Authors: Laura Powell
We turned a corner and drove straight into the middle of one.
The dilapidated high street was jammed with cars and buses, some drivers honking and shouting, others abandoning their vehicles and heading for cover. A makeshift barricade had been set up at the end of the road from wedged-together cars. One had been overturned and set alight. A group of young men in hooded tops and red bandannas were standing in front of the barricade, armed with metal pipes. Another group in purple scarves advanced upon them, throwing bricks and stones. Then we heard gunshots.
The taxi driver was swearing and sweating but couldn’t reverse because there were already more cars behind us. A young kid ran up, his face twisted with glee, and smashed a bat on the windscreen of the car.
‘Out,’ Leto wheezed, poking me with bony fingers. ‘Out! Out!’
We scrambled from the backseat and fled into one of the side streets, joining a stream of other refugees. Our taxi driver wasn’t far behind. It was every man for himself as people jostled to get away from the gunfire and the rising clouds of black smoke. I felt old and shaky, as feeble as Leto, my flimsy sandals pattering along on the pavement, my breath wheezing through the veil.
Artemis. Goddess. Protect your servants. Hear my prayer –
‘Aura?’ said a disbelieving voice.
‘Aiden!’
‘Are you all right?’
I would never have guessed I could be so glad to see him. ‘I – we were on an errand, but nobody came to collect us, and then – then –’ It was a struggle to get my voice under control. ‘I don’t know where we are, or what we should do –’
‘It’s OK. Let’s get you out of here.’
He took me by one arm and Leto by another. I despised my own weakness, the sickly thumping of my heart that made me hold on to our escort like a frightened child.
Aiden was among a group of people who had come from the march. Some of them had bloody scrapes and torn clothing; the radio report had spoken of clashes with the police. But this was a different kind of conflict. As sirens sounded in the distance, there were screams as well as shots. A gaggle of young men on rusty motorbikes roared past us, heading into the fray.
‘Who are these louts?’ Leto panted.
‘The guys in the red bandannas are the Hatchill Boyz,’ Aiden said. ‘The ones in purple are the Manor Town Crew. They started off as drugs gangs – now they’re self-styled militia.’ He looked round. ‘Look, let’s wait in here. I’ll phone for back-up and we can stay put till things calm down a bit.’
He was pointing at a derelict shopping centre. The metal grille over the main entrance had been wrenched open and broken glass was scattered on the pavement. Inside, it smelled sour and the only light came through the gaps in boarded-up windows. From what I could see, the shops had never been up to much. A plastic palm tree leaned drunkenly at the foot of the escalator.
‘I’ll try the Sanctuary first,’ Aiden said, getting out his phone, ‘and then the Trinovantum Council.’
As he made the call, something moved in the shadows and I saw we weren’t alone. Three or four unshaven men and one woman were lying in sleeping bags on the floor.
‘Artemis’s Angels,’ one of them said, striking a match so he could see us better. ‘Come to give us an oracle.’ He laughed softly. ‘What shall we ask?’
‘Do they serve beer in Hades?’ suggested his friend, through a fit of coughing.
‘This is it,’ said the woman. Her voice was cultured, her face all bones and hollows. ‘Welcome to the underworld.’
More people were squeezing their way through the entrance, seeking shelter. Even though there was plenty of space I felt crowded. The pressure in my head had intensified; my skin prickled and shivered.
‘I don’t . . . I don’t feel very well,’ I whispered.
‘Maybe we should wait upstairs,’ said Aiden, eyeing the new arrivals warily. He drew us back into the darker recesses of the foyer, then up the stairs to the first-floor gallery. I sank to the floor, my back against the door of a smashed-up accessories shop.
Orion’s Belts.
‘Too highly strung, that’s her problem,’ Leto sniffed. ‘All the girls are mollycoddled these days. It wasn’t like that when I was a handmaiden.’
I tried to protest, and say that I was fine, really. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t even lift up my head. My body was crawling all over with dread.
Aura.
My head snapped upwards. ‘Who was that?’
‘Who was what?’ Aiden asked.
‘Who called my name?’
Aura.
Though the voice – and I thought it was a woman’s – had spoken softly, its echo made the air shake. It was as if my skull was made of glass, and something had struck it to make it chime.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to calm the racing of my heart, to block out Aiden and Leto’s confused faces, the restless sounds and movements in the darkness below.
But when I opened them again everything had changed.
I’d been here before. It seemed this was somewhere I’d known my whole life. A golden wood, a sky swollen with storm clouds. Someone or something was running ahead, flashing through the trees.
I could hear gasping, agonised breath. Not my own. A howl. Not my own either. Animal? Human –?
My body convulsed. I fell to my knees. The smell in my nostrils was of damp earth and rotting leaves. The trees’ shadows lengthened and the moon rose.
Everything speeded up, sickeningly. The moon waxing and waning, clouds rushing across the sky, stars bursting to meet them. Dogs howling, my own breath sobbing, a high cold laughter. Hooves drummed through me. I was breaking into pieces, fragments of light and leaves.
Aura.
My name again. Said in a different voice.
The woods had gone. Aiden was holding me by the hands, saying my name, staring into my face. His own was frightened but his hands were firm and steady, and warm in mine.
‘Do you see it?’ I panted. ‘Can you hear it?’
He began to speak but I shushed him. ‘Listen,’ I said. ‘
Listen.
’
More laughter, high and cold.
‘The Green Knight,’ I told him, though the voice wasn’t my own. It was pure and ringing, and ancient as the night. ‘The Green Knight will run red, for the march is stolen by the Iron Lord. He cries havoc, and the Python’s Child shall preach with a double tongue –’
Darkness fell.
And then I was running, animal breath on my heels, the snap of their teeth on my skin. I was the hunter. I was the hunted. The moon spun in the sky. A man leaped before me, antlers bursting from his skull.
I felt the jaws of the hounds fasten on me. They dragged the voice out of my bone and flesh, the pit of my heart.
Forced out of my twisted, broken mouth –
A howl, like a beast’s –
Like a man in agony, a woman in triumph.
I blacked out. When I came to, blinking and mumbling, the first thing I saw was Leto’s wrinkled face staring into mine.
‘Are you hurt?’ she was asking.
I put my hand up to my mouth. There was blood on it. Otherwise I felt fine. I’ve never been drunk but I thought this might be what it was like. I was floppy and giddy, emptied out.
I looked for Aiden. He was hanging back in the shadows.
‘What happened?’
‘I don’t . . . I don’t know . . .’ His face was strained and white. ‘Those things you said . . . I don’t understand . . .’
The old priestess got to her feet, her joints creaking, and pulled me up after her. ‘The Trinovantum Council are sending a car to take us home. It’ll be here any moment.’
‘Leto . . . Tell me. Was I –? Did I –?’
‘You got overexcited and had a funny turn. That’s all.’ She was busy tweaking my veil. Light flooded the foyer, followed by authoritative voices, the crackle of a radio.
Aiden stared at her. ‘You don’t believe that.’
Leto rounded on him with a savagery that made both of us start. ‘Enough,’ she hissed. ‘Nothing happened. You heard nothing. There’s nothing more to say.’
‘But –’
‘It’s for your own good, but most of all hers. Aura –’ She stopped, took a deep breath. ‘Aura can’t be seen running around the city with young men. Especially idiots like you. So stay back and keep your mouth shut. We’re going home.’
Aiden tried to say something else, then stopped. Like me, he’d heard the note of fear in the old lady’s voice, underneath the fierceness.
Shakily, Leto and I descended the stairs. There were two brawny policemen waiting to clear our way but people kept back of their own accord, murmuring uneasily. I wondered what they had heard and what, if anything, they would make of it.
‘Leto,’ I whispered, as we got into the car. ‘The voice . . . whatever . . . whoever it was, it was . . .
real
.’
She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter. Trust me, it won’t do you any good.’
Back at the Sanctuary, there was nobody to tell even if I’d wanted to. Opis was attending a reception at the Royal Opera House, along with Cally and a couple of other priestesses.
‘Go sleep it off,’ Leto said as we parted. ‘Don’t cause trouble for yourself.’ I was too on-edge and exhausted to argue.
As I lay in bed, my head still echoing and body humming, I touched my lips, remembering the taste of blood, and a tremor ran through my spine.
Green Knight . . . Python’s Child . . . Iron Lord . . .
The words might as well have been in a foreign language. An alien tongue.
I was afraid to go to sleep. What if the hounds came for me again? I tossed and turned, imagining I could still hear the snap of their teeth, feel their hot animal breath on my skin. When Cally came in around midnight I closed my eyes and burrowed into the bedcovers so I wouldn’t have to deal with her. The next thing I knew, it was morning.
I watched Cally move about, humming under her breath, her face lit up with that private glow again. It didn’t trouble me. The tremors had gone; I felt calm, detached. There was no question of heeding Leto’s muddled warnings – my destiny was in Artemis’s hands. She’d given me an oracle and I was going to be High Priestess.
I wanted to see Opis before breakfast, but her PA told me she had already left for a meeting. I would have to wait until lunch.
In the meantime, I headed for the staff accommodation block. That’s usually the best place to get news – either from newspapers and magazines left in the bins, or else from overheard conversations. I was in luck: two of the cooks were on a cigarette break. Cally and I discovered long ago that their smoking area was the best place for eavesdropping; it even has an ivy-shrouded wall to hide behind.
‘. . . She fell down in a shopping centre,’ the younger cook was saying, ‘and started prophesying the End of Days.’
‘Well, the Goddess Squad do like their shopping,’ said her mate.
‘No, I’m serious – it was on the radio this morning. A priestess, it was. There were witnesses and everything. One of ’em said she heard an animal howl and this really creepy laughter. I dunno about the prophecy, though . . . something about snakes and metal men.’
The other woman laughed. ‘What, like
robots
?’
I would have liked to listen longer, but I was afraid of getting caught. As the morning wore on, my sense of calm deserted me. I wondered if the goddess would give me another oracle, and whether I wanted her to. I wondered if Opis could make sense of the words spoken through me.
On the way to see her, I passed Cynthia loitering on the lawn. She was the priestess who tried to run away. She used to be very pretty but there was something not quite right about her: she was too wispy and watery and, aged twenty-two, still sucked her thumb. ‘Woo-hoo, Opis is after you!’ she said in a babyish sing-song voice. I ignored her. Everyone does.
As I rang the bell on the Residence, I remembered my worries about the dinner party. They seemed so childish now. By the time I was shown into Opis’s salon, my palms were sweaty and mouth was dry. She was sitting at her desk, in her most formal suit (Armani, navy) and most intimidating headdress (spiked, jet).
‘I’ve already spoken to Leto and Aiden Carlyle this morning,’ she said crisply, and without preamble. ‘Now I’d like to hear your version of events.’
Haltingly, I tried to explain the impossible. ‘Well, um . . . Artemis and I . . . the goddess, that is . . . the goddess spoke to me? And she gave me an oracle?’
I had no idea why everything I said sounded like a question. The sceptical expression on Opis’s face just made everything worse. Every word I tried was clumsy and inadequate.
‘Leto and Aiden think you were ill,’ Opis said when I had finished. ‘They believe it was some kind of panic attack. After all, you were in a highly stressful situation.’
I was prepared for Leto’s treachery, even though I didn’t understand it. But what was Aiden’s game? I’d seen the shock and awe on his face; I’d heard it in his voice. I was sure he didn’t believe I was hysterical – did he?
‘Honoured Lady, I know it must have seemed strange – crazy even – to people on the outside. I can only say that what I felt, and saw, and heard wasn’t like anything I’ve ever experienced. I don’t understand it, but I
know
it was real. As real as me standing here and talking to you now.’