Caitlin’s frenzied axe-attacks on the King of Insects started to have results. In several sections, though small, its basic form appeared to be ruptured; insects sprayed out into the freezing air like steam escaping from a pipe.
Mallory’s sword blazed as it took off part of the King of Insects’ ribcage, and in that sapphire illumination, Hunter saw Mallory’s puzzled expression as he glanced once again at what was approaching.
The rain of dismembered Lament-Brood grew more intense and Hunter had to dive out of the way of several falling bodies. His final leap somehow brought him into a position that gave him a good view down the street, and in that instant, he froze, oblivious to the peril all around him, at first not quite believing what he was seeing.
Walking slowly along the street was a single figure: a woman, her face as pale as the snow and terrible in the power and fury it contained. Her dark hair flew all around her head as if caught in a great wind, but her body was untouched by the buffeting. Lightning crashed all around her, and the hurricane-force gales whisked up any member of the Lament-Brood in the vicinity to dash them violently this way and that. She was glorious and untouchable. It was Ruth Gallagher.
Hunter recalled the last time he had seen her in her private ice cavern in Lincoln, devastated, frozen, and wondered what had driven her to cross the barren wastes. Her power stunned him; it was greater than anything he had ever thought could possibly exist in a human.
The King of Insects leaned forward and blasted Hunter with a stream of bees that roared from its mouth like bullets. He dived out of the way, but the few that hit him brought up red welts on his neck.
As he danced backwards and forwards, looking for a way past the King of Insects’ defences, he heard his name called in an insistent, frightened voice. He turned to see Samantha sprinting towards him from the cover of one of the buildings.
‘Go back!’ he yelled, but she wasn’t about to be deterred. He abandoned his attack on the King of Insects and ran towards her. Another of the Lament-Brood broke past the Wild Hunt into Samantha’s path. Hunter reached it just in time, taking off its head with one blow, then hacking through its chest for good measure.
But as he turned back to Samantha to protect her, he just caught a fleeting glimpse of another of the Lament-Brood coming up behind her. He started to call a warning, but it was too late. A spear-head burst out of her chest and her face took on a startled, not-quite-comprehending expression.
Fury and desperate grief fighting for control, Hunter charged forward and dispatched the attacker with brutal ease. He hacked off the spear shaft and Samantha slumped on to her back in the churned-up grey snow. She coughed, and a bubble of blood trickled down her chin.
Hunter’s heart hammered so loudly in his chest that it drowned out all sound of the battle. Ignoring his own safety, he cradled her head. He had seen enough deaths to know that she had little time left, but this was the first one that had affected him so profoundly.
‘You’ve got to get to Hal,’ she said. Her eyes were wide and staring, still not understanding what had happened to her. The shock had eliminated all her pain.
‘Don’t talk,’ he said, though he was really saying it to himself. Don’t talk, don’t think, don’t see what you’re seeing.
‘No,’ she croaked, ‘you don’t understand. Hal’s been arrested…’ Another cough, another bubble of blood. ‘Reid’s got him… trying to frame him. Hunter, they’re going to execute him-’
‘When?’
‘Don’t know. Probably soon-’
‘Is he being held under Brasenose?’
But she was already gone. Hunter scooped her up in his arms and ran to the edge of the street, where he placed her gently in a doorway. He allowed himself one last look at her, but no emotion. Then he bounded back into the fray as if nothing had happened. ‘We have to wrap this up quickly,’ he yelled to Mallory.
The King of Insects was sagging now. Mallory took out another chunk of torso, releasing a further cloud of flies and wasps. They buzzed briefly before dying in the cold.
‘Why?’ Mallory gasped. ‘You just want to spoil the fun.’
‘We’ve got to stop them from killing Hal. If they do, it’s all over.’
Mallory eyed him curiously. ‘Is he the fifth?’
Hunter said nothing, but his silence was answer enough.
Just beyond the King of Insects, Ruth directed the lightning and wind like a goddess come down to earth. Her face registered no emotion, but her eyes would have broken anyone’s heart.
Finally the King of Insects expired in a gush of flying creatures and a burst of purple mist. Even then Caitlin didn’t stop; she crushed carapaces underfoot and chopped at what remained of the thing’s form until there was nothing left but an ugly smear in the snow. Finally, the frighteningly intense cast of her face lifted to reveal the gentle, hopeful Caitlin who had been waiting within.
There were no more standing Lament-Brood in the street, though others were beginning to arrive at the far end. The Wild Hunt charged down to meet them head on.
While Mallory gathered his strength, Hunter ran over to Ruth. The winds dropped and the lightning faded away.
‘Why?’ was all he said.
‘There’s no escape from responsibility,’ she said bitterly. And this time Hunter knew exactly what she meant.
‘Church would have been proud of you,’ he said.
‘If he was still alive, I would have thought that worthwhile.’
Knowing there was nothing else to say, Hunter returned to the others, not realising the desperate pain that Ruth had suffered in the silence of her sanctuary after he and Laura had left her alone in Lincoln, not comprehending her grief at the memories of the man she had loved and lost, and what that man would think of her for ignoring such a call. As she had left Lincoln on horseback, a part of her had even hoped that she would die so that she could be with her love again. No one would ever understand the depth of her despair that she still lived on, to suffer more. Icily, she set off to seek out more Lament-Brood. She wouldn’t rest until they were all driven back to the darkness or torn asunder. And even then there would be no peace. If only she could see Church again, she thought. If only she could feel his strength, and his wisdom, and his sensitivity. But wishing achieved nothing.
In the complex deep beneath the echoing, empty corridors of Brasenose and Lincoln, the General sat in a bleak room, struggling with a half-remembered notion of a similar occasion when he had been surrounded by other hard men. The memory was elusive, and could well have been a dream, but it only added to his sense of desperation.
On the table before him was an ivory-handled pistol that had once belonged to his father. The knowledge that he had been called on in Britain’s darkest hour and found lacking was almost impossible to bear. He’d wrestled with his terrible failure for too long. The honourable thing would be to pay the ultimate price for losing the country to the invading force, yet he’d even failed there. He wished he was in his comfortable office in Magdalen, with its atmosphere of tradition and history, the wall of war art that spoke of his responsibilities; it would have been easier to make the decision there.
He thought of his family and wondered where they were. Still alive? He’d failed them, too, in so many ways.
All he wanted to do was to make amends, but the only option left to him would change nothing. No one would even know he had pulled the trigger.
Absently, he flicked through the very latest intelligence report that Reid’s department had prepared for him. It was about the gang of thugs who wore black T-shirts marked with a red ‘V’. They’d terrorised the country for months, growing in number with each passing week. All of them had now gathered in Hampstead to carry out some kind of crazed ritual in the belief that they could bring Ryan Veitch back from the dead. The population was dying in their millions and a bunch of nutters had decided to turn some rotting Brother of Dragons into a messiah. The whole world had gone insane, the General thought. What was the point in any
of them carrying on?
Reid breezed in. He glanced at the gun and then at the General, but if he had any understanding of the situation he didn’t show it; he probably didn’t care, the General reflected.
‘The men need a pep talk,’ Reid said.
‘What’s the point?’
‘It’s not over yet.’
The General fixed a cold gaze on the spy. ‘Have you got something planned?’
‘Come on.’ Reid marched out, ignoring the question.
The General sat for a second in thought, then pocketed his pistol and followed. There would be time for honour later.
In the Divinity School, the survivors chatted with incipient hope that victory had been achieved. Thackeray, who knew the worst was yet to come, did nothing to dash their optimism — after all they had been through, these people deserved at least that. Instead, he quietly found Caitlin, who was squatting in one corner, catching her breath. When she saw him coming, she stood up and they hugged each other, and then they kissed passionately, which was a shock to both of them.
‘They’re already talking about you in the same breath as the Five who fought at the Fall. They’re going to put your name up in lights,’ Thackeray said.
‘Only if we win.’
‘You will. I have every faith in you.’
His words filled her with a powerful sense of the responsibility that had been bestowed on her.
They were interrupted by Hunter, who urged her to come with him and Mallory to the high-security wing under Brasenose. Laura approached, her hand now fully healed. ‘I’m coming, too,’ she said.
Hunter bluntly refused. ‘You have to find Sophie. We need her. Tell her she has to come to Brasenose immediately — she can’t waste a second. All five of us have got to get together to prepare for the Void.’ He turned to go, then added, ‘And when you’ve done that, go and help Ruth. She needs you.’
Laura nodded once in agreement, and departed without another word.
‘When are you going to fill us in on who the fifth Brother or Sister is?’ Caitlin asked as she ran alongside Hunter and Mallory through the frozen night.
‘When I’m sure that information isn’t going to prejudice our survival,’ Hunter replied.
On the journey through the cold night from Corpus Christi, Sophie had never let her attention waver from Manning. Sophie didn’t trust her at all, despite what Shavi had said about them having no other choice. The woman’s contemptuous nature made Sophie’s hackles rise, but there was some other troubling quality about Manning that Sophie couldn’t quite define.
The corridors they were now walking along were dark and quiet. Sophie didn’t know Oxford well enough to be able to work out where they were and Manning had refused to offer any guidance. Shavi wasn’t any help, either. Since they had left Corpus Christi he had been slipping in and out of a trance state, as if the ritual he had conducted earlier refused to let him go.
Manning suddenly stopped short, as though sensing something beyond Sophie’s range of perception. ‘There’ll be things coming down here soon,’ she hissed. She chose a door at random, then ushered Sophie and Shavi in.
Shavi slumped into a corner, barely conscious. Sophie turned on Manning, her patience gone. ‘You said you were taking us to the Void.’
‘I lied.’
The baldness of Manning’s response brought Sophie up sharp, but within a second she was preparing to summon up the power that the Craft put at her disposal.
‘Don’t try any of your witchy stuff on me. Really, it won’t do any good,’ Manning cautioned. ‘Let me rephrase: I lied about taking you to the Void, but that wouldn’t help you anyway. You’d be destroyed in a second. But I have brought you here for a reason.’
‘You’d better explain yourself quickly. I’m not going to be pushed around any more.’
‘All right. Now’s as good a time as any. You need to be here-’
‘Why?’
‘Because here is where everything’s going to end. And if you’re not here it would ruin my plans.’
‘A trap, then.’ Sophie’s eyes narrowed. She steeled herself, ready to attack.
‘Really, there’s no hope of winning this battle,’ Manning said. ‘But just to show you what a good sport I am, let me tell you how it all is going to end. I’ll tell you the truth. About everything. I’m sorry to say you’re not going to like it. Even worse, you’re not going to be able to tell a soul.’
The guards led Hal through the maze of corridors, then up a flight of stairs and out into a small courtyard that smelled of rotting refuse. Walls rose up on either side, making it oppressively dark.
‘Kneel,’ one guard barked. He motioned with a handgun to the centre of the courtyard.
The realisation that this was the place where he was going to die hit Hal hard. A shudder ran through him, closely followed by the absurd acknowledgement that the location was so mundane. He’d end his life, unmourned and forgotten, in a place where rubbish was disposed of.
As he knelt in the thick snow, the blood thundering in his head, every sensation was heightened: the stink of old cabbages; the bitter cold making his skin ache; the distant, undefined noises of the city; snow crystals glimmering like jewels in the thin light that filtered into the courtyard; the bitter taste of bile in his mouth.
The hard muzzle of a gun pressed against the back of his head. For a second, Hal thought he was going to be sick.
And in that instant, remembrance surged through him like a shock of electricity. His hand shot into his pocket and his fingers closed around the Bloodeye for the final time. Words sprang to his lips unbidden: ‘Far and away and here.’ Just a rustle in the stillness of the courtyard, but they were heard a universe away.
A shadow like a giant spider fell across the snow. One of the guards choked on an exclamation of horror in his throat.
The gun fell into the snow and hot, sticky liquid splattered over the back of Hal’s head. The other guard was shouting into his radio: ‘The prisoner is escaping. Repeat, the prisoner is-’
There was a tearing sound, a gurgling and then silence. Still shaking, Hal raised his head to see the bodies of the guards lying nearby, broken and bloody.
‘Come, Brother of Dragons.’ The voice sounded like fingernails on glass. Hal looked around to see Shadow John from The Hunter’s Moon lurking in the twilight area between the shadows and the snow, his seven-foot-tall, painfully thin figure given extra height by his stovepipe hat. Yet there was something different about him. In the pub, he had appeared jovial and elegant, but in the cold, hard night of the real world there was a menacing air about him. He was hunched slightly, one gimlet eye darting hungrily back and forth, those stretched-toffee fingers now sharp as razors and stained with blood.
Hal stood up, fighting to steady himself. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ he ventured.
‘Do? You must run, Brother of Dragons. Run!’ Shadow John waved a skeletal arm wildly. ‘And hide! Your enemies here will kill you if they find you! Run! And we shall protect you!’
There was a frightening insistence in Shadow John’s voice, verging on madness. Hal didn’t wait a second longer. He turned and bolted back the way he had been brought.
In the first corridor, he came across Mother Mary, the cackling old crone, who had seemed almost senile the last time he’d seen her. She sat cross-legged in a pool of gore, white cap stained scarlet, while her black cat played with the remains of a guard. As Hal ran past her, she eyed him coldly, like a lion ready to pounce. Hal didn’t look back.
Two minutes later, he came across another familiar figure. The attractive but unbalanced woman with the long blonde hair that moved like snakes had another guard pinned against a wall; it was impossible to tell if she was attacking him or seducing him. His trousers were open, his erect penis gripped tightly in her hand, but his eyes had rolled upwards to show the whites and a string of drool was falling from one corner of his mouth.
She looked at Hal seductively. ‘Run, Brother of Dragons
,’ she whispered sibilantly.
Hal ran, scared now that what he had unleashed might prove worse than the threat he had sought to eliminate. The man who resembled a devil, with horns and cloven hooves, stalked past, completely oblivious to Hal; there was murder in his eyes and a smell of brimstone about him. Further on, Bearskin hunched over a bundle of bloody rags, feeding.
Finally, Hal came to a dark, deserted room and flung himself inside. He slammed the door shut and slipped down to the floor, listening to the constant padding of feet without, and the sounds of rending, and the running, and the screams, until he covered his ears and bowed his head and wished he was a boy again.
Chapter Nineteen
The Cold At The End Of The world
‘ Those who cannot perform great things themselves may yet have a satisfaction in doing justice to those who can.’
Horace Walpole
Oxford felt like Christmas Eve as Hunter, Mallory and Caitlin ran through the deserted streets. Preternaturally quiet, with the snow lying heavy on the rooftops and roads, there was something uncannily magical about the city. Occasionally, they glimpsed shimmering buildings, ghostly in blue, hovering just behind the familiar ancient landmarks. Just a trick of the light, they told themselves.
Somewhere, Ruth Gallagher was harrying the remnants of the Lament-Brood to destruction. It was in all their minds: once she had been like them, someone struggling to do the right thing against impossible odds, and now she had risen to the status of legend. A human become god. And so it was for all the Five who had fought at the Fall: gods and demi-gods, angels — and even, in Veitch, a devil to haunt the nightmares of the people. Great, greater, greatest.
Yet this time it was down to the three of them, and Sophie wherever she was, and the mysterious fifth, to defeat something of such magnitude that it was defined as the opposite of life. It didn’t seem right; it certainly wasn’t fair.
The Hounds of Avalon tda-3 Page 41