by Ian Taylor
"You're on your way to becoming a shaman." He drank half of the mixture. "I need to play catch-up."
They left the car and followed a rough path that led through a wild rocky landscape. There was no sound. The bushes were motionless. The scene was illuminated by a sourceless hazy glow. They’d crossed the invisible threshold where otherworlds began.
The old mine workings appeared ahead and the derelict remains of long-abandoned buildings loomed through the haze. Gerry indicated an area of large grass-covered boulders, and they strolled over to sit and wait.
"Let's hope everyone's ready," she telepathised.
"And Mr A’s at home," he replied gravely, "not expecting to be tricked!"
"You think he might not appear? That he might have read our minds?"
"I'm hoping his arrogance will overcome his caution."
The old Celtic covens of the western counties assembled at traditional sites to observe the midwinter sunset. As the sun disappeared below the horizon, fires sprang into vivid life. Silhouettes, with arms raised to the night sky, invoked old magic. A throbbing chant, expanding into a flowing ocean of power, filled the air. Several generations had passed since such a massive force of energy had been raised. The chant continued to build until a Cone of Power took form. The energy held steady, awaiting direction.
In the old tin mine, the derelict buildings hovered mysteriously at the edge of a newly risen mist. Gerry and Jan waited patiently. The silence deepened. The air itself seemed filled with oppressive pressure, as if a massive ticking bomb lay hidden nearby.
Ashtar appeared in his flowing robes. Jan and Gerry turned away, avoiding a head-on confrontation. "You have come to try to destroy me," the demon said sternly. "But your efforts are futile. How can you harm me when I’m more powerful than any god that has ever existed?"
He reproduced into a hundred identical images of himself. Their combined voices reverberated around the old mine buildings. "I am everywhere. Before time was, I am and always will be. The new world will be mine and your efforts are nothing!” The multiple images vanished.
The mist slowly thinned and the night sky became visible, packed with glittering stars that seemed to sizzle. Ashtar reappeared and morphed into his archetypal form: a demon more terrifying than Owlman, with gigantic feathered wings and the massive head of a hideous fanged monster. His mouth belched flame and long, needle-sharp fangs dripped blood.
An overpowering stench of rotting corpses filled the air. Gerry and Jan struggled to breathe. With a stupendous roar, Ashtaroth sprang towards Jan, who stood her ground.
Gerry and Jan cried with one voice, "Release the Power!"
He pulled her behind the protection of a large boulder as a massive bolt of blinding lightning struck Ashtaroth. Giant silhouettes, visible in the brilliant light, poured from the underworld.
"See," Gerry called out. "King Arthur and the Wild Hunt ride tonight!"
Gigantic armour-clad riders on towering battle steeds as tall as oak trees surged like a colossal tidal wave towards them. Lightning bolts flared around the riders, and their energy flashed from the war band's raised swords.
Ashtaroth burst into flames. The hidden demons in the old mine erupted from their lairs, screaming in agony as they were cut down by the lightning-charged weapons. Emitting a raucous cry of rage, Ashtaroth attempted to escape the Wild Hunt by morphing into a spinning blue-and-yellow light. But before the light could assume its full form, it exploded. He transformed into a small red-and-white disc and shot away at tremendous speed into the night sky.
Hemingway, dressed as a senior military officer, sat at the head of a large boardroom table, surrounded by similarly attired cronies. As one, they morphed into demons and burst into flames. Some jumped from windows and fell screaming into the streets below. Others seized human colleagues and destroyed them in an orgy of annihilation.
Demons across the west of England burst into flames: in cars, in offices, in the streets. They hurled themselves from roofs, under buses, into rivers. The human population fled in terror and shut themselves away in their houses, in churches, community centres and village halls. Some prayed. Others wept. Most simply stared at one another in stunned silence.
The old mine workings were a scene of smouldering desolation. There was no sign of
Ashtaroth or his demons, merely heaps of ashes and spitting embers.
Overwhelmed, Gerry and Jan embraced.
"I thought the Wild Hunt was just a story," she said. "A means of keeping children away from the woods at night when wolves prowled the landscape."
He laughed. "I suppose it would have done that, too. We had to open a portal into the world of the dead. Samhain would have been the best time, but it seems midwinter worked quite well. Only King Arthur and the sacred dead have the power to defeat a demon like Ashtaroth. They’ve joined us in this war. They’ve given us permission to commit acts of spontaneous violence that can't be read by demons in advance."
"But it's not over," she said solemnly.
"No, it's not. But at least we've proved that all the region's traditional pagan groups can come together for the common good and work the old magic."
They left the mine and returned to her car. A waxing moon played hide and seek among clusters of altocumulus and the night wind stirred the trees into slow shamanic dances . They could see lights of vehicles in the distance. The world of demons and the Wild Hunt had silently faded.
They drove out of the upland country. By the time they reached lower ground, the first spark of the midwinter sunrise was showing above the horizon. An entire night had passed in what seemed a mere couple of hours.
"We've a book to write," she declared. "We can do it now we have something that looks like an ending, even if it might only be provisional."
"I think I might have a publisher interested. They want to read the first fifty pages. If they like what they see, we might get a deal. It'll help spread awareness. But first, I think we should rest and relax a while."
She kissed his bristled cheek. "Now that sounds promising." An unwelcome thought crossed her mind. "But we'll still have to be on our guard. Those Black Ops guys will never stop looking for us, will they?”
"Not if they think we pose some kind of threat."
"Then there's Mr A. D'you think the lightning strike was seriously wounding?"
"Doubtful. He's been around for millennia and no one's been able to finish him off. I'm sure he'll be back before long with another rigged deck of old tricks."
"Demons are already among us. They're determined to copy the human blueprint. We're going to have a battle some time soon, otherwise they'll swamp us."
"Demons have limited imagination. They might be tricky and devious, but we can outwit them. Trap them. Destroy them. There's just one big problem."
Jan nodded and sighed. "The higher-order demons can read our minds."
"Exactly. They see us coming."
"How d'you tell the difference between an emotionally repressed human and a demon with retarded feelings?"
"You can't, unless you test them,” he explained solemnly. “If a demon moves in next door, you won't find him owning any pets, unless it's a parrot or goldfish he gets just for show. And they won't last long in such poisonous company. Cats are pretty psychic. Their reaction to the presence of demons is extreme. Dogs aren't as good, but they react. Just see if your demon neighbour will stroke your dog. He won't even try, because he knows the dog’ll bark and back away in fear, or fix him with a lethal snarl. So there are simple ways demons can be identified."
"Then what? You can't shoot them!"
He chuckled. "You place a secret sigil close by and summon the Wild Hunt."
"Just like that?" she asked dryly.
"You see the scale of the task. But we must make a start."
"We should become anonymous hunters. Faceless assassins."
"You've got the idea."
Gerry pulled into a field gateway, got out and unlocked the gate, then drove down a t
rack to a small woodside cottage surrounded with apple trees.
"This is mine when I need it," was all he offered in explanation. "There's the ghost of an old beekeeper out back who keeps an eye on the hives for me. I've learned a lot about bees from that very wise gentleman."
She looked at him in astonishment, not knowing if he was serious. He laughed at her confusion and parked the car round the side of the cottage so it was hidden from the track. She caught a glimpse of beehives among the fruit trees.
"Our rest time starts now," he said. "Let's make the most of it. The bees will tell us if there are dubious characters about. They can smell demons a mile away. And there's a pair of ravens in residence in the wood beyond the orchard. You can tell by their calls if something's amiss."
"The birds and the bees?" She laughed.
"The bringers of wisdom." He unlocked the cottage door. "Our protectors."
"Well," she said, "we've reached the end of one road."
"And the beginning of another."
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