Jack of Ravens (39 page)

At Don Alanzo’s summoning, two guards escorted a woman from one of the huts. Despite the hood placed over her head, Church could tell it was Niamh. She walked proud and erect; Church wondered what power Salazar had over her that she offered no resistance.

From the floating doorway, two golden-skinned angels emerged. One had the same refined, beautiful features as Niamh. Church guessed it was
Lugh. At first the other’s features swam, but when they settled Church could see he was slightly rougher in appearance, though still beautiful by human standards, his nose straight, his hair curly; he looked like a distant cousin of Niamh’s branch of the family.

They dropped slowly down until they stood before Salazar and Don Alanzo. There was something in their sagging-shouldered, bowed-headed posture that suggested they had been broken by their experience. Church saw none of the arrogance he had witnessed in other Golden Ones.

Niamh tore off her hood. She looked frightened, and Church saw her mouth the words, ‘My brother …’

Salazar took the Anubis Box from a bag and held it before him. An unnatural silence fell across the camp; even the tramp of the colonists’ boots as they walked through the doorway could not be heard.

‘With this power, we bind you, known on this world by your worshippers as Apollo,’ Don Alanzo/Salazar said.

He held the box before the second god and raised the lid slightly. Black tendrils rose out like smoke, curling through the air until they suddenly lashed into Apollo’s face. The tendrils spread out, driving his head back, forcing their way into his nose, his mouth, ears and eyes; and it seemed to Church that along those tendrils surged tiny creatures, pouring into the god’s body.

Finally the tendrils retreated back into the box. They left Apollo’s face with a malignant cast; the whites of his eyes were now black. Hesitantly, he opened his mouth and said, ‘We are one.’ It sounded to Church like a thousand voices speaking at once.

Church suddenly became aware he had been mesmerised by the strange ritual taking place. As he looked around, he saw everyone else had been affected the same way. He shook Will who said, dazed, ‘The box … it allows them to bend angels to their will.’

Church launched himself forward. He was past the Spanish guards before they even saw him coming, drawing his sword as he leaped into the circle. With a powerful swing, he cleaved Salazar in half. There was a flash of blue molten sparks, and a terrible shrieking echoed through Church’s head. Spiders of all sizes flew from Salazar’s body and scurried into the vast mass of arachnids that covered the fort.

Church was too dazed to put up a defence as Don Alanzo drew his sword. Will threw himself in between them and engaged the Spanish aristocrat.

Niamh grabbed Church as he staggered and slowly came back to his senses. He looked around for the skull and the Anubis Box, but they were already disappearing beneath the sea of spiders.

‘We must leave,’ she hissed. ‘There is no more that can be done here.’

‘They can’t have the box …’ His attention was drawn to the dwindling line of colonists and Eleanor and Virginia Dare near the back.

Before he could move to help her, he was grabbed and lifted into the air. Slowly he was turned to face Apollo; the sun god was now transformed into a malignant engine of destruction. Black spiders swirled around the edges of his eyes and crawled in the depths of his mouth. Church could feel a brutish power rolling off the god; it felt like the furious burning of a nuclear core. Church could feel it searing through his skin, driving into his centre, cooking him from within. He gripped the sword tightly, but couldn’t lift it. Consciousness began to leak out of him.

Something wrenched him from Apollo’s grasp and hurled him across the fort like a toy. He crashed to the ground near one of the huts. As he finally slipped into the deep black, he saw two things.

It was Lugh who had saved him, and now the god fought furiously with Apollo. Bolts of golden and black lightning lashed across the camp accompanied by peals of deafening thunder. At their core, Lugh and Apollo were two suns, their shapes indistinguishable in the burning incandescence of their fury.

The final thing Church saw was Eleanor Dare turn to look at him. Behind the sadness, her pale face still registered hope as she clutched her child tightly to her and stepped through the doorway into hell.

23

Church woke as dawn’s first light fell across the camp. His head was nestled in Niamh’s lap and he was looking up into her beautiful face. Her deep concern slowly transformed into relief by way of a growing smile.

‘I feared you were dead,’ she said softly.

Church lifted himself onto his elbows to look around. The fort was deserted. There was no sign of the millions of spiders, nor of the transformed god who had almost burned Church’s life from him. Church recalled that last lingering look from Eleanor Dare and felt a sharp stab of righteous anger.

‘I’m going to get them back,’ he said defiantly. ‘Nothing’s going to stand in my way, however long it takes. Eleanor, Virginia and all the other colonists are counting on me and I’m not going to let them down.’

‘Are you certain they still live?’ Niamh asked hesitantly.

‘The spiders took them alive for a reason. They need them that way. I’m betting they’re being kept prisoner in the spiders’ fortress in the Far Lands.’

‘Then you will never be able to reach them.’

Logically, Church knew Niamh was right, but he refused to accept it.
‘Some day we’ll be strong enough to attack that fortress and when we do I’m going to be right at the front, freeing Eleanor and Virgina and making whoever took them pay.’ He punched the ground in frustration. ‘If only I hadn’t lost the skull and the box.’

Niamh placed a cool hand on the back of his neck. ‘You saved my brother. You saved me.’

Church nodded. ‘Maybe we’ll call this one a draw.’

‘This is the start of a brutal war. I have seen that now. It will shake the foundations of the Fixed Lands and the Far Lands, and all lands beyond. This was but one battle. There will be many more.’

Will emerged from one of the huts, munching with distaste on one of the hard biscuits the colonists had brought with them.

‘Don Alanzo?’ Church said.

‘Escaped, and took Rab with him. We are too equally matched. I lost him in the blaze of …’He shook his head, unable to describe the details of the gods’ battle. ‘My head is filled with wool and not a drop of wine has passed my lips.’ He took another bite. ‘We shall cross paths again. And next time the blades of Albion will triumph.’

Will put on a brave face, but Church could see he had not forgotten Lucia. A moment passed between them, a bond, an unspoken agreement that neither of them would rest until justice had been done.

They walked out of the camp towards a large tree, where Will took out his knife and began to carve.

‘What are you doing?’ Church asked.

‘Whatever dark power was here has returned to its lair to wait until its time comes round again. We must leave a reminder, and a warning, for those who come after.’

When he had finished, the word ‘Croatoan’ was carved into the bark.

‘And now, Master Churchill, you will be wanting to return to that place where great heroes live, with your angel-love and her angel-brother.’ Church began to protest at Will’s implications, but the spy silenced him. ‘I fear I may have a few months’ wait until a ship comes this way, but there are fish in the sea and I will have time aplenty to lick my wounds and rest my bones.’

‘You’re going to be okay?’

Will smiled. ‘I have my memories of the fair Lucia. They will keep me warm. And I like to think that what you told me in Myddle is correct: that she has found a better place, and, perhaps, that she watches over us still.’

In the few short months they had been together, Church had developed a deep friendship with the spy. It gave him hope that Will would still be around holding the line against the Army of the Ten Billion Spiders on Earth once Church had departed.

Will looked out across the blue sea, the sun illuminating his face like a spotlight. ‘Shadows are approaching. This world changes faster by the moment, and the struggles that wait just beyond yon horizon shall be great. Yet I know this: in every man’s heart there burns a light, a light that will guide us e’en in the darkest of the night.’

1

The Court of the Soaring Spirit was strangely changed. Though the dwellings, inns, stores and public buildings still pressed hard against each other in a bewildering jumble, there was something less oppressive about the place than the last time Church had walked its streets. More sunlight made its way past the overhanging eaves to illuminate the winding alleys and the people were brighter and friendlier.

But even the life and colour of the public square did little to raise his spirits. The Tuatha Dé Danann and the many strange races of the Far Lands loved their entertainment and nowhere was it more evident than in the Great Square. Across the cobbles and amongst the soaring fountains of water and fire, scores of different songs from a thousand different instruments fought to be heard. There were tumblers and jugglers, performers whose masks hid even greater grotesquery, beautiful olive-skinned dancers, actors and poets. In the centre, Church spied the eerie puppeteer from the Venice carnival with his stringless yet animated puppets. He was disturbed to see the puppeteer was now enacting Church and Will’s confrontation with Don Alanzo in the Palazzo Ducale. The troublingly realistic Church puppet even turned and winked as the real Church passed.

‘How can they enjoy themselves as if nothing has changed?’ Church said. ‘There’s a fortress being built on their border, an army amassing – an enemy that now has the power to summon and control them …’

Tom sucked on a briar pipe filled with a strange kind of tobacco he had found in one of the back-alley shops. ‘They are content in their mastery of all they see.’

‘By the time they get their rude awakening it may be too late.’

‘Who knows, perhaps the Lady Niamh will engender some change in
their addled golden heads. You seem to have wrought a remarkable transformation in her.’I’ve done nothing.’

Tom let Church’s response hang in the air for a moment. ‘Even now she is in deep discussion with her brother Lugh. He is a warrior and master of his own great court. Should Niamh persuade him of the seriousness of the growing threats, and should his own experiences carry weight, you may find yourself with allies.’

‘Can you see what the Enemy is planning?’

Tom shook his head.

‘You saw the Anubis Box clearly enough.’

‘I thought I had explained to you that my ability is not as simple as looking out of a window,’ Tom said wearily. ‘I see images without context. Some make sense, some do not.’

‘Can you see where the Anubis Box and the crystal skull are now? We can’t allow them to remain in the Enemy’s hands.’

‘Of course not, but sadly you will have to use some of your own inspiration to find them,’ Tom snapped.

‘We don’t even know who we’re supposed to be fighting. The Army of the Ten Billion Spiders? Janus? Who’s the real enemy?’

‘You’ll find out soon enough.’ Tom puffed out a cloud of fragrant blue smoke.

‘I’m sick of your riddles and word-games. You know more than you’re saying. You’re supposed to be True Thomas – why don’t you tell me the truth?’

Tom laughed. ‘You know you’re going to say nearly those very same words to me again?’

Church could barely contain his frustration while Tom inspected a stand selling hot cakes, pretending to be half-listening, but with a hint of concern that Church didn’t see. ‘Just pull yourself together. You’re whinging like a little girl,’ Tom muttered.

Before Church could continue the conversation, Evgen marched up with a cohort of Niamh’s guards. ‘My mistress requests your presence in her quarters,’ he said.

Behind Church the puppetmaster waved his arm and the puppet Church fell to the ground.

2

Niamh sat on a balcony encircling the highest tower in her palace. She looked even more beautiful in the morning sun, her smile enigmatic and alluring. Lugh stood next to her, by comparison drawn and weary; the scars
of his ordeal lay as heavily on his face as they did on his mind. Nearby the Mocker sang a lilting song softly to himself.