London, 2019
Outside the warehouse, all was quiet. The working week finished, the other units and random buildings were closed up for the weekend. At the far end of the wharf, two security guards patrolled at a sedate pace, their German Shepard pulling at the lead more through boredom than excitement. The Begovich warehouse, to the casual observer, looked as empty and unremarkable as most of the others. What windows it had were in darkness. The car parking area to the front of it was empty. The doors were locked and the shutters padlocked. Everything about it was quiet, dull and ordinary.
Inside, however, was quite a different matter.
Gone were the dusty crates and cobwebbed boxes. Gone were the pallets of plastic-wrapped jars and bottles. Gone were the cases of plum brandy. All had been cleared away, moved to an adjoining room at the back of the building. The main warehouse had been completely emptied of everything that served the single purpose of satisfying curious customs officers or over eager police officers. These items were not needed onthat particular night. The warehouse had changed its reason for being. It was no longer a place of storage, a holding area for transient goods that were in fact stuck in a limbo of their owner’s making. Now, the Begovich building was pressed into the service of something altogether more important. Something altogether more terrifying.
Immediately inside the main door a false wooden wall had been erected to guard against anyone seeing inside. Between the door and the wall stood two of Dragana’s strongest and most vicious protectors. Woe betide anyone who tried to get in, were they not invited. Or, indeed, woe betide anyone who tried to get out, if they did not have permission to do so. Along three of the interior walls, benches had been set in three rows, providing sufficient seating for the two hundred people who were expected to attend. More than expected; they were required. Dragana was confident none would refuse the invitation, knowing as they all did what was coming. The shifting had taken hold. They had breached the defences of the Aurora. Surely there could be no clearer sign that the final battle would soon be at hand, and that they themselves held the stronger position.
At the end of each bench, and in available spaces elsewhere, tall candle sticks held red candles of thefinest wax. Wax that had been both blessed and infused with the dried blood of fallen foes. There were many candles, hundreds, but each contained traces of a defeated enemy. At the far end, against the wall beneath the mezzanine office, the sacred shrine had been constructed. Dragana herself had overseen the preparations, and had been moved by the reverence and care that her people had shown as they built the altar, cloaked it in the red and gold tapestry fabric, positioned more candles, added the chalice and plate, and placed on its golden plinth, set into a glass casing, the precious shard of blue stone. Each time she saw it she felt anew the excitement of discovering its power. Each time she held it she experienced the thrill of the generations who had gone before her as they wielded its strength to further their cause. Now, with the ultimate battle so close, she knew it would fall to her to see that cause brought to its conclusion. To its pinnacle. She must not fail. She would not fail.
‘Mistress Begovich.’ One of her helpers, an elderly, red cheeked, plump woman whose appearance belied a keen intelligence and an even keener propensity for violence, sought her approval. ‘Is the crucible to your liking?’
Dragana turned to look at the space in the centre of the room. The floor had been swept and scrubbed and acircle of sand marked out to her specifications. At the centre of the circle a broad, shallow metal dish made of iron and bronze sat gleaming, the intricate patterns worked into it burnished to reveal their true rich and glorious colours. She turned her gaze upwards. Above the crucible the chains were in position.
‘Yes, Maria,’ she said. ‘All is as it should be. Have the acolytes sent in.’
‘Yes, Mistress,’ her assistant replied, backing away as she did so. The old woman snapped her fingers and a lesser aid, a young man, stepped forward. Maria delivered whispered instructions and the man hurried away to do her bidding. With the help of two of Dragana’s men, he removed the panel in the floor that at first glance appeared to be merely a piece of ordinary flooring. Beneath it, however, was a hinged door. The three men needed all their strength to lift it. It creaked as they pulled it fully open and secured it with chains. The hole it revealed was at first in darkness but slowly a glimmer of light appeared. This grew stronger, until it became clear that the first of a string of people were climbing up stairs, each carrying a lantern. With assistance from eager and deferential helpers, they were brought up from the hidden stairwell and into the warehouse. As each of the blue-robed and hooded acolytes emerged from the tunnel, Dragana felt a shiver ofdelight. A gathering was a rare event, and this one was the most significant that had taken place under her jurisdiction. She glanced up at the office. The blinds were drawn. Her father would be kept behind a locked door with his two trusty guards for company until the ceremony was over. He was too frail, too unstable in mind and body, to attend. He had only ever held a peripheral position, in any case. His input would not be missed.
The acolytes were draped head to toe in fabric of the exact blue of the shard of stone on the altar. This was in homage to it, though the stone itself was not what they worshipped, or course. Dragana had always found its presence problematic, coming as it did from the very heart of their greatest adversaries. But tradition decreed that, since its acquisition, it should be included in all ceremonies. Over the centuries, therefore, it had been given a place of importance to serve as a reminder of the strength of their enemies, as well as a display of the truth and scope of their own power. If they had a piece of something so vital to their most dangerous foes, surely there was nothing they could not gain, nothing they could not overcome, no-one they could not defeat, if they set themselves to it. For all its symbolism, the stone was not the focus of the gathering, and nor was the shrine upon the altar. These things were sideshows to the main event, which, as ever,would take place in the crucible. As a young girl, when Dragana had learned the lore and history of those who belonged to the Shifting, she had been terrified of the metal receptacle. She was wise to fear it, and all that it stood for. Over the years, as she had grown up and grown in power and standing among her fellow followers, she had come to feel towards it something closer to love. It stood for all that she believed in. The necessity of force to further their cause. The beauty of strength and power over everything else. The need to wipe out all who would weaken their own kind, taking no prisoners, showing no mercy. If the Shifting was to reach its climax, to become the unassailable force that would govern without challenge, the crucible showed how its goal must be reached.
Soon all thirteen of the acolytes had taken their positions surrounding the sand circle. They would stand there throughout the gathering until the high point of the ceremony. They would not speak. Theirs was a silent order. They spent their days in meditation, bringing their minds to bear entirely on the Shifting and its will. Their combined energy fed its growth, and its dark power in turn imbued them with a singular gift, which they would be called upon to demonstrate before the night was over. Only when these holy members of the society were in place did the rest of the followersrise up through the same stairwell. The tunnel that had been constructed over twenty years before had proved a vital and effective route for gatherings, allowing them to be called without fear of discovery. There were four entrance points to the tunnels, each one a closely guarded secret, its whereabouts known only to those followers who would use it, and to Dragana herself. It was knowledge handed down from one leader to the next, entrusted only to those who would unquestioningly give their lives for the cause. As tradition required, the followers were dressed in their finest; evening gowns for the women, suits for the men. They presented a glamorous and beautiful cohort, and well they might, for they were all of them successful, powerful, and fabulously wealthy. These were men and women who had either been born to their inclusion, or been chosen through an extensive selection process, requiring nomination by three other followers, having to meet a string of exacting requirements. The greatest of these was that they demonstrate their devotion to the Shifting and its progression. Some had been asked to kill people. Others had been asked to renounce earlier allegiances. A few had suffered expulsion from their own countries. Many had turned their backs on their families and previous lives. All had done so willingly in exchange for the benefits of belonging. For while theShifting was a terrible thing to behold and knew no compassion, its strength when wielded skilfully made great riches, illustrious careers, elevated social standing, and all manner of desirable things possible.
Soon all the available spaces were taken. There was an excited murmuring, as anticipation of the ceremony grew. At the end of each row of followers stood one of Dragana’s hand picked guards, all in their uniform of dark trousers and black hoodies. Her predecessor would have winced at such modernism, but she knew the value of having her men invisible in the city. Her two brothers emerged and came to stand either side of her. Ever desperate not to incur their sister’s displeasure, they were exceptionally well turned out. She smiled at them, bestowing a rare gesture of approval, partly to ensure their continued devotion, but mainly as a show of familial solidarity in front of the assembled company. There were always those who would seek to take their progress a little too far. Always better to present a show of unity with her siblings.
When the final follower climbed from the tunnel, a hush fell on the room. All eyes followed the enormous figure, clad entirely in robes of black, a mask covering his face, as he marched to stand in front of Dragana. His footfalls were so heavy they sent reverberations through the floor. His fearsome strength was all themore terrifying when placed so close to the slim shape of his beloved Mistress. He knelt before her.
‘I act for the Shifting. I serve none other. I ask the mistress’s blessing for what I do.’
She reached out her hand. He took it and kissed it.
‘Your service is valued. Our blessing is given,’ she told him. ‘Stand, Branke.’
The colossus got heavily to his feet and moved to wait on the outside of the circle of acolytes.
Now the ceremony could begin.
A tense silence replaced the earlier chatter. A single acolyte sang out a continuous ‘Aah!’ sharp and clear. It was a thin, keening sound that penetrated and unsettled the mind. After a moment, a second joined in with a note a semi-tone up from the first, giving a discordant twist to the sound. A third started up with a note several steps down from the first. This continued until all thirteen of them were singing out their chosen note, circular breathing with practiced ease so that the noise was unceasing and unbroken. The volume of the note grew and the singers swayed in small circles, slowly raising their hands. Only when all of them had their hands raised directly upwards did the sound abruptly stop. In the quiet that followed, the echo of the eery noise they had created lingered and vibrated around the cavernouswarehouse. When the final reverberation died away, Dragana stepped forwards.
‘Welcome,’ she said calmly, turning slowly to gaze around the entire space, making sure each and every one of the followers felt her see them, felt her know them, felt her scrutiny fall upon them. ‘This gathering was called so that we might bring all our minds and souls to bear on what lies ahead. So that we might recommit to our course. So that we might honour the Shifting and attest to its strength, and feed on that strength. Some of you will have attended many gatherings and witnessed many wondrous things. For others among you, this will be, beyond your own initiations, a new experience. You are all equally welcome here. You all have a part to play in what is to come. I must remind you that a gathering cannot be called without an offering, and you all know one will be made. We do not call you here lightly, for there are risks attendant on each occasion when we meet as one group. Such strength as we command is feared by others, and with good cause. I will tell you, then, the reason for our coming together. You will have been made aware of the growing challenge to our beliefs and aims. Some of you have spoken to me of your concerns. You fear that we are being assailed and that damage is being done, and the Shifting held back. I stand here and give youmy word, this is not the case. We are growing in strength every day, every hour, every minute. The incidents you are aware of are evidence not of the power of our enemies, but of our own growth, and their fear of what we will become. You are privileged followers indeed, we all are, for we will be alive to witness the culmination of everything! The hour of the Shifting is upon us! Before the next full moon we will make our final move to defeat the one force that still stands against us. We have already breached their stronghold. We will summon all our strength and energy for a final assault, into the lair of their queen, and we will take our position at the pinnacle of power!’ She was shouting now, and the followers were with her, cheering at this news, calling out her name. ‘Victory is ours for the taking, brothers and sisters! I speak not of years but of weeks before the time of the Shifting begins!’
At this their shouts grew louder. She let them have their moment, let them release their own, dark, avaricious energy into the room. As they shouted she turned to the shrine. She lifted her left hand and held it up so that everyone could see what she was doing. She took hold of her weighty signet ring and pressed the side, so that the engraved gold top slid out and then pivoted before clicking back into place. Instead of her initials, there was only a small, precise shape cut out of theprecious metal. Dragana reached forwards and picked up the shard of blue stone, carefully pressing it into its place on the ring. She turned and held her hand up again to resounding cheers from the company. They clamoured, reaching towards her, all eyes on the shard, hungry as eagle chicks for their feed.
‘Let him be brought up!’ she called out.
Two hooded guards moved to the opening to the tunnel. The followers fell quiet again, but there were gasps and whispers as a figure was dragged up from the stairwell. A man, not large, his hands bound and a black hood covering his head and tied at the neck, was bundled into the room. He staggered blindly and the guards took an arm each, holding him. The followers began to whisper and sway, all of them eager for what was to come, each of them affected by it even now.
‘Bring him forward!’ Dragana instructed.
The prisoner was marched the length of the room and forced to kneel before her. He made no sound other than the muffled breathing through the hood. The way he moved suggested he was not a young man. Dragana nodded and one of the guards removed the hood.
His eyes dazzled by the sudden light, Deri blinked as he looked about him, attempting to make sense of where he was. He had been beaten, his face bruised and lips and eyes swollen. As things swam into focus hetook in the assembled group, the acolytes, and, ultimately Dragana. She watched him closely. If he was afraid, he hid it well. She bore him a grudging respect for this. He had reason to be terrified, after all.
She addressed her fellow followers again.
‘This man may look insignificant,’ she said. ‘You may even pity him his fate. Let me assure you, he has earned his place here. His chosen path has led him to this destiny, for he is a follower of the Witches of the White Shadow.’ At this there was a collective gasp and murmurs of oaths and curses in Deri’s direction. ‘More than a mere follower,’ Dragana went on, ‘this man is a guardian of none other than the Queen Witch herself!’ Now the crowd were stirred into a near frenzy of astonishment. To have caught such a prize, such an important disciple of their greatest enemy, was more than they could have hoped for at a gathering. ‘By taking this disciple we show, once again, that none of her kind can resist our rise. We took him from the witch’s lair! From under her nose! Just as the Shifting moved through that building and claimed five souls that were sown to her. Where was she when they died screaming? What of the great magic and protection we hear of when people speak of the White Shadow? How easily it was assaulted by the Shifting! What better proof than this that our time is at hand!’
The followers cheered at this, raising their fists in salute, calling out Dragana’s name. She turned to the executionerwho stood waiting. Nodding, she gave the instruction, ‘Make the sacrifice!’
