Mark Chadbourn - Jack of Ravens

Church reached silent agreement with Etain that he would ride back with her, and when their eyes met he could feel something crackling between them. As he climbed onto the back of her horse and slipped his arms around her slim, muscular waist, her scent enveloped him and every nerve came alive. He brushed his nose against her hair and fought the urge to kiss her.

It was a powerful attraction, but instinctive, driven by the changes inside them and the knowledge that they were now a minority of five, separated from the rest of the human race by their shared experience. Church made himself focus on Ruth, but without his memories to give her weight, she was as insubstantial as a ghost, however strong his feelings. How could that compete with the earthiness of Etain, with her real and fiery passions?

For an hour they rode in silence across the cooling Cornish countryside, fireflies glowing green in the long grass, and the moon bright and thoughtful. With the warm aroma of the gorse and the trees, and the soft licks of breeze, it felt like moving across the surface of a dream.

Church thought, There will never be another time like this . No smell of pollution, no constant background drone of traffic, no stress of a mundane, unfulfilling job. There was only the land, where the Blue Fire crackled just beneath the surface, and the people in tune with it.

Church urged Etain to bring their mount alongside Conoran’s. ‘You knew about the Blue Fire,’ Church said.

‘All know of the Blue Fire. All can feel it. Few can see it. Fewer still know what it truly is.’

‘Which is?’

‘The lifeblood of Existence,’ Conoran replied. ‘It binds us all together, all the people of this land. And it binds us to the deer in the forest and the wolf on the moor, to the hawk in the sky and the mouse in the grass, and to the grass, and to the sky, and to the trees. All one, Jack, Giantkiller. A body bigger than any giant you could slay. A mind …’ He made an expansive gesture, but could not find the words. ‘We are within Existence, and we are Existence, and Existence is our soul.’ Conoran leaned towards Church conspiratorially. ‘And the Blue Fire links you to the Otherworld, Jack, Giantkiller, to T’ir n’a n’Og, and all the worlds beyond. Those who live there can now see the Pendragon Spirit burning brightly within you, like a beacon in the night.’

Church ignored his rhetoric. You did a good job of not answering me.’

Conoran laughed. ‘You are a wise man, Giantkiller. You would make a good member of the Culture. Yes, my people know of the Blue Fire. It is part of our body of knowledge, passed down through each generation in our colleges. And it was known by the ones who preceded us, who set up the markers on the landscape where the Blue Fire is strongest.’

Etain had been listening to the conversation carefully. ‘And we are now champions of this great power,’ she said with incredulity.

‘Existence needs champions now,’ Conoran said gravely. ‘The seasons are turning. A time of great devastation is coming, a time of reckoning.’

‘And we must fight?’ Etain’s voice trembled. ‘I can see why you were chosen, Jack — you are a great hero. The fire burned within you even before you met the Beast. But the rest of us-’

‘You wouldn’t have been chosen if you weren’t up to the job.’ Church tried to sooth the jumping shadows he saw in her eyes. ‘And I have a feeling that Existence doesn’t make mistakes.’

‘No,’ Conoran interjected. ‘Only humans.’

The sound of Branwen and Owein bickering rose up from the rear of their column. ‘Be quiet,’ Tannis hissed. ‘Do you want to bring the enemy upon us?’

‘This one has been given a great gift yet acts like a small child,’ Branwen said contemptuously.

Owein snorted and tried not to look embarrassed. ‘I just said we should have asked what was wanted of us before we took the Pendragon Spirit.’

‘I was wrong. You are not a small child. You are an old woman scared of a storm,’ Branwen spat.

‘Quiet,’ Tannis hissed again. ‘You are both old women.’

Church felt a prickling in the pit of his stomach and quickly surveyed the sparsely wooded area through which they moved. The bright moonlight illuminated the scrubby grass, raising phantom shades. Nothing moved. The only sound was the gentle tread of their horses’ hooves on the sward.

Tannis noticed Church’s alertness. ‘You see the enemy?’ he asked quietly.

‘No, but I can feel something — can you?’

Tannis raised his head as if sniffing the wind. ‘Yes, something foul.’ A look of surprise crossed his face. ‘I smell blood.’

Church understood: all their senses were becoming heightened. ‘Redcaps,’ he said. ‘They’re lying in wait somewhere.’ Yet he couldn’t imagine where. The only movement in the landscape was a few drifting strands of mist amongst the trees.

Owein brought his horse up alongside Church and Etain’s. ‘I hear nothing.’

‘There’s nothing there-’ Church began.

‘No, I hear nothing — no screech of owls, no bats in the trees, no movement of branches in the wind.’

Church realised that Owein was right. The whole area felt deadened. Church’s attention moved back to the drifting mist. It was now clinging to the bottoms of the trunks and had taken on a faint, unnatural greenish colour.

Church felt a weight in his chest that reminded him unpleasantly of the spider-poison. ‘Ride!’ he shouted. The word had barely left his lips when it dropped like a stone in the sound-deadened zone. No one else had heard him. Their attention was fixed on the eerie green mist, which was now billowing towards them.

Church saw Branwen mouth, ‘Goddess be with me,’ felt Etain stiffen against him. They were all mesmerised.

A sudden shift in time jolted him: the mist was now neck-high and only fifty feet away; and again, now only twenty feet away. Shapes moved inside it.

Church’s attention was caught by activity to one side. On a ragged outcropping of granite stood a tall, thin man in black robes wearing an emotionless silver mask that caught the moonlight. He carved intricate patterns in the air with sweeps of his robed arms.

Church only had a second to register this before there was a ferocious roar and five Redcaps erupted from the mist. They were as fast as thoroughbred horses, their muscled legs shaking the ground. Close up, the sight of the human body parts stitched together was sickening.

There was no chance to flee. Church jumped from the horse and drew his blade. It released a keening sound, showering blue sparks everywhere. A Redcap hit Church like a wrecking ball before he even had chance to swing the sword. The impact smashed him to the ground, and the Redcap was instantly upon him like a wild animal, head shaking furiously as its jaws snapped for his throat. The only thing that kept Church alive was the blade, which he had managed to get between him and the Redcap as he fell.

The iron smell of blood was heavy in the air and congealed gobbets showered down on Church from the flayed human skin flapping madly against the Recap’s head: a Celtic tattoo, a navel, on the Redcap’s shoulder a piece of scalp with hair still attached. And beneath that, something black and gleaming: a spider like the one that had been fixed to Church’s arm.

Piggy eyes glared down at him as the jaws clamped closer. Its breath smelled like a butcher’s shop. Suddenly all motion stopped, and a gout of stinking blood burst from the Redcap’s mouth and splattered across Church’s face.

Etain’s knife was buried in the Redcap’s ear. She must have struck the blow a few seconds earlier and it had taken that long for the Redcap to realise it was dead, for she was already a few feet away.