Darkest Hour (Age of Misrule, Book 2) (66 page)

He was shocked to see Meg, who had been sitting cross-legged at the foot of a mighty oak, was now being swallowed up by the tree. The wood appeared to be fluid and was sucking her into it like quicksand. Her eyes were wide with horror, but she couldn’t scream for what looked to be a hand made out of the wood of the trunk had folded across her mouth. It dragged her further in; soon she would be lost completely.

Breaker leapt to his feet and grabbed her right arm, but to no avail. Then all the others joined in, but however much they tugged, they couldn’t halt Meg’s inexorable progress.

“Wait!” Shavi yelled. He pushed past them and placed his hand on the rough bark. It slid like oil beneath his fingers, attempting to pull him in too. The others fell back, waiting to see what he would do. “Be at peace, Man of Oak. We summoned the Invisible World for information. There is no harm intended to you.”

For a moment the repellent sucking at Shavi’s hand continued, but then gradually it subsided. The trunk appeared to ripple and an unmistakable face grew out of the ridged bark, overhanging brow shadowing deepset eyes, a protruding nose and a gash for a mouth.

“We know of you, Brother of Dragons.” The voice sounded like wood splintering.

There was a gasp of surprise from the others. “I know of your kith and kin too, Man of Oak, though I have never spoken with any of you before,” Shavi said.

“We remain silent when mortals walk beneath our leaves. They have never treated the Wood-born with respect.” A sound like the sighing of wind in branches escaped the mouth. “But we know you are a friend of the Green and the people of the trees and the people of the lakes, Brother of Dragons. Do you vouch for these others?”

“I do.”

There was a moment’s pause, and then Meg was slowly ejected from the tree trunk. She fell gasping on to the ground, where Breaker and Carolina ran to help her to her feet. She looked unhurt, but Shavi asked gently, “Are you all right?” She nodded, bewildered; her eyes were still rimmed with tears. Shavi felt a wave of relief that she was safe. He’d read of the dryads and naiads, the tree and water spirits, and he had sensed them at times during his previous explorations of his abilities, but it was the first time they had manifested. This time he had responded instinctively and it seemed to have worked.

“Those who move within the Invisible World are dangerous to call, Brother of Dragons,” the tree spirit said.

“I proceed with caution, as always, Man of Oak. How do your people fare?”

“In our groves, our woods and deep forests we are as strong as we ever were in our prime. Strong enough to repel any who try to fell us. Already blood has been spilled in the north country and in the west, and after nightfall the people have learned to avoid the coppices where our fallen bodies lie.”

The grim note in the creaking voice was so powerful the others blanched and took a step away. But Shavi sensed an opportunity and persevered. “Our stories say there was not always such enmity between man and tree.”

“In the days before your people turned away from the wisdom of the land we were treated with respect and we, in turn, respected the men who moved among us.”

“It could be that way again.”

“It may still be too early, Brother of Dragons. The new season has not been long in the-“

“No.” Meg stepped up to Shavi’s side. The tree creaked in protest at being interrupted. “I’m sorry for speaking out of turn,” Meg continued hurriedly, “but not all people are the same. We’ve always respected trees, nature. It’s part of our belief. We never cut green wood. We don’t pollute the land.” Shavi saw the wild intelligence bright in her eyes; she knew, as he did, that the Oak Men would be strong allies.

A whispering like the crackling of dry leaves seemed to run through the ground to nearby trees, then out through the wood. “They’re talking,” Carolina said, a little too loudly.

Soon after lights appeared in the deep dark, far among the trees, flickering will-o’-the-wisps that, oddly, put them all at ease. “Spirit lights,” Shavi said in awe. “The spirits of the trees moving out from the wood.”

“It has not been seen by mortals for many lives, even by how the Wood-born measure time,” the oak said. “We accept your words. We call you to come to us as friends. Embrace the wood. Move through our home, listen to the whisper of our hearts. Show respect for us, men and women of flesh and bone, and we in turn shall forever grant you the good fortune that comes from our protection. Let this be the first act of a new age.”

“I thank you, Men of Oak, for your good grace in forgiving the sins of the past.” Shavi rested his hand on the bark once more; it was warm and comforting to the touch.

“Seasons come and go. A fresh start will be to the benefit of both our people.”

Shavi turned to face the others. They were watching the lights floating gently among the trees, their faces almost beatific. Race memories, long buried echoes of wonder and awe had been released in them. In one moment they had become their ancestors.

Gradually, one by one, they drifted off lazily among the trees. Shavi watched their transcendental expressions as they reached out to the lights, touched the wood, caressed the leaves, lost to the mystery. The Oak Man had been right: this was a moment of vital importance for the new age, the reforming of a bond that had been so powerful in times long gone.

Shavi followed a little way behind, observing the change that had come over the travellers as they wandered in and out of the circles of moonlight; they were more at peace than he would have believed. Deep in the woods some of them came across a glassy, moonlit pool where water trickled melodically over mildewed rocks from a tiny spring, a green and silver world that smelled as clear and fresh as a wilderness mountaintop.

Carolina sat on a rock at the edge and trailed her hand dreamily in the water. She retracted it suddenly when she saw a face floating just beneath the surface, big eyes blinking curiously. The figure was not solid; in fact it seemed to be continuously flowing and reforming. But no sense of threat came off it. Cautiously, Carolina reached out her hand and paused a few inches above the surface. The water rose up in a gentle crystal spiral to touch her fingertips briefly before rushing away. There was a sound like gently bubbling laughter. Carolina looked up and smiled, her face as innocent as the moon.

Hours later, back at the camp site, the eight of them tried to express to the others what had happened. Amidst the gushing enthusiasm it wasn’t hard to communicate the overwhelming sense of wonder that possessed them, and by the time midnight turned they all felt they had been part of an epochal shift.

Penny was overjoyed that her son was still alive, but the thought that he wasn’t even in the world left her dismal. “You’ve got to help me,” she said to Shavi, clutching at his sleeve like he was the Saviour; her face was pitiful, broken.

“I will do what I can,” he replied, and it wasn’t quite a lie. He didn’t tell her what was likely to be her son’s fate in the Court of the Final Word, that even if he could find some way to bring the boy back, his mother might not recognise him.

Still, his brief words seemed to cheer her. She left the fireside hurriedly to wander among the trees in the hope that the Wood-born’s promise of good fortune would find its way to her.

Shavi retired to his tent early, exhausted by his experience. As the firelight began to die he had also seen a grey shape flickering like reflected light among the vehicles, and he did not feel strong enough to deal with Lee that night. His guilt at his boyfriend’s death had not been assuaged by the knowledge that it had been part of some overarching scheme by the Tuatha De Danann; he still could have done something to save Lee, he was sure of it, but fear for his own safety had paralysed him. If being taunted and berated by his dead lover on a nightly basis was the price he had to pay to purge the emotions that were eating away at him, then that was how it would have to be; even if the words he heard were driving him insane.

There was a faint scratching on the canvas. A silhouette he would never forget. He buried his face in his bag and tried to sleep.

And then the whispering began.

At some point he must finally have dozed off for he woke with a start to a rustling at the entrance to the tent. His first befuddled thought was that it was Lee until Carolina pushed her way in past the flaps. Behind her was Spink, now miraculously cleaned of the mud that had grimed him from head to toe. He was handsome, dark-eyed and black-haired beneath his disguise. Shavi switched on his torch and positioned it so it illuminated the tent.

“Do you mind if we come in?” Carolina said when she was already inside.

Shavi gestured magnanimously; if truth be told, he was keen for company. “How can I help you?”

Spink seemed awestruck in his presence, so it was Carolina who did all the talking. “The people out there are talking about you like you’re some kind of Messiah.” Her eyes sparkled in the torchlight.

“I am no Messiah.”

“They saw what you did in the wood. You’ve got powers of some kind. You do things that no ordinary person can do.”

Shavi nodded. “But inside I am just a man. Flawed, frightened, unable to know what is the right decision.”

She shook her head; her black hair shifted languorously. “You’re not convincing me. You told us yourself, you’re a man with a mission. You’re here to deliver us all from evil.”

“Not like that.”

“Not a Messiah, then. But a mystic, a wise man. Shaman. You used the word yourself.” This he had to concede. “Then you could teach us all things-“

“I am not a teacher.”

“Look at us all here!” she protested. “Why do you think we’ve opted for this kind of life when we could be living in warm homes where there’s always plenty of food on the table, where there’s always some nice loving husband or boyfriend there to make sure everything’s all right?” There was a sliver of bitterness in her voice; she swallowed it with difficulty and continued. “We’re all searching for something, something better. It was a spiritual choice. You must understand that?” He nodded. “We’ve been failed by society, failed by the Church, all the religions. But there’s a deep hole inside us that we want filled.” She hit her chest hard. “You can help fill that.”

Shavi was humbled by her passion and eloquence. “So you are saying that you want to be my disciples?”

She glanced at Spink, whose eyes brightened. “That’s exactly what we’re saying.”

“Let me tell you something,” he began slowly. “I grew up in West London in a family of brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles and nieces and nephews and … too many even to count. As a child, it was quite idyllic. I never wanted for love. I studied hard at school to make my father proud of me, and he was proud, and I was happier than any boy had any right to be. My father … The thing I remember about him sometimes when I am drifting off to sleep is the way his eyes would light up when I would bring him my school books to show him my work. They would crinkle round the edge, and then he would smile and pull me over to him. There was such integrity and honesty in his face, all I wanted was to be like him.”

He closed his eyes, the memories flashed across his mind almost too painful to bear. “My family was very strictly Muslim. It was the glue that held everything together. The mosque was as much a part of our life as the kitchen. And for my father and mother, for all my relatives, it was the thing that gave them strength to face all the privations the world brought to their door. But it was not right for me. I tried. I tried so hard I could not sleep, I could not eat, because I knew it would make my mother and father proud. But it did not speak to me, here …” he touched his chest, then his forehead “… and here. It did not feel right, or comforting, or secure, or even begin to explain the way the world works. For me. For I still believe, of all the religions, it is one of the strongest. But it did not speak to nze. And so, in all good faith, I could not continue with it.”

Carolina and Spink watched every flicker of his face, his deathly seriousness reflected in their own.

“I told my father. The shock I saw in his features destroyed me. It was as if, for one brief instant, I was a stranger who had washed into his room. And I never saw his eyes light up again. At first he tried to force me to be a good Muslim. And then, when that did not work, at sixteen he drove me out of the house for good. I stood crying on the doorstep, the same good son who had pleased him all his life. And he would not look me in the face. And he would not speak a word. And when the door closed it was plain it would be forever.”

“What a bastard,” Carolina said.

“No. I could never blame my father. He was who he was and always had been. And there is not a night goes by that I do not think of him warmly.”

“Why are you telling us this?”

“Because I have spent all my life since then searching for something which would give me the same feeling of warmth and security I felt as a child, and which would fill that void inside.”

“But you’ve found-“

“No. I have not. Once you set off along that path to enlightenment it is a very dark road indeed, and I have not seen even the slightest glimmer of light at the end. It is a journey we must all make, alone. What worked for my father did not work for me. What will be right for me, will not be so for you. Do not seek out masters. Look into yourself.”