World's end

Chapter Four

Twilight was upon them. The traffic was growing heavier as the weekend rush from London to country homes in the west gathered force. The lights of Reading were now behind and the featureless landscape they had been passing through since they left the capital had given way to more wooded countryside, the trees eventually pressing in so that at times it was impossible to see beyond the edges of the motorway. Church adjusted the rearview mirror to check on Tom, who was still asleep on the back seat.

"Perfect. He sleeps, we worry."

Ruth glanced at him askance. They had barely spoken since they had restarted the journey, lost in their own thoughts. "Patience is a virtue," she said.

"I don't trust him," Church said quietly. "I don't like being manipulated and that's what he's doing with all his talk that says nothing." When he glanced at Ruth for a response, he saw how exhausted she looked; her experience at the service station was taking its toll. "Why don't you close your eyes for a while?" he suggested.

She shook her head. "Every time I do that, all I can see is that bastard coming at me in the toilets."

"You'll get over it. I've seen you in action-you can cope with anything."

"Is that what it looks like? In my head I feel like I've fought every step of the way through my life to keep it all from falling apart." She watched the grey light disappearing over the horizon ahead. "My dad always expected great things from me. He was the one who pushed me into the law. I think he had this idea I'd be some bigshot barrister."

"Don't you like the job?"

"There were other things I could have done," she said noncommittally. "But I suppose my dad's attitude made me focused. Now I don't think I could loosen up if I tried."

"You can never shake off those chains that keep you tied to the past, can you?" He thought of Marianne and the night swept in.

The driving was hard. There were too many lorries winding their way to Bristol, too many coaches with weekend trippers, cars bumper-to-bumper, filled with anxious, irritable people desperate to get out of the city for a breath of fresh air, even though they were destroying it with each piston pump and exhaust belch. Drivers threw themselves in front of Church in suicidal bids to win the race, forcing him to slam on the brakes, cursing through gritted teeth. There were a thousand accidents waiting to happen in sleepy eye and stressed hand; the desire to escape was voracious, coloured by all sorts of ancient impulses. Church put on London Calling by The Clash to drown out the noise of the traffic, but Ruth had turned it down before Strummer had barely started to sing so as not to wake Tom; Church couldn't tell if it was through kindness or because she was afraid of what their new companion might have to say.

Newbury and Hungerford were long gone and they were on the flat, unspoiled stretch of countryside somewhere near the Ridgway. Swindon's lights burned orange in the sky ahead. Church flexed his aching fingers off the steering wheel. It would be late by the time they reached Bristol and they still had to find somewhere to stay. In the back seat, Tom stirred, mumbled something, then hauled himself upright to lean on Church and Ruth's seats. "We need to find something to eat," he said bluntly.

"Right away, Tom," Church replied acidly. "Have to keep you well-fed after your long sleep."

"Can we try to get along?" Ruth asked. "This is a very small car for-" She paused suddenly.

"What's wrong?" Church asked.

Ruth leaned forward to peer through the windscreen. "What's that?"

"What's what?" The traffic was too heavy for Church to take his eyes off the road.

"A flash of light in the sky over to the south-west."

"A UFO? I can give you Barry Riggs' number if you like. I'm sure he'd like to take you to his secret base."

"Maybe it was lightning," Ruth mused, still searching the skies.

"Actually, Salisbury Plain's over there somewhere," Church continued. "They had a big UFO flap down near Warminster in the sixties when all the believers and hippies used to gather on the hilltops to wait for the mothership to come." He glanced in the mirror to see if Tom would rise to the bait, but the man ignored his gaze.

There was another flash and this time they all saw it: among the clouds, lighting them in an orange burst like a firework. "That's not lightning," Church said. "It's more like a flare." His attention had wavered from the road and he had to brake sharply to avoid hitting the car in front, which had slowed down as the driver also saw the lights.

"How long until you can get off this road?" Tom asked sharply.

"We don't need to get off this road."

"How long?"

The tone of his voice snapped Church alert. "Not long. I remember a junction somewhere on the outskirts of Swindon. Why?" Church glanced in the mirror, but Tom had his face pressed against the passenger window scanning the night sky.

There was another burst of light somewhere above them, so bright that Church saw the ruddy glare reflected on the roofs of the cars around. Ruth gasped in shock.

"What's going on?" Church thumped the horn as another distracted driver strayed across the line into his lane. "There's going to be a pile-up in a minute!"

Ruth tried to crane her neck to see upwards through the windscreen. "I think there's something up there," she said.

"Probably the army on helicopter manoeuvres with no thought for anyone else as usual," Church said. "Jesus Christ!" He swung the wheel to avoid hitting a motorbike weaving in and out of the traffic. The rider kept glancing up at the sky in panic as he gunned the machine. Cold water washed up Church's spine. The traffic had become more dense, with no space to overtake. He was glad he was in the slow lane, with the hard shoulder available for any drastic evasive action.

Tom was becoming more anxious by the second. "We must leave this traffic as soon as possible," he stressed.

"I'm doing the best I can," Church snapped. "Do you think I can pick up the car and run with it?"

Ahead of them something big swept across the motorway about thirty feet off the ground. It was just a blur, a block of darkness against the lighter night sky, but its size and speed made Church catch his breath.

"What the hell was that?" he exclaimed.

"My God," Ruth whispered in awe. "Was that alive?"

The shock rippled back through the vehicles in a slewing of wheels and a sparking of brake lights. A red Fiesta gouged a furrow along the side of a Beetle before righting itself. There was a burst of exploding glass as a car in the centre lane clipped the one in front. Both cars fishtailed, but miraculously kept going.

Church was afraid to take his eyes off the road, but he had the awful feeling that something terrible was about to happen. He wound down the window; above the rumble of the traffic he could hear an odd noise, rhythmic, loud, like the rending of thick cloth. After a second or two he suddenly realised what it sounded like: the beating of enormous wings.

He shifted the rearview mirror. Reflected in it was Tom's troubled face, his jaw set hard. "What's going on?" Church barked. "You know, don't you?"

Before Tom could answer, a column of fire blazed from the black sky on to a blue Orion, shattering all the windows with one tremendous blast and, a split second later, igniting the petrol tank. The car went up like it had been bombed. And then all hell erupted.

A shockwave exploded out, driving chunks of twisted metal and burning plastic like guided missiles, shattering windscreens, careening off roofs and bonnets, imbedding in doors and wings. The vehicles closest to the blast were the first to go. Some were travelling too fast and simply ploughed into the inferno. Others, attempting to avoid it, swerved, clipped other vehicles and set off a complex pattern of ricochets that rippled across the motorway. A lorry, its windscreen a mass of frosted glass, crushed a Peugeot before slamming into the side of a coach. The coach driver fought with the wheel as his vehicle went over on two wheels, then back on the other two, before toppling over completely in a bone-juddering impact that crushed two more cars. Church caught sight of terrified white faces through glass and felt his stomach churn.

And then there was chaos as vehicles thundered into each other, smashing through the central reservation, piling up twisted wreckage in a deafening Wagnerian cacophony of exploding glass, screeching tires and rending metal, until it seemed all six lanes were filled with death and destruction. The flames leapt from collision to collision, feeding on ruptured petrol tanks, until a wall of fire blazed across the whole of the motorway. Another column of fire lanced down from the heavens, blowing up a living fountain of flame that soared high above their heads.

Their ears rang from the noise, and the sudden, awful smell of thick smoke and petrol engulfed them as Church threw the car on to the hard shoulder; the accident had happened too fast for the vehicles ahead to attempt the same route. Behind them and to the side, cars were still smashing into the carnage. Ruth thought she could hear terrible screams buried in the sounds of wreckage, but she convinced herself it was just an illusion. A juggernaut jackknifed and was lost to the fire. A motorcyclist skidded along at ground level, his arms raised in a futile attempt to ward off the inevitable. And more, and more, too much to bear. They turned their heads away as one, and Church hit the accelerator, launching the car forward. The nearside wheels churned up mud and grass on the bank; the rear end skidded wildly, but he kept his foot to the floor. As they approached the inferno at breakneck speed, Ruth screamed and threw her arms across her face, Tom dropped flat on the seat and Church closed his eyes and whispered a prayer.

The heat made his skin bloom and he half-expected the glass to implode, but then they were through it and racing across the empty motorway ahead.

"God," Ruth said in shock. She clasped her hands together in her lap to stop them shaking.

Church slowed down and headed towards one of the emergency phones on the hard shoulder.

"Don't stop!" Tom yelled. "The worm will still be here. It doesn't give up easily!" Then he added with exasperation, "Don't you see? It's after us."

Church swung the car in a wide arc until they faced the wall of fire. Vehicles had backed up on the other side of the central barrier. In the distance came the sound of sirens.

"What are you doing?" Tom snapped.

"I have to see for myself." Church leaned forward over the wheel and searched the skies. He and Ruth saw it at the same moment, just a glimmer at first, high above the billowing grey smoke. But as it came lower it fell into focus and they both froze in their seats. They saw glints of copper and gold and green as the red glare of the fire burnished its scales. A scarlet eye as bright as a brake light. Enormous, leathery wings that beat the air with a slow, heavy rhythm, and a long tail that writhed and twisted behind it as if it had a separate existence. As it swooped low, it opened its mouth wide and belched a gush of golden-orange fire that sprayed into the inferno and sent another torrent of flames spouting high. Its movements were fluid as it soared on the air currents, terrifying and majestic at the same time.

"I don't believe it," Ruth said in hushed, incredulous tones. Church's head was spinning.

"They have been away too long, excluded against their will. They miss their old places," said Tom.

"I don't believe it," Church echoed in a mix of wonder and fear.

Tom rested a hand on his shoulder. "We have to be away. It will soon realise we've escaped its first strike."

"What the hell's going on?" Church spun round in a rage. "You know. Tell us!"

"I told you." Tom's tone was darker than he intended. "They've recognised you. They won't let you live."

"Stop procrastinating-"

Ruth caught his arm, signalling that it wasn't the time or the place. "Where will we go?" she said in dismay. "Look at the speed of it. It won't take long to catch us, however fast we're driving."

"There's only one place we can be assured of safety until dawn comes," Tom replied. "But it's still a long journey from here. We have to get the wind behind us and pray to God we reach there first."

Following Tom's directions, Church put the pedal to the floor until they reached the next exit, where they took the A346 south. An oppressive silence lay on them as they each struggled with the terrible sights they had witnessed. Even with the window down, Church couldn't clear the stink of burning from his nose, and when he glanced at Ruth, he saw in the flicker of the street lamps her cheeks were wet. Behind all the churning emotions was an incomprehension at how they had suddenly found themselves in a situation where terrible, unbelievable forces had emerged from the shadows to target them alone. There seemed no reason for the magnitude of the power ranged against them, or for the unflinching focus of its cold eye.

Tom barely removed his head from the rear window shelf, where he was pressing his face against the glass in numerous contortions to search the skies. The thick cloud cover made it impossible to get a clear view, but the wind had blown the rain away and the driving was easier.

"I don't believe what we saw there," Church said quietly. "What's going on?" He glanced in the mirror at Tom. "I said, what's going on? You weren't surprised by that thing-"

"I've seen one before," Tom replied. "And I'll tell you all about it when we get where we're going. If we get there."

Church shook his head incredulously, then glanced at Ruth for support. She caught his eye for a second, then looked away.

The road was straight, but slow after the motorway, and seemed very old. Grassy banks and ancient wire fences lined it, punctuated at intervals by bursts of elder and bushy hawthorn. There seemed little habitation on either side away in the dark where fields stretched up to the downy hills. The route dipped and rose so it was always hard to see too far ahead and Church had to temper his speed accordingly. They eventually passed a golf club and two large thatched cottages with lights burning brightly in the windows; Church felt oddly warmed by the sight.

After a while they burst from the dark, worrying countryside into Marlborough, the road sweeping down through its age-old buildings, jumbled topsyturvy in a mix of pastel shades.

"Have we lost it?" Church asked anxiously. "We must have by now."

"We won't be able to evade it," Tom said distractedly. "All we can hope is we reach our destination before it."

"You're telling me it can recognise the make and model of a dark-coloured car at night, from hundreds of feet overhead?" Church said.

"She isn't looking," Tom replied obliquely. "The Fabulous Beasts are highly sensitive. She knows our signature. She can locate us from miles distant."

"She?" Church said incredulously. "How do you know so much about something that shouldn't exist? Christ, tell me something! This is driving me insane!"

There was a long silence until Ruth said, "You're wasting your breath, Church. Just keep your eyes on the road."

Still heading south, Tom directed them through Pewsey alongside the Avon, guarded by the stone bulk of its twelfth century church. In the countryside beyond, the road was so dark the driving became even more difficult. Trees clustered in tightly, with only the occasional light of a farm off in the distance breaking through the branches. But through Upavon they became aware of a change in the countryside as Salisbury Plain rolled in, bleak and uncompromising. The military presence was unmissable, with signs for armoured vehicle crossings and tank tracks tearing up the landscape on both sides. There were high, chainlink fences topped with barbed wire and a checkpoint for the forces off to the left.

The sight sparked an idea in Church. "Why haven't the RAF scrambled to shoot it down? There's an early warning base at Lyneham."

Tom was distracted and nervous, glancing repeatedly out of the window to ascertain their relative position. "They won't know it's there unless they happen to glance up to see it. And then they wouldn't believe their eyes."

"It must register on radar at that size."

"It belongs to the old world. Technology can't comprehend it." As they passed Figheldean in a blur of sodium glare, he said darkly, "I see her. She is circling up high, trying to find us."

For a while the trees offered some cover, but then Tom caught his breath. "She's seen us. Drive faster!"

"I'm just about blowing a piston now!" Church grunted.

Ruth wound down the window and hung her head out, fighting against the buffeting slipstream. At first she could see nothing, but then the clouds parted to reveal the moon and the Fabulous Beast caught in its milky luminescence, its scales glinting like polished metal; for the briefest instant, it appeared to be made out of silver. Its wings, at full stretch, could span a football pitch. They looked like dark leather which at times seemed scarlet, and then emerald, sparkling as if dusted with gold. Occasionally Ruth could make out its eyes glowing like the landing lights of a plane. She pulled her head in and said in hushed awe, "It's magnificent."

"What's it doing now?" Church felt the sweat pooling in the small of his back.

"Circling like a bird of prey." Ruth turned to Tom. "If we could get off the open road, under cover somewhere-"

There was a roar like a jet taking off, a concentrated burst of orange-yellow light that illuminated the interior of the car as brightly as day, and then the hedge on their side of the road disintegrated in a firestorm. Church fought to keep the car on the road against the sudden shockwave of superheated air.

They crashed across a roundabout, narrowly avoiding another car, and then Tom ordered Church to take the next right. For the first stretch it was a dual carriageway, allowing Church to floor the accelerator; the car complained under the sudden pull. But then the road narrowed to a single carriageway and Church feared the worst. At Tom's instruction he took a right fork on the wrong side of the road, his shirt wet with sweat.

"Turn right when I say!" Tom yelled. Church's eyes were constantly drawn to the sky, but he steeled himself for the order. "Now!"

Church swung the wheel, clipping the curb as another pillar of fire erupted from the heavens. Behind them the tarmac exploded in molten gouts. They swung round in a massive car park, the plain rolling off flatly ahead of them.

"Where do we go from here?" Church shouted, suddenly confronted by a huddle of low buildings and a barrier with a turnstile.

"Out of the car," Tom ordered, wrenching the door open.

Before Church could protest, Tom was moving rapidly for someone in his late fifties. He vaulted the barrier, and by the time they had caught up with him he was turning into a tunnel which cut back under the road. Overhead, the slow beat of the creature's wings was almost deafening. They felt the surge of air currents as it swooped by, but by the time it had rounded to emit another blast of fire they were already deep in the tunnel.

Ruth slumped against the wall to catch her breath. "Thank God," she gasped.

"Not here," Tom stressed, grabbing her arm and pulling her on. A few seconds later, a wall of flame roared along the tunnel to the point where she had been standing, the wave of scorching air knocking them to the ground.

Coughing and choking, with lungs that seemed to burn from the inside, they scrambled forward and emerged into the cool night. Church was instantly transfixed by a view of black megaliths crowded squat and ancient beneath the light of the moon.

"Stonehenge?" Ruth gasped.

They ran forward and clawed their way over the perimeter fence, only pausing once they were amongst the stones.

"It can see us here as easily as anywhere else," Ruth protested as she watched the creature soar and turn high overhead, a black shape blocking out the stars as it passed.

"I told you, she senses." Tom knelt and patted the scrubby grass affectionately. "The land is filled with power. Earth Magic. Tremendous alchemical energy that flows among the old places and sacred spots. The Fabulous Beasts feed on it, use the lines for guidance when they are flying. We can't see it, but to them it appears like a network of blue fire on the land. And here, in a powerful nexus of that energy, we're lost in the glare."

There was a moment of silence as Ruth gaped at Tom, then she turned to Church; he shook his head dismissively.

Tom shrugged and turned away. "Believe what you will. You have seen one of the Fabulous Beasts. You cannot wish your way back to your old life." He wandered off amongst the stones and was soon lost in the shadows.

Ruth and Church watched the sky, ready to run at any second.

"Well, he's right about one thing," Ruth said after a tense few moments. "It's not attacking." She watched it circling, the arc growing wider and wider.

Church followed her gaze. "What the hell's going on?"

Gradually the creature disappeared from view. The wind picked up, blustering over the sweeping plain, driving the few remaining clouds ahead of it until the night sky was clear and burning with the beacons of a thousand stars. Church couldn't remember the last time he had seen the sweep of the heavens in such a virginal, breathtaking state.

"Beautiful," Ruth whispered in a state of dazed incomprehension. "I knew there was a reason to move out of the city."

The enormity of their experience made it almost impossible to consider so Church focused on the mundane. "What do you make of him?"

Ruth thought for a while, her face hidden in shadows. "I think he could help us."

"But you don't trust him."

"No." She chewed on her lip thoughtfully, then said, "I don't like the way he's not telling us what's happening. You can see he knows more. But it's like he's using it to control us."

The wind that had been rushing around the henge died down and for a second there was just peace and quiet. "Who is he, Church? How can he know these things?"

"I've given up trying to make any sense of it," he replied morosely. "I'll just be happy getting out the other end in one piece."

They found a spot on one of the fallen stones where they could lie without getting damp and simply watched the stars, almost touching, aware only of their presence in the universe, the noise of their chaotic thoughts shut down for a brief moment of tranquillity. A shooting star streaked brightly across the arc of the sky, and the last thought Church remembered having was, "That's an omen."

The tramp of Tom's boots disturbed them some time later as they floated half in and out of sleep.

"I feel like I've slept for hours," Church said, scrubbing his face to wake himself. "Must be the stress."

"The blue fire," Tom corrected. "It heals and invigorates if you open yourself up to it." Something landed on the ground before them. "Dinner," he said. A rabbit lay there, its tufts of white fur ghostly in the dark.

"How did you catch that?" Ruth asked.

"You pick up a few tricks when you're hungry on the road."

"We're going to eat it raw?" Church said in disgust.

"You can if you like. I'ni lighting a fire."

"And have every security guard in the county here in five minutes. I'm surprised they haven't picked us up already," Church said.

"Their technology is blind to us. And there's no need to worry about the fire, either. I'll make sure of that."

Church lay back and closed his eyes again. "I'm not even going to ask."

Tom looked around for some fuel; the land was just grassy scrub in all directions so he tore up a walkway of wooden pallets that kept the tourists out of the mud in wet weather. It was enough to build a decent fire, and even though the kindling was damp he was able to get it alight with relative ease. He skinned, gutted, trimmed and jointed the rabbit with a Swiss Army knife, then stuffed the various pieces in packets of turf and placed them in the embers around the edge of the fire.

"It will not be long," he said when he'd finished. "A hedgehog would have been quicker, but I could not find one."

"Mmmm," Church said acidly. "Vermin."

"It's a tasty dish. You're soft."

"That's why God invented pizza parlours."

Tom smiled wryly. "And what will you do when all the pizza parlours have gone?"

"More doom and gloom. The end of the world is nigh."

"You're starting to sound like an idiot who can't count the fingers held in front of his face," Tom countered.

Tom and Church glared at each other until Ruth interjected. "Don't argue-I haven't got the energy." Her face seemed too pale in the firelight and her eyes brimmed with tears. "I keep thinking of all those people who died on the motorway. Everywhere there was something horrible-somebody's face screaming. I can't get it out of my head."

Compassion lit Tom's face, softening the lines and the set of his jaw that gave a hardness to his appearance.

"And we caused it!" Ruth continued.

"You didn't cause it," Tom said flatly. "What you saw this evening is just the first of many outrages. Some you will be at the heart of, many will happen without your involvement."

Church had reached his limit. "You're driving me mad, saying things like, `Oh, that's because of the blue fire,' whatever that means, or pretending you have intimate knowledge of the habits of mythical creatures. Why should we believe anything you say?"

There was no outburst in response. Tom merely stared into the middle distance thoughtfully as he gently rubbed his chin. "How can I explain things to you when you have no frame of reference to understand them?" Then: "Unfortunately I don't have any credentials to show you. All I can say is that I've seen unmistakable evidence of what's occurring. You'll have to accept me on trust until we know each other well enough to discuss the past." He held up his hand to silence Church's protests. "But if you're looking for some kind of proof, there is something I can show you." He dipped into a hidden pocket and pulled out his tobacco tin and a small block of hash which he used to roll a joint.

"I don't think this is the time to get off your face," Church said.

"This isn't for pleasure," Tom replied. He lit the joint and inhaled deeply. "Before the Christian era, psychoactive substances were used by most cultures to put them in touch with the sacred. And that's what I'm about to do now, to show you so you understand what lies behind it all." He closed his eyes in meditation for a short while, then said, in a gentle voice barely audible over the wind and the fire, "The people who put up these stones were smoking as they sat here, looking at the stars. In the fougous and under the barrows, beneath the cromlechs, in the circles and the chambered cairns, they were eating sacred mush rooms and ingesting hallucinogens thousands of years before the so-called Summer of Love. It helped man touch the heart of the universe." He blew a fragrant cloud into the breeze. Then he said in a strong, powerful voice: "You have to understand that magic works."

"Magic as in spells and funny hand movements and all that mumbo jumbo," Church said tartly. "Sure, why not? A few hits on that and I'll believe in anything."

"Magic as in influencing people and events without having any obvious direct contact with them," Tom said, calmly but forcefully. "Magic as in beings with abilities you can only dream of. An old word for something that may lie just beyond science, that has its own strict rules, that operates with subtle energy flows and fields. A completely different way of looking at how the world works." Church's expression remained unchanged, so Tom walked over to the nearest standing stone. "Science says this is just a lump of rock stuck in the earth. Magic says it's something more. Look at it closely, along the edge silhouetted against the sky."

"What am I supposed to be looking for?" Church said.

"Look close and look hard. Dismiss nothing as a trick of your eyes. Believe."

Ruth and Church stared at the point Tom was indicating and after a few minutes Ruth said, "I think I can see a light."

"Keep looking," Tom pressed.

Church shook his head dismissively, but then he squinted and after a second or two he seemed to make out a faint blue glow limning the edge of the menhir. The more he stared, the more it came into focus, until tiny azure flames appeared to be flickering all around the ancient stone. "What is that?" he asked in amazement.

"Magic," Tom replied softly. He slowly held out his right index finger to the stone and an enormous blue spark jumped from the rock to his hand; a second later the force, whatever it was, was running to him directly, infusing him with a soft sapphire glow. Still smiling, he raised his left hand palm upwards; shimmering shapes danced in the air above it. Church thought he glimpsed faces and bodies, but nothing stayed in focus.

"Static electricity," Church ventured without believing it himself. "An electromagnetic field given off by geological stresses."

Tom simply smiled.

"Does it hurt?" Ruth asked.

"I feel like I could run a hundred miles." He drew in a deep, peaceful breath. "This is the power in the land. Earth Magic. The Fiery Network. Science can't measure it so science says it doesn't exist. But you see it."

Church felt his mood altering in proximity to the crackling display; he was overcome with an exuberation that made him want to shout and jump around. Negative thoughts sloughed off him like mud in the rain; he couldn't stop himself from grinning like an idiot.

Tom broke off the display and returned to his seat by the fire. "Belief in a new way-the true way-won't happen in a night, but all things flow from this and once you accept it you'll truly understand."

"But what is it exactly?" Church's intellectual curiosity had been piqued alongside the buzz his emotions had received.

"The vital force of the world, the thing that binds humanity and the planet together. An energy unlike any other, spiritual in essence. If you look closely enough you'll find it within you as well as within the earth."

"The New Agers always said there was something like this." Church felt a shiver wash through him; he felt deeply affected in a way he couldn't understand.

"The ancients knew about it. The Chinese call it chi, the dragon energy, for it's always been linked with the Fabulous Beasts who are both its symbol and its guardians. That's why the standing stones were raised, the old stone chambers, the earliest churches. To mark the sacred sites where the energy was strongest, to channel it, to keep it flowing freely. But when the so-called Age of Reason came, it was discounted by the new generation of thinkers-it couldn't be quantified, bottled, replicated in a laboratory. And as that new way of seeing the world took hold, the people forgot it too. Over time it became dormant. For centuries no one could have stirred it, however hard they tried. But with the change that came over the world at the turn of the year, it awoke again. Now a few of us know how to raise it briefly, but it still needs to be woken completely, to become the vital force once more. And this," he added, "is the first sign that the world is now a very different place."

"How do you know all this?" Ruth asked.

"I was called. Informed-"

"Called by whom?"

He smiled at the insistence in her voice. "If you must know, by a gentleman called the Bone Inspector. Any the wiser?"

"That's an odd name."

"He's an odd man. His people have been linked to the land for millennia, the custodians of secret knowledge and ancient ritual. He guards the old places where the blue fire burns the brightest. He felt the changes first. Perhaps you'll meet him one day and then you can ask him all these questions yourself."

"This is making my head hurt," Church said. "People who guard the old places?"

"The best way to approach this is to forget everything you thought you knew," Tom said bluntly.

"Okay," Church said, "you've convinced me you've got some sort of insight, but there are still a lot of questions to be answered-"

"At least I have your attention now," Tom said acidly.

"Then what is going on?" Ruth asked. Beyond the ruddy glow cast by the fire, the night seemed too dark; past the comforting bulk of the stones the shadows seemed to rise up from the plain. "Why are all these things happening now?"

Tom crimped out the joint. "Everything changed, suddenly, dramatically, sometime around the New Year." He prodded the fire with a broken branch, sending a shower of sparks skyward. "The world's turning away from the light. History is cyclical, you should know that. Empires rise and fall, knowledge is learned then lost, and sometimes things that seem gone forever return unannounced. There's a basis for all legends, folklore, fairytales-"

"Symbolism, rites of passage, religion," Church interrupted. "A way to pass important wisdom down the generations so it can be easily understood by those learning it."

"All true, of course. How very erudite of you. But some of it is literal. As I understand it, the world used to be a very different place. You saw the Fabulous Beast so this is undeniable-creatures of myth once walked this land, old gods, ancient races, things you would think existed only in the imagination. And the old stories are our way of remembering this time of wonder and miracles."

Church glanced at Ruth; Tom's words were an echo of what Kraicow had begun to say. "There's no archaeological record-" he began, but Tom waved him silent.

"Somehow, for some reason, all these things were swept away to"-he made an expansive gesture-"some other place. But now-"

"They're back." Ruth shivered. Somewhere nearby an owl's forlorn hoot keened over the wind. She searched the darkness, but it was impossible to see anything beyond the circle of the fire. "And this man you called the Bone Inspector told you all this?"

"Some of it."

"And you believed him straight away?" Church put his head in his hands and closed his eyes for a moment. But having seen what Tom called the Fabulous Beast, he knew there was no rational explanation for it. "So where did all these creatures of myth go for the last millennia or so?"

Church couldn't tell if Tom's silence was because he didn't know or because he didn't want to tell them.

"And what we saw under the bridge and at the service station were some of the things from those days?" Ruth asked hesitantly.

Tom searched for the right words. "This is how it was told to me: long ago, long before mankind had established itself, there were old races. Beings of tremendous power, understanding of all the secret forces in the universe. They were so incomprehensible to us in their appearance and their actions they could have been gods. They were the source of all our legends. In the Celtic stories, in the sacred traditions of other races and cultures. Even in the Christian heritage."

"Demons," Ruth ventured.

"And angels," Tom continued. "Folklore is the secret history of this land. There's a bright truth in every story. Look at mediaeval wood carvings. Illustrated religious texts. The stone creatures on some of the churches. Once seen, never forgotten. Over time the old races went into decline and soon the season came for them to move on. They disappeared beyond the veil, supposedly forever. There have been echoes of them down the years-some of the old gods could not leave well alone. Other times their power leaked through, into the ancient places, the sacred places. In all but that they were gone, and the world breathed again, and mankind prospered." He stared deep into the heart of the flames. "But now their season has come round again."

The wind picked up as if in response to his words; Church shivered and pulled his jacket tightly around him. "If what you're saying is true, and I'm not saying it is, why have they returned now?"

Tom shrugged. "As I said, everything is cyclical. Perhaps it is simply their time. And perhaps the time of mankind has now passed. Who knows? The rules remain hidden; life is a mystery."

Church tried to read Tom's face in the hope that he could see the lie, any sign that it was all just a fantasy made up to frighten them; he looked away a moment later in failure.

"But how many of them are there?" Ruth asked.

Tom shrugged. "Of the larger creatures, the Fabulous Beasts, a handful, I would guess. Many of the wilder mythical creatures, probably the same. I haven't seen an outcry in the media over the last few weeks, so they must be so few as to be able to find hiding places in this over-populated island."

"And the things that are after us?"

Tom looked down. "They seem to be everywhere. You saw them-they're shapeshifters. They hide in plain sight. But their skills aren't perfect. If you look close enough, you can see."

"The skin was too waxy," Church noted. "The face looked like a mask."

"And Gibbons and Kraicow stumbled across them among us," Ruth said. "And they both paid the price."

"They seem to be going to any lengths to prevent themselves from being discovered."

"Like setting a fire-breathing monster on us just because we went to see Kraicow. With that kind of overreaction they must be scared of being uncovered. What are they planning to do?" Church asked. "Stay in hiding?"

"I don't think," Tom mused, "it's in their nature to stay hidden for long."

"Then what?" Church said insistently.

"Your guess is as good as mine. But I think there will be some kind of conflict. They appear more powerful than us."

"Even so," Church said dismissively, "what could they do?"

"There's one thing I don't understand," Ruth said. "You seemed to be waiting for us at the services, yet we didn't even know we were going to be stopping there ourselves until the last minute."

"I had a feeling I had to be there."

"What? You're psychic now?" Church shook his head dismissively.

"Things have changed more than you think," Tom said coldly. "How can the rigid laws of physics exist after what we've discussed this evening? Science and magic are incompatible. When the doors opened, it wasn't just the stuff of legends that flooded back into our world-it was a new way of thinking, of existing."

Ruth looked particularly uncomfortable at that prospect. "What do you mean?"

"There are some Eastern religions that believe the world is the way it is because we wish it that way," Tom continued. "In this new age it will be wished another way. Do you think there will be a place for the old, masculine, ultra-logical, highly-structured way of thinking that has dominated for so long? This will be a time of instinct, of the feminine aspect, of wonder and awe. Science and technology, certainly, will suffer."

Tom's voice was lulling, hypnotic. In the crackle of the flames, Church could almost hear whispers echoing down the centuries, in their dance he seemed to see faces, dark and alien. It disturbed him too much and he looked back into the impenetrable night.

"You're saying it could be the end of the world as we know it?" Ruth said fearfully.

"It will be a time of change, certainly." He didn't sound very reassuring.

A cold wind blasted into the clearing, making the fire roar, showering a cascade of sparks upwards. Church had the sudden impression they were being watched. He looked round quickly, trying to see beyond the pathetic circle of light, but the darkness was too dense. Tom threw some more wood on the fire and listened to it sputter and sizzle for a while.

Church eyed Tom suspiciously. "Sitting here, having seen what we've seen, this all makes a stupid kind of sense. But there's still a part of me that says-"

"That I'm lying? I never lie." He poked the fire. "The food should be ready now. Let's eat."

"It hasn't been in long enough," Ruth said.

"I think it will be ready."

"More magic?" Church said.

"That, or good cooking technique." Tom's smile was inscrutable, and Church was instantly aware he had no idea what was going on behind the man's eyes.

The rabbit was steaming hot, fragrant and tender. They gnawed the meat off the bone with the fire hot on their faces and the chill of the night at their backs. Although it may have been the aftermath of the strange energy, Church was convinced it was one of the best meals he had ever eaten.

Afterwards, as the night grew colder, they huddled closer to the fire, relaxed and replete, the uneasiness forgotten, at least for the moment. Tom picked the remaining meat from his teeth with a twig while he surveyed the position of the stars.

Eventually, he said, "Everything is changing. You have to be prepared for the new ways … the new, old ways … if you're to be of any use in the coming struggle."

"But what could we possibly do," Ruth began, "if things are as dire as you say? We could try to warn the Government, the police, the army, but I think we'd pretty much be laughed out and locked up."

"They will not be able to do anything anyway," Tom said. "This is a time for individuals, not institutions, for passion not planning."

"Very poetic," Church noted. "But, with all due respect to Ruth … look at us. We're not exactly people of action."

"Adaptation is the key, and people adapt quicker than groups. If you can learn to work within the new rules, then … perhaps something can be done." Tom eyed them both with a dissecting look which made Church feel uncomfortable.

Ruth wasn't convinced. "Two people against the sort of powers that you're talking about? Get real."

"But we have to do something," Church said passionately. "We have a responsibility-"

"A good word," Tom interjected.

"Don't be so patronising!" Church felt his emotions were on the edge of swinging out of control.

"I apologise," Tom said, without seeming in the least contrite.

Church grunted with irritation and marched over to lean on the great trilithon. Ruth watched him affectionately as he gazed up at the stars.

"It would help if you were a little less smug," she said to Tom diplomati- tally. "He's a good man. He wants to do something. You shouldn't be so hard on him."

He shrugged. "We all have our flaws."

"There's so much more we need to know-"

"We can discuss it tomorrow, when we're all a little more receptive. I've given you plenty to chew over-a whole new way of looking at life, a new belief system, things that at first glance seem impossible. Isn't that enough to be going on with?"

"How much more is there?"

"There's always more." He yawned and stretched. "It's late. We need to sleep. We've got a great deal ahead of us, and we may not always have such a fortuitous place to rest our heads."

"You expect me to sleep after all this?"

"You will sleep." Tom brushed her forehead with his fingertips and she went out as if he had flicked a switch. He caught her and laid her down next to the fire, removing her coat and pulling it over her like a blanket.

"It is a magnificent place, isn't it?"

Church hadn't heard Tom approach behind him. "I wish I'd seen it under other circumstances."

"You should see it on June 21, at the solstice at sunrise. If you stand at the centre of the circle, there comes a moment when the sun appears to be suspended on the heel stone and the whole place is painted gold. Beautiful."

"I wish I hadn't got dragged into all this. Life was complicated enough as it was."

"It's too late for that."

"Yes. I know."

Tom lit another joint, took the smoke down deep, then exhaled into the wind. "There are journeys without and within to make," he said softly, "and many mysteries to be uncovered before the end of the road. We are surrounded by them, all the time, every day, and when we think we are trying to expose one, it often turns out we are delving into another. Take this place. They think Neolithic man dug the outer circle more than four and a half thousand years ago. They think the Beaker People erected the bluestones eight hundred years later and the Wessex People put in the sarsen blocks in 1,500 BC. But who did it is not as important as why. Why did different peoples value this place so highly they returned to it over all those years? Simply because it aligned with the sun, moon and stars? Would they have put so much effort into it if it was simply a tool? Or a metaphor for some religious experience?"

Church drew his fingers across the surface of the stone, feeling the years heavy under his touch. "They were searching for some meaning," he said.

"That's right. They were trying to find the magic at the heart of reality. And they found it, the most valuable thing mankind could ever possess. But somehow we lost it again, and during the twentieth century it got as far away from us as it could possibly get. But if one good thing can come out of all the terrible things that lie ahead, it will be that we, as a race, will get back in touch with it again."

Church scanned the dark horizon. "That's tomorrow taken care of. What do we do on the day after?"

"You're no longer the person you used to be." Church couldn't tell if it were an admonition or a pep talk. "The path away from that person began with your alchemical experience under the bridge, and there are plenty of changes on the road ahead, for you and Ruth." Tom rested one hand on Church's shoulder and pointed towards the heel stone. "You see that star there? Wait five minutes until it touches the stone."

They stood in silence watching the gradual descent until, at the exact moment of alignment, Church felt a tingling at the base of his spine. A second later it felt like heaven had exploded around him. The blue energy Tom had summoned earlier erupted upwards from the top of the stones, forming a structure that soared at least a hundred feet above their heads. The lines of force met at the pinnacle and sheets of paler blue, shifting between opaque and clear, crackled among them. Church had the sudden sensation of standing in a cathedral, magnified by a feeling of overwhelming transcendental awe and mystery that left him trembling. Ahead, lines of azure fire raced out across the land, criss-crossing into a network as they reached other ancient sites, where they exploded upwards in glory. To Church, it seemed like the whole of Britain was coming alive with magnificence and wonder. Tears of emotion stung his eyes and there was a yearning in his heart that he hadn't experienced since childhood.

After five minutes the flames shimmered then dwindled until all was as it had been, but Church knew he would keep the moment with him for the rest of his days.

Still lost in the spell, he started suddenly when Tom touched his hand. "Before you passed under the bridge that night, you would never have seen that. It's a mark of how much you have already changed, and a hint of the potential ahead."

As they wandered back to the fire, Church felt calm and energised by the experience. "Make the most of this night," Tom said as they lay down and looked up at the stars. "This is a safe place, but from here on, things are going to get wild and dangerous."

"We'll cope," Church said, surprising himself at his confidence.

The last words of Tom's he heard were almost lost on the edge of sleep: "One more thing-do not leave the circle before sunrise."

Church awoke some time in the early hours. Tom and Ruth were still sleeping, cast in the faintest reddish glow from the embers of the fire. His soft back muscles ached from the hard ground, but as he rolled around trying to get comfortable, he became aware of an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach and the sensation that he was being watched. Over the next five minutes it grew gradually stronger until he had to stand up to look warily around. Beyond the small circle lit by the dim mantle of the fire, the night seemed uncommonly dark.

He waited for a minute or two, but when the sensation didn't diminish he cautiously edged towards the shadows. Beyond the reach of the fire's luminescence, his eyes grew accustomed to the dark and he began to make out the shapes of hedges and trees on the plains that rolled away from the henge. There was no sign of movement and his ears, tuned for the tramp of a foot, could only pick up the bleak moan of the wind as it swept across the lowlands.

When he reached the outer stones, Church paused, his heart thumping madly from the discomfort of invisible eyes. "Who's there?" he hissed.

There was a lull, as if the night were waiting for him to progress further, then he heard what appeared to be the faintest reply on the edge of his hearing, barely more than a rustle of grass.

After a few seconds he caught a glimpse of movement, like a dark shape separating itself from the lighter dark of the night. His skin seemed to grow taut across his body. A figure, slim and tall, moved towards him, gradually developing an inner light as if tiny fireflies were buzzing around within it. Long before it had coalesced into any recognisable form, Church was overcome. And when it finally halted twenty feet away from him, his eyes burned with tears and his trembling knees threatened to buckle.

"Marianne," he whispered.

She was pale and fragile, her eyes dark and hollow, as if she had gone days without sleep; Church couldn't bear to look into their depths. Her skin had an opaque quality that seemed to shimmer and for the briefest instant become transparent. Her arms hung limply at her sides, her shoulders slouched from an unseen burden. Church felt an overwhelming wave of despair and longing washing off her, sluicing away the frisson of fear he felt at her terrible appearance.

And all he could remember was that moment when the last dregs of life drained away and the intelligence died in her eyes, leaving him with just an armful of hope and chattering images of promised futures now lost and, worse, the certain knowledge he would never know why everything he ever needed or believed in had been taken away from him.

He thought he might die if he heard the truth, but he asked anyway, in a hoarse voice that didn't sound like his own: "Just tell me why."

If she heard, she gave no sign; her blank features still radiated that sense of terrible loss. Church couldn't bear to look at her; he closed his burning eyes and stifled the sobs that threatened to rack him.

When he did finally look again, she had raised her arms, beckoning.

His breath froze in his throat. Tom's warning flickered for an instant, then was driven away. He took a step and passed the edge of the stones.

But as he moved forward, Marianne began to recede, still holding her arms in front of her, faster and faster, however quickly he advanced, eerily gliding an inch or two above the ground. And then he was running madly down the slope and Marianne was whisking away from him, growing smaller until she was just a glowing spot on the horizon that eventually winked out.

Heartbroken, Church fell to his knees, his loss as raw as in the days just after her death. Somehow he managed to compose himself enough to trudge back to the stones, but as he passed the spot where she had waited he noticed something unusual. On the ground lay a rose, its petals as black as the night, perfectly formed, with a stem that had been neatly clipped. As he picked it up, he felt a whisper in his head that said Roisin Dubh, and he knew in a way he couldn't explain that it was the flower's name; and that it was a gift from Marianne.

Although he couldn't fathom its meaning, he felt a rush of elation. He tucked the flower secretly into his jacket and made his way back to the dying fire.