by Robin Jarvis
Aidan gave the rotund officer an infuriating wink as he slid past but, before joining the chief inspector, the gypsy paused.
‘Never too late to change,’ he said more gently than before. ‘A little less lager, a lot more exercise and a huge dollop of good manners will get you another forty years. Think about it.’
The sergeant wagged his head and stared after the curious man in wonder.
‘Teasing my officers?’ the chief inspector murmured when Aidan approached.
The gypsy put up his hands in mock surrender. ‘I admit I lost my temper,’ he said. ‘But they really are a pretty doltish lot.’
‘They're good people, doing a difficult job. Not surprising if they're a bit rough around the edges today—it's not been a particularly happy one. At least the reporters have packed up and gone now.’
The men regarded one another, the one in the brown frock-coat was much the shorter of the two, but the man in the uniform looked up to him all the same.
‘It's good to see you, Leader,’ he whispered, throwing his officers a cursory glance as he led Aidan aside. ‘You have no idea how relieved I am now you're here,’ he confided. 'This is beyond me—it's got us all completely baffled.’
‘So, Charlie,’ Aidan said quietly. ‘What happened?’
Hargreaves conducted him along the verge to an area where the grass was flattened and an assortment of objects lay unattended and curiously out of place upon the turf.
‘This is how they left it. We haven't a clue how the vehicle was moved, no tyre marks—nothing.’
With a profound sadness which betrayed its marks upon his swarthy face, Aidan gazed upon the campsite of his friends. This was where he had left Eden's Bus only the previous evening. There was the box the dogs slept in and there upon its side was a large water container.
‘Did you find anything?’ he asked.
The chief inspector moved a little further across the grass. ‘There was some blood over here,’ he stated. ‘We don't know whose yet. Leader, they... they're all dead you know.’
‘I guessed that they would be. Now—take me to it.’
*
Through the trees Hargreaves led him and, as they pressed deeper into the wood, the unpleasant smell of burnt timber mounted steadily.
‘It was a ruddy big blaze,’ the chief inspector commented. ‘Could see it for miles—but you'll see just how big for yourself when we get there.’
Tramping over the leaf mulch, Aidan noted numerous policemen scattered through the woodland searching through the thickets with long sticks.
‘Not all of them were in the bus when it exploded,’ Hargreaves uttered, choosing his words delicately. ‘One of them... well—we still haven't found all of him yet.’
Aidan squeezed his eyes shut as the information cut through him, then, with renewed determination, he forged on.
Now the trees that they passed were coated with a film of soot. A little farther in and they became charred and withered. Then, as they progressed on to ground that was still smouldering, the chief inspector turned stiffly.
‘This is it,’ he said. ‘It's not pretty.’
Moving aside, he let Aidan view the horrendous scene ahead and the little man staggered forward.
It was like stepping into a vision of Hell.
The world was suddenly stripped of every colour and only a stark coal-black wasteland remained. All that was left: of a wide area of dense woodland was a stunted forest of cindered stumps which chinked and chimed as they cooled, pouring countless strings of bitter smoke heavenward.
A thick carpet of ash smothered the incinerated soil, and Aidan's feet sank deeply into the downy layers of carbon as he gazed upon the wreckage which lay in the centre of this blasted devastation.
There, ruptured into three large, twisted fragments of buckled and mangled metal, were the shattered remains of the cheerfully painted coach his friends had once lived in.
Unrecognisable in its cremation, the vehicle's fractured frame sprawled across the fired landscape like the crashed ruins of an airline disaster.
Blistered and burned in the inferno, the once vibrant colours had given way to a torrefied shell whose windows had melted, and patches of bubbled glass dotted the surrounding embers.
In and around the vehicle's tortured skeleton, forensic teams wearing white paper cover-alls were meticulously sifting the debris and hunting through the scorched remnants, overlooking nothing.
‘Rhonda, Luke, Owen, Dot, Patrick,’ Aidan grieved. ‘An evil way to die.’
The chief inspector came and stood beside him. 'The bodies have gone off to the path, lab.’ he said grimly. ‘Can't be many worse ways to go than burning to death.’
‘That's assuming they survived the fall.’
Hargreaves stared at him, ‘Fall? If you could shed any light on how this accident could possibly have happened, I'd be most grateful. How does a coach get inside a wood, without leaving any kind of trail then blow up like this? It just doesn't make any sense.’
‘There you go assuming again,’ Aidan told him. ‘This was no accident. Something is stirring, Charlie—something great and terrible.’
Crossing the desert of ash, the tails of his coat flapping behind him, he went to take a closer look at the roasted wreck—to the astonishment of the forensic scientists in their sterile coverings.
Hargreaves hurried behind him, gesturing to the others that the odd little man had his permission to be present.
Like a dog searching for a scent, Aidan roved amid the destruction, halting occasionally to squint at a battered scrap of bodywork to try and figure out which part of the coach it had originally came from.
Watching this eccentric interloper weave in and out of what should have been their exclusive domain, the scientists became gradually more irritated until they finally put down their instruments and complained to the chief inspector who attempted to placate them.
‘Charlie!’ Aidan shouted abruptly. ‘Come see this.’
Hargreaves hastened over to where the gypsy was kneeling before a distorted sheet of perforated metal and crouched beside him.
‘This is a section of the roof,’ Aidan remarked. ‘But what do you make of these ragged holes?’
‘Looks almost deliberate,’ the chief inspector breathed. ‘Too regular to be a result of the explosion. As if something ripped clean through it on purpose.’
‘That's exactly what happened. The bus was seized by the roof and hoisted off the ground, must've been pretty high too—then it was dropped here.’
Hargreaves rose. ‘That's impossible,’ he hissed. ‘Apart from a whacking great crane, what on earth could have done that?’
Aidan ran his fingers over the jagged rents and, in a quiet, despairing voice, murmured, ‘Valkyrja?’
A deathly expression stole over the chief inspector's face and he choked back an exclamation of horror.
‘Valkyries...’ he gasped. ‘But that's impossible—it's preposterous!’
Lost in turbulent thought, Aidan slowly drummed his fingers upon the punctured metal before stretching to stand beside his old friend.
‘Don't disappoint me, Charlie,’ he said in a hushed, mournful tone. ‘Where's your learning? You're descended from Askar folk same as me, you go to the museum every year like I do to adorn the fountain and look for a sign—you know there are all sorts of possibilities in this world.’
‘Even so, Valkyries—in this day and age? They were supposed to have been destroyed in the early time.’
Aidan held him with his powerful eyes. ‘The tales say that only the hosts were vanquished,’ he reminded him. ‘The unclean spirits were never captured or brought to book. Somehow the twelve servants of Woden have returned. Those malevolent creatures the Gallows God created to overthrow the Nornir are back amongst us.’
There was a silence as both men considered this terrifying prospect.
‘The Fates are in hideous danger,’ Aidan eventually said, rousing himself from his doom-filled thoughts. �
�I have to get back to Glastonbury—I've been away too long already. Verdandi has left the museum, she is heading for the Tor. If those nightmares find her...’
The chief inspector agreed, but scanning the devastation around them and looking at his officers, he wondered what he should tell them.
‘Charlie,’ Aidan snarled, knowing what was passing through his friend's mind. ‘It doesn't matter any more. The end is coming—don't you understand? If the Valkyrie are loose, there's nothing any of us can do! We're human and they're not. Those vile abhorrences are beyond us and the best you can do is to quell the panic for as long as you can. Say what happened here was a freak accident after all. Don't let the public know—not yet.’
Hargreaves nodded briskly. ‘I won't,’ he promised. ‘Now you go Leader, the Nornir need you. Don't fail them.’
Taking hold of the policeman's hand, Aidan shook it desperately then whisked around the sped over the cinders to plunge into the trees beyond.
‘The destiny of the Fates themselves is in your keeping now,’ the chief inspector whispered hoarsely. ‘From the darkness which awaits us—I pray we will all be spared.’
Chapter 19 - Verdandi
Reaching Wellhouse Lane, where the outlets for the two springs came washing down the tarmac to gurgle into the grids, Miss Veronica rested upon her walking cane and drew a hand over her eyes, smudging the lashes painted upon her lids. 'Oh, dear,’ she panted. ‘What a long road that was. Celandine could have danced its entire length—I wish I had her stamina. It's so very tiring being away from the museum, so very, very tiring.’
At the old woman's side, Edie Dorkins was watching the rust-coloured water of the red spring mingle with the clear of the white.
Laughing, she jumped from the pavement and capered to the centre of the sloping lane where she kicked and splashed in the shallow channel, stomping to the other side where she spun around upon the tips of her toes.
‘This the way up the hill?’ she asked, pointing to the track which lay behind her.
Miss Veronica peered at the tree-lined path and carefully picked her way through the swashing spring water, drenching the dirty white satin of her gold embroidered slippers.
‘It does appear to be the only route,’ she agreed. ‘Edith dear, hold my hand—I do believe I'm trembling with nerves.’
The girl took the shrivelled, shaking hand and wondered how long it would take the old woman's feeble legs to stagger up the Tor. Together, they walked across a cattle grid and stepped upon the narrow path.
Hemmed in upon both sides by tangled briar and tall hawthorn trees, twilight had come early to the trackway. Through this shadowy murk, Edie and Miss Veronica doggedly plodded as the path curved around and upwards, but already the strain of even this simple climb was beginning to take its toll upon Miss Veronica.
Presently the bordering trees and hedges came to an abrupt stop at a metal gateway and the inspiring spectacle of the Tor was unveiled before them.
At once Edie ran to the railed barrier and poked her head through the bars. From here on the ground rose more sharply than before and she could hear the breath wheezing in Miss Veronica's throat.
Ignoring the imposing view for the moment, she studied the old woman and pouted truculently.
With one hand upon her cane and the other pressed against her breast, the youngest of the Websters looked as though she might collapse. Under her overcoat, her frail form was shivering with exhaustion and her haggard face was pinched with crippling fatigue.
‘You park yourself down for a bit,’ Edie told her, patting one of the two upright stones which formed an unconventional, graveyard-like stile at one end of the gate. ‘There ain't no way you can get up there without a breather.’
Miss Veronica shook her head and gazed at the child with a curious gleam in her milky eyes.
‘No,’ she said, gasping for breath. ‘There can be no delay. Soon the sun will be setting.’
‘But you won't make it!’ Edie sternly told her, folding her arms and jutting out her chin.
A secretive smile flickered over Miss Veronica's white-powdered face. ‘Oh, Edith,’ she uttered with amusement, ‘did you really think I could ever allow my Captain to see me as I am now—a hunch-backed, decrepit old hag? No, my dear, I am not as mad as all that. I know that it is Verdandi he wishes to meet, not this raddled, liver-spotted, painted cadaver.’
The child didn't understand what the old woman meant, but Miss Veronica leaned against the gate and, taking the walking cane in both bony hands, lifted the pearl handle to her crabbed, vermilion-smeared lips.
‘Awaken,’ she crooned softly. ‘Verdandi summons you—oh, rod of life and doom. Though you are far from the seat of your power, listen to my command and do my bidding.’
Holding it out in front of her she waited. Then, as Edie watched, faint filaments of glimmering light began to rise within the woodgrain just as it had done in the Websters’ poky apartment in the museum.
Up around the stick the light spiralled, until it pulsed and sparked with a livid glow that dispelled the gathering shadows and poured a verdant brilliance upon the old woman's infirm figure.
‘Hear me now,’ Miss Veronica's cracked voice ordered, ‘you who was made from sacred timber torn from the mighty Ash. With your aid I did tally and measure the span of all who dwelt outside the circling mists and know too well the extent of your strength. Grant this then, bestow upon Verdandi one final service. Count back through the score of my years—give me back a day. Let me be as He remembers, for a little while.’
The cane crackled in her hands and the glare blazed upon her withered features as she closed her bag-ringed eyes. Above her, the knotted branches of the hawthorns flashed in and out of the settling dark and the wondrous radiance flooded over the pathway bejewelling the stones and dappling the weeds with a lustrous splendour.
Bathed in the dazzling beams, Miss Veronica bowed her head. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured.
Edie held her breath in anticipation as the flickering rays danced in her wide eyes, but Miss Veronica was now ready to continue.
Squeezing her brittle bones through the gate, she set foot upon the open, grassy slopes of the Tor. The magical light began to waver and dwindle, until only occasional flecks of cold green flame lapped about her walking cane.
‘Hurry child,’ she said anxiously. ‘See how the night gathers in the distance—I must not be late.’
Edie scampered after her.
The late afternoon sky had darkened and the summit of the great hill was already shrouded in shade as they started to climb, yet from the moment she caught up with Miss Veronica, Edie was aware that something remarkable was taking place.
Wherever the old woman's slippered feet trod, the scrubby, winter grass writhed and flourished, becoming rich and luxuriant, and the lush footmarks shone as though basking in the light of a bright summer morning.
Wheeling about to gawp at this glorious, shimmering trail, Edie squealed in delight, for the thick grass was spreading to form a wide, sunlit path that stretched ever outward, flowing in all directions until it reached the railed gateway and the hedges beyond.
Suddenly, the naked trees burst into bud and the new leaves gleamed in the unnatural sunshine, even though the sky above was just as dark as before.
Gambolling across the sweet-smelling grass, Edie gulped great lungfuls of the now warm, deliciously perfumed air.
‘Don't dawdle,’ Miss Veronica called to her. ‘Stay by me or time will rumble over you and you will be lost.’
Feeling the invisible sun of a fair June day that had ended long ago upon her upturned face, Edie stared at her companion amazed.
With every step she took, the old woman was changing. Her strides were becoming increasingly vigorous and even as Edie watched, her bent spine clicked and groaned until it was straight and strong.
Like melting ice, the ages were dissolving from Miss Veronica. The chalky powder crumbled from her face and the crudely daubed lipstick faded as her mottle
d, scraggy flesh was drawn tightly over her cheekbones.
Beneath the fine eyebrows, which only a moment ago had been charcoal arcs drawn too high upon her forehead, Miss Veronica's eyes sparkled a beautiful cornflower blue and her long, jet black hair flowed behind her lithe figure like a river of shadow.
Gone was the weary, shambling crone who had wasted with the innumerable centuries and in her place walked a lovely, statuesque woman in the first flush of youth.
Halting for an instant, she removed her drab, cumbersome overcoat and cast it upon the ground, as the dirty silk robe which Miss Veronica always wore now rippled and shone like a searing white flame.
As a goddess she appeared, so pure and enchanting was her beauty. Her countenance was one which mortals would worship and die for—gladly perishing for the least token that she had noticed them.
Verdandi, of the royal house of Askar, was the fairest creature ever to have blessed the earth with her presence and, no longer in need of a prop to support her, she carried the walking cane lightly, whilst extending her other elegant hand towards the dumbfounded child nearby.
‘Do not fear, Edith,’ her fluting voice said. ‘Verdandi is returned as she was in the spring of her days, before the frost of age blighted her. Behold, it is a day filled with hope and wonder.’
As she spoke, Verdandi raised the rod and the lowering sky peeled away. From the remote horizon, across the glowing landscape, the gathering shades of evening were torn aside and scattered to uncover a brilliant canopy of sapphire blue.
A perfect summer day unfurled about them and, without uttering another word, the lovely young woman clasped Edie's hand and marched up the Tor.
Edie cast her eyes around them. The town of Glastonbury had completely vanished. Not a house, not a road, not a lamp post, not even a garden remained and only a vast stretch of uninhabited marshland extended towards the encompassing hills.
In shedding the years from Miss Veronica, the measuring rod of the Nornir had taken them both back to a time in her youth and Edie's face was split by a huge, exhilarated grin.
