And so the Tuatha De Danann were loose in the world, untrammeled by rules, free to torment and destroy creatures they considered less than nothing. And the companions, in their despair, feared they had helped bring about that which they had attempted to stop: the destruction of everything we had built here on Earth.
But life goes on, and hope always burns, and the companions, as we all know, did not give up. Forged by their experiences, they grew closer together, seeking strength in their very frail humanity.
Not even the radio announcement of martial law and the Government's tacit admission of impotence in the face of such unknown power could deter them. The Government, of course, had known all along what was happening; not exactly, I am sure, but certainly enough to convince them to stifle any media reports of the growing crisis. And so the people were left in the dark until the last, worst moment.
But I digress once again. This is not a story about politicians or soldiers, it is about everything that is good about the human soul. About hope, and faith, and a quest for meaning in a world floundering in darkness. Perhaps it will shine a light that illuminates the way ahead. New legends for a new age.
But now my eyes grow weak. Too much writing by flickering candle flame has taken its toll, and I dream of the time when we took for granted a burning lightbulb in every home. Yet there is much of the story still to tell: great battles, great loves, terror and wonder, intrigue and betrayal, sacrifice and death. But most of all, about what it means to be human.
James Watchman
Salisbury Cathedral
Year One NDA (New Dark Age)
A Prologue
May 2, 8 a.m.; above the English Channel:
'Somebody must have some idea what's going on.' Justin Fallow fiddled uncomfortably with the miniature spirit bottles on his tray as he watched the dismal expressions sported by the air stewardesses. It was amazing how little fluctuations in the smooth-running of life were more disturbing than the big shocks. Those looks were enough to tell him something fundamental had changed; he had never seen any of them without those perfectly balanced smiles of pearly teeth contained by glossy red lipstick.
'I wouldn't lose any sleep over it. Everything will be back to normal in a few days.' Colin Irvine stared vacuously out of the window at the fluffy white clouds. The reflection showed a craggy face and hollow cheeks that seemed older than his years. The trip to Paris had been better than expected; the business side tied up quickly, then two days of good food and fine wine, and one brisk night at a brothel. His head still felt fuzzy from the overindulgence and he would be happier if Justin shut up at least once before the plane landed.
'Well, I wish I had your optimism.' Fallow's public school accent was blurred by the alcohol and he was talking too loudly. He flicked back the fringe that kept falling over his eyes and snapped his chubby fingers to attract the attention of one of the stewardesses. 'Over here, please. Another vodka.'
'I like a drink as much as the next man, but I don't know how you can get through that lot at breakfast,' Irvine said, without taking his gaze away from the clouds.
Fallow slapped his belly. 'Constitution of a horse, old chap.' When the vodka arrived, he brushed the plastic glass to one side and gulped it straight from the bottle.
'Steady on, eh?' Irvine allowed himself a glance of distaste.
'But what if it isn't going to be sorted out in a few days?' Fallow drummed his fingers anxiously on the tray. 'You know, we have no idea what's going on, so how can we say? A sudden announcement that all air traffic is going to be grounded indefinitely doesn't exactly fill one with confidence, if you know what I mean. Now that sounds serious.'
'We were lucky to get the last flight out.'
'I mean, the country could be on its knees in days! How will business survive?' His startled expression suggested he had only just grasped the implications of his train of thought. 'Never mind your bog-standard business traveller who has to get around for meetings-they can muddle through with a few netcasts and conference calls in the short term. But what about import-export? The whole of the global economy relies on-'
'You don't have to tell me, Justin.'
'You can sit there being sniffy about it, but have you thought about what it means-?'
'It means we won't be able to get any bananas in the shops for a while and international mail will be a bastard. Thank God for the Internet.'
'I still think there's more to it than you think. To take such a drastic step… Trouble is, you can't trust those bastards in the Government to tell you anything important, whatever political stripe they are. Look at the mad cow thing. It's a wonder we're not all running around goggle-eyed, slavering at the mouth.'
'You obviously didn't look in the mirror last night-'
'This isn't funny. Go on, tell me why you're so calm. What could cause something like this?'
'Let me see, Justin.' Irvine began counting off his fingers. 'An impending strike by all international air traffic control which we haven't been told about for fear it causes a panic. You know how much pressure they've been under recently with the increase in the volume of flights. Or some virus has been loaded into the ATC system software. Or the Global Positioning Satellite has been hit by a meteorite so all the pilots are flying blind. Or all those intermittent power failures we've had recently have made it too risky until they find the cause. Or they've finally discovered that design glitch that's had planes dropping out of the skies like flies over the last few years.'
'I'd rather we didn't talk about this now, Colin.'
'Well, you started it.'
Justin sucked on his lower lip like a petulant schoolboy and then began to line up the miniature bottles in opposing forces. 'I suppose all the trolley dollies are worried they might be out of work,' he mused.
A crackle over the Tannoy heralded an announcement. 'This is your captain speaking. We anticipate arrival in Gatwick on schedule in twenty minutes. There may be a slight delay on the-' There was a sudden pause, a muffled voice in the background, and then the Tannoy snapped off.
Fallow looked up suspiciously. 'Now what's going on?'
'Will you calm down? Just because you're afraid of the worst happening doesn't mean it's going to.'
'And just because you're not afraid doesn't mean it isn't.' Fallow shifted in his seat uncomfortably, then glanced up and down the aisle.
What he saw baffled him at first. It was as if a ripple was moving down the plane towards him. The faces of the passengers looking out of the starboard side were changing, the blank expressions of people watching nothing in particular shedding one after the other as if choreographed. In that first fleeting instant of confusion, Fallow tried to read those countenances: was it shock, dismay, wonder? Was it horror?
And then he abruptly thought he should be searching for the source of whatever emotion it was, but before he had time to look, the plane banked wildly and dropped; his stomach was left behind and for one moment he thought he was going to vomit. But then the fear took over and it was as if his body were locked in stasis as he gripped the armrests until his knuckles were white. He forced his head into his lap. Screams filled the air, but they were distant, as though coming at him through water, and then he was obliquely aware he was screaming himself.
The plane was plummeting down so sharply vibrations were juddering through the whole fuselage; when it banked again at the last minute, the evasive action was so extreme Fallow feared the wings would be torn off. Then, bizarrely, the plane was soaring up at an angle that was just as acute. Fallow was pressed back into his seat until he felt he was on the verge of blacking out.
'It can't take much more of this punishment,' he choked.
Just as he was about to prepare himself for the whole plane coming apart in midair, it levelled off. Fallow burst out laughing in hysterical relief, then raged, 'What the fuck was that all about?'
Irvine pitched forward and threw up over the back of the seat in front; he tried to get his hand up to his mouth, but that only splattered the vomit over a wider area. Fallow cursed in disgust, but the trembling that racked
