The Hounds of Avalon

Sophie watched Caitlin stride out along the battlements in the pre-dawn dark, thunder and lightning given flesh. Though the gods lined the ramparts, golden-skinned and beautiful, tall and powerful, Caitlin was above them, god and mortal combined, greater than the sum of the parts. As she passed, a ripple ran through the gods in their shining armour: eyes turned her way, body language shifted, whispers passed from mouths to ears.

‘How long is this going to last?’ Thackeray’s eyes were deep pools of concern.

‘Until she gets back what she feels she’s lost,’ Sophie said.

‘Then let’s hope she gets it back quickly.’

Harvey hovered uncomfortably behind his friend. ‘She scares me. When you look in her face, it’s like she could do anything. But there’s something about her that’s a bit horny, too.’ Thackeray glared at Harvey, who shifted awkwardly. ‘Sorry. Just stating a fact.’

‘Do you think she’s done the right thing?’ Thackeray asked Sophie.

Sophie could see that he felt he was losing the woman he loved, at a time when she hadn’t even decided if she loved him back. What could she say? No — this is the worst decision she’s ever made? The Morrigan will eat her up and spit her out? Nothing human can hope to contain the Morrigan’s ravenous desires and epic emotions?

‘Caitlin’s strong. If anybody can do this, she can,’ she said, and it was true. Sophie wondered if she could match Caitlin’s drive to sacrifice anything for the common good. She thought of Mallory — could she sacrifice him? But whenever his face came up in her mind now, it was misty, and a weight of uncertainty hung around it. The price she had paid to Math was proving bigger with each passing day. She missed Mallory deeply, and loved him immensely, but increasingly it felt as if she was experiencing those emotions second-hand.

As Caitlin returned from her walk along the battlements, it felt as though an enormous battery was drawing near to them, so charged was the air in her presence. She was now dressed in the colours of her mistress: a scarlet silk shirt was a blaze of bloody colour against the black of her trousers and boots, the leather weapons belts that crossed over her chest and hung at her hips, the black leather gauntlets; her hair hung loose and that, too, appeared to have turned almost black. But it was her eyes that struck everyone the most: they now appeared to be almost all pupil, as if two black holes led into the depths of her head.

‘They’re going to attack later. No mistake.’ It was Caitlin’s voice, but it was laced with a frostiness that made them all shiver.

Sophie peered over the battlements into the sea of shadows that washed away across the plain from the walls. In it, numerous bonfires burned as far as the eye could see; it gave the illusion of stars blazing in the inky night sky.

‘How many of them are there?’ Harvey asked fearfully.

‘So many that we’re never going to get out of here again,’ Thackeray replied with a quiet desolation.

Sophie had seen the extent of the army the previous evening, just before the sun had set: thousands of little people, dark and hairy like rats, swarming over one another in anticipation of the feast ahead. It was impossible to believe they had once been like the stately gods of the Court of Soul’s Ease, before their base desires had devolved them.

Amongst them were huge weapons, many of which Sophie didn’t recognise; others resembled medieval siege machines, though on a grander scale. They had been brought from their own former courts, or looted from the courts that had fallen before them.

‘This is all so pointless,’ Sophie said with frustration. ‘They’re fighting over the evolution of humanity. Meanwhile, we’re getting wiped out by something they could help us defeat.’

‘This is our destiny.’ Lugh had walked up silently behind them. ‘We must decide the future of our own kind before we turn to yours.’

Thackeray leaned on the ramparts to peer at the massed ranks. ‘I think it’s already been decided, don’t you?’

‘You’re still sure they’re going to attack today?’ Sophie asked Lugh.

‘They have the weapons they need. They have the forces. There is no reason for them to wait any longer. And if the Court of Soul’s Ease falls, our remaining allies will swiftly follow — perhaps even the Court of the Final Word.’

Sophie conjured up an image of Dian Cecht in his scarlet robes and his mysterious words to her in a dream: The next time you see me, you shall not see me. ‘Why didn’t Dian Cecht come here?’ she asked. ‘Surely it’s safer.’

‘As always, he has his own business to unfold. Great things take place in the Court of the Final Word, greater than you or I could ever imagine. And it is said that Dian Cecht now undertakes the greatest work of all.’

Sophie was impressed by Lugh’s nobility in the face of what many in the court secretly considered an impending disaster. She turned back to the enemy and listened to the slow beat of drums that had risen up in their midst. ‘You have the resources to repel them?’

‘We have a formidable armoury. And we have her.’ Lugh nodded towards Caitlin before walking away to inspect his troops.

Thackeray approached Caitlin hesitantly. ‘How are you?’ he asked, as though talking to a stranger.

‘I am the Nightmare,’ Caitlin replied dreamily, looking past him towards the star-sprinkled sky. ‘She is the rider… I am the horse… and we bring with us the dark.’ A jolt ran through her and she turned to Sophie, Thackeray and Harvey. ‘You don’t have to worry about me. I’m still the person you know. But now I feel as if I’ve got electricity ripping through my veins. I can see further than I ever could before, in the tiniest detail. I think I could run for ever without taking a break. It’s like being some kind of superhuman.’

There was a gleam in Caitlin’s eyes that made Sophie uneasy. ‘There’s got to be some other way back to our own world, aside from getting involved in this fight,’ she said.

‘If there is, I don’t know it,’ Caitlin said. ‘There are only certain places where it’s easy to cross over, and there’s no such place in this court. Fighting our way out is the best chance we have.’

Thackeray gave voice to the fatalism they all felt. ‘Fighting our way past that lot? That’s no chance at all.’

Caitlin was dismissive of his tone. ‘We have to do what we can.’ She returned to the battlements in a manner that suggested they were all irrelevant.

‘I tell you, she’s going to go psycho,’ Harvey said. ‘She’ll turn on us next.’

‘She won’t,’ Thackeray said defiantly.

Sophie wasn’t so sure; everything she had heard about the Morrigan warned that the goddess was unpredictable, her rhythms chaotic, her agenda her own.

‘Can’t you do something?’ Thackeray said to her desperately. ‘Get us out of this madhouse? You’ve got all these wacky powers. The shit’s going to hit the fan later and I’d rather not be around when it does.’ He paused, then added, ‘And I don’t want Caitlin here, either.’

‘I don’t know what I can do. This is a different landscape, with different rules.’ Thackeray looked at her with such fierce hope in his eyes that she couldn’t turn away. ‘I’ll find something,’ she said, moving away quickly before they saw her confident smile fade.

The winding streets were ablaze with lanterns and candles in the early-morning darkness as Sophie hurried over the cobbles, asking every passer-by if they had seen Ceridwen. Eventually she was directed to a large white building resembling a mosque, with minarets and slit windows. Inside, lilting music played quietly. In stark contrast to the mood at the walls, the serenity inside was so potent that Sophie calmed quickly.

A hallway led into a maze of rooms, all of them filled with vegetation — tall, sharp-leafed plants in huge round pots, others in beds set into the floor itself. Clematis and ivy entwined around pillars, hanging like cobwebs overhead. A path wound amongst the plants, with a Celtic spiral pattern in mosaic swirling along its centre.

Sophie followed it until she came to a vast hall filled with oaks that had pushed up through the stone flags to fill the roof space with their canopy. Everywhere, paper lanterns hung from the branches so that it appeared as if the upper reaches were alive with fireflies. With the music and the incense and the lights, there was an atmosphere of subtle magics; Sophie felt at home.

Somewhere nearby, a mellifluous voice was singing.

‘Ceridwen?’ Sophie called out.

The singing stopped. ‘Above your head, good sister.’

Sophie looked up to see Ceridwen reclining on a platform in the branches with lanterns hung all around its edge so that she was bathed in light. Ceridwen motioned for Sophie to climb a rope ladder to join her. The platform was covered with sumptuous cushions on which Ceridwen lay, occasionally sucking on a bubbling hookah.

‘Has the battle started, Sister of Dragons?’ Ceridwen asked lazily.

‘Not yet, but they’ll be at it soon. Shouldn’t you be there?’

‘There is nothing I can do. My world is green and living, not dead and blood-stained. That place belongs to your new companion, my dark sister.’ She was plainly concerned about Caitlin’s bond with the Morrigan.

Sophie sat on one of the cushions as the dreamy atmosphere closed around her. ‘You’ve helped me a great deal so far, but I need your help again.’

Ceridwen nodded slowly, her eyes huge and dark.

‘We have to find a way back to our world. We’re needed there.’

‘You know there are no doorways to the Fixed Lands in the Court of Soul’s Ease, sister.’

‘I know. But is there another way? Is there anything I can do?’

As Ceridwen silently read Sophie’s face, Sophie knew there was something. She waited patiently while Ceridwen sucked on the hookah again. Finally the goddess said, ‘You have great power, Sister of Dragons, and even you do not know the extent of it. You can manipulate the spirit-energy as well as your predecessor, though you have yet to learn to control it. Use your Craft. Let the Blue Fire burn through you, and it may yet show you a way home.’

‘How do I do that?’

‘Ritual, sister. Unleash the serpent-energy, let it rise up through you. You know how.’ And Sophie did, and she knew what a terrible thing she would have to do to achieve it. ‘There is a place between the Far Lands and the Fixed Lands,’ Ceridwen continued, ‘a Watchtower from which all of Existence can be viewed, all can be reached. It was a haven for some of my kind in times past, a place where we could not be seen by hungry eyes. Let the Blue Fire light your path to the Watchtower and then seek your way home. But there will be dangers. Other things have taken refuge in the Watchtower in these troubled times, and they may resent your presence.’

‘Thank you,’ Sophie said.

She made her way to the rope ladder, but as she put her foot on the first rung, Ceridwen said, ‘You must beware, sister. Not all dangers will come from expected quarters.’

As Sophie climbed down into the shadows, she knew exactly what Ceridwen’s warning meant, and she feared what was to come.

‘I think you’ve got a suicidal streak.’ Hunter led the way down a darkened corridor in the heart of Queen’s College. They’d made their way there after slipping out of the Brasenose/Lincoln underground complex. Behind him, Mallory paused regularly to gather his strength. ‘After escaping a high-security cell, most people would have been jumping the last train to Freeville.’

‘I’m not most people.’ Mallory was wearing a thick parka with the hood pulled up to obscure his identity; Hunter had lifted it from a cloakroom. One of the guards would be going home cold.

‘It’s a sword. They went out with chastity belts and pigs’ bladders covered with bells.’

‘It’s not just any sword.’

‘What — it’s got a built-in iPod?’

Mallory steadied himself against the wall. ‘Don’t you ever shut up?’

‘Wit and conversation are forgotten arts in this modern world. Anyway, don’t be such an ungrateful bastard. I’m getting you out of here. Your master plan had so many flaws it must’ve taken you — what? — four minutes to put it together. Left to your own devices, you’d have been back in your cell before the painkillers wore off.’

‘You think.’

‘Crawling on your hands and knees in deep snow leaving a trail of blood through the centre of Oxford is a bit of a giveaway.’

Hunter paused outside a nondescript door. He’d already conned his way past three sets of guards. That would virtually guarantee a treason charge once his crimes had been revealed in the morning light, but his next act would be the final straw. Moving to a security panel, he tapped in the numerical sequence he’d memorised the one time he’d accompanied Reid to the store, when the spy had very rudely ordered him to wait outside. This was a good way to get his own back for such gross disrespect.

‘Thirteen-thirteen,’ he said. ‘The number of betrayal twice over. If Reid had a touch of art in his soul he’d appreciate the irony.’

The door slid open and they slipped inside. Rows of glass cases gleamed in the light. ‘What is this place?’ Mallory asked weakly.

‘The Museum of the Damned. Every magical artefact and weapon we’ve managed to steal, loot or stumble across since the Fall.’

‘Reckon we could find something else of use in here?’

‘Not worth the risk,’ Hunter said. ‘Half these things would turn you into stone or make you sprout an ass’s head before you had a chance to work out what they were for.’

‘There it is.’ Mallory came alive when he saw the sword in its new case three aisles down. He hurried towards it with what Hunter considered the eagerness of a junkie.

‘It really is special?’

‘You don’t know the half of it.’ Mallory smiled with a mixture of relief and desire. ‘Myth says there are three swords of power, three weapons that could shatter the world. And this is one of them.’

‘You didn’t get it in a Christmas cracker, then?’

‘It was a gift… from the gods. In Otherworld.’

Hunter stiffened. ‘You’ve been there?’

Mallory nodded without taking his eyes off the sword.

‘What’s it like?’ Hunter said hopefully. ‘I’ve read the briefing papers. Some stories say it’s like heaven… others reckon it’s more like a land of dreams.’

‘It’s whatever you make it,’ Mallory replied. He crooked his elbow and shattered the glass with one blow. Once the sword was in his hand, blue light limned its blade.

‘All right,’ Hunter said. ‘Let’s get out of here.’ Now that the mission was entering its final and most serious stage, Hunter became workmanlike and focused.

They hurried back up the aisle and then came to a sudden halt. Near the door stood an old-fashioned lantern, a blue flame quivering behind its glass. It hadn’t been there when they’d entered.

Hunter’s gaze flickered rapidly around the room. ‘I wonder who left that there.’ His words were clearly meant as a warning for any intruder.

The mystery deepened after they had searched the room and discovered that they were definitely alone.

‘Do you think it’s meant for us?’ Mallory said as they stood over the lantern. ‘I’ve had some experience of this supernatural shit and nothing ever happens without a reason.’

Hunter was entranced by the blue flame, which was bent at an angle as if continually blown by a draught. Steeling himself, he waved his fingers over the lantern’s handle, then snatched it up. The flame continued to bend; it was not due to a draught.

‘Weird,’ he said.

‘Let’s take it with us. At worst, a lantern on a dark night will come in handy.’

Mallory hid the sword and the lantern in the depths of his parka and then they made their way out into the silent city. At one point, Mallory almost stumbled and fell, and Hunter gave him an arm to support him. It had stopped snowing, but the last fall was still thick on the ground; it was beginning to surpass the abilities of the street workers to clear it.

‘How are we going to get out of this city?’ Mallory said. ‘Anything that hasn’t got tracks will be snowed in.’

‘Horses,’ Hunter said. ‘There’s a Government stable at Nuffield College. They use them for expeditions into the countryside around the city. Saves fuel.’

Mallory grumbled. ‘What a way to go — frozen in the saddle.’

‘We can pick up some winter gear and supplies from the quartermaster near the stables. It’s not going to be a fun jaunt.’ For the first time, Hunter couldn’t hide his deep concern beneath a glib manner. ‘Are you going to be all right?’

‘Just get me out of the city. Once we’ve found a place to make camp, get some sleep, food, I’ll pull myself together.’ Mallory came to a halt, the pain making him look much older than he was. ‘Look, thanks for getting me out. I appreciate it. But I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to forgive you for Sophie. Every time I look at you, I just think of how she…’ The words stifled in his throat.

‘I don’t expect you to like me,’ Hunter said, ‘just to do whatever it is you’re supposed to do.’

Mallory nodded once, tersely. He could live with that arrangement.

They reached the stables within the hour, shivering intensely from the harsh wind that swept down New Road. The night watchman was a youth of about seventeen who appeared to know who Hunter was and acted with due deference. Two horses were brought quickly, saddled and ready to go. Hunter left Mallory to rest and returned fifteen minutes later with two bags filled with supplies, warm clothes, tents, cooking equipment and anything else they might need on their long journeys.

In the bitter night air, Hunter helped Mallory on to his mount. Mallory’s face was as white as the snow that was once again falling, and Hunter was afraid his comrade would be dead before the day was out if he didn’t get rest, Pendragon Spirit or not. The going was hard for the horses until they reached the roads outside the built-up area beyond North Hinksey where the wind had made the snow drift to the sides, allowing a clearer path.

Once they had put a few miles between them and the city, Hunter led the horses into the centre of some dense woodland where they would not be seen. He pitched a tent, collected as much dry-ish wood as he could find to build a roaring campfire and then cooked some food while Mallory lay wrapped in his thermal sleeping bag.

Yet as they ate their food, Hunter was surprised to see how quickly Mallory was recovering; a faint flush had returned to his cheeks and he had more energy to talk.

‘I think you’ve pretty effectively burned all your bridges,’ Mallory said as he cleaned the last of the soup from his bowl.

‘It’s a fair guess that I won’t be going back to my day job. No great loss.’

‘This business has a habit of taking over your life. When I found out I was a Brother of Dragons I was trying to set myself up for a life just looking after number one. Suddenly I was lumbered with obligation, duty and all those things.’

‘Complaining?’

Mallory considered this for a moment. ‘No. Having a purpose is like… going on holiday. A break from worrying about what you’re going to do with your life. Have you left anyone behind? A wife? Girlfriend?’

‘Many, many girlfriends. So many women, so little time. I’m pretty rootless.’ He thought about Samantha and her kiss, and how he had briefly felt a real connection with her. ‘The world’s falling apart. Getting involved would only complicate matters. And with what we’re going into, it wouldn’t be very good for the woman, would it?’

‘Maybe when it’s all over.’

They exchanged a long glance, silently recognising the truth and the lie.

‘So where are we going?’ Mallory said, changing tack.

‘Government intelligence says that one of the three survivors has set up camp in Glastonbury. Got some kind of college for magicians going on, or something. The name we’ve got is Shavi — don’t know if that’s first or last.’

‘That’s not far from my old stomping ground. All right if I give that a try?’

‘Sure,’ Hunter said, ‘but it’s not an easy ride. No one we’ve sent down there has returned.’

‘He killed them? I thought he was supposed to be a champion of humanity.’

‘I don’t know any more than that. We were on the brink of sending a full force in there to haul him out when this whole thing blew up.’ Hunter paused, considering his words. ‘Suddenly things look a whole lot different from this side of the fence.’

‘That happens. Sounds like the Government hasn’t changed — still fucking with people’s lives. What have they done with the other two — locked them up in Dartmoor?’

‘We haven’t been able to track them down. From what we hear, they’re travelling together. One of them is called Ruth Gallagher-’

Mallory nodded. ‘She’s the big witch-queen. Trained Sophie.’ Mallory felt a twinge of desperate emotion, battened it down.

‘The more you look, the more you see these strands tying everything together. It could get a little unsettling if you let it.’

‘The other?’ Mallory asked.

‘Some woman called Laura DuSantiago. Don’t know anything about her.’

‘So if you have no idea where they are, how are you going to find them?’

Hunter leaned out of the tent mouth to throw another log on the fire. It sizzled and spat as the frost-rimed wood hit the heat. ‘I think I’m getting the hang of this. Whatever made us Brothers of Dragons brings us together to do a job. So I’m just going to let it.’

Mallory held out his hands, inviting the warmth of the fire to ease the bitterness from his bones. ‘You’re just going to sit here until they turn up?’

‘I’m going to ride and see where I find myself.’

‘Very Zen. Or stupidly optimistic. One of the two.’ Mallory leaned back into the tent and pulled out the lantern. ‘You’d better take this, then. You’re going to need something to light your way on those dark, lonely nights.’

Hunter took the lantern and fastened it to his bag. ‘I’ll treat it as a good-luck charm. Until it turns into some monster in the middle of the night and slits my throat.’

‘When we get back, where do we meet up?’

Hunter thought for a moment, then said, ‘There’s a brothel on Saint Michael’s Street in town. Ask for Mrs Damask. Anyone will direct you.’

‘You’re sure it’s wise to come back to Oxford?’

‘The way I see it, we’re all being drawn there. We need to regroup there in case anyone else turns up.’

‘Start at first light?’

‘If you’re up to it.’

Mallory smiled as he unzipped his parka and tugged free the bandages wrapped around his midriff. The wound beneath had almost healed.

Hal had stoked the fire in his office every fifteen minutes, but it had little effect on the biting cold that insinuated its way through the very walls. He’d bundled himself up in his overcoat and wore a pair of fingerless gloves while he worked, occasionally taking a swig of some bitter alcoholic concoction that the main gate security guard had brewed up in one of the secret stills that now proliferated across the city. The only relief from the bitter temperatures was losing himself in his project, as he now grandly called it.

He’d worked feverishly, oblivious to all sense of time, until the chime of the clock told him it was getting on for dawn. His room was a claustrophobic space crammed with paintings and books and mysteries, illuminated by the flickering light of several candles. In search of clues, Hal had immersed himself in anything he could find on the Poussin painting and its symbolism, and on the Shugborough Hall monument. Instinctively, he was somehow convinced that his investigations would lead to a devastating revelation that would change the course of the war. Everything pointed to the vital significance of the Wish Stone — the way it had been hidden, the way it had been found, the coded message designed to deter the unworthy. If he was right, he had finally found his role.

Hal couldn’t decide if it was a by-product of his obsessive investigation, or even a sign of encroaching madness brought on by a world where anything was possible, but he was starting to see hidden connections slowly developing into a sense of some arcane master plan. The more he delved, the more connections he saw, so that at times he looked up from his books unable to tell what was real and what was a product of his overworked imagination.

So engrossed was he that he didn’t hear the knock on his door. He only jolted out of concentration when a figure loomed over him. It was Samantha.

‘I saw your light through the window. What are you doing working at this hour?’ she asked, concerned.

‘Important business for Mister Reid.’ Hal considered how much he should tell her for fear of putting her in danger, then added, ‘I think it might lead to something that could change the course of the war.’

‘Really?’ The admiration in her eyes excited him; he wanted more of it. ‘Can you talk about it?’ she asked animatedly.

Relenting, Hal explained about the stone recovered from Cadbury Hill and the mysterious message it contained. ‘Why this painting, or its reverse image at Shugborough? Why was it thought important enough to preserve at Cadbury? How could it be linked to a picture painted hundreds of years later?’

‘But what makes you think it has any relevance at all?’ Samantha settled into a sagging armchair near the fire and poured herself a glass of the moonshine.

‘Two people — two very important people in the crisis we’re seeing now — were drawn to Cadbury, to find this. Those two people were supposed to be part of the last defence of humanity, against whatever it is that’s attacking us now. And I think they were led to find this because the picture is a code that reveals something they could use in the fight, perhaps some kind of weapon.’

‘That’s amazing. Mister Reid must think a lot of you to give you a project as important as this.’

‘He trusts me. I get the feeling that… well, that doesn’t matter. Anyway, I’m starting to piece it together.’

‘How far have you got?’ Samantha asked, excitement and a moonshine buzz bringing colour to her cheeks. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

Hal was thrilled by the prospect of the two of them working closely. ‘Can you spare the time? You’re normally up to your neck in work.’

‘I’ve been twiddling my thumbs ever since the war started. What I do isn’t a priority any more.’

‘Well, if you’re sure…’ Hal couldn’t contain a smile any longer. ‘OK. We’re a team. Let me tell you what I’ve found out so far.’ He stood up to point to a print of The Shepherds of Arcadia, with the shepherds and the stately woman gathered around the tomb with its intriguing inscription. ‘There’s been a lot of debate about the meaning of this ever since Poussin first painted it.’

Samantha stood and leaned towards the print, to examine it more closely. ‘What’s Arcadia?’

‘It comes from a long tradition of pastoral poetry going back to the Greeks. Basically, the poems brought to life an imaginary place — a kingdom of Utopia. Scholars spent a long time searching for the origin of the phrase “ Et in Arcadia Ego ”, but there’s no classical source.’

‘So Poussin made it up?’

Hal nodded. ‘Which makes me think that phrase is the key. One translation suggests it means “And in Arcadia I Exist”, with the scholars believing that “I” is death. Hence, even in Utopia, there’s death.’

‘That’s a little morbid.’ Samantha returned to her seat, warming her hands by the fire.

‘But you’ll notice that the shepherds and the woman don’t seem too concerned about this. In fact, if you look closely, they seem to be pondering the meaning of the inscription. Yet strangely, Poussin painted another painting, very similar and also on the Death in Arcadia theme, a few years earlier. In that version, the shepherds and the woman are visibly shocked to discover the message. There’s also a skull on top of the tomb. It’s much more sombre.’

‘So he changed his mind. Suddenly death wasn’t so scary.’

Hal smiled. ‘My conclusion exactly. But why? And this is where it gets stranger. “ Et in Arcadia Ego ” is an anagram of the Latin phrase “ I Tego Arcana Dei ”, which means “Begone! I conceal the secrets of God”.’

Hal saw the light of inspiration rise up in Samantha’s face in the same way he had felt it when he first made the connection.

‘The secrets of God,’ she whispered. ‘So the tomb could hide this weapon or whatever it is? Would it be that literal? Somewhere there’s a tomb with a weapon in it?’

‘I don’t know. Trying to piece these things together is a nightmare because you can’t work out what’s fact and what’s your imagination joining non-existent dots. For instance, there’s a popular myth linking Poussin’s painting to the Knights Templar, and Mallory, the man who found the Wish Stone, was trained at Salisbury to be a member of the new Knights Templar order that the Church, or what’s left of it, is establishing.’

‘This all sounds like some bizarre conspiracy theory.’

‘I know. And it gets worse. The image released by the Stone is a near-reversal of the painting, and on the estate at Shugborough Hall in Staffordshire there’s a stone carving in the gardens of The Shepherds of Arcadia with the same back-to-front positioning of the figures.’

‘I visited there when I was a girl,’ Samantha said. ‘It was lovely, very peaceful.’

‘Shugborough’s history has lots of odd little sidelines which may or may not be relevant.’ Hal took a sip of the moonshine as he sought out one particular book. He spoke as he flicked through the pages to get the names and dates he needed. ‘The grounds were laid out in seventeen forty-eight to forty-nine by Thomas Wright, a self-taught mathematician with an interest in the esoteric. He used to tour Britain drawing what he called “druidic” remains, and in seventeen fifty he published a book called An Original Theory of the Universe. It was the first book to explain the Milky Way as our view through a galaxy. But Wright also had very strong views about the existence of an infinite number of universes, or dimensions, or whatever you want to call them, all radiating out from a divine centre. There was a revival of druidism at the time, and this was one of the ideas that came out of that.’

‘How does that fit in?’

‘I’m not sure, except coincidences are cropping up all over the place and I’m not sure any more that they are coincidences. One of those defenders of humanity I spoke about has set up a college at Glastonbury to teach druidic knowledge. And Wright was brought to Shugborough by two men, Roger Gale and the Earl of Pembroke, who had both worked with the famous antiquarian William Stukeley, surveying Stonehenge and Avebury.’

‘So we’re talking about old mysteries, other dimensions, Utopia…’ Samantha came to stand next to Hal, leaning over him so closely that he could smell the scent of her skin. It was almost overpowering.

Struggling to concentrate, he continued, ‘The owner of Shugborough, Thomas Anson, was also interested in these old mysteries. Anson commissioned the Shepherds’ Monument in seventeen forty-eight, at the same time as he had his dining room built. And that room featured Isis and Serapis, who are Alexandrian mystery-cult deities. Anson was a curious character. He was a member of the Royal Society and supported the most advanced scientific thinkers, including Erasmus Darwin and Josiah Wedgwood, but he was also a member of the Divan Club, one of the lesser Hellfire Clubs founded by Sir Francis Dashwood, who revelled in immorality. And where does that leave us? Lots of facts… and little else, just the hint of something waiting to be found.’

Samantha mulled this over for a moment and then said, ‘I think we need to go to Shugborough, don’t you?’

‘You and me?’

‘Who else? Mister Reid will want you to investigate it fully. You can ask for me to come along to help you with your research. There won’t be a problem. Unless you don’t want me to come?’

‘No, I do, very much,’ Hal said hastily. ‘But it’s dangerous out there. We don’t know how far the enemy have advanced-’

‘Stop making excuses and start making plans!’ Samantha gave him a wink and a smile that was unknowingly sexy before she slipped out of the door. Suddenly Hal was left with the feeling that everything was going right.

It was still half an hour until dawn as Sophie raced from Ceridwen’s temple back to the walls, but long before she reached them she knew the attack was imminent. Huge braziers of oil burst into flame like miniature suns along the great expanse of the ramparts, and a resounding cry rang up from the guards whose armour now gleamed golden in the firelight.

Sophie was breathless by the time she reached the top of the winding stone steps where the warm wind buffeted her after its journey across the vast plain. Thackeray came over anxiously.

‘I thought you were going to miss the action,’ he said edgily. He kept glancing back towards the vertiginous drop to the ground far below.

‘What’s happening?’

‘They’re massing at the foot of the walls.’

‘What do they hope to do?’ Sophie asked. ‘They’ll never be able to use ladders to climb this high. I thought they’d be relying on those weird machines to pound us into dust.’

‘I’m not so sure.’

Thackeray took her to the wall. Sophie felt dizzy when she looked straight down, but the discomfort was quickly subsumed by a creeping uneasiness when she saw the little men swarming like ants against the monolithic stone blocks at the base of the walls.

At that moment, Lugh made his way on to a raised stone platform that jutted out from the battlements over the city. It was dominated by a flagpole made of silver from which Lugh’s solar standard fluttered. Along the ramparts, the gods fell silent. As one, they turned to face Lugh, a majestic figure, tall and proud and strong.

‘These are dark times.’ His voice rang out like a clarion over the Court of Soul’s Ease. ‘Brother against brother. The Golden Ones riven. Who would ever have thought such a day would come? Since the days of our great wandering from the four shining cities of our eternal home, we have been as one, united by a single belief, bound to the heart of Existence.

‘But all has changed. We, here, in the Court of Soul’s Ease, still maintain that single belief. It is others who have strayed from the path of faith, who have turned against everything that binds us. All we hold close to our hearts is now at risk, for if our brothers find victory in the coming battle, they will be on another path. No longer Golden Ones, for we are what we believe. Therefore, do not think that you fight against your brother. Do not waste your heart in anguish at this crime against Existence. Rather, believe that you fight for the essence of who we are. You fight for our long traditions and belief. You fight for what has gone… and for what is yet to come.’

Lugh lifted his helmet and placed it firmly on his head. A resounding roar rang across the rooftops of the court as the defending forces raised their weapons high. Defiant and proud, Lugh pushed his way into the heart of the throng and moved to a central position, ready to fight shoulder to shoulder with his troops.

‘You can see why the Celts were so in awe of these gods when they first ventured into our world,’ Sophie said to Thackeray.

She looked round for Caitlin and found her standing precariously on a gargoyle jutting out from the battlements, oblivious to the gulf beneath her or the winds that pulled her this way and that. The power of the Morrigan shone out of her like a black light, passionate, resolute, brutal. The warriors in her vicinity gave her a wide berth, casting quick glances in her direction, then looking away in case she saw them.

Sophie turned and grabbed Thackeray, who was also staring at Caitlin anxiously. ‘Time’s running out,’ she said. ‘I need you to help me.’

‘What can I do?’

‘This isn’t our fight. We have to get back home where we’re needed-’

‘Look over here!’ Sophie was interrupted by Harvey, who was clinging to the ramparts as he peered over the side. Sophie and Thackeray rushed to his side and looked down queasily from the heights into the sea of shadows at the bottom. There was movement in the centre of the dark.

‘What’s going on?’ Thackeray squinted, trying to pierce the gloom.

‘Look! Look!’ Harvey said, stabbing his finger frantically at something only he could see.

But as Sophie and Thackeray stared, their eyes gradually became accustomed to the gloom, and then their hearts began to beat faster.

‘They don’t need ladders,’ Sophie said. ‘They don’t need anything.’

‘Jesus Christ.’ Thackeray’s voice had fallen to a whisper. ‘They’re going to swarm over us like insects.’

The little men were climbing up the walls along the whole length of the monolithic barrier. Their relentless progress was conducted with an obscene scurrying motion that made them resemble spiders, arms and legs outstretched on either side of them, heads close to the wall, eyes never deviating from their target. Sophie couldn’t tell whether their fingers and toes were finding minute cracks and crevices or if they were sticking to the stone through magical means or some innate ability that came with their devolved state. Hundreds of them were moving upwards, rapidly becoming thousands. There was something about the upward swarming of the black specks that made Sophie’s stomach churn.

‘We should fight,’ Thackeray said, distracted by the sight.

‘What? Are you mad?’ Harvey shouted, his Birmingham accent growing thicker with his anxiety. ‘What can we do against that?’

Thackeray looked from Harvey to Sophie. ‘The gods are helping us out — we’re the reason they’re in this mess. The least we can do is lend a hand to stop them being overrun. I mean, how hard can it be? We just drop things on them to knock them off the wall.’

‘Look how many there are!’ Harvey protested. ‘Everything inside the city will be outside, and they’ll still be climbing up!’

In Thackeray’s face, Sophie saw the decency and bravery that had been hidden from her before. He was a normal person trying to do the right thing in a nightmarish situation. The least she could do was help.

‘You two run off, find whatever weapons you can,’ she said. ‘I’m going to stay here and do my bit.’

‘You’re going to get all witchy?’ Harvey said suspiciously.

‘Just go.’

As they headed off, Sophie bowed her head and attempted to find the calm place inside her. Her Craft worked best in peaceful, quiet locations where she could use ritual to focus her mind. But she’d had remarkable success on the frantic chase from the Court of the Final Word; she was hoping it was just a matter of willpower.

She heard the clank of swords against stone as the defenders rested their weapons; the murmur of their voices; the wind keening over the rooftops; Lugh, far along the battlements, barking orders. Eyes shut, concentrating hard, all the distractions began to fade until she was left in the quiet dark of her head. Her ritual had been practised a hundred times or more. She muttered her trigger-word and the dark changed to a sunlit grove not far from her parents’ home where she had first felt the call of the Craft and the world from which it spun. Amongst the oaks and ash was a pool in which a fish swam lazily, its silvered scales glinting in the beams of sunlight breaking through the canopy.

Sophie leaned over the pool and said, ‘I call on you, Brother Salmon. Help your friend.’

The salmon rolled its eyes towards her and replied, ‘What would you have me do?’

Sophie emerged from her trance with a start, the words of her request ringing in her head. Already storm clouds were gathering. From deep in the night, a great wind rose up.

Sophie felt as if nails were being driven into her skull. When she looked around, she saw Caitlin staring at her from her perch on top of the gargoyle, a smile of dark pleasure on her lips.

Below, the little men still scurried up the wall. They were now close enough that she could see their mean, beady eyes. The one at the head of the swarm suddenly fell backwards with a shriek, an arrow protruding from between his eyes. Caitlin had hit him perfectly, in the dark, with an accuracy surpassing most human ability. So fast that her arms were a blur, she released four more arrows, all hitting their targets exactly. Sophie was sickened by the gleeful bloodlust she saw in Caitlin’s face; for the first time since Sophie had known her, she seemed truly alive.

The wind rushed across the plain like a living creature, plucking several of the little men from the wall and flinging them far out into the night. Sophie could control its direction and force — just — but each burst of mental energy took its toll on her. She focused. A lightning bolt crashed down. Stones exploded from the wall and more of the enemy fell back, smoking, their eyes liquid, their insides cooked.

Sophie kept up the assault from the elements for as long as she could, but eventually she fell back, her head swimming, so exhausted she could no longer stand. She had personally destroyed more than a hundred of the swarming attackers, but for every one she slew, ten more took their place. The leading edge of the swarm was close to the summit now, their harsh grunts echoing all around.

‘You did great.’ Thackeray was suddenly next to her, helping her back from the edge. ‘You need to rest now, get away from here.’

‘No,’ she said in a small, breathless voice. ‘Once I get my strength back-’

‘Just lie here,’ he said, leaving her at the top of the stone steps where she could get a good view of the battle, ‘but after they start to break through the ranks, do your best to get down and away.’ He paused. ‘What did you want earlier?’

‘Later,’ she said weakly.

Thackeray ran back to the ramparts where Harvey waited with a sickened expression. They were both armed with enormous swords that made them look like boys in comparison.

Weak, barely able to prop herself up, Sophie drifted in and out of consciousness so that the unfolding battle had all the reality of a bad dream. The little men swarmed over the ramparts, small and brown and vicious, tearing with their little knives, striking with broken nails and sharp teeth. The gods, tall and stately, responded just as savagely, though their brutality was masked behind the measured sophistication of their balletic strokes and skilful attacks. Bodies were cleaved in half by the gods’ swords, heads split in two. But though the knives and teeth of the little men had but small effect on the heavily armoured gods, it was clear they would eventually overwhelm the defence by sheer force of numbers. Sophie faded in and out, but still they came, clambering over the bodies of the fallen, attacking relentlessly, seemingly with no thought for their own safety.

But then there was a flurry of activity and the tide appeared to turn. A terrifying demon swept along the battlements, hacking and slashing in a blur of sword and knife, carnage in human form. It was Caitlin, and she was laughing and shrieking with the ecstasy of the moment, no longer human.

In her daze, Sophie thought she saw Caitlin rise up into the sky, grow larger, become the destroyer of everything; her sword came down on the city and a sea of blood rose up and washed everything away.

And then there was only darkness for ever more.