Hunter shrugged; maybe the preacher was right — it was difficult to be sure about anything any more.
The lantern led Hunter to the cobbled street rising steeply up to the cathedral. On either side was a profusion of medieval houses that had once been antique shops and had now returned to their original use. They were all ablaze with colour: red, pink and yellow roses swarmed around doors, clematis was still in flower, tulips and daffodils and pinks and geraniums sprouted from boxes on the pavement. Yet all around it was bitterly cold.
The steep cobbled street was treacherous with snow and ice, so Hunter dismounted and led his horse. By the time the street reached the shadow of the cathedral, dark, heavy clouds had swept across the blue sky and snow was starting to fall again.
The lantern pointed towards the main door of the cathedral, which was locked. Hunter tethered his mount and wandered the vast perimeter of the building searching for a way in, but all the entrances were barred. An unusual atmosphere emanated from the stone, not reverence or transcendence like he had felt at many other cathedrals, but a brooding sadness that began to affect him deeply. The building was strange in other ways, too: like the houses that lined the old pilgrims’ route to the door, the cathedral had more than its fair share of verdant growth — ivy crawling over the windows, Russian vine spreading over stonework, the leaves turning red as though it was autumn. In Lincoln, all seasons were unfolding simultaneously.
He returned to the main door and rapped loudly. As he listened to the echoes, a disturbing sensation tickled his lower leg. He was shocked to see ivy wrapped around his ankle and crawling slowly upwards before his eyes.
Jumping backwards, he wrenched the ivy out of the ground, but it still continued to grow up towards his thigh. He tore it away with frozen fingers and hurled the remnants against the wall.
Quiet, cynical laughter echoed around the cathedral precinct. Hunter looked around for the source, but there was only stillness over the snow.
‘She won’t let you inside.’
A woman in a green cloak emerged from the side of one of the buildings adjoining the cathedral, her hood pulled forward so that her face was hidden by shadows.
‘You want to be careful creeping up on me. I’ve killed people for less,’ Hunter said.
‘Oooh,’ she replied with childish sarcasm. ‘Big man, big threat.’ The woman threw back her hood to reveal messy white-blonde hair above a face that had a faint greenish tint to the skin, but which didn’t hamper her flinty beauty. The hardness made her appear aloof and a little arrogant, but she had a wry smile that suggested she was entertained by Hunter’s appearance.
‘The Green Angel,’ Hunter guessed.
‘Love you, too.’
‘You did that trick with the ivy?’
‘I can’t reveal my secrets.’ She teased him in a manner that some would find irritating. ‘You’re not a local. Come for some free fruit and veg? The store’s down in town.’
‘You did all that with the plants, too. I’m impressed. Green fingers.’
‘Green everything.’ She came over, now more intrigued than entertained. ‘You’re not here for food. Who are you?’
‘I can’t reveal my secrets.’
The woman circled him slowly, looking him up and down. ‘Lean. Mean. Packing some weapons, if I’m not mistaken by the bulges under your cloak. Or are you just pleased to see me?’
‘You’re very sparky. Give it a bit of time and you might be able to develop it into a personality.’
The woman suddenly noticed a flare of blue illumination inside Hunter’s cloak as it blew aside in the wind. She yanked at the hem to pull the cloak open, revealing the Wayfinder where it had been hanging out of sight in Hunter’s hand. Her demeanour changed instantly.
‘Where did you get that?’
‘A giant gave it to me,’ Hunter said wryly, but his mind was already turning at her recognition. ‘It’s called the Wayfinder.’
‘I know what it’s called,’ she snapped. In that moment, the defences of her face were stripped away to reveal a flow of honest emotion: memories of good times, memories of sadness, hardship and suffering. It ended with a faint, contented smile as though she had just recognised an old friend.
‘I think,’ Hunter said, ‘I’m looking for you.’
She blinked away a furtive tear. ‘Come far?’
‘From the ends of the Earth.’ That’s what it felt like to him. Now that his own defences had broken down he felt a deep affinity with the odd woman, and he could see in her eyes that she felt it, too.
She put her arms around him warmly and held him in silence for a moment. When she broke away, she said, ‘I’m not usually one for hugging. So don’t tell anyone about that, all right?’
‘Sister of Dragons.’ He nodded slowly; he could see it now.
‘And you’re one of the new ones. The pale copies.’
‘I like to think you were the prototypes and we’re the definitive article.’ He held out a hand. ‘Hunter.’
‘Is that a name or some sexual role-play thing?’ The woman held his hand for a long second.
‘Are you always like this?’
‘I wouldn’t be so lovable any other way. Laura DuSantiago.’
He looked up at the towering cathedral. ‘And this is where you hang out? Nice. Bet it’s a nightmare to clean.’
‘Now there’s a thing. Wait till you see the inside. If she ever lets us in,’ she added tartly.
‘“She” being…?’
‘Ruth Gallagher. Uber-Witch of the whole fucking multiverse. And doesn’t she just know it.’
She shook her head with irritation and motioned for Hunter to follow her. This time the main door swung open easily.
‘Looks like she’s out of her sulk,’ Laura said. ‘But you still won’t be able to see her yet — she’ll be off brooding somewhere. Better come in and take the weight off for a while.’
Hunter followed Laura into the cathedral and was even more surprised than she had indicated he would be. The interior was a bizarre mix of tropical greenhouse and ice cave. Strange gargantuan ice formations almost obscured the lofty roof and curved across the nave, which entered into a series of tunnels through the permafrost. Yet tropical trees thrust up from the frozen floor, breaking through the stone to press against the ice, and creepers and vines hung down from above. It made the inside of the cathedral claustrophobic and disturbingly otherworldly.
‘So you can control nature? Make things grow, even where they shouldn’t?’ Hunter asked.
‘One of the pluses of being a plant.’
‘What?’
‘Long story. Basically, I’m an avatar of the Green, gifted — or cursed — by Cernunnos. You heard of him? He’s one of the Tuatha De Danann, a nature god, basically, or the nature god. Anyway, I’m his chosen one, and he’s given me lots of cool powers to use as I see fit. Course, I get the chlorophyll skin, but these days there aren’t many beauty parades.’
Laura led Hunter through the maze of ice tunnels to a room where a brazier glowed with hot coals. He warmed his hands over it eagerly. ‘There’s bread and fruit over there.’ She motioned to a cupboard in one corner before lounging on a hard wooden bench. ‘Now you’d better tell me why you’re here.’
Hunter told her everything, from the impending end of the world at the hands of the Void, to the attack on his troops by the Lament-Brood and their lethal generals, and the fragmented state of the current quincunx of Brothers and Sisters of Dragons. Laura listened intently, chipping in with sarcastic comments or wry asides, but beneath the patina of levity, Hunter could tell that she understood what was at stake and recognised her responsibility.