World's end

Chapter Seventeen

Veitch clambered down from the roof, unable to grasp exactly what had happened. The moment he'd seen Church slip he'd been convinced his friend's life was over; if not the fall, then the hounds or the Huntsmen themselves would dispatch him in an instant. But there Church lay in the deserted street, dazed but alive. It made no sense.

Still half-thinking the Hunt might return, Veitch quickly checked Church for any serious injuries, then supported him back to the B amp;B. The owner eyed them suspiciously as they made their way up the stairs, but said nothing; he'd seen worse.

The others were waiting in Tom's room, both relieved that Church and Veitch were back safely and irritated that they hadn't returned earlier. "Typical testosterone-addled minds," Laura sneered. "`Let's stay out late and show how brave we are."'

While Shavi tended to the wound on Church's chest, Veitch attempted to explain what had happened. Tom watched the scenario from his bed, saying nothing.

"Were they afraid of you?" Ruth looked exhausted, on the verge of breaking down.

"They wanted to terrify you," Shavi suggested. "It was a power game."

"Partly that." Church tried to ignore the pain lancing through his ribs. "But more, I think it was because they couldn't afford to kill me."

"What do you mean?" Ruth knelt next to him and searched his face.

"Their instinct was to hunt, which is what they were doing, but when they came to the kill they couldn't see it through because the Fomorii want us alive." He closed his eyes and lay back in the armchair; his head was still swimming. "The Fomorii can't touch the talismans directly. Unless they're wrapped in something. But they know how dangerous those things are-"

— so they want us to do all the dirty work finding them, and then they're going to take them off us," Ruth finished. "They're just using us."

"They let us get out of the mine for the same reason," Church continued. "I couldn't work out why they hadn't massed their ranks around the stone and the Wayfinder, if they're supposed to be so valuable. But we were allowed to just waltz through, pick them up, and waltz out. Thinking we'd done it ourselves, we carried on our own sweet way while they sat back, laughing."

"That Crow guy really did try to kill us," Veitch said, questioningly. "He wasn't messing around."

"Yes, but Tom said there was some kind of power struggle going on. Mollecht is probably trying to screw up Calatin's plans and get a few brownie points at the same time for wiping us out." Church glanced at Tom for some input, but he simply rolled on his back and threw his arm across his eyes. He seemed to be shaking, as if he had a fever.

"So they're tearing themselves apart, like the Borgias or something." Ruth blinked away a stray tear. Church reached out a hand in support, but she moved away, shaking her head defensively. Then: "And all those times we'd thought we'd won, all the little victories-they just let us do it. We didn't win anything at all."

"The illusion of free will." Shavi's words sounded more sour than he had intended.

"Herded like sheep." Ruth stared blankly out of the window, her thoughts closed off to them.

"We are still no closer to understanding their eventual aim." Shavi finished cleaning the blood from Church's chest; the cuts weren't too deep. "They seem well-established. They are strong. They could have moved at any time."

"You've seen them," Veitch said morosely. "What chance would anyone have? The cops, the army-don't make me laugh. It'd be over in a day."

Church winced at the pain creeping out from the wound. "Then let's hope we can call back the Danann to do our dirty work for us."

Laura made herself a cup of black coffee. "So the time we really have to worry is when we pick up the last prize. Then we're fair game again."

No one spoke. The atmosphere in the room had grown leaden with disquiet as they all turned their thoughts to the following day.

When the others crawled off to sleep, Church continued to sit up in the chair near the window, watching the dark waves roll across the surface of the sea. After a while, he took out the Black Rose, searching for some kind of comfort. In his mind, it was a direct channel to Marianne and all that she represented to him, all that she had taken away from him. "Come on," he whispered to it. "You told me your name when I first found you. Tell me something else."

It was a weak, childish thing to do and he didn't know what he really expected-Marianne hearing his voice, coming to him, making everything all right? — but he felt even more desolate in the ringing silence that followed his words. It was then he noticed a thin layer of white on the edge of one of the petals which, strangely, appeared to be frost. After he brushed it away, the cold seemed to linger unnaturally in the tip of his finger. It disturbed him so that when he fell asleep it infected his dreams with images of people he knew frozen to death in sweeping, pristine dunes of snow.

The morning broke bright and hot. They woke to the sound of cawing gulls, swooping in a clear blue sky, and the soothing sound of the tide washing against the golden sand. Still subdued, they gathered in Tom's room, where something caught Church's eye on the TV which had been playing silently in the background. He snatched the remote to boost the sound on a local news bulletin. Scenes of the police and army diverting traffic instantly placed it as the incident they had encountered on the M4.

"— cloud of toxic chemicals escaping from the Pearson Solutions plant at Barry Island has now dispersed. The massive operation by the emergency services to ensure thousands of people stayed in their homes while others in the high risk area were evacuated has been dubbed an overwhelming success by-" Church muted the TV and tossed the remote to one side.

"You believe that?" Veitch asked.

Church suddenly felt too weary to consider any of it any more. "Who knows?"

Laura shook her head resolutely. "How can you tell when a journalist is lying? Their lips move."

They all jumped as a blast of insane laughter burst from the TV speaker, then the set fizzed and went blank. Shavi noticed the clock radio had gone blank too. "Technology crash," he said.

Ruth cursed under her breath. "I don't get this," Veitch said. "Are those bastards switching everything on and off just to wind us up?"

"I think," Shavi mused, "it is simply the world finding its new status quo by trial and error."

Witch's face suggested he found this an even more disturbing prospect.

"Time to sell the computer and mobile," Laura said. "Beat that glut on the market."

The power came back on in time for breakfast, which they consumed in the restaurant in near silence. Afterwards, they gathered the talismans in the crate and headed down to the quay where the first boat to Caldey Island was preparing to sail. They were the first on board, although a couple with pre-school twins joined them soon after. The sea was calm and the boat rolled smoothly. Once they were past the rocky outcropping of St. Catherine's Island, topped by its Victorian fort, Caldey Island rose up, sun-drenched and green, three miles away in the bay.

When they were almost halfway there, one of the twins who had been gazing into the chopping waves suddenly called out excitedly, "Mummy! Somebody's swimming!"

The mother laughed and rubbed his hair affectionately. "Sometimes dolphins follow the boat, sweetie. Now sit down before you join them in there." The boy protested until a stern look from his father quietened him.

Witch glanced surreptitiously over the side, not wishing to show the others he was interested in seeing the wildlife, and was surprised to see the boy had been right-someone was swimming. Several people, in fact, their outlines distorted by the water. Veitch counted five alongside the boat, several feet beneath the waves. Yet they didn't appear to be wearing scuba gear, although they had been submerged an unnatural length of time, and they were swimming faster than anyone he had ever seen; they easily kept pace with the boat.

He thought about pointing it out to the others when a couple of the swimmers surfaced and he had another surprise. They were women, unashamedly naked to the waist, but their skin had a translucent greenish quality, almost the colour of the water, and their eyes were bigger than average and slightly slanted. And from the waist down they had scaly tails and long, gossamer fins like angel fish. As they turned and rolled in their undulating swim, their lustrous blue hair floated out behind them. Veitch saw gills slashed into the neck just below the ear.

Despite their outlandish appearance, they were stunningly beautiful. He understood how sailors of old were so transfixed by them that they plunged beneath the waves and drowned. One of the women caught him looking and swam up to just beneath the surface where she rolled on to her back and gave him a smile of such honeyed warmth, he almost felt himself melt. He smiled back, which seemed to please her. In response, she pursed her full lips and blew him a kiss before diving back to join her companions.

"What are you looking at?" Laura said accusingly. "Thinking about jumping?"

Veitch smiled at her too, which obviously surprised her. He thought about telling the others what he had seen, then decided against it. It was his own small spot of wonder, a brief, private, transcendental moment that he would carry with him always.

After the boat docked alongside an old concrete jetty, the team followed the winding path from the small beach to the parkland that lay before the white walls and sunburnt orange tiled roof of the monastery.

"Whoever hid these talismans liked their religious spots, didn't they?" Ruth mused thoughtfully. "Pagan. Celtic. Christian. That's quite crossdenominational."

"You think it means something?" Veitch asked.

"Duh!" Laura mocked. Witch flashed her a dark look.

They continued along past a roadside shrine and then the Wayfinder signalled a sudden change to the west. The paths in that direction were less welltrodden, the island more overgrown with dense trees and bushes. The heat had become almost claustrophobic and there was an abundance of midges and flies, despite the numerous birds cawing in the trees. Apprehension pressed heavily on them as they walked. The cut in Church's chest left by the Erl-King both stung and itched, while the Roisin Dubh in his inside pocket seemed to be reaching out to his heart with frosty fingers.

The dwindling path eventually brought them to a deserted beach sheltered in a small cove. Shavi stood among the blue-green and yellow banks of gorse and shielded his eyes to peer at the sparkling waves. "Beautiful," he said.

"Make the most of it." Church glanced at Tom, who had stopped to wipe his forehead with a handkerchief. "You okay?" He nodded, but still seemed uncomfortable, distracted.

Church took the lead, picking a way along the serpentine path that led down to the beach. Halfway there he realised the Wayfinder was pointing to a grove of trees on a ledge that broke the steep slope down to the sea. The thick bracken and brambles surrounding it suggested no one had been there in a long while. He nodded towards it.

"If this spear is such a big deal, how come it's left in a bunch of trees where anyone can find it?" Veitch was already on his guard, scanning the landscape for any sign of danger.

"Not just anyone can find it," Tom said.

"Well, aren't we the lucky ones." Church ploughed ahead through the dense fern cover.

About ten feet from the grove, he noticed a sudden change in the air pressure and temperature, as if they had slipped through the skin of an invisible bubble. He could taste metal in his mouth and there was a bizarre aroma of coffee in his nose. As he neared the trees, the hairs on the back of his neck mysteriously stood on end.

"There's something pale there," Ruth noted apprehensively.

Church peered among the branches, but although he could make out the indistinct shapes Ruth had seen, he couldn't tell what they were.

"I advise caution," Tom said.

"Why don't you advise us all to breathe at the same time?" Laura took a step forward.

Church crept ahead, keeping his gaze firmly on the dark shadows that clung between the trees. When they were close enough to smell the fragrance of the leaves, he finally made out the faintly luminescent orbs that seemed to be hanging like Chinese lanterns from the branches.

"Oh my God!" Ruth said before he could utter a word.

Human heads, eyes staring, mouths drooping, were draped on twisted vines, some of them as fresh and new as if they had been put there only the day before, others with skin as livid as the leaves that shaded them. Men, women, the old, the very young.

"Mondo disgusto!" Laura pinched her nose tightly.

"The Celts revered human heads. They thought they were a source of magical power. They always kept their enemies' heads on display." Church paused, unsure whether to continue.

"We have no choice," Shavi said, as if he could read Church's thoughts.

Church steeled himself and stepped into the shade. The smell of the heads was ripe in the hot morning sun; he coughed, tried to hold his breath. The others covered their mouths; Ruth was on the verge of vomiting.

Church felt like they were in another world; the quality of light was wrong; distorted. The shadows were too deep to see exactly where they were going.

"Marianne was having an affair."

Church froze. The voice was rough, as if it hadn't spoken for days. He turned slowly, looked into the face of a mottled green head. Dead eyes stared back. But the lips quivered, formed new words to torment him again. "She killed herself because she could not bear to tell you."

"Don't listen!" Tom instructed from the back. "Lies to divert you from the path! Thoughts plucked from your own mind!"

"How come you're never at the front?" Church snapped.

"Your uncle's guts spilled from his body," another head said as Ruth passed. "Ryan laughed when he saw it." Ruth's eyes filled with tears and she turned sharply to Veitch. He shook his head forcefully, but it didn't dispel the hate in her eyes. She put her head down, kept walking.

Other words were spoken. Church heard some, but it made him sick to his stomach and the only way he could progress was to deaden his ears to it. And the heads were everywhere. The grove seemed much bigger than it had appeared from the outside, and those foul decorations looked to be hanging from every branch; he wondered if it were a crop scooped from the remnants of an enormous bloody battle. The more they moved forward, the more the trees, and the heads, pressed together until they were regularly brushing against them, feeling the dead skin, setting them swinging like Christmas tree decorations. And the words continued in hideous whispers from all sides, punctuated by the occasional shriek and howl that made their blood run cold, until it seemed like they were being suffocated by waves of noise that threatened to drown their souls.

But however many emotional blows they took, their determination kept them moving forward. Then something seemed to break, as if the heads, or whatever force controlled them, realised their tactics weren't working. The head nearest to Church moved of its own volition and clamped its jaws on the muscle of his upper arm. He howled in pain and frantically tried to knock it off, but it held fast, increasing the pressure. Just when he thought it was going to rip a chunk from his flesh, Veitch stepped forward, pulled out his gun, put the barrel to the head's temple and pulled the trigger. Bone and brain exploded over Church and the jaw dropped free to the ground.

"Jesus!" Ruth yelled. "You've still got a fucking gun!"

But there wasn't any time for anyone to answer. As one, all the heads emitted a piercing scream and tore their jaws wide, gnashing their jagged, broken teeth as they tried to bite anything that came near them. That far into the grove they were packed so tightly there was barely any space to squeeze between them; to stand still meant the flesh would be torn from their bones in bloody chunks.

Church put his head down and ploughed forward, with the others following suit, cursing loudly and lashing out as if the heads were punchballs. Within a matter of paces, any area of bare flesh was slick with blood.

Finally, when they all doubted they would be able to get any further, they suddenly broke through to an area of hard-packed leaf mould and mud, free from any grotesque ornaments. The moment they stepped into the wide circle, the heads instantly lost all animation, as if someone had flicked a switch.

The sun broke through the verdant canopy to illuminate a small circle at the heart of the open space, like a spotlight on a stage. And in the centre of the glowing spot lay what appeared to be a long stick, intricately carved with a tiny, strange script.

"That's the spear?" Veitch said. "Where's the business end?"

Church saw that he was right; at the end of the stick was a scored area where it obviously fitted to a blade of some kind. "I thought it was going to be over," he said dismally.

"The remainder of the spear will be somewhere in the surrounding area, but not in the immediate vicinity," Tom said. He removed his glasses to wipe away the flecks of blood. "The spear has great power as a weapon, and the two parts may have been separated to make it more secure, but they are bound on some intrinsic level and so cannot lie too far apart."

"You have all the answers apart from the ones we really need," Church said coolly. He picked up the spear, which seemed to sing in his hands, and inspected the odd inscription. "Looks like Ogham script."

"Arabic," Shavi corrected. "See the swirls?"

"No, I don't see that," Church replied.

"Greek," Laura suggested, pushing her way in next to them.

"No, that's definitely Russian," Ruth prompted.

Church shook his head, then weighed the spear in his hands. "What am I going to do with this? It won't fit in the crate."

"Carry it," Shavi suggested. "It could easily be a staff."

"But what if I damage it?"

Tom snorted contemptuously.

"Okay," Church agreed, "that was stupid. It looks like ancient wood, but it's not. It's survived millennia and I suppose it's pretty much indestructible. Let's get out of here."

They stood on the edge of the circle looking at the gently swaying heads with trepidation, but the way they had come was the only way out; the other side of the grove was barred by an impenetrable mass of bramble and hawthorn. Finally Veitch pushed past the others and plunged among the mass of heads. Church followed swiftly behind. They were in such a state of high alert that they had travelled several paces before they realised the heads were unmoving; as dead as they looked. Nevertheless, they all continued through the stinking atmosphere as fast as they could and didn't look back until they had exited the grove and skidded down the bank, back to the beach in the tiny cove. There, they washed away the blood in the sea and dabbed at their wounds, resting on the sand until their tension eased.

Once he had recovered enough, Church took out the Wayfinder for what he hoped would be the final time. Its flame pointed across the strait to a point slightly along the coast. He checked his watch; it was just past noon. "If we hurry, we can find it and be prepared to make our stand by nightfall," he said.

Back on the mainland they hauled their few possessions to the van and set off out of town along a winding coast road that ran through beautiful, unspoilt countryside. After a few miles, the lantern pointed them down a side road which picked its way through the sleepy village of Manorbier, where they bought sandwiches, packets of crisps and Coke. At the end of a steep, tree-lined lane, they found themselves in another secluded cove. They parked in a large but nearly deserted car park near to the stony beach where the flame finally resumed its upright position.

"Where now?" Laura asked.

Shavi pointed to a ruined castle which could just be glimpsed through the trees.

They ate lunch in the van and bantered with new-found vigour, buoyed by their success on Caldey. Church and Ruth led the way to the twelfth century castle atop a red sandstone spur, still partly occupied by its current owners. Inside the gates it was quite small, a lawned area the size of a football pitch lying at the heart of the crumbling battlements. Tom bought a guidebook from the tiny castle shop for reference, which he read while smoking a joint on a wooden bench. The others wandered around looking for a sign of the way forward.

Half an hour later, having futilely scoured the castle from top to bottom, they met up in the shade of the chapel. "I knew it was going too well." Church checked his watch anxiously.

"What do you expect-neon signs?" Laura said. "These things are supposed to be near-impossible to find."

"Except for us," Church stressed. "We're fated to find them, remember?"

Laura bristled. "Nice line in patronising. When was your coronation?"

"Sorry." The tension was making them all irritable; Church could see it in their faces, their body language. Unchecked, he was afraid it might tear them apart. "We'll start looking again-"

"Maybe we're in the wrong place," Veitch suggested. "It could be buried under the car park."

Church shook his head. "This place fits the trend. It has to be here."

Ruth looked to Shavi. "You could do something. Like you did in Glastonbury."

Shavi recalled uneasily how much the exercise in Glastonbury had taken out of him; there was one point when he feared he might have been consumed by the powers he was unleashing, but he didn't let the others see his thoughts. "I seem to have an aptitude for certain shamanistic skills," he agreed in response to Church's enquiring expression. "In the right conditions, the right frame of mind, I can communicate with the invisible world."

Veitch looked at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. "Talk to ghosts?"

"Everything has a spirit, Ryan. People, animals, ghosts. Throughout history shamans have contacted them in search of knowledge." Veitch sniffed derisively. "I have always felt I had certain abilities, though unfocused, raw, but since the change that has come over the world they seem sharper."

"I think we're all adapting," Ruth said. There was something in her tone that made them feel uncomfortable.

"You're simply achieving your potential," Tom said. "That's why you've all been selected."

"You have to survive to achieve potential," Church said with irritation. "Look, this isn't getting us anywhere. Shavi, if you can do something, anything, do it. If not, let's get searching."

In the end, Shavi agreed he would find a quiet place to attempt a divination while the others continued the hunt. Accompanied by Church, they settled on an area where they were unlikely to be disturbed, in a secluded corner of the ruined hall where thistles and willowherb grew with abandon. It was a fencedoff, sheltered space under an overhanging stairway that ended in thin air.

"I normally do this alone," Shavi said, taking a mouthful of mushrooms from a tightly wound plastic bag hidden in his jacket, "but there is no time to recover from the trip. I fear I will be of little use to you for a while afterwards."

"I don't care if we have to carry you round on a stretcher as long as you give us something we can use," Church said. He sat on a lump of masonry while Shavi adopted a cross-legged position against the wall. "This stuff really works, then?"

"Sometimes. Never quite in the way I hope, but enough to make it worthwhile. It is not scientific. If there are any rules, I have no idea what they might be."

"That sounds like a mantra for this new age," Church said wearily.

"It was always that way, Jack. Before, we lied to ourselves or listened to religious leaders and scientists who lied to themselves. Perhaps one of the good things that will come out of all this is that people will start searching for meaning within themselves."

"You have a very optimistic view of human nature." Church let his eyes rise up the cracked grey walls to the clear blue sky above. "Sometimes I think there's no meaning in anything. Just random events impacting on one another. Chaos giving the illusion of a coherent plan." But his words were lost; Shavi was already immersed in his inner world.

For half an hour, nothing happened. Church became increasingly agitated as Shavi sat stock-still and silent, his eyes closed. But just as Church was about to give in to the futility of the moment, Shavi began to mumble, barely audibly to begin with, but then increasingly louder; Church had the uneasy sensation that he was hearing one side of a conversation.

"Yes."

"We are searching for something. You know what."

"That is correct."

"No. Everyone is to be trusted."

"Why do you say that?"

"Everyone is to be trusted."

"Yes, I am sure. Will you guide me to the item we need to find?"

"I will accept responsibility if things go wrong. Of course I will."

"Yes."

"And we will find it there?"

"Thank you for your guidance. Now I must-"

"What do you want to show me?"

"Oh."

There was a long humming silence in which Church realised he was holding his breath waiting for the next part of the unsettling conversation. Shavi's lips seemed to quiver as if he were about to speak; Church leaned forward in anticipation.

Suddenly Shavi's eyes burst wide open and he let out a deep, strangled cry. Church leapt back in shock. "I see it!" he gasped. Blood bubbled out of one nostril and trickled down to his lip.

Recovering quickly, Church jumped forward and grabbed Shavi by the shoulders, afraid he was about to have some kind of fit. "Are you okay? I can get help."

Although Shavi's eyes were open, he was not looking at anything Church could see; his pupils were fixed on a distant horizon. "I see it!" he repeated. "Coming across the land, like someone drawing a black sheet. They are here! They are everywhere!" He swallowed noisily. "The city is burning! We walk over bodies heaped in the road. There is no hope anywhere. Everyone is dead. What did they do? They brought him back. Balor!" He coughed a mouthful of blood on to the stony ground. "Balor."

The word sent a shiver through Church. Suddenly he was back in the mine, listening to Tom's croaking voice recounting the terrible history of the Fomorii. "Balor," he repeated fearfully. Their long-dead leader, all-powerful, monstrously evil. The one-eyed god of death who almost destroyed the world.

Church prevented Shavi slumping sideways, then, holding him under his arms, dragged him to his feet. He was afraid to take Shavi out into the main part of the castle in case someone saw, but the fear that he might be on the verge of a coma or heart attack drove him on. As Church struggled to walk with him, though, Shavi seemed to recognise what Church was doing.

"Leave me," he croaked. "Fine … fine … just need time."

Church was torn, but when Shavi protested more insistently, Church went along with his wishes. He laid him back down against the wall, on his side in case he vomited. "I'll get the others," he whispered.

But as he started to walk off, Shavi grabbed his leg and hissed, "Under the drawbridge." He wiped away the blood with the back of his hand, but his eyes were already rolling up. Church left him there with an uncontrollable sense of impending doom.

"You reckon we're on a wild goose chase too?" Veitch caught up with Laura on top of the highest tower, where she leaned on the battlements staring out to sea.

Her ever-present sunglasses made it impossible to read her eyes, but there was the hint of an ironic smile. "That, and other cliches."

"We haven't had much of a chance to talk-"

"That's because you're a murderer and everybody hates you."

Despite himself, Veitch felt his welcoming smile wash away. "That's a sharp tongue," he said coldly.

"I like it. I can get olives out of a jar without a fork."

Veitch shook his head, unsure. "You ever say anything that isn't smart?"

"Do you ever say anything that is?"

The smile remained; Veitch couldn't tell if it was playful or mocking, but his insecurities made him fear the worst. "If you don't want to-"

"Stop being so sensitive. You shot some poor bastard. Deal with it and move on. Make amends, ignore it, just don't wallow in a big, slimy pool of guilt." She turned back to the sea, raising her face slightly to feel the sun.

Her words gave him some comfort, but he still couldn't begin to work her out; she made him feel stupid, uncomfortable, but he couldn't deny being attracted from the first time he had heard her display her savage wit. He leaned on the masonry next to her, fumbling for the right words. "How do you feel about giving up your life to join this nightmare expedition?"

"It's something to do."

"What about your friends? Your folks?"

"Friends are those who're around you at the time. My parents died in a car crash."

"Boyfriend?"

She inclined her face slightly towards him, her smile now sly. Veitch felt his cheeks colour. "Was that your idea of subtle?"

"Dunno what you mean." He shifted uncomfortably.

"You've got a pretty face and a good bod, but you're not my type, coniprende? No offence and all, but I think we ought to nip this in the bud before the conversation gets clogged up with all those stupid manoeuvrings."

Veitch looked away, unsure what to say.

"Don't get all hurt-"

"I'm not hurt." He felt a sudden surge of irritation at that supercilious smile.

"If you're looking for a girlie, there's always Gallagher, although you could get a bad case of frostbite. Or," she chuckled mischievously, "Shavi."

Veitch eyed her suspiciously. "He's a queen?"

"131, actually." His face obviously gave away his prejudices, because her smile drained away. "You never know," she said icily, "it might do you the world ofgood."

Before he could reply, she spotted Church walking across the green and hailed him. Veitch saw an obvious enthusiasm in her face that revealed exactly how she felt about their unelected leader; it was the first honest emotion he had seen in her, and after his rejection it made him feel cold inside. As he followed her down the steps to meet the others, his anger was already forming into an impacted lump in his chest.

Church took the others back to where Shavi lay, explaining what had happened as they ran. The bloodflow from his nose had stemmed, but he was still dazed, rambling. Ruth knelt beside him and checked his pulse.

"We should get him to a hospital." The concern was evident on her face. "He could have had a brain seizure. This is what happens when you mess with drugs."

"I don't think it was the mushrooms." Church still couldn't shake the memory of what had happened. "It began after he had some kind of apocalyptic vision."

"Did he tell you anything important?" Tom said anxiously.

"Come on," Ruth protested. "Shavi needs help!"

"I can do something for him," Tom snapped. "Leave him with me while you continue with the search. Now, did he tell you anything important?"

Church tried to remain calm. "Something about them … the Fomorii, I suppose … being everywhere. About bodies in the streets and some city burning." With a shiver, Church had a sudden flash of his own premonition in the Watchtower; he hadn't made the connection before. "And he said they're bringing back Balor."

Tom blanched.

Ruth saw the expressions on both their faces. "What does that mean?"

"We can talk about it later," Church said. "Finding the spearhead is more pressing. Shavi also said to look under the drawbridge. That makes sense-the first three artefacts were under Avebury, under Tintagel and under Glastonbury Tor."

He left Tom behind to care for Shavi and led Laura, Ruth and Veitch out of the castle gates. His first thought had been to leave the crate with Tom to free up their hands, but after Shavi's premonition he decided to keep the objects of power as close to him as possible. Through the gatehouse they skidded down the grassy bank into the dry moat and walked under the drawbridge. At first nothing caught their eye, but after Church had run his hands over the turf on the castle side, he discovered an odd, raised shape. It seemed to be a protruding lump of masonry, but he scrabbled the grass off with his fingernails and discovered it was in the shape of a spearhead.

After checking they weren't being watched, Church pushed, pulled and twisted the rock in a blind attempt to open it. Eventually something seemed to work, although he wasn't sure what, and there was a burst of blue sparks. An opening grew in the grassy bank, leading under the castle. As they slipped in quickly, they felt the same odd sensation of entering a bubble as they had on Caldey. The moment they were all in, the opening closed silently behind them, leaving them in the oppressive darkness of a tomb.

Church took out the Wayfinder, which gave them enough light to see they were in a tunnel in what appeared to be the bedrock. The walls were wet and shimmering, and the floor sloped slightly downwards.

"If these artefacts were hidden millennia ago, are you telling me it's pure coincidence that structures have been erected over the top of them?" Ruth's whisper was almost reverential, yet it echoed like the tide along the tunnel.

"You've felt their power," Church replied. "Who knows what subtle influences they exert? Maybe they drew the builders."

The tunnel opened out into a stone chamber about the size of the one they had discovered under Tintagel.

"If you see any holes in the wall, don't put your hands in them," Veitch deadpanned.

"There are holes," Church noted, spraying the light across the chamber. "Or niches, to be more precise."

The four openings were of different sizes in a horizontal line on the far wall. Veitch was the first to them, and he investigated cautiously, withdrawing his hand repeatedly in case something shut down on it.

"There's an indentation at the bottom of each one," he said. "This one's round." He moved on. "Another round one." The next. "Long and thin. And this one, not so long and not so thin."

They mulled over the information briefly, but Ruth was the first with the answer. "They're for each of the talismans," she said excitedly. "It's impossible to solve this one unless you've already got through all the other ones."

"Big wows. Aren't you smart?" Laura said sarcastically. "So if we're also supposed to learn something from each of these puzzles, tell me what we've picked up from Caldey and here. Apart from never look a severed head in the eye."

Church ignored her; he was already unloading the talismans from the packing crate. With Veitch's help, he dropped the stone and the cauldron into the first two holes; they fit perfectly. The sword went into the fourth. The inden tation in the third hole showed the full shape of the spear, including the head. Church carefully positioned the handle of the spear and the moment it lowered into place, the space for the head opened and a blue light flooded up. A second later the actual head rose into place.

"We've done it!" Church said triumphantly.

"You know, I almost expected cheers," Ruth added with a broad grin.

Veitch didn't seem so jubilant. "Yeah, great, we've just signed our death warrant."

"Ah, Mr. Glass-Half-Empty," Laura said coolly. "Just pick up the damned pieces and let's get out of here."

They hurriedly gathered up the artefacts, and the moment the last one came out, another door opened up in the wall; they could see blazing sunlight at the end of it.

"How long to sunset?" Veitch asked anxiously.

Church checked his watch. "Four hours. Lots of time."

"Depends which way you look at it." Veitch was already in the tunnel and moving as fast as he could.

Whatever Tom had done, Shavi had recovered slightly when they met up with them, but he was still loose-limbed and dazed. To the curious stares of onlookers, Church and Veitch helped walk him out of the castle and back to the van.

"He's not going to be much use to us tonight," Church said redundantly.

"He wouldn't be much use if he was normal," Veitch said sourly. "So, we going to run for it or make a stand?"

"I vote we run and don't spare the horses," Laura said hastily.

Veitch was obviously ready for a confrontation. "And I vote we make a stand. Let's face it, they're going to catch us sooner or later. That's their whole reason for existing."

"Well, aren't you the macho man. What are you doing to do-flex your biceps and hope they faint?" Laura jabbed him in the sternum with her fingertips, unbalancing him.

Church held out an arm as Veitch advanced angrily. "He's right," he said. "We wouldn't get far if we ran."

"Then what do you suggest? Wet towels at dawn?"

Church was encouraged to see some real emotion in Laura's blazing eyes; it seemed to be happening more and more. "We've got four powerful artefacts here. Surely they've got to be some use."

"What? Use them ourselves?" Laura said.

"It might work."

"It might work. If we lived in cloud-cuckoo-land."

"We are supposed to be some kind of champions," Ruth said.

"Right." Laura's voice dripped with sarcasm. "A screwed-up techno head, an old hippie, a woman with a poker up her arse, a drugged-up fey romantic, a murderer and-" she nodded towards Church "-him. Some big fucking champions."

"So we roll over and die like good little slaves?" Veitch responded angrily.

Laura pulled a face, then walked off. Church waited a moment before following and found her sitting on the grass on the other side of an ice cream van where the attendant was lazing in the back with a copy of the Sun.

"All this is out of our hands now, you know," he said, sitting down next to her.

Eventually she said, "I like to have choices."

He nodded, watching the midges dance in the sunlight. "I know it's a cliche, but this is bigger than anything we feel. This must be how they felt going off to the Great War. Scared, but with a great sense of responsibility, a feeling of being part of some great … I don't know, destiny."

"I'm glad you feel that way, because I'm completely ruled by selfpreservation here."

"You're saying we can't count on you when the chips are down? I don't believe that."

"You think you know me, do you?" She turned her head away so he couldn't see her expression.

"Yes. I think I know you."

She thought for a moment, then rolled up her T-shirt so he could see the words scarred into her back.

Church caught his breath, but said nothing for a while. Then, "Who did that?"

"It doesn't matter who." She paused. "Does it make you feel sick to see it?"

"My God, how could someone be so inhuman?" Church said in shocked disbelief.

"There are a lot of sick bastards out there. I said, does it make you feel sick?"

Church gently reached out to touch the scar tissue, then retracted his fingers at the last moment. Laura seemed to sense what he was doing for she leaned in towards him, only slightly, but enough to move into his personal space. Away from the pink cicatrix, her skin seemed unduly soft; he could smell her hair, the faint musk of her sweat from the morning's exertions. And suddenly he had an overwhelming need for physical contact, just to feel humanity and emotion rather than the cold, hard wind of constant threat. He reached out his hand again.

"Stop making goo-goo eyes at each other. We're running out of time." Veitch was standing at the back of the ice cream van, his expression cold and hard.

Church jumped to his feet. "Yeah, you're right." He held out his hand and hauled Laura up; she held on to it for a moment longer than she needed, then withdrew her fingers so softly it was almost a caress.

Back at the van, they decided to find someplace with strong defences where they at least stood a chance of making a stand; if any of them were feeling fatalistic, it didn't show. But when Witch went to turn the key, the engine was dead. "We can't fucking rely on anything!" he said, hammering his fist on the steering wheel.

Time was running away. It was too dangerous to wait for everything to start working again and then find themselves caught out on the open road. Veitch hit the wheel one final time, then said, "We'll have to hole up round here."

"The castle would be perfect," Ruth noted, "but there's no way we'll be able to get in there after it's shut up for the night."

Veitch thought briefly before pointing to a Norman church perched on the opposite side of the valley to the castle. It stood isolated amidst a sea of green fern and small bushes. "We could do it there. Nobody's nearby to get hurt and we'll be able to see them coming from a long way off. Plus, it's got a wall round the churchyard, which may be nothing, but every little helps."

Church was impressed by Veitch's tactical vision and at how comfortable he seemed making those sorts of decisions quickly. "Okay. You're the boss."

Veitch glanced at him as if he thought Church were mocking him. When he saw that wasn't the case, he looked both bewildered and a little pleased. "Right, then. I'm the boss."

They left the van sitting useless in the car park and walked up to the church half an hour before twilight fell so as not to draw attention to themselves. They needn't have bothered; there was no one around for as far as the eye could see, and the church noticeboard said the vicar was shared with other parishes, so there was no reason why they should be disturbed. The weather seemed to be changing to complement the approaching conflict; after the heat of the day, a chill had swept in from the sea, with slate-grey clouds which turned the waves an angry dark blue. They crashed on the stony beach with increasing violence; enormous fountains of gleaming surf cascaded high into the air, filling the valley with the deep bass rumble of angry nature.

They erected a tent in the churchyard for shelter in case it rained, and then halfheartedly chewed a few sandwiches left over from lunch. The thunder started just as the half-light of evening turned to the gloom of night. Veitch lit a handful of storm lanterns they'd bought in Glastonbury and positioned them around the tent.

"You don't think this is going to attract attention?" Ruth said as the first fat drops of rain fell. Away in the dark an owl hooted mournfully and Ruth wondered if it was the same mysterious bird which seemed to have befriended her.

"No one's going to see it, and even if they did, they wouldn't turn out on a night like this." Church opened the packing crate and examined the three talismans inside; the spear had been lashed to it with a rope from the van and an oily rag tied to disguise the head. After a moment's thought he selected the sword, as surprised at how it felt in his hand as the first time he had touched it; sturdier than it appeared, warm, tingling.

"Let me have the spear," Ruth said.

"You sure? I was going to give it to Ryan."

"Why? Because he's a big tough boy and I'm a girl? Besides, he's got his little gun to keep him happy, for all the good it'll do him."

Church weighed the spear in his hands, then passed it over. He wondered if it might be more effective with Veitch's strength behind it, but he had no doubts about Ruth's bravery.

"Thanks," she said. "I'll take that as a vote of confidence. It means a lot to me." She took the spear and balanced it on her open palms before taking it firmly with a smile. "Feels good."

"Ruth Gallagher, warrior woman."

She laughed. "I've got so much pent-up frustration and anger I feel like I could take them all down on my own." She brandished the spear theatrically, then her face darkened. "What was it Shavi said that disturbed you and Tom?"

Church thought about not telling her, but decided it wasn't fair. "Shavi discovered why the Fomorii haven't attacked. They're trying somehow to resurrect the one who used to lead them before he was destroyed by the Danann. At least, that's what he seemed to be suggesting."

"And that's bad?"

"According to the Celtic myths, Balor was a force of ultimate evil and darkness. Virtually indestructible, terrifying to look upon, so powerful that if he turned his one eye on you, you were instantly annihilated. If the myths have captured even a fraction of the truth, it could be the end of everything."

"Then we need to free the Danann before they bring him back."

"But we don't know how close they are. They could be doing it tonight-"

Ruth clapped her hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "No point tearing ourselves apart. We just have to do the best we can."

In her face, Church saw something that brightened his spirit. "I'm really glad we met under the bridge that night. Sorry. I just felt I had to say that."

She smiled and gave his cheek a gentle pat. "You're a man of excellent taste, Jack Churchill."

He pushed the crate with the remaining talismans into the tent where Laura and Veitch sat in frosty silence, and Shavi dozed with Tom beside him. "How's sleeping beauty?" he said.

"As well as can be expected, given the psychic shock." Tom's Scottish brogue was more pronounced, which Church put down to the tension.

"I don't understand it," Veitch moaned. "We've got all the prizes together, like you said, but nothing's happened."

Church nodded. "I'm hoping we'll get some kind of sign." He half expected the woman from the Watchtower to turn up at any moment with the final piece of the jigsaw.

"I know what we've got to do," Tom said. Everyone stared at him. "They have to be brought together in the right place to work."

"So when were you planning on telling us this?" Church asked with irritation.

"At the last possible moment," Tom snapped. "There's too much at stake to start throwing vital information around. You don't know who's listening-"

"There's only us listening!" Veitch said angrily. "It's about time you got on the team-"

"There's no point arguing about it now," Church said with exasperation. "Do you all want to come out and choose your weapons, for what it's worth? We've found some pretty mean lumps of driftwood and an iron bar on the beach."

Veitch crawled out first, and then Laura more reluctantly. "I'll stay here," Tom said. "Look after Shavi and the other talismans."

Church was disappointed, but there was no point trying to force him. "If you've got any more tricks up your sleeve, now's the time to pull them out."

Tom nodded, but didn't let on if there was anything he could do.

"Look at us!" Laura laughed as they gathered anxiously within the circle of light in the pouring rain. "The Hunt will probably laugh themselves off their horses. Before they drag us off to hell, that is."

Ruth and Veitch ignored her; they fixed their eyes on the deep gloom, their ears straining to hear any sound beneath the howl of the wind.

"Do you know how to use that sword?" Laura continued to Church, realising he was her only audience. "It'll be about as effective as a toasting fork. Does she know what to do with that spear? And, hey, do I know what to do with this lump of driftwood? Yep, we are some defenders of the realm. Pathetic."

The rain had plastered her hair to her head and was running in rivulets down her face. At least in the dark she had forsaken her sunglasses; Church saw the fire in her eyes.

"You'll give them hell," he stated simply. He considered saying more, about her courage, her spirit, but the low, dolorous sound of a horn suddenly came in on the wind and he felt the blood drain from him. Laura's face, too, was white in the ghostly light of the storm lanterns; her dark eyes darted around fearfully.

As if in response to the horn a peal of thunder rolled out and then lightning streaked the sky. The gale gusted the rain at them like ice bullets.

"Okay," Witch said. "Looks like we have us a situation."

"Just what we need-a meathead raised on war movies," Ruth muttered sourly.

Before they could utter another word, they saw the bulk of Black Shuck separate from the darkness and pad towards them. It leapt up and sat on the wall in one corner of the churchyard, where it simply watched balefully, its red eyes glowing. Its silence was eerie. It didn't threaten to attack or make any movement at all; it just stared. And there was something in that which terrified them more than at any other time they had encountered it.

They heard the baying of the hounds rising up before they heard the horses. Their white and red forms undulated like a pack of rats as they surged up the lane towards the church. A moment later the riders loomed behind them, majestic, awe-inspiring and terrible in the heart of the storm. The moment they were caught in the white flash of lightning, a primal vision in metal and fur, Church knew exactly how Laura felt; before them, he was useless, their weapons children's toys. Nevertheless, he adjusted the sword in his hands and brandished it as threateningly as he could. The others followed suit with their own weapons, as if they had read his mind.

As the Hunt galloped up the lane, it almost seemed like the storm was part of them; the wind howled from within the churning mass of horses and the thunder echoed from their hooves as they clattered on the road. The Erl-King was at the head, his monstrous face garish in the lightning.

Church prepared himself for them to come barrelling straight into the churchyard, but instead they surged around it, circling one way, then another, with the dogs before them so it was impossible to tell from which direction the attack would come.

"They're playing with us," Church shouted above the wind.

"No, they're being careful," Veitch replied. "Looks like you were right about these magic things-they want them, but they're scared of them."

Church realised Veitch was right and that gave him more confidence; perhaps they weren't as mismatched as he had thought.

"Maybe we could hold them off like this every night." Ruth moved her weight from one leg to the other, holding the spear out before her.

"And achieve what?" Laura asked savagely.

The Hunt continued its circling for nearly an hour, by which time they were all shivering and soaked to the skin. Their constant concentration and high state of alert was exhausting them.

"I wish they'd just do something!" Ruth yelled above the wind.

As if in answer, the riders suddenly roiled around one section of the wall, then reined their mounts up before backing off slightly to leave the Erl-King standing alone. His horse reared up, its breath steaming from its nostrils, and when it brought its hooves down Church was convinced he saw a burst of sparks.

"Give up your burdens!" His voice boomed out, yet, oddly, seemed to come from somewhere all around him rather than directly from his mouth; there was a strange metallic tinge to it that set their teeth on edge.

"You're not having anything!" Church yelled defiantly.

There was a long pause and when the Erl-King spoke again, it was as if the storm had folded back to allow his words to issue with a focused power and clarity; his accent sounded different from moment to moment, as if their ears were struggling to make sense of what they heard.

"Across the worlds we dance, above the storms, beyond the wind. All barriers crumble at our command. We are like the waves, ever-changing. You can never know us. You can never cup our voices in your ear, nor touch our shells, nor smell our fragrance in the wind. Through time and space we slip and change. There are no absolutes." His voice drifted away and for a moment there was nothing but ringing silence, as if the whole of the world had stopped.

But when his voice returned, it had the force of a hurricane and they were almost bowed before it. "And you are feeble sacks of bone and blood and meat! Trapped in form, lost to the universe, always questioning, never knowing! Driven by lusts, chariots of wrath! You may not turn your face toward us! You may not raise your voice to speak! You may not lift a hand to challenge! For in doing so, you challenge the all and above and beyond! And your essences will be swept away and torn into a billion shreds! Hang your heads in shame! Be low before us!"

The tone of his words filled Church with trepidation. He recognised that he was dealing with something so beyond his comprehension it was almost like speaking with God. Yet however fearful he felt, he knew he couldn't back down. "You may think we're nothing, but we'll fight to the last. And if you believed everything you said, you wouldn't be sitting there talking to us. You'd just have taken it. If you want these things, you come and get them!"

"Nice tactics," Laura said in a fractured voice. "Don't just stand there. Go open the gate for him."

There was another ear-splitting peal of thunder and another blinding flash of lightning, and when it had cleared the Hunt was in motion. They galloped halfway round the churchyard wall, and then, without warning, they suddenly cleared the perimeter with a single bound, the dogs running all around. There was no time to talk or think. A hound launched itself at Church's throat, jaws snapping, needle teeth glinting, its eyes glowing with an inner light. Church swung the sword with such force he cleaved the dog in two. But instead of a shower of blood and entrails, it simply turned black and folded up on itself like a crisp autumn leaf until it disappeared in a shimmer of shadow.

Everything was happening too fast. One dog sank its teeth into Veitch's calf before he bludgeoned it to death with the iron bar. The tent was torn up and disappeared in a flurry, leaving Tom frozen in terror, hunched over Shavi's unmoving form. The hounds circled and attacked, circled and attacked, while the four of them continually lashed out to keep them at bay. But it was like holding back the tide. And out of the corner of his eye Church realised the riders were waiting, letting the hounds do all the work for them.

And then the quality of time seemed to change; images hit his brain one after the other like slides in a projector. Ruth's face, pale and frightened, but ferociously determined, in a flash of lightning. Some kind of comprehension crossing it like a shadow. Her head turning, searching, settling on one spot. The weight of her body shifting, muscles bunching, leaning forward slightly.

And then everything returned to normal like air rushing into a vacuum. Ruth erupted from the spot, holding the spear above her head. With a tremendous effort, she powered forwards, slammed her foot on a stone cross and launched herself on even faster. Church knew it was a suicide run, but there wasn't even a second to call out. She flew through the air and slammed the spear hard into the Erl-King's chest. There was an explosion of blue fire that lit up the entire churchyard. The Erl-King came free of his saddle, his face transformed by some emotion Church couldn't recognise, and the two of them went over the wall together and rolled down the steep bank into the night.

Ruth woke in the sodden bracken, her head ringing and a smell like a power generator filling the air. Every muscle ached and her skin was sore, as if she had been burned. The rain was still pouring down, pooling in her eye sockets, running into her mouth. With an effort, she lifted herself up on her elbows, and as she fought to recall what had happened, flashes came back: her attack, the impact with the Erl-King, the flash of blue fire and her last thought that she had killed herself but saved the others. With that realisation she allowed herself to focus on the outside world: she wasn't alone.

Something was thrashing around in the undergrowth, snorting like an animal, occasionally releasing a bestial bellow of anger or pain. It sounded so primal she was almost afraid to look, but in some perverse way she was drawn to it, even if it meant she might be discovered. Cautiously she peered above the level of the ferns.

Forty feet away, a dark shape crashed around, pawing the ground, stooping low, then raising its head high to the night sky. Her first instincts had been correct; there was more of the animal about it, yet also something sickeningly human. Her stomach turned at the conflicting signals. And then, in another flash of lightning, she saw what it was: the Erl-King, not wounded as she might have expected, but undergoing some bizarre metamorphosis. His entire body appeared to be fluid, the muscles and bones flowing and bulking, the posture becoming more brutish; the greenish scales and bony ridges on his face ran away as if they were melting in the rain; the nose grew broader, the eyes golden and wide-set; there seemed to be an odd mixture of fur and leaves sprouting all over his body, as if he were becoming a hybrid of flora and fauna. Yet despite its strangeness, Ruth felt the sight was oddly familiar. With each new transformation, he bellowed, and that sound also changed, conversely becoming more mellifluous. And finally twin stalks erupted from his forehead, growing and dividing until they became the proud, dangerous horns of a stag.

The vision was terrifying, yet also transcendental; Ruth felt flooded with an overpowering sense of wonder. She caught her breath; it was a slight sound, hidden by the wind, but whatever the Erl-King had become heard her. It froze, cocked its head, then lurched towards her, its hot breath bursting in twin plumes from its flared nostrils. Ruth shrieked in shock and scrabbled backwards, her heels slipping on the wet vegetation, but it was so quick it was over her before she could stand and run.

Knowing she was trapped, she turned and looked up at its huge silhouette looming over her, waiting for the wild attack that was sure to come. And then the strangest thing happened: in another flash of lightning she caught a glimpse of its expression and she was sure it was smiling.

"Frail creature," it said in a voice like the wind through autumn trees, "I see in you the sprouting shoots of one of my servants."

"What's happened?" she croaked.

The creature made an odd, unnatural gesture with its left hand and then seemed to search for the right words to communicate with her. "When the barriers collapsed, the Night Walkers were prepared. Deep in the Heart of Shadows, they had formed a Wish-Hex of immense power, forged from the dreams of lost souls. As we readied for our glorious return, it swept out in a whirlwind of vengeance, the like of which had not been seen since the first battle. None escaped its touch. Many of my kin were driven out of the Far Lands, a handful escaped to the world, or the places in-between. And some were cursed to walk the Night Walk. And I was one of them." He made a strange noise in his throat that was part-growl, part-cry, but then seemed to regain his composure. "But the Night Walkers' influence was always tainted with weakness. And you, a frail creature, broke its hold!"

The sound he made was not remotely human, but she guessed, in its ringing, howling rhythms, its essence was laughter. "You have the spear, most glorious and wonderful of the Quadrillax. The eternal bane of the Night Walkers, the source of the sun's light!"

His words were strange, but she was slowly piecing it together. "It freed you from their control?"

"I have as many faces as the day, yet I was trapped in form like you frail creatures, walking the Night Walk. Damned and tormented!"

She looked deep into his face and was almost overwhelmed by an awe, perhaps inspired by some submerged race memory. "Who are you?" she whispered.

"Know you not my names? Has it been so long? Of all the Golden Ones, I stayed in the World the longest, dancing through even when the barriers were closed. Yet still forgotten?" His sigh was caught by the wind. "My names are legion, changing with the season. In the first times, when the World was home, the people of the west knew me as Gwynn ap Nudd, White Son of Night, Lord of the Underworld, leader of the Wild Hunt, master of the Cwm Annwn, a Lord of Faery, a King of Annwn. In the great land, across the waves, I was Cernunnos, the Horned One, Lord of the Dance, Giver of Gifts. In the cold lands I was Woden, leader of the Herlethingus; heroism, victory and spiritual life were my domain. Each new frail creature saw me differently, yet knew my heart. Green Man. Herne the Hunter. Serpent Son. Wish Huntsman. Robin Hood. My home is the Green, my time the dark half of the year. Do you know me now?"

Ruth nodded, terrified yet entranced. Images tumbled across her mind, scenes from childhood stories, ancient myths, all pieces of an archetype that walked the world before history began. Whatever stood before her, it was impossible to grasp him in totality; he had as many aspects as nature, his form depending on the viewer and the occasion. The Erl-King, the dark side in which he had been locked and controlled, was now gone. "What do I call you?" she whispered.

She trembled as he bent down, but when he brushed her forehead with the side of his thumb, the touch was gentle. "Call me whichever name comes to your heart."

She plucked a name from the long list. "Cernunnos," she said. His description made it seem a gentler aspect. And then she realised why he had seemed familiar: he was in the vision the mysterious young girl had shown her at the camp outside Bristol; the one for whom the girl had been searching. The night to nay day, the winter to nay sunanaer, the girl had said. Twin aspects of the same powerful force.

He rose to his full height, still looking down on her. "One face of the Green lives within you, another in one of your companions-their eyes, and yours, will open in time. As a Sister of Dragons, your path will be difficult, but my guidance will be with you until your blossoming. And in the harshest times, you may call for my aid. By this mark will you be known."

He reached down and took her hand. She shuddered at his touch; his fingers didn't feel like fingers at all. A second later a bolt of searing pain scorched her palm. She screamed, but the agony subsided in an instant. Turning over her hand, she saw burned into it a circle which contained a design of what seemed to be interlocking leaves.

He was already turning away as he said, "Seek me out in my Green Home." He smiled and pointed to the owl which was circling majestically over their heads.

"What are you going to do now?" Ruth enquired reverentially.

"Once the Hunt has been summoned, it cannot retire without a soul."

Ruth shivered at the awful meaning in his words. She began to protest, but his glance was so terrible the words caught in her throat.

He raised his head and sniffed the wind, and then, swifter than she could have imagined for his size, he loped off into the night; she was already forgotten, insignificant. A moment later the rain stopped and the wind fell, and when she looked up in the sky she saw the storm clouds sweeping away unnaturally to reveal a clear, star-speckled sky. She hung her head low, desperately trying to cope with the shock of an encounter with something so awesome it had transformed her entire existence. But when she closed her eyes, she could still see his face, and when she covered her ears, she could still hear his voice, and she feared she would never be the same again.