Destroyer of Worlds kots-3

by Mark Chadbourn

'I do not understand why she is of any interest to the Enemy now,' Shavi replied. 'In the Far Lands, yes — she was the key to our returning here, but now?'

  'I don't even get why they wanted to stop us coming home,' Veitch said. 'You'd think they'd be happy with us running away.'

  Tom muttered something acerbic under his breath.

  Shavi came to a halt when he saw Laura was falling behind. 'Keep up. In this crowd it will take all night to find you if you get lost.'

  Laura smiled, didn't reply.

  With an exclamation of irritation, Ruth stopped outside a roundhouse. 'Keep watch outside,' she said at the doorway. 'I'm going to fly.'

  Puzzled, Shavi began, 'But you do not have any of the balms… and the ritual takes-'

  'I don't need any of that here.' Her eyes blazed.

  'You need any help?' Veitch said hesitantly.

  Ruth smiled. 'I'll be fine. Just watch over my body. I don't want the Enemy attacking it while I'm out of it.'

  In the cool of the roundhouse, she sat cross-legged against one wall and closed her eyes, letting her breathing become measured as the sounds of the revelry receded. Reaching deep inside herself, she became still, concentrated, focused. She was surprised, and a little scared, by how easy it was becoming to use the Craft. When she was being tortured in the Court of Endless Horizons, she had put her ability to fly down to the pain and the fear disengaging her mind. But now she knew the truth: she was getting stronger; she was getting better.

  But the power was seductive. Once before it had almost consumed her; could she control it now, even though she was older, wiser, honed by experience?

  She reached down even further, through her body and into the earth where she could feel the gentle, reassuring pulse of the Blue Fire. Her fears faded, and were supplanted by the rightness of what she was doing. In the cool cavern of her mind, the primal sanctuary of the human against the terrifying dangers of the unknown beyond, she envisaged the symbol that had come to represent both the Ritual of Flight and a word of power; it was a blazing blue mandala that was image and word and will and act rolled into one.

  A second later, her essence rushed up out of her head, through the roundhouse roof and into the night sky. In the first hallucinogenic dislocation, she felt a wave of affection for Shavi, Laura, Veitch and Tom, waiting anxiously by the door, and then another wave of love for the wild, feasting throng; she didn't know any of them, but she was linked to them all, individually and as a group, on the deepest levels.

  Rising up higher, she saw the campfires and the village in the context of the broader landscape, the dark canvas of fields, the strips of roads, the lights of Salisbury and the subtle lines of Blue Fire connecting it all. Her chest swelled as she took it all in, and understood, deeply, for the first time in a long while, why they were fighting so hard.

  With an effort, she wrenched herself from the revelation and swooped down low over the camp, seeing everything, hearing all. Systematically, she searched until she reached the fringes of habitation, where the lonely countryside eventually lapped up against the well-lit A-roads. The full moon painted the grassland a magical silver, against which lay the charcoal strokes of trees and hedges.

  Flying low over the ancient, grass-covered monuments of the ritual landscape, Ruth scanned for any sign of movement. In a dense copse, her attention was distracted by a large owl, seemingly watching her from the low branches.

  In its huge eyes, she saw echoes of her own familiar, slaughtered by the Libertarian in Greece, a companion, if not a friend, whom she still missed acutely. She was not surprised when it spoke to her: 'Sister of Dragons. You know what I am?'

  Ruth floated an inch above the ground in the centre of the clearing. 'Not exactly.'

  More owls flapped down to settle on branch after branch, and there was constant movement in the grass as a flood of cats, rats, hares, frogs, snakes and mice drew near to observe her with eerily intelligent eyes.

  'Our kind are as old as time.' The owl had developed unsettling human characteristics during the time her attention had been on the other creatures. 'We have always shepherded the sisterhood of the Craft, guiding and teaching, and punishing where necessary. Every sister needs a guide on the dangerous path you walk. This is the role we have been given, and some of our kind have even developed a fondness for those we shape. Some. We have demanded little in return, save obeisance to the weft and the weave. When all is connected, to harm one harms all.'

  Ruth shivered at the weight behind the eyes that lay upon her. In her spirit form, sometimes, when she looked askance, she could almost glimpse their true shapes, but it was too frightening for her to give it her full attention.

  'You, of all our charges, understood that. You, of all, have proven yourself the greatest, and the most deserving of our guidance. After the death of our cousin, your companion, you were left bereft. The bond, unfulfilled. That slaughter, the first in long years, struck at the very heart of our kind, and so the Council of Yekyua was summoned.'

  Ruth was now surrounded by people with the characteristics of animals, squatting like beasts, yellow and green and red eyes ranging, fur, and talons, and fangs.

  'This world is in peril. This magickal land that we have helped protect for so long, this crucible for Existence's greatest force in the long war. And so we must act. Sister of Dragons, you no longer stand alone. You do not have one companion on the hard road, you have many. The Blue Fire burns in the Craft. The Blue Fire burns in our hearts. Know this world will be protected, come what may.'

  Silence fell across the assemblage. Ruth was surprised and empowered by the clear respect she could sense they held for her. 'Thank you. I'm grateful. The Brothers and Sisters of Dragons need your help now more than ever.' She paused, looked deeply into the faces before her, seeing endless possibilities. 'Then I have a request for you.'

  Not long after, as Ruth returned to her body, the moon-washed countryside was alive with wildlife sweeping out into every hidden nook and cranny. Overhead, the owls flew, majestic, fierce, with eyes that could see an insect a mile distant.

  Beneath the turf, the Blue Fire pulsed, and grew stronger.

  4

  Rachel regained consciousness on a public footpath winding across Salisbury Plain to where a silver BMW was parked on the side of a quiet lane. Dragged across the turf by her wrist, every joint in her body burned. Her left eye had closed up. Blood ran from her nose and into her mouth from her pulped lips. One tooth was chipped. There was a sharp pain in her ribs, and her right knee had ballooned.

  'Please, Scott,' she began, but it hurt so much to talk that her voice was little more than a rasp.

  'What the fuck did you think you were doing?' he growled. He was angry; bloodstains spattered his neatly ironed blue shirt.

  Not so long ago, she would have cried and begged for his forgiveness, offered him her body, promised he could do whatever he wanted. 'I can do whatever I want.'

  He stopped and kicked her sharply in the side. Pain shot up her spine bringing hot tears, but she hid her face from him.

  'I'm not going back with you,' she blazed.

  He punched her on the side of the face. 'Why do you keep opening your stupid mouth? Can't you see? Every time you say something moronic, it hurts. You don't want pain, you keep quiet.'

  'I'm not staying quiet any more,' she gasped. 'I've got a right to be who I want to be.'

  Letting go of her wrist, he grabbed a handful of her hair, dragged her a few more feet and then threw her down on the turf. Standing over her, he said with conviction, 'You need me. You can't survive without me.'

  'I can.'

  'That's the way it's always been. Women need men. We have to do all the things you're too weak and pathetic to tackle. You try to drag us down, but we're the real power.' He bunched both his fists. 'I don't want to do this. I love you, Rachel. Despite all your stupid ways, I love you. But you've got to learn that you can't carry on like this or we'll never be happy.'

  As he prepared to swing his f
ist, he realised Rachel was looking past him with an expression of awe.

  The first thing he saw were the roiling clouds, and jagged bolts of lightning dancing wildly across the grassland, though the rest of the sky was as clear and star-sprinkled as it had been all night. Thunder boomed, and then out of the tightly localised storm walked a woman, her hair flowing around her like snakes, her face blazing with an inner light. She was a ghost, a demon; she terrified him. On either side of her, a carpet of animals undulated towards him, their eyes glittering.

  Her face, he thought. I can't look into her face.

  As she rushed across the landscape towards him, an unaccountable feeling of dread filled him. Rachel was forgotten; and when he saw that the woman was floating an inch or so above the grass, he wanted to turn and run, but his legs would not respond.

  'You're going to get it now,' Rachel croaked, with a note of glee.

  Old instincts surfaced and he cursed and ran towards her, ready to punch and kick. A blast of wind smacked him in the chest with the force of a car, flipping him up and over. He heard a rib break, as he had heard Rachel's crack earlier.

  His fear obscured any pain, and he scrambled to his feet too late. The woman was upon him, her eyes filled with fire.

  He swung out, but she ducked and brought the staff of the spear she was carrying up hard against his chin.

  'My name is Ruth Gallagher.' Her voice appeared to be echoing from the bottom of a well. 'The rules have changed now. No man gets to do what you've done here.'

  'Don't hurt me,' he pleaded.

  Ruth examined the mess he had made of Rachel, barely recognisable as she attempted to heave herself up to her feet, and when Ruth looked back at him there was no hint of compassion in her gaze.

  'Your kind can't be taught,' she said. 'You can't be socialised, or have the violence drained out of you. It's who you are. People like you… you're the ones who give the Void the power it needs to keep ruling this place.'

  Scott whimpered, and shook his head pathetically. Just as Ruth thought he was about to fall to his knees and beg, he lashed out at her with a short kitchen knife he'd pulled from his belt.

  The knife lanced towards her belly and came up hard. She watched his bovine expression as he tried to force it into her, then the flicker of fear when he realised he couldn't withdraw his hand either.

  'The Libertarian brought you here, didn't he?' she asked.

  When Scott didn't answer, one of his fingers uncurled from the knife against his will, bent back and snapped. He howled in pain.

  'Yes!' he cried. 'Yes!'

  'He wanted you to hurt Rachel. He wanted you to mess her up badly.'

  'Yes!' Scott shouted.

  Ruth snapped another finger for good measure. Scott howled again as the knife fell to the ground.

  Ruth thought of Callow slicing Laura in the back of a van so long ago, of Demetra and the women in Greece, brutalised but trying to carve a life for themselves, of the pain she'd suffered in the Court of Endless Horizons, and she said, simply, 'I've had enough.'

  Rachel hesitated, but Ruth nodded to her to make her way to the BMW. Limping, she set off and never looked back, even when she heard the screech of the owls, the spitting of the cats and the fierce rending of claws and fangs, even when she heard Scott's scream, high-pitched and reedy, going on too long.

  Briefly, the violent sounds paused and there came a terrifying voice she didn't recognise: 'You gave no one any chances, but I'm giving you one. I'll leave you with an inch of life, a slim space where you can choose to make a difference, or not. Crawl away in your own blood. Learn a lesson. Keep it for the rest of your life, because if you ever backtrack… ever… these creatures will be watching you, wherever you are, and they'll act with all the fury of the natural world, and none of your pleading will do any good.'

  The birds and the beasts resumed their attack, and the cries rose up once more.

  5

  Perched on the top of a five-bar gate, the Libertarian watched the churning fur and feathers and the little black storm moving back across the grassland towards the distant campfires. 'Sometimes justice comes red in tooth and claw,' he mused wryly.

  Manipulation sometimes involved big gestures, and sometimes only a little shove, particularly when one knew the subtle motivations, deepest fears and heartfelt hopes of a person, the kind only voiced to a lover in the dark. He was growing increasingly desperate as events moved towards the final reckoning without the clear outcome he required, but here he felt success.

  Ruth knew he had guided the vile boyfriend to the woman purely so that the well-dressed thug could beat her until she bled. But the Libertarian knew Ruth would not blame him for that, oh no. Unconsciously, she would draw connections between Church and the Libertarian. She would know Church had passed on the knowledge of Scott and Rachel's relationship, had brought the two together so that sickening violence could ensue.

  For if she believed that the seeds of the Libertarian were already in Church, it was only a small step backwards from the terrible, monstrous Libertarian arranging for a woman to be near-beaten to death to the current love of her life. What lurks in Church's mind? she wonders. He laughed. What hidden hatreds? What ability for abuse? What contempt and violence? Perhaps he doesn't even recognise it himself. But is it there, ticking away, ready to explode?

  A small thing, the thin end of the wedge, perhaps, prising her apart from her love, pushing her towards Veitch — a simple man, but always a protector of women. And thereby pushing Church towards the Libertarian.

  Yes, he thought, a fine outcome for a night's work.

  6

  Church stood just beyond the outer ring of Stonehenge. High above the megaliths, the moon cast intricate shadow-patterns across the surrounding grassland. It was still, and quiet, and it felt to him as if there was magic everywhere.

  How long it felt since Tom had first revealed to him the secret of the Blue Fire at these stones, and he had become a willing supplicant to the numinous spirituality that pervaded these sites across the world. A few rocks, roughly shaped and proudly raised towards the stars millennia ago, yet they provided a window to the heart of Existence.

  Breathless after his run from the processional river path, he approached the stones as any supplicant would have thousands of years ago, looking from the dark silhouettes to the stars and the moon, breath held in awe, and feeling the charge of well-being rising from the earth.

  This is our land, he thought defiantly. This is who we are. This is why we fight.

  The seemingly random connections and coincidences that had brought him back to Earth to recover the First had served another effect: renewing his purpose. In the Far Lands, the Libertarian had done everything in his power to break his spirit and drive him off the path. But here he could see clearly; think; breathe.

  He moved into the circle. Electricity buzzed around his fingertips as he stroked them along the megaliths in passing, and once out of the direct moonlight he could see the faint blue light limning every stone.

  Narrowing his eyes, he let the Pendragon Spirit drive his perception. After a moment he saw the serpent amongst the stones, as his ancestors had done so long ago: a sinuous trail of Blue Fire forming a spiral pattern that had so entranced the Celts they had carved it into stones and worn it on their jewellery. A symbol for the path a human takes through life, which was also a real manifestation, which was also a symbol for life itself. Did it have other meanings too?

  He walked to the centre of the spiral — death and rebirth into a new life — and drove both hands palms down onto the turf. Blue sparks flew, and within seconds the ground trembled and a large area rose up to reveal a tunnel leading into the depths: the womb from which all life emerged. Quickly, he scrambled inside.

  The tunnel led to a large cavern, the glistening rocks overhead washed by a sapphire light emanating from a lake of Blue Fire, one of the reservoirs that fed the searing leys criss-crossing the land. Scattered all along the rocky shore was treasure bey
ond imagining: gold coins, chalices, plates, jewellery, ornaments, silver artefacts, weapons, helmets, chain mail — ritual offerings to the great power from across generations.

  Beneath the waves, a dark shape swam sinuously. The liquid fire cascaded off the Fabulous Beast's head as it surfaced in front of him, as majestic and awe-inspiring as the first time he had encountered it. Scales, tines and horns glimmered in the blue light, and the leathern wings gradually unfolded from beneath the fire. Behind it, he could see smaller, newer Beasts swimming.

  The creature towered over him, the heat from its breath enough to bring him out in a sweat, but he wasn't afraid. Looking it deep in the eye, he let their consciousnesses merge, coping with the queasiness of processing two images in his mind: him looking at the Fabulous Beast; the Beast looking back at him.

  'I know there's more to you,' he said to the creature, to himself. 'What are you?'

  'Existence.' A deep, masculine voice rang out strong and clear across the cavern, but when Church turned, he saw the same woman he had encountered with the Fabulous Beast in the cavern under Boskawen-Un in Cornwall more than two thousand years earlier. Pale skin, black hair, eyes burning with the Blue Fire. 'I gave you knowledge and purpose the last time we met,' the woman continued, although her lips did not move.

  As the Fabulous Beast moved beside the woman, its scales and bone and tissue changed until it appeared as if it was made of the Blue Fire.

  'Two of you,' Church said. 'Two faces. There's that duality thing again — another of those patterns that keeps repeating through the universe.'

  'The dark and the light are spread throughout all there is, in every fibre, every atom,' the woman said. 'But to enable direct change, the two powers must focus upon one place, one time. The Devourer of All Things has chosen the Burning Man-'

  'And Existence manifests in this form,' Church interrupted. 'You've been influencing things directly all along.'

  'There is a reason why all things have happened, from the very smallest to the greatest. In your own personal story, there is a reason. You have been shaped, schooled, prepared for everything that lies ahead. You were chosen Brother of Dragons — the first and the last, the once and future. Of all the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons, only you can join your consciousness with the essence of Existence in this corporeal place. Only you.'