Jack of Ravens

by Mark Chadbourn

  Church looked around the circle. Tom, Niamh and Grace were entranced by the column of fire, their expressions beatific.

  ‘The Army of the Ten Billion Spiders have already changed what did happen considerably,’ Hal continued. ‘You can change it, too. People who will die in the current version of events don’t have to. In the time when I made my sacrifice, nearly all the Tuatha Dé Danann had been eradicated. That doesn’t have to happen. Remember, people who sacrifice themselves don’t have to die.’ The comment was pointed, though Church didn’t know at whom it was aimed. ‘The thing is, Church, it’s all down to you. If you don’t stumble, if you stay true to yourself, you have the power to change everything. And I mean everything.’

  ‘No pressure, then.’ Church steeled himself and asked the question he had dreaded voicing: ‘You’re telling me I can save Ruth?’

  ‘Ruth’s not dead, but she’s in a very bad place.’

  ‘I saw—’

  ‘You can never be certain about what you see. Everything depends on perspective, and whatever information you have to hand. In the moment that you’re talking about she’s alive, Church, but she’s hanging by a thread.’

  The euphoria that rushed through Church was so powerful he almost bounded from the circle and shouted aloud.

  ‘Keep it together, Church. This is a crucial time. The closer you get to home the more powerful the Enemy becomes. They still recognise you and what you represent as a threat to them, but they won’t take the path of least resistance any more. See you, Church – in time.’

  The Blue Fire lashed across the room at Church. There was no heat, just an overwhelming feeling of wellbeing. When the rush had passed and the flames disappeared beneath his skin, Church felt stronger and more focused than he had done in a long time.

  ‘Wow.’ Grace sprawled on her back, beaming. ‘That was a trip.’

  16

  14 January 1967 was a turning point for the counterculture. The Human Be-In attracted 30,000 people to the polo field in Golden Gate Park to hear the Grateful Dead, Jefferson Airplane and other bands on the brink of breaking through to the big time. Timothy Leary was in the audience along with the poet Allen Ginsberg and the Berkeley revolutionary Jerry Rubin. The Diggers handed out turkey sandwiches with LSD in the bread mix.

  It was an unqualified success with waves of positivity rippling out across the country and the world. Church and the others experienced many strange things around the event, and soon after it was clear that something else had changed.

  More people were found dead in the Haight with the same weeping sores and partial transformation that Church had witnessed on the youth in Golden Gate Park. The authorities refused to take any action despite mounting claims that there was some sort of plague loose in the quarter. Rumours began that it was sexually transmitted or in the batches of LSD and marijuana that flooded the streets. Some people turned to amphetamines and heroin, and violence, rape and overdoses increased accordingly. The Haight was awash with sightings of ‘monsters’. More rumours spread through the enclosed community; no one could separate fact from fiction.

  Yet of the spider-people there was no sign. They had slipped into the background, subtly manipulating from positions of power. But when the Haight was flooded with heroin the day after all the soft-drug dealers were arrested, or when the police brutally beat up people for jaywalking, Church knew who was behind it somewhere up the chain of power.

  Gabe’s new job as a freelance photographer for the local counterculture newspaper, the San Francisco Oracle, took him to the centre of what was happening in Haight-Ashbury. But Church found it also raised his own profile. Thanks to Gabe, people all over the quarter knew who Church was, and that he was doing ‘good works’, though the nature of those works was always left vague.

  And then, as he got used once again to the full force of the Pendragon Spirit flooding his system, he realised he was aware of nodes in the city where the earth energy was particularly strong: in the Panhandle, and on the university campus. And then he became aware of the energy in Grace. If he allowed his consciousness to settle into a peaceful state, he could almost picture where she was in the city. Subtle connections began to come to light, and that was when he realised he could use the Spirit to his advantage.

  17

  The Whiskey-a-Go-Go was a smart, compact club on Sacramento Street, the mirror image of its more famous Los Angelino sister. On Valentine’s Day the Doors were performing to push their debut album. The crowds were heavy and curious about the mounting reputation of the band.

  ‘Their singer is a very interesting fellow,’ Tom mused as he surveyed the poster outside the venue.

  ‘We’re not here to see the band.’ Church watched the people streaming in; nothing had alerted him yet. ‘I want you to stay out here with Niamh to keep an eye on Gabe and Marcy. Any sign of trouble, get in the rental and drive away as fast as you can.’

  ‘You don’t have to baby-sit us,’ Marcy said with irritation.

  ‘Yes, we do.’ Church nodded to Grace. ‘Just keep your eyes open.’

  ‘What am I looking for?’

  ‘You’ll know it when you see it. We’re like magnets. The Pendragon Spirit brings us together. He or she is inside.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ Grace said, still uncertain.

  Church closed his eyes: he could feel the presence like a torch in the dark. He nodded.

  Inside the club, they separated. People were several deep at the bar, but when the band came on ten minutes later there was a crush towards the stage. Soon after, Jim Morrison was singing ‘Break On Through’.

  As the night wore on, Church started to doubt. There were too many people, too much distracting light and sound. But as the band began to play the eerie opening chords of ‘The End’, Church saw all the evidence he needed. On the other side of the club, his back to the stage searching the crowd, was Veitch. His hair was longer and wild, and his hard face had the first shaggy signs of a beard. He wore a denim jacket, and as he turned, examining every face, Church saw a peace sign emblazoned on the back.

  Morrison was singing about a danger on the edge of town. Church saw Grace heading towards Veitch. He hadn’t seen her yet, but she was hypnotised by the band and Church couldn’t catch her eye.

  ‘Hey, man – do I know you?’ It was a Hell’s Angel, a good six feet six inches tall. He towered over Church, in a cut-off denim jacket covered in badges, and a black T-shirt with the devil’s face in red. His wild hair and beard made him look like a mountain man.

  Church was about to wave him off when he felt a crackle of energy. The Hell’s Angel was the one.

  ‘Yeah, I think so,’ Church said. ‘I need your help. There’s a girl over there in trouble – long black hair, see her?’

  ‘The witchy chick?’

  ‘That’s the one. There’s someone here who wants to hurt her. Can you get her outside to our friends? I’ll cause a diversion.’

  The Hell’s Angel grinned. ‘A diversion,’ he repeated in a mocking English accent. ‘Sure thing.’ He clapped Church on the back and ploughed through the crowd with no resistance.

  Veitch was still searching faces, and close to fixing on Grace. As Morrison threw himself around the stage in an orgiastic daze, Church clambered onto the edge of the speaker stack where Veitch couldn’t fail to see him.

  The expression that came over Veitch’s face as his eyes locked with Church’s was utterly chilling. So great was his hatred he forgot everything else, as Church had anticipated. Without breaking his stare, Veitch pushed through the crowd, relentless but controlled. Behind him the Hell’s Angel caught up with Grace.

  Church jumped from the speakers before the bouncers caught him and headed to the side of the room, hoping to get back to the exit, but Veitch was already bearing down on him. Veitch broke into a run and they both crashed through the doors into the toilets. Even as they hit the floor, Veitch was raining vicious blows. Church blocked them as best he could and threw Veitch off. He knew he lacked Ve
itch’s brutal instinct and street thuggery; a straight fight would be too one-sided.

  ‘You’re one of us,’ Church said, trying to blunt Veitch’s attack. ‘Existence must have seen some good in you to make you a Brother of Dragons.’

  ‘You’re talking to me as if I’m the bad guy.’ Veitch’s furious attack split Church’s lip and bloodied his nose. ‘I’m the one who was betrayed by his mates.’ He grabbed Church and smashed his head against the urinal. Church kicked out, ramming his boot into Veitch’s gut and propelling him into a cubicle, winded. Church threw himself after Veitch, punching rapidly. This time it was Veitch’s blood that splashed across the graffitied wall.

  ‘This is about more than you and me,’ Church said.

  ‘You’re right there. Once we find what we’re looking for here, it’s game over for you, and all that bollocks you stand for.’

  Veitch thrust them both out of the cubicle and as Church fell, Veitch planted a boot in Church’s face. Church saw stars, but just as Veitch was about to stamp on his face, he rolled out of the way and brought his head and shoulders up into Veitch’s groin.

  ‘You’re a dirty fucking bastard,’ Veitch said, staggering backwards. ‘I like that. Shows I’m right. No pedestal for you, Jack fucking Churchill.’

  Before Veitch could attack again, the door swung open and the Hell’s Angel stepped in. He took less than a second to size up the situation before hammering a rabbit punch into the base of Veitch’s skull.

  The Angel hauled Church out and dragged him through the crowd. ‘The name’s Ice Cream Al,’ he said with a maniacal laugh. ‘ Or just Ice.’

  One thing was on Church’s mind: what was Veitch searching for in San Francisco, and could it really be as powerful as he had implied?

  18

  Back in their rooms, Niamh mopped the blood from Church’s face and tended to his wounds. ‘We won this one,’ Church said. ‘Unequivocally.’

  Tom sat next to the record player listening to Bob Dylan. ‘What could be here in San Francisco that’s of such importance to the Enemy?’

  ‘A weapon. Can’t be anything else,’ Ice said. He sat with Grace, struggling to come to terms with everything she had told him.

  ‘This is the epicentre of the resurgence of the power opposed to the Void,’ Tom said. ‘They must be worried about that, especially the way it’s spreading across the world. It undermines everything they’ve put in place.’

  ‘Then what they are searching for must be designed to stop that,’ Niamh said.

  Marcy paced the room with irritation. ‘You’ve gotta stop sittin’ around. We’ve gotta take action. Get out there.’

  They all knew she was right.

  19

  To find out everything that was happening across the city, Gabe drew on the resources at the Oracle and his friendship with the reporter Jack Stimson. The mysterious deaths and terrifying sightings that were destabilising the community continued apace. Fear was rising amidst all the hopeful protest.

  Church, Grace and Ice located another Brother of Dragons, straight off the bus from Ohio. He called himself Doctor Jay, a tall, thin twenty year old with a green crushed velvet suit, a hat, cane and never-removed sunglasses.

  It was another victory, and as spring moved into summer it felt as if the Void and the Army of the Ten Billion Spiders were losing ground. In New York, 10,000 attended the Human Be-In. In April, 400,000 marched from Central Park to the UN to protest against the growing horrors of the war in Vietnam. And in June the Beatles sang All You Need Is Love’ on TV.

  Shortly after the broadcast, Stimson arrived at the apartment in a state of excitement. He was a flamboyant character who matched a double-breasted suit with intensely colourful flowered shirts, and always smoked using a long cigarette holder.

  He gave his familiar welcome – ‘Greetings, Chicks and Chicklets’ – before urging Gabe to run for his camera. ‘This is a once-in-a-lifetime scoop, ladies and gents. We all know the greedheads and the suits are trying to shut down the positive energy we’re brewing up here, but now we’ve got proof. Crazy, crazy proof.’

  ‘What’s up?’ Church asked.

  ‘Got a tip-off from my man with the fuzz. They’re on their way to a pad on Waller. There’s something inside that could blow open the whole conspiracy.’ He paused. ‘Sorry. The mescaline’s kicking in.’ He shook his head, slapped his cheek and continued, ‘The cops have to get it out before your intrepid reporter brings the news to the people.’ He smiled enigmatically. Here’s the rub, brothers and sisters. They say what’s in that pad is an alien – a sick and dying alien.’ He saw Marcy’s disbelieving expression and held out his hands. ‘Hey, I’m just telling you what my contact said, and they’ve been wrong before. The truth must wait until your reporter blows away the cobwebs. But there’s a story there, brothers and sisters. A big, big story.’

  Despite Stimson’s protestations, everyone piled into his car and they were at the house on Waller in no time. A skeletal youth haunted the brightly lit hallway. ‘Don’t go in there, man. It’s the plague.’

  Stimson pushed by him and led the way up the stairs. On the third floor an apartment door hung open. Stimson paused when he saw what lay within, but Church and Niamh slipped by.

  Sprawled on the floor was one of the Tuatha De Danann dressed in local clothes. He was dying, his face covered with weeping sores, his body partly transformed into something reptilian. As Niamh knelt beside him, his eyes flicked towards her.

  ‘My queen. Help me,’ he said weakly.

  Niamh took his hand. ‘What has happened to you?’

  ‘When you abandoned our court, like many I came to the Fixed Lands, and to this place.’ His eyelids fluttered as he fought to hold on. ‘There are wonders in this world … many wonders …’ he said deliriously. ‘The Enemy has bound a god. She spreads plague before her. Until now they have not harmed any Golden Ones, but they grow more desperate … They demanded information from me. I escaped, but not before I was infected by her touch.’

  Sirens sounded in the distance, rapidly drawing closer. Niamh squeezed the god’s hand to force him to stay awake. ‘What do they seek?’

  ‘They are searching … for the Extinction Shears.’

  Niamh’s breath caught in her throat.

  ‘They wish to sever the ties that bind the Blue Fire to Existence. They wish to slay all the Fabulous Beasts.’

  His hand slipped limply from hers as he expired and his body began to break apart. Beams of golden light shone from within, and gradually his corporeal form transformed to golden moths that swirled upwards, and through the ceiling. Soon there was no sign he had ever been.

  Niamh bowed her head in grief at her fellow’s death, but there was no time for mourning. They fled into the night just as the police pulled up and raced into the building.

  ‘That was an alien?’ Stimson said in confusion.

  ‘A god. The gods walk amongst us. Aren’t we lucky?’ Doctor Jay said wryly.

  Stimson gazed at his notebook blankly. ‘This is beyond crazy. Who’s going to believe that?’ He stalked off to his car.

  ‘What are the Extinction Shears?’ Church asked.

  ‘A legacy,’ Niamh replied. ‘They existed long before my people came to the Far Lands. Some say they were created by the gods above the gods themselves. They have the power to cut through the very fabric of Existence.’

  ‘If they’re so powerful, what are they doing here?’

  ‘They went missing long ago. None know where they are.’ She clutched at Church’s hand. ‘If the Enemy uses them to cut through the Blue Fire, it will sever us all from Existence. Everything will be under the control of the Void for all time.’

  20

  Haight-Ashbury was like a medieval street fair. People swarmed across the streets in outrageously colourful clothes, with jugglers, mimes and musicians moving amongst them. Many were on some drug or other, acting strangely and disconnected from the behaviour of straight society. It was hardly surprising that Chu
rch had not been aware of the people from the Far Lands who had made their home there. In the Haight, their strangeness was the norm. Church once again encountered the eerie puppeteer whose marionettes moved without strings, but when Church approached him he quickly packed up his stall and disappeared into the crowds.

  Church and Niamh questioned as many as they could about the whereabouts of the Extinction Shears, without any luck. Their investigation had to be conducted surreptitiously, for the spider-people and their agents were everywhere – brutal police officers, men in dark suits who could have been FBI or government agents, violent criminals who raped and robbed and beat up all who got in their way.

  By October, the freewheeling mood in the Haight had changed irrevocably. Ice caught up with Church as he questioned one of the Tuatha Dé Danann near the entrance to Buena Vista Park. ‘Man, you don’t want to go back there. There’s some kind of mass protest. Everyone’s been pissed since the drugs bust on the Dead house. It’s going to get ugly.’

  ‘All right. I’m done here. We’re getting nowhere.’

  ‘One other thing.’ Ice held up a jewel that sang a strange, lilting song whenever he pressed it.

  Church recognised its otherworldly nature. ‘Where’d you get that?’

  ‘Took it off a kid a couple of blocks back. Told me he lifted it from some stall in Hippie Hill. The Market of Wishful Spirit, he called it.’

  Church recalled the bizarre travelling market he had seen in the Court of the Soaring Spirit. ‘What are they doing here?’

  ‘The kids said the market comes and goes, like magic. I thought he was tripping.’

  They bypassed the disturbance at the Haight-Ashbury intersection to get to Hippie Hill, the lower part of Golden Gate Park that swarmed with beggars and the homeless.