Darkest Hour (Age of Misrule, Book 2)

by Mark Chadbourn

  The others gathered around. “I sense something-” Shavi began.

  “Can’t you see them?” Tom snapped. “Amongst the trees?”

  And then they could all see them: grey figures moving slowly, some of them raising their arms to the heavens as if they were in some kind of distress. They moved forward, silently at first, but as they drew closer faint whispers sprang up like echoes in their wake, growing louder until their voices were clear. They were protesting about something, frightened, outraged.

  “What are they?” Church asked.

  “The dead,” Tom said. “The spirits of the kirkyard.”

  “Eighty thousand of us.” The voice came from behind a mausoleum. Gradually a figure emerged, hollow-cheeked and staring, with eyes that made their blood run cold. He was as grey as the stone, wearing clothes which dated his time to the turn of the century. “That’s how many of us are buried here. Eighty thousand.”

  The spirit of a woman rushed up to them, wailing so loudly they all flinched, but at the last minute she turned away and fled among the stones.

  “What’s wrong with them?” Laura’s voice was hushed, frightened.

  The spirits were in a semi-circle before them now, tearing at their ghostly hair, beating their breasts; their anguish was palpable.

  “Leave now.” The man near the mausoleum was pointing at them accusingly. “You are damned!”

  “They are coming for you! They are not departed!” a woman shrieked, her hair as wild as snakes. “They will not let you go!”

  “Coming into this place, so unclean!” the man continued. “Foul! Besmirched! And the Night Walkers will follow in your wake, hunting you. You will bring them here!”

  “What’s wrong?” Veitch yelled at them. “We’ve actually done some bleedin’ good for a change-“

  He was cut off by more shrieking.

  “Come on,” Church said, “let’s go.” He shook Ruth, who struggled to stand, barely able to keep her eyes open.

  The spirits followed closely as the six of them started to back away to the kirkyard gates; the voices became more shrill and intense, wailing like sirens, enough to set teeth on edge.

  “Unclean!” the man yelled so loudly Laura jumped back a step. “You corrupt this sacred ground! Your black trail scars our home!”

  The dead crowded in suddenly, and although they appeared insubstantial, their clawed fingers caught at the group’s clothes, tore at their hair. Church and the others broke into a run, pursued by the shrieking spirits, which were dipping and rising across the kirkyard like reflected light on mist. It was as if the spirits were being tortured by unimaginable pain.

  Only when the group was resting against the foot of the bridge outside the kirkyard gates did the sound subside; and even then the spirits could be glimpsed flitting around the kirk in a state of distress.

  “That freaked me out,” Laura said. A flicker crossed her face and she glanced to Church, hoping perhaps that he would deny her thoughts. “They were saying the Fomorii were going to hunt us down.”

  But he seemed more concerned by something else. “What made them act like that?” He looked to Tom for an answer.

  “It doesn’t matter about any of that,” Veitch said animatedly. “We did it.”

  They all turned to him.

  “There was some ritual going on under the castle-“

  “Ritual?” Church’s eyes gleamed.

  Veitch nodded, smiling tightly. “Something big. I reckon it was the big one. And we stopped the Bastards doing it.”

  A ripple of relief ran through the group; they could hardly believe it. Church turned to Tom, questioning silently.

  “You saw the place.” He was almost smiling. “All that’s there now is a big crater.”

  “We stopped them,” Church said quietly, as if the words would break the spell. After all the weeks of failure, disbelief hung at the back of his voice. But it was true. “We burned out the nest. They won’t be able to bring Balor back.” He dropped to his haunches, one hand over his face while he assimilated the words. The moment hung in the air, and then Laura draped a tentative hand on to his shoulder. It was as if that was the signal; suddenly they were hugging each other, slapping backs, laughing and gabbling inanely as the tension rushed out of them. Witch let out an ear-piercing yell of triumph that bounced among the buildings.

  “But those spooks-” Church hugged Laura off her feet and crushed the rest of the sentence inside her. She tried to look aloof, but she couldn’t keep the smile in.

  “The Fomorii are still here,” he explained. “You saw the nest in the Lake District-they’re all over the damn place. We’ve just stopped them getting the upper hand, that’s all. That’s all!” He let out a whoop. “We’ve kicked them so hard it’s going to take them a while to get back on their feet! Now we’ve got the upper hand! All we’ve got to do now is find a way to get the Tuatha De Danann on our side and kick the Bastards out for good.”

  “Oh well, it’s almost over then,” Laura said with a smile that dripped irony.

  “Ah, shaddup, you miserable git.” He kissed her and that surprised both of them.

  “We owe ourselves a bleedin’ big piss-up,” Veitch said, his arm tight around Ruth’s shoulders. She was smiling wanly, still scarcely able to believe what she was hearing.

  But they all agreed Veitch was right. Swept up in their jubilation and relief, they turned towards the south and began to move out of the city.

  They had travelled barely a quarter of a mile when it became apparent they wouldn’t get far on foot. Church and Veitch had been supporting Ruth, but with each step they were doing more dragging than carrying.

  They eventually halted on a corner while Veitch and Laura disappeared down a side street. Forty-five minutes later they pulled up in a pristine Transit.

  “Who’d you kill for that?” Ruth croaked.

  “God, even half-dead she’s Mother Superior.” Laura raised her eyes in an exaggerated response.

  They loaded Ruth in the back and made her as comfortable as possible, then Church Joined Laura and Veitch in the front. “Just like old times,” she said, without a hint of sarcasm.

  Beyond the reach of the Old Town, the streets gave way to well-heeled neighbourhoods where the houses were rambling and set well back from the road, and beyond that were the plain, structured streets of suburbia. By 2:15 a.m., they were crossing the ring road, enjoying the balminess of a warm summer night after the chill environment of the Cailleach Bheur.

  Unlike most English cities, the built-up area ended abruptly and they were plunged immediately into rolling green fields punctuated by peaceful woods. The tires sang on dry roads through tiny villages. Away to the east, the remnants of the haar still clouded the horizon, but overhead the skies were clear and iced with stars.

  At the sign for Roslin Village, Laura glanced over her shoulder to see Shavi’s chin droop on to his chest. He was normally so bright and optimistic, it pained her to see the dismay etched into his features. More than anything, she wanted to clamber over the seat and give him a hug, but there was no way she could in front of the others.

  After a long journey through thick woods, they entered a desolate valley plain where sheep wandered morosely over the clipped, yellow grass. In the distance the hills rose up steeply while, nearer to hand, train lines cut a swathe through the heart of the valley. At 4 a.m. they broke off to make camp for the night. Veitch and Church had been determined to keep going until dawn, but the decision was made for them by another technology failure which left the van drifting aimlessly on to the verge. They pushed it for a little way until they found a lane which led behind a small copse of trees where they could hide; even after their success, paranoia still hissed in the background. They’d abandoned all their clothes, camping equipment and provisions at the hotel, so they made themselves as comfortable as they could in the confines of the van. Tom was particularly concerned about Ruth, but she appeared to be sleeping easily enough. After their exertions, they drif
ted off within an instant of resting.

  By the time they rose the sun was high in a clear blue sky and the interior of the van was beginning to bake. Although still weak and exhausted, Ruth was much brighter. They helped her outside where she propped herself up against a wheel and before too long she was exchanging banter with Shavi and Church and baiting Laura and Veitch. On the surface it was like old times, but something had changed; where there had been malice, now there was affection, however well-hidden.

  They were eager to exchange details of their experiences. Veitch was reticent in his description of his assault on the castle, and when Ruth emphasised the extent of his bravery his ears turned red. They all did their best to boost Shavi, but his account of Maponus and the thought that he was still at large cast a chill over them all.

  Tom listened carefully, then said, “He is beyond our remit now. If anyone can find a way to restrain him, then it would be the Bone Inspector. He has knowledge denied to you and I, and it was his people who imprisoned Maponus initially.” He paused. “But he is just one man.”

  “But Maponus cannot be killed-we saw,” Shavi stressed. “None of the gods can.”

  “No,” Tom agreed, “not in the way you mean. Although the lowest of the Fomorii, the troops, if you will, can be eradicated, as Ryan found out at the castle.”

  “How can we be guerrillas if we can’t hurt the ones that really matter?” Laura protested. “We’re just an irritation-“

  “Situation normal for you, then,” Veitch muttered.

  “We’ve done what we can,” Laura continued, “done a good job. Can’t we leave it up to somebody else, now? We’ve earned a rest, haven’t we?”

  Nobody seemed comfortable debating this line and the conversation drifted on to Church and Tom’s encounter beneath Arthur’s Seat.

  “It was the weirdest experience,” Church said. “The way reality, time, space, everything, seemed to be fluid in proximity to such a powerful source of the blue fire.”

  “Maybe that’s how reality really is,” Ruth mused. “God knows, we’ve had enough proof we can’t trust our senses to perceive anything correctly. When you think about it, it’s scary. We’re prisoners in our heads, completely at the mercy of our brain functions, and beyond that little bit of bone, the universe might be completely different to how we imagine it.”

  “There is a line of scientific thought, currently growing in popularity,” Shavi mused, “that suggests time does not exist. We perceive it as flowing constantly because that is the way our brains have been structured to understand it. But we are really living in all times at once. That would explain precognition-“

  “But how does it work?” Ruth said.

  “I wish you lot would shut up-you’re making my head hurt,” Veitch said irritably. “Talk, talk, talk, like a bunch of bleedin’ students. Things are how they are, that’s all. We’ve got more important things to think about.”

  A hawk hunted for prey over an area of scrubby undergrowth in the middle distance. The image triggered a succession of disturbing thoughts in Church.

  “Tom and I weren’t alone beneath the Seat,” he said.

  “Yeah, the old git took along the chip on his shoulder,” Laura said tartly.

  “The one who took Ruth was there.” Church flashed a glance at Ruth, not quite knowing how she was going to react.

  Veitch bristled. “What did he look like?”

  Church exhaled through the gap in his teeth. “You know what he looked like. A bloody big wolf, just like Laura said. With yellow eyes and everything.”

  “You should never have left the path, little girl,” Laura said to Ruth with a faint smile. From the corner of his eye, Church caught Veitch watching the two of them intently, coldly.

  Church nodded to Tom. “You tell them what you told me.”

  Tom took off his spectacles and cleaned them on his shirt. Without the glasses he looked less like the sixties burn-out case and more like the erudite, thoughtful aristocrat he was. “When the old gods have …” There was a long, jarring pause while he searched for the right word. “… adjusted someone, it is often difficult for the mind to fully fix their shape. It’s as if something fundamental has been altered on a molecular level, something so in opposition to nature it seems to set up interference patterns for the senses. The first few times you see something like this, unless you’re prepared, it’s like a punch in the stomach. To make sense of it, the mind gives it a shape which is closest to the essence of its being-

  “So it’s a wolf at heart?” Ruth asked. There seemed to be a stone pressing at the back of her throat.

  “Is this the origin of werewolves?” Shavi interjected.

  Tom shook his head. “The Lupinari are different. This creature was mortal once. And the ones who have been altered sometimes seem so enamoured of this inner self, they grow into it. Physically.”

  “I’ve met a few guys like that,” Laura said. “They don’t need a full moon. Just seven pints.”

  “You don’t remember anything?” Church asked Ruth.

  She shook her head. “Just Laura-“

  “Laura?” Veitch’s voice was a whipcrack.

  “Laura was around somewhere. That’s all I remember.”

  They sat in silence for a few moments, weighing the evidence. And then, once they had exhausted all possibilities, they were forced to turn to Ruth again, although none of them wanted to hear what she had to say.

  “How was it in there?” Church asked tenderly.

  She smiled weakly. “Oh, you know … You can guess.”

  He nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  She shook her head. “I just want to get back on my feet.”

  “I might be able to help there.” Tom gave her a faint smile, but it was warm and honest, a rare sight. He headed off into the countryside. They watched him for a while, dipping down occasionally to pluck something from the ground.

  “Hmmm, grass and weeds. You’re in for a treat,” Laura said. “What is it with the old git? He knows all about these herbs and shit like he’s some old witch.” Ruth flinched, but no one noticed.

  “He’s had a long time to learn.” Church continued to watch Tom. Their relationship had always been abrasive, but he had respect for the Rhymer’s wisdom.

  “He learned it from the Culture, the people of the Bone Inspector,” Shavi said. “It is age-old knowledge, from the time when people were close to the land.”

  “We need to sort out the way forward.” Veitch cut through the small talk sharply.

  “What’s to sort out? I’m so hungry I could eat you.” Laura let the double- entendre hang in the air teasingly, her sunglasses obscuring her true meaning. “Calm down, big boy. That wasn’t meant in a nice way.”

  “Laura is right,” Shavi said. “Hot food first, then provisions, camping equipment, clothes. We need to replace everything we left at the hotel.”

  “Yeah, because that city is not going to look very pretty after the air-raid,” Witch said sharply. “We need to find a place to lie low while we work out what we’re going to do. Somewhere the Bastards can’t find us.”

  Church nodded in agreement. “We should head south.”

  “Yeah, I’m sick of heather and tartan,” Veitch said. “And all the bleedin’ Jocks hate us anyway.”

  Tom returned half an hour later with two handfuls of vegetation while Ruth was vainly searching the sky for her owl. He used the wheel brace in the van to pound them into two piles of pulp. One he applied as a poultice to Ruth’s finger, the other he made her eat, despite her protests.

  “Stop whining,” Laura said. “As soon as you get past the gag reflex it’ll be fine.”

  Eventually she ate it, and she did retch noisily for a while, but nothing came back up. They helped her back into the van and she fell asleep as soon as they set off.

  The journey was not easy going. They stopped at a roadside cafe for a large meal that doubled as breakfast and lunch, before they were hit by two technology failures,
lasting two hours and forty-five minutes respectively. In Peebles they used their credit cards to stock up on everything they needed, but the shop assistants were wary of taking the plastic; with the failure of the phone system it was impossible to check their validity, and everyone seemed to suspect the whole system was collapsing anyway. To recognise that fact was a blow too far so the cards were swiped in the old-fashioned way, with an unspoken prayer that everything would sort itself out soon. But it was obvious to Church and the others that the balloon was on the point of going up.

  As they passed through Melrose, Tom waxed lyrical about his home area until Laura yawned so loudly and repeatedly it brought him to cursing. Jedburgh passed in a blur and they crossed the border in late afternoon.

  There was a heated debate about which route to pursue after that, but everyone bowed to Veitch’s strategic decison to head into the wide open spaces of high hills and bleak moorland that comprised the Northumberland National Park. They swept from the rolling fields of the Scottish Lowlands into a majestic landscape of purples, browns and greens, brooding beneath a perfect blue sky. It was a place of rock and scrub, wind-torn trees standing lonely on the horizon, and a howling gale that rushed from the high places as if it had a life of its own.

  The hardiness gave way to the pleasant shade of the Border Forest Park, where the play of light and dark through the leaf cover on to the windscreen made them all feel less hunted. There was a deep peace among the thick woods that was a pleasure after the omnipresent threat of Edinburgh.

  While Shavi drove, Veitch took charge of the map book. He made them follow a circuitous route through the quiet villages that must have added fifty miles to their journey, but he insisted if there was any pursuit it would make their destination less apparent. Laura noted tartly that he’d already baffled the rest of them about where they were going.

  They eventually came to a halt at an abandoned railway station at High Staward, eight miles southwest of Hexham. They loaded all their possessions into four rucksacks which Church, Veitch, Tom and Shavi shouldered with much protesting. Laura taunted their lack of manliness, and even Ruth tossed out a few quips, and eventually they were marching along a footpath northwards through the deserted countryside.