The Queen of sinister

All day long, carrion crows swept in clouds so vast they brought a nocturnal gloom down on the fields, even in the middle of the day. Rats, too, swarmed everywhere, bigger, more daring and more vicious than any Mary had ever known. She tried not to get too biblical, but the symbolism of portents and omens was vivid for anyone who wished to see them.

Her winding journey through England's heartland had followed ancient trackways away from the centres of population, but signs of the plague tightening its grip were evident in even the smallest hamlet. Plumes of smoke rose up like markers of despair, sometimes whole villages burning. The stink of decomposition tainted the wind, ever-present behind the sweet aromas of summer countryside. Mary knew her history. During the Middle Ages, the Black Death wiped out twenty million people across Europe and killed a third of the population in its first onslaught, with even more dying subsequently. Questions haunted her. How many were dying now? Thousands? Millions? How many people were needed to create a viable population? Once that defining line had been crossed, humanity would just wither away, another extinction in a long, long line.She had spent many an evening next to the campfire considering the nature of those malign imps she had seen tormenting the infected and spreading the plague with their touch. In her contemplation, she had sensed subtle strands coming together into a grand scheme, and as she examined them she realised that something didn't make sense.

And so she broke her journey at Stonehenge. As she entered its circle, the energy in the ground was so potent it made her entire body tingle. She found she could follow the flow by sense alone, making her way to the focal point. She wouldn't even need to spirit-fly to achieve connection.

She sat cross-legged with her eyes closed and visualised the Blue Fire. Instantly, she felt the force rise through her chakras, the Kundalini snake of the Eastern mystics. The site was like an enormous battery! The flames surged up her spine to her head, rushing into the metaphorical third eye. When it opened, it felt as if her skull was unfolding to let the universe in. And when she opened her real eyes, the truth was revealed.

A cathedral of flaming blue energy soared high over Stonehenge and everything within it was alive with such a potent spirituality that Mary reeled. The Elysium stood all around.

'Sharish?' Her guardian angel came forward at her summons. He bore a faint, knowing smile. She cut straight to what was on her mind. 'You weren't there randomly at Dragon Hill. You were waiting for me.' With the blue light surrounding him, he appeared truly angelic for the first time.

'Why do you say that?' he asked simply.

'I was thinking about connections and coincidences, and how some things always seem to turn out the right way… as if they're planned.'

The quality of his smile changed slightly, suggesting infinite wisdom, forever beyond Mary's reach. 'There are no coincidences.''So, there was some kind of… plan. And I thought I was acting on free will.'

'All living creatures naturally assume themselves to be the centre of the world. It is not within human nature to consider oneself a part of something much, much larger-'

'A cog in some machine-'

'-an essential part of a grand plan.'

Mary hardened. 'That Jigsaw Man — he wasn't sent after me by whoever's causing the plague. You put him on my tail.'

'Not us-'

'Then whoever you're working for. It was obvious when you think about it. The thing that created the plague, those little imps, could have destroyed me in an instant. It didn't need to set that thing hunting me across five counties. What's going on?'

Sharish nodded benignly. Mary had feared the worst — that somehow the Elysium were working with the one behind the plague — but her instinct told her otherwise. 'If you had not been pushed to the limits, you would have failed in your search,' he said.

'So it was for my own good?' she said tartly.

Sharish pressed the fingertips of both hands together and thought for a long moment, as if deciding how much he could tell her. 'Growth and development only take place through… trials. Not just for individuals, but for entire races. Trials bring about change within. Those who wish to achieve the next stage must embark on a spirit- quest. They must overcome obstacles, plumb the very depths of their resilience, develop new skills. Become.. He gave the final word added weight.

'Then the Jigsaw Man can't really kill me.'

'Oh, yes, it can. And it will. If it were not a true threat, it would not serve its purpose.' 'And is that what this plague is? A trial for the human race? Millions might die, but don't worry about them because the ones who survive will come out of it better?'

'It is a trial, but not of our making. All of life is a trial on the road to…' He caught himself. '… somewhere else. It is a school, if you will. A school for the spirit.'

'And we don't get to graduate until we pass all the exams.' She laughed without humour. 'Excuse me if I don't cheer. I'm too busy concentrating on all the pain and suffering.'

'I understand your reaction. From your perspective…'

'Oh, bollocks to it!' She flapped a hand at him. 'I suppose it's too much to ask that you just leave me alone so I can get on with what I have to do?'

'There are schemes, grand schemes, great powers beyond your wildest imaginings. From your perspective, it is impossible to see what part you play, great or small. Or what is at stake.'

'You could tell me.'

For the briefest second, his face became frightening and filled with awe; she thought she saw whole universes reflected within it. 'Your part must remain closed to you or your development will be tainted. But as to what is at stake? Everything is at stake. All of human existence has been leading to this point. We stand on the cusp of Everything… and Nothing. Of Life and the Void. Humanity must ascend if the seasons are to continue to turn.'

Sharish saw her puzzlement, and in response reached out to touch her in the middle of her forehead. An image flashed into her mind: a figure wrapped in what looked like a shroud, the one Mary had come across at the crossroads.

'The gods who came here with the Fall are not the only ones. There are greater gods above them, older gods,' Sharish said. 'They are the ones who have been guiding you. In your world, they are now seen as spirits of place, genii loci, at crossroads and lakes and rivers and mountains, but their appearances belie their true nature.'

'And the god of Wilmington and the missing Goddess are part of them?'

'They exist beyond your frame of reference,' Sharish continued obliquely. 'The scope of Existence is too vast to understand even a part of it, and it encompasses many things, in a scheme of bewildering complexity. For any living thing to see even the smallest aspect is too much.'

'You serve the Older Gods,' Mary said.

'I am one of their agents.' Sharish began to lead her back to the beckoning warmth of the blue. 'Now, I have answered your questions. So take this advice, too: you are important. All things are important. Everything plays a part. No one dies without a reason. None suffer unnecessarily.

'There is an abiding structure. There is meaning.'

Mary gained a tremendous comfort from his words. It made her feel part of something important, so that her own troubles were diminished next to it.

'You could turn back,' Sharish said. 'The one following you would likely fade away in those circumstances.'

Mary laughed at his transparency. 'You're testing me. No, I'm not going to turn back. I'm not doing this for myself. It's for Caitlin, somebody extremely valuable to me, and it's for the Goddess. I spent all my early years betraying those closest to me. Not in any big way… not selling them out to the cops or robbing them blind. But betraying them in a way that felt like I'd punched a hole in my heart. I'm not going to do that again. Perhaps this is my chance to make amends.'

Sharish's smile was astonishingly warm. He reached out to touch her on the forehead once again. Sometime later, Mary found herself alone in the shadow of one of the megaliths. Sharish had gone; the cathedral of blue fire had flickered out. Her first thought was clear: of all the people that could have been chosen, why her? She wasn't deserving. Was this really leading to the punishment she had expected for the last thirty-five years? A grand scheme to pay her back for wasting her life? Sunchaser was moored a few hundred yards down the river in a deserted port, its fantastic buildings disappearing into the depths of the forest. The final light of the fading sun had brought the midges out to dance above the water in clouds and there was a hot and sticky tropical feel to the air. It had taken Mahalia, Matt and Jack a while to pick their way through the thick tree cover while steering Crowther along with them. It was as if he were sleepwalking; he never responded to their words, never looked to right or left, but somehow managed to put one foot in front of the other.

When they reached a jetty opposite the boat, Matt hailed the Golden One. Though Triathus didn't appear on deck, his response came back sharp and clear. Sunchaser drifted slowly towards them. When it was close enough, they splashed into the shallows and clambered up a rope ladder hanging over the side, hauling the professor behind them.

'Where's Triathus?' Mahalia asked warily. The boat moved away from the shore to mid-stream, ready to make its way upriver. After their experience in the Court of the Dreaming Song, none of them moved from the rail.

Triathus eased their worries when his voice floated up from below deck. 'Down here.'

Eager to see a friendly face, they hurried to the hatch, but when they peered down into the galley they were stunned into silence. Triathus sat on the floor against one of the storage units, his golden skin covered in black lines as if he had been tattooed. His breathing was shallow, and he barely had the energy to look up at them. 'God,' Mahalia gasped. 'He's got the plague.' Matt, Mahalia and Jack left Crowther on deck and hurried down to the god's side. 'The first signs appeared shortly after you left.' Triathus' voice was clear despite his state. Matt feebly checked the god's forehead for a temperature, then gave up. 'I wouldn't know where to start-' 'Do not concern yourself.' Triathus gave a faint smile. 'There is nothing you can do.' 'There must be something!' Mahalia protested. Triathus shook his head sadly. 'I am being removed from Existence.' 'Dying,' Jack said with quiet amazement. Sympathy surfaced through his inherent fear of the race that had tormented him for so long. 'I didn't think your kind would be able to catch the plague,' Matt said. Triathus' eyes moved along his limbs, seeing things that were invisible to the rest of them. 'The plague is not a disease as you would perceive it. It attacks the force that binds things together… the energising spirit of all Existence.' 'We've seen things,' Matt recalled. 'Flowers, plants, all being attacked by something like the plague. And there was something else.' He attempted to describe the hole in space that he and Jack had seen shortly before entering the Court of the Dreaming Song. 'The Far Lands themselves are in danger of being destroyed,' Triathus replied. His voice had grown a little weaker. 'We brought it here, didn't we?' Mahalia said. 'You must not blame yourselves.' His eyelids fluttered and he slipped to one side. 'I am sorry. I grow weak.' 'Come on, let's get him to a bunk,' Matt said, 'make him comfortable.'

'No. Take me on deck, where I can watch the sun set.' There was a terrible note of finality in his request.

Jack and Matt carried the god up the steps and found a pleasant spot. He felt unnervingly light, as though there was nothing to him.

Mahalia stood at the rail, watching the darkness slowly coalesce amongst the trees. She didn't look up when Matt came to stand beside her. 'You know, there's a definite feeling of what's the point about all this,' she said.

'Of course there's a point,' Matt chided. 'People are dying like flies back home, you know that.'

'I haven't forgotten. But do you really think we can do anything? Carlton's dead.' The words caught briefly in her throat, but her expression didn't change. 'Caitlin might as well be. Triathus is on his way out. The professor is a zombie. There's just you, me and Jack. We don't know where we're going. We don't know what the cure is, or what to do when we find out. And everything is falling apart around our ears.'

Matt stared into the darkening trees. 'I was wondering if we should go back, try to find Caitlin.'

'Good idea. You'll be able to navigate this tug through the rapids, right? We'll be able to scour the forest, dodge all those Whisperers-'

'All right.' It was the first time she had heard real anger in his voice and it frightened her.

'Look, I know how you feel about her, but she's the kind of person who's going to survive if she can survive. We could always search on the way back…' Her words dried up; they sounded hollow even to her.

She turned her attention to Crowther, who stood, swaying, with the red light of the setting sun gleaming off the eerie mask. Mahalia pushed herself away from the rail and marched over to him. Dragging on his overcoat, she forced him to sit on the deck, and then she pulled out a knife.

Matt started in shock, and rushed over. As she brought the knife to the side of Crowther's face, Matt knocked her hand away, the knife clattering to the deck. 'What do you think you're doing?'

'It's the mask — it's got a life of its own. You remember what he told us-'

'What are you doing?' he repeated. The coldness he saw in her eyes unnerved him, and it was very rare that anything upset his equilibrium.

She picked up the knife, held it easily. 'I'm going to get the point into the side of his head and prise out those bolts. And if it's attached in any other way I'm going to cut it off his face.'

Matt tried to decide whether she was joking or just trying to annoy him, which she seemed to try to do to everyone at one time or another — a control thing — but her face was impossible to divine. 'You'd cut his face?'

'Well, let's look at it this way: what's more important to him — a career on the catwalk or being stuck for ever behind that thing, with it sucking the life out of him?'

'You don't know that's what's happening. The process might just be taking longer this time. It might drop off of its own accord.'

'Might. You like that word, don't you?' She read Matt's eyes carefully, saw that there was no point in pursuing the matter. 'You've got no idea what he's like.'

'And you do?'

'Actually, yes. He doesn't like being controlled-'

'Nobody does.'

'He really doesn't. He feels he's not up to much and he tries to hide away, but all he's really doing is hiding away from the things that he believes control him. He's a free spirit.' She sheathed the knife.

'You really think you're smart, don't you? And tough. But you're a kid. That's all you are. So don't ever forget it.'

Mahalia watched him walk away, the ice in her face gradually giving way to a dull heat beneath. Shortly after, the mask began acting up again. The first sign was beautiful colours shifting in psychedelic patterns over the river, their reflection making it appear as though vast and astonishing alien creatures swam back and forth just beneath the surface. For a while it was entrancing and Matt, Mahalia and Jack watched it from different points around the deck. Then came the sounds, bass rumbles and high-pitched shrieks, invisible fireworks, music fading in and out, some almost familiar, some intriguingly otherworldly; a mystical son et lumiere.

Slowly it became more intense and disturbing. Mahalia sought solace with Jack under a blanket near the aft-rail, kissing and groping, but he came at the touch of her hand with a young teenager's desperation. She didn't know whether to be upset or thankful for the sudden stickiness. She would have made love to him, her first time and not out of love at all, but out of a desperate need for closeness and comfort and some stability in a mad, mad world. Sometime in the small hours, Mahalia and Jack were woken by Matt's exclamation. A tremendous surge of golden light rushed over the boat and exploded with silent but furious illumination beyond the other bank. At first, Mahalia thought it was another of the mask's creations, but when a second blast came over she realised it was too regular. She went over to the rail and saw that some kind of battle was taking place amongst the trees on both sides of the river. Fleeting figures, some golden, some dark and squat, moved swiftly back and forth, attacking each other. Occasionally, strange sounds retorted and someone would fall before a fluttering cloud, either golden or black, moved up into the branches; or there would be a burst of light, white or multi-coloured, or a surging blast of red heat.

She jumped as a plaintive keening came from behind her. Delirious, yet on some level aware of what was happening along the banks, Triathus was either crying with grief or singing, she couldn't quite be sure, but the alien sound churned up a heaving swell of emotion inside her.

Something bumped against the hull and she hurried to see if the boat itself was under attack. Numerous logs floated in the dark water — the remains of blasted trees, she thought at first, yet the shifting shadows gave the illusion of movement. Another explosion of light directly overhead revealed the truth, and Mahalia recoiled in shock. The objects were moving. They were not the remnants of trees, but the litde, dark men, all on the verge of death, their bodies so torn and tattered that some were impossible to see as having been human-shaped at all.

Every now and then the spark in one would expire and the corpse would explode in a mass of frantic fluttering, gone in a second. Mahalia was sickened but transfixed. The flow of bodies appeared to be never-ending, the hull now sounding a relentless beat of war drums. Triathus' keening reached another level.

'This is madness.' Matt was at her side, watching the water with a grim expression. 'They're just slaughtering each other. What's it supposed to achieve?'

The mask's incessant hallucinogenic effects only added to their sense of dislocation. Yet in the occasional flash, they saw similar warping effects occurring far off along the horizon.

'What is that?' Mahalia was no longer sure of anything any more.

Jack's hand wormed its way into hers. 'It's the edge of the world.'

'Where reality starts to break up and leak into the Great Beyond,' Matt said, recalling what they had learned in the Court of Soul's Ease. He took a deep breath. 'We're nearly there.' An hour later, with the cataclysmic battle barely diminishing, they realised Triathus' time was nearly gone. The course of the plague had been rapid. His breathing was thin, his eyes fixed. The golden light that made his skin glimmer had faded to a dull washed-out yellow and the black lines now ran the length of his body.

Matt, Mahalia and Jack knew instinctively that it was a time for silence. Of all of them, Mahalia watched the most intently. She noted every tremor that crossed his face and it was in that intensity of observation that she saw the rarest of sights: that fleeting instant when life finally goes. It was barely perceptible, as if the slightest breeze moved from his head to his toes. A fugitive tear surprised her, but she wiped it away before the others noticed.

The golden moths came forth with a gleaming force that surprised them after the dull shadows of his passing, twirling around in a fascinating dance of grief and hope. They wound their way up in a column, finally disappearing into the heavy clouds overhead, like stars winking out.

They stood with heads bowed, and then drifted to the rail. Now the signs of the plague were unmissable on the flora: wilting leaves or blackened night blooms, black lines visible on trunks. And every now and then they would see the unsettling rips in the air that Matt and Jack had witnessed previously. The gashes were only small but growing wider, as though the entire land was a tapestry coming apart at the seams.

'Can you see — everything's getting worse the further upriver we get?' Mahalia swathed her hands in the dirty, sweaty cloth of her T-shirt.

'And it's bad enough round here,' Matt said.

*

After the blue, there was only the unending golden sand and a sky of heat-bleached whiteness. Behind Caitlin, the energy still crackled amongst a millennia-old circle of vitrified stones. She didn't look back.

Stepping out into the wastes, she felt the sand run away from her boots. In her head, her thoughts were carried off in a whirl of black feathers. Somewhere, Amy may well have whimpered, but it wasn't heard. The pounding of Caitlin's heart was the rhythm of war drums; her vision gleamed with blood. The world lay before her, holding nothing that she feared. The path ahead drove on towards destiny.

She walked. The mist came in with the dawn. The fighting had died away sometime during the small hours, and everything was now still and smothered beneath the blanket of grey. Beyond the muffled lapping of the river, the Wildwood exuded an intense quiet that was just as unsettling as the chaos of the previous night. As if in response, the mask had slipped into one of its calm phases.

Matt had slept in the galley to avoid the disturbances crackling all around, but Mahalia and Jack had opted to rest under their blanket on deck, dropping in and out of sleep so often that after a while it became difficult to tell what were dreams and what was reality.

It was Mahalia who woke first, confused by the stillness. The mist was dense enough to obscure both banks; they could have been adrift at sea. She went to the rail, her spirits reflecting the damp, grey weather, and listened. The lull couldn't be trusted. She wrapped her arms around herself and watched Jack, who still slept deeply. Memories of Carlton surfaced and she shed a few tears, and after a while they were accompanied by a wash of guilt that the terrible loneliness she had feared had already partly been assuaged by Jack, whom she was convinced she loved, and was loving more with each passing day. That purity of feeling was contaminated by the desperate knowledge that she couldn't face losing him; any more loss in her life, she thought, would destroy her.

They had worried that Sunchaser wouldn't work for them after Triathus' death, but whatever instructions he had given to it still appeared to be in effect. It responded to their needs, going faster when they considered it necessary, or adjusting its position in the flow of the river. At that moment, Mahalia could tell from the shifting patterns in the water that the boat was drifting in towards the port bank. She told herself that couldn't be true, but then ghostly trees started to appear from the mist.

She ran to rouse Matt and Jack, and when they returned to the port rail, Sunchaser had come to a halt next to the bank. They were surprised to see that the Forest of the Night had ended. The trees Mahalia had glimpsed were intermittent in a flat, scrubby landscape that had the oppressive rotting-vegetation smell of a marsh, though how far it stretched was impossible to tell, for the mist only allowed twenty or so yards of visibility.

'Why have we stopped here?' Jack's voice was a nervous whisper.

'I don't think Triathus would have allowed Sunchaser to take us into danger.' Matt took in every detail of the area in an instant. 'Perhaps we're supposed to take on water here, or something.'

'I don't think I'd like to drink that water.' Mahalia indicated the brackish pools lying amongst the reeds and yellow marsh grass.

They looked back and forth uneasily as the mist shifted in a faint breeze, revealing and then hiding aspects of their surroundings. After a moment, Mahalia jolted when she saw that what she had taken for a copse were men, eight or more, standing stock-still, watching the boat.

Matt went for his bow, Mahalia for her sword, but the men made no attempt to attack. Bearded and long-haired, they were in their late forties and older, two certainly in their seventies, and they wore long grey robes, tied by a cord at the waist like some monk's habit, and a circlet of oak cuttings and ivy around their brows.

One who carried an intricately carved staff stepped forward. He was around sixty, but imposingly tall with piercing grey eyes. 'Welcome,' he said in a theatrically resonant voice, 'to the last encampment of the Culture.' The leader's name was Matthias. It took a while for him to convince Matt, Jack and particularly Mahalia that his group posed no threat, but eventually the three of them disembarked, leading Crowther carefully in their midst.

Matthias came to a halt when he saw the professor. 'The mask!' he gasped.

'It's all right — he's not dangerous,' Mahalia said hopefully. 'Please… he'll just walk with us.'

Matthias relented, but the other members of the group kept their eyes on Crowther.

'We still try to measure time in the old way, though it is nigh-on impossible here,' Matthias said, 'but it has been long, long years since we last met some of our fellows.'

'You're human?' Matt said.

'There are a few of us here in the Far Lands, but not many. It is hard for most to adapt to the peculiar nature of this place. It can drive men mad, given time. It can make them forget everything they believed in.'

'But you survived.' 'We have a particular understanding of other realities. Come to our camp. We would hear news of our old home, and in return we can offer good food and drink. And here, everything is given freely and without obligation.'Mahalia and Matt both realised they were very hungry, though Jack appeared to eat hardly anything. 'Can we afford the time?' Mahalia asked quietly.

'They might know something we can use,' Matt replied. 'At least we can actually talk to them on our own level.'

They reached a tacit agreement and set off, with Matthias leading the way and the other members of his group taking up the rear. He picked a convoluted path through the treacherous marsh, treading carefully along ridges of turf concealed amongst the rushes. The density of the mist made it impossible for Matt and the others to remember their route; once in the depths of the marsh, they would not be able to find their way back without the Culture's help. On either side, the slimy pools bubbled and belched and the stink of rot was overpowering.

'Tread carefully,' Matthias warned. 'The Dismal Marsh may look shallow but it is deceptive. It will suck you down rapidly and there is an acidic quality to the liquor that will strip the skin from your bones.'

Away in the mist, an unknown bird emitted a low cry of such mournful power that it instantly depressed their spirits. The place felt haunted.

'What are you doing here?' Matt asked. 'Finding sanctuary,' Matthias replied, 'and therein lies the irony. For what mortals could ever expect sanctuary in the Far Lands! That only goes to show the flaws of humankind, that we would feel safer here than in our own home. Our own kind are our enemies — we need no other predators. Greed, mendacity, arrogance, brutality, contempt — these things will stop us achieving our true place, not gods.'After a while they came to an island in the centre of the wastes. It was heavily wooded, but there were wide, grassy clearings amongst the trees. At its centre was a small encampment of roundhouses in the old Celtic style. Most were small living quarters, but there was one larger construction that served as a meeting place and general dining area. Sheep chewed lazily on grass in an enclosure, and another area had been given over to cultivation.

'We do things much as we did in the time when we fled our home,' Matthias said, leading them into the great hall. It was easily large enough to encompass the whole group and many more besides. A fire blazed in the centre of the room, the smoke exiting through a hole in the roof. A wooden table had been erected in a horseshoe shape parallel to the curving wall.

Matthias took the lead seat, marked out by a high wooden back where carved dragons coiled. He motioned for Matt, Mahalia and Jack to sit. Crowther stood behind them. Within minutes, the other members of the Culture brought in plates of cold lamb, vegetables, fruit and jugs of cold water. 'Eat and drink,' Matthias said warmly. 'It does me good to offer hospitality after all this time.' Behind his seriousness, there was a decency that made them all at ease.

'There was a time when the Culture played a vastly important role — the most important role — in the business of humankind,' he continued. 'But I would think our name is no longer known, is that correct?'

Matt shrugged. 'I'm sorry…'

Matthias looked down for a moment, then collected himself. 'It was only to be expected. Then let me tell you our history. Our society has existed since the dawn of mankind. The responsibility placed upon us was to cater to the spiritual needs of the people, and as part of that role we collected knowledge, and guarded it, and taught, and tended, and we oversaw all the invisible worlds that crowd around our own. We stood as sentinels and guides between our world and the others.'

The other members of the Culture had taken their places around the table, and they were nodding sagely but sadly as Matthias told his tale. 'We were priests of the grove. Our tool was the sacred sickle, our language the language of trees. The Culture originated in Britain and the true knowledge was amassed there, from the days before the stone circles were erected, and seekers of wisdom travelled from across the oceans to learn at our feet. We understood the Blue Fire and its nature as the lifeblood of all things, and we learned how to shape it, channel it. We knew the henges and the menhirs, and the sacred hills and the wells and the lakes were the places where it was strongest.

'And over time, in our learning and our wisdom, we began to see how it could be the basis of an age of peace and prosperity, guiding mankind on the next step of his journey to the stars. We had already developed our role as shepherds of humanity and guardians against the many forces that would wipe us from Existence. We helped to shape the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons from their earliest days. We hid the great weapons of power and marked the prophecies and warnings in the landscape so that future generations would come to know the truth, if they still had the eyes to see. And in time we began to pull the disparate Celtish tribes together into a dream of nationhood that would make our vision a reality.'

Fire briefly blazed in his eyes as his memories played out across his mind; the others' faces grew stern. Mahalia looked around at them, remembering her school days, thinking perhaps that she understood the common name by which the Culture had passed into history.

'Those who believe in the power of the spirit over material things will always be easy targets for the power- seekers, and so it was for us. Just at the point when it seemed that our dreams would be made reality, the invasion happened. They came in their ships, at the command of Caesar, with a hunger for conquest and a contempt for other beliefs. They built their straight roads and sent out their marching legions, and killed the people in their thousands, driving the tribes to the fringes of the lands.

'And they knew of our power, for they had heard much of it in their homeland, and so they set out to persecute the Culture, to weaken us and make the people feel they had been abandoned. After the final battle at Mon when the Great Bastard Suetonius slaughtered the massed ranks of the tribes, we melted into the great forests and the mountains, and attempted to cling on. And so they hunted and harried us for the four hundred years of the great occupation, and slowly our number dwindled until there was only a handful of us left.

'We had one last chance to hold on to our dreams. Eight of us… this eight… were despatched into the ultimate hiding place: Tir n'a n'Og, the land of the gods themselves, where we could protect our knowledge and bide our time, and with the great warrior Jack, the Giant- Killer, known as Church, we formed our enclave, and waited. And waited. Here, in the Land of Always Summer, we never aged, but our purpose became diluted, for when you have all the time you need, why do anything? And so we are as you find us this day.'

He sat back in his chair and closed his eyes, clearly sad and troubled. For a while, the only sound was the crackle of the fire. Matt looked bored by the storytelling and had long since turned his attention to eating his fin. But Mahalia had been listening intently, and the talk of Brothers and Sisters of Dragons made her feel sick. She remembered pressing the knife to Caitlin's throat, the splash as Caitlin fell into the water, the Lament-Brood.

Matthias must have seen the guilt in her face, for he asked sternly, 'What is wrong?'

'There was a woman who travelled with us… everyone kept telling her she was a Sister of Dragons…' The Culture grew animated; whispers rushed around the table. 'A Sister of Dragons, here in the Far Lands?' one exclaimed.

'Yeah, we kind of heard that before,' she said, trying not to give too much away. 'But we're pretty sure she died.'

Silence followed. Then Matthias said simply, 'No.'

Matt had perked up at the sudden interest in Caitlin. 'What is it?'

'There are prophecies. These are the Great Times — the seasons that will lead into the Golden Age. But the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons must all be there to lead us through the darkest days or everything will fall into the Void.'

Mahalia slumped back in her chair so that Matt's body obscured her from Matthias' probing gaze.

But he had forgotten her. He raised himself up and said, 'Then there are important things to discuss, if you truly are the companions of a Sister of Dragons. But this is not the time, nor the place. We shall discuss this later. Now I must prepare.'

With a new sense of purpose, he strode out of the hall. One of the other members of the Culture came over; he was younger but had a new air of deference about him. 'Please — take your time, rest or explore our island. We are at your disposal.' Matt found a spot in one of the small roundhouses and decided to rest while the Culture hurried from house to house, talking amongst themselves in hushed voices, their faces flushed and eyes bright. It was as if they had woken from a long sleep. Jack caught up with Mahalia as she perched on a mound of crumbling stones, the remnants of some ancient building that predated the Culture's occupation of the island. He slipped next to her, without touching or speaking, and for a while they watched the shifting mists. Their vantage point was above the cloud level, and it looked like a sea of sun-kissed gold was rolling out towards the canopy of forest in the distance.

'It's beautiful,' Jack said quietly, and she had to admit to herself that it was. And then he added, 'You're beautiful,' and she started to cry, uncontrollably, the tears pent up for several years. He was surprised, and concerned, but he put his arm around her shoulders so she could rest her head against him, and let her cry herself out. As night fell, the island became a magical place. Lanterns were lit amongst the trees, attracting a flurry of moths to dance around them. The Culture threw herbs on the fire in the meeting house, so that heady aromas drifted out across the entire island. And then they began to sing a strange kind of plainsong that was haunting and uplifting in a language Matt, Mahalia and Jack didn't recognise.

As the subtle harmonies wove their spell, sparkles appeared amongst the higher branches, tiny figures on gossamer wings circling down to join in the music with voices that sounded like flutes and oboes.

Mahalia, Jack, Matt and Crowther followed the Culture on a procession through the deep wood, and as they glanced beyond the confines of the island it appeared that sheets of blue light rippled in the air, like the aurora borealis brought down to earth.

For the first time that day, Mahalia felt soothed. She had honestly never experienced emotions so raw in her life and she had no real concept of where they had come from, or what was happening to her.

The procession ended in a clearing. Ancient stones were interspersed between the oak trees that formed the circle in which they all stood. Overhead, the full moon shone down upon them, the light so brilliant and white that it flung sharp shadows across the grass. 'There is magic in the air,' Matthias intoned, 'as there was in the old days, when we met in our sacred groves beneath a star-sprinkled sky, the winds filled with summer warmth and the echoes of the beyond all around.' He smiled warmly. 'I have spoken to our brother from across the Great Divide' — he indicated Matt, who had been locked in conversation with Matthias for the past two hours — 'and it appears this is indeed the Great Time foretold for millennia. The time of change, of suffering and misery, but ultimately of rising and advancing to the ultimate heights, for no great thing can be achieved without great sacrifice. There is a Rule of Balance in the universe. We must not bow our heads in despair, for the Golden Age is near.'

For the first time in many hours, Crowther moved of his own accord and sat down in the centre of the clearing, his masked head dropping into his hands. Mahalia wondered if he could hear Matthias' words.

Matthias turned to face the four cardinal points, slowly swinging a censer filled with a fragrant incense. It brought images to life in Mahalia's mind, so vivid she was convinced they were being played out in the centre of the clearing; and perhaps they were.

She saw Britain as she had known it, the teeming cities, the railways, the car-jammed motorways, the swarming people engaging with technology. And then the light source changed, as if the sun had quickly passed over, switching shadows from one direction to another. And with it came golden magical beings, some on horseback, some striding purposefully across the land. 'In the days of the tribes, they were known as the Tuatha De Danann,' Matthias said. 'They are the Golden Ones, who made their home here in Tir n'a n'Og but always had a desire for our world. They hated mortals, yet loved them at the same time. They wanted to deny us and wanted to be us, but in their great power and their wilful contempt for all things they were a force for destruction. With them came their enemies, the monstrous Fomorii, shadows doing the bidding of their lord, Balor, the one- eyed god of death.'

Mahalia saw a darkness, like oil, rush across the land as the golden Tuatha De Danann did battle with the Fomorii. Cities were laid waste, hundreds of thousands died, technology failed. The country was brought to its knees. This, then, was how the Fall had happened. Why didn't anybody seem to know the true cause? Had the authorities insisted on keeping it from the people until the very bitter end?

'This great battle, this devastation, was predicted after the first such conflict between the two forces, in the time of the tribes: the second battle of Magh Tuireadh, when Balor was slain, only to be reborn.' Mahalia could tell Matthias was passing on this information for their benefit. A more brutal battle played out before her across an ancient landscape. 'In those long-gone times, the order of Brothers and Sisters of Dragons was founded, to prepare for the second coming of the gods and what was to follow. Indeed, the champions played a significant part in the defeat of the Tuatha De Danann and the Fomorii.'

Now Mahalia saw five people: a man with long, dark hair, too serious by far; a tall woman, strong and proud; another woman with spiky blonde hair; an Asian man with sensitive features; a good-looking but hard-faced man whose torso was covered with tattoos. She had the feeling she knew the five, and then realised she had glimpsed them in the flickering blue light at the Rollrights just before she had crossed over to the Otherworld.

'Who are they?' she whispered to herself.

'Their leader was Jack Churchill, Jack, the Giant-Killer, known as Church, who departed across the seas of time to await the day when he would once more be needed,' Matthias intoned. 'The King across the Great Water. The Sleeping King. Call him back! Blow the horn loudly! For that day has come round!'

Matthias raised his arms above his head and blue sparks flashed between his hands. There was a corresponding rumble that shook the ground beneath Mahalia's feet, and a splashing of water away in the marshes. A ripple of emotion moved through the members of the Culture.

'What was that?' Mahalia asked uneasily.

Matthias looked directly at her. 'In Britain's darkest hour, a hero shall arise… The return of the gods and the war between them was only the first part of the prophecy. The struggle brought about changes in Existence… and humanity was noticed.'

Mahalia shivered at the strange choice of words.

'On the edge of the universe, something has stirred. It moves this way… the Void!'

'What is the Void?' Mahalia whispered.

'It is said that in the true place of the dead — the Grey Lands — there is a temple. What do the dissolute dead worship?' Matthias nodded gravely. 'It exists beyond the light of the farthest star. It has abided, in dreamless sleep. But now it has awoken, and we have been noticed. It is unfathomable, immeasurable. It is nothing… and everything. The greatest, and the least. Power, and the absence of power. It is the opposite of life. The absence of all that is and could ever be.'

Mahalia had the impression of something as big as a galaxy rushing towards her, but her mind couldn't begin to encompass its form. She felt utter emptiness, a sensation of not having existed and never existing; nothing existing.

'Anti-Life,' Matt said under his breath. 'Is the Void responsible for the plague back home?'

'There are things that prepare the way for the coming of the Void… outriders, I suppose you could call them,' Matthias said. 'They will do anything to destroy the Blue Fire — and its champions.'

There was movement beyond the wall of trees. Something large was circling the island; occasionally Mahalia glimpsed its bulk flashing past through gaps in the vegetation.

In her dream-state, Mahalia saw a black, misshapen monstrosity attempt to kill a man with a sword in front of a gothic cathedral. And then the Lament-Brood appeared in their purple mist, looking so real that Mahalia threw herself back involuntarily. 'They are despair incarnate,' Matthias continued. 'They are life without hope. If the Void eats the world, humanity will never reach the answer that waits beyond the edge of the prophecy: the Golden Age, the time when we can prepare to take our place alongside the gods.'

'How could anyone stop something like that?' Mahalia was crushed by what she had seen.

Matthias strode up to her so forcefully that Mahalia was sure he knew she had tried to kill Caitlin, but at the last he softened. 'There are secret rules that lie behind the structure of Existence. We all know them in our hearts, but we never trust ourselves. There are universal rules — morality is embedded into the very stuff of reality. And so is love. And with those two things we can find hope. We must place our faith in the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons, as we did all those ages ago, for they represent the most wonderful, most powerful force of all. See!'

He raised his arm and gestured beyond the island. Now the thing that was circling had risen above the tree-tops and Mahalia could see it for the first time. It moved on heavy leathern wings, serpentine, its tail lashing the air, its jewelled scales glinting. It was like a comet blazing across the night sky, with the Blue Fire trailing behind it. To Mahalia, it appeared as if it were made completely of the spirit-energy, for she thought she could see through the skin to the bones and organs beneath, and through them, too; it was the Blue Fire given form, not a living thing at all.

'The First,' Matthias said. 'The closest to the Source. It came with us, to hide here, too, so that if all the other Fabulous Beasts were slain, if the Blue Fire itself was close to extinction, there would still be hope.'

'But if Caitlin is dead…' Mahalia began desperately.

Matthias placed a loving hand on her forehead. 'Failure will come if we allow despair into our hearts, if humanity once again fights against itself. What I said earlier, I say again: we are our own enemies. We have stopped ourselves from rising in the past. Shall we do it again?'

Mahalia felt sick. A prophecy as old as time. Pieces of a puzzle falling into place across millennia, leading up to the next stage of evolution of humanity; the greatest stage of all. And she had destroyed it in one instant, through her own terrible weakness. She didn't deserve to live.

Matthias watched the Fabulous Beast with a beatific expression. 'The Fabulous Beast has been wakened by our ritual here tonight. He flies for the first time in millennia. We shall send him back to our world, to prepare for what is to come.'

'Don't do that!' Mahalia pleaded. 'What if everything goes wrong? He'll be lost. Something so wonderful will be lost!' She blinked away tears, the blue trail becoming a rainbow of glittering sapphires.

'If everything goes wrong,' Matthias said, 'it does not matter where he is, for all Existence will be gone.'