World's End (Age of Misrule, Book 1)

by Mark Chadbourn

  Veitch didn't seem convinced. "We can't see anybody sneaking up on us here."

  "If we keep the doors locked, we can drive off if anything comes near," Ruth suggested hopefully.

  Tom shook his head. "We need to keep watch at the bend in the road. We can pull the van out to block the road at the last minute before he sees us."

  "And you think somebody's going to volunteer to go out there on lookout?" Veitch said.

  "We should all go," Church said. "Safety in numbers."

  "I should stay here, ready to pull out when the car comes," Shavi said.

  "There will be plenty of time to get back and behind the wheel when we see the headlights," Tom replied.

  "What about Laura?" Ruth stroked a couple of stray hairs from her forehead.

  "She'll be fine here with the doors locked." Church turned to Tom. "How will we know his vehicle?"

  "It'll be the only one on the road in this place at this time."

  "You have all the answers." Church became even more aware of the chill once the engine was switched off. He wished he had the sword with him. As he opened the rear doors and jumped out, he felt as defenceless as if he had both hands tied together.

  The others followed him silently, with Veitch on his guard at the rear, his eyes constantly searching. They took up position at the bend in the road, although it was impossible to stand still for too long; wherever they were, their backs were to the dark, brooding trees, which made them all feel uncomfortable. Several times they turned with the unmistakable feeling that someone was just behind them.

  Tom had been correct; the vantage point allowed them a clear view of anyone approaching. Veitch repeatedly complained they were too far from the van until Ruth threatened to shove him in front of Callow's vehicle if he didn't shut up.

  Despite the danger, Church felt a tingle of wonder when he opened himself up to their surroundings. He had never experienced a night so silent-no drone of cars or distant rumble of planes, and the air had the clear, fresh tang of the pine trees, as if all the pollution had been drained from it. It was so intoxicating it seemed unnatural-an irony that was not lost on him-and he wondered if it was another by-product of the change.

  Their conversation dried up quickly, until the only sound that punctuated the silence was the stamping of their feet to keep warm. They never lowered their guard for a second, even though they kept watch for the better part of an hour. But instead of getting used to their situation, the atmosphere of menace increased gradually until it became so claustrophobic Ruth complained that she felt like being sick.

  "Tell you what, I could shoot his windscreen out," Veitch suggested. Church could tell from the timbre of his voice that he was only speaking because he couldn't bear the now-unpleasant silence any longer.

  "Guns are so symptomatic of the worst of what went before," Shavi said. "They do not have a place in this new age. I feel the more we rely on the old ways, the more likely we are to bring something terrible down on our heads."

  "What, more terrible?" Church said.

  "I'm sick of people moaning about how bad guns are," Veitch said. "What, you think we should go back to swords? Have you seen what damage they can do?"

  "Have you?" Ruth snapped.

  After a pause, Veitch replied, "No, but I can guess."

  Ruth was about to attack this line of reasoning when she suddenly did a double take at Tom. "You're bleeding," she said.

  Blood was trickling from both his nostrils. Tom dabbed at it with his fingertips and then examined them curiously.

  "Hang on, can you hear something?" Veitch began to look around anxiously, but the night seemed as silent as ever.

  Church became aware of the unpleasant expression on Tom's face. It didn't seem to be a reaction to his nosebleed; more as if he were struggling with some terribly disconcerting thoughts. "Are you okay?" he asked. "Is it the illness again?"

  Tom looked at him with an inexplicable expression of such horror Church fell instantly silent.

  "There is something," Veitch said insistently. "Listen!"

  "Will you shut up!" Ruth snapped. "There's nothing! You're just winding everybody up!"

  Tom choked, raised his hand to his mouth. Church noticed with alarm there were now trickles of blood at the corners of his eyes, and another seeping out of his left ear. "Jesus!" he said. "What's wrong with you?"

  "Wait!" Shavi said. "Ryan is right. There is something." The two of them were looking with concern all around.

  Ruth glared at both of them, then looked to Church for support. "Is everybody going mad?"

  Church turned to the van, thinking of Laura. It did seem too far away. "Maybe we should move back that way a little," he suggested.

  Tom pitched forward, clutching his head. Blood spattered on to the road surface. Kneeling like a dog, he retched and hawked as if something was stuck in his throat.

  Anxiety transfixed Veitch's face. Ignoring Tom, he gripped Church's shoulders. "Let's get out of here. Something bad is going to happen."

  "I agree," Shavi said.

  But Church was already crouching down next to Tom, one arm around his shoulders. "We have to get help for him. This looks serious."

  "Church?"

  Ruth's quizzical, faintly unnerved voice caught Church's attention more than anything the others could have done. He looked up into her face, now pale and troubled.

  "I can hear it," she said edgily.

  And then he could too. It was reedy, high-pitched, almost beyond the audible range, jarring in its intensity. A queasy sensation bubbled in his stomach. It reminded him of the cry of sea birds, yet continuous, and with a vague, uneasy human quality that was intensely disturbing.

  "What is that?" he said, rising to his feet, Tom now forgotten.

  "Look." Shavi had walked ahead of them a few paces to peer into the trees on the upward slope. "Is there something in there?"

  "I said let's get out of here!" Veitch snapped.

  Shavi was correct; shadows seemed to be flitting amongst the trees, oddly lighter in quality than the surrounding gloom.

  Tom made another stomach-churning retching sound deep in his throat. Droplets of blood were flying everywhere.

  "Why won't he shut up?" Ruth cried uncharitably. Her fearful thoughts played out on her face.

  We should run, Church thought, but the shadows' strange movements and the shrieking sound that was emanating from them were so hypnotic he was rooted to the spot.

  The shapes were sweeping down the slope towards them across a wide arc. And as they drew closer they appeared grey and oddly translucent, as if they were filled with smoke, finding consistency only in their proximity to whomever was viewing them. Church caught his breath when he realised there were scores of them. Their movements were strange and jarring, almost a dance amongst the trees, twisting and fluttering like paper in a breeze. Church couldn't understand how they could have substance and no substance at the same time.

  And then as they drew closer still, Church could make out their grey faces; they were women, quite beautiful in their way, but with hollow cheeks, eyes staring, unblinking, mouths frozen wide to make that terrible scream. They were wearing billowing shrouds and their wild hair streamed behind them. Church, Ruth, Shavi and Veitch were frozen in horror.

  "What are they?" Ruth asked hoarsely.

  "The Baobhan Sith."

  Church was shocked to hear the croaking words come from Tom's mouth. He had rolled on to his back and was staring crazily at the sky.

  "The Baobhan Sith?" Church recalled the sharp pang of fear he felt as he lay under the quilt in the Salisbury hotel room while the unseen thing prowled around the room. Then he realised Tom had uttered the name without seeing. Terrible understanding gelled in his mind. "You knew this was going to happen! You led us here on purpose!" he shouted at Tom with dismay.

  Tom made to reply, but all that came from his mouth was a gout of blood.

  It seemed to break the spell, just as the Baobhan Sith were on the verge of e
merging from the trees. As one, Church, Veitch and Shavi turned and bolted towards the van.

  Still caught in the horror of the moment, Ruth simply backed across the road. For an instant reality seemed to hang in the air, and then suddenly everything erupted in too-fast speed. The Baobhan Sith burst from the trees, now a monstrous hunting pack. The sharp retort of Witch's gun came and went ridicu lously. Most of the shades swarmed round and descended on the fleeing figures of Church, Shavi and Veitch, screeching with an animal ferocity. Although their forms still seemed insubstantial, Ruth saw them latch on to her friends with hideously cruel fingers. And then they seemed to sweep up, as if they were lighter than air, and their mouths seemed to open wider than was possible, revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth. The last thing she saw before she tore her gaze away were the heads swooping down, jaws about to snap shut on her friends' exposed necks.

  The remaining Baobhan Sith were coming for her. They bypassed Tom, as if he were not there, and danced across the road. Ruth continued to back away hurriedly until she was moving into the trees on the downward slope; she had to escape so she could find some way to save the others. The ground fell away sharply. Her heels kicked, didn't find any purchase. And then, as the shriek of the Baobhan Sith seemed to fill everything, she was falling, turning over and over as she plummeted down the slope, feeling the branches and brambles tear at her skin, rolling faster and faster until everything became a blur of fear and pain.

  chapter nineteen

  flight

  uth came to a rough halt against a drystone wall, knocking the air from her lungs and stunning her for the briefest moment. She had leaf mould in her nostrils and mouth and myriad scratches across her face and hands. Coughing and spluttering, she scrambled to her feet, the terror rising within her as images of the Baobhan Sith burst like fireworks in her mind. Desperately, she glanced back up the slope. There was no sign of them in pursuit, but she could hear the haunted shrieks floating down through the budding branches. It wouldn't be long before they found her.

  The thought of having to flee through the wild countryside filled her with dread. Her best option would be to find somewhere secure to hide, but how easy would that be? Glancing round, she discovered she was resting against the garden wall of a tiny cottage. It appeared ancient; the thatch came down to just above the ground floor windows, which were barely larger than portholes. What walls were visible appeared as thick as the length of her arm, to keep out the bitter winter winds. It was surrounded by a neat garden containing a handful of fruit trees that were so gnarled and twisted with age they looked like old men gossiping on a street corner. But Ruth was warmed to see a golden light glowing behind the curtains and the air was scented with the aroma of woodsmoke rising from the large stone chimney.

  The shriek of the Baobhan Sith seemed unpleasantly near-she didn't have time to weigh her options. Cursing as she cracked her knees and shins, she clambered over the wall, dropped into a bed of herbs and ran round the side of the house to the front door. It was oak and so weathered it probably hadn't been replaced since the cottage was built. A cast-iron bootscraper stood next to it, alongside a broom made of a branch with twigs bound for bristles.

  Although she felt frantic, Ruth knocked on the door as calmly as she could, so as not to frighten whoever lived there. The inhabitant must have heard her run round the house, for the curtain at the window next to the door twitched in an instant; Ruth caught a glimpse of glittering eyes in a woman's face before the curtains fell back.

  But still no one came to the door. The nerve-jangling cry of the Baobhan Sith sounded just beyond the garden wall on the other side of the cottage now. There wasn't time to flee anywhere else.

  Ruth hammered on the door with all her strength and this time it did swing open. The woman was in her late fifties, her hair long and silver and tied at the back with a black ribbon. Her cheeks bloomed with the broken capillaries of life in the cold Lake District gales. She stood several inches shorter than Ruth, but she was just as slim and elegant. For a split-second she searched Ruth's face, and what she found there must have been agreeable, for she grabbed Ruth's wrist tightly to drag her inside, slamming the door behind her. Three iron bolts shot across an instant later.

  Ruth sucked in a lungful of air. "There's something out there-"

  "I know what's out there," the woman barked. "Come away from the door!"

  They were inside the woman's sitting room, which was spartanly decorated. It was lusciously warm from a log fire banked up in the wide stone hearth. A cracked and aged dresser stood against one wall and a similarly ancient dining table against the other, on which were arrayed a collection of corked pot containers; the contents of a few-seeds and dried herbs-were scattered around. Other herbs hung in bunches from the rafters creating a heady, perfumed atmosphere. A rush mat lay on the flags near the fire, but the only other item of furniture was a heavy wooden armchair with a floral cushion right next to the hearth. A sandy cat was curled up next to it.

  "We could barricade ourselves upstairs. Try to keep them out till dawn-" Ruth began.

  "They won't even know we're here if we don't draw attention to ourselves." The woman watched Ruth suspiciously, her eyes still glittering in the light of the fire. "What are you doing around these parts at this time? It's no longer safe to travel by night-nor even by day, really."

  "I didn't have any choice," Ruth replied. The full force of what had happened hit her and she rested against the back of the armchair, placing one hand over her eyes to try to clear the image of the Baobhan Sith attacking Church, Shavi and Veitch. When she'd blinked away the tears a moment later, she brought her hand down and noticed the woman was staring at it intently.

  She suddenly lurched forward and grabbed Ruth's wrist, turning her arm over so the palm was uppermost. The mark Cernunnos had scorched into her flesh was revealed in the firelight.

  "Goddess!" The suspicion drained from the woman's face and was replaced by awe. When she looked up into Ruth's face, her features were now open and smiling. "These are very strange times. Sit! I'll brew up a pot."

  "There's no time!" Ruth protested.

  "There's always time. I've cast a spell of protection on this place. It's invisible to any of those hideous things crawling around out there these days. But we can't go out until the ones after you have gone or they'll have us in a moment. Times when you can relax are few-grab hold of them!"

  Ruth reluctantly allowed herself to be pressed into the armchair, but her thoughts were in chaos and she felt a desperate urge to run away, even though there was nowhere she could go. The heat from the fire was comforting after the attack, but still she felt like crying after the strain of it all; everything seemed to be going wrong; Tom betraying them was one blow too much.

  "It's all a bloody awful mess!" she said, her voice breaking. "No. I've got to help them!" She jumped up and ran to the window. Outside, the Baobhan Sith roamed, their wild eyes ranging over the vicinity. Ruth knew she wouldn't get five yards from the door. Dejectedly, she trudged back to the fireside.

  "Cheer up, lovie. It's always darkest." The woman hung a blackened kettle over the fire, then placed two mugs, a strainer, a tin of tea leaves and some milk and sugar on a tray with the pot. "I'm Nina, by the way."

  "Ruth." She rested her head on the back of the chair and closed her eyes. "What's all this about a spell of protection?" she added wearily. "It seems like everybody can do something they shouldn't these days."

  Nina laughed. "You're right there. I spent ten years studying the Craft, working on spells and rituals. Sometimes they worked, or seemed to work, in a halfhearted way, but very rarely. It always seemed more like wishful thinking on my part. And then just after Christmas it was like I'd had an electric charge! I could do things I never dreamed of? It was ..."-she laughed again-"... magic!"

  "Everything's changed," Ruth said morosely.

  "Oh, indeed. At first I thought it was just me, like after all this time I'd suddenly chanced on the knack. But then I saw w
hat was happening all around and I knew it wasn't me at all. It was the world." She noticed the gloom in Ruth's face. "It's not all bad-just different. The magic is back. How it probably was centuries ago. That's a cause for celebration."

  "You really can do stuff?"

  "Not great, world-changing things. Just the skills we were always reputed to have. Controlling the weather, communing with the birds and animals, making potions that work. It's the link, you see. With nature. It's solid now." She pointed at Ruth's hand. "But you should know. You're one of us. Greater than me, certainly. That's the mark of the Horned Hunter, consort of the Mother Goddess."

  Ruth shook her head. "I don't know what you're talking about. I've never been into all this."

  There was an unmistakably dismissive note in Ruth's voice, but Nina wasn't offended. "Your brain may not know, but it's there inside you. Or you wouldn't have received the mark. You're a wisewoman, no mistake. You just need to learn and apply yourself."

  "With all due respect, I can't see myself doing, you know, whatever it is you do. I'm a lawyer."

  Nina laughed. "What, you think only embittered old crones like me get to learn the Craft?"

  "I didn't mean-"

  Nina silenced her with a goodnatured wave of her hand. "The only qualification is being a woman. And probably having a natural aptitude for the necessary skills. Take me-I wasn't always how you see me. I just happened to like the traditional lifestyle." She motioned around the room. "I used to be in medical supplies. Worked all the hours given to build up the business. Then my Ralph was taken suddenly. Brain tumour. He didn't suffer long." She fell silent for a moment, the weight of memories adding age to her face. "After that, work didn't seem important. There wasn't much of my life that did." She smiled sadly. "It's terrible, isn't it, that it takes a tragedy to point out that all the things we trick ourselves into relying on in our lives have no substance? We have to have something to believe in-it's the way we're made. But once work and the family disappear, you start to wonder what there really is to have faith in. I fell into the old religion. At first it just made me feel good. Then it started to feel right. Now I can't imagine being without it."