Ravens Gathering (31 page)

When he’d heard the voice, Martin had known it was the
Raven.  The possibility of him turning up was the reason why he had been
urging Ian and Tanya to get out of the room.  But the voice was the
clincher.  The slow, careful way he used the language, together with the
harsh coarseness of the sound.  It seemed like a cross between the husky
rattle of a long-term smoker and the hoarseness of a football fan who’s spent
an intense ninety minutes on the terraces.  There was no mistaking the
voice.  If you’d heard it before, you’d recognise it again.  And he
did.  Twenty five years after he’d last heard it.

He knew what the Raven would look like before he
turned.  It had been a hazy image in a dream for so many years.  But
now it was vivid in his mind.  The voice alone was triggering
memories.  They were surging up, pouring uncontrollably into his
consciousness.  After such a long time, the face should have been an
indistinct blur to him.  Instead it was more familiar to him than his own
father’s had been.  Then again, Patrick had aged fifteen years since he’d
last seen him.  The Raven hadn’t aged at all.  For him, only days had
passed since he’d last been here.

Images from the woods flashed behind his eyes. 
Darkness, interspersed with flickers of firelight.  Orange flames, half
hidden by the trees that lay between him and the fire.  Up ahead was the
unknown.  He was frightened, and yet compelled to go on.

Clothing was scattered on the path.  He knew that was
inappropriate.  But he was eight years old.  He couldn’t begin to
comprehend why they were there, or why he knew it meant there was something
wrong.  At first, the discarded clothes were spaced far apart.  As he
came nearer to the clearing, their appearance was more frequent.  And not
just a single item at a time.  Two or even three would materialise out of
the darkness, dropped in a heap on the ground.  One pile included a man’s
shirt and a skirt.  He didn’t stop to examine the underwear that peeked
out from between the two garments.  The quantity of clothes struck him as
odd too.  Certainly there were more there than his parents, brother and
sister could have brought with them on their own.  Not unless they had
each decided to slip on multiple items of clothing.  He lost count of the
pairs of trousers he’d seen, and the dresses and skirts, not to mention the
wide and varied range of underwear.

They were in the clearing.  He knew the clearing
well.  It was a safe place to come if you wanted to play.  Some older
lads had set up a rope swing to one side.  They’d tied a section of branch
to the bottom of it.  Depending on how brave you were, you could use it to
sit on, legs either side of the rope, or you could stand on it.  There was
a hollow in the ground over there, so you could climb on to the branch easily,
then launch yourself out into space.  It gave a sense of danger, but you
knew you were safe really.  Martin had spent hours up here.  Using
the swing, making dens, playing hide and seek.  Sometimes he came with his
mates, but he was just as happy up here on his own.  Firing make-believe
guns at make-believe bad guys.  He was the Lone Ranger or Robin
Hood.  But, like any other little boy, always the hero.

He didn’t feel heroic now.  Creeping through the woods,
his only illumination coming from the fire in the clearing.  And around
the fire were others.

In the bedroom of the farmhouse, he flinched as he
recognised Mrs Payne.  She and her husband had moved to the village a year
or so earlier to take over the Post Office.  He didn’t know how old she
was.  When you’re eight, everyone over the age of twenty is old.  So
seeing her naked had come as a shock.  She was standing apart from the
others, swaying gently as if she was listening to music, her hands were gently
caressing her breasts and stomach.  Another figure came into view. 
It was a man.  He reached out and cupped one of her breasts in his hand,
then squeezed it.  As he turned, Martin recognised Mr Salthouse, who
worked on one of the other farms in the village.  Mrs Payne reached down
with one of her hands.  Martin followed the movement with his eyes and was
astonished to see Mr Salthouse’s erection.  He hadn’t realised that could
happen.  Mrs Payne began to stroke it.

Movement to the left caught Martin’s eye, and he looked
over, grateful that he didn’t have to watch any more of that.  He didn’t
know what was happening, but it didn’t seem right, whatever it was.

Without realising, he had continued to move towards the
clearing, even as he felt stunned at what he’d seen the postmistress
doing.  It was by moving forwards that the others had come into his line
of vision.  He had a relatively unobstructed view of the clearing now, and
could see that there were easily more than twenty people in it.  Almost
all were naked.  Every face he saw was a familiar one from the village. 
There were others there whose faces were concealed from him, either looking in
another direction, or because they were lying down.  The lying down was
disturbing to him.  Because they weren’t lying on their own.  And in
reality, they weren’t just lying.  They were moving, rhythmically, parts
of them rising and falling.  He felt ill.  A heavy ball was growing
in his stomach, a weight that he would only come to understand twenty five
years later.  Fear and horror combined.

Overhead, the trees rustled in the light breeze.  And
something else rustled as well.  The birds he had seen over the past few
days.  Gathered together now to watch their master at work.

His father was standing next to the only stranger in the
group.  Martin knew him now.  Patrick’s face was a picture of torment
as the Raven spoke to him.  From this distance, Martin couldn’t hear a
word, but his father’s expression told him enough.  His cheeks glistened,
though whether it was sweat or tears Martin couldn’t tell.  The pair of
them looked to the side, and Martin followed their gaze.  With a jolt, he
realised his mum was lying on the ground.  He could see her face because
her head had been propped up somehow.  Her feet were pointed towards him,
legs apart.  He saw two pairs of hands on her body...  God!  He
couldn’t bring himself to think about it even now, a quarter of a century
later.  She turned her head to one side, and he saw another erection was
close to her face.

“Brazen,” the voice cut through his thoughts.  “Just
like your mother.”

Martin was rigid.  The horror of what he’d just
replayed to himself.  He didn’t remember that from the dream.  There
was no doubt in his mind that what he’d just seen had really happened.  He
felt anger towards his mother. 
How could she do that?
  She was
always so prim and proper, and there she had been...  The thought didn’t
bear completion.  He also felt angry towards the Raven.  His sneering
voice goaded him, forcing him to confront the memories from the past.  He
wanted to lash out, to punch and kick the bastard until his head was nothing
more than pulp.  But he knew he wouldn’t be able to get close to
him.  Even as his attention turned to Ian and Tanya, taunting them, Martin
sensed the creature’s power.  The frustration at his own impotence burned
inside him.

Thankfully the images had dissolved, interrupted by the
Raven’s voice as he poked and prodded Ian with his words.  Martin tried to
focus on what he was saying.  Not because he wanted to hear it, but to
distract himself from the conflicting emotions that raged inside him. 
Because the scene he’d just recalled was all the more terrible when he thought
of how badly his mother had treated him as a child.  He’d been pushed
aside, especially after Colin was born.  Pushed aside, but not forgotten. 
Deliberately avoided.  Was it so she could focus on her other needs?

For more years than he could remember, he had pretended that
he was hardened to it, that he didn’t care.  But a child’s rejection by
his parents does affect him, and the pain never goes away.

“She has used you,” he heard.  “She deserves to pay for
what she has done.”

The words were about Tanya, but they felt so relevant to his
mother.  
Yes she does
, he thought. 
And so do the rest of
them.
  He had come home because he felt the dream was calling
him.  But he’d also hoped there could be some reconciliation.  Now he
knew the only thing that would give him satisfaction was revenge. 
Ostracised and abandoned, his departure greeted with indifference, that was no
way to treat your own child.  He deserved better than that. 
Especially from a whore and a husband who stood by and let her get on with it.

“You might as well give in to it.”

Again the words were aimed at Ian, but Martin accepted them
himself.  It was time to do what he should have done years ago.  His
rage was becoming a steely determination to make his family pay for the pain
they’d caused him.  Each and every one of them.

Then Ian was pushing past him and shouting at the Raven, the
shove breaking Martin’s train of thought for a moment.  He didn’t really
care
any more
what happened here.  Tanya and Ian
weren’t his problem.  He just wanted to get out and pay a visit to the
family cottage.  Even the sight of Ian flying backwards as if he’d been
picked up and thrown by an invisible giant didn’t affect his dedication to the
job he wanted to complete.

He stepped forward, and the Raven’s head snapped in his
direction.  Martin stopped.  For some reason, he’d assumed the Raven
would sense his purpose and would support it.  After all, he was here to
cause chaos and mayhem.  Anything Martin had planned would only add to
that.  But the dark eyes glittered with hatred and malevolence, his
expression leaving Martin in no doubt that he had better remain where he was.

Behind him, he heard a series of thuds as Ian’s body landed
on the floor.

Apparently satisfied that Martin wasn’t going anywhere, the
Raven returned his gaze to a point on the other side of the room.

“Do not bother with him.”  Although he hadn’t been
aware of any other movement, Martin realised Tanya must be with Ian.  He
didn’t look back to confirm it.  Instead, he remained focused on the
Raven.  “He will be dead soon enough.  As will you be.”  The
long dark hair swayed slightly as he turned his head to look back at Martin. 
“As will your family, Mr Gates.  Tonight we will finish what we started.”

Martin opened his mouth to speak.  Part of him wanted
to protest.  He wanted to deal with his family.  To let someone else
kill them would only deprive him of the opportunity he was craving.  But
another part of him wanted to know what the Raven meant.  What had been
started that needed finishing?

As he hesitated, uncertain which of these ideas needed to be
vocalised first, there was a crashing noise from downstairs, followed by the
sound of excited voices.

Adam had parked the Land Rover a quarter of a mile down the
track.  Its dark green paintwork blended well with the trees he’d pulled
in between.  From there, they’d continued on foot until they were within
sight of the farmhouse yard.  Then Collins was on his own.  Claire
had made it very clear on the ride over that they would only step in as a last
resort.  And bearing in mind that she had previously indicated his life
might have to be sacrificed, he couldn’t help wondering just how bad things
would have to be for them to consider it necessary to show themselves.

True to her word, Claire had told him very little.  If
anything, he felt there were even more pieces missing from the jigsaw than he’d
previously thought.  And there was a major credibility gap.  As a man
who dealt in facts and evidence, her claim that they had just returned from
France when he saw them emerge from the barn seemed far-fetched.  Sure
enough, it had been empty when he had been in there only minutes earlier, but
that didn’t mean to say that he hadn’t overlooked some hidden door or hatch
that might have led to a basement of some kind.

She admitted her reluctance to reveal this to him on the
basis that she didn’t think he’d believe her.  But then she’d gone on to
say that the presence of a portal – she’d actually used that word – in the barn
was nothing compared to the supernatural powers possessed by the man who had
stolen the bomb.

At which point he’d wanted to know how she was aware of the
bomb.  More had been revealed.  The fact that they’d asked Martin to
help them and, when he found the stolen van, they’d gone to
Forest Farm
to
inspect it before the police had been called.  And that Ian had been to
visit them with an update after returning from the police station that
afternoon.  That surprised him.  Of the three people he’d interviewed
today, Ian McLean seemed like the most trustworthy.  He would have been
the last person he’d have expected to pass on everything he’d learned during
the course of the day.

It was Ian’s visit that had prompted them to return to the
Refuge – whatever that was.  They had reported everything they’d learned
and sought guidance from their colleagues.  Not that she’d disclosed what
that guidance was to Collins.  Instead she’d tried to impress upon him how
important it was to be wary of the man they called the Raven.

The yard was barely illuminated.  Cracks of light from
behind curtains added almost as much as the dim glow from the lamp outside the
kitchen door.  Shadows shifted under a low breeze.  Beyond the house
itself, there was more light.  It seemed to be coming from the direction
of the old barn where they’d found the van.  That was at odds with his own
understanding of the Army’s game plan.  He’d been led to believe they were
going to leave a small force there.  But, on the off-chance that the
people responsible might come back, that force was going to be discreet. 
They didn’t want to scare them off.  The brightness of the lights
suggested they’d given up on that idea.

He decided he’d be better off if he was close to the
house.  If anyone was to suddenly appear, he would be less visible
there.    As he moved diagonally across the yard in that
direction, he heard a rustling noise above him, and looked up.  Along the
rooftop he could see the silhouettes of what looked to be dozens of birds.

The
McLeans
’ vehicles were parked
on the other side of the back door.  Their shapes weren’t very clearly
defined, but well enough for him to know he was unlikely to bump into
them.  He made his way along the wall until he reached the kitchen
door.  The window was a couple of feet beyond, and a subdued glow around
the edge of the curtains told him the light was on.  He waited, watching
carefully for any sign of movement inside.  A minute passed very
slowly.  The second minute went slower still.  He knew that might
still not be long enough, but he was impatient to move on.

Taking the door handle gently in his hand, he turned it
slowly, careful not to make a sound.  Though as he eased the door open, he
did wonder why he’d bothered to be so cautious.