The other druids cast spells and attempted their own banishments. Their efforts had some effect; the monstrosity seemed confined between the outer and inner protective rings of the great chalk circle. Fitzgilbert ventured too close to the thing and was struck down by a flailing limb of rusted metal and decaying wood. Debris showered them as he collapsed to the ground, his neck broken by the blow.
Glover's arm was seized in a bone-racking grip. Hyde-White had crossed the ring. Leaving his place had been a necessity for the fat man; the trash thing occupied that space.
"Andrew, now you see what Neville's obsession has led us to. He has no control over this corrupted spirit. As I feared, there is a flaw in the ritual and so this thing has been spawned. If the sacrifice is completed, there is no telling what strength it will have."
Glover stared at the monstrosity. It was fascinating, at once compelling and disgusting. Its power was enormous, but its very unnaturalness was the final proof of Hyde-White's argument. "We must stop it."
Hyde-White's chin disappeared in the folds of flesh that hid his neck as he nodded. "If the spell is broken suddenly, there may be a backlash. I will guard the link with Neville while you do what must be done."
What must be done.
Glover looked at the wicker man. The flames had already consumed its left half and were spreading. Where it had burned fiercely, the sacrifices were no longer moving. Corbeau lay bound within the mannikin's right arm. The fire ravened closer, and he was beginning to stir as the heat and excitement penetrating through his drugged haze. So much effort to get him here, and now it was spoiled by Neville's arrogance.
In the center of the circle, the older Neville stood tall and straight, the golden sickle raised above his head. His eyes were closed and his lips moved as he feverishly spoke the words of the ritual.
"We offer blood to the earth. Let the land drink from this divinely ordained vessel and be refreshed.''
Gordon walked toward him intoning the prayer of offering, naming himself as the gift and offering his own blood to revitalize the land. He knelt before Neville, stretching his head back to offer his throat.
Glover couldn't allow that royal blood to feed the monstrosity. Hoping that he was not also destroying the land's hope, he gathered his power and sent it in a blast that ripped the right arm from the wicker man in an explosion of green witchfire. Corbeau screeched as the arcane energies shredded his flesh and boiled his body fluids. It was a faster death than the creeping sacrificial flame, but no less harsh.
"You fool! What have you done?" shouted Neville as he stumbled across the ring to seize Glover.
"Stopped your abortion." A sweep of his arm broke the old man's grip.
"You have destroyed all we have worked for!"
"I have saved it. Look!"
The garbage golem swayed wildly. Tilting at nearly forty-five degrees from the vertical, it suddenly lost cohesiveness and shattered into its component elements. The stench of decay and putrefaction burst over the clearing as rusted metal and rotted organic matter pelted the ground. The half-decomposed corpse of the young Neville lay amid the debris, its white bones gleaming in the firelight.
"See what you have done, old man, and what your warped ambitions have cost you. Your son lies dead. That's a price you'll have on your conscience to the grave. Pray that your conscience won't be burdened by worse. We can only hope that your folly hasn't cost us the land."
"What are you talking about?" one of the others asked. They had gathered around the quarrelers.
Glover stabbed a finger at the heap of debris that had stalked their ceremony. "That. We all saw how that thing grew as the sacrifices were consumed." Glover turned his wrathful face on Neville. "Had you completed the ritual, that thing would have been empowered in a way beyond our dreams. You would have spawned a scourge for the land."
"No!" Neville's face was twisted with denial. "It would have been destroyed. The corruption would have been swept away."
Glover sneered at the desperation in Neville's voice. The man couldn't even convince himself. "Then why did it disperse when I interrupted the ritual?"
Neville's eyes darted across the assembled survivors. There was no comfort for him in those faces. "I don't know," he mumbled. "Well, I have seen enough to know. You have misled us, old man. Your way has been shown to be flawed and unwholesome. We must find another way to restore the land. We must hope that it can yet be done, and that your perverse meddling has not closed the door."
Barnett made a show of turning his shoulder away from Neville. "Glover, you are the one who saw what needed to be done. What should we do now?"
"Whatever is necessary," Gordon said. When all eyes were turned to him, he added, "I was ready to give my life that the land be restored. Who could ask for more commitment? I need only be shown the way. If you see that way, Master Glover, I will follow your lead."
"It is an awesome responsibility," Glover said. "Which you have shown yourself strong enough to take on."
Glover's spirit soared. Acclamation from His Highness! Hyde-White had been right. Opportunity was rising before him; he would be a fool and a weakling if he did not seize it. He tried to mask his elation, to present a properly stern face as Ashton, who had been Neville's student, removed the archdruid's pectoral from the old man and held it out to Glover. His hands trembled as he accepted it.
"I serve the land as you do, Highness. As you have come to understand, we must all do whatever is necessary to see it healthy again. As leader of this Circle, my goal will be to see the land restored to its glory. Nothing shall deter me."
He felt the strength of his conviction as he spoke. He would do anything to see the land saved. Behind him, he felt Hyde-White's presence, massive and supporting.
PART 2
London stank.
It wasn't just the fumes and garbage stenches that permeated everything, although the city had those, just like every other major metroplex. London's peculiar effluvium was a legacy of the terrorist attack of 2039, when the radical group called Pan Europa had released a bioagent in retaliation for England's supposed part in the break-up of the EEC. The bug had been supposed to break down the sheathing element of the metroplex's newly completed dome. The terrorists must have been pleased to see the biofabric skin had evaporated under the ravenous organism. But had they known what effect their organism would have on other biological fibers?
Intentional or not, once the bug was released, there had been no way to recall it. Much of London's historical legacy had been destroyed when the uncontrolled organism had devoured the city's paper and wood. The panic riots that had followed had devastated the city, vandalizing its present and almost completely devouring its past. The spirit of London's people had failed as well, the dreams of leading a new Europe dying in the mouldering aftermath. Now, the bones of the abandoned dome arched over
the city like the broken ribcage of a rotting antediluvian beast, as the fungi of skyscapers, towers, and communications arrays clawed toward the sky through the bleached struts.
Sam saw those gleaming spires of the new plex as monuments to the megacorporations' contempt for the common folk. Instead of nurturing the people's hopes, the corps had defied the growing power of the Green Party and taken advantage of the chaos and built to their own whims. With bought votes in Parliament and sweetheart deals for the still-landed aristocracy, the megacorps had twisted English law, shattering the people's dreams of safety and protection. Despite the restored constitutional monarchy, George VIII, the Lord Protector, and Parliament didn't govern the country alone. The megacorps ruled much of England as surely as they ruled their own boardrooms.