Chapter One
The road was a streak of whitewash across the landscape which appeared as flat as a pancake for miles around the low hill where the two travellers were resting. They sat in the lee of a tall, dark menhir, just to one side of the long, straight track. A small fire crackled in front of them slowly cooking a lean rabbit. A second lay to one side, waiting for its turn. The ground was covered in thick, purple heather; here and there clumps of gorse, speckled with yellow flowers broke the pattern; occasionally, in places such as the low hill the heather gave way to tough grasses which barely covered the grey, sandy soil and in such places, grew handfuls of tall pines.
The road and skies were empty, save for the occasional bird soaring high above. Now and then the younger traveller appeared to consider something on the horizon, but he kept whatever it was to himself. The plains were less barren than they appeared: the heather hid small streams, low valleys and deep, black pools of water.
They had been walking for almost a week and had passed no-one. The days had been blue and cloudless, save for one when a storm had rolled over the plain. Dark clouds, towering like cities had raced across the sky, crackling with thunder and pink lightning. The rain had washed away all footprints from the dusty track, but the following day they had found the tracks of a large party, travelling with horses and wagons. They had hurried on trying to catch up, but there had been no further sign of life since then, three days before.
The elder of the two, a tall man with hooded eyes and hawkish features tested the meat before nodding, more to himself than to his companion: a young man with green eyes, black hair and a deep scar on his forehead in the shape of a lightning bolt. The elder pointed a long, pale-grey wand of elder wood at the rabbit and with a flick of his wrist it fell in half.
'Heads or tails?'
'Heads. You're finding it easier again then?' The younger murmured.
'Yes. I theorise that the world is acclimatising to us, or vice versa,' the elder replied. 'Though,' he added ruefully, 'I imagine it will be a while before conjuration is possible, if at all.'
'You didn't mention the … acclimatisation before we began. Any other little surprises in store do you imagine?'
'A whole world of them. It is probably for the best if we keep a low profile. Who knows what might be watching?'
'Out here? A few grasshoppers and a bunny or two.'
The elder ignored him, busying himself with eating. There was a moment's silence and the younger man followed suit. The rabbit was devoured until there were only bones left which were thrown into a pit the younger had dug for the guts and the head itself.
'We could try using engorgio again,' the elder mused, looking at the second, smaller rabbit they had caught.
'I don't think it's going to work,' the other said, 'there just wasn't any …' he searched for the right word for a moment, 'catch to it. Nothing to work with.'
'It does not hurt to try.'
'No, but skin and cook it first.'
The elder nodded and muttered an incantation, strips of fur and skin peeled themselves away from the rabbit's corpse. He gave a flick of his wand and it rose into the air, turning lazily in circles. Another flick and its intestines flowed out of its stomach leaving the flesh whole. He plucked it out of the air before skewering it on the pine branch which was serving as a spit and sat back.
'I do not think that I realised quite how much I would miss vegetables when we came here,' he remarked, adding, 'or chocolate biscuits.' There was no reply and he half turned to look at his companion who was standing at the edge of the hill, looking down across the plain in the fading evening light. 'Much to see, Boy?' He asked, poking the rabbit round.
'I … I am not sure. I thought I glimpsed a wagon, or a caravan, but it may just have been a shadow. I can't be sure,' the younger one said, turning back from the road and running a hand through his messy, black hair.
'If it is there we should catch it tomorrow. We will start early. I need little sleep.'
'That's old age for you,' he sat down, closing his eyes and leaning back against the rock.
The wind rustled the grasses and the man cooking the rabbit looked from side to side warily. He kept his wand arm free, holding the thin stick like a knife, ready to lash out at a moment notice. He relaxed marginally when nothing appeared.
His companion sat bolt upright a moment later, as if stung, his eyes wild, 'Do you hear them?'
'What are you talking about? It's just the wind in the grass,' the elder said coolly, though he held his wand ready once more.
'I can hear their voices, they're calling,' he patted the ground beside him, searching for his own wand. He brought it up a moment later in his right hand and to his surprise, a small black stone in his left. 'Look at this, I'd swear it didn't come from here. I mean what type of stone is that? Obsidian?' He said, apparently forgetting the voices of a moment before.
'It is probably just an old button, Boy. There are more important things to worry about. Another storm is coming.'
'No, it has got marks on it,' the younger said, turning it over in his hand, 'a circle, a triangle and a line … I have the queerest feeling that I had this once before.'
'How riveting,' the other drawled. 'We should try and make a shelter. I have no desire to wait until morning to be dry and warm again.'
The young man nodded and stood, he slipped the black pebble into the pocket of his own, long black robe to nestle beside a silvery cloak. He walked down till he was facing the side of the hill and swished a slender wand of dark holly, stained with age and smoothed by long use. The sandy earth a short way away parted. The grassy surface split open and the sand melted aside leaving a shallow hollow. The young man twisted his wan in a curious motion and the hole deepened and widened, sinking sideways into the earth so that a small cave was formed. A few more motions and he seemed confident that it was secure.
'That should do for the night. I'll get some heather to soften it,' he said with a satisfied grunt.
'Do so. I will move the fire into a pit nearer to it,' the elder said with a sharp, decisive nod.
A fork of jagged, purple lightning ripped across the horizon and shortly afterwards thunder rumbled in the distance. The elder lifted the rabbit on its spit off the fire and with a circular motion of his wand the fire and its fuel rose up into the air in a self-contained ball of flames which he gently nudged towards the shelter. The ball flared and flickered, moving haltingly, though by the time the younger returned with a bundle of heather to line the hollow it was burning brightly again and nestled near the cave.
Once the travellers had woven a net of dim light across the entrance to the cave and ensconced themselves the rabbit was slightly charred, but still edible. The rain rebounded from it, slipping away, running down the hill as they sat, picking the meat from its bones, hunched in the side of the long, low, hill. Lightning played across the sky but it passed before long leaving the air was fresh with the scent of rain, night air and heather.
The younger of the two wriggled uncomfortably as he settled down to sleep before pulling a long fragment of a thigh-bone out from underneath him. He looked at it for a moment before putting it aside. 'I admit,' he said, 'that I shall be glad when we have moved on.'
'Indeed,' came the sardonic reply.
The rain came again later into the night, pattering over the grass and the tall standing stone. Further along the long, white road it ran off the canvas of a wagon turned on its side. The water glistened on the wood and gaily painted cloth in the gleam of faraway lightning.
The sun rose early and the rain from the night before turned to a light mist before evaporating entirely. The younger of the two sat up stiffly, stroking a hand absentmindedly over his cheek where a week's growth of beard continued to steadily build. His companion had no such problem, his cheeks were as smooth and hairless as the day they had first arrived in this land. They had nothing to breakfast on save a few blackberries growing amid the gorse and so before long they set off along the road, pausing only to wash their faces and hands in a puddle left by last night's rain.
The road was mostly dry by the time the sun had half climbed into the sky. The majority of the water had run off its surface and down into the neatly carved channels on either side. It was a strange thing that road. White dust gathered on its surface and it looked almost like chalk, but it was harder and smoother. Any dust or wear was superficial and as likely as not to vanish after the next rain storm.
The purple heather rose and fell around them, sheltering them in small valleys at times and falling away so that they walked on ridges above the plain. They walked in silence, striding onwards, their black cloaks and robes hardly making a noise. Occasionally the elder of the two would turn and glance back down the road, hawk-like eyes searching for something. At last he stopped for a moment, glancing up and down, 'Do you … I could have sworn there was someone walking beside us …'
The younger traveller shrugged. 'I see no-one.'
At one point a herd of something which might have been deer crossed the path ahead of them, their leaders bellowing to one another. One of the travellers threw a bolt of green light towards them, but they danced around it and were gone across the plains in a moment.
The two of them paused for rests from time to time. Once, whilst beside a pool of black water where a single hawthorn grew, twisted and stunted, red berries hanging between green leaves, a thin, high, keening cry disturbed them. The moved on then, unwilling to linger and crossed back to the white road. About them the wind and the crickets sang in the rough grass and in the far distance to the east the blue blur of mountains slowly became visible.
The caravan came in sight close to noon. It was yellow and red with high wheels and colourful ribbons bound to it. It lay on its side in the dip of the ditch beside the road. There was no sign of life around it. No-one appeared to be working to right it and there was no sign of a horse or pony in the harness.
They slowed to a halt and with a glance at one another split apart, circling the caravan from opposite ends. The younger man found the first of them. She was young, perhaps twelve, her body lay in a heap beside the front of the caravan, crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut. There was no sign of a wound, but when he knelt to touch her cheek her skin crinkled like papyrus and folded inwards. He drew his hand back sharply, wiping it on the grass with a shudder of revulsion.
The others were scattered around the caravan: mother, father, son and grandmother. The latter had crouched in the centre of the caravan itself. The canvas had been torn open above her, although once again there were no wounds. The travellers met each other's eyes and the younger turned away to search further afield as the elder went to salvage what he could.
'Take care, Harry,' the older traveller said as he stepped into the caravan.
The younger, Harry paused, 'That was a hint of emotion I detected was it Tom?'
Tom shrugged. 'It would be inconvenient to have to find you.'
Harry raised an eyebrow, 'Really I'll have to take your temperature if you aren't careful. This is dangerously close to caring. It almost sounded as if you would find me.'
'What nonsense,' Tom said, turning away into the caravan. 'Of course I would find you, Boy.'
The heather to one side was beaten down from many feet and the younger followed the track. It did not lead far, stopping beside a shallow fold of land where the gorse rose up to form a ring around a weathered rowan tree. Beneath the tree a girl of fifteen or sixteen was crouched, clutching a red cloak in one hand and an iron dagger in the other. She was surrounded by a circle scratched into the earth. She looked exhausted, dark circles surrounded her brown eyes and her hair was greasy and tangled with heather. Her clothes had yet to finish drying from the previous night's rain and she was shivering.
The elder traveller pulled a stale loaf of bread from a cupboard in the caravan, putting it into a satchel he had taken along with the dried meat and fruit he had already found. He stepped gingerly over the grandmother's carcass, looking down to ensure that he did not touch her. As he looked up he stopped dead in his tracks, wand leaping into his hand. A tall man dressed in a long, dull robe, with pale, parchment like skin and hollow, sharp features was watching him from the far, closed off end of the caravan.
'Good afternoon,' said the stranger, smiling.