World's End (Age of Misrule, Book 1) (73 page)

"The Danann will not heed you while it remains."

They fell silent for a long minute, and then Tom said, "I think you need to make some explanations to the others."

"I know. I owe them that, certainly. And I hope I'll be able to make amends. I'll tell them later, after we've eaten." He sighed.

"Just a few weeks ago I thought I was incapable of feeling anything again," he went on, thoughtfully. "Now I could be convinced I'm feeling too much." He laughed ironically. "In this new Dark Age, it's easy to think we've lost so much-a way of life, technology that works, logic. But is that true? We've still got all the things that truly matter. It might sound corny, but maybe the importance of life comes down to just a few simple things-friendship, love, trust, a belief in something better. Faith. And in the face of all this inhumanity, maybe those human things are all we really need."

Tom laughed, a sound Church couldn't recall hearing before. "And you call me the hippie."

Church scanned his face, saw the suffering and the strengths that had overcome it. "It's not over, you know."

"I know."

"You're right, we've done great things. Amazing things. We may not be much to look at, but ..." He looked round at the others. "Look at them. I wouldn't want anybody else by my side. We're going to fight back. Find some way to make a difference. And we'll do it, you know?"

"I know."

"So what do we do now?"

"That," Tom said, "is a question for tomorrow."

They stoked up the fire and dined on the last of the sandwiches and crisps they had brought from the van. Later, while the others sat quietly thinking, Laura took the radio Church had bought in Melrose and wandered off, trying to find some music. Not long after she came hurrying back with it.

"You'd better listen to this," she said. "I went right across the bands trying to find some music that wasn't from another century. But every station was playing the same recorded message-that there's about to be some kind of Government statement."

They put the radio down and huddled round it. Soon after there was a burst of sombre music, and then the clipped, precise tones of a BBC newsreader.

"This is the BBC, calling the country from London. We have a statement from the Prime Minister which will be repeated at intervals of thirty minutes."

A recording of the Prime Minister rang out, the voice clear, unwavering, drained of any emotion at all. "As of 10 p.m. on May 1, martial law has been declared throughout the United Kingdom. The activities of Parliament have been suspended until further notice. This difficult decision has been taken in the light of the crisis facing the country. I can give no further details at this moment. In the meantime, once the situation has been clarified, official announcements will made through the BBC radio and television channels. In this troubling time, I would urge you all to remain calm. This action has been forced upon us, and it has been adopted reluctantly, but it is for the protection of all. A curfew will be instigated during the hours of darkness. The Government offers the strongest advice to congregate in areas of human habitation. Stay away from open countryside. Avoid lakes and rivers. The National Parks are restricted areas until further notice. Do not venture into any area considered lonely or secluded. Remain in well-lit localities at all times. Do not travel alone. In rural areas our stringent gun laws are being relaxed for the protection of the populace.

"On a more personal note, I must say I am well aware of the strength of character that lies at the heart of this proud nation. In the days and weeks that lie ahead, we must all reach deep into that well of courage that we have exhibited so many times before in our glorious history. By standing together, we shall prevail."

There was a brief pause and then the announcer said, "That is all. This is the BBC, calling-"

Laura flicked off the radio. They remained silent for a long moment and then Witch said, "It's started, then."

As if in response, a fire erupted magically on the hilltop close by; there was no fuel anyone could see, and though it blazed powerfully, it didn't seem to scorch the surrounding grass. Then others burst like tiny fireflies on nearby hilltops, spreading out across the land as far as the eye could see.

"The Beltane fires," Tom said quietly. "The season has turned."

They stood together looking out at the flickering beacons, feeling lonely and insignificant in the vast chamber of night. The world was no longer their own. The Age of Reason had died, and a new Dark Age had dawned.

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.