Miller took Hunter from the giant's arms and staggered towards the well, his head reeling from the tremendous sense of well-being that rose up from it. As he rested Hunter on the small stone wall, he had a moment to reflect on the irony of the situation — death giving life to the dying — and then he placed one hand on Hunter's chest and thrust the other into the aurora of sapphire light. His instant invigoration was overcome by the sensation of the currents of power moving through him. The cold touch of the giant in his head disappeared, and in its place he heard warm whispers; though he couldn't make out the words, he felt reassured and at peace. He looked down into the brilliant light and thought he saw things swimming there, deep down; whatever they were, they uplifted him too.
Hunter spasmed and coughed, and slowly the pale-blue tinge of his skin flushed a healthy pink. His eyes flickering open, he looked into Miller's face.
'Hunter — you're going to be okay.'
Hunter's lips moved so weakly that Miller couldn't hear what he was saying. He pressed his ear close.
'I said, 'Bring me wine and a woman. I've got some catching up to do.' '
3
The warm midsummer night was filled with the exuberance of the feast, but Ruth pushed her way through the revellers with mounting frustration. 'We're never going to find Rachel in this chaos,' she said. The campfires blazing amongst the makeshift huts only illuminated the milling bodies, and beyond their light the shadows were deep.
'I do not understand why she is of any interest to the Enemy now,' Shavi replied. 'In the Far Lands, yes — she was the key to our returning here, but now?'
'I don't even get why they wanted to stop us coming home,' Veitch said. 'You'd think they'd be happy with us running away.'
Tom muttered something acerbic under his breath.
Shavi came to a halt when he saw Laura was falling behind. 'Keep up. In this crowd it will take all night to find you if you get lost.'
Laura smiled, didn't reply.
With an exclamation of irritation, Ruth stopped outside a roundhouse. 'Keep watch outside,' she said at the doorway. 'I'm going to fly.'
Puzzled, Shavi began, 'But you do not have any of the balms… and the ritual takes-'
'I don't need any of that here.' Her eyes blazed.
'You need any help?' Veitch said hesitantly.
Ruth smiled. 'I'll be fine. Just watch over my body. I don't want the Enemy attacking it while I'm out of it.'
In the cool of the roundhouse, she sat cross-legged against one wall and closed her eyes, letting her breathing become measured as the sounds of the revelry receded. Reaching deep inside herself, she became still, concentrated, focused. She was surprised, and a little scared, by how easy it was becoming to use the Craft. When she was being tortured in the Court of Endless Horizons, she had put her ability to fly down to the pain and the fear disengaging her mind. But now she knew the truth: she was getting stronger; she was getting better.
But the power was seductive. Once before it had almost consumed her; could she control it now, even though she was older, wiser, honed by experience?
She reached down even further, through her body and into the earth where she could feel the gentle, reassuring pulse of the Blue Fire. Her fears faded, and were supplanted by the rightness of what she was doing. In the cool cavern of her mind, the primal sanctuary of the human against the terrifying dangers of the unknown beyond, she envisaged the symbol that had come to represent both the Ritual of Flight and a word of power; it was a blazing blue mandala that was image and word and will and act rolled into one.
A second later, her essence rushed up out of her head, through the roundhouse roof and into the night sky. In the first hallucinogenic dislocation, she felt a wave of affection for Shavi, Laura, Veitch and Tom, waiting anxiously by the door, and then another wave of love for the wild, feasting throng; she didn't know any of them, but she was linked to them all, individually and as a group, on the deepest levels.
Rising up higher, she saw the campfires and the village in the context of the broader landscape, the dark canvas of fields, the strips of roads, the lights of Salisbury and the subtle lines of Blue Fire connecting it all. Her chest swelled as she took it all in, and understood, deeply, for the first time in a long while, why they were fighting so hard.
With an effort, she wrenched herself from the revelation and swooped down low over the camp, seeing everything, hearing all. Systematically, she searched until she reached the fringes of habitation, where the lonely countryside eventually lapped up against the well-lit A-roads. The full moon painted the grassland a magical silver, against which lay the charcoal strokes of trees and hedges.
Flying low over the ancient, grass-covered monuments of the ritual landscape, Ruth scanned for any sign of movement. In a dense copse, her attention was distracted by a large owl, seemingly watching her from the low branches.
In its huge eyes, she saw echoes of her own familiar, slaughtered by the Libertarian in Greece, a companion, if not a friend, whom she still missed acutely. She was not surprised when it spoke to her: 'Sister of Dragons. You know what I am?'
Ruth floated an inch above the ground in the centre of the clearing. 'Not exactly.'
More owls flapped down to settle on branch after branch, and there was constant movement in the grass as a flood of cats, rats, hares, frogs, snakes and mice drew near to observe her with eerily intelligent eyes.
'Our kind are as old as time.' The owl had developed unsettling human characteristics during the time her attention had been on the other creatures. 'We have always shepherded the sisterhood of the Craft, guiding and teaching, and punishing where necessary. Every sister needs a guide on the dangerous path you walk. This is the role we have been given, and some of our kind have even developed a fondness for those we shape. Some. We have demanded little in return, save obeisance to the weft and the weave. When all is connected, to harm one harms all.'
Ruth shivered at the weight behind the eyes that lay upon her. In her spirit form, sometimes, when she looked askance, she could almost glimpse their true shapes, but it was too frightening for her to give it her full attention.
'You, of all our charges, understood that. You, of all, have proven yourself the greatest, and the most deserving of our guidance. After the death of our cousin, your companion, you were left bereft. The bond, unfulfilled. That slaughter, the first in long years, struck at the very heart of our kind, and so the Council of Yekyua was summoned.'
Ruth was now surrounded by people with the characteristics of animals, squatting like beasts, yellow and green and red eyes ranging, fur, and talons, and fangs.
'This world is in peril. This magickal land that we have helped protect for so long, this crucible for Existence's greatest force in the long war. And so we must act. Sister of Dragons, you no longer stand alone. You do not have one companion on the hard road, you have many. The Blue Fire burns in the Craft. The Blue Fire burns in our hearts. Know this world will be protected, come what may.'
Silence fell across the assemblage. Ruth was surprised and empowered by the clear respect she could sense they held for her. 'Thank you. I'm grateful. The Brothers and Sisters of Dragons need your help now more than ever.' She paused, looked deeply into the faces before her, seeing endless possibilities. 'Then I have a request for you.'
Not long after, as Ruth returned to her body, the moon-washed countryside was alive with wildlife sweeping out into every hidden nook and cranny. Overhead, the owls flew, majestic, fierce, with eyes that could see an insect a mile distant.
Beneath the turf, the Blue Fire pulsed, and grew stronger.
