The Queen of sinister

The moon glinted off the water like glass. Sunchaser rocked soothingly on the currents, moored for the night in mid-stream. Ahead lay a steep-sided gorge where the river turned white and turbulent as it gushed through rapids so dangerous Triathus would only navigate them in the light of day.

For the first watch, Caitlin had taken a position aft on a carved wooden chair. The tranquillity of the night did not move her, for she could not escape the feeling that something was amiss. She watched like a hawk, shifting her gaze from one bank to the other, paying attention to every splash and gurgle, every movement of branch and leaf.

At the same time, her mind worked overtime trying to understand her mysterious skill at archery. She had trained at it before, but her display during the attack had been that of a master, her reactions instinctive. All she could think was that it had something to do with her heritage as a Sister of Dragons, whatever that really meant. And then she recalled the casket she had come across in the Wildwood. The plaque said it belonged to a Brother of Dragons. Coincidence? Or was it a warning to her about what happened to all the mysterious champions of life? Her constant companions didn't help the growing apprehension she felt. Amy, Briony and Brigid had all slipped into a troubled silence as they watched the figure in the shadows preparing to emerge. And what would happen when she did?

Before Caitlin could consider an answer, an arm clamped around her chest, another around her shoulders. A knife pricked her throat. She tried to throw off the assailant who had come up as silently as a ghost, but the jabbed response of the blade stilled her movement.

'I hate you, you bitch.' It was Mahalia. Her hissed words carried the weight of desperation and fear and loneliness.

'I'm not your enemy,' Caitlin said. 'I don't know what-' The stabbing pain grew more intense; blood tricked down to her clavicle.

'I've seen what you're doing, how you're manipulating everyone, trying to get Carlton on your side. No one does that to me. No one!'

Caitlin felt the subtle tensing of Mahalia's muscles and knew in that instant that the girl intended to carry out her murderous threat. The revelation came like a douse of cold water. Despite all she had seen, Caitlin had never thought that the teenager would really hurt those who had been her friends.

As Mahalia prepared to slice, Caitlin smashed the back of her head into Mahalia's face. Mahalia howled and the knife slipped from her fingers.

Caitlin's action threw her wildly off-balance. Unable to control her momentum, she rolled over the top of the rail and plummeted the short drop into the water. The currents in that part of the river were strong and she was sucked under before she had time to grab a mouthful of air or call for help. Adrenalin and the shock of the cold water gave her a tremendous surge of energy. Battling her way to the surface, she managed to fill her lungs before going down again. This time, though, she caught sight of something in the depths that made everything else recede: colour, several splashes of it, visible in the beams of brilliant moonlight that penetrated to the reedy bottom.

The current whisked her away and once again she was fighting for air. With an effort, she clawed her way to the surface, sucked in more breaths, and then fought her way to the slow, steady movement on the periphery of the flow. In the shallows, fallen trees and branches lay half- submerged where she could anchor herself to recover.

She couldn't be sure; she had to see again.

Steeling herself, Caitlin took another gulp of air and plunged beneath the surface. In the ghostly underwater world of shadows broken by moonlight beams, she once again glimpsed the colours: drifting gently above the swaying vegetation like oil paints spilled in the water. She struck out towards it. Not colours, but one colour in various shades. One colour. Purple.

Her heart began to thump wildly. In the back of her head, Amy came alive, her searching questioning — ' What is it? What is it? — gradually turning into a frightened keening. Desperately, Caitlin fought to keep the little girl contained. She couldn't afford to give herself up to Amy, not there; the girl would panic and they would both drown. Even if she did survive the river, Amy couldn't be allowed to take over with what lay ahead. She'd never escape.

Still not quite believing her eyes, Caitlin swam on, hoping to prove herself wrong. Gradually, indistinct grey shapes emerged from the surrounding murk like spectres. Marching laboriously along the river bed towards the boat were the Lament-Brood, their ranks now swollen by others who had fallen to their corrupt influence. They ranged across a portion of the river bed as wide as a football pitch, and more ranks were emerging from the depths behind them. All of them were twisted and broken, shambling, the purple light leaking from their eyes. At the front were the little men who had attacked Sunchaser — the reason why they had not surfaced now clear — and in the centre Caitlin could just make out the leaders, riding their lizard-horses.

The silence of the approaching army was eerie, but then Caitlin began to hear their incessant whispering filtering through the water like the susurrations of malignant phantoms, spreading their message of despair and pain and death.

They saw her, but they didn't increase their pace. They would not be deterred; they would reach their prey sooner or later.

Amy surged to the front of Caitlin's head and her childlike terror brought a brief convulsion before Caitlin forced her back. Not now, she prayed, before turning in the water and striking out for the shore. Anxiety turned to panic; her lungs burned.

She broke water in the shallows and instantly yelled out. At first she couldn't make out the boat, but then she saw its silhouette a little further ahead; they had a few minutes before the Lament-Brood would reach them.

'Wake up!' she screamed. 'For God… for God's sake! Danger!' Amy scrabbled again at her defences; pressing, pressing.

There was movement on deck. It looked like Triathus at first, followed by Matt and Crowther.

'Caitlin?' Matt called.

'I'm here, on shore! Get the boat moving upriver. Quick! The Whisperers are in the water… coming up on you fast!'

'Where are you?'

'Just move!' With relief, she saw the boat start up. Cloudy purple light began to drift up from the water, like an early morning mist. She would have to head into the trees and do her best to keep pace with the boat, if Amy let her. But just as she clambered out on to the muddy bank, she glanced back to see Sunchaser moving towards her, and picking up speed.

'No!' she screamed. 'Forget about me! There's no time-'

'Don't worry,' Matt shouted. 'We'll be with you in a second.'

The heads of the Lament-Brood began to break through the surface of the water as they moved into the shallows. The violet light was everywhere now, like licking flames of marsh gas, or as if someone had lit scores of candles and set them adrift. The whispering rose up into the still night air and Caitlin felt her heart sink the moment she heard it.

The boat continued to head towards her. Couldn't they see the danger? Now she could clearly make out everyone on deck, apart from Mahalia. Where was she?

Caitlin began to splash back out into the river, wondering if she could help them by getting to the boat first, but Whisperers were already coming up between her and Sunchaser. She waded back to the water's edge. She would have to run soon or they would have her.

A grinding noise tore through the dark and the boat started to list heavily. The Lament-Brood were beneath it, using their bodies to try to capsize it. Others came up, driving spears and swords towards the hull, trying to hole it beneath the water line.

'Don't do that!' Caitlin/Amy cried.

There was more grinding and the boat was raised further. Those on deck rolled and hit the rail hard. Another heave and they went over with loud splashes; only Triathus clung on. Frantic activity exploded in the water along the tree line. Caitlin couldn't tell what was happening, but it looked as if most of her companions had made it into the trees. Sunchaser began to move backwards, tearing itself free from the attack of the Lament-Brood. It righted itself with a loud splash and moved more quickly back towards midstream with Triathus now back in position at the helm, controlling it by the force of his will.

'The Court of the Dreaming Song is near here.' His voice carried crystal clear across the water. 'Follow the paths. I will meet you on the other side of the gorge, at the Gethil March, Port of a Thousand Paths. Ask at the court — they will show you the way.'

Sunchaser turned into the stream and headed off towards the gorge. The Lament-Brood made no attempt to follow.

'It's me they want!' Caitlin/Amy sobbed. She threw herself into the trees, forcing her way through the thick vegetation, tripping over bushes and roots in the dark, banging her head, bruising her ribs, crying, crying, not knowing what she was doing.

The whispering was always following her, and when she looked back, the purple light floated amongst the trees, like moths, always moving, a hundred of them; a hundred or more.

The forest grew even more dense and it became harder and harder to force her way through it. The roar of the river diminished to be replaced by the creak of branches and the rustle of leaves, and the pounding of her feet on the dry forest floor. Tears stung her eyes as Amy's desperate thoughts were pushed aside by the chaotic jumble of panic.

In the dark, she came up on a steep hollow without seeing it. Her foot caught in a bramble at the top of the bank and she went headfirst down the slope, the thorns tearing at her flesh. She landed in a sea of bracken at the bottom, winded and stunned. As she levered herself up above the swaying fronds, she could just make out a small figure huddled in the centre of the hollow. It was Carlton. And in that moment of realisation, Amy scurried back to her place in the shadows and Caitlin snapped back to the fore.

'Carlton? It's me, Caitlin,' she whispered as she crawled out of the bracken. The boy had his arms wrapped around his knees, terrified and tearful. Caitlin hugged him tightly. 'Don't be frightened,' she said. 'I'm here now. I'll look after you.'

She couldn't hear any sounds of the Lament-Brood, but she knew they couldn't be far behind. 'We have to move, Carlton,' she whispered. 'Triathus said to follow the paths to a court. We'll be safe if we can get there.'

Caitlin stood up, but Carlton remained rigid at her feet. 'Come on, honey,' she urged. 'You're the important one. We need to look after you.' Carlton is the key, she told herself. If I have to die to save him, then that's the way it's going to be. She pulled him to his feet and he relented, looking into her face with such trust that her heart melted. She kissed him gently on the head. 'Don't worry — it'll be OK.' They ran and hid for hours, until the shadows began to turn grey and the first light filtered through the thick canopy. Occasionally they accidentally turned back on themselves in the dense, confusing forest and caught sight of flickering purple light in the distance, accompanied by the stirring of ghostly whispers. But mostly they kept going in the right direction.

They never saw any of the others, but every now and then they'd hear movement in the dark nearby, though they were always too afraid to call out for fear of attracting unwanted attention. Caitlin's memories of the Gehennis were still too raw.

They came across a path in the thin hour after dawn. It was hard-packed with white stone, a gleaming trail in the permanent penumbra of the forest. It wasn't just a physical path, for the instant Caitlin stepped on it she felt her mood lift and her weariness dissipate as if she'd been given a shot of some drug. Carlton smiled for the first time that night and gave her a hug, which raised her spirits even more.

For the next hour they made good progress until Caitlin was distracted by movement amongst the trees away to her left. She caught at Carlton's shoulder to make him stop. 'I think I just saw Jack.' She peered through the trunks. Someone was definitely there. She took a chance and called Jack's name.

There was a brief pause before the reply floated back. 'Caitlin? Where are you?'

She pinpointed his position from his voice and then replied, 'Stay where you are. I'll come and get you.' She turned and knelt before Carlton so she could look deep into his serious face. 'Stay here. I'll only be gone a few minutes. You should be safe enough on the path, but I think it's much more dangerous off it, so this is the place to be. Listen to me — don't wander off the path, whatever happens. Even if you hear me calling to you. It might not be me. There are things out there that like to trick. If you stay right here, you'll be safe,' she stressed. 'Got it?'

He nodded.

'OK. I'll fetch Jack.' She steeled herself and then stepped off the path. In the hot summer sun, the house glowed with warm browns and oranges beneath a brilliant blue sky. The garden was lush, the roses in bloom in reds and yellows, the shade beneath the apple tree inviting. It had the kind of colours and warm, lazy feel that only come from a memory. Reality always seems much harsher while it's happening.

Mary hesitated before the heat-blistered blue door at the back, struggling to find her position in time and place. It was the sixties, she was in her mid-twenties, and this… this was home.

The familiar smells hit her the moment she stepped over the threshold: fried bacon from lunch, the old skillet still cooling on the side, faint sulphury smoke from the recently stoked boiler to her left, the pristine tang of cleaning fluids — her mother had been hard at work as usual. The pang of yearning she felt was acute: if only she could go back. Why did we always want to go back? What did that say about life, about what was lost on the journey from child to adult?

Her mother, hair dyed black and permed in that sixties mother-style, looked up from polishing the sideboard. Kip, the mongrel her father had brought back one day from a chance meeting at the pub, kicked on the hearth in the throes of some dog-dream. In the front room, Mary could hear the rustle of a newspaper, her father relaxing after lunch. She so desperately wanted to see him again, one final time, and she knew she would cry if she did.

Her mother smiled warmly. 'This is a surprise.'

A thousand thoughts and emotions rushed into her head, so fast Mary thought she would fall apart in a panic; she dampened everything down, refused even to consider what was tugging at her.

Mary expected some words, quiet disappointment; the life she had chosen had not been the one expected. Too wild, too exciting, fun and hedonism, a break from the working-class tradition of diligence and labour. Parents sacrificed for children and children sacrificed for their children, but Mary had accepted the sacrifice and used it for enjoyment instead of carving out a place in the world. Yet her mother was there, welcoming her as if Mary had just been to the shops instead of away for weeks without writing or calling. Mary wanted to rush over and hug her and say how sorry she was, for everything, but more urgent matters were tugging at her mind.

'He's upstairs.' Her mother's smile grew sad. 'I'm glad you could get back to see him, you know… before he's gone.'

Another pang. She hadn't made it back, had she? She'd even missed the funeral — too busy having fun, tripping in a field, listening to music with some boy or other; she couldn't even remember which one. How many times had she been so thoughtless and uncaring?

Mary nodded sadly, turned to the stairs; the door was ajar, the interior dark as it always had been, even on a summer's day. She climbed slowly, remembering every creak, the steps she had to avoid when she sneaked down while her parents slept. We try to be good children, but never hard enough; are they always disappointed with us?

Sunlight streamed through the front bedroom window, illuminating the floating dust like tiny flakes of silver, something so mundane yet so wonderful. Her grandfather sat in the sun by the window, looking out at the quiet street. He turned and smiled at her, just like her mother had done, with no disappointment, no subtle accusations, and Mary felt the emotions inside her cut like a razor. His white hair was aglow in the sun, his eyes keen and bright at the sight of his favourite granddaughter. The only time he'd ever cried in public was when she'd been born. His skin had blue blemishes here and there, coal dust impacted too deep in the pores to be removed, the legacy of a pit collapse that had also taken two fingers. He looked too alive to have only a week left.

'Hello, Grandad.' She couldn't think of what else to say, was afraid of saying anything for fear of crying.

'Hello, Mary.' He beckoned for her to come closer.

She sat on the end of the bed. 'You look so much like him.'

'I am your grandfather… and I'm not.' He smiled enigmatically. 'You've never been happy since Grandma went. I always felt you were just waiting to die to be with her again.' She caught herself. 'I'm sorry, all this… it's confusing me.'

'Don't worry. It's understandable, lass. But there's a reason for it, like there's a reason for everything.'

'I'm here for help, and guidance.'

'I know. And I'll do everything I can. These are difficult times for everybody.' He looked back out of the window. A car drove lazily up to the roundabout at the top of the road.

'The angels… the Elysium… they said the Goddess had to be called back.'

'She has to be called back, for the sake of everything.'

'Is that my job? Is that the price I have to pay for your help?'

'No. There is no price for my help.'

'I thought there was always a price to pay?' Mary said curiously.

'Not here. There is never a price here.' His lazy smile reminded her of even sunnier days as a child, when things had been uncomplicated and she'd even probably liked herself. Next to him she felt even more wanting, whether it was her grandfather who'd struggled hard all his life for the sake of others or the true form that lay behind his face.

'You make me feel at ease,' she said.

'That's the idea. Your kind are so trapped in your own bodies, Mary. No idea of what things are really like beyond your five senses. No idea of what powers lie within you. You construct everything you see with the power of your will, and the strongest can change it all by wishing, lass. Just by wishing. You don't know any of the true rules. The rules you do have are just there to keep you safe, like the bars on that cot I made for you when your mother was in hospital. But you're all so important, and one day, maybe sooner than you think, you're going to break out and see what the universe is really like. And then you'll be in for a fine old time.'

'Sounds like… magic.'

'Aye. Magic. That's just what it is. And it can't come soon enough in my book. Things were going right for a while, and then the wrong sort took over. The ones who only thought about money and power, who'd do anything for it without thinking about the bigger picture and where they fitted into it. The ones who made a mess of the planet… drilling and burning and poisoning, all for money. All for bloody money. They're the ones who drove the Goddess away.'

Mary heard her mother turn on the radio downstairs, then begin to hum away to some golden oldie by Johnny Ray. 'But will she come back again? Can she?'

He examined the stump of one of his missing fingers thoughtfully before pulling a white paper bag of barley sugars from his pocket. He offered her one, and when she unwrapped the cellophane and slipped it into her mouth, she experienced a rush of overwhelming sensation that made stars flash behind her eyes.

'What is this?' she gasped.

'Just a taste of what's out there — if you get up off your bums.' He unwrapped one of the barley sugars himself and sucked on it thoughtfully. 'Can she come back? That's where it's up to you lot to make a change… a big change. In the end, I think it'll probably come down to her daughters. They've been getting back on their feet for a few years now, getting back to their old place, shoulder to shoulder with the blokes.' He leaned forward and gave Mary's knee a squeeze. 'See, lass, you can make a difference.'

Mary shivered. It was almost as if he had seen into her, peeled back all her fears about her weaknesses and her many, many failures. One wasted life; was it too late to put it right? The lump in her throat was hard. 'That's what I'm trying to do.'

'I know.'

'But I wonder if I should have just stayed at home. I don't know if I'm up to it.'

'No one really does. And the few that think they do are usually wrong.'

'I've got a friend, Caitlin Shepherd. She's a good girl, bit of a misery-goat, worrying about everything instead of enjoying life like all good folk should…' She smiled tightly. 'But I suppose we've all got our flaws. Anyway, I want to help her.'

Her grandfather nodded knowingly, waited for her to continue, but Mary sensed he already knew much of what she had to say.

'She's gone in search of a cure for a plague that's come down hard on our world. Only it's not just a plague — it's something magical. I don't know for sure, but I think she's being tricked… I think, maybe, the whole point of it was to get her to cross over to the Otherworld, where she's going to be killed. And I had this vision that she's important. I mean, she's always been important to me, but I think she's important to the world, too — maybe even important in bringing the Goddess back.'

'She's a Sister of Dragons,' her grandfather interjected, and now he looked a little less like her grandfather, though she couldn't quite put her finger on what had changed.

'That's right, dragons! That's what my vision said. And dragons are symbolic of the Earth Spirit, earth energy

'Which is the same energy that flows through humans, too — the spirit that flows through everything.'

'Dragons, snakes, serpents, it's all symbolic. When you think about it like that, the Bible reads very differently — the Garden of Eden, St Michael killing the dragon, St Brendan driving the snakes out of Ireland… and Caitlin is connected to this big, big thing…' The notions came thick and fast, surprising her with their intensity. 'I've got to bring her back. I'll do anything for her. It doesn't matter about me — I'm not important.'

The words ended on an interrogative note and she eyed her grandfather hopefully, but he shook his head slowly. 'I give no guidance here. This is one of those times when your choices are important.'

Mary rubbed a hand through her wiry, grey hair. 'I don't know! How can I know? I'm just going on my gut instinct… and I want to bring her back.'

'Are you sure?' Blue light flickered behind his eyes.

Mary steeled herself. 'Yes. I want to bring her back. Can you do that?'

'Yes. It is done.'

Mary sat back, relieved, and then stood up to go. The radio downstairs was playing 'Alone Again Or' by Love. Her song; how coincidental, although she knew it wasn't a coincidence at all. She leaned forward and kissed her grandfather on the forehead, unbelievably sad that she was leaving him and would never see him again, that she was leaving the family home where she'd been happy for so long; perhaps the last time she had been truly happy. 'Thank you,' she whispered.

But as she pulled back, she caught a change in the cast of his face, and saw concern there, and in that moment she knew she had made the wrong decision. 'No,' she whispered. 'I take it back.'

But she was already moving back through the house, the walls elastic, the light distended, and in her ears were his words: 'We stand or fall by our choices, Mary. That's the important thing.' The trees were even more dense in that part of the forest: oaks that even six men linking hands couldn't encircle; hawthorn, thick and lethally spiky; yew, sprawling and twisted like sour old men. Caitlin pressed between the trunks, picking her way over the mass of root material that obscured most of the forest floor. It was so dark it could well have been night.

'Jack?' It was more of a whisper than a call, but it rustled out through the still air beneath the branches. She didn't sense the growing army of the Lament-Brood anywhere near at hand, but other threats lurked in the shadowy depths of the Forest of the Night and she didn't want to draw attention to herself.

There was no longer any sign of movement, but it was possible that Jack, if it had been him, had already slipped by her in the confusion of tree and branch. She stopped, listened; the crunch of a foot on dry twigs echoed, but the mass of trees distorted the sound and made it impossible to pinpoint the location.

As she pressed by one tree, she thought she heard a barely audible voice issuing from deep within the wood; to her ears it struck a warning note, but she dismissed it as her overworked imagination responding to her anxiety.

The trees were like a maze and Caitlin began to worry that she wouldn't be able to find her way back to the path and Carlton. Perhaps it would be better to wait there. If the others had heard Triathus, they would all be trying to find the path anyway.

Carefully, she retraced her steps. When she did finally get a view of the path, it was much further away than she had anticipated. She could just make out Carlton, tiny and alone and in desperate need of her. She resisted the urge to call out to reassure him.

A movement sounded in the trees nearby. Her senses tingled. Perhaps it wasn't Jack at all. Just like the Gehennis, something could have tried to lure her off the safety of the path. Carefully, she unslung her bow. Another twig cracking. Near or far? Was it stalking her? Waiting for a chance to attack when her defences were lowered? She dropped low, moved cautiously at first, then speeded up, dodging lithely amongst the trees, heading for the path. And then she had the strangest buzzing sensation in the tips of her fingers, before it moved up her forearms with a feeling of deep warmth. She felt oddly out of sorts, as if she'd spun round on the spot too many times. A bolt of light shot across her vision.

She fought the disorientation and tried to focus on any signs of whoever was nearby. Carlton appeared in a space between two trees. He looked frightened. She had to get to to him, to protect him.

Another bolt of light arced across her vision, and she felt as if she were unravelling, the cords that bound her together peeling back from fingertips to toes. An uncomfortable feeling of detachment descended on her. She felt as if she was watching the surroundings through a bubble of glass.

The other, near or far, near or far? She looked, looked, and saw, but not near at all. The shape flitted through the trees near the path with lethal purpose. It wasn't after her at all.

Desperation and horror burst in her mind. Carlton was turning; he'd heard a noise.

Caitlin threw herself forward with wild urgency, struggling with her bow, trying to notch an arrow. But her reactions were too slow, and she was all over the place, as though drunk. She felt herself slipping away and the figure, indistinct but quick and dangerous, was almost on Carlton now. The boy was looking up into a face, smiling.

And Caitlin thought, 'If this wasn't happening to me, I would be there by now, protecting him, doing my job, saving Liam.'

She leaped over a fallen tree, almost fell, tried to aim the arrow, but her hands looked as if they were made of water and felt as if they were made of light. And she fell, rose up, and looked at the world as if though the bottom of a bottle. She couldn't see the figure, but she could see Carlton, see him smiling, his expression changing. And she thought, 'No, he's the important one. Everything depends on him. He can't-' And she saw the flash of the blade, and the blood, and Carlton falling, reaching out to her. And she thought, 'I could have saved him. I should have saved him. Just like Liam…' The figure jumped over the boy's twitching body and was away, and she couldn't tell if it was man or woman, young or old, but she knew the truth in her gut, and she couldn't understand why. 'I could have saved him.' Her last chance for salvation was gone. And then there was only the world rushing away, and her screams, and the terrible, terrible night falling in all around.