'Very tasty.'
— so everyone's immune system was low, particularly those who were close to the Nor' Loch, like the residents of Mary King's Close-which is why they suffered particularly badly when the plague came.' Church traced his finger along the tiny print of the book. 'There was a nearby village called Restalrig, which has been swallowed up by the city now. Next to Restalrig's church was a natural spring which was a major source of clean water during the plague years.'
'So that's the place that gave succour to the plague victims.'
'Sounds like it.'
'Now there was a stone surround to the spring and when they decided to build a railway depot on the site in 1860 they moved it to another natural spring. At the foot of Arthur's Seat.'
'We saw it!' Laura exclaimed. 'When we drove past on our way to the top. There was a grille and a big pile of stone shit set in the hillside-'
Church grinned triumphantly. 'That's the way in. A natural spring which was always seen as somewhere sacred, probably because it was a potent source of the earth energy-' They were distracted by a faint sound.
Laura looked round anxiously. 'What was that?'
Church silenced her. Nothing moved in his field of vision across the library. No sound came through the windows from the normally bustling Old Town. Cautiously he moved forward, motioning to Laura to investigate one side of the library while he looked down the other.
He soon lost sight of Laura among the stacks. Although he could feel on some instinctive level they were not alone, there was no sign of anyone else in the building with them.
He'd got to the edge of the stack dedicated to religion when he heard Laura cry out. He sprinted across the library to find her slumped against the wall in a daze, her eyes flickering with fear as they focused on some inner landscape.
'The black wolf,' she said, as if she were drugged. 'He looked at me. And his eyes were yellow.'
Once Church was sure she was physically unharmed he quickly turned his attention back to the room. It was still empty, but there was an increasing air of tension; someone was definitely nearby.
'Don't worry,' he whispered distractedly, 'it'll be okay.'
'No,' Laura said forcefully. 'It's the Black Wolf.' The fear surged up in her; she covered her face with her hands.
Church moved on. The stacks rose on all sides; the interloper could be round any corner. His attention was drawn to a door away to his right which seemed to be moving gently; it might have been simply the result of an air current. Holding his breath almost involuntarily, he approached. The movement of the door stilled. Apprehensively, he reached out for the handle.
The door crashed against him, forcing a yell of surprise. Before he could recover, boney fingers were clamped around his wrist, wrenching him towards the gap. Through the shock Church registered the bizarre sight of what appeared to be tracings of black veins against parchment-white skin. By the time he reacted, his hand was already through the gap and the door had been yanked back sharply against his forearm. He cursed loudly and struggled to drag his hand back, but it was held tight.
'One for the unified force of my anger. And one for revenge.' Church's blood ran cold. The voice was barely human; it was like hot tar bubbling in a pit. 'And five is the number of my despair. Each digit a catechism in the ritual of salvation. A symbolic death to be followed by a real one.'
A new pain, harsh and focused, erupted in Church's hand. With horror, he felt the skin of his middle finger break open, the blood start to trickle down into his palm.
He's trying to cut it off! The terrible thought burst in his mind, and with it came the certain knowledge that this was the one who had mutilated and abducted Ruth.
He wrenched at his hand with increasing desperation, but it was pinned with an inhuman strength. And the blade bit deeper. Red hot needles danced across his skin. His forehead felt like it was on fire, his vision fracturing around the edges as he started to black out.
No, he pleaded with himself.
It felt like the blade was down to the bone now. His head started to spin, his knees grew weak.
Somehow he found an extra reserve of strength to give one last pull, but it was not enough. Just as he started to lose consciousness, arms folded around him, adding to his strength. Laura set her heels and heaved and somehow he found the will to join in. His wrist felt like it was going to snap, his arm like it was popping from its socket.
But then something gave and he found himself flying backwards. He landed on the floor several feet back, with Laura pinned beneath him.
'You big bastard,' she gasped.
Desperately he rolled off her and pulled out his handkerchief to stem the flow of blood. The cloth was soaked crimson within seconds, but the blood slowed enough for him to tie it tight.
Laura was anxiously watching the door which had swung shut. 'I think they've gone,' she ventured. Then: 'What was that?'
'I don't know.' Church still felt nauseous at the memory of the voice. It had sounded like something from The Exorcist. Fighting off the rolling waves of pain that were rising up his arm, he moved forward cautiously and pulled open the door. There was no one on the other side. Splatters of his own blood, that had run off his attacker, marked a trail out of the building.
'Whatever it was, it's not going to be satisfied until it's had us all,' he said.
'I need my fingers. They're a lonely girl's best friend.' Although she was trying to make light, there was no humour in her words. 'Come on, we've got to get some stitches in that.'
In spite of having found their next step forward, their confidence had ebbed as they made their way up the street from the library. Apprehension almost prevented them crossing the Royal Mile, with its clear vista from the imposing bulk of the castle at the top, but they pulled themselves together enough to continue towards the worrying darkness of Advocate's Close.
Halfway across the road Laura caught at Church's sleeve and whispered, 'Look at that.'
Above the castle, grey clouds were roiling unnaturally, unfolding from the very stone of the place, rolling out across the Old Town. Within seconds the hot summer sun was obscured. The temperature dropped rapidly and Church felt the sting of snow in the cold wind.
They raised their faces up to stare at the dark skies, suddenly shivering in the heart of winter.
Chapter Six
Dawn came up over Calton Hill like gold and brass. Summer heat quickly dispelled the cool of the night, and the air was soon filled with the chorus of waking songbirds and the aroma of wild flowers. Amongst the treetops that clustered to the southwest side of the hill, tiny figures danced and swooped on the warm currents, their gossamer wings sparkling in the sun's first rays.
For Veitch, it was a transcendent moment that pointed up the hollowness of the world before the change. His hard face softened as he followed the winged creatures' magical trail; the tension eased from his muscles. His smile transformed him into the kind of man he might have been if he hadn't grown up at a certain time in a certain place, trapped by destiny, punished by reality for no crime apart from existing.
And Shavi watched Veitch, and he too smiled. And the others looked to Shavi and felt the genuine warmth and hope he exuded, even in the darkest moments. It was he who had suggested the ritual to greet the sun as a way of marking the next phase of their life, and as a memory of something good to carry with them into dark places. Tom had helped out with the details of the ancient rite which had been carried out at the stone circles in the long- forgotten days, and they had chosen Calton Hill, where every year Edinburgh residents gathered for a pagan rite of seasonal renewal on Beltane. It was the place, it was the time.
And there, in the aftermath, they all felt stronger and they could turn their eyes away from the still-sleeping,
