Time seemed to stand still in the constant darkness. Ruth and Tom crept along alleys and down side streets, feeling their way, constantly listening for the sound of any approach. Occasionally they would come across groups of the Aztec warriors searching the empty streets or raiding a building to slaughter the occupants, and then they would be forced to retrace their steps and find another route. The warriors were everywhere and progress was excruciatingly slow.
‘They’re just running us around like rats,’ she snapped. ‘We need to take control.’
‘Perhaps you should conjure up some of that scary Craft,’ Tom said sardonically. ‘Draw a little attention to us.’
Ruth glared at him. ‘I wasn’t suggesting that. Besides, I choose the moments when I use my Craft. It’s not like some sword you whip out whenever you need it. There are repercussions for every use.’
Tom’s eyes glinted in the sapphire light from the tip of her spear. ‘Always a price to pay.’
Ruth hoped he didn’t notice the shadow cross her face. If she allowed herself a moment’s introspection, she realised she was afraid: of what the Craft would do if it was unleashed; of herself, of what she was becoming. Once before, the power had consumed her and she had almost destroyed everyone she loved. She could not let that happen again.
‘I smell smoke,’ Tom said, distracted. ‘A fire in this situation could be devastating.’
‘God, I hope the others are okay,’ Ruth said. ‘I hope Church was smart enough to stay put.’
‘He wasn’t, and it saved his life.’
Ruth and Tom jumped as Laura emerged from the dark at the end of the alley.
‘How did you find us?’ Ruth asked incredulously.
‘Blind luck.’ Laura glanced at Tom. ‘All of it bad.’
Tom snorted.
‘What are you saying about Church?’ Ruth pressed.
‘I just met him back there. The idiot couldn’t sit tight. Massive city, total darkness, everybody split up - the first thing you do is wander around, calling out names, right? Still,’ she added acidly, ‘love makes you do stupid things.’
‘Come on, what are you waiting for?’ Ruth was embarrassed by the eagerness in her voice.
‘Okay, Jesus, keep your pants on till we get there.’ Laura strode back down the alley, with Ruth and Tom stumbling behind.
‘Is he all right?’ Ruth asked.
‘Yeah, got out just before that café building burned down. I bumped into him while I was trying to stay one step ahead of those Aztec freaks. Persuaded him to sit still for a while.’
‘Why did he let you go off wandering?’ Tom asked suspiciously.
‘Because, grandpa, my plant eyes work better than human eyes. So shut it.’
Ruth noted a harsher edge in Laura’s mockery; the stress was telling, she thought, though Laura would never admit it.
Laura led them down a side alley to a small courtyard surrounded by three buildings. As they moved cautiously around the edge, they came across Church squatting on his haunches against one wall; he was holding something in his right hand that Ruth couldn’t make out.
‘Thank God,’ she said. ‘I was starting to get worried.’
Church stood up to accept Ruth’s hug, but as she fell into his arms, Tom called out, ‘Wait! There’s something wrong!’
Church spun Ruth and clamped an arm around her throat; one flex of his muscles and he would crush the life from her. As she struggled to free herself, Church craned his head around to peer into her startled eyes and she could see then that though he looked like Church down to the smallest detail, it was not him; his eyes were filled with cruelty, and his breath against her cheek smelled of raw meat. She was overwhelmed by a sudden feeling of dread so strong it almost made her faint.
‘What’s going on?’ Laura exclaimed.
Tom held her back. ‘Show yourself!’ he urged.
The one who was Not-Church held out his right hand, and Ruth could now see that he clutched a smoking mirror. A glimmer of half-recognition crossed Tom’s face.
As he turned the mirror, the hand and arm holding it became that of a jungle cat, black spots against white and orange fur: a jaguar, Ruth thought. And then it changed again, into a human hand, but with grey skin stretched tightly across bone. Afraid to look at the face but unable to prevent herself, Ruth glanced back and was convulsed with fear. It was like looking into the face of a corpse, the skin hanging in tatters from decomposing flesh, unmistakable feline qualities in the shape of the eyes and the tufts of fur clinging on to the skull-like pate. Black lines pulsed beneath the surface of his form, the sign of the controlling power of the Anubis Box; another of the gods the Void, and Janus, had chosen.
‘In the Age of the Sun, your kind knew me as Tezcatlipoca,’ he said. ‘Three spheres do I bestride.’ He raised the mirror skywards. ‘The night.
Death, in all its forms.’ And then he directed a lop-sided grimace-smile towards Tom and Laura. ‘And temptation.’
‘I’ve heard of you,’ Tom said, unable to hide his fear. ‘A shape-shifter. You killed the Caretaker.’
‘I hold this city now in my grasp, as I have held so many others in times long gone. This night will never lift. Death will never leave this place.’ He tightened his grip around Ruth’s throat, forcing her to the brink of blacking out. ‘And soon one more will join Death’s long parade.’
5
Church came round tied to a chair in a hot room filled with scores of sputtering lamps. Together, they just about held back the dark that swelled in the corners of the room. It was spartan, with bare boards, plaster walls and only an empty chair across from Church. His head ached and his throat was unbearably dry; it took him a second or two to recall where he had been when he was last conscious, and another second to recognise where he must be now.
‘Where are you?’ he called out.
‘Right here.’
The voice came from behind him. Slowly the Libertarian sauntered into view, his sunglasses reflecting the glittering points of lamplight. He spun around the empty chair and sat astride it.
‘I must have seen a lot of bad eighties movies,’ Church said.
The manufactured flamboyance evaporated and for once the Libertarian stared at Church with cold contempt. ‘I am not you.’
‘That’s not what you said in Beijing.’
‘I’m better. Right now I’m what you could never dream of being. In the same way that I could never imagine being you.’
The Libertarian continued to stare. Church was puzzled by the barest hint of emotion in a voice that previously had been all role-playing, and he had the strangest impression, although he did not know why, that behind the Libertarian’s sunglasses there were tears in his eyes.
‘So you’ve brought me here to debate our different philosophies?’
The Libertarian laughed; the facade returned. ‘Oh, what’s the point in that! Any difference will be over very shortly.’
‘Not going to happen.’
‘Yet here I am. And if there was even the slightest chance of you continuing down the primrose path with your unrealistically idealised world-view, I would not be standing before you.’ He waved a finger slowly at Church to emphasise his words. ‘Thousands of threads over thousands of years are finally tying together. Oh, if you could only see the full extent of the tapestry you would marvel at the wonder of it all! The rich complexity! I have the luxury of standing on the mountaintop and seeing how a stitch here and another there can create the world we want, while you are mired in the swamp, swatting away insects and wondering when the rain will come.’
With as little obvious effort as possible, Church strained at his bonds.
The Libertarian smiled. ‘I know what you’re doing. I remember that quite clearly, as I remembered exactly where you would be this day when my agent brought down the darkness. I find I’m remembering more and more the closer we get to the point of transformation.’ His lips quirked as if he was tasting something unpleasant. ‘A small price to p
ay, I suppose, for being able to interact with you at these vital junctures.’
‘But there are still a lot of variables, aren’t there? Or you wouldn’t be bothering with me. These x-factors . . . the little pushes and shoves I’m getting from the Oldest Things in the Land—’
‘Forget about those deluded creatures,’ the Libertarian snapped. ‘Their days are numbered. As you are aware, we have already eradicated one of them. The rest will follow. You cannot understand the magnitude of what we have achieved. The Oldest Things in the Land! Playing their little games since your world was built out of shit and piss. Always a part of everything, always powerful, and now they are falling before us, one by one by one.’ He stood up and bowed. ‘Our brilliance, incarnate. I thank you!’
‘What killed the part of you that cared?’ Church asked, sickened.
‘You think I am the villain of the piece. I am not. There are no villains in life, my young Jack Churchill. Nor any heroes. There are only people who want the things you want, and people who want the opposite. At the moment, you are caught up with your vision that people would be happier if they were completely free. That, in itself, is a trap. The choices, the striving . . . they only bring misery. No, better to be happy with your lot. To be content, and at peace. The Mundane Spell . . . the lack of meaning in everyday existence . . . surely that is a small price to pay for being content.’
‘War, corruption, abuse, sickness—’
‘All small prices when seen from the view of humanity as a whole. They do not affect everyone. Most people have steady lives.’
Church thought for a moment, then said, ‘Don’t you miss Sinatra?’
Pausing, the Libertarian appeared to be struggling to recall something just beyond his grasp. A shadow crossed his face.
‘ “Fly Me to the Moon”? How about your parents’ faces, on a summer day, when you were a kid? Don’t you miss Ruth?’
‘No!’ The Libertarian whirled, his features fixed with anger. ‘I thought I had already strangled the life from her in Greece, that’s how little I care!’
‘Don’t you miss the magic, Jack?’ Church said quietly.
In a rage, the Libertarian threw the chair to one side with such force that it shattered into pieces. Hurling himself at Church murderously, he pushed his furious face so close that it filled Church’s vision. When he spoke, each word had the stab of an assassin’s knife. ‘I know how much you love her. I know she is the prop that holds your fragile life together. And I know that she is the thing holding you back from reaching your destiny. Which is why I now have her.’
Church flinched as if he’d been hit.
‘Do I miss Ruth? I’ll show you. First I’m going to torture her till the pain blooms in her face and she can see no good in life. And then I’m going to murder her, slowly and agonisingly, and I’m going to dump her body somewhere you will never find it. No chance for mourning. No closure. Your ravens will peck away at her flesh, and then her bones will yellow, and crumble, and she will be gone, as if she never existed.’
Tears stung Church’s eyes. ‘I’m going to kill you.’
The Libertarian smiled. ‘That’s the spirit.’
6
When night fell across the Great Plain before the Court of the Soaring Spirit, the Enemy began its advance. Lost to the gloom, the first sign that Decebalus had of their movement was mounting vibrations in the ground, growing stronger, like the first tremors of an earthquake. The weather had worsened - something to do with the abilities of the remaining Riot-Beast, he guessed - and now torrential rain lashed their ranks and turned the ground around them to a sea of mud.
‘They will try to overwhelm us by sheer numbers,’ he said as he peered into the dark. ‘I am surprised they did not try it before.’
‘Perhaps they wisely fear your ultimate deterrent,’ Lugh responded. Behind him the silent, unmoving ranks of Tuatha Dé Danaan warriors glowed a dull gold.
Decebalus eyed him askance. ‘You know of that?’
‘I am a master tactician, after all. It is what I would have done.’
‘But would you have been prepared to use it?’
‘Thankfully, I will never have to find out. That is now your burden, Brother of Dragons.’
As a low, mournful call rolled out across the great plain from somewhere in the vicinity of the city walls, Lugh started and looked around hopefully. ‘My brother, one of the most powerful of the Tuatha Dé Danaan. Missing for so long. Is he joining the fray?’ When he saw Decebalus’s puzzled look, he added, ‘In the time of the tribes, he was known as Cernunnos, but your kind have a great many names for him, as befits his status. The Green Man. Jack o’ the Green. He walks in the beating heart of nature, and pulses with the lifeblood of Existence.’
‘Of course I have heard of him,’ Decebalus said. ‘He has helped the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons many times. Though, I must say, he has never seemed quite like you Golden Ones.’
‘My brother is like us, and is also greater than us. His influence straddles many Great Dominions, as befits one of the Oldest Things in the Land.’
‘He is one of those strange creatures, and also one of you?’
‘The Oldest Things in the Land are a higher force, and they draw to them those who can help shepherd the ways of Existence.’
‘A force for good, then.’
‘A force for a plan that transcends the concepts of good and evil that Fragile Creatures love to clutch to their breasts for comfort. The universe is not simple, Brother of Dragons, and its pattern is lost to all of us.’
The mournful howl rolled out again, but was subsumed by the rising tramp of thousands of feet and the pounding of the downpour.
Rain sluicing from his head, Decebalus said, ‘Nearly here now.’ Flickering lights could now be made out in the dark - the torches of the enemy - stretching as far as Decebalus could see in a horseshoe formation from foothill to foothill around the city. ‘Closing in. Nowhere to run.’
‘You are a strange being. You sound as if you are almost enjoying this desperate situation,’ Lugh said.
‘We only truly find out what it means to be Fragile Creatures when we are closest to death. Your men are ready for the assault?’
‘Of course. This will be as glorious as the Second Battle of Magh Tuireadh, when I slew the great Fomorii god, Balor.’
‘Then it is time to engage the Enemy.’ Pulling his sodden cloak around him, Decebalus strode back to his own ranks where a bonfire hissed and crackled, and pitch-soaked torches struggled to stay alight in the storm. The Brothers and Sisters of Dragons sheltered patiently in the tents, looking out of the huge unfurled doors towards the Enemy. As Decebalus moved past them, nodding to the leader of each unit, he saw how alike their expressions were, all of them laced with fear, all trying to hide it, preparing themselves mentally for the battle, knowing that death was likely. Through it all, the Pendragon Spirit blazed in their eyes.
Next to the fire, where everyone could see him, he announced loudly, ‘The time has come! We go now to meet the Enemy. Our job is to harry down the middle. We strike fast, retreat, regroup, strike again. We have speed and skill on our side. On your left flank will be the Tuatha Dé Danaan, well-drilled, relentless. They will find their line and hold it until they or the Enemy are gone. On your right flank will be the brute force we need to blow the Enemy asunder. The Asgardians have more power than sense—’ a laugh ran through the group ‘—and we will use that, along with a few surprises to keep the Enemy on their toes.’
Raising his sword high, he shouted, ‘We are Brothers and Sisters of Dragons! Though we die, we live on in the Pendragon Spirit. What we fight for can never be destroyed. This day . . . this battle . . . is the reason for our existence. Two thousand years of history leading to this point.
Our Brothers and Sisters who are not here are counting on us to drive the Enemy back, to buy them time to save all Existence. We shall not fail. Do you hear me? We shall not fail!’
His voice became a roar tha
t soared up to the heavens, and it was joined by all the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons, one voice of defiance carrying out across the plain. As he turned, they strode out from the tents behind him, those who had taken the role of cavalry to the horses, the others forming ranks for the ground battle. The fear was gone as if it had been washed away by the rain. There was only determination, come what may.
Decebalus summoned one of the Brothers of Dragons, Andy Cairns, a Scottish archer with black wavy hair and a sword scar on his right cheek. ‘Andrew, prepare your archers.’
A moment later a hail of flaming arrows soared across the plain, igniting a liquid that Math had prepared in his tower and which Decebalus had spread in a huge defensive arc around their forces. A wall of fire rose up twenty feet into the air; Math had told him it would burn for at least an hour.
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