Hooded Man (80 page)

He flew after the stone, which had settled in an icy, snowbound place. The dead stood frozen on the streets, decomposing slowly because the elements wouldn’t let them go quickly or kindly to their rest. This was where he would begin his quest. The seat of ‘power’ for a ruler, the second such of his kind.

Without warning, he was yanked back, as if he was on a giant piece of elastic – pulled back to that forest, to stand in that clearing again. Only now, instead of the totem, he saw a man. The man he would soon have to face if he was to possess the stone. The man who would be the means to this end, because someone else wanted to possess
him
.

He stared at this person, dressed in green combats and a hooded top – bow and arrow primed and pointing at him. The Hooded Man possessed great strength, anyone could see that, but the seeker of the stones could also tell that it wasn’t all his own. Like him, Hood had help... from the spirits of this place, almost as ancient as those from his own religion. In fact, couldn’t he actually feel some kind of kinship with this person – a hunter just like him, just as skilled in the bow (
more
skilled perhaps? there was only one way they’d find that out).

He wasn’t sure whether the Hooded Man could see him or not – it was a very rare thing for this to be a two-way vision – but he was taking no chances: he didn’t want to tip off his opponent in this particular game of chess.

“Fulfil your destiny, Shadow,” he heard as he was scrambling to leave the spirit world. “Do not fail us.”

He wasn’t about to – and just as the arrow the Hooded Man was pulling back was let loose, Shadow broke free of the vision, blinking to refamiliarise himself with his surroundings. He had no idea how much time had passed since he first entered, but felt parched and would need to re-hydrate himself right away, but his first step on this new mission had been taken. He felt a sharp stab of pain in his arm and looked down. Just below his shoulder was a wound. He might have scraped it on one of the rocks as he was attempting to exit the other reality, or maybe...

Shadow shook his head. It couldn’t be.

He’d dismissed the notion almost as soon as he was clear of the lodge. It wouldn’t be the last time he’d need to come here, for one thing he needed to learn more about his potential target – the person who stood between him and his prize – but he’d certainly be more cautious next time. Shadow would not underestimate his prey, for to do so would result not only in his end, but more importantly the end of his quest.

As he drank from the water bottles he’d left by the side of the lodge, Shadow thought about where he was heading next. His services were needed, but he’d better wrap up warm where he was going...

T
HE RUNES HAD
told her much.

Alone in the great hall she now called her own, she’d cast the stones upon the table in front of her, watching intently as they fell, examining the markings on each in the flickering candlelight. She’d done a simple line spread, a Celtic Cross pattern and finally – the most revealing, as always – a lifetimes spread: showing her previous and future lives. What kept appearing over and over was the symbol of
Raido
, or communication.

There was a need for her to connect with someone, and soon.

Tell me somethin’ I don’t know,
she thought to herself. She’d been trying to connect and communicate since she was a little girl. But the time was coming around, of that she was sure. Her previous life, if read symbolically, had encountered great tragedy –
two
great tragedies to be precise, here represented by the symbol
Nauthiz
– but for a reason. The obstacles she’d put in front of herself, as well as those the world had thrown at her; necessary pain to bring her to this point in her current life. Her future life, the runes told her, was starred by the symbol
Gebo
: a partnership!

She’d encountered many such promises of this in her life, and all of them had come to nothing. This time, everything pointed to it being ‘the one’. The thing that she’d been told about when she was in her teens.

Taking out the tarot cards now, she wanted to double check. Placing them in the spread she’d been taught all those years ago, she turned them over one by one to reveal the pattern of her future. Would it have changed since the last time she did this? She doubted it very much, the signs and portents then had been too strong. Turning over the ‘significator’ she saw the root of the thing she was seeking: a pair of naked figures, hand in hand with a crude representation of Cupid behind.
The Lovers.
It revealed what her heart desired more than anything, a unity she’d yet to feel with any of the other men she’d shared her life – and her bed – with. In spite of how very close she’d become eventually to all of them (they were all on...‘speaking’ terms still) there just hadn’t been the one that the cards back then had spoken of, had suggested to her.

The card on top of this was the opposition to her heart’s desire, the main thing blocking it. And with one turn she saw what might stand in her way. A picture of a woman closing a lion’s mouth – showing her power over nature. The card of
Strength
. She was calming the beast, just as she might calm the passions that were necessary for this plan to work. Letting out a snort, the woman turning the cards carried on with her reading.

She revealed the next one as the best that could be achieved if she just let things go ahead at their own pace:
The Star
, indicating that recent difficulties would soon be a thing of the past. Even if she did nothing, she would still get what she wanted.

The next turn showed her what was surrounding the matter in hand, what had already happened. Here she was greeted with a card that depicted a wheel covered in symbols, around which winged creatures floated.
The Wheel of Fortune
. The flux of human life and continual motion of the universe, symbolic of new beginnings. There had certainly been plenty of those since her rebirth (before and after the virus struck). She sensed another new birth on its way: the death of an old life and the beginning of a new one...but a
shared
existence. (She dismissed the other reading of this card which hinted that plans made could easily change at the last moment...)

The ensuing card showed her what had recently happened or was
about
to... A solitary man, head bowed and alone in his cave.
The Hermit
. He would soon call on her and represented another obstacle she had to get out of the way before being able to move ahead with her schemes. He would not – or she should say, his masters would not – be impressed with what she must do to draw
him
here. It mattered not.

Next was the future – something she was uniquely comfortable with. A place she’d been able to see, hoped to change, even before she’d learnt these ways. It showed a bloke suspended by ropes:
The Hanged Man
. She paused, frowning. This one was new, meaning a period of suspended action before things began to slot into place. She could wait, though; she’d waited this long, after all.

Turning over another card, she knew this one represented her. There were two stuck together, and she peeled them apart – one the
High Priestess
,the other
Empress
. Both made sense: she could be either...or both. Or one,
then
the other. That was more likely – yet wasn’t there a nagging doubt now as to which one she
should
be? Because the next card was meant to represent something that might have an impact on the situation... Quickly, she turned this over and found the card depicting a jester. If she took this to be the proper card, it meant someone might not be able to see the wood for the trees. Or a risk would have a probable good outcome. Should it have been that card, or the previous one? Damn it all, she should know these things – she could
see
into the future, after all!

It was
The Fool
(she chose not to think about who might actually be the foolish one), so she moved on to the next card drawn: her hopes and fears for that future... It made more sense now, because she’d drawn
The Sun
. This would indicate she was content with her lot; a hope, but also a fear in case things didn’t happen the way she wanted it to.

Finally, she got to the last card – the culmination of everything in front of her. She sensed even before she turned it over that it was
The Emperor
. The card she’d been seeing in her readings since she was a child. The card that represented the man she would marry (and
remain
married to...). Who she would join with on this plane, instead of having to content herself with talking to the ghosts of former husbands and lovers.

The Widow turned it over anyway, just to see the man’s face. Sat on the throne with a sword in his hand, the Emperor to her Empress. The man who would come to her. She knew also that the next card she would place down on top of that, looking into the future, was
The World
they would rule together. But she looked no further than that – prevented herself. (Because had she done so, she might have seen those other cards of the Major Arcana – as incredible as it was for her whole draw to be so significant –
Death
, followed by
The Devil
: which could, of course, be interpreted as simply a new beginning and having to make difficult decisions, not necessarily a bad thing in itself – and not, surely not, a clouding of judgement.)

Sweeping up the cards, The Widow drew them again by candlelight. She’d draw them until it was time to give the order for her men to attack one particular, special convoy, and she’d carry on drawing the cards until the large, olive-skinned man (her Hermit) came to speak to her at that castle.

But before she shuffled, she took one last look at
The Emperor
. The man she loved more than life itself and who
would
love her in turn.

A man who’d soon swap his hood for a crown.

Who would sit by her side and rule this entire planet one day...

H
E’D THOUGHT ABOUT
that day often (especially after what had happened to them in the wake of the virus and the Cull). He remembered feeling elation initially, because he’d been called out of class, told he’d been sent for and could leave early – in the middle of the afternoon – and that meant he’d avoid the pummelling that was coming from Bevin and Lloyd, two of the ugliest brutes ever to walk God’s earth. With less than a single brain cell between them, they more than made up for this in brawn. He’d once seen Bevin – all cropped hair and ink tattoos – break a first-former’s leg by knocking him to the floor and stamping on it. Lloyd had stood by and laughed, then kicked the screaming kid in the stomach for good measure. Both had lied when questioned about their whereabouts while the crime was being committed, backing each other up.

A beating like that was waiting for
him
, too. That was his future, he’d been promised. It wasn’t as if he’d actually done anything to them; you didn’t need to. Bevin and Lloyd had their own unique way of picking their victims. Totally random and known only to them. The fact that he was the fattest lad in the year meant he was an automatic target, mind. In fact, he was surprised he’d escaped being picked on by them up till now. All the other bullies in that year and above (or below) had given it a go. Today was simply his turn, after school, as they’d taken great pleasure in telling him at dinnertime, knocking the crisps he was holding out of his hands. “You look like you could manage without them, lardie,” Lloyd had sniggered.

Now both boys watched as he left the classroom, and he risked one glance back – knowing that this was only a postponement. Yet still he was filled with elation that his torture had been delayed. It was soon replaced with guilt when he found out exactly why he’d been summoned. “It’s...it’s your brother,” the deputy head, Miss Anwyl, told him. He’d gulped, knowing it wasn’t good news.

He’d had mixed feelings ever since his older sibling, Gareth, had been diagnosed. The poor sod had come down with a blood disorder way before it was ‘fashionable’ to do so when the A-B Virus hit. The disease of choice in his case was leukaemia.

He’d kind of looked up to Gareth, in a way you do to big brothers, but there was also a healthy dose of jealousy mixed in. Gareth did well at school, was good with his hands – he could fix anything, which was why he spent so much time with Dad in the garage and shed. Gareth was Dad’s favourite, there was no doubt about that: the golden boy.

And while sometimes he’d wished that he was an only child, he’d never have wished
this
on Gareth. Especially as it didn’t make any difference afterwards. Didn’t make his Dad love him any more, or want to spend time with him (apart from when he reluctantly took his second son to those rugby matches). There was certainly never any wish for his brother to contract a terminal illness, to put him out of the picture...permanently.

But, as he was given a lift to the hospital by the neighbours who’d fetched him from school at his parents’ request, then walked into the ward again – only the second time they’d let him visit since Gareth was hospitalised – he began to think that was a strong possibility. When he arrived at the room itself, his Mam and Dad were there, crying. His Nan – his only surviving grandparent – was sitting in the chair opposite and looked like someone had punctured her, letting all the air out. His family. The only people he’d ever relied on, and probably the only people he ever would: ‘united’ in misery and mourning. His brother was still, eyes closed, and he could see that there was no heart-rate on the monitor.

When he asked what had happened, his father shot him a vicious glare. “What do you think’s bloody well happened? He’s dead...My son is dead...”

Not being one to show his feelings, his Dad stormed out, leaving his Mam to come over and give him a big hug. “He doesn’t...doesn’t mean to snap...” she said in between the sniffles. “He’s just...just...” She began crying uncontrollably, and his Nan had to get up and take over, taking her daughter into her arms. His Mam said she didn’t want to be in that room right now, so the two women followed his father, leaving him inside – alone – with his deceased sibling.