Somehow… I don't know… I'm sick of all this vagueness.' He sighed. 'I need to contact the other side.'
Mary knew why there was such an edge to his voice. Such contacts had a cost, sometimes in a transfer of energy, sometimes in something much, much higher. After the first time, she had decided to avoid them. One other question struck her, and it was such a conundrum that she couldn't begin to find an answer. 'Why us?'
Crowther gave a bad-tempered shrug. 'I suppose we won the lottery.' The hot coals in the brazier sent out a dull heat that only dispelled the cold in a tiny circle in its immediate vicinity. Beyond, the Ice-Field rolled out immeasurably, consumed by the infinite blackness of a night where no stars twinkled. They sheltered in the nook of a small rock formation, the only feature on that flat, endless plain. It was crescent-shaped, barely twelve feet high but enough to keep the chilling wind at bay. Snow was frozen hard against it so that it glistened in the ruddy firelight.
Perched on a boulder beside the brazier, Caitlin shivered, her arms wrapped around her, not thinking, not feeling.
Amy stood beside her, tugging at Caitlin's sleeve. The little girl had a powerful innocence about her that made her appear brittle. She peered into the night with wide, frightened eyes. 'Something's coming,' she whimpered. 'It'll be here soon. Then we'll all pay.'
'Shut up!' The shrill voice came from a neurotic-looking woman in her late thirties, too thin and angular, her face bearing the mean expression of someone who felt they had suffered too much unnecessarily. Briony lit a cigarette and sucked in the smoke, her eyes watering. 'It doesn't do any good whining, you little brat.'
'Leave her alone. You know she's right.' Brigid was so old she appeared like a gnarled, wind-blasted tree, her bones barely holding on to her flesh. Her hair was a wild mane of white, knotted and greasy. 'We have to get her moving.' She nodded contemptuously towards Caitlin. 'That's the only hope.'
'You could let me out.'
They all grew rigid at the rasping voice. Slowly they turned to the dense area of shadow at the back of the shelter. In the deepest part of it, two red eyes burned.
Across the Ice-Field, the wind howled mercilessly. The night grew a shade darker. Mary jumped at the cry reverberating throughout the cottage. It contained physical pain, but also a soul-pain that filled her with dread. Crowther had retired to her bedroom to carry out whatever ritual he used to access the powers that gave him information. He had insisted on secrecy, though she had offered to help him keep the threats at bay.
He emerged ten minutes later, shaking and drawn as though he were suffering from some debilitating illness. Mary offered him a glass of whiskey, which he knocked back without thanks.
'Did it work?' she asked.
'After a fashion. As usual.' He steadied himself against a wall. She could see from his face that whatever he had learned had disturbed him greatly. 'What is it?' 'There's no cure for the plague in this world.' Her heart fell. 'No cure?' 'In this world.' The stress he gave to those words made her skin prickle. 'What are you getting at?' 'There's a place that exists side by side with ours… the ancient Celts called it Tir n'a n'Og-' 'The Otherworld,' Mary breathed. 'The place where the dead go. The Celts' land of their gods. The source of all supernatural influence, of dreams and imagination…' He was flushed, his breath short. 'It exists. The cure is there.' 'You believe what you were told? You know they don't always say what we think they say.' 'I know,' he snapped irritably. 'But this time I think it's right.' Mary sat on the sofa and covered her face wearily. The blackness of the depression she'd fought all her life was snapping at her heels. 'What are we supposed to do, then?' 'There are places where one can cross over.' She looked at him slowly as the implications began to dawn on her. 'Historically, they've always been known as thin places, where, if you know the right way to go about it, you can open doorways. The ancients understood this clearly. It's knowledge that's been lost to us, like so much of importance.' Crowther hauled himself to his feet. 'We can't stay here. Those riders… they want to stop us.' 'Why? Who are they?' He shrugged, gave his overcoat a shake before sweeping it on. 'I was simply told they were pursuing us.' Mary had difficulty coming to terms with her life suddenly taking a right-angled turn. But she understood obligation, and however apprehensive she felt, there was a job to do. 'Let me get some things together.'
'Not you.' Mary stopped and stared at him, puzzled. 'Just the girl, and me.'
'I thought you said you were led to me because I had a part to play?'
'You have. You've got to get that girl compos mentis… at least enough for me to travel with her.' He shook his hat, then put the soggy mess on with a grimace.
Mary couldn't explain why she felt uneasy, but so much was happening that she didn't have time to think. She dropped to her knees in front of the fire and took Caitlin's hand. It was so cold that at first Mary thought she'd died. Slowly, Caitlin stirred from her deep sleep.
'Come on, lovey. Come to me.'
Caitlin's lips moved in her dream state. Mary couldn't make out the words, but she thought she could just hear the susurration of different voices, the timbre and intonation changing as if Caitlin were holding an internal dialogue. It was so unnatural that it brought a chill to her spine.
'Caitlin,' she stressed. 'We need you here.'
'She won't go.' The voice was sharp, not Caitlin's at all.
Mary rocked back on her heels, shocked, before composing herself. 'Caitlin,' she said firmly. 'It's Mary. You have to come now.'
There was a brief silence and then Caitlin's eyes flickered open. Mary saw in them the Caitlin she knew. The young doctor leaned forward and covered her face. 'What's happening?' she said weakly. Then, 'Grant… Liam…' She started to cry silently. 'I know, I know.' Mary felt like her own heart was breaking as she hugged Caitlin to her. In recent months, Caitlin's family had almost filled that awful gap in Mary's life, that loss from all those years ago, when Mary proved what an awful person she was. Mary had taken such joy in seeing Caitlin with so much, knowing her friend was, despite the stress and the strains that arose from it, so fundamentally happy. It wasn't fair that Caitlin should have to suffer such a loss, someone who had always tried to do her best for other people. Not like herself, Mary thought; she had turned selfishness into a fine art.
'It's my fault,' Caitlin croaked to herself. 'If I'd been there for them- This is my punishment-'
'Don't say that.' Mary choked back her emotion. 'Don't you go blaming yourself. You're a good person… these things happen-'
When Caitlin looked up at her it was with eyes that Mary didn't recognise. 'I'm a doctor. I'm supposed to help people. And I couldn't help the most important people in my life.' She bit her lip until blood started to flow. 'The last time I spoke to Grant we were arguing. That was the last thing he'll remember… the last thing-'
'Hush now.' Mary stroked Caitlin's hair. Everything she said sounded so useless. How could any words make the slightest difference in a situation of such tragedy?
'I didn't even say goodbye to them. Now they'll never know… they'll never know… how I felt…'
'They know, honey. I'm sure they do. Wherever they are, they'll know your heart.'
Crowther watched all this impassively. Mary wondered how he could be so cold. Yet for the little she knew about him, she felt the inherent truth in what he had told her, about the warnings from beyond and the hope that there might be a cure somewhere for this damnable plague. Perhaps she was expressing the naivety of a child, but if Caitlin could be instrumental in bringing back a cure, her young friend might find some kind of salvation from the terrible thing she had experienced. For the next hour, Mary sat with Caitlin in her arms while the younger woman grieved quietly. Caitlin wasn't herself — at times her voice would change inexplicably, or her words become incomprehensible — but the depth of her feeling was unmistakable.
Finally Caitlin subsided into an aching silence.
Mary waited for a moment, not sure if she'd done enough, and then left Caitlin to her grief. Crowther hovered near the door. 'You be careful with her,' Mary cautioned. 'Remember what she's been through. Don't you dare hurt her.'
'I have no intention of hurting her,' Crowther said with irritation. 'She's of vital importance to what has to be done. Without her, there's no hope.'
It wasn't quite the reassurance Mary had wanted, but it would have to do. She turned and helped Caitlin to her feet. 'Listen, lovey, you've got to go with Professor Crowther now. He's going to take you somewhere safe.' Mary winced at the lie. 'Don't ask questions. Just do what he says until you're away from here. Do you understand?'
Caitlin nodded, lost to her grief, but at least once more the Caitlin that Mary knew. Mary wrapped her in an old anorak and led her to the door. Once Caitlin had stepped out into the night, Mary caught Crowther's arm. 'I don't
