P.N.E. (The Wolfblood Prophecies Book 4) (8 page)

‘Where is she?’ repeated Jo urgently.

Smokey had come to a decision. He was beginning to regret having softened slightly towards this crazy girl. Once again his face was a mask of mistrust. ‘You ask a lot of questions. Maybe you’re telling me the truth, but maybe you’re a spy. Or the Princess. Or both. Whatever you are, you know a lot about us and we know nothing about you. I’m not saying another word until we meet Reg. And just in case you
are
a spy…’ Despite her protests, he dragged the bag back over Jo’s head, and pushed her ahead of him.

The journey was interminable. Jo felt dreadful. Her headache was vicious and she was burning up. She tried to keep her bearings, but she was pretty sure that Smokey was doubling back at times, and going down dead ends and round in circles in order to ensure she would never be able to find her way back alone. She would have done the same.

Chapter Eight - Prove It.

Normally when Jo was deep underground, her powers were magnified. Now it wasn’t so clear cut. The headache didn’t help. There did seem to be people down here with rudimentary emping ability – Jo kept on picking up fragments from a myriad of minds - but none of the connections were completed. Her attempts at sending messages seemed to run into a blitz of static. She remembered how, during previous adventures, quartz crystals had blocked emping completely. This felt similar, although there was no quartz to be seen. She remembered what Smokey had said about the red rain, but trying to think just made her head feel worse, so she stopped trying.

Ahead of them Jo heard people talking and moving about, but each time they turned a corner, however close the voices had been, there was no-one to be seen.  She sensed shadowy figures disappearing round corners and doors closing quietly.

The further they descended, she grew ever more aware of a pervading apathy and misery, rooted in loss and suffering so profound that she had to fight to maintain any shred of hope. Like a fog rolling in from the sea, desolation threatened to engulf her, creeping into her consciousness like a thief in the night. Crazy Em’s sporadic shrieks did nothing to help. Jo stumbled and nearly fell, dragging her feet, her legs as heavy as lead. She could hardly put one foot in front of the other. She just wanted to sink to the ground and cry herself to sleep, but Smokey forced her ever onward.

It is better to light a candle than to rage against the dark.

Jo felt the words rather than heard them, so had no idea if the messenger was male or female, young or old.

Who are you?

There was no reply. Jo was profoundly disappointed. She was in the grip of a deep sadness, and she felt helpless in the face of it. As far as her mind’s eye could see, the vista was bleak and barren. The sense that this was her fault; a result of altering the past to try and change the future, plunged her further into despair. Could she really have caused so much death and destruction? Was she responsible for changing the world so drastically? The tortured voices of a million murdered souls called her name. She thought of her mother, trapped in a coma. Even if Jo managed to get back to her own time, there was no guarantee that Ali would ever recover.

Jo could picture Ali, so pale and still, lying in the hospital bed, like a frame from an old black and white silent movie. The memory brought tears to Jo’s eyes, but as she wept, the image started to alter.

Where there had been stillness, now there was motion. Colour gradually crept into the picture, and music and laughter replaced the silence.

Ali opened her eyes. She sat up in bed and smiled directly at her daughter. The colours grew ever more intense, until a white aura surrounded Ali, her red-gold curls turning to silver and pearl, gleaming softly like the petals of the healing lotus. As the light grew more dazzling, and the music more wild and haunting, Jo thought she would faint with joy. She stretched out her arms towards her mother.

Then, as the music reached an exquisite note of crystal purity, there was an explosion of stars, softly cascading down, swirling like snowflakes. Sadness clutched at Jo’s heart as the vision faded and the shadows slowly returned, but now a small candle glowed steadily in the heart of the darkness.

From a long way away a voice said, ‘Looks like she’s coming round.’ Someone gave Jo sips of water to drink. Someone else was holding her, helping her to sit up. As she opened her eyes, she could see she was in a small, cramped candle-lit storeroom, with boxes of food – mainly porridge - and household goods crammed on shelves reaching from the floor to the ceiling.

She could just about make out half a dozen dimly lit figures surrounding her. Smokey was there, more shadowy and insubstantial than the others. He was talking urgently to Reg.

‘It’s a possibility,’ said Reg. ‘Only one way to find out. Crank up the generator and turn on the news channel.’ There was a dilapidated television set in one corner of the room. Everyone crowded round the screen and Jo couldn’t see what they were looking at.

Smokey swore. ‘Sound’s packed up again.’

‘Watch the headlines roll,’ said Reg. Everyone was silent. Jo wished her head would clear so she could work out what it was they were looking for, and what they suspected, but her thoughts kept slipping and sliding. She tried to focus on what was happening, but one minute she was freezing cold and shivering, the next she was boiling hot. Fragments of conversation came to her, but most of what was said seemed to come from a long way off, and made no sense.

Eventually Reg turned off the television. ‘Can’t be that,’ he said. ‘It would be all over the news if everyone’s favourite Princess had gone missing.’

Smokey was disappointed. ‘Pity. A hostage like that would be very, very useful… Or a double agent…’ His words trailed off as an idea slowly took shape in his mind.

As the group moved away from the television Jo realised with a shock that there was someone else she knew. Someone she thought she would never see again. Jo gasped when she saw him.  He had a livid scar across his cheek and forehead, partly hidden by an eye patch, but nevertheless it was him.  Quinn.

Quinn, the image of a disreputable, battle-scarred pirate, stared at her intently, and it was not in a pleasant way.

Smokey whispered urgently to Quinn, who laughed drily. ‘You mean do a swap with the Princess? What’s the fracking point of that?’

‘To have one of ours on the inside.’

‘What makes you think this girl, whoever she is, is one of ours?’ Smokey was silent. ‘Leave the thinking to the grown-ups, kid.’

Smokey’s eyes smouldered dangerously, his expression mutinous. Quinn laughed, mocking him. 

‘That’s enough, both of you.’ Reg spoke with an easy authority. ‘I make the plans round here, and don’t you forget it.’ He walked over to Jo.  His face swam into focus and she tried to think straight.

Jo’s voice was croaky. ‘Reg?’

Reg turned to Smokey. ‘Did you tell her my name?’

‘Of course I didn’t. Like I said, she knows stuff.’

‘You made it through the fog, then, girlie.’ Reg’s voice was matter-of-fact, cool and flatly neutral. Jo realised she was not considered trustworthy.

‘The fog?’ Somehow words were proving very difficult.

‘Happens to us all first time down here. Yet another of the bastard Rainmaker’s little gifts. Everyone has to find their own way through it. You get used to it. So what brings you to Hades? Who sent you? And no made-up stories – just facts, girlie. I can sniff out a lie quicker than beer turns to… well, never mind. So what’s your name?’

‘Jo Lakota.’

There was a sudden stillness in the room, as if everyone was holding their breath.

Finally Reg broke the silence. ‘So, Jo Lakota. Who sent you here?’

‘The priest. Ben – Benjamin Bradley. He said to tell you…’ she faltered, saddened by the memory of Ben’s death.

‘Go on.’

‘He said,
Tell Reg. They found me. I told them nothing.
Then he died.’

There was another long silence, broken only by the sound of a woman quietly crying.

At last Reg spoke. ‘Smokey said you tried to heal Ben.’

‘Yes. But it was too late. And I’m still learning, so sometimes it just doesn’t happen.’

‘Better practice a hell of a lot more, then. We can’t afford to lose anyone else.’

Jo felt a flicker of hope. Reg was talking as if she might be allowed to help.

‘Keep talking. Tell me about yourself, girlie.’

Jo hesitated. ‘None of you will believe me.’

‘Tell them what you told me,’ said Smokey dismissively. ‘They could do with a laugh.’

Again, she faltered. Everyone in the room was watching her intently. She decided she had to tell them everything if she ever wanted to get out of that room alive.

‘I’m not Jocasta Lakota. My name is Johanna. My mother is not Lethe, but her sister, Ali.’

At that, the atmosphere in the room changed. The hostility became palpable. Jo felt naked and alone and worse – dishonest. She had told the truth and clearly no-one had believed her.

Smokey looked at her again. ‘Tell them about Doctor Stigmurus, liar,’ he taunted. ‘That’s the best bit.’

Jo realised that Smokey’s moment of believing her was history. He looked at her with cold contempt as she ploughed on. ‘Where I’m from he used to be a tyrant. Now he works very hard to make the world a better place.’

And at that Reg guffawed. The entire room was in uproar. At first the people had looked angry at even the mention of the Doctor’s name, but now they were just amused by the idea of him doing good.

Quinn, grinning from ear to ragged ear, wiped a tear from his one good eye. He eyed Jo again, and instantly cracked up laughing again. Once he could finally contain himself, he said, ‘If my Ali had a daughter, I think I’d know!’ He looked around the room, raising his hands as he did, and instantly everyone laughed. Even Reg raised a conceding eyebrow in his direction. And with that, Quinn burst into song.

I’ve known her since the bombs fell back in ’63,

I found her in a wasteland underneath a blackened tree,

She was seventeen years old with eyes of purest green,

I carried her upon my back ‘til we reached Sanctuary.

Quinn suddenly fixed Jo with a steely glare stronger than Crazy Em’s.

She’s been with me in every way, enduring everything

Saved my life a dozen times and taught me how to sing

Now you’re telling me my Ali is like her evil twin?

If that is true, Reg is the Pope and I’m the fracking King!

And at that, he roared with robust laughter and smartly stamped his feet. He drew a flashing, silver sword and waved it above his head, keeping time.

She’s an Atomic Bombshell Warrior in 1984

She’s all that’s good about the world

that used to be before

An Erotic Bombshell Warrior, the woman I adore

She’d rather die than take a life

or persecute the poor

An A-tom-ic

E-rot-ic

Bombshell!

By now people were clapping along with him, hollering along at the end of each line, laughing and whooping. Jo looked around imploringly but everyone was mocking her. Some of them were dancing. But Quinn was just getting started. He could clearly sing Ali’s praises all night long.

All the time I’ve known her she has been a shining light

She can be a bloody nightmare but she’s always in the right,

She says the world could live as one if the workers could unite,

And the warriors would cross the line and join us in the fight.

She’s an Atomic Bombshell Warrior in 1984

She’s all that’s good about the world

that used to be before

An Erotic Bombshell Warrior, the woman I adore

She’d rather die than take a life

or persecute the poor

An A-tom-ic

E-rot-ic

Bombshell!

Once the mood had sobered enough to continue, Quinn sat down heavily and looked at her with a look of weary incredulity. He pressed the point of his sword into her neck.

We’ve been in love since ’63; you say that you’re her kid

If she’s your mum then I’m your dad! Ha! God forbid!

So come on, pull the other one and tell us what they did

To make you run from luxury and wind up on the skids?

And with that, the atmosphere in the room changed once more. Reg glared at Quinn. ‘Put away your sword, Quinn,’ he said evenly, and to Jo’s relief, Quinn obeyed. However, Jo had had enough. She felt humiliated and Quinn was not the only one who could stamp his feet!

‘I am not the Princess! My mother is Ali. Everyone says I’m the image of her,’ she began.

Reg interrupted. ‘Not so’s you’d notice.’

Jo took off the knitted hat and shook out her red curls. Her green eyes flashed. She was angry at being doubted. ‘Now do you believe me?’

Jo heard Smokey and Reg gasp. They weren’t the only ones. Everyone was staring at her. Reg scrutinised her carefully. ‘Well now, I believe you’re related to Ali,’ he conceded eventually. ‘But that doesn’t make her your mother. More likely that doubtful privilege goes to Queen Lethe the ruddy First. Maybe you take after
her
. In which case we’d better shoot you now and stop wasting everyone’s time.’

Jo felt defeated. ‘I don’t know how to convince you,’ she said at last.

‘It’s simple, girlie. Start by telling me how you know so much about us. Smokey says you knew his name. But you say you’re not Princess Jocasta and Quinn is adamant Ali hasn’t got a daughter. And he should know.’

‘I think there’s something strange happening to my memory.’ Jo chose her words carefully so that nothing she said was a lie. She was sure Reg would be true to his word and detect any deceit straight away. ‘I can’t tell the difference between dreams and reality any more. I have dreamed about you all so many times – sometimes back in the past, in the 1950s; sometimes an alternative reality to this. Titus and Aunt Lethe are always hatching some crazy scheme to control the world; there’s always terrible danger and only the Righteous will fight against them, whether they call themselves the VMN, or the Glory Foundation. Quinn had a record shop near here…’