Church noticed another bowl nearby. 'What is it?'
'Don't know. Don't want to know. Don't even want to think about it, so don't mention it again.'
Church slid over and picked up the spoon and bowl, his stomach contracting with hunger. Circles of translucent grease floated on the top of the grey liquid; the smell was like sour milk. Dunking the spoon in, he swirled it around, but there was no substance in it at all. He half-raised the spoon to his mouth, thought for a moment, then let it drop. 'Obviously I'm not hungry enough.'
'You will be, mate,' Veitch said ominously. He drained the bowl and threw it to one side in the straw.
'I don't intend being in here that long.'
'What's your plan?'
'I'll know it when I see it.'
Veitch laughed. 'Bleedin' hell! An optimist!'
Church hauled himself to his feet and tested the cell door. The bars were iron, solid and unshakable, the lock enormous, looking impossible to pick, even if he had the faintest idea how to go about it.
'I haven't worked out yet if this is the larder,' Veitch said darkly.
Church followed the bars along to where they were held fast in the slick, living rock. 'That might be the end of the line, but right now we're too important to be an appetiser. We're the key to stopping them and they know that. I think they're a little scared of us. Well, not of us exactly, but of what we represent, what we can do.'
'And what's that exactly?' Veitch tried to mask his incredulity, but it broke through nonetheless. Church wasn't offended; he knew exactly how Veitch felt. He lived a normal life, thought normal thoughts; there was nothing that set him apart from the ordinary. The suggestion that he was destined to become some kind of hero of mythic proportions, foretold in prophecies millennia ago, diverged from his own reality so much that it seemed laughable. But all the evidence seemed to be guiding him in that direction: the magical coincidences, the dreams, the talk of Brothers of Dragons which suggested some aspect of him that he hadn't seen.
'Brothers of Dragons,' he muttered.
'What is it? Like the Masons?'
'I think it's a catch-all for five of us who are supposed to come together in Britain's darkest hour. Or, more rightly, something that binds us together.' He cast his mind back to the carnage on the M4 and told Veitch about their encounter with the Fabulous Beast.
'Maybe it means we can talk to them, like Doctor bleedin' Doolittle.'
Church rested his back against the hard bars and slid to the ground. 'I think it's something more symbolic. The dragons are linked to the earth energy, the magic that we were shown at Stonehenge. They feed off it, swim in it, follow it. I can't explain it, but the energy seemed to be a part of nature. Almost a living part.'
'Its blood.'
'In a way. And dragons have always been used to represent the power in the earth, going back to the ancient Chinese. Maybe it means we're supposed to be defenders of that energy. No, of the planet itself. We're the brothers of the dragon-energy, the blood of the world.' Church surprised himself by his logical progression; even in that environment he was still capable of it.
'That's a big job,' Veitch said dismissively. 'Don't you think they'd have chosen somebody up to it?'
'I don't think choice came into it,' Church replied. 'I think this was something laid out years ago, long before any of us were born. The onus is on us to live up to that responsibility.'
'And here we are stuck in a bleedin' hole in the ground, waiting to die. I can't stand it in here!' he yelled as the repressed anger at his captivity finally bubbled to the surface. 'You bastards!'
Church was shocked to see the rage transform his face; there was so much of it within him, so close to the surface, that Church knew he was dangerous. 'Calm down,' he said. 'You don't want to bring them in here.'
But it was too late. The noise coming towards the door suggested several beasts were on their way. Church moved to a corner, bowing his head so he wouldn't have to look into their faces. When the door burst open with a crash, Veitch cursed quietly under his breath. There was something almost terrified in that small sound and Church couldn't help a brief glance up. Several of the creatures hung back in the shadows, but Church was shocked to see the one at the front was not monstrous. He presumed it was the one Veitch had mentioned before, for his face would have been beautiful if it had not been spoiled by a veneer of cruelty. Church forced himself to focus on the strange creature so he did not have to look into the terrible faces of the others: his skin was faintly golden, his face oval and delicate. The eyes were almost like a cat's, with purple irises, and his silver hair was long and lustrous; there was something about him which reminded Church vaguely of the woman in the Watchtower. And where the other beasts had bodies which were huge, misshapen and filled with an inhuman power, his was almost weak and effeminate, slim-hipped, small-waisted, with thin legs and arms that hung loosely from his joints. But although he didn't resemble them, the foul animal stink that came off him still marked him out as one of them. He wore what appeared to be a silk blouson and strange, heavily stained breeches, like some pastiche of a human. For the briefest instant, Church thought he was no threat, but then his eyes came back to the creature's face and he felt a chill run through him.
Slowly the visitor turned towards Veitch and said softly and with a faint sibilance, 'You are making too much noise again, little dear.' Church expected Veitch to unleash some of his pent-up fury, but instead he simply looked away.
The creature turned his attention back to Church. 'My name is Calatin. Among the tribes so many tales had been told about you, Brother of Dragons, or, as you are known to us, Arith Urkolim.'
Church felt a sudden frisson. That was the same phrase the creature at Heston Services had used when it had tried to abduct Ruth.
'So many prophecies and portents delivered by our fathers' fathers' fathers, but here before me you are diminished. I see you are as weak and frail as all your kind.' He stroked his chin elegantly with a long, slim finger that ended in a dirty, broken nail. 'A cautionary tale about the validity of myths.'
Church couldn't understand the disparity in appearance nor his grasp of English when the others had only ever spoken in that incomprehensible mix of shrieks and roars.
Calatin moved forward until the reek of him was almost overpowering. 'All that energy expended in clearing you from the board. The Fabulous Beast, I must admit, was draining in the extreme to bridle. They are so independent, it takes an exhaustive ritual to direct the will necessary to control them. And the Wild Hunt demanded a price that was almost too high to pay. But pay it we did. And then you deliver yourself to our door.' He shook his head in mock disbelief. 'I still cannot decide which would have been the best outcome for you. To be cut down by the Hunt, brutal but mercifully swift. Or to end up here, with us.' He smiled coldly.
Church's head buzzed; Calatin seemed to be radiating some kind of energy field that made him uncomfortable. 'And now you have me the Hunt can go back to wherever it came from?' He hoped Calatin didn't recognise his concern for Ruth and Laura.
'Oh, there is no way to call off the Hunt until they have been sated,' Calatin replied with obvious cruelty. 'Wild magic, once unleashed, cannot be controlled.'
'But-'
'And now we have to decide what to do with you,' Calatin continued. 'There are those who feel your head will provide powerful magic if it is built into the walls of our citadel once all our plans have been achieved. Others believe a choice meal of your brains would allow your prowess, however well hidden it might be, to be passed on to the Cadrii, our greatest warriors. We can afford to take our time in deciding. In the meanwhile, there are certain matters which need to be resolved.'
He nodded, and the others moved out of the shadows to grasp Church's arms. He tried to hide from their faces, but it was impossible and within a second or two he plunged into unconsciousness once more.
The smell of some indescribable meat cooking to the point of burning filled his nose. Wherever he was, the suffocating heat was so overpowering Church almost blacked out again the moment he regained consciousness. Leather straps held him fast to some rough wooden bench, but he could lift his head enough to look around, and instantly wished he hadn't. The room had been hacked out of the bedrock like his cell, and was lit by a red glow that emanated from a furnace roaring away in one corner. One of the hideous creatures tended it with his back to Church, moving what looked like blacksmith's tools around in the blazing scarlet heart of the fire. In another corner a large black cauldron boiled away over an open fire. It was stained by thick, brown juice which slopped over the side with each viscous, bursting bubble and it was from here the heavy meat smell emanated. Next to it was a heavily discoloured bench with a variety of cleavers embedded in it, obviously where whatever food was in the
