Marc Chadbourn - The Queen of sinister

'OK,' she said. 'Tell me about this other world and how we get there.'

Now it was Caitlin's turn to exclaim in disbelief. 'Another world?'

'Not some other world. The Otherworld,' Crowther said as he clambered on to an overgrown stile. 'It's been a part of legend here for millennia… the land where the ancient Celts believed their gods lived. And it actually exists, not in myth but in reality, and those self-same legends were our ancestors' way of preserving that knowledge for posterity — part information, part warning. There are people who have been there, and I have spoken to one of them.'

'Whatever.' Mahalia winked at Carlton in a manner that annoyed Crowther intensely.

'I'm actually warming to the prospect of taking you across to that place,' Crowther said. 'It's the source of every nightmarish thing that has found its way here since the Fall, and believe me, there's a lot worse waiting over there. I think you'll have a wonderful time meeting them all'

'Well, we're going to come whether you like it or not,' Mahalia said blithely. 'What do you think, matey?' Carlton nodded his head eagerly. 'I thought I understood the depths of the stupidity of youth until I met you,' Crowther said. 'Really… thank you for the enlightening experience.' 'We're leaving this world behind?' A light began to dawn in Caitlin's face. 'We can really do that?' The notion pleased Mahalia, too. 'But how are we going to do it?' 'Just wait and see,' Crowther said brusquely. He ignored any further questions for the next five miles and then brought them to a halt with a raised hand. Through the trees they could see a pretty village of redbrick Georgian cottages, dominated by a grand building. 'Is this where you've been leading us?' Caitlin asked. 'The National Motor Museum,' Crowther said. 'We're going to get a car.' As he led them forward, Mahalia noticed that Carlton was hanging back. 'What is it?' Caitlin asked. 'He's scared.' Mahalia dropped to her knees in front of the silent boy. His expression was troubled, his eyes scanning the trees that clustered tightly around the village. 'What's wrong, Carlton?' Her genuine concern was a stark contrast to her normal demeanour. 'What's the point in asking him questions if he can't answer?' Crowther said with irritation. 'Carlton's right. Can't you feel it?' Caitlin had tilted her head to one side, not just listening but sensing the atmosphere. There was an edge of tension, slowly rising. 'The birds have stopped singing,' Mahalia observed. Crowther grew tense. 'I fear they've caught up with us again. Come on.' 'Who's after you?' the girl asked. 'Something not of this world,' Crowther said. 'Another reason to get out of here as quickly as possible.' The museum lay just beyond the Great Gatehouse of a fourteenth-century Cistercian abbey, the boundary fence overgrown with creepers and the once carefully kept grounds quickly returning to the wild. They located the entrance and scaled the security gates, with much blowing and cursing on the part of Crowther.

'Why did you come all this way just to get a car?' Caitlin asked.

'Because time is of the essence and we have a long way to go,' Crowther replied. 'And to be honest, anything that lessens the time I have to spend with you — and now those two — is a good thing.'

'You don't think they'll all have been looted?'

'Only if there's a classic-car collector in the area. Nobody else would be interested in these museum pieces. I'm taking the gamble that most people won't have realised that there must be some kind of fuel depot on the site. We can fill up and be away, and whatever's behind can choke on our exhaust fumes.'

The explosion made them all jump. A nearby branch splintered and fell.

'Somebody's shooting at us,' Crowther exclaimed incredulously, a second before Caitlin knocked him to the ground.

'Clear off, you bastards! I'll kill you all!' A wild-eyed man with grey hair rising up like a sunburst around a bald pate stormed towards them from the direction of the museum. He wore a threadbare overcoat and mud-splattered brown trousers, and he was brandishing a musket so worn and rusty it looked as if it would fall apart if it were fired again. 'This is my place!' he yelled. 'You can't come in here!'

Another burst of grapeshot rattled over their heads. The gun was so inaccurate that they were more likely to die from accidental fall-out than any specific shot. 'Into the trees!' Caitlin shouted, looking around for the others. Carlton was there, but Mahalia was missing.

Their attacker set about the laborious task of reloading the musket — shot, gunpowder, tamping it down. Caitlin seized the opportunity to haul Carlton towards cover while Crowther scurried on his hands and knees behind them.

Once they were hidden, Caitlin frantically searched for Mahalia. Had she run for the boundary fence?

The answer came a second later. Mahalia appeared like a shadow rising from the ground behind their assailant. She was so silent that he was oblivious to her presence until she knocked the musket from his hands and entwined her arms around him, a knife at his throat.

The three of them rushed over just as the man stopped struggling in response to whatever Mahalia had whispered in his ear. Blood trickled down his neck from the knife point.

'Don't hurt me,' he whimpered. Tears of fear trickled from his eyes; in them was a hint of the madness of isolation.

'What are you doing?' Crowther raged. 'You could have killed us!'

'This is my place,' the man said pathetically. 'You can't come in.'

'Do you want me to kill him?' Mahalia's cold voice chilled Caitlin.

'Kill him?' Crowther said incredulously. 'Are you insane as well? We don't go around killing people!'

'You leave him free, you might regret it,' Mahalia continued.

'Oh, shut up.' Crowther pulled her knife hand roughly away from the man's throat. The prisoner sagged and then began to sob. 'Mad as a bloody hatter,' Crowther said. 'He's probably been living up here since the Fall, shooting anyone who came near like some hillbilly. Whatever happened to resilience? The first sign of hardship and everyone starts going insane.' He flashed a glance at Caitlin.

Behind them, Carlton was growing agitated again. As Caitlin turned to comfort him, he pointed fearfully towards the gate.

Five shapes had emerged from the tree line beyond the boundary fence. The moment Caitlin laid eyes on them she felt as if her life was draining away. It was the Whisperers, she knew that without a doubt. They had faces that would haunt Caitlin's worst nightmares, a forensic study of a human head once the skin had been removed, though the musculature was white as snow, dry and parchment-like, the teeth needle-long and sharp, like those on luminescent fish caught in the furthest depths. Their eyes exuded a smoky magenta light that drifted around them in clouds as if they burned inside. They were tall and gaunt with limbs so thin they looked as if they barely had the strength to lift themselves, their bodies almost lost in their odd combination of armour — winged, spiked helmets and breastplates, all of it rusted a muddy brown — and fluttering black rags. On their backs or hanging from their belts were a variety of rusted metallic weapons — swords, spears, axes and some things that just looked like long spikes. Their mounts were a disturbing mixture of lizard and horse, their scaly skin a desiccated grey. The hazy purple light wreathed all around them.

Mahalia, Crowther, Caitlin and Carlton were all rooted before the terrible sight.

Beneath the rustle of the wind in the newly formed leaves, a whispering rose up that carried with it notions of terrible, depressing things even though no words were clear.

The Whisperers dismounted and drifted like ghosts to the boundary fence, where they stood motionless.

Why aren't they trying to get in?' Caitlin asked. 'They can't come in here,' the hermit moaned. 'Nothing can. Sacred land… old, sacred, monastic land.'