Darkest Hour (Age of Misrule, Book 2) (59 page)

“Great,” Church said. “Now all we have to do is get there.”

Church woke in the middle of the night with a familiar, uneasy feeling, but one he hadn’t felt for a few weeks. He crawled out of the tent, feeling his stomach churn. Laura was on watch, but she was dozing near the dying embers of the fire; he would have to have a word with her in the morning.

Slowly he looked around the darkness that pressed in tightly against the stones. Nothing. The wind blew eerily across the moor, making an odd sighing noise in the scrub. He prayed he was wrong, but in his heart he knew.

“Where are you?” he said softly.

A second later a figure separated from the dark: indistinct, almost blurred, as if he were looking at it through a curling sheet of smoke. He thought after all his brooding, all the weighing of emotions, the logical acceptance, he would feel nothing, but the pang in his heart was as sharp as ever.

“How are you, Marianne?” He held the tears back successfully.

The smoke appeared to clear and there she was, as beautiful as when they had shared a home; when she was alive. She didn’t speak, she never did, but he felt he could almost read her thoughts. Her face was so pale, by turns frightening and filled with despair.

“I should have known when they’d failed to find anyone with the big beast, they’d send you to hunt me out,” he said softly. “Do they have a message for me, Marianne? Anything? Or have they just sent you here to break my spirit?”

A sighing. Was it still the wind, or was it her?

He smiled sadly, wishing he could leave the circle to try to touch her hand one final time, although he knew that was impossible; he had learned his lesson. He wouldn’t break the protection of the stones and put himself under the malign Fomorii influence that inevitably surrounded her. “Did they think I’d fall for it all again?” His voice was low and calm; he didn’t even know if she could hear it, anyway. “Tell them it won’t work any more-I’m not as weak as I was. If anything, seeing you here, knowing what they’ve done to you, gives me more strength to carry on. I’m going to set you free, Marianne. And then I’m going to make them pay. If you can take anything back to them, tell them that.”

He couldn’t be sure, but he hoped, and he hoped: her face seemed to register the faintest smile.

And then she was gone.

eneath the soaring vault of a gold and blue dawn sky they said their goodbyes. Less than a month remained until Lughnasadh. Conflicting emotions darted among them like electricity between conducting rods, but although the currents ran far beneath the surface, they all recognised the secret signs. Few words were said, but hands were shaken and backs slapped forcefully.

Church surprised himself by the depth of his affection for Shavi, Veitch and even Tom; there was the mutual respect of the survivors of desperate times, certainly, but also a recognition of qualities of decency and bravery which often lay hidden in modern life. It was uplifting to realise even damaged goods carried with them the blueprints for rectitude. He feared for their safety, but he had no doubt that if anyone could overcome such adversity, it was them.

Ruth hugged them all, although Tom looked uncomfortable at the contact; he walked away a few paces so the unpleasant experience would not be repeated. Laura too tried to appear aloof, but her repressed nods to each of them shouted as loudly as if she had thrown her arms round their necks. Then Shavi turned to Veitch with a broad grin.

Veitch brandished his hunting knife threateningly. “If you try to hug me I’m going to kill you. I’m not joking.”

Shavi laughed as he pushed the knife to one side. He put his arms around Veitch and pulled him tight. Veitch was like a rod for a second, then relaxed and hugged Shavi just as warmly. It was an act of deep friendship, yet no one was surprised; they had all watched each boundary fall over the weeks until only Veitch had been left to recognise it.

“Fuckin’ queen,” he muttered as they broke off.

“Thug,” Shavi responded.

Despite the gravity of the situation, there was more hope around than they truly deserved to feel.

When they finally felt ready, Veitch and Tom turned to the north and set off across the uneven terrain, carefully avoiding the blackened, still-smouldering wreckage of the car. Shavi, who was to accompany the others to Mam Tor before continuing to Windsor, led the way south.

Away across the moor a lone figure watched the two parties, as they had been watched for so long. The choice was difficult, but eventually the selection was made. As the figure set off across the scrub anyone could have been forgiven for thinking they were seeing an unfeasibly large wolf loping after its prey.

Mam Tor rose up majestically from the stone-walled, patchwork green of the surrounding countryside, a slab of imposing rock, brown and grey against the brilliant blue sky. None of them could believe how tall it was, how sheer were the cliff faces. Far beneath its imposing summit the two valleys of the Hope and Edale rivers stretched out, cool and verdant in the heat of the day.

“I can see what the old git meant.” Laura’s sunglasses protected her eyes as she peered upwards. “Nobody’s going to scramble up there on a whim.”

“Bronze Age people forged a settlement there because it was impregnable as long as food supplies lasted,” Church said, harking back to his archaeological studies. “An excavation up there in the sixties found a stone ceremonial axe and other bronze axes. It was a ritual place for the Great Mother that protected them all.”

“Let’s hope it protects us as well,” Ruth said.

Their journey to Mam Tor had been without incident, but they all felt exhausted from helping Ruth along the rugged route which wound like a clear, rushing river between the overpopulated, overbuilt sprawl of Greater Manchester and the industrial zone of West Yorkshire. As the days passed, her stomach had started to swell rapidly, straining at her clothes. With it had come a sapping of energy, as if her very life force were being leached from her; but somehow she still managed to keep going. Her nausea, particularly in the morning, had become debilitating, and they had to find regular supplies of clean water to keep her from dehydrating. By night she shook as if she had an ague, her face ghostly white, her skin almost too hot to touch, sweat soaking through even her jeans.

There, looking up at Mam Tor, she had somehow found the strength to stand unaided. It seemed right, important. The place was sacred to her ancestors. And the Mother Goddess, or one of them at least, was her patron now. She prayed this was the place she was supposed to be to survive her ordeal.

“Are you going to be all right from here?” Shavi brushed his long hair from his face where the wind whipped it continuously. He looked remarkably fit despite the exertions of the journey, standing straight and tall, his body lithe, his limbs loose. The others felt calm just being near him.

Church nodded. “We’ll be fine.”

“Speak for yourself.” Laura surveyed the steep, precarious path that rose up to the summit.

“Watch how you go,” Church said. “I’m sorry you’ve got to go on your own.”

Shavi smiled. “I am comfortable with my own company. And I can travel faster alone.” He hugged Church tightly before giving both the women a warm kiss. Then he turned and continued his journey south.

The wind became more merciless the higher up Mam Tor they ascended. “Well, it’s going to be a lot of fun living up here,” Laura said sourly. “There’s nothing like the harsh elements to give a complexion that wonderful ruddy bloom.”

“Just be thankful it’s not winter,” Church said as he strode off ahead. The truth was, he didn’t know how well they would do. None of them had the trapping skills of Tom or Veitch and the environment was truly bleak and exposed. His only plan was to find a sheltered spot to pitch the tent, one which couldn’t be seen from any great distance. Beyond that, it would be a matter of taking things a day at a time, which didn’t seem the best strategy in the world when so much was at stake.

With Church and Laura virtually having to drag Ruth with each step, it took them nearly two hours to get a significant way up the tor, and by that time the sun had started to set. They turned and looked back over the breathtaking vista as the huge sweep of the country slowly turned golden in the fading light. It was an instant so beautiful they felt a brief frisson of transcendence that pushed their troubles to one side.

But then the high peak called again and they continued on their way. “We need to find a good site by dark.” Church scanned the rugged, unforgiving slopes.

“Why don’t you just go ahead and state the obvious?” Laura muttered.

“And why don’t you just keep on sniping until I get really irritable?” Church snapped. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Please don’t argue,” Ruth said weakly. “Let’s just try to get somewhere quickly.”

They bit their tongues for her sake, although the tension between them had not been given vent since Church had selected Shavi for the mission to Cernunnos. Church knew Laura had been hurt by the decision, but he couldn’t understand why she didn’t see it as a tactical choice instead of the personal blow she obviously considered it.

The night seemed to come in uncannily quickly, pooling like an inky sea across the countryside, rising rapidly up the tor. They were all too exhausted to look around much more and their calves felt like they were being burnt by hot pokers after the steepness of the climb.

Church was just about to select a campsite at random when he spotted a series of regular dark shapes among the gloom, hidden in a fold in the mountainside. They were too stark to be natural. He led them over to the place amidst Laura’s protestations and was surprised to see an abandoned house hidden in the shadows. It looked like an old hill farmer’s home, just three stark rooms on a single level. It had obviously been empty for some time; the door sagged on its hinges, the windows had been put out and the inside was strewn with the detritus of the years: a few slates from the roof, Coke cans, plastic bags, old newspapers, a couple of shrivelled condoms.

“Home, sweet home,” Church said, slapping his hand cheerily on the door jamb. “Hey, I can believe in serendipity.”

“I don’t like it.” Ruth stood a few feet back from the shadow the house threw, her arms wrapped around her. She looked it over like it was going to jump out and bite her. “It’s spooky.”

Laura marched past them both. “Well, I’m sick of tents and if it’ll keep the rain and wind off, it’s good enough for me.”

“It’s a good hiding place.” Church could see he wasn’t going to convince Ruth easily. “Nobody will be able to see us unless they’re right on top of us.”

“Look at this.” Laura’s voice floated out from the dim interior.

Ruth followed Church in with some trepidation, unsure if it was worse to be outside in the open night. Laura was pointing to a wall lit by the last meagre rays of the sun. It was covered in a mass of writing, some in huge letters, but vast swathes in an almost microscopic scrawl; most of it seemed unintelligible.

“Kids,” Church said.

Laura leaned forward to try to read the tiny print. “They really don’t have much to do round here, do they?”