He's trying to cut it off! The terrible thought burst in his mind, and with it came the certain knowledge that this was the one who had mutilated and abducted Ruth.
He wrenched at his hand with increasing desperation, but it was pinned with an inhuman strength. And the blade bit deeper. Red hot needles danced across his skin. His forehead felt like it was on fire, his vision fracturing around the edges as he started to black out.
No, he pleaded with himself.
It felt like the blade was down to the bone now. His head started to spin, his knees grew weak.
Somehow he found an extra reserve of strength to give one last pull, but it was not enough. Just as he started to lose consciousness, arms folded around him, adding to his strength. Laura set her heels and heaved and somehow he found the will to join in. His wrist felt like it was going to snap, his arm like it was popping from its socket.
But then something gave and he found himself flying backwards. He landed on the floor several feet back, with Laura pinned beneath him.
"You big bastard," she gasped.
Desperately he rolled off her and pulled out his handkerchief to stem the flow of blood. The cloth was soaked crimson within seconds, but the blood slowed enough for him to tie it tight.
Laura was anxiously watching the door which had swung shut. "I think they've gone," she ventured. Then: "What was that?"
"I don't know." Church still felt nauseous at the memory of the voice. It had sounded like something from The Exorcist. Fighting off the rolling waves of pain that were rising up his arm, he moved forward cautiously and pulled open the door. There was no one on the other side. Splatters of his own blood, that had run off his attacker, marked a trail out of the building.
"Whatever it was, it's not going to be satisfied until it's had us all," he said.
"I need my fingers. They're a lonely girl's best friend." Although she was trying to make light, there was no humour in her words. "Come on, we've got to get some stitches in that."
In spite of having found their next step forward, their confidence had ebbed as they made their way up the street from the library. Apprehension almost prevented them crossing the Royal Mile, with its clear vista from the imposing bulk of the castle at the top, but they pulled themselves together enough to continue towards the worrying darkness of Advocate's Close.
Halfway across the road Laura caught at Church's sleeve and whispered, "Look at that."
Above the castle, grey clouds were roiling unnaturally, unfolding from the very stone of the place, rolling out across the Old Town. Within seconds the hot summer sun was obscured. The temperature dropped rapidly and Church felt the sting of snow in the cold wind.
They raised their faces up to stare at the dark skies, suddenly shivering in the heart of winter.
Chapter Six
Dawn came up over Calton Hill like gold and brass. Summer heat quickly dispelled the cool of the night, and the air was soon filled with the chorus of waking songbirds and the aroma of wild flowers. Amongst the treetops that clustered to the southwest side of the hill, tiny figures danced and swooped on the warm currents, their gossamer wings sparkling in the sun's first rays.
For Veitch, it was a transcendent moment that pointed up the hollowness of the world before the change. His hard face softened as he followed the winged creatures' magical trail; the tension eased from his muscles. His smile transformed him into the kind of man he might have been if he hadn't grown up at a certain time in a certain place, trapped by destiny, punished by reality for no crime apart from existing.
And Shavi watched Veitch, and he too smiled. And the others looked to Shavi and felt the genuine warmth and hope he exuded, even in the darkest moments. It was he who had suggested the ritual to greet the sun as a way of marking the next phase of their life, and as a memory of something good to carry with them into dark places. Tom had helped out with the details of the ancient rite which had been carried out at the stone circles in the long-forgotten days, and they had chosen Calton Hill, where every year Edinburgh residents gathered for a pagan rite of seasonal renewal on Beltane. It was the place, it was the time.
And there, in the aftermath, they all felt stronger and they could turn their eyes away from the still-sleeping, geometrical streets of the New Town to the clouded, chaotic and thunderous bulk of the Old. Above it, the winter clouds still churned.
"We will always remember this moment." Shavi's voice was a whisper but it carried through the still air with a strength and clarity that sent a shiver down their spines. "This is not just an age of darkness and anarchy. It is a time of wonder and miracles too. Never forget. Light in dark-"
"The best of times, the worst of times." Church smiled.
"Sweet and sour," Laura chipped in. "Cabbage and chocolate-"
"All right!" Shavi laughed. "You have no sense of occasion!"
"And you'd get on a pretentious spiral up your own arse if we'd let you." Laura rolled on to her back, chuckling playfully.
For that brief time, Church forgot his brooding nature and turned to look through the twelve Doric columns of the National Monument towards the sun, pretending it was Athens, dreaming of Marianne-but no longer in a bad way.
Tom, stoned and grinning, looked more like a Woodstock refugee than he had done in weeks. When he smiled, the lines of suffering and despair turned to crinkles of good humour and his piercing eyes sparkled with a blissed-out hippie's playfulness. "Shavi's right." His voice, too, became less sombre, and more of its original Scottish brogue was evident. "Make the most of it."
"Okay," Church said. "Pop quiz. Favourite golden oldie. I'll start: `Fly'-"
"-'Me to the Moon,' you predictable Sinatra dickhead," Laura chided. "You hadn't mentioned the great elan for a while. I thought you'd grown out of that."
"We haven't had much time to kick back and listen to music."
"`Scooby Snacks."' Veitch's voice surprised them all, floating out dreamily and distracted while he watched the sprites in the trees. "Fun Lovin' Criminals."
"`Strange Brew' by Cream," Tom grinned.
Laura stared at him as if he was insane. "No, wasn't that Beethoven?" she said sarcastically.
"Stop criticising and chip in so we can criticise your musical taste," Church said.
She wrinkled her nose. "Oh God, I don't know. `Hey Boy Hey Girl' by the Chemical Brothers. Or maybe something by Celine Dion," she added with a sneer. "What's yours then, Shav-ster?" Laura raised her sunglasses slightly to get a clearer view of his expression. "Some Andean pan pipe music? Kashmiri drum and bass? Tibetan chants? Aboriginal didgeridoo solos?"
"`Move On Up' by Curtis Mayfield, if you must know," he said with mock playfulness. "The ultimate positivity in music."
"Oh God, can't you just say you like the beat?" She pulled off her boot and threw it at him. He ducked with a laugh and crawled behind Tom, who suddenly looked very perturbed.
Church didn't want to break the mood, but it had to happen sooner or later. "We need to talk about divvying up," he began. Nobody looked at him as if he had only thought the words, but he sensed a change in the atmosphere, as if everything was suddenly hanging in stasis.
"I think it's up to me to go into Arthur's Seat-"
"And you said that with a completely straight face, Church-dude." Laura's voice was suddenly weary. "I always said you had no comic timing."
11 — and I think Tom should go to Rosslyn Chapel-"
"No," Tom said firmly.
"But you know the history of what happened there. You've been taught some of the knowledge of the people who did the binding. It's obviously yours," Church protested.
"No," Tom said again.