Mark Chadbourn - Jack of Ravens

‘I thought you were going to say that,’ Laura said sourly. ‘So it’s us against the whole world. Seriously, who would bet against us?’

In London, a light rain fell. Tom hurried from doorway to doorway beneath the colourful wash of Soho’s lights. Every moment filled him with astonishment. The doom that had dogged him for most of his life had dissipated and in its place he was filled with a remarkable optimism that almost moved him to tears, so unfamiliar was it. A deeply buried part of him half-thought that he should be dead, but he had no idea why he should feel that way. Instead, he sensed that he was about to embark on a new adventure.

Somewhere there were Brothers and Sisters of Dragons preparing for a struggle against odds that they could never overcome. But he had a plan that could help them, and perhaps, once he was at their side, they could challenge fate itself.

In the Far Lands, a hooded figure hurried through the driving rain towards the Court of the Soaring Spirit. The guard threw open the gates to reveal the oppressive jumble of buildings and the heavy gloom that clung to every street.

‘Who goes?’ the guard challenged.

The figure threw back its hood to reveal beautiful golden features.

‘My queen.’ The guard bowed deeply and stepped aside so Niamh could enter her court.

She hurried past without speaking and headed towards her palace, ready for the struggle that lay ahead. And none who saw her knew of the spider that now nestled deep inside her head.

Church, Ruth, Shavi and Laura climbed wearily up the winding path to the rim of the crater to look out over the rolling Cornish countryside. The full moon cast its milky light across the fields, and the stars glittered in a universe that was vast and unknowable and unpredictable.

The Fabulous Beast had disappeared from view, but in the distance bursts of red and gold lit up the clouds.

‘Look at that,’ Church said in awe.

The Blue Fire that the Fabulous Beast had taken into itself in Vietnam now ran in lines across the landscape, crisscrossing, interconnecting, and here and there shooting up in a column of power towards the heavens. It was releasing the remaining energy back into the earth, bringing the land alive, driving the spiders and the darkness they represented back to where they had originated.

‘That’s amazing,’ Ruth said quietly. ‘Beautiful.’ All four of them were mesmerised.

‘It’s still weak,’ Church said, ‘and it won’t get stronger until we reconnect it with the source. But for now it’s alive. The king was right. Magic has returned.’

In their hearts, the Pendragon Spirit burned brightly and not even the clustering darkness could dim its light.

As they moved away from the Eden Project towards the lights of St Austell, a figure separated from the shadows and bounded onto the roof of the visitors’ centre. In its mischievous eyes was the wildness of nature. In its enigmatic smile were mystery and a hint of secrets untold. Sly and dangerous, Robin Goodfellow gave a mocking bow.

‘And so this tale must end,

With questions to be posed.

No rest yet for our players,

Though these pages soon will close.

New adventures lie ahead,

Love, lust, death and betrayal.

A world in shadow, a threat so great

As to make you quake and quail.

Yet life is but a game,

Mere sport before you die.

Where the rules are never told,

And the stakes are always high.

Sleep well now, Fragile Creatures,

But consider as you doze:

Your strings may be invisible,

Though like puppets you repose.

The puppetmaster makes you dance,

But keep your eyes tight shut.

For when you least expect it.

Snip, snip!

… the strings are cut …’