“Don’t go beyond the stones!” Tom said sharply. “The earth energy gives a modicum of invisibility here if there’s anything supernatural in the vicinity. They’d have to stumble right across us to see us.”
“I don’t know …” Ruth peered into the dark, but it was too deep.
Another flash of lightning, moving away now, so the illumination was not so stark. Even so, Ruth caught her breath; this time it was unmistakable. A large black shape like a sucking void was moving rapidly across the bleak moorland.
“It’s here.” Her voice barely more than a whisper. She turned, eyes wide; the others could read all they needed in her face.
Tom rushed over and kicked out the campfire. “Stay down, stay quiet! It may pass us by.”
At that moment twin beams of light cut through the night, rising high up into the sky like searchlights. A second later they lowered sharply as a car came over a rise and started to head towards them. The headlights briefly washed over the stones as the car came on to the road that ran within sight of the circle.
“Shit,” Veitch said under his breath.
Across the quiet landscape music rolled from the car’s open windows. Church unconsciously noted it was New Radicals singing “You Get What You Give,” but that thought was just a buzz beneath a wash of rising panic. The car’s engine droned. Young voices sang along loudly, male and female, four, maybe five of them.
“Shut up,” Laura hissed to herself.
“Turn off the headlights,” Veitch said.
As if anything will do any good, Church thought.
The car continued its progress, a firefly in the night.
Veitch spun round, his face contorted with anxiety. “We’ve got to get out there and do something! The Bastard will be on them in a minute and those poor fuckers won’t stand a chance!”
Church hesitated; he was right, they ought to try.
Tom seemed to read his mind. “No! No one leaves the circle! If you go out there you will surely die. Even here, your chances are slim-“
“Fuck! We have to do something!” Veitch protested. Church thought he was going to cry.
“You go out there and die in vain, everybody else dies with you!” Tom’s voice was a snarl that would brook no dissent. “You’re too important now! You have to think of the big picture!”
Veitch was starting to move. Tom gripped his shoulder and Veitch tried to shake it off furiously, but Tom held on so effortlessly it seemed incongruous. Veitch half-turned, eyes blazing, but he didn’t move any further.
Another diminishing flash, an instant’s tableau: the dark hulk of the Fomorii warrior had risen up, started to change as its insectile armour clanked and slid into place, preparing to attack. The car trundled along, the occupants oblivious.
Ruth’s eyes were tear-stained. She stared at Church, aghast. He winced, looked away.
“Maybe we could …” Laura stopped, shook her head, walked away until she was out of the others’ line of sight.
Shavi was like an iron staff, his face locked, his eyes fixed on the feeble beams of light.
Suddenly there was a sound like aluminium sheeting being torn in two. Several stars were blotted out. And then the ground trembled. There was an instant when they all had their eyes shut, praying. But they had to see, so they would never forget. The darkness swept down like a pouncing lion. There was a crunching of metal. The headlight beams shot up in the sky. Singing voices suddenly became screams that must have torn throats. New Radicals were still singing, just for an instant longer, then snapped off at the same time as the screams. A second later the lights blinked out. More crunching. Silence. And then an explosion which rocketed flames and shards of metal high into the sky as the petrol tank went up.
Everyone in the circle was holding their breath. The universal exhalation came slowly, filled with despair.
“Get down!” Tom hissed.
They dropped flat so they could feel the vibrations in the ground, fast, growing slower. They didn’t stir until they had died away completely. When they eventually sat up, everyone looked shell-shocked; faces pale, eyes downcast.
“We did that,” Veitch said bluntly. He walked over and leaned on one of the stones, staring out across the moor. The crackling fire cast a hellish glare across the scrub, the smoke rising to obscure the stars.
Ruth leaned in to Shavi who put his arms around her. Church looked over to Laura, but she had her back to him, wrapped in her own isolation.
“You were right,” Church said to Tom, “but I don’t know how you can be so cold.”
All Tom would say as he slumped down at the foot of a stone was, “Life’s much more simple when you’re young.”
It was over an hour before they felt able to talk some more. Veitch still looked broken, the others merely serious.
It was Ruth who voiced the thought that was upmost in all their minds. “If that thing is hunting us, what chance do Church, Laura and I stand? Do you think we can possibly keep ahead of it until one or the other of you gets back?”
“No,” Tom said baldly. “But I have a plan-“
“Well, yippee,” Laura said flatly.
“There is a place not too far away that has the potency of this circle. Another blindspot. It is big, very big, and if you choose your hiding place carefully you should be able to avoid detection for …” He chewed on a knuckle for a second or two. “… Quite a while.”
“That’s not the wholehearted answer I was hoping for,” Ruth said irritatedly.
“Where is it?” Church asked.
“In the High Peaks. It’s a magical hill, more a mountain really, called Mam Tor, the Heights of the Mother, rising up 1,700 feet. The most sacred prehistoric spot in the entire area.”
“A mountain to hide in!” Veitch said in astonishment.
“Great. We can play at being the Waltons,” Laura said.
“The ancients recognised it as a powerful spot. Nearby there is a hill dedicated to Lugh, now known as Lose Hill. All around there are standing stones and other ceremonial sites, all looking up to the hill of the Mother Goddess. At the foot is the Blue John Cavern, where the semi-precious stone originates. A landscape filled with magic and mystery. The perfect hiding place.”
“Great,” Church said. “Now all we have to do is get there.”
Church woke in the middle of the night with a familiar, uneasy feeling, but one he hadn’t felt for a few weeks. He crawled out of the tent, feeling his stomach churn. Laura was on watch, but she was dozing near the dying embers of the fire; he would have to have a word with her in the morning.
Slowly he looked around the darkness that pressed in tightly against the stones. Nothing. The wind blew eerily across the moor, making an odd sighing noise in the scrub. He prayed he was wrong, but in his heart he knew.
“Where are you?” he said softly.
A second later a figure separated from the dark: indistinct, almost blurred, as if he were looking at it through a curling sheet of smoke. He thought after all his brooding, all the weighing of emotions, the logical acceptance, he would feel nothing, but the pang in his heart was as sharp as ever.
“How are you, Marianne?” He held the tears back successfully.
The smoke appeared to clear and there she was, as beautiful as when they had shared a home; when she was alive. She didn’t speak, she never did, but he felt he could almost read her thoughts. Her face was so pale, by turns frightening and filled with despair.
“I should have known when they’d failed to find anyone with the big beast, they’d send you to hunt me out,” he said softly. “Do they have a message for me, Marianne? Anything? Or have they just sent you here to break my spirit?”
A sighing. Was it still the wind, or was it her?
He smiled sadly, wishing he could leave the circle to try to touch her hand one final time, although he knew that was impossible; he had learned his lesson. He wouldn’t break the protection of the stones and put himself under the malign Fomorii influence that inevit
ably surrounded her. “Did they think I’d fall for it all again?” His voice was low and calm; he didn’t even know if she could hear it, anyway. “Tell them it won’t work any more-I’m not as weak as I was. If anything, seeing you here, knowing what they’ve done to you, gives me more strength to carry on. I’m going to set you free, Marianne. And then I’m going to make them pay. If you can take anything back to them, tell them that.”
He couldn’t be sure, but he hoped, and he hoped: her face seemed to register the faintest smile.
And then she was gone.
chapter fifteen
the ravening
eneath the soaring vault of a gold and blue dawn sky they said their goodbyes. Less than a month remained until Lughnasadh. Conflicting emotions darted among them like electricity between conducting rods, but although the currents ran far beneath the surface, they all recognised the secret signs. Few words were said, but hands were shaken and backs slapped forcefully.
Church surprised himself by the depth of his affection for Shavi, Veitch and even Tom; there was the mutual respect of the survivors of desperate times, certainly, but also a recognition of qualities of decency and bravery which often lay hidden in modern life. It was uplifting to realise even damaged goods carried with them the blueprints for rectitude. He feared for their safety, but he had no doubt that if anyone could overcome such adversity, it was them.
Ruth hugged them all, although Tom looked uncomfortable at the contact; he walked away a few paces so the unpleasant experience would not be repeated. Laura too tried to appear aloof, but her repressed nods to each of them shouted as loudly as if she had thrown her arms round their necks. Then Shavi turned to Veitch with a broad grin.
Veitch brandished his hunting knife threateningly. “If you try to hug me I’m going to kill you. I’m not joking.”
Shavi laughed as he pushed the knife to one side. He put his arms around Veitch and pulled him tight. Veitch was like a rod for a second, then relaxed and hugged Shavi just as warmly. It was an act of deep friendship, yet no one was surprised; they had all watched each boundary fall over the weeks until only Veitch had been left to recognise it.
“Fuckin’ queen,” he muttered as they broke off.
“Thug,” Shavi responded.
Despite the gravity of the situation, there was more hope around than they truly deserved to feel.
When they finally felt ready, Veitch and Tom turned to the north and set off across the uneven terrain, carefully avoiding the blackened, still-smouldering wreckage of the car. Shavi, who was to accompany the others to Mam Tor before continuing to Windsor, led the way south.
Away across the moor a lone figure watched the two parties, as they had been watched for so long. The choice was difficult, but eventually the selection was made. As the figure set off across the scrub anyone could have been forgiven for thinking they were seeing an unfeasibly large wolf loping after its prey.
Mam Tor rose up majestically from the stone-walled, patchwork green of the surrounding countryside, a slab of imposing rock, brown and grey against the brilliant blue sky. None of them could believe how tall it was, how sheer were the cliff faces. Far beneath its imposing summit the two valleys of the Hope and Edale rivers stretched out, cool and verdant in the heat of the day.
“I can see what the old git meant.” Laura’s sunglasses protected her eyes as she peered upwards. “Nobody’s going to scramble up there on a whim.”
“Bronze Age people forged a settlement there because it was impregnable as long as food supplies lasted,” Church said, harking back to his archaeological studies. “An excavation up there in the sixties found a stone ceremonial axe and other bronze axes. It was a ritual place for the Great Mother that protected them all.”
“Let’s hope it protects us as well,” Ruth said.
Their journey to Mam Tor had been without incident, but they all felt exhausted from helping Ruth along the rugged route which wound like a clear, rushing river between the overpopulated, overbuilt sprawl of Greater Manchester and the industrial zone of West Yorkshire. As the days passed, her stomach had started to swell rapidly, straining at her clothes. With it had come a sapping of energy, as if her very life force were being leached from her; but somehow she still managed to keep going. Her nausea, particularly in the morning, had become debilitating, and they had to find regular supplies of clean water to keep her from dehydrating. By night she shook as if she had an ague, her face ghostly white, her skin almost too hot to touch, sweat soaking through even her jeans.
There, looking up at Mam Tor, she had somehow found the strength to stand unaided. It seemed right, important. The place was sacred to her ancestors. And the Mother Goddess, or one of them at least, was her patron now. She prayed this was the place she was supposed to be to survive her ordeal.
“Are you going to be all right from here?” Shavi brushed his long hair from his face where the wind whipped it continuously. He looked remarkably fit despite the exertions of the journey, standing straight and tall, his body lithe, his limbs loose. The others felt calm just being near him.
Church nodded. “We’ll be fine.”
“Speak for yourself.” Laura surveyed the steep, precarious path that rose up to the summit.
“Watch how you go,” Church said. “I’m sorry you’ve got to go on your own.”
Shavi smiled. “I am comfortable with my own company. And I can travel faster alone.” He hugged Church tightly before giving both the women a warm kiss. Then he turned and continued his journey south.
The wind became more merciless the higher up Mam Tor they ascended. “Well, it’s going to be a lot of fun living up here,” Laura said sourly. “There’s nothing like the harsh elements to give a complexion that wonderful ruddy bloom.”
“Just be thankful it’s not winter,” Church said as he strode off ahead. The truth was, he didn’t know how well they would do. None of them had the trapping skills of Tom or Veitch and the environment was truly bleak and exposed. His only plan was to find a sheltered spot to pitch the tent, one which couldn’t be seen from any great distance. Beyond that, it would be a matter of taking things a day at a time, which didn’t seem the best strategy in the world when so much was at stake.
With Church and Laura virtually having to drag Ruth with each step, it took them nearly two hours to get a significant way up the tor, and by that time the sun had started to set. They turned and looked back over the breathtaking vista as the huge sweep of the country slowly turned golden in the fading light. It was an instant so beautiful they felt a brief frisson of transcendence that pushed their troubles to one side.
But then the high peak called again and they continued on their way. “We need to find a good site by dark.” Church scanned the rugged, unforgiving slopes.
“Why don’t you just go ahead and state the obvious?” Laura muttered.
“And why don’t you just keep on sniping until I get really irritable?” Church snapped. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Please don’t argue,” Ruth said weakly. “Let’s just try to get somewhere quickly.”
They bit their tongues for her sake, although the tension between them had not been given vent since Church had selected Shavi for the mission to Cernunnos. Church knew Laura had been hurt by the decision, but he couldn’t understand why she didn’t see it as a tactical choice instead of the personal blow she obviously considered it.
The night seemed to come in uncannily quickly, pooling like an inky sea across the countryside, rising rapidly up the tor. They were all too exhausted to look around much more and their calves felt like they were being burnt by hot pokers after the steepness of the climb.
Church was just about to select a campsite at random when he spotted a series of regular dark shapes among the gloom, hidden in a fold in the mountainside. They were too stark to be natural. He led them over to the place amidst Laura’s protestations and was surprised to see an abandoned house hidden in the shadows. It looked like an old hill farmer’s home, j
ust three stark rooms on a single level. It had obviously been empty for some time; the door sagged on its hinges, the windows had been put out and the inside was strewn with the detritus of the years: a few slates from the roof, Coke cans, plastic bags, old newspapers, a couple of shrivelled condoms.
“Home, sweet home,” Church said, slapping his hand cheerily on the door jamb. “Hey, I can believe in serendipity.”
“I don’t like it.” Ruth stood a few feet back from the shadow the house threw, her arms wrapped around her. She looked it over like it was going to jump out and bite her. “It’s spooky.”
Laura marched past them both. “Well, I’m sick of tents and if it’ll keep the rain and wind off, it’s good enough for me.”
“It’s a good hiding place.” Church could see he wasn’t going to convince Ruth easily. “Nobody will be able to see us unless they’re right on top of us.”
“Look at this.” Laura’s voice floated out from the dim interior.
Ruth followed Church in with some trepidation, unsure if it was worse to be outside in the open night. Laura was pointing to a wall lit by the last meagre rays of the sun. It was covered in a mass of writing, some in huge letters, but vast swathes in an almost microscopic scrawl; most of it seemed unintelligible.
“Kids,” Church said.
Laura leaned forward to try to read the tiny print. “They really don’t have much to do round here, do they?”
Ruth stood in the corner, her arms still wrapped around her. From the corner of his eye, Church could see her gaze jumping back and forth, as if she was expecting something to come out of the corners of the room. “I feel like something bad has happened here,” she said.
And at that moment the sun set and darkness claimed the land.
The rain started as Tom and Veitch reached the lowland slopes with twilight drawing in. By the time they had arrived at a main road, their clothes were soaked through and their hair was plastered to their heads; it was a hard, unforgiving downpour, uncommonly chill for that time of year. The cars hissed by, steaming in the spray, their headlights blazing paths through the night. Most of them were driving too fast for the conditions, desperate to get to the safety of their destinations before the deep night encroached.
Darkest Hour (Age of Misrule, Book 2) Page 45