The Cloven Land Trilogy

by Simon Kewin

  When Johnny emerged they hurried on. Fer tried to keep her head down, not catch anyone's eye. It was easy to do; everyone on the street seemed to be locked in their own little world. Some had wires in their ears, listening to music, so Johnny explained. One or two talked to themselves, although no one appeared to think this strange.

  Fifteen minutes later they arrived at a large, ornate building with tall, beautiful windows and a clock tower reaching into the sky. The windows were unlit. A welcome circle of greenery surrounded the place, as if to keep the roads and buildings at bay.

  “The Cathedral,” said Johnny.

  “I don't know the word,” said Fer.

  “It's, like, a place people go to sing and worship gods.”

  “And Fiona worships these gods? She thinks they can help us?”

  Johnny shook his head. “From what I can tell this is another ancient grovey place. Down underground. When this god came the followers built their first church on top of it.”

  “Why?”

  “To claim the place. To draw on its power. To cleanse it. Who knows? It's what always happens.”

  “And we can get down to the old levels. Beneath the building?”

  “Apparently there are arcane ways if you know how to find them. There's a crypt. And then natural tunnels below that.”

  Fiona walked to a tall wooden door. It looked to be locked, but with a casual wave of her hand it clicked open. One by one they filed inside. Fer was aware of standing in a large, airy space, faint lights from the city filtering through the windows. Stone pillars supported the roof and, between them, were rows and rows of wooden seats.

  “We have to go underground,” said Fiona. She lit a faint light. “The doorway only reveals itself when the clock reaches a certain time.”

  “Midnight, I'll bet,” said Johnny.

  “That's maybe what it should be, but actually, no. 11:37. No one knows why.”

  In the crypt, bricked-up archways of something like an ancient bridge were visible in one of the walls, a remnant from part of the city now submerged beneath the ground.

  Fiona stood by one of the archways and glanced at her watch. “We go through there. The way should open in a few minutes. At least, it did last time I was here, although that was many years ago. I'll have to dismiss the light; it only opens if there is absolute darkness. Hold my hand and I'll lead us in.”

  They stood together for long minutes, no one speaking, Fer holding one of Fiona's hands and also one of Johnny's. Eventually Fiona squeezed her hand and pulled her forward. They made their way past the point where the solid stones of the wall should have been. The ground beneath Fer's feet became uneven. They kept moving. The air grew heavier with damp and, dimly, Fer sensed the rush of water. Although whether a river was nearby, or below them, or above, she couldn't tell.

  Finally, Fiona lit another light to reveal a long, natural cave that stretched into shadows. They appeared to be deep underground. Water dripped and babbled from somewhere nearby. “We'll be safe here while we decide what to do. I doubt they know about this place, but even if they do it will be hard for them to get inside.”

  “We'll need food,” said Johnny. “Soft pillows and TV would be good, too.”

  “Fiona and I will go for supplies,” said Cait's gran. “Sandwiches and cups of tea at least. Probably not TV and comfortable beds. We can work a glamour or two to alter our appearance.”

  “How will you get back in?” Fer asked.

  “I can hold the doorway open for a short while,” said Fiona. “When we return I'll seal it again. The book will stay here in case we're spotted and chased.”

  “I'll come back up, too,” said Johnny. “No signal down here.”

  “Stay out of sight,” said Fiona. “If someone spots a famously dead rock singer hanging around in the shadows of the Cathedral making phone calls, we'll never hear the end of it.”

  Johnny grinned. “Got it.”

  When they were gone, Fer stood alone in the underground space. A rough circle of square stones dotted the interior of the cave, although whether they'd been deliberately placed or were natural, she couldn't tell. She sat on one and breathed deeply, trying to clear her mind. She'd barely had time to think since arriving in this confusing, terrible world.

  She caught a flicker of movement in the shadows, movement that disappeared when she turned to look at it. She didn't need to see the indistinct figures to know what they were. She'd felt their presence more and more, and it was immediately stronger below the ground. Ghosts. Faint, faint wraiths all about her, many of them little more than children when they'd died. She sensed confusion, longing, loss seeping from the stone walls. Centuries of them it seemed. What had been done to them? Once there had been much death here. Hard lives, barely lived before they'd ended, buried away beneath those bright, pretty lights on the surface.

  Cait had been in touch with them, too. Fer had sensed something hidden in her, some memory or indistinct presence. She hadn't liked to pry. Perhaps any witch living in Manchester would be in contact with the ghosts of the place. Genera and its machinery had been there a long time.

  But Fer was beginning to see her true purpose for coming, beyond retrieving the vile book, beyond attempting to avert the disaster about to overwhelm her home. This world needed help. Oh, it was a place of wonders and marvels. Most of the people appeared to be like those in Andar: warm and daft and flawed and loving.

  But this terrible thing had been done to them. Genera's machines drained their Spirit each day: marring them, reducing them, without them knowing. She thought about the container-loads of bones shipped through the portal to the White City. The scale of it was horrifying: the harvest of wars and poverty and disease. And her world was to blame. Not Andar, perhaps, but the undain and Genera. The monsters of Angere were parasites sucking the life out of this world.

  Perhaps she wouldn't be able to do much, but she could do something. Count herself on the right side of the balance. The side of life. That was what she would do. Help some of the lost souls find rest.

  She'd been so resentful of Hellen and the rest of them on Islagray, their rules and covens. The way they gave up freedoms for the strength of the group. It seemed a petty concern now. The evil done here was on a different scale.

  She sat with her arms around her knees, trying to hear the quiet voices in the shadows. Communing with them if she could, although many were too far gone. Occasionally a face formed in the air before her, nothing more than a brief blur, a flash of sombre eyes or the laugh of a giggling child. She tried to reach out to them, touch them, but they fled in alarm each time.

  She was still there fifteen minutes later when Johnny returned. The pale ghosts dissolved into the darkness as he stepped into the cavern. She wished she could have had longer, given them more time to come to her. Perhaps there would be a chance later.

  “I found it,” said Johnny, the glow from the screen lighting up his face. “My guitar.”

  “Did the archaeon assist?”

  “Nah. I asked it, but it told me to do my own search and stop bothering it.”

  “And where's the guitar?”

  “Well, the bad news is it's currently in New York.”

  “That's a long way?”

  “A long way. A flight across the ocean.”

  “Flying over water is difficult,” said Fer.

  “Not with an aeroplane it isn't,” said Johnny. “But it doesn't matter. Because the guitar's coming here in five days.”

  “The guitar is coming here? I don't understand.”

  “Screaming Machinery, my old band. They're on the road. The Glastonbury Tour. They bought the guitar back and they're in London in two days' time, then up here before moving on to Glasgow. And they're using Mr. Shankly in the show.”

  “Can we afford to wait that long?”

  “We'll have to. It's too good a chance to miss.” He was filled with excitement. “There's this song, you see, Beyond the Veil. Kind of our signature tune, used to close o
ur shows with it. And they've got this robotic me playing it. See, there's video footage. All this darkness and smoke and then I – I mean it – appear from above, descending on a shaft of light. It's all programmed to replicate how I used to play the song. Even has a few random variations thrown in so it's different each night.”

  “That seems pretty … inappropriate,” said Fer. “They think you're dead don't they?”

  Johnny shrugged. “It seems pretty cool to me. Plus it means the guitar will be here. We can use this.”

  “You mean, talk to the rest of this band of yours? Ask them to give you the instrument?”

  A frown played across Johnny's features. “They would, for sure. I mean, it would be a majorly weird conversation, but they'd do it. But then Genera would find out, right? There's no way we could keep them in the dark. Genera must know who I am. They'll have eyes and ears inside the band, just in case I get in touch.”

  “Eyes and ears?” she said. What evil magic did Genera have at their disposal? “How would they do that?”

  “Not literally. I mean they'll have spies or they'll be monitoring texts and social networking or something. News would leak out one way or another.”

  “Perhaps we could take the guitar from them between shows. When the band is travelling around?”

  “The security would be too tight. The guitar is well-guarded.”

  He continued to examine the pictures he'd found on the phone, swiping his finger across the machine's glassy surface. Then the frown on his face faded to be replaced by his familiar grin.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “What is it? What have you thought of?”

  “It's obvious,” said Johnny. “How I get to the guitar. They give it to this robot to play, right?”

  “I don't know what that means,” said Fer.

  “It's, like, a machine that resembles me.”

  “OK, but I don't…”

  “So I replace the robot. We sneak inside the venue, I take the place of the machine, and they'll just give me the guitar. Plus, I'll get to play with the guys again. One song only, but think how cool that would be.”

  “You think that might work?”

  Johnny considered for a moment. “Dunno. But I think it's damn-well worth a try.”

  15. Beyond the Veil

  They camped in the cold cave below the Cathedral crypt for five days, venturing outside as little as possible, waiting for the arrival of the Screaming Machinery tour.

  The wait took its toll on all of them, but it was worse for Cait's mother and gran. Fer didn't need to be a witch to see the anxiety gnawing at them. They were filled with worry for Cait, frustrated at not being able to do anything to help her. Guilt blazed its grim light in their minds: guilt at letting Cait go so unprepared.

  When one of them did sneak onto the streets to buy more food, they reported more and more Genera activity: riders on the roads around the Cathedral and also a great many uniformed security guards, more like soldiers than the police who were supposed to keep the peace in this world.

  Fer couldn't be sure, but it appeared Genera suspected they were hiding in the area. Although perhaps it was the same in all the other towns and cities.

  Or perhaps the soldiers were there in reaction to the increasing trouble. On the second day, Cait's mother returned looking flustered.

  “What is it?” said Fer. “Did they see you?”

  “No, I don't think so. There's just … something like a riot going on up there. I managed to avoid it, but there were gangs of people, youths and older people, breaking shop windows and turning cars over.”

  “And that's unusual?” asked Fer.

  “Of course.” Fiona sat on one of the rocks while Catherine poured her a cup of tea from a flask. “I mean, we've had problems before from time to time, but this is all so sudden. It was scary. Their faces were covered as they threw bricks and firebombs.”

  “It's Genera,” said Catherine. “Has to be. They must have turned up those machines of theirs, sucking the hope from people, turning them angry.”

  “Why?” said Fer. “Are they doing it to find us? Flush us out?”

  “No, I don't think so,” said Fiona, sipping at her steaming tea and trying to brush her hair into some sort of order with her fingers. “I think there's more to it than that. It must be the invasion of Andar. The undain army needs powering. Things are coming to a head. The time is drawing near as the An freezes over.”

  And what damage would be done to this world by the undain machines? What harm would be done to the people? Fer was filled with anxieties of her own. Not just for Cait but for everyone she knew. Here and back home. Her family, the friends she'd grown up with, how many of them would survive when the undain came? Any of them?

  Her own guilt at leaving Andar ate away at her, too. She spent her quiet moments seeking the shadows for lost ghosts, offering what peace and reassurance she could. In truth, it probably helped her more than it did them.

  When the day of the concert came they sat together in a circle to discuss their plans.

  “I'll go with Johnny,” said Fer.

  Fiona looked doubtful. “We should all go. Who knows what dangers we'll face? Genera will be watching the concert. They may not suspect we'll try this stunt with the guitar, but they'll be there.”

  “Someone should stay here and guard the book,” said Fer. “Besides, you've been taking all the risks. It's time we did something.”

  “Plus it will look a lot more believable if it's just the two of us,” said Johnny. “No offence, but you're not typical Screaming Machinery concert-goers.”

  “As a matter of fact, young man, I'm quite a fan,” said Catherine. “Cait played me several tracks. Very … exhilarating. Think I'm too old, do you?”

  Johnny looked mortified. “No. Hell, no. We loved fans of any age, trust me. I just figured the two of us would stand out less. People might think we're a couple.” He threw an apologetic glance at Fer. “We'll sneak in, grab the guitar, then come back here. Lie low for a couple of days until the heat dies down then slip off to Glasto.”

  A look passed between Fiona and her mother.

  “I don't like it,” said Fiona. “Too much could go wrong.”

  Fer said, “Too much could go wrong whatever we do. This is the best way. I can work a glamour to hide our appearances as well as you can. You two can guard the book and let us back inside when we have the guitar.”

  Fiona hesitated, partly, no doubt, because she didn't want to let Fer head off alone just as Cait had.

  “And will you be able to play this song?” Fiona asked Johnny. “You haven't been able to practice since coming here.”

  Johnny flexed his fingers. “No problems there. Some songs become second nature after a while. Once I pick up Mr. Shankly the magic will happen.”

  “Very well,” said Fiona. “But stay hidden. If they pursue you, try to put them off the trail so they don't know where we are. If you can't shake them, get away, out of the city, and we'll contact you later.”

  “We should talk to the bookwyrm too,” said Johnny. “Perhaps it will be able to disrupt Genera's communications.”

  “Worth a try,” said Fiona. “And what about tickets to get in?”

  “I can handle that if the archaeon can't,” said Fer. “A few simple illusions in the minds of the guards and we'll get inside.”

  “You can do that?” said Johnny.

  “I don't see why not.”

  “Cool. Would have saved me a bucketful of money over the years. We'll need back-stage passes, too. So I can replace the robot thing.”

  “Show me what I need to do when we get there.”

  “And if that all works, we just have to figure out how to get to Glastonbury unseen, yeah?” said Johnny.

  “We'll cross that bridge when we come to it,” said Fiona. “First we need this guitar of yours. Then we'll worry about the rest.”

  It was dark when Fer and Johnny took the passageway into the Cathedral crypt and onto the street
s of Manchester. An icy wind whipped around the old stones of the building. She was glad of it; it would probably do more than anything else to keep the mob off the streets. Cars whooshed by on the nearby roads, but no one appeared to be watching them.

  “Let's talk to the wyrm,” said Johnny. “Security is going to be tight with all this panic on the streets.”

  Fer watched as he touched the little picture of the sleeping dragon on his phone. At first she thought it was going to ignore him. Then the colourful little creature appeared, strutting across the screen, even huffing out sketches of red flame.

  Johnny held the phone close to his mouth so he could whisper to the dragon. “Hello again, noble Archaeon. We really need your help this time.”

  “Is that correct?” The voice from the little machine was tinny but clear if she listened carefully. “You're sure you're not just incapable of using a website like last time?”

  “No, this is something more suited to your skills,” said Johnny. “Trust me. We're facing a difficult situation and only you can help us.” He winked at Fer, grinning.

  “Is that so?” said the archaeon. “Then I suppose you'd better explain what you need. Oh, and I can see you winking through your phone's camera, you know.”

  “Ah, right,” said Johnny. “OK. Sorry. So here's the situation.”

  Half an hour later they stood together in the queue for the concert. They were at the building they'd arrived beneath when first coming to Manchester. Its wide, curved front arched over them, a white clock in its middle showing them they had half an hour before the concert began.