by Jodi Taylor
Whatever he was thinking, this young man wasn’t going to be of any use whatsoever. Not until the moment he realised what was about to happen to him and by then it would be too late. I redoubled my efforts to break free and just for a moment a complacent smile crossed his face. Did he think I was there for him?
The watching women redoubled the noise. There was chanting. And stamping. And screaming. The beat got faster. Some women pulled out their hair. Some scratched their faces, drawing blood, dark against their bone white faces. Hysteria had many in its grip. Their daughters watched, big-eyed and taking it all in. Learning for the future.
The Year King paused some twenty yards away and held out his arms. At once, two women stepped forwards. One of them was Alice Chervil, her colour bubbling dangerously. Hers was not the only one. Many others were going the same way. The signs of people about to lose control. The whole area around the stones was a shimmering sea of turquoise, blue and purple encircling a black heart.
Carefully – which was rather ironic considering what they were going to do to him in two minutes’ time – they removed his robe. He was naked underneath and very obviously enjoying himself.
He strutted – there was no other word for it – he strutted towards the stones and a bloody death. But the important thing was that he was free and he was close. If I shouted now then he might be able to hear me. He was young. He looked fit enough, a little soft around the middle perhaps, but he could run. Run for his life, out of the torchlight and into the darkness beyond. This was my last chance to warn him.
As if guessing my intention, Veronica glanced over and nodded. Joanna said, ‘We meet again. How are you enjoying it so far?’, clapped her hand over my mouth and held me tightly. She’d been big and strong on the bus. She felt even bigger and stronger now. I could smell the wine on her breath.
The three black-clad women stood in front of the stones. The Mother, the Maiden and the Crone. Veronica looked across at me. Her meaning was clear. Tomorrow, I would stand here with them. There would be Veronica in her new role as the Crone, Becky would remain the disgruntled Maiden, and I would be the Mother. Tomorrow night, this would be me and a man, a complete stranger. The new Year King.
Now he was closer. Close enough to see the table. To see what lay on the table. He slowed, puzzled. He stopped and looked around, and at that moment they closed in behind him and the song changed. They were singing him to his death. He gave a great cry of fear and at the same moment five or six women laid hands on him.
He struggled like a madman. More women piled on. They were hurting him.
He screamed and screamed. No one listened. No one cared.
A dozen women subdued him, pinning his arms and lifting him off his feet. He was carried to the stones – who, again, seemed to lean forwards in anticipation.
I wrenched my head free and tried to turn to face Joanna, shouting to make myself heard over all the racket around us. ‘You can’t do this. This is murder.’
‘This is life,’ she intoned. Waves of stale wine gusted past me.
The women gathered in a rough semi-circle, pushing forward for a better view. They’d brought the children. Little girls, hair in bunches and wearing My Little Pony backpacks held their mothers’ hands and watched intently.
There was a great shouting. They were counting down. Veronica reached for the ceremonial sickle and held it high. There were only seconds left.
It would seem that Michael Jones had let me down again.
Chapter Seven
I have never felt more helpless than I did at that moment. Because this wasn’t about me. I wasn’t the one at risk here – not yet, anyway – but if I didn’t do something soon – now – then this man would die. And then another one on this same night in twelve months’ time, and so on and so forth, in an unbroken cycle until the end of time. I had to do something. Anything.
I struggled and kicked out but to no avail. Joanne had tight hold of my wrists. I redoubled my efforts and we struggled together. She was hurting me but that was the least of my problems because I had to do something.
The screaming built to a crescendo. A great cacophony of noise bounced off the stones and was sent back, redoubled, as they roared their anticipation of the blood to come. The sound travelled back and forth, back and forth, making my head ring.
And then, without warning, something was different. Women were still screaming but their cries were of alarm, not celebration. I jerked up my head and strained to see. Something was happening. Something unexpected that was not part of the ceremony.
Powerful lights stabbed through the night, white and blinding. Dark shadows fled. The stones themselves seemed to recoil before this onslaught. Above everything I could hear a roaring, rushing sound and for a very quick moment I thought – dragon.
My second thought was slightly more sensible. Helicopter.
My third thought was really rather mundane. Car.
Barely had I come to this conclusion than twin headlights rounded the stones, dazzlingly bright in all this blackness and illuminating a scene of total chaos. Women were running in all directions, bumping into each other, shouting for their children, falling over, even knocking each other over in their efforts to get away. I suspected that, while I’d been thinking dragon and helicopter, they were thinking – paparazzi.
Someone crashed a gear and a familiar voice shouted, ‘Look out, Jerry’. There was the nasty crunching sound of a vehicle clipping the left-hand stone. One headlight blinked out. Was it my imagination or did the stone groan? But Granny definitely dropped heavily to the ground.
The car hurtled straight past me, bumping over the rough ground and scattering people right and left. I caught a very quick glimpse of Michael Jones in the passenger seat, shouting instructions, and my treacherous heart soared. He had come. Why had I ever doubted he would come? Although how he would find me in all this confusion … The table had been knocked over and the basins scattered. Torches lay spluttering on the ground. And screaming women were running everywhere.
Joanna pushed me away from her so hard I nearly fell over. She plunged into the milling throng without a backward glance. Everyone was disappearing – rushing home as fast as they could go, to lock the door and pretend they’d been in all night watching the TV. I clenched my fists, all prepared to lay about me should anyone stand in my way and shrieked, ‘Jones.’
He couldn’t hear me – not over the panic all around us. I caught a glimpse of Veronica forcing her way through the crowd, an ugly expression on her face. I didn’t know if she was looking for me – and if she was, whether to save me from this unknown attack or kill me, I had no idea, but I knew it wouldn’t be a good idea to stick around to find out. I had to find Michael Jones. Because sooner or later the element of surprise would be gone and it would dawn on someone that there were hundreds of them and only one of him.
I don’t know why I worried. His single headlight was splitting the night like a one-eyed dragon and the next moment an amplified voice boomed through the night, the echoes bouncing off stones and buildings alike.
‘Be advised – this is an armed task force acting within the limits prescribed by Her Majesty’s Government as laid down in the Counter Terrorism and Security Act and the Public Order Act of 1986. You are harbouring a dangerous fugitive. Surrender her at once or suffer the consequences. No further warning will be given.’
The car wheeled about again, scattering those who had wrongly thought it safe to run in that direction. I fought my way to the stones. They were no longer the Three Sisters. Two and a Half Sisters would be more accurate. Jones’s headlight hadn’t been the only casualty of that glancing blow. The top one third of the left-hand stone lay on the ground, snapped off cleanly along the break I’d seen earlier. I felt a sense of great satisfaction. I deliberately stood on it, ripped off my scarf and waved it over my head and shouting, ‘Jones, over here. Over here.’
The car swung around for another pass. A distorted voice dopplered towards me, ‘Where
are you?’
I shouted back, ‘I’m over here,’ and tried not to feel the whole evening was descended into some sort of farce. I don’t know why it is, but things never seem quite so bad when Jones is around. Although very often they become worse.
Unfortunately, by making myself conspicuous to him, I’d made myself conspicuous to Veronica as well.
The crowd was thinning as people raced away into the anonymous darkness. I could see her crouched over a prone figure on the ground. Granny. When the stone went down, so had Granny.
Slowly, Veronica straightened up, turned and faced me. I felt my heart fail. Her colour was murderous. Thick blue and purple spikes stabbed towards me.
So sudden and vicious was her attack that I had no time to avoid it in any way and for a very brief second, I was encircled by her colour.
I braced myself for pain or nausea or even – if she was channelling the power of the stones – for death, but I felt nothing. For a moment, I was peering out at a blue and purple world and then everything shattered as that brilliant white headlight cut through the night and the shadows flew away.
Along with my eyesight. That sudden flash had robbed me of my night vision. Forgetting I was standing on the fallen stone I took a step backwards, lost my balance and fell heavily.
I lay for a moment, my wits as scattered as everyone else’s and then I remembered what was happening. Scrambling to my feet, I pushed my hair out of my eyes and stared around.
Veronica’s colour still boiled as she strode towards me across the grass.
I instinctively put out an arm to ward her off and she stopped as abruptly as if she’d run into a wall. I could see the shock in her face at the unexpectedness of it. She shouted to someone and a second later, Becky was at her side. Hatred twisted their faces and made them ugly. Their colours swirled together, reaching out for me. The world darkened around me.
I struggled for breath, at the same time fighting an insane desire to run towards them. My right leg was actually lifting of its own accord when, out of nowhere, a battered SUV screeched to a halt between them and me, leaving long skid marks on the frosty grass. I stared in amazement and Jones leaned out of the window and shouted, ‘Don’t just stand there Cage. Get in.’
I had my hand on the ice-cold door handle when I remembered the Year King. Where was he in all this panic? Had he managed to get away? Surely he wouldn’t be stupid enough to hang around? On the other hand, he was naked. I couldn’t leave him here. Even supposing we got away, there was nothing to stop them regrouping, picking up the table and carrying on from where they’d left off.
So where was he? He shouldn’t be hard to find. He was the only man here. Or had been until a minute ago. Unless he’d been spirited away. I stared wildly around.
Jones hung out of the window again. ‘What are you waiting for Cage? Get in and let’s get out of here.’
‘I’m looking for a naked man.’
‘Well, there’s no way I’m taking my clothes off – it’s brass monkeys out there. Get in.’
‘I have to find the naked man.’
‘Any particular reason why?’
‘They’re going to kill him.’
‘They’ll kill us all if you don’t get a move on,’ said a voice from the driver’s seat. ‘Never seen such a bunch of nasty tempered women in all my life. And I’ve met a few I can tell you.’
‘We’ll find him,’ said Jones. ‘Just get in the car first, Cage. I feel so much happier when I know where you are.’
I climbed into the back and clipped on my seat belt. Two heads turned to look at me and I said defensively, ‘Well, it’s the law, isn’t it?’
Jones said, ‘Cage, you are an abiding delight to me,’ and at the same time I caught the very faint flash of what could have been a white buttock.
The driver said, ‘There he is. Over there,’ and shoved the car into gear again. We slewed our way across the grass, tearing up great divots of previously pristine village green as we went. It occurred to me that this village was not going to look anywhere near as immaculate as usual when the sun came up.
If the sun comes up, came a treacherous thought. How do you know you’re not meddling in some centuries old but vital ritual that will bring about the end of the world if not fulfilled?
I told myself that was Veronica talking.
We bumped and skidded across the grass, swerving around the few women still blindly running, to where a naked man was trying to scuttle off into the night and skidded to a halt beside him.
I unclicked my seat belt and reached across to open the door for him, shouting, ‘Get in.’
He recoiled. ‘You!’
What did he mean – me?
‘Just get in,’ shouted Jones. ‘There’s hundreds of them and only three of us. Get in.’
‘She’s one of them.’
‘No, I’m not,’ I said, indignantly. ‘I was the one trying to warn you.’
‘No, you weren’t. You were the one shrieking at me.’
‘They were all shrieking at you, mate,’ said the driver. ‘Either get in or don’t but we’re leaving. Now.’
He gunned the engine.
The ex-Year King cast one final look over his shoulder at the screaming chaos around the stones, decided no better offer was likely to be forthcoming, and scrambled in.
The driver let in the clutch with a jerk and the naked Year King sprawled all over me.
I squeaked and Michael Jones twisted around to look. ‘Everything all right back there?’
‘I’m in the middle of some blood-soaked prehistoric ritual, in fear of my life and with a naked man on top of me. Define all right.’
He laughed. ‘I’ve missed you, Cage.’
The ground was much bumpier than it looked and the Year King and I were being thrown around all over the place. Accidentally or otherwise, he kept falling on top of me.
‘Will you get off,’ I said, trying to push him away for the umpteenth time. He seemed reluctant to move. I suspected that after twelve months of having any woman wherever and whenever he pleased, he might be having some difficulty adjusting to his changed circumstances.
‘Stop that this minute and sit up properly,’ I said, trying not to sound like a primary school teacher. I’d just saved his life. The lack of gratitude was astounding. And he was very heavy.
The weight lifted suddenly. Jones had him by the scruff of the neck and hurled him back into his seat.
‘Thank you,’ I said, straightening my clothing and smoothing my hair.
‘My pleasure. You …’ he addressed himself to the Year King. ‘Sit still and keep your hands – and your other bits to yourself. Old Jerry here’s not keen on having your naked arse on his nice upholstery and if you touch this lady again we’ll drive you straight back to those weird women and they can pick up where they left off.’
Did he say Jerry? Jerry was the man who had broken into my house. Yes, admittedly it was only to pack up my clothes for me, and he’d helped us escape from Sorensen’s clinic, but even so … Jerry was a criminal. I was all set to become indignant when I remembered how neatly he’d done it. Nothing in my house had been disturbed. My clothes had been beautifully packed. He’d even put tissue paper between the layers. I suspected not many burglars can provide that sort of service.
I said, ‘Jerry, is that you?’ A stupid question but he knew what I meant.
‘It is,’ he said, swinging the wheel. ‘Pleasure to meet you at last, missis.’
‘And you,’ I said. ‘One day you must show me how to pack so neatly.’
He was pleased by the compliment. His rusty brown colour was coiled neatly around him, but as I watched, the edges glowed slightly, turning a golden colour.
We bumped off the green and onto tarmac.
‘Hold on,’ said Jerry as we accelerated away.
Houses flashed past in the beam of our one headlight, then there were hedges and tall grass verges, and then we were out into the dark, and to my eyes, very sinister countr
yside.
‘Well,’ said Jones, settling himself comfortably. ‘I think that went quite well, all things considered. Don’t you?’
Chapter Eight
We didn’t go far. Three or four miles only, and then Jerry pulled into a layby for us all to sort ourselves out. He switched off the engine and turned out the headlights. Sorry, headlight. Singular.
We sat in the dark for a moment, getting our breath back.
‘Right,’ said Jones, ‘we need to make a few minor modifications to the plan because we hadn’t factored in Cage dragging naked men along.’
He paused and turned to me. ‘I have to ask, Cage – and I think I speak for Jerry here as well – why?’
‘They were going to kill him.’
‘No, they weren’t,’ said the Year King, quite indignantly.
‘Yes, they were.’
‘No. You’ve got it all wrong. It’s just an old fertility rite. You know, from the old days when everyone believed in that sort of thing. Ensuring a good harvest, keeping the sheep healthy, all that sort of thing. Why would they kill me – I’m their king?’
‘Their Year King.’
‘Yeah …? So …?’
‘King for a year?’
‘Yeah, they said that. This was my last night. They said – big party, lots to eat and drink, some girls, you know.’ His eyes slid sideways to me.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ I said, shifting away from the naked man on the back seat with me.
‘Ah,’ said Jones. ‘That explains the naked part. Was he expecting to be naked all over you, Cage?’
‘I was there in the capacity of observer,’ I said, primly.
‘You like to watch? Well, that opens up some interesting possibilities.’
‘No,’ I said, annoyed. ‘It’s simple. The Year King lasts twelve months. On the last day of the old year, they kill him …’ I glared balefully at this year’s victim ‘…and tomorrow a new one takes his place. The whole thing is run by a bunch of madwomen – three of them – the Mother, the Maiden and the Crone. Granny’s dying and I was scheduled to be the replacement.’
