Mark Chadbourn - Darkest hour

"Maybe we have known each other forever. Maybe it's that old Pendragon Spirit speaking. Telling you we've stood side by side across the centuries."

"You're an old romantic."

She tried to laugh again, but it broke up into a hacking cough. When the attack had subsided, her mood had grown forlorn. "I just wish it wasn't happening here. This house feels bad, sour. I don't know what happened here, but sometimes I can hear voices whispering to me. The things they say… that Ryan's going to die… that other terrible things are going to happen-"

"Hush."

"That writing on the wall… Sometimes words seem to leap out at me-"

He put two fingers on her lips to silence her. Gradually the delirium returned to her eyes as they started to roll upwards. After a moment or two she began to rave, occasionally speaking in tongues, thrashing from side to side. Church sat patiently beside her during the worst of it, then stroked her head until she eventually drifted off to sleep.

Sometimes Church thought he had never seen a night sky like the one above Mam Tor. Unencumbered by light pollution, benefiting in some indescribable way from the sheer height above sea level, they seemed to be enveloped by the sparkling heavens. If not for their circumstances, it would have been a sublime experience.

He stood with Laura in his arms, looking up at the celestial vault; for once she had removed her sunglasses. "We've come a long way, despite everything. Pity if it had to end here."

"No fat lady singing yet, boy."

"No, not yet." He watched a meteor burn up over their heads, wondering if it were some kind of sign. "Sometimes it's hard to take a step back and appreciate exactly what we're doing here. You know, I look at myself, look at you and the others, and all I see is normal people with all the stupid kinds of problems everybody has. And that's who we are, but at the same time we're something else as well-the champions of a race, a planet. The living embodiment of the Pendragon Spirit, whatever that might be-"

"Maybe we're not special."

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe this thing the old git calls the Pendragon Spirit is in everybody. Maybe it's the spirit of man, or some shit. Listen to me, I sound like some wetbrained New Age idiot. What I'm trying to say is, what if he's just calling us special to keep us on board. So we think sorting out this whole mess is just down to us."

"Or so we dig deep to find the best in us to get the job done."

"That too." She rested her forehead on his shoulder. "That would explain why we all seem like such a bunch of losers. We are a bunch of losers."

"Doing the best we can. And doing a damn good job-"

"So far. But if we've not got any special dispensation, the chances of us fucking up are even greater. We've got through on a wing and a prayer and too much confidence. But sooner or later the blind, stupid luck is going to run out."

Church thought about this while he continued to watch the stars. Then: "I might have agreed with you a few weeks back, when we first met each other. But in all the shit we've waded through, everybody has shown a real goodness at the heart of them. There isn't anybody else I'd want around me at this time and there isn't anybody else I think could do a better job-"

"You don't know the thoughts in my head-"

"I can guess at them."

"No, you can't. There are sick, twisted things crawling around up there. Take Little Miss Goody-Shoes back there. Sometimes I wish she'd hurry up and die so she wouldn't carry on getting between me and you. I know it's a nasty, evil little part of me and I hate myself for it. But I still do it."

"She doesn't get between us."

"You're too stupid to see it. She loves you and I think you love her, and if there wasn't a constant state of crisis you'd recognise that."

Her words sparked rampant, brilliant bursts in his mind, but they were all too fleeting to get a handle on. He pulled back slightly so he could try to read her; she half-turned her head away. "You're a good person, Laura."

"You're a good liar."

"You've got an answer for everything."

"If I had, I wouldn't be feeling like my brains were leaking out of my ears. Too much thinking isn't good for anyone."

"Look-"

She slammed her hand on his mouth. "Don't say anything. It'll sort itself out one way or the other." He didn't like the look that crossed her face when she said that.

He hated to think anything unpleasant of her, so instead he kissed her. At first she seemed to be resisting him, but then she gave in, and for the briefest instant everything seemed in perfect harmony.

But then an unseasonally cold wind came whipping across the tor and buffeted them. Church broke off the kiss, shivering. Away in the west, billowing clouds were sweeping towards them at an unnatural rate. Lightning flashed within them, illuminating the underside of the roiling mass; one bolt burst out in a jagged streak to the ground. But they were not storm clouds, and there was no thunder.

The wind grew stronger as the clouds neared until it was lashing their hair, then threatening to throw them to the ground.

"What's going on?" Laura said. "Is this it?"

The clouds came down until they were rolling across the ground, and at that point Church realised there was a figure among them. At first it was just a silhouette almost lost beneath the shrouding mist, but then it came closer to the fore and Church realised who it was, and what was happening.

"Get back to the house." The snap in his voice stifled any questions instantly. Laura took one more glance at the clouds, then ran for the cottage. Halfway across the turf she realised Church wasn't behind her, but when she looked back he waved frantically for her to continue.

Then the wind did knock him to his knees and as he tried to scramble to his feet again, it hit him with all the force of a rampaging bull. He rolled over and it kept him rolling, driving him towards the jagged cliff edge and the precipitous drop to the rocks far below. Desperately he tried to dig his fingers in the grass, but they were torn out immediately; his bones cracked on stones, his face was dragged across the rough ground until it burned and bled.

The cliff rushed towards him. He had a fleeting vision of his broken, bloody body smashed at the foot of the tor and then the wind eased off just as he was half-hanging over the edge. He sucked in a deep breath, shaking with shock, tried to scramble back using his heels for purchase, but another gust came and pinned him on the cusp between life and death.

He had to calm himself, order his thoughts; it was his only chance. The gulf beneath him tugged at his hair, made his head spin.

Niamh hovered in front of him a foot above the ground, wrapped in the clouds of her discontent. He barely recognised her. The beautiful face was lost; instead, it rippled and twisted, unable to settle in a vision his mind could comprehend; her fury and dismay had reduced her to her primal form.

"Betrayal!" The word seemed to come from all around them, not spoken by any human voice, filled with strange vibrations that reverberated in the pit of his stomach.

"I didn't-"

"You gave me your word! You promised me your love solely! You lied! Untrustworthy, like all Frail Creatures!" A gust pushed him another inch over the drop. His fingers ached from clinging on to the rock lip.

"I'm sorry!" He had to raise his voice to be heard above the wind that was rushing all around the tor.

"No more lies!" Her voice exploded with the fury of a breaking storm, but at the centre of it Church could hear her heartache.

"I'm sorry!" he shouted again. This time she seemed to hear him, for there was a faint lull. He seized the opportunity. "I was stupid… confused-"

The wind hit him hard; he moved another inch. One more and he wouldn't be able to stop himself falling. His fingers felt like they were breaking from clutching on; the panic in his throat made it difficult to catch his breath.