Ravens Gathering (36 page)

The Raven watched in amusement as Martin entered the
clearing.  He had sensed his shock, and knew it could only get worse as he
understood the full extent of their shame.  Everyone else in the clearing
was immersed in misery.  And most of them had already been here
before.  So they
knew
how depraved and sickening their actions were
going to be.  This member of the Gates family hadn’t been actively
involved last time.  He may also have been too young to understand. 
His reaction would undoubtedly be one to savour.

So he left Martin alone, letting him get close so he could
fully appreciate just how debased his family’s actions were – which would
intensify his responses, and thus increase the Raven’s energy levels still
further.

That was the intention.  But the opposite had happened
instead.  The effect was marginal at first.  He didn’t realise
anything was wrong.  True, it was strange that he didn’t get a surge of
power when Martin stood alongside his father and sister.  He assumed there
would be a delayed reaction.  But then he watched as Martin moved on,
surprisingly relaxed as he crossed the short stretch of ground to his mother
and brothers.  Even then, he focused on how Martin would respond when the
full implications of his mother’s behaviour sank in.  Would he understand
that what she was about to do would be with someone who was both her son and
grandson?

Then the younger brother was kneeling up.  The Raven
didn’t immediately concentrate his efforts on forcing Colin to carry on. 
He was too puzzled for that.  And still feeling puzzled when Martin stood
up again, especially as the anticipated burst of energy was still not
forthcoming.  Instead, as Martin stepped away from his family, he
experienced a jolt, and he was suddenly aware of feeling physically tired, as
if he was suffering the after-effects of a sugar rush.  The abruptness of
it left him dazed for a moment.  He’d never known this to happen before.

Looking for a reason, he cast his eyes around the clearing.

Nigel Salthouse was turning to his daughter.  Neither
of them seemed enthused about what was going to happen next.  So that was
good.

The Payne family were still gathered in a circle around
Helen.  He didn’t notice that their voices weren’t raised as much as they
had been.

Catherine Walker was still peeking over the tops of her
webbed fingers as her father continued to abuse her mother.

Patrick and Janet Gates were still close together, but they
weren’t touching any more.  He was aware of Martin talking in the
background, but his attention was fixed on father and daughter.  Patrick
reached out to Janet, but it was simply to put a paternal arm around her
shoulder.

The Raven felt as if he’d taken a body blow, something that
hadn’t happened to him since he was a teenager.  A lot had changed since
then.  He had mastered sorcery in its truest form, and controlled legions
in his own time.  His powerbase continued to grow, and grow more rapidly
with the use of weaponry from the future.  Today, with the loss of the
bomb, he had experienced his first failure in many years.  It was a
setback, and he would get over it.  Already, he planned to return. 
It might be only days – or possibly even hours – for him, but a year or two for
everyone else here.  Then he would be back on course with his plans.

But this was something else again.  His control over
the people in the clearing was slipping.  And he realised now that it was
slipping because his own psychic strength was being sapped.

The rest of the Gates family were getting up.  Martin
had moved on to the
Paynes
.  The other brothers
were on their feet, and helping their mother.  Patrick was leading his
daughter towards them.  Incredibly, they were all moving of their own free
will.

He had the capacity to reach out with his mind, invisible
sensors that stretched like tentacles in any and all directions he wanted
to.  He used them now, searching for answers. 
Why was he suddenly
losing his power?  How much control did he still have?

For the first time since adolescence, he felt fear. 
Fear of losing control.  Fear of the unknown.  And that was
exacerbated when the sensors reached the Gates family.  As they made
contact, he felt his energy drain still further.  Instinctively, he
snatched the sensors back.

When they touched the
Dakins
, he
was relieved to feel no further drain.  But he was aware that they were
regaining some control over themselves.  He tore his eyes from the Gates
family, and saw that Derek Dakin was actually struggling against his sons
now.  Before he had not been able to.  They were already so close to
the fire.  It wouldn’t take much for them to throw their father on to it,
and if they did that, he could open their minds to the awfulness of their own
actions.  That realisation could be enough to generate the boost he
needed.

In the few moments it took for him to cover the ground
between them, somehow the
Dakins
had collapsed into a
heap.  He stopped a few feet behind Martin.

“What do you think you are doing?” he demanded.

There was a pause, as if Martin was collecting himself, and
then he turned and looked the Raven in the eye.

“I’ve come to help my family,” he said evenly.

The Raven recalled their last encounter.

As the families had performed for him, sickening themselves
with their violations, he’d been aware of a presence just beyond the reach of
the firelight.  He’d sensed youth, aware of its fear and confusion. 
There was enough suffering within the clearing to feed him.  Even so, he’d
let his sensors reach out, searching for the child.  And when they found
their target, they wrapped themselves around him like the fingers of an
enormous, invisible hand.  Then they pulled him into the clearing.

Strangely, the reward he was looking for came from a
different source than he expected.  The boy’s fear did increase, but the
surge of energy he experienced came from the others.  It took a few
moments for him to understand what had happened, and then only by trying to
imagine how he might feel if he was a mere mortal like them.  They had
been feeling shame before, carrying out perverse and wicked acts that were
beyond their own comprehension.  And those acts were being witnessed by
others.  If there had been a saving grace, it was that the only witnesses
were equally guilty.  Only now they were being watched by an innocent.

Greedily, the Raven had grabbed the boy and held him close,
turning him around, ensuring he saw every detail, forcing him to watch the
villagers’ humiliation.

This was the same boy.  A man now.  Yet the images
he’d seen today had still been shocking to him.  The Raven realised that
somehow he had managed to suppress the memories.  He didn’t understand
psychology.  Where he came from, it hadn’t been invented yet.  But he
knew the mind could play strange tricks, so he knew there was no point in
dwelling on what had happened since his last visit.  He was more concerned
about what was happening now, and why his powers were draining away.

He pointed to the sprawl of bodies by the fire.  “
They
are not your family.”

A shrug.  “What can I say?  I offered a bit of
help and it became a habit.”  Martin’s eyes lifted and focused on
something over the Raven’s shoulder.  “Looks like things aren’t working
out the way you wanted them to.”

Spinning round, he saw the Payne family had broken their
circle.  The terrified girl in the middle seemed to be looking for
somewhere to run, but one of the other women put an arm round her.  Beyond
them, Nigel Salthouse was on his knees, sobbing.  His wife and daughter
were reaching out to him reassuringly.

“My guess is, he’s asking for forgiveness.”  The words
came from behind him.  “You might want to consider that yourself some
time.”

The Walker girls were handing clothes to their parents, who
were now sitting side by side, shaking their heads in a mixture of disgust and
disbelief.

“You did this.”  The Raven’s voice was low, but the
menace in it was still strong enough to carry.  As he turned to face
Martin, he knew his words had been heard.  He could see the apprehension
in his eyes.  Automatically, he expected to feel a small surge from his
reaction.  That was what always happened.  He fed off it, and it grew
inside him.  Not this time.  The realisation was shocking to
him.  He couldn’t rely on his psychic power or energy to help him. 
Worse, a lot of his physical energy had been drained away as well.  He had
no advantage here.  What he did have was rage.

He launched himself forward, his hands curled into claws
aimed at Martin’s face and chest.  Martin jerked sideways, so one hand
missed him entirely, and the other scrabbled ineffectively over his right
shoulder.  Even so, the weight of the Raven’s body smashed into him, and
the two men fell to the ground, landing dangerously close to the edge of the
fire.  Nearby, the
Dakins
got to their feet and
backed away.

As they landed they bounced, throwing the Raven to one
side.  Martin rolled away from him, and scrambled to his knees.  The fire
blazed a couple of feet to his right.  The Raven was a similar distance
from the fire, and about five feet away from Martin.  He too had reached
his knees.  Very warily, they both rose to their feet, each of them braced
for an assault from the other.  The Raven went first.

It had been some time since he had been unable to draw on
other resources.  Reliant solely on his own physical strength and fighting
skills he had learnt and half-forgotten over the years, his approach was
haphazard but brutal.

In spite of Martin’s preference to walk away from a fight,
there were times when you had no choice.  After his beating by the jealous
boyfriend and his mates, Martin had realised similar situations might have
cropped up again.  Next time, he wanted to be more prepared.  So he
had joined a Dojo and thrown himself into the world of martial arts. 
Wherever he moved, one of the first things he did was find a new place to
practice.  It became one of the few constants in his life.

When it came to combat, he had learnt about the two most
dangerous weapons he had: his knees and his elbows.  Judicious use of
these weapons could bring a fight to a rapid end, something he’d experienced on
two occasions since then.  Though, to be fair, on both occasions, his
opponents had been at least slightly inebriated, and almost certainly had no
formal training.

This opponent was neither drunk nor untrained.

Lunging at Martin, the Raven threw a punch at his
face.  He was aiming for the nose, aware of how painful and debilitating a
broken nose could be.  It was also likely to bleed profusely, and if the
others saw the blood, it might give them cause for doubt and fear.  But
Martin’s arms swept across his body, his left forearm deflecting the punch as
his right fist thrust towards the Raven’s chest.  The sorcerer didn’t have
time to move out of the way.  Instead, he deliberately relaxed his body,
rolling backwards to minimise the effect of the blow.

Martin took the opportunity to take a couple of steps to his
left, putting some distance between himself and the fire. 
A possible
weakness?

Righting himself, the Raven didn’t hesitate.  He knew
he needed every advantage, and giving his opponent time to plan his next move
wouldn’t help.  This time he swung his left fist, causing Martin to lean
back in the direction of the fire.  As his hand swept past Martin’s head,
he lashed out with his right leg, catching him across the upper thigh. 
Something flashed in Martin’s eyes, a combination of pain and anger.  For
a moment, he felt some hope that there might be something to feed on.

He watched with some amusement as Martin took three rapid
steps backwards, keeping himself out of range. 
Maybe this wasn’t going
to be so challenging after all.

He was wrong.

As Martin came forward again, he was aware of the sense of
anticipation from the people around them.  Not concern for the man who was
trying to save them.  For reasons he couldn’t understand, there was no
sign of doubt.  Instead, he felt as if they were trying to transmit their
own energy to him to give him more strength.  He moved back himself,
preparing to block whatever was coming.  At the last moment, Martin
twisted to one side, his body rotating as he did so.  Caught out, the
Raven lowered his guard for a moment as he tried to work out what was
happening.  Even as he did, he saw Martin’s left elbow heading for his
face.  He jerked back so it missed his nose, but felt a tooth loosen as it
connected with his jaw.

Even as he tasted blood in his mouth, a punch landed under
his rib cage.  Although he was too late, instinctively he had raised his
hands to protect his face and, in doing so, exposed his abdomen.  Still in
motion, Martin had brought his right fist up.  The angle was awkward, so
the impact wasn’t as great as it could have been.  The shock effect was
enough, though.

Momentum took Martin on, so he was now behind the
Raven.  Spitting blood, the sorcerer turned to face him.  Rage
coursed through his veins, fuelling a desire to punish.  But it seemed
that he wasn’t the only one with that desire.  And, even though it was
tempered by what was clearly a cold fury, Martin’s desire was stronger.

A flurry of kicks and punches struck the Raven before he’d
completed his turn.  Blows to his thighs, shins and flanks.  They
came in hard and fast, yet deliberate.  Nothing glanced off.  Every
time there was contact it hurt.  He found himself reacting, all control
lost as he tried to fend off each attack.  A foot caught him on the inside
of his thigh.  It was tender, but it also made him realise that there were
other tender spots that Martin was getting close to.  He focused his
efforts on protecting his lower abdomen.

Almost as soon as he did, Martin dropped back, giving them
both a little space.  He didn’t have time to consider why.  Martin
leapt up and forward, his right foot connecting with the Raven’s chest. 
Trying desperately to keep his balance, his arms flailed around him, as if
flapping them would hold him upright.  Back on his feet, Martin shot forward,
spinning around as he did, his back bumping into the Raven’s chest and
stomach.  Focused on trying not to fall over, the elbow driving into his
solar plexus was as unexpected as it was painful.

Martin shoved the Raven back before he had a chance to grab
on to him.  Already he was turning again.  Bent over, the sorcerer
didn’t see the kick coming until it was too late.  The pain he’d felt in
his gut evaporated as piercing agony exploded between his legs.  He
collapsed to the ground, landing on all fours and panting desperately.

His anger towards Martin was intense.  He was filled
with an urge to lash out at him.  He wanted a weapon that could inflict
awful damage to him, lacerating him, punishing him with unbearable pain.  But
winded and experiencing an ache that radiated out to encapsulate his lower
torso and upper legs, he could only dream of what he would like to do.  In
this state, he was in no position to even throw a punch.

He cast an eye around the clearing.  It was a place
that had given him so much pleasure.  The rituals had changed over time,
but the objective had always been the same.  Now he could see the various
families were huddled together in different parts of the clearing.  They
remained apart from the other families, but all seemed to be doing something
remarkable: they were healing.

It had been a mistake bringing the boy into the
clearing.  More accurately, his mistake had been to hold him so
closely.  In those few minutes, as he fed off the energy from the others,
somehow he must have shared a part of himself with the youngster.  They
had formed a connection.  It had happened before, but in the past he’d
been able to use it to his advantage.  Perhaps if he’d appreciated this
early enough, he could have done the same this time.  Instead, it had
worked against him.

Even as he realised it, he felt yet more of his energy slip
away.  He slumped forward submissively, resting his head against the
ground.  From the corner of his eye, he could see Martin’s boots only a
few feet away.  They could strike him at any moment.  It was a wonder
to him that they hadn’t done already.  With his hands no longer supporting
him, he lifted his right arm.

Somewhere off to his right and behind him, he heard someone
call out.

“He’s reaching for something inside his cloak!”  It was
a warning, alerting Martin to the danger that he might produce a weapon. 
As his hand encircled the metallic object hung from his chain, the Raven smiled
to himself at that thought.  He wasn’t going to produce anything. 
Quite the opposite.

The last words he heard were: “Bring your hands out where I
can...”  And then he was gone.