‘The Blue Fire’s holding them at bay.’ Tom’s faint smile was lit by the hot coal of his roll-up. ‘And that’s not all - look.’
The reignited leys burned across the landscape, and where they crossed the stream of spiders there were flashes of blue light as the spiders burst into flames.
‘Never seen that before,’ Veitch said in awe.
‘Neither has the Army of the Ten Billion Spiders.’ Ruth had arrived behind them. Veitch and Tom could both see she was changed in some way they couldn’t quite define; she appeared to be carrying a great weight. ‘This place is crackling with power, like it was before the Mundane Spell took effect. The spiders have lost their grip.’
‘Yeah!’ Veitch said. ‘This is our turf now!’
‘Don’t get too wound up,’ Tom said. ‘Every time you have reignited the power in the land, the Spiders have changed everything to reinforce the Mundane Spell and drive the Blue Fire back into a dormant phase.’
‘This is still different,’ Ruth said. ‘It’s never been this strong. Something has changed.’
‘This is what we’re fighting for,’ Veitch said. ‘This. Here. Now.’
They were interrupted by a breathless Shavi. ‘Laura has gone.’
‘She’s probably just on the lash with that homebrew alcohol this lot are swilling.’ Veitch jerked a thumb towards the revellers singing loudly amongst the huts.
‘I do not think so.’ Shavi appeared devastated.
‘What’s wrong?’ Ruth slipped a comforting arm around his shoulders.
‘She was last seen walking back towards the Warp Zone. I am afraid . . . I am afraid she has gone to warn the Enemy of our plans. I am afraid she was the traitor amongst us.’ He wiped away a stray tear.
‘Nah!’ Veitch said. ‘She’s a bitch, all right. But a traitor - no chance. Her heart was always in the right place. She’d never sell us out.’ He could see Shavi, Ruth and Tom were not convinced.
‘What’s Church going to think?’ Ruth said. ‘If she has done it, I mean. Betrayed by someone we all put our faith in, someone Church was once really close to.’
‘Does it destroy hope in the Pendragon Spirit?’ Tom asked. ‘Does it breed despair? Hope is what keeps the spirit alive.’
Before they could consider it further, the night was torn by the thunder of wings. An awed silence fell across the camp as all eyes turned to the sky. Glimmering in the moonlight, the Fabulous Beasts moved steadily towards the Warp Zone, their scales glinting like jewels, occasional bursts of golden liquid-fire illuminating the land beneath them.
‘He did it,’ Tom said, smiling to himself.
‘Bloody hell.’ Veitch’s strained voice reflected the wonder that was heavy in all their faces.
‘Yes,’ Ruth said. ‘Yes.’
‘This is it.’ Veitch grinned broadly. ‘This is where we take the fight back to the bastards!’
Chapter Ten
TOWARDS THE FORTRESS
1
In the dead heat, a stifling desolation choked the blasted lands. The dry, ochre dust of the hardpan licked up to jagged rocks and dead, twisted trees reaching blackened hands towards the bleached sky. In the craters, pools of foul-smelling, rainbow-streaked oil attracted clouds of fat, lazy flies, droning constantly.
This was the land that the Void had built.
Just visible through the haze hanging in the distance was a structure so large that at first it appeared to be a part of the landscape, a soaring bluff stretching across the whole length of the horizon, its brown granite charred here and there by great fires. Above it, black birds swirled like gulls scavenging a refuse tip. But as the eye adjusted to the perspective, jarring details emerged in opposition to natural law: disturbing angles, unsettling proportions, materials with the gleam of plastic or metal, or the sickly resilience of meat; and the birds could not be birds: much larger than any known living creature, their scavenging took on a menacing air.
It was the Fortress of the Enemy, known by some as the House of Pain, a complex as large as a city, constantly under construction, with no end in sight as it crept relentlessly across the landscape exuding a potent atmosphere of black depression. For all its artifice, there was still a sense that in some way it was alive.
The Burning Man towered above, black smoke pothering from the flaming outline.
Scrambling down the scree of a steep hillside, the first sight of the Fortress brought Church, Ruth, Shavi, Veitch and Tom to a sudden halt. They told themselves it was the imposing sight that affected them so deeply, and tried to ignore the unsettling alien whispers that insinuated into the back of their heads.
‘Big.’ Veitch shielded his eyes against the sun. What he didn’t say told them more about his feelings.
‘Swarming with Lament-Brood, Redcaps and God knows what else,’ Ruth said. ‘I mean, how many of them must be inside a building that size? Are we expected to fight past every one?’
‘Yes, go right up and knock on the door,’ Tom said tartly.
‘Virginia could have shown us the secret path into the Fortress,’ Church noted, ‘but she’s not here so we’ve got to find another way. We know the path exists. If we could find it—’
Tom snorted derisively. ‘Stumble across it, perhaps.’
Veitch flinched, and Church steadied him with a subtle nod. ‘Whatever, if Laura is in there, they’ll be ready for us.’
He felt the skitter of quick glances upon him. He knew why: he could barely believe Laura had betrayed them, and the more he allowed the concept to settle upon him, the more despairing he felt. They needed to be Five united as One for the Pendragon Spirit to be most effective. Every new development destabilised them a little further, causing fissures to spread throughout relationships he had considered solid. He felt the hand of the Libertarian upon it - sickeningly, his own hand. He had underestimated his alter ego’s capability for subtlety: the brash, theatrical exterior of the Libertarian had been a distraction, and now looked clever and carefully designed.
They skidded down the remainder of the scree and raised clouds of sticky yellow dust as they trudged across the hardpan towards the Fortress. After ten minutes, Shavi brought them to a halt.
‘Movement,’ he whispered, subtly indicating a crumbling rock formation that resembled a finger pointing at the sky.
‘That eye’s a bloody good deal, mate,’ Veitch said.
Veitch and Church kicked up a large cloud of dust, which allowed Veitch the cover to approach the rock on the blindside of where Shavi had seen the movement. When he disappeared behind the outcropping, they waited for the sound of a fight, but within a few seconds Veitch was hailing them from a ledge on the side of the rock.
They found him with his arm around a ruddy-faced Brother of Dragons with a thatch of wiry blond hair, who was grinning broadly. John Baker was a seventeenth-century farmhand. Church had discovered him lifting a cart to mend a broken wheel, a remarkable feat of strength that was matched only by the depth of his good humour.
‘Never thought I’d see the day,’ he said in a broad Cornish accent.
‘The rest of the Army of Dragons is here,’ Veitch said.
‘Ar, what’s left of ’em.’ The grim note in Baker’s voice was quickly replaced by the grin. ‘I’ve been out on patrol for a day and night. Orders were to find you and bring you in, but we were afraid you’d already gone inside there, and that’d be the last we’d see of you.’
‘We wouldn’t leave you out of the fun,’ Veitch said. ‘Let’s go and get everybody tooled up. This is where it all kicks off.’
2
An expanse of rocks, dust and haze gave way suddenly to a colourful camp as they passed through the boundary of the glamour. With a pang of regret, they saw it was smaller than they had hoped, but the cheers that rose up the instant they were seen wiped away any dismal thoughts for a while.
A knot of about ninety Brothers and Sisters of Dragons were suddenly swallowed by a significantly larger crowd of jostling gods, the commotion quickly d
evolving into a number of fights and arguments. Church was pleased to see Lugh, a wan smile lighting a face that had grown too grim.
He shook Church’s hand heartily. ‘Welcome back, Brother of Dragons. I knew you would not be deterred from your mission.’
‘How are your people?’
‘Less than a tenth of the army survive. The Court of the Soaring Spirit was destroyed. Many fled. How many survive across the Far Lands, I do not know.’
Lugh accompanied Church and the others into the leader’s tent. Church expected to see Decebalus planning strategy around the large wooden table in the centre of the tent, but instead it was Ronnie, his First World War uniform giving him some gravitas, but his face showing the weight of expectations upon him.
Aula was with him. ‘Decebalus is dead,’ she said bluntly. ‘He sacrificed himself to prevent the Enemy gaining the Caraprix. He will always be remembered as a great hero.’ She held her head proudly, but her grief was clear.
‘I’m sorry,’ Church said. ‘He was a good man. I was proud to call him my friend.’
Aula nodded curtly, and restrained a sad smile.
‘Pleased to have you back, sir,’ Ronnie said, relieved. ‘I presume you’ll be taking control of the forces now.’
‘You’re going to have to keep that responsibility, Ronnie. We’re entering the Fortress as planned. We need someone on the ground to marshal the troops. You’re the best man for that with your experience.’
‘I was afraid you were going to say that, sir. I’ve heard it once already today.’
The explanation for his comment was revealed as Mallory and Caitlin marched in, throwing themselves into unrestrained hugging and back-slapping.
‘Mission accomplished,’ Mallory said. ‘Though not without a few minor hiccups.’ He handed Church a package tightly wrapped in purple velvet. Church could feel the buzzing energy of the Extinction Shears even through the material.
‘I’d like to say it was nothing,’ Caitlin said with a smile, ‘but it really was something.’
Mallory turned to Veitch tentatively. ‘Etain is gone. And the other three. She sacrificed herself to save us.’
‘That sounds like her.’
‘I think she loved you, in her own way.’
Veitch nodded slowly. ‘She was a good person who had a raw deal. We . . . found a lot in common. I’ll miss her.’ He hesitated. ‘Thanks for telling me.’
‘No problem. I was wrong about her. Maybe I’m wrong about you too. Everybody deserves a second chance, right?’
Cautiously, with a brief nod, they came to terms with each other.
For a few hours, everyone exchanged details of the battles they had fought, the ones they had won and the others they had lost, mourned friends who had fallen and drew up plans for the fight to come. Most of all they enjoyed being reunited with old friends, and new ones, men and gods together, at peace in each other’s company. It was a bittersweet time, for though they had overcome all odds to be together once again, they knew it could well be the last time.
That knowledge generated a heightened mood where deep emotions thrived. Once dark had fallen, Church led the others through the camp. In each little enclave, the gods sat around campfires, telling stories in grave voices, or drinking and feasting, fighting, having sex, whichever were the peculiarities of their own particular group. The Norse were the most raucous, followed closely by the Greeks in an adjoining camp, and at times they appeared to be in competition with each other as to who could revel with the most abandon. The Chinese were measured and introspective, weighing the lessons of the past before considering tactics for the following day. In some of the groups the rituals were alien and unsettling.
The Brothers and Sisters of Dragons were welcomed by all the gods they encountered. Church declined offer after offer to join this group or that, and once they had toured the entire camp, he led the others back to the Tuatha Dé Danaan, where they felt most at home.
Around the fire, stripped of their arrogance and facing the harsh reality of their position in the universe, the Golden Ones appeared smaller in stature, but somehow more noble than Church had ever seen them. The mood was restrained, but positive, and after a while they began to sing. The songs stirred the emotions in ways far beyond the simple arrangements of music and words, evoking their yearnings for the four lost cities of their homeland - Gorias, Finias, Falias and Murias - the only places where they would ever feel at peace.
When they had finished, Church saw tears in Ruth’s eyes. ‘I don’t know your homeland, but we all long for the same thing,’ she said to Lugh. ‘We just give it different names. A place or a relationship where we can be who we really are. Somewhere we can put aside the constant struggling and the fears and the anxiety and find peace.’
‘We will all find our home one day,’ Lugh said. He turned his attention to Church. ‘Never in our long existence have the Tuatha Dé Danaan known hopelessness, but now we all feel it pressing tight against our backs. The Devourer of All Things has haunted us since the earliest stories told by my people. In our hearts, we know it is the End. Should we fight this battle, or would it be best for us to walk away and seek out our homeland, attempt to find at least a little of that peace before all falls away?’
Every one of the assembled Tuatha Dé Danaan turned their attention to Church; he could see this was a question that had been troubling all of them.
‘Over the last few days I’ve been forced to consider a lot of big questions . . . why we are here and what all this around us means,’ he began slowly. ‘And I’ve learned to study life in the smallest detail to find the big answers. I don’t know if I believe in an End. The science of my people suggests there is no such thing. The universe starts with a bang, expands, collapses and then restarts - a constant cycle of life and death. And that’s what we see in nature. The big answers are written small.’ He looked to Shavi, who was nodding. ‘All the information encoded in every aspect of everything, like every part of a hologram contains all the information possessed by the whole. There is no end. We can see it around us, in the turn of the seasons. We can see it in the Tarot cards, where the Fool goes on a journey of enlightenment, and when he thinks he’s learned everything, he’s back to the start as the Fool again, learning once more.’
Lugh nodded. ‘Then the End may be a new start. But for the Devourer of All Things and his followers. Not for us.’
‘Fair enough. But I think the Void can be beaten,’ Church said. ‘The Void loves the mundane, the normal. For all its spiders and its weird army, it hates magic. And that, essentially, is what the Blue Fire is. Look around you. Here we are, in the heart of this landscape devastated by the Void, and magic is still here.’
Everyone shifted their intense concentration from Church’s words and looked around, and they saw that he was right. The campfire crackled and sent golden sparks swirling upwards in the fragrant woodsmoke, tiny stars shimmering with beauty. High overhead, the real stars shone like ice in a glacial sweep across the black velvet sky. As one, their breathing slowed, and they listened, and they felt. There was silence in their tiny circle of light, and the peace that only came where magic lay.
‘We have to use the magickal lessons we learned on our long journey,’ Church continued, but now he was talking directly to the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons. ‘The secret knowledge that kids know and adults forget, because it’s encoded in their stories, their books. Don’t stray from the path. Trust your heart. Three times is the charm, say the name three times, call three times. And the rest. That information comes from the Far Lands. This place is the receptacle of that knowledge, for our world to tap into. So we learn it, for this time, this battle. The magic is in here.’ Church rested his fist against his heart. ‘That’s what we’ve learned, isn’t it? On the road, after we all got together that first time.’ He looked Ruth directly in the eyes. ‘On that long trek I made from the Iron Age back to our time.’ She didn’t look away. Church saw the campfire reflected in her eyes, and himself,
and the past, as the frostiness he had sensed since Stonehenge slowly slid away.
‘Friendship,’ she said. Then, hesitantly, ‘Love. It sounds sickly, sentimental, simplistic.’ She looked to Shavi and Veitch, and then to Tom. ‘But that’s what we learned, isn’t it? Five forged into One. That’s where the magic is. And we don’t stray from the path.’ She felt for Church’s hand out of sight of the others and squeezed it tightly. ‘We don’t stray from the path,’ she said quietly to herself.
A low, mournful call rang out across the camp that sent goosebumps up Church’s arm. Gradually, the tone changed until it became uplifting, growing louder, a roar of defiance. The Tuatha Dé Danaan jumped to their feet as one.
‘Our brother!’ Lugh exclaimed.
Peering into the dark beyond the campfire, Church’s eyes gradually became accustomed to the gloom. He could just discern a large figure circling the camp, occasionally throwing its head back to roar into the night; at times it appeared to be an animal, with horns silhouetted against the lighter night sky; on other glimpses, it appeared to be nothing more than vegetation.
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