A cold wind blasted into the clearing, making the fire roar, showering a cascade of sparks upwards. Church had the sudden impression they were being watched. He looked round quickly, trying to see beyond the pathetic circle of light, but the darkness was too dense. Tom threw some more wood on the fire and listened to it sputter and sizzle for a while.
Church eyed Tom suspiciously. "Sitting here, having seen what we've seen, this all makes a stupid kind of sense. But there's still a part of me that says-"
"That I'm lying? I never lie." He poked the fire. "The food should be ready now. Let's eat."
"It hasn't been in long enough," Ruth said.
"I think it will be ready."
"More magic?" Church said.
"That, or good cooking technique." Tom's smile was inscrutable, and Church was instantly aware he had no idea what was going on behind the man's eyes.
The rabbit was steaming hot, fragrant and tender. They gnawed the meat off the bone with the fire hot on their faces and the chill of the night at their backs. Although it may have been the aftermath of the strange energy, Church was convinced it was one of the best meals he had ever eaten.
Afterwards, as the night grew colder, they huddled closer to the fire, relaxed and replete, the uneasiness forgotten, at least for the moment. Tom picked the remaining meat from his teeth with a twig while he surveyed the position of the stars.
Eventually, he said, "Everything is changing. You have to be prepared for the new ways … the new, old ways … if you're to be of any use in the coming struggle."
"But what could we possibly do," Ruth began, "if things are as dire as you say? We could try to warn the Government, the police, the army, but I think we'd pretty much be laughed out and locked up."
"They will not be able to do anything anyway," Tom said. "This is a time for individuals, not institutions, for passion not planning."
"Very poetic," Church noted. "But, with all due respect to Ruth … look at us. We're not exactly people of action."
"Adaptation is the key, and people adapt quicker than groups. If you can learn to work within the new rules, then … perhaps something can be done." Tom eyed them both with a dissecting look which made Church feel uncomfortable.
Ruth wasn't convinced. "Two people against the sort of powers that you're talking about? Get real."
"But we have to do something," Church said passionately. "We have a responsibility-"
"A good word," Tom interjected.
"Don't be so patronising!" Church felt his emotions were on the edge of swinging out of control.
"I apologise," Tom said, without seeming in the least contrite.
Church grunted with irritation and marched over to lean on the great trilithon. Ruth watched him affectionately as he gazed up at the stars.
"It would help if you were a little less smug," she said to Tom diplomati- tally. "He's a good man. He wants to do something. You shouldn't be so hard on him."
He shrugged. "We all have our flaws."
"There's so much more we need to know-"
"We can discuss it tomorrow, when we're all a little more receptive. I've given you plenty to chew over-a whole new way of looking at life, a new belief system, things that at first glance seem impossible. Isn't that enough to be going on with?"
"How much more is there?"
"There's always more." He yawned and stretched. "It's late. We need to sleep. We've got a great deal ahead of us, and we may not always have such a fortuitous place to rest our heads."
"You expect me to sleep after all this?"
"You will sleep." Tom brushed her forehead with his fingertips and she went out as if he had flicked a switch. He caught her and laid her down next to the fire, removing her coat and pulling it over her like a blanket.
"It is a magnificent place, isn't it?"
Church hadn't heard Tom approach behind him. "I wish I'd seen it under other circumstances."
"You should see it on June 21, at the solstice at sunrise. If you stand at the centre of the circle, there comes a moment when the sun appears to be suspended on the heel stone and the whole place is painted gold. Beautiful."
"I wish I hadn't got dragged into all this. Life was complicated enough as it was."
"It's too late for that."
"Yes. I know."
Tom lit another joint, took the smoke down deep, then exhaled into the wind. "There are journeys without and within to make," he said softly, "and many mysteries to be uncovered before the end of the road. We are surrounded by them, all the time, every day, and when we think we are trying to expose one, it often turns out we are delving into another. Take this place. They think Neolithic man dug the outer circle more than four and a half thousand years ago. They think the Beaker People erected the bluestones eight hundred years later and the Wessex People put in the sarsen blocks in 1,500 BC. But who did it is not as important as why. Why did different peoples value this place so highly they returned to it over all those years? Simply because it aligned with the sun, moon and stars? Would they have put so much effort into it if it was simply a tool? Or a metaphor for some religious experience?"
Church drew his fingers across the surface of the stone, feeling the years heavy under his touch. "They were searching for some meaning," he said.
"That's right. They were trying to find the magic at the heart of reality. And they found it, the most valuable thing mankind could ever possess. But somehow we lost it again, and during the twentieth century it got as far away from us as it could possibly get. But if one good thing can come out of all the terrible things that lie ahead, it will be that we, as a race, will get back in touch with it again."
Church scanned the dark horizon. "That's tomorrow taken care of. What do we do on the day after?"
"You're no longer the person you used to be." Church couldn't tell if it were an admonition or a pep talk. "The path away from that person began with your alchemical experience under the bridge, and there are plenty of changes on the road ahead, for you and Ruth." Tom rested one hand on Church's shoulder and pointed towards the heel stone. "You see that star there? Wait five minutes until it touches the stone."
They stood in silence watching the gradual descent until, at the exact moment of alignment, Church felt a tingling at the base of his spine. A second later it felt like heaven had exploded around him. The blue energy Tom had summoned earlier erupted upwards from the top of the stones, forming a structure that soared at least a hundred feet above their heads. The lines of force met at the pinnacle and sheets of paler blue, shifting between opaque and clear, crackled among them. Church had the sudden sensation of standing in a cathedral, magnified by a feeling of overwhelming transcendental awe and mystery that left him trembling. Ahead, lines of azure fire raced out across the land, criss-crossing into a network as they reached other ancient sites, where they exploded upwards in glory. To Church, it seemed like the whole of Britain was coming alive with magnificence and wonder. Tears of emotion stung his eyes and there was a yearning in his heart that he hadn't experienced since childhood.
After five minutes the flames shimmered then dwindled until all was as it had been, but Church knew he would keep the moment with him for the rest of his days.
Still lost in the spell, he started suddenly when Tom touched his hand. "Before you passed under the bridge that night, you would never have seen that. It's a mark of how much you have already changed, and a hint of the potential ahead."
As they wandered back to the fire, Church felt calm and energised by the experience. "Make the most of this night," Tom said as they lay down and looked up at the stars. "This is a safe place, but from here on, things are going to get wild and dangerous."
"We'll cope," Church said, surprising himself at his confidence.
The last words of Tom's he heard were almost lost on the edge of sleep: "One more thing-do not leave the circle before sunrise."
Church awoke some time in the early hours. Tom and Ruth were still sleeping, cast in the faintest redd
ish glow from the embers of the fire. His soft back muscles ached from the hard ground, but as he rolled around trying to get comfortable, he became aware of an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach and the sensation that he was being watched. Over the next five minutes it grew gradually stronger until he had to stand up to look warily around. Beyond the small circle lit by the dim mantle of the fire, the night seemed uncommonly dark.
He waited for a minute or two, but when the sensation didn't diminish he cautiously edged towards the shadows. Beyond the reach of the fire's luminescence, his eyes grew accustomed to the dark and he began to make out the shapes of hedges and trees on the plains that rolled away from the henge. There was no sign of movement and his ears, tuned for the tramp of a foot, could only pick up the bleak moan of the wind as it swept across the lowlands.
When he reached the outer stones, Church paused, his heart thumping madly from the discomfort of invisible eyes. "Who's there?" he hissed.
There was a lull, as if the night were waiting for him to progress further, then he heard what appeared to be the faintest reply on the edge of his hearing, barely more than a rustle of grass.
After a few seconds he caught a glimpse of movement, like a dark shape separating itself from the lighter dark of the night. His skin seemed to grow taut across his body. A figure, slim and tall, moved towards him, gradually developing an inner light as if tiny fireflies were buzzing around within it. Long before it had coalesced into any recognisable form, Church was overcome. And when it finally halted twenty feet away from him, his eyes burned with tears and his trembling knees threatened to buckle.
"Marianne," he whispered.
She was pale and fragile, her eyes dark and hollow, as if she had gone days without sleep; Church couldn't bear to look into their depths. Her skin had an opaque quality that seemed to shimmer and for the briefest instant become transparent. Her arms hung limply at her sides, her shoulders slouched from an unseen burden. Church felt an overwhelming wave of despair and longing washing off her, sluicing away the frisson of fear he felt at her terrible appearance.
And all he could remember was that moment when the last dregs of life drained away and the intelligence died in her eyes, leaving him with just an armful of hope and chattering images of promised futures now lost and, worse, the certain knowledge he would never know why everything he ever needed or believed in had been taken away from him.
He thought he might die if he heard the truth, but he asked anyway, in a hoarse voice that didn't sound like his own: "Just tell me why."
If she heard, she gave no sign; her blank features still radiated that sense of terrible loss. Church couldn't bear to look at her; he closed his burning eyes and stifled the sobs that threatened to rack him.
When he did finally look again, she had raised her arms, beckoning.
His breath froze in his throat. Tom's warning flickered for an instant, then was driven away. He took a step and passed the edge of the stones.
But as he moved forward, Marianne began to recede, still holding her arms in front of her, faster and faster, however quickly he advanced, eerily gliding an inch or two above the ground. And then he was running madly down the slope and Marianne was whisking away from him, growing smaller until she was just a glowing spot on the horizon that eventually winked out.
Heartbroken, Church fell to his knees, his loss as raw as in the days just after her death. Somehow he managed to compose himself enough to trudge back to the stones, but as he passed the spot where she had waited he noticed something unusual. On the ground lay a rose, its petals as black as the night, perfectly formed, with a stem that had been neatly clipped. As he picked it up, he felt a whisper in his head that said Roisin Dubh, and he knew in a way he couldn't explain that it was the flower's name; and that it was a gift from Marianne.
Although he couldn't fathom its meaning, he felt a rush of elation. He tucked the flower secretly into his jacket and made his way back to the dying fire.
Chapter Five
where the black dog runs
They woke early with the sun heavy and red on the horizon. A thick dew sparkled on the ground and on their jackets and there was a chill in the air that made their bones ache, but they soon stamped the warmth back into their limbs. As soon as they had properly woken, Church and Ruth realised they felt strangely refreshed; new and clean like they had been reborn; Church could not remember having slept so deeply in the last two years.
"It's the healing and energising effect of the earth energy," Tom told them as they made their way back to the car.
"The NHS should get a franchise," Ruth replied with a relaxed smile. Church was pleased to see her face clear of the anxiety and worry that had transformed her the previous evening.
In the tunnel they stopped to examine the black crust scorching the concrete and were instantly reminded of how close their escape had been. And before they could depart, Church had to scrape the car windows free of a thick layer of ash made tacky by the dew; the air smelled like the aftermath of a house fire.
"I still do not understand how the Fabulous Beast was marshalled in our pursuit," Tom mused as Church cursed quietly in his labour. "They are supposed to be wildly independent, uncontrollable."
"Maybe that's one bit of your lore that's wrong," Church said sourly. "A good council Fabulous Beast training course … sit … beg … roll over. They'll do anything for a treat."
Tom muttered something under his breath and wandered off to take the air while Church finished the windows.
"Doesn't he speak funny?" Ruth found a clean part of the wing to perch on. "Like some bad historical novel."
"He's a strange fish all round. I still don't trust him. It feels like he's just throwing out enough titbits to keep us interested while he works on his own agenda."
"As long as we're aware of it." Ruth closed her eyes and put her head back to feel the sun on her face.
Church was glad of the silence that followed. He could barely contain the emotional upheaval he felt after his encounter with Marianne; it resonated confusingly through every thought. Why was she visiting him-to torment him further or to pass on some message? Was it linked to all the other high strangenesses that had descended on the country? And what was the significance of the Black Rose which was secreted in the inside pocket of his jacket close to his heart? Instinctively, he felt he ought to tell Ruth about it, but there was a niggling part of his mind that forced him to hold back. Maybe later, he promised himself.
Their first aim was to find somewhere to eat. At the A345 they came across a Little Chef surrounded by trees and were the first inside once the doors opened. Over full English breakfasts and tea looking out over the sun-drenched car park, they tried to make some sense of what was happening.
"I still don't see what we can possibly do," Ruth said as she dunked her toast into her egg.
"Probably nothing apart from find some way to raise the alarm. But we do have a responsibility to do something." Still distracted, Church sipped on his tea; he knew exactly what he wanted to do: discovering what the mysterious email woman knew about Marianne was still the driving force. At the moment that dovetailed with their search for more information about the imminent crisis Tom had described, but if he ever had to make a choice between the two, he didn't know how he would react.
Ruth suddenly glanced down at her hand in surprise. "Look at this: I cut my hand scrambling through the fence last night, and this morning there's no sign of it. It's completely healed."
"Make the most of it," Tom mumbled grumpily. He seemed preoccupied, constantly glancing around the room.
"Expecting guests?" Church said.
"Just because we survived last night doesn't mean it's the end of it."
"There's a cheery thought," Ruth said breezily, but Church could see she was disturbed by it.
"So now we're on the run," he said. Tom didn't answer.
They went to the checkout, but as the waitress totted up their bill the till suddenly started spewing out re
ams of receipt paper. Her eyes flashed irritation while she attempted to maintain a pleasant smile as she wrestled with the snaking roll. Eventually the register jammed and she tore off the streamer with restrained anger. On it was the same thing printed over and over again:
1OF5
It bore no relation to what she had keyed in. When Church noticed it, he felt strangely uneasy. He was immediately thrown back to his journey to collect Ruth and the odd sequence of coincidences.
Church leaned on the car bonnet in the sun with Ruth's mobile phone after struggling for ten minutes to find a signal. Laura's sleepy voice told him he'd woken her.
"It's Jack Churchill. I'm sorry we didn't make the meeting with you last night. We got delayed in Wiltshire."
There was a long pause, then: "It's Sunday. Mornings have been banned. What's the matter? The missus thrown you out of bed?"
"I'm sorry."
"Yeah, yeah." She yawned. "So what's the score? You still want to meet?"
"Yes, and soon. We can get up to Bristol by-"
"Don't worry, I'll come to you. If You're in Wiltshire then you might as well head to Salisbury. That's where it happened. You can take the ghost train with me, see if you get the full Fright Night treatment too. Or maybe I really have done too many drugs." The line threatened to break up, but then her voice came through clear once more. "-king mobiles! I'll meet you tomorrow at Poultry Cross in the city centre. 10 a.m. You'll find it."
"What about your work?"
"Yeah, like it matters any more."
They reached Salisbury just after 10.30 a.m. The March sun was strong enough to catch the historic cathedral town in an unseasonable light, bright and buzzing with tourists through the main shopping area and Market Square. Ruth used her credit card to check them into a hotel in the centre of town, selected by Tom for its olde worlde appeal: a thirteenth century coaching inn, half-timbered in black on white, with hanging eaves, high chimneys and diamond window panes which, from the pavement, made the interior seem mysteriously murky. They managed to get rooms side by side. They were fitted with all mod cons, but the sloping floors and oddly angled ceilings still gave them a time-lost feeling.
World's end taom-1 Page 10
