Darkest hour

Chapter Sixteen

The light from the fire glowed through the trees like a beacon in the darkness of the night. Another technology failure had left Shavi breathless as the sea of illumination that spread out across the Midlands winked out in an instant; even after all this time it still chilled him deeply to see it.

He had just been coming down the final, gentle slopes of the Pennines after Ashbourne when it happened. He never travelled at night, particularly in the wild country, but he wanted to complete the last leg of that difficult part of the journey before he reached the more comforting built-up areas that lay towards the south. Now he wondered if he had made the wrong decision.

More than anything, he was aware of time running away from him; Lughnasadh was only eleven days away, little enough time to put everything right. He still found it hard to believe their great victory in Edinburgh had turned to such a potentially huge failure. His mind kept flashing back to Ruth and the suffering she must be feeling. But more, he was aware of the looming presence of Balor, in the shadows beneath the trees, or the chill in the wind, or the deep dark of a cloudy night. There had been no sign of the Fomorii, but he knew they were out there, searching for him. He could palpably sense the god of death and evil close to their reality. He felt it like a queasiness in the pit of his stomach and in the many dreams that had increasingly afflicted his sleep. An overpowering atmosphere of dread was beginning to fall over everything he saw and heard.

Although the night was warm and there were plenty of stars, a smattering of clouds kept obscuring the moon. That made the darkness almost impenetrable and he was sure he could hear something moving nearby. On several occasions he had been convinced someone was following; not too close, but tracking him from afar, sometimes off to one side, sometimes the other, always out of sight. He tried to pretend it was paranoia, but he had learned to trust his sharpened senses.

His main comfort was that if it were some kind of stalking beast, it had had plenty of opportunity to attack him while he slept. Yet it kept its distance, almost as if it were sizing him up. A twig snapped, too loud in the still of the night. He looked round briefly, then hurried towards the fire.

Almost forty people were seated around a blazing campfire next to a copse on the edge of a field. In the gloom beyond were parked a motley collection of vehicles: a black, single-decker bus of fifties vintage, a beat-up Luton van spray-painted in Day-Glo colours, other coaches, obsolete and heavily modified, minibuses stocked high with effects. The gathered crowd were obviously travellers, camouflaged by old army fatigues, leather and denim, hair long, spikey or shorn, piercings glinting everywhere, tattoos glowing darkly in the flickering light. They were all ages: children playing on the edge of the firelight, a few babes in arms, several pensioners, and a good selection of those in their twenties, thirties, forties and fifties. The hubbub of conversation that drowned out the cracking, spitting wood dried up the moment Shavi stepped into the circle of light.

Shavi scanned their faces, expecting the suspicion and anger that came when a tight-knit group was disrupted, but there was nothing. He looked for anyone who might be a leader or spokesman.

A thickset man with long black hair and a bushy beard waved Shavi over with a lazy motion of an arm as thick as Shavi's thigh. He wore a cut-off denim jacket over a bare chest and had a gold band straining around his tattooed bicep; a matching gold gypsy earring shone amidst the black curls. He was grinning broadly; one of his front teeth was chipped.

"The last brave man of England!" His voice had the rich, deep resonance of a drum. "Come over here and tell us what it takes to walk alone in the countryside at night!"

Shavi squatted down next to him, perfectly balanced with the tips of his fingers on the ground. "I did not intend to be out so late-"

The man's bellowed laugh cut Shavi short. "Now how many times have we heard that before?"

The others laughed in response, but it wasn't directed at Shavi. "Come on, pull up a pew." The man slapped the dry ground next to him. "You don't want to be going back out there in a hurry, do you?"

Shavi accepted his hospitality with a smile. The easy conversation resumed immediately, as if he were an old friend who had just returned to the fold. A second later a cup of warm cider was pressed into his hands. He could smell hash on the wind and soon someone switched on an eighties beat-box. It pumped out music which seemed to switch without rhyme or reason from upbeat to ambient, jungle to folk. There was a strange, relaxed mood that was oddly timeless. He felt quite at home.

Shavi's host introduced himself as Breaker Gibson. He'd been with the convoy for six years. As a group, the travellers had followed the road for most of the nineties, their number ebbing and flowing as people tagged along at different sites or drifted away without explanation; an extended family that owed as much to a gaggle of mediaeval itinerants as it did to any concept of modern grouping. Their neverending journey was seasonal, taking in most of the festivals: Glastonbury and Reading, some of the counterculture get-togethers in Cornwall and Somerset, the summer solstice at Stonehenge, Beltane in Scotland. They had their own code of conduct, their own stories and traditions that were related and embellished around the campfire most nights, their own myths and belief systems: a society within a society.

Breaker didn't want to talk about his life before he joined the collective; Shavi got the sense it was an unhappy time that he was trying to leave far behind, and the constant motion of his new existence appeared to be working. But of his time with the group he was robustly happy to discuss, and had a plethora of stories to tell, most of which he wildly exaggerated like a storyteller of old, all of which seemed to involve some kind of run-in with the law. After an hour Shavi liked him immensely.

For his part, Shavi was completely open about what had happened to him over the long weeks since he had hooked up with Church and the others, but he said nothing about the reasons for his mission south, nor his destination; it was too important to trust to someone he had only just met.

Breaker peered into the night beyond the light of the campfire. "Aye, we've seen some rum things over the last few weeks. We stopped to pick up a guy hitch-hiking near Bromsgrove. Dressed all in green, he was. But each to his own-I'm not a fashion cop." He chuckled throatily. "We got to the point where we'd promised to drop him off. Looked around-he wasn't anywhere on the bus! And we hadn't stopped anywhere he could have jumped off. Next thing, someone discovered all the pound coins had turned to chocolate! The kids had a feast that night, I tell you!" His chuckle turned to a deep laugh. "Could have been worse, I suppose." A shadow suddenly crossed his face. "'Course, we've seen some rotten things at night." Now a tight smile; Shavi knew what he meant.

"Still," he said, raising his mug of cider, "it's wonderful to be alive."

As they drank and chatted, two women came over. One was in her late twenties, with a pleasant, open manner and sharp, intelligent eyes. She had a short sandy bob and wore a thick, hand-knitted cardigan over a long hippie skirt. Her name was Meg. With her was a Gothy woman about ten years older with a hardened face and distinctly predatory eyes, but a smile that was welcoming enough. She said her name was Carolina. They both seemed eager to talk to Breaker, who obviously had some standing within their community.

"Mikey doesn't want to do the late watch," Meg said, drawing out a list of names and quickly running her eyes down it.

"The little git says we keep picking on him to do it," Carolina interjected sharply.

"But I've checked the rota and it's been divided up fairly," Meg added.

Breaker sipped on his cider, suddenly serious. "I'll have a quiet word with him. We can't afford to have too much dissent in the ranks." He turned to Shavi. "We had to instigate the watches a few weeks back after some bad shit happened."

Shavi could feel the eyes of the women sizing him up. "What was it?" he asked.

"Woke up one morning, hell of a commotion. Penny over there-" he motioned to a thin, pale woman whose eyes bulged as if she had a thyroid problem "-she was in a right state, understandably. Her baby, Jack, he'd gone missing. Taken in the night. And in the cot where he'd been lying was a little figure made out of twigs tied up with strands of corn." Breaker's cheerful face sagged for a second. "Naturally we told the cops, went through all their rigmarole, getting the usual treatment that it was partly our fault for the way we lived. It was just going through the motions. Everyone knew what had really happened. Since then we've had the watches going through the night. No more trouble, so I suppose you can say it's worked. But some of our… lesscommitted… friends don't like having their sleep disturbed." This was obviously a source of great irritation for him, but he maintained his composure.

"So what's your deal?" Carolina said to Shavi bluntly. "Why are you walking the land?"

"A friend of mine is very ill. I need to find some way of helping her."

"Medicine?" Meg asked.

"Something like that."

"So where are you going? Maybe we could give you a lift." Carolina glanced at Breaker, who nodded in agreement.

Shavi weighed up whether to tell them. "South," he said. "To Windsor."

Breaker tugged at his beard thoughtfully. "We could do south."

"Yeah, haven't been that way for a while." Carolina winked at Shavi. "We tend to steer clear of some of the posher areas. The residents used to run us out with pitchforks in case we robbed them blind."

The two women were called over by a teenager who looked as if he hadn't bathed for days; thick mud coated his face and arms like some Pictish warrior. Once they were out of earshot, Breaker said, "They just about run this place, those two. We couldn't do without them, though I wouldn't say it to their faces. Give 'em bigger heads than they've got." He looked Shavi in the eye. "So, are you with us?"

"I would be honoured."

"Good. One more for the watch rota!"

The camp was already alive when Shavi awoke from the best night's sleep he'd had in days. In the light it was easier to get a better handle on the people roaming around, and to see the vehicles, which looked like they would have trouble travelling a mile, let alone thousands. He ate a breakfast of poached eggs on toast with Meg, who had an insatiable desire for information about what was happening in the country; she was bright and sparky and he warmed to her. Afterwards he had his first mug of tea since The Green Man; it made his morning complete.

Once everyone had started preparing for departure, Breaker hailed him to invite him to sit up front in his sixties vintage bus, which had been painted white and vermilion like an ice cream van. The back was jammed with an enormous sound system and what appeared to be the cooking and camping equipment for the entire community.

"Hell-bent or heaven-sent," Breaker said with a grin as he clicked the ignition. He pulled in behind the black fifties bus and the convoy set out across the country.

The open road rolled out clearly ahead of them, with no traffic to spoil the view of overhanging trees and overgrown hedges.

"You have experienced the technology failures," Shavi said with a teasing smile, his gaze fixed ahead.

Breaker eyed him askance, then laughed at the game that was being played. "Oh yes, we've had our fair share of problems with that." He winked. "Some of us were even kinda happy to see it. Bunch of Luddites, I ask you! Travelling around on the Devil's Machines!"

"And what happens if the technology fails completely?"

"Well, that's why God invented horses, matey! If it's good enough for the old ancestors, it's good enough for me and mine. I can see it now: a big, old, yellow caravan… " He burst out laughing. "Bloody hell! Mr. Toad! Poot, poot!" He was laughing so much tears streamed down his cheeks and he rested his head on the steering wheel to calm himself. Shavi had a sudden pang of anxiety and considered grabbing the wheel, but Breaker pulled his head up a second later and righted the bus as it drifted towards the hedge.

Shavi noticed an ornate Celtic cross hanging from the rearview mirror. "For safety on the road?"

Breaker nodded. "Though not in the way you think. That symbol was around long before the Christians got hold of it." He muttered something under his breath. "Bloody Christians stamping all over any other religion. Some of 'em are the worst advert there is for Christianity. On paper it's not a bad religion. Love thy neighbour, and all that. But once they start mangling the words, anything can happen. Having said that, we've got a few Christians here, but they're not the kind where you can see the whites of their eyes, if you know what I mean. The rest of us are a mixed bag of Pagans and Wiccans, an Odinist, a few Buddhists, some I don't even bloody well know what they're called, and I don't reckon they know themselves either!"

"In these times faith has come into its own. It really can move mountains."

"What do you believe in, then?"

Shavi rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Everything."

Breaker guffawed. "Good answer! I tell you, the people you have to watch are those bastards who don't believe in anything. You can see them all around. Scientists who reckon they know how the universe works 'cause they know how one molecule bumps into another. Bloody businessmen who think they can screw anyone over in this life to get what they want because there's no afterlife so no comeuppance. Property developers flattening the land…" He chewed on his lip. "Making a fast buck, that's too many people's faith." He raised a hopeful eyebrow in Shavi's direction. "Looks like they could have a few problems in this new world."

"Oh, let us hope."

They laughed together.

The convoy avoided the motorways and kept to the quiet backroads. It was a slow route that involved much doubling back, but Breaker explained it meant they could more easily avoid undue police attention. As they cruised down the A444 towards Nuneaton they passed another convoy coming in the opposite direction, but these were the army. Grim-faced soldiers peered out from behind dusty windscreens; they looked exhausted and threatened.

"We live in a time of constant danger," Shavi said.

"Something big's been happening, but we never get to hear about it. They go bringing in martial law, then they haven't got the resources to police it because everybody's off fighting somewhere. At least that's what the rumours say." He glanced at Shavi. "You hear anything?"

"I have seen signs… a little, here and there. The authorities have no idea what they are doing. They are trying to fight with old thinking."

"They don't stand a chance, do they?" He mused for a second. "We always wanted the Establishment to leave us alone. I wonder what the world's gonna be like without them?"

As they rounded a corner they were hit by a moment of pure irony: a police roadblock barred their way.

They were held there for half an hour. Everyone was forced out of their vehicles on to the side of the road while they and all their possessions were searched. Nothing untoward was found; those who did carry drugs had found much better hiding places, after years of bitter experience. Even so, the indignities were ladled on: verbal abuse, women pushed around, homes turned upside down and left in chaos. All the travellers remained calm. They had obviously learned any opposition would result in a rapid escalation into a confrontation they could never win.

Shavi expected the police to pounce on him in a second, but they seemed to have no idea who he was. Eventually, once the police had had their sport, the convoy was turned around for no good reason that anyone could see; other cars and lorries were waved right through.

Breaker's face was stony as he headed back north and looked for a side road. "Just like the bleeding miners' strike. And they call this a free country."

They eventually made their way around the blocked area and pitched camp for the night in the deserted countryside to the east of Stratford-on-Avon. The area was thickly wooded enough for their vehicles not to be seen from any of the roads in the area.

"One of the good things about all this-we never get hassled at night any more," Breaker said. "Everybody's too afraid to leave their homes once the sun goes down."

Once they were all parked up, they assembled for the tasks to be handed out. Three went off to dig the latrines while others scouted the area for wood for the fire; no one was allowed to touch any living tree. The cooking range was erected from Breaker's bus and several volunteers set about preparing a vat of vegetarian chilli. The mouth-watering aromas drifted over the campsite.

After everyone had eaten their fill, Shavi sat with Breaker, Meg and Carolina next to the fire, watching the gloom gather. He had spent the day mulling over the story Breaker had told him about the abducted child and he had grown increasingly disturbed that so little had been done.

"What could be done?" Carolina said dismally.

Meg agreed. "We've seen the things away in the field. Enough of us have come across all the strange, freaky shit that hovers around the camp at night. We're not stupid."

"I am not suggesting you are," Shavi said. "But if you believe in the reality of the things you talk about, then you should not be surprised when I tell you I have certain abilities which may be of use to you." He explained the gradual development of his shamanic skills over the weeks since the world had changed. It was a difficult task-he knew most people were still mired in the old way of thinking-but after all he had seen of the travellers' nonconformist lifestyle, he guessed they would not be so blinkered.

"So what do you suggest?" Carolina suggested. "A shamanic ritual?"

"That might be effective. It is a matter of trying to peel back the layers to achieve contact with the invisible world, where all knowledge lies."

"And you think you've got what it takes?" Carolina gave a wry smile.

"Bloody hell, Carolina! Give the bloke a chance!" Breaker berated loudly. "He's right-we've done bugger-all so far. It wouldn't hurt to take a shot at this."

Meg nodded. "I'm in agreement. We can do it tonight, if you like. What do you need?"

"A quiet place among the trees, a handful of us to provide the focus of energies, some mushrooms or hash preferably, natural highs to alter consciousness. If not, we will have to make do with alcohol."

The others looked from one to the other and laughed. "Yeah, I think that's doable," Carolina said with a smirk.

Penny broke down in a sobbing fit once Meg told her what was planned. She pushed her way past the others to clutch at Shavi's clothes, her tearful face contorted by all the emotions she had not been able to vent. "Please God, help me find jack!" she wailed.

Meg led her away to calm her down with a cup of tea while Breaker rounded up a few people to help with the ritual. By the end there were eight of them: Shavi, Breaker, Meg and Carolina, a woman in her sixties with long white hair tied in a ponytail, the mud-covered eighteen-year-old, who was known as Spink, a ratty-faced man with curly ginger hair and his partner, a heavyset woman who smiled a lot.

They found a clearing in the woods where they couldn't see the camp or hear any voices. Breaker had been wary of straying so far from the safety of the fire, but Shavi had convinced him the ritual would protect them as much as any physical defence.

The evening was warm. They sat in a circle, breathing in the woody, verdant aroma of the trees, listening to the soothing rustle of the leaves in the cooling breeze. It wasn't as dark as they had feared under the trees. The night was clear and the near-full moon provided beams of silver luminescence that broke through spaces in the canopy like spotlights picking out circles on the wood floor. The patterns of light and shade it created provided an attractive, stimulating backdrop to what they were about to do.

Breaker had rustled up a plastic bag of dried mushrooms and a block of hash, which they shared out equally. They didn't have to wait long for it to take effect. Shavi had primed them to begin a regular, low chant. He knew, instinctively, that the insistent vibrations coupled with the psychoactive drugs stimulated the particular region of his brain he needed to achieve the higher level. He didn't know how he knew that, but it was there in the same way that he knew it was the technique employed by their ancestors in the stone circles and chambered tombs millennia ago.

The chant moved among the trees until it became a solid, living thing, circling back and forth, then inserting probing fingers deep into his mind. He closed his eyes and raised his face so the breeze caressed his skin. The blood was singing in his veins as a tremendous sense of well-being consumed him; he felt roots going down from his body into the soil, moving underground until they joined with the trees and the shrubs. He felt a part of it all.

The next step was the hardest. There was a deep anxiety locked inside him from the time his mind had been almost lost to the sea serpent just off Skye, and he had to fight to ensure the drugs didn't amplify it to the point where it overwhelmed him. He regulated his breathing and focused, riding the waves with mastery. And then it was just a matter of falling back into his head, and back and back, as if he were plummeting into a deep well. Paradoxically, that journey deep within saw him suddenly out of his body. He was in the air over the clearing, looking down at himself and the others, still chanting. The view was strange, fractured; colours seemed oddly out of sorts and the dark was almost a living, breathing thing. He had only the warped perspective for an instant before his mind was jumping like lightning through the woods. There was a sensation like pinpricks all over his body, and then he was blinking, seeing the world at ground level; a wrinkle of his nose and a bound; he was a rabbit investigating the strange scene. Another lightning leap and suddenly he was up in the treetops, seeing with astonishing precision. There was the rabbit, white cotton-tail twitching. He was consumed by raptor-lust; his big owl eyes blinked twice and then he was on the wing. The lightning leap plucked him away again, to a badger snuffling in the undergrowth further afield, to a fox probing the outer reaches of the campsite for any food to steal, to a moth battering against the windscreen of a bus, trying to reach the light inside.

And then, suddenly, he was jolted back into his own body, only this time he was seeing with different eyes, feeling and hearing and smelling with completely new senses. The invisible world was opening to him.

"Come to us," he said loudly. There was a ripple in the chanting, but he felt Breaker glance round the others to maintain the rhythm.

Above him, in the centre of the clearing, the air seemed to be folding back on itself. What looked like liquid metal bubbled out and lapped around the edges of the disturbance. There was an odour like burned iron. Shavi could feel the nascent fear of those sitting near him, but to their credit they all held firm in their trust in him. A hand thrust out of the seething rift with the white colour and texture of blind fish that spent their lives in lightless caverns. Then another hand, followed by arms, elbows wedged, heaving itself out into the night. A head and shoulders protruded between them, featureless, apart from slight indentations where the eyes, nose and mouth should have been. Shavi knew from experience it was one of the human-form constructs shaped out of the aether that the residents of the Invisible World often used to communicate.

"Who calls?" It was suspended half out of the rift, as if it were hanging from a window.

"I call." Shavi knew better than to give his true name. "I seek knowledge. The whereabouts of a mortal child."

The white head moved from side to side in a strange pastiche of thinking. "Know you there is a price to pay for information."

Shavi held up his hand and slit the fleshy pad of his thumb with a hunting knife he had brought from the camp. Several droplets of blood splashed on to the ground.

"Good," the construct said. "A tasty morsel of soul. How is Lee?"

Shavi winced at the mention of his dead boyfriend's name. "No games. Now, information. The mortal child was stolen from this group several weeks ago. A twig doll was left in its place."

"The child is in the Far Lands."

"Alive and well?"

"As well as can be expected."

"Who took him?"

"The Golden Ones enjoy the company of mortals." There was a faint hint of irony in its voice. "They pretend they like to play with their pets, which they do, but that is not the true reason."

This sounded like it could be dissembling, but he pressed on anyhow. "What is the true reason?"

"That answer is too large and important for one such as I to give." This gave Shavi pause; he made a mental note to consider it at a later date. "Rather you should ask me if there is hope the child will be returned," the construct continued.

"Is there?"

"No hope."

"None?"

"Unless the Golden Ones can be made to bow to your will. Or you can provide them with something they need in exchange." There was none of the mockery Shavi had expected in these comments. What was the construct really saying?

"Where is the child?"

"In the Court of the Final Word."

Where Church and Tom had encountered Dian Cecht. Where the Tuatha De Danann carried out their hideous experiments on humans.

"I thank you for your aid. I wish you well on your return to the Invisible World."

"One more thing." There was a note of caution in the construct's voice. "Turn quickly when the howling begins or the world will fall beneath your feet."

Before Shavi could ask about this unsolicited, oblique advice, the construct had wriggled back into the rift and it had folded around him. The warning, if that was what it was, turned slowly in his mind, but he didn't have a second to consider it. Carolina yelled sharply; Shavi followed her wide-eyed, frightened stare.

He was shocked to see Meg, who had been sitting cross-legged at the foot of a mighty oak, was now being swallowed up by the tree. The wood appeared to be fluid and was sucking her into it like quicksand. Her eyes were wide with horror, but she couldn't scream for what looked to be a hand made out of the wood of the trunk had folded across her mouth. It dragged her further in; soon she would be lost completely.

Breaker leapt to his feet and grabbed her right arm, but to no avail. Then all the others joined in, but however much they tugged, they couldn't halt Meg's inexorable progress.

"Wait!" Shavi yelled. He pushed past them and placed his hand on the rough bark. It slid like oil beneath his fingers, attempting to pull him in too. The others fell back, waiting to see what he would do. "Be at peace, Man of Oak. We summoned the Invisible World for information. There is no harm intended to you."

For a moment the repellent sucking at Shavi's hand continued, but then gradually it subsided. The trunk appeared to ripple and an unmistakable face grew out of the ridged bark, overhanging brow shadowing deepset eyes, a protruding nose and a gash for a mouth.

"We know of you, Brother of Dragons." The voice sounded like wood splintering.

There was a gasp of surprise from the others. "I know of your kith and kin too, Man of Oak, though I have never spoken with any of you before," Shavi said.

"We remain silent when mortals walk beneath our leaves. They have never treated the Wood-born with respect." A sound like the sighing of wind in branches escaped the mouth. "But we know you are a friend of the Green and the people of the trees and the people of the lakes, Brother of Dragons. Do you vouch for these others?"

"I do."

There was a moment's pause, and then Meg was slowly ejected from the tree trunk. She fell gasping on to the ground, where Breaker and Carolina ran to help her to her feet. She looked unhurt, but Shavi asked gently, "Are you all right?" She nodded, bewildered; her eyes were still rimmed with tears. Shavi felt a wave of relief that she was safe. He'd read of the dryads and naiads, the tree and water spirits, and he had sensed them at times during his previous explorations of his abilities, but it was the first time they had manifested. This time he had responded instinctively and it seemed to have worked.

"Those who move within the Invisible World are dangerous to call, Brother of Dragons," the tree spirit said.

"I proceed with caution, as always, Man of Oak. How do your people fare?"

"In our groves, our woods and deep forests we are as strong as we ever were in our prime. Strong enough to repel any who try to fell us. Already blood has been spilled in the north country and in the west, and after nightfall the people have learned to avoid the coppices where our fallen bodies lie."

The grim note in the creaking voice was so powerful the others blanched and took a step away. But Shavi sensed an opportunity and persevered. "Our stories say there was not always such enmity between man and tree."

"In the days before your people turned away from the wisdom of the land we were treated with respect and we, in turn, respected the men who moved among us."

"It could be that way again."

"It may still be too early, Brother of Dragons. The new season has not been long in the-"

"No." Meg stepped up to Shavi's side. The tree creaked in protest at being interrupted. "I'm sorry for speaking out of turn," Meg continued hurriedly, "but not all people are the same. We've always respected trees, nature. It's part of our belief. We never cut green wood. We don't pollute the land." Shavi saw the wild intelligence bright in her eyes; she knew, as he did, that the Oak Men would be strong allies.

A whispering like the crackling of dry leaves seemed to run through the ground to nearby trees, then out through the wood. "They're talking," Carolina said, a little too loudly.

Soon after lights appeared in the deep dark, far among the trees, flickering will-o'-the-wisps that, oddly, put them all at ease. "Spirit lights," Shavi said in awe. "The spirits of the trees moving out from the wood."

"It has not been seen by mortals for many lives, even by how the Wood-born measure time," the oak said. "We accept your words. We call you to come to us as friends. Embrace the wood. Move through our home, listen to the whisper of our hearts. Show respect for us, men and women of flesh and bone, and we in turn shall forever grant you the good fortune that comes from our protection. Let this be the first act of a new age."

"I thank you, Men of Oak, for your good grace in forgiving the sins of the past." Shavi rested his hand on the bark once more; it was warm and comforting to the touch.

"Seasons come and go. A fresh start will be to the benefit of both our people."

Shavi turned to face the others. They were watching the lights floating gently among the trees, their faces almost beatific. Race memories, long buried echoes of wonder and awe had been released in them. In one moment they had become their ancestors.

Gradually, one by one, they drifted off lazily among the trees. Shavi watched their transcendental expressions as they reached out to the lights, touched the wood, caressed the leaves, lost to the mystery. The Oak Man had been right: this was a moment of vital importance for the new age, the reforming of a bond that had been so powerful in times long gone.

Shavi followed a little way behind, observing the change that had come over the travellers as they wandered in and out of the circles of moonlight; they were more at peace than he would have believed. Deep in the woods some of them came across a glassy, moonlit pool where water trickled melodically over mildewed rocks from a tiny spring, a green and silver world that smelled as clear and fresh as a wilderness mountaintop.

Carolina sat on a rock at the edge and trailed her hand dreamily in the water. She retracted it suddenly when she saw a face floating just beneath the surface, big eyes blinking curiously. The figure was not solid; in fact it seemed to be continuously flowing and reforming. But no sense of threat came off it. Cautiously, Carolina reached out her hand and paused a few inches above the surface. The water rose up in a gentle crystal spiral to touch her fingertips briefly before rushing away. There was a sound like gently bubbling laughter. Carolina looked up and smiled, her face as innocent as the moon.

Hours later, back at the camp site, the eight of them tried to express to the others what had happened. Amidst the gushing enthusiasm it wasn't hard to communicate the overwhelming sense of wonder that possessed them, and by the time midnight turned they all felt they had been part of an epochal shift.

Penny was overjoyed that her son was still alive, but the thought that he wasn't even in the world left her dismal. "You've got to help me," she said to Shavi, clutching at his sleeve like he was the Saviour; her face was pitiful, broken.

"I will do what I can," he replied, and it wasn't quite a lie. He didn't tell her what was likely to be her son's fate in the Court of the Final Word, that even if he could find some way to bring the boy back, his mother might not recognise him.

Still, his brief words seemed to cheer her. She left the fireside hurriedly to wander among the trees in the hope that the Wood-born's promise of good fortune would find its way to her.

Shavi retired to his tent early, exhausted by his experience. As the firelight began to die he had also seen a grey shape flickering like reflected light among the vehicles, and he did not feel strong enough to deal with Lee that night. His guilt at his boyfriend's death had not been assuaged by the knowledge that it had been part of some overarching scheme by the Tuatha De Danann; he still could have done something to save Lee, he was sure of it, but fear for his own safety had paralysed him. If being taunted and berated by his dead lover on a nightly basis was the price he had to pay to purge the emotions that were eating away at him, then that was how it would have to be; even if the words he heard were driving him insane.

There was a faint scratching on the canvas. A silhouette he would never forget. He buried his face in his bag and tried to sleep.

And then the whispering began.

At some point he must finally have dozed off for he woke with a start to a rustling at the entrance to the tent. His first befuddled thought was that it was Lee until Carolina pushed her way in past the flaps. Behind her was Spink, now miraculously cleaned of the mud that had grimed him from head to toe. He was handsome, dark-eyed and black-haired beneath his disguise. Shavi switched on his torch and positioned it so it illuminated the tent.

"Do you mind if we come in?" Carolina said when she was already inside.

Shavi gestured magnanimously; if truth be told, he was keen for company. "How can I help you?"

Spink seemed awestruck in his presence, so it was Carolina who did all the talking. "The people out there are talking about you like you're some kind of Messiah." Her eyes sparkled in the torchlight.

"I am no Messiah."

"They saw what you did in the wood. You've got powers of some kind. You do things that no ordinary person can do."

Shavi nodded. "But inside I am just a man. Flawed, frightened, unable to know what is the right decision."

She shook her head; her black hair shifted languorously. "You're not convincing me. You told us yourself, you're a man with a mission. You're here to deliver us all from evil."

"Not like that."

"Not a Messiah, then. But a mystic, a wise man. Shaman. You used the word yourself." This he had to concede. "Then you could teach us all things-"

"I am not a teacher."

"Look at us all here!" she protested. "Why do you think we've opted for this kind of life when we could be living in warm homes where there's always plenty of food on the table, where there's always some nice loving husband or boyfriend there to make sure everything's all right?" There was a sliver of bitterness in her voice; she swallowed it with difficulty and continued. "We're all searching for something, something better. It was a spiritual choice. You must understand that?" He nodded. "We've been failed by society, failed by the Church, all the religions. But there's a deep hole inside us that we want filled." She hit her chest hard. "You can help fill that."

Shavi was humbled by her passion and eloquence. "So you are saying that you want to be my disciples?"

She glanced at Spink, whose eyes brightened. "That's exactly what we're saying."

"Let me tell you something," he began slowly. "I grew up in West London in a family of brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles and nieces and nephews and… too many even to count. As a child, it was quite idyllic. I never wanted for love. I studied hard at school to make my father proud of me, and he was proud, and I was happier than any boy had any right to be. My father… The thing I remember about him sometimes when I am drifting off to sleep is the way his eyes would light up when I would bring him my school books to show him my work. They would crinkle round the edge, and then he would smile and pull me over to him. There was such integrity and honesty in his face, all I wanted was to be like him."

He closed his eyes, the memories flashed across his mind almost too painful to bear. "My family was very strictly Muslim. It was the glue that held everything together. The mosque was as much a part of our life as the kitchen. And for my father and mother, for all my relatives, it was the thing that gave them strength to face all the privations the world brought to their door. But it was not right for me. I tried. I tried so hard I could not sleep, I could not eat, because I knew it would make my mother and father proud. But it did not speak to me, here…" he touched his chest, then his forehead "… and here. It did not feel right, or comforting, or secure, or even begin to explain the way the world works. For me. For I still believe, of all the religions, it is one of the strongest. But it did not speak to nze. And so, in all good faith, I could not continue with it."

Carolina and Spink watched every flicker of his face, his deathly seriousness reflected in their own.

"I told my father. The shock I saw in his features destroyed me. It was as if, for one brief instant, I was a stranger who had washed into his room. And I never saw his eyes light up again. At first he tried to force me to be a good Muslim. And then, when that did not work, at sixteen he drove me out of the house for good. I stood crying on the doorstep, the same good son who had pleased him all his life. And he would not look me in the face. And he would not speak a word. And when the door closed it was plain it would be forever."

"What a bastard," Carolina said.

"No. I could never blame my father. He was who he was and always had been. And there is not a night goes by that I do not think of him warmly."

"Why are you telling us this?"

"Because I have spent all my life since then searching for something which would give me the same feeling of warmth and security I felt as a child, and which would fill that void inside."

"But you've found-"

"No. I have not. Once you set off along that path to enlightenment it is a very dark road indeed, and I have not seen even the slightest glimmer of light at the end. It is a journey we must all make, alone. What worked for my father did not work for me. What will be right for me, will not be so for you. Do not seek out masters. Look into yourself."

There was a long pause. Then she said, "Can't you see? That's just the kind of guidance I was looking for-"

He sighed.

"Okay, okay, I hear what you're saying. But I tell you now, we are going to be your disciples. We'll just do it from a distance." Her smile was facetious, teasing; he smiled in response.

He could see in her face there was something else. "What do you want?"

"We want to be with you."

It took him a second or two to realise what she was truly saying. "That may not be a good idea."

"Why? Because you think we're being manipulated somehow? We know what we're doing. This isn't an emotional thing, it's a… it's a…" She searched for the right words.

"A ritual thing," Spink said suddenly.

Shavi nodded. He understood the transfer of power through the sexual act and he certainly understood the power of directed hedonism. But he was uncomfortable with how they were elevating him to the position of some potent seer and hoping that some of whatever he had would rub off on them during intimacy.

Before he had a chance to order his thoughts, Carolina had stripped off her T-shirt. Her breasts were small and pale in the torchlight. Spink followed suit; his chest was hard and bony, the ribs casting strips of shadow across his skin.

"Spink's bi," Carolina said. "Or maybe gay, I don't think he's decided yet."

She leaned forward and kissed Shavi, her mouth open and wet. Spink moved in and began to nuzzle at Shavi's neck. There was too much sensory stimulation for Shavi to keep his thoughts ordered and eventually he gave in to the pleasures of the moment.

The torch was switched off. His fingers slid over warm flesh. Hands caressed his body, stripping him naked. Their bodies moved over his, both of them hard, at times impossible to tell who was whom. The atmosphere became heightened with energy and for that brief moment he felt renewed.

The scream cut through the early morning stillness, snapping Shavi out of a deep sleep. He untangled himself from draping limbs, only just stirring, before pulling on his clothes and scrambling out on to the dewy ground. The air was chill; it couldn't have been long after dawn.

The first thing he saw brought that cold deep into his veins. There, in the tufted grass by the tent opening, was a slim, pale, severed finger.

All over the campsite people were falling out of camper vans, buses and cars, staggering bleary-eyed into the light. Shavi lurched past the finger, barely able to take his eyes off it, then tried to estimate the direction from which the scream had come. He didn't have to look far. In the no-man's land between the vehicles and the wood, a woman silently dipped down, then rose up, dipped down, rose up, a surreal image until Shavi saw her face was contorted with such grief she couldn't give voice to it. A shapeless mass lay at her feet.

Shavi ran as fast as he could, but several people reached the site before him.

He pushed through them a little too roughly. Lying at the centre of the shocked circle of travellers was Penny, the ground stained in a wide arc around where her finger should have been. She was white with death.

Shavi felt his stomach knot, his mind fizz and spark with the awful realisation that he had brought this horror to the gentle, peaceful travellers. The ground seemed to shift beneath his feet and he had to stagger away where he could no longer see the body.