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

by Mark Chadbourn

  Ruth watched her as she used a teacloth to lift the hissing kettle from the fire. She warmed the pot, then put in the tea leaves, adding a pinch of spice from a dish on the side. "My own special recipe," she said conspiratorially. "Gives it a little kick. It's how they drink it in the Middle East."

  "What's it like to be able to make things happen?" Ruth asked as she took her mug. "It's the kind of thing you always dream about as a child."

  "Well, it's not like any of that fairybook stuff," Nina replied a little brusquely. "You can't just wish and make things happen. It's all about controlling energy-the invisible energy of the world. I always saw it as a science that the physicists haven't got round to explaining yet." She smiled at the curiosity in Ruth's face.

  As the fire blazed and as they sipped their spiced tea, Nina explained about the Craft while Ruth attempted to batten down her anxiety and desperation; she wanted to be doing something, not listening to old stories. When Nina mentioned the triple deity of mother, maiden, crone, though, Ruth's heart quickened as she connected with her visions of the mysterious girl.

  She related her experience to Nina who smiled and said, "See. You were called long before you realised. And probably a long time before that."

  "There was an owl-"

  Nina nodded towards the cat on the hearth. "We all have our friends."

  Ruth stared into her tea, trying to divine her feelings about what she was hearing. The stubborn streak of scepticism her father had instilled in her as a girl was still there, but her instinct was beginning to shout louder.

  "Look, this is all too much to get my head round right now. I can't stay here talking. There's got to be something-"

  She made to rise, but Nina stopped her with a hand on her thigh. "I might be able to help you."

  "How?"

  She thought for a moment, then said, "We can fly up, see what has happened to your friends, get the lie of the land. Then, once you have the knowledge, you'll be able to decide on your course of action."

  "Fly?" Ruth said incredulously. "What? On broomsticks?"

  "No, no!" Nina said sharply. "Stop falling for the old propaganda, please! I'm showing you how it really is." She paused, and added with a smile, "But actually yes, on broomsticks, only not the way you think!"

  Ruth sat back down. She covered her eyes for a moment, suddenly aware she might break down in tears if she allowed herself to think about her situation too closely. "So you're probably the only person in the area who can help me and I ended up here by chance. I don't like coincidences."

  "There are no coincidences. Once you understand there's an invisible world, you can see that." Nina took her hand and pulled her to her feet again. "If you really want this, you will have to do exactly what I say."

  "I'll do anything to save my friends."

  Nina nodded understandingly. "Come, then. Take off your clothes."

  When Ruth hesitated, Nina made hurrying gestures, then turned to the table and went along the rows of jars until she found the one she wanted. Ruth undressed a little unsurely, but Nina just pulled her dress over her head. She was naked beneath it. Her breasts had long lost their firmness and she had shaved off her pubic hair, but she walked around completely unselfconsciously. She opened a cupboard in one corner and pulled out a broom like the one Ruth had seen outside the front door.

  As Ruth stepped out of her knickers, she was shocked to see what appeared to be a tiny little man slowly lowering himself upside down from the chimney to peer at her curiously. Ruth pointed and yelled out, "What's that?" at which point a look of dismay crossed its face and it disappeared from where it had come.

  Nina seemed as unconcerned as if it were the cat who had entered. "One of the brownies," she said distractedly. "They seem to have settled in here. They help me out quite a lot with the cleaning at night."

  While Ruth stared at the chimney unsurely, Nina gently pushed her back into the chair, then sat down before her on the rush mat, the broom and jar beside her.

  "As with all these things, you must place your trust in me and always do as I say," Nina stressed.

  Ruth nodded.

  Nina opened the jar and dipped in two fingers. When she removed them they were covered in a greenish cream, which she proceeded to smear over the end of the broom handle. "A little hemlock, some monkshood-sacred to Hecate-a little thornapple and a touch of belladonna." Then she lay back, opened her legs wide and placed the handle against her vagina. "It would be easier if you could help me," she said, "if you can overcome your embarrassment."

  "I'm not putting that inside me!" Ruth said in horror.

  Nina sighed and sat up. "The salve has an antiseptic quality, if that's what you're worried about."

  "That's not all I'm worried about! It's disgusting!"

  "Let's not be prudish," Nina cautioned like a school ma'am. "This is the way it's been done traditionally. When those who weren't practising heard about us riding our brooms, they got the wrong end of the stick, as it were. The vaginal walls absorb the active drug much more effectively. I could insert it in your anus if that suits you better," she added acidly.

  "I don't need a drug trip! I need help!"

  "That's what I'm doing!" Nina said with irritation. "It's not just a drug trip. The mind and body are separate entities. The drug in the salve enables our brain to free our spirit-selves so we can fly over the countryside, see things, hear things, gain knowledge, then return with it to our bodies. All the shamans and the mag- icmen and women in the old cultures use it." She laughed dismissively. "The scientists said their experiences were just hallucinations because there was no way they could really happen. I wish I could take a few of them along with me!"

  Ruth shook her head, still horrified. I can't do it, she thought.

  Nina seemed to read her mind. "Do you want to save your friends or not?" she snapped.

  Ruth stared at the broom handle with distaste for a long moment. Then she asked, "Are you sure this will do any good?"

  "A few months back I would have said no. Now ... of course!"

  Ruth grimaced. "Okay. I suppose. What do I have to do?"

  "Hold the handle." She opened herself up. "Now insert it gently." Ruth steeled herself, but Nina didn't seem concerned. She relaxed onto it, then closed her eyes. After a moment she motioned to Ruth to remove it. "Now it's your turn."

  Nina reapplied the salve to the handle, then positioned herself between Ruth's legs. Ruth's muscles were so tense she couldn't get the stick to penetrate, but whatever powerful drug was on it seemed to begin to affect her from even a cursory application. She gradually relaxed, allowing Nina to insert the handle. At first she felt a not-unpleasant burning sensation, but then it changed, so that she felt like warm syrup was slowly rising up her body from her groin. There was a definite sexual element to it; her clitoris engorged and she had a sudden, nearly overwhelming desire to bring herself to orgasm. But when Nina removed the handle, the edge was taken off her desire and she was able to look up and around. The quality of light in the room had changed; it was more diffuse and golden, as if it were being refracted through crystal. The edges of the furniture sparkled and shimmered and the crackling of the fire shushed and boomed like the sound of the sea.

  Then there was the odd sensation of her retreating into her body, as if she were looking out at the world from the end of a long tunnel.

  "Hold on," she heard Nina say distantly. "It's beginning."

  And then she was rushing out of herself, as if she had been fired from a cannon. She rocketed up to the ceiling, where she briefly looked down at her naked body staring with glassy eyes up at her; Nina was slumped next to her, one hand draped across her thigh. And then she felt as if someone had yanked a rope attached to her neck and she was dragged wildly into the fire, which fizzed coldly around her, and then up into the yawning black hole of the chimney.

  A second later she burst out into the night sky, swooping and swirling as if she were smoke caught in the wind. It took her a second to get her bearin
gs and then she discovered that, with the right mental effort, she could begin to control her movements. Ruth twisted in practice and caught sight of Nina floating over the thatch waiting for her. She looked beautiful, years younger, with a firm, full body. She smiled and beckoned.

  "Where are we going?" Ruth said, but no sound came out of her mouth. Nina seemed to understand nonetheless. She pointed along the valley, away from where the Baobhan Sith had attacked. Ruth looked at her curiously, but she acted as if she wanted to show her something important.

  And then she was away, rushing on the night winds. Ruth launched herself behind her, lost in the wild, exciting sensation of flying. She could feel the breeze on her skin, feel her hair flow behind her, but although she was still naked, she didn't feel the cold. It was a wonderfully exhilarating feeling as she swooped and soared, remembering a score of similar dreams, wishing she could never come down; it was so powerful it almost made her want to cry.

  The trees passed beneath her in a black carpet, the sweet scent of the pine floating up to fill her nostrils. With care, she could dive down and skim their gossamer-frail uppermost branches, leaving them waving in her passage. From her vantage point, she could see the landscape in its true form: alive; the sweep and swirl of the hillsides, the subtle gradation of colours in the grasses, the snake-twist of rivers, the mirror-glimmer of lakes, all linked into one awesome organism, each part affecting its neighbour. From there, it all made sense.

  A long, low hoot made Ruth look round to see her owl-companion flying in circles nearby. She waved to him, but he continued spiralling on the thermals without any sign that he had any connection with her.

  Nina's mad aerial dash slowed near Loadpot Hill. Ruth could read caution in her body language as she took advantage of the occasional treetop for cover. Eventually she came to a halt and pointed to something ahead, her face drained of the good nature Ruth had seen before; now she was fearful.

  Ruth followed her guide and could instantly see why. Rising up out of the isolated green hillside was something that reminded Ruth of pictures of enormous African termites' nests. It was the first part of a tower that was still under construction, covering an area the size of ten football pitches. Although it was fundamentally black, she could make out crushed cars and trucks, washing machines, fridges, plastic, girders and broken masonry embedded in its walls as if the makers had plundered the local communities for the material. Above it, the stars were obscured by smoke from a hundred fires burning a dull red, visible through ragged openings all over the tower. And as she watched, Ruth could see movement around the base of the construction, up its walls, on its growing summit; the termites were swarming.

  In her uneasy curiosity, Ruth flew a little closer, only to be disturbed by roars, shrieks and insane monkey chattering. She felt as if a terrible power had been turned on her, like a black ray projected from the tower; she suddenly became so cold her entire body shook, and an unbearable sense of despair began to gnaw at the pit of her stomach.

  It was numbing, but then she felt Nina frantically tugging at her arm. Her terrified face left no doubt that they had been seen. The fear was infectious, and as Nina pirouetted in the air and sped away faster than Ruth could imagine, she felt instinctively that whatever was being built there would be too terrible to even imagine.

  Nina's panic lessened only once they had put several miles between them and the black tower. They followed the landmarks back to the cottage, and then Nina took the route Ruth had first expected, up the hillside to the road above. As they neared where the van had been parked, they dipped down beneath the treetops and made their way cautiously among the upper branches until they found an eyrie where they could peer down on the stretch of road like two ghostly birds.

  The van was still there, glowing white in the moonlight, but weaving in and out of the trees in a wide circle around it were the Baobhan Sith, no longer shrieking or as wild and predatory as they had been earlier. Tom was sitting a distance away, his head between his knees. Church, Shavi and Veitch were on the ground, slumped against the van. They weren't moving and blood stained their clothes and skin; Veitch, in particular, had a ragged wound in his neck where Ruth had seen the spectral creature prepare to bite. Her first thought was that they were dead. Her stomach knotted and she felt like bursting into tears; another part of her told her that wasn't the case. With an effort, she calmed herself and watched.

  Not long after, the silence was broken by the drone of a car engine as twin beams splayed light over the trees. A nearly new BMW, but with deep, fresh scratches on its wing, screeched to a halt near the van. Callow's grinning skullface was behind the wheel; in the back seat an ominous form was sprawled with a car blanket pulled roughly over it. Ruth could tell from its shape that a man lay beneath it; she guessed it was the car's former owner.

  Callow stepped out with a flamboyant flourish, leaving the headlights switched on so they spotlit Church and the others. "Mister Churchill! So pleased to see you again!" he said, grinning superciliously.

  At his voice, Church stirred and looked around. When he saw Callow, rage crossed his face and he forced himself to his feet. A second later the Baobhan Sith were around him, shrieking and gnashing their teeth, and they didn't retreat until he had fallen again.

  "Nice little doggies!" Callow said after them.

  "You bastard!" Church yelled.

  Callow waved his finger and tut-tutted, but he didn't seem interested in engaging in conversation. Instead, he walked to the rear of the car and opened the boot. The Baobhan Sith looked towards it and hissed as one, moving away from it before resuming their weird circling dance.

  As if in answer to the boot opening, Ruth realised she could just make out an odd, distant noise, like metal being dragged across gravel, and the kind of hideous animal sounds she had heard at the black tower. Callow turned in its direction and peered into the gloom. Slowly, his grin melted away.

  Ruth could feel whatever was coming on some instinctual level. Her skin, however insubstantial, was crawling, and she felt like snakes were slithering through her intestines. The Baobhan Sith seemed to sense it too; for the first time she saw them motionless, facing in the same direction as Callow. The air seemed to swell with feverish anticipation.

  Tensely, she watched the shadows that clustered around the bend in the road and within minutes the night seemed to come alive with a greater darkness. An insectile swarming broke free from the gloom and headed towards the van. Although her eyes told her there were individual shapes, she felt there was just one hideous, dark creature, radiating an evil power that made her feel sick. And in the mass, the shapes themselves were difficult to distinguish, although she knew they were Fomorii. They continued until they were teeming around the van, the car, Callow, Church and the others, so that the road now resembled a churning black river.

  My God! Ruth thought. I never realised there were so many of them!

  One of the forms separated from the others and walked into the glaring circle of light thrown by Callow's car headlamps. It was a man with golden skin, long hair and a frail, spindly body; there was an air of sickness and decay about him, and however stylishly he had dressed, his long, white silk tunic appeared dirty. Ruth recognised him as Fomorii, although he was closer to how she had imagined the Tuatha De Danann. She guessed, from Church's description of his captor in the mine, that it was Calatin.

  Witch and Shavi were also conscious now, and Church was muttering something to them, although Ruth couldn't hear what it was.

  "Little rabbits!" Calatin said in a voice like breaking glass. "You ran the course I mapped for you so perfectly. How you slipped from your cell remains a mystery, but it was only a matter of time before the doors were left ajar. And from that point you did everything I hoped. Reclaimed the Quadrillax-a remarkable achievement. Even as Brothers and Sisters of Dragons, I thought it beyond you. And turned back the Wild Hunt too, though there was more of chance in that. But then this frail creature ..."-he motioned to Callow"... served his pu
rpose well. And now, for the first time, the Quadrillax are in Fomorii hands. We thought you too weak for the responsibilities laid upon you and we have been proven correct."

  Ruth winced at that and she could see it hit Church too.

  "Tom-" Church began weakly.

  Calatin's smile was so cold it froze the words in Church's throat. He turned and summoned something from the seething mass of Fomorii; a second later something glinting silver, small and scurrying like a spider ran out, up his legs and into his hands, where it formed itself into a dagger. Ruth recognised it: she had seen something like it before, at Heston Services when the Fomor had first tried to kidnap her.

  "The Caraprix," Calatin said, examining it. In his hand the dagger shifted its shape, became something indistinct but disgusting, then returned to its dagger form. Calatin showed it to Church as if it was explanation in itself, but when he saw Church's blank look, he continued, "Their fluidity and versatility makes them useful to us."

  "They are alive?" Shavi asked.

  Calatin looked at him as if he didn't understand. "They do our bidding in many different ways. Sometimes," he mused to himself, "they are almost companions."

  "What's this got to do with Tom?" Church looked at him, still slumped on the roadside nearby.

  Calatin eyed him slyly. "Oh, the pain of betrayal."

  Church winced, looked away.

  "When the wanderer fell into my hands, I saw the opportunity to have a subtle hand on your wheel." He held up the Caraprix, which wriggled in the light from the headlamps. "One deep incision is all it takes. Painful, but he remained conscious until the last. The Caraprix slipped in through the wound, attached itself in here." He tapped his temple. "It sits there still, tormenting him, doing our will."