Darkest Hour (Age of Misrule, Book 2)

by Mark Chadbourn

  They stopped at a nondescript spot among the crumbling, brown gravestones. Melliflor took a step forward and bowed his head before muttering something under his breath. A second later the ground vibrated with a deep bass rumble, as if enormous machinery had come to life, then the grass and soil prised itself apart. From within the long, dark tunnel which had materialised Veitch could hear faint music that immediately made him want to dance; the tang of rich spices wafted out into the balmy night and he was suddenly ravenously hungry. But then he glanced up at Tom and all his desires were wiped clean; the Rhymer’s face was as white as a sheet and taut with the effort of keeping in his fear; a faint tick was pulsing near his mouth which, in the emotionless dish of his face, made him look like he was screaming.

  At the other end of the tunnel were a pair of long, scarlet curtains. Melliflor held them aside for Veitch and Tom to pass into a great hall which appeared to be the venue for a riotous party. The music was almost deafening; Veitch heard fiddles, drums, a flute, other instruments he couldn’t quite place, although he could see no sign of a band. A roaring fire in one corner made the air very warm, but not as uncomfortable as he would have expected at the height of summer. It was filled with an amazing range of scents, with each fresh waft bringing a new one: lime, pepper, roast beef, strawberries, cardamom, hops-so many it made his head spin.

  So much was happening in the hall, he couldn’t concentrate on one sense for too long. Long tables ranged around the outside of the room on which were heaped every food imaginable, though many he couldn’t recognise and some made him turn away, although he couldn’t explain why. In the centre of the room the Tuatha De Danann were dancing. Scores of them whirled round and round with wild abandon to the odd music, which occasionally flew off the register of Witch’s hearing. It was like a turbulent sea of gold waves crashing against the tables and the walls; it made him queasy to watch.

  The assault on Witch’s senses was so great he felt his knees go weak and for a moment he was afraid he was going to faint. But then the rush hit him powerfully and he was swept up in it all. His body was reacting as if he had taken a cocktail of drugs, some mild hallucinogen and an amphetamine; he wanted to fling himself into the seething mass.

  He was vaguely aware of someone on his right proffering a goblet of deep, red wine. Unconsciously he reached out to take it, his gaze still fixed on the dance floor.

  He was jolted alert by the weight of Tom’s hand on his forearm. The Rhymer was already thanking the young girl who had offered the wine with the studied politeness which seemed necessary to prevent any retribution. The girl looked disappointed and her face darkened as she turned away.

  Veitch bowed his head sheepishly as Tom glared at him; he couldn’t believe how quickly he had almost gone against all of Tom’s deeply stressed cautions. He would not forget again.

  His attention was drawn back to the dancing, and beyond it to the shadows that clustered along the edges. There he could just spy writhing bodies; the gods looked to be in coitus. He could just make out bobbing heads, violent thrusting, sensuous movements, and occasionally the sounds of passion broke through the music; but there was something about it which did not seem quite right, as if the bodies were not penetrating and enveloping, but flowing in and out of each other like mercury; merging. He looked away.

  Melliflor was at Tom’s side, hands cupped, falsely oleaginous. “The Queen was overjoyed to know you had returned, True Thomas. She will see you shortly. In the meantime, you and your companion be accepted as our guests. There is food and wine aplenty, the finest music in all of the Far Lands. Make merry, True Thomas, and be a perfect son of the Court of the Yearning Heart.”

  “And is it all given freely and without obligation?” Tom asked dispassionately.

  “Ah, True Thomas,” Melliflor said cunningly, “you know we can make no promises here.”

  Veitch and Tom found a pile of luxurious cushions in one corner from where they could watch the dancing. Veitch felt so comfortable after the exhaustions of the previous weeks he could have fallen asleep in an instant, but he was sure that was not wise. He was afraid to do anything in case he committed himself to something unpleasant and he wished he had listened more carefully to Tom’s instructions during the long walk to Inverness.

  Several times revellers walked up to offer jugs of wine or plates lavishly filled with juicy fruit or spiced meat, but always Tom politely refused. It was like a game the Tuatha De Danann were playing to see if they could catch their guests out; Witch could see them talking excitedly and pointing at him before an even more tasty offering was brought up. By the end Veitch’s mouth was watering and his stomach rumbling, and all he could do was think how long ago his last meal had been.

  Eventually Melliflor glided up. He bowed deeply. “The Queen will see you and your companion now, True Thomas.”

  The two of them were led out of the great hall along stone corridors hung with intricately embroidered tapestries and rich brocaded cloth. Braziers burned with scented wood so the atmosphere was constantly heady. They passed many closed doors and from behind them came strange, unnerving sounds; some sounded like yelps of pain, others like moans of pleasure; some it was impossible to distinguish.

  They were eventually presented to a chamber draped throughout its length and breadth with gossamer ivory silk which filtered the flickering light of the torches on the walls so that the room was infused with a dreamy white glow. The material was almost transparent, but hung in so many places it was impossible to see what lay at the centre. Melliflor bowed and retreated, silently urging them to continue. They pushed their way through the gently swaying silk, which felt like the wings of butterflies when it brushed their skin. As each layer was passed they could see shapes more clearly. Veitch’s heart began to beat hard in anticipation.

  Finally they were through to the middle of the room. The Queen lay on a bed made of luxuriant cushions, so deep they looked as if they would swallow her. Her face was more beautiful than anything Veitch had seen in his life; there was a cruelty there which counterpointed the beauty in such a way it made her even more desirable. Her black hair was long and lustrous, her lips full and red; her eyes sparkled with an inner green light. And she was naked, her golden skin shimmering in the filtered light. Her breasts were large, her nipples tautly erect, her waist slim, her hips shapely, her belly flat; the epitome of what many would consider a male fantasy, truly the Queen of Desire. Veitch wondered if that was how she really looked, or if it was a form she thought could manipulate him; he tried to tell himself that with the Tuatha De Danann nothing could be trusted.

  But then his eyes were drawn to her sleek, black pubic hair. She lay with her legs curled round so he could see her vagina. She made no attempt to hide herself; indeed, she seemed to be presenting herself to them. Veitch could see how Tom had been so entranced by her.

  “It is wonderful to see you again, True Thomas.” Her voice was lazy and filled with strange, enticing notes.

  “My Queen.” Tom bowed.

  “Come.” She waved them nearer. “Who is your companion, True Thomas?”

  They stood so close Veitch could smell the warm perfume of her skin. She looked at his face intently, her eyes dark beneath half-lids; Witch felt sucked in by them.

  “This is Ryan Veitch, my Queen. He is a Brother of Dragons.”

  “Ah, one of the champions of the solid lands.” There was none of the mockery or contempt in her voice that Veitch had heard in so many of the other Tuatha lle Danann. She sounded honestly interested, even impressed. He attempted an awkward bow, which seemed to please her. “You did us a great service by freeing us from the Night Walkers’ place of exile,” she said directly to Veitch. “You are in our gratitude. If there is anything you require here in my court, you only have to ask.”

  “Thank you.” Veitch was embarrassed his voice sounded so strained.

  The Queen suddenly noticed the colourful tattoos only half-covered by the sleeve of his jacket. Her brow furrowed in cur
iosity. “What have we here? Is that the Staff of Heart’s Desire?” She looked up brightly into Veitch’s face. “Please. Remove your shirt. I must see.”

  Veitch glanced at Tom who nodded curtly. Self-consciously he slipped off his jacket and shirt; on his naked skin, the tattoos gleamed vibrantly. The Queen leaned forward until her face was close to his hard stomach muscles; Veitch could feel her breath. “The Watchtower,” she mused. “And here, the sword, Caledfwlch. Amazing. You are a walking picture book.”

  She smiled seductively. Then, while her eyes were fixed firmly on his, she reached out gently until her fingers touched his skin just above his belt. A deep, uncontrollable shiver ran through him. Within an instant he had an erection so hard it was painful. The Queen kept her fingertips there a moment longer, then withdrew them just before he came. Veitch took an involuntary step back and sucked in a juddering breath.

  Her little game won, the Queen turned from Veitch as though he were no longer there and spoke directly to Tom. “You were always my favourite, True Thomas.”

  He bowed. “You are gracious, my Queen.”

  “Why have you returned to me? I thought it likely I would never see you again. I presume you are not here to seek my affection?”

  “We request your aid in a matter of great importance, my Queen.”

  “We, True Thomas?” Her gaze was incisive.

  “I request your aid, my Queen. And I will be forever in your debt if you will help me.”

  “That is indeed a gift worth having, True Thomas.”

  Veitch had the impression of an owner curbing her dog. Suddenly he could see the huge edifice of power and malice that lay behind her eyes, but that did not stop him desiring her.

  “One of the Sisters of Dragons has been infected with the taint of the Night Walkers,” Tom began. He paused while he formed his argument, knowing that everything depended on it. “That understates the situation. It is not a taint, it is the ultimate corruption. The essence of the Heart of Shadows grows within her. The Night Walkers seek to bring back the End of Everything.”

  “That is indeed a serious development.” Her gaze never wavered from Tom’s face; she didn’t seem even slightly troubled by the news. She shifted her position, raising her behind slightly so Veitch once again had a perfect view of her sex. “What is your primary wish?”

  Tom collected himself before he said, “To destroy the End of Everything.”

  Veitch started. “To save Ruth’s life,” he corrected sharply.

  The Queen’s smile grew as she looked from one to the other. “A disagreement?”

  “No disagreement.” Tom fixed a cold eye on Veitch.

  “There is no need to argue.” Her voice was like honey. “There is a possibility I may be able to help you achieve both your aims.”

  Tom bowed again. “Anything you can do to help us would be gratefully received, my Queen.” She glanced at Veitch and he realised he was supposed to prostrate himself too. He bowed awkwardly once more and muttered something that approximated Tom’s statement.

  It appeared to please her; she nodded and smiled. “There are many secrets here in the Court of the Yearning Heart, some which are hidden even from my brethren; even from the Court of the Final Word. Here, all things are given up eventually.” She sucked on her index finger as she thought deeply for a moment. “The Eddy-Ball,” she said with a certain nod. “A gift of great value to me.” A smile; the game had begun. “The orb opens out into the void between worlds. It has the ability to suck the essence from the solid.”

  “And this could be done without harming the Sister of Dragons?”

  “Of course. And the Heart of Shadows will find itself in a place where no shadows are cast.” This amused her.

  Veitch could barely contain his relief. Although Tom maintained his plain expression, Veitch could see the signs in the Rhymer’s face too.

  “Thank you, my Queen,” Tom said.

  “And you will do something for me. True Thomas?”

  His face grew taut. “Of course, my Queen.” Tom waited for her to demand he stay behind.

  She pretended to think, toying with him. “No, True Thomas, not you. This Brother of Dragons.” She glanced seductively at Veitch. “I will give the Eddy-Ball to him and him alone, and in return he will carry out a simple request for me.”

  “Anything,” Veitch replied before Tom could stop him.

  There was a triumphant note in her smile that made Veitch uneasy. “The Questing Beast has again escaped from the pits beneath us. It is loose in the solid world. It is my heart’s desire that this Brother of Dragons seek it out and destroy it, or at least lead it back here to the Court of the Yearning Heart.”

  Veitch could hear her words, but all he could see was Tom’s face, which had grown eerily bloodless. “The Questing Beast-” he began.

  The Queen silenced him with an upraised hand, her eyes watching Veitch’s face intently. “Will you do this for me?”

  Whatever doubts Tom felt, Veitch knew he didn’t have an option. “All right.”

  “Then I will make the arrangements. Go with Melliflor and he will provide you with all you require.”

  They moved slowly away until the gently stirring sheets of silk had swallowed up the Queen once more. As they walked, Veitch brushed against Tom and felt the trembling that was running through the Rhymer’s body.

  They were provided with two connecting chambers far from the noise of the Great Hall where they could rest and prepare themselves. They were both ravenously hungry, made worse by the plates of food left for them on tables in the corners of the room. Tom plucked from his ever-present haversack two bags of roasted peanuts he had been saving as a last resort, and they munched on them hungrily.

  Veitch was filled with questions, but at first Tom wouldn’t speak to him; it was almost as if he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He retreated to his chamber for an hour where he smoked a joint quietly on the deep, comforting bed.

  Veitch couldn’t begin to rest. His mind turned over all that he had experienced, but kept returning to the image of the naked Queen; it was beginning to torment him. And when he forced himself not to think about her, his eyes drifted to the food.

  When Tom finally walked in, he sat bolt upright with relief and said, “Come on. Spill the fucking beans. What am I up against?”

  Tom pulled up a chair and sat on it backwards, folding his arms on top of the backrest. “You and your big mouth, agreeing to anything she said.”

  “We didn’t have any choice.”

  “Of course we had a choice. They play games, barter, throw things back and forth. You don’t take the first thing offered. You were too hypnotised by the sight of her cunt.”

  “And you weren’t? You were almost down on your knees with your tongue hanging out!”

  Tom cursed under his breath and put a hand on his eyes. “There’s no point arguing about it. It’s done. We have to find a way to make sure you survive.”

  Veitch kicked the other chair so hard it flew across the room. “Come on, then. Talk. What’s this thing I’ve got to hunt?”

  “The Questing Beast. It’s a living nightmare, something that even the Tuatha De Danann are wary of facing head-on. Their own legends say it was there in Otherworld long before they arrived, one of the first creatures to exist after the universe was formed. They call it a Rough Creature. A prototype for what was to come, if you will. Not fully formed.”

  Veitch sat carefully on the edge of the bed. “If it’s in their legends-“

  “Exactly.”

  “So they’re sending me out there because they don’t want to have a go themselves. That’s par for the course, isn’t it? Those Bastards don’t like getting their hands dirty. So if they’re so wary of it, what was it doing here? And how the fuck am I going to kill it?”

  “The Queen keeps many dangerous things here at the Court. It’s a mark of prestige. How are you going to kill it?” He shrugged wearily. “I don’t know enough about it. Neither do the Tuatha De
Danann. But their distaste for it isn’t because of its power, it’s because of its imperfect form, which they find abhorrent in the same way they react to the Fomorii. Us, they can just about tolerate. Anything less is to be despised.”

  “So how dangerous is it?”

  “Very. Make no mistake about that. It escaped into our world several centuries ago, before my time, and many people died before it was driven back to Otherworld. The general belief of the time was that a mortal girl gave birth to it after having sex with the Devil. The legends that grew up around it described it as having the head of a snake, the body of a big cat and the hindquarters of a lion, which is just another way of saying the people of the time couldn’t describe it. It was said to give off a sound like forty hounds baying, or questing, in its stomach, and that’s how it got its name.”

  “So we don’t know what it looks like, just that it’s very fucking bad.” Veitch jumped to his feet and started pacing round the room; his eyes repeatedly strayed to the appetising food. “Well, it was driven off, so it can be done. It sounds like a big deal, but I’ll be hunting it, not the other way round. Anyway, it’s got to be, for Ruth, for Church and everything. Can’t fuck up now.”

  Tom realised he was talking to himself, planning, bolstering; it was like the ritual of a boxer preparing for a fight.

  After another moment’s pacing, he turned to Tom and said, “Okay, I’ve got my head round it. I’m going to get some Zs in now. We’ll do it when I wake.”

  As he left the room, Tom hid the fact that he was secretly impressed; once a conflict situation had been established Witch’s developing abilities made him like a machine. Fear or overconfidence didn’t burden him; he simply weighed up all the available evidence and decided what needed to be done. Tom hoped that would be enough.

  In the court it was impossible to know if it was night or day. But when Veitch woke his body told him he had had a good rest; the exhaustion had seeped from his muscles and he felt ready for anything. He was still hungry, but he knew he could find something to eat back in the real world.