blow to the side of his head. Church
caught her wrist before she could repeat the assault.
"Temper, temper." Callow's overly theatrical voice was incongruous against
his hideous appearance. Yet when he looked into Ruth's face his arrogance ebbed
from him. He muttered something to himself, then stated, "The long-haired
Asian boy, the one as pretty as a girl-"
"Shavi." The word became trapped in Ruth's throat.
Callow nodded soberly. "He's dead. Most definitely. I took his life, and his
finger, in Windsor Park."
That last detail was the awful confirmation; Windsor Park had been Shavi's
destination in his search for the solution to Ruth's predicament.
Ruth walked to the shattered window where she stood in the full force of
the gale, looking out into the night, hugging her arms around her as if to protect her from her sadness. She was such a desolate figure Church wanted to take
her in his own arms to comfort her. Instead, he turned his attention to Callow.
The twisted figure giggled again like a guilty schoolboy. Church's overwhelming sorrow began to transmute into a hardened rage. It would have been
the easiest thing in the world to ease his emotions by striking out, but he controlled himself.
"I feel sorry for you," he said to the hunched figure.
That seemed to surprise Callow, who looked upset and then angry. "The first
of five!" he raged. "You'll all follow!"
Church slipped his arm round Ruth's shoulders; she was as cold and rigid as
a statue. The rain was just as icy and stung his eyes shut, but he remained there
with her until she slowly moved closer to him.
"Poor Shavi," she said quietly.
Church recalled his friend's deep, spiritual calmness, his humour and love
of life. Shavi had been a guiding light to all of them. "We mustn't let it drag us
down," he whispered.
Ruth dropped her head on to his shoulder, but said nothing.
They rose at first light after a night in Church's bed, trying to come to terms
with Shavi's death. Although they had known him for only a few months, he had
affected them both deeply. They felt they had lost much more than a friend.
The seafront was awash with puddles and scattered with the debris
deposited by the gales, but it was brighter and clearer than any morning they
had experienced since Lughnasadh, with the sun rising in a powder-blue sky and
not a cloud in sight. It felt strangely hopeful, despite everything.
Ruth's room, where they had bound and gagged Callow, was reassuringly
silent as they passed. No one else was up at that time so they ventured hesitantly
to the kitchen for breakfast. Aware of the shortage of food, they toasted a couple of slices of homemade bread each to take the edge off their hunger. While they
ate around a heavily scarred wooden table, Church surveyed the jars of tea and
coffee on the shelves.
"I wonder what's happening in the rest of the world," he mused.
"I thought about this." Ruth eyed the butter, but resisted the urge. "We get
the analogues of Celtic gods because it's part of our heritage, our own
mythology. Do you think they got Zeus in Greece, Jupiter in Italy, some Native
American gods in America, Vishnu and Shiva or whatever in India? The same
beings perceived through different cultural eyes?"
Church shrugged. "Possibly. What I can't figure out is why Britain is the
battleground."
"With communication down, anything could be happening. The rest of the
world might be devastated for all we know."
Church couldn't take his eyes off the coffee and tea, things taken for granted
for centuries. "The global economy will have crashed. There'll be death on a massive scale famine, disease. No international trade at all. Even here in the UK
we've forgotten how to feed ourselves locally. What about in less-privileged areas?"
"Let's look on the bright side: at least all the bankers and moneylenders will
be out of a job."
His laugh was polite and humourless.
"Best not to think about it." Ruth watched him from the corner
caught her wrist before she could repeat the assault.
"Temper, temper." Callow's overly theatrical voice was incongruous against
his hideous appearance. Yet when he looked into Ruth's face his arrogance ebbed
from him. He muttered something to himself, then stated, "The long-haired
Asian boy, the one as pretty as a girl-"
"Shavi." The word became trapped in Ruth's throat.
Callow nodded soberly. "He's dead. Most definitely. I took his life, and his
finger, in Windsor Park."
That last detail was the awful confirmation; Windsor Park had been Shavi's
destination in his search for the solution to Ruth's predicament.
Ruth walked to the shattered window where she stood in the full force of
the gale, looking out into the night, hugging her arms around her as if to protect her from her sadness. She was such a desolate figure Church wanted to take
her in his own arms to comfort her. Instead, he turned his attention to Callow.
The twisted figure giggled again like a guilty schoolboy. Church's overwhelming sorrow began to transmute into a hardened rage. It would have been
the easiest thing in the world to ease his emotions by striking out, but he controlled himself.
"I feel sorry for you," he said to the hunched figure.
That seemed to surprise Callow, who looked upset and then angry. "The first
of five!" he raged. "You'll all follow!"
Church slipped his arm round Ruth's shoulders; she was as cold and rigid as
a statue. The rain was just as icy and stung his eyes shut, but he remained there
with her until she slowly moved closer to him.
"Poor Shavi," she said quietly.
Church recalled his friend's deep, spiritual calmness, his humour and love
of life. Shavi had been a guiding light to all of them. "We mustn't let it drag us
down," he whispered.
Ruth dropped her head on to his shoulder, but said nothing.
They rose at first light after a night in Church's bed, trying to come to terms
with Shavi's death. Although they had known him for only a few months, he had
affected them both deeply. They felt they had lost much more than a friend.
The seafront was awash with puddles and scattered with the debris
deposited by the gales, but it was brighter and clearer than any morning they
had experienced since Lughnasadh, with the sun rising in a powder-blue sky and
not a cloud in sight. It felt strangely hopeful, despite everything.
Ruth's room, where they had bound and gagged Callow, was reassuringly
silent as they passed. No one else was up at that time so they ventured hesitantly
to the kitchen for breakfast. Aware of the shortage of food, they toasted a couple of slices of homemade bread each to take the edge off their hunger. While they
ate around a heavily scarred wooden table, Church surveyed the jars of tea and
coffee on the shelves.
"I wonder what's happening in the rest of the world," he mused.
"I thought about this." Ruth eyed the butter, but resisted the urge. "We get
the analogues of Celtic gods because it's part of our heritage, our own
mythology. Do you think they got Zeus in Greece, Jupiter in Italy, some Native
American gods in America, Vishnu and Shiva or whatever in India? The same
beings perceived through different cultural eyes?"
Church shrugged. "Possibly. What I can't figure out is why Britain is the
battleground."
"With communication down, anything could be happening. The rest of the
world might be devastated for all we know."
Church couldn't take his eyes off the coffee and tea, things taken for granted
for centuries. "The global economy will have crashed. There'll be death on a massive scale famine, disease. No international trade at all. Even here in the UK
we've forgotten how to feed ourselves locally. What about in less-privileged areas?"
"Let's look on the bright side: at least all the bankers and moneylenders will
be out of a job."
His laugh was polite and humourless.
"Best not to think about it." Ruth watched him from the corner
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