Chapter 1
A Matter of Life and Death
They were somewhere dark and cold and underground, surrounded by the rank odours of disintegrating death. The air was dank, and stank of mould. It caught in the throat and revolted the nostrils. This was a place for hearts that had been stilled, not for hearts still beating...
"Where are we?" Grace whispered, and Gordon felt her squeeze his hand. A moment ago they'd been standing with Nick and Miranda in a hand-held circle round that astounding oak, making a wish. The warm spring air had been heavy with the scent of lilacs; bluebells were emblazoning the ground...
"I don't know," Gordon admitted. His eyes had been closed while he was making his wish and he hadn't seen his torque taking him by the throat. "I can only think we're somewhere in Avalon..."
Avalon, Tír na nÓg: the Land of the Forever Young, that region of departed souls... He and Grace were surely once more quick among the dead. What were they here to learn this time? What had they been wishing for...?
"I wanted to help all those who die too young," Grace told him. She shivered. "Why is there so much suffering in the world? Why can't we recycle happiness instead?"
Gordon remembered. "I wanted to stop those hoodies killing that defenceless old man. So I was wishing the same as you in a way..."
"If this is Avalon..." Grace muttered, "...then Myrddin knows we're here."
The beam from Gordon's ring grew brighter: lighting the space around their still-clasped hands. He let go of Grace and raised his left arm. The glow drove the darkness back: turning it into more discerning shadows...
They were in a vast and vaulted, columned tomb. All around were grey sarcophagi, sitting in timeless silence on stone plinths. Their massy, statued lids sealed the bodies in. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust... It occurred to Gordon that this encrypted space might be below the great hall where Myrddin had introduced him to King Arthur and the Army of the Slain...
Grace tugged on his arm and pointed at one of the stone coffins near where they were standing. Unlike all the others, this one was still open. Its lid leaned ponderously against a nearby wall, waiting... "There's someone still alive in that," she whispered. "She's dreaming in a darkness of her own..."
Hardly daring to breathe, they moved across the cold, grey flags and peered into the coffin. Gordon stretched out his ring hand. Its light gleamed on the figure of a girl... She was lying on a bed of cushioned silk, her hands folded neatly on her chest. Her eyes were closed, as if in final peace. No breath or pulse gave her slow-beating heart away, though colour lingered in her cheeks, and her lips were parted in a faint smile...
She was dressed much as Gordon imagined his sixteen greats grandmother would have been dressed when she was fourteen years old, or thereabouts. In height and weight she seemed uncannily similar to Grace, though her face was more striking than beautiful in a twenty first century sense. She looked quirky and strong-willed...
Above them, off to one side, they heard the sound of metal being forced between a lock and a protesting chain. It was followed by the splintering of wood. Fastenings gave way and a door swung open, bringing dismal light to dust-strewn steps. A long shadow preceded the figure making its grieving way into this last resting place. It was still clutching the crowbar it had used to force an entry.
Grace and Gordon melted a safe distance into the darkness behind one of the marble plinths. The light from Gordon's ring winked out. They heard the unrelenting bar rebound on the stone flags as it was tossed aside. A burning torch waved shadows round the tomb.
