Mark Chadbourn - Jack of Ravens

She braced herself for a confrontation, but he continued past her, never breaking his stare, which, like her feelings, had a strange duality: accusing and yearning.

She heard two words as he passed: no quarter.

It was the second rider who almost brought her down, a once-beautiful woman, her face now half-scarred by burns; Church’s description hadn’t captured the true horror of Etain’s dead, menacing stare. Ruth threw herself out of the way at the last moment.

Not far away, Tannis, Owein and Branwen focused their attention on Shavi and Laura. The monstrous horses attacked with a terrifying ferocity. Laura threw herself into the dense vegetation with Shavi close behind. The riders moved along the network of paths to head them off.

Etain tried three more times to run Ruth down, but Ruth felt infused with energy and desperate to make up for all the time she had spent sleeping through her life. Etain remained cold and aloof, as efficient in her attack as a machine, but Ruth sensed some well-hidden part of her that was not that way.

As they continued their cat-and-mouse game, Etain successfully backed Ruth into a corner. As Etain rode her down, Ruth’s owl swooped from the sky and raked a chunk of dead flesh from the charred side of Etain’s face. Once Ruth had escaped, the owl retreated before Etain could strike.

Deciding on a change of tactics, Etain leaped from her mount and drew a rusty, bloodstained sword. As she advanced, Ruth realised what was hidden behind those dead eyes: jealousy.

The heat hit Church like a wall the moment he stepped through the door. In an instant he went from the cool of an English summer evening to the oppressive cauldron of a humid tropical night. High overhead the hexagons and pentagons of the biome roof were just visible through the thick canopy of lofty, flourishing trees. The sound of rushing water thundered all around from artificial waterfalls and streams pouring into languid green pools. Standpipes sprayed a mist of water at regular intervals to maintain the humidity.

His heart pounding, Church hurried along the twisting path amongst the dense tropical vegetation. He had no idea where he was going — the path branched, leading down to dead ends or rising high up along a rock wall. His clothes were already drenched with sweat.

He forced himself to calm down. Closing his eyes and letting his breathing become deep and regular, he allowed himself to feel. The Blue Fire called to him. He only had to let himself be drawn into its embrace.

When he opened his eyes, his perception had changed, yet though he searched along the path there were no blue lines of force. If there was no Blue Fire to guide him, how could he do what had to be done?

As he turned slowly, ducking down to examine the surface of the path, he caught a glimmer of blue deep in the undergrowth. Peering in, he saw a barely visible sapphire filigree, secret, only for those who really wanted to find it. His prize had been as well hidden as the king had said. Scuttling on his hands and knees, he followed the thin blue line into the vegetation.

He only heard the padding footsteps at the last moment before the full weight of a body slam sent him sprawling across the path. Veitch loomed over him, the black fire of his sword casting swirling shadows. Church rolled out of the way as the blade came down. He was half-up when Veitch caught him in the face with a boot and he toppled over a railing and into the warm waters of a pool. Taking a breath, he swam beneath the surface.

Veitch dived in, raising torrents as he chopped wildly into the water with the sword. He finally caught Church beneath a deafening waterfall where the cascade eliminated the outside world, and the two of them were enclosed in a private prison of sound and fury. Church dodged another thrust, but instead of retreating he darted forward and smashed a fist into Veitch’s face. His knuckles rang with pain, but Veitch pitched backwards into the churning water, spraying blood behind him.

Church leaped out through the waterfall and scrambled up a steep bank, using thick vines and overhanging branches for purchase. He eventually hauled himself over a railing and back onto the path. In the pool, there was no sign of Veitch.

He wrenched free a piece of railing; a poor weapon, but it would have to do. Quickly, he ducked down and searched until he found the near-invisible line of force. Keeping low, he followed it as fast as he could until he came to a hut on stilts, constructed to show how people lived in the tropics. The line continued underneath it.

A supplicant serpent, Church wriggled on his belly until he came to a spot in the most inaccessible area where a barely visible circle of Blue Fire formed in the soil. He slammed his palm down into the centre of it. The Pendragon Spirit within him spoke to the Blue Fire hiding in the earth. The ground rumbled and a small hole opened up. Church threw himself in.

Laura scrambled through dense bushes that tore at her skin, but however much she tried to hide, the riders somehow knew exactly where she was. Tannis drove his mount into the vegetation, hoofs smashing inches from her head with the force of a steam hammer.

She pressed further into the thicket, only to realise the sounds of Tannis’s pursuit had changed. Looking back, she saw the bushes moving with a life of their own, growing and changing as they wrapped around the horse’s legs.

Laura knew she had caused it, but had no idea how. As Tannis drew his sword and prepared to pursue her on foot, a branch shot out like a spear and burst through his chest. It pinned him like a butterfly in a collector’s case, and though she knew he was already dead, Laura was still sickened by the way he tried to tear himself free.

She escaped from the undergrowth onto the path. Across the base of the crater, she could see Branwen and Owein trying to trap Shavi in a pincer movement. Further down near the biome, the Seelie Court had given Ruth cover so she could escape Etain’s attack. Ruth was slipping quietly along a raised walkway and into the biome. Yet it looked to Laura as though Etain knew exactly where Ruth was going; indeed, that Etain had herded her that way on purpose.

After falling down the hole, Church found himself in a tunnel that sloped steeply downwards. The heat was as heavy as in the biome and added to the claustrophobic atmosphere. He skidded over damp rock gleaming in the half-light and came to a cavern that was barely the size of half a football pitch with a ceiling only the height of three men. A small pool of Blue Fire crackled in the centre, and in it slept the Fabulous Beast that had fled Vietnam, coiled tightly in the sustaining energy, its wounds still visible on its scales.

Church approached cautiously. The heavy-lidded eyes were closed and its breathing sounded like the rumbling of a traction engine.

When he had asked the Seelie Court to search for the Beast’s hiding place, he knew it was the key to his ability to fight back, but he wasn’t sure if even the Tuatha De Danann would be able to locate it.

As Church considered how to wake the Beast from its long, recuperative slumber, he heard movement behind him. Veitch stood in the entrance to the tunnel, his blade fizzing and spitting as if in opposition to the Blue Fire.

‘Stay away, Veitch,’ Church said. ‘It’s too late now. Once I wake this thing you’ll be toast.’

‘You always used to call me Ryan.’ His face gave nothing away.

‘You’ve wasted your time trying to get revenge. I didn’t kill you over Ruth. I did it because I had no choice. You were being manipulated by the gods and you were going to wreck everything.’

‘We’re all puppets in one way or another.’ He pointed the sword towards the rocks and the black flames snapped angrily. ‘When we met, you treated me like an equal. We set out on that road and there was a lot of death and a lot of pain, but for the first time I felt as if I wasn’t on my own. I had friends like I’d never had before, who listened to me and trusted me.’ He looked away and Church was surprised to see tears in his eyes.