The Queen of Sinister

by Mark Chadbourn

  As night fell, the island became a magical place. Lanterns were lit amongst the trees, attracting a flurry of moths to dance around them. The Culture threw herbs on the fire in the meeting house, so that heady aromas drifted out across the entire island. And then they began to sing a strange kind of plainsong that was haunting and uplifting in a language Matt, Mahalia and Jack didn't recognise.

  As the subtle harmonies wove their spell, sparkles appeared amongst the higher branches, tiny figures on gossamer wings circling down to join in the music with voices that sounded like flutes and oboes.

  Mahalia, Jack, Matt and Crowther followed the Culture on a procession through the deep wood, and as they glanced beyond the confines of the island it appeared that sheets of blue light rippled in the air, like the aurora borealis brought down to earth.

  For the first time that day, Mahalia felt soothed. She had honestly never experienced emotions so raw in her life and she had no real concept of where they had come from, or what was happening to her.

  The procession ended in a clearing. Ancient stones were interspersed between the oak trees that formed the circle in which they all stood. Overhead, the full moon shone down upon them, the light so brilliant and white that it flung sharp shadows across the grass.

  'There is magic in the air,' Matthias intoned, 'as there was in the old days, when we met in our sacred groves beneath a star-sprinkled sky, the winds filled with summer warmth and the echoes of the beyond all around.' He smiled warmly. 'I have spoken to our brother from across the Great Divide' - he indicated Matt, who had been locked in conversation with Matthias for the past two hours - 'and it appears this is indeed the Great Time foretold for millennia. The time of change, of suffering and misery, but ultimately of rising and advancing to the ultimate heights, for no great thing can be achieved without great sacrifice. There is a Rule of Balance in the universe. We must not bow our heads in despair, for the Golden Age is near.'

  For the first time in many hours, Crowther moved of his own accord and sat down in the centre of the clearing, his masked head dropping into his hands. Mahalia wondered if he could hear Matthias' words.

  Matthias turned to face the four cardinal points, slowly swinging a censer filled with a fragrant incense. It brought images to life in Mahalia's mind, so vivid she was convinced they were being played out in the centre of the clearing; and perhaps they were.

  She saw Britain as she had known it, the teeming cities, the railways, the car-jammed motorways, the swarming people engaging with technology. And then the light source changed, as if the sun had quickly passed over, switching shadows from one direction to another. And with it came golden magical beings, some on horseback, some striding purposefully across the land.

  'In the days of the tribes, they were known as the Tuatha De Danann,' Matthias said. 'They are the Golden Ones, who made their home here in Tir n'a n'Og but always had a desire for our world. They hated mortals, yet loved them at the same time. They wanted to deny us and wanted to be us, but in their great power and their wilful contempt for all things they were a force for destruction. With them came their enemies, the monstrous Fomorii, shadows doing the bidding of their lord, Balor, the one- eyed god of death.'

  Mahalia saw a darkness, like oil, rush across the land as the golden Tuatha De Danann did battle with the Fomorii. Cities were laid waste, hundreds of thousands died, technology failed. The country was brought to its knees. This, then, was how the Fall had happened. Why didn't anybody seem to know the true cause? Had the authorities insisted on keeping it from the people until the very bitter end?

  'This great battle, this devastation, was predicted after the first such conflict between the two forces, in the time of the tribes: the second battle of Magh Tuireadh, when Balor was slain, only to be reborn.' Mahalia could tell Matthias was passing on this information for their benefit. A more brutal battle played out before her across an ancient landscape. 'In those long-gone times, the order of Brothers and Sisters of Dragons was founded, to prepare for the second coming of the gods and what was to follow. Indeed, the champions played a significant part in the defeat of the Tuatha De Danann and the Fomorii.'

  Now Mahalia saw five people: a man with long, dark hair, too serious by far; a tall woman, strong and proud; another woman with spiky blonde hair; an Asian man with sensitive features; a good-looking but hard-faced man whose torso was covered with tattoos. She had the feeling she knew the five, and then realised she had glimpsed them in the flickering blue light at the Rollrights just before she had crossed over to the Otherworld.

  'Who are they?' she whispered to herself.

  'Their leader was Jack Churchill, Jack, the Giant-Killer, known as Church, who departed across the seas of time to await the day when he would once more be needed,' Matthias intoned. 'The King across the Great Water. The Sleeping King. Call him back! Blow the horn loudly! For that day has come round!'

  Matthias raised his arms above his head and blue sparks flashed between his hands. There was a corresponding rumble that shook the ground beneath Mahalia's feet, and a splashing of water away in the marshes. A ripple of emotion moved through the members of the Culture.

  'What was that?' Mahalia asked uneasily.

  Matthias looked directly at her. 'In Britain's darkest hour, a hero shall arise .. . The return of the gods and the war between them was only the first part of the prophecy. The struggle brought about changes in Existence ... and humanity was noticed.'

  Mahalia shivered at the strange choice of words.

  'On the edge of the universe, something has stirred. It moves this way ... the Void!'

  'What is the Void?' Mahalia whispered.

  'It is said that in the true place of the dead - the Grey Lands - there is a temple. What do the dissolute dead worship?' Matthias nodded gravely. 'It exists beyond the light of the farthest star. It has abided, in dreamless sleep. But now it has awoken, and we have been noticed. It is unfathomable, immeasurable. It is nothing ... and everything. The greatest, and the least. Power, and the absence of power. It is the opposite of life. The absence of all that is and could ever be.'

  Mahalia had the impression of something as big as a galaxy rushing towards her, but her mind couldn't begin to encompass its form. She felt utter emptiness, a sensation of not having existed and never existing; nothing existing.

  'Anti-Life,' Matt said under his breath. 'Is the Void responsible for the plague back home?'

  'There are things that prepare the way for the coming of the Void ... outriders, I suppose you could call them,' Matthias said. 'They will do anything to destroy the Blue Fire - and its champions.'

  There was movement beyond the wall of trees. Something large was circling the island; occasionally Mahalia glimpsed its bulk flashing past through gaps in the vegetation.

  In her dream-state, Mahalia saw a black, misshapen monstrosity attempt to kill a man with a sword in front of a gothic cathedral. And then the Lament-Brood appeared in their purple mist, looking so real that Mahalia threw herself back involuntarily. 'They are despair incarnate,' Matthias continued. 'They are life without hope. If the Void eats the world, humanity will never reach the answer that waits beyond the edge of the prophecy: the Golden Age, the time when we can prepare to take our place alongside the gods.'

  'How could anyone stop something like that?' Mahalia was crushed by what she had seen.

  Matthias strode up to her so forcefully that Mahalia was sure he knew she had tried to kill Caitlin, but at the last he softened. 'There are secret rules that lie behind the structure of Existence. We all know them in our hearts, but we never trust ourselves. There are universal rules - morality is embedded into the very stuff of reality. And so is love. And with those two things we can find hope. We must place our faith in the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons, as we did all those ages ago, for they represent the most wonderful, most powerful force of all. See!'

  He raised his arm and gestured beyond the island. Now the thing that was circling had risen above the tree-tops and Mahali
a could see it for the first time. It moved on heavy leathern wings, serpentine, its tail lashing the air, its jewelled scales glinting. It was like a comet blazing across the night sky, with the Blue Fire trailing behind it. To Mahalia, it appeared as if it were made completely of the spirit-energy, for she thought she could see through the skin to the bones and organs beneath, and through them, too; it was the Blue Fire given form, not a living thing at all.

  'The First,' Matthias said. 'The closest to the Source. It came with us, to hide here, too, so that if all the other Fabulous Beasts were slain, if the Blue Fire itself was close to extinction, there would still be hope.'

  'But if Caitlin is dead ...' Mahalia began desperately.

  Matthias placed a loving hand on her forehead. 'Failure will come if we allow despair into our hearts, if humanity once again fights against itself. What I said earlier, I say again: we are our own enemies. We have stopped ourselves from rising in the past. Shall we do it again?'

  Mahalia felt sick. A prophecy as old as time. Pieces of a puzzle falling into place across millennia, leading up to the next stage of evolution of humanity; the greatest stage of all. And she had destroyed it in one instant, through her own terrible weakness. She didn't deserve to live.

  Matthias watched the Fabulous Beast with a beatific expression. 'The Fabulous Beast has been wakened by our ritual here tonight. He flies for the first time in millennia. We shall send him back to our world, to prepare for what is to come.'

  'Don't do that!' Mahalia pleaded. 'What if everything goes wrong? He'll be lost. Something so wonderful will be lost!' She blinked away tears, the blue trail becoming a rainbow of glittering sapphires.

  'If everything goes wrong,' Matthias said, 'it does not matter where he is, for all Existence will be gone.'

  chapter fifteen The Plain of Cairns

  'Dying is an art, like everything else.

  I do it exceptionally well.'

  Sylvia Plath

  After two hours beneath the blasting heat, a scrubby oasis rose up from the rolling dunes. Caitlin had come like a storm sweeping across the landscape, but now she decided to break her journey to refresh herself with water, though she felt as if she could walk without sustenance or rest for ever. Beneath the cool shade of the palms, she scooped several handfuls of the clear water to her mouth, then immersed her face and soaked her lank, greasy hair, already gritty with the wind-borne sand that was insinuating its way into her nostrils and ears.

  She was only minutes out of the oasis on the path the Morrigan had chosen for her when she became dimly aware that she was not alone.

  As the sand shifted beneath the wind, it uncovered two mounds on either side of her that gradually revealed themselves to be figures lying buried just beneath the surface. Shaking the streaming gold from them, they stood up quickly and threateningly. They wore armour that brought to mind Japanese samurai: black enamel with delicate gold line-work of swirls and scrolls, helmets with broad cantilevered panels at the sides and back, long swords that curved into a broad blade. Yet within each helmet, the faces appeared to be nothing but sand.

  Caitlin waited for it to slough off, but it didn't; it just shifted constantly into an approximation of faces, mouths yelling or pensive, eye hollows, noses long and thin or hooked.

  'What are you?' she asked defiantly.

  'We serve the Djazeem,' they said together, their voices like the rush of granules through an egg timer. 'You drank their water. It was not given freely—'

  'I do what I will,' Caitlin said, 'and no one tells me otherwise.'

  'There are rules—'

  'I make my own rules.' Caitlin notched an arrow, but wondered how she could possibly harm the oasis guards if their forms truly were made of sand. 'Don't stand in my way - I haven't got time.'

  The guards stepped towards her with the unnerving rhythm of mechanical men; their swords sliced the air, then poised ready to strike. 'The Djazeem demand an offering in return for the theft of this most precious resource. You must pay—'

  Caitlin loosed the arrow. It hit the right-hand guard in the middle of his face and punched through the back of his helmet. As she anticipated, it didn't affect him in the slightest. He continued to advance, pulling out the shaft as he did so and tossing it to one side with a gauntleted hand.

  'So who are the Djazeem?' Caitlin said, attempting to buy time while she considered her options. But she had already placed the name the White Walker had mentioned when she had first entered the Far Lands.

  'They are Lords of the Weeping Wastes,' the guards said in unison, still advancing. 'You are a visitor in their territory. You must obey their rules.'

  'I've already answered that one.' Caitlin moved quickly to reclaim the discarded arrow.

  The guards moved rapidly and balletically, spinning and striking so fast that their blades were a blur. Yet the instant they attacked, Caitlin's entire perception changed: it was as if time moved so slowly that her attackers were like statues. She projected the slow arc of their swords, considered several tactics and then danced athletically out of their way. The blades slashed through the space where she had stood, the guards spinning in surprise that she had evaded their attack so easily.

  Their dance continued for five full minutes, Caitlin weaving through their attack, the guards growing more determined, their movements more complex.

  Caitlin knew she could run and would probably evade them, given time, but the Morrigan's scratching voice inside her head suggested another path.

  She came to a sudden stop, no longer knowing what she was doing; the Morrigan seized full control. It felt as if a weight was forming deep in the pit of her stomach. The guards didn't slow in their attack; their swords swept fluidly to slice through Caitlin from two separate directions. The last remaining conscious part of her knew she no longer had a chance to avoid them.

  The weight in her stomach twisted and turned rapidly, as if a family of rats nested there. Electricity rushed to her extremities and she was thrown backwards, a black cloud erupting out of her. Crows. Born from within her, so many that they obscured the white-metal sky, the shifting sands, the two attacking guards. And still they came, pouring out of her in a constant stream of black feathers, thrashing wings, sharp talons and darting beaks. Their deafening cawing was like the sound of a summer storm.

  The cloud billowed and then drew in with hurricane force on the two guards. Caitlin couldn't see what happened in the frantic attack, but within seconds the birds were retreating inside her. It felt like being pounded by rocks.

  Briefly, she lost consciousness, and when she was next aware, there wasn't a crow in sight. She lay on her back on the downward slope of a dune. Her hands went to her stomach, which was sore, as though she'd eaten a barrel of sour apples, but beyond that she was unharmed.

  Pulling herself to her knees, she saw the guards' armour scattered all around, their sand bodies lost to the surrounding dunes. Movement caught her eye. A creature resembling a hairless monkey the size of her palm crawled out from beneath one of the breastplates.

  Caitlin darted forward and snatched it up. It squealed in terror and pain as her fingers closed around it, the skin warm and obscene to her touch. But she held on tight and brought it up to her face.

  'Do not harm me!' it said in a high-pitched whine.

  'Now you listen to my rules,' Caitlin said. 'In return for your survival, you'll answer some questions. Do you understand?'

  'I serve the Lords of the Weeping Wastes—'

  'I'm not going to ask anything that goes against your obligations to your bosses. All I want is directions.' The tiny creature stared up at her with its little currant eyes. Caitlin felt the rapid beat of its heart through its papery skin. 'OK. How far am I from the Endless River?' she asked.

  'It lies southeast of here,' the guard replied curtly. 'Follow the route you were taking, then turn south when you reach the edge of the Weeping Wastes. You will have to pass through the Plain of Cairns...' A flicker of something crossed its face, quickly sti
fled; Caitlin had the impression that the Plain of Cairns was not a place she should attempt to cross. 'Two sunrises should see you there.'

  "Very good. Now, the river was taking me to a place where I could find something very important to me . .. it's called the House of Pain. Do you know it?'

  The creature gave a high-pitched mewling that made it appear even more like a monkey. Its eyes ranged in its head, wide and frightened. 'The House of Pain is not of the Far Lands.'

  'I was told it stands—'

  'It stands on the Borderlands, but it is not of the Far Lands. It comes and goes between here and there ... some say it even exists here and there. It belongs to the Great Dark.'

  'If I chose to go directly to the House of Pain—'

  'You would not return.'

  '—which way would I go?'

  The creature shivered, rolled its eyes, but saw no reason to try to dissuade her. Coldly, it said, 'When you reach the edge of the Weeping Wastes, it will present itself to you. If it requires you, you will not be able to turn away. And there shall come an ending.'

  Caitlin glanced towards the horizon; her decision had already been made. It would be a waste of time to seek out her fellow travellers; besides, she had always known it would be down to her in the end. 'One last thing: I don't want any more trouble from your kind, or the Djazeem. I'm just going to pass through and leave you to your own devices. Understand?'

  He nodded eagerly. 'And should we offer the same protection to any who follow in your wake?'

  'Sure. Why not? Though I can't imagine anyone would want to follow in my footsteps.' She saw the creature's fellow watching malignantly from underneath the other breastplate, and tossed the one in her hand towards him. He hit the sand with another squeal. 'Now,' she said, 'not long ago I learned a little word to whisper to you.'

  Matt, Jack and Mahalia said goodbye to the Culture on the misty banks of the river. The members of the secretive group, now eager to play some part in the events they had awaited for so long, could barely wait to get back to their camp to scheme and plot. Mahalia hardly said a word. The weight of her actions still lay heavily on her, but she was starting to see a way through it.