Dark Ages. John Pritchard
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‘We’re not allowed to leave the road …’ She tailed off then: who gave a shit for by-laws on a day like this? And as for safety reasons – the risk of unexploded shells – she felt beyond reality right now. Able to walk on water, or through minefields.
With a quick glance back the way they’d come, she followed where he led.
The range wardens were doubtless on patrol, but they saw no one as they skirted round the ruined village. Fran had the same giddy feeling she remembered from her first walk-on: stumbling through the wind-bent grass, across forbidden ground. And nobody could touch her – not while she was walking with the man of her dreams …
(or nightmares)
Looking down at Imber from the hill above it, she was glad they’d given it a miss. The place still held memories of Craig, of course, but not enough to lighten its grim silence. The few surviving buildings were outnumbered by mock houses: just blackened concrete shells beneath the church. Like a pile of broken skulls, she thought. The harvest of the killing fields around it.
The ruins slipped away, into a fold of the valley. By the time they joined the road again, only the church tower was visible. Athelgar stared back towards it.
‘How can there be a church without a flock?’ he asked.
Fran shrugged. ‘We had a war. Fifty years ago … They used it to train soldiers, and destroyed it. Then broke their word. They never gave it back.’
He frowned. ‘Small wonder that the place is not at peace. Were they hirelings from across the sea who did this?’
Fran gave a small, bitter smile. ‘No. They tried blaming the Americans … but it was British troops destroyed the place. On purpose. Their own people.’
‘The warriors of the King?’
She thought about it. ‘Yeah.’
He walked a little way along the road, then turned again. His face was difficult to read. Was it anger glinting in his eyes – or pain? ‘I came back with the hope the land had changed,’ he said. ‘At last.’
‘Oh no,’ said Fran, and shook her head. ‘It hasn’t changed at all.’
The road led south and west, across the uplands of the range. The clouds had massed above it, like great heaps of slate and slag; but a buttermilk sky still showed on the horizon.
Fran plodded onward, lost in thought: the ache of her feet was scarcely getting through. The road stretched out ahead of them – so long, and still no turning. The empty heath-land rustled in the wind, made bleaker by the shadows of the clouds.
Athelgar touched her shoulder, and she stopped. ‘See,’ he said. ‘That dragon is still hunting.’ His voice was low – but calm enough, considering.
She looked, and saw a helicopter, perhaps two miles away. A double-engined Chinook, quite familiar. She followed its course, and realized it was circling.
His touch became a grip. ‘We must find shelter.’
‘No, it’s all right. Um … It’s sort of a ship that flies. Those things going round, like windmill sails … they lift it through the air.’
He nodded gravely, staring at the thing. The chopper dipped into the valley, where its clatter was redoubled; then rose back into view again and curved towards the south. It felt like they were standing at the centre of its orbit. The clear sky silhouetted it; then murk became the backdrop once again. A crimson light was flashing, on and off.
Athelgar watched, fascinated. ‘It makes signals.’
‘Not to us.’
They tracked it over Imber Firs, where Cruise had lurked before; past Strip Wood, like a dark Mohican haircut on its hill; and finally it veered away, and faded in the grey haze to the north.
‘Men have grown wise,’ said Athelgar softly.
Fran let that pass without comment.
The end of the hike came suddenly, and caught her by surprise. The road began descending, turned a comer – and the Heytes-bury vedette was up ahead. The walk had been interminable, yet now it seemed cut short. Fran stopped beside the barrier; the dull green sentry hut was locked and empty. Beyond, the road ran down to meet a farmer’s sloping fields, and turned into another country lane.
As soon as she stopped moving, the weariness caught up. She felt her legs solidify like lead. She leaned against the grassy bank, and looked at Athelgar.
‘How far are you going?’
‘No further. I will turn again. No hand shall be against you from here on.’
She blinked at him; then looked back up the road. The thought of all that emptiness they’d come through … She swallowed, looked away again. Maybe not so empty, after all.
‘What about me?’ she murmured.
He gave her a sidelong glance. ‘The road is hard and grievous, Lady Frances; and many lifetimes longer than today’s.’
‘Meaning what?’ she asked. ‘That I should go home and forget it?’
He looked at her full on, and then spoke grimly. ‘You know the Ravens’ calling: death and terror. Our way is paved with corpses. It is no road for one like you to walk.’
Chastened, she moved back a step – but couldn’t keep from staring. ‘You think I can run into you, and then just walk away?’
‘Always shall we need your prayers. Watch over us in spirit. But with us, in the flesh, you may be harmed.’
But even as he spoke the words, his eyes were full of need – like somebody who’d had his fill of wandering alone. She stood there, gazing up at him, and felt a rush of feeling: delayed reaction, bursting through at last. Not disbelief, or even fear, but sheer exhilaration – the like of which she hadn’t felt since roaring down the highway after Cruise.
But even more exciting was the sense of being called. The heady thrill of Heaven’s Field. My Lady. Come with me.
She’d never felt so honoured – or protected. The violence that he’d talked about seemed mythic and unreal. Whatever journey he was on, it led to magic places. If the shadows were still out there, she could face them at his side.
She raised herself, and took hold of his coat. ‘I want to come.’
‘So let it be,’ he said after a pause. ‘There are things which I must seek amid the downland. Give me leave to see the way is clear, then come to me again.’
Swallowing, she eased away. ‘When?’
‘When the moon is round.’
Her heart was really thumping now. ‘And … where do I find you?’
‘There is a hamlet I have passed through, called Tils-Head. The downs are all around it. Seek me there.’
Fran nodded, knowing Tilshead well. She hadn’t a clue when the next full moon was. Perhaps Lyn had an almanac or something.
A silence fell between them, almost awkward. The parting of the ways, she thought – and felt it like a wrench.
‘Going to see me to the road?’ she asked.
He nodded, and they crossed the line together: followed the leafy lane towards the grumbling main road. The windswept downland fell behind, and neither of them looked back. Though every instinct warned her that she should.
3
‘I’m going to be quite late,’ she said to Lyn. ‘Expect me when you see me, I should think.’
‘Oh Fran … Are you all right?’
‘Yeah,’ Fran said, and realized she was grinning. Euphoria fizzed inside her, like she hadn’t felt for years. Top of the world – on tiptoe. Later would be time enough to think