Darkest Hour (Age of Misrule, Book 2) (56 page)

“Look around,” she continued. “This is the best there is in life. Stars you can see, food and water you can taste, air you can breathe. I’ve never felt as much at peace. You know, despite everything. Back in London, with work and all that, life had a constant background buzz, like some irritating noise that you force yourself to get used to because it’s always around. Now …” She held out her arms. “Nothing. It’s not there.”

“It always takes a disaster to show you what you’re missing in life.” Laura’s voice dripped with irony, but they all knew she was speaking the truth.

Ruth’s health continued to be up and down: morning sickness as if she had a normal pregnancy, which always made her laugh darkly, aches and pains in a belly that continued to grow by the day, then times when she felt as robust as she usually did.

Despite the urgency they all felt with Lughnasadh approaching rapidly, they hadn’t been able to reach any decision on what to do next. It was almost as if they were paralysed by the enormity of the task before them, and the certain knowledge that the repercussions of one wrong step would be more than any of them could bear. Instead, most of the days and nights passed in the denial of reality that was small talk, as if they were on a pleasant summer hike. If they could have brought themselves to examine what was in their hearts they would all know they felt there was only going to be one awful, unbearable option.

It was always Tom who was expected to find a solution; he was, after all, the one with the most knowledge of the new rules that underpinned reality. After five days of brooding and weighing of options, of trying to read the stars and muttering away in the thick groves, he thought he had a plan, but the others could tell from his face that he didn’t give it much weight. He refused to discuss it there in the open, dangerous high country.

“Talk of such dark matters needs somewhere secure and comforting, where energies can be recharged and preparations made for what lies ahead,” he said. Any questions were simply met with a finger pointing towards the horizon.

That night they made their camp in a sheltered spot on the southern slopes of Pen-y-Ghent not far down from the summit. It was a clear evening and after they had eaten they sat looking at the brilliant lights of the West Yorkshire conurbation spread out to the southeast.

After a long period of thought, Ruth said, “It’s too big, isn’t it?”

“What are you on about?” Veitch put the finishing touches to another spear; he was becoming expert in the construction of weapons.

“Look at it.” She outlined the extremes of the lights with a finger. “They used to be just a few settlements. Then they became villages, then towns and cities, and now they’re all merging into one. They’re driving nature out completely. There’s no human scale at all. People need to feel close to nature to be healthy, psychologically and physically.”

“I thought you were a city girl,” Veitch said.

“I was.” Ruth closed her eyes for a moment. “I’ve changed.”

“Perhaps this whole disaster happened for a reason,” Shavi mused.

Ruth eyed him, her eyes bright, waiting for him to say what she was beginning to think herself.

“We have had Government after Government concreting over huge swathes of the countryside,” he continued. “How many acres have been lost since the Second World War? How much of the ancient woodlands have been cut down? How many hedgerows torn up by greedy farmers? How much moorland destroyed by Army firing ranges? How many rivers polluted, chalklands debased, coastal floodplains disrupted? There was a relentless advance of urbanisation, of what was laughingly called progress-“

“And now it’s stopped,” Church said thoughtfully.

“Perhaps something drastic had to happen to redress the balance. To save the land.” Shavi lay back with his hands behind his head to stare at the stars.

“What are you saying?” Veitch looked confused and a little irritated. “That the Bastards invaded us and slaughtered all those people just to save a few bunny rabbits?”

“Oh, they do not know about it,” Shavi mused. “Perhaps they are just part of the plan.”

“Plan?” Veitch looked to Ruth for guidance.

“The great scheme of things,” she said.

Laura slapped her forehead theatrically. “Tell me you’re not going to start talking about God!”

“There is always something higher,” Ruth mused. “That’s what Ogma said in Otherworld.”

Shavi leaned up on his elbows to laugh gently at Veitch’s expression. “We are only throwing ideas around, Ryan. Do not let it trouble you.”

“Well, it does,” Veitch said moodily. “I get worried when people start talking about God. There’s enough to worry about down here.”

“Exactly!” Shavi said. “We are all crabs living in an enclosed rock pool. Occasionally water rushes in, changes things around, adds something new. We do not know it is the sea. Because the rock pool is all we see, we think it is all there is. We are puzzled by the mystery, but comforted by the regularity of our existence. We could never see that an infinite variety of wonder lies just feet away, that intelligent beings roam that place doing miraculous things. We are stuck in the rock pool and we can never see the big picture. So why try to make sense of something we cannot grasp? Why not just enjoy the wonders the next tide brings in?”

There was a long pause and then Laura said, “You’re getting up your own arse again, Shav-ster.”

“What I don’t get,” Veitch said, “is how any of this magic shit really works. I mean, somebody does something, then miles away something else happens with no connection between the two. What’s that all about?”

“Look at it this way.” Shavi was growing excited that the conversation was moving away from mundane matters. “You play computer games, no? The same as Laura. You both know about cheat codes. You type the code in and it cuts through the reality of the game. You can do anything you want-walk through walls, get all the weapons or secrets. Be a god in that fantasy world. There is a writer by the name of Warren Ellis who described magic as the cheat code for reality, which, I think, is a perfect analogy.”

Realisation dawned on Witch’s face. “I get it! Blimey, why didn’t you put it like that before?”

Even Laura seemed intrigued by this line. “Now those are the kind of cheat codes I could do with.”

“This whole world now, it’s all about mystery and discovery. It’s like being a kid all over again,” Church said. He thought for a moment, then added, “When I fell into the pit under Arthur’s Seat, feeling like my life was going to be over in an instant, I saw the blue fire come out of thin air. Not thin air, that’s wrong. From somewhere else, like Otherworld, but not there.” He looked from Ruth to Tom to Shavi. “Where do you think that was?”

“The source of it all?” Tom shrugged, the ashes of his dwindling joint glowing red in the dark. “Is it really worth asking that question? Do you think we’ll find out the truth? Not in this life.”

“It is worth asking,” Church insisted, “even if we can’t find the answer. The asking is important. It-“

“Look at that.” They followed Ruth’s pointing finger into the sky. A serpentine silhouette curled among the stars, riding the night currents on leathery wings. Although they could pick out no detail of the jewelled scales, the Fabulous Beast still filled them with an inspiring sense of wonder; it was a sign of a connection with the infinite that always surrounded them. “You look at that,” she continued dreamily, “and then all those city lights destroying the night … there’s no comparison, is there.”

Instantly the entire landscape was plunged into darkness; it was just another technology failure, but they all audibly caught their breath, the coincidence with Ruth’s words seeming unnervingly meaningful.

“Spooky,” Laura said. “Now make them come on again.”

The brief tension punctured, they all burst out laughing, then lay back to watch the Fabulous Beast gently tracking across the arc of the sky.

Exhausted by their daytime exertions, Ruth, Tom, Veitch and Shavi drifted off to the tents long before midnight. Once they were alone, Laura slumped next to Church, her head resting on his thigh. She had trouble making any first move which might lead to affection, so her actions always followed the same pattern of casual contact. Church tried not to flinch or give any sign things had changed, but he felt guilty he hadn’t yet brought the relationship to a close as he had promised Niamh. It was odd; once Niamh had left his side he felt less of an attraction, more inclined to stay with Laura. He was sure Niamh hadn’t been consciously manipulating his feelings; it had simply happened, in the same way they had all been subtly influenced by the musical tones of Cormorel and Baccharus. Perhaps there was something in the nature of the Tuatha De Danann that made humans fall under their spell. The old fairy stories that had been based on the ancient memories of the Tuatha De Danann often told how hapless nighttime wanderers were bewitched by the soft voices of the Fair Folk. Even so, he had given Niamh his word. Could he break it? Did he want to risk offending someone so powerful?

“You’re starting to become a cliche, Churchill. Sitting there brooding while you’ve got the world’s most glamorous woman lying next to you.” He realised she had been staring up at him while he had been lost in his thoughts.

“Sorry. You know … so much to think about …” It sounded feeble, almost insulting. She laughed, but he suddenly realised he could see something squirming deep in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“We never really talk, do we?”

“You don’t like talking.”

“No.” That look again, even though she was trying to hide it.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

Her eyes flickered away from him; she pretended she was watching the dying embers of the campfire away near the tents. Then: “I’m scared.” A pause. “And that was about as easy to say as swallowing nails.”

“We’re all scared.”

“Do you think you can be any more glib?”

He sighed. “Don’t try to pick another fight. There are easier kinds of sport.”

“I’m not. You are being glib.” Her voice sounded hurt, the first time he had heard that tone. “I’m scared something’s happening to me. Inside.”

“What, you’re ill?”

“I guess.” She flinched, looked unsure. “When that winter witch came after me in the club in Edinburgh something happened that I didn’t tell anybody about-“

“Why not?”

“Because I was scared, you dickhead. Are you going to hear me out or talk bollocks for the rest of the night? I was trying to get out, thinking I was dead, regretting being a stupid bitch like usual, and I cut myself. Nothing much.” She held up her finger and drew a faint line on her skin where the scratch had been. “Only the blood wasn’t red, it was green.”

“Some kind of poisoning?”

She shook her head forcefully. “When it splashed, it seemed to have a life of its own. It moved all over some bars on a window, broke them open.” She stared at her hand as if it belonged to somebody else. In a quiet voice, she added, “I think I’m jinxed for life.”

Church took her hand and examined it closely. Slowly, he turned it over; there was the tattoo of interlocking leaves that had been burned into her flesh on the island in Loch Maree, the mark of Cernunnos.

Gradually realisation crossed her face. “The bastard did something to me! I was so worried I didn’t even think of that.”

“Maybe. Seems like too much of a coincidence.”

“And there are no coincidences,” she added bitterly. “So what’s happened to me? God …” She slammed her fist against the ground angrily.

“I don’t know, but I’m betting we’ll find out sooner or later. The way Cernunnos acted, he must have something in mind for you.” He felt a surge of anger at how the gods continued to manipulate them all. “Look, you’re obviously still healthy, still walking about, try not to worry about it-“

“That’s easy for you to say! How would you feel if you’d suddenly got antifreeze for blood?” She brushed at her eye before he saw the stray tear, the only honest admission of all the churning emotions in her.

Suddenly he was aware of how fragile she felt, alone and worrying, trying to do her best for everyone else while keeping her personal fears deep inside. She was more of a mess than all of them and that was saying something: filled with self-loathing, unable to see even the slightest good in her character. Yet still trying to do her best. He brushed the hair from her forehead; she wouldn’t look at him. He had responsibilities here too; no one else was looking out for her and she wasn’t up to doing it herself. Once again he was trapped by doing what was right and damning the consequences. He couldn’t abandon her; that would be inhuman. So what if Niamh found out? He could explain the situation. How bad could it be? Certainly not as bad as leaving Laura to fend for herself when she was at her lowest ebb.

“Come on,” he whispered. “Let’s go to bed.”

Morning came bright and hard. Tom was up before everyone else, lighting the fire and boiling up the remnants of the rabbit stew they’d eaten the night before; it met with uniform disapproval, but there was no alternative so they forced it down despite their protesting stomachs.

By 7 a.m. they were on their way. Using Veitch’s book of maps in conjunction with the sun, Tom strode out confidently. He still refused to give them even a hint as to their destination.