9 Birmingham

The statue said it all.

Whether intentional or not, it exactly expressed the horror, the insanity, the destruction and the decay of the Chaos. According to the engraved text on the granite base, it had been erected to commemorate the Knights' victory at the Second Battle of Birmingham. It had been a few kilometres to the west - on a stormy morning in 2056 - that the two armies collided. Marching from the north were the government forces, the remains of the once proud British Army, led by the cavalry of the Unified Guard's regiment. Opposing them, as they marched into the Knights' heartland, were nearly ten thousand men of the Army of Avalon.

Thousands of men had died that day, in a brutal confused struggle. Thousands of men, out of a population already reduced by more that ninety-five percent. At the end of that day, as the hurricane's fringe cleared away the smoke of battle and the scent of death, the Knights were victorious, the defeated government forces retreating northwards along what had once been the M6. The Knights were saved, but it was a pyrrhic victory. The Third Civil War, which had already raged for almost two years would not end officially until 2061, when the two sides signed a peace treaty, and formed the Bretenek Republic - an act now regarded as the end of the Chaos. But the Second Battle of Birmingham would be the last major battle of the war, and of the Chaos.

For as the wars raged, the nation and its people had died. All that remained was a sterile, poisoned, deadly land, where survival was the highest priority. When the two sides met that day it was the final play of a game that had begun before the Chaos, a final desperate use of the remaining stockpiles of weapons and resources. After the destruction of their armies, neither side had the resources to rebuild, or to threaten the other. The war would continue, but only as a series of small skirmishes and guerrilla actions.

And the statue said it all.

Two soldiers and a horse stood upon its simple plinth, cast in bronzed ceramics, and casting an eternal gaze to the west. The two soldiers were clad in crude, camouflaged HE suits, with the flaming circle insignia of the Knights upon their breasts. Though their features were hidden by their full-face masks, their very postures suggested bravery, duty and honour. One of them, an infantryman, held aloft the banner of the Army of Avalon, the flag curled as though fluttering in a breeze. The other, a cavalryman, stood beside his horse, the reins held lightly in his hand. The horse itself stood firm, its bright eyes showing through the clear plastic eye-patches of its full-body HE suit.

I sat down on one of the metal benches that ringed the statue, and looked around. The figures were situated in a small clearing at the western edge of the main dome, surrounded on three sides by conifers and on the fourth by a long, high window set into the dome's perimeter wall. Beyond the thick glass the scarred landscape stretched into the distance. Had that been the Rook's future? To leave the dome perhaps? To travel? But if that was his future, then what was his past? I looked around, but could see only trees. Did he mean the city itself?

The window was the future. It was through that window that he had gazed as a child, dreaming of far-away cities and distant lands. But where had he gazed from. From the benches? From the flower-beds that ringed the statue? From the metre high plinth? And then I realised, knew that there was only one place a child would have chosen.

The Horse.

I looked around again, and seeing no-one, and hearing only the birds, climbed onto the plinth, feeling both foolish and sacrilegious as I did so. The smooth, polished surface was slippery underfoot, and the plastic sandals strapped to my feet were not designed for this kind of activity. I took a last furtive look around the clearing, then hauled myself onto the horse, settling into the carved imitation of the HE suit's build-in saddle. In front of me was the window, allowing the three anonymous figures to gaze eternally at the battlefield upon which they had fought, and perhaps died. The future, for a dreaming child at least. Carefully I lifted a leg across the horse, and twisted round to face in the opposite direction.

Just as before, I saw before me a screen of trees. An almost unbroken screen of trees. Almost. For at this precise angle, visible only from the raised back of the horse, a line-of-sight extended straight through the irregularly laid-out woodland. Around that gap a fringe of green branches framed a view of the soft blue of the far dome wall. And set upon that soft blue, a single tower rose from the ground, flanked by a circle of needles. I didn't need to consult a map of the dome to know what it was.

The College of Avalonia. The training ground for the Knights of Avalon.

The main entrance stood at the end of a long gravel pathway that run straight between the two largest needles and up to the doors. As I walked up the sweeping steps, the huge slabs of heavily-smoked glass slid silently open. To even approach - after what had happened at Glastonbury - was probably suicidal; but I could only hope that the Knights had hushed up events as much as everyone else seemed to be doing. A hooded youth approached as the doors slid shut behind me. I noted the miniature bronze branch pinned to his green robes - a novice.

"Could I help you citizen?" he asked in the detached tones that the druids cultivated.

"I'm just interested..." I replied, wishing that I'd thought this through a bit more.

"Do you wish to receive enlightenment?"

"I'm not sure. Could I perhaps talk to someone..?"

"Of course," he replied, a hint of suspicion in his otherwise emotionless features. "Wait here, and I will call someone to you." He walked over to a side-door and laid his palm on the black plate mounted beside it. It flared briefly, and then the door slid open. "Wait here citizen," he told me, and stepped through. The door slid shut behind him.

I began to wonder nervously down the length of the cold, soulless lobby, pausing every few paces to examine the slogans and paintings attached to the wall. After a few minutes I came to a huge holo-montage, measuring two metres high and nearly ten metres wide. It was comprised of small five-centimetre square holo-portraits, thousand upon thousand of them arranged in rows and columns. Above the display was a huge caption: Graduates of the College 2068-2108. I fixed upon a random portrait and examined it. A handsome, chiselled face stared out from the three-dimensional image. Below the face, a name floated in front of his shoulders, solid green letters etched in space.

"David Charlton, 2092," I read aloud, looking closer, and noticing that the portraits seemed to be mounted on slightly extended bases. I gave the image an experimental push, and it clicked in a fraction, causing a cultured voice to emerge from the speaker mounted below the montage.

"David Charlton," it spoke. "Born 2071, the son of Howard Jennings and Paula Milton. Entered the college 2084. Graduated 2092." The recording paused for a moment, then added: "Press again for further information."

I moved on, along the montage and through the years, making a quick calculation. If the Rook graduated from this place then it must have been no later than 2105, which was when he cofounded WaveX. I moved along, until the captions showed 2106, then began to move backwards, scanning up and down the many columns. He'd changed so much that when I reached him I initially went straight past, having moved onto the next set before it clicked. I scanned back and found his image. It was a younger, calmer, and different face that stared back at me, with rounder cheekbones, and a different nose, but it was him. You can remodel a man's face, but you can't change the way he looks through it. I read the caption: Luke Johnson, 2104. I looked around, checking that the huge lobby was still empty, then pressed against the holo. The recording spoke again.

"Luke Johnson. Born into the college 2083. Graduated with honours 2104. Press again for further information."

Born into the college? Which would make the poor bastard one of the Children of God! His father would have been an unknown, but high-ranked druid, his mother, a pious, god-fearing young girl who was willing to bear her first child for the Knights. Willing to hand him over to them, never to see him again. My mind reeled. He was one of the Children of God? One of the Knight's elite? That would make him a carrier of a higher soul. He had been born to lead, to rule. Not to die in a poisoned swamp. I remembered the final prompt, and pressed the image again.

"Luke Johnson. Born on the twenty-third day after Samhuinn, 2083. Ninth child of Emerald class. Elected class leader 2088, 2089, 2091, 2092, 2094, 2095, 2096, 2098, 2100, 2101, 2103 and 2104. Awarded bronze branch 2093. Awarded silver branch 2097. Awarded gold branch 2100. Graduated with honours in theology and law in 2104. Transferred to New London Adjudicator's Office in 2104. Transferred to Continental Security Force 2105. Killed in action 2105."

Killed in action? So that was how it had been squared. The question was: Who squared it? Him, or them?

"So you are interested in my Luke?" asked a gravelly voice from behind my shoulder. I spun round to face it, finding that it belonged to a lined, weathered face, which was accompanied by a thin, white beard. "I'm sorry my child," he added, resting a gnarled hand on my shoulder, "did I startle you?"

"No!" I reassured him, taking in his ornate green, hooded robe and wondering how the hell he'd snuck up on me. "No, I'm fine. You said, your Luke..?"

"A little selfish pride," he dismissed. "Luke was one of my best pupils, perhaps the best... Come with me." He turned, not waiting for an answer, and stepped silently across the polished floor. I looked around the deserted hallway, and set off after him. He brushed his hand against an access plate and stepped though the opening door, barely breaking his slow, measured stride. I jogged after him and hopped through the door as it began to close. Beyond the door was a long corridor that stretched along the spine of the building. Unlike the empty lobby, the corridor was filled with bustling students, all wearing the same green robes, all walking with the same head-down posture. I dodged past them and caught up with him.

"Come, come," he ordered, turning into a side-corridor, then striding briskly down a flight of steps. He continued down through two stories, then swept into a smaller corridor that led across the building, a much quieter area that contained only a few students. "Here it is," he murmured, halting beside a door and flashing his hand across the black plate. The wooden door slid open, revealing a small room, made smaller by the banks of bookshelves that held hundreds of tattered books.

"My office," he explained, motioning me in, then added: "Take a seat." I spotted a simple, grey plastic chair pushed against the wall and pulled it out to face him. He leaned back on his small wooden stool, and looked me up and down.

"So why are you interested in Luke?"

"Why do you think I'm interested in him?" I parried.

He leaned forward, and looked me in the eye. "I know you are." There was something about him that made me feel it was no idle boast. He knew.

"You're right," I admitted with a shrug. "I am interested in him."

"You have many questions." A statement of fact, not a question.

Can I trust him? I thought. Where are his loyalties? But I was in search of answers, as I had been ever since I heard of Jenny's death. Answers that he might be able to provide. Who was his pupil? And could he have killed his own wife?

"The holo," I began, "the one in the lobby. It said that he was dead, that he had been killed three years ago."

"That is what it says."

"But do you believe it?"

"Why don't you tell me why I should not?"

"Because I saw him a few days ago," I revealed.

"How was he?" he asked in reply, totally failing to show any surprise.

"Erm... okay," I answered, not telling the whole truth. "How did you know that he hadn't been killed? Were you told?"

"No I wasn't told. I'm just a teacher. When my students leave this college I have no further knowledge of their careers. I was told that he had been killed."

"So how did you know he was still alive?"

"I knew. Or rather I sensed."

"You sensed?"

"Citizen, I began teaching that boy when he reached his third birthday, and continued until he graduated at twenty-one. I watched as his soul formed, took shape. His body may have left this building, and this city. But his soul remained linked to mine. I could sense it, could tell that it was still on this Earth."

I had no way to determine if he spoke the truth, and no option other than to assume he did. "So what did you think was happening? Why was he reported dead?"

"The organisational workings of the Knights can, at times, be rather baffling. He left this college to follow his calling. I had no doubts that he would."

"His calling?"

A fond look clouded the old knight's eyes. "Oh yes, he had a calling. From the moment I saw him - a small child toddling resolutely toward me - I knew it. Some men are marked, branded. Their souls glow like the sun because of the previous lives they have led. Men such as they have the flames of destiny burning within them."

"And he was one of them?"

"He was. He was born to serve God, to glory his name, to blaze a trail across this world that would burn for a thousand years."

"How sure are you that he will achieve those tasks."

"Citizen, you fail to understand. These are not tasks that he has to achieve. They are part of his future, his past, and his present. They are yet to happen, but yet they have happened. It is a story that was written before he was born. It is preordained."

"Are you saying he has no choice in what happens?"

"It is his destiny, and so in a sense - he has no choice. He will achieve all that he is destined to achieve. We are all in the grip of forces that you cannot comprehend."

"But how do you know he will still want to serve the Knights? How strong a believer was he?"

"It is not a matter of belief. Every atom of his body belongs to Avalon. His knowledge of God underpins his every thought, his every desire, and his every decision."

"But what if I could tell you that he was no longer serving with the Knights."

"It may well be that he is no longer serving with the Knights. But that does not mean he is no longer serving the Knights. Some men have difficult, even cruel destinies. It may be that the trail he is destined to blaze will be a long and lonely one. But it will burn."

"So you do not believe that he could ever turn?"

"Never. As you said, he has no choices. His mortal flesh is the host for a soul that has lived through a thousand generations. He can fight it, can run, but he cannot hide from his destiny. Whatever you have seen him doing, and I do not want to know what it is - he will be following his destiny, his fate."

I decided to probe in a different direction. "You said his beliefs were strong. But what were those beliefs? What did you teach him?"

"I taught him the ways of God. The eternal circle. And how to follow his destiny."

I tried not to get riled at the typical, non-specific druidic answer. "Brother, I'm not an expert on the ways of the Knights. But is it not true that within the Knights, there are different interpretations of the absolute truths?"

He tipped his head to one side. "To a certain extent, yes."

"I need to know how he interpreted those truths. For instance: what were his views on the coders."

"That they are soul-less," the druid instantly replied.

"He believed that?"

"Of course, he was a Knight. It was not therefore something that he could have an opinion on."

"But how do you know he believed that?"

"Because I know."

Of course.

He spoke again. "Whatever he was doing, whatever he said - I know what he believed. I made him. Everything he is now, is because of me. I was his father, mother, teacher and friend."

"But what if he was unable to fulfil his destiny. If something happened to prevent it."

"It couldn't my friend, it's destiny. It doesn't work like that."

"But it did."

"Why do you say that?"

"He's dead. I saw him die. Just a few days ago."

"You saw him get hurt."

"What?"

"I felt the pain, heard his soul scream. It is damaged, weakened. But it is still on this Earth."

"You can sense him?"

"Barely," he replied, pain entering his voice for the first time. "He is hurt, weakened, confused somehow. But he exists still. It is not yet time for him to die."

"Not yet?"

"The eternal circle can be cruel, can be harsh. I am an old man..." He indicated his aged body. "I was born in the year 2038. When I was four years old the Emergency Government was declared as the Chaos began. The next year I survived the siege of Birmingham. When I was six, the great plague swept across the nation. My father and mother were both struck down, but I survived. When I was twelve, just a starving, homeless child, I made my way to Gloucester - and was taken in by the Knights. And when I was eighteen, I fought for the Army of Avalon in the Second Battle of Birmingham. It was a day that I could not describe to you, a day that you could not imagine or comprehend. I saw my friends struck down all around me, and yet I survived. Do you understand the significance of what I say?"

"No..." I admitted.

"I was lucky. I was destined to lead a long life. Throughout all the horror that I witnessed and endured, I was always going to survive. That raw, uneducated child was destined to grow into a teacher, a wise man, a soul-reader even. But my Luke, as soon as I saw him - I knew that his destiny was short. Bright, but short."

"Does he know this?"

"No. A man cannot know his own destiny."

"When?"

"When will his soul depart? I cannot be sure. Tomorrow, next week, next month perhaps? I cannot be sure. I simply know that it has not yet departed, for I can still sense him."

"Where?"

He glared at me contemptuously. "I do not know. I simply know he is still alive."

"Can you sense anything about his surroundings?"

He closed his eyes, the mental exertion clear upon his face. "He is in familiar surroundings. A place that he knows. A place where he came for guidance. A home almost."

"Is it a place of safety then?"

"No. For him it is a place of great danger. A place that he fears. Full of godless people who he must pretend to respect."

"You can sense his emotions?"

"Now, yes. But not always."

"You can only sense strong emotions within him?"

"Yes. As you can see only bright stars."

"Have you sensed emotions such as these before?"

"Yes. On several occasions over the last three years."

"At what times?"

"Evenings, late nights. The last time was sixteen days ago."

Sixteen days ago. Kerensky's.

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