Raven's Gate

UNNATURAL HISTORY

The taxi dropped them off at the Natural History Museum in west London. Richard paid the fare.

“I don’t know how I let you talk me into this,” he said.

“I didn’t say anything,” Matt protested.

“You were the one who wanted to see Dravid.”

“You were the one who called him.”

It was true. When they had got back to York, Richard had checked Dravid out on the Internet. It turned out that the professor had an international reputation. Born in the Indian city of Madras, he had become a world expert on anthropology, ethnology, prehistory and a dozen other related areas. He had written books and presented television programmes. There were over a hundred web sites featuring his name, the most recent of which concerned an exhibition about dinosaurs. It was opening at the museum in less than a week’s time. Dravid had organized it and written the catalogue.

In the end Richard had decided to call him. He’d expected to be given the brush-off. Perhaps he’d even hoped that would happen. But Dravid had been eager to meet them. They’d made an appointment for the following day – at six o’clock, after the museum closed.

Matt examined the grand Victorian building. It looked like something out of a fairy tale with its terracotta and blue bricks, its Gothic towers and its menagerie of carved stone animals poking out of every nook and corner. There was a stream of people pouring out of the main entrance, down the curved walkways, past the line of wrought-iron lamps and on to the lawns on either side.

“Let’s go in,” Richard said.

They went up to the gate, where a security guard stood, blocking their way. “I’m very sorry,” he said. “You’re too late for today…”

“We have an appointment with Professor Dravid,” Richard told him.

“Professor Dravid? Yes, sir. Of course. You can ask at the enquiries desk.”

They climbed the steps and went in. There were certainly plenty of dinosaurs. As Matt entered the museum he was greeted by the black skull of a huge creature. The skull was at the end of an elongated neck, suspended from an arch that swept over the entrance. He looked around him. The dinosaur skeleton was the centrepiece in a vast hall which – with its many arches, its glass and steel roof, its broad staircase and mosaic floor – looked like a cross between a cathedral and a railway station.

They went to the enquiries desk, which, like the rest of the museum, was just closing.

“My name is Richard Cole. I’m here to see Professor Dravid.”

“Ah, yes. The professor is expecting you. His office is on the first floor.”

A second guard pointed at a stone staircase that led up to a balcony overlooking the main entrance hall. They walked towards it, passing many other dinosaur skeletons, some in glass cases, others standing free. A few last remaining visitors went by, on their way out. The museum seemed bigger and somehow more mysterious now that it was empty. They climbed the stone stairs and continued along a corridor to a solid wooden door. Richard knocked and they went in.

Professor Sanjay Dravid was sitting in the middle of a room stacked high with books, magazines, files and loose bundles of paper. The walls were covered with charts, graphs and maps. He was typing something into a laptop, working at a desk which was itself crowded with more papers, dozens of specimens in glass cases, bits of bone, and pieces of crystal and stone. He was in his late forties, Matt thought. His hair was black and neatly brushed and he had dark, tired eyes. His jacket hung over the back of his chair.

“Professor Dravid?” Richard asked.

The man looked up. “You’re Richard Cole?” He finished typing his sentence, pressed ENTER and closed the laptop. “Susan Ashwood telephoned me after she met you.” His voice was warm and cultured. “I’m glad you decided to get in touch.”

“How do you know Miss Ashwood?”

“We’ve known each other for many years.” Dravid turned to Matt, examining him minutely. “You must be Matt. Nobody’s told me your full name.”

“I’m just Matt.”

“Well, please sit down. I’m sorry I can’t offer you any refreshments. There is a cafe here, although of course it’s closed now. But perhaps you ate on the train…”

Richard and Matt sat down in front of the desk. “What’s the exhibition about?” Richard asked.

“It is without question the most remarkable exhibition of dinosaur fossils ever assembled in London,” Dravid replied. “You saw the diplodocus as you came in?” He spoke very quickly and all the time his eyes never once left Matt. Matt could feel himself being weighed up, assessed. “Very hard to miss it. It’s about one hundred and fifty million years old and probably the longest land animal that ever lived. Shipped all the way from the United States, bone by bone, just for the exhibition. And then there’s a first-rate ceratosaurus – a recent find. It would tear you apart in seconds if it were still alive. And then there are the museum’s own specimens, including a virtually intact paracyclotosaurus skeleton. It resembles a crocodile, although in fact it’s no relation.”

He stopped suddenly.

“But of course that’s not why you’re here.”

“We want to know about Raven’s Gate,” Richard said.

“So Miss Ashwood told me.”

“She wouldn’t tell us anything. She said we had to meet you.”

“Do you know what it is?” Matt asked.

“Raven’s Gate? Yes, I do.”

“Can you tell us?”

“That depends. I’m not entirely sure…”

Matt ran out of patience. “Why is it that nobody wants to help me?” he demanded. “You sit here, tapping away at your laptop and talking about dinosaurs. You don’t know what I’ve been through. I’ve been dumped in Yorkshire. I’ve been pushed around and terrorized, and the only people who have tried to help me have ended up dead. Richard doesn’t want me hanging around with him, and now we’ve come all the way down here and you’re not saying anything either. You were the one who wanted to see us. Why won’t you tell us what we want to know?”

“He’s right,” Richard agreed. “We’ve spent hours on a train to King’s Cross, not to mention the price of the tickets. You’ve got to make it worth our while.”

Dravid had sat silently through all this. Now he looked at Matt more carefully. “Matt… I take it you were the boy on the Internet.”

“In the library at Greater Malling. Yes.” Matt nodded. “How did you know I was searching for Raven’s Gate?”

“Thanks to a simple piece of software. Whenever anyone, anywhere in the world, enters those two words, I am informed at once.”

“Why?”

“I can’t tell you that. Yet. And I apologize for mistrusting you, Matt. We live in a world with so many dangers that we have to be careful whom we trust. Please bear with me for a moment. There are things I need to ask you.” He paused. “You were in Greater Malling. Is that where you live?”

“No. I’m living in Lesser Malling. It’s a village-”

“I know Lesser Malling,” Dravid interrupted. “How long have you been there?”

“I don’t know. Two or three weeks.”

Dravid pressed his hands together underneath his chin. “You must tell me everything,” he said. “I want to know everything that has happened to you. I need to know exactly what brought you to me here today.” He leant back in his chair. “Begin at the beginning and don’t leave anything out.”

There was only one guard on night shift at the museum. There should have been four but, like many of London’s institutions, a shortage of funds had led to cutbacks. Two of the men had been laid off and one was sick. The one remaining guard was in his twenties. He had only recently come to England, from Bulgaria. He didn’t speak much of the language but he was learning. He liked London, although he could have done without the job.

He found it creepy patrolling the museum. There were all the dinosaur bones… they were bad enough. But the creatures in the glass cases were even more horrible: stuffed rats and leopards, eagles and owls. Spiders and scorpions and huge winged beetles. He could feel their eyes following him as he did his rounds. He should have got a job at McDonald’s or KFC. The pay would have been only fractionally worse.

He had just come out of the main door and was walking towards the gate when he heard a soft sound like the breaking of a twig. What now? It was getting dark and there was no moon tonight.

“Who is it?” he called out.

He looked up and smiled to himself, turning the torch off again. One of the ornate lamps, illuminated for the night, had blown a bulb. That was what he had heard.

“I am scared,” he muttered to himself. It was a phrase he had learned at foreign-language school only the day before. “You are scared. He is scared.”

A second bulb blinked out. Then a third and a fourth. Rapidly the darkness made its way along the whole line of lamps, squeezing the life out of the bulbs until none of them remained alight. The guard rubbed his shoulders. It suddenly felt much colder. He breathed out and saw his own breath frost. It was crazy. It was almost the end of April but it seemed that winter had just returned.

He pressed the switch of his torch. The bulb exploded in his hand, grey smoke curling beneath the glass. That was when the guard decided to call it a night. The museum had its own sophisticated alarm system. It could look after itself. And if he was fired, what did he care? He could always get that job at KFC.

The guard unlocked the gate and scurried through, then crossed the road, dodging the traffic through to South Kensington tube station. He didn’t see the shadows reaching out to enclose the museum or the soft, white mist that trickled over the grass. All he knew was that he wanted to get away. He didn’t once look back.

Matt finished his story. He shivered in the sudden cold but neither Richard nor the professor seemed to notice it.

“Well, what do you think?” Richard asked.

Professor Dravid turned on his desk lamp. “It’s almost impossible to believe,” he said. “From a warehouse in Ipswich to Lesser Malling and then to here. Nobody would believe it. Even to you it must seem incomprehensible. But let me tell you straight away, Matt, that you are meant to be here. There are no coincidences. It’s all happening the way it was meant to be.”

“But what is happening?” Matt asked. “What are Mrs Deverill and the rest of them doing in Lesser Malling? What is Raven’s Gate?”

“We’re not leaving until you tell us,” Richard added.

“Of course I will tell you.” Dravid looked at Matt and there was something strange in his eyes; a sense of puzzlement and wonder. It was as if Dravid had been waiting to meet him all his life.

“If I told anybody else what I’m about to tell you now,” he began, “my reputation – everything I’ve worked for – would disappear overnight. It makes no sense. Not in the real world, anyway. Susan Ashwood may have seemed eccentric to you. You might have thought she was a fraud. However, I’m telling you she was right. There is another world. We are surrounded by it. There is an alternative history as alive in the streets of twenty-first-century London as it was many thousands of years ago, when it all began. But only cranks and lunatics are meant to believe in it because, you see, that way everyone feels safer…

“Raven’s Gate is at the very heart of that alternative history. Few people have even heard of it. Look for it on the Internet, as you did, and you won’t find anything. But that doesn’t make it any less real. It is the reason why you are here now. It may even be the reason why you were born.”

Dravid stopped. The room seemed to be getting darker and darker. The desk lamp had only pushed back the shadows a little way. They were still there, waiting.

“Raven’s Gate was the name given to a strange circle of stones that stood, until the Middle Ages, outside Lesser Malling. It was mentioned by name in Elizabeth Ashwood’s book – the only occasion, to my knowledge, that it has ever appeared in print. Standing stones are by no means unique to Lesser Malling. There are at least six hundred examples in Britain. The most famous of them is Stonehenge in Wiltshire.

“You have to remember how mysterious all these stone circles are. Consider Stonehenge. No one is quite certain why it was built. There must have been a purpose. After all, it took a million and a half man-hours to construct. The stones, some of them weighing up to fifty tons, were carried all the way across England, and actually constructing the circle required a fantastic knowledge of engineering. Obviously it wasn’t put there just for decoration.

“Some say that Stonehenge is a temple. Some say it’s a sort of stone computer or even a magical tape recorder. Some believe it’s an observatory and that it can calculate the exact time of a solar eclipse. There are dozens of different theories. But the thing is, even in the twenty-first century, with all our knowledge and science, nobody knows for sure.”

“But you know,” Richard said.

Dravid nodded gravely. “Yes.” He leant forward. “Stonehenge is four or five thousand years old. But it wasn’t by any means the first stone circle ever built. In fact it was nothing more than a copy of one that had been around a lot longer. Raven’s Gate was the first stone circle and all the later ones were nothing more than imitations.”

“But where is it?” Matt asked. “What happened to it?”

“A great many of the stone circles in Britain have been destroyed over the years. Some were pulled down by farmers who needed the land for agriculture. The spread of towns and cities finished off others. A few simply collapsed or crumbled away over the years.

“But something very strange happened to Raven’s Gate. At some time in the Middle Ages it was deliberately taken down and smashed. More than that. Each and every one of its stones was ground to powder. The powder was loaded on to carts and carried to the four corners of Britain: north, south, east and west. Then it was poured into the sea. Something about the circle seemed so frightening, so evil, that the people who set about this fantastic task were determined that every grain should be separated. Nobody ever spoke of it again. It was as if Raven’s Gate had never existed.”

“So how did you hear of it?” Richard asked. It seemed to Matt that he still sounded doubtful.

“You’re a journalist, Mr Cole. You obviously think that if something hasn’t been written down, then it can’t possibly be true. Well, there have been some written records. The diary of a Spanish monk. A carving on a temple. A few letters and other documents. And of course there has always been a strong oral tradition. How did I hear of it?” Dravid half-smiled but his eyes were dark and serious. “I belong to an organization – you might call it a secret society – and we have kept the story alive for centuries. We have passed it from generation to generation.

“That society is called the Nexus.”

There was a jug of water on the desk. Dravid reached out and poured himself a glass. He drank half of it, then continued.

“There are twelve members of the Nexus, as there always have been. Incidentally, a nexus means a connection – and we are, I suppose, connected by what we know. Susan Ashwood is a member and there are ten others apart from myself from all over the world. In due course you will meet them, Matt. They will certainly want to meet you. The whole purpose of the Nexus, the reason that it exists, is to help you with what you have to do.”

“What do I have to do?” Matt asked. “You’re talking about stuff that happened thousands of years ago. Why are you telling me this now?”

“I’m about to explain. But it isn’t easy. I can understand how hard it must be for you to take all this on board.”

Professor Dravid finished his water while he collected his thoughts.

“There are some who believe that a great civilization existed on this planet before the Greek empire of 600 BC. Even before the Egyptians, who had flourished two thousand years earlier. I’m talking about the time of Atlantis, perhaps as long ago as ten thousand years. In a way, I suppose, I’m talking about the beginning of the world as we know it today.

“This first civilization was destroyed… slowly and deliberately. Creatures of unimaginable power and evil arrived in the world. They were called the Old Ones and their only desire was to see pain and misery all around them. The Christian Church talks about Satan, Lucifer and all the other devils. But these are just memories of the greatest, original evil: the Old Ones. They thrived on chaos. Once they had gained a foothold on the planet, they started a war. Torturing, killing, spreading mass destruction everywhere they went. That was their only pleasure. If they’d had their way, they would have reduced the whole world to an empty swamp.

“But according to the stories, there was a miracle, and it arrived in the shape of five young people: four boys and a girl.

“Nobody knows where they came from. They have no names. They have never been described. But together they organized the resistance against the Old Ones. What was left of humanity joined together behind the Five and there was a single, final battle in which the future of the world would be decided.

“The five children won that battle. The Old Ones were expelled, sent to another dimension, and a barrier, a magical gate, was built to make sure they could never come back. This gate took the form of a stone circle and later on it came to be known as Raven’s Gate.”

“Wait a minute,” Richard cut in. “You said Raven’s Gate was destroyed because it was evil.”

“I said it was destroyed because the people thought it was evil,” the professor corrected him. “They were mistaken. They gave it a name, Raven’s Gate, because the raven has always been associated with death. They had a memory that connected the stones with something horrible… But after all the years that had passed, they had forgotten what it was. And in the end they came to think that it was the stones themselves that were evil. So they tore them down.”

“So the gate was destroyed!” Matt exclaimed.

Professor Dravid shook his head. “The stones were destroyed, not the gate,” he said. “How can I explain it to you? It’s like an idea. If you write something down on a sheet of paper and then burn the paper, do you burn the idea? Of course not! The stones are gone, but the gate is still in place.”

Richard sighed. “Let me get this straight, Professor,” he said. “A very long time ago, the world was ruled by evil creatures called the Old Ones. However, five kids appeared and threw them out. These kids then built a barrier, which came to be known as Raven’s Gate. Unfortunately the stones that marked the gate were knocked down by medieval peasants who didn’t know any better. But it doesn’t matter that much because the gate is still there after all. Is that about it?”

“Your sarcasm does you no credit, Mr Cole,” Dravid replied. “But you have summed up what I said more or less accurately.”

“Miss Ashwood knew about this?” Matt said.

“Yes. As I explained to you, we share our knowledge. We have sworn not to reveal it. That’s why she couldn’t tell you anything when you met.”

“But you’ve told us,” Matt went on. “You said that the main reason for the Nexus was to help me with something I have got to do. But I’m still not clear what that is – or what any of this has got to do with me.”

“I think you know.”

“No!” Matt looked him in the eye. “You’re wrong.”

“Then you must meet the Nexus. The other members are on their way back to London. They’ll be here tomorrow night. I’ll look after you until then.”

“Forget it,” Richard said. “We’ve got day-return tickets. We’re going back to York this evening.”

“That’s the last thing you must do. It’s vital you don’t go anywhere near Lesser Malling.” He turned again to Matt. “I don’t want to frighten you any more than you have been already, but I believe you are in terrible danger.”

“Why?”

“I’ve told you why Raven’s Gate was built. It was a barrier between two worlds and it was closed and locked. But for many centuries there have been people who have been trying to open it again. Of course, they haven’t found it easy. They’ve had to develop special knowledge… special powers.”

“You mean magic,” Matt said.

“We are just two days away from the start of Roodmas,” Dravid said. “It begins at sunset on the thirtieth of April. It is one of the most important days in the witches’ calendar. A day when dark powers are at their strongest. When black sabbath is celebrated and evil has its way.”

“Mrs Deverill…” Matt began.

“I have absolutely no doubt that she and the other villagers of Lesser Malling are involved in some sort of black magic. Of course you will sneer, Mr Cole. But black magic is still practised today all over the world. Yorkshire has a long history of witchcraft – and although the witches of medieval times are gone, their descendants live on.

“A black sabbath on Roodmas will require three ingredients, the same as you will find in any such ceremony. The first is ritual. Matt has already described the whispers that he heard. The second is fire. You saw the dogs rise out of the flames. But the third, of course, is blood. They must have a sacrifice, and the best sacrifice of all would be that of a child…”

Matt stood up. All the colour had drained from his face. “They brought me there to kill me,” he said.

“I’m afraid so.”

“We should go to the police!” Richard exclaimed. “You’re talking about a bunch of lunatics, and the whole lot of them ought to be locked up…”

“Matt has already been to the police,” Dravid reminded him. “Two of them ignored him. The one who didn’t, died.”

“Why me?” Matt asked. “Why did they choose me? Why couldn’t it be someone else?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” Dravid said quietly. He stopped and laid a hand gently on Matt’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know how hard it must be for you to accept all this. But you’ll have time. I’ll put you in a hotel tonight. The Nexus will take care of the cost. And from now on, we’ll look after you.”

“Why? What do you want from me?”

“We just want you to be safe.”

“I wish it wasn’t so cold,” Matt said.

The three of them left the study. They went along the corridor past a row of glass cases. Wax figurines of primitive people stared out at them. The sound of their footsteps echoed against the ceiling, flapping about the air like invisible birds. Halfway down the main staircase, Dravid stopped. “The keys!” he said. “They’re in my jacket! I’ll need them to let us out.”

Hastily he stumbled back up the staircase and along the corridor. Matt watched him. It was only now that he realized how vast the museum was. Professor Dravid was just a tiny figure, crossing a balcony high above them. They saw the door of the study open and the light go on.

“Listen, Matt,” Richard said. “This is all just a bad dream. Nothing can happen to you.”

Matt stepped back from him. “You still don’t believe it!” he exclaimed.

“Yeah – sure I believe in it. Old Ones and gates and witches and blood sacrifice! Look around you, for heaven’s sake! There are rockets going to Mars. We’ve got satellites beaming phone conversations all around the world. They’ve unlocked the genetic code. And you’ve still got throwbacks like Dravid going on about devils and demons. Well take it from me, Matt. These five kids saving the world with magical powers don’t exist.”

“Of course they exist,” Matt said. And suddenly he knew. It was very simple. “I’m one of them.”

There was a sound. Something invisible had been thrown – or had flown – through the air. Matt and Richard heard someone cry out and looked back at the stairs. Sanjay Dravid had appeared again. He was walking slowly, his footsteps uneven, as if he was drunk or drugged. His hand was clasped to his neck. He stopped and let his hand fall and, with a gasp of horror, Matt saw a terrible wound – a gaping, horizontal line, perhaps cut with a sword – across the professor’s neck. Blood curtained down, soaking into his jacket and shirt. Dravid raised his hands feebly. He tried to speak. Then he toppled forward on to his face and lay still.

Richard swore. Matt tore his eyes away from the motionless figure and looked at the main doors on the other side of the gallery. It was colder than ever. Even without seeing it, he knew there was danger all around.

And the doors were locked.