Jack of Ravens

by Mark Chadbourn

  After the most spectacular tumble, the actor stood with arms outstretched, revelling in the attention of the onlookers, before whipping off his mask with a flourish. The laughter and cheers turned instantly to gasps of horror. The crowd pressed back at the sight of parchment skin and a rictus grin.

  ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you,’ the Mocker called out. ‘I live for the adoration of the audience!’ He leaped towards the nearest onlookers with a monstrous roar. In an instant everyone was running wildly, their anxiety transmitting rapidly to those who could not even see Jerzy.

  Church almost pitched forward as the guards let go of him. Someone caught his arm and urged him gently away. He looked into the frosty face of Aula, who hissed, ‘Find your feet or I shall leave you here.’ Her insistent tone cut through his weakness and he moved in her direction.

  In the confusion, Church glimpsed the large man in the hood and cloak who had bumped into the guard earlier. It was Decebalus. He pulled his axe from beneath his cloak as he drove through the throng, swinging it fluidly in a flash before returning it to the folds. Maxentius’s head flew from his shoulders and bounced across the street. The confusion of the crowd became wild panic.

  Aula pulled Church into the unruly mass. ‘Decebalus was never a man for subtlety,’ she said sourly. ‘Why a barbarian was allowed into our group, I will never know. Hurry now. Let us hope the others can employ more subtle diversions.’

  Lightning crashed from the clear blue sky and within moments storm clouds had swept up to release a torrential downpour. Aula moved Church down a side street, away from the crowd, and Lucia hurried up, her owl familiar flying overhead.

  ‘How did you find me?’ Church gasped.

  ‘We are Brothers and Sisters of Dragons,’ Lucia replied with a smile. ‘We are not without means.’

  ‘Besides, you are the king, are you not?’ Aula added with a note of sarcasm. ‘There are some who seem to think you valuable.’

  At the city walls a hooded woman waited with a horse and cart. It was Niamh. Her beautiful face betrayed no emotion. Decebalus and Jerzy ran up and helped Church into the back of the cart where he was covered with piles of stinking sackcloth. The last thing he recalled was the gentle rocking motion of the cart as it pulled away, and the sound of slowly fading thunder.

  19

  A summer moon cast long shadows over an unspoiled landscape filled with the scent of olive trees. It was July, and Church sat on the hillside with a bowl of the warm herbal infusion Aula had prepared for him every night on their journey from Rome. It had helped his recovery immeasurably, and although he was still far from his old self, he could walk unaided once again.

  Spread out before him were the standing stones of Fossa, not far from where the modern town of L’Aquila would grow in Abruzzo. The stones looked the same as in the photos he had seen in his own time, and had probably changed little since the Vestini tribe had established them 1,000 years earlier. After all the many changes in his life, he found the continuity of the stones comforting, particularly when he had so much on his mind that was troubling. How would the premature death of Maxentius affect history? Would Constantine find a new enemy to defeat before he turned the Empire to Christianity? Or was this the start of greater instability ahead?

  ‘Your ancestors were an astonishing people.’ Niamh had come up quietly behind him. Church was surprised to hear respect in her voice.

  ‘Because in the Iron Age they had the ability to align stones for astronomical significance? Or because they survived your people’s interference?’

  ‘Both.’ She sat next to him with her tarot cards and began to lay them out in her favourite divinatory spread. ‘Because they were capable of great things even with my people’s interference.’

  Church took in the scope of the stones. Some were up to twelve feet high, pitched in circles and straight lines, patterns that looked incomprehensible to the untutored eye.

  ‘They knew the places in the earth where the Blue Fire was strongest and they recognised its true nature.’ Niamh concentrated on the cards. ‘They built their monuments to mark nodes of power, and they worshipped there, too, for life and Existence was their purpose.’

  Church noted the cemetery of the Vestini amongst the stones: death and life and spiritual strength joined together in one image.

  ‘They knew these places were a gateway to your home?’ he asked.

  ‘They did, and to all the lands beyond.’

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t find your brother.’

  ‘There is still time. For my kind, there is always time.’

  ‘And I want to thank you for coming to rescue me. I suppose it was just a matter of keeping your possessions safe, but thanks anyway.’

  Niamh turned the cards, said nothing.

  ‘I was working under the assumption that only you Golden Ones gave gods to the Celts, but then I met Janus. Is he one of you? Are you responsible for all Earth’s gods?’

  Niamh wrestled with her response. ‘My people believe what they want to believe. That is their way, a natural response to being so close to the heart of Existence.’

  ‘Arrogance—’

  They believe they cannot die. They believe nothing in all of Existence can threaten them, because that is how things have always been. And if they receive information that contradicts that stance, they ignore it.’

  Church was puzzled. There was an edge to Niamh’s voice as she fought with the changes taking place within her.

  ‘They believe they are unique,’ she continued.

  ‘But they’re not?’

  ‘We know other races existed in the Far Lands before we arrived from our long-lost home. We have seen their ruined cities on the mountaintops and beneath the waves, and we have heard tell of their names: the Drakusa, the Hyanthis …’ She shrugged. ‘Many races exist in the Far Lands, and the Far Lands stretch for ever. Who knows what lives there? Though …’ She hesitated. ‘There are rumours of other races related to us living in further corners of the land, but it is not something my people wish to consider.’

  A shooting star blazed across the sky. Church and Niamh watched it together. She picked a handful of dry grass and released it into the wind. ‘There is much I wish to learn. Things I must see for myself.’ A shadow crossed her face as she wrestled with the fading of lifelong certainties. She looked over at the campfire where Decebalus and the others were finishing their evening meal.

  ‘Fragile Creatures … your lives always hang by a thread,’ she mused, ‘yet they risked everything to rescue you. They see beyond themselves in a way my people never do. They recognise in you a deep seam of goodness that will be mined for the benefit of all Fragile Creatures.’ Niamh gave Church a quick sideways glance, but would not meet his gaze. ‘I would know what drives you.’ A pause. ‘All of you.’

  Church finished his drink and levered himself shakily to his feet. ‘Come on. Let’s join them.’

  ‘You look well,’ Decebalus noted as Church approached. ‘Aula has some uses, then.’

  ‘Be still, ox-brain.’ The blonde woman sighed. She lay next to the fire, staring at the stars.

  ‘Tomorrow morning when Niamh, Jerzy and I cross over to the Otherworld at the standing stones I want you all to come with us,’ Church said.

  ‘To T’ir n’a n’Og?’ Decebalus said in astonishment.

  ‘It’s not safe for you here. Veitch and his little spider-gang won’t rest until they’ve hunted you down and killed you. Especially now that you’ve freed me.’

  ‘There is nothing for me here,’ Lucia said. ‘I welcome new horizons.’

  ‘We can return?’ Aula asked. ‘Occasionally, to see our homeland?’

  ‘The Pendragon Spirit will allow you to transcend the barrier with impunity, as can anyone you bring in your wake,’ Niamh said.

  A broad grin crossed Decebalus’s face. ‘Goddesses. The wine of the gods. New adventures. I say yes!’

  Church noticed a pale will-o’-the-wisp floating in the dark further d
own the hillside and realised it was Jerzy making his way back from exploring the stones.

  ‘That was quite a performance you put on in Rome,’ Church said as he met him halfway.

  ‘You have yet to see my best, good friend! One day.’ Jerzy glanced warily past Church to the campfire.

  ‘What is it?’

  From inside his jerkin, the Mocker pulled a piece of parchment. The writing covering it was in a language Church had never seen before, but one word stood out: Lugh.

  ‘Where did you get this?’

  ‘In Rome. I spied on a ritual for the sun god—’

  ‘Apollo.’

  ‘Yes – when I was trying to steal the sun mask. There were ten men, chanting, drumming, and then one of them was overcome by …’ He shrugged. ‘I know not what. He began to speak words I could not understand. The others had clearly experienced it before, though, for one of them was prepared to write it down.’ He tapped the edge of the parchment and smiled shyly. ‘I thought you could use it to trade with the mistress for your freedom.’

  Church was touched. ‘Thanks, but I’d rather find out what this means before I show it to her.’ He slipped the parchment into his pocket.

  Back at the camp, Church was overcome with exhaustion and made his way to the blankets laid out for him beneath an olive tree. He saw the deep bonds of camaraderie growing between Decebalus, Aula and Lucia and desperately wanted that for himself.

  But as he slipped his hand under the blanket he used as a pillow, he discovered that the Arabian lamp was no longer there. No one owned up to taking it – in fact, they all looked honestly surprised – and even though they scoured the area there was no sign of anyone who could have slipped into the camp unseen.

  Without the missing Pendragon Spirit he could not be whole, and he would never achieve the power he needed for the coming struggle.

  Hopelessness began to tug at his thoughts until he was disturbed by Lucia’s exclamation of surprise. She was pointing towards the stones where Church could see blue lights flickering like candles at Evensong.

  Decebalus thundered down the hillside like a bull, with Aula and Jerzy in pursuit. Lucia helped Church to his feet and supported him, bringing up the rear. Niamh remained behind.

  ‘Nothing,’ Decebalus bellowed once they stood amongst the stones. ‘What trickery is this?’

  ‘No, there!’ Aula pointed to a spot above a stone where a blue light had flickered and disappeared.

  ‘And there!’ Jerzy indicated another one. He gambolled after it.

  The atmosphere had changed. It now felt like a dream, alive with possibilities. Exhilaration rose inside Church unbidden; his fingers tingled and goosebumps prickled over his skin. When he looked round at Lucia, she appeared to have stars glimmering in her dark hair and on her brow. She gave him a warm, peaceful smile, revealing emotions that had been lost to her since she had learned of Marcus’s death; it was as if the grief had been lifted right out of her.

  ‘Can you feel it?’ she said in a quiet, honeyed voice.

  The blue lights were flickering across the breadth of the complex, growing stronger, and as they flared then receded, Church thought he could glimpse faces in them, like the ones that had appeared briefly in the column of fire under Boskawen-Un. Their features were all different: men, women, children.

  ‘The spirits of the dead,’ Decebalus said in awe, but there was no fear in his voice, nor in any of their faces.

  Church felt Lucia stiffen beside him, and when he followed her gaze he saw Marcus shimmering in one of the sapphire lights away in the stones. It could have been an illusion, but it felt real and deeply affecting. Lucia swallowed hard, then moved towards the figure.

  Feeling invigorated, Church slumped down at the foot of one of the stones. Decebalus, Aula and Jerzy moved amongst the lights, interacting with the people they encountered, their faces innocent and open like children’s as they gave themselves up to the wonder invoked by the potent atmosphere.

  The missing lamp was forgotten, and his suffering at the hands of Janus, and all the many hardships he had faced, large or small. In that dreamy, endless moment, all the darkness receded. It was as if the universe was talking directly to him, and what it told him was not to worry about anything: all would be made right, and peace awaited him at the end of it.

  He didn’t know how long he spent in that warm night with the shades shimmering around him, their soothing whispers mingling with the breeze through the olive trees. Eventually the blue lights winked out one by one, like stars fading as the dawn approached. Lucia appeared out of the night, her expression beatific. She sat beside him, and for a while neither of them could find any words to express the vast mysteries of what they had experienced.

  Finally Lucia said, ‘We are blessed.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Across the land, people suffer brief lives. They strive for little reward, and see those they hold in their hearts die, and they watch their own bodies wither. And though they cherish their beliefs, they are haunted by one simple notion: that there might be nothing more. That all the suffering might be for naught. That we appear, we feel pain, we wink out, the blink of an eye that amounts to nothing. But we know. This Blue Fire links our group and what is here, in this life, to what lies beyond. We recognise that we exist in a small pool, and beyond its edge there are infinite horizons we barely glimpse. We know that death is not the end. And we know that, however difficult it is to see, there is a reason for it all.’

  Lazily, she rested her head on his shoulder, and he slipped an arm around her; friends. The magic of that balmy Italian night still hung in the air, and Church knew that whatever happened to him, he would never forget it.

  Decebalus lurched up. ‘I thought I saw Secullian,’ he said, puzzled. ‘And he was smiling.’

  Church glanced at Lucia, who was smiling, too.

  ‘We find comfort in the heart of mystery, for in mystery there is always hope for something better,’ Lucia said.

  ‘We’re going to need to remember that for what lies ahead,’ Church said. ‘There’s a war coming, and it’s going to be brutal and hard. I don’t know what the Army of the Ten Billion Spiders really wants, but it looks like they’re out to change the ways things were … are. They want to alter reality. And they’ve got the advantage – Janus, one of the oldest and most powerful gods, is on their side.’ His thoughts turned to his own personal war with Veitch, one that threatened all the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons to come. ‘How are we supposed to win a battle like that?’

  ‘How are we not?’ Lucia replied. ‘We stand for the Blue Fire, and we carry the colours of the Kingdom of the Serpent. Look around you, remember what we saw and felt this night, and tell me we cannot win. We are champions of a force that is pure and strong, a force that runs to the heart of everything we see and know. And it is always at our shoulder.’

  Listening to Lucia’s words, Church felt a shift deep within him that was like the slow but powerful movement of the ocean. His own desperate predicament, and the deaths of Etain and the others, and all the other suffering he had experienced, had left him wallowing in darkness. But it was all a matter of perspective. He needed to look outwards, where hope burned everywhere, and where the Blue Fire waited to be tapped.

  Lucia sat forward, her eyes glimmering with tears in the moonlight. ‘The deaths of Marcus and Secullian, their sacrifice, are the strength that empowers us. We fight for them. And every death will give us more strength, for every death is a sacrifice.’ She took Church’s hand. ‘If I die in the days ahead, do not mourn for me, for I will travel into the heart of the mystery. And in my leaving there will be no loss, only victory.’

  Church leaned back against the stone and thought about her words until the sun came up. In the quiet peace of that night he had learned something profound that would help him in the struggle to come.

  Chapter Four

  THE DEAD PLACES

  1

  While Church recovered at the Palace of Gl
orious Light, Niamh sequestered herself in her rooms and continued her investigation into the disappearance of her brother with mounting desperation.

  One of her first visitors was the god the Celts called Math, a sorcerer from the Court of Soul’s Ease who wore a mask with different animal faces on each of four sides. It magically rotated around his head and each time a new face appeared, his voice changed accordingly. His disturbing appearance reminded Church of Janus, and that night he had his first nightmare about his time in Rome.

  But even Math could not locate Lugh, and that left Niamh desolate, for Math could see across all the Fixed and Far Lands.

  Decebalus, Lucia and Aula adapted quickly to the many wonders of T’ir n’a n’Og and formed a tight-knit group that began to build a reputation across the court for adventuring. But even though they were fellow Brothers and Sisters of Dragons, Church did not place them above suspicion in the disappearance of the Arabian lamp, though he could not comprehend any possible motivation. The missing lamp preyed on him continually. He had to presume it had been stolen for a purpose, but he didn’t know where to begin looking for it. In the meantime he felt bereft, as though the missing part of his Pendragon Spirit rendered him some kind of shadowy half-person, unable to affect the world around him.

  Niamh visited Church and Jerzy one morning and it was clear she was troubled.

  ‘Bad news about Lugh?’ Church asked.

  She shook her head. ‘My fears for my brother’s safety tear me apart, but there are so many other responsibilities …’ She chewed on a nail.

  ‘It’s never easy being a leader.’

  ‘It was easy,’ she said. ‘I had a pampered existence. Difficult decisions were few and far between. Now I feel I must take a lead in establishing my people’s opposition to the Enemy—’

  ‘Because no one else is.’ When she nodded, for the first time Church felt there might just be some common ground between them.

  ‘I have decided we must mount an expedition to the edge of the Far Lands to establish the extent of the Enemy’s force, and, if possible, discover who they are, and what they truly want.’