Mark Chadbourn - Jack of Ravens

Church lay down in the casket. His limbs were already growing leaden, his heart beating slower. Yet his thoughts remained active, and he could see, hear and feel everything. He wondered if he would eventually go insane as the days turned into months and years, with him conscious but unable to move a muscle.

The Libertarian loomed into his field of vision. He removed his sunglasses so those hellish eyes would be the last thing of the world Church would see.

‘I imagine the most devastating part of this will be the unending loneliness,’ the Libertarian said. ‘I am not without compassion, so I have arranged for you to have company.’

From the forest floor, Church could hear rustling. It rose up the foot of the casket. It felt like pebbles were being dropped on to his legs, rustling rapidly up to his chest. And then the spiders crossed his face and his eyes and he realised what the Libertarian intended.

The spiders flooded into the casket until it was brimming, every piece of his body alive with the movement of tiny legs and writhing bodies apart from one small circle of his face.

The Libertarian leaned in again, smiled and nodded farewell and then closed the casket lid.

Suffocating darkness enveloped Ruth. Something pressed against her then moved away, a rustling up her spine, a sour, cold breath against her neck. Filled with such a deep dread she could barely think straight, she had forgotten her flat, the giant who beckoned outside. She had forgotten being pulled into her wardrobe.

All she knew was the malign presence biding its time only a whisper away.

The procession moved through the Forest of the Night at dawn. As the birdsong began, and the butterflies fluttered amongst the trees, the king and queen led the Seelie Court at a measured pace. There were scores of them, stumbling and shambling, slithering and flying, but the mood was sombre and respectful. None spoke. Heads were bowed. It was the first time the Seelie Court had ever come together to share their grief and respect for a Fragile Creature.

With them were Niamh and Tom, still adrift, uncomprehending of what had come to pass. The procession stopped at the casket of gold and ivory, and the court formed a circle amongst the trees.

Niamh could contain her grief no longer. She began to cry silently.

‘Do not hide your tears, sister, for this Brother of Dragons is worthy of the sorrow of all creatures under Existence, though he did not recognise that himself,’ the queen said gently.

‘I do not understand how this could be,’ Niamh said. ‘If the Enemy attacked at the festival we would have known.’

‘He went willingly, as a sacrifice to save the lives of others.’ Tom spoke with the authority of someone who had glimpsed the truth.

‘Know this, sister,’ the king said. ‘The Brother of Dragons is not dead. Nor is he alive. He hovers on the brink between the dark and the light until a way is found to break the Enemy’s spell.’

Niamh smiled sadly. ‘Then there is hope. But it is not something I will see. Or True Thomas.’

‘Sister?’ the king asked, puzzled.

‘We have both seen the patterns that lie ahead. Our own lives will be sacrificed in the coming conflict. I had dared to believe that path might change, but now I see it cannot. I am resigned to my fate, as is True Thomas.’

A murmur of appreciation ran through the assembly.

‘The Seelie Court recognises your great sacrifice, sister, and yours, True Thomas. You will never be forgotten in the stories of the Golden Ones. May we all learn from them.’ The king offered Niamh a candle that burned with a blue flame. ‘This light shall never go out as long as the Brother of Dragons lives. Take it, sister, and keep it by you in remembrance for whatever time remains you.’

As Niamh accepted the candle, Tom was deep in thought. ‘I wish to leave a gift in the casket,’ he said.

‘As do I,’ Niamh added.

‘Then do it,’ the king said. ‘The spiders will not attack unless you attempt to move them or the Brother of Dragons.’

One of the attendants opened the frosted glass lid. Niamh recoiled from the seething mass of spiders, but steeled herself to lean in. Church’s face remained uncovered and he looked as though he were sleeping.

Into the casket she slipped the pack of Tarot cards. ‘Take these with my love,’ she said softly. ‘If the gods would contact you, or you the gods, the ravens shall fly swiftly.’ She kissed him on his cold lips before turning away in grief.

Tom stepped up and pressed something between Church’s lips that the others couldn’t see. ‘A present from Doctor Leary,’ he whispered. ‘Use the sacrament wisely.’

The attendant closed the lid, and then they stood in silence, listening to the birds and the breeze rustling through the trees, thinking of times past and yet to come.

‘You shouldn’t have tried to run, you idiot. I didn’t mean to hurt you.’ Veitch thrust Shavi roughly onto the sofa in Ruth’s flat. Blood splashed from the wound on Shavi’s head, ran down his face and puddled in his good eye. Veitch tossed him a towel to stanch the wound.

‘How can you say that? You killed Laura.’

‘She was always a bitch. She deserved it.’ Veitch laughed quietly to himself.

Shavi was disoriented. After Veitch had met them outside the care home, he had led them to Ruth’s flat. It had felt as if they had turned a corner: three of the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons together, with a fourth, Ruth, soon to join them. The mysterious Church was the only one still missing.

But the moment they had stepped through Ruth’s door, Veitch had turned on them with breathtaking brutality, clubbing the Bone Inspector unconscious and plunging a knife into Laura’s chest when she had gone to the old man’s aid. Veitch had dumped her in the bath and filled it with water. Stunned, Shavi had tried to get out to raise the alarm, and in the struggle that followed had received the gash to his head for his troubles.

‘You’re wasting your time here,’Veitch said. ‘There’s nothing you can do. We’re bringing him back.’

‘Who are you bringing back?’ Shavi said.

Veitch laughed, shook his head. ‘You always were a smart bastard, Shavi. And you were a good friend. You were.’ Veitch grew disturbed. He stalked across the room and kicked over the coffee table. ‘The five of us fought hard, and we won, in a way. We thought we were lining up against some big old devil, the enemy of those golden-skinned bastards — which we were. But it turned out he was just one aspect of something bigger … something immense.’

‘You are raving, Veitch. I do not understand you.’

‘You will, matey. You will. That bigger thing … well, that’s here now. All around you. In every bit of this world. It rules it. But at the moment it’s like …’ he struggled for words ‘… the mist. We’re going to give it a shape. We’re going to bring the King of all the World back for some fun and games.’

‘Does it have a name?’

‘Call him the Void, or Anti-Life. The golden-skins call him the Devourer of All Things.’

‘That does not sound good, Veitch.’

Veitch laughed bitterly. ‘Tell you what, mate, the world he’s built is a damn sight better than the one that was on the cards before. The one where I got fucked over by my friend, and then murdered for my troubles.’

‘What about Ruth? Have you killed her, too?’

There was a long pause before Veitch answered. ‘She’s gone.’ He locked the front door and pocketed the key before going to the bathroom.