition and pride that they were my people. And to see them in the hands of the enemy would have been more than we could bear.”
Something stirred deep in Church’s memory at her description of the artefacts, but the details wouldn’t come forth. “A stone, a sword, a spear and a cauldron. They seem familiar.”
“They have played important roles in the history of your land. Found, then lost again, they have been used to shape momentous events by some of the most consequential mortals to walk your world. Indeed, they are now as much a part of your tradition and pride as mine. They have become infused with the very essence of your world. And that is why only the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons can find them.” She paused as a shadow flickered across her face; in that moment, Church had the sense that she was something more than just the woman he saw before him, something alien and terrifying. “These are the forms you can understand. They are objects of pure power, their shapes defined by the stories. They have existed under other names, but at their heart, in your terms, this is what they are: a stone, a sword, a spear and a cauldron. But they have been missing for an age and though many have searched, none have found.”
“Then how will I find them? You said time is short, so surely you can’t expect me to spend years wandering the country, digging holes.”
She led him to a large oak chest in one corner which he hadn’t noticed before. The hinges creaked as if it hadn’t been opened for c
enturies, and from within came a strong azure light which he recognised from Stonehenge. Carefully she removed an iron lantern on a short chain with a hook on the end. The light glowed from a blue flame which flickered through the tiny bottleglass panes on the lamp’s four sides. She held it out to Church, who took it gingerly.
“You must take this back with you. It will light the way.”
“How?”
“Follow the flame. It is the essence of your world and is drawn to the talismans. Trust your instinct.”
A feeling of well-being flowed up the arm that was holding the lantern aloft. “Thank you,” Church said honestly. “I’ll do what I can.”
“Now-” she began.
“Wait,” Church said anxiously. “There’s so much more I need to know. Who are the five?”
“You will know them when they come together.”
At that moment, Laura emerged cautiously from the shadows of the doorway. She looked from Church to the woman.
“You did well,” the woman said to her. “He is the one.”
Church eyed Laura suspiciously. “Wait a minute, you were supposed to bring me here?”
“Don’t get antsy, Church-dude. I couldn’t take the chance you were going to get all yellow-bellied on me.” She seemed to be shying away from the woman as if she was afraid of her.
Church felt a bolt of awareness that made his palms sweat. “When you mentioned Marianne-“
“She told me the one I had to bring here would know the name and it would be reason enough to make him come.” Laura glanced at the woman, unsure she had said the right thing.
The woman’s expression was impassive. “You would have been drawn here in time-“
“But you knew that would get me here quickly.” Church felt his hands shaking and he hid them behind his back; he was almost afraid to ask the question. “This place looks out over all time, you said.” He swallowed; his mouth was too dry. “Do you know-” There was a flicker across the woman’s face that told him he didn’t have to continue the question; he could see she knew something.
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