Broken Arrow

of those lunatics.'

Tate put down his cup and took the paper, casting his eyes over the symbol. It was an inverted pentangle within a circle. There were markings around the outside of the ring, and at the tips of the cross: some kind of lettering. Inside the pentangle was an inverted cross. 'These people are Satanists, Robert.'

'Yeah, I kind of got that.'

Tate tapped the paper. 'This is a variation on The Sigil of Baphomet, which used to be used by the Official Church of Satan back before The Cull. The symbol of Baphomet was also used by the Knights Templar to represent Satan. It was known as The Black Goat, The Goat of Mendes, The Judas Goat, The Goat of a Thousand Young and The Scapegoat. That particular sign had a picture of a horned goat in the middle of the pentangle, whereas this has an inverted cross — which is actually the Cross of St Peter, a common mistake made by those practising this kind of thing. St Peter was crucified upside down, you see…'

'I see I've come to the right person.'

'They've done something else to the symbol, though,' Tate continued. 'Usually there are two circles around the pentangle, and between those, at the edge of each point, there's a letter in Hebrew which, when brought together, spell LVTHN anticlockwise.'

'I don't follow,' said Robert, his brow furrowing.

'Leviathan, my son. The Horned One. The Devil. Here, though, the letters are reversed Latin.'

'What do they spell?'

'Well, the outer five spell MRNIG.'

'What the Hell is that supposed to mean?'

'Probably exactly that. Because if you look at it in conjunction with the letters around the cross as well…'

'Go on.'

'Those spell STAR.'

Robert shrugged. 'Still not getting it.'

'Morningstar? Lucifer. The Fallen Angel.'

'Oh God…'

'Quite the opposite.' Tate let out a long, slow breath. The headache was worsening by the second. He was about to pick up his tea again, but his hand wavered as if something had suddenly struck him. 'Did you say these men were killing people?'

Robert nodded, then rubbed his bruised jaw. 'It's how I got this. They were after a young woman in York, and if we hadn't been there…'

'Then it's even more serious than I thought.'

'Isn't it serious enough?'

Tate gripped the side of the table with one hand, and pointed at Robert with the other. 'If they're killing, sacrificing, then there can only be one reason.'

'They enjoy it?'

'They're attempting to raise Him.'

Robert looked at Tate sideways. 'Come on! Satan? You're telling me they're trying to conjure him up or something? That's ridiculous.'

'No more ridiculous than our Lord Jesus Christ coming back from the dead. They want him to appear in the flesh, Robert. After all, hasn't this world been called by many a Hell on Earth? Wouldn't He be right at home here?'

'You don't seriously believe that.'

Tate held up his hand. 'What I believe is irrelevant, they believe it. And they will carry on executing people until He appears.'

'Then what will they do?'

'Anything He tells them to. He's their master.'

There was silence for a few minutes, during which Robert looked down at the table. 'They have to be stopped. Regardless of what they think is going to happen, I can't just let them carry on.'

'I know,' replied Tate.

He studied the Reverend. 'Will you come back with me to the castle? I could really use your insight.'

Tate breathed out wearily before answering. 'When God calls me, I must answer.'

Robert thanked him and got up, leaving the cottage to fetch his horse. They would set off immediately for Nottingham. Gwen came back into the room when she heard the door slam. She was still cradling Clive Jr in her arms.

'Don't bother to explain. I heard everything.'

'You were listening?' Tate was more than a little surprised.

'Of course. I can't stand to be around that man, but I wanted to know what was going on. Seems I was right all along about another threat coming.' Gwen fixed Tate with a stare. 'Still think Robert and his men can protect us?'

'As I said before, my child, I know he will try.'

'And you will help him?'

'I will.'

'Then I wish you all the luck in the world,' Gwen said, before walking out again.

'And I,' whispered Tate, his eyes trailing her as she disappeared, 'pray that God might deliver you from this darkness.' Whether he meant the darkness of the conflicts to come, the Morningstar cult and whatever waited for him at the Castle, or the darkness inside Gwen's own soul, not even Tate knew for sure.

CHAPTER SIX

The blade swished as it whipped past his ear, narrowly missing his head.

He rolled out of the way then leapt up to avoid another stroke, beneath him this time. Landing badly, he toppled to one side — recovering just quick enough to fall backwards when he saw the blade about to run him through. He hit the ground hard, emptying his lungs. Laying there, sucking in a deep breath, he saw a shadow fall over him.

Then the blade was at his throat.

If it had been a real sword, he'd be dead by now. As it was all he'd suffered were a couple of splinters in his neck.

A hand reached down and he took it, felt himself being hauled to his feet. The man standing opposite Mark said nothing, merely gestured that he was ready to go again if the boy was. Mark nodded to the dark-skinned soldier, his sparring partner today. Mark didn't know Azhar all that well, but the man wielded a sword like he'd been born with it in his hand. Jack had left Mark to 'do battle' with him over an hour ago, and as he now watched the man spin the sword Mark wished his tutor had at least given him a weapon to fight back with.

Azhar swung again, the wood clipping Mark's left shoulder. He let out a yelp, hopping back out of its way. He didn't stay there for long though, because his opponent was already moving forward, jabbing for his ribs. 'Hey, watchit!' Mark cried when the tip poked him hard in the side. He had to react fast, as the wood flashed past his face. Now that one really would have hurt!

Azhar's feet were a blur as he positioned himself in front of Mark, preparing to swing the sword again. Mark dived beneath the next sweep, running at Azhar to try and shove him off balance. The man easily side-stepped the boy's attack, causing Mark to dive head-first at the ground. He came skidding to a stop on the slushy snow of the Middle Bailey field, where a pair of size 15 boots were waiting.

'Very impressive, kid. The old sliding on the snow manoeuvre.' Mark cast his eyes upwards to see Jack standing there, leaning on his staff and chuckling. He helped him to his feet, then brushed the snow roughly from the front of his jacket.

'It's not funny,' said Mark. 'And it's not fair, either. How come he gets a sword and I don't?'

'You think you're always going to have a weapon to hand?' Jack shook his head. 'Uh-uh. Nope. But your