The Queen of Sinister

by Mark Chadbourn

  'I'm sorry for what happened to you,' Caitlin said.

  'I think we should set off as soon as we can,' Jack interrupted. He had been watching the tree line. 'It's getting dark.'

  He didn't need to say more. Triathus spoke a word that none of the others could understand, and which made their ears ache even though it was spoken quietly. In response, Sunchaser moved slowly and eerily away from the jetty and into the current. It swung around until it was facing upriver and then set off.

  'That was a very brave thing you did, firing on that boar.' Matt silently joined Caitlin at the rail where she had been watching the trees.

  'I've got something very important to do. Nothing's going to stand in the way.'

  Her words were forceful, but Matt could see she was troubled. 'What's wrong?' he asked.

  'I don't know ... something about the boar. I just have a bad feeling about what lies ahead.'

  Night fell quickly.

  Chapter Nine Following the river to its source

  'I do not wish them to have power over men; but over themselves.' Mary Wollstonecraft

  Caitlin washed her hair by moonlight in crystal-cold river water pulled up from their wake by a silver bucket. As the grease and dirt came out, she felt a little better, but the exhilaration of the new world and the feeling of passing through a fascinating dream was gone for good. It had all felt so fantastic: a trip to a mystical realm to find a magical cure for something so devastatingly human as illness. Now questions were beginning to pile up. Why was the Lament-Brood hunting her? Why were the Whisperers so desperate to get her that it seemed they would never give up? Why did she feel she was playing an important role in some vast, unknowable scheme? She hoped it was all part of her fragmented state of mind - paranoia and megalomania building - and that everything really was as pure and simple as she had originally imagined. But things were never that simple, were they?

  It didn't help that Brigid was chattering incessantly in the back of her head. Caitlin had stopped listening to her a while ago - it was the only way Caitlin could go about her life - but the old woman was certainly concerned about something.

  While fumbling for the cloth she was using as a towel, it was pressed into her hand. Carlton was there.

  'Hello,' Caitlin said, as she dried herself off. 'Aren't you on lookout with Mahalia?'

  He smiled and nodded to the prow, where Mahalia sat with Jack.

  'Ah, she's got a boyfriend,' Caitlin noted. Carlton laughed silently. 'Well, sit with me a while.'

  They settled into a bench seat set against the rail, where the warm evening breeze would dry her hair. Caitlin was surprised when Carlton rested his head against her shoulder; she put one arm around him.

  'I wish I knew exactly what was going on inside your head, Carlton,' she said. 'Were you always like this, or did something happen to you?'

  He didn't look up, didn't acknowledge that he had heard her at all.

  The warmth of his body next to hers brought a sudden swell of emotion, surprising in its intensity after the numbness she had felt for so long. She fought back the tears, somehow managing to control her voice. 'I used to have a little boy - his name was Liam. He used to like books and computer games and music, and his skateboard. I don't know if you like any of those things, but... you're like him in a different way. Quiet, thoughtful ... I think he was a good person, and I think you are too, Carlton. There aren't enough good people in this world.' She gave him a squeeze, trying not to sound too maudlin, nor to swamp him with adult emotion. 'I'm going to look after you,' she added softly.

  In the quiet that followed her words, there were only the gentle river noises, until somewhere in the distance an owl hooted.

  A while later, Caitlin made her way to Triathus, who stood at the stern looking out over the moonlit water, deep in thought.

  'We appreciate your help,' she said.

  'These are difficult times,' he replied. 'We should stand shoulder to shoulder as allies. Perhaps more than that. We are all Children of Existence.'

  'If only your people agreed on that.'

  'I fear there will be much suffering before the Golden Ones are united once more,' he said sadly. 'That it has come to this fills me with despair.'

  'Are the other side likely to attack us here on the boat?'

  'Perhaps. I keep watch for any sign.'

  'But you never saw them coming before?'

  'No.' A shadow crossed his face as he watched the white wake spread out in a V.

  'Can you see something?'

  'No, but still... Something troubles me, if only I could identify it.'

  Caitlin followed his gaze, but could see nothing out of the ordinary.

  'I feel ... a presence. But I see nothing.' He turned to her and smiled gently. 'And my eyes are keener than yours.'

  'When I heard about the old gods returning, I never imagined them to be quite like you, Triathus. You're gentler than I expected. Where are all the flashing lights and displays of power that terrified the Celts?'

  'Though we like to think of ourselves as immutable, we - some of us - were different in the days of which you speak, Sister of Dragons.'

  He placed one hand on each side of her head. She flinched at first, but his gentle nature calmed her. His fingers felt cool, but deep within them something crackled like electricity. 'You have suffered greatly,' he began. 'High tragedy. Yet you continue to strive for the good of others.' Caitlin felt a soft movement in the back of her head, as if his fingers were probing there. 'The Broken Woman,' he mused. 'Shattered, yet still whole.' His expression changed. 'Something else lies there . .. hiding.' He snatched his hands away; Caitlin felt a sucking sensation inside her head.

  'What is it?'

  'I do not know. I sensed ...' He pondered, then made a dismissive gesture. 'Perhaps it is nothing.'

  'I don't envy you probing around in my mind. I know ... I know I'm not well.'

  'You make a misjudgment common to your kind,' Triathus said. 'There is no one way of being, no singular way of seeing the world. Your spirit has made your ... mind how you need to be for this moment, to survive, to win.'

  '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, like, 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.

&
nbsp; 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.