Sanctuary 12 (Fallen Gods Saga), page 13
‘Please. Give it back to me. It’s all I have of him. He took care of you—why would you be so cruel?’ Her face brushed against the cold plastic sheet. The depth of this new loss sent her back in time to when the towering grey panelled trucks ploughed through the dirt, full of sheep on their way to the slaughter site. Three lorry loads alive, and two that were already dead. She saw the soldiers holding Greg back as he struggled against them, the flames from the huge funeral pyres. They seemed to burn forever, carrying the stench of flesh over the land on which they once lived.
Just as Evelyn began to calm herself, the raven flew in behind her. She toppled forward from the fright, reaching up in desperation, clinging to the plastic sheet as she fell from the porch. The sheet took her full weight and a horizontal tear ripped through it. Her body twisted, becoming tangled in the torn sheet. She thumped into the ground below the decking, her outstretched arm, jarring her shoulder on landing.
‘Oh God. Help me.’ Evelyn’s terrified plea was lost to the empty sky. She felt the cold of the damp soil and the horrid grinding ache in her damaged shoulder. Once the shock subsided, fear took hold. Rolling onto her stomach, she inched forward, staying as low as possible. Although only feet from the porch, the effort of reaching it was like being lost in the middle of an ocean at the dead of night, treading water until her legs cramped up. Just when she believed her peril couldn’t get any worse, her tormentor landed on the grass ahead of her outstretched hand. The bird shrieked out again. Evelyn felt the pressure on both sides of her head increase ten-fold. It seemed the tightening vice would eventually break through to her skull. In that moment, something strange occurred to her. The more the pressure increased, the less frightened she became about being out in the open. Her heart rate began to regulate itself with every thump in her temples. Lifting her head, she noticed her vision was almost clear. He was looking directly at her, with the wedding ring held in his beak. Wearily, Evelyn reached out from her hip, her fingertips only inches away from where the bird had set down on the grass. They stared at each other. Within the wild darkness of his eye, she felt a wave of compassion. The raven took a few tentative steps before he opened his beak, releasing the cool metal into her palm. Then he opened out his wings and rose into the skies, quickly disappearing.
Weak and shaken, Evelyn stumbled to her feet, never relaxing her tight grip on the ring. She stood straight, exposed to the outside world, and found she didn’t care. Her agoraphobia was gone, as if it had never been present. She wasn’t disorientated any more, or feeling the need to rush back up to the decking. Cradling her left arm she made small, careful steps towards the house, clutching her wedding ring as if nothing else existed.
What did you do to me? she thought. She was only certain of one thing. She paused in the hallway to rest her aching shoulder against the doorframe. She slipped the ring back on to her finger; turning to the phone on the table near the front door, she first dialled an area code, and then the number. It took three rings for someone to pick up.
‘Mum?’ Tom said.
‘I’ve decided. I’m going to sell the farm.’
‘If that’s what you want.’
‘It is what I want, and I know now it’s what your father would have wanted.’
‘You’re doing the right thing, mum,’ Tom said.
She could tell he was smiling. She couldn’t recall the last time she heard her son sound so happy. ‘I just need some time to sort out my affairs here.’
‘Are you okay? You sound strange.’
‘Oh, I’m fine.’
‘Any help Grace and I can give you up there…’
‘No, I don’t need any. I’m quite capable, thank you.’
‘But obviously, someone will need to go into town for you. To the bank for a start,’ Tom said.
‘I can do most things over the internet now, dear. I’m online, remember.’
‘I forget you know more about computers than I do.’
‘Besides, if I need to go into town I will do it myself,’ Evelyn said.
‘Have you been outside?’ Tom sounded worried. A few seconds of silence followed his comment.
‘There’s no need to worry about that anymore,’ she replied.
‘Mum? I don’t understand.’
‘There was something I was holding onto, and I was shown that I needed to let it go.’
‘As long as you’re not hurt, I won’t say any more. You just let me know whenever you’re ready.’
‘I’ll be in touch in a few days.’
‘Okay. Goodbye, mum.’
‘Goodbye, Tom.’ Evelyn placed the receiver back down. She’d made a decision, and a sense of freedom entered her heart. Whatever escaped from her when she’d fallen from the porch had lifted the great fear, the fear that had tormented and conspired against her since Greg’s passing. She was worn out. Her bones lay heavy. She felt as though she was carrying a dead body on her back with every step. Although physically drained, her mind was racing. The storm had broken, and the oppressive clouds drifted away. She was certain what had happened had something to do with Greg. Something indefinable now existed all around her that resembled her husband. Her mind was full of memories of the final few days spent with him. She could never remember a time in that period when they had really been together. He became more distant then. His change in personality, though, could be traced right back to 2001, and the crisis that ripped Cumbria open. Since that horrible night, when the men in chemical suits arrived at their home to remove their uninfected animals, Greg altered fundamentally. The ordeal seemed to age him overnight. His brow became heavier; the lines in his face were deeper and more pronounced. After that night, when she looked into his eyes, all she would see was a frozen waste. Thankfully, that changed as time passed. Months and then years went by, and Evelyn saw his life force slowly return. Being around the birds seemed to help tremendously. It felt like they had assisted Evelyn in nursing him back to health. Each visit to the garden seemed to invigorate him more and more. He would drink them in every day, then retreat to the wanting arms of his wife. By the time Tom, and then Grace decided to leave the nest, things were as back to normal as they were going to get. If anything, the children’s absence served to bring Evelyn and Greg closer together—right up until a few months ago—a few days before his death. Out of nowhere, Greg seemed engulfed by sadness. By the time she realised something was wrong it was too late. The day she planned to speak to him about it, Greg’s heart gave out.
What came over him? She was sure of a connection to the events of 2001. Greg’s appearance in those final days mirrored the way he was during and after the crisis. His eyes were dull with the same hopelessness. To think of her husband so sad in his last days broke her heart. Evelyn had no idea how long he’d been lying face down in the garden when she found him. She remembered seeing him some time before, standing beside his birdhouse. Was it a bird she remembered sitting there? A black bird? Could it have been her tormentor? Evelyn recalled hurrying from the back door, racing across the slippery grass onto the planting soil. It took all of her strength just to haul him over onto her lap. It was only then that she realised he was still breathing. His eyes flickered—then opened, and his face grew wet as Evelyn’s tears fell. The taste of the salty fluid, which trickled into the corner of his open mouth, seemed to rouse him enough to reach up to Evelyn’s cheek. ‘Stay,’ he croaked. No sooner had his fingertips touched her face, he was gone. Distraught, Evelyn clung to his empty body for a long time before she could drag herself back inside to make the call to the emergency services.
Gazing out over the garden, Evelyn struggled to understand her husband’s last words. Her previous interpretation just didn’t make sense to her anymore. Grace and Tom were right. Greg would want her to be happy, to be with their children and grandchildren, not all alone in this cold museum of what once was.
After she prepared and ate her evening meal of mashed potato and sausages, she sat in the living room for a few hours watching the television. There was some documentary showing, which highlighted the sudden and peculiar rise in child mortality rates. She found it intriguing at first, but as it got to its halfway point, her thoughts wandered to the sort of life she might have after the move. If nothing else, she would love being closer to her grandchildren. If she was going to make this step, it was time to do, not to analyse. She was sick of doubt. Shortly after her last cup of tea, she forced herself from the armchair and retired upstairs to her room.
2
Evelyn’s eyes blinked open, stung by the glare from the lamp on her bedside table. She must have dozed off whilst reading. As she rolled to her left to check the clock, there was a hollow thud on the floor near the edge of the bed. The doorstep-sized novel toppled from the duvet. The noise startled her enough to disperse her dreams. The shoulder she had hurt when she fell earlier clicked as she pushed her back to the top of the bed’s smooth headboard. Sitting up, she noticed pressure starting to grip across her forehead. It grew so tight it paralysed her neck, pinning her against the headboard. Panic rose from her gut and she gasped for breath, trying to raise her hands towards her throbbing temples. It took every ounce of strength and her arms went into spasm as they fought what seemed to be an invisible oppressor. Moonlight from the open window revealed a shadow at the end of the bed, casting a sheen over the raven’s black feathers, transforming his plumage to bright silver plating. His eyes reflected trails of lunar beams into hers. Once more, the bird’s presence started to dissolve her fear, as it increased the force pressing against her head. Then came a voice so pronounced it could not be wished away as a manifestation of her overactive imagination. It sounded with great clarity; reverence, with deep, calming tones.
Evelyn…Evelyn, it called. Do not fear, my child, for I am with you. Listen to my voice, accept it freely, and your discomfort will pass.
The voice was right. The pressure to her cranium had reached unbearable levels, but the more she listened to the inner whispering, the more its vice-like grip loosened.
Listen to my voice, Evelyn. Listen, and I will guide you.
She found she could move her head again. The raven had her under his constant gaze, and she found herself wishing to speak aloud—but only her thoughts came out. His reply came instantly.
No. I have not come to harm you. My name is Uriel. I understand you must have many questions, some of which I cannot answer. I am very sorry for your pain and confusion. The human mind is not accustomed to receiving this kind of signal. We exist on a different wavelength. Our frames of reference are alien to one another. It took many efforts to break through the barriers, which is why it could not be achieved without making you afraid.
The voice seemed gentler to her, as if it knew her soul completely. In its presence, she felt genderless, her humanity gone, stripped naked of physical matter. The experience was both liberating and magical.
We do not have much time. You and your loved ones are in the gravest of danger. For now you will have to trust me. Can you do that, child?
She wasn’t sure whether it was because she wanted to or because she felt she had no choice.
Then I am obliged to tell you a little more. I am what you would call a carrier – and I’m one of many. When souls travel from one place to the next, we give them all safe passage – as we did for Greg, and as we will eventually do for you.
She did not even contemplate asking questions of her husband and his whereabouts. The only thing that mattered was the voice and its next request.
Evelyn, I need you to rise and accompany me outside. There is something very important you must see.
She nodded and started to climb down from the bed. Uriel flapped his impressive wings, taking flight through the window and onto the night’s gentle breeze. The fatigue and onset of illness Evelyn felt in the evening had vanished. She climbed down the staircase, wrapping a nightgown around her as she went, tying it at the waist. When she reached the porch, she could see Uriel sitting on a fencepost at the edge of the back garden, shrouded by deep shadows that lay beyond the moon’s reach. As she stepped down, the grass covered her feet with early morning dew, making them cooler but not cold. She got halfway towards the bird before he took to the skies once more, flying ten feet above, swooping down and coming to rest in the field beyond. She unlatched the garden gate to follow. Uriel cawed through the darkness. The sky was full of the mysterious gloom of the last moments before daybreak. She squinted to make out the raven’s dark form against the dull earth. She toiled up the steep incline of the first field. She was more than twenty feet away from him, struggling to keep up. The sky began to brighten, transforming the backdrop to pale grey. Her laboured breath eased when she reached the summit of the rise. In front of her stood a huge Wych elm, silhouetted like a black cardboard cut-out set against an off-white page. The ominous and ancient tree reached up more than a hundred feet. It wasn’t the elm’s unusual size that took Evelyn’s breath away, but the fact it should not have been there at all. Only hedgerow had grown in that spot for as long as she had known it. And now, this stranger had taken curious root in the familiar landscape, emanating from the peak of the ridge like a monument, its roots intertwined through the earth as if they had been there for centuries. Even though the elm towered above her head, the poor light made it impossible to tell the exact colour of the bark covering the girth of its trunk. The tips of the largest branches seemed twisted into tortured hands, beckoning her onwards. The closer she ventured, the more it loomed over her against the horizon. Uriel called to her once more, directing her eyes to the foot of the trunk where he now patiently sat.
Come closer, Evelyn…please. This is what I needed to show you. With that, he launched himself upwards.
Tipping her head back, Evelyn watched him ascend into the branches, and she came face to face with fifty glinting pairs of eyes staring back at her. The pressure in her head began to build again, as if a house was being piled on top of her.
Just focus on my voice – it will pass. This is your Unkindness. These creatures will answer only to you. As time passes, you will learn how to control them as a collective, and they will answer as one. I know it feels like it is all too much right now, but the more you go on, the more you will understand your part in this, and your link to us.
She could feel every raven as acutely as any physical pain or emotion. They crept inside of her and she, in turn, reluctantly crept into them. The sensation was unmatched by any other in her life, a sledgehammer to the nervous system; wondrous and terrifying in equal measure.
Talk, and they will listen. Listen, and you will hear them. Look, and they will show. They will follow you, guide you, save you from your enemies. You do have enemies, my child, and they approach ever closer. I understand with each moment that passes, more and more questions need answers. Unfortunately time is running out. You must prepare to leave later this morning. You will be shown the way. At your destination, you will find sanctuary and all the answers to the questions you seek. With these answers, you will find purpose – this I promise you, Evelyn Alton. Now go—collect whatever you need before the journey. You must not linger.
As her next thought began to form, Uriel had already sent his reply. No. I won’t be accompanying you. I have my own purpose, and it is important I fulfil it. Do not worry, your flock will protect you with their last breath…we will meet again, but for now at least, it is goodbye.
Goodbye, Uriel. She glanced to the underside of the elm’s branches, but could not distinguish him from the rest.
Go now. You must take to the road soon.
Turning her eyes from her many watchers, she stepped out from under the tree, picking her way down the field towards home.
The dark committee nestled in the elm’s branches observed her unsteady path to the outskirts of the farm. The Unkindness directed their thoughts towards Uriel, communicating as one.
Your task is too dangerous to complete alone, master. Allow yourself a small escort.
No. Although I have a crucial part to play, others could take my place if I were to fail. The eye is your master now. Protect the eye, Uriel replied.
3
It took Evelyn over an hour to gather what she thought she might need, packing it into a large canvas rucksack. The dawn arrived, bleaching the sky. Hazy sunlight crept through the back of the house. She passed through the kitchen and glanced through the window. The mystic Wych elm was no longer there. Along the horizon, thinly veiling mist rolled in. It was unimportant. She didn’t require evidence to convince her of what had taken place; it was etched into her heart.
She said goodbye to the place, going from room to room until all that was left for her to do was scribble a short note to her children. She wrote it quickly through tear-filled eyes, placing it on the sideboard in the kitchen. She hauled the cumbersome rucksack outside to the western end of the house, where the concrete garage sat. Greg had it built four years ago to house her pride and joy, her purple VW camper van. She stared at the battered old thing, flipping its keys in her hand.
Любовь матери
1
Moscow, Russia
The morning was overcast. Vladimir emerged from the sliding glass doors of the hospital reception onto the chilly street with the mother of all headaches. He shielded his face from the dull light. The nurse had cleaned and stitched the wound in his upper arm, the whole time looking at him like he was something she’d found lurking on the bottom of her shoe. Illarion’s bullet only clipped the skin. He edged to the curb, squeezing his arm, feeling the soreness and tension from the surgical thread. As he was about to step from the pavement to stumble across the road, he saw a black BMW pull up alongside him. Lifting his head, he watched the tinted front window slowly buzz down. Through his blurring vision, he could make out Kranchev’s face inside.
