by Sarah Rayne
“Let us have done with pretence,” he said. “You know me for what I am, Madam, as I know you. You are Hunger and Thirst and the long desolate nights of winter. I am what you know me to be.” Light streamed from him, and Annabel thought, I believe that the thing he hates above all others is pretence and hypocrisy.
Spectre regarded Fael-Inis. “We have met,” she said, and Fael-Inis laughed again.
“Yes, we have met, Lady, although I did not know if you would remember.”
“I was there,” said Spectre softly. “Do you not recall that I was there, Fael-Inis? The First Great Battle of the World? The Battle that is carved into the history of mankind for ever more. You misjudge me when you say I do not remember that.”
“Your part was a lesser part.”
“But you played no part at all,” said Spectre, and seemed suddenly to grow in stature and tower above them, her shadow sending fantastic shapes dancing and flickering on the cavern walls. She leaned closer. “But I was there, Fael-Inis. I saw the heavens weeping in torment, and I saw the great armies of Lucifer the Light-Bringer storm heaven’s gates. I felt the dreadful agony of the skies bleeding, and the anguish of Man being cast out of that which should have been his, and which he must for evermore travail and suffer to regain.” She studied Fael-Inis; the other two might not have been there. From the corner of her eyes, Annabel saw Taliesin begin to inch closer. “I saw all of it,” said Spectre, and it seemed to Annabel that Fael-Inis moved a little, so that Spectre was turned away from Taliesin’s wary progress.
Fael-Inis said, “It was a worthless battle, that. It was doomed. The Light-Bringer should have known he would never succeed.”
Spectre said, “It is the one thing I remember, Fael-Inis. That you played no part in it. You walked away from it, but before you did, you stood watching for a long, long while.” Her eyes were fixed on him, and Annabel held her breath. “Have you really forgotten?” said Spectre softly.
“Let us say that I have.” The golden eyes were glowing, and Annabel thought that Fael-Inis was calling down some kind of power to keep Spectre’s attention. “Remind me,” said Fael-Inis coaxingly.
“You would take no part,” said Spectre. “When the Light-Bringer was mustering his armies, when the rest of us were banding together, to follow one side or another, you stood back and declined every offer made to you.
“And at the end, when Lucifer’s creatures were pouring down on heaven’s armies, when the skies were stained red with the pity and the pain of it, you simply stood back and watched, and there was mockery and disdain in your face. You stood bathed in the red light of the battle, and you would take no part, even though your participation might have swayed the fight one way or another.”
“But the fight still goes on,” said Fael-Inis. “It always will.”
“You were arrogant and defiant,” said Spectre. “You were the creature of music and fire and speed, who declared for neither side, and who elected to walk out alone into the cold world of Men.” She was standing very close to him, and Annabel saw that Taliesin had nearly reached her side.
“Did you fear Lucifer?” said Spectre. “Or was it the One against whom Lucifer fought? I have often wondered that. I have carried that image of you with me for so long now; proud, haughty, choosing the cold alien world of the humans when you might have had so much. You might have turned the tide of the battle, had you wished. But you knew that, of course.”
“Of course,” said Fael-Inis silkily.
“Do you know what is said of you now, Fael-Inis?” said Spectre. “That it was cowardice that drove you from the battle. That it was lack of courage and lack of strength that sent you down into the world of Men. Does that hurt, Fael-Inis?”
“Not the very least bit,” said Fael-Inis, and smiled.
“And so, rebel angel, you would walk into the Cavern of the Doomsday Clock, would you?”
“I would.”
“You know that to do so, you must win the key of each of the doors from each of the Guardians?”
“I know.”
“Are we really to do battle this time, you and I?” said Spectre, and Fael-Inis laughed again.
“I do not fear you,” he said, “even though I know all your names. I know that you are Hunger and Thirst and Nightwind and Storm and Tempest.”
“And Despair,” said Spectre. “The greatest threat of them all. You know as well as I that when a human succumbs to Despair, then he is truly lost, once and for all. To despair,” said Spectre, “to abandon all hope of everything.” The thin grey smile touched her lips. “Let me show you,” said Spectre. “Let me show you true Despair, Mortal. Let me show you your poor doomed world. Do you really think you can enter the torchlit cavern and halt the Doomsday Clock? Poor futile creatures! You will never do it! Even now, the Horsemen are hard on your heels, they are making their way through the mountain tunnels and the caverns, and very soon they will be upon you. But before they are, let me show you what is ahead.
“Your world is hurtling to destruction. Soon it will be a dead world, a cold empty thing, rolling silently through the wastes of the night. Your race is nearly ended, and all your history and all your struggles and your fine achievements and your vanities will be for naught. See, I will show you what is ahead.” And she stepped back and raised her hands, and at once a terrible moaning wind whipped round the cave, so that Annabel gasped and put up her hands. Taliesin pulled her into the shelter of the rockface, and they stood, clinging together, trying to shield themselves from the force.
“See!” cried Spectre, her hands flung outwards, the thin grey cloak swirling about her, her hair writhing about her head as if it was alive. “See the ending of your world!”
And there before them, was the terrible final upheaval. The world dying; sheets of fire, great torrents of rain, boiling seas. People — thousands of them — running frenziedly, screaming, clutching, holding their hands upwards imploringly … And then there were empty plains, cities reduced to rubble, smoking ruins. Here and there was a movement; skeletal hands reaching out, the scuttling of rats beneath the rags of the dead and dying. Men fighting one another, wildeyed, for a mouthful of bread or a sip of water …
Everything gone, everything dead, mankind shrivelled and all of the world’s achievements, all of the world’s careful work, burned up and blown away in the charred ruins of a dead world …
Annabel gasped and thrust her fist into her mouth to stop herself crying out, because although she had known — they had all known — what it would be like at the end, still they had tried to pretend it would never happen.
“And there!” cried Spectre, turning again. “There is the creature you have so long awaited!”
An immense shadow fell over the cave, and a great darkness descended. Annabel felt Taliesin’s hands close warmly about hers, and drew in a great shuddering breath, because there was something worse, Spectre was summoning up something so vast and so terrible that even though none of it was real, it could not possibly be real, there was the feeling of something unstoppable and immense, something that would gobble up the world and spit it out, something that would tear mankind into fragments and toss the pieces into the dark, swirling universe …
Taliesin said in a voice from which the breath had been almost driven out, “The Apocalypse …”
There was the image of a clear horizon now, of cliffs and a swirling, boiling sea. And then gradually, little by little, the colour of the sky changed, it became suffused with red, as if a great furnace was bellowing out heat. The clear skies began to heave and pant; threads of fire trickled and seeped out … Annabel thought in horror: the skies are bleeding, and then there was a great wrenching, and a tearing sound, and blood and gore spewed forth from the skies, and the skies themselves parted, and there, standing looking at them, was the Beast, the Apocalypse, the Armageddon; a hundred feet high, grinning and slavering, red-eyed with greed, spiny-backed and gristly-jointed, cloven-footed and horned and insatiable, triumph and bloodlust and dem
onic strength pouring from it … Ready to eat the world …
And then just as Annabel was thinking she could not bear it any longer, and that the Creature would reach for them at any minute, Fael-Inis shot from his ledge, a pouring arrow of light, and fell on Spectre, knocking her to the ground. Spectre let out a screech of fury, and at once the terrible visions vanished, and there were only the two of them, rolling over and over on the cave floor, fighting for possession of the great silver key.
Taliesin had left Annabel’s side, and was standing ready to pounce, but the two combatants moved so swiftly that he could not judge his moment.
And then Fael-Inis suddenly sprang away and lifted his hand with the key gleaming in it, and Taliesin grabbed Annabel and the three of them fell against the locked door.
Fael-Inis thrust the key home, and as they fell through the door, they each heard the hoofbeats thudding down the mountain tunnel behind them.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Annabel opened her eyes and thought that this was the worst yet. Of all the strange, frightening, unexpected things that had happened so far, this was the strangest and the most frightening and certainly the most unexpected.
She had seen, quite clearly, the door of the cavern swing open. “Then has Fael-Inis somehow got the key?” she had wanted to say, only there had been no time. The hoofbeats had been thundering down the corridor, and Annabel thought that Taliesin had cried out that the Horsemen were almost upon them, and Fael-Inis had sprung on Spectre, an arrow of light, fire, and speed all blended together, and Taliesin had been half pulling, half dragging Annabel towards the Cavern door, and the last thing she had seen was Spectre going down beneath Fael-Inis’s assault, a whirling, biting, clawing creature, shrieking her rage, calling up tempest and flood and fire …
Riding the whirlwind and directing the storm … Yes!
There had been an instant confused impression of the most tremendous tempest; of boiling seas and walls of fire, and of massing purple clouds … And of scolding winds that will rive the knotty oaks and tempest dropping fire, and the groans of roaring wind and rain … the last agonies of a dying world struggling for life …
There had been fear and panic and a driving urgency. Run, run, for the Horsemen are almost here; the Heralds who will precede the coming of the Apocalypse are hard on our heels, they are within the mountain, they are riding full tilt down the caves and through the tunnels, they are fording the rivers and, in another minute, in just another minute, they will be upon us, and they have sworn to destroy us, and if that is allowed to happen, all will be lost and we shall be lost and the world will burn …
And then the great door had swung open and Annabel had tumbled through.
It was darker than she would have believed possible. It was so dark that she could not see even the outline of her hand when she held it up before her face.
This is absolutely ridiculous, said Annabel, and discovered that she had said this aloud, and that her voice had echoed rather horridly all about her as if she was quite alone. This was absurd, because they had all fallen through the locked door, and at any minute she would find Taliesin and Fael-Inis.
The Horsemen had been quite close. Annabel had heard them, distinctly, thudding down the tunnels in pursuit. She stood very still and listened hard, but there was no longer any sound of them. This did not mean they could be forgotten, of course. But for the moment there were other things to be thought of. Finding the other two. Trying to make some kind of light. Finding the way to the Second Cavern.
This was more cheering than she had expected, because it was a plan, and a plan would be a good thing to have. It would be something to follow and something to hold on to. It may not be a very good plan, thought Annabel, but it is a plan. It was unthinkable that she should stay here like this, waiting for something to happen. The only way that something would happen was if she made it happen.
It was important not to panic. She could feel her way along the tunnel; she could go hand over hand like this, and sooner or later she would be certain to get somewhere. She would not have to mind about the dark, and she would not have to think about the weight of the mountain above her. I’ll do it somehow, thought Annabel, beginning the cautious journey. Somehow I’ll find my way to where there is more light, and then I shall have achieved something, and then I’ll think what I ought to do next.
There were scuttling noises in the dark; tiny, clawing, scurrying rodent noises. They would have been very nasty in any circumstances, but down here, half buried in the mountain, and in the pitch dark, they were more revolting than anything Annabel had ever imagined. Something brushed against her foot and slid away into the darkness, and Annabel drew back sharply. But the something was still there; it was soft and cold and sinuous, and — I hope it isn’t a rat or a snake, thought Annabel. I think I can cope really quite well so long as there aren’t rats or snakes.
She thought there was a sliver of light somewhere ahead of her now. It seemed to be spilling out from a distant source — the Second Cavern? — and it ought to be possible to reach it quite easily. She would go in the direction of the light, and she would not listen to the slithering sounds and the pattering of claw-like feet, and the occasional swishing of thin rat tails all round her.
She began to feel her way warily forward. It would be particularly horrid to tread on one of the pattering, scuttering creatures, but, thought Annabel, if it is them or me, then it will have to be them. Sorry, rats, or whatever you are, but it’s every Man for himself down here. And then, because this was quite a lively thought to have had, she said it aloud, rather defiantly.
The thin light was nearer, and Annabel inched forward, treading carefully, feeling her way across the uneven rock floor. If you fell over here, the rats would be on you at once.
She thought she was standing on a narrow ridge of rock, and there was the impression of space beneath her. An underground river? But there was no feeling of water, no rising coldness. Probably it was just another strangely proportioned cavern. Even so, it was important not to miss her footing.
And then the light flickered suddenly, and the cave was illuminated quite clearly, and Annabel very nearly screamed, because she was standing on a precarious rock bridge, no more than a foot in width.
There was no river below. Directly below the bridge was a large dry pit, and the pit was filled with writhing snakes.
For a very long time, Annabel did not move at all. The light had died again, and the cave was as dark as it had been before. But that one brief flare had been sufficient to show the snake nest very clearly indeed. It had shown the narrow rock where she stood, and it had shown that the bridge was very flimsy and very smooth, and that it would be very easy to miss your footing and fall off.
Into the snake pit.
Annabel began to feel her way across the bridge. She thought it would be safer to go on all fours; there would be less chance of losing her balance that way, and she lowered herself cautiously and began to crawl. The brief moment of light had shown a solid wide ledge at the far end, and the light itself had to be coming from somewhere. Even if it was only another cave, it was somewhere else to go. If I can get across the bridge and on to the ledge, I shall be all right. If I can crawl quietly and slowly like this, I shall be safe. I shall get to the Second Cavern, and the others will be there, and I shan’t mind very much about meeting the Second Guardian — Aife, was it? Reflection. Reflection, who guards the Second Cavern, and wears a Cloak of Nightmares stolen from a High Queen of Ireland …
A Cloak of Nightmares.
Annabel stopped and held on to the ridge of rock, and sat very still. A Cloak of Nightmares. And Fael-Inis had said something — what had it been? — about illusions and monsters, and about being able to separate reality from enchantment.
I don’t believe in you, said Annabel silently to the writhing squirming nest of snakes below her. And then, because this did not seem to work very well, she repeated it aloud. Her voice bounced hollowly off the sides of the mo
untain.
“I don’t believe in you!” cried Annabel, and this time she heard the uncoiling snakes, and felt the dry heat rising. She thought there was the ghost of a malicious chuckle from somewhere, and the light flickered again.
Snakes were not cold and slimy as most people imagined. They were warm and dry. They coiled themselves about you and their forked tongues flickered at you and their lidless eyes watched you. There had been an expression: laidly worm, which meant loathsome snake. Annabel had read it somewhere in one of the books you were not supposed to read. Now she wished that she had not.
The snakes did not exist. She was not really alone in this dark mountain. It was a trick, an enchantment, a spell conjured up by Reflection from the Cloak of Nightmares. It was a test, to see what she would do.
Nothing in her life so far had really prepared Annabel to crawl, completely alone, across a narrow ridge of rock in pitch dark with a writhing, squirming nest of snakes directly below her. She thought it might have been easier if someone had been with her, and then she drew in a deep breath, because there was no one with her, and she could not stay here clinging to the rock like this. She would go on towards the light. Probably it was another trick, and there would be another horrid nightmare waiting for her there as well, but that would have to be faced. One thing at a time.
The light seemed to be a very long way off. If she was halfway across, she ought to be nearer to it. The narrow bridge ought not to be stretching out and on, so that it began to seem as if it was longer now than it had been when she began. And then, quite unexpectedly, this was heartening, because this was something that happened in nightmares and if this was in truth a nightmare, the snakes could not really hurt her. Even if she fell into the midst of them (which she was not going to do) nothing so very terrible could happen. Annabel took another deep breath and continued her stealthy journey.