‘Why have we driven halfway across Europe?’ Miller continued. ‘What are we doing in Greece? Where are we?’
Veitch sighed. ‘Village down there is Myloi. They reckon Pythagoras used to have a mansion here … walked around the streets doing his studies and everything.’ He eyed Ruth slyly, but she showed absolutely no interest in his attempt at perspicacity.
‘But why-’ Miller whined until Veitch’s cold look cut him short.
‘Time’s running out. I’m not really what you’d call patient, but that ticking clock is making me worse. So I’ll say this once: don’t piss me off, either of you. We’re here because we’re going to my favourite holiday resort.’
‘Kalamata?’ Miller ventured.
‘The Land of the Dead.’
His mouth gaping, Miller tried to read Veitch’s face, then returned to his sullen grass-plucking.
A lazy, heady peace lay over the still countryside. Ruth enjoyed the sun on her face after being bundled up in the suffocating boot all the way down into the Peloponnese, with only the occasional stop on isolated back roads where she was allowed to stretch her legs. She’d been plotting different ways to break free, but Veitch was clever and no opportunity ever arose. The longer the journey continued, the more she feared for her safety. She recalled Church describing all the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons that Veitch had brutally murdered over the years. Quite why he was taking his time over her she wasn’t sure, but sooner or later her moment would come.
He had been right about one thing: her control of the Craft was growing stronger. Her attempt to use the Craft in Oslo had drained her completely, and the iniquities and exhaustion brought on by her captivity had made it difficult to focus and concentrate. But it felt as if it was built into the architecture of her mind, and as soon as she fully understood the pattern of it she would be able to utilise it to its fullest. All she needed was time.
‘What’s that?’ Miller startled her out of her thoughts. He was on his feet, pointing into the trees down the slope towards the village.
Veitch was beside him in an instant, alert and threatening.
‘I couldn’t tell if it was a man, or an animal, or a bit of both. It was watching us. You think I’m mad, don’t you?’
‘You’re not playing with a full deck, mate, that’s for sure, but I’ve seen enough weird shit not to dismiss something like that.’ He looked round at Ruth uneasily. ‘I should stick you back in the boot while I check this out.’
‘Let her stay out longer,’ Miller pleaded. ‘She must be going insane in there all that way.’
‘I don’t trust her or you. Frankly, I don’t trust anyone.’ He looked down the dusty road. ‘When are Etain and the others coming back?’ he muttered irritably to himself before appearing to make up his mind. He grabbed another length of rope from the car and tied Ruth’s wrist bonds to the bumper. ‘That’ll hold. All right, you’re coming with me,’ he said to Miller.
He set off down the slope. Miller hesitated for a second before scuttling over to Ruth. He slipped something into her hand before smiling weakly and hurrying after Veitch. It was a Swiss Army knife.
Ruth’s muscles ached from too many hours tied up in the boot of the car, but she feverishly opened the knife and struggled to work the blade against the rope at her wrist. It was slow, and difficult, and within moments blood was flowing from numerous cuts. Anxiously, she watched Veitch and Miller clamber over rocks as they made their way down to the tree-line.
After the third time she dropped the knife, frustration set in. It always looked so easy when she saw it on film. She could tell from Veitch’s body language that he could see nothing in the trees, and soon he would be making his way back. She’d never cut the rope in time. Tears of anger burned her eyes.
But just as Veitch turned to make his way back up the slope, there was a sensation like a shadow falling across the land. Ruth had the briefest notion of the sky turning black, and then of a sapphire snake moving sinuously towards her across the ground.
And then a face filled her whole vision, so close she could only get an impression of it — part animal, part human, but with blazing eyes that were filled with a disturbing madness, and a smile that suggested uncontrolled sexuality. And then she knew no more.
6
Veitch returned to the car to find Ruth gone. The blood-spattered Swiss Army knife lay in the dust next to the coil of rope from her wrists. Furiously, Veitch grabbed Miller by the collar and dragged him over to see, before cuffing him around the ears.
‘You left her that, didn’t you, you traitorous little toe-rag?’
Miller whimpered and shrank back. He was surprised when Veitch only gave him a rough shove.
‘Right. You help me find her. Up that way.’ Veitch pointed along the road in the direction they had travelled earlier. He turned in the opposite direction.
‘Wait.’ Miller picked up the coil of rope. ‘This hasn’t been cut.’
‘Stop lying. There’s no way she could have got free from those knots.’ Veitch examined the rope only to see that Miller was right. ‘All right,’ he said slowly, ‘this is fucking weird.’
7
A scarlet sun hung hot and heavy in the black sky. Ruth walked along the main street of Myloi with a sound like the sea in her ears. Next to the low, white-walled village school stood a tomb, reeking of age, and on either side a labyrinth of alleys ran off into shadows. There was a coffee shop with the steam still rising from the gleaming machines behind the counter, and a bar with a bottle of ouzo on the table nearest the door, and shops selling olives and dried meats. But there were no people anywhere.
Somnambulantly, she took in every detail without contemplating the strangeness of it all. She was there, and there was no other place she should be.
In the middle of the road stood a large bull with eyes that mirrored the sun. It snorted a blast of hot air and dragged a lazy hoof in an unthreatening manner. Ruth came to a halt before it.
‘Listen,’ the bull said, ‘can you hear the music?’
And then Ruth could, the lilting tones of a flute floating down from the hillside somewhere ahead of her.
‘And look, there is ivy and wine,’ the bull continued. The houses and shops on either side were now festooned with ivy, and nestling amongst the leaves were large stone jars of wine. Ruth could smell its heady, fruity scent.
‘The season is turning once more. New shoots of growth break through the hard ground. And you, woman, tend to them with the serpents in your wake. The season is turning within you, too, but first what is hidden must be revealed.’
Ruth found herself swallowed up by the bull’s red eyes and realised that it was not a bull at all.
8
The afternoon was already drawing on when Ruth found herself sitting in the shade of a grove of olive trees on a hillside overlooking the village. Her head rang and her throat was dry. The details of her escape from the car and encounter with the bull were already fading like a dream, but the impressions remained at the back of her head, making her queasy with the sense of mysteries and secrets.
