The Queen of sinister da-2

by Marc Chadbourn

  Cold laughter rustled through the shadows. Caitlin grew frightened.

  'We remain neutral,' Lugh said. 'For now.'

  'Are you waiting for something?' Caitlin changed the subject, worried that the conversation was going in a dangerous direction.

  Lugh glanced her way briefly. 'Yes, we wait. We wait for war.' He waved her away morosely. 'You will be shown to quarters. Move freely through the court, but avoid the low-town. Some… undesirables outstay their welcome there. We will talk again.'

  Before Caitlin could press her case further, the guards had ushered her and the others back out into the oppressive maze of corridors. They were shown to windowless rooms that offered little comfort apart from a wooden bed and hard mattress, a coarse blanket, a reed rug on the flags and a bedside table on which stood a stubby candle.

  Hunger nagged at them all, and the chief guard suggested they make their way to a tavern tucked away amongst the twisty-turny streets, where they would be provided with food and drink. 'But,' he cautioned, 'move quickly through the streets at night, for the court, in its munificence, has thrown open its gates to all manner of residents of the Far Lands, and many are inimical to Fragile Creatures. They reside not only in the low-town.' Following his directions, they set out along the rain- slicked cobbled streets, carefully watching the numerous dark alleys and shadowed doorways along the route.

  'Was it just me,' Mahalia said, 'or did it seem as if they'd have been just as happy slitting our throats and tossing us over the walls?'

  'They're cautious,' Crowther said. 'They don't want to come down on the wrong side.'

  'You know more than you're saying.' There was a combative note in Matt's voice.

  'He learned it all in his little college in Glastonbury,' Mahalia chided sarcastically.

  'You ought to share it,' Matt said. 'We're all in this together. Any information that might help us work out what's going on…'

  'All right,' Crowther snapped. 'There's no need to harangue me.' He was clearly less able to resist Matt than he was Caitlin, Mahalia and Carlton. 'I was taught by someone who had visited this place. The information he brought back, the knowledge he amassed during the period of the Fall, formed a significant part of the teachings.'

  A man, or what they took to be a man, rushed out of one of the side streets and was so intent on staring fearfully over his shoulder that he almost crashed into them. He was unnaturally tall and thin and was wearing a large floppy-brimmed hat that hid his face. 'Have you heard the news?' he said, nonplussed by their presence. 'The Lord of Vengeance has been sighted roaming the Marches of Gisbourg beyond the Wish-Lakes to the east. Truth. I was told.' He made a snipping-scissor motion with both his hands. 'It's an omen. Everything's coming to an end.' He shifted his head and the torchlight caught his face. They all shrank back when they saw that his eyes had been sewn shut.

  Somehow he loped away on his needle-thin legs in a straight line into the next dark alley. 'For God's sake, let's get somewhere a little safer.' Crowther nodded at a spot further down the street where they saw the tavern. Unlike many of the surrounding buildings, a welcoming light flooded out of the bottle-glass windows. A sign depicting a stylised sun with a smiling face swung heavily in the wind. By the time they had taken all this in, Crowther was already halfway to the door.

  The tavern was filled with a hubbub of low, conspiratorial voices and a heady atmosphere of beer, sawdust, woodsmoke and spiced meat. But then they saw the clientele and once more they were struck dumb. There were more of the small, intense men and a few women, but the others were bizarre beyond imagining. Some were tall with insectile eyes, others swathed in fluttering rags that moved as if they were alive; some had wings, others horns; it was as though they had stepped into a scene from a child's fairy-tale.

  'Bloody hell,' Crowther said under his breath.

  The tavern's occupants stopped what they were doing to survey the new arrivals curiously, but their attention only remained for the briefest moments before they returned to talk of broken treaties, armies being amassed, subterfuge and deceit.

  At the bar, the landlord, a stout beer-bellied man with ferocious eyebrows, offered them food and drink without asking for any recompense. He watched them suspiciously while pouring tankards of a deep black porter for the men and Carlton, and glasses of red wine for the women.

  'You're too young to drink,' Matt said to Mahalia as she took the pewter goblet.

  'I've killed people,' she said, and it was answer enough. Yet Mahalia still cautioned Carlton against drinking the beer and insisted on water for him instead.

  They took a table next to one of the windows where they could look out into the deserted street, as the noise and warmth of the tavern wrapped itself seductively around them.

  'It's time to talk,' Matt said to Crowther. It was clear to the others that Matt was highly suspicious of the professor and was not about to let him get away with anything.

  'Who is Lugh?' Caitlin asked. She knew the question had come from Brigid inside her; strangely, the old woman appeared to know more than she did.

  'Lugh was one of the gods of the Celts.' Crowther sipped his beer with an oddly self-satisfied air. 'When these beings, the Golden Ones as they were known, crossed over into our world millennia ago, the ancient Celts named this one Lugh and defined him as a sun god. The gods had a falling out with another group called the Fomorii, who were the basis for our myths of devils, I suppose. The gods retreated to the Far Lands — here, the Otherworld — and the loss of that battle diminished them in our eyes. They grew physically smaller, less powerful — though still imposing — and ended up walking into our stories as fairies.'

  'How could the loss diminish them?' Matt said with keen interest.

  'You will notice,' Crowther said patronisingly, 'that nothing here is as it seems. This land is fluid, and to a degree perception, and belief, shape Existence.'

  'So because we were less scared of them, they became less powerful,' Mahalia chipped in.

  'You're quite a clever girl behind that front.' Crowther gave her a smile, but she didn't return it.

  'Tell me about this war — that's the important thing,' Matt said impatiently.

  'Of course it is,' Crowther said blithely. 'Things don't get any more important. We're at a cusp, all of us, and it could go any way from here on in.' Carlton surprised them by leaning across the table and resting one hand on Crowther's arm. Most of the time he was invisible and for all but Mahalia it was easy to forget he was there, but sometimes Caitlin would catch him watching them all intently, and at those times she could see how much was going on inside his head. This time, his expression was grave. He exchanged a long intense glance with Crowther, and whatever passed between them made the professor grow more serious.

  'The Fall was a crucible for humanity, though none of us could see it at the time. The seasons have turned, that was how it was put to me. Mankind now has the opportunity to move on from the position we've occupied ever since we came down from the trees. If we seize our chances, we can move on to the next level, the next stage of evolution. We can become…' He tried to pluck the right word from the air, failed. '… gods, I suppose.'

  Matt eyed him with disbelief, but there was a glimmer of awe in his eyes. 'Gods?'

  'We have the potential inside us — we were made that way. Now is our time. But-'

  'But some of the other gods don't want us getting in their club,' Mahalia interjected.

  'That's right.' Crowther took a long, deep draught of his beer. 'Some of them don't. Some of them accept that this is the way of Existence — always rising higher, attempting to reach… nirvana. And that is why they're on the brink of a civil war.'

  'Is this for real?' Matt's voice was hushed, incredulous. 'What do we have to do?'

  'Who knows?' Crowther made a dismissive gesture, but Caitlin saw his gaze fall briefly on Carlton. 'It has something to do with the Blue Fire, the earth energy. After being dormant for many years, it's now alive in the land again. I have no id
ea what that means, how it will affect us. It may be happening now; we may have to wait a millennium. The cycles of Existence don't operate on our timescale.' 'But if we could hurry it along…' Matt said breathlessly. 'If, if, if.' Crowther waved him silent. 'Strategically, this will work in our favour. Normally, our chances of making any headway at all through the Far Lands would be close to nil. But with the Golden Ones divided… some of them supporting humanity and others undecided and not wishing to do anything to offend us, you at least stand a chance of making some progress.' 'You?' Caitlin said. 'I'm not coming with you. I've done my bit, getting you here.' They all looked at him in surprise. 'But I thought-' Caitlin began. 'No,' Crowther said firmly. 'You won't convince me.' 'We need you!' Caitlin protested. 'No, you don't.' 'Why did you bother coming at all?' Matt said. 'I have my reasons.' 'Who cares?' Mahalia said. 'Do we need him? I don't think so.' 'But you know so much,' Caitlin said directly to him. 'I don't know much at all.' Crowther concentrated on his beer, uncomfortable now. 'But what you do know could be the difference between life and death for us,' she persisted. He looked into Caitlin's face briefly but couldn't bear what he saw there. He stared into the depths of his tankard and then said, 'I'll give you one piece of information to send you on your way, Sister of Dragons.' He looked at her from under his heavy brows. 'What does that mean?' 'Dragons are the symbol of the Blue Fire, the earth energy, that vital spiritual power that fills everything. Yet these Fabulous Beasts are more than symbol — they're reality. They are the key. The spirit-power is the key.' He took another long draught. 'The distinction between belief systems we saw in modern times is false. The Dragon Power underpins every single religion, however disparate, from ancient Chinese spirituality to Christianity. Medieval Christian art made the connection explicit, with paintings of Christ the Dragon. It makes you think a little differently about those old biblical stories, eh? The serpent in the Garden of Eden. Decode them and the truth emerges.'

  'What truth?' Caitlin said. 'You're being deliberately oblique, as usual.'

  'Well, let me be direct, then. The Dragon Power flows directly to the Godhead, and certain people are infused with it, to act as… champions, I suppose. Gallant knights who will fight for all that's right in the universe, regardless of creed or culture or political belief. A universal Tightness.'

  'Me?' Caitlin said in disbelief, but the prophecy Mary had made now fell into sharp relief.

  'The Pendragon Spirit is in you. It was the reason I was sent straight to your friend's door.'

  'I'm no champion.'

  'Yes, I know. Difficult to believe, isn't it?'

  'What is it, Carlton?' Mahalia had noticed that the boy was growing anxious. He kept looking round as if he expected someone to attack them, but all the drinkers continued their quiet, intense conversations, seemingly oblivious. A few seconds later, the door burst open and a fat man in a half-squashed hat was blown in by a gust of rain. He was in a state of high anxiety. 'The Lament- Brood!' he called out. The entire tavern fell silent. 'They are here, beyond the walls!'

  The hanging moment broke in a burst of agitated voices and activity. Some ran out of the tavern, others huddled closer to the fire, clutching their drinks tightly against their chests.

  'They've followed us here?' Caitlin said. Inside, Amy was sobbing.

  'I think we should go and see.' Matt stood up. Beyond the window, they could see people running down the street.

  'I think I'll stay here, if you don't mind,' Crowther said, looking to the bar for another beer. 'Keep me informed if it's anything to be concerned about.'

  Matt and Caitlin made it to the door, then Caitlin turned back and beckoned for Mahalia and Carlton to follow.

  'I thought you were going to leave us with that prat,' Mahalia said, though her face showed no gratitude.

  Flitting shapes moved down the steeply sloping streets towards the walls, searching for some vantage point. They acted like people tasting the uncertain edge of fear for the first time.

  'In here.' Matt caught Caitlin's arm and pulled her into the entrance to a tall tower. The door was open, and they quickly made their way up spiral steps worn by what must have been thousands of years of feet. At times the steps were so precarious that they threatened to plunge any climber back down to their deaths. At the top, the steps opened out on to a small balcony running around the circumference of the tower, far above the confusion of slate roofs. The rain had abated and there was a clear view to the plains beyond the walls.

  They knew instantly what was there before seeing any detail. 'Oh, no,' Caitlin said dismally.

  Mahalia came up beside her, and when Caitlin looked into her face the hardness had dissipated, and for the first time she saw the desperate, innocent girl trapped within. 'They're never going to leave us alone, are they?' The girl's small voice was caught by the wind and whisked out towards the battlements beyond which a purple mist coalesced, filled with despair and the end of all hope. Mary's head throbbed and her throat felt as dry as the dusty road along which she walked. Delirium tremens made her feel like an invalid, or fifteen years older than her true age, and although she'd washed profusely in a stream, she still couldn't get rid of the occasional whiff of vomit. She'd got through the bottle of whiskey and cleaned out all the other alcohol she could find in the house — some cider, a couple of bottles of beer brewed by one of the villagers, some sloe wine (no alcohol lasted for long and she was lucky she had that amount) — but she still yearned for more, while at the same time hating herself for the desire.

  It's not a problem, she said with the alcoholic's deranged conviction, while the real her that lived at the back of her head looked on with impotent despair.

  She hadn't wanted to leave her cosy cottage and carefully structured life to venture out into the chaos of the world — it was too dangerous, filled with night-terrors even in the midday glare — and for a while she had almost convinced herself that it wasn't her responsibility to try to find some way to help Caitlin, that there was nothing she could do anyway, so what was the point. That had been the way she had lived for so many years, existing with a fear that had grown out of self-loathing; what had happened to her at the end of the sixties had contaminated the rest of her life. In some people's eyes, her transgression might have been only a small thing. To her, it was a blinding revelation of who she really was, and that terrible disappointment was something she thought she would never get over. Even now she couldn't think about that single moment; it remained, unconsidered, like toxic waste polluting her subconscious. And so her thoughts had naturally turned to Caitlin, unable to say goodbye to the husband and son she loved, and Mary had felt the heat rise within her: Caitlin would never suffer as she had suffered; Caitlin would not see her life dribble away in might-have-beens. Mary was more determined than she ever had been about anything else before.

  She would never be able to live with herself if anything happened to Caitlin that she could have prevented. And so she had steeled herself with the alcohol — while knowing that steeling was just an excuse — and when she was too drunk to consider the fear she took the old rucksack she had packed, with Arthur Lee poking his head out of one side, and set out on the road.

  It was going to be a long journey, certainly the first leg, and she guessed there would probably be more after that — these kinds of things never went simply — so she'd also secreted several weapons about her person. Food would be a problem, but she knew enough about wild herbs and plants to find herself some sustenance, but she would really need protein and the chances of her catching a rabbit or a bird were, she guessed, slim.

  She paused on the brow of a hill and surveyed the green fields stretching out into the glare of the morning sun. It had taken her a long time to decide on her destination, involving much pondering, more attempts at communing with the powers that be, many of them failed. It quickly became apparent that she would need to seek guidance from something more potent.

  And that was only really available in the old places, the sites that had b
een marked out by the ancient people in the dim dawn of mankind, when humans were more sensitive to what was around them, not dulled by civilisation's many drugs. She considered Stonehenge and Avebury, wondered about venturing even further afield, but she decided she needed something specific to her predicament. She needed to talk to a god. Not one of the gods rumoured to have returned with the Fall, but something higher. An old, old archetype; a power from the very beginning of it all.

  Further down the road, there was a crossroads. From a distance it had appeared as deserted as the majority of the surrounding countryside, but as she approached, a figure had mysteriously become visible, standing next to the old wooden signpost that marked the crossing of the ways. She squinted, blinked; it was as though she was viewing the scene through a rippling heat haze. But after a few more steps, her vision cleared and she realised it was a man in old tattered clothes, leaning on a strangely incongruous staff that had some kind of worked shape to it. His grey hair was wild and wispy around his head and as she neared she saw his skin was filthy with the mud of the fields.

  She slipped her hand into her pocket to grasp the handle of the already open penknife. At the same time, she felt a ringing in her teeth and a dull ache at the back of her head that reminded her of the unnerving sensations she had experienced when the stranger had visited to set her on this path. She still hadn't come to terms with who he was, or more precisely what, but she knew without a doubt that his kind scared her on some fundamental level.

  As she neared the crossroads, her senses screamed at her to run. Whatever it was that she sensed about the man made her stomach turn and her thoughts skitter frantically; it felt like two magnets of opposing polarity being forced together. It was clear that he was waiting for her.

  Even when she was a few feet away she said nothing, even tried to slip by, but his eyes widened with a hideous warning, forcing her to a sharp halt.