Darkest hour

Chapter Fourteen

The clear blue sky was so near they felt like they were in heaven, the air so clean and fresh it burned their throats, which were more used to the particles and fumes of city living. There, high up on the dinosaur-backed ridge of the Pennines, they felt like they had been sucked into the thunderous heart of nature, or into the past where no chimney belched, no meaningless machine disturbed the stillness. Amidst outcropping rock turned bronze by the unflinching sun they picked their way through swaying seas of fern, down sheep-clipped grassy slopes, across bleak upland moors where the wind cut like talons.

Tom navigated by the sun and the stars, leading them on into the remotest parts of the land where the sodium glare had never touched. At night the vast spray of stars looked like a milky river leading them back to the source. They made their camps in hidden corners, dips below the eyeline, behind boulders and in low-hanging caves; all except Ruth took turns keeping watch over the dying campfires.

At times they saw things moving away in the dark or heard sounds that had little to do with any animals they knew; one night Shavi had a conversation with someone unseen whose voice switched between the mewling tones of an infant and the phlegmy crackle of an old man. When the sun began to rise, Shavi heard the mysterious stranger scurry away on many legs, an insectile chittering bouncing among the rocks.

Their decision to steer clear of any centre of population meant finding food was a constant problem, though they were thankful that Tom had an encyclopaedic knowledge of the roots, plants and herbs which grew in secret places where no one would have thought to look. He taught Veitch his many skills at catching rabbits and the occasional game bird, and how to snatch fish from the sparkling streams and rivers they crossed. When cooked on the campfire, the fare was mouth-watering; even so, they soon yearned for a richer and more varied diet.

"This feels like Lord of the Flies," Shavi remarked one calm morning as he watched Veitch carve a spear with his knife; he refused to use his crossbow for hunting.

"Let's hope it doesn't end the same way," Church replied; he attempted to take the edge off his words with a smile.

"Say, why don't you focus on the black side?" Ruth chipped in with cheerful sarcasm. After the initial shock she had put them all to shame with her bright mood, refusing to be bowed by what had been inflicted on her. Church kept waiting for her to crack as the black despair he was sure lurked within came rushing to the surface, but it never did, and as time passed he came to think it wasn't there at all.

"Look around," she continued. "This is the best there is in life. Stars you can see, food and water you can taste, air you can breathe. I've never felt as much at peace. You know, despite everything. Back in London, with work and all that, life had a constant background buzz, like some irritating noise that you force yourself to get used to because it's always around. Now…" She held out her arms. "Nothing. It's not there."

"It always takes a disaster to show you what you're missing in life." Laura's voice dripped with irony, but they all knew she was speaking the truth.

Ruth's health continued to be up and down: morning sickness as if she had a normal pregnancy, which always made her laugh darkly, aches and pains in a belly that continued to grow by the day, then times when she felt as robust as she usually did.

Despite the urgency they all felt with Lughnasadh approaching rapidly, they hadn't been able to reach any decision on what to do next. It was almost as if they were paralysed by the enormity of the task before them, and the certain knowledge that the repercussions of one wrong step would be more than any of them could bear. Instead, most of the days and nights passed in the denial of reality that was small talk, as if they were on a pleasant summer hike. If they could have brought themselves to examine what was in their hearts they would all know they felt there was only going to be one awful, unbearable option.

It was always Tom who was expected to find a solution; he was, after all, the one with the most knowledge of the new rules that underpinned reality. After five days of brooding and weighing of options, of trying to read the stars and muttering away in the thick groves, he thought he had a plan, but the others could tell from his face that he didn't give it much weight. He refused to discuss it there in the open, dangerous high country.

"Talk of such dark matters needs somewhere secure and comforting, where energies can be recharged and preparations made for what lies ahead," he said. Any questions were simply met with a finger pointing towards the horizon.

That night they made their camp in a sheltered spot on the southern slopes of Pen-y-Ghent not far down from the summit. It was a clear evening and after they had eaten they sat looking at the brilliant lights of the West Yorkshire conurbation spread out to the southeast.

After a long period of thought, Ruth said, "It's too big, isn't it?"

"What are you on about?" Veitch put the finishing touches to another spear; he was becoming expert in the construction of weapons.

"Look at it." She outlined the extremes of the lights with a finger. "They used to be just a few settlements. Then they became villages, then towns and cities, and now they're all merging into one. They're driving nature out completely. There's no human scale at all. People need to feel close to nature to be healthy, psychologically and physically."

"I thought you were a city girl," Veitch said.

"I was." Ruth closed her eyes for a moment. "I've changed."

"Perhaps this whole disaster happened for a reason," Shavi mused.

Ruth eyed him, her eyes bright, waiting for him to say what she was beginning to think herself.

"We have had Government after Government concreting over huge swathes of the countryside," he continued. "How many acres have been lost since the Second World War? How much of the ancient woodlands have been cut down? How many hedgerows torn up by greedy farmers? How much moorland destroyed by Army firing ranges? How many rivers polluted, chalklands debased, coastal floodplains disrupted? There was a relentless advance of urbanisation, of what was laughingly called progress-"

"And now it's stopped," Church said thoughtfully.

"Perhaps something drastic had to happen to redress the balance. To save the land." Shavi lay back with his hands behind his head to stare at the stars.

"What are you saying?" Veitch looked confused and a little irritated. "That the Bastards invaded us and slaughtered all those people just to save a few bunny rabbits?"

"Oh, they do not know about it," Shavi mused. "Perhaps they are just part of the plan."

"Plan?" Veitch looked to Ruth for guidance.

"The great scheme of things," she said.

Laura slapped her forehead theatrically. "Tell me you're not going to start talking about God!"

"There is always something higher," Ruth mused. "That's what Ogma said in Otherworld."

Shavi leaned up on his elbows to laugh gently at Veitch's expression. "We are only throwing ideas around, Ryan. Do not let it trouble you."

"Well, it does," Veitch said moodily. "I get worried when people start talking about God. There's enough to worry about down here."

"Exactly!" Shavi said. "We are all crabs living in an enclosed rock pool. Occasionally water rushes in, changes things around, adds something new. We do not know it is the sea. Because the rock pool is all we see, we think it is all there is. We are puzzled by the mystery, but comforted by the regularity of our existence. We could never see that an infinite variety of wonder lies just feet away, that intelligent beings roam that place doing miraculous things. We are stuck in the rock pool and we can never see the big picture. So why try to make sense of something we cannot grasp? Why not just enjoy the wonders the next tide brings in?"

There was a long pause and then Laura said, "You're getting up your own arse again, Shav-ster."

"What I don't get," Veitch said, "is how any of this magic shit really works. I mean, somebody does something, then miles away something else happens with no connection between the two. What's that all about?"

"Look at it this way." Shavi was growing excited that the conversation was moving away from mundane matters. "You play computer games, no? The same as Laura. You both know about cheat codes. You type the code in and it cuts through the reality of the game. You can do anything you want-walk through walls, get all the weapons or secrets. Be a god in that fantasy world. There is a writer by the name of Warren Ellis who described magic as the cheat code for reality, which, I think, is a perfect analogy."

Realisation dawned on Witch's face. "I get it! Blimey, why didn't you put it like that before?"

Even Laura seemed intrigued by this line. "Now those are the kind of cheat codes I could do with."

"This whole world now, it's all about mystery and discovery. It's like being a kid all over again," Church said. He thought for a moment, then added, "When I fell into the pit under Arthur's Seat, feeling like my life was going to be over in an instant, I saw the blue fire come out of thin air. Not thin air, that's wrong. From somewhere else, like Otherworld, but not there." He looked from Ruth to Tom to Shavi. "Where do you think that was?"

"The source of it all?" Tom shrugged, the ashes of his dwindling joint glowing red in the dark. "Is it really worth asking that question? Do you think we'll find out the truth? Not in this life."

"It is worth asking," Church insisted, "even if we can't find the answer. The asking is important. It-"

"Look at that." They followed Ruth's pointing finger into the sky. A serpentine silhouette curled among the stars, riding the night currents on leathery wings. Although they could pick out no detail of the jewelled scales, the Fabulous Beast still filled them with an inspiring sense of wonder; it was a sign of a connection with the infinite that always surrounded them. "You look at that," she continued dreamily, "and then all those city lights destroying the night… there's no comparison, is there."

Instantly the entire landscape was plunged into darkness; it was just another technology failure, but they all audibly caught their breath, the coincidence with Ruth's words seeming unnervingly meaningful.

"Spooky," Laura said. "Now make them come on again."

The brief tension punctured, they all burst out laughing, then lay back to watch the Fabulous Beast gently tracking across the arc of the sky.

Exhausted by their daytime exertions, Ruth, Tom, Veitch and Shavi drifted off to the tents long before midnight. Once they were alone, Laura slumped next to Church, her head resting on his thigh. She had trouble making any first move which might lead to affection, so her actions always followed the same pattern of casual contact. Church tried not to flinch or give any sign things had changed, but he felt guilty he hadn't yet brought the relationship to a close as he had promised Niamh. It was odd; once Niamh had left his side he felt less of an attraction, more inclined to stay with Laura. He was sure Niamh hadn't been consciously manipulating his feelings; it had simply happened, in the same way they had all been subtly influenced by the musical tones of Cormorel and Baccharus. Perhaps there was something in the nature of the Tuatha De Danann that made humans fall under their spell. The old fairy stories that had been based on the ancient memories of the Tuatha De Danann often told how hapless nighttime wanderers were bewitched by the soft voices of the Fair Folk. Even so, he had given Niamh his word. Could he break it? Did he want to risk offending someone so powerful?

"You're starting to become a cliche, Churchill. Sitting there brooding while you've got the world's most glamorous woman lying next to you." He realised she had been staring up at him while he had been lost in his thoughts.

"Sorry. You know… so much to think about…" It sounded feeble, almost insulting. She laughed, but he suddenly realised he could see something squirming deep in her eyes. "What's wrong?"

"We never really talk, do we?"

"You don't like talking."

"No." That look again, even though she was trying to hide it.

"Tell me what's wrong."

Her eyes flickered away from him; she pretended she was watching the dying embers of the campfire away near the tents. Then: "I'm scared." A pause. "And that was about as easy to say as swallowing nails."

"We're all scared."

"Do you think you can be any more glib?"

He sighed. "Don't try to pick another fight. There are easier kinds of sport."

"I'm not. You are being glib." Her voice sounded hurt, the first time he had heard that tone. "I'm scared something's happening to me. Inside."

"What, you're ill?"

"I guess." She flinched, looked unsure. "When that winter witch came after me in the club in Edinburgh something happened that I didn't tell anybody about-"

"Why not?"

"Because I was scared, you dickhead. Are you going to hear me out or talk bollocks for the rest of the night? I was trying to get out, thinking I was dead, regretting being a stupid bitch like usual, and I cut myself. Nothing much." She held up her finger and drew a faint line on her skin where the scratch had been. "Only the blood wasn't red, it was green."

"Some kind of poisoning?"

She shook her head forcefully. "When it splashed, it seemed to have a life of its own. It moved all over some bars on a window, broke them open." She stared at her hand as if it belonged to somebody else. In a quiet voice, she added, "I think I'm jinxed for life."

Church took her hand and examined it closely. Slowly, he turned it over; there was the tattoo of interlocking leaves that had been burned into her flesh on the island in Loch Maree, the mark of Cernunnos.

Gradually realisation crossed her face. "The bastard did something to me! I was so worried I didn't even think of that."

"Maybe. Seems like too much of a coincidence."

"And there are no coincidences," she added bitterly. "So what's happened to me? God…" She slammed her fist against the ground angrily.

"I don't know, but I'm betting we'll find out sooner or later. The way Cernunnos acted, he must have something in mind for you." He felt a surge of anger at how the gods continued to manipulate them all. "Look, you're obviously still healthy, still walking about, try not to worry about it-"

"That's easy for you to say! How would you feel if you'd suddenly got antifreeze for blood?" She brushed at her eye before he saw the stray tear, the only honest admission of all the churning emotions in her.

Suddenly he was aware of how fragile she felt, alone and worrying, trying to do her best for everyone else while keeping her personal fears deep inside. She was more of a mess than all of them and that was saying something: filled with self-loathing, unable to see even the slightest good in her character. Yet still trying to do her best. He brushed the hair from her forehead; she wouldn't look at him. He had responsibilities here too; no one else was looking out for her and she wasn't up to doing it herself. Once again he was trapped by doing what was right and damning the consequences. He couldn't abandon her; that would be inhuman. So what if Niamh found out? He could explain the situation. How bad could it be? Certainly not as bad as leaving Laura to fend for herself when she was at her lowest ebb.

"Come on," he whispered. "Let's go to bed."

Morning came bright and hard. Tom was up before everyone else, lighting the fire and boiling up the remnants of the rabbit stew they'd eaten the night before; it met with uniform disapproval, but there was no alternative so they forced it down despite their protesting stomachs.

By 7 a.m. they were on their way. Using Veitch's book of maps in conjunction with the sun, Tom strode out confidently. He still refused to give them even a hint as to their destination.

"I don't get it," Laura said. "Yesterday my feet were two big, fat blisters. Today they're fine."

Tom snorted derisively from the front of the column. "Don't you ever pay attention? Why do you think your esteemed leader healed so quickly after the Fomorii masters of torture were loose on him under Dartmoor? Do you think they simply didn't do a proper job? Why do you think Ruth has regained her-"

"What's your point, you old git?"

"It's the Pendragon Spirit," Church said. "It helps us heal."

"Pity Tom Bombadil up front hasn't got it, then. He could grow himself a new head when I rip this one off."

Tom replied, but it was deliberately muffled so Laura couldn't hear.

"Keep walking, old man," she shouted. "And watch out for those sudden crevices."

Not long after, Veitch and Shavi broke off from the others to see if they could catch something for lunch. They were wary of getting lost, so they arranged a meeting place they could easily pick out on the landscape. After an hour of futile tracking for rabbit pellets and scanning the landscape for any sign of game birds, they gave up and rested against a young tree which had been so battered by the wind it resembled a hunched old man.

Veitch cracked his knuckles, then progressed through a series of movements to drive the kinks from his muscles. Shavi watched him languidly.

"Do you want to talk about what has happened to Ruth?" he asked eventually.

"No."

"You should. It is better to get these things out in the open."

"You sound like the counsellor my mum and dad dragged me to when I was a kid."

Shavi laughed gently. "I am talking as a friend."

This seemed to bring Veitch up sharp for a second, but then he carried on as before. "I never thought I'd have a queen for a friend."

"These times have changed us all."

Veitch sighed. "You better not say any of this to the others, all right?"

"Of course not."

"'Cause you're the only one I could talk to about it. Yeah, it's doing my head in, course it is. I thought after going through hell to get her back from the Bastards that would be the end of it. And now this. It cuts me up thinking what she's going through. She doesn't deserve that. She deserves…"

He seemed to have trouble saying what he was thinking so Shavi gently prompted him: "What?"

"The best. Whatever makes her happy."

"Even if that is not you?"

Veitch looked away. "Yeah. I just want her to be happy." He was lost in thought for a moment, but then his brow furrowed. "What do you think's going to happen to her?"

"I do not know. I do know we will do our best."

"I know it looks black, but I just can't believe she's going to die. Everyone thought she was a goner when the Bastards had her. They didn't say it, but I know they did. But I never doubted we'd get her out for a minute. And I reckon we'll do it this time."

Shavi smiled; there was something heartwarmingly childlike about Veitch beneath his steely exterior. "You believe in happy endings."

"Never used to. I do now, yeah."

A sound like the roar of some unidentified animal thundered across the landscape. They both started, the hairs standing on the back of their necks. Something in the noise made them instantly terrified, as if some buried race memory had been triggered.

"What the fuck was that?" Veitch dropped low to peer all around.

They could see nothing in the immediate vicinity, so they crawled to the top of a slight rise for a broader vista. At first that area too seemed empty, but as their eyes became used to the patterns of light and shade on the landscape they simultaneously picked out a black shape moving slowly several miles away. The jarring sensation in their heads the moment their eyes locked on it told them instantly what it was.

They squinted, trying to pick out details from the shadow, but all they got were brief glimpses of something that seemed occasionally insectile, occasionally like a man. Yet there was no mistaking the dangerous power washing off it.

Veitch, who had seen it more clearly before, realised what it was. "It's that big Bastard, the warrior, that almost got the others on their way back from Richmond."

"It is hunting," Shavi said instinctively.

"Do you think it knows we're here?"

Shavi chewed his lip as he weighed up the evidence. "It seems to have an idea in which direction we are going, but it does not seem to be able to pinpoint us exactly."

"They've sent it after Ruth, the biggest and baddest they've got to offer. What the fuck are we going to do now?" He answered his own question a moment later. "Keep moving. We can't hang around."

They retreated down the rise, then hurried back to tell the others.

There was no further sighting of whatever was hunting them, its path had appeared to be taking it away to the west while they were moving southeast. Even so, they were now even more on their guard.

As the day drew on, dark clouds swept in from the west and by midafternoon the landscape had taken on a silver sheen beneath the lowering sky. There, on the high ground, the wind had the bite of winter despite the time of year; they all wished they had some warmer clothes, but they had only brought a few changes of underwear and T-shirts.

Dusk came early with the clouds blackening and they knew it was better to find shelter and make camp rather than risk a lightning strike in the open ground. The rain fell in sheets, rippling back and forth across the grass and rocks; the clouds came down even lower and soon visibility was down to a few yards.

Not even Tom's outdoor skills could find any wood dry enough to make a fire. They sat shivering in their tents, observing the storm through the open flaps. Eventually the rain died off and the clouds lifted, the storm drifting away to the east. They watched its progress, the lightning sparking out in jagged explosions of passion, the world thrown into negative, the martial drumroll.

Laura's voice drifted out across the camp site. "We need a band. You can't beat a light show like that with any technology." The wonder in her words raised all their spirits.

It took two more days to reach their destination. The first was dismal with occasional downpours. The going was hard in the face of the gale and the landscape was treacherous in the intermittent mists. They made camp early and slept long.

The second day was much brighter from the onset and by midmorning even the smallest cloud had blown away. Veitch, Shavi and Church stripped to the waist in the growing heat, prompting them to tease the women to follow suit. A mouthful of abuse from Laura brought their jeering to a quick end.

For the first time in days they had to cross major roads and avoid centres of population. They wound their way by Shipton and Ilkley, and whenever the moorland gave way to lanes they ducked behind stone walls every time they heard the sound of a car. After their enforced isolation they felt oddly unnerved when they realised the most populous areas of Yorkshire were close. Tom even claimed to smell Bradford and Leeds on the wind.

Ilkley Moor was almost mystical in the way it responded to the weather conditions and the shifting of light and shade across its robust skin. The green fields on the edge gave way to romantic bleakness the higher they rose, where gorse and scrubland looked copper in the midafternoon sun. There, in the midst of it, the sense of isolation returned, potent yet oddly comforting.

They knew the spot the moment it came into view. The standing stones glowed brightly, their shadows like pointing fingers. But it wasn't the sight of them; after only a few days away from the trappings of the modern age their senses were attuned to changes in the world around them, the crackling energy in the atmosphere that instantly seemed to recharge their flagging vitality, the feel of a powerful force throbbing in the ground as if mighty machines turned just beneath their feet; a sudden overwhelming sense of well-being.

Church closed his eyes and had an instant vision of the blue fire flowing powerfully in mighty arteries away from the circle. "There's nothing dormant about this spot."

Although he tried to hide his emotions as usual, Tom seemed pleased by Church's sensitivity. "This has always been a vital spot. Welcome to the Twelve Apostles of Ilkley Moor."

The twelve standing stones which Tom called the Apostles were roughly four feet high and hacked from the local millstone grit. "There were originally twenty," Tom said. "In the nineteenth century they thought it was a calendar and christened it the Druidical Dial."

Amongst the stones they felt instantly secure and relaxed, as if they instinctively knew nothing could harm them there.

"It feels like Stonehenge on a smaller scale." Ruth felt comforted and hugged her arms around herself.

"All the sacred sites used to be like this," Tom said. "Places of sanctuary. Linked to the Fiery Network. So many have been torn down now."

Shavi stood in the centre of the circle, closed his eyes and raised his arms. "The magic is vibrant."

"It's one of the places that remained potent, even during the Age of Reason," Tom continued. "In 1976 three of the Royal Observer Corps were up here. They saw a white globe of light hovering above the stones. Throughout the eighties there were many other accounts of strange, flashing lights and balls of light descending. That helped the circle regain some of its standing in the local community and every summer solstice there used to be a fine collection of people up here for celebration."

Church drifted away from the others to press his hand on one of the stones; he could feel the power humming within as if there were electronic circuitry just beneath the surface. It seemed so long since Tom had introduced him to the blue fire at Stonehenge, although it was only a matter of weeks, yet now it felt such a part of his life he couldn't imagine living without it. The image of Tom manipulating the blue flames that first night had haunted him and he had begun to realise it was something he desperately wanted to be able to do himself. Cautiously he removed his hand an inch from the stone and concentrated in an effort to produce that leaping blue spark.

Nothing came. Yet he felt no disappointment. He was sure it was only a matter of time.

They set up camp within the tight confines of the circle. In no time at all the earth energy had infused them, recharging them, healing their aches and pains, and Ruth felt better than she had done since Callander; the nausea had almost completely gone. Yet the moor stretched out so bleakly all around and the camp was so exposed they couldn't shake their sense of unease and the feeling they were constantly being watched.

For long periods, Veitch sat half-perched on one of the stones scanning the landscape. "See anything?" Church asked him while the others were preparing dinner.

He shook his head without taking his eyes off the scenery. "Look at it out there. There could be somebody ten feet away lying in the scrub and we'd have trouble seeing them."

"At least if that big Fomor comes up we won't miss seeing him."

"Yeah," Veitch said darkly, "but then where do we run, eh?"

When darkness fell, the sense of isolation became even more disturbing. There was no light, no sign at all of human habitation; they might as well have been Neolithic tribesmen praying to their gods for the coming of the dawn.

Their small talk was more mundane than ever, with none of the usual gibes or abrasiveness, as they all mentally prepared themselves for the discussion to come. Eventually Tom took out his hash tin and rolled himself a joint, which they all recognised as the signal that they were about to begin. Ruth suddenly looked like she was about to be sick.

"Over the last few days we have all done a remarkable job in avoiding the severity of the problem that faces us," Tom began. "That's understandable. It's almost too monumental to consider. But let's speak plainly now so we know exactly where we stand. Here in this circle we have the chance for ultimate victory in the enormous conflict that has enveloped us. And we face a personal, shattering defeat that will devastate us." Church was surprised to hear the raw emotion in Tom's words; the Rhymer had always pretended he cared little about any of them.

"What you're saying," Ruth said, her face pale but strong, "is that if I die, Balor dies, the Fomorii lose, we… humanity… wins. But if you're overcome by sentimentalism and you can't bring yourself to kill me, Balor will be reborn and everybody loses. And I get to die anyway, in the birth. That last point pretty much makes any debate unnecessary. Either way I die. So… we should get on with it as soon as possible."

"Hang on a minute-" Veitch protested.

"Yes," Church said. "I know you'd just love to be a martyr, but maybe we should see if there are any other options before we rush to slit your throat and bury you out on the moors."

"I'm just letting you know I'm prepared," Ruth said.

Shavi leaned forward. "The Tuatha De Danann, certainly at their highest level, seem almost omnipotent. Can we ask them to help us?"

"You didn't see Dian Cecht." The contempt in Church's voice was clear. "The Fomorii are corrupting in their eyes, and Balor is the ultimate corruption. They're not prepared to get their pristine hands dirty, even if they could do something."

"They're like a bunch of toffs telling the labourers what to do," Veitch said venomously.

Laura had been watching Tom closely while the others spoke. He had been drawing on his joint, inspecting the hot ashes at the end, as if he wasn't really listening. "You've got something in mind, haven't you?"

Tom seemed not to hear her, either, but the others all turned to him. "The Tuatha De Danann will not be able to destroy Balor's essence in its current form unless the medium for the rebirth is destroyed," he began. "But, as Shavi said, their abilities are wide ranging. It is possible they may be able to do something to help. I've seen some of the wonders they can perform…" His voice faded; he bit his bottom lip.

"How are we going to get them to help us?" Church said. "They don't want anything to do with anyone who's been touched by the Fomorii."

"I may be able to help." Tom drew on the joint insistently; it was obviously no longer about enjoying the effect or using it for some kind of consciousnessraising-he was trying to anaesthetise himself. "You recall around the campfire in the Allen Gorge, Cormorel told me my Queen had returned to her court?"

"She was the one who first took you into Otherworld," Church said. Whose immense power had taken Tom's body and consciousness apart and reassembled it, who had treated Tom like a toy in the hands of a spoilt but curious brat, his torment so great his mind had almost shattered. And the woman he had grown to love in his captivity and suffering. Church shivered.

"The Faerie Queen, humans called her. She was also known as the Great Goddess by the older races, and a legion of other names."

"So, she's, like, a bigshot?" Veitch said. "The Queen."

"There are many queens among the Tuatha De Danann, all with their own courts, although that term is about as relevant as any other when discussing them. But, yes, she is higher than most."

"And you think she will help?" Church asked, watching Tom carefully for the truth behind his words.

The Rhymer smiled tightly. "How could she not when her pet returns, rolls over and asks so nicely?"

The bitterness in his voice stung them all. Church knew what a sacrifice Tom would be making; after both the agonies and the crushing blow to his ego, to put himself at risk of facing it all again was more than anyone should be expected to do.

Ruth recognised it too, for there were tears rimming her eyes. She wiped them away, stared at the ground desolately.

"There is no guarantee that she can help, though?" Shavi asked.

Tom raised his hands. "There are never any guarantees."

"Then we should have an alternative plan." Shavi rested a comforting hand on Ruth's back; she shivered, seemed to draw strength from it. "We already have patrons among the Tuatha De Danann. Niamh-"

"I don't think I can ask her for any more help. She's trying to sort out Maponus," Church said; but he had a pang of guilt knowing that he was afraid to approach her after failing to end his relationship with Laura.

"More importantly," Shavi continued unfazed, "there is Cernunnos. Ruth saved him from the control of the Fomorii. Now she is in difficulty, perhaps he will return the favour."

"Yes." Ruth's eyes grew wide. "He said the Green was inside me." She struggled to remember his exact words. "He said in the harshest times, you may call for my aid. Seek me out in my Green Home."

"That's it, then!" Veitch said excitedly. "Plan A and Plan B. One of 'em's got to work!"

"We have to be wary not to get too in debt to any of the Tuatha De Danann." The weight in Tom's words gave them all pause.

"This is a desperate situation," Church said. "We have to take risks."

"I know," Tom said. "But you have to be aware there is always a price to pay, and that price may be very high indeed. Do not go into this blindly."

"Then what's the plan? How do we get to these freaks?" Veitch had latched on to the suggestions with the simple hope of a child; the brightness of relief lit his face.

Tom cursed under his breath. "I think a good starting point would be for you to learn how to treat them with respect. If you open your mouth like that you won't have a second chance to speak."

"Right." Veitch looked suitably chastened.

"The Queen's court is accessed under Tom-na-hurich, the Hill of Yews, in Inverness," Tom said. "It will be a long, difficult journey, so I propose to set off at sunrise-

"You're not going alone." Church didn't leave any room for debate in his tone, but he was still surprised when Tom didn't argue. Church quickly looked round the others, then stopped at Veitch. "Ryan, you had better go with him. We can't risk the Queen hanging on to him. There needs to be someone to bring back the goods in an emergency." He hated speaking so baldly, but he could see Tom knew exactly what the potential risks were.

"Not back up to Scotland," Veitch moaned. "We've only just scarpered from there."

"What about Cernunnos?" Ruth asked. "Where's this Green Home?"

"Cernunnos has been most closely linked with the site of the Great Oak in Windsor Park," Tom said. "The oak is no longer there, but the god is rumoured to appear at the spot which was the prime centre of his worship in antiquity. They say," Tom added, "he appears there most at times of national crisis."

"I remember," Church mused, "another legend linked to that site. About Herne the Hunter."

Ruth nodded. "Cernunnos said that was one of the names by which he was known."

"The legends say Herne was a Royal huntsman who saved a king's life by throwing himself in front of a wounded stag that was threatening to kill his master," Tom said. "As Herne lay dying, a magician appeared who told the king the only way he could save his huntsman's life was to cut off the stag's antlers and tie them to Herne's head. He recovered and became the best huntsman in the land. But he was so favoured by the king, the other huntsmen, overcome by jealousy, eventually persuaded the king to dismiss him. Herne was so broken by this he went out and hanged himself. And the king never had the same kind of success in his Royal hunts."

Shavi mused over this story for a moment, then said, "I feel that legend is more metaphor than fact."

Tom agreed. "There is secret information in all these stories that has the power to survive down the years. That one tells of how the people turned their back on the resurrective and empowering force of nature, how they suffered for it, and how nature suffered too. It was a warning, albeit a gentle one, compared with some of the legends.

"You see," he continued, as if the information buried under centuries of experience in his mind was starting to come out in a rush, "Cernunnos and his bright, other half are, if you will, the bridge between the Tuatha De Danann and the natural power of this world. In many ways, they are closer to us than they are to their own. It was a joining that happened in the earliest times, when the two gods pledged themselves to this world and, in doing so, the best interests of the people."

"You'd be good for this one, Shavi," Church said. "You're the shaman. You've developed all those links to nature. You should be able to communicate with Cernunnos."

Church felt Laura shift next to him and he knew exactly what she was thinking: Cernunnos had put his mark on her too; Ruth obviously wasn't in any condition to undertake the journey, but as a favoured of Cernunnos, Laura would have been a natural choice. Church hadn't chosen her because he felt she wasn't up to the task, couldn't be trusted with something so important; and she knew exactly what his reasons were. He felt a pang of guilt at hurting her, but he had to focus on the best interests of the group.

"When I get to the park, how do I contact Cernunnos?" Shavi asked.

"There is a story I recall from my long walk around the world in the sixties," Tom replied. "In 1962 a group of teenagers found a hunting horn in the forest on the edge of a clearing. They blew it and were instantly answered by another horn and the baying of hounds. It was Cernunnos and the Wild Hunt, with the wish hounds. The boys fled in fear."

"And the Hunt, I presume, did not depart until they claimed a life," Shavi noted darkly. "A price to pay indeed."

"Perhaps he won't appear in that form," Ruth suggested hopefully.

Shavi shrugged. "Then I seek out the horn."

Laura avoided Church's gaze when he looked from her to Ruth. "That leaves just the three of us," he said.

"You're sure we're up to protecting the Queen Bee," Laura said acidly.

"We'll do our best, as always." It wasn't a question he really wanted to consider too deeply.

Thunder rolled across the moor; a flash of lightning lit up the northern sky. "Looks like we're in for a storm." Veitch seemed happier now he felt he was doing something positive.

They watched the sky for a while, but the bad weather was skirting the edge of the moor, moving eastwards. Another flash of lightning threw the landscape into stark relief.

"What's that?" Ruth said suddenly. But the night had already swallowed up whatever she had seen.

"What did it look like?" Church asked.

"I don't know." Her voice sounded like she had an idea. She moved to the edge of the circle to get a better look.

"Don't go beyond the stones!" Tom said sharply. "The earth energy gives a modicum of invisibility here if there's anything supernatural in the vicinity. They'd have to stumble right across us to see us."

"I don't know…" Ruth peered into the dark, but it was too deep.

Another flash of lightning, moving away now, so the illumination was not so stark. Even so, Ruth caught her breath; this time it was unmistakable. A large black shape like a sucking void was moving rapidly across the bleak moorland.

"It's here." Her voice barely more than a whisper. She turned, eyes wide; the others could read all they needed in her face.

Tom rushed over and kicked out the campfire. "Stay down, stay quiet! It may pass us by."

At that moment twin beams of light cut through the night, rising high up into the sky like searchlights. A second later they lowered sharply as a car came over a rise and started to head towards them. The headlights briefly washed over the stones as the car came on to the road that ran within sight of the circle.

"Shit," Veitch said under his breath.

Across the quiet landscape music rolled from the car's open windows. Church unconsciously noted it was New Radicals singing "You Get What You Give," but that thought was just a buzz beneath a wash of rising panic. The car's engine droned. Young voices sang along loudly, male and female, four, maybe five of them.

"Shut up," Laura hissed to herself.

"Turn off the headlights," Veitch said.

As if anything will do any good, Church thought.

The car continued its progress, a firefly in the night.

Veitch spun round, his face contorted with anxiety. "We've got to get out there and do something! The Bastard will be on them in a minute and those poor fuckers won't stand a chance!"

Church hesitated; he was right, they ought to try.

Tom seemed to read his mind. "No! No one leaves the circle! If you go out there you will surely die. Even here, your chances are slim-"

"Fuck! We have to do something!" Veitch protested. Church thought he was going to cry.

"You go out there and die in vain, everybody else dies with you!" Tom's voice was a snarl that would brook no dissent. "You're too important now! You have to think of the big picture!"

Veitch was starting to move. Tom gripped his shoulder and Veitch tried to shake it off furiously, but Tom held on so effortlessly it seemed incongruous. Veitch half-turned, eyes blazing, but he didn't move any further.

Another diminishing flash, an instant's tableau: the dark hulk of the Fomorii warrior had risen up, started to change as its insectile armour clanked and slid into place, preparing to attack. The car trundled along, the occupants oblivious.

Ruth's eyes were tear-stained. She stared at Church, aghast. He winced, looked away.

"Maybe we could…" Laura stopped, shook her head, walked away until she was out of the others' line of sight.

Shavi was like an iron staff, his face locked, his eyes fixed on the feeble beams of light.

Suddenly there was a sound like aluminium sheeting being torn in two. Several stars were blotted out. And then the ground trembled. There was an instant when they all had their eyes shut, praying. But they had to see, so they would never forget. The darkness swept down like a pouncing lion. There was a crunching of metal. The headlight beams shot up in the sky. Singing voices suddenly became screams that must have torn throats. New Radicals were still singing, just for an instant longer, then snapped off at the same time as the screams. A second later the lights blinked out. More crunching. Silence. And then an explosion which rocketed flames and shards of metal high into the sky as the petrol tank went up.

Everyone in the circle was holding their breath. The universal exhalation came slowly, filled with despair.

"Get down!" Tom hissed.

They dropped flat so they could feel the vibrations in the ground, fast, growing slower. They didn't stir until they had died away completely. When they eventually sat up, everyone looked shell-shocked; faces pale, eyes downcast.

"We did that," Veitch said bluntly. He walked over and leaned on one of the stones, staring out across the moor. The crackling fire cast a hellish glare across the scrub, the smoke rising to obscure the stars.

Ruth leaned in to Shavi who put his arms around her. Church looked over to Laura, but she had her back to him, wrapped in her own isolation.

"You were right," Church said to Tom, "but I don't know how you can be so cold."

All Tom would say as he slumped down at the foot of a stone was, "Life's much more simple when you're young."

It was over an hour before they felt able to talk some more. Veitch still looked broken, the others merely serious.

It was Ruth who voiced the thought that was upmost in all their minds. "If that thing is hunting us, what chance do Church, Laura and I stand? Do you think we can possibly keep ahead of it until one or the other of you gets back?"

"No," Tom said baldly. "But I have a plan-"

"Well, yippee," Laura said flatly.

"There is a place not too far away that has the potency of this circle. Another blindspot. It is big, very big, and if you choose your hiding place carefully you should be able to avoid detection for…" He chewed on a knuckle for a second or two. "… Quite a while."

"That's not the wholehearted answer I was hoping for," Ruth said irritatedly.

"Where is it?" Church asked.

"In the High Peaks. It's a magical hill, more a mountain really, called Mam Tor, the Heights of the Mother, rising up 1,700 feet. The most sacred prehistoric spot in the entire area."

"A mountain to hide in!" Veitch said in astonishment.

"Great. We can play at being the Waltons," Laura said.

"The ancients recognised it as a powerful spot. Nearby there is a hill dedicated to Lugh, now known as Lose Hill. All around there are standing stones and other ceremonial sites, all looking up to the hill of the Mother Goddess. At the foot is the Blue John Cavern, where the semi-precious stone originates. A landscape filled with magic and mystery. The perfect hiding place."

"Great," Church said. "Now all we have to do is get there."

Church woke in the middle of the night with a familiar, uneasy feeling, but one he hadn't felt for a few weeks. He crawled out of the tent, feeling his stomach churn. Laura was on watch, but she was dozing near the dying embers of the fire; he would have to have a word with her in the morning.

Slowly he looked around the darkness that pressed in tightly against the stones. Nothing. The wind blew eerily across the moor, making an odd sighing noise in the scrub. He prayed he was wrong, but in his heart he knew.

"Where are you?" he said softly.

A second later a figure separated from the dark: indistinct, almost blurred, as if he were looking at it through a curling sheet of smoke. He thought after all his brooding, all the weighing of emotions, the logical acceptance, he would feel nothing, but the pang in his heart was as sharp as ever.

"How are you, Marianne?" He held the tears back successfully.

The smoke appeared to clear and there she was, as beautiful as when they had shared a home; when she was alive. She didn't speak, she never did, but he felt he could almost read her thoughts. Her face was so pale, by turns frightening and filled with despair.

"I should have known when they'd failed to find anyone with the big beast, they'd send you to hunt me out," he said softly. "Do they have a message for me, Marianne? Anything? Or have they just sent you here to break my spirit?"

A sighing. Was it still the wind, or was it her?

He smiled sadly, wishing he could leave the circle to try to touch her hand one final time, although he knew that was impossible; he had learned his lesson. He wouldn't break the protection of the stones and put himself under the malign Fomorii influence that inevitably surrounded her. "Did they think I'd fall for it all again?" His voice was low and calm; he didn't even know if she could hear it, anyway. "Tell them it won't work any more-I'm not as weak as I was. If anything, seeing you here, knowing what they've done to you, gives me more strength to carry on. I'm going to set you free, Marianne. And then I'm going to make them pay. If you can take anything back to them, tell them that."

He couldn't be sure, but he hoped, and he hoped: her face seemed to register the faintest smile.

And then she was gone.