*
Electricity crackled around the room, sending incandescent sparks fizzing from the metal fittings. Thunder boomed off the walls and there was ozone in the air. In one corner stood the black knight in the boar mask, his hands on the broadsword balanced on its tip between his astride legs.
'Caitlin Shepherd!' His voice sounded like bees swarming from a hive.
Caitlin stirred; light flickered in the lanterns of her eyes. In the Ice-Field, the snowstorm shifted briefly, and the hard rocks of the shelter emerged in grey from the white.
'Caitlin Shepherd!' the knight said again, in his detached, alien voice.
Caitlin blinked; the white gave way to the shifting shadows of the room. More electricity flashed around her so that it felt as if they were in some glass jar cut off from the real world.
'Are you my guardian angel?' she whispered, dazed. 'Or just some other devil sent to lead me on to damnation?'
'None of this is real — I told you that,' the knight said sonorously. His voice was clearer than it had been the last time. 'We make our own reality. It is fluid. The truth lies behind what your senses tell you. If enough people believe the world is a certain way, that is the way it shall be. But some people have the power to change all reality. The world does not have to be this way, Caitlin. It is in the process of being rebuilt. Humanity is moving on, moving up. The seasons are changing.'
Gradually, her consciousness pieced together where she was and what had been happening. She remembered Thackeray and Harvey and the plague wardens; and she recalled Carlton and his brutal and unnecessary death, and the pain hit her so hard she cried out, 'Who killed him?' 'Paths have been chosen. Events are no longer in your hands,' the knight replied. 'Only blood can turn things around — blood and vengeance.' He paused while the lightning flashed across the room in coruscating streaks, and when he spoke again his words were barely audible above the thunder. 'The time has come to let her out, Caitlin.' Caitlin staggered from the restless ocean of the Ice-Field into the small rocky shelter. Briony eyed her hatefully, while Brigid rocked backwards and forwards, cackling to herself nervously and glancing to the shadows at the back.
'We thought you were never coming back,' Amy said dismally.
Caitlin walked past them without a glance. Could she do it?
'Don't be stupid, bitch,' Briony said with a mixture of fury and fear.
Caitlin stood before the figure half-cloaked in the shadows and said uneasily, 'Come forward. I need you.'
Brigid's laughter became an anguished howl and Amy began to sob uncontrollably. The figure stepped forward, slowly at first but then with pride, and the shadows sloughed off her like silk.
Caitlin thought she would be struck blind with pure terror. Though her eyes saw the form, her mind couldn't latch on to the slippery alien essence of the creature that emerged, and every aspect of Caitlin's being rebelled at what she perceived. At first it appeared as though she were seeing crows flying madly, and then fluttering black rags from which a ghastly white face stared horribly.
Finally a beautiful and terrible woman stood before her, with lustrous black hair like a storm, flashing green eyes and ruby-red lips. She wore a black velvet gown that appeared to run like oil, with a belt of blood-red, and she carried two wicked silver knives with sinuous blades. Carrion birds flew all around her, and at times appeared to be part of her. 'You have released me!' Though the woman barely moved her lips the words thundered so loud Caitlin had to clutch her ears.
'What are you?' Caitlin asked weakly.
'I am the beginning and the end,' the woman replied. 'Fertility and destruction. Love and war. I am the messenger of death. I am the true power of all women.'
'The Morrigan!' Brigid cried, beating her chest and tearing at her hair. 'War goddess of my Celtic people, treat your daughter well! Oh, fearsome Badhbh Chatha, Raven of Battle.'
Caitlin recalled the eerie hooded crow she had seen the night she first encountered the Lament-Brood, and then again, barely recognised, on her chest as she lay on the edge of madness at Liam and Grant's graves. Somehow, Caitlin knew, this terrifying being had seen some connection inside her, had entered her and bonded with her very soul. All she had needed was Caitlin's word to come out into the open. But Caitlin was afraid of what would now happen; that the cure would be much, much worse than the disease.
'Weep for those who stand before us!' the Morrigan said, her eyes blazing. 'There will be no more suffering, Sister of Dragons. We stand as one!'
The Morrigan opened her arms and Caitlin was sucked into the infinite darkness of flapping wings. Harvey slipped quietly through the concourse, desperately afraid. He was sure they could hole up in one of the warren-like office buildings on Colmore Row, but it would only be a temporary measure. After that, he had no idea. He wasn't a thinker like Thackeray and he really couldn't see himself surviving on his own, especially now he had the added responsibility of the girl. But he couldn't abandon her. How could he?
He slipped into their former home, expecting to see Caitlin still sitting where he had left her. Instead she stood in the centre of the room. He could see instantly that there was something different about her. She stood erect, her body taut, ready for action, and for the first time there was fire in her eyes and intensity in her face.
'Oh, you're up,' he ventured. 'I'm going to take you to-'
'You're going to take me to Thackeray.'
He jumped back in shock at the sound of her voice. 'You… you're all right now?'
Caitlin fingered the ornate carvings on her bow, looking past Harvey into the darkened concourse. 'We're going to get Thackeray back.'
Harvey held up his hands. 'OK, I'm glad you're feeling better, and Thackeray was right that you were paying attention while you were… you know… doolally. Sorry. But you don't know what you're asking. We can't-'
Caitlin stepped forward quickly and gripped his shoulders with fingers that felt like iron. 'We're going to get him out-'
'He's probably already dead!'
'-and you're going to show me the way.' She spun him round and shoved him towards the exit, lost to the thunder of blood in her head.
Chapter Twelve
'I know I have the body of a weak and feeble woman, but I have the heart and stomach of a king.'
After what seemed like hours, Crowther emerged from the trees on to a shimmering path. Relief flooded through him. In the timeless Forest of the Night, he had begun to think he might be wandering in the green world for ever, lulled into a dream state by its peculiar haunting qualities. He had even lost consciousness for a while, he was sure, and was worried that he might have put on the mask. Was it controlling him so easily now?
Many things moved through the trees just out of sight, but they didn't scare him, and he had come to accept that he was no longer afraid of death; more and more it felt like a way out. There had been no sign of the Gehennis, but at one point curiously he had heard horses and baying hounds, a hunt pursuing its prey. However, on occasion he had glimpsed the drifting purple light that signified the Lament-Brood and that did frighten him: to become part of that zombie army, to think and feel inside, perhaps, but to be controlled by another intelligence was his greatest nightmare.
Resting on his staff to catch his breath, he was surprised to feel his weariness easing the longer he stood on the path. As he scraped his fingers along its surface, they tingled and an easy feeling of wellbeing rose through him. The Blue Fire really was the fuel that drove everything, just as everyone had been taught at the college in Glastonbury. Might he actually have found peace if he'd stayed there and devoted himself to studying? The search for knowledge had always been the thing that had made him feel complete in the old days. Without finding an answer, he set off along the path. It wasn't long before he spotted a small dark figure sitting cross-legged. It was Mahalia, unmoving, head bowed so that her black hair covered her face like a hood. She didn't even stir when he came within three feet of her. 'You got out, then,' he said. 'Looks like it.' She didn't look up at him. 'Have you seen any of the others?' She began to shake her head, then caught herself. 'What is it?' This time she did look up and Crowther was shocked by the devastation he saw in her face. 'Carlton's dead,' she said bluntly. 'Dead? The boy?' 'I… I saw the body.' She motioned further along the path. Every fibre of her being was directed towards suppressing her emotions. 'His throat's been cut. He's lying across the path…' Crowther tried to make sense of what he was hearing. 'Across the path? That can't be. The dangerous things that live in this forest shouldn't be able to touch us on here.' 'Well, he is dead,' she said sharply. 'No mistaking that.' 'Show me,' Crowther said with irritated disbelief. Realisation of what he was asking came a second later and tenderness crept into his voice. 'I am sorry. That was very… thoughtless of me. I know how close you two were.' He rested one comforting hand on her head, but she felt as rigid as stone beneath his fingers and he withdrew it quickly. 'I'll check.' He hurried along the path and found the boy's body round a bend, as she had described. The cut had been made skilfully. This was no attack by wild beast or some haunted forest thing.