Jay frowned. ‘What?’
Jem stood up. ‘Come on, I’ll
show you.’
They walked through the heather
until they came to the foot of the monument. Close to, it was
bigger than Jay had thought. The tower was quite wide, and
spiralling steps could be seen beyond the doorway, disappearing up
into blackness. ‘Do we have to climb it?’ She didn’t relish the
thought.
‘No. It’s dangerous.’ Jem took
hold of Jay’s arm and led her past the monument to the edge of the
hill. On this side, the ground fell away precipitously and the wind
was strong. Trees were sparser and smaller; clumps of feathery
birch. Beyond them, on the plain below, fields, forest and
occasional lakes were laid out in a patchwork. Lanes threaded
between them, but Jay could see no cars. For as far as the eye
could see, there were no telegraph poles or electricity pylons.
There was just countryside, with a river running through it. If she
squinted, Jay could perceive what looked like mountains far away
through a shimmering haze, but no cities, no towns. Nearer, at the
foot of the hill, cupped by dark woodland, was a great, white
house. It had pillars at the front and a sweeping drive that led to
a lane beyond. Jay gasped, then held her breath. ‘Whose house is
that?’ It looked like the building in the photograph she’d taken
from Dex’s hidden box.
‘It is the house of a god,’ Jem
said. Her voice was dry. She pointed up at the statue on the
monument. ‘And that is the god looking down at his house,
protecting it.’
Jay threw back her head and
shaded her eyes to stare at the statue. ‘Does this god have a
name?’
‘Yes,’ Jem said. ‘Sooner or
later, we all learn it.’
‘What is it?’
‘Lorrance,’ Jem murmured.
It took a moment for the
implications to sink in, then Jay snapped, ‘
Rhys
Lorrance?
Jem shrugged. ‘Don’t know. He is
known to us simply as Lorrance.’
‘Have you seen him? What is
this? Does he own Lestholme?’ Ideas were racing through Jay’s mind.
Lorrance: music industry man, but media man too. Media casualties,
village of respite. Was he somehow responsible for Lestholme? Jem
had already said it was somebody’s conscience.
‘I’ve not seen him,’ Jem said.
‘I don’t think people do. Gods don’t appear to people.’
Jay gripped Jem’s shoulder.
‘He’s not a god. I know of him, Jem. He’s a real person. He owns
the recording company Dex used to be with. We must go down there!
Dex might be there!’
‘You can’t go down,’ Jem said.
‘You can look on the house of God, but you can’t reach it. Not that
people often try.’
‘Have you?’
Jem looked away. ‘Yes. Several
times. I wanted to meet God and ask him questions. The hill is
endless though, and wherever you walk, you end up back in
Lestholme. I’ve tried lots of different ways, using markers and
thread, all sorts of things. It never works. We’re kept away. We’re
not meant to get to the house.’
‘How is Lestholme Lorrance’s
conscience?’
‘The god commits many acts that
shame him, but he cannot turn his face to them. That is what we are
told. He created Lestholme as a sanctuary, but it was only one
aspect of him that did it. All his other aspects are unaware of
it.’
Jay shook her head, her mind
reeling. ‘Do you know what Rhys Lorrance is out in the real
world?’
Jem shrugged. ‘It is of no
consequence to us whether he exists in the outside or not. Here, it
is different.’
‘He’s a very powerful man, Jem.
He works for a corporation that owns newspapers, record companies,
magazines. It virtually runs the entertainment industry.’ She shook
her head again. ‘He must be mad, creating this place, making
everyone think of him as a god. I can’t believe it!’
Jay wanted to take this
knowledge outside immediately. Everything was making sense to her
now. If a part of Lorrance abhorred that some people were crushed
by fame, their lives irrevocably changed by media attention,
perhaps he had bought this village up, and somehow, through some
vast conspiracy, arranged for people to be brought here, should
they need an escape from their lives. It stretched credulity, but
had to be more possible than the more mystical, supernatural
explanations. Maybe Jem hadn’t stopped ageing at all. She sometimes
looked older than she appeared. Perhaps she simply dressed and
acted young, because in her mind, she remained at the age she was
when she’d left home. Yes, it made sense now. Jay was filled with
excitement, feeling as if she’d somehow reached familiar territory.
If her suppositions were correct, Lorrance could even arrange for
everyone to be fed and housed; they wouldn’t need state assistance.
The villagers might be odd in their ways, because they were fed
some kind of euphoric drug, designed to make them feel content. It
was fantastic, in the literal sense, but what a story.
‘Dex
is
here somewhere,’
Jay said. ‘I just know it now. I have to get to that house.’
Jem laid a hand on her arm. ‘You
can’t.’
‘I’m going to try,’ Jay said
firmly. She laid her hand over Jem’s. ‘Try with me.’
As they walked back to
Lestholme, Jay began to make plans for the forthcoming foray. Jem
listened, a slight frown on her face. ‘It all adds up,’ Jay said
fervently. ‘All that stuff about people saying “God will provide
for us”. They obviously mean Lorrance. We have to think, Jem. We
have to try and remember what happened to us, how we got here. We
may have been drugged.’
Jem looked glum. ‘What about
your lost months, then? How do they fit in?’
Jay made a sound of irritation.
‘Drugs again. It must be. And my coming here must be connected with
Dex.’ She frowned. ‘Some things don’t add up, though. Why would
Lorrance bring
me
here? Unless Dex asked him to, of course.
He did want me to get away from London. Perhaps I’m here for my own
safety. I have to find out what I’m being kept safe from. And the
only way to do that is confront Lorrance himself.’
Jem sighed, hitting out at the
lush grasses of the hedge-row with a thin stick. ‘It doesn’t feel
right. You don’t understand, because you haven’t been here long
enough. I used to wonder about the explanation, but I’ve come to
accept that Lestholme simply
is
; a special place for the
lost. It isn’t just down to someone buying the village and putting
people in it. It’s not about drugs. I know it isn’t.’
Jay ignored her remarks. ‘You’ve
tried getting to the white house by going down the hill. There must
be another way through the lanes. We’ll try tonight. We can use the
stars to keep our bearings.’
‘I’ve tried that way. All roads
lead back to Lestholme.’
‘That’s impossible, Jem. You’ve
got to stop believing in the fantasy. I know my ideas sound
fantastic, but at least they are possible.’
Jem sighed. ‘Do what you have
to. Then you’ll see I’m right.’
They set off after sundown; two
adventurers, one fired with energy, the other somewhat reluctant.
Jay noticed Jem dragging her heels. ‘You don’t have to do this if
you don’t want to.’
Jem’s face was very white in the
moonlight. ‘I thought you wanted me to come.’
‘I do. And I think you want to
know the truth, but you mustn’t come if it worries or scares
you.’
‘I’ll come.’ Jem’s voice was
low. ‘It doesn’t matter if I’m scared.’ She glanced up at Jay. ‘I
feel I have to keep an eye on you, anyway.’
Jay laughed. ‘It’ll be
fine.’
The expedition had begun with
another sortie to the hill-top. Here, Jay examined the position of
the moon and the few constellations she could recognise, and even
made a rough map of what she could see below. The house of Lorrance
looked chalky and insubstantial against the shadowy, blue backdrop
of its cup of forest. No lights burned in the house that she could
see. Perhaps the owner lived in the other side of the house, where
the windows faced the trees. ‘The river cuts through Lorrance’s
land back there,’ Jay said, ‘perhaps we should follow it.’
Now, Jem directed them towards
the willowy banks, where the slow-moving flow slunk through the
night. It was like the essence of all rivers, tangled with tall
reeds, iris and bullrush. Occasionally, some slick-backed creature
would break the surface. The water had a low, murmuring voice; as
if naiads were gossiping softly together. Bats flirted with the
river, skimming it with their wings. Jay and Jem walked along the
footpath that wound alongside the water. It was overhung with
ancient willows so immense that sometimes two trees on opposite
banks would be entwined with one another. Jay was sure in her
estimations of the landscape. ‘We can cut across the park land
here, by this spinney.’
Jem offered no resistance, said
nothing. They tramped away from the river-bank, through tall
grasses. Surprisingly, on the distant horizon, a fork of lightning
shimmied down the sky. Then a wind started up, smelling strongly of
ozone.
‘Jay,’ Jem said in a warning
voice.
‘It’s OK,’ Jay murmured. She
would not surrender to signs and omens. Rhys Lorrance was a
powerful man, but only in the sense of money and position. She did
not, could not, believe he wielded any higher force. But as much as
she chose to ignore the phenomena, she still felt that in some way
they signalled she was getting close.
Jem put a hand on her arm,
forcing her to stop. ‘Listen.’
Jay cocked her head on one side.
‘To what?’ Why were they whispering? She could hear the wind
shushing through the grass and perhaps a sound like rain, though
none fell.
‘I think we should go back,’ Jem
said. Fear oozed out of her infectiously.
Jay refused to allow it to touch
her. ‘We’re all right,’ she said. ‘It’s just superstition.’
Jem exhaled; a soft, whining
sound of anxiety. She was lagging a few paces behind.
Jay noticed the movement in the
grass before Jem did, but said nothing. It could be the wind. Then
sounds came: yelping, panting, the thud of feet. The canopy of the
trees ahead was waving wildly now, and between the branches could
be glimpsed the white shimmer of stone. ‘The house,’ Jay said. She
knew there was something between them and the building ahead, but
kept moving. It was not far now.
Then she saw them. Dark shapes
leapt and bounded towards them: dogs. Jem screamed Jay’s name.
Jay reached out for the girl’s
arm. ‘Stand still! Stand still!’
The dogs were of all breeds and
sizes: dark Labradors, shaggy Alsatians, lean red setters, bouncing
terriers. They did not look like typical guard dogs, more like
family pets, but there was no doubt in which direction they were
headed.
‘There must be over two dozen of
them,’ Jay said. ‘Lorrance must really like dogs.’
‘Let’s go, let’s go!’ Jem urged,
pulling against Jay’s hold.
‘If we run, we’ll have had it,’
Jay said. ‘They’re not snarling. They might be friendly. Just stand
your ground.’
Jay was thinking quickly; what
should she do if the animals attacked? Could they keep running
forward and make it to the house? They had no weapons on them, not
even a stick.
Don’t show them your fear
, she thought.
They’ll smell it.
Her body felt drenched in cold sweat.
Then a voice came out of the
night. ‘Don’t be afraid.’
Jem uttered a short, low
screech, and Jay jumped sideways. A figure had appeared beside
them, as if it had manifested out of the air. It had one arm raised
towards the dogs, who now seemed to be soaring towards them,
tongues lolling, pelts rippling. For one hellish moment, Jay
thought the animals were upon them. She was surrounded by movement
and noise. Then, she realised that the pack had simply leapt past
them, in a flurry of paws and fur and panting. Jay could smell
their dog aroma, feel the warmth of their passing, but already
their yelping had diminished with distance. They had been like a
phantom wild hunt, hurrying through the night.
‘Bloody hell!’ she said, bracing
her hands against her knees. She felt out of breath.
‘Jay, they wouldn’t have hurt
you.’
She looked up and saw a familiar
stranger. ‘Dex.’
‘It’s an angel of the god,’ Jem
said, her voice still full of fear.
‘It’s Dex,’ Jay answered slowly.
‘Isn’t it?’
He folded his arms. He looked
different now, less haggard and wild than when she’d seen him in
London. He was dressed in a long jacket, dark trousers, heavy
boots. His hair was tied back at his neck. His features seemed
translucent in the pale light. Jay was torn between wanting to hug
him or utter a sarcastic remark.
He took a step towards her. She
could see a strange light reflected in his eyes. ‘Are you all
right?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘Yes. Confused, but
all right.’ She brushed her fingers through her hair. ‘What the
hell were those dogs?’ She glanced over her shoulder, but there was
no sign of the animals. ‘They seemed… almost unreal.’
‘They are the sad hounds,’ he
said. ‘You shouldn’t let them frighten you off.’
‘They didn’t look particularly
sad to me.’
‘But they are. Their owners
followed them onto thin ice and drowned, or tried to push them from
an oncoming lorry, or a train. They are lost and alone, so they are
here. The dogs run at night together. They love, like humans do,
and for them the kiss of fame was short but penetrating.’
This was not the Dex whom Jay
had known. He talked with the hollow voice and opaque words of a
prophet or a holy man. Was that what he had decided to become, here
in the land of the god, for whom he worked? Or was this little
speech merely to fend off more personal and perhaps painful
conversation?
‘I came to find you,’ Jay said.
‘I knew you’d be here.’
‘You couldn’t find me. I found
you.’ He came closer, and Jem cringed away.