Mark Chadbourn - Jack of Ravens

‘If anyone is to blame it is me. You have no choice. I choose to love you regardless.’ She forced a smile. ‘Besides, it will all be meaningless in a short while.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

Gabe was hailing him from further up the slope. The wedding was about to begin. Niamh urged Church gently towards the ceremony, and soon he forgot he had even asked the question.

It was Sunday evening and hundreds of campfires blazed across the festival site. For a moment, Church thought he was back in the Iron Age at some vast gathering of the tribes. There was the same feeling of hope in the air, that no matter how dark the night, a new dawn was never far away.

The wedding had gone well and Gabe and Marcy had taken their tent to another part of the site for some honeymoon privacy. Tom and Niamh had gone off, deep in conversation. Their mood was restrained, but they refused to tell Church what was on their minds. More secrets; he was sick of it all, the undercurrents and the manipulations. He longed for simpler times, for some fabled golden age when there was no responsibility.

Someone announced over the speaker that it was midnight and Blood, Sweat and Tears were about to come on stage.

‘How very fitting.’

Church looked around to see the Libertarian sitting next to him. He held out a paper bag. ‘Would you like some brown acid? I’ve been giving it away in the crowd.’

Church tried to jump to his feet, but he was thrust roughly back to the ground. It was Veitch. Etain, Tannis, Owein and Branwen stood nearby.

‘No need for any anxiety. Chill out. That’s what they say here, isn’t it?’ The campfires were reflected in the Libertarian’s sunglasses so that it looked as if his eyes were burning. ‘I just want to talk. No fighting. No blood, sweat or tears. Just a quiet chat in the hope that we can reach a mutual agreement.’

Church bristled. ‘You think we’re going to find some common ground?’

‘I do. Really, it’s the only sensible course. We both have needs … obligations … If we can both achieve our ends without any further death, surely that is the way forward?’

‘Why the change of tune? Afraid you’re going to lose?’

‘Oh, no. There’s no chance of that at all, now. Which is why the time is right to discuss futility and wasted effort, and hope and despair.’

Church eyed Veitch’s cold, hateful stare and Etain’s dead eyes. He couldn’t fight, he couldn’t run. ‘Go on.’

The Libertarian stretched out on the grass and put his hands behind his head, watching the spray of stars. ‘A few short decades away from here we have the love of your life. She hovers on the brink of death. One tiny push will send her over the brink into oblivion. We have your two close friends, as well. It is the time of the Source and our powers are at their height. There is no protection for Brothers and Sisters of Dragons. You’re all rabbits waiting for the gun.’

‘Is that supposed to be a threat? It could easily be a lie.’

‘It could be, but it is not. I think you already know I’m speaking the truth.’

Church recalled what Hal had told him when he reclaimed the Pendragon Spirit from the lamp: Ruth is in a bad place . ‘What are you saying?’

‘I’m offering you a simple trade. A pact.’ He glanced around at the crowds and smiled. ‘A Pax Americana , if you will.’

‘Go on.’

‘You surrender yourself to us and we promise not to kill your love or the other two. We won’t free her from where she’s being held, but she won’t die.’

Church glanced at Veitch; his face gave nothing away. ‘So I get executed, and Ruth, Shavi and Laura live.’

‘Nothing so vulgar. There is no need for execution if we can simply remove the king from the board.’

‘What, then?’

‘A sleep that will be like death. I knew you would not willingly give yourself up to die, knowing how strongly you hold your obligations to Existence. I fear you would even sacrifice your love for that. The big picture, and all. But a sleep like death? That would allow you a glimmer of hope that you might return to the field, and I know how much you value that slippery little fantasy. “While there’s life there’s hope”, and other fairy tales.’

‘You think I’m going to trust you? That’s the fairy tale.’

‘It has nothing to do with trust. With you locked away, the world will carry on the way it’s meant to be. We would have no need to kill Ruth — or you, for that matter. The same ends are achieved, and it saves us wasting unnecessary effort.’

‘If you agree to this, you have my word Ruth won’t be hurt,’ Veitch said.

‘I trust you even less than him,’ Church replied.

‘Just to sweeten the pill a little more,’ the Libertarian continued, ‘I also guarantee that your friends Gabe and Marcy will live. I watched the wedding. Touching.’

Church glared at him.

‘What? You thought the vow I made to you in Chicago was forgotten just because you staged some dramatic rescue? Their lives will always be hanging by a thread until I decide to cut it.’

Church thought of Gabe and Marcy dancing together at the ceremony, how happy they were, how hopeful.

‘One long rest for you. Five lives saved. That seems a very straightforward equation.’

‘I don’t have a choice, do I?’ Church said.

‘Of course you do. What are five more deaths on top of the hundreds you’ve already got on your conscience? You must be inured to it by now.’

The music rolled out across the dark field. Everywhere people were holding hands, making love, dancing. All right,’ Church said. He turned to Veitch. ‘You’re the scum here, but I reckon you must have some values buried somewhere in that dead heart of yours. I’m counting on you to see this is done fairly.’

Veitch said nothing.

‘Oh, good.’ The Libertarian jumped to his feet. ‘An epic sacrifice in the great tradition. It almost brings a tear to the eye.’

‘I want to say goodbye to my friends.’

‘No goodbyes. You come with us now.’

Church took one last, deep breath of the smoky, dreamy air. Overhead, a cloud was blotting out the stars.

The sun was coming up in the Far Lands, the sky a glorious pink and fiery red. But in the Forest of the Night, beneath the thick canopy of leaves it was still and dark and cool.

Far from the path that wound through the forest was a casket of gold and ivory with a heavy lid of frosted glass. On the side was the legend: Here lies Jack Churchill, Brother of Dragons — his final battle fought .

‘A nice touch, do you not agree?’ the Libertarian said.

Church examined what was supposed to be his final resting place. He struggled to swallow a rising feeling of dread.

Veitch watched from the nearby trees with his dead brothers and sisters.

‘You finally get your revenge,’ Church said to him.

‘It’s not enough.’

Church climbed into the casket, desperately focusing on the tiny flame of hope that still flickered in his heart. He was doing this for Ruth, Shavi and Laura. If they were alive, there was a chance they could find a way to oppose the Enemy’s plans. His sacrifice would be worth it.

The Libertarian took out a small green bottle and a goblet. ‘Apologies,’ he said. ‘It hasn’t been marked with the skull and crossbones in the traditional style.’ He poured the fizzing liquid into the goblet and offered it to Church.

It smelled of sour fruit. Church held it for a moment, still gripped with uncertainty. Finally, he swilled it down in one go. The liquid burned like acid, but then left a freezing cold as it passed.

The Libertarian nodded appreciatively. ‘Enjoy your long, untroubled sleep. If it’s any consolation, your name and reputation will undoubtedly live on in mythology. There’s little we can do about that, sadly.’