The Hounds of Avalon (Gollancz S.F.) (11 page)

As the helicopter swooped nearer, Hunter made out a group of figures distinct from the others: four bulky shapes surrounding a tall, thin one; the only details he could pick out were random images illuminated by the lick of flame. Yet there was something about them that made him feel sick to the pit of his stomach. He felt instinctively that they were the ultimate threat.

‘They’re not like anything we’ve seen before,’ Hunter said. ‘What are they?’

The General’s eyes gleamed with a sickening light of anticipation. ‘Are you ready for a fight?’ he asked.

The helicopter shook briefly in a random gust of wind. Hunter grabbed on to the straps for support, shivering as the temperature dropped another degree. The pilot moved the helicopter away from the invading force, heading back towards Oxford. The snow, which was coming thicker and faster, soon obscured all signs of the threat.

Hunter shivered again, this time not from the cold.

Winter was coming in hard.

Lime and lavender filled the air, the scents cloying and a little sickly as if masking more disturbing odours. The overpowering aromas filled Sophie’s senses before she opened her eyes, more heady than anything she had ever experienced before. When her eyelids did finally flutter open, she clamped them shut again immediately, so bright was the light. It took her a second or two to acclimatise, and slowly conscious thought returned with the vivid sensations: at first a simple awareness, then puzzlement, then concern.

Cautiously, she opened her eyes again, shielding them with her hand as she took in her surroundings. She was lying on a table of white marble. Slowly easing herself upright and swinging her legs off one side, she saw white marble everywhere in the large, columned room, so that it appeared to blaze in the sunlight that streamed through glass skylights far up in the lofty ceiling. It reminded Sophie of drawings she had seen of the homes of the gods in Greek mythology. But there was a pleasing organic aspect to the straight lines, with vines wrapping themselves around some of the columns and trees growing up through the floor to the ceiling. Songbirds fluttered back and forth amongst the highest branches. Nearby was a sparkling spring that ran into a reflecting pool with a soothing bubbling. Peace lay heavy all around.

‘Welcome, Sister of Dragons.’

Sophie started at the honeyed voice. She turned to see Ceridwen looking at her with a warm smile that had been absent the first time Sophie had seen her face. And with that thought came another rush of memory: the strange, twisted warriors on their reptilian mounts rushing towards her.

‘Not dead, then?’ she said, not quite able to believe it herself.

‘Not dead,’ Ceridwen replied, faintly amused.

With her was a man in scarlet robes. The colour was shocking in the bright white of the room. Sophie experienced the same unnerving shift of perception she had felt when she had first seen Ceridwen, but after a second, the man’s face settled into a form she could comprehend. He was hollow-cheeked, his nose aquiline, his eyes a piercing grey set off by the red scarf tied around his head to hold back his hair. His tall, thin frame was a stark contrast to Ceridwen’s voluptuousness.

‘This is Dian Cecht,’ Ceridwen said. ‘He has admitted you to the Court of the Final Word.’

The name felt like a cold breath on the back of Sophie’s neck. ‘Not in my world,’ she said to herself, knowing it to be true the moment the words left her lips.

‘Dian Cecht is the name by which he was known amongst the tribes of the Fixed Lands,’ Ceridwen continued. ‘He is a wise man, a healer, a maker of great things.’

Sophie’s hand instinctively went to her side.

‘Yes, Sister of Dragons, I repaired you,’ Dian Cecht said.

There was something in his tone that made Sophie feel queasy, but she attempted to show gratitude. ‘I could have died.’ The shock brought another rush of realisation. ‘You’re two of the gods that came with the Fall.’ Then: ‘Why are you helping me?’

‘You are a Sister of Dragons,’ Ceridwen said with a note of puzzlement, as if that should be explanation enough. When she saw from Sophie’s face that it wasn’t, she added, ‘Existence is at a cusp. The old ways are ending … our ways …’ Dian Cecht flinched at this, but said nothing. ‘Your ways are in the ascendant. Fragile Creatures are poised to rise and advance, to become something … greater. And the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons will have a part to play in that. You are important in so many ways,’ Ceridwen added warmly. ‘It is believed by the
filid
of my people
that if Fragile Creatures do not reach their potential, then all of Existence may come to an end.’

‘Not
all
of our kind believe that,’ Dian Cecht added coldly.

Ceridwen came over and took Sophie’s hand. Her fingers were cool and delicate; up close it appeared that her skin exuded a thin golden light. ‘You are important, Sister of Dragons. To everything.’

Ceridwen led Sophie to another room where there was bread and fruit on crystal platters and a decanter of water. ‘Eat and drink freely and without obligation. You must build your strength, for we have a long journey ahead of us.’

Ceridwen moved into an adjoining room where she fell into deep discussion with Dian Cecht. Sophie was so hungry that she didn’t listen to the conversation at first, all her attention focused on the food, but eventually it intruded on her thoughts.

‘Is it true?’ Ceridwen was saying.

‘It is. The Devourer of All Things is here. The prophecies are coming to pass in these days,’ Dian Cecht replied.

‘Is that the end of this song? The seasons have passed for Existence and all things under it?’

‘Here in the Court of the Final Word, the very heart of Existence has been probed,’ Dian Cecht said. ‘Secrets and mysteries have been laid bare. Know this: nothing is ever truly destroyed, and nothing new is created. There is only change. That is the one rule above all rules.’

There was silence for a moment and then Ceridwen said quietly, ‘And what of death, then?’

Dian Cecht’s reply was barely audible. ‘There is no death.’

‘You say that, even now? The Golden Ones have always been strangers to it. But in recent times …’ Ceridwen fell silent. ‘Is there coming an end? Is there nothing we can do, or will the Devourer of All Things abide?’

Another long silence, then, ‘I have already taken steps.’

And then Dian Cecht and Ceridwen must have left the annexe by another door, for after that there was only quiet.

Sophie fell into a deep sleep and dreamed of Dian Cecht, though at times it appeared to be more than a dream, as if she had half-woken and seen or spoken with him before drifting into sleep again. In his
red, red robes she saw him striding across worlds, taking a scalpel to the heart of the sun; nothing could contain him. He scared Sophie deeply, for she felt he would do anything to achieve his ends, and that he knew more, much more than everyone else. Secrets and mysteries. Mysteries and secrets.

And then his face filled her entire vision and he whispered, ‘The next time you see me, you shall not see me.’

It was still light when Sophie woke. She ate and drank some more, maintaining the surface calm that had served her so well throughout the many devastating upheavals since the Fall. But inside she fought desperately for equilibrium in the face of gods and legends and the suggestion that she was something greater than the scared little girl she felt like in her worst moments.

Once Sophie had recovered enough to walk, Ceridwen led her through the Court of the Final Word with a troubling degree of urgency, Dian Cecht shadowing them. For some unspoken reason, he steered them away from certain corridors that led deep into the heart of the gleaming complex, and eventually they came to a massive entrance hall constructed from more white marble. Here there were windows five storeys high, all of them glazed with glass stained in various shades of red so that the hall appeared to be running with blood.

Ceridwen turned to Dian Cecht and said, ‘Are you sure you will not accompany us?’

He shook his head. ‘They will not come near the Court of the Final Word. Of all the great courts, this one is immune to any attack.’

Ceridwen nodded. ‘All know what lies within.’

A cold smile crept across Dian Cecht’s lips and once again Sophie was afraid. ‘The Court of the Final Word stands alongside Fragile Creatures,’ he said to her, but his words were hesitant. ‘Go in peace and go with speed. The Far Lands are no longer safe, for any of us.’

‘Where are we going?’ Sophie asked Ceridwen.

‘To one of the last bastions of the last hope for all Existence, Sister of Dragons,’ Ceridwen replied. ‘A place where we can make a final stand, if needs be, or to plot with our allies a way to save everything.’

There were so many questions Sophie wanted to ask, but she could sense that it was not the time. Instead she focused on being patient until she could successfully find a way back to her own world and Mallory.

As they approached the gigantic doors, they swung open soundlessly to reveal a vista over a glorious countryside of rolling green, forests and streams, a landscape of romance and mystery that made Sophie’s spine tingle. It appeared to be late September, still warm, the leaves turning gold and red and brown. In the hollows, mist was rolling.

Tethered just outside were two chestnut mares with bridles of onyx and ivory. Ceridwen motioned to Sophie to mount one and then climbed on to the other mare easily.

‘Go well, Daughter of the Green,’ Dian Cecht said to Ceridwen. The warmth in his voice made Sophie reappraise him. He was too complex to judge, too unpredictable.

Ceridwen smiled sadly and then spurred her mount down the path that led from the court across the countryside. Sophie followed, glad to leave the Court of the Final Word behind.

The path wound like a golden ribbon over the green, but after a short distance Ceridwen eased her horse off into the long grass. ‘We shall avoid the main byways,’ she said, ‘and make our way through the quiet, secret places, the silent forests, the mist-filled valleys, the whispering heart of the land.’ She flashed a comforting glance at Sophie. ‘Those places belong to me.’

The wind traced liquid patterns in the grass as the two horses eased down the slope towards a stream that Sophie could see glinting in the light. At that moment the sun came out from behind a cloud, transforming the entire landscape into a transcendent, hazy temple. The hairs on Sophie’s arms prickled as the quality of light and the subtleties of scent and temperature worked their spell on her.

‘I’ve dreamed of this place,’ Sophie said to herself, surprised at the force of the realisation. ‘When I was a girl, this was always where I wanted to be.’

‘The Far Lands stay in all our hearts,’ Ceridwen said. ‘It is the place from which we all spring and to which we all return, eternally.’

Sophie understood in that moment how she had been shaped as
a woman by the thoughts that had come to her during her childhood, the yearning for a place where nature truly lived, where mystery was a part of daily life and where there was a profound sense of meaning underpinning everything. Without truly knowing, she had been on a quest from her earliest days; and it was this land that had called to her. The swell of emotion was so shocking that she couldn’t prevent a fugitive tear.

‘This place is your home?’ Sophie asked.

‘It is our home now. The Golden Ones are a race ruled by infinite sadness. Our true homelands are lost to us; we may never return. But the Far Lands and the Fixed Lands make adequate replacements.’

‘So much has changed since the Fall,’ Sophie mused. Images of the dark days following the gods’ return rushed through her mind: the burning cities, the failure of technology, the riots, the economic collapse, the desperation of people unable to accept the new rules reality had thrust upon them. In the end, only a few had the ability to adapt and survive, those defined by a particular worldview, perhaps; Sophie wondered if the ones who were truly at peace since the Fall were those who had been on the same inner quest as her. In the newly re-formed world, she had an abiding sense of coming home, despite all the upheaval and the suffering.