Jack of Ravens (20 page)

‘You have the information?’ Decebalus asked gruffly.

‘The Ninth Legion approach along the Great North Road. They are dead … all of them dead, yet alive. I have this from the mouth of a centurion who took a blessing from me before he set off for battle.’

‘Christians in the Roman army,’ Aula said, shaking her head. ‘Truly it is the end of the world.’

‘Now you must ask your gods for aid, or all is lost,’ Jospeh insisted.

Aula nodded with a hint of apprehension. ‘All of you stand back, then. There is no way to tell how he will react to your presence. He can be as wild as the storm that is brewing, or as calm as a summer’s day.’

Church and the others sheltered in the lea of the surrounding tombs while Aula conducted some ritual around the tree. For a long while there was nothing except the chill of wet cloth against skin and the drumming of rain on stone, and the comforting smell of the wet grasslands and woods that surrounded Eboracum. But then came a sound that Church first thought was the wind over the hills, long, low and chilling. The hairs on the back of his neck stood erect, and gooseflesh ran up and down his arms. When the sound came again, he was convinced it was the cry of a wolf or one of the birds from the moors, or a bear’s roar, distorted by the storm.

A shape loomed up amongst the tombs on the edge of the cemetery and loped towards the central tree. Even when it arrived, Church was none the wiser. Antlers sprouted from its head, and bestial eyes glowed with a ruddy light. Church saw animal fur and ivy, hoofs and intertwining branches and leaves all jumbled together, making it impossible to tell if it was an animal disguised by vegetation, or a tree-like being with a hide draped over it.

‘You called me, Daughter of the Green.’ The voice was part-human, partly a low, rumbling roar filled with notes that made Church unsure whether or not it was on the brink of attacking.

Aula bowed before it. ‘Thank you for answering, great Cernunnos.’

That single name told Church what he was seeing: the Celtic nature god whose reach spread throughout the known world, and who became the template for the archetypal, vegetative figure of the Green Man. The air was electric, as if Cernunnos was discharging energy into the atmosphere, and there was a majesty to him that Church had not felt from any of the other gods.

‘I beg for your help,’ Aula said. ‘My lord, as in times past we face a great danger that threatens us all. We cannot meet it alone.’

‘You do not trust in yourself, little sister,’ Cernunnos growled. ‘Help will be given. But first …’ He put his head back and sniffed the air. ‘There is a scent of more of your kind, and of one who is greater still. Come forth.’

Cernunnos’s baleful glare fell on Church as he edged from the shelter of a tomb. ‘Yes, you are the one,’ Cernunnos rumbled. ‘I heard tell of you in the Far Lands – a Fragile Creature with the power to shake the very pillars of Existence.’

In the god’s buzzing energy field, Church found it difficult to comprehend what he was being told.

‘One of my little sisters presumes to consider you her pet. Surely she
must smell the Blue Fire in you? I will watch your progress, little one, for I sense you will grow to shake all the lands – for good or ill, I cannot yet tell.’

Cernunnos brought his face down level with Church’s. The vegetation moved across his body as if it was alive, and soon Church could only see a pair of gleaming eyes looking out of a field of green. As Church stared into their depths, they stared into him, and as the static fizzed across his mind he lost all touch with reality.

9

Church woke on horseback, his arms secured around a warm body in front of him and a woman’s musk in his nose. At first Church thought it was Ruth, then Etain, and finally the chill brought him round fully and he saw he had his arms around Lucia’s waist. They were riding slowly through woodland with the rain dripping down through the canopy, the wind blowing all around, awash with the noises of nature. He could just make out the others on horseback ahead, dark shapes bobbing in the darker wood.

‘What happened?’

‘Ah, so you are awake at last.’ Lucia’s voice was laced with sadness, and Church thought she had been crying. ‘You flew too close to Aula’s god. We are Fragile Creatures, after all – our minds and bodies can only take so much.’

‘Did the Green Man say he was going to help us?’

‘Aula says that of all the gods he loves us as though we are his own children. He has requested aid, from whom I do not know. But he will not abandon us.’

‘Gods,’ Church said, still dazed. ‘They manipulate us, and torment us, and twist us out of shape. Roll on the day when we’re our own masters.’

‘A revolutionary,’ Lucia said humorously. She sounded better for it.

‘Where are we going?’

‘To greet the Ninth,’ she replied with irony, ‘and celebrate their joyous return home.’

At that they both fell silent. The horses continued at a measured tread. They carried no torch to keep themselves hidden, and the going was slow and dangerous in the pitch dark. They were on one of the old, straight tracks the Celts and the people who preceded them had carved into the landscape. It cut straight through the wood, roots twisting up and branches hanging down to make their passage even more precarious.

Briefly, Church had the impression of a figure in the trees watching their passing, but he sensed no threat, only curiosity. There was something familiar in its sleek, lithe appearance, and he remembered seeing something
similar outside Carn Euny, just after the gathering that had mourned the stillbirth of the young girl Ailidh’s baby. But whatever it was vanished within seconds, and in the tense atmosphere was just as quickly forgotten.

After half an hour they broke out onto moorland where there was nothing to protect them from the full force of the elements.

‘This god-forsaken country,’ Lucia cursed quietly. ‘In fair Rome the rain is like velvet.’

‘Why did you come here?’ Church asked.

‘I was called by the Pendragon Spirit – it takes us to where we are needed. You know we cannot resist it. I hope to return home, one day.’

Church understood the plangent tone in her voice.

They came to a halt on a ridge. In the valley below, the full complement of a Roman legion marched in strict time. The thunder of their regimented step and the clank of their shields and armour gave the impression of a single giant machine of destruction moving relentlessly. Church could see why the Roman army was so feared across the known world, but even beyond that there was an unquantifiable menace about the Ninth Legion that chilled him all the more.

Joseph jumped from his horse and ran over to Church. He looked utterly out of his depth. ‘Are you to lead us in Marcus’s place?’ he shouted above the gusting wind.

Lucia untied Church’s hands so he could climb down. ‘You’re not suggesting five of us should oppose thousands, even if Cernunnos is providing some support?’ he said. ‘We’ll be slaughtered in minutes.’

‘But it is your role,’ Joseph said, puzzled.

‘It’s not my role to lead people to their deaths.’ All of them were looking at him, expectant, demanding; he couldn’t turn away. He sighed resignedly. ‘We need to get a closer look at what we’re up against,’ he said reluctantly.

Decebalus agreed with his tactics, and soon he and Church were skidding down the rain-slick bank to more tree cover further down the hillside.

‘The witch troubles me,’ Decebalus said of Lucia as they moved under the branches. ‘I do not trust her kind, and I do not like her at my back.’

‘You’ve got to get over it,’ Church said. ‘The only way the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons can work together is through trust. You have to be a tight unit, ready to risk your lives for each other. Or else you’re nothing … just five individuals. And what can anyone do alone?’

Decebalus took the lead through the dense wood until they came so close to the advancing legion that they could feel the ground shake. The big barbarian selected an old tree and motioned for Church to follow as he scaled the slippery bark with a speed that belied his size. He used his powerful arms to swing himself up into the large lower branches.

Finally they reached a branch as broad as a table along which they could crawl to a point fifteen feet or so above the place where the outer ranks of
the Ninth Legion would pass. Decebalus hung upside down like a monkey to get a better look.

Church gripped the branch tightly as the tree began to sway with the approaching thunderous footfalls. When the first of the legionnaires marched into view, Church was transfixed by the jarring chiaroscuro intensity of the scene. The contrast of black shadows and white was too strong to be realistic.

As the legionnaires drew nearer, Church saw that to a man their faces were shockingly white, not with the bloodless look of fear, but the pure white of snow. And where their veins could be glimpsed, they were as black as ink with the poison that had spread from the metallic spiders embedded in each and every forehead. The legionnaires moved like robots, without the slightest hint of the discomfort that Numerius had shown, and Church realised this must be the final stage of the process that had been intended for him.

Church glanced at Decebalus and quickly realised that his superstition had rushed to the fore, threatening to overwhelm him. When he had thought he was only facing men, Decebalus had been as brave as ever, but now he was pallid and shaking so much he was almost slipping from the branch.

Tugging at Decebalus’s sleeve, Church managed to urge him back to the trunk, and soon they were on the ground and scrambling back up the hillside to the others. Decebalus was mute with fear, and Church dispatched him to the horses so the others would not see. After Church explained what they had witnessed, Joseph and Secullian crossed themselves, but Lucia and Aula took it in their stride.

‘What now? They are closing fast on Eboracum?’ Lucia asked.

All eyes were on Church. ‘I don’t think any Brothers or Sisters of Dragons can be killed by the Army of the Ten Billion Spiders. The Libertarian hinted that they can capture us, torment us, but they can’t deal with the Pendragon Spirit. Everyone else can chop us into bloody chunks, but not the thing we’re supposed to be opposing, which must really stick in their spider-throats.’

They eyed Church, still uncertain.

Decebalus appeared on the fringes of the group. ‘The only way we are ever going to amount to anything is by trusting each other. That is what sets us apart as champions.’

‘We’ll ride to where the Sixth Legion is preparing to meet the Ninth,’ Church said. ‘We’ll do what we can there.’

As the others returned to their horses, Decebalus said to Church, ‘I don’t believe a word of it, but if it gets them moving that is all that matters.’

As Church climbed onto the back of Lucia’s horse, she asked quietly, ‘Do we face our end?’ She showed no sign of fear.

Church couldn’t lie. ‘I don’t know.’

10

The Brothers and Sisters of Dragons bore down on the rolling, rain-blasted moorland as the two legions came together like two torrents of floodwater. At the point of impact, armour, weapons, bodies and limbs gushed into the air amidst a tumultuous sound of clashing.

The Sixth Legion held their ground, though Church knew the terrors that must have been running through their minds.

Church, Lucia, Aula, Secullian and Joseph were shocked by the ferocity of the battle along the front line, but Decebalus was unmoved. He urged the others to join the fray. As they closed, they could see that the Sixth Legion was outclassed. The Roman army would be unsurpassed for centuries to come, yet it had met its match in an enemy that was oblivious to fear and pain. The living legionnaires were being slaughtered by the black and white tide. The Sixth’s archers loosed their shafts by the hundred, but wherever they struck no one fell. Church saw some of the undead legionnaires turn into marching pin-cushions, arrows protruding from heads and torsos.

‘Come! Let us harry their flanks!’ Decebalus bellowed. He was away before anyone could respond.

Church lowered Lucia to the ground. ‘If you’ve got the abilities I think you’ve got, use them,’ Church said. ‘Protect Aula, Secullian and Joseph. They’ll be no good in this kind of fight.’

Feeling out of his depth, Church urged his horse towards the battle. He’d learned fighting techniques during his time at Carn Euny, but the part of him that was still the dreamy archaeologist was apprehensive. Yet the Jack Churchill that was being forged in those ancient times was filled with a greater fear: that more would die because of him if he did not act.

On the edge of the battle, Decebalus drove his horse in close and swung his axe. Heads leaped from bodies like sparks flying up a chimney. Decebalus retreated just as quickly before a blow could be laid on him.

Lightning crashed into the midst of the Ninth, blasting bodies asunder. The wind gusted in unnatural eddies, slamming against shields with the force of a battering ram, Lucia was using her Craft to direct nature in their favour.

Church drew his sword and its illumination cut a swathe through the darkness more effectively than any lantern. In the blue glow, Church saw scores of black eyes snap towards him as one. It might have been wishful thinking, but he was sure he saw a glimmer of unease in those still, dead faces.