The Queen of sinister

Caitlin washed her hair by moonlight in crystal-cold river water pulled up from their wake by a silver bucket. As the grease and dirt came out, she felt a little better, but the exhilaration of the new world and the feeling of passing through a fascinating dream was gone for good. It had all felt so fantastic: a trip to a mystical realm to find a magical cure for something so devastatingly human as illness. Now questions were beginning to pile up. Why was the Lament-Brood hunting her? Why were the Whisperers so desperate to get her that it seemed they would never give up? Why did she feel she was playing an important role in some vast, unknowable scheme? She hoped it was all part of her fragmented state of mind — paranoia and megalomania building — and that everything really was as pure and simple as she had originally imagined. But things were never that simple, were they?

It didn't help that Brigid was chattering incessantly in the back of her head. Caitlin had stopped listening to her a while ago — it was the only way Caitlin could go about her life — but the old woman was certainly concerned about something.

While fumbling for the cloth she was using as a towel, it was pressed into her hand. Carlton was there.

'Hello,' Caitlin said, as she dried herself off. 'Aren't you on lookout with Mahalia?'

He smiled and nodded to the prow, where Mahalia sat with Jack.

'Ah, she's got a boyfriend,' Caitlin noted. Carlton laughed silently. 'Well, sit with me a while.'

They settled into a bench seat set against the rail, where the warm evening breeze would dry her hair. Caitlin was surprised when Carlton rested his head against her shoulder; she put one arm around him.

'I wish I knew exactly what was going on inside your head, Carlton,' she said. 'Were you always like this, or did something happen to you?'

He didn't look up, didn't acknowledge that he had heard her at all.

The warmth of his body next to hers brought a sudden swell of emotion, surprising in its intensity after the numbness she had felt for so long. She fought back the tears, somehow managing to control her voice. 'I used to have a little boy — his name was Liam. He used to like books and computer games and music, and his skateboard. I don't know if you like any of those things, but… you're like him in a different way. Quiet, thoughtful… I think he was a good person, and I think you are too, Carlton. There aren't enough good people in this world.' She gave him a squeeze, trying not to sound too maudlin, nor to swamp him with adult emotion. 'I'm going to look after you,' she added softly.

In the quiet that followed her words, there were only the gentle river noises, until somewhere in the distance an owl hooted. A while later, Caitlin made her way to Triathus, who stood at the stern looking out over the moonlit water, deep in thought.

'We appreciate your help,' she said. 'These are difficult times,' he replied. 'We should stand shoulder to shoulder as allies. Perhaps more than that. We are all Children of Existence.'

'If only your people agreed on that.'

'I fear there will be much suffering before the Golden Ones are united once more,' he said sadly. 'That it has come to this fills me with despair.'

'Are the other side likely to attack us here on the boat?'

'Perhaps. I keep watch for any sign.'

'But you never saw them coming before?'

'No.' A shadow crossed his face as he watched the white wake spread out in a V.

'Can you see something?'

'No, but still… Something troubles me, if only I could identify it.'

Caitlin followed his gaze, but could see nothing out of the ordinary.

'I feel… a presence. But I see nothing.' He turned to her and smiled gently. 'And my eyes are keener than yours.'

'When I heard about the old gods returning, I never imagined them to be quite like you, Triathus. You're gentler than I expected. Where are all the flashing lights and displays of power that terrified the Celts?'

'Though we like to think of ourselves as immutable, we — some of us — were different in the days of which you speak, Sister of Dragons.'

He placed one hand on each side of her head. She flinched at first, but his gentle nature calmed her. His fingers felt cool, but deep within them something crackled like electricity. 'You have suffered greatly,' he began. 'High tragedy. Yet you continue to strive for the good of others.' Caitlin felt a soft movement in the back of her head, as if his fingers were probing there. 'The Broken Woman,' he mused. 'Shattered, yet still whole.' His expression changed. 'Something else lies there… hiding.' He snatched his hands away; Caitlin felt a sucking sensation inside her head.

'What is it?'

'I do not know. I sensed…' He pondered, then made a dismissive gesture. 'Perhaps it is nothing.'

'I don't envy you probing around in my mind. I know… I know I'm not well.'

'You make a misjudgment common to your kind,' Triathus said. 'There is no one way of being, no singular way of seeing the world. Your spirit has made your… mind how you need to be for this moment, to survive, to win.'

'That's nice of you to say, but it still doesn't feel right.'

'In the old tribes, the Fragile Creatures who first welcomed us to your world, their wise men and magicians often had an altered perception of Existence-'

'They were all mad, too.'

'Words… meaningless. Everything without you is a mystery and everything within, too. Worlds upon worlds upon worlds — no view is the same.'

Caitlin peered into the depths of Triathus' shimmering face. He appeared to be trying to tell her something important, but she couldn't quite grasp the essence of it. 'Anyway, I'm learning to deal with it. Carlton's the saving of me. I feel a bond with him. If he hadn't been around, I don't know what…' She became aware of Mahalia standing in the shadows nearby, listening. Caitlin turned to tell the girl not to eavesdrop, but Mahalia had already melted away into the moonshadows washing across the deck. Strange white faces appeared amongst the trees when the boat drifted close to either shore. It was not the Gehennis, but other, even more disturbing denizens of the Other- world, stirring from their alien dreams to see what unusual beings had been washed up at their homes. They came and went before their true appearances became clear, leaving their motivations undivined. No one could bring themselves to look at them for too long. It was deep in the middle of the night when Caitlin stirred from a shallow sleep. A silent calling ushered her to the rail; there was some activity on the riverbank that she had to see.

For the first time the forest was still, and briefly she wondered if she was just acting out a dream. But then there was a sudden burst of blue lightning and a smell of electrical generators. Sparks fizzed out into the water, and within the display Caitlin saw a figure. It was the knight with the boar's-head helmet, watching her passage.

Her heart fell. Surely he should have been left far behind. How could he be there?

The light display continued until the boat had passed, and then winked out. The knight was either gone or lost to the dark.

Caitlin had started to think that the knight was her burden alone; certainly she had a sense that he had no interest at all in the others. With that notion came another more disturbing impression. She had thought that she was on a journey to save humanity; a glorious mission. Perhaps it wasn't that at all. Perhaps she was on a road to hell and the knight was there to ensure that she reached her destination.

Sleep proved elusive on the heels of such morbid thoughts. Sunlight dappled the deck, shimmering through dancing shadows cast by branches and leaves. Triathus stood at the helm, proud and erect, as if he had not moved all night. Caitlin stretched and yawned, driving out her disturbing thoughts of the previous night. Matt slept nearby, his face untroubled. It left Caitlin with a deep yearning; she couldn't remember the last time she had been like that. Mahalia, too, looked at ease with her head resting on Jack's shoulder. She had her arms tightly around Carlton as though afraid someone would steal him in the night. Crowther was nowhere to be seen.

Caitlin made her way to Triathus, who nodded politely when he saw her. 'Where's the professor?' she asked huskily.

'Making breakfast for you in the galley. He did not sleep well. There is much that troubles him.'

'Hardly surprising. He thought he could run and hide from all the world's problems, and his own. Now he's discovered you can't do that.'

'He should be content. He has taken another step along the path of wisdom.'

Caitlin surveyed the river. It had grown narrower during the night and now the banks were only an arrow's flight apart. On either side, the trees rose up for almost forty feet in an impenetrable wall of twisted branch and gnarled, protruding root. Occasionally, spaces would appear, allowing her a glimpse of green hills and, in the distance, misty purple mountains. It was an epic landscape of awe and wonder.

In one of those gaps, her attention was caught by crumbling stone ruins on a distant hilltop. Though distant, she could tell that they were incredibly ancient, the stone shattered by the years, festooned with ivy. 'What is that?' she asked Triathus. 'A memory. This is an ancient land, older than the Fixed Lands, almost as old as Existence. My people like to think of themselves as a pure part of Everything — the first and last and only. But in truth we know there were others before us. We are simply the last generation of gods. Before us came the builders of great stone cities, erected in such a way that they resembled mighty cliffs, part of nature itself — in the tops of trees, beneath the waters, in the dark crevices beneath the earth. Before us came the fighters of great battles that laid waste to the Far Lands, so that no green thing grew and only smoke drifted across the burned and blackened realm. Before us came the great monsters, the devils, the avatars of the Void. There are even tales sung by the filid of Fragile Creatures who once had a great civilisation here in the times before time. The echoes of all those races still ring out across the Far Lands, in stories, mysterious ruins, artefacts of great power, wisdom — to which my people have laid claim, but which come from long before us. Only one thing has remained unchanged, throughout all the ages: the Fabulous Beasts — not beasts at all, but messengers of Existence.'

'What happened to those people?'

Triathus looked thoughtful. 'They moved on.' His gesture suggested that they still existed, somewhere.

'And so my people came here to take their place, from four wondrous cities of the Northland — Falias, Gorias, Finias and Murias. Forced to wander, always searching, never finding. Yet we always carry with us memories of that happy home, when we were part of Existence and all was right. And the twenty great courts were established, and our reign of power began. And the Far Lands were shaped to our thinking, and everything became as you see around you.'

Caitlin rested on the rail, enjoying the fresh, cold scent of the river and the way the sunlight flashed across her face. 'It's a beautiful place — but dangerous, too.' 'Like my people.' He brought his hand sharply to his forehead as if afflicted by a sudden pain, but the mood quickly passed. 'We know from our observations of Existence that there is a season to everything. Death in winter. New shoots in spring. The cycles continue eternally, but nothing lasts for ever. The Golden Ones will be supplanted… and Fragile Creatures will take our place. That is clear, yet the other side refuse to accept it, as if the sound of their voices could drive Existence back. There is an arrogance to my people, an arrogance that afflicts all who remain in power for too long. But the truth will emerge, in time, and the seasons will continue to change.' There was a sadness to his voice that affected Caitlin deeply. He could see the good times fading, yet somehow he accepted it with equanimity. Matt was enjoying the peaceful morning at the rail when Mahalia eased her way out from between the sleeping Jack and Carlton and came over. This attempt at sociability was suspicious enough, but her fresh features couldn't contain her uneasiness. 'Can I ask you something?' she asked. Matt surveyed her, and in that unguarded moment he could see all her innocent fears. 'Sure. What's up?' 'You and Caitlin get on all right. I mean, I've seen you both. I know you fancy her, and I reckon she fancies you as well.' 'You don't know what you're talking about.' She made a dismissive gesture. 'Whatever. I just need to know what's going through her head.' Matt saw her furtive glance back at Carlton. 'What exactly do you need to know?' 'What's the deal with her and Carlton? She's always crawling round him. What does she want with him?' Matt chose his words carefully. 'Caitlin's suffered a great tragedy. She's lost her only son-' 'And she wants Carlton to take his place?' The edge to Mahalia's voice suggested Matt had touched a nerve. 'In a way. He's a surrogate, I suppose… filling that hole she's got inside her.' Mahalia's jaw set. 'She's not going to take him away from me.' 'You shouldn't think of it like that-' 'You don't understand. Carlton's all I've got. Everybody else walked out on me, but he's stuck by me through all the shit we've come up against. He's family. She's not going to have him.'

'You've got to be reasonable here, Mahalia. You don't own Carlton-'

Mahalia glared at him. 'I never said I did. So what do you think she's going to do? Be, like, his mother?'

'Maybe. It would be good for him. You've got to think of that, Mahalia.'

She had the jittery look of a frightened animal. 'She won't take him from me,' she repeated. 'I'll do whatever I have to to keep him.'

Matt watched her stalk away. He realised, for the first time, that Mahalia was truly capable of anything. Crowther had spent a good hour familiarising himself with the contents of the galley. It came as a welcome relief after a long night of struggling and failing to sleep. Events weighed heavily on him, and food was always one of his favourite diversions. He found a selection of the ubiquitous dried, spiced meats and several loaves of the nutty bread that never appeared to lose its softness; an abundance of fruit, too, none of it blemished, even though it must have been on the boat for a while.

He munched heartily while he set about preparing breakfast dishes for the others, and eventually the tactile and olfactory ritual allowed him to shuffle some of his black thoughts to one side. He had almost reached a state of blank bliss as he bit into a ripe peach that sent juices spraying across his face when he was jolted by an electric voice.

'Put me on.'

He whirled, not knowing whom to expect, but the galley was empty. The steps led up to a sun-drenched and deserted quarter of the deck. An odd cold-hot flush swept over him. The voice had a crackling, otherworldly power.

'Put me on!'

The force of the command physically threw him back against the wall. Now he knew its source, and the realisation filled him with dread.

With trembling fingers, he hesitantly withdrew the Mask of Maponus from his overcoat. It felt hot to the touch, the silver flashing like lightning in the sun.

'Put me on.'

Crowther dropped the mask with a jerk. It clattered on to the floor, blank, inhuman eyes fixing a gaze of terrible gravity upon him. The lips had moved when it spoke; they had moved as if the thing were alive.

Crowther clutched at the work surface with sweaty, itchy hands. 'I'm not putting you on,' he said in a low, tremulous voice.

' You must. You have opened yourself up to the infinite vision of the Good Son. Bonds have already been forged; they cannot be shattered. You have partaken of the wonders that spring from my eternal joy and now you must pay the price.'

'No. I know what'll happen if I keep putting you on-'

' The things you shall see! The knowledge you shall gain, the wisdom! Worlds shall be spread before you, all Existence under your will. Nevermore to be afraid… of anything…'

'No!' Crowther kicked the mask furiously so that it spun across the floor. It was all he could manage, and he knew his hands were already reaching down for it as his foot lashed out. 'I know what will happen!' he shouted. 'There won't be any "me" left. You'll suck me in, swallow me up in your madness…'

'What are you doing?' Matt stood at the top of the steps, surveying Crowther curiously.

The professor blinked slowly and stupidly, the echoes of Maponus' voice still fizzing around inside his head.

'You were talking to yourself,' Matt pressed. 'Don't tell me you've developed a few extra personalities in your cranium as well.'

'Don't be so stupid,' Crowther snapped. He snatched up the mask, slipping it effortlessly into his hidden pocket, despite the way it tugged at his fingers. 'Talking to myself, you say?' He tried to read Matt's attitude and decided the mask had not spoken aloud; perhaps it only spoke to him inside his head. Perhaps it didn't speak to him at all. Perhaps he was going mad. Maybe that was the price any human paid for venturing into the Otherworld.

'Look, we haven't got time for you to play silly buggers,' Matt said with exasperation. 'Caitlin's having another of her turns.'

'And that should concern me why, exactly?'

'Just come and listen.' With irritation, Matt spun round and marched back on deck.

'I am the eggman, they are the eggmen,' Crowther said after him, with a dismissive gesture. 'Goo goo goo joob.' 'They're there, I tell you!'

Crowther found Caitlin marching back and forth along the aft rail, glaring menacingly at the white wake. Her voice belonged to the irritating, neurotic Briony.

'I've tried to explain to her that we know the Whisperers are behind us,' Matt said, 'but they can't be close because there's no way they could move quickly through the forest. And if they were there we'd see the disturbance they make… or at least hear that God-awful whispering.'

'This personality is a construct to provide a voice for her inherent paranoia,' Crowther replied quietly. 'After what's happened to her, she feels the whole world is against her and something bad is just around the corner.'

'So we can safely ignore her?' Matt asked.

'I wouldn't say that,' Crowther replied.

'See, shithead.' Caitlin/Briony gave Matt the V-sign.

'These constructs come from the primal mind,' Crowther said. 'If Jung's theory of the collective unconscious is correct, they may have access to information denied to the rest of us.'

Matt looked suspicious of this intellectualising.

Crowther wasn't deterred. 'And in quantum theory we are all connected. Some have said that consciousness isn't confined by the brain. At the quantum level, consciousness — perhaps an analogue for the soul — can move beyond the form, explaining how some seers can see events at a distance… telepathy… magic

'You're just doing this to make me feel like an idiot, aren't you?' Matt said.

'Yes. Is it working?'

'Will you two stop having a wank,' Caitlin/Briony snapped. 'You'd better listen to me or it's all over.'

Crowther pushed past her and surveyed the tree line. 'No sign of anything moving in there,' he said after a moment. He listened. 'Can't hear anything either.'

'That's what I said.' Matt shook his head with exasperation.

But despite their words, both Crowther and Matt could feel something. An oppressive atmosphere had settled over the area.

'I think we should take it in turns to keep watch,' Crowther suggested. On a warm spring evening with the sun only just turning orange and the midges alive with excitement, Mary crested the final rise to see the object of her search in all its majesty. The Long Man of Wilmington was etched in white along more than two hundred and twenty feet of hillside, gripping his twin staffs proudly. She had broken away from the South Downs Way to follow a path to Dragon Hill for just such a view. It seemed right to process towards it in that way, a part of the ritual that lay ahead. The Long Man's size surprised her — bigger than the pictures suggested — and she was also surprised to see that the chalk outlines were still sharp and clear. She guessed the locals must have continued to look after the figure as their ancestors had done for hundreds of years. Did they sense something more potent than a simple illustration; a race memory of hill figures as signals to the gods? Or even as the gods' presence on earth?

She hurried down the slope towards Windover Hill, the birdsong loud and melodious, the scents of the English countryside uplifting. This was how she always thought of England — on the brink of summer, with the elements conspiring to conjure up that unique mystical energy that coursed through the land.

Only one thing cast a shadow across her thoughts: Caitlin. So many days had passed since Mary had set off on the long, trudging march from her home that anything could have happened to the young doctor. Perhaps the whole quest and its many privations had been for nothing. Caitlin could already be dead at the hands of whatever dark force had set the plague upon the population.

In the end, it all came down to hope, and faith, as so many things did in life. Mary had to do the best she could and place her trust in the Universe to make everything all right.

She eventually found a quiet spot that had the right vibrations for what she had planned. It afforded a perfect view of the Long Man's ancient form; she could already hear the beyond calling to her.

The Long Man had been carefully crafted by the ancients. Viewed from the ground, the proportions had been drawn just right to make the figure appear as if it were standing upright; a remarkable feat of engineering, or perception. And from her vantage point she could also see something else clearly. The Long Man was not supporting himself on two staffs, he was holding open a gateway. To where? She had already guessed the answer.

She removed from her bag all the doings she had brought with her for this moment — the tiny packets of herbs, the mortar and pestle, the cream that would provide the base for the alchemical ointment. She hadn't brought her broomstick — too cumbersome for the long road journey — but she had another ritual applicator carved from smooth soapstone.

Stripping off her clothes, she briefly enjoyed the heat of the sun on her skin. The breeze made her nipples hard and there was a familiar flurry of excitement deep in her belly that was almost sexual; it always felt like this, that moment of heady anticipation on the verge of the ride of her life.

The herbs and cream were prepared with a ritualistic attention to detail, the right words muttered, the correct movements followed, and finally, as the sun eased towards the west, she was ready.

She applied the ointment to the applicator and then lay with her legs apart, facing the Long Man. Already moist from the sexual tension, it was easy to slip the applicator inside her. An electric thrill ran into her belly. This was how her sisters had done it, in times long gone, when the Old Religion was the only religion. The true night-flight, the real broomstick ride, for sexuality and spirituality were always inextricably linked, part of the great worship of life.

The psychoactive elements of the herbs rapidly entered her bloodstream through the porous walls of her vagina. It felt like heat, like energy, engorging her clitoris, rushing up through her body to her brain where it tripped the right switches, threw open doors to secret rooms. And then she was falling back, back, through darkness, the hidden door at the back of her head. She emerged through it, and the rush was as astonishing as it had been the first time she had embarked on the spirit-flight, sucking her up high into the sky where the sheer wonder of it all made her head spin. Far below, her prone, naked body looked so fragile; here she was glorious.

As the light of the setting sun made her spirit-form sparkle with an inner warmth, she soared even higher until the landscape was a mass of green with the Long Man standing out in stark white. It was only then that she realised the figure had been designed for viewing from above as well as the horizontal. Yet it had been constructed at a time when man was supposed to have been rooted to the earth. Perhaps everyone in those times indulged in spirit-flight, an era of true freedom that made a mockery of the claims of the leaden modern age, trapped in materialism, a fixed worldview. Everywhere she looked, the marks of ancient mysteries, forgotten mysticism, lay across England's green and pleasant land. Gateways to old knowledge, hidden powers, secret stories, forgotten tales. They'd tried to concrete over it, trap it under roads and pylons, but it was still there, dreaming, just beneath the surface.

She was shocked to see she was not alone. Ghostly figures were dotted all around Dragon Hill, glistening like patches of mist, their heads raised to look at her. Mary drifted down, unsure if there was danger present, and found herself drawn to one particular figure, a man, tall and imposing, his hair long, his face strong-jawed and high-cheekboned.

'We greet you, sister.' His words came to her, though his mouth did not move.

'Who are you?' Mary asked suspiciously. She had seen many strange things since the Fall, but nothing like these people.

'Old souls. Guardians and guides. We move along the lines of Blue Fire, shepherding mortals who need us at the points of power, offering wisdom to those who seek answers to questions of the spirit. For centuries, the ley system lay in ruins, fragmented by those who had lost their link to the world-mind, and our influence was restrained. But now the Fiery Network is active once again, and so we are free to move and guide. And our presence is needed more than ever at this time, when the seasons have changed, great events fall into alignment and mortals prepare for the great step into the unknown. We are the Elysium, and I am Sharish.'

Mary wondered if these beings were responsible for stories of angels, for there was certainly something angelic about them, more in their nature than their appearance. They almost appeared to glow with the faintest blue light, but their features were not benign; indeed, they had an unsettling subtle quality that made Mary quite afraid.

'My name's Mary,' she replied. 'Are you here to help me? Or stop me?'

'We are guides, helpers. We do not interfere, whatever path you choose.'

'I want to petition the Higher Powers,' Mary began. 'I'm very concerned about a friend who has gone off into a dangerous situation.'

Sharish's gaze fell on her powerfully, drove straight into her. 'Your desire to help is good, but sometimes desire is not enough, and events must unfold as Existence requires. Are you prepared for what you have to do?'

'Yes. I'll do anything. Can you help?'

Sharish motioned to the Long Man, and as she looked Mary was aware of a subtle change in the landscape. Now thin veins of blue light ran just beneath the turf like the pulmonary system of an enormous living being; she could feel the energy pumping through them. One line, stronger than others, ran through Dragon Hill to Windover Hill, illuminating the feet of the tall, old god, and then beyond. She had a vision of the network crisscrossing the globe, linking points of great spiritual power.

'There is more at stake here than you think,' Sharish said.

'What do you mean?'

'The smallest things are always part of something bigger. What may seem random events become part of a structure when viewed from a greater perspective.'

'You're telling me to take care? Are you being my guardian angel now?'

He smiled and in an instant everything about him softened. 'When you step into a dark room, it is good to have a helping hand to bring you back to the light. That is why we are here.'

Mary looked up at the Long Man, his hands pressed against the symbolic gateway. 'I want to open the door,' she said.

'Then know that you will contact something very old, and very high. He is beyond all you will find in the Fixed Lands, and in the Far Lands — even those who think themselves above all else. He was here when this place was first made, and he shall be here at its end.'

'God, then?' Mary asked. 'The highest?'

'There is always something higher.' Sharish moved to her side, and Mary felt every fibre of her being prickle with a strange anticipation. 'Ask him what you will, seek his aid, but know that the direction comes from you, and you may be wrong.'

'That wouldn't be a surprise.'

'Would you like to know more of what is at stake?' He was looking at her in a way that suggested she should seize this opportunity. She nodded, and he pointed to Hindover Hill in the dying light beyond Windover Hill. 'His companion stood there, once — the Goddess. Twin gateways to the powers that make up all Existence. She was the night to his day, the moon to his sun. Many old things have been torn asunder under the mistaken rule of mortals, and some have been put right in recent times, but this still remains. The Goddess is lost to him and he mourns.'

'You want me to find her?'

'She will return, when she is called. But the call must be loud and clear.' His spectral, shimmering hand touched her spirit-form and she jolted. 'Four million women died across your world, burned at the stake or hanged by fearful men afraid that the Goddess power would manifest within them.'

His cold, hard rage was frightening to feel. Mary knew what he was talking about — the persecution of witches carried out by religious zealots throughout the Counter- Reformation. 'And I would have been one of them if I'd lived back then,' she said.

'And that is why you are here, whatever you might think. Some men do not want the Goddess ascendant — they have grown comfortable with their own rule, with their wars and their money and their science and their logic. Fearful men have driven the Goddess away, but there must be a balance if mortals are to advance.'

'I still don't see what I can do-'

'You will be guided. The seasons are still changing. You know these words: " Also a damsel shall be sent from the city of the forest of Canute, to administer a cure. Once she has practised her oracular arts, she shall dry up the noxious fountains by breathing upon them. Afterwards, as soon as she shall refresh herself with the wholesome liquor, she shall bear in her right hand the wood of Caledon, and in her left the buttressed forts of London."'

Mary clearly recalled the potency of the image. 'Yes. It's from the prophecies of Merlin. I've read them.' She paused, thoughtfully. 'You're saying it's all about women?'

'England's gateways are closed. They must all be opened again. Bear this in mind as you go about your business.'

He stepped back, and Mary realised it was finally time. She had prepared some minor ritual to try to open the way, but it was clear that it would not be necessary. Some other members of the Elysium had congregated on the vein of blue, and now it was growing brighter, pulsing. The vibrancy moved quickly through the ground towards Windover Hill and then rushed directly into the Long Man. At first, Mary thought it a trick of the fading light, but in the blue glow the figure came alive; his hands pressed the gateway wider and a sapphire light shone out across the landscape.

'The door is open,' Sharish said. 'I don't like her.' Mahalia sat in the crook of Jack's arm, watching Caitlin balefully. Carlton was now staring up at the doctor with puppy-dog eyes.

'Why?' Jack was surprised at Mahalia's vehemence.

'She's manipulative. She's a nutcase. And she can't be trusted.'

Jack peered at Caitlin as if trying to see through a disguise. 'I don't understand.' He shook his head. 'If you'd spent all your life stuck in this place without any other humans, any family or friends, you wouldn't be so quick to judge.'

Mahalia's expression changed quickly. 'I'm sorry. Don't think badly of me. I can be a bitch sometimes, when I'm not thinking.'

He tightened his arm to hug her closer. 'I couldn't think badly of you.' There was a tension in his muscles that puzzled her. After a moment it manifested in his voice. 'I like you.'

She looked up into eyes that sparkled, his intention clear. 'I like you, too,' she said.

'You don't understand. During all my time in the Court of the Final Word, I never thought I'd ever get close to another person, never thought I'd…' He gently reached out and touched her face with his fingertips as if he were committing some terrible indiscretion. He snatched them back, as if burned by the contact with her. 'And I never, ever dreamed the first person I found would be someone like you. You're so good, in your heart. You care deeply about things… and… and you're afraid that people are going to hurt you… emotionally… so you pretend you're someone else.'

Mahalia was taken aback. 'You really see me like that?'

'They gave me lots of abilities in the Court of the Final Word. I can see right into the heart of you. You're a good person, Mahalia.'

His words overwhelmed her. She moved her face, inviting a kiss. He was just as innocent, didn't really know what to do, but her intent and his desire were clear. They somehow found each other's lips, hesitantly and with embarrassment, but the purity of what they felt drove out all else. Mahalia, never before kissed, felt something profound happen to her, though she still didn't know enough to understand exactly what it was.

When they broke off, they held each other, hearts racing, trying to comprehend what had just occurred. And only once did Mahalia's thoughts grow cold and divert her eyes to Caitlin, who now had one hand on Carlton's shoulder. The journey upriver continued, the banks getting closer with each mile that passed. The day had been hot and the insects that clouded over the water had long been a nuisance, so the travellers had spent most of their time beneath gauzy makeshift shelters or below deck.

They had increasingly noticed a fruity odour of corruption, growing stronger the further they advanced; in the heat it was florid and overpowering and occasionally so strong that they had to cover their noses and mouths.

It was not long before sunset that they came upon another boat travelling downstream. Triathus saw it with his acute eyesight long before any of them had any idea it was there. 'There is danger ahead,' he said, turning to them. 'A skiff approaches. It bears the sigil of the Court of Glimmering Hope.'

Matt stood at the prow and peered ahead beneath a shielding hand. 'How the bloody hell can you see that?'

'They're the enemy?' Caitlin asked.

'Five courts stand firm alongside the advancement of Fragile Creatures. Five are opposed. Ten remain unaligned. The balance has been held with tension in recent times, but our side believe pre-emptive strikes by the others… the enemy… could drive more into their alliance.'

'So, it's all about to go pear-shaped.' Crowther emerged from below deck with a canister of water. 'A civil war amongst the gods.'

'Leave them to it,' Jack said passionately. 'We don't need them. We should locate the cure and then return to our world.'

'We can't bury our heads in the sand.' Caitlin tried to see the approaching boat, but the sun on the water was too bright. 'That's what the Golden Ones have often done. We'll have to deal with the repercussions sooner or later… they won't leave us alone, whoever wins.'

'Are they going to attack?' Matt picked up his bow from the rail where it had been leaning.

'They will strike if they see me aboard,' Triathus replied.

'Then we hide you below deck,' Caitlin said. 'And we hope they leave us alone.'

'You think they're going to be scared off by us?' Crowther sneered. 'Have you looked around recently?'

'Speak for yourself.' Mahalia stood on the rail, one hand clutching the rigging, the other holding the Fomorii sword.

'She's right,' Caitlin said. 'We're not going to give up easily now. We've got something to fight for — they haven't.'

'What an absolutely wonderful speech,' Crowther said sourly. 'I'm sure they will be quaking in their boots.'

'Nobody's going to take me again,' Jack said defiantly, though fear lay clear beneath the surface.

'Do not forget,' Triathus said, 'though their forms are changed, they are still Golden Ones. They cannot be slain-'

'We'll see,' Caitlin said. 'Now you go below.'

Triathus hesitated, then did as she requested.

'You can go, too,' Caitlin suggested to Crowther.

'I might as well die here on deck as down below.' His sweating hands moved beneath his coat before he snatched them out suddenly. 'I'll find a weapon… do my part. Don't worry.'

'Thank you,' Caitlin said affectionately. Crowther harrumphed, and then went in search of something he could use.

They gathered along the port rail, tense with weapons at the ready, knowing there was nowhere they could run. Eventually the skiff came out of the low sun, its sail bearing a stylised star insignia. Six people stood on board, shorter even than the low men of the Court of Soul's Ease. There was something primal about their swarthy skin and thick black hair, and the unusual agility they exhibited as they moved across the deck to gain a better view of the approaching boat. They wore body armour made of leather and black steel, and carried short, cruel-looking knives, like roadside bandits. As the skiff drew nearer, everyone could see their eyes glittering coldly.

One of them wore a scarlet kerchief, which marked him out as the leader. He leaped on to the prow as the skiff drew alongside thirty feet away and eyed them slyly. 'Ho, Fragile Creatures!' he hailed. 'Who speaks for you?'

Caitlin stepped forward, bow in hand. 'I do.'

Puzzlement, then uneasiness crossed his face as he scanned her. 'A Sister of Dragons? Here, in the Far Lands?' A tremor ran through his comrades, and he silenced them with a sharp cutting motion. 'What business do you have on the Endless River?'

'We seek a cure to a plague that has devastated our homeland. We hope to find it upriver.'

'Upriver? You know what lies upriver?' The leader laughed, then looked to his crew, who joined him in the mockery.

'We're not afraid,' Caitlin said defiantly.

This made them laugh even more. But as the laughter died away, the group of strange little men grew more menacing. Caitlin noticed the barely perceptible shift of their expressions, the way they clutched their knives tighter, moved close against the rail. Unbidden, the skiff began to drift towards Sunchaser.

'It was nice to meet you,' Caitlin said to them. She glanced at Matt, who was watching her carefully for any sign. Without drawing attention to himself, he notched an arrow. 'But we have to be on our way now.'

'Stay a while, Sister of Dragons. Let us talk some more.' The skiff continued to drift towards them. 'We so rarely have the chance to talk with Fragile Creatures. Tell us news of the Fixed Lands. We miss our old home.'

One of the crew at the back surreptitiously lifted his knife, ready to throw. Instantly, the air whistled as Matt's arrow rammed into the centre of the little man's forehead. The crew member squealed as he was thrown backwards wearing an expression of shock.

His comrades erupted in fury. 'At them!' the leader roared. A knife embedded itself in the mast just to the side of Caitlin's head. The skiff picked up speed. Caitlin loosed an arrow, spiking the leader in the throat. There was no blood. She notched another arrow with a speed that surprised her and fired again. Matt was firing too, while Mahalia yelled a stream of four-letter obscenities and brandished her blade ferociously. Caitlin couldn't comprehend what was happening. Her body appeared to be moving of its own accord, her hands rapidly notching and loosing as if she were an expert archer; a part of her observed what she was doing with a detached amazement.

The arrows tore into the little men, but still they stood, like pincushions.

'He's right — we can't kill them!' Matt yelled.

The leader snapped off the shafts of the arrows penetrating him, his face contorted with rage. The words that streamed from his mouth were now incomprehensible, but clearly filled with venom. The skiff raced towards Sunchaser, and when it came within a few feet, the little men leaped the gap. Caitlin fell back, wishing she had a sword. But Mahalia was there before her, slashing back and forth like a veteran with her Fomorii blade. It raked open the face of one of the little men, knocked another back against the rail.

Even Crowther stepped forward, brandishing his staff, which was tipped with iron. He rammed it into the stomach of the leader and tried to lever him over the side.

But it quickly became clear that the little men would overwhelm the travellers in no time. Though their bloodless injuries mounted, nothing hurt them. They were an unstoppable wave of wild activity. Matt's forearm was opened up by one of the knives. Crowther went down with one of the attackers straddling him, arm raised, knife ready to plunge into the professor's throat.

Caitlin backed against the starboard rail, her mind racing. Her only option was to make Triathus ram Sunchaser into the shore in the hope that it would unseat the little men and give the rest of them — whoever survived — a chance to escape into the forest.

But before she could move, she smelled charred metal on the breeze and an intense white glow burned on the periphery of her vision. She turned to see Jack pressed against the rail, distraught, tearing at his hair as tears flowed down his cheeks. The burning light was emanating from his stomach. It was as if it had opened up to reveal a furnace, but the illumination moved out from him in waves that had the glassy appearance of a heat haze.

He howled, in physical or emotional pain, and the molten light erupted from him in a blast. It hit each of the little men full on, sending them flying through the air, over the rail and cascading into the river. The light slowed, twisted into tendrils and hung for a second, before lashing out in a second wave. It smashed into the skiff and tore it into matchwood.

And just as quickly, the bizarre display sucked back into Jack's stomach and winked out.

Jack collapsed to his knees in dismay, stifling sobs. Mahalia, confused and troubled by his state, rushed to comfort him, but he forced her away. He looked broken.

Triathus rushed up from below deck, while the others scrambled to their feet, dazed, trying to comprehend what had happened. The remains of the skiff disappeared beneath the slow-moving water.

Appearing oddly elated, Crowther staggered to the rail, gasping for breath. 'If they can't be killed, they should be surfacing any minute. We need to get this old tug moving.'

Triathus took his position at the prow and Sunchaser obeyed his silent command to move ahead quickly.

The water astern remained placid. 'They're not coming,' Crowther said. He turned back to Jack. 'What has he done to them?'

Once they were sure the little men would not be surfacing, Caitlin, Matt and Crowther gathered round Jack, who sat with his head pressed against his knees.

'Leave him alone,' Mahalia snapped. 'Can't you see he's upset?' She was upset herself, though hiding it as well as she could.

'What happened, Jack?' Caitlin asked softly. Jack looked up at her with tearful eyes. 'They did it to me… in the Court of the Final Word.' 'What did they do?' Matt asked. 'They took me apart and put me back together, trying to find out how I work. That's what they do with all humans.' Jack choked back the words. 'Only they didn't leave it there. They turned me into a weapon. They put something inside me. Not… not physically inside me, but bonded to me somehow, on some level.' 'Do you know what it is?' Crowther asked gravely. 'A Wish-Hex.' Jack bowed his head again. Crowther blanched. 'What is it?' Mahalia said with a desperate voice. 'The Wish-Hex is the ultimate weapon,' Crowther replied. He dropped a comforting hand on to Jack's shoulder, and that simple act from someone so undemonstrative underlined the gravity of his words. 'As the atomic bomb is to us, so the Wish-Hex is to the gods. It can destroy all reality.' 'But why did they put it in this… this lad?' Matt said. 'I'm a secret weapon,' Jack said bleakly. 'Because no one would suspect you, you could get right into the heart of the enemy,' Matt said. 'And then they'd… detonate you.' 'All right.' Mahalia looked as if she was about to burst into tears. 'There's no need to go on about it.' 'Who were they planning to use it on?' Caitlin asked. 'Surely not their own kind?' 'I don't think so,' Jack said. 'It was for some time in the future, for some big threat, a last resort…' 'A doomsday bomb,' Crowther explained, 'that would take all of Existence out with them, because they couldn't conceive of anything carrying on if they were ever defeated.' Matt glanced back to where the skiff had been. 'That didn't look so bad.'

'I only used a tiny fraction of the power,' Jack said with dismay. 'Only a tiny, tiny fraction. But it still shouldn't have killed them. I can't understand it. Where are they?'

They all moved aft to stand at the rail. There was definitely no sign of the little men. The sun had almost disappeared behind the tree line and the bats were now loosing themselves from branches to skim across the water, scooping up the flurrying insects.

'Something's wrong here,' Crowther said.