Heaven's Gate

Chapter One
The Raven
Michael Tate was tired. Snow had been falling heavily for the past
three hours and had added several inches to that of the previous day's
storm. He leaned forwards, trying vainly to extend his vision beyond
the flickering curtain on the other side of the windscreen. It had no
effect. He still had the impression that he was driving along the
inside of a white whirlwind to nowhere.
It had been like this ever since he and his daughter, Bellany had left
Chester over an hour before. He had not intended staying so long at his
mother's, but Bellany had insisted that they wait until her grandfather
had returned home before they left. It was supposed to have been a
flying visit and as he had had every intention of returning home to
Warwick before tea-time, he now cursed himself for not having listened
to the weather forecast. Bellany had fallen asleep in the back of the
car as they passed through Shrewsbury a short while earlier. He smiled
at this thought and fleetingly wished that he too could be eleven
again. Dozing in the rear seat of a warm car seemed far more inviting
than driving into the Arctic waste in front of him.
He shivered. At least they had brought warm clothing and stout boots
with them. He did not relish the idea of becoming snowbound and
spending a very uncomfortable and cold night marooned somewhere on the
A.5. He comforted himself with the thought that the heater was a good
one. In fact, it was too good. He rubbed his eyes and opened the window
slightly. The full fury of the blizzard could now be heard screaming
above the noise of the engine, and he felt the flakes of snow whip into
the side of his face. The road ahead was covered to the depth of about
six inches with fresh drifts piling up ever more rapidly. Night had
fallen, making visibility even worse. So much so, that he was having
difficulty in making out the edge of the road irregularly marked as it
was by the old ploughed snow and freshly formed drifts.
He considered turning bask to a small village they had passed through
only a short time before, where the bright orange street lights had
seemed so out of place in the winter wilderness, but which had given at
least some indication of habitation in those terrible conditions. Up
ahead was

simply a profound darkness filled with millions of whirling white
flecks streaming by on either side. He heard Bellany stir, then settle
again. Perhaps it might be better to continue and try to reach
home.
He stretched and ran his hand through his hair. He could feel the
concentration starting to affect the muscles of his neck, which were
made no better by his constantly having to correct the steering as the
car lurched through drift after drift. At least it was Friday. Bellany
was on half-term and he did not have to go into work until Monday; his
first appointment being Wednesday afternoon. His mind wandered. It
might be pleasant to stop off somewhere; to have a meal; a warm bed.
There is a certain pleasure in unplanned preparations.
He had just allowed himself a half smile, when out of the darkness
ahead loomed an immense black shape. Like some giant projectile, it
hurtled directly towards the car at an unbelievable speed, riding the
headlights on a terrifying collision course. His hands clutched the
wheel as if part of it, and he could feel the icy cold of the night
pouring down his back. He involuntarily pressed himself backwards in
his seat, bracing himself for the inevitable crash. It never came. The
huge shape skimmed the top of the car and a screaming sound of
tormented evil crashed into his ears as the shape spiraled above him.
The car slewed across the road as he became aware of his fierce
braking. It came to rest sideways, with the rear end embedded in a
drift.
His heart pumping furiously, he scrabbled across to the nearside
window and wound it down. He was unable to see anything beyond a few
metres. The rippling wall of snow obscures both sight and sound.
"What's happening. Dad?" Bellany sleepily pulled herself forwards on
the back of his seat.
"Oh, nothing. I'm afraid I hit a drift." He did not dare look at
her.
"Is that all? I thought we'd crashed." She slumped back in her
seat.
Michael took several deep breaths. "No. No, it's all right. We may
have to push her out though. Just give me a minute will you?"
He laid his head back on the headrest. He could not tell Bellany what
he thought he had seen. He could hardly believe it himself, but the
image of that shape as it bore down on him would

not go away. It had been a bird; a huge, black bird, so enormous that
it was impossible. He had judged it to have had a wingspan of about
five or six metres, with a body of equal proportion.
However, it was the eyes that had terrified him. They had been red,
with a deep inner glow, like old coals in a dying fire. Yet, they had
not held the comfort of a warm hearth, but rather the evil of the
flames of Hell.
He could still feel the hate that seemed to come from those eyes; the
penetrating gaze as it had looked directly at him; the hooked talons
extended towards him. The bird had looked at him. It was not
imagination. He shivered and shook his head to get rid of the
memory.
"You all right, dad?" asked Bellany, the concern showing in her
voice.
He managed a smile. "Yes. Fine. Just shaken up I guess. Come on, let's
get out of here if we can." His mind was still reeling, but he tried to
attribute the apparition to tiredness and the strain of the drive
He turned to Bellany. "Get out and give me a push will you, love?" He
hoped the fear he felt did not show in his voice.
"Do I have to," she moaned. She was quite certain that she did not
wish to leave the comfort of the car for the bitter wind outside.
"I'm afraid so. If we remain here, there's every chance we'll freeze
to death."
"Oh." A short spell of discomfort was preferable to a night of cold
sleeplessness. She had always believed that she enjoyed a little
adventure, but the were limits! She pulled on her anorak and gingerly
got out of the car. The wind tugged at her hood, and the hard, blown
ice from the drift tops stung her cheeks. Michael gently gunned the
engine as she pushed at the rear. After several false attempts, the
tyres gripped and the car shot forwards into the roadway. She clambered
quickly back inside, stamping the snow into the well of the car.
"Next time, dad, please try to stay awake. I don't fancy doing that
too often."
He smiled. "I'll make a man of you yet," he said.

She made a face and punched him on the arm. "Where are we?" she asked,
pressing her face to the windscreen.
"I'm not sure," he said, " I know we are on the old A.5. and
approaching Wellington, but just where I don't know. I think we had
better find somewhere to stay. We can give your mother a ring, to stop
her worrying."
He looked at his watch. "It's gone seven now and the way those drifts
are building up, I can't see any sense in trying to go any further
tonight."
Bellany really felt quite pleased at the prospect. 'Marooned in a
frozen landscape, the weary travelers stayed a night at the Inn'. She
hugged herself. She would naturally be the beautiful heroine who would
be saved in the nick of time from unimaginable goings on, by the most
handsome of princes. It looked as if the trip might turn out exciting
after all.
While she lost herself in romantic dreaming, Michael could not help
thinking back to the bird, or whatever it was that he had seen. He
reasoned that the effect of the driving snow had had some form of
hypnotic effect on him, and that all he had seen was an illusion. Even
so, he could not remove the after effect of those eyes, soulless,
almost sightless, but definitely evil.
As these thoughts were passing through his mind. The car headlights
picked out a signpost for Wellington. He could make out the tracks of a
vehicle, which must have traveled that way only a short time before, so
turning the wheel he followed them along a slip-road to his left.
It was not long before the first lights of the town made themselves
evident, and although it made driving a little easier, he could now see
the full extent of the blizzard raging around them. Visibility was down
to about ten metres and the flakes seemed larger than ever, flying
almost horizontally across the road.
"How about there?" Bellany pointed to a collection a lights glowing
fitfully off to the left.
Michael pulled the car to the side for a better view, and saw that it
was indeed a small hotel with two brightly lit lanterns on either side
of an arched doorway.

"Any port in a storm," he said, driving onto the small forecourt
alongside the main entrance. He pulled up his collar and getting out,
made for the door. He glanced over his shoulder at Bellany.
"You stay here a moment," he said, "I'll see if there is room."
It was only a matter of minutes and he was back. "Come on. Rooms 3 and
4. I've also ordered us a meal." He leaned in to take his coat.
"It looks a nice place," said Bellany. "Funny name though, 'The
Raven's Retreat'. It sounds spooky to me."
Michael almost cracked his head on the door frame. Upon hearing the
name, he had the impression of minute icicles prickling the back of his
neck, and the impression of a great weight bearing down from an unknown
direction. Surely it was just coincidence?
Bellany had not noticed his reaction and in fact was entering the
hotel as he closed the car door. He looked around at the perpetually
wavering curtain of snow and shivered. As he followed her into the
foyer, he was not certain that it was the weather which made him feel
so chill.
Three quarters of an hour later, the comfort and cheer offered by the
huge open fire had helped dispel most of Michael's misgivings, and with
Bellany's mother informed of their whereabouts, the two of them had
made short work of their meal. He had almost put the black bird into
his 'stories to tell later' memory. He still could not bring himself to
mention it to Bellany, however. It is not an easy thing for a father to
admit to his daughter that he had been scared out of his wits. And by
what? An illusion, a figment of his tired imagination.
He looked around the room in which they were seated. It was an old
Inn. The beams were real, not plastic, and the fireplace was a joy to
behold. It was made of rough hewn blocks of New Red Sandstone either
with a large hearth, upon which were two separate chunks of stone, one
on either side. Several large logs were blazing furiously in the
centre, and their light cast flickering shadows into all parts of the
room. They were alone in the room accompanied only by the crackling and
spitting of the logs. A pleasant weariness, brought on by the cosy
surroundings made each of them content just to sit. The terrible winter
was a distant moan beyond the thick walls of the Inn.

There was a click from the latch on the large oak door at the end of
the room, furthest away from where they were sat. It opened and in came
a short, thickset man , probably in his fifties. He had a shock of
black hair above a crumpled but friendly face.
"Finished, have we?" he asked as he walked towards them.
"Yes, thanks. It was lovely," said Michael. "Just what we
needed."
The landlord smiled, removing the last of the plates to a side
table.
"Well, you are my only guests," he said, "why don't you pull up on to
the fire. There's a couple of nice chairs there."
He slid a large easy chair from one side of the room, while Bellany
dragged another from nearby.
"I'll sit here," he said, settling himself down on one of the large
stone blocks on the hearth. "My favourite spot. Warm and the feel of
good stone."
Michael nodded. "Yes. I was just admiring it. It's rare to see such a
fireplace nowadays."
Bellany snuggled down into her chair. "How old is this place?" she
asked.
The landlord took out his pipe and knocked it out on the end of a
log.
"Well, it's a bit older than Jim Dutton - that's me - but not as old
as the Wrekin - that's the big hill opposite, if you could see it. But
seriously, there's been an inn of some sort on this spot for well over
a thousand years. Not this one of course. This was built in 1662, but
there has always been one on this site. It's the old Roman way across
here, you see. So there's been a road past here for about two thousand
years. Makes you think, doesn't it?"
He grinned, making his face crinkle at the edges.
"Are there any Roman forts around here, then?"
asked Bellany

"Well now." Jim clasped his arms around his legs and leaned backwards
towards the fire. It was obvious that he was getting ready to tell a
tale. He closed one eye, and looked at Bellany with the other.
"We have a very famous old Roman town near here -Uriconium, or as it
is known nowadays, Wroxeter. It's about seven miles from here towards
Shrewsbury. In its time, it was one of the largest Roman garrison towns
in Britain. It was about three quarte4rs of a mile across and it was
the main town around here, while Shrewsbury and Wellington were just
small villages. It was occupied for many years after the Romans left
Britain, but as with most things, politics played their part, and what
with a battle here and a battle there, the better defended Shrewsbury
became the main settlement in Shropshire."
Bellany slid from her chair and tucked he legs underneath herself, in
front of the fire.
"Is there anything left of Rossiter?" she asked.
"Wroxeter, my dear," said Jim, "but that's the modern village. The
Roman part has a few diggings and you can see the old baths that were
excavated. As I say, it makes you think."
Michael reached across for his coffee and then said, "Were there many
battles around here?"
Jim nodded. "Oh, yes," he said. "We've been a battleground for the
Romans, the Tudors, the Cavaliers and the Roundheads and even Charlie
hid up at least five trees that I know of. But, if it's battles you
want, you must go back to a time when fact became legend, or perhaps
the other way around."
He paused to push a stray log onto the fire. He gazed into the flames,
seemingly gathering his thoughts.
Bellany looked at her father and raised her eyebrows. The waiting was
becoming too mush. "Please tell us," she pleaded finally.
Jim looked up. "Sorry," he said. "I was just thinking. Getting it into
place you might say. It's a long time since I told this story. What I
am going to tell you has been handed down with the Inn. It is a tale of
hereabouts, and goes back a long way."

Bellany wished he would get on with it.
Finally, Jim seemed to have arrived at the right moment to begin his
tale. With his pipe smoking furiously, he rocked to and fro on the
hearth stones.
"It seems that long ago, there were two kings, who each had some land
in this area. At least, I think they were kings. Anyway, they were
powerful men, and each wanted control of the other. Now it was known
that the Wrekin held a great secret. It is a high and lonely hill,
about three hundred and fifty metres high, and standing on the edge of
a great plain. Even before these two greedy men decided to do battle,
there were older legends of the Wrekin being a place of great magic,
where strange and wondrous events took place. It was said that whoever
had control of the Wrekin controlled Britain. It was believed that a
magician could fly from the top to any place he wished, in the flicker
f a butterfly's wing."
Jim swallowed and reached for a glass of water from a nearby
table.
"Each of the kings," he went on, "realized that it would be foolish to
try to take the Wrekin by force, so they hit upon the plan of getting
their best magicians to do battle for them. They would fight magic with
magic. So one morning, just as dawn was breaking, the magicians climbed
to the top of the hill and faced each other. The people from the
surrounding villages gathered in the fields and woods below, to witness
the event. And what an event it turned out to be."
"There were thunderings and crashings, whinings and whizzings. Many of
the people watching ran and hid under hedges and in barns as the battle
raged throughout the day, with no sign of either side gaining the upper
hand.
"As evening drew in, brilliant flashes could be seen flickering around
the ridges of the hill, and deep moanings could be heard coming from
the every ground itself. The suddenly it stopped. There was one final
blaze of light and a beam of glittering blue fire shot outwards from
the hillside, arching high across the heavens over Shropshire, and
westwards towards Wales. Then all was silence."
Jim looked at Bellany. She was quite still, her eyes fastened on
his.

"What do you think happened next?" he asked. She shook her head.
"Not a lot," he said. "In fact, very little. When the magicians failed
to return, the kings decided they would give up trying to harness the
power of the Wrekin, and the villagers were too terrified to go
anywhere near, except for one man. He was an old hermit called Nicholas
d'Admaston, who had lived on the wooded slopes for most of his life. In
fact, he was supplied with corn by one of the kings to permit him to
follow his holy duties."
"Old Nicholas was last seen standing on the second to the top ridge,
holding something above his head, in either hand. He then simply
disappeared. He was never seen again and the people believed that he
had at last ascended to Heaven. The spot where he vanished is now known
as 'Heaven Gate'."
Jim stopped and took another sip of water. Bellany continued to stare
at him.
"Is that it?" she asked at last, disappointed that the story seemed at
and end.
"That's it my dear. Leastwise that's the main tale. Just for interest
though, the lower ridge is called 'Hell Gate', because that is where
the main disturbance took place during the battle, and it was from
there that the great arch of light spouted out from the
hillside."
"You can see the gates on a map if you want to. They are the entrances
to the old British hill fort that is up there. All gone now, of course,
apart from the ridges of the old battlements."
He stood up and stretched, with a look on his face of a tale well
told.
Neither Michael or Bellany said anything for a while, but stared at
the patterns in the fire.
Eventually, Michael stirred. "I suppose that Old Nicholas stands for
the Devil, Old Nick," he said. The usual stuff of legend."
"No, just the opposite," said Jim. "There actually was a person of
that name. He is mentioned in parish registers of the time and in an
old census book - something like the Domesday Book. He did exist.
Something of a good, holy man by all accounts."

As he finished, Bellany scratched the palm of her hand. It had been
irritating her for some time. Michael looked across.
"What is it? Expecting some money?"
"No, I must have scratched it when I pushed the car out of the drift.
It doesn't seem to be anything, really."
She held out her hand towards him. There was a bright red mark,
roughly in the shape of a cross, between the heart and the head lines
of her palm.
Michael examined it. "It's not a cut. More a surface scratch. See how
it is in the morning." Turning to Jim, he said, "Thanks for the story,
Jim. It was excellent entertainment on a night such as this. It does
make you think, as you say."
Jim smiled. "I've a few more if you have the time, but I'll save them
for another day."
He moved across to the table and began to remove the remains of the
meal, while the others wearily made their way to the door. Bidding
goodnight, Michael and Bellany climbed to their rooms and were so tired
that not even fleeting thoughts of giant birds, ancient magic and
knights in shining armour could prevent them both from falling
instantly asleep.

Chapter Two

The Walk

When first she opened her eyes. Bellany was not too sure of her
surroundings. The ceiling seemed to give off a bright glow of its own.
She sleepily received the most pleasant feeling of enchantment. It was
so peaceful with the light from the window reflecting off the old,
shiny wooden beams. The snuggle blankets were like a huge nest around
her, and in her half asleep state, it was some time before she realised
that she was in the hotel. She clambered from the bed with the
intention of taking a look out of the window, and it was only at the
last second that she realised she did not have a dressing gown. She
hastily pulled the heavy curtains around herself and pressed her face
against the frosty window pane.
There was such a change from the day before. The glow in her room was
the reflection of the morning sun from and endless carpet of snow. The
storm had totally blown itself out, but not before it had covered the
landscape with a pattern of deep drifts, each one fingering away from a
gate or opening, or stretching for many metres from the tops of the
hedges. There was that complete stillness only found in such winter
scenes, when even the breeze pauses for breath.
She let her eyes wanders across the expanse of white in front of her,
then raising her head, she saw the Wrekin silhouetted against a clear
blue sky. It did have a magical quality about it. The lower slopes, a
patchwork of white dappling on the branches of the trees gave way to a
smooth rise of glistening silver towards the summit. On the right of
the hilltop, she could just make out a jumble of dark, rocky
crags.
The ridges that Jim had mentioned the evening before were really not
that noticeable - more humps than ridges. Closer ,and to her left, was
a smaller tree covered hill. It was less imposing than its higher
neighbor, but it added a touch of charm and balance to the view.
Bellany had always loved the countryside as long as she could
remember, and was never happier than she could walk through the fields,
whatever the weather. She could not recall when she had seen such a
lovely view.
Feeling quite delighted, she dressed hurriedly and dashed to her
father's room, only to find that he was already up, his room empty. She
ran downstairs and saw him seated at a table, already part way through
his breakfast. He waved her to a chair.
"Do join me for breakfast, Madame," he said. "I can thoroughly
recommend the bacon, and the eggs are delicious."
Bellany laughed. "Thankyou, kind sir," she said. "Oh, isn't it a
beautiful day? Do we have to go home?"
Michael gave her his serious look, but could not keep it up for
long.
"I don't think we can get home at present," he said. "I have just been
listening to the weather forecast on the radio, and it looks as if
event the motorways are blocked. I shouldn't think it'll be clear much
before lunchtime, or even mid-afternoon."
Bellany could no conceal her delight. "In that case, I have our day
planned," she said. "We'll get out boots on and I'll take you for a
walk up the Wrekin. I just have to see it close to, after what Jim told
us last night. Have you seen it, dad? It's fantastic!"
Michael was not too keen. It might be dangerous. The could be ice and
a fall would be disastrous. It seemed a long way. He had a headache. As
the excuses became more and more feeble, Bellany received some
unexpected support from Jim as he laid her breakfast before her. He
said that the hill was an easy climb, with little danger, unless you
ventured too far beyond the southern ridge. He had done the climb many
times himself in the snow, and reckoned it would only take a couple of
hours at the most.
Michael eventually relented, and by ten o'clock, the two of them were
dressed to depart, armed with a flask, sandwiches and a map provided by
Jim -'at no extra charge'.
The first part of the walk took them along the road, which despite the
drifts was surprisingly easy going. Before too long they came to a
track leading up through the woods to their right. Bellany started
along the track immediately, while Michael glanced at the map before
following.
They climbed for a while through dense woods, where the snow was lees
deep than before, but it still had the two of them panting before they
arrived at a barred gate. Stretching above them was a wide expanse of
smooth snow, rising fairly steeply to a small ridge roughly three
hundred metres away. On either side of this 'ski-slope', as Bellany
called it, the woods remained as dense as ever.
Before attempting the slope, they finished off half of the coffee,
during which time Michael reflected upon his lack of fitness. He was
also at the receiving end of several well aimed snowballs from Bellany,
who in turn was rewarded by being upturned in a convenient drift. At
this point, she had a complete attack of the giggles, before staggering
up the hill, followed by a far warmer, and even more tired,
Michael.
The slope proved to be harder going than they had at first thought. By
the time they reached the first ridge, they had opened their coats to
let in some cooling air. Michael examined the map.
"Well," he said, "we are at Hell Gate, and it feels like it!" He sat
himself down on a low outcrop of rock peeping through the snow
cover.
Bellany looked around. The view was starting to open out and she could
now see how remote the Wrekin was from other upland areas. The plain
stretched out to the north, west and east, with the only hill of any
size being the Wrekin's lesser companion to the north. The map showed
this to be the Ercall, but really, it seemed to be part of the Wrekin.
To the south and south west, she could see ranges of hills across the
broad plain. The snow had covered all the features of the landscape
like icing over a gigantic cake. Harsh building edges has become soft
mounds and villages were blobs of darkness in a land where all roads
had disappeared. She turned to Michael.
"This is where the magicians disappeared in a blaze of light, isn't
it?" she asked, but without waiting for a reply, she went on, "just
imagine if it were true! If the Wrekin was a place of magic where
dreams come true."
She held her arms wide and spun herself round, her anorak spread out
in a wide red ring. In a deep, mocking voice, she intoned, "I am
Bellany, wizard of Karg. I claim the Wrekin as my kingdom!"
Just as she finished, she gave a short gasp of pain and clutched at
the right hand, stumbling sideways as she did so.
Michael, who had been enjoying the performance, dashed forwards and
took her in his arms, before lowering her to the ground. Her face was
screwed up in pain. It was obvious that her hand was hurting terribly,
as she pressed it against her body.
"Whatever did you do?", asked Michael.
"I felt a terrible stab in my hand, as if I'd pressed it on a nail.
There's a pain all along my arm up to my elbow."
Michael took her hand and was astonished to see that the mark they had
noticed the previous evening had become so well defined as a cross,
that for a moment he had the feeling that it was a real object. The
flesh was raised above her palm, with a livid purple sheen.
"This has to have some form of infection in it," he said. "We had
better get back and have it seen to."
Bellany put her other arm on his. "No, it seems silly, but it's not
hurting as much now. See. It's already going down."
The mark did seem to be fading even as they looked at it. Michael felt
a wave of uneasiness. He did not recognize it as anything other than
concern for Bellany, but it was certainly unusual to see the mark
disappearing as he looked at it. Very soon, it was no more than a rose
coloured blemish. A simple scratch or bruise.
Bellany looked up at him. "I'm really O.K. now," she said. "It's
stopped hurting. It can't be anything serious." She smiled ad stood up.
"Come on ," she laughed. "I'll race you to the next ridge."
Michael was torn between her welfare and her apparent total enjoyment,
following what could only be described as a very odd recovery. He shook
his head in bewilderment. She certainly seemed perfectly well, judging
by the way she was forging up the hill away from him. Resignedly, he
set off after her.
They reached the ridge together, after Bellany's initial headlong rush
had subsided to a gentler pace. A quick look at the map showed the were
now on Heaven Gate, and beyond lay a stretch of about two hundred
metres of comparatively level ground. The fresh snow had blown away,
leaving a thin ice crust. On the skyline to the south, they could see a
mound of rocks, its dark, angular outline contrasting sharply with the
surrounding brilliance of the reflected sunlight.
They crossed the exposed ground until they stood at the base of the
rocks. Michael felt they had gone far enough, remembering Jim's
warning.
"I think we'll have a drink and a sandwich, then go back," he said,
taking out the flask from the small haversack which Jim had also
provided.
"Can I take a look over the rock, dad?" Bellany pleaded. "I just want
to see what the view is like on the other side."
Michael thought for a moment and then nodded. "O.K. But only go as far
as the big square rock, where it looks flat. Don't go anywhere near the
edge."
She walked quickly away before he could change his mind. As she
hurried onwards, she could not help admiring the scene. She was nearly
at the highest point, and her view was virtually unobstructed, apart
from the mass of rocks before her. She climbed upwards, the excitement
mounting within her.
Michael was also enthralled by the view. He had always enjoyed the
snow and to see the land from this height, especially on such a
surprisingly warm, sunlit day, gave him a pleasant feeling of
contentment. It reminded him of his youth on the Pennines, before he
had moved to the Midlands. Time was, he thought, when nothing on earth
would have prevented me from trying to see what was beyond the last
ridge.
He turned his head in the direction that Bellany had taken. She was
nowhere in sight. She had obviously gone beyond the square rock. Trust
her! The coffee would be cold if she did not hurry.
"Bel!" he called. "Bel! Where are you? Come and get something to
eat."
When there was no reply, he felt the first pangs of alarm. Pushing
himself up, he moved quickly towards the square rock, picking his way
over the increasingly uneven ground.
"Bel! Bel! Stop messing about. Show yourself!"
Now, he was worried. Why had he let her go? He must have been stupid.
Fearing the worst, he hauled himself to the top of the rocks. Directly
in front of him was a sight which, in his wildest dreams, he had in no
way been prepared for.
He had imagined her body lying twisted at the bottom of a snow slide,
or in the centre of a scree. What he had not anticipated was a smooth,
blue bowl, twenty metres across. He was standing on the edge of a
perfectly formed depression in the ground, completely circular and
about five metres deep. The walls were like polished glass, without
blemish, curving down and then upwards in a smooth arc. The bowl itself
was completely empty. Its glistening surface reflected the clouds like
the old camera obscura used to do on the hill behind his childhood
home.
He automatically stepped back in astonishment. All though of Bellany
was temporarily removed from his mind. Although no geologist, it was
plain to him that this was no natural formation. If not, then what was
it? Whoever had taken the time and trouble to create it must have done
so for a purpose, but what purpose? It just did not make sense. He
glanced around. The edge of the bowl seemed to blur into the rocks
surrounding it. It was difficult to say where the bowl ended and where
the broken, natural ground took over. The boundary between the two was
indistinct, as if he could not focus properly.
It was then that he noticed Bellany's footprints to his left,
extending along one side of the bowl. Worry flooded back into his
brain. He scrambled rapidly through the upjutting rocks on the bowl's
edge, frantically searching for the continuation of the prints. A heel
mark here, a toe mark there. Suddenly, the tracks became clearer, as
they passed over a patch of drifted snow. He could see they led towards
the base of a turret of rock, perhaps twice his height, standing alone
and about two thirds of the way around the bowl. A glimmer of hope came
to him as he half ran around the edge. Then consternation. The marks
ended directly at the base of the turret. He examined the rocks above
and to either side. There was no trace of her having climbed up, the
snow still lying undisturbed in the crevices and crannies of the
rocks.
She had to be nearby, somewhere! He managed to edge his way around the
loose rocks between the bowl and the pinnacle until he was able to
reach the top. Nothing! The hill fell away beneath him in an unbroken
layer of snow, to the dark wood below. There was no sign of any
disturbance, of a struggle, or of Bellany. She had vanished.
By this time, Michael was under the impression that he was dreaming.
It was impossible! She could not have simply disappeared, but that was
exactly what she had done, without trace of the direction she had
taken. He retraced his steps, carefully placing his feet in his prints,
and tried again - with the same result. Her footprints ended at the
turret of rock.
He could feel the rising panic and a terrible fear that something
dreadful had overtaken her. He tried to put the worry to the back of
his mind. He had to stay calm. Slowly, he returned to the other side of
the bowl, glancing down into its unblemished depths. Was it his
imagination, or was the colour deepening? His eyes flicked to the
opposite side where he had left his pack. There was a definite change.
The wavering edge was solidifying. In amazement, he saw rocks shimmer
into being; patches of snow appear, where before there was only the
shining blue. In less than a minute, the whole area in which the bowl
had lain was a natural jumble of rocks, boulders and thin wind driven
snow. The day suddenly seemed a lot colder.
Shivering, partly from the now chill wind, and partly from an inner
numbness, he carefully probed the changed ground beneath his feet. It
was solid; normal. A normal hill. What was going on?
His fear of the day before returned. A giant bird, and now a massive
unnatural bowl which disappeared in front of the eyes. Taking with it
his daughter, or so it seemed. Almost in a trance, he returned to where
he had left his pack. He had to get help. What time was it? Just after
midday. With an intense feeling of loneliness and an increasing sense
of horror, he pressed his back against the rough rock and then pushing
himself fiercely away from it, he began a stumbling, heedless run down
the frozen hill back to the hotel.

Chapter Three

Heaven Gate

Bellany just had to see what was over the last ridge. Trust dad to
want stop for a cup of coffee when the final goal was in sight. She
moved quickly over the rough ground to the large square rock where she
was sure she would obtain the best view.
When she rounded the rock and saw the blue bowl, her surprise was not
as great as that of her father. It reminded her of a satellite
receiving dish, and as there was a television transmitter on the
Wrekin, her naturally practical instincts connected the two. She
admired its form, but not having any real interest in anything
technical, she dismissed it from her mind. She delicately felt her way
around the edge of the bowl until she could see a short piece of
smooth. Drift covered ground ahead, which she gained with some relief.
Although the bowl did not unduly disturb her, she had no desire to fall
into its centre.
Her way to the top was obvious. She had to get over the turret of rock
in front of her. She remembered her father's warning, but she knew she
was far more capable than he gave her credit for. She fastened he
anorak to avoid snagging it on any protruding edges, and reached for a
handhold slightly above her head.
Immediately, she felt a searing pain lash through her hand once more.
She gasped involuntarily and fell backwards, realising as she did so,
that she would fall straight into the bowl. Yet, somehow, she did not.
She fell onto something soft and yielding. At the same time, the bright
sunlight fade so rapidly that with seconds, she was unable to
distinguish any of her surroundings.
Her surprise was total, and sub-consciously, she knew her hand had
stopped hurting. Then she remembered the soft presence behind, which
had prevented her from falling into the bowl. Hardly daring, yet
knowing that she had to find out, she turned and stretched out her hand
in the darkness. It was some kind of animal! Fear now overcame her
astonishment, propelling her backwards towards the rock pinnacle, but
again her senses received another shock. The turret was not there. She
knew she had to get away from whatever it was between her and the bowl,
yet if she went towards a turret of rock which was not there, she would
tumble down the hillside, probably to her death.
She slowly turned back to the rock face, and tried to feel the rock,
whilst inching forward a step at a time. The ground was firm and
strangely smooth, not at all like the rough ground she knew surrounded
her. She felt that this was her only way of escape, yet dared not
hurry. She could sense the warm breath of the creature behind her. She
slowly moved forward, and was aware that she was now well beyond where
the rock face should be, yet the ground remained firm and level.
She stopped. Was it her imagination or was it becoming lighter?
Uncertain, she moved forward several more metres. It was definitely
brighter than before. She could now make out a rock wall to either
side. With an upsurge in confidence, she moved ahead realising that the
tunnel, for that is what it was, became clearer with every step she
took.
Wonderment began to replace fear as she saw the tunnel curve away
gently to her left, while a the same time gradually descending. What
kind of place was this? The walls were unlike any walls she had ever
seen. They were made of the same blue substance as the bowl outside.
She suddenly realised they were not as normal as she had first thought.
If she did not look directly at them, the walls flickered at the edge
of her vision, as if they were alive. She could somehow feel the walls
tugging at her mind as if trying to communicate with her. It was a
strange, unsettling feeling, but is she drew close to the walls, she
imagined that whispy shapes floated and darted about in front of her
eyes. She could not look at them directly. They slid to one side or the
other, like the spots of colour a bright light will paint on the inside
of your eyelids.
She looked quickly over her shoulder. It was darker back there. She
had to continue forwards between those living walls.
"I am Bellany Tate," she spoke to herself. "I am not afraid. It is
different, but so far nothing has hurt me."
She took one long breath and after a deep swallow, plunged forwards
along the tunnel. The thought of the 'thing' behind her quickened her
pace until before long, she was jogging down the tunnel, willing
herself not to look back. She was so intent upon pushing herself
forwards that she was unaware of the wall directly across her path,
until the last moment. She put out her hands to cushion the shock of
the impact, but to her amazement felt no resistance. She stumbled to
her knees, but had no longer stopped when she felt a hand grasp her
shoulder. It was too much. She screamed - an extremely loud scream -
and fainted.
She opened her eyes to find she was lying on her back. She briefly
imagined that she was back in her hotel room, then the horror of her
last encounter came back to her with a rush. Sprang into a sitting
position, her heart hammering against her ribs, when a voice, an old,
soft voice, spoke behind her.
"Do not be alarmed. You are quite safe."
`Bellany spun round to see an old man standing by the head of the bed
upon which she was sitting. He was small and incredibly thin. His face
reminded her of crumpled brown paper, while his hair was the colour of
yellowed Autumn leaves. But the most striking part of him was his eyes,
which were a deep violet. Such a strange colour, yet she felt
immediately that she liked hi. He seemed so gentle and at peace, that
she felt her muscles relaxing from the tenseness in which she had been
holding them.
"Where am I?" she asked.
The old man smiled and waved his arm around him. "This is Heaven
Gate."
She let her gaze slowly travel around her surroundings. Her initial
shock at finding herself in such a situation, she had been blinded to
what lay about her. They were at the centre of an upturned bowl, almost
a mirror image of the one she had seen on the top of the hill, only
this was far larger. It was made of the same blue, glassy substance,
only the shade was far darker; almost the intense blue of a deep lake
in high Summer. She judged the height to be about twice as high as her
house and as wide as a hockey pitch. The surface of the dome was
completely smooth, apart from a slight wavering near the base to her
right. To her left was a small table with two chairs. Upon the table
were places for two people, with a selection of bread, fruit and cheese
on wooden plates.
She returned her gaze to the old man, and in a voice almost a whisper
said, "It's a real place then, not just a place name on a map or a
ridge on a hill."
"You could say it is a real place because you are here. You experience
it so it becomes real. If you had not come here, then would it not
still be here, as a dream to be remembered?"
Without waiting for a reply, the old man walked across to a chair and
seated himself at the table. "Please join me," he said. " I always find
journeys so tiresome, and you must be hungry."
Bellany realised that she was indeed very hungry, not having eaten
since breakfast. She pulled out the other chair and seated herself
opposite him. Taking a quick glance at him, she cut some cheese and
began to eat. The old man watched her, but took nothing for himself.
After a while, he reached for an apple.
"Well, Bellany, you are remarkably uninquisitive, or has hunger taken
away your wonder?"
She looked up, and was about to reply, when it dawned upon what he had
said. "How do you know my name?" she asked, the astonishment showing in
her voice.
He grinned, and his crumpled face crackled even more. "Hm," he mused.
"I know a great deal about you, but I am going to tell you about myself
before I tell you about yourself. I am known as Nicholas d,Admaston,
and I have live....."
Bellany spluttered some cheese on to the table. "But you're dead!" she
exclaimed.
Nicholas looked amused. " That's a matter of opinion," he said. "Yes,
I suppose I am, but I cannot be if I am here speaking to you, can I?
Look. If you are going to continually interrupt me every time I say
anything, then you will remain ignorant for ever. So be quiet. Eat you
fill and listen!"
He frowned as if to emphasise the point, and continued. "As I have
just stated, I am Nicholas d,Admaston, seer, hermit, and guardian of
the forces within this mountain. I will tell you a story. It is a true
story and one which you may see fit to disbelieve, but nevertheless,
these events happened. I am aware that you know something of the legend
of the Wrekin, but as with all legends, some part is true, some is
possible but a great deal is imagination."
He held up his hand to stem Bellany's question of how he knew that she
knew....?
"I will continue and you will not interrupt. The two kings of legend
were in reality two greedy merchants, who had very little understanding
of magic. Not only that, but they employed two quite mediocre
magicians. They were competent enough for everyday spell making, but
they woefully underestimated the power of the Wrekin. Long before Man
was the strutting animal he is today, there were the forces of good and
evil. Light and darkness. You believe in God, I presume?"
Bellany nodded, but remained silent.
"Hm. Well God is just one name for the Creator. Man has made many
religions and has developed countless ways to worship the Creator, but
all religions have the one basic starting point - the Universe is
governed by the two aspects of the Creator; Good and Evil, for want of
a better description."
"Your ancestors knew of the power which is in all of us; in the Earth
itself, in fact in every aspect of Creation. When they worshipped a
rock or a tree, or the sun or the moon, they were worshipping the
Creator in the only way they knew at that time, that is, from their own
observations of the natural world. There are pockets of the Creator's
power throughout the world. Aspects of this power sometimes leaks into
your world, and it is this which the ancients recognised. If it helped,
it was Good. If it did not, it was Evil. Let us not forget that the
Creator affects everything, including the mind of Man."
Nicholas paused to take a sip of water from a worn leather cup. He
eased one leg away from where it had pressed against the table leg and
gave it a comforting rub. He continued.
"To return to our two merchants. They may have been greedy, but they
were no fools when it came to recognising a chance when it came.
Together, they had discovered an ancient parchment whilst on a trip to
the east. They gave the parchment to one of the finest scholars of the
time, and discovered the power of the Wrekin. They did not know the
extent of this power, but the parchment clearly told them of rituals
that had been used in times past to harness this power. They each
wanted it for themselves, but would not admit to this. Together, they
formed an uneasy pact wherein they would combine forces to tap the
power."
"You see, their two magicians were not fighting each other. They were
working together to uncover the Wrekin's treasure. They were stupid
innocents. They climbed the hill and took with them potions and
animals, symbols and wands, but these were paltry instruments with
which to work. The foe they were to face could command the very atoms
of the earth; the universal tides of matter. They were trying to fight
the Creator himself in one of his many aspects."
"It is little wonder they failed, but they did have one effect, and a
dreadful effect it was. Their meddlings brought them close to the lair
of the Third Keeper, one of four Guardians placed at each compass point
of the Wrekin to protect their charge. There is a parallel with the
Angels of the Bible. They were messengers, or guardians. The Guardian
had only one purpose - to protect at all cost. It felt the presence of
the magicians and realised there was a possible threat. It lashed out
with beams of controlled energy, and simply destroyed them. Over the
centuries, however, the Third Guardian's control over its own power had
weakened. A small part of its energy brushed against the wall of the
Great Cavern, causing a tear in the protective shield. Through this gap
there burst an unimaginable burst of swirling energy, a part of the
Matoma, as this aspect of the Creator is called. But it was a part
beyond the control of the whole."
"It coiled high above the Wrekin and absorbed the fresh magic of the
world, the thoughts and attitudes of mankind, but worst of all, the
evil that men do. It twisted high then low, searching for a resting
place, until it finally spiraled down to a high hill on the Welsh
border, where it carved a huge slice from a high rocky outcrop, before
diving deep into the earth below."
Nicholas wiped his eyes with the sleeve of the long robe he was
wearing. Bellany could see that he was quite disturbed by what he had
said. There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment, before she dared
speak. "What happened to the power that flew away?" she asked, somehow
feeling sorry for the old man, although she did not quite know
why.
Nicholas cleared his throat with a slight cough, then smiled across at
her. "Try not to mind the tears of an old man," he said, "but that was
a dark day. A dark day indeed."
"You see, my dear," he went on, "Evil was set free upon the world. The
power that was released was the Intoma, that part of the Matoma which
continually learned. It now had all the ancient knowledge together with
the knowledge of the time. But it was a power without compassion; a
power which did not know the difference between Good and Evil. If it
was not soon controlled then it would gain enough energy to set itself
free from the mountain in which it had come to rest. Of course, I did
not know this at the time."
Bellany looked up from where she was drawing patterns in the spilled
water on the table top. Nicholas saw her look. "Yes," he went on. "I
was sixty three years of age on that day. I had lived most of my life
on the hill. I was a holy man I suppose. I did my duty to God and
contemplated the follies of Mankind. That day, however, I began to
doubt my convictions as I watched the battle progress. None of this
could I understand. I reasoned with myself for day until finally I had
to find out for myself."
"I climbed to Hell Gate, as it was rapidly becoming known, and cast
around for some sign or evidence of a disturbance. There was none. The
grass was as green as ever; the leaves on the trees undisturbed. I then
noticed some fragments of rock scattered around on the ground. They
were pale blue and appeared to have melted under some great heat,
almost like glass. I picked them up in order to examine them more
closely - four in all - and saw upon each of them was a simple sign. A
cross between two lines, similar to the Roman numeral for ten."
"As I stood there, holding the stones in my two hands, the land
wavered and across the plain to the West, I could see bright shafts of
light criss-crossing the fields in bands of shining silver. There came
into my mind, whisperings, as if from a great distance. The lines
formed a pentacle, the magical five-pointed star. The whispers in my
mind became louder. 'Go to each point of the star and construct a Holy
Building. Place in four of them one of the stones which you now hold.
The southwest Building must not receive a stone. That is the position
of man, the Joiner. When the time comes, and the Joiner appears, you
will guide him to this spot and aid him in the final conflict'."
"Contrary to what you might think, I was not afraid. I accepted it
completely, as I would the rain from Heaven. It would be and I was
chosen. I am now exceedingly old in mind and body, yet I wait. But that
waiting is nearing its end."
Nicholas sat perfectly still, tears flowing freely from his violet
eyes. Bellany rose and went to him. She placed an arm around his
shoulder. "Can I help in any way?" she asked. She was fighting back her
own tears for the sorrow of the old man.
Nicholas put a hand on hers. "Yes, you can," he said, "but it will be
hard and dangerous. I am no protection for you, as I have my own part
to play in what is to come. But there are those who can help you to do
what is necessary. I have discovered many secrets in my life, not least
of which is a certain contact with the Matoma. I am a poor instrument
for its power, my task being to guide and assist whoever I am
bidden.
"You, Bellany, have been selected to receive the power. Should you
accept this great burden, you must listen and learn to use it wisely as
the Joining draws ever closer. We have a great task ahead and so little
time in which to do it. We must prepare. Follow me. I will explain
further as we go. The Raven has departed and we must begin."

Chapter Four

Research

Michael fell against the door of the hotel, panting from his
exertions. The cold air tore at his throat as it rushed, gaspingly into
his lungs. He put one hand on he door frame and with his head bowed,
took a little while to recover before pushing open the door. Jim was
crossing the hall as he entered.
In a few short sentences, he told Jim of Bellany's disappearance and
how he could find no trace of her. Jim wasted no time in telephoning
the local police, who arrived at the hotel within a quarter of an hour.
The police inspector, who took some time in pointing out the folly of
attempting to climb hills in such conditions, was non too pleased with
Michael. Michael himself was too concerned over the fate of Bellany to
really listen. Even the hot coffee, provided by Jim's wife, did little
to dispel his feeling of loss and desolation.
However, before long, sufficient policemen had gathered at the hotel,
and after a short briefing, the inspector sort out Michael.
"We have about three hours to dark," he said, " so we'll have to move
fast. We'll take the Landrover and cover the top as far as we can until
nightfall. You can come if you wish, but quite frankly you look tired
out. If I were you I'd stay here. We'll report back any findings to you
as soon as we are able."
He called one of his men and without further ado left the hotel. As
the Landrover pulled away, Michael turned to Jim. "I shouldn't have
taken her, " he said.
"Don't blame yourself," consoled Jim, " I'm as bad. I encouraged
you."
He leaned through the door near to where he was standing. "Mary, fix
up a bowl of soup and something to follow, will you love? We need more
than coffee at the moment."
Michael heard Mary reply, but the weariness brought on by his mad dash
down the Wrekin dulled his senses, so he did not catch what she
replied. He sank down into one of the large armchairs and rested his
head on the soft back.
"What now? What can we do now?" he asked.

"Not a lot we can do," said Jim, seating himself on the hearth. "The
police are searching, so it's pointless worrying. Perhaps if you tell
me everything that happened it might help."
Michael nodded then described the whole walk to him. When he arrived
at the point where he first saw the blue bowl, he hesitated. It seemed
too far fetched. It was part of what took place, however, so he
described the bowl then the footprints, and how they vanished at the
foot of the pinnacle.
Jim looked thoughtful, and Michael was grateful that at least he had
not laughed outright at him.
"I've heard some strange things in my time," said Jim, "but that just
about beats all." He rubbed the side of his chin. "I don't wonder you
didn't tell the police. They'd think you were having delusions or even
worse."
Just then, Mary entered with a large tray upon which was a large bowl
of steaming soup and alongside, some large chunks of crusty bread. She
placed it on the coffee table in front of Michael and rested her hand
on his shoulder. "Here you are love. Get this down you. You'll feel a
lot better."
The soup was good, so good in fact, that by the time he had finished
he was feeling far more alert and refreshed. He placed the tray back on
the table, just as Jim got up from his favourite hearth seat.
"I've been thinking, "Jim said. "I know a bit about the Wrekin, more
than many I suppose, but the bloke who will help us most is Dennis
Markham. Yes, Dennis is the chap"
Michael looked at him enquiringly.
"I'll give him a ring," said Jim, and without further explanation went
to the telephone.
Michael caught part of the conversation, but it was not until Jim
returned that he managed to find out how Dennis Markham could
help.
It appeared that Dennis was an old friend of Jim's, who lived at a
cottage close to Haygate Hall, a large estate less that half a mile
away. For the past nine years he had been engaged upon research into
the history of the Arleston-Hadleys, the family who owned the hall as
well as large tracts of land in other parts of Shropshire. Dennis had a
passion for local history, and as assistant librarian at Shrewsbury
Reference Library, he had ample opportunity for study.

While Jim was explaining all this to Michael, a sudden draught caused
them both to turn towards the front door. Stood in the opening was a
man about forty years of age, with a large powerful body. He had to
stoop to enter, and as he straightened, he revealed a craggy face in
which were set two smiling green eyes. His hair, straggling out from
under a multicoloured bobble hat, was almost yellow, and hung about him
in great bunches. He was dressed in a red check coat, a blue roll neck
sweater and faded green corduroy trousers.
Michael could only stare. Jim went towards the man, his hand
outstretched. "Come in, Dennis. This is Michael Tate - Dennis
Markham."
Dennis grinned. He held out a huge hand to Michael, who, unable to
refrain from smiling himself, grasped it warmly. He was a man to like,
whatever the first impressions. Dennis shook off his coat and fell into
a chair, causing it to groan in protest.
"Don't look so surprised." he said to Michael. "I have that affect on
most people at first. It's my dress, I know. I'm totally colour blind
you see. What's my sweater, Jim?"
Jim told him and he gave a deep, bellowing laugh. "It's Friday then.
Jenny always puts out the blue one for Friday." He wiped his eyes and
looked at Michael. "Lost your daughter on the Wrekin then, have you,"
he stated. "Shouldn't be too hard to find. What happened?"
Michael once more related the events of that morning. He described
Bellany's desire to see the view to the south, and how after following
her, he had come across the strange blue depression in the
ground.
Up until that point, Dennis had sat quietly, his hands folded across
his chest. He now sprang to his feet, his gaze fixed intently on
Michael. "But that's impossible," he said. "It's a circle of rocks,
nothing more. Describe it again - from where you took a drink."
Somewhat surprised at the reaction, Michael slowly went over the
detail again. Dennis sat down, more carefully than the way in which he
had got up.
"Do you know the name for those rocks?" he asked.
"No, I don't," said Michael.
"The Raven's Bowl."

It was now Michael's turn to be shocked. The terror of the previous
night washed over him once more, and the vision of that frightful bird
came unbidden into his mind. This was becoming less and less like
reality.
Dennis was watching him closely. "Why did you start so when I
mentioned the name of the rocks? It obviously means something to
you."
At first, Michael felt foolish, partly from his own reaction and
partly at having to relate what was perhaps an illusion. He did,
however, tell them of his experience and of the fear he had felt.
As he finished, nobody spoke. The air in the room seemed to be waiting
for the slightest sound. Finally, Dennis breathed in heavily, then
crossing to the fireplace, he put both hands on the stonework above the
fire and stared into the flames. Letting out his pent up breath, he
turned to Jim and Michael.
"You may not believe what I am about to tell you, but I believe that
Bellany is in great danger. She is still alive, of that I am sure, but
tell me, Michael, has she acted at all strangely over the past few
hours?"
Michael wanted to ask a thousand questions. Danger? Alive? What was
this all about? Dennis's expression told him that the question was
important, so he tried to recall any incident. Nothing. He was at a
loss.
Jim spoke up, "Didn't she have a scratch on her hand?"
Yes, of course! And on the hill.
Michael described the unusual mark that had appeared so vividly on her
hand, and which had given her so much pain. He had quite forgotten it
in the worry over her disappearance.
Dennis began to nod his head vigorously. "Yes. Yes. That's it!" he
exclaimed. "It may be worse than I feared. We have until early evening
tomorrow, so we have no time to lose. I must first confirm my
suspicions, so please don't press me for answers just yet." He swept up
his coat from where he had tossed it and continued, "Michael will you
come with me to the Hall? We must do some research."
Without a backwards glance, he made for the door. Michael's mind was
in a whirl. What was this madman talking about? His daughter was lost
on a snow covered hill. What was going on? He looked at Jim who
shrugged his shoulders. O.K. Actions is better than sitting here, so
with a quick

movement he gathered his coat from the hallway and followed Dennis from
the hotel. By this time, Dennis's retreating back was already a hundred
metres away and it was obvious he was not going to wait.
When he arrived at the hall, Dennis was waving impatiently from the
top of a flight of half a dozen steps leading up to the main entrance.
Quickening his pace, Michael pushed through the doors to see Dennis
once ,ore beckoning from an opening to the left. Crossing to where he
again disappeared, he saw that they were in a large room lined with old
books. There were several comfortable chairs scattered around, and at
the far end, a spiral staircase wound up to another, smaller room, just
visible beyond a finely wrought, wooden balustrade. There was the smell
of leather and just the hint of polish.
Dennis had thrown off his coat and was busy pulling books from the
shelves. It was obvious that he was in no mood for conversation.
Michael picked up one of the books -"Shropshire Legends", and another
- "Ancient Powers and Their Invocation". He shook his head. What had he
got himself into?
Eventually Dennis seated himself and pushed a book across to
Michael.
"Is this the mark?" he asked.
On the page indicated, Michael saw an engraving of a freshly
constructed church. Dennis's finger rested on a lintel above a door,
where the separate stones could be clearly distinguished. One stone had
upon it the Roman numeral for ten.
"Yes," he whispered, "That's the mark. The lines above and below were
those parts of her hand which glowed on the hill."
"Right. Read this."
Dennis slid across another book and pointed to the right hand page.
Michael read with growing disbelief.
'Signs and small markings add greatly to the way the palm is
interpreted. Most are imperfect and are of little consequence to the
bearer. There are certain markings, however, which confer great powers
for either good or evil. The cross is one such mark. It is normally
considered unlucky, but formed between the lines of Head and Heart, it
is known as the Mystic Cross, The bearers of this rare

marking were often Witches or Warlocks, having a natural instinct or
inclination towards the powers of the supernatural.'
He looked across at Dennis in amazement. "We are living in the
twentieth century. Ancient superstition and mumbo-jumbo isn't going to
find Bellany." He made to get up to leave.
Dennis put a hand on his arm. "Michael," he said quietly, "I know it
takes some believing, but if you will just listen. I will try to add
some sense to it all. Please, just hear me out."
Michael sighed, and sat back. He would listen, but really!
Dennis started to describe how, in his researches, he had come across
the legend of the Wrekin. He had pieced together fragments of writing
from many sources and had arrived at the conclusion that the Wrekin
could have a real secret. He himself had been unwilling to believe it
until that evening, when suddenly he saw how it all started to fit
together.
He added to Jim's story the details of how other local legends had
often referred to the Wrekin as a place of magic, wherein there were
tales of a great storehouse of power, and of the split into good and
evil. Several sources had described how a shining bow of light had
arched across the
sky, but without reference to where it came to earth. Dennis did,
however, have an idea of how the power had been contained. Whilst
searching old records in connection with his duties towards the
Arleston-Hadleys, he had visited many Shropshire churches and Abbeys.
Several years previously, he had been struck by a curious blue stone
set into a lintel at the Priory at Much Wenlock - the engraving in the
book. Like many before him, he had taken the mark to be no more than
evidence of the Roman occupation and a re-used stone. Following visits
to other religious sites, he had found similar stones at Shrewsbury
Abbey, Haughmond Abbey and Buildwas Abbey. All were single stones with
exactly the same marking. Coincidence?
Dennis had thought so at first, but the peculiar nature of the
material stayed in his mind. Then one day, quite by accident, he had
been studying a map to find old burial mounds, when he noticed a
singular fact. If the four sites containing stones were joined together
by lines, they formed a regular geometric pattern.
Michael sat up. Still foolish nonsense, but in spite of himself, he
was interested.
Dennis went across to a set of large map drawers and withdrew a large
scale map of the north of Shropshire. Laying it on the largest of the
tables, he took a piece of tracing paper from

another drawer and laid it on the map. Drawn on the paper was a set of
lines, joined in the shape of a trapezium, each corner of which was
marked with the name of one of the Holy sites. The longest sides were
aligned roughly north west/south east, with the Wrekin off to the
east.
Dennis took a ruler from the desk top and placed it on the map.
"You can see that this simple shape is quite regular in appearance, "
he said. "This is what first intrigued me. Why were these sites aligned
in this way? But then I noticed something even more peculiar."
He took a pencil and drew a line between the opposite corners of the
trapezium, from Shrewsbury to Buildwas and from Haughmond to Much
Wenlock.
"Do you notice anything?" he asked.
Michael studied the drawing, but failed to see any other pattern. He
shook his head.
Dennis then drew a line between Haughmond and a point on the map shown
as a castle at a small village to the south-west called Acton Burnell.
He then continued the line back across the map to Buildwas. Michael
turned the map slightly. He could now recognise a five pointed
star.
"Not a star," said Dennis, "a pentacle. A sign of magic. If looked at
from the Wrekin it would have one point uppermost - the sign of
protection against evil, or man in harmony with the elements. But
viewed from the south-west, it would have two points uppermost - the
horns of the Devil. The sign of evil."
Michael was impressed with the reasoning, but what did it prove, and
what had this got to do with Bellany?
Dennis sat down again before continuing, "I believe that the four
stones represent the four elements, Earth, Air, Fire and Water, which
were so fundamental to ancient magic. I reasoned that they would be
depicted as four of the points of the pentacle. The fifth point is
considered as man in his universe. So where is the fifth stone? I
searched for a long while at the priory at Acton Burnell, but with no
success, and it was not until tonight that I realised that the fifth
point requires a human being. In this case, Bellany."
Michael felt stunned. How had a simple hill walk come to such a
situation so removed from reality? It sounded very convincing, but
magic? "It sounds very plausible," he said at last, "but how does that
help us to find Bellany?"

"I am convinced," said Dennis, "that somehow, she must complete the
pentacle, and that when she does, some form of ritual must take place.
For what purpose, I can only guess. Possibly an attempt to reunite the
two great powers. If that is the case then she is in great danger from
whoever holds her now, and probably even more danger when she is taken
to Acton Burnell. I am sure that is where she will go."
Michael was finding it very difficult to accept. He had a normal young
daughter, who had disappeared during a walk in deep snow. How could
this be considered the work of magic, he could not imagine. But there
had been the blue bowl, the mark, the Raven??.
"Why did you say we only had until tomorrow evening," he asked,
remembering Dennis's statement at the hotel.
"Ah! That's another legend, which again I did not connect until
tonight. It says that at the time of reckoning between the powers of
good and evil, the Joiner will appear. At that moment, a huge black
bird will establish the identity of the Joiner as fact, and will be the
bearer of the news of the Coming. It will communicate this to its
master, the Devil, who will then charge it with the gathering of the
Elements, which must be brought together within two days of the Coming.
Then, and only then, will the Devil rise from his pit and take control
of the world."
Michael's eyes narrowed. "If the Raven was that black bird I saw, then
yes, it was the Devil's creature, but why did it attack us?"
"Because of Bellany," answered Dennis. "She in some way triggered off
a response in the Raven, which had waited untold centuries in its bowl
upon the Wrekin. I believe that this was done by crossing the lines of
force between the Abbeys. She is the mythical Joiner, Michael. In some
way she is the catalyst to re-join the two forces, by some latent,
supernatural power she must have."
Michael stood up and rested his weight on the edge of the table. "Do
you know, I should be telling you to go and boil your head, but, I
don't know, I am actually beginning to believe you."
Dennis smiled and gathered the books together. "I'm glad," he said.
"It means we can help each other." He put the map away then turned to
Michael. "I think the best thing we can do now is to have something to
eat. You will dine with us, of course. I stall have something at the
back of my mind which I must sort out. We'll come back afterwards. It
has something to do with that hermit fellow, but I just cannot put my
finger on it."

Chapter Five

The Capture

Bellany followed Nicholas as he rose from the table and walked across
to that section of the dome which she had noticed had a different
texture to the rest of the smooth surface. She had the impression that
she was looking upwards through water, as she loved to do when
swimming. Nicholas passed his hand across in front of him and the
rippling surface cleared so suddenly that she was taken completely by
surprise. In front of her was a circular opening about two metres in
diameter.
She felt that she was on the edge of a dizzy precipice, with the
ground falling away so steeply before her that she put out a hand to
steady herself on the edge of the opening. She was looking across an
immense cavern, so large that she could only just make out the other
side, as it curved in a gigantic sweep above and below. Its surface was
a brilliant gold, in which flecks of blue light winked and flickered
continuously. But what held he attention was the beautiful object
hanging without any visible form of support in the centre of that
immense space.
Even much later, she could not recall its exact shape, but she had the
impression of coiled light woven into crystal curves, and could sense
clear skies above cool forests. She felt a great joy, a pure wave of
happiness. Somehow, she had become part of this wondrous object. There
was no sound, yet she felt it moving gently within her mind. She could
sense it speaking to her with emotions, the warm touch of love, a brush
of sadness and something she thought was not quite fear - more anxiety
or compassion.
She seemed to float in an endless dream. She did not find it at all
strange to feel her body dissolve and to scatter itself across vast
volumes of space. She accepted the heat of the sun as it passed through
her, the headlong dash across a carpet of stars and the pure pleasure
of total freedom. Her home, the Earth - all were nothing to her. She
tasted the gas of giant nebulas and felt the sound of the Universe as
it sang to her its song of love. Above all, she had the complete
knowledge that she had the friendship and trust of the Matoma.
How long she drifted in that blissful state she could not recall.
There seemed to be no sense of time, but gradually she became aware of
the cavern once more, as she felt the presence within her mind begin to
withdraw.

She blinked. The Cavern was as before, still beautiful now known, as a
friend might be. There was no fear of strangeness about it any more.
She turned to look at Nicholas who was standing by her side.
"Thank you, Nicholas, " she said simply.
"You received the power," he said, with wonder in his voice. "For one
so young, it is a heavy burden to be the Joiner."
She looked at him questioningly. "Power? Joiner? I don't feel any
different"
Nicholas led the way back to the table.
"No, I don't suppose you do," he said. "There have been many before
you who I have led to this place, but you are the first the Matoma has
accepted. Your power is not something you can see or feel. You have
been given the gift to control the Elements; completely. But this is
not your main task. Your duty is to act as a great reservoir for the
Matoma's own power, which will be tapped as we approach the final
conflict."
He paused and seated himself.
"It is time to explain further," he went on. "When I first found the
blue stones, I too had a vision, but I was given the specific task of
preserving the stones. Your revelation went far beyond mine. Do you
realise that you stood in front of the opening for three and a half
hours?"
Bellany stared at him in disbelief
"Yes," he continued, "You have a purpose. The four stones are
incomplete as they stand. They have a particular power within
themselves which maintains a balance between the Matoma and the Intoma.
Both wait for the Joiner. If the Intoma can enter its champion, the
Raven, into battle without the Joiner being present, then evil will be
set loose across the whole of the planet. The Matoma, however, requires
the Joiner to be at the final meeting in order to assist its champion,
so that a reunion can take place between the two forces. The Intoma
will resist this at all cost, because it knows that to join will mean
the end of its independent powers."
"As the representative of mankind, you must complete the pentacle. If
you fail, then the Intoma will rule both Heaven and Earth, and
everything that we treasure will be destroyed."

Bellany sat deep in thought, unsure and in some way unable to say
anything. Nicholas poured some salt from a bowl onto the table top. He
roughly traced the outline of the pentacle with his finger.
"I must leave you soon," he said. "I have to prepare the way by
travelling to each of the locations where the stones lie, and to
perform a certain ritual in order to concentrate the power at the fifth
point. The Raven will also have to complete the same rituals, but
meanwhile, you must travel to Acton Burnell."
Bellany glanced at him. "How will I get there? I don't know the
way."
"With me for part of the way, but mainly in the company of your
protectors, escorts of the highest calibre."
He smiled and rising, he beckoned Bellany to follow him to another
part of the dome. Taking her hand, he walked through the wall. Bellany
was so surprised that she did not resist, even when she felt an itchy
tingling on her skin as the wall brushed past her. They were once more
in a blue tunnel. She realised it was not the one by which she had
entered as the floor sloped steadily downwards.
They walked for about three minutes before another wall appeared in
the tunnel ahead. This time she was prepared for the tingle as they
passed through, but she was not prepared for what lay on the other
side. She was again in a domed cavern similar to Heaven Gate, but this
one was quite dark and the air had a damp chill to it. Surprisingly,
she had forgotten that it was mid-winter.
As her eyes became accustomed to her gloomy surroundings. She could
make out dark looming shapes to either side, shapes of cold menace.
Nicholas took out a candle from his robe and lighting it, held it above
his head.
"This is Hell Gate. It was once the same as Heaven Gate, but since the
flight of the Intoma it has been without magic. It is a soulless
place."
Bellany shivered. The shapes on either side were looming lumps of rock,
seven in all, in varying sizes. Nicholas set the candle down on the
floor. "Now for some magic," he said.
Bellany waited. She watched Nicholas closely, occasionally glancing
about her, trying to pierce the darkness surrounding them. She felt a
great excitement building inside her. Nicholas looked at her.
"Well, carry on," he said, "I'm only the guide at this stage."

She stared at him and could not help letting he mouth fall open a
little way.
"You," said Nicholas. "You have the power, so let us see what you can
do in this
cheerless place." He grinned and moved to one side.
She had never felt so lost or alone. Here she was in a crazy situation
in the centre of a mountain with an old man telling her she was a witch
or something! What could she do? She thought of the pleasantness of
Heaven Gate and compared it to this dreary place. Why couldn't the two
have been the same.
The air crackled. She felt the floor vibrate once and then stumbled
backwards in amazement. The walls were glowing, faintly at first, then,
with a swiftness she could hardly follow, the whole dome illuminated to
a deep, richly toned blue. The grey, rocky lumps glistened with a
covering of silvery powder, and Nicholas was smiling.
"Not bad for a first attempt," he said. "I fell we may have a chance
yet."
Bellany was too struck by the sudden change to say anything. Did I do
that? she thought. If she had done it then she was not too sure if she
really liked doing that sort of thing.
While she was trying to come to terms with he new found power,
Nicholas clapped his hands. The sudden noise make Bellany look up. From
behind one of the pillars there came a short, shambling creature,
covered in long, brown hair. It reminded her of a bear. It carried a
small flack of green liquid, which it gave to Nicholas.
"Don't be alarmed," he said, "This is one of my helpers. You have
already met one of them as you entered the Wrekin."
She thought back to the frightening presence she had felt behind in
the flight down the first corridor. So that's what it was!
Nicholas took the flask and walked across to the silvery rock pillars.
He sprinkled a few drops on each of them and turned to Bellany. "Your
protectors," he said.
As Bellany watched, fascinated, she saw minute cracks appearing across
the surface of the rocks. The almost faster than the eye could follow,
each rock seemed to fall to dust, creating a swirl of glistening smoke
where each had stood. In their place stood an assortment of creatures
she could

not believe. The largest was half man, half bird. He had the face and
legs of a man, but his body was that of a bird, with glossy,
midnight-blue wings folded across his back. He towered over Bellany
and
she backed off slightly, noticing that around his waist he carried a
huge double-handed sword in a jewelled scabbard.
A fleeting, irreverent thought crossed her mind. How does he use his
sword with no hands?
Three of the creatures were exactly the same as each other apart from
colour. One was bight red, one green and one a stunning shade of
turquoise. Each had six leg, or arms - Bellany was not sure what they
were, but they stood on three of them - and on the end of each limb
were six toes, or fingers. Their bodies were perfectly round and
covered in a soft fur. Strapped round the middle of each was a belt in
which she could see many varied instruments of one kind or another, but
none which she could recognise.
Two other creatures were so similar to each other that she was unable
to tell them apart. They reminded her of stick insects. They stood on
extremely thin legs which were two thirds of the length of their
bodies. Their arms were no thicker than a rolling pin, while their
heads were tiny, like a pea on the end of a drinking straw. Two shining
black eyes peeped out from the yellow leather-like skin of the face.
The both carried a short curved bow with a quiver of arrows.
The last creature was the most human looking of them all. He had very
broad shoulders, but with being no taller than Bellany, he seemed top
heavy. This was not helped by having a head which appeared to have been
simply dropped onto his shoulders, with no neck. His face was broad and
flat with a huge nose hanging over a straggly moustache. His hair, of
the same colour, was piled high on top of his head and woven into a
tight bun, bound with a leather thong. His body was covered in a tight
fitting metal mesh, which seemed almost to be part of him.
While Bellany examined them, they in turn were watching her. Nicholas
stood to one side saying nothing.
The dwarf-like creature stepped forward and in a surprisingly soft
voice said, "Mistress Bellany, I am Randolf of Garn." He bowed low to
her. Straightening, he indicated his companions.
"Our races," he said, "are different, but our purpose is the same. We,
as much as you, are part of the great Creation, and at the time of the
Great Divide here on the Wrekin, we were

approached upon our own planets, by 'angels' who asked if we would
volunteer to assist the Joiner when he should appear. We may be from
another part of the Universe unknown to you, but we all
serve the same Master. The fact that the Joiner is an extremely
attractive young woman makes our task all that more pleasant." He
smiled
In spite of herself, Bellany felt herself blushing.
"Allow me to introduce my friends to you," he went on, ignoring
Bellany's confusion. "My huge companion is Arven of the Brood, a
warrior bird from a warrior race. Our three, many-hued friends are the
Rovers, Ror, Rog and Rob. The have extraordinary skills of which I am
sure we will be grateful. Our two pole-like colleagues are actually
one. They are of the Trellen. They are a dual being, each acting as one
mind, yet in separate bodies. There skill lies in being superb masters
of the craft of archery."
He took a step backwards, bowed, and said, "We await your
bidding."
Bellany's mind was in too much of a whirl to do anything other than to
mutter a low thank you. Nicholas came to the rescue.
"We have a lot to do," he said. "We must prepare for our journey, when
I am sure you will find time to get to know one another better. Let us
do what must be done."
The next half hour passed in furious activity. Nicholas gave each of
them a heavy fur blanket and a quantity of food. While Randolf
discussed the route they would take with Arven, Bellany assisted
Nicholas in collecting together several strange objects, which he
placed in a small canvas bag hung about his waist.
"Nicholas," she asked at one point, "why do we have to go to all this
trouble, if I have the power? Couldn't I just take us wherever we are
going? Can't you just tell me what to do and I'll do it?"
Nicholas smiled and shook his head. "Firstly, you do not know yourself
how to control the power. This will only grow within the next few
hours, and secondly, any use of the power will only alert the Intoma to
our departure. We need as much time as we can get."
Shortly afterwards, their arrangements complete, they stood together
in the centre of Hell Gate. Nicholas took a last look around the dome
and partly to himself, murmured, "I wonder If I will ever see this
place again?"

Turning to the others, he said, "We will leave the way the Intoma left,
via Hell Gate." He then gave a spluttering laugh. "Bellany," he
chuckled, "you entered Heaven through the eye of the needle and are
leaving it through the Gates of Hell. Look at the map someday." He
wiped his eyes, but
before Bellany could work out just what it was he found so amusing, he
raised his hands above his head and the world plunged into
darkness.
She suddenly felt very cold. She looked down to see that she was
standing knee deep in snow. The others were by her side. The Shropshire
plain lay before her under the evening sky, while an almost full moon
was starting its nightly journey behind her. She has a suspicion that
Nicholas was not just the simple guide or hermit he pretended to be.
But now was not the time to question him as he set forth down the icy
slope in front of them.
Slithering and sliding on the precipitous slope, they eventually
gained the relative safety of a track leading across their path.
Nicholas took his farewell of them and turning towards Shrewsbury, he
set off for his first ritual.
The Remainder of the strange band followed the track towards the
southwards until they came to a narrow lane leading towards the
south-west, down which they turned. They travelled quite swiftly at
first, but it was not long before Bellany realised that she could not
match the pace of the others, each covering the ground in his own
fashion. Randolf simple ploughed through the snow using his immense
strength. The Rovers withdrew their limbs and bowled along like
dandelion seeds. The snow was no barrier to the long legs of the
Trellen, while to the huge Arven, it was no more than a mild
inconvenience.
Randolf was aware of her difficulty and held up a hand to the group.
"Help her, Arven," he said.
Bellany now found out how the bird man could use his sword. He parted
his wings to reveal two arms lying along each side of his body. As they
reached towards her, she could see that they were even longer than his
wings. They encircled her and she felt herself lifted high above the
ground, to be place firmly on his back, with those strange limbs
holding her tight.
They now travelled considerably faster. Nestled against the ward back
of Arven, Bellany thought back over the day's miraculous events. Was
she dreaming, and was the warm covering of feathers only her blanket on
the bed? No, she knew this was real. The stars twinkled above her,
sprinkling a

crystal clear light on to the frost covered snow, The sound of her
companions crunching alongside and the gentle rocking of Arven's body
were making her eyelids heavy. She suddenly jolted awake, aware that
Randolf was speaking.
"Mistress Bellany," he said," you have had a long day and we still have
time for our journey. We will rest here."
Arven lowered her to the ground and the sudden change in temperature
caused her to shiver and pull her coat tighter around her. She could
see that they were close to the bank of a wide river, with a low,
wooden building to her right.
Randolf took her arm tenderly. "We are about half way," he said. "This
is the River Severn near Cressage. We will rest a while in this
barn."
Bellany did not argue. Her eyes were still heavy with sleep. She
nodded and followed him into the barn which had a high vaulted roof of
heavy beams. At the end furthest from the door was a pile of old hay,
where they prepared their blankets.
Ror rolled towards Randolf, and in a low husky voice said, "I will
watch, old boy. Keep a guard and all that." Bellany felt a faint flash
of amusement at hearing a red ball, one metre in diameter, talking like
an old English professor. Still smiling, she pulled her blanket up over
her and closed her eyes. She felt the huge bulk of Arven settle by her
side, and drew comfort from his nearness. What a day it had been! I
wonder how dad is? He must be worried sick. He thoughts drifted lazily
to and fro, until finally the increasing warmth of her blanket overcame
her resistance.
She did nor know how long she had slept, but she was awakened by a
slight noise. She peered over her blanket but could see very little,
other than the outline of the door in the moonlight. She knelt, then
pulling her blanket around her, she cautiously made her way to the
doorway. She could see Ror several metres to one side, by the gateway
leading to the barn. It was impossible to say which way he was facing,
but by his side was a tall man. He was dressed in a long, dark
overcoat, and wearing a hat with a wide brim pulled well down over his
face. The two figures appeared as black silouehettes, deep in
conversation.
Curious, she walked towards them. The moon was now high in the sky,
casting long blue shadows from the tall trees on the riverbank. The
whole scene had an eerie beauty, providing her

with a strange excitement. As she reached the two figures, the man
turned to her, raising his head slightly, so that she could see his
face in the moonlight.
She saw two red coals of fire burning from where the eyes should have
been. She instantly experienced a fear greater than anything she had
ever known, as the power of those dreadful eyes
bored deep within her mind. Before she could utter a sound, her muscles
became rigid. She was totally incapable of movement. Her body became
like the frozen stones of the earth on which she was standing.
She was unable to tear her gaze away from that penetrating stare. As
she stood transfixed, she was horrified to see his body start to
dissolve and change shape. His head became longer and longer, while he
seemed to grow taller by the second. His legs fattened at the top,
while lower down, they seemed to grow thinner. His coat From his feet,
there sprouted great talons, like knives sprung from a sheath.
He took her in one great claw and with a thunderous clap of his
gigantic wings, beat high into the night sky. In her mind, she heard
and felt his overpowering evil, his gloating thoughts pressing down on
her.
"I am the Raven. You protectors are chickens before me. You are the
property of my Master, and to him you will go"

Chapter Six

Plans and Pursuit

Randolf came instantly alert at the sound of the Raven's departure. He
dashed to the door of the bard, closely followed by the others. He was
just in time to see the monstrous black shape of the Raven silhouetted
against the star filled sky, as he winged his way westwards. Shaking
his fist uselessly in the air, he strode quickly towards the motionless
shape of Ror.
"Why, Ror? Why?" he shouted as he drew near.
He then saw that Ror was unnaturally still. His upper limbs, normally
in constant motion, were rigid, sprouting from his sides like needle
from a ball of wool. Randolf was about to speak again, when Rog and Rob
hurtled past him, their arms pulling objects from their belts. Rob gave
a low whistling call to Rog which sounded like. " A Tertiary Seven I
believe," and clipped a long silvery rod to the upper part of the
unfortunate Ror. Rog meanwhile slapped four orange disks around Ror's
middle, evenly spaced on opposite sides. He then touched the rod with a
length of what appeared to be a glowing green glass.
Immediately, Ror began to spin at terrifying speed and rose several
metres in the air, whilst emitting a high pitched whine. Gradually, the
ear-splitting sound decreased and Ror slowly settled down to the ground
once more. As he touched the snow, he stopped revolving and all six
limbs snapped outwards from his body, which then sagged, shook itself,
and from somewhere within the ball of fur, a voice wheezed, "A Tertiary
Seven. Got me from the rear chaps. Terribly sorry."
The other two Rovers piped and whistled in what was an obvious song of
relief. Randolf cocked his head to one side. "A Tertiary Seven?" he
enquired.
Ror explained. "A standard, grade three spell. Used to ground the life
force of a living being to the earth. Pretty rough, old chap, if used
on humans or even you. Dead, Right away. Thick skin saved me. Good
insulation and all that."
Randolf never failed to be surprised by the Rover's ability to undo
the effect of virtually any magical operation, even though he was fully
aware that upon their home world, they manipulated the forces of
creation daily in order to merely survive.
"Mistress Bellany," boomed Arven. "What of her? Some protection we
turned out to be, if we lost her within a few hours."

He echoed Randolf's thoughts at that moment. He turned to Arven. "Yes,"
he said, "It would appear that the Raven has taken her to the Devil's
Chair. We all know what that means. It is an infernal place, guarded by
some of the Intoma's most terrible creations. We are going to have fun
getting her away from there."
"Then the sooner we start, " replied Arven, "the sooner we rescue her."
He turned to leave.
"Yes, we must hurry," said Randolf. "Rovers and Trellen you are best
adapted for speedy travel overland. Take the most direct route you can.
I'll go ahead with Arven and scout the enemy's defences. We will meet
on hour before dawn in the Valley of Hope, four miles north-east of the
Chair. It is to be hoped that by then we may have though of some way of
getting into the mountain upon which the Chair stands."
"If we cut out the talk, and got on with it, we might do better,"
grumbled Arven, never one to discuss the finer points of strategy when
action was called for.
Randolf sighed. "Arven, the day you have one thought, other than the
cracking of skulls, let me know. Meanwhile, pick me up and let's
go."
Arven reached down and scooped Randolf into his arms. Grinning, he
squeezed him to his chest. "Listen, brainbox, " he roared, pushing
himself into the air, "the day you can take a little walk without my
help, let me know too, will you?"
As the two of them rose into the night sky, the others set off in the
same direction. The rovers immediately set about an animated discussion
concerning the merits of a Tertiary Seven as opposed to a Denoblian
Quark. Whatever the Trellen thought about the incessant chatter could
not be guessed. Their immobile features brightened only by the sparkle
of their eyes as they focused on their destination, the Devil's
Chair.

Several miles away, Michael and Dennis were once more in the library
of the Hall, totally unaware of the drama taking place to the south.
They had returned after a warming meal, whereupon Dennis had started a
search of the vast records stored there. He had explained that he was
quite willing to believe that the Raven was a servant of Evil, and even
if Michael himself found it hard to accept, he had asked him to bear
with him for a short while.

He still had reservations about Nicholas. He knew he had seen some
reference to him somewhere within his files. He therefore set Michael
the task of sorting through a pile of documents, while he himself
selected several books from the shelves.
They had been at it for some time when Dennis looked up from his
reading.
"Michael," he asked," have you come across a reference to a Guy de la
Roche?"
"Yes, about ten minutes ago". Michael rummaged through the documents
in front of him. "Ah! Here it is," he said, taking out several stapled
sheets from a bundle in his hand. He passed them to Dennis who examined
them for a short while, before taking another book from the shelf.
"Listen to this," Dennis said finally.
'Guy de la Roche, Defender of the Northern Plains.
A Norman baron, who by all accounts was not typical of most of his
kind. He was said to have been well liked by those beneath him, and to
have introduced a fair system of taxation to that part of
Britain.
There is very little of note during his period in the country, other
than the strange tale of mystical events which are supposed to have
taken place around a hill in Shropshire, which in these days is known
as the Wrekin.
It seems that he had fallen out with two local men of property who had
obtained the services of two magicians to fight him. The two had
performed some magic ritual on the Wrekin, but some disaster took
place, causing them both to vanish. It would appear that de la Roche's
own magician, a Nicholas d'Admaston went up onto the hill following the
disappearance, but he too vanished.
The only other aspect of de la Roche worthy of note is that he provided
funds for the setting up of several places of worship within the
area.'
"Well, what do you think of that?" asked Dennis.
"It certainly shows this Nicholas fellow to be more than a simple
hermit," said Michael. "The story is slightly different, but that's to
be expected. It seems to bear out your theory about the Abbeys as well.
That is where Nicholas got the money to protect the blue stones."
Dennis smiled. "Just what I thought. And that's not all. It now fits
with this verse I took from a tomb inscription some years ago." He took
a folded piece of paper from on of the books. Opening it, he
read,

'O joyous hill
And Mount of shame
Thy keeper's must maintain
Until the Joiner in the Star
Sets free across the Plain
A Holy War of Union and
Restores as One again.

Hermit set thy stones in place
Until the final hour
When from the Joiner you will take
The Glory and the Power'
Michael felt a chill run along his back. The start could only mean the
pentacle, and if Bellany was the Joiner as they suspected ?..
Dennis pinched his nose and looked at Michael. "Hm," he grunted.
"Let's put together what we have. We have two aspects of one power. It
would appear that the Raven is the leader of the bad guys, but what of
this Nicholas? Whose side is he on? If his apostles or whatever you
like to call them have Bellany, what will they do with her?"
"Take her to Acton Burnell?" said Michael.
"Yes, that's what we have already suspected, but for what purpose? The
verse talks of taking from her the glory and the power, but what glory
and what power?"
"It could be her own natural talents," suggested Michael.
"I honestly don't know," said Dennis. "Either way, we have two
choices. Do we go direct to Acton Burnell or do we try to prevent this
unleashing of whatever it is?" He paused, then went on. "I think we
should try the latter. Let me explain. If the Raven is to 'collect the
Elements', it could mean that he has to go to the various religious
sites to perform some sort of rite there, or collect the stones for
some purpose. Now, for the pentacle to become evil, it is necessary for
the magician to go anti-clockwise and perform the ritual at each site,
ending at the fifth point of mankind."
"I see," said Michael. "So if he was to finish at Acton Burnell, he
would start at Wenlock, go via Buildwas and so on."

"Exactly," said Dennis. "I calculate that the Raven should be at
Haughmond tomorrow morning. I therefore believe that we may prevent
these events taking place if we can stop him. If we cannot, we can
still be at Acton Burnell before evening and hopefully find
Bellany."
Michael's instinct was to go direct to Acton Burnell to find his
daughter, but what Dennis said, made a perverse kind of sense. If they
were to believe any of this, then Bellany would be safe until then.
"I'll go along with you," he said to Dennis.
Dennis smiled grimly. "Right. Let's go to bed and prepare for an early
start, say six o'clock. I'll load a couple of shotguns, just in case,
but I don't have much faith in what they can do for us in this sort of
situation.

Randolf and his friends were already travelling fast, and rest was far
from their minds. He and Arven had arrived at the Devil's Chair and had
made a preliminary circuit of the outcrop, using the surrounding hills
as protection. They could not be sure, but they felt their presence was
undetected. They landed about two miles north of the Chair itself and
approached on foot across the Beaches - headlands of rough rock
surrounded by the debris of ancient mines - to within half a mile of
the Intoma's citadel.
Once, they thought they caught sight of movement, but it was only an
owl swooping low over the heather on its nightly hunting foray. There
was no sign that they were expected, although as Arven pointed out, it
was hardly likely that the defenders would show themselves until it was
obvious they were under attack.
Satisfied, they retreated to the Valley of Hope, beneath Earl's Hill,
to await the arrival of the others, while still maintaining a watchful
eye to the south. They had been there for about half an hour when they
detected a movement in the trees. Instantly alert, they waited. It was
not until a soft whistle gave away the position of a gently spinning
Rog that the relaxed. The Rovers and the Trellen had travelled thirteen
miles, across deep, snow covered country in less than three
hours.
Randolf held out a hand of welcome. "I'm pleased to see you, my
friends," he said. "I don't think we've been seen, but we must be on
guard. Our route is across the Beaches to the old lead mines that
riddle this part of the country. These mines date from roman times, and
over the centuries have been extended and deepened to such an extent
that some are believed to be almost bottomless. We'll have to take
great care, for many of the passages are so old that they might
collapse just from our presence in them."
He paused, and gazed across the valley to the Chair.
"Nicholas gave me a map before we left," he went on. "It's obvious he
anticipated we may have need of it. It indicates that some of the
tunnels lead to within metres of the Intoma's cavern itself. I believe
that Mistress Bellany will be in the Red Dome, the Evil one's outer
chamber. We can probably reach there without disturbing any of the
keepers, if we follow the route I have marked out."
He laid the map on a flat rock. It showed a maze of tunnels, through
which a red line had been drawn. While the others studied it, he
shouldered his pack.
"Rovers," he said. "You keep a constant watch for sign of any magical
activity, any use of the Power. I will lead with Arven. Trellen, you
take the rear."
The first light of dawn was starting to streak the eastern sky as Arven
quietly lifted the others, two at a time from the valley to the first
Beach. When they had all assembled, Randolf looked at them all in turn.
Each in his own way was aware of the dangers which lay ahead, and of
the possibility of their mission ending in failure.
"Mistress Bellany," said Randolf, and slid quickly into the darkness of
a sloping shaft to his left, closely followed by his companions.

Chapter Seven

The Rescue

When the Raven plucked Bellany from her companions, her first reaction
had been fear, but as she was carried high over Shropshire, she could
not help admiring the beauty of the snow covered land below. The moon
etched deep shadows into the white mantle, where woods and hedges
thrust upwards into the cold air. It was a wonderland of contrasts. Her
fear was never to far away, however, as she felt the thrust and the
power of the giant beast above her.
She had been surprised to hear the crowing of the Raven in her mind,
which had recalled her experience with the Matoma. She had the first
glimmerings of a possibility that her powers were indeed greater than
she had imagined. She still did not really believe that her own actions
had brought about such a change at Hell Gate, but her situation had
made her desperate. With a trembling heart, she tried to imagine the
Raven turning around and retracing his flight. She tried at the same
time to pass these thoughts to his mind.
Almost immediately, she felt the giant bird falter, and veer to the
left, but almost as quickly she felt the hard talons grip her even more
tightly, causing her to gasp in pain. The Raven continued forward as if
nothing had happened. Once more she attempted to alter his course, but
before she could really gather her thoughts, the Raven's mind crashed
into hers.
"You have the power, fledgling, but mine is greater. Do not attempt
foolish actions against me. If it were not for my master's instructions
I would sooner drop you to your death. You have no meaning to me and
have no function in my rituals."
Bellany clutched at the claws grasping her and desperately tried to
loosed them. They had become so tightly clenched around her that she
was having difficulty in breathing. At that moment she did indeed
believe that the Raven would kill her at the slightest excuse. As she
struggled, she felt her stomach rise up inside her. They were
descending quickly. Up ahead, a dark mountain ridge seemed to be
rushing towards them. Crowning the ridge were several outcrops of rock,
but the one for which they were heading was a gigantic mass of twisted
boulders heaped high above the surrounding land. The centre of the
rocks seemed lower than either end, and it gave the appearance of a
monstrous chair, perched there waiting for some giant to occupy
it.
Their speed increased even further. Bellany could feel the cold wind
tearing at her cheeks, causing her eyes to stream with tears. They were
headed straight for the high rocks and she felt a

collision was inevitable. She closed her eyes and tightened all the
muscles of her body, waiting for the impact. It never came.
She felt a sudden warmth and the strange tingling she had felt when
passing through the wall at Heaven Gate. She opened her eyes to see the
floor of another great dome rushing up to meet her. Just as she felt
the first touch of the ground beneath her feet, the Raven released her.
Her body, having been gripped so tightly was unable to function
immediately. She fell in a heap beneath the beating wings.
She lay face downwards and for a while felt completely miserable. She
had wanted adventure, but even her wildest dreams had not produced
anything as horrible as this. She felt very alone, cold and frightened.
She gently rubbed the backs of her legs and was just starting to sense
some feeling returning when she heard a crackle, as if a giant metal
zip had been torn open. She turned towards the sound, then sat up,
curiosity once more overcoming the fear and the discomfort.
In the centre of the dome, which was exactly like the others, except
it was dark red, was a blue bowl similar to the one she had seen on the
Wrekin. The Raven was nestled into it, his shining eyes fixed, not upon
her, but on an opening at the base of the dome.
She had a suspicion of what to expect. She slowly stood up and waited
a moment for the pins and needles to recede from the backs of her legs.
The Raven did not stir or even seem to know she was there. Gradually,
step by step, she inched across the floor of the dome until she was in
front of a circular opening in the wall. Exactly as before; so long
ago, or so it seemed.
Her eyes took in the great spherical cavern. It was deep purple with
twinkling green specks of light flitting across its huge curved
surface. Her attention, however, was drawn to the object suspended in
the central space. She was totally confused. She had half expected some
terrible monster of at least and evil power reaching out for her.
Instead, she saw the same beautiful coloured bands of weaving light
playing around each other. It was the equal of the other at Heaven
Gate. She was astonished at how quickly her fear had evaporated. She
wanted to reach out and touch its fascinating surface. She wanted to be
the friend of whatever it was suspended there in all its beauty.
She felt the Intoma brush the edge of her mind. She shook her head.
This was not the same. She felt anger and pain. She also felt a strong
desire to run, but her legs would not respond. She

shuddered as the Intoma probed into each corner of her mind. She
imagined eels crawling through the cells of her brain, and worms
slithering along all the veins of her body.
The Intoma spoke. Not as the Matoma had done, gently and with
wonderful visions, but with images of death and destruction. She saw
clearly that she was to die. She would never reach the fifth point of
the Pentacle. To do so would defeat the object of the Intoma.
As these terrible waves of thought wove through her mind, she was
aware of another part of herself probing the Intoma. Although horrified
by the visions it was projecting at her, she was somehow able to
receive other impressions. Fear? It was afraid! She caught a brief
snatch of thought showing its defeat if she reached Acton Burnell. She
suddenly has a wonderful feeling of hope. The Intoma was trying to
scare her, but somehow, she realised that the Intoma was incapable of
killing her. Whatever power it might have to destroy, the Joined could
not be touched!
She knew with complete certainty that she was the Joiner! At once, she
felt the Intoma withdraw. At the same time, the opening clouded over to
a rippling circle of red. She fell backwards into the dome. Breathing
heavily, she felt a confidence so strong that all her fears were
replaced by a magnificent sense of purpose.
A claw landed on her shoulder. Shocked back to reality, she cried out
as the Raven took hold of her once more. Her mind rebelled as his
thoughts came to her.
"You are to be contained. My Master cannot harm you directly, but I
can crush you as easily as you can a snail. And have no doubt, I will
if I have to. Follow that tunnel. I will be behind you, and hurry, I
have much work to do."
Bellany followed his glance and saw an opening on the opposite side of
the dome. There was little else she could do. She could feel her body
being compelled towards the opening, her mind gripped as before. She
tried to resist, to recover some of that magnificent feeling of power
she had tasted only a short time ago, but the power of the Raven was
too strong. She had been caught unawares and unable to resist.
She entered a dim passage, the floor of which was a damp, grey clay,
and extremely slippery. They travelled for several hundred metres,
taking several branching turns, until eventually the tunnel opened out
into a gloomy rock cave, lit by some strange red lights near the roof.
On one side was a length of wood resting on two boulders. The remainder
of the cave was bare. The Raven

swept one wing through the air, and between Bellany and the tunnel
exit, a shimmering haze sprang up from the floor, effectively
imprisoning her. He fixed his eyes on hers.
"You cannot interfere with my master's purpose her," he said. When all
is completed, you will no longer be a threat. Farewell until I
return."
As he finished, he folded his wings, bowed his head and rose through
the roof of the tunnel in which he had been standing. The dark rock
gave no more resistance to his passage than would butter to a knife.
Bellany stood for a moment, staring at the spot where he had
disappeared, then feeling strangely at ease, she seated herself on the
wooden plank. For some while, she took stock of the situation. She did
not feel worried at all. Something inside her told her that she would
succeed. The disappearance of the Raven had lifted a great pressure
from her.
She got up and walked to the barrier which was humming with power. She
put out a hand to touch it, but was unable to get nearer than a few
centimetres from it. It was like a solid but transparent door. It
flickered across the whole of the exit, seemingly attached to the rocks
on either side, yet not part of them.
She made up her mind. Pushing her hands deep into her pockets, she
stood facing the hazy wall between her and escape. Feeling just a
little foolish, she said, firmly, "Barrier, disappear!"
The barrier wavered. She tried again, but it still held firm. She
scratched her head in annoyance, then once more she tried, this time
letting her body relax completely. "By the Matoma, barrier disappear."
It winked and was gone. She let out a gasp and reached forwards. It had
gone! She could not help smiling, then a sort of relief bubbled up
inside of her and she let out a joyful laugh. She spun herself round
several times until she fell against one wall. Her smile faded. She was
out, but what next?
She peeped around a large slab of rock, jutting out from the wall of
the tunnel. She obviously had to go in the opposite direction from
which she had just come, but the tunnel looked extremely dark. She took
a deep breath and set off. Glancing back over her shoulder from time to
time, she slowly felt her way along the tunnel. Here and there, pools
of water had collected on the floor and she found great difficulty in
skirting them. The ground was covered in a thick mud which clung to her
boots, making the treads useless.

She did not know how far she had travelled, but all at once, she felt
so tired she had to stop. Her body would just not respond. Her
weariness had dulled her mind, and although for one brief
moment she thought of trying her new found power to escape from the
tunnels, it somehow seemed too much trouble to bother. She just wanted
to sleep.
She stumbled into a small boulder, and sank to her knees. She felt
around in the darkness until she made out the shape of a flat rock
lying at an angle to the tunnel. She just managed to pull herself onto
it before her head rolled onto her arm, her eyes closing without
effort.

Randolf held the torch he was carrying above his head, as he strode
ahead of his companions. The mine galleries they were in were quite low
and Arven was finding it difficult to keep up. He was almost bent
double, his arms unfurled, feeling the ground in front of him. They
arrived at a junction in the tunnel and Randolf took out the map.
Giving his torch to Rog he held the map up to his eyes.
"We are about half way, I would say. We need to take the next left
then we have a climb of about fifty metres up a shaft."
Arven looked relieved. "At least I can straighten up then," he
groaned. "I'm not going to be in any fit state to do anything if this
goes on."
Randolf smiled grimly as he folded the map into his pocket. If they
did encounter any opposition, they would need more space than this to
fight in. He took the torch once more, and within minutes they arrived
at the junction leading to the shaft. It was only a short gallery and
Randolf almost stepped into the lower end of the shaft before he
realised it was there. He stepped back and motioned to Ror, who without
hesitation glided into the centre of the yawning hole. He then slowly
drifted upwards into the upper shaft. Shortly afterwards, a thin line
appeared out of the darkness above and jiggled in the opening in front
of the others.
"You first, Arven," Randolf said.
Arven reached out, took the line and swung outwards. Almost as soon as
his weight pulled on it, the line pulled tight and lifted him slowly
out of sight. The Trellen were the next to go, hanging either side of
the line like two insects on a twig. Randolf finally took the line and
ascended, with Rob and Rog humming quietly as they floated by his
side.

At the top, Ror reeled in the remainder of the line from where he had
attached it to a rocky outcrop. They were in a large cavern where the
old miners must have excavated a particularly rich vein of ore. It was
quite different from the tunnels they had just left. Old wooden props
supported the roof here and there, in a twisted latticework of iron
rods and poles. Rusted machines lay scattered about, their original
purpose long forgotten. At the end of the cavern furthest from them,
they could make out a dark pool of water, maybe twenty or thirty metres
across. Its surface shone dully with a oily sheen. The walls emanated a
soft green light from some form of phosphorescent mineral coating the
surface, bathing the whole cavern in an eerie glow.
As the rescue party took in the scene, Rog skimmed busily across the
cavern this way and that. He returned after his examination and stopped
in front of Randolf.
"An opening at seventy two metres, old chap. Bearing
south-south-west," he said. As he spoke his colouring suddenly changed
from green to a flashing sparkling white.
"We also appear to be under attack, dear boy," he piped.
The other Rovers, also flashing the warning white, closed in on Rog to
form a triangle. Randolf and the others need no further prompting. They
sprang into position on the outside of the Rovers, weapons at the
ready.
No sooner had they taken up this stance when from the other side of
the pool there appeared a tornado of whirling objects. Each appeared to
be a sharp edged crystal of green fire, flashing faster than the eye
could count, and all bound together in a tight swaying spiral. Behind
this column of deadliness, there came at least a dozen black, leathery
creatures having the appearance of giant beetles. Their eyes glinted
like rubies in the light of the crystal tornado, and on their backs sat
what seemed to be hairless monkeys. They were naked except for a braid
belt, out of which poked the heads of copper coloured darts.
Before the attackers reached the pool, the Rovers had erected above
them a pyramid of sliver rods, in the centre of which a small dot of
fire winked and flickered. In seconds, this miniature star grew to the
size of a football, while at the same time a low humming rose to a
piercing shriek, until, without warning, a blinding spear of energy
leaped from the burning globe towards the crystal column. As the beam
of light struck the crystals, a blinding flare of orange light filled
the cavern.

With the sound of smashing glass, the column splintered into a
thousand parts, each one spinning and screaming downwards to gouge a
crater with its destructiveness in the ground where it had stood.
The advance of the beetles, however, continued unchecked. They fanned
out on either side of the pool, their naked riders urging them on with
high pitched chatterings and whistles. The leading beetles went down
before they had passed the pool, Trellen arrows jutting from their
folded necks. Their riders tumbled gibbering to the ground, pulling
darts from their belts as they fell.
Randolf barked an order and his friends split away, diving for cover.
As they did so, a rain of darts fell where they had been standing,
blown from short tubes in the hands of the monkey men. Ror and Rob rose
rapidly to either side of the cavern, extending a thin metal line
between them. They dipped once, then at an almost unbelievable speed,
shot forwards and downwards towards their attackers. The line took off
the heads of at least six of the monkey men. The remainder abandoned
their mounts and hurried into the shelter of boulders strewn across the
floor of the cavern.
The beetles continued forwards, their great mouths agape, revealing
row upon row of razor sharp teeth, and emitting the smell of rotting
fish. Arven lunged into the air towards the roof. With little cover, he
tore at the wooden props supporting a huge overhang of rock. Loose
stones started to fall. He swung backwards, as tons of rock crashed
down, crushing many of the hairless creatures beneath, A huge cloud of
dust billowed upwards in front of Randolf and the Trellen, who by this
time were under attack from the beetles.
The Trellen knocked and fired arrows so fast that their actions seemed
a blur, while Randolf wrestled powerfully with the creatures, thrusting
and slashing with his knife as they appeared from out of the dust
cloud. One beetle slashed sideways with its jaw at one of the Trellen.
Randolf saw it as it lunged. With a quick movement, he twisted it onto
its back. Revealing its underside. He sank his blade deep between the
belly plates of the creature.
Then it was over as soon as it had begun. Randolf had spun around to
await further attacks, but there was silence. Through the now settling
dust, he could make out the figures of his companions slowly
approaching. He put out an arm and rested it on Arven's shoulder. The
Rovers hummed to one side, and the Trellen, as expressionless as ever,
stood silent and waiting. Arven gave a sigh and sank down on a boulder.
He gave Randolf a quizzical look.

"They gave up rather easily. I don't like it," he said.
"Hm, we could have been too good for them," replied Randolf. He gave a
short smile of satisfaction. It was short lived.
A tremendous roar, like the sound of the mountain itself collapsing,
bounced of every part of the cavern The noise seemed to go on for ever,
and the would be victors looked at each other in bewilderment. Through
the thinning dust cloud they could make out a massive shape rising from
the floor, until it towered high above them. The sound of its coming
vibrated their bones until their bodies shook. There was no mistaking
that shape. The Raven glowered down at them with a look of pure
hate.
Ror whispered to Randolf, "This is it old boy. Curtains."
They all fell back in despair, each one fully aware of the Raven's
power. But the Raven was now even larger and more powerful than before.
His whole being seemed to fill the cavern in front of them. They knew
they were no match now.
The Raven folded his wings and regarded them with contempt. "I am
beset by diversions," he said. "I must complete my rituals to obtain my
full potential, but fools such as yourselves prevent me. My servants
are obviously incompetent. I waste no more time. You die!"
His great wings swept outwards and he pulled back his head. His beak
parted as whisps of red smoke coiled from his nostrils. A low hiss
started in his throat, rising second by second. Randolf lowered his
head, feeling the agony of defeat.
As they all stood awaiting the vengeance of the Raven, a soft, musical
humming whispered through the cavern. Soft though it was it seemed to
drown the rising crescendo of the Raven's hissing. Randolf raised his
head to see the Raven motionless in the same upright position. His eyes
radiated pure evil, but they were not directed at him and his
companions. His gaze fastened on the entrance to the cavern on the
opposite side of the pool. Arven took a step forwards, then gaining
confidence, the others advanced with him until they could almost touch
the great bulk of the Raven.
He was absolutely still, as if carved from the rock itself. If it had
not been for the burning eyes, Randolf would have believed him to be a
statue. A sudden movement caught his eye. He swung round, knife at the
ready.

Mistress Bellany! But not the Bellany he had last seen so many hours
ago, She now walked towards them from the far entrance, her body
encased in a glowing halo of golden fire. Her step was confident and
her head held high. AS she drew near, each of her guardians knelt,
apart from the Rovers who sank to the ground.
"Hello Randolf," she said, "Thank you for coming to my rescue, but as
you can see, I have learnt a few new tricks." She turned to the silent
figure of the Raven. "As for you," she said, "you have a duty to
perform. When my friends and I leave, you may continue in that
duty."
The Raven's hatred was almost intense enough to grasp. The bulging
muscles clearly showed his anger at his inability to break free from
the binding spell that Bellany had over him. Randolf glanced sideways
at Bellany in awe. Even he had not seen such a display of power before.
He had a strange feeling of uneasiness and, for a fleeting moment,
hoped that the Matoma had been correct in his choice of the
Joiner.
"Let's go," said Bellany, simply.
There was a feeling of motion, a gentle rocking of the earth, then
Randolf could smell the turpentine of pine trees. He looked around to
see his friends in a group beside him. They were in a forest, but
where, he was at a loss to say. He had also forgotten that it was now
daylight, and started at the sudden brightness.
Bellany chuckled. "Good, isn't it?" She laughed, then seeing the
astonishment on her friend's faces,, she explained. How, after
awakening in the slimy tunnel, she had tried her powers. She had cast
around with her mind and had sensed their presence nearby. She had
arrived at the cave entrance at the same time the Raven had appeared.
She had been fearful of confronting him, but in fear of their safety,
she had instinctively tried to protect them. She had been as amazed as
they had been to see the effect, but having realised what she was
capable of doing, it had been no trouble at all to remove them from
further danger.
"But where are we?" asked Arven.
"In a forest, not far from Acton Burnell," she replied. "Time is
getting short, and this seemed the quickest way."
She looked around. "I think I will make us more comfortable, so we can
rest before we go to the meeting place."

As her eyes swept across the backdrop of trees, the ground cleared of
snow and the temperature rose. A blue haze appeared above them like a
filmy parasol. "Hm," she mused, "That should keep prying eyes
away."
The others simply stared or shook their heads.
Ror wheezed," Pretty good magic, old girl."
Bellany sat down, her back against a tree. "It was magic wasn't it?",
she thought. "Nobody will ever believe this."
She grinned to herself and lay back in the thin, winter sun filtering
through her protective blue haze.

Chapter Eight

Nicholas
Michael and Dennis rose early that morning. Over breakfast they
discussed their forthcoming mission to prevent the Raven completing his
rituals. They were convinced in their own minds that if the rituals
could be stopped, either by thwarting the Raven or by preventing
Bellany from reaching the Priory at Acton Burnell, then they would
somehow avoid the release of an unknown yet terrifying power.
They left the Hall just before dawn. A low mist lay across the frozen
ground, lending an unreal aspect to the landscape, with tall oaks
seemingly afloat in a sea of soft clouds. It was bitterly cold, and a
light wind seemed to sprinkle the frost over them as they went. Michael
pulled up the collar of his coat as he crossed the drive to the
Landrover.
Dennis turned to him as he started the vehicle. "We'll take the back
road through Arlescott," he said, then as an afterthought, he went on,
"No. We can't. It will still be blocked. We'll have to go the long way
round."
They drove towards Shrewsbury, with the first light of dawn starting
to brighten the sky behind them The mist was patchy and did not impede
them to any great extent, apart from a dense patch around the deep
drifts which the plough had carved through at Uckington. It was not
long before they approached the spot where Michael had first
encountered the Raven.
"It still gives me the shivers," he said quietly, as if to himself. As
he spoke he felt the vehicle slowing, and looked up. A car was stuck in
a drift, and its rear end was out in the road, blocking their progress.
A young man stood by the side of a car, waving them to stop.
"Ah well," sighed Dennis. "I suppose we'll have to help him out. It
shouldn't take long."
He stopped the vehicle and both he and Michael got out. The young man
came towards them with a smile, his hand outstretched towards
them.
"A cold morning gentlemen. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Nicholas
d'Admaston, magician, guide and in this guise, interpreter."
To say that the others were surprised would have been an
understatement. A man they believed to be legend was standing before
them, for who else would use that name? It went against all their
belief. However, they had come a long way in the past twenty four
hours. What may have before been beyond imagination was now blurred
with what they had learnt.

Michael was the first to recover. "If you are who you say you are,
then furnish us with some proof."
Nicholas smiled. Very well," he said. "You are Michael Tate. Your
friend is Dennis Markham and you seek to prevent the Raven from harming
your daughter Bellany."
Michael looked at him in disbelief. Was this really happening? Dennis
stepped forwards and said, "I accept it for the moment. Why? I don't
know, but if you are Nicholas, then I ask your help in preventing this
forthcoming disaster."
Nicholas shook his head. "I will not help you in that purpose, but if
you will follow me, I will explain further." Without another word, he
got into his car and reversed easily out of the drift. Michael and
Dennis dashed back to their vehicle and set out after Nicholas who by
this time was disappearing onto the distance. Neither spoke, both
concerned with what they had just heard. They had travelled for about
three or four minutes, when Nicholas turned onto the forecourt of a
hotel on the left. He walked across to the Landrover and jumped in the
back.
"You will find these of little use," he said, pointing to the two
shotguns lying in the well of the vehicle. "You will need courage and a
control of your fear." He leant forwards so that he was between the
other two.
"You are correct in a lot you have discovered, but your conclusions
are wrong," he said, looking from one to the other. "Firstly, let me
say that Bellany is perfectly safe at present. She is with friends who
will help and guide her."
Michael let out a sigh of relief, and was about to say something, but
Nicholas held up his hand.
"Later," he said. "You will know all later. At the moment, you must
not, and I repeat not interfere with the Raven. It is essential that he
completes his rituals as I complete mine. We must arrive at Acton
Burnell together and there begin the final rite. I realise the concern
you must have for Bellany, Michael, but she is a very special part of
this. Unless she completes the pentacle, all is lost. Without her
there, I will not have the power to overcome the might of the Raven.
The Intoma will be set free and the consequences will be beyond your
wildest fears."

"Bellany is already aware that she is a reservoir of the Matoma's
power. When I start the final ritual, she will gradually lose this
power as I tap it from her. It will be drained from her drop by drop,
yet she will come to no harm from this. She may, however, come to harm
from another quarter."
He paused and took a packet from his pocket. "Cigarette?" he asked,
offering the pack to them.
Michael looked at Dennis, who shook his head. "Are you real?" he
asked. "Talking of such mysteries as if they were everyday occurrences,
and yet smoking a cigarette?"
Nicholas grinned mischievously. "It's not often I have the chance to
visit the present world," he said, "but when I do, I enjoy the vices as
well as the pleasures."
Michael interrupted. "Bellany. You say she may still be in
danger?"
"Yes, I do," answered Nicholas. "The Intoma will resist the Joining
with all the power at his command. He will send his troops of evil to
prevent her reaching the priory. I will be powerless to help. At that
time I shall be locked in combat with the Raven, each of us channelling
the force of our Masters to our own ends. Bellany will have to use her
own dwindling powers, with the aid of her companions, to overcome those
who would prevent the ritual. I ask that you too assist us in this
final conflict."
Michael nodded in agreement, while Dennis thought for a moment. "How do
we know what you say is true," he asked. "For all we know you could be
the Raven trying to mislead us."
"Yes, I understand you suspicions. If I am Nicholas, where would my
next point of ritual be?"
Dennis thought quickly. "Either Buildwas or Wenlock," he replied.
"Wenlock," said Nicholas. "Shall we go?"
Dennis felt himself relax. "Alright," he said, "I agree, but we must
get to Acton Burnell."
"There is plenty of time," said Nicholas. "First you must satisfy
yourselves. If I am the Raven, I could easily mislead you as you say,
and that could be my next location. As it is, I will see you at
Wenlock."
Dennis turned to Michael. "Wenlock?" he inquired.
Michael wanted so much to find Bellany that he not answer straight away
as this distraction seemed just another obstacle. Finally, he said,"
Yes. We have to be sure." They both turned to Nicholas, but there was
no sign of him in the vehicle, nor outside. His car had gone.

The journey to Wenlock was long and wearisome. The roads had been
ploughed but freshly blown snow had formed fresh drifts, and they were
still building. They did not cause too much of a problem except on
Wenlock Edge. The Landrover had to use the crawler gears and on one
occasion, Michael had to get out and assist by pushing. Once over the
Edge, they were soon in Wenlock, where Dennis parked the vehicle by the
church. Michael pointed to a direction sign indicating that the Priory
was along a short track. They turned into the lane and walked for about
one hundred metres, until they reached an open arch on their right, set
into the limestone wall surrounding the Priory grounds.
"It doesn't look as if anyone has come this way," said Michael, nodding
towards the unbroken drift across the archway entrance.
"Dennis grunted. "Well. This is the only way I know," he said. He
pushed aside a small gate to one side of the Arch, where the snow was
less deep, and the pair of them squeezed through the narrow
opening.
"Over there," said Dennis. "The Blue Stone is set in that end wall, as
far as I can remember. I should think that is where Nicholas will be is
it is really him."
The grey ruins of the Priory gave an air of strangeness to the scene.
The ancient and derelict walls jutted up into the morning sky. Their
dark silhouette contrasted vividly with the sparkling snow at their
base. Long, cool shadows lay across the stretch of land they had to
negotiate to reach the end wall. Michael felt a short stab of fear, or
rather of foreboding. What were they getting themselves into?
"Come on," said Dennis. "Let's go." His expression told Michael that he
too had experienced the strangeness of the place and of the task the
had embarked upon. They made their way as quickly as they could to the
end of the Great Hall. A large drift extended from the corner in a
sweeping crescent. Michael went to climb up the drift, while Dennis
took the longer route. Both say Nicholas at the same time.
He was kneeling, facing a tall archway, above which a brilliant blue
light seemed to radiate from the central keystone. The light, as it
left the stone, formed itself into a narrow beam which ended where
Nicholas was standing. He seemed to be standing in a pool of blue fire.
Long flickering

fingers of a darker blue light rose above his head, to height of twenty
of thirty metres. The wavering columns of light weaved in and out of
each other and where they touched, they spat tiny specks of fire; red,
yellow and orange. Throughout, there was a complete and eerie
silence.
The two watchers stood entrance by this silent display of power. They
knew now. This was Nicholas. They also knew that they had to trust
him.
Without warning, the lights above Nicholas flashed down towards his
head and then seemed to be sucked back into the Blue stone. A shapeless
lump of stone, slightly blue, with a weather etched and slightly mossy
surface. Not at all what Michael had expected.
Nicholas rose and came towards them. He was wearing a light piece of
loose cloth, draped across one shoulder. He gave no indication that he
felt the bitter chill of the morning air. If this was not surprise
enough, Michael noticed that Nicholas cast no shadow as he approached.
Before he could comment, Nicholas spoke, "Now do you believe?" he
asked.
The others nodded. Nicholas went on, "You are the only humans ever to
witness the Ritual of the Stones, although you only saw the final
moments." He smiled. "I noticed you start of dismay at my lack of
shadow," he said to Michael. "That is simply because I do not exist in
your world. Once, I was a man such as you, but my life ended that day I
ascended the Wrekin and discovered the Stones. You see me because the
Matoma wills it, as you will see far more terrifying things in the
hours to come. All that any witnesses to our meeting here will see,
will be two men standing open-mouthed near a large snow drift."
He chuckled. "And that is a strange sight."
Not as strange as that, thought Dennis, as the robe on Nicholas's back
seemed to twist and curve inwards, until it took on the shape of a
modern wax jacket and trousers.
Nicholas started across the snow covered grass towards the church. "I
must ask you to prepare for the Final Ritual," he said. "I ask that you
be at Acton Burnell no later than one hour after the setting sun this
afternoon. I am unable to say what form the Intoma's actions may take
in order to prevent the Ritual, but please assist at all costs. He will
somehow try to prevent Bellany fulfilling her role as Joiner. You must
promise to do all you can to place her between the two Holy Fires. You
will be in great danger and even your lives will be at risk. I ask that
you have courage and be wary of anything you may see, feel or
hear."

Even as the last words left his lips, he vanished.
Dennis and Michael, unprepared for such an exit looked around in
astonishment.
"He certainly has style," said Dennis, ruefully.
Michael grinned in spite of his feelings. Then a question sprang to
his mind. "What do you think he meant by the Holy Fires?"
Who knows," said Dennis. "I'm ready to believe anything. I'm sure
we'll recognise them when we see them, and I've a feeling we'll find
out soon enough. How about breakfast? We've got half a day to kill, so
we may as well do it on a full stomach."
It dawned on Michael how hungry he did feel, and he was grateful for
Dennis's uncanny knack of bring a situation back to reality. "Well, an
army marches on its stomach," he said, " so let's go and prepare
ours."
The army of two retraced its steps towards the village, on the lookout
for provisions.

Chapter Nine

The Final Conflict
Bellany was thoroughly enjoying herself. She stood in the centre of
the green area she had prepared for herself and her friends. In each
hand, she held a pine cone. She juggles them from one hand to the other
then cried, "From and old pine cone a pineapple come!"
Instantly, she held two fresh, large pineapples. With a squeal of
delight, she threw one to Arven who lifted a wing and scooped it to
him. The other she tossed to Randolf. He let it fall at his feet.
"Oh, come on Randolf," she complained. "Don't be such a killjoy. We've
been asleep all day, so let's have some fun while we can."
Randolf turned away without speaking, and began to whittle at a twig
with his knife. Bellany let her hands fall to her side and went across
to him. "What is it, Randolf?" she asked.
At first he just looked at her, as if deciding what to say. Then
putting the knife away, he sat down on the trunk of an upturned
tree.
"Mistress Bellany," he began. "There is a time and a place for
everything"
"Just like my father," she moaned. "Always so serious."
"You have great powers," Randolf continued, "but you must only use
them when necessary and for some good purpose, not for parlour tricks.
Why are humans such frivolous creatures, I shall never know. It is not
my place to tell you what you should or should not do, but I will
advise you as one of your guardians. It is my duty to warn you of what
is ahead."
Bellany gave him a quick glance. She suddenly felt uneasy. Some of her
confidence left her when she saw how serious Randolf was. She sat down
next to him. Randolf shuffled away slightly, embarrassment showing on
his face. He cleared his throat.
"Soon," he said, "we will have to leave. It is almost dusk and you can
be sure that the Intoma will send others to seek us out. They may
already be here."
Bellany looked around at the darkening forest, and for an instant
imagined long tentacles reaching out for her from the shadows. She
shuddered and returned her gaze to Randolf, who was still
talking.
"?.reach the Priory one hour after sunset, when you must stand between
the two Holy Fires. We will help you all we can, but it is you who must
approach the fires of Good and Evil, and it is only

you who can look such power in the face. To do that, you must have
great courage. The two protagonists, Nicholas and the Raven will do
battle for their Masters. You will not recognise them as you have seen
them. They will be much changed and will be terrifying to look upon.
The energy you carry will be necessary to draw upon if evil is to be
defeated. Do not waste it. That's all I have to say."
Randolf's face was so sad as he finished speaking that Bellany could
not help putting her hand on his for comfort. "I understand," she said,
"but it was fun while it lasted."
Her attention was drawn from Randolf by the Rovers who had started
twittering in harmony. They were all floating across the grass towards
her. She stood up as Ror spoke.
"Pardon my unwarranted intrusion, dear Mistress, but we seem to be in
the presence of a singular happening above."
Bellany looked up to where the haze she had created wove in and out of
the tree tops. It was wavering. Streaks of harsh, vivid colour flashed
across its surface.
Randolf spoke. "It has started. Mistress, Nicholas is drawing upon
your power, which signals that the first stage of the Final Ritual has
begun. We must leave as soon as the last light fades." He walked across
to Arven and began to speak in low, urgent tones.
Bellany felt strange. She had had her powers for so short a time. She
did not want to lose them, yet she knew she must. She felt her skin
tingling as if she had just towelled after a bath. Somewhere inside
herself, an odd sensation of fluttering moths seemed to come and go. In
that part of her mind which knew was not of her, she grasped a thought
-"Be not afraid, for you are the Joiner."
She put her hands to her cheeks and stroked them fiercely downwards.
She was afraid, and she knew it. The light was fading fast and she
could only just make out the outline of a small hill to her left. It
was time to leave. She took a deep breath.
"Ready?" she called.
The others made no reply, but moved towards her, grim faced. Randolf
spoke. "We will travel north-west from here. Arven will go ahead with
Rob to check if their is any form of opposition waiting for us. Keep to
the trees until we reach the edge of the castle grounds. The Priory
will be a low ruin on our right, once we leave the cover of the
forest."

He turned, and at once set of through the close growing pines at a
furious pace with the Trellen. Bellany had to go at a stumbling run to
keep up. Arven, meanwhile, took Rob in his arms and winged his way
above the trees towards the Priory.
Those on the ground had only travelled about half a mile when Arven
dropped suddenly in front of them. Quickly, and without pause, he
informed them that there was indeed an unpleasant reception waiting for
them. Half a mile to the right were two large pools, on the edge of
which were perhaps a hundred of the beetle creatures they had
encountered at the Devil's Chair. On the edge of the wood ahead, there
were beings he could not make out in the shadow of the tress, but there
were nine of them.
Rob then told of a strong sense of evil which he had detected in a
strip of woodland along the western edge of the track to the castle.
Neither he nor Arven had been able to see what was lurking there, but
they both felt a strong revulsion for whatever it was. They had not
seen any of the crystal whirlwinds, but Arven was sure they were about.
He had once before encountered them in another time and another place,
and he knew they need only seconds to form themselves.
Randolf tugged at his moustache. He was obviously worried.
Bellany leaned towards him. "I still have my powers," she said. "Leave
this to me."
She closed her eyes and thought of the Matoma. She imagined an army by
her side, all dressed in white.
She heard a hiss from the Trellen and opened her eyes. All around, the
air was becoming thick. The forest floor seemed to boil and bubble.
From out of the earth rose countless coils of shifting mist. Gradually,
the misty spirals started to condense. She could make out the form of a
head, then a wing, and suddenly they were surrounded by a horde of
Randolfs, Rovers and Trellen, all completely white.
Of course! She only knew her companions and so it was obvious that
they would be her pattern.
Randolf simply bowed to her then joined the Rovers and Trellen as they
dashed to join their copied selves. They did not see her stumble. She
quickly controlled herself, but felt a wave of extreme tiredness flow
over her. The prickling in her skin was getting worse. She rubbed her
arms

and face. She knew the power was leaving her. She had felt it start to
drain as her army appeared. How much did she have left?
She came to herself to see Arven standing in front of her. "Come,
Mistress," he said. "We will go direct." He seemed not notice her
temporary distress.
He took her and held her close to his chest. His powerful wings soon
took them high above her followers who were scattering in groups, like
scurrying ants, searching for a vantage point. As the forest fell away
below, and after all she had experienced, Bellany was in no way
prepared for the sight which now greeted her. She could see the Final
Ritual for the first time. To her left, the crumbling ruins of the
castle were a dark mound against the snow. To her right, she could see
the glint of water, but what held her gaze was the Priory and the
glorious fires within.
The old ruin was no more than a heap of stones from that height, with
one wall intact, but within those ruins rose two vast pillars of fire -
red, purple, orange and flickering, splattering lines of the purest
silver and gold. They were taller than the highest trees, and as she
watched they rose even higher, then fell, widening as they did so. This
was repeated, and each time they dropped, they scattered a shimmering
shower of silver and gold which covered the ground in a glowing carpet.
Each time they rose, she heard the sound of a distant sea throwing its
limitless might against an unyielding shore. Bellany remembered to
breathe. She knew she had to get to those wondrous towers, those Holy
Fires. All her fear left her as she felt her soul reach out to those
magnificent, multicoloured fires.
She felt Arven go into a glide towards the Priory. The only sound was
the rush of wind created by their passage through the air, against the
background of the song of the Fires. She felt a mounting excitement.
They were now crossing the forest edge with little more than three
hundred metres to go.
Suddenly, Arven lurched and his left wing crumpled to his side. As she
felt his arms grip her, she looked up to see a long barbed spike
protruding from his shoulder. As they spiralled towards the ground,
almost as if he had read her thoughts, Arven growled, "No magic, little
one. Save what remains of your power."
He wrapped his long right arm even tighter around her and unfurled his
left arm to take hold of his useless wing. Groaning with the exertion,
he held it as straight as he could. Slowly, he righted

their headlong fall until they were gliding across the open fields at
no more than tree height. They were heading straight for the
castle.
He gave one final, agonising twist to his wings and pulled them into an
almost vertical position. "Jump!" he shouted, at the same time throwing
Bellany to his right, towards a tangle of low bushes. She toppled
through the air and landed on her side, stopping just in time to see
Arven crash into the lower branches of a large yew tree. She saw him
fall to the ground below.
She scrambled to her feet, heedless of the prickles in her side and the
gash on her forehead, and ran to where he lay. Tears welled up in her
eyes as she saw him move. She put her arms around him and pulled him to
her.
"No time now, Mistress," he whispered. "You must flee to the Fires.
Look behind."
Descending the slope from the forest edge, she could see Randolf and
her army battling fiercely with several towering creatures, which
resembled the giant cactus of the American deserts. Their huge bloated
arms swept low above the earth, and she could hear the whine of their
spines as they were ejected, to fly like harpoons into her defenders.
No doubt this is what had struck Arven. She turned away, horrified at
the slaughter, to see to her left a host of beetles, and above them a
similar number of Rovers, using their lines with deadly efficiency.
Several Rovers lay motionless on the ground, but even more beetles lay
upturned, their limbs waving feebly. Many of their riders were dead,
but many more were scattering and raising their deadly pipes to their
lips. She could make out a group of Randolfs, back to back in a rough
circle. They were surrounded by beetles and their hideous riders, but
the knives of the Randolfs were more than a match for the continuous
attack they were braving.
Between the two main battles, the Trellen stood in a long line, each
with his partner. Their arrows could be heard as a constant hum as they
fired salvo after salvo at the seemingly endless numbers of beetles
pouring across the fields from the ponds.
Bellany felt numb at the size and ferocity of the battle, and the
terrible toll her friends were taking. She looked towards the fires.
They seemed to be even higher and the noise of their climbing was even
louder than the fighting. She took one last look at the battlefield and
glimpsed two of the crystal columns spinning their blades of death
towards a group of Trellen. Above, a flock of Arven were swooping down,
their swords, held high.

"Mistress, please go!" urged Arven.
Bellany gave him a weak smile then turned and ran along the track
leading to the castle entrance. She thought it must lead to the Priory.
The sound of the battle and the ever increasing crackle of the Holy
Fires above her, lent speed to her feet. She had so little time
left!
She did not see the dark shape in front of her until she hit it. She
screamed!
"Bellany? Bel, is that you?"
She collapsed with relief into the arms of her father, who held her
close. She felt deep sobs pushing up from her chest, but pulled herself
free.
She clutched his coat. "Quickly, dad. We must reach the fires. There
are only a few minutes left."
Dennis, who was nearby, reached out and tapped them both. "Across
here," he said." Through the castle grounds." He pointed to a metal
swing gate.
As they reached the gate, they stopped. Each one of them felt the hair
rise on their necks. A cold dampness seemed to spread over them and
their stomachs knotted at the stench of rotting meat. Behind them, in a
tangle of black undergrowth, they heard the squelch of a huge, soft
body, a slither of slimy flesh.
They turned, and emerging from the bushes was a mountain of yellowish
blubber, covered in dripping black patches. Monstrous wrinkle covered
its surface, which writhed and jerked as if twitched by an invisible
puppet master. It moved towards them with a rippling motion over
boulders and bushes, which disappeared into its body like stones into
cream.
The terrified trio tried to run, but were unable to tear themselves
away from the sight of this evil apparition. Suddenly, a part of the
crawling mass detached itself from the main body and flung itself
forwards in a long thin tentacle of slime, to wrap itself around the
neck of Michael, dragging him to the ground.
Bellany closed her eyes. She had to try one more time. She could nit
fail! She thought of the Matoma, of the Purpose, but most of all of the
love she had for her father. She wanted to go home.
Her body jerked, and once more she felt that terrible wrenching inside
of her. She looked up to see her father pulling himself up on one knee.
The monster was getting smaller! As they watched, it reduced to the
size of a pony, and a terrible moaning oozed from somewhere within its
great bulk.

Bellany was shaking uncontrollably. She fainted against Dennis, who
took her in his arms. They watched as the slime creature melted into
nothingness, and with it, the dreadful sound of its dying.
Dennis looked at Michael. "You O.K.?" he asked.
Michael nodded. "How is she? No, don't answer. Take her to the fires,
Dennis. I've a feeling its her only chance."
They hurried into the castle grounds, Bellany cradled in Dennis's Arms.
On their right, the battle was very close. The whiz of arrows and the
whoosh of spines could be heard even against the splintering crackle of
the Holy Fires. The two pulsating pillars now rose over a hundred
metres into the night air. Their tops were now more than a few metres
apart, and tongues o eye-hurting brilliance were starting to leap from
one column to the other, probing and teasing the other's
defences.
Dennis strode across the open ground towards the Priory, her and there
stumbling into deeper pockets of snow. Michael followed close at his
heels. He could still feel the pain where the tentacle had seized his
neck. The ground levelled out and Dennis broke into a shambling run.
Bellany was still a dead weight in his arms. They were now very close
to the Fires. Dennis fell to one side. Bellany rolled from his arms and
stopped with her head against a jumble of stones.
Dennis groaned. "It's my ankle, Mike. It's up to you."
Michael dashed forwards and scooped up Bellany from where she lay. The
noise of the Fires made his ears sing with pain, but even as he
clambered up the stones upon which the Fires fought their mighty
battle, he could feel no heat. Just fear. A fear which seemed to drain
the strength from his protesting muscles. He could see beyond the Fires
that the battle was now so close he could make out the features of
those involved. He glanced over his shoulder to see a line of beetles
approaching him a headlong speed, their riders with their deadly dart
tubes to their mouths.
He turned to the Fires. On the ground directly between them was a
perfectly flat and smooth Blue stone. Even the intense glare of the
Fires had no effect on its beautiful even shading. He stumbled
forwards, fearing for Bellany, himself, everything.
His foot knocked against the edge of the Blue stone. He fell to one
knee, steadying Bellany's lolling head with one hand. He looked up. The
Holy Fires were now almost touching. He could feel his

teeth grinding together and his eyes watering in agony at the immense
wall of sound. With one last tremendous effort he raised Bellany and
placed her on the Blue stone. As he did so, he heard a high pitched
scream tearing through the roar of the Fires. He had a vision of the
Raven and Nicholas swooping down out of the brilliance towards him.
Then the world exploded.
He felt himself tossed in the air like a leaf, then a great force
smashed him down upon the stone. A huge ball of light blossomed in
front of him, and his eyes seemed to be burning in their sockets.
"We were wrong," he thought, as he screamed out in the terrible despair
of failure, and sank into unconsciousness.
He became aware of darkness. How long had he been there? The Fires were
gone. HE became aware of Bellany lying where he had placed her upon the
Blue stone. She seemed peacefully asleep. He crawled across to where
she lay and put his hand on her cheek. As he did so, she sat up and
smiled at him.
"Bel," he choked and reached out for her as she reached for him. As
they clasped each other he saw a look of wonder spread across her face
at something she could see behind him. He turned. Above the hill behind
the Priory was an enormous white bird. It hung motionless with its
wings spread outwards across the starlit sky. The moon lay to one side,
its face dimmed by this magnificent creature.
He heard a cry. It was Dennis lying at the foot of the stones. He
smiled and pointed. Of the battle there was no sign, but coming towards
them from the direction of the castle was a procession of assorted
beings. Bellany jumped up and ran towards them as they stopped by
Dennis.
"Nicholas!" she cried, flinging her arms around the neck of the slim,
old man. By his side stood a gigantic Raven, but even as Michael felt
himself react, he realised it was not the Raven he had known. It was
calm, and now its eyes radiated peace and tranquillity.
Nicholas moved to one side. He raised his hand towards the great, white
bird covering half of the sky behind them.
"My friends," he began," you have all helped to reunite the Intoma with
its true self. There is now only one Great Force, once more at rest
beneath the Wrekin. My friend, the Raven, and I will

return and continue to serve as we have done in our own ways in the
past. When the time is right, we will perhaps assist in passing on the
Matoma's great knowledge to mankind."
He paused and turned. "To you, Randolf, Arven, Trellen, and to you Rob
and Rog, we are forever in your debt. Ror will be remembered always for
his unselfish devotion to duty which resulted in his death."
Bellany looked across at the two Rovers. What had happened? Poor
Ror!
Nicholas was still talking, "? for their bravery, in the face of which
to them must have been insurmountable odds. Michael and Dennis were
grinning self consciously.
"But to you, Bellany," he said, "we owe our undying gratitude. You
were the Joiner and will always have the highest place of honour
amongst us. Whenever you need us, we will repay our debt to you."
He chuckled and leant forwards so that only Bellany could hear. "We
did it, my dear," he whispered., then to his companions, "Let's all go
home."
The white bird glided slowly down until it rested on the old
battlefield. Nicholas and his friends moved to join it. In the
twinkling of an eye, they melted together into one spinning wheel of
silver fire, and were gone.
The darkness of the night closed in upon the humans, standing alone
among the old, cold stones of the Priory. Bellany took hold of
Michael's hand.
"Let's go home too, dad."

THE END