Ravens Gathering (29 page)

The significance of the truck didn’t strike him at
first.  There was a large open space outside the buildings, and it didn’t
seem unreasonable for it to be used to park a vehicle.  It was when they
opened the door to the old barn that he realised something was wrong.  For
a start, there was no sign of the van.  Which meant there was no bomb.

Even though he knew the barn must be empty, he wasted half a
minute or so roaming around it, peering into dark corners.  He knew it
wasn’t possible for the van to feel fear or, driven by that sensation, to sneak
into the shadows and hide.  Nevertheless, he searched, and with every
passing second he felt tension rising inside himself.  His breathing grew
heavy, the sound more pronounced in the enclosed space.

Where was it?

He had picked this place because it was abandoned.  The
farmhouse was occupied, but it was clear that the building was unused - a fact
that had been confirmed by Cantor.  So how would anyone know about it?

Tension had already evolved into anger, which in turn was
becoming a burning rage.  After all the effort he’d expended, the energy
he’d used up to get them into Aldermaston.  It had left him drained,
barely able to control the vicar for long enough to get them back here. 
And for what purpose?  He was furious, desperate to find the source of his
frustration so he could lash out at it.

No one knew about this hiding place.  No one except him
and Cantor.

It was a thought that brought him up sharply.

Cantor!

Rational thought was gone.  The fact that the vicar had
been secured in his own cellar all day was a detail that escaped him.  He
withdrew his knife from the sheath at his belt, turning as he did so.  The
blade plunged into Cantor’s stomach, and the sensation provided him with a
release similar to the one he’d felt less than an hour ago with the vicar’s
wife.  He felt wetness on his hand, and the slickness spurred him
on.  The rage poured out of him as he ripped and slashed and tore at the
man of God that he had possessed over the past few days.  Even when he
fell to the floor, all life draining from him, the Raven continued to stab,
stopping only when he heard the door open wider.

Although there was no obvious indication that anyone was
there, he knew it hadn’t been a gust of wind that widened the gap between door
and frame.  The movement had been too precise.  And, more
importantly, he could smell them.  Sweat and fear are a potent
combination.

Wiping the blade, he slipped the knife back into its sheath
and stood up straight.

Two.  He was sure there were two of them there. 
One on either side of the gap.  The door itself was to the right of
him.  He stretched out his right arm, hand open, feeling air, heavy with
latent energy, flow across his palm.  Curling his fingers, drawing the
Source in, he felt an intense surge of power build up, then twisted his hand
outwards, palm directed at the door, and pushed.  The distance between his
hand and the door was a good twenty feet.  The effect was as if he’d used
a truck with a battering ram attached to the front of it.  In an instant,
the door exploded, splintering outwards, tearing into the soldier who was
standing on the other side of it.  He felt the soldier’s pain, fed on
it.  But only for a moment.  Then all life expired from him. 
Fortunately, the other soldier must have seen enough in the dim light to know
that his colleague had been literally torn apart in the blast.  The Raven
tasted the revulsion and terror that came from that quarter.  Already, he
was striding towards the doorway, his right hand directed at the wall that was
shielding the survivor.  His movement gave him momentum, just as his anger
did, and the energy he was drawing from the frightened young soldier. 
From fewer than ten feet, he let loose another blast, punching a hole in the
brick wall.  Naturally, it wouldn’t break as easily as a wooden door, but
the hole was about two feet square and at chest height.  He heard the
scream from the other side of the wall, and the clatter of something metallic
hitting the ground, together with the unmistakable heavier thump of a body.

When he stepped out of the building, he could see the vague
outline of a man lying down.  It was misshapen, partly due to the section
of wall lying across his upper torso, and partly because of the fact that his
torso was flatter than it should have been.  Black liquid was pooling at
his side.

He didn’t need to see the soldier’s eyes to know he was afraid. 
That fear was pulsating out towards him.  Fear of death, fear of further
injury, fear of the pain that was already more intense than anything he’d ever
felt in his life.  Even – and this was something the Raven couldn’t begin
to comprehend – fear of letting his comrades down.

“Pathetic fool,” he muttered.  He had no intention of
inflicting any further damage to him.  To do that would kill him, and the
Raven couldn’t feed off a dead man.  He walked on, heading for the
track.  Not that he knew where he was going to go, or what he was going to
do exactly.  But he knew that staying here would serve no purpose.

There were lights on in the farmhouse.  He could see
them over the wall that stood between the house and the track.  Maybe the
people inside there could enlighten him about how the van and bomb had been
discovered.  And more importantly where it was, so he could go and
retrieve it.  He closed his eyes, allowing his mind to focus on the house
and the other minds in it.  It took a few moments for him to find
them.  One was dormant – sleeping, he supposed.  The others were in
different parts of the house.  He felt some conflicting emotions coming
from one of them.  A little more pain for him to draw on.

Then the thoughts changed, and he heard them as if they were
being spoken in his own head.

What a relief that they had managed to move the bomb and
take it back where it had come from.

The bomb had gone back!  All that effort gone to
waste.  Rage bubbled up inside him.  Like a toddler unable to get its
own way, he lashed out.  Gathering energy from the air around him, he
directed it in blasts at the part of the house from which those thoughts had
come.

A howling wind accompanied the trashing of the
bedroom.  It came from nowhere.  Certainly there was no obvious
source – no window open, no hole in the wall.  Regardless of its origin,
it seemed in keeping with the clothes straining against their hangers in the
wardrobe.

Martin was shielded from the worst of it as he crouched just
outside the room.  Freaky gusts slapped his cheeks, but he felt safe there
- unlike Ian and Tanya, who were still laying on the floor.  From this
angle, Martin could see only their feet and ankles.  They thrashed and
jerked as the furniture exploded around them.  It was impossible to tell
whether they were reacting to the crashes and bangs, or whether glass or heavy
furniture was dropping on them.

He wanted to call to them, but realised it was just a basic
need to make contact.  Nothing practical could be gained by it, especially
as the shrieking of the wind meant it would be difficult to make them hear him.

What could he say anyway? 
Don’t worry.  It’ll
all stop when the Raven gets fed up.
  He didn’t believe it for a
moment.  So he’d be lying, which wouldn’t offer any real comfort to
them.  Not that Tanya would have a clue what he was talking about. 
And even Ian might not completely understand.

Last night, Ian had been brought in on some of what was
happening.  It wasn’t planned, but then he hadn’t banked on Ian being with
him if he found the missing van.  Quite rightly, he’d wanted to call the
police as soon as they came across it.  The problem was, Martin knew he
had to get in touch with Claire, Adam and the other sentinels.  That was
what they’d asked him to do.  Of course, if anyone else had come up with
the yarn they’d spun the previous night, he’d have laughed at them.  But
there was a certainty about them, and an indefinable something that made him
feel he could trust them.  So if their story was true, he couldn’t let
them down.  Because if he did, he’d also be letting the rest of the
village down, and God alone knew who else – whether in the present, the past or
the future.

How did you convince someone else though?

As they’d headed back from the barn to the house, that was
the question that ran through his mind.  He kept opening his mouth, ready
to say something, but filled with doubt about his ability to get the message
across.  It wasn’t as if he could just make a quick phone call
either. 
Kindness Farm
didn’t have a telephone.  So they’d
have to drive over, which would mean delaying the call to the police even
longer.  Martin didn’t have a problem with that, but he couldn’t see Ian
going along with it unless he had a good reason.  Scratch that. 
Unless he had a good and
plausible
reason.

It was like last minute revision, or not telling your mum
about breaking her favourite ornament until she’s just about to discover it for
herself.  You put it off until you don’t have any other choice.

That was why they were at the kitchen door before Martin
finally started talking.

“I know you’ve only known me for a day or two, but would you
do me a favour before we call the police?”

Ian paused, his hand on the door knob.  “You
know
something about this, don’t you?”  He said it as if he didn’t want to
believe it, and Martin was encouraged by that.

“I do, but not in the way you think,” he said
hurriedly.  “We haven’t got time for me to give you a full explanation,”
he went on, aware that a full explanation would probably only lead to Ian
questioning his sanity.  “But there’s a group of people nearby who are
watching out for this.”

“That’s right.  The police.”  There was a
sarcastic edge to his voice.

“You know I don’t mean them.  These guys are... 
Well, they’re kind of like the police.  I suppose you could say they’ve
been on a long-term stakeout, waiting to catch the bloke who’s responsible for
stealing the van.”

“Bearing in mind that the van was only stolen yesterday, how
long term has this stakeout been?”

That would be a hard one to sell.  He ducked it.

“It’s not the van, it’s the bloke who stole it. 
They’ve been waiting for him to turn up.”

“And what are they going to do with him when they find him?”

Probably an even harder sell, Martin realised.  Ian was
clearly assuming he was talking about people who’d make the
Krays
look like Mary
Poppins
.  On that basis, he might
be relieved to hear that they didn’t want to harm the thief.  But he’d
also be somewhat sceptical.

“They just want to talk to him.”

“About?”

Martin could feel his story – such as it had been – falling
apart.  “I can’t tell you,” he said weakly.

“What’s your involvement?”

The change of tack, while more than reasonable, threw
Martin.

“How do you mean?”  He was stalling, trying hard to
think of something credible as an answer to Ian’s question.

“I mean, how come you know about all this?  Have you
really just come back from the Canaries, or are you part of some gang and
you’ve just been sent here to help with a job?”

“Why would a gang send me to my home village to do a ‘job’?”

“I don’t know.  But then, I don’t really know much
about
you
, do I, Martin?”

In spite of the intensity of his words, he still managed to
keep his voice low.  Both of them had.  Somehow it didn’t seem
appropriate to be speaking in normal conversational tones when they were
outside at this time of night.

Holding his hands out submissively, Martin shrugged. 
“Look, I know this sounds off the wall.  In part that’s because I haven’t
got time to explain everything to you.  And I know it’s a lot to ask you
to trust me on this.  But I really need to let these people come and have
a look before the police get here.”

“What are they going to do?  Bring sniffer dogs so they
can try and follow the trail he’s left behind?”

“I doubt it.”

“Then what?”

Martin racked his brains, trying desperately to think of
some way of explaining things to Ian that might just make sense.  As he
did, he became aware of an engine noise.  Not unusual in a farming
community at that time of the morning.  But it was getting closer. 
He turned to look behind him as Ian looked over his shoulder.  Light
flickered on the track leading up from
The Barns
.  The beams grew
bigger, filling the ground on the other side of the gate.  They briefly
saw the shadowy outline of the front of the vehicle, then the lights turned
into the yard, blinding them.

As the Land Rover pulled up, the driver killed the lights,
but left the engine running.  It took a few moments for his eyes to
readjust to the darkness.  Tiny stars exploded across the backs of them,
gradually dying out.  When they were gone, Adam was standing in front of
him, Claire and Mason were just behind.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Claire will explain that to you in a minute, Martin.” 
Adam studied Ian carefully for a moment.  His scrutiny was met with silent
hostility.

“The van’s here,” Martin said impatiently.  “He wants
to call the police.”

“That would be the right thing to do,” Adam pointed out.

“Yeah.  But not yet.  I was trying to explain why
he needed to give me time to call you in.”

“Difficult job.”  Adam clearly understood the struggle
Martin had experienced.  He glanced at Claire.  “I’ll enlighten Mr
McLean while Martin shows you what he’s found.”

She nodded agreement, then took Martin by the arm and headed
back towards the gate.  Mason stayed with Adam, presumably to give Ian an
added incentive to stay put and listen.

They were almost at the gate before Claire said
anything.  By then, they were pretty much out of earshot of the others.

“There’s obviously something very special about you,
Martin.  I don’t know why, but you seem to have picked up some psychic
abilities.”  A flash of teeth reflected in the dim light.  Martin
hoped it was a natural accompaniment to the light-hearted tone.  “Obviously,
we realised you had the link to the Raven, but we hadn’t appreciated you’d
connect with one of us as well.”

“What do you mean?”

“You woke me up.”

His natural instinct would normally have been to make a
smutty remark.  Instead, he felt awkward.  Back at
Kindness Farm
,
he’d begun to take more care of what he said in front of her, and this was an
extension of that.  Feeling self-conscious, he tried to keep his words to
a minimum.

“How?”

“I felt your anxiety.”

“I’ve been feeling
anxious
since you kidnapped me.”

She ignored the reference to kidnapping.  “Not
this
anxious.  Your stress levels shot up about twenty minutes ago.”

Was it really only twenty minutes since he’d heard the
van?  “And you could feel that?”

“It’s a bit more tenuous than that.  More a sense of it
than a complete experience.  But I did also catch glimpses of things you
were seeing as well.”  They had reached the barn.  She turned and
gestured to the shadowy walls around them.  “All of this.  Flashes of
the track.”  She paused, looking him squarely in the eyes.  “You saw
him, didn’t you?”

Martin opened his mouth to respond.  He hesitated, not
sure what to say.  A part of him felt embarrassed at not pursuing the
Raven.  Even though they had made it clear he was only to report to them,
there was still the concern that he might have seemed cowardly.  And he
didn’t want Claire to think less of him.

“You did the right thing.”

He stared at her.

“If you’d gone after him, you’d be dead by now.”  He
felt her hand on his shoulder.  She rubbed it gently for a moment, comforting
him.

“Is there anything else you can see?” he asked warily. 
“In my head.”

The surrounding darkness made it difficult to see clearly,
but Martin thought she frowned.  “No images at the moment.”  Her hand
stopped moving, squeezed the top of his arm.  “There’s a lot of pain,
though.”

He looked down, frightened of what he was feeling.

“I’ll do what I can to help,” she said.  “If you want
me to.”

His sense of gratitude surprised him.  He looked back
up.  “Do you think you can?”

“For some reason, we’ve made a connection.  It might
help, or it might get in the way.  Who knows?  For now, though, it
acts as an extra layer of protection for you.”

There had been a softness in her voice and – he was sure –
in her eyes.  Maybe something else could happen between them.  He
could feel an unfamiliar optimism growing within him, and was surprised it
didn’t diminish when her expression hardened and she nodded towards the barn
door.  “Now, let’s go and find out what he’s been up to.”

By the time they returned to the yard, Adam had done his job
with Ian.

“That’s two of you in one night,” Adam remarked quietly to
Martin as they approached.  “Can’t remember that happening before.”

So Ian had been made aware of the existence of the
sentinels.  But he didn’t fully understand about the Raven.  In the
short time Adam had been with him, it had been impossible to give him a full
appreciation.

Now, as wardrobe doors thrashed about, threatening to tear
themselves off their hinges, as curtains ripped away from their fixings and across
the room, Martin hugged himself against the doorframe, filled with a need to
connect with Ian.  For the first time in many years, he acknowledged his
loneliness.  He had spent more years on his own than he cared to remember,
even before he’d left the village, but the sense of loneliness had been
suppressed.  Crouched only feet away from this couple he’d known only two
days, he wanted desperately to be with them.

And then it was over.  The few clothes that had managed
to cling on to the rail in the wardrobe flopped down.  The curtain pole
rattled to a stop.  A vase that had been rocking on the edge of a chest of
drawers rattled to a rest.  For a long moment there was silence.

Remaining bent over, Martin scuttled across the room, broken
glass crunching under his feet.

Ian’s jacket was powdered with glass and pieces of
mirror.  Incongruously, a sock lay at an angle between his shoulder
blades, a flimsy pair of panties had folded themselves around his elbow, and a
single shirt sleeve lay across the backs of his thighs.  Tanya’s left leg
was exposed, from mid-thigh down.  He could see it between Ian’s legs, and
it had been slashed and torn, blood running from some of the wounds.  The
reassuring thing was that it wasn’t gushing.  Apart from her leg, Ian
seemed to have done a good job of shielding her.  The only other blood on
show was coming from Ian’s right ear.  His shirt collar was splattered
with bright red stains.

Martin reached down and shook Ian’s shoulder.  With
hindsight, the flinching response was only to be expected.

“It’s okay,” Martin soothed.  “It’s only me.  But
you’ve got to get up.  We’ve got to get out.”

At the sound of his voice, Ian seemed to slump, tension
easing out of him.  Presumably the relief at the familiar sound rather
than the content of his message.  As he relaxed, though, Tanya grunted.

“Get off me, you bastard!”  She sounded panicked rather
than angry, and it did the trick.  Ian scrambled to lift himself off her,
and was immediately conscious of her nakedness.

“Look the other way, will you?” he snapped at Martin.

But Martin already had, and was grabbing loose items of
clothing from the bed and shaking the glass out of them.  He glanced back
only to make sure that anything he tossed over to them went in the right
direction.  Then he pulled the duvet off and flipped it over and on to the
floor.  It wasn’t a foolproof solution, but it should protect Tanya’s feet
from most of the fallen glass.