Triskellion (34 page)

“You’ve been ages,” Gabriel said, when Rachel and Adam stopped at the edge of the circle. Rachel had not expected
Gabriel to be surprised of course. She knew that he would have been able to see them coming from a long way away. That he would have known what was going on before they’d even set foot on the moor.

She wondered if Gabriel had known that this moment was coming for a very long time.

Gabriel lifted up his hand; opened his fingers to reveal the golden Triskellion that was two-thirds complete. “I suppose you’ll be wanting this then, to go with what’s in your pocket.”

Dalton just stared for a few seconds, then reached into his jacket for the single golden blade he was carrying. He let out a hum of contentment as he looked down at it. His expression changed in a flash when Gabriel took a step towards him and he moved quickly, grabbing hold of Rachel and pressing the knife to her neck.

“You stay where you are.” His voice was trembling with panic. “I can do without any more of your magic tricks. Exploding coins, whatever…”

Gabriel stepped back. “Whatever you want.” He held out the Triskellion. “Let Adam come over here and get it for you, then when you have it in your hand, you release Rachel. Deal?”

Adam shook his head, opened his mouth to protest, but Gabriel raised a hand to silence him.

Dalton took a few seconds, weighing it up. He licked his lips. “Just get the blades and get back over here,” he said,
pushing the tip of the knife into Rachel’s neck. “I’m feeling a bit nervous to tell you the truth, and it could get messy if my hand slips.”

Rachel squirmed as Dalton’s grip tightened round her arm. “Don’t give it to him. He’s bluffing.”

Dalton kicked Adam in the back of the leg, urging him across the circle towards Gabriel. “Only one way to find out,” he said.

Rachel looked hard at Gabriel, spoke to him without saying anything. “Don’t do this. You
can’t
…”

“It’s fine, really.”

Adam took the final step, and held out his hand for the Triskellion.

“Not after everything we’ve been through to get it,” Rachel said.

Gabriel smiled and held out the Triskellion for Adam to take. His voice in Rachel’s head was perfectly calm and strong. “I told you to trust me.”

It was all taking too long for Dalton’s liking. “Come on, bring it here,” he snapped. Before Adam had taken three steps back towards him, Dalton reached forward to grab the golden amulet, pushing Rachel aside as he did and stepping back to admire his trophy.

“I hope you think it’s worth it,” Gabriel said.

Dalton opened his mouth to speak, and it stayed open as the pieces of the Triskellion moved slowly towards one another as though pulled magnetically, gliding across his
palm, the metal edges kissing softly before welding themselves into one, perfect whole.

“That’s … incredible,” Dalton said.

Gabriel beamed. “I’m glad you like it. Not so sure it’s going to feel the same way about you though.”

Before Dalton could respond, the Triskellion began to hum and spin on his palm. Dalton moved to cover it with his free hand but the Triskellion was already rising into the air, drifting up and away until it was hovering, just out of his reach. He stood on tiptoe, trying to grab it.

“Nearly got it,” Gabriel said. “Just another few inches…”

Dalton made one final lunge and as he did so, a beam of white light shot from the Triskellion, knocking Dalton several metres back through the air. He screamed as the bolt hit his chest, and was deeply unconscious by the time he crashed back to the ground, his limbs twisted like a broken action figure.

“Deadly in the wrong hands,” Gabriel murmured as the Triskellion drifted back towards him, spinning gently back down on to his palm. “But in the
right
ones…”

Rachel and Adam watched as beams of bright light burst from each blade, shooting in straight lines as far as the horizon on three sides of them. Then, the lines began to blur and shift, and the beams moved down and around, sliding across each other, dancing and weaving like ribbons round a maypole. Now they were more like water than light and, as the twins stared, the three beams flowed between and round
them, gathering them in and easing them across the circle towards Gabriel.

Rachel and Adam moved without being told, without needing to look where they were going; guided by the beams that snaked round them on the moor, by the bright Triskellion of light that was pulsing and wrapping itself tightly within its own shape, carved into the earth many centuries before.

The chalk circle was suddenly brighter than the twins had ever seen it, and looking up they saw a thousand more beams thirty metres above their heads; a latticework of light bursting from the amulet that still spun in Gabriel’s hand.

It hung above them like a dome, like a shield.

“Rachel, Adam…”

Gabriel had spoken with his mind, and Rachel and Adam were drawn still closer to him, watching as a constantly changing pattern of light began to move at incredible speed around him. It span in a complicated vortex. It curled in strings and fell in dazzling sheets and from within it Gabriel’s voice began to sound different.

“I suppose we need to talk about a few things,” he said.

Rachel and Adam held up their hands to shield their faces, but their eyes adjusted quickly to the light, and, as they stared into it, Gabriel began to change.

B
y the time the Green Men reached Hilary, it was almost light. Abnormally light…

All they could do was stand and stare at the blackened skeleton of the old Triumph. Its tyres were melted, the fuel tank had been shredded by the explosion, and a black circle was scorched into the field round it. Blackened springs showed where most of the big saddle had burned away, leaving tatters of leather round the edges like scraps of blistered skin.

They found Hilary’s body in damp grass several metres away. The clothes were still smouldering, and two of his men took off their long coats and covered him to prevent the body from burning any further. The acrid smell of scorched flesh and burnt rubber hung in the chilly dawn air, so heavy that they could almost taste it. One or two retched at the roadside as the foul smell caught in their throats. Others began to wipe away at their black face paint with tissues and rags; the charade of dressing up suddenly seeming absurd and
childish in light of the night’s events.

Tom Hatcham and several of the villagers caught up with them soon after, having taken the same narrow lane from Honeyman’s place towards the moor. Hatcham shook his head as he trudged through the wet grass and took in the grisly scene. He dutifully took out a mobile phone and called for an ambulance, though he guessed it would be far too late by the time it had driven from the nearest town.

The villagers and the Green Men shuffled about uneasily, throwing guilty glances at one another. It was as if they had all woken from a shared bad dream of which they were now all terribly ashamed.

Tom Hatcham could not meet anyone’s eye. Instead he stared at the rolling grey clouds overhead, which began to disperse as a beautiful shaft of yellow light broke through and shone down in finger-like rays on to the moor.

It looked as though it was going to be a beautiful day.

Hatcham wondered who was going to tell the commodore what had happened to his son.

Jacob Honeyman was jerked from his dream by the crowing of the cock from a neighbouring farm. Bloody thing was early. It was normally regular as clockwork. He straightened himself at the kitchen table and took a deep breath.

He could still taste the smoke, and hear the crackle and spit of the flames around him and he knew that these were not the blurry remnants of his dream. They were memories,
all too real and painful, and they would stay with him for ever.

He needed a hot bath, and a stiff drink.

They’d all left in dribs and drabs once the excitement was over, once they had figured out where they needed to go: Hilary Wing and his gang, whooping like monkeys in their trucks; Hatcham and his cronies. The commodore and Celia Root had been the last to go, the old woman reluctant to leave him, keen to make sure he was going to be all right.

“I’m so very sorry, Jacob,” she’d said, as the commodore had wheeled her out of the shack.

Honeyman had watched the Land Rover pull away, feeling like the old woman had been apologizing for all sorts of things. For more than just what had been done to him that night by Hilary Wing.

He stood up from the table and walked across to the small, grimy window above the sink. He looked out at the sky and for once he was grateful to the cockerel and its infernal racket.

Today was a special day. It was one he’d long dreamed of but it was not one he would have wanted to dream away.

His buoyant mood was swiftly and brutally punctured as more of the previous night’s events came back to him in horrifying detail. He saw the convoy of trucks and battered vans ploughing through his fence and rampaging across his land. He could hear the terrible crashes as the Green Men wreaked their destruction.

A moan rose up into Honeyman’s mouth, and he forced himself to drag open his front door, to step outside and survey the damage.

He needed to see what had been done to his hives. What was left of his precious family of bees.

“What a glorious light,” Celia Root exclaimed, as the clouds broke above the car and streaks of sunlight lit the road in front of them.

Commodore Wing folded down the sun visor above the windscreen and narrowed his eyes against the unusually bright sunrise. From Honeyman’s cottage he had driven the long way, round the edge of the moor, which, unknown to him, had taken him away from the scene of Hilary’s accident.

They were both silent for a moment, the events of the evening weighing heavy on their minds, then Celia spoke.

“Do you think, this … all this terrible business, people dying, behaving madly, trying to kill one another … do you think it’s all our fault, Gerry? Because we…”

“Because we were in love? Because we had a child? I don’t think so, darling.” Commodore Wing gave her a sideways glance. Tears were pouring silently down Celia Root’s cheeks.

“But we went against the legend. We mixed our two families; we knew we shouldn’t, but we couldn’t help it … and now I think perhaps we’ve cursed everyone.”

“Don’t think like that, Celia. This was bound to happen one day.” The commodore coughed, uneasy at speaking his
most private thoughts, even with his closest companion. “You know, the older I get, the more I see a shape in things. A destiny that we have no real control over. I think perhaps that we were
meant
to get together. That somewhere along the line, someone or something decided that the time was right for us to have a child. Someone guided us. There was nothing unusual about Kate, was there? You remember how beautiful she was?” Celia nodded. “But then the twins came…”

Celia Root paled at the memory. “Do you remember how spooked we were when they were born? It was as if the prophecy was being fulfilled.”

“And perhaps their coming back here was also meant to be.”

“But I was so terrified when Kate said she was sending them. I feel like I’ve treated them terribly badly, but I was so scared. I must get them back to Kate now. Gerry, I must…” A sob caught hard in Celia Root’s throat.

Commodore Wing pulled the car over by a gate on the edge of the moor.

“Don’t worry, darling. In time, they’ll realize that you meant well, that we were just doing our duty trying to protect everything. We’ll get them back to Kate and all will be forgiven. I promise. Look…” He pointed across the moor. Thirty metres away, standing in the chalk circle, three small figures were spotlit in the shafts of early morning sun.

A smile crept across Commodore Wing’s weathered
features. “They’ll understand, darling.” He leant over and kissed the woman he’d loved for over forty years on the cheek. It was still wet from tears and her eyes were closed.

“Look, Celia, it’s a wonderful sight. Celia? Darling…?”

But Celia Root’s eyes remained closed, her face smooth now and honey-coloured: bathed in the warm, reflected light of the strange new sun.