Mike Shevdon - The Road to Bedlam

Eventually she stirred, shifting in his lap. He turned his face down to her and she stroked her hand down the side of his face. "Is she awake?"

Gramawl nodded slowly and allowed Blackbird to climb from his lap before rising easily, filling the tunnel again with his bulk. He turned and led the way into the darkness. Blackbird followed, her footsteps sure despite the lack of light. He would not lead her astray.

The tunnel curved then straightened, and she could see the dim light from the steps spilling down from the side tunnel. He stopped on the far side of the tunnel, eyes gleaming in the dark. She reached up to pat his cheek, then mounted the steps carefully, holding the handrail so she would not falter, up to the half-landing, turning back on herself. She could see the opening above, the lamps in their metal shuttered cowls, the smell of cloves mixed with new turned earth.

"Who is it?" The voice was crackly, but clear. Blackbird smiled in the dimness.

"It's me. I've come to see you."

"Girl? Is it you?"

As she mounted the remaining steps, she could see dark rich hangings in heavy Persian designs draped across the opening,

"Yes, Kareesh. I'm here." She put her hand into the gap to part them.

"One in two. Two in one." The voice had changed.

"Isn't one and isn't two. Two and one. Knit together, entwined and entangled, made together, pulled asunder."

Blackbird hesitated, caught between going to help and making it worse. Kareesh's high delicate voice cracked as she spat out the words.

"All together, all apart. Two made one, made three, now two, make two, make one. One to shine, one to rise, one to live, one to die…"

Blackbird could hear the stress rising, the words tumbling like stones in a stream. She was shouting now, punching words out so that Blackbird could hardly separate them.

"…One is two, and two is one, then one is none, all is gone, so many gone and all is won and lost and gone for all that none can be alone…"

Blackbird hurried down the stairs, away from the shouting. As she descended it slowed and quietened a little.

"One and one and two by two. One is son and sundered son. Two is son and one shall rise. Sun shall rise and shine for all. Then all shall fall…"

When she reached the bottom, Gramawl was waiting. He moved her gently to one side, gesturing for her to wait down the tunnel, then stooped into the stairway and quickly mounted the stairs. Using her hand against the wall to guide her, Blackbird slowly made her way back along the tunnel to the light.

She was sitting on the stairway when Gramawl returned some time later.

"Is she all right?" she whispered.

The question hung in the air between them.

Gramawl lowered himself down again and sat in the corridor. She stood and went to him.

He made a stirring gesture, then patted his palm, then touched his forehead, his eyes and his lips. For once he looked tired and sad.

"I know she's old, and it's not her fault. She sees what she sees. I know that."

He repeated the gesture with his lips.

"It doesn't matter whether she means it or not. It's not her saying it, really, is it? It spills out of her and there's nothing any of us can do."

He reached out and touched her belly gently with a finger then rocked his head between his hands.

"You think so? You may be right. Having two lives so close together, the new one with so many futures, it could send her crazy like that."

They were silent for a moment.

"She said, 'One to live, one to die,'" Blackbird said quietly.

Gramawl touched his nose, his head and his ears in quick succession, then opened his hands.

"No, I suppose you're right. It may mean something else entirely. There's no way of knowing."

He rose to his feet and she stepped in, burying her hands up to her elbows in fur as she hugged herself close to him, breathing in the scent of new-turned earth, resting against the solidity of him.

"I have to go."

A giant hand stroked her hair, holding her for a little longer.

She disentangled herself and drew her hair back from her face. She collected the horseshoe from below the step and stowed it carefully in her bag.

"When she wakes?"

Gramawl cocked his head.

"Tell her… tell her I wanted to see her. Tell her I'll bring the baby, after it's born. Tell her I'll try."

Gramawl bowed low, a low rumble filling the space and echoing down the tunnel.

"You too. Take care."

She mounted the stairs, climbing back to the world of men.

I'd thought they would have records in the library: archives of town newspapers and local history. I was disappointed. A fair-haired young man who looked as if he needed a good meal told me that the rest of the records were kept in the County Record Office in Northallerton. If I wanted more, I would have to go there. He glanced meaningfully at the rain running down the windows, suggesting that I might stay a while out of the rain.

I settled for scanning through three or four books on the history of the area. They were better than I had expected. They followed the town from its beginnings as a Bronze Age settlement, showing monochrome photographs of Victorian men in bowler hats with shovels and picks posing as archaeologists over the trenchedout remains of an Iron Age long barrow. Having met one or two modern-day archaeologists, I knew exactly what they would think of this particular brand of institutionalised vandalism. These were fortune-hunters at best, and kept no record of the placing, distribution or arrangement of their finds, being only interested in their value as antiquarian treasure.

The books followed the community through mediaeval times under the priory at Bridlington into the inevitable conflict of civil war and the Industrial Revolution. The coming of steam meant larger vessels with deeper draught, and the shallow harbour fell from use as a shipping port into fishing and light trade. Nowhere was there any mention of dark deeds or missing women. Rather, the community supported itself through the best and worst of times, rising to each new challenge and meeting each change with determination and vigour. If there had been women going missing on a regular basis, I would have thought some sort of mention would be made, even if only as a passing reference.

Since it was still raining hard, I made use of the free internet access to Google a search for Ravensby. It threw up the usual discount offers and, with some perseverance, I found the reports of the five missing girls. If there was a long list of missing women from Ravensby, though, it wasn't on the internet. I also used the image search to look for the symbol I'd seen on the truck waiting near the hospital where Alex had been taken. The nearest I could find was a hazardous load symbol for a biohazard, but that symbol was subtly different. A further hour of browsing brought me no closer. I found companies that could provide transport for hazardous material and there were lots of theories as to how certain diseases had found their way into the population, but nothing that would lead me to Alex.

Just out of interest, I googled 'Feyre'. The list of hits that emerged mainly led to Sainte-Feyre in central France, making me wonder whether the place had any fey significance. There were no references to creatures by that name.

"Are you all right with that?"

The young man appeared by my side, making me cancel the search quickly before he noticed what I'd been searching for.

"I'm fine, thanks."

He smiled thinly and moved away. He probably thought I was using it to look at pictures of naked women. Putting my wet coat back on, I thanked the librarian for his time and asked him where I might find further local history to fill out my picture of the town. He directed me to the local newspaper, saying that he thought they kept their own archive. I picked up my umbrella and left.