Jack of Ravens (64 page)

‘Oh, no. There’s no chance of that at all, now. Which is why the time is right to discuss futility and wasted effort, and hope and despair.’

Church eyed Veitch’s cold, hateful stare and Etain’s dead eyes. He couldn’t fight, he couldn’t run. ‘Go on.’

The Libertarian stretched out on the grass and put his hands behind his head, watching the spray of stars. ‘A few short decades away from here we have the love of your life. She hovers on the brink of death. One tiny push will send her over the brink into oblivion. We have your two close friends, as well. It is the time of the Source and our powers are at their height. There is no protection for Brothers and Sisters of Dragons. You’re all rabbits waiting for the gun.’

‘Is that supposed to be a threat? It could easily be a lie.’

‘It could be, but it is not. I think you already know I’m speaking the truth.’

Church recalled what Hal had told him when he reclaimed the Pendragon Spirit from the lamp:
Ruth is in a bad place
. ‘What are you saying?’

‘I’m offering you a simple trade. A pact.’ He glanced around at the crowds and smiled. ‘A
Pax Americana
, if you will.’

‘Go on.’

‘You surrender yourself to us and we promise not to kill your love or the other two. We won’t free her from where she’s being held, but she won’t die.’

Church glanced at Veitch; his face gave nothing away. ‘So I get executed, and Ruth, Shavi and Laura live.’

‘Nothing so vulgar. There is no need for execution if we can simply remove the king from the board.’

‘What, then?’

‘A sleep that will be like death. I knew you would not willingly give yourself up to die, knowing how strongly you hold your obligations to Existence. I fear you would even sacrifice your love for that. The big picture, and all. But a sleep like death? That would allow you a glimmer of hope that you might return to the field, and I know how much you value that slippery little fantasy. “While there’s life there’s hope”, and other fairy tales.’

‘You think I’m going to trust you? That’s the fairy tale.’

‘It has nothing to do with trust. With you locked away, the world will carry on the way it’s meant to be. We would have no need to kill Ruth – or you, for that matter. The same ends are achieved, and it saves us wasting unnecessary effort.’

‘If you agree to this, you have my word Ruth won’t be hurt,’ Veitch said.

‘I trust you even less than him,’ Church replied.

‘Just to sweeten the pill a little more,’ the Libertarian continued, ‘I also guarantee that your friends Gabe and Marcy will live. I watched the wedding. Touching.’

Church glared at him.

‘What? You thought the vow I made to you in Chicago was forgotten just because you staged some dramatic rescue? Their lives will always be hanging by a thread until I decide to cut it.’

Church thought of Gabe and Marcy dancing together at the ceremony, how happy they were, how hopeful.

‘One long rest for you. Five lives saved. That seems a very straightforward equation.’

‘I don’t have a choice, do I?’ Church said.

‘Of course you do. What are five more deaths on top of the hundreds you’ve already got on your conscience? You must be inured to it by now.’

The music rolled out across the dark field. Everywhere people were holding hands, making love, dancing. All right,’ Church said. He turned to Veitch. ‘You’re the scum here, but I reckon you must have some values buried somewhere in that dead heart of yours. I’m counting on you to see this is done fairly.’

Veitch said nothing.

‘Oh, good.’ The Libertarian jumped to his feet. ‘An epic sacrifice in the great tradition. It almost brings a tear to the eye.’

‘I want to say goodbye to my friends.’

‘No goodbyes. You come with us now.’

Church took one last, deep breath of the smoky, dreamy air. Overhead, a cloud was blotting out the stars.

34

The sun was coming up in the Far Lands, the sky a glorious pink and fiery red. But in the Forest of the Night, beneath the thick canopy of leaves it was still and dark and cool.

Far from the path that wound through the forest was a casket of gold and ivory with a heavy lid of frosted glass. On the side was the legend:
Here lies Jack Churchill, Brother of Dragons – his final battle fought
.

‘A nice touch, do you not agree?’ the Libertarian said.

Church examined what was supposed to be his final resting place. He struggled to swallow a rising feeling of dread.

Veitch watched from the nearby trees with his dead brothers and sisters.

‘You finally get your revenge,’ Church said to him.

‘It’s not enough.’

Church climbed into the casket, desperately focusing on the tiny flame of hope that still flickered in his heart. He was doing this for Ruth, Shavi and Laura. If they were alive, there was a chance they could find a way to oppose the Enemy’s plans. His sacrifice would be worth it.

The Libertarian took out a small green bottle and a goblet. ‘Apologies,’ he said. ‘It hasn’t been marked with the skull and crossbones in the traditional style.’ He poured the fizzing liquid into the goblet and offered it to Church.

It smelled of sour fruit. Church held it for a moment, still gripped with uncertainty. Finally, he swilled it down in one go. The liquid burned like acid, but then left a freezing cold as it passed.

The Libertarian nodded appreciatively. ‘Enjoy your long, untroubled sleep. If it’s any consolation, your name and reputation will undoubtedly live on in mythology. There’s little we can do about that, sadly.’

Church lay down in the casket. His limbs were already growing leaden,
his heart beating slower. Yet his thoughts remained active, and he could see, hear and feel everything. He wondered if he would eventually go insane as the days turned into months and years, with him conscious but unable to move a muscle.

The Libertarian loomed into his field of vision. He removed his sunglasses so those hellish eyes would be the last thing of the world Church would see.

‘I imagine the most devastating part of this will be the unending loneliness,’ the Libertarian said. ‘I am not without compassion, so I have arranged for you to have company.’

From the forest floor, Church could hear rustling. It rose up the foot of the casket. It felt like pebbles were being dropped on to his legs, rustling rapidly up to his chest. And then the spiders crossed his face and his eyes and he realised what the Libertarian intended.

The spiders flooded into the casket until it was brimming, every piece of his body alive with the movement of tiny legs and writhing bodies apart from one small circle of his face.

The Libertarian leaned in again, smiled and nodded farewell and then closed the casket lid.

1

Suffocating darkness enveloped Ruth. Something pressed against her then moved away, a rustling up her spine, a sour, cold breath against her neck. Filled with such a deep dread she could barely think straight, she had forgotten her flat, the giant who beckoned outside. She had forgotten being pulled into her wardrobe.

All she knew was the malign presence biding its time only a whisper away.

2

The procession moved through the Forest of the Night at dawn. As the birdsong began, and the butterflies fluttered amongst the trees, the king and queen led the Seelie Court at a measured pace. There were scores of them, stumbling and shambling, slithering and flying, but the mood was sombre and respectful. None spoke. Heads were bowed. It was the first time the Seelie Court had ever come together to share their grief and respect for a Fragile Creature.

With them were Niamh and Tom, still adrift, uncomprehending of what had come to pass. The procession stopped at the casket of gold and ivory, and the court formed a circle amongst the trees.

Niamh could contain her grief no longer. She began to cry silently.

‘Do not hide your tears, sister, for this Brother of Dragons is worthy of the sorrow of all creatures under Existence, though he did not recognise that himself,’ the queen said gently.

‘I do not understand how this could be,’ Niamh said. ‘If the Enemy attacked at the festival we would have known.’

‘He went willingly, as a sacrifice to save the lives of others.’ Tom spoke with the authority of someone who had glimpsed the truth.

‘Know this, sister,’ the king said. ‘The Brother of Dragons is not dead. Nor is he alive. He hovers on the brink between the dark and the light until a way is found to break the Enemy’s spell.’

Niamh smiled sadly. ‘Then there is hope. But it is not something I will see. Or True Thomas.’

‘Sister?’ the king asked, puzzled.

‘We have both seen the patterns that lie ahead. Our own lives will be sacrificed in the coming conflict. I had dared to believe that path might change, but now I see it cannot. I am resigned to my fate, as is True Thomas.’

A murmur of appreciation ran through the assembly.

‘The Seelie Court recognises your great sacrifice, sister, and yours, True Thomas. You will never be forgotten in the stories of the Golden Ones. May we all learn from them.’ The king offered Niamh a candle that burned with a blue flame. ‘This light shall never go out as long as the Brother of Dragons lives. Take it, sister, and keep it by you in remembrance for whatever time remains you.’

As Niamh accepted the candle, Tom was deep in thought. ‘I wish to leave a gift in the casket,’ he said.

‘As do I,’ Niamh added.

‘Then do it,’ the king said. ‘The spiders will not attack unless you attempt to move them or the Brother of Dragons.’

One of the attendants opened the frosted glass lid. Niamh recoiled from the seething mass of spiders, but steeled herself to lean in. Church’s face remained uncovered and he looked as though he were sleeping.

Into the casket she slipped the pack of Tarot cards. ‘Take these with my love,’ she said softly. ‘If the gods would contact you, or you the gods, the ravens shall fly swiftly.’ She kissed him on his cold lips before turning away in grief.

Tom stepped up and pressed something between Church’s lips that the others couldn’t see. ‘A present from Doctor Leary,’ he whispered. ‘Use the sacrament wisely.’

The attendant closed the lid, and then they stood in silence, listening to the birds and the breeze rustling through the trees, thinking of times past and yet to come.

3

‘You shouldn’t have tried to run, you idiot. I didn’t mean to hurt you.’ Veitch thrust Shavi roughly onto the sofa in Ruth’s flat. Blood splashed from the wound on Shavi’s head, ran down his face and puddled in his good eye. Veitch tossed him a towel to stanch the wound.

‘How can you say that? You killed Laura.’

‘She was always a bitch. She deserved it.’ Veitch laughed quietly to himself.

Shavi was disoriented. After Veitch had met them outside the care home, he had led them to Ruth’s flat. It had felt as if they had turned a corner: three of the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons together, with a fourth, Ruth, soon to join them. The mysterious Church was the only one still missing.

But the moment they had stepped through Ruth’s door, Veitch had turned on them with breathtaking brutality, clubbing the Bone Inspector unconscious and plunging a knife into Laura’s chest when she had gone to the old man’s aid. Veitch had dumped her in the bath and filled it with water. Stunned, Shavi had tried to get out to raise the alarm, and in the struggle that followed had received the gash to his head for his troubles.

‘You’re wasting your time here,’Veitch said. ‘There’s nothing you can do. We’re bringing him back.’

‘Who are you bringing back?’ Shavi said.

Veitch laughed, shook his head. ‘You always were a smart bastard, Shavi. And you were a good friend. You were.’ Veitch grew disturbed. He stalked across the room and kicked over the coffee table. ‘The five of us fought hard, and we won, in a way. We thought we were lining up against some big old devil, the enemy of those golden-skinned bastards – which we were. But it turned out he was just one aspect of something bigger … something immense.’