Darkest Hour (Age of Misrule, Book 2) (83 page)

Church nodded thoughtfully. “It isn’t a lot, but we’ve gone a long way on much less.” The Bone Inspector dipped into his pocket and pulled out a halfbottle of whisky. “Found it in one of the houses.” He took a long slug, then threw it to Church. “You’re at a turning point in your life. The mechanics of the mind are rituals. They tell that ancient bit at the back of your head to clear out the last cycle and prepare to move on to the next. This is your ritual, now-the best we can do under the circumstances. Make a toast.”

Church didn’t have to think long. He held up the bottle and said, “To absent friends. Let’s hope they’re all well. And to Laura, for being the best of all of us.” He took a drink and tossed the bottle to Ruth.

“I’ll drink to that,” she said, “and I’ll say this. It’s just the two of us now, like it was when we started. But that’ll be enough. And we’ll win.” There was so much fire and defiance in her voice Church almost believed her.

After that they sat drinking quietly, talking about their friends, trying to keep them alive with words; and at some point, they looked up from their discussion and found the Bone Inspector had gone, back to his age-old round of the sacred sites of their ancestors.

They moved as close to the fire as they could without burning themselves and kept it well stoked against the oppression of the night. “Do you really think we can do it?” Church asked above the crackling of the wood.

“Look what we’ve achieved so far.” Ruth slid next to him and rested her head on his shoulder; he put his arm around her. “You killed Calatin-“

“With Mollecht’s help.”

“But you killed him. And it was your planning that brought Maponus here to devastate the Fomorii forces. You pulled out a great victory when it didn’t look like we had a chance.”

“There was a lot of luck-“

“And that’s a quality a good leader needs.” She looked up into his dark eyes and smiled. “But don’t try lording it over me, all right?”

They rested silently, half-dozing, but too uneasy to sleep fully. Although they never discussed it with each other, they both knew the world had changed: a faint smell of cinders drifted in the chill wind and there was an unpleasant feeling of a great weight pressing in all around them. And though they waited and waited for the streetlights to come back on, they never did.

Somewhere away in the dark, the Heart of Shadows had started to pulse, a beat that was growing stronger with every passing minute; relentless, like the pounding of war drums signalling the End of Everything.

two-time winner of the prestigious British Fantasy Award, Mark Chadbourn has published his epic, imaginative novels in many countries around the world. He grew up in the mining community of the English Midlands, and was the first person in his family to go to university. After studying Economic History at Leeds, he became a successful journalist, writing for several of the UK’s renowned national newspapers as well as contributing to magazines and TV.

When his first short story won Fear magazine’s Best New Author award, he was snapped up by an agent and subsequently published his first novel, Underground, a supernatural thriller set in the coalfields of his youth. Quitting journalism to become a full-time author, he has written stories which have transcended genre boundaries, but is perhaps best known in the fantasy field.

Mark has also forged a parallel career as a screenwriter with many hours of produced work for British television. He is a senior writer for BBC Drama, and is also developing new shows for the UK and US.

An expert on British folklore and mythology, he has held several varied and colourful jobs, including independent record company boss, band manager, production line worker, engineer’s “mate,” and media consultant.

Having traveled extensively around the world, he has now settled in a rambling house in the middle of a forest not far from where he was born.