Destroyer of Worlds

7

Too many suspicious glances from the others eventually drove Veitch out into the deserted corridors, where his incipient guilt over the last few violent months gradually subsided. For a while, he wandered, deep in thought about Ruth and his belief that if he had any chance of redemption, it was through her, until a faint echo told him he was not alone.

He waited, watchfully, and when no one materialised, he slipped around a corner, ready to draw his sword. Hesitant footsteps heralded the cautious approach of a woman of around twenty-five, her delicate face framed by blond ringlets in an old-fashioned style that Veitch had seen many times during his stays in Victorian London.

'Oh,' she said, startled that he was waiting for her.

'Why are you following me?' Veitch growled.

'You are Ryan Veitch?' she replied in a cockney accent. 'That's what the guards say. All the fellers and the girls are talking about it downstairs.'

'What's it to you?'

She smiled. 'Let me tell you, ducky.'

Rough hands grabbed Veitch's arms and threw him against the wall. Three men had come up behind him with the stealth of Brothers of Dragons, strong arms, strong faces, sharp eyes, but he could see the hatred in their eyes. He struggled to throw them off, but in a second the woman had a knife against his throat.

'Name's Cathy, lovey, and as God is my witness, I'm going to carve your flesh for what you did to me.'

'I've never met you before.'

'Which is why I'm still here. I'm one of the lucky ones. But back in my old time, you murdered three of my Brothers and Sisters. We never got the chance to be Five. And I'm not alone there.'

'You've got a lot of blood on your hands, Ryan Veitch,' a voice said at his ear. 'Good, decent people, just trying to do their bit for Existence. I saw my fair share of twisted slaughter at Dunkirk, but nothing like what you did. You betrayed the Pendragon Spirit. You betrayed everything Existence stands for. You killed people who would have been our friends and lovers. And now you're going to pay.'

Veitch opened his mouth to account for himself, but Cathy pricked the knife deeper into his flesh. 'No lies,' she hissed. 'Just a quick cut and you won't be hurting any more of us.'

Before she could thrust, there was a shift in the quality of the light and shadows appeared, source unknown. A background drone swelled, like the hum of a generator, a charge to the very air itself.

Ruth rounded the corner, eyes crackling with an unearthly power, hair snaking around her head as if it was alive. From her outstretched hands whirled a storm of blue light. Veitch had seen her like that once before, during the Battle of London when her Craft had consumed her and she had become a lethal weapon that could destroy friend and foe alike.

Cathy's knife slipped from trembling fingers as a gale flung her and her three helpers across the flags. The knife whisked up and embedded itself to the hilt in the thin join between two wall-stones.

'You're protecting him?' Cathy raged.

Ruth's appearance slowly normalised. 'He's working with us now. No one forgets all the people he's killed, but we need him.'

'We don't need him!' Cathy shouted. 'He'll always be a danger. At the end, he'll turn, you'll see.'

Veitch winced when Ruth cast an unguarded glance his way.

'See? He knows it himself!' The three men helped Cathy to her feet, their expressions no less murderous. 'We owe it to all the others to kill him before he destroys everything. Never forget, never forgive!' Tears of anger streaming down Cathy's face, she ran back along the corridor, with the others close behind.

'Thanks,' Veitch said. 'I should have expected that.'

'Probably best if you don't go wandering off on your own from now on.'

Veitch tried to put out of his mind how much he had thrown away, the camaraderie, the sense of being on the side of right, respect, love, all for some immature desire for revenge that had become more undefined with each passing day. He felt pathetic. He hated himself.

Seeing some of this in his face, Ruth's expression softened with pity, and that made him feel even worse. 'Don't worry,' she said. 'It's going to be tough, but people will come around.'

'You know what? I don't care. I've got a job to do — that's the important thing. The sooner I can start using this blade to cut things down, the better.'

A window framed the distant shape of the Burning Man, hazy in the mid-morning sky, and for the briefest instant, Veitch thought it was looking deep into his very heart.