Now Mahalia saw five people: a man with long, dark hair, too serious by far; a tall woman, strong and proud; another woman with spiky blonde hair; an Asian man with sensitive features; a good-looking but hard-faced man whose torso was covered with tattoos. She had the feeling she knew the five, and then realised she had glimpsed them in the flickering blue light at the Rollrights just before she had crossed over to the Otherworld.
'Who are they?' she whispered to herself.
'Their leader was Jack Churchill, Jack, the Giant-Killer, known as Church, who departed across the seas of time to await the day when he would once more be needed,' Matthias intoned. 'The King across the Great Water. The Sleeping King. Call him back! Blow the horn loudly! For that day has come round!'
Matthias raised his arms above his head and blue sparks flashed between his hands. There was a corresponding rumble that shook the ground beneath Mahalia's feet, and a splashing of water away in the marshes. A ripple of emotion moved through the members of the Culture.
'What was that?' Mahalia asked uneasily.
Matthias looked directly at her. 'In Britain's darkest hour, a hero shall arise .. . The return of the gods and the war between them was only the first part of the prophecy. The struggle brought about changes in Existence ... and humanity was noticed.'
Mahalia shivered at the strange choice of words.
'On the edge of the universe, something has stirred. It moves this way ... the Void!'
'What is the Void?' Mahalia whispered.
'It is said that in the true place of the dead - the Grey Lands - there is a temple. What do the dissolute dead worship?' Matthias nodded gravely. 'It exists beyond the light of the farthest star. It has abided, in dreamless sleep. But now it has awoken, and we have been noticed. It is unfathomable, immeasurable. It is nothing ... and everything. The greatest, and the least. Power, and the absence of power. It is the opposite of life. The absence of all that is and could ever be.'
Mahalia had the impression of something as big as a galaxy rushing towards her, but her mind couldn't begin to encompass its form. She felt utter emptiness, a sensation of not having existed and never existing; nothing existing.
'Anti-Life,' Matt said under his breath. 'Is the Void responsible for the plague back home?'
'There are things that prepare the way for the coming of the Void ... outriders, I suppose you could call them,' Matthias said. 'They will do anything to destroy the Blue Fire - and its champions.'
There was movement beyond the wall of trees. Something large was circling the island; occasionally Mahalia glimpsed its bulk flashing past through gaps in the vegetation.
In her dream-state, Mahalia saw a black, misshapen monstrosity attempt to kill a man with a sword in front of a gothic cathedral. And then the Lament-Brood appeared in their purple mist, looking so real that Mahalia threw herself back involuntarily. 'They are despair incarnate,' Matthias continued. 'They are life without hope. If the Void eats the world, humanity will never reach the answer that waits beyond the edge of the prophecy: the Golden Age, the time when we can prepare to take our place alongside the gods.'
'How could anyone stop something like that?' Mahalia was crushed by what she had seen.
Matthias strode up to her so forcefully that Mahalia was sure he knew she had tried to kill Caitlin, but at the last he softened. 'There are secret rules that lie behind the structure of Existence. We all know them in our hearts, but we never trust ourselves. There are universal rules - morality is embedded into the very stuff of reality. And so is love. And with those two things we can find hope. We must place our faith in the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons, as we did all those ages ago, for they represent the most wonderful, most powerful force of all. See!'
He raised his arm and gestured beyond the island. Now the thing that was circling had risen above the tree-tops and Mahalia could see it for the first time. It moved on heavy leathern wings, serpentine, its tail lashing the air, its jewelled scales glinting. It was like a comet blazing across the night sky, with the Blue Fire trailing behind it. To Mahalia, it appeared as if it were made completely of the spirit-energy, for she thought she could see through the skin to the bones and organs beneath, and through them, too; it was the Blue Fire given form, not a living thing at all.
'The First,' Matthias said. 'The closest to the Source. It came with us, to hide here, too, so that if all the other Fabulous Beasts were slain, if the Blue Fire itself was close to extinction, there would still be hope.'
'But if Caitlin is dead ...' Mahalia began desperately.
Matthias placed a loving hand on her forehead. 'Failure will come if we allow despair into our hearts, if humanity once again fights against itself. What I said earlier, I say again: we are our own enemies. We have stopped ourselves from rising in the past. Shall we do it again?'
Mahalia felt sick. A prophecy as old as time. Pieces of a puzzle falling into place across millennia, leading up to the next stage of evolution of humanity; the greatest stage of all. And she had destroyed it in one instant, through her own terrible weakness. She didn't deserve to live.
Matthias watched the Fabulous Beast with a beatific expression. 'The Fabulous Beast has been wakened by our ritual here tonight. He flies for the first time in millennia. We shall send him back to our world, to prepare for what is to come.'
'Don't do that!' Mahalia pleaded. 'What if everything goes wrong? He'll be lost. Something so wonderful will be lost!' She blinked away tears, the blue trail becoming a rainbow of glittering sapphires.
'If everything goes wrong,' Matthias said, 'it does not matter where he is, for all Existence will be gone.'
chapter fifteen The Plain of Cairns
'Dying is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.'
Sylvia Plath
After two hours beneath the blasting heat, a scrubby oasis rose up from the rolling dunes. Caitlin had come like a storm sweeping across the landscape, but now she decided to break her journey to refresh herself with water, though she felt as if she could walk without sustenance or rest for ever. Beneath the cool shade of the palms, she scooped several handfuls of the clear water to her mouth, then immersed her face and soaked her lank, greasy hair, already gritty with the wind-borne sand that was insinuating its way into her nostrils and ears.
She was only minutes out of the oasis on the path the Morrigan had chosen for her when she became dimly aware that she was not alone.
As the sand shifted beneath the wind, it uncovered two mounds on either side of her that gradually revealed themselves to be figures lying buried just beneath the surface. Shaking the streaming gold from them, they stood up quickly and threateningly. They wore armour that brought to mind Japanese samurai: black enamel with delicate gold line-work of swirls and scrolls, helmets with broad cantilevered panels at the sides and back, long swords that curved into a broad blade. Yet within each helmet, the faces appeared to be nothing but sand.
Caitlin waited for it to slough off, but it didn't; it just shifted constantly into an approximation of faces, mouths yelling or pensive, eye hollows, noses long and thin or hooked.
'What are you?' she asked defiantly.
'We serve the Djazeem,' they said together, their voices like the rush of granules through an egg timer. 'You drank their water. It was not given freely—'
'I do what I will,' Caitlin said, 'and no one tells me otherwise.'
'There are rules—'
'I make my own rules.' Caitlin notched an arrow, but wondered how she could possibly harm the oasis guards if their forms truly were made of sand. 'Don't stand in my way - I haven't got time.'
The guards stepped towards her with the unnerving rhythm of mechanical men; their swords sliced the air, then poised ready to strike. 'The Djazeem demand an offering in return for the theft of this most precious resource. You must pay—'
Caitlin loosed the arrow. It hit the right-hand guard in the middle of his face and punched through the back of his helmet. As she anticipated, it didn't affect him in the slightest. He continued to advance, pulling out the shaft as he did so and tossing it to one side with a gauntleted hand.
'So who are the Djazeem?' Caitlin said, attempting to buy time while she considered her options. But she had already placed the name the White Walker had mentioned when she had first entered the Far Lands.
'They are Lords of the Weeping Wastes,' the guards said in unison, still advancing. 'You are a visitor in their territory. You must obey their rules.'
'I've already answered that one.' Caitlin moved quickly to reclaim the discarded arrow.
The guards moved rapidly and balletically, spinning and striking so fast that their blades were a blur. Yet the instant they attacked, Caitlin's entire perception changed: it was as if time moved so slowly that her attackers were like statues. She projected the slow arc of their swords, considered several tactics and then danced athletically out of their way. The blades slashed through the space where she had stood, the guards spinning in surprise that she had evaded their attack so easily.
Their dance continued for five full minutes, Caitlin weaving through their attack, the guards growing more determined, their movements more complex.
Caitlin knew she could run and would probably evade them, given time, but the Morrigan's scratching voice inside her head suggested another path.
She came to a sudden stop, no longer knowing what she was doing; the Morrigan seized full control. It felt as if a weight was forming deep in the pit of her stomach. The guards didn't slow in their attack; their swords swept fluidly to slice through Caitlin from two separate directions. The last remaining conscious part of her knew she no longer had a chance to avoid them.
The weight in her stomach twisted and turned rapidly, as if a family of rats nested there. Electricity rushed to her extremities and she was thrown backwards, a black cloud erupting out of her. Crows. Born from within her, so many that they obscured the white-metal sky, the shifting sands, the two attacking guards. And still they came, pouring out of her in a constant stream of black feathers, thrashing wings, sharp talons and darting beaks. Their deafening cawing was like the sound of a summer storm.
The cloud billowed and then drew in with hurricane force on the two guards. Caitlin couldn't see what happened in the frantic attack, but within seconds the birds were retreating inside her. It felt like being pounded by rocks.
Briefly, she lost consciousness, and when she was next aware, there wasn't a crow in sight. She lay on her back on the downward slope of a dune. Her hands went to her stomach, which was sore, as though she'd eaten a barrel of sour apples, but beyond that she was unharmed.
Pulling herself to her knees, she saw the guards' armour scattered all around, their sand bodies lost to the surrounding dunes. Movement caught her eye. A creature resembling a hairless monkey the size of her palm crawled out from beneath one of the breastplates.
Caitlin darted forward and snatched it up. It squealed in terror and pain as her fingers closed around it, the skin warm and obscene to her touch. But she held on tight and brought it up to her face.
'Do not harm me!' it said in a high-pitched whine.
'Now you listen to my rules,' Caitlin said. 'In return for your survival, you'll answer some questions. Do you understand?'
'I serve the Lords of the Weeping Wastes—'
'I'm not going to ask anything that goes against your obligations to your bosses. All I want is directions.' The tiny creature stared up at her with its little currant eyes. Caitlin felt the rapid beat of its heart through its papery skin. 'OK. How far am I from the Endless River?' she asked.
'It lies southeast of here,' the guard replied curtly. 'Follow the route you were taking, then turn south when you reach the edge of the Weeping Wastes. You will have to pass through the Plain of Cairns...' A flicker of something crossed its face, quickly stifled; Caitlin had the impression that the Plain of Cairns was not a place she should attempt to cross. 'Two sunrises should see you there.'
"Very good. Now, the river was taking me to a place where I could find something very important to me . .. it's called the House of Pain. Do you know it?'
The creature gave a high-pitched mewling that made it appear even more like a monkey. Its eyes ranged in its head, wide and frightened. 'The House of Pain is not of the Far Lands.'
'I was told it stands—'
'It stands on the Borderlands, but it is not of the Far Lands. It comes and goes between here and there ... some say it even exists here and there. It belongs to the Great Dark.'
'If I chose to go directly to the House of Pain—'
'You would not return.'
'—which way would I go?'
The creature shivered, rolled its eyes, but saw no reason to try to dissuade her. Coldly, it said, 'When you reach the edge of the Weeping Wastes, it will present itself to you. If it requires you, you will not be able to turn away. And there shall come an ending.'
Caitlin glanced towards the horizon; her decision had already been made. It would be a waste of time to seek out her fellow travellers; besides, she had always known it would be down to her in the end. 'One last thing: I don't want any more trouble from your kind, or the Djazeem. I'm just going to pass through and leave you to your own devices. Understand?'
He nodded eagerly. 'And should we offer the same protection to any who follow in your wake?'
'Sure. Why not? Though I can't imagine anyone would want to follow in my footsteps.' She saw the creature's fellow watching malignantly from underneath the other breastplate, and tossed the one in her hand towards him. He hit the sand with another squeal. 'Now,' she said, 'not long ago I learned a little word to whisper to you.'
Matt, Jack and Mahalia said goodbye to the Culture on the misty banks of the river. The members of the secretive group, now eager to play some part in the events they had awaited for so long, could barely wait to get back to their camp to scheme and plot. Mahalia hardly said a word. The weight of her actions still lay heavily on her, but she was starting to see a way through it.
As the Culture trailed back through the marsh to begin the ritual that would return the First to the human world, Sunchaser moved back into the stream. The mists disappeared so quickly, it became apparent they were part of the peculiar defences of the Culture's home, and soon the sun was beating down hard on a savannah that reached up to a range of snow-topped mountains in the east, and disappeared towards the horizon in the west. Occasionally the yellow grass shifted violently as if large beasts were tracking the boat, but they saw no other sign of life.
'He's off again,' Matt noted to Mahalia and Jack.
At the aft rail, Crowther sat rigidly while the mask began to tune into its psychedelic displays.
'It started the minute we left the mist,' Matt noted.
'Perhaps we should have left him with the Culture,' Jack suggested.
'No,' Mahalia said firmly. 'He's one of us.'
'You say that now.' Matt pulled his sweaty shirt away from the skin of his chest; it was growing hotter. 'You saw how bad it was getting. If he spins out of control, we're in trouble.'
'We'll think of something,' Mahalia said.
Matt thought for a moment and then said, 'You know we'll have to kill him. We can't risk failing the mission.'
Mahalia fixed a cold eye on Matt that made him feel instantly uncomfortable. 'This leadership thing is going to your head,' she said. 'You sound like some stupid army man. Or,' she added as she started to walk towards the professor, 'like me.'
She approached Crowther cautiously. It was impossible to tell exactly how the mask would react, but the nascent light displays moved away from her enough for her to conclude that she was seen as safe.
She sat next to him and said gently, 'Professor, can you hear me?' There was no reply, but she thought she saw the silver mask move a little in her direction. 'I saw you in the clearing last night. Something had changed. I think you're aware in there. Can you hear me?'
It seemed as if he wasn't going to answer, but then his muffled voice sounded. 'Yes.'
She felt honest relief. 'If you're yourself again, why don't you take the mask off?'
‘I can’t.’
'Won't it let you?'
'No. I won't let me.' He turned his head away.
'Professor, you know what the mask can do. You told us yourself. It's getting out of control out here.' She glanced back to Matt who was watching her, arms folded. 'They won't let you stop us getting to the cure.'
'I know what you're saying.'
'Then take the mask off, for all our sakes.'
'Go away,' he said bluntly. 'Don't ask me again ... for your sake.'
She waited for a moment or two to see if he would soften, but his head remained turned away and the intensity of the mask's display increased, as if responding to Crowther's emotions.
'So are we going to have to kill him?' Matt asked when she returned.
She walked straight past him to the prow. 'We'll probably all be dead long before we have to make that decision.'
The mood on the boat was grim, and they all settled down in separate areas, conserving their strength in the growing heat; Mahalia told Jack she needed some time to think, and while it upset him, he acceded to her wishes.
The savannah gradually gave way to a scrubby wasteland and then to an arid rock-strewn landscape that resembled the surface of Mars. The river had grown much narrower and it was apparent that they would soon have difficulty following its dwindling course. Before they had to make any decision, the boat drifted over to a wooden jetty. It was rickety and treacherous, with missing planks, some broken; it looked barely used.
'Terminus,' Matt said.
They collected their things and disembarked, sorry to be leaving the relative security of Sunchaser.
'Which way now?' Jack asked.
Matt pointed towards the northern horizon where the sky shifted with colours like a kaleidoscope. There was an area of darkness that hinted at some kind of structure, but it made their eyes hurt to stare at it for too long.
'The House of Pain,' he said redundantly.
'So all we have to do is cross this dusty old plain with all those piles of rocks,' Jack said, peering from beneath a shading hand.