'That's nice of you to say, but it still doesn't feel right.'
'In the old tribes, the Fragile Creatures who first welcomed us to your world, their wise men and magicians often had an altered perception of Existence-'
'They were all mad, too.'
'Words… meaningless. Everything without you is a mystery and everything within, too. Worlds upon worlds upon worlds — no view is the same.'
Caitlin peered into the depths of Triathus' shimmering face. He appeared to be trying to tell her something important, but she couldn't quite grasp the essence of it. 'Anyway, I'm learning to deal with it. Carlton's the saving of me. I feel a bond with him. If he hadn't been around, I don't know what…' She became aware of Mahalia standing in the shadows nearby, listening. Caitlin turned to tell the girl not to eavesdrop, but Mahalia had already melted away into the moonshadows washing across the deck. Strange white faces appeared amongst the trees when the boat drifted close to either shore. It was not the Gehennis, but other, even more disturbing denizens of the Other- world, stirring from their alien dreams to see what unusual beings had been washed up at their homes. They came and went before their true appearances became clear, leaving their motivations undivined. No one could bring themselves to look at them for too long. It was deep in the middle of the night when Caitlin stirred from a shallow sleep. A silent calling ushered her to the rail; there was some activity on the riverbank that she had to see.
For the first time the forest was still, and briefly she wondered if she was just acting out a dream. But then there was a sudden burst of blue lightning and a smell of electrical generators. Sparks fizzed out into the water, and within the display Caitlin saw a figure. It was the knight with the boar's-head helmet, watching her passage.
Her heart fell. Surely he should have been left far behind. How could he be there?
The light display continued until the boat had passed, and then winked out. The knight was either gone or lost to the dark.
Caitlin had started to think that the knight was her burden alone; certainly she had a sense that he had no interest at all in the others. With that notion came another more disturbing impression. She had thought that she was on a journey to save humanity; a glorious mission. Perhaps it wasn't that at all. Perhaps she was on a road to hell and the knight was there to ensure that she reached her destination.
Sleep proved elusive on the heels of such morbid thoughts. Sunlight dappled the deck, shimmering through dancing shadows cast by branches and leaves. Triathus stood at the helm, proud and erect, as if he had not moved all night. Caitlin stretched and yawned, driving out her disturbing thoughts of the previous night. Matt slept nearby, his face untroubled. It left Caitlin with a deep yearning; she couldn't remember the last time she had been like that. Mahalia, too, looked at ease with her head resting on Jack's shoulder. She had her arms tightly around Carlton as though afraid someone would steal him in the night. Crowther was nowhere to be seen.
Caitlin made her way to Triathus, who nodded politely when he saw her. 'Where's the professor?' she asked huskily.
'Making breakfast for you in the galley. He did not sleep well. There is much that troubles him.'
'Hardly surprising. He thought he could run and hide from all the world's problems, and his own. Now he's discovered you can't do that.'
'He should be content. He has taken another step along the path of wisdom.'
Caitlin surveyed the river. It had grown narrower during the night and now the banks were only an arrow's flight apart. On either side, the trees rose up for almost forty feet in an impenetrable wall of twisted branch and gnarled, protruding root. Occasionally, spaces would appear, allowing her a glimpse of green hills and, in the distance, misty purple mountains. It was an epic landscape of awe and wonder.
In one of those gaps, her attention was caught by crumbling stone ruins on a distant hilltop. Though distant, she could tell that they were incredibly ancient, the stone shattered by the years, festooned with ivy. 'What is that?' she asked Triathus. 'A memory. This is an ancient land, older than the Fixed Lands, almost as old as Existence. My people like to think of themselves as a pure part of Everything — the first and last and only. But in truth we know there were others before us. We are simply the last generation of gods. Before us came the builders of great stone cities, erected in such a way that they resembled mighty cliffs, part of nature itself — in the tops of trees, beneath the waters, in the dark crevices beneath the earth. Before us came the fighters of great battles that laid waste to the Far Lands, so that no green thing grew and only smoke drifted across the burned and blackened realm. Before us came the great monsters, the devils, the avatars of the Void. There are even tales sung by the filid of Fragile Creatures who once had a great civilisation here in the times before time. The echoes of all those races still ring out across the Far Lands, in stories, mysterious ruins, artefacts of great power, wisdom — to which my people have laid claim, but which come from long before us. Only one thing has remained unchanged, throughout all the ages: the Fabulous Beasts — not beasts at all, but messengers of Existence.'
'What happened to those people?'
Triathus looked thoughtful. 'They moved on.' His gesture suggested that they still existed, somewhere.
'And so my people came here to take their place, from four wondrous cities of the Northland — Falias, Gorias, Finias and Murias. Forced to wander, always searching, never finding. Yet we always carry with us memories of that happy home, when we were part of Existence and all was right. And the twenty great courts were established, and our reign of power began. And the Far Lands were shaped to our thinking, and everything became as you see around you.'
Caitlin rested on the rail, enjoying the fresh, cold scent of the river and the way the sunlight flashed across her face. 'It's a beautiful place — but dangerous, too.' 'Like my people.' He brought his hand sharply to his forehead as if afflicted by a sudden pain, but the mood quickly passed. 'We know from our observations of Existence that there is a season to everything. Death in winter. New shoots in spring. The cycles continue eternally, but nothing lasts for ever. The Golden Ones will be supplanted… and Fragile Creatures will take our place. That is clear, yet the other side refuse to accept it, as if the sound of their voices could drive Existence back. There is an arrogance to my people, an arrogance that afflicts all who remain in power for too long. But the truth will emerge, in time, and the seasons will continue to change.' There was a sadness to his voice that affected Caitlin deeply. He could see the good times fading, yet somehow he accepted it with equanimity. Matt was enjoying the peaceful morning at the rail when Mahalia eased her way out from between the sleeping Jack and Carlton and came over. This attempt at sociability was suspicious enough, but her fresh features couldn't contain her uneasiness. 'Can I ask you something?' she asked. Matt surveyed her, and in that unguarded moment he could see all her innocent fears. 'Sure. What's up?' 'You and Caitlin get on all right. I mean, I've seen you both. I know you fancy her, and I reckon she fancies you as well.' 'You don't know what you're talking about.' She made a dismissive gesture. 'Whatever. I just need to know what's going through her head.' Matt saw her furtive glance back at Carlton. 'What exactly do you need to know?' 'What's the deal with her and Carlton? She's always crawling round him. What does she want with him?' Matt chose his words carefully. 'Caitlin's suffered a great tragedy. She's lost her only son-' 'And she wants Carlton to take his place?' The edge to Mahalia's voice suggested Matt had touched a nerve. 'In a way. He's a surrogate, I suppose… filling that hole she's got inside her.' Mahalia's jaw set. 'She's not going to take him away from me.' 'You shouldn't think of it like that-' 'You don't understand. Carlton's all I've got. Everybody else walked out on me, but he's stuck by me through all the shit we've come up against. He's family. She's not going to have him.'
'You've got to be reasonable here, Mahalia. You don't own Carlton-'
Mahalia glared at him. 'I never said I did. So what do you think she's going to do? Be, li
ke, his mother?'
'Maybe. It would be good for him. You've got to think of that, Mahalia.'
She had the jittery look of a frightened animal. 'She won't take him from me,' she repeated. 'I'll do whatever I have to to keep him.'
Matt watched her stalk away. He realised, for the first time, that Mahalia was truly capable of anything. Crowther had spent a good hour familiarising himself with the contents of the galley. It came as a welcome relief after a long night of struggling and failing to sleep. Events weighed heavily on him, and food was always one of his favourite diversions. He found a selection of the ubiquitous dried, spiced meats and several loaves of the nutty bread that never appeared to lose its softness; an abundance of fruit, too, none of it blemished, even though it must have been on the boat for a while.
He munched heartily while he set about preparing breakfast dishes for the others, and eventually the tactile and olfactory ritual allowed him to shuffle some of his black thoughts to one side. He had almost reached a state of blank bliss as he bit into a ripe peach that sent juices spraying across his face when he was jolted by an electric voice.
'Put me on.'
He whirled, not knowing whom to expect, but the galley was empty. The steps led up to a sun-drenched and deserted quarter of the deck. An odd cold-hot flush swept over him. The voice had a crackling, otherworldly power.
'Put me on!'
The force of the command physically threw him back against the wall. Now he knew its source, and the realisation filled him with dread.
With trembling fingers, he hesitantly withdrew the Mask of Maponus from his overcoat. It felt hot to the touch, the silver flashing like lightning in the sun.
'Put me on.'
Crowther dropped the mask with a jerk. It clattered on to the floor, blank, inhuman eyes fixing a gaze of terrible gravity upon him. The lips had moved when it spoke; they had moved as if the thing were alive.
Crowther clutched at the work surface with sweaty, itchy hands. 'I'm not putting you on,' he said in a low, tremulous voice.
' You must. You have opened yourself up to the infinite vision of the Good Son. Bonds have already been forged; they cannot be shattered. You have partaken of the wonders that spring from my eternal joy and now you must pay the price.'
'No. I know what'll happen if I keep putting you on-'
' The things you shall see! The knowledge you shall gain, the wisdom! Worlds shall be spread before you, all Existence under your will. Nevermore to be afraid… of anything…'
'No!' Crowther kicked the mask furiously so that it spun across the floor. It was all he could manage, and he knew his hands were already reaching down for it as his foot lashed out. 'I know what will happen!' he shouted. 'There won't be any "me" left. You'll suck me in, swallow me up in your madness…'
'What are you doing?' Matt stood at the top of the steps, surveying Crowther curiously.
The professor blinked slowly and stupidly, the echoes of Maponus' voice still fizzing around inside his head.
'You were talking to yourself,' Matt pressed. 'Don't tell me you've developed a few extra personalities in your cranium as well.'
'Don't be so stupid,' Crowther snapped. He snatched up the mask, slipping it effortlessly into his hidden pocket, despite the way it tugged at his fingers. 'Talking to myself, you say?' He tried to read Matt's attitude and decided the mask had not spoken aloud; perhaps it only spoke to him inside his head. Perhaps it didn't speak to him at all. Perhaps he was going mad. Maybe that was the price any human paid for venturing into the Otherworld.
'Look, we haven't got time for you to play silly buggers,' Matt said with exasperation. 'Caitlin's having another of her turns.'
'And that should concern me why, exactly?'
'Just come and listen.' With irritation, Matt spun round and marched back on deck.
'I am the eggman, they are the eggmen,' Crowther said after him, with a dismissive gesture. 'Goo goo goo joob.' 'They're there, I tell you!'
Crowther found Caitlin marching back and forth along the aft rail, glaring menacingly at the white wake. Her voice belonged to the irritating, neurotic Briony.
'I've tried to explain to her that we know the Whisperers are behind us,' Matt said, 'but they can't be close because there's no way they could move quickly through the forest. And if they were there we'd see the disturbance they make… or at least hear that God-awful whispering.'
'This personality is a construct to provide a voice for her inherent paranoia,' Crowther replied quietly. 'After what's happened to her, she feels the whole world is against her and something bad is just around the corner.'
'So we can safely ignore her?' Matt asked.
'I wouldn't say that,' Crowther replied.
'See, shithead.' Caitlin/Briony gave Matt the V-sign.
'These constructs come from the primal mind,' Crowther said. 'If Jung's theory of the collective unconscious is correct, they may have access to information denied to the rest of us.'
Matt looked suspicious of this intellectualising.
Crowther wasn't deterred. 'And in quantum theory we are all connected. Some have said that consciousness isn't confined by the brain. At the quantum level, consciousness — perhaps an analogue for the soul — can move beyond the form, explaining how some seers can see events at a distance… telepathy… magic
'You're just doing this to make me feel like an idiot, aren't you?' Matt said.
'Yes. Is it working?'
'Will you two stop having a wank,' Caitlin/Briony snapped. 'You'd better listen to me or it's all over.'
Crowther pushed past her and surveyed the tree line. 'No sign of anything moving in there,' he said after a moment. He listened. 'Can't hear anything either.'
'That's what I said.' Matt shook his head with exasperation.
But despite their words, both Crowther and Matt could feel something. An oppressive atmosphere had settled over the area.
'I think we should take it in turns to keep watch,' Crowther suggested. On a warm spring evening with the sun only just turning orange and the midges alive with excitement, Mary crested the final rise to see the object of her search in all its majesty. The Long Man of Wilmington was etched in white along more than two hundred and twenty feet of hillside, gripping his twin staffs proudly. She had broken away from the South Downs Way to follow a path to Dragon Hill for just such a view. It seemed right to process towards it in that way, a part of the ritual that lay ahead. The Long Man's size surprised her — bigger than the pictures suggested — and she was also surprised to see that the chalk outlines were still sharp and clear. She guessed the locals must have continued to look after the figure as their ancestors had done for hundreds of years. Did they sense something more potent than a simple illustration; a race memory of hill figures as signals to the gods? Or even as the gods' presence on earth?
She hurried down the slope towards Windover Hill, the birdsong loud and melodious, the scents of the English countryside uplifting. This was how she always thought of England — on the brink of summer, with the elements conspiring to conjure up that unique mystical energy that coursed through the land.
Only one thing cast a shadow across her thoughts: Caitlin. So many days had passed since Mary had set off on the long, trudging march from her home that anything could have happened to the young doctor. Perhaps the whole quest and its many privations had been for nothing. Caitlin could already be dead at the hands of whatever dark force had set the plague upon the population.
In the end, it all came down to hope, and faith, as so many things did in life. Mary had to do the best she could and place her trust in the Universe to make everything all right.
She eventually found a quiet spot that had the right vibrations for what she had planned. It afforded a perfect view of the Long Man's ancient form; she could already hear the beyond calling to her.
The Long Man had been carefully crafted by the ancients. Viewed from the ground, the proportions had been drawn just right to make the figure appear a
s if it were standing upright; a remarkable feat of engineering, or perception. And from her vantage point she could also see something else clearly. The Long Man was not supporting himself on two staffs, he was holding open a gateway. To where? She had already guessed the answer.
She removed from her bag all the doings she had brought with her for this moment — the tiny packets of herbs, the mortar and pestle, the cream that would provide the base for the alchemical ointment. She hadn't brought her broomstick — too cumbersome for the long road journey — but she had another ritual applicator carved from smooth soapstone.
Stripping off her clothes, she briefly enjoyed the heat of the sun on her skin. The breeze made her nipples hard and there was a familiar flurry of excitement deep in her belly that was almost sexual; it always felt like this, that moment of heady anticipation on the verge of the ride of her life.
The herbs and cream were prepared with a ritualistic attention to detail, the right words muttered, the correct movements followed, and finally, as the sun eased towards the west, she was ready.
She applied the ointment to the applicator and then lay with her legs apart, facing the Long Man. Already moist from the sexual tension, it was easy to slip the applicator inside her. An electric thrill ran into her belly. This was how her sisters had done it, in times long gone, when the Old Religion was the only religion. The true night-flight, the real broomstick ride, for sexuality and spirituality were always inextricably linked, part of the great worship of life.
The psychoactive elements of the herbs rapidly entered her bloodstream through the porous walls of her vagina. It felt like heat, like energy, engorging her clitoris, rushing up through her body to her brain where it tripped the right switches, threw open doors to secret rooms. And then she was falling back, back, through darkness, the hidden door at the back of her head. She emerged through it, and the rush was as astonishing as it had been the first time she had embarked on the spirit-flight, sucking her up high into the sky where the sheer wonder of it all made her head spin. Far below, her prone, naked body looked so fragile; here she was glorious.
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