“How do you know all this?” Ruth asked.
“I was called. Informed-“
“Called by whom?”
He smiled at the insistence in her voice. “If you must know, by a gentleman called the Bone Inspector. Any the wiser?”
“That’s an odd name.”
“He’s an odd man. His people have been linked to the land for millennia, the custodians of secret knowledge and ancient ritual. He guards the old places where the blue fire burns the brightest. He felt the changes first. Perhaps you’ll meet him one day and then you can ask him all these questions yourself.”
“This is making my head hurt,” Church said. “People who guard the old places?”
“The best way to approach this is to forget everything you thought you knew,” Tom said bluntly.
“Okay,” Church said, “you’ve convinced me you’ve got some sort of insight, but there are still a lot of questions to be answered-“
“At least I have your attention now,” Tom said acidly.
“Then what is going on?” Ruth asked. Beyond the ruddy glow cast by the fire, the night seemed too dark; past the comforting bulk of the stones the shadows seemed to rise up from the plain. “Why are all these things happening now?”
Tom crimped out the joint. “Everything changed, suddenly, dramatically, sometime around the New Year.” He prodded the fire with a broken branch, sending a shower of sparks skyward. “The world’s turning away from the light. History is cyclical, you should know that. Empires rise and fall, knowledge is learned then lost, and sometimes things that seem gone forever return unannounced. There’s a basis for all legends, folklore, fairytales-“
“Symbolism, rites of passage, religion,” Church interrupted. “A way to pass important wisdom down the generations so it can be easily understood by those learning it.”
“All true, of course. How very erudite of you. But some of it is literal. As I understand it, the world used to be a very different place. You saw the Fabulous Beast so this is undeniable-creatures of myth once walked this land, old gods, ancient races, things you would think existed only in the imagination. And the old stories are our way of remembering this time of wonder and miracles.”
Church glanced at Ruth; Tom’s words were an echo of what Kraicow had begun to say. “There’s no archaeological record-” he began, but Tom waved him silent.
“Somehow, for some reason, all these things were swept away to”-he made an expansive gesture-“some other place. But now-“
“They’re back.” Ruth shivered. Somewhere nearby an owl’s forlorn hoot keened over the wind. She searched the darkness, but it was impossible to see anything beyond the circle of the fire. “And this man you called the Bone Inspector told you all this?”
“Some of it.”
“And you believed him straight away?” Church put his head in his hands and closed his eyes for a moment. But having seen what Tom called the Fabulous Beast, he knew there was no rational explanation for it. “So where did all these creatures of myth go for the last millennia or so?”
Church couldn’t tell if Tom’s silence was because he didn’t know or because he didn’t want to tell them.
“And what we saw under the bridge and at the service station were some of the things from those days?” Ruth asked hesitantly.
Tom searched for the right words. “This is how it was told to me: long ago, long before mankind had established itself, there were old races. Beings of tremendous power, understanding of all the secret forces in the universe. They were so incomprehensible to us in their appearance and their actions they could have been gods. They were the source of all our legends. In the Celtic stories, in the sacred traditions of other races and cultures. Even in the Christian heritage.”
“Demons,” Ruth ventured.
“And angels,” Tom continued. “Folklore is the secret history of this land. There’s a bright truth in every story. Look at mediaeval wood carvings. Illustrated religious texts. The stone creatures on some of the churches. Once seen, never forgotten. Over time the old races went into decline and soon the season came for them to move on. They disappeared beyond the veil, supposedly forever. There have been echoes of them down the years-some of the old gods could not leave well alone. Other times their power leaked through, into the ancient places, the sacred places. In all but that they were gone, and the world breathed again, and mankind prospered.” He stared deep into the heart of the flames. “But now their season has come round again.”
The wind picked up as if in response to his words; Church shivered and pulled his jacket tightly around him. “If what you’re saying is true, and I’m not saying it is, why have they returned now?”
Tom shrugged. “As I said, everything is cyclical. Perhaps it is simply their time. And perhaps the time of mankind has now passed. Who knows? The rules remain hidden; life is a mystery.”
Church tried to read Tom’s face in the hope that he could see the lie, any sign that it was all just a fantasy made up to frighten them; he looked away a moment later in failure.
“But how many of them are there?” Ruth asked.
Tom shrugged. “Of the larger creatures, the Fabulous Beasts, a handful, I would guess. Many of the wilder mythical creatures, probably the same. I haven’t seen an outcry in the media over the last few weeks, so they must be so few as to be able to find hiding places in this over-populated island.”
“And the things that are after us?”
Tom looked down. “They seem to be everywhere. You saw them-they’re shapeshifters. They hide in plain sight. But their skills aren’t perfect. If you look close enough, you can see.”
“The skin was too waxy,” Church noted. “The face looked like a mask.”
“And Gibbons and Kraicow stumbled across them among us,” Ruth said. “And they both paid the price.”
“They seem to be going to any lengths to prevent themselves from being discovered.”
“Like setting a fire-breathing monster on us just because we went to see Kraicow. With that kind of overreaction they must be scared of being uncovered. What are they planning to do?” Church asked. “Stay in hiding?”
“I don’t think,” Tom mused, “it’s in their nature to stay hidden for long.”
“Then what?” Church said insistently.
“Your guess is as good as mine. But I think there will be some kind of conflict. They appear more powerful than us.”
“Even so,” Church said dismissively, “what could they do?”
“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” Ruth said. “You seemed to be waiting for us at the services, yet we didn’t even know we were going to be stopping there ourselves until the last minute.”
“I had a feeling I had to be there.”
“What? You’re psychic now?” Church shook his head dismissively.
“Things have changed more than you think,” Tom said coldly. “How can the rigid laws of physics exist after what we’ve discussed this evening? Science and magic are incompatible. When the doors opened, it wasn’t just the stuff of legends that flooded back into our world-it was a new way of thinking, of existing.”
Ruth looked particularly uncomfortable at that prospect. “What do you mean?”
“There are some Eastern religions that believe the world is the way it is because we wish it that way,” Tom continued. “In this new age it will be wished another way. Do you think there will be a place for the old, masculine, ultra-logical, highly-structured way of thinking that has dominated for so long? This will be a time of instinct, of the feminine aspect, of wonder and awe. Science and technology, certainly, will suffer.”
Tom’s voice was lulling, hypnotic. In the crackle of the flames, Church could almost hear whispers echoing down the centuries, in their dance he seemed to see faces, dark and alien. It disturbed him too much and he looked back into the impenetrable night.
“You’re saying it could be the end of the world as we know it?” Ruth said fearfully.
“It will be a time of change, certainly.” He didn’t sound very reassuring.
A cold wind blasted into the clearing, making the fire roar, showering a cascade of sparks upwards. Church had the sudden impression they were being watched. He looked round quickly, trying to see beyond the pathetic circle of light, but the darkness was too dense. Tom threw some more wood on the fire and listened to it sputter and sizzle for a while.
Church eyed Tom suspiciously. “Sitting here, having seen what we’ve seen, this all makes a stupid kind of sense. But there’s still a part of me that says-“
“That I’m lying? I never lie.” He poked the fire. “The food should be ready now. Let’s eat.”
“It hasn’t been in long enough,” Ruth said.
“I think it will be ready.”
“More magic?” Church said.
“That, or good cooking technique.” Tom’s smile was inscrutable, and Church was instantly aware he had no idea what was going on behind the man’s eyes.
The rabbit was steaming hot, fragrant and tender. They gnawed the meat off the bone with the fire hot on their faces and the chill of the night at their backs. Although it may have been the aftermath of the strange energy, Church was convinced it was one of the best meals he had ever eaten.
Afterwards, as the night grew colder, they huddled closer to the fire, relaxed and replete, the uneasiness forgotten, at least for the moment. Tom picked the remaining meat from his teeth with a twig while he surveyed the position of the stars.
Eventually, he said, “Everything is changing. You have to be prepared for the new ways … the new, old ways … if you’re to be of any use in the coming struggle.”
“But what could we possibly do,” Ruth began, “if things are as dire as you say? We could try to warn the Government, the police, the army, but I think we’d pretty much be laughed out and locked up.”
“They will not be able to do anything anyway,” Tom said. “This is a time for individuals, not institutions, for passion not planning.”
“Very poetic,” Church noted. “But, with all due respect to Ruth … look at us. We’re not exactly people of action.”
“Adaptation is the key, and people adapt quicker than groups. If you can learn to work within the new rules, then … perhaps something can be done.” Tom eyed them both with a dissecting look which made Church feel uncomfortable.
Ruth wasn’t convinced. “Two people against the sort of powers that you’re talking about? Get real.”
“But we have to do something,” Church said passionately. “We have a responsibility-“
“A good word,” Tom interjected.
“Don’t be so patronising!” Church felt his emotions were on the edge of swinging out of control.
“I apologise,” Tom said, without seeming in the least contrite.
Church grunted with irritation and marched over to lean on the great trilithon. Ruth watched him affectionately as he gazed up at the stars.
“It would help if you were a little less smug,” she said to Tom diplomati- tally. “He’s a good man. He wants to do something. You shouldn’t be so hard on him.”
He shrugged. “We all have our flaws.”
“There’s so much more we need to know-“
“We can discuss it tomorrow, when we’re all a little more receptive. I’ve given you plenty to chew over-a whole new way of looking at life, a new belief system, things that at first glance seem impossible. Isn’t that enough to be going on with?”
“How much more is there?”
“There’s always more.” He yawned and stretched. “It’s late. We need to sleep. We’ve got a great deal ahead of us, and we may not always have such a fortuitous place to rest our heads.”
“You expect me to sleep after all this?”
“You will sleep.” Tom brushed her forehead with his fingertips and she went out as if he had flicked a switch. He caught her and laid her down next to the fire, removing her coat and pulling it over her like a blanket.
“It is a magnificent place, isn’t it?”
Church hadn’t heard Tom approach behind him. “I wish I’d seen it under other circumstances.”
“You should see it on June 21, at the solstice at sunrise. If you stand at the centre of the circle, there comes a moment when the sun appears to be suspended on the heel stone and the whole place is painted gold. Beautiful.”
“I wish I hadn’t got dragged into all this. Life was complicated enough as it was.”
“It’s too late for that.”
“Yes. I know.”
Tom lit another joint, took the smoke down deep, then exhaled into the wind. “There are journeys without and within to make,” he said softly, “and many mysteries to be uncovered before the end of the road. We are surrounded by them, all the time, every day, and when we think we are trying to expose one, it often turns out we are delving into another. Take this place. They think Neolithic man dug the outer circle more than four and a half thousand years ago. They think the Beaker People erected the bluestones eight hundred years later and the Wessex People put in the sarsen blocks in 1,500 BC. But who did it is not as important as why. Why did different peoples value this place so highly they returned to it over all those years? Simply because it aligned with the sun, moon and stars? Would they have put so much effort into it if it was simply a tool? Or a metaphor for some religious experience?”
Church drew his fingers across the surface of the stone, feeling the years heavy under his touch. “They were searching for some meaning,” he said.
“That’s right. They were trying to find the magic at the heart of reality. And they found it, the most valuable thing mankind could ever possess. But somehow we lost it again, and during the twentieth century it got as far away from us as it could possibly get. But if one good thing can come out of all the terrible things that lie ahead, it will be that we, as a race, will get back in touch with it again.”
Church scanned the dark horizon. “That’s tomorrow taken care of. What do we do on the day after?”
“You’re no longer the person you used to be.” Church couldn’t tell if it were an admonition or a pep talk. “The path away from that person began with your alchemical experience under the bridge, and there are plenty of changes on the road ahead, for you and Ruth.” Tom rested one hand on Church’s shoulder and pointed towards the heel stone. “You see that star there? Wait five minutes until it touches the stone.”
They stood in silence watching the gradual descent until, at the exact moment of alignment, Church felt a tingling at the base of his spine. A second later it felt like heaven had exploded around him. The blue energy Tom had summoned earlier erupted upwards from the top of the stones, forming a structure that soared at least a hundred feet above their heads. The lines of force met at the pinnacle and sheets of paler blue, shifting between opaque and clear, crackled among them. Church had the sudden sensation of standing in a cathedral, magnified by a feeling of overwhelming transcendental awe and mystery that left him trembling. Ahead, lines of azure fire raced out across the land, criss-crossing into a network as they reached other ancient sites, where they exploded upwards in glory. To Church, it seemed like the whole of Britain was coming alive with magnificence and wonder. Tears of emotion stung his eyes and there was a yearning in his heart that he hadn’t experienced since childhood.
After five minutes the flames shimmered then dwindled until all was as it had been, but Church knew he would keep the moment with him for the rest of his days.
Still lost in the spell, he started suddenly when Tom touched his hand. “Before you passed under the bridge that night, you would never have seen that. It’s a mark of how much you have already changed, and a hint of the potential ahead.”
As they wandered back to the fire, Church felt calm and energised by the experience. “Make the most of this night,” Tom said as they lay down and looked up at the stars. “This is a safe place, but from here on, things are going to get wild and dangerous.”
“We’ll cope,” Church said, surprising himself at his confidence.
The last words of Tom’s he heard were almost lost on the edge of sleep: “One more thing-do not leave the circle before sunrise.”
Church awoke some time in the early hours. Tom and Ruth were still sleeping, cast in the faintest reddish glow from the embers of the fire. His soft back muscles ached from the hard ground, but as he rolled around trying to get comfortable, he became aware of an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach and the sensation that he was being watched. Over the next five minutes it grew gradually stronger until he had to stand up to look warily around. Beyond the small circle lit by the dim mantle of the fire, the night seemed uncommonly dark.
He waited for a minute or two, but when the sensation didn’t diminish he cautiously edged towards the shadows. Beyond the reach of the fire’s luminescence, his eyes grew accustomed to the dark and he began to make out the shapes of hedges and trees on the plains that rolled away from the henge. There was no sign of movement and his ears, tuned for the tramp of a foot, could only pick up the bleak moan of the wind as it swept across the lowlands.
When he reached the outer stones, Church paused, his heart thumping madly from the discomfort of invisible eyes. “Who’s there?” he hissed.
There was a lull, as if the night were waiting for him to progress further, then he heard what appeared to be the faintest reply on the edge of his hearing, barely more than a rustle of grass.
After a few seconds he caught a glimpse of movement, like a dark shape separating itself from the lighter dark of the night. His skin seemed to grow taut across his body. A figure, slim and tall, moved towards him, gradually developing an inner light as if tiny fireflies were buzzing around within it. Long before it had coalesced into any recognisable form, Church was overcome. And when it finally halted twenty feet away from him, his eyes burned with tears and his trembling knees threatened to buckle.
World's End Page 10