The Queen of Sinister

by Mark Chadbourn

  As she sprinted past the first victims, Caitlin plucked up a spear and used it to pole vault over the heads of the first Whisperers. As she came down, she whipped the spear around, taking out eyes, ramming it into faces, hacking at anything in range.

  Bodies fell under her. She was a blur of violence, discarding the spear and snatching up a sword when that became the best option, spraying herself with gore, moving so quickly she opened up a space around her.

  And then, as the Djazeem army attacked, she drove forward, and she was terrible to behold, an engine of destruction cutting a swathe through the ranks of the Lament-Brood. Never in the history of the Far Lands had so many fallen before one Fragile Creature. Nothing could deter her. She was too quick, too brutal, darting, ducking, leaping on to shoulders and then using them as a springboard to drive forward. She turned acrobatic loops, but the sword never stopped slashing and she never tired.

  The warriors of the Djazeem formed a phalanx, driving in behind her. As much as the Lament-Brood attacked, they could do nothing to deter the new army. Swords and spears hit hard but found nothing but sand. Occasionally one would catch a glancing blow on the tiny figure buried within the armour, but it would shift its position instantly to find a safer haven in a boot, or a leg.

  They were still only few in number, but the Lament- Brood had been wrong-footed enough for Caitlin to claim a slight advantage. Her ferocity spiralled to new heights. The Morrigan ripped through the ranks, spraying body parts all around, her eyes blazing, her hair a furious mane. Crows came from nowhere and surrounded her, pecking at eyes, feeding on the bodies even before they knew they were dead.

  Such was her fury that the Lament-Brood fell back from her; not because they were scared, for they had no conscious thought processes, but because they couldn't comprehend what was coming at them. It looked like a Fragile Creature, but it was destruction incarnate; nothing could stand in its way.

  Mahalia was stunned when she saw Caitlin approaching. At first she didn't quite believe it, and then her guilt struck hard, but their situation was too desperate for her to dwell on it. Yet when she saw the full force of Caitlin's viciousness, she was scared; she couldn't understand how the gentle woman she had known previously could now act with such monstrous brutality; and what would she do when she came on Mahalia?

  Matt, too, was shocked, but when he saw how quickly Caitlin was cutting through the Lament-Brood, he fought with renewed purpose. Whatever had happened to her, it meant they had a chance.

  When the Morrigan reached Crowther, Caitlin surfaced.

  'Professor! If you can hear me, don't attack randomly!' she yelled over the ringing cacophony of battle. 'Focus the mask on blasting a tight tunnel across the plain!'

  Crowther didn't appear to hear. Energy lashed back and forth, sound and fury condensed into a storm that could blow the world apart. But then the display ended with a suddenness that left an eerie silence.

  Even the Lament-Brood paused, trying to comprehend what was happening. Purple mist blew back and forth. The world hung still.

  And then Crowther convulsed and a beam of pure white light burst out of the mask, smashing through the Lament-Brood, shearing bodies in half, disintegrating everything in its path. It stretched right up to the gates of the House of Pain.

  'Run!' Caitlin yelled.

  Matt led the way along the charred path, with Mahalia and Jack following close behind and Caitlin close to them. Crowther brought up the rear, and if anyone had thought to look they would have seen that he was floating half an inch off the ground.

  The path was lined by walls of burned Lament-Brood, their broken, dismembered bodies fused together. The burned-meat smell was sickening. On the far side of each wall, the Lament-Brood reeled. They struggled to comprehend what was happening, then pressed hard against the walls of their dead comrades, but they didn't have the intelligence to try to climb over.

  Adrenalin drove Matt and the others on. As they ran, the House of Pain rose up before them, growing clearer and more defined the closer they got to it. It was as black as volcanic rock, but its design was like no building they had ever seen before. It loomed over the plain like a giant spider, with twisted leglike extensions reaching out through the air. There were curves and spikes, what looked like a carapace, but no straight lines. It gave the impression that it had crawled there from whatever foul place it had originated in, then settled, waiting to suck up anything that crept into its vicinity. And perhaps it had.

  It was enormous. As Matt ran into its chilling shadow, he estimated it was at least five miles high. The atmosphere surrounding it was dense and sickening, infused with dread.

  And as they ran closer to it, images flashed unbidden into their minds: scenes of torture, the worst acts of inhumanity, death on a universal scale, pain and suffering that never ended. Tears sprang to Mahalia's eyes. Matt thought he was going to vomit. Jack continued apace; he had been through such things all his life. Finally, the plain gave way to black granite boulders that reached up to the foundations. Breathlessly, they clambered up them, but before they had got far, Caitlin leaped with astonishing agility, passing the others by. They couldn't understand why she was so eager to overtake them until they heard a thundering cry bouncing off the rocks all around.

  It was the sound of the half-reptilian, half-horse mount carrying the leader of the Lament-Brood effortlessly across the boulders from the plain beyond the wall of bodies. Of all the Whisperers, he was the only one who bore the fire of intelligence; it flickered in his eyes, was evident in every aspect of his movement. He carried a sword in one hand and a spear in the other as he bore down on them.

  As Caitlin approached, the Whisperer hurled his spear. Caitlin dodged it easily, but it would have plunged through Mahalia's chest had Jack not thrown himself to knock her out of the way. Caitlin didn't slow in her attack; wielding her sword with both hands, she flew at the enemy.

  The mount reared up, its fierce jaws torn wide to reveal rows of sharp teeth, like a fish from the deep. It attempted to trample her with hooves that raised golden sparks from the granite, but Caitlin was too quick, easily evading it to try to stab at a soft spot beneath its neck.

  Their dance went on for five minutes before Caitlin finally found her opening. With both hands, she rammed the sword into the beast's throat. Hot, black blood gushed out and the mount's cry became almost human, high and pained. It floundered around with the sword still protruding from it.

  Its rider fought to control it for a few seconds before leaping clear just as it crashed to the boulders, thrashing in its death throes. The leader of the Lament-Brood maintained perfect poise on landing, both hands coming to the sword as he moved in to attack. Caitlin was defenceless. Without thinking, Mahalia stepped forward and threw her Fomorii sword. Caitlin caught it with one hand without looking and instantly launched into the fight. She parried, struck, parried again. Their skill was so great, the others could barely see the movements of the swords, hearing only the reverberations of their clashes.

  They battled for five minutes, but Caitlin's face remained impassive throughout, as though she were in some trance state, immersed in a work of art rather than a fight to the death. As the crows flapped around them in a black cloud, it became apparent to the others that she wouldn't be beaten; probably could never be beaten. Battle was her life, bloodshed her reason; she existed at the point between life and death, where both were experienced to their extremes.

  And finally she ducked the Whisperer's strike, swung her sword with two hands and took off his head at the neck. It bounced down the boulders as the body crashed to the ground. Purple mist swept out of it, enveloping them all before being blown away across the battlefield.

  Caitlin turned to the others, drenched from head to toe in blood and looking like hell itself. She waved for them to follow her before leaping up the boulders towards a flat area in front of a door resembling a gaping mouth.

  Mahalia's anguished call made Caitlin turn back. Crowther was slumped on his k
nees on the rocks, the Lament-Brood leader's spear rammed through his body. The front of his overcoat was already soaked in blood. The distressing sight drove the Morrigan back and brought Caitlin as close as she could be to control. Awkwardly, she clambered back down to where Mahalia, Jack and Matt were attempting to aid the professor. His head had lolled forward on to his chest; the mask's power had retreated inside it.

  Jack went to pull the spear out, but Matt cautioned him. 'You might do more damage,' he said.

  The warriors of the Djazeem had followed the five of them along the tunnel of bodies and had now fanned out around the base of the rock on which the House of Pain stood.

  'Let's get him up to the top,' Caitlin said.

  They lifted the professor over the boulders to the flat surface, where they propped him against a rock. Matt pulled Caitlin to one side, searching her face to see if there was still any sign of the woman he had known. Satisfied that there was, he said, 'He's dying. There's nothing we can do.'

  After all the suffering she had seen, Caitlin felt drained of emotion. She looked back at the billowing purple mist and replied, 'We can't take the risk of staying here with him.'

  'I know.'

  'I don't want to leave him to die alone.'

  'He's probably not aware of anything in that mask. It's pretty much taken him over.'

  Mahalia sensed what they were discussing and came over. 'I'll stay with him.'

  Caitlin eyed her coldly; she could feel the Morrigan stirring at the back of her head, the frantic fluttering of black wings.

  Mahalia saw what was happening in Caitlin's face and said, 'I've done bad things, I know, but this isn't the time to punish me. You can do that later, after he's gone.'

  Without acknowledging Mahalia, Caitlin nodded to Matt and set off back over the boulders. 'What's going on between you two?' Matt asked the girl. Mahalia waved him away and turned back to Crowther, the only thing on her mind now.

  'I'll stay as well,' Jack said when she returned.

  'No. We need you.' The tone in Matt's voice suggested there would be no argument.

  'Go on,' Mahalia said. 'I'll be here when you're done.' They both knew it was a lie. They hugged and kissed briefly, almost blase, so that they could pretend it wasn't going to be the last time, and then Jack hurried off with Matt in pursuit of Caitlin.

  As Caitlin approached the door, the familiar smell of burned iron drifted into her nostrils and lightning bolts crackled through the air. The knight with the boar's-head helmet stood to one side of the entrance, pointing with his sword for her to enter the House of Pain. Now Caitlin could see the truth: he belonged in some way to that awful power and everything he had done had been to draw her there. She considered attacking him, hacking open that ghoulish boar's head, but it was pointless; she should save her rage for what lay within.

  'Enter, Caitlin Shepherd. Your destiny awaits you.' His voice seethed with the same lightning energy.

  As she passed, she pointed her sword at his throat; he didn't flinch.

  'What did you do that for?' Matt asked as they moved into the shadows beneath the porch of gleaming obsidian that overhung the door.

  Caitlin looked from Matt to the knight. 'You can't see him?'

  Matt stared at her blankly.

  Her own personal demon. Without a backwards glance, she plunged through the area of shadows, into the House of Pain.

  Mary's footsteps echoed hollowly as she ventured across the large tiled entrance hall of the Roman Baths. The foliage that swamped the outside of the building covered the external windows and made the interior very dark, but once her eyes had adjusted she could see the ticket desks and beyond them the doors through to the baths themselves.

  Mary's heart beat wildly. She knew something was here, but she had no idea what it was. Arthur Lee could feel it, too; the cat pressed tightly against her calves, his fur prickling.

  Cautiously, she walked through the next set of doors into blazing sunshine. There was a walkway running around a square, open area. Peering over the edge, Mary could see the green water of the ancient stone-lined baths on the floor below.

  The atmosphere of sanctity she had felt the moment she entered the town was even more potent here. It was almost alive, breathing. With her footsteps echoing in the still air, she moved along the walkway until she came to some steps.

  They brought her out next to the pool where Romans had bathed nearly two thousand years before. The echoes were even louder there, rippling out across the water and bouncing off the stone that had been uncovered during the excavations in the earlier part of the twentieth century. Much of the original baths remained, and it wasn't difficult to imagine life going on there all those years ago.

  But the Romans had only been one of many peoples who had used the naturally warm, mineral-heavy water. From the earliest days it had been a place of pilgrimage, as though the water flowed from the next world to this one, carrying with it some of the flavour of the beyond.

  The tranquillity that lay across the baths was seductive. Mary knelt on the edge and dipped her fingers into the water. It was warm and oddly soothing, yet as the ripples ran out, the water appeared to take on an odd viscous quality. At first, Mary had been able to see the stone flags on the bottom, not far below the surface, but now it looked as if the water went down for ever.

  The change to the water was hypnotic and Mary found herself peering into the dim depths to see what was happening. There was movement. Someone was in there, immeasurably deep, swimming. Back and forth the figure went, coming up tirelessly, rolling over like a dolphin, the skin gleaming white, the hair long and grey.

  Finally it stopped just a few inches beneath the surface and rolled on to its back so that it could peer up at her. Mary found herself looking into her own face. The shock made her pull back, but the swimming Mary remained at peace, her eyes big and wide.

  'Who are you?' Mary asked.

  The lips of the Swimming Mary moved and somehow her lilting voice sounded above the water level. 'I am you.'

  Mary steadied herself; the sensation of looking into her own face was weird, but there was no sense of threat. She had the strangest feeling that the water wasn't water at all, rather that it was a window between two worlds.

  'We are the same,' the Swimming Mary continued. 'All things are joined.'

  'Is the Goddess here?' Mary asked.

  There was a long pause before her double replied. 'If you wish to enter Her presence, you must first prove yourself worthy.'

  'How do I do that?'

  'Follow the path. All will be revealed.'

  Her other self, whatever she really was, didn't swim away; she simply floated down and down until she disappeared into the dark-green depths. Mary stood up, her knees cracking, and when she looked back into the pool the stone bottom was once again visible.

  The sense of a connection with the otherworldly stayed with her as she searched around for some kind of path. As she looked around, thin blue veins rose up in the stone flags leading around the outside of the pool. It was a clear enough marker and she followed it, her cat trailing behind.

  The blue veins led her into an adjoining room, another bath, this one in a more ruinous state. The room was enclosed and it was cool and dark after the warmth of the sun. It took a couple of seconds for Mary's eyes to adjust and then she was startled to realise that someone was standing as silently as a statue in the gloom in one corner.

  'Hello?' she said tentatively. She tried to pierce the shadows to see who stood within.

  After a moment, he or she took a step forward, not far enough for Mary to get a clear view; an overhanging light fitting, now obsolete, still cast the head in shadow.

  Mary was gripped by it. In a trick of the faint light filtering through, it appeared as though its long hair was moving with a life of its own. Only when the figure prepared to take a second step did she realise that the hair was moving - and that in fact it wasn't hair at all, too thick, too sinuous.

  Cold ran through h
er as tales from her childhood classrooms came rushing back, of gods and demi-gods, and quests and monsters. She knew she should run or feel her limbs grow as heavy as the ancient stone that lay all around, but then she would never get to the Goddess and all her travelling would have been in vain.

  The figure took another step, slowly, as if testing her knowledge of its identity. Mary quickly turned her back, plucking up Arthur Lee and holding his head so that he couldn't see, either.

  'You know me, then.' The voice had a faint sibilance; it sounded simultaneously male and female, both and neither.

  'I think...' Mary's voice was so shaky that she stopped speaking so as not to reveal her fear.

  A faint sound, like steam escaping from a pipe, grew louder as the stranger approached. A shudder ran through

  Mary: the figure was now a mere foot behind her back. If she turned now...

  'You know what will happen if you see my face?'

  'Yes.'

  'The Greeks knew me, though I do not belong to them. Perseus saw only one aspect. The Celts knew me, thought me a man, though they were only concerned with my role as servant to Sulis. But I did not belong to them either. I am part of something greater ... the power that resides in this place. I am the Servant. Do you understand?'

  Mary nodded, terrified that the Servant would try to edge round one side or the other to catch her unawares.

  'If you wish to know my being, consider this: my hair, rolling like the waves of the sea, but also stretching out like the rays of the sun. There are wings on the sides of my head. And then stone, always cold, hard stone. Water, fire, air, earth. That is what I am - a part of everything. And that is what I serve. Do you understand?' This time the Servant's voice was harder and Mary trembled at the sound of it.

  'You will take my hand and I will lead you. You must close your eyes, for you know what will happen if you see my face. I could lead you to your death, to a pit down which you will fall, shattering every bone. Know that this is a trial, not a trick. Everything that seems at stake is at stake. If you fail the price will be high: your death. No one will mourn. For if the trial is not extreme, success in it means nothing.'