The Hounds of Avalon

Lime and lavender filled the air, the scents cloying and a little sickly as if masking more disturbing odours. The overpowering aromas filled Sophie’s senses before she opened her eyes, more heady than anything she had ever experienced before. When her eyelids did finally flutter open, she clamped them shut again immediately, so bright was the light. It took her a second or two to acclimatise, and slowly conscious thought returned with the vivid sensations: at first a simple awareness, then puzzlement, then concern.

Cautiously, she opened her eyes again, shielding them with her hand as she took in her surroundings. She was lying on a table of white marble. Slowly easing herself upright and swinging her legs off one side, she saw white marble everywhere in the large, columned room, so that it appeared to blaze in the sunlight that streamed through glass skylights far up in the lofty ceiling. It reminded Sophie of drawings she had seen of the homes of the gods in Greek mythology. But there was a pleasing organic aspect to the straight lines, with vines wrapping themselves around some of the columns and trees growing up through the floor to the ceiling. Songbirds fluttered back and forth amongst the highest branches. Nearby was a sparkling spring that ran into a reflecting pool with a soothing bubbling. Peace lay heavy all around.

‘Welcome, Sister of Dragons.’

Sophie started at the honeyed voice. She turned to see Ceridwen looking at her with a warm smile that had been absent the first time Sophie had seen her face. And with that thought came another rush of memory: the strange, twisted warriors on their reptilian mounts rushing towards her.

‘Not dead, then?’ she said, not quite able to believe it herself.

‘Not dead,’ Ceridwen replied, faintly amused.

With her was a man in scarlet robes. The colour was shocking in the bright white of the room. Sophie experienced the same unnerving shift of perception she had felt when she had first seen Ceridwen, but after a second, the man’s face settled into a form she could comprehend. He was hollow-cheeked, his nose aquiline, his eyes a piercing grey set off by the red scarf tied around his head to hold back his hair. His tall, thin frame was a stark contrast to Ceridwen’s voluptuousness.

‘This is Dian Cecht,’ Ceridwen said. ‘He has admitted you to the Court of the Final Word.’

The name felt like a cold breath on the back of Sophie’s neck. ‘Not in my world,’ she said to herself, knowing it to be true the moment the words left her lips.

‘Dian Cecht is the name by which he was known amongst the tribes of the Fixed Lands,’ Ceridwen continued. ‘He is a wise man, a healer, a maker of great things.’

Sophie’s hand instinctively went to her side.

‘Yes, Sister of Dragons, I repaired you,’ Dian Cecht said.

There was something in his tone that made Sophie feel queasy, but she attempted to show gratitude. ‘I could have died.’ The shock brought another rush of realisation. ‘You’re two of the gods that came with the Fall.’ Then: ‘Why are you helping me?’

‘You are a Sister of Dragons,’ Ceridwen said with a note of puzzlement, as if that should be explanation enough. When she saw from Sophie’s face that it wasn’t, she added, ‘Existence is at a cusp. The old ways are ending… our ways…’ Dian Cecht flinched at this, but said nothing. ‘Your ways are in the ascendant. Fragile Creatures are poised to rise and advance, to become something… greater. And the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons will have a part to play in that. You are important in so many ways,’ Ceridwen added warmly. ‘It is believed by the filid of my people that if Fragile Creatures do not reach their potential, then all of Existence may come to an end.’

‘Not all of our kind believe that,’ Dian Cecht added coldly.

Ceridwen came over and took Sophie’s hand. Her fingers were cool and delicate; up close it appeared that her skin exuded a thin golden light. ‘You are important, Sister of Dragons. To everything.’

Ceridwen led Sophie to another room where there was bread and fruit on crystal platters and a decanter of water. ‘Eat and drink freely and without obligation. You must build your strength, for we have a long journey ahead of us.’

Ceridwen moved into an adjoining room where she fell into deep discussion with Dian Cecht. Sophie was so hungry that she didn’t listen to the conversation at first, all her attention focused on the food, but eventually it intruded on her thoughts.

‘Is it true?’ Ceridwen was saying.

‘It is. The Devourer of All Things is here. The prophecies are coming to pass in these days,’ Dian Cecht replied.

‘Is that the end of this song? The seasons have passed for Existence and all things under it?’

‘Here in the Court of the Final Word, the very heart of Existence has been probed,’ Dian Cecht said. ‘Secrets and mysteries have been laid bare. Know this: nothing is ever truly destroyed, and nothing new is created. There is only change. That is the one rule above all rules.’

There was silence for a moment and then Ceridwen said quietly, ‘And what of death, then?’

Dian Cecht’s reply was barely audible. ‘There is no death.’

‘You say that, even now? The Golden Ones have always been strangers to it. But in recent times…’ Ceridwen fell silent. ‘Is there coming an end? Is there nothing we can do, or will the Devourer of All Things abide?’

Another long silence, then, ‘I have already taken steps.’

And then Dian Cecht and Ceridwen must have left the annexe by another door, for after that there was only quiet.

Sophie fell into a deep sleep and dreamed of Dian Cecht, though at times it appeared to be more than a dream, as if she had half-woken and seen or spoken with him before drifting into sleep again. In his red, red robes she saw him striding across worlds, taking a scalpel to the heart of the sun; nothing could contain him. He scared Sophie deeply, for she felt he would do anything to achieve his ends, and that he knew more, much more than everyone else. Secrets and mysteries. Mysteries and secrets.

And then his face filled her entire vision and he whispered, ‘The next time you see me, you shall not see me.’

It was still light when Sophie woke. She ate and drank some more, maintaining the surface calm that had served her so well throughout the many devastating upheavals since the Fall. But inside she fought desperately for equilibrium in the face of gods and legends and the suggestion that she was something greater than the scared little girl she felt like in her worst moments.

Once Sophie had recovered enough to walk, Ceridwen led her through the Court of the Final Word with a troubling degree of urgency, Dian Cecht shadowing them. For some unspoken reason, he steered them away from certain corridors that led deep into the heart of the gleaming complex, and eventually they came to a massive entrance hall constructed from more white marble. Here there were windows five storeys high, all of them glazed with glass stained in various shades of red so that the hall appeared to be running with blood.

Ceridwen turned to Dian Cecht and said, ‘Are you sure you will not accompany us?’

He shook his head. ‘They will not come near the Court of the Final Word. Of all the great courts, this one is immune to any attack.’

Ceridwen nodded. ‘All know what lies within.’

A cold smile crept across Dian Cecht’s lips and once again Sophie was afraid. ‘The Court of the Final Word stands alongside Fragile Creatures,’ he said to her, but his words were hesitant. ‘Go in peace and go with speed. The Far Lands are no longer safe, for any of us.’

‘Where are we going?’ Sophie asked Ceridwen.

‘To one of the last bastions of the last hope for all Existence, Sister of Dragons,’ Ceridwen replied. ‘A place where we can make a final stand, if needs be, or to plot with our allies a way to save everything.’

There were so many questions Sophie wanted to ask, but she could sense that it was not the time. Instead she focused on being patient until she could successfully find a way back to her own world and Mallory.

As they approached the gigantic doors, they swung open soundlessly to reveal a vista over a glorious countryside of rolling green, forests and streams, a landscape of romance and mystery that made Sophie’s spine tingle. It appeared to be late September, still warm, the leaves turning gold and red and brown. In the hollows, mist was rolling.

Tethered just outside were two chestnut mares with bridles of onyx and ivory. Ceridwen motioned to Sophie to mount one and then climbed on to the other mare easily.

‘Go well, Daughter of the Green,’ Dian Cecht said to Ceridwen. The warmth in his voice made Sophie reappraise him. He was too complex to judge, too unpredictable.

Ceridwen smiled sadly and then spurred her mount down the path that led from the court across the countryside. Sophie followed, glad to leave the Court of the Final Word behind.

The path wound like a golden ribbon over the green, but after a short distance Ceridwen eased her horse off into the long grass. ‘We shall avoid the main byways,’ she said, ‘and make our way through the quiet, secret places, the silent forests, the mist-filled valleys, the whispering heart of the land.’ She flashed a comforting glance at Sophie. ‘Those places belong to me.’

The wind traced liquid patterns in the grass as the two horses eased down the slope towards a stream that Sophie could see glinting in the light. At that moment the sun came out from behind a cloud, transforming the entire landscape into a transcendent, hazy temple. The hairs on Sophie’s arms prickled as the quality of light and the subtleties of scent and temperature worked their spell on her.

‘I’ve dreamed of this place,’ Sophie said to herself, surprised at the force of the realisation. ‘When I was a girl, this was always where I wanted to be.’

‘The Far Lands stay in all our hearts,’ Ceridwen said. ‘It is the place from which we all spring and to which we all return, eternally.’

Sophie understood in that moment how she had been shaped as a woman by the thoughts that had come to her during her childhood, the yearning for a place where nature truly lived, where mystery was a part of daily life and where there was a profound sense of meaning underpinning everything. Without truly knowing, she had been on a quest from her earliest days; and it was this land that had called to her. The swell of emotion was so shocking that she couldn’t prevent a fugitive tear.

‘This place is your home?’ Sophie asked.

‘It is our home now. The Golden Ones are a race ruled by infinite sadness. Our true homelands are lost to us; we may never return. But the Far Lands and the Fixed Lands make adequate replacements.’

‘So much has changed since the Fall,’ Sophie mused. Images of the dark days following the gods’ return rushed through her mind: the burning cities, the failure of technology, the riots, the economic collapse, the desperation of people unable to accept the new rules reality had thrust upon them. In the end, only a few had the ability to adapt and survive, those defined by a particular worldview, perhaps; Sophie wondered if the ones who were truly at peace since the Fall were those who had been on the same inner quest as her. In the newly re-formed world, she had an abiding sense of coming home, despite all the upheaval and the suffering.

‘You talked about some kind of threat?’ she said eventually.

‘There are threats all around us,’ Ceridwen replied enigmatically. ‘Threats from within. Threats from without. For my people, the greatest threat is ourselves. We are at war. The battles rage even now across the Far Lands and no Golden One is safe. Never would we have thought to see this day.’ The devastation in her voice was heartbreaking.

‘Why are you fighting each other?’

Ceridwen raised her sad face high so that the wind made her hair billow behind her. ‘Because of you, Sister of Dragons. You and all your kind.’

‘What do we have to do with it?’ Sophie asked, baffled.

‘Fragile Creatures are at the point of rising and advancing… of becoming like the Golden Ones-’

‘Gods?’

‘Some of my people think that is the way of Existence. We have always had a close relationship with your kind. We would shepherd you to the next stage. Others…’ The word caught in her throat. ‘There are those who think you should never be allowed to attain your potential. That you should be eradicated as a race so that the Golden Ones can never be supplanted.’

‘So the fate of the human race depends on which side wins?’ Ceridwen’s silence was all the answer Sophie needed. A chill crept over her, for she sensed from Ceridwen’s conversation with Dian Cecht that things were not going well for those who had sided with humanity. ‘What about the threat from without?’

‘It is also the way of Existence that our races are tested to the extreme. Crisis heaped upon crisis. And the threat from without is the greatest crisis of all.’ Ceridwen’s horse carefully picked its way down a tricky bit of the slope where rocks and stones protruded from the grass. At the bottom of the incline, the stream trickled soothingly. ‘Something has crawled up from the very edge of Existence; it is the opposite of everything that lives — and it has noticed you Fragile Creatures. It sees your potential and it does not want you to shake off your shackles and become something greater, for to do so would make you a threat to its very reason for being.’

A dark shadow fell over them both, but when Sophie looked up, the sun still shone brightly. ‘What is it?’ she asked uneasily.

‘It is an idea, a notion of negativity. Where we see a threat, some would see nothing at all, for it is only defined by what it is not. Darkness and despair enfold it.’

‘Does it have a name?’

‘Many names, but none capture its essence, for how can you describe something that is not? Legends call it the Void. Even now it exerts its subtle influence on the Fixed Lands, attempting to eradicate all Fragile Creatures like an infestation. It is greater than anything you can imagine, yet smaller; more powerful, yet in the true and blinding light of the Blue Fire, completely powerless.’

‘And it was controlling those warriors who attacked us at Cadbury Hill?’

‘The Void’s very nature is to corrupt, to strip life and hope from a being and to control it. The act of giving up personal freedom is to surrender to Anti-Life. Even the gods are not immune.’

Sophie was lulled into a deep introspection by the motion of riding. She knew how powerful the gods were, had heard tales of them destroying entire army units with a wave of a hand. If the Void could take control of them, what chance did Fragile Creatures stand?

‘But if it’s so… vague, how are we supposed to fight it?’ Sophie asked.

‘Only the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons may repel it. The Quincunx, the Five Who Are One. But therein lies the problem.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The answer to that question lies ahead of us, and you will discover the truth for yourself. But for now, enough talk of dark things. Let us celebrate the life and the green that surround us.’

They moved into a thickly wooded area, the trees pressing hard along the banks of the brook, their branches crossing overhead to form a cathedral roof of leaf cover beneath which Sophie could feel the sanctity with every echoing splash of her horse’s hooves. Once the reverberations died away, there remained an abiding silence too sacred to shatter.

And so they rode quietly, with Ceridwen leading the way, and after a while Sophie began to wonder if she had indeed come to heaven.

The journey along the winding course of the stream continued for more than an hour. After the initial stretch where the trees bustled tightly against the banks, the wood thinned enough to allow Sophie a brief glimpse of a green world where fantastic fungi swarmed in ochre patterns over fallen trees and tiny, gleaming purple flowers sprang up in a carpet of colour that shimmered in the filtering light.

But after a while, the mist that had occasionally drifted across their path grew more constant until a heavy greyness lay over everything, sapping echoes and distorting birdcalls. The trees presented themselves like dark spectral figures before they were swallowed up again in the passing.

Sophie shivered in the damp air and wished she had brought some warmer clothes with her. ‘How much further?’ she asked. She instinctively lowered her voice to a whisper that was lost in the mist.

‘A while,’ Ceridwen replied. ‘We will follow the course of the stream through the Winding Wood to the great plain. And there, beyond it, we shall find the Court of Soul’s Ease.’

‘Is that like the place we’ve just visited?’

‘Each of the twenty great courts has an atmosphere that is peculiarly its own, but even so, nowhere else is like the Court of the Final Word.’ Ceridwen’s hesitant voice made Sophie think this was perhaps a good thing. ‘The Court of Soul’s Ease has been through a great many changes. Now, though, its destiny has been made plain.’

The low, mournful baying of a hound rose up somewhere away in the mist. The sound made Sophie shiver, but she couldn’t tell if it was near or far.

‘Should we be worried about that?’ Sophie asked. As soon as the words had left her lips, another howl arose, and then another, until soon there were several dogs baying.

‘They are the Hounds of Avalon,’ Ceridwen replied. ‘Also known as the Hounds of Annwn. Sometimes they join with the Wild Hunt, pursuing lost Fragile Creatures through the night. At other times, they roam between the worlds, questing for who knows what. Some say they hunt the answer to a question that could shatter Existence. But they are most active at times of greatest threat to your world, the Fixed Lands. Our stories say that at the end of all Existence, they will be all that remains, baying for what has been lost. Their howls will join together into one shattering note of despair.’

‘So when the Hounds of Avalon come, that’s it? Game over?’ Ceridwen’s story made Sophie feel sad and troubled, but eventually the howling of the dogs faded away and Sophie gradually forgot them.

Twilight began to draw in, though in the mist the only way to tell was by a subtle shifting of the quality of the grey. By this time, Sophie was chilled to the bone and felt a deep urge for a warming campfire.

‘Should we make camp for the night?’ she asked.

Ceridwen, who had been distracted for a while, shook her head. ‘There are dangerous things loose in these parts. Better to be on horseback ready to flee than trapped on the ground and forced to fight a battle we would certainly lose.’

Sophie did not like the feeling of powerlessness that had descended on her since she had awoken in the Court of the Final Word. The realisation that she had been transported somewhere else while she hovered between life and death had been destabilising, and everything that had happened since only underlined that feeling; she was operating in an alien world where all the rules were hidden from her, surrounded by beings that had the power to eradicate her in the blink of an eye. Yet in her own world she had never felt powerless, not before the Fall, and certainly not since, when her use of the Craft had become supercharged in whatever new state now existed. Silently, she urged herself to take control.

The truth was, her use of the Craft had grown stronger by the day. Where once it had taken hours of ritualistic preparation, she could now control and direct the subtle energies of the Blue Fire with a visualisation of sigils and words of power, simple keys that operated in the secret language of the unconscious. She wanted to know what was out there that was making Ceridwen so uneasy, sure that the simple act of knowing would give her a feeling of control over her environment.

But when she muttered the word that would trigger a shift in her perception, she was surprised by the result. There was the familiar sensation of her consciousness creeping out of a door at the back of her head, the feeling of taking a step aside from her corporeal form and becoming like the mist that swathed them. But as she drifted out from the horses amongst the ghostly trees, it felt as though a drill was being driven into her skull. She knew the sensation — a warning — but this was more heightened than anything she had felt before.

As she rushed back into her body, she jolted with such a sharp intake of breath that Ceridwen looked around. ‘What is wrong?’ the god asked with concern.

‘We have to get out of here,’ Sophie replied breathlessly. ‘Can’t you feel it?’

‘I feel… something.’ Ceridwen looked around hesitantly, then whispered, ‘They are masking themselves from me. They know we are here.’

As if in answer to Ceridwen’s words, all the alarm bells in Sophie’s mind rang at once. The mist along the brook began to thin out enough to allow her a view deep into the woods, and then it retreated further still. It was like a thing alive, swirling around the boles, rising up and over shrubs to pause briefly on the other side as if waiting.

But then, just when it appeared it was going for good, the fog stopped for a moment, wavering as if breathing, before beginning to creep back towards Sophie and Ceridwen. This time, though, the mist was not empty.

Here and there, where it thinned and twisted around obstacles in its path, Sophie could glimpse small, dark figures. At first they kept low to the ground, using the mist as a cloak, but as they neared they stood erect.

Sophie initially thought they were children, then wondered if they were just tricks of her imagination, for she would focus on one and it would seem to fade as the mist shifted.

Something whistled past Sophie’s cheek. She looked around to see a crude arrow embedded in a nearby tree.

That must have been a signal, for suddenly hundreds of little figures were swarming like insects towards the brook. They were still partially obscured by the mist, but Sophie could see enough of them to realise they were ugly, deformed little men, near-naked apart from ragged loin cloths, their skin the dirty grey colour of things that lived much of their lives underground. Their hair and beards were long, filthy and matted and they clutched primitive weapons — stone axes, lumps of wood with chips of flint embedded in them, tiny bows. The attackers were filled with a primal savagery that made Sophie think of lost tribes devolving through years of interbreeding. A smell of peat and urine rolled off them.

‘Ride!’ Ceridwen shouted as the little men washed out of the woods towards them.

Sophie spurred her horse, raising a cloud of spray and a clatter of hooves on the pebbled river bed. But it would be impossible to gain any real speed along the tiny, meandering watercourse and the attackers were sweeping down upon them like a deluge.

Ahead, Ceridwen’s mount moved with power and grace. Sophie pressed herself down along her horse’s neck, urging it on ever faster. The movement on either side seen through her peripheral vision filled her with a dread that harked back to the most ancient parts of her subconscious; the men moved too quickly, their smell too revolting and bestial.

Arrows whizzed through the air all around, but Sophie could see that was not the enemy’s main thrust of attack. Sheer force of numbers was the way they would undoubtedly bring Sophie and Ceridwen down. That thought made Sophie consider what would happen immediately after, when the razor-sharp flint knives started dipping and diving. She thought of skins and meat and the instinctive fear drove her to urge her mount on with even greater force.

An arrow slammed into her saddlebag but didn’t break through to the horse’s flesh. Another missed Sophie’s face by a hair’s breadth. By that stage, the little men were almost at the edge of the bank, and Sophie had a clear view of their feral nature.

And then she was aware of movement as some of the nearest leaped. Several missed and fell under the thundering hooves of her horse, but one timed it just right. It hit her, sinking long, broken nails into her clothes. The stink of it — sour apples and raw meat — filled Sophie’s nose as it started to haul its way up her body so that it could attack her with the knife it was clutching between its broken teeth. Sophie tried to elbow it off while clinging on to the reins with one hand, but it had the agility of a monkey.

Those jagged nails clamped on to her thigh, tearing through the material of her dress, raising bubbles of blood from her pale flesh. Still weak from the gunshot wound, Sophie cried out as her flesh tore. The little man dug deep to lever itself up further.

Sophie shook herself furiously, but the man would not be dislodged. Another hand snaked up to grab the saddle. From the licks of flame that rose in its eyes, Sophie knew it now had enough of a grip to go for its knife.

Yet strangely there was no panic. An abiding calmness slowly descended on her, and when she closed her eyes briefly, the sensation was accompanied by a blue colour. Increasingly, when she used her Craft, this was how it was: as if some power was visiting her from without, not arising from within.

Through closed eyelids, she experienced a sapphire flash. Every nerve in her body felt electrified and there was a smell of burned iron in her nostrils. And when she looked around, the little men had halted their advance; a dark smudge of charred material ran down the saddle and across the material of her dress, the attacker gone, destroyed or fallen by the wayside.

With a feeling of exultation, she leaned along the horse’s neck once more, the wind whipping at her hair as her steed galloped onwards. Ahead, Ceridwen glanced back at her, surprise turning to respect in her dark eyes.

The little men only fell back for a moment before the arrows started flying again, but Sophie’s defence had provided enough of a breathing space for the horses to gain some yards on the attackers.

The banks of the stream grew higher as they progressed, until eventually the brook was running along the bottom of a gully. At the top of the banks, the vegetation was thick and overgrowing the edge so that it almost closed over the top; it became as dark as twilight as they rode. The obscured view meant that if the little men made it up to the top of the gully, they would have trouble timing their drop on to Sophie and Ceridwen.

The sides became even higher, the bottom broader and rockier as the stream grew in size, but Ceridwen never once slowed their pace. Finally they emerged from the gully and passed through a final stand of trees into open countryside where the mist had almost dissipated. They were on the edge of green, gently rolling downs running away from them to flat plains beyond. Here the meandering stream became a great river winding its way into the hazy distance.

From the cracking of wood and the cries of birds on the wing, it was clear that the little men had not given up the chase. Ceridwen looked back to Sophie and yelled, ‘Spur your mount! Put the wind behind you!’

They rode as if they were part of a storm, adrift on a sea of green. The long grass parted before them and the mist burned away in the fading sunlight. With the thunder of hooves in her ears, Sophie allowed herself one look back and was shocked by what she saw. Swarming from the dark tree line were vast numbers of the little men, an army of them stretching out on either side as far as the eye could see. They didn’t slow once, even though they could see that they would never catch up and that their tiny, lethal arrows were falling further and further behind their quarry. To Sophie, they looked like an infestation, insects disturbed from a vast nest beneath the ground, surging up in ordered chaos to attack.

Only after three miles or more did Ceridwen slow down so that Sophie could ride beside her.

‘What were they?’ Sophie asked breathlessly.

‘My people.’ Ceridwen’s voice was wrapped in darkness; she did not look back.

‘But they’re nothing like you,’ Sophie said, puzzled.

‘They are diminished. They have chosen the downward path, as they did once before.’

‘I don’t understand. How can your people have turned into those things?’

‘These are not the Fixed Lands. Here in the Far Lands, everything is fluid. The closer one gets to the core of Existence, the more mutable things are. I told you that my people are riven. Those who stand against the rising and advancing of Fragile Creatures have their true nature revealed. They become-’

‘Diminished.’ Sophie thought of all the tales she had heard of the little people when she was younger, the exhortation to call them ‘Fair Folk’ for fear they would torment any humans who did not treat them with respect.

‘The Courts who have sided with them are attacking across the breadth of the Far Lands,’ Ceridwen continued. ‘The Golden Ones have never stood against each other before. We were one people, of one mind. Events have shown many of us that we do not deserve to stand above. We are all alike, Fragile Creatures and gods. Everything we believed in now lies shattered, and there is a sense that an ending fast approaches.’

Sophie looked back anxiously. ‘Will they keep coming?’

‘They will always keep coming. They will not rest until all the Golden Ones who have sided with Fragile Creatures are wiped from Existence. That is how deep the fault lines run. How can you condone the destruction of your own people and stay close to the essence of What Is?’ Ceridwen shook her head, consumed by disbelief. When she turned back to Sophie, her face had hardened. ‘We cannot stop,’ she said. ‘They will attack relentlessly, hiding beneath the dark of the moon or under the cover of clouds, to come in the night and slit our throats while we sleep. We must ride without rest. Are you ready for the challenge, Sister of Dragons?’

Though she was already exhausted and hollow with hunger, Sophie nodded. So much was at stake; she would not be the one who failed.

And so they rode, across the downs and into the night, and in the morning they swept across the plains in a light rain, their clothes plastered against their bodies. Through wooded valleys and by rocky foothills, they continued without rest until everything became like a dream to Sophie and she was convinced she was a girl once more, in bed, wishing herself to a land where anything was possible.

On the third day, a fortress city of white marble presented itself to them, gleaming in the sunrise. It rose up the foothills, so vast it seemed a hill itself, the upper reaches lost in the low clouds on the edge of the mountains behind. Sophie’s breath caught at the sight of the awe-inspiring assemblage of turrets and domes, obelisks, palaces, keeps and dwellings, all surrounded by a single monolithic wall. Along the ramparts, golden flags fluttered in a light breeze; majesty and wonder lay across the entire city.

‘Here it is, then,’ Ceridwen said. ‘The Court of Soul’s Ease.’

Great gates of gold and glass soaring up for six storeys above Sophie’s head swung open soundlessly as the two travellers approached. Once Ceridwen and Sophie were within the shelter of the walls, the gates closed with a musical chiming. All around, tall, thin, impossibly beautiful people went about their business, their skin touched by gold. As Ceridwen led the way up a winding sunlit street, the passers-by turned to smile, reserving much of their pleasant welcome for Sophie. Everywhere there was the peace of a lazy summer afternoon.

Ceridwen dismounted in a cobbled square beside a fountain of gold, glass and white marble, the shimmering water gushing twenty feet or more into the air. Beyond lay an opulent palace, the frontage ornately carved with beatific statues, all dominated by a stylistic sun motif high above the entrance.

As the gates had done before, the door swung open as Ceridwen and Sophie approached, and several guards rushed out. They wore armour that continued the white-and-gold theme, with the same solar motif prominent on the breastplate. Though their helmets threw most of their faces into shadow, their eyes glowed golden.

‘Your brother welcomes you,’ the captain of the guards said, kneeling and bowing his head. ‘He requests your presence in the Great Hall to inform you of the current state of the war and to hear news of the Court of the Final Word. Will you accompany us?’

‘Of course,’ Ceridwen replied. ‘It is a relief to be in a place of safety once more.’ She breathed the air, fragrant with the scent of clematis, and said softly, ‘Home.’

Sophie followed in awed silence until they arrived at an airy hall where sunlight streamed through glass skylights in the roof high overhead. A group of people had gathered in the centre near a large table on which lay what at first looked like a map, but as Sophie approached was more like a hologram, three-dimensional, moving, alive. The group talked and planned in quiet, thoughtful voices, overseen by a man who was clearly their leader.

His armour was white overlaid with the faintest gold filigree so that he glowed in the shaft of light in which he stood. At first he had his back to Sophie, but when he turned there was only a brief moment of transition before her breath was taken away by his handsome features. He looked to be in his early twenties, with dark eyes and long dark hair framing a face that was both strong and sensitive.

‘Greetings,’ he said to Ceridwen with a warm smile, before his eyes fell on Sophie. ‘And what is this? Another Sister of Dragons? My court is truly blessed.’

‘Yes, brother. This one is known as Sophie.’ Ceridwen turned to Sophie and added, ‘In the days of the tribes, the Fragile Creatures knew my brother as Lugh. At the second battle of Magh Tuireadh, he slew Balor, the one-eyed god of death, and saved the Fixed Lands from the rule of the dark and monstrous Fomorii.’

‘Hello,’ Sophie said, before mentally kicking herself for sounding so pathetic.

‘I stand alongside Fragile Creatures in the coming struggle,’ Lugh said. ‘It was not always so, but I have reclaimed the wisdom that departed me.’ He smiled at Ceridwen again. ‘With no small help from my sister.’

Sophie’s mind was racing. Standing amongst the gods, it felt as if she was at the heart of a massive electromagnetic field: her ears buzzed so much that it was difficult to concentrate; her skin tingled and her mouth felt as though it was filled with iron filings. But as she fought to stay on top of what was happening around her, one thing came through loud and clear.

‘Did you say another Sister of Dragons?’

*

The suite of rooms was grand by any definition and if Sophie had not known better she would have thought it belonged to Lugh. It was high up in the palace, with a balcony providing a breathtaking vista across the great wall to the sweeping plains beyond and, further still, to snow-topped mountains lying dreamily beneath a blue sky. One room led on to another, and another, and another, all with delicate tapestries lining the walls and furs scattered across the stone floors. The furniture was designed for maximum comfort, the sumptuous cushions and hanging drapes giving it the feel of some Arabian Nights tent.

Sophie found the woman on the balcony, her eyes closed as she let the sun play on her face. In her late twenties, she wore a long gown of a rich, dark green, but her hair was tied back with an elastic band, an odd mundane detail amidst the otherworldly ambience. She glanced over when Sophie stepped out into the warm air, and her attractive features carried the mark of a strong will, but also a deep sadness that looked as though it cut to the heart of her.

‘Is that how I used to look?’ she mused softly to herself. ‘So strong and full of power?’ The woman came over and took Sophie’s hand warmly. ‘You don’t have to tell me — you’re a Sister of Dragons. Are you here to have a go at me for letting the side down?’

‘I just turned up here by accident.’

‘There aren’t any accidents,’ the woman said. ‘Rule number one of the new age. I’d better introduce myself, then. Caitlin Shepherd. I used to be one of you.’

‘Sophie Tallent.’ Sophie went to shake Caitlin’s hand, then felt an overwhelming urge to hug her, two kindred spirits in a frightening land. After a moment, Sophie pulled back and said, ‘You used to be a Sister of Dragons?’

Caitlin stepped away and leaned over the marble rail to survey the swarming citadel below. ‘One of the great defenders of humanity. Our last, best hope. And I threw it all away to try to save my husband and son. For nothing. They died. The Blue Fire deserted me and I think I probably doomed the human race with that same decision.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I’m only really just getting my head around it myself,’ Caitlin said. ‘But the abridged version is this: the universe or whatever lies behind it — Existence, as the gods call it — has a lot of hidden rules and one of them is this: there need to be five Brothers and Sisters of Dragons at any one time. Numbers seem vital to the whole underlying plan. On the one hand you could see it as a spell, on the other an equation — all the principal elements have to be there to make it work.’ She gave a wan smile. ‘I’ve had a lot of time to think about this.’

‘So without five, we can’t-’

‘Act as prophecy or legend or myth intended. We either don’t have the same power, or maybe we don’t have the weight… the gravity… to oppose what’s coming. So when it all goes pear-shaped, you’ll know who to blame.’

Her profound sadness was so affecting that Sophie knew she would never be able to blame Caitlin for anything. Anyone who felt so acutely could not have wilfully brought about the disaster she professed was about to happen.

Sophie insisted on hearing everything, and so they moved to the nearest chamber, where the high breezes from over the citadel gently swept in through the open balcony doors, cooling them in the heat of the day. Caitlin recounted how she had been working as a doctor in the south of England when a mysterious plague swept across Britain; Sophie had seen signs of it, but nothing on the scale Caitlin had experienced. The disease had taken Caitlin’s husband and son, and Caitlin’s mind had shattered under the extreme stress of the situation. Gradually, though, she had come to some kind of sense, and with a small group of friends had travelled to T’ir n’a n’Og in search of a cure, for not only was the plague mystical, but it had its origin in the Celtic Otherworld.

She had fought her way through hardship after hardship to a living structure called the House of Pain on the edge of the Far Lands where she had discovered the reason for the plague: it had been created as a weapon of the Void. But to be sure of success, the Void had to destroy the defenders of humanity, the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons, by breaking their mystical number. One would do, just one, and Caitlin was it.

The House of Pain had offered Caitlin a choice: to remain there as a queen — in effect giving up her right to be a Sister of Dragons — and in return her husband and son would live. But it had been a trick, and after giving up the Pendragon Spirit that made her a Sister of Dragons, she had realised that she couldn’t have her family either.

‘So, I blew it — in the worst way possible,’ Caitlin concluded. ‘I’ve doomed everybody.’

The more Sophie listened, the more she felt a bond growing with Caitlin. They were true sisters. ‘Anyone would have done the same in your situation. Anyone,’ Sophie insisted.

Caitlin shook her head, staring out of the window at the blue sky.

‘Listen to me,’ Sophie said. ‘We’re supposed to be defenders of humanity. To turn your back on your love for your husband and child would have been to give up on that very humanity. You couldn’t win whatever you did.’

Caitlin thought about this for a moment. ‘You’re very wise,’ she said, a little brighter. ‘I wish you’d been there with me.’

‘Lugh mentioned that there were other Fragile Creatures here, after he told me about you,’ Sophie said, changing the subject; that detail had initially been lost in the excitement of meeting another Sister of Dragons.

‘Two friends who followed me from our world to this one. They think they’re my protectors.’ Caitlin smiled. ‘I reckon it’s probably the other way around.’ Caitlin described how she had made her way from the House of Pain to the Court of Soul’s Ease in the company of the two young men, Thackeray and Harvey. Sophie sensed that there was a bond between Caitlin and one of them, but she didn’t pursue it.

‘Do you want to meet them?’ Caitlin asked. ‘They’re probably foraging for food and beer.’

‘That would be fantastic. And to be honest, so would some food and beer.’ Sophie suddenly realised how hungry she really was.

Halfway to the door, Caitlin paused and looked at Sophie with a grave face. ‘What are we going to do now? Just wait for the end?’

‘I’m not the kind of person who does that,’ Sophie said with a clear note of hope. It was enough to keep Caitlin happy, but if Sophie had been asked what possible course of action they could take, she would not have had an answer.