The Burning Man

6

From the rumbling, soil-and-pebble-raining entrance to the Underworld spewed Veitch, filled with all the fury of a devil let loose from hell. His sword blazed with the blackest flames, and he was covered with the grey gore of two hundred brutal deaths. Miller was dragged along in his wake, struck dumb by terror and the horrors he had witnessed. Flanking them were the Brothers and Sisters of Spiders, weapons and hoofs still dripping.

‘Get me to her,’ Veitch barked.

There was only a momentary pause before Etain swept him up onto her horse, and then they were off on a wild ride across the Greek countryside, beneath implacable stars and a cold moon, along still-hot roads, through trees that tore at their hair and skin, across dusty, rock-strewn slopes, until they finally arrived at the still puddle of light that was the compound.

Veitch instantly recognised the motionless form, carefully laid out in a cruciform, and threw himself from the horse before it had come to a halt. Sprinting to Ruth’s side, he kneeled and checked her vitals. She looked as if she was sleeping.

The reality of her death took a moment to break through the barrier of his hopes. As he ran his fingers through her curls, and stroked the pale curve of her cheek, he recalled the first time he had seen her, when they were still naive about their own potential and the future course of their lives, and he remembered how stupid he had felt, like some animal rising up out of the mud to look at a higher form of life. Ruth was always better; not just cleverer or wiser, or more experienced than a South London thug like him, but she was more moral, with a profound emotional awareness and a heart as big as the world. Sometimes he had been shocked that the others hadn’t seen it. It was his secret, their bond.

Over the intense, dangerous, uplifting months they had spent together during that Age of Misrule when the gods first made their move, he had come to realise there was an emptiness at the heart of his life that only she could fill. For her, he could strive for better things. Without her he was back at the gates of hell.

Too grandiose? That was a Church word, but Church understood those things as much as he understood Ruth. No, not too grandiose. A pure and simple truth.

Veitch took her hand and made his fifth futile fumble for a pulse. And then he cried for the first time in two thousand years and more, silently at first, and then with juddering sobs, as all his pathetic dreams leaked out and he was left with nothing but self-loathing and the harsh realisation that he was damned.

Miller’s hand fell on his shoulder. ‘Let me help.’ The words were so gentle they were almost an exhalation.

‘She’s dead, you fucking idiot.’

‘I might be able to do something. I don’t normally. Once they’re gone it’s best to leave them that way. But … it doesn’t look like it’s been long. Let me help.’

Wiping away his tears and snot, Veitch allowed Miller to pull him gently away. He stood next to Etain, still in the saddle, and rested one hand on her cold thigh.

Miller squatted next to Ruth and pressed both hands on her breast above her heart. Bowing his head, he grew still. For long moments, Veitch watched, transfixed by grief. Just as he was about to start raging at Miller for his stupidity, he became aware of a faint blue light that cast flickering shadows with no obvious source. As Miller continued to meditate, blue sparks fizzed from his fingertips and the air became suffused with the odour of burned iron. Veitch realised that the light was coming from within Miller. A blue glow appeared at Miller’s midriff, increasing in intensity until his stomach and lower back became transparent, though Veitch realised he was not looking at muscle and bone but through them to another plane entirely. And there Veitch saw a serpentine movement like a blue shadow against a brighter glow, coiling gently as Miller increased the force that flowed into Ruth. It looked for all the world like a tiny Fabulous Beast nestling deep in the heart of Miller’s being.

Veitch barely dared draw a single breath. Finally the light went out as if a switch had been thrown, and there was only silence.

Veitch didn’t move. Miller rocked back onto his heels, covering his face, exhausted. It had failed, like everything else in Veitch’s life had failed; why did he ever dare hope for anything when there was only disappointment?

A tremor ran through Ruth. It could have been the night breeze stirring her clothes, but there was another, and then another, and then finally she pushed herself up on her elbows, blinking.

Veitch’s jaw sagged, and then a barely believing smile leaped to his lips. He whispered to himself, ‘And the crowd went wild.’

‘I dreamed I was in such a misty place,’ Ruth said. ‘Why do I feel like I’ve got a hangover?’

A rush of exhilaration filled Veitch and for a moment he thought he would cry again, for joy this time. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to rush over and sweep her into his arms, but it would not amount to anything, he knew that. He allowed himself one secret grin in the dark and said, ‘Looks like you’ve got some uses after all, Miller.’

Ashen-faced and shaking, Miller came over. He was smiling. ‘You don’t fool me with your act, Ryan. I can see how much you love her,’ he said quietly.

‘Bollocks. What do you know?’

‘I know that somebody who shows so much care for another person that he would risk everything to save her can’t be as bad as he pretends.’

‘If you go on thinking that, you’re making the kind of mistake that could get you killed. I’ve hurt a lot of people to get here. I’m the bad guy, Miller. I know it and I don’t care.’

Miller continued to smile knowingly. It unnerved Veitch, so he went over to Ruth who was sifting through her woolly thoughts.

‘Did the Libertarian do this?’ Veitch asked.

‘I think so … yes. I remember him strangling me.’

‘You died, darlin’.’

Ruth’s eyes widened.

‘Whatever part of you matters went over to the Grey Lands. I’ve been there — it’s not Club Med. You hang around for a bit before you move on to wherever you go after that.’ He jerked a thumb towards Miller. ‘He got to you in time.’ Veitch’s hands were trembling; he hid them behind his back.

Ruth’s eyes narrowed. Something in his words or manner puzzled her. ‘I remember what you used to be like, Veitch. It’s coming back to me.’

Uncomfortably, he looked away to the east. ‘Sun’ll be up soon. We need to move. Those bastard spiders are going to be all over us now. Need to think … where to next? Fuck. I planned this really well.’

The landscape appeared to revolve around him, a vertigo-inducing moment that almost made his knees give way. When it came to a halt, the shadows had altered and were no longer fixed to the light sources, and there was an intense quality to the silence as though the landscape was listening. The Brothers and Sisters of Spiders, Miller, the compound buildings, all were gone.

‘What the fuck-?’ Veitch drew his sword, but the black flames were so subdued they were barely visible.

‘Where are we?’ Ruth looked round, disoriented. ‘I don’t recognise this place.’

‘Knavery abounds. Why, you are pouk-ledden.’ The voice was filled with a sly humour. A second later the Puck appeared.

‘What are you?’ Veitch growled.

‘My names are many, in many lands,’ the Puck said with a sweeping bow. ‘Call me Robin Goodfellow, but do not call me blackguard if you wish good fortune.’

‘Watch him,’ Ruth said to Veitch. ‘He can’t be trusted.’

‘Night wanderers, you are,’ Robin said slyly. ‘And so, by my right, I mislead you. Or not. And therein lies the mischief, for you to divine.’

‘You’re not making any sense.’ Veitch lowered his sword. ‘Like all your bleedin’ kind. Never saw you with the spiders, though.’

‘Robin plays his own game. A long one.’ From behind his back, he pulled a black box etched with gold-filigreed hieroglyphics. He offered it to Veitch.

‘Is that … the Anubis Box?’ Ruth asked with mounting anxiety. ‘You can’t give that to him! It’s too powerful. It controls gods!’

Ruth lunged for the box, but her hands closed on thin air. The Puck was now curling round behind Veitch, the box held aloft. Veitch took it curiously.

‘No!’ Ruth said. ‘I thought you were helping us!’

‘Mischief does not follow a straight path.’

Veitch examined the box. It hummed in his hands as if it was alive, one of the objects, like his sword, that was nothing like it appeared to be. A thought struck him, and he looked to Ruth, who was thoroughly destabilised. ‘Not happy for this to be in my hands? I could just open the box-’

‘Don’t!’

‘Maybe you’d better come along and keep an eye on me, then. In the car, not tied up in the boot. But one wrong move and the lid comes off.’

Ruth’s features grew flinty. ‘I always thought there might still be a little spark of goodness buried in you somewhere. But there isn’t. You’re worthless. And if I ever get the chance to stop you, I will.’

‘You’ll fall for my charm sooner or later.’ He turned back to the Puck, who was circling them like a hunting wolf. ‘What am I supposed to do with this?’

‘It will buy you passage in the most dangerous domain. Now go. More mischief awaits and … Robin is gone.’

Between blinks, Veitch and Ruth found themselves back in the compound where Miller shifted uncomfortably near the Brothers and Sisters of Spiders, unaware they had been anywhere.

Ruth eyed Veitch hatefully, but there was nothing he could do about that. She was still alive and that was all that mattered.