I shook my head firmly. I'd used the dark already – with the wish – and that was bad enough. Bit by bit it was happening: the Spook's fears were coming true. I was being compromised. Then a thought struck me. I remembered what my master had said months ago after I told him that Alice might be the Fiend's daughter. He'd suggested that she couldn't have taken any of Morwena's blood: she'd probably simply used her own. The blood from any of the Fiend's offspring would do.
'It's your blood in that jar, isn't it, Alice?'
For a moment she seemed about to protest; then her expression changed to one of defiance.
'Yes, Tom, it is my blood. You feel better now you know the truth? Feel good to show me up for a liar? Well, Morwena's blood or mine, it makes not the slightest difference. Mix a few drops of your blood with this, and once the jar's in your possession you won't have to face anything like that night in the mountains again, will you?'
I lowered my gaze.
'There's something else too,' she continued. 'We'd have to stay together for ever then. The blood jar would protect you – and me too if I stayed close to you.
But if I wandered too far away from it, the Fiend would be there in a moment to take his revenge because he'd know what I'd done. It wouldn't bother me much, Tom, being close to you. In fact I'd quite like it. And we need to take advantage of anything we can. Anything just to give us a chance.'
'You mean well, Alice, so I'm not going to quarrel with you. But nothing's changed. I still feel the same way – I can't risk using the dark again. And do you think it would be good to be bound together like that? I'd always be afraid that something might separate us. I wouldn't dare let you out of my sight! How could we live like that?'
I didn't bother to add that we'd probably be separated as soon as we got back to the County anyway – if indeed we managed to survive this battle. If I continued as the Spook's apprentice, there was no way my master would ever allow Alice to live with us at Chipenden again.
Alice nodded sadly and pushed the jar back into her pocket again.
About an hour after dawn Alice suddenly sat up and pointed at something in the distance. 'Look over there,' she said, turning to me. 'I think I can see your mam's wagon!'
Straining my eyes, I searched the far boundary of the warriors' camp. At last I saw what could have been a dark wagon.
'Are you sure, Alice?' I asked.
'Difficult to see from here, but I think so,' she replied.
I had been tormenting myself, wondering how I could possibly rescue Mam from such a host of captors, but now my fears were suddenly dispelled. Alice had been right after all. I continued watching, and after a while a small party left the camp on foot and went towards the rocks. There was someone walking at their head. A woman – heavily veiled and hooded against the sunlight.
'It's your mam, Tom! I'm sure of it!' Alice cried.
Just behind the hooded figure walked a man with a staff. I could tell by his gait that it was the Spook. There were others following at a distance. I recognized Seilenos and two more of the escort that had met us at Igoumenitsa. If it was indeed Mam, she didn't seem to be a prisoner at all.
We made our way down through the trees and out into the open. The veiled figure saw us immediately, waved, then beckoned us forward. When we got closer, she pushed her veil aside, turning her back to the sun. Alice was right. It was Mam.
She smiled – though she seemed a little withdrawn and formal. There was a wildness about her eyes, and in the bright sunlight her face seemed even more youthful than before. The faint laughter lines around her mouth had disappeared altogether.
'Well done, Alice,' she said. 'You did well to get yourselves to safety. For a while it went hard with us, but we fought off the maenads until these warriors came to our aid. They're mercenaries, bought with more of the money you returned to me, son. They were riding west to meet us and arrived just in time to drive away our enemies. As I said, Tom, the maenads are numerous and we'll need these men if we are to keep them at bay and complete our journey.'
'Is everyone all right?' I asked. 'Where's Bill Arkwright?'
'Aye, lad,' answered the Spook. 'Apart from a few cuts and minor wounds, everyone's fine. Bill's discussing tactics with the leader of those mercenaries. They're working out how best to deploy our forces as we approach the Ord.'
'Now come with us,' Mam commanded. 'There's no time to waste. We're going to visit one of the monasteries. There are things we need to know.'
'Is it that one, Mam?' I said, pointing up at the nearest one, perched on a high pinnacle to our right.
'No,' she said, shaking her head and pulling the protective veil across her face again. 'That one's called Ayiou Stefanou – although it's spectacular and the closest to the town, it's not the highest or most important. No, we have a long journey ahead of us.'
We walked for hours, the impressive rounded cliffs and pinnacles of Meteora always in our sight. At last we approached an imposing monastery built on a high, broad rock.
'That's Megalou Meteorou directly ahead,' Mam said. 'The grandest of them all. It's about six hundred and fifteen feet high, almost twice the height of Priestown Cathedral's steeple.'
'How was it possible to build on a rock that high?' I asked, gazing up at it in amazement.
'There are lots of stories, son,' Mam told me, 'but that monastery was founded by a man called Athanasios hundreds of years ago. Monks had lived in caves hereabouts for a long time, but this was the very first of the monasteries to be built. One story is that Athanasios flew on the back of an eagle to reach the top . . .' She pointed up to where two eagles rode the thermals high above.
'It sounds a bit like the story about Herakles throwing that big rock!' I said with a smile.
'No doubt it does, Tom. It's much more likely that he was helped by the locals, who were skilled rock climbers.'
'So how are we going to get up there?'
'There are steps, Tom. Lots of them. It'll be a hard climb, but imagine how difficult they must have been to cut into the rock! Just Mr Gregory, you and I will make the climb. Alice must wait behind. The monks know me well – I've talked to them many times – but women aren't generally welcome up there.'
The escort waited below with the disappointed Alice, while I followed Mam and the Spook up the stone steps. There was no rail and a sheer drop threatened to the side. At last we came to an iron door set in the rock. A monk opened it wide and admitted us to further flights of steep steps. Finally we reached the summit and saw a large dome ahead of us.
'That's the katholicon,' Mam said with a smile.
I knew the word, which meant a church or main chapel. 'Is that where we're going?'
'No, we're going to visit the Father Superior in his private quarters.'
We were led towards a small building and then into a spartan cell, where a monk with a gaunt grey face and a head shaven even closer than Bill Arkwright's squatted on the stone floor. His eyes were closed and he hardly seemed to be breathing. I looked at the bare stone walls and the straw in the corner that served as a bed – not the accommodation I'd expected for the important priest who ruled the monastery.
The door closed behind us but the Father Superior made no attempt to acknowledge us or move. Mam put a finger to her lips to indicate that we should be silent. Then I noticed the monk's lips moving slightly and realized that he was saying his prayers.
When he finally opened his eyes and regarded us each in turn, I saw that they were the colour of the bluebells that brighten the County woodlands in spring. He gestured that we should join him on the floor so we sat down facing him.
'This is my friend, Mr Gregory, an enemy of the dark,' Mam said, nodding towards the Spook.
The monk gave him a faint smile. Then his eyes locked upon mine. 'Is this your son?' he asked. He spoke in Greek – in a dialect I found easy to understand.
'Yes, Father,' Mam replied in the same language, 'this is my youngest and seventh son, Thomas.'
'Have you a plan to e
nter the Ord?' asked the monk, turning to Mam again.
'If you could use your influence to persuade them to stand aside, some of my party could take the place of Kalambaka's delegation.'
The monk frowned. 'To what purpose?' he demanded. 'What would you hope to achieve by taking such a risk?'
'A few of the Ordeen's servants are already awake when the Ord first appears – just the ones who receive the delegation. We will distract them, and while they are diverted, a larger attack will be mounted. We are hoping to reach the Ordeen and destroy her before she is fully awake . . .'
'Will you take part in the sacrificial blood ritual? Would you go that far?'
'There is more than one way to breach a citadel's defences. I will employ the same device used by the ancients – a wooden horse,' Mam added mysteriously.
I hadn't a clue what she meant, but the monk's eyes suddenly lit up in understanding; then he fixed his gaze upon me once more.
'Does the boy know what is required of him?' he asked.
Mam shook her head. 'I will tell him when the time is right. But he's a loyal and obedient son and will do what is necessary.'
At those words my heart sank. I remembered what the Fiend had told me. Had he been telling the truth? The Father Superior had used the term 'sacrificial blood ritual'. Was I to be sacrificed in order to gain victory?
The Spook now spoke for the first time. 'It seems to me that there's a great deal we haven't yet been told – no doubt we'll be finding out the worst soon enough,' he said, giving Mam a withering glance. 'But what can you tell me, Father? Have there been signs yet to indicate precisely when the Ord will pass through the portal?'
The Father Superior shook his head. 'No, but it will be soon – days rather than weeks, we believe.'
'We've little time to prepare,' Mam said, rising to her feet. 'We must take our leave of you. So I must ask you once again, Father – will you ask the delegation to stand aside so that we may replace them?'
The Father Superior nodded. 'I will do as you ask – no doubt they'll be happy to be relieved of a duty that for most is a death sentence. But before you go, I would like you to hear us pray,' he said. 'The boy particularly. I sense that he has little idea of our power.'
So we followed the Father Superior from his bare cell towards the magnificent dome of the katholicon. I was a little irritated by his comment. How did he know what I thought? I'd never really believed that prayers could achieve anything but I'd always added my 'Amen' when Dad had said grace before our family supper. I respected those who had faith and prayed, just as my dad had taught me. There were many ways to reach the light.
The church was splendid, with its ornate marble and beautiful mosaics. About a hundred monks were standing facing the altar with steepled hands as if already at prayer, though they hadn't yet begun. Suddenly they began to sing. Their prayer was a hymn. And what a hymn!
I'd heard the choirboys sing in Priestown Cathedral, but in comparison to this it had been little more than a tavern sing-song. The voices of the monks rose up into the dome in perfect accord, to swoop and soar there like angels. You could sense the incredible strength of all those voices singing in harmony. A powerful sound with a single purpose.
Had those prayers really had the power to keep the Ordeen at bay? Apparently so. But the power of the dark had grown, and this time the bloodthirsty goddess would not be confined to the plain. Unless we could destroy her first, she would attack the County. But the odds against our success were very high.
We took our leave of the Father Superior and left the katholicon, the hymns of the monks receding behind us. It was then that I caught a glimpse of the Spook's face. It was twisted with anger as it had been when he'd left me at the farmhouse and rushed back to Chipenden. I sensed that he was getting ready to speak his mind; and that Mam would receive the full force of its withering blast.
CHAPTER
14
PORTENTS
'The blood ritual . . . what does it involve?' demanded the Spook, staring hard at Mam.
We were in her tent, seated on the ground in a circle. Alice was on my left, the Spook to my right. Also present were Bill Arkwright and Grimalkin. The Spook had given Mam a piece of his mind as soon as we returned to camp. Politely but firmly he'd demanded to know exactly what we were all facing, especially the delegation; he'd even accused Mam of holding back important information that we badly needed.
This meeting was the result of those hot words. Mam was grim and unsmiling. I sensed there were things she didn't want to say – certainly not to this gathering. I think she would have preferred to speak to me alone.
'I don't know everything – far from it,' she admitted. 'What I know I've learned from talking to the survivors of previous delegations. Some of the accounts were contradictory, probably because their minds had been damaged by the experience. It seems that the servants of the Ordeen demand blood. And they'll want your blood, Tom.'
'My blood? Why will they want my blood?'
'Because you'll be the youngest, son. You see, each time a delegation visits, they take the blood of its youngest member. And we really do want to give them your blood – that's important.'
'You expect your son to give his life?' the Spook demanded angrily.
Mam shook her head and smiled. 'This time they won't be killing the donor – although that's what has happened in the past. This time they'll just get a cupful of blood.' Her gaze moved from the Spook to me. 'Do you know the story of the Fall of Troy?' she asked.
I shook my head. Although she'd taught me Greek, Mam had spoken little of her homeland; my life back at the farm had been filled with tales of the County, its boggarts, witches and wars.
'In ancient times, we Greeks fought a long and terrible war against Troy,' she continued. 'We besieged the city for many years, our forces camped outside its impregnable walls. At last our people crafted a great wooden horse and left it on the plain before Troy and sailed away, pretending to have given up the fight. That huge wooden horse was assumed to be an offering for the gods, and the Trojans dragged it into their city and began to celebrate their victory.
'It was a trick. The horse was hollow, and that night, when the Trojans had retired to their beds, exhausted and drunk with wine, the Greeks who'd hidden inside it crept out and threw open the gates of the city, allowing their returning army to enter. Then the slaughter began: Troy burned and the war was finally won. Son, you will be my Trojan horse. We will trick the Ordeen's servants and breach the defences of the Ord.'
'How?' I asked.
'The Ordeen needs a sacrifice of human blood to awaken her from her sleep in the dark beyond the portal. Your blood will animate her; give her life. But your blood is mine also: the blood of her sworn enemy will be flowing through her veins. It will weaken her. Limit her terrible power. Not only that: sharing the same blood will make you like kin. You will have access to places that would not normally be open to you. And so will I. The Ordeen's defences – traps, snares and other dark entities – will be weakened. Those who guard her have senses that are attuned to blood. They may not all see you – or me – as a threat. That is what I hope to achieve.'
'You say just a cupful of Tom's blood?' said the Spook. 'Previously a life's been taken. Why should it be different this time – tell me that!'
'There's an invitation for one of the delegation to come forward in combat,' said Mam. 'The rules aren't completely clear but victory for the delegation's champion means that the life of the donor is no longer forfeit.'