amongst the trees.
They paused on the edge of the circle, which Crowther defined with a wave of his hand. 'These are known as The King's Men.' He turned and pointed in the direction of the stone now hidden behind the hedge across the road. 'The King Stone.' And then away across the fields to the east, where they could just make out four upright stones and one fallen. 'The remains of a chambered long barrow, now known as the Whispering Knights. Legend says they are a king and his knights turned to stone by a witch. Some of the locals say the stones come alive at midnight, performing strange ritual dances… they even go down to Little Rollright Spinney over there to get a drink. Stories like that are one of the hidden sources of information I spoke of earlier. The suggestion of transformation and magic tells me the ancients believed this place had a special power — that's what we need to tap into, the reason why we're here.'
Caitlin expected Mahalia to make some sneering comment, but the girl remained on edge and watchful.
'I'm not sure I like it here,' Caitlin said.
'You're responding to the atmosphere. This is a special place,' Crowther replied.
'What do you mean?'
'It has a unique ambience, a confluence of subtle alterations to the quality of the light, the scents of the vegetation, the temperature… and on an unseen level, patterns of background radiation, ultrasound, anomalous radio signals. What you're feeling is the shock of a new experience. It's quite… destabilising. You'll get used to it.'
Mahalia didn't look convinced. She put her arm around Carlton again and led him away to one side where she whispered to him insistently, flashing occasional urgent glances at Caitlin.
Crowther moved to the tallest of the nearby stones and held out one hand, as if to touch it. But then he hesitated, as if he were about to plunge his hand into water that could be freezing cold or boiling hot. He steeled himself, then clamped his palm on the surface before smiling. 'Power, you see. Infused in every molecule.'
'What kind of power?' Caitlin asked.
'Ah, that's the question. Something science never quite got to grips with. This place is like a battery… no, like a node on some national energy grid.' He removed his hat and leaned forward until his forehead was gently touching the cool rock. 'There was a research group called the Dragon Project working here in the late seventies, early eighties, looking into the notion of some kind of telluric energy — earth energy. Airy-fairy, you might say.' He laughed. 'New Age nonsense. But then a Geiger counter picked up sudden surges of radiation, something that only seemed to happen at megalithic sites. And then they found pulses of ultrasound, strange radio signals, short bursts, like a homing beacon. They never did get to the bottom of it.'
Caitlin realised that Crowther was right: she was starting to feel better, attuning herself to the subtle energies of the place. The chattering voices had quietened, and an abiding peace rose in her heart. She breathed deeply, tasting the trees and grass and rock. But there was still memory, tugging her back. 'How long have we got?' she said.
Crowther looked at the sky, an ages-old shaman divining the wind and clouds. 'Not as much time as I'd like.'
'You don't think the Whisperers will leave us alone?'
'No. Do you?' He eyed her cautiously before deciding not to let it spoil his mood. 'It's going to be a lovely day. Make the most of it.' The morning passed slowly. They lit a fire on rough ground beyond the hut and cooked up a meal of eggs and herbs, stolen by Mahalia from a farm they had passed during the night. Caitlin's plea that they in some way pay for the produce had been cut short by the angry farmer and his sons chasing them furiously away.
The day was warmer than they could have expected for that time of year. Caitlin and Mahalia took turns keeping watch while Crowther busied himself with things he insisted were necessary for whatever ritualistic endeavour he had planned for sunset, though Caitlin was convinced he was simply trying to avoid doing any real work.
It was during her third watch in the early hours of the afternoon that Caitlin became entranced by sparkling lights high up in the trees. Just the pleasing play of sunlight in the branches, she thought, until she realised that the glimmering moved of its own accord. She watched the glitter trails with distracted curiosity, lost in the dreamy peace that had crept over her since she had become accustomed to the Rollrights' peculiar atmosphere. Even the sickening undertow of grief in the pit of her stomach had abated, and though she still thought of Liam and Grant every few moments, it was with the warm remembrance of happier times, not the sense of loss that physically hurt. Perhaps the lights were another manifestation of whatever caused the odd sound and radiation effects Crowther had mentioned earlier, she speculated.
But after five minutes, she realised with a growing sense of amazement that she could make out tiny forms at the heart of the lights — little people, with wings. The discovery filled her with a pure, innocent wonder that she had not experienced since she was a child. She watched them for a few more minutes until one appeared to notice her and swooped down. The figure hovered on gossamer wings, barely six inches high, its androgynous features incredibly beautiful. The skin itself exuded the golden light.
She reached out to it, but it always stayed a few inches away from her fingertips, examining her with a deep curiosity as if it was reading the depths of her mind. Eventually its puzzled face broke into a sympathetic smile and it dived forward to trace its fingers across her forehead before darting a few feet away. Its touch felt like the wings of a moth, but then a strange syrupy warmth flowed through Caitlin and in an instant even the last vestige of her grief disappeared. The being's smile became broad and warm. It waved to her once, and then soared back up to rejoin its companions in the treetops.
Caitlin could barely believe what had happened. In a rush of excitement, she ran from her lookout to tell the others what had happened.
Crowther was nowhere to be found, but Mahalia and Carlton had just returned from an exploration of the surrounding countryside. She gushed out a description of the event, ending with a passionate admission: 'It cured me! Of my grief, I mean! I'm sure it'll be back… I know it will… but for now… amazing!'
Mahalia merely nodded and said, 'Good for you.'
'You're not surprised? I mean, I'm talking about, you know, fairies or something
The girl shrugged blithely. 'I've seen things. Anybody who goes out on the road has — in the countryside, the wild areas.'
Caitlin had a sudden true perspective of the girl's age; Mahalia acted so much older than she was. 'What happened to your family, Mahalia?'
'None of your business.' Caitlin didn't need to quiz her further to guess the true picture. She knew how bad things had been in the cities — the breakdown of communication and food supplies, the riots and looting. In some areas, she'd heard tell there had been death on a grand scale. They'd all thought society had been so strong, but in the end it was as fragile as a human life.
As they made their way back to the campfire, Caitlin asked, 'Why are you coming with us? You know it could be dangerous.'
Mahalia's laugh was so bitter, Caitlin winced. The girl pulled her jacket to one side to reveal a harness of belts she'd strung together herself. It held various weapons — knives, straight razors, screwdrivers and other things that looked home-made but nonetheless lethal. 'You haven't seen what it's like out there.'
'No, I haven't. But I can guess…'
'No, you can't. Nobody could, because everyone had been fooled into thinking we're all such cosy, caring people. But take away a few home comforts and the truth really comes out.'
'I know some people-' Caitlin began in disagreement.
Mahalia laughed again. 'Listen up. I'd been hiding out in the country but couldn't find any food during that first winter, so I went into Southampton. Big mistake. All the rich folk had built a nice little compound where they'd stockpiled food and they'd found enough shotguns to keep everyone else out. The poor were left to fend for themselves in the city centre. And that's just what they did. There were gangs — young, old, black, white — all fighting for their bit of turf. They didn't care what was going on in the rest of the world, they didn't care about decency, they just cared about getting through the day. That's what happens when it comes down to survival. You'll do anything just to stay alive.'
'No…' 'Yes! I got picked up by some creepy old guy the first time I wandered in begging for food. He hit me round the back of the head with a lump of wood and dragged me back to his place, locked me in the attic with a
