World's End (Age of Misrule, Book 1) (42 page)

Church moved quickly, pulling out the Wayfinder from his jacket and holding it in front of him like a weapon, as Tom had instructed. The blue flame flared and licked towards the devil, who caught sight of it out of the corner of his eye and squealed. At the same time, Tom clamped the coal pincers on the devil once more. He howled as he futilely attempted to wriggle free.

"Now," Tom said, suddenly threatening, "we shall have some plain speaking."

The flame sizzled like an acetylene torch as Church held the Wayfinder close. The devil tried to tug its head away, its eyes wide with fear, but it had nowhere to turn. "Keep it away from me!" it hissed.

"The flame will consume you if we allow it-you know that," Tom said bluntly.

"What do you require, masters?" the devil replied obsequiously.

"Just burn him!" Veitch snapped.

"No!" the devil cried. "Anything!"

"This, then." Tom's eyes blazed. "You will leave Daniel Marsh alone for the rest of his days. And," he added, "you will do nothing to bring about that end earlier than fate decrees. Do you so swear?"

"On the warp and weft!" the devil screamed frantically. "Now let me go!"

Tom nodded to Church, who retreated a few feet with the Wayfinder; the flame flickered back to normal and the devil bounded free to the hearth. When it turned, its face was filled with malice and it spat like a cornered cat. It turned to Church first: "You will never find out why she died." Then Veitch: "There is no redemption for murder." And finally to Tom: "You carry your suffering with you."

Then it pointed a finger at the three of them. "Thrice damned," it said coldly before bounding back up the chimney.

Marsh stared for a moment in shock, before falling to his knees in front of the fire, tears flooding down his cheeks. He looked at them incredulously, then said simply, "Thank you."

Church turned to Tom. "Is that it? Will it be back?"

"Not here. But we will have to be on our guard from now on. Word will spread quickly through the brethren, and they hate more then anything else to be humbled by mortals."

Veitch collapsed on to the sofa. "Blimey. What's going on?" He looked at Tom. "What's this brethren, then? They're not Fomorii."

"There are many things that come with the night." Tom poked the fire, sending sparks shooting up the chimney. "Every creature of myth and folklore has its roots in Otherworld. And they're all coming back."

Veitch looked puzzled. "So it's like if London Zoo opened up all its cages at once."

Tom nodded. "One way of looking at it."

Church rested wearily on the mantelpiece. The room looked like it had been attacked by a wrecking crew. "That thing thought you were someone important."

Tom stared into the depths of the fire, saying nothing.

Marsh jumped up, trembling with relief. "That were fine-you bloody well did it! You saved me!" He shook all their hands forcefully, unable to contain himself. "I'll tell you what, the only thing I've ever loved in my life was the land. Then when farming went through all those rough years, I felt like I'd got nothing. But when something like this happens, it makes you think, don't it? About what's important an' all."

Veitch watched the farmer like he'd gone insane. "I reckon you need a bloody good sleep, mate."

"Oh, ah, I'll tell everyone about what you bloody did," Marsh said adamantly.

Church turned to Tom. "And that little devil's going to be spreading the word too. Looks like we're going to get us a reputation."

hey ate at first light while Marsh slumbered heavily in what must have been his first good rest for weeks. After Veitch had collected eggs from some chickens roosting just off the yard, Tom plucked some new nettle shoots out of an overgrown patch that had obviously once been the garden and scrambled them all up. He claimed it had been a popular Anglo-Saxon dish, and although Veitch ate suspiciously, it tasted remarkably good. They left Marsh enjoying his sleep and were out of the house by 7 a.m.

Church suggested their first aim should be to find some transportation. With technology unreliable, Tom didn't want to risk trains, and buying another car was out of the question.

"Looks like we'll have to rely on the comfort of strangers," Church said. "Hope you're all good at thumbing."

Their first ride took them into Tavistock where they convinced a farmer collecting supplies to let them travel on the back of his truck. He was just trundling west past Liskeard when Church noticed the direction of the lamp flame had turned to the north-west. Angry with himself for not paying more attention, he forced the others to jump off the truck as it slowed at a crossroads. By the time it was out of sight they were already regretting their decision. Ahead of them lay the bleak expanse of Bodmin Moor, rising up in sludgey browns and grey-greens beneath a lowering sky.

"How bad can it be?" Veitch said. "It's half the size of Dartmoor and we're already bang in the middle of it."

"Bad enough if the weather changes," Church said, checking the slate clouds that were backed up over the moor. "And the weather out here can change in a minute."

"Oh, you're a bleedin' wilderness expert are you now?" Veitch said. "The sooner we start, the sooner we finish."

Church grinned at Veitch's bluntness-he had already warmed to their new companion. They chatted aimably for a while, but their conversation faded the further they got out into the moor. The higher the land, the stronger the wind, and although they were in the first burgeoning days of spring, it had a bite to it that reminded him of winter. At least there was a single-track road they could follow which made the going much easier than stumbling across the uneven turf and gorse. Half an hour after leaving the main road they might have been in a different world; there was no sound of civilisation, just the howl of the wind, no stink of car fumes, just the damp, cloying smells of nature.

"How are you doing, city boy?" Church said with a grin.

"Sorry, mate," Veitch deadpanned, "I'm too soft. I should live in a rough place like you to harden myself up."

"What you need is a few archaeological digs on the North Yorkshire moors. That'd put hairs on your chest."

They continued a little way and then a thought came to Church that he had wanted to mention the previous night. "You handled that gun pretty well at the farm."

"I told you I was a bit of a villain. I'm not proud of it." There was a long pause before he added, "There's lots I'm not proud of."

"Last night, that devil-"

"I knew you'd ask sooner or later. He called me a murderer."

"Are you?"

Veitch looked away. "Bang to rights."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I haven't so far, not to anyone outside the family." He thought for a moment, then said, "Fuck it, you might as well know what you're getting in with. You know that building society raid where my brothers got arrested? Well I was in on it too. We knew it was a bleedin' mistake before we set out, but once you start thinking about something like that, it's like it's got a weight of its own-it just carries you along. There were lots of times we could have pulled out, but we'd go to bed and when we got up in the morning it was still on. We were desperate, you know. We'd been listening to all those politicians who told us we could have anything, only we didn't have anything. We had nothing. And just like we thought, it started going wrong from the moment we went in there. But we could have got out, you know, if I hadn't screwed up. We'd all got masks on. Brendan was up there at the counter, Mitch was covering him with his shotgun. I'd got a gun too and then it was like I heard this voice in my head, or just behind me or some shit. It said, `He's going to get you' or something like that.

"Anyway, I turned round and I caught this bloke moving out of the corner of my eye. And I just let him have it. Don't ask me why. I've thought about it a million times and I can't explain it. It wasn't like me at all. But there it was. Blam. Blood, guts and some poor bastard dead. I ran like hell-Brendan and Mitch took the rap. My own brothers banged up because of me! I wanted to give myself up, but they wouldn't let me. Said it'd make it even worse for them if they knew I was inside too." The weight of emotion in his voice made Church regret bringing the subject up. "They didn't blame me for a minute and that just killed me! I wished they'd made me suffer for being such a fuck-up, like they should've done. So they go inside, and I'm just eaten up by what I did to that poor bloke and my own family. And I wasn't even allowed to pay my dues for it."

Church clapped a supportive hand on his shoulder. "It sounds like you're paying for it now."

"But it's not enough, is it?"

"I reckon what lies ahead for us, Ryan, will give you plenty of opportunity for payback."

"I've never done the right thing in my life, ever, even when I tried to. But I'm going to make up for that somehow."

Church decided to turn the conversation to Tom so Veitch could have a break. He was amazed at how quickly the man had recovered; even the scars on his temple had healed. "What about you, Tom? Are you going to break the habit of a lifetime and tell us what that devil's message meant to you?"

There was a long silence, and when Church glanced up he saw the strangest thing: Tom was trying to speak, but it was as if he couldn't control his jaw. No words would come out, and in the end he turned away in frustration.

"Are you okay?" Church asked, concerned. But Tom dismissed him with a wave of his hand, his eyes focused on the road ahead.

In the cold dark before dawn, Shavi slipped away from the camp and lost himself among the trees. He could sense the sun coming in a way that still surprised him, although he had discovered his odd sensitivity a few months earlier. It was just one of several subtle changes which, inexplicably, had been thrust upon him overnight at the same time that the change came upon the world, a transformation that was so distinct at first he thought he was suffering some sudden, debilitating brain ailment. There were the psychic flashes which he initially thought were hallucinations, but which he came to recognise as precognitive, or visions of distant events. The odd sensations he received when he handled objects were as if he could feel what had happened to them in the past. And he seemed to understand what animals were thinking, although he didn't know if it was an increased awareness of their rituals and routines, or if he were actually picking up what was passing through their heads. It was all still quite unfocused, but all his abilities were growing much sharper, as if his mind were learning to use them now he had them at his disposal. He accepted it without question as a gift from some higher authority, and he was determined to use it as best he could.

Shavi found a clearing in the most thickly wooded area and stripped off his clothes, shivering from the chill on his skin. For twenty minutes he worked through his t'ai chi routine to clear his mind and then followed it with twenty minutes of yoga, by which time the sun was beginning to break through the branches. His studies had showed him that ritual and drugs made his abilities considerably more effective, and he had worked hard to develop a shamanistic framework to enable them.

With his mind wiped free of thoughts, his breathing regulated, he stood and raised his arms to the coming sun; the heat from the first rays licked over him in greeting. He slipped the Mexican mushroom onto his tongue, feeling the bitter taste spread, and then chewed slowly. When he finally swallowed, he lowered himself slowly and took up the full lotus, closing his eyes so the only sensations were the sun on his feet and the gentle breeze breathing on his naked skin.

"Come to me, spirits," he whispered. "Show me the path."

Ruth was already up cooking breakfast when Laura emerged from the tent, bleary-eyed and puffy-faced. "Stay up late?" Ruth asked as she flipped the sizzling bacon in the pan.

"No," Laura lied, slipping on her sunglasses in the bright morning light. "I'm just not a morning person like you, Miss Perky."

Ruth served up a mug of tea which Laura took with a nod and then proceeded to sip halfheartedly.

"Shavi must have been up early," Ruth continued; Laura grunted noncommittally. Ruth carried on serving up her breakfast, then suddenly threw the plastic plate down in irritation. "I don't know how much longer we can carry on doing this!"

Laura looked up in surprise at the outburst. "What do you mean?"

"Church could be dead! Time is running out! And we're just sitting here!"

"Okay, don't blow a gasket." Laura took another sip of her tea, then added, "Shavi's going to try something."

"What?"

Laura shrugged. "He reckons he can do stuff. You know, spooky stuff. When the world changed, he got super-charged ... seeing things, hearing things. He's trying to find a way we can carry on without Church and his little blue lamp."

"You seem to know a lot about him and what he's thinking," Ruth said suspiciously.

"That's what talking to a person gets you. You should try it sometime."

Ruth picked up her plate and took out her frustration on her bacon and beans. She had just decided to have another go at Laura when Shavi emerged from the trees looking tired and haggard. He flopped down next to them, rolled on his back and closed his eyes.