by Julia Hughes
‘You want me to kill her?’
‘Would you mind?’ Wren asked.
‘Not at all.’ She replied with equal politeness.
And that’s when he knew he was dealing with a true psychopath.
Her chest heaved again. ‘And you’ll give me the sword?’
‘Mmm.’ He agreed off handedly. ‘You’ll let Rhyllann go? Give him his old job back?’
‘Of course.’ Her eyes widened to show her sincerity.
He bit his lip again as though thinking it over.
‘Promise you won’t hurt him?’
She snorted. ‘Promise. But he deserted you. We picked him up on at the county borders, believe me, we couldn’t shut him up. My goodness, the things he’s told us!’
Wren ran a hand over his eyes. ‘He’s all the family I have. Listen, the sword, there’s things you need to know about it.’
Her grip tightened. She nodded him on.
‘It … there are many secrets.’
She nodded vigorously, blonde hair bouncing impatiently.
‘But I need to show you. It might take time.’
‘That’s OK, they’ll wait for as long as I tell them.’
Still Wren hesitated. Then he blurted ‘You really want me to show you in front of all them? All those men?’ He nodded back towards the soldiers. ‘Don’t get me wrong, you’re the most formidable, the smartest woman I’ve ever met. But the sword … Excalibur … it does strange things to a man. Makes him want to possess it, own it.’
‘Excalibur!’ Her face glowed with excitement – the first genuine emotion she’d shown.
‘I knew it!’ She clutched at his arm.
Wren smiled, an indulgent nephew showing a maiden auntie how to download music from You Tube.
She dragged back with sudden cunning. ‘I’m not dismissing my men!’
Wren carried on walking, nudging her forward. ‘No need. Excalibur’s here. The girl’s here. Look.’ He pointed back. ‘Squint a little.’ He shrugged as though embarrassed by his ignorance. ‘I don’t quite understand, there’s a little pocket of time, I dunno, maybe lagging half a second behind.’ He giggled. ‘When I get bored with all the chanting and moaning that’s where I hide. Hid.’
She nibbled her lip. ‘And you want me to go there with you. Alone?’ Doubt crept into her voice.
He shrugged again. ‘Bring Rhyllann. Hell, I don’t care. Tell your men to keep their eyes shut and put their hands over their ears while I show you the secrets of the sacred sword. Only give me the girl.’
She stared at him, a smile edging back to her face. ‘You’ve got it bad haven’t you?’
He nodded, flushing. After a moment or two he met her eyes.
‘One time only offer. Then I’m going back behind that veil and I’ll wait for the next megalomaniac to come along.’
Wren held his breath. This was a calculated risk. For a moment she stiffened, hand clutching at her pistol. Wren swallowed and tried a goofy grin, a kind of whoops did I really say that?
She burst out laughing. ‘You can talk!’ She looked him up and down, considering.
‘OK – it’s a deal.’ She frowned. ‘But I can get back here anytime I want?’
He nodded, growing impatient with her dallying.
‘And I’ll have Jones to make sure there’s no funny business?’ She sounded prim.
He nodded again holding out his hand. ‘Shake?’
Her hand was sweaty with anticipation.
‘Sergeant Markham! Bring Jones over here.’
Rhyllann was hauled to his feet and bundled over. The Blonde, or Auntie Gabby checked that the bonds around his wrists were as tight as they could be.
‘Give me your dagger. Then take your men and set up camp over there.’ She pointed to the druids’ deserted camp.
‘Mam?’
‘Don’t worry Sergeant. I’ve got security here.’ She tugged Rhyllann’s hands back and up behind his back, forcing his face to his knees.
‘And the word of an Angel.’
Wren winked at her and moved the curtain of mists aside before anyone could reconsider. Carrie crouched against her stone staring at Wren with eyes that begged for an explanation. Still willing to believe in him even while she trembled with fear. The Blonde smiled.
‘Ohh, my tummy! And I can get back …?’
Wren nodded. ‘Try it. Makes you a bit dizzy if you do it too often but once you’ve done it …’ He gave a throw away motion with his hand – it’s nothing – taking a step closer to her. A step between her and Rhyllann, struggling desperately against his bonds and glaring at him.
She stared beyond the Altar Stone blinking, trying to bring hazy khaki clad shapes into focus.
‘And they can’t see?’
‘Not a thing. You can see into, but they can’t see back. So maybe we’re a split second in front of them.’ He added thoughtfully.
She dusted her hands together, all business. ‘Right! Where’s Excalibur? Show me and I’ll use it on the girl.’ She peered around expectantly.
‘Over there – by the side of the Altar Stone.’ Wren gestured.
She stepped over quickly then turned, her face puzzled. ‘I can’t see it. Are you sure?’
Wren smacked his lips and raised his eyebrows.
‘Silly me. Look at that. Rhyllann had it all the time.’
Chapter Thirty-One
Auntie Gabby’s face drained of blood. Wren steeled himself not to giggle; her pale face reflected the greenness of her uniform. She made desperate gestures with her hands then run to pull at the Sergeant’s sleeve almost tumbling to the ground as her grasp closed on empty air.
‘You promised me! You promised!’ She screeched at the top of her voice.
‘I lied.’ Wren said carelessly. ‘I had my fingers crossed.’
Rhyllann sucked at his wrists.
‘You OK Annie?’
‘Um. Just nicked myself.’
Rhyllann had searched his soul last night. Trying to decide between a lifetime ordering pens and loo paper; or this glorious adventure. It took him twenty minutes meaning Wren won a small wager with himself.
Auntie Gabs eyes bulged, staring at blue streaks running up and down the sword tucked into Rhyllann’s belt.
‘See – that’s another property of Caliburn. That’s its real name by the way.’ Wren told her. ‘Sometimes it can’t be seen. Not properly. And I guess you weren’t looking hard enough.’
She launched herself against his back, one arm trying to raise his chin, the other trying to get purchase with the dagger, screaming like a banshee, jerking her body to and fro, as though trying to snap Wren’s spine.
Rhyllann dragged her off, twisting her arm to make her drop the dagger, yanking it high behind her back, forcing her to her knees.
‘Behave.’ He told her. Then kicked at her stomach. Dragging her by the hair, ignoring her hands tearing at his, he walked over to join Wren at the Altar Stone. Wren squinted at a particular patch of dried rowan berry markings.
‘You sure that’s right?’
‘Trust me. Carrie sweetheart, it’s OK, come over here.’ He kicked the Blonde. Then exchanged grimaces with Rhyllann.
‘Not as much fun as it looks.’ He looked up as Carrie approached. ‘Try it.’
Carrie just stared. He wanted to reassure her but they still had work to do.
‘She had Jeff Holden executed in front of me.’ Rhyllann spoke gruffly. ‘I’m entitled.’
‘Damn straight.’ Wren agreed. But they wouldn’t meet each other’s eyes.
‘Let me go. Let me go. And I’ll give you anything you ask for.’ The Blonde moaned.
‘I’ve already got everything I want thanks.’ Wren counted on his fingers, then placed them over a series of random marks on the Altar.
To Rhyllann he said ‘What did that old witch say?’
‘Blood; fire; water; stone; earth.’ Rhyllann chanted quivering like a racehorse waiting for the starter’s tape to drop.
A sauce
r of water nestling on a bed of earth amongst kindling wood waited on the Altar. Rhyllann sparked a lighter against the wood smiling happily as delicate flames kindled yellow and orange.
‘Guess that just leaves the blood.’ He turned his smile on Wren, handing over Caliburn.
‘Virgin’s blood. Why does it have to be virgin’s blood?’ Wren muttered fretfully. ‘What’s the difference?’
Rhyllann shrugged, a huge bruise swelled over one eye, his own blood dried against his chin. He grinned again, this time at Carrie who shrunk back from his horror show face.
‘Dunno. She was pretty adamant though.’ He winked at Carrie with his good eye.
‘Shame – else we could have used the bitch’s blood. Somehow I doubt this one’s a virgin.’ He pretended to kick out again smiling with pleasure when the blonde flinched, curling tighter into a foetal ball.
Wren raised Caliburn, now going into overdrive, keening and stippling with light.
‘Well, let’s get it over with.’
At his signal Rhyllann grabbed Carrie, holding her tight as she struggled to free herself. Wren’s stomach lurched, he dropped his eyes from her terrified face wishing he’d been able to explain, steeling himself against pity. He couldn’t look at Carrie or think too much about what he had to do next.
With a sharp stabbing motion he ran the blade against bared flesh, drenching it with blood. Ignoring Carrie’s terrified scream he drove Caliburn firmly through the saucer of water, through the crumble of earth, through the flames, grinding its metal against the Altar Stone.
A puff of breath escaped Rhyllann, he staggered slightly as Carrie slumped lifeless against him.
PART TWO:
The Angel of the Titanic
Chapter Thirty-Two
Caliburn seared through his flesh like a hot knife, the sharp pain fading to a dull throb that pulsed in time with Wren’s heart. Tears sprung to his eyes, a scream ripped through his throat, the scream of a young animal being torn to pieces by hounds. The Altar Stone held Caliburn firmly and he gripped Caliburn, now drenched in blood, though it scalded his hands, sending shock waves deep into his chest, holding on for dear life, because if he let go they were lost. His neck ached, craning his head at the heavens, keeping his balance in spite of a giddiness that rocked him to and fro like a drunkard. The stars danced backwards, faster and faster and he heard a whimper “You’ve missed it, you’ve missed it – you’ve missed your signal.”
‘No I haven’t.’ He said firmly. As the words left his mouth, it appeared. The brightest star in the sky trailing a ribbon of light behind it. The Orgone comet.
Pinpoints of sweat ran down his forehead stinging his eyes, praying his hands wouldn’t slip in the bloody mess, Wren dragged at Caliburn with all his might. With a creaking and groaning and crash of continents he pulled the sword free of the Altar Stone. Then collapsed in a heap.
He woke shivering to a damp grey day. A scarlet bandage swathed his right arm from wrist to elbow. Almond shaped brown eyes inches from his face softened with relief, a new light behind them.
‘Brawd! You’re back!’ Rhyllann shouted.
Wren turned his head to one side to vomit, then hiccupped a laugh. Rhyllann was back too.
‘Steady, take it easy.’ Rhyllann helped him sit up. The air tasted different, more colourful. Wren took long deep breaths, trying to define the change. His body felt heavier, more solid. And the stones, they looked less imposing somehow. Shaking his head to clear it he stood up, feeling Rhyllann’s supporting arm ready to grab him if necessary.
‘OK, I’m OK.’ He mumbled. Before his legs wobbled and he fell to his knees taking Rhyllann with him. Somehow Rhyllann kept balance for both of them, preventing him from smashing his face on the ground.
‘Water. Is there any water?’ He managed before turning his head to throw up again.
‘Water! Get me some water!’ Rhyllann yelled over his shoulder.
The prettiest girl in the world rushed over, hair tumbling round her shoulders, goodness shining from her skin, despite her grimy t-shirt and shorts. Wren moaned, trying to distance himself from the puddle of sick on the grass.
Carrie’s eyes shone with a new light too.
‘Here, let me!’
Between the pair of them they manoeuvred him as though he was a doll, dribbling more water down his t-shirt than into his mouth. Pushing them both away, he grabbed the bottle and went to sit on his favourite Dolman stone.
The world felt altered, subtly changed. Beneath the bandage his arm throbbed, his palms felt sticky with dried blood, his head ached so he stopped puzzling. He splashed the last of the water over the bloody smears on his hands, and bent double to scoop earth into the empty bottle, tucking it carefully into his waistband.
‘Did we do it?’ Wren asked.
‘Who knows?’
Rhyllann definitely needed to stop shouting.
‘We’re still here in the middle of nowhere!’
Wren puffed out his cheeks. ‘But the Army’s gone?’
Rhyllann and Carrie looked round as if surprised to discover he was right.
‘The Army’s gone!’ Carrie shouted.
Wren held a hand up. ‘Please stop shouting.’ He said.
Bemused glances flashed between Rhyllann and Carrie.
‘Sorry!’ Rhyllann boomed, only slightly quieter.
They sat in silence, watching him minutely until he turned his back on them. His jeans rasped against the stone, insects’ wings whirred, birds sang shrilly. Wren fancied he could hear the grass growing, creeping upwards towards the sky. He swallowed, his ears aching at the noise of his own windpipe. Now he understood the new light he saw behind Rhyllann and Carrie’s eyes. He had joined the elite. Time Lords weren’t born. They were made. Twisting his head he saw neither Carrie nor Rhyllann had moved, they watched with careful eyes. For their sake he smiled, holding a hand to his head he said.
‘Boyoboy. Mother of all hangovers.’ Pleased when relief flooded their faces. His body felt limp with the effort of controlling Caliburn. He was also famished, his stomach gnawing on itself. And he hadn’t really felt hunger in a long time, but that would have to wait.
‘What happened to Auntie Gabby? The Blonde?’ he asked.
Rhyllann pointed silently; she lay curled on the ground, hands and feet bound.
Feeling eyes on her she immediately began throwing herself to and fro, eyes bulging, trying to talk behind her gag, still furious with Wren for breaking his word.
Wren dismissed her with a glance, she no longer worried him. In theory, the Blonde could have been left in the 21st century. But the same instinct that prompted him to send Jeff Holden off to London insisted Wren needed to neutralise her power before attempting time travel.
He wanted to throw an arm around Carrie but even to his own senses he stank of blood and sweat. He padded forward towards the stone perimeter, scared of what he might become there. A force hit the back of his head. A powerful voice, used to being obeyed.
“Don’t you leave me here – you can’t. You can’t leave me here you bastard. You promised. I’ll give you the girl. Don’t leave me here don’t leave me here. You can’t do this! You can’t leave me here all alone!”
He turned. Even from this distance he could feel the Blonde’s eyes drilling into him. A flash of red caught his eye. As calmly as he could, he rolled her thoughts round pushing them down and from his mind, putting up shutters against her. Outloud he said.
‘Don’t worry. We’re not leaving you alone.’
Wren walked through the stone arch and down the avenue of approach. Without looking back once.
Chapter Thirty-Three
This strange new Wren frightened her. Carrie could tell Rhyllann felt troubled too. Not that he’d admit it, but his hand kept stealing to Caliburn’s hilt, and after that first couple of times, he carefully avoided her eyes. Wren’s form grew smaller as he walked away from her heading God only knew where, Rhyllann trailing him. Carrie stood rooted, unable to move fr
om the stone circle. Suddenly a high pitched scream of fear released her from her paralysis. Whirling, she saw the Blonde zig zagging crazily trying to hide behind one of the massive uprights, bent almost double, hands bound behind her back. A man with a dagger in his hand chased her, tearing round the other side of the stone, red skirts flying behind him, dodging first one way then another teasingly; playing hide and seek, and the Blonde screamed again.
Carrie fled and didn’t stop running until she caught up with Rhyllann, falling into step beside him, clutching a hand to her side. They kept their eyes firmly on the back of Wren’s head and didn’t speak.
As they marched forward Wren drew further and further away from them. Bobbing jerkily now and then as he negotiated unseen paths across uneven ground and skipped over marshy grass. They’d been walking for ages, just as Carrie thought they might be doomed to wander these moors for eternity, way way in the distance a familiar countryside sight came into view.
A flock of sheep grazed by a muddy stream, a heap of boulders peppered one side. Wren sat chatting to the shepherd while he waited for them, stroking a coarsely coated black and white border collie. The dog lay at his feet but kept its eyes on the flock, unstinting in its duty.
The shepherd was a giant of a youth, as shaggy as his sheep, dark blond locks tumbled round his face. He wore a woollen smock like baggy jumper, his trousers were tucked into scuffed leather gaiters, his feet were bare and very grimy. He waved his arms around exuberantly as he spoke.
‘Yeah! That’s right. Just walk down thataway. Down there and you come to Monkstown. I go there. I go there last year. They got ice cream. I had ice cream. Oooh it taste real good.’ He nodded his head emphatically rubbing his stomach, assuring Wren of the goodness.
‘Annie! Carrie! – This is Matt.’ Wren greeted them.
Matt’s big green eyes shone with excitement, all these strangers! And nice strangers too. Not the kind his brother warned him about. And one was a girl!
‘Hello Annie.’ He mumbled, smiling shyly at Carrie.
