There was a rifle in her hands. That hadn’t happened in a while. Sorrow opened her eyes and looked down at the gun. It was an L129A1 Sharpshooter with optical sight. She shouldered the rifle and looked through the eyepiece. She was looking at a heavily fortified compound in the desert in the shadow of a deep gorge. Something about the view filled her with a powerful foreboding.

A com link in her ear crackled into life. 'Magpie in position.' He sounded like a Londoner.

'Anansi in position.' That was the voice of Number Six.

'Judith in position.' That was a female voice with a trace of an accent that Sorrow couldn’t place.

'Go.' A male voice that she didn’t recognise.

Sorrow watched through the sight as three dark figures crept out of the shadows. There should have been two guards on the gate but nobody stopped them as they crept about the buildings laying charges.

The three dark figures collected a fourth, much smaller person, from the building by the gate and they withdrew to wait for the detonation.

Sorrow tensed and then relaxed. Her breathing slowed. Killing from a distance required a different sort of focus. In her ear the Londoner was counting down. On zero the charges blew. The buildings shook. Dust filled the air and then there was that terrible stillness that always followed an explosion.

The stillness couldn’t last. People boiled out of the buildings. Sorrow watched through her sight looking for guns. Every armed man she saw fell. She could hear that strange male voice calling shots, not for her, she was too close to need it, but for someone else with a much heavier gun and much farther away. She heard the distinctive sound of a 50 calibre rifle responding to the instructions.

Sorrow heard an engine. Someone was trying to drive a knackered old jeep out of the compound. The spotter called out a string of instructions. There was a single crack and the engine died. The driver died too as the jeep filled with engine shrapnel.

'Flame thrower.' That was the Londoner again. Sorrow scanned the groups of running figures looking for the bulk of the tank, for the person who would be moving more slowly. She thought she saw it but it seemed like everyone in the entire world was between it and her. She shot two men just to clear the line of sight. She fired. At the same moment she heard the boom of the 50 cal. She hadn’t got the clean head shot she’d hoped for. She got him in the neck and he went down with his finger on the trigger spraying burning fluid all over the people fleeing one of the damaged buildings. The people who, now she looked at them, were really, really short. There was an explosion of flame. A second flamethrower.

She stared at the horrible mess. She heard a couple more shots, small arms fire from the four people she’d watched before the countdown, then all was silence save for the weeping.

Sorrow ran towards the compound as fast as she could though she already knew what she would find. She’d heard that weeping before. She saw the others running in too. The four who’d been in the compound got there first and a fight broke out. She heard a woman’s voice shouting and a man talking to her but she couldn’t make out the actual words.

Running from the other side of the compound were two men. The larger one had a huge rifle slung on his back, it had to be the 50 cal she’d heard. The other one had a pair of binoculars.

As Sorrow reached the gateway one of the four walked up to the weeping woman and shot her in the back of the head.

The smallest of the four screamed, 'No!' and hurled herself at the shooter. She tore the scarf from his head in the scuffle and Sorrow recognised the shooter as Number Five. He wrestled the tiny attacker to the ground and knelt on her. As Sorrow ran up she heard him say, 'Think about it. The only thing that could make this any worse is the news getting out. And what did she have to live for after this? I’m practically doing her a favour.'

Sorrow was close enough now to see all their faces. The tiny woman on the ground was Number Four. The taller of the two still on their feet was Number Six. The other one was a tallish woman with dark eyes, presumably Number Two.

Two and Six stared at Number Five, horror etched on their faces. Six circled round behind the smaller man and, while Five was distracted by the tiny woman beneath him trying to throw him off, Six pistol whipped him. He slumped forward.

Number Four struggled out from under Five and began kicking him. Sorrow resisted the urge to join in.

Six looked up and noticed her staring. He must have misread her expression because he said, 'What? I was doing him a favour. If he’d kept talking like that I would have killed him, never mind Four.'

'You.' It was the other woman talking, the one who had to be Number Two. And she was pointing at Sorrow. 'This is all your fault. You and your dodgy American mates.' Now Sorrow knew what that accent was. Number Two couldn’t have been more Welsh without special equipment. 'This intel came from fucking Felicity didn’t it? Always thinking with your dick, Lucky, and see where it’s got us.'

Dick? Lucky? Sorrow looked down at her hands and realised for the first time that these weren't her hands. This was not her memory.

#

Number Seven opened his eyes. Which meant that he still had eyes to open. Probably not dead then.

He could see green. He was back in the woods. His plan had worked. Seven was alarmed by how surprised he was about that. Maybe Sorrow had been right about his motives? He’d always been reckless. Had he crossed the line into an active death wish without realising it?

Seven sat up and looked around. He was in a forest glade. Above him the branches of the trees linked arms and blocked out the sky. The ground beneath him was covered in a dry carpet of fallen yew needles and oak leaves.

He could hear the sound of running water and not much else. No bird song, no insects, no movement. Just the burble of water and the deep underlying hum of life going on.

He got to his feet and followed the sound of the water. It was a fast flowing stream of clear-ish water. As he walked downstream he heard another sound, a waterfall, not big but close.

The stream led him through the trees to a much larger glade where its waters tumbled over a cataract and into a deep pool. Here he could see the sky but he didn’t find it a comforting sight. The sky was far too dark and against it spread the arch of the Milky Way, making a mockery of every firework display he’d ever seen.

He scrambled down the slope to the edge of the pool, sat on a rock by the water’s edge and waited. He was sure that this was the place that he had been looking for. He felt a presence there and a growing sense that someone was watching him.

A shadow deep in the pool coalesced into a human figure then rose through the water until it broke the surface. The Morrigan. It had to be her.

Seven was struck by her similarity to Sorrow but the impression didn’t last and then the differences hit him. They had the same colouring: the pale skin and the black hair, and they were both tall but this woman was slender where Sorrow was muscular and there was something sharp about her as if she was built out of knives. She had long, straight hair that fell to her waist, yellow eyes and a beautiful, if hawkish, face. And she was naked. Of course she was naked. Talking to a naked war Goddess was exactly how this day was going.

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She stared at him and he stared back. He dared not take his eyes off her.

'Will you join me?' she said. He couldn’t quite place the accent.

'In the water or are you offering me a job?'

'In the water. For now.'

He slid cautiously into the pool. It wasn’t as clear as the stream had been. There was a reddish tint that he hoped came from the water seeping through peat.

'What do you want from me?' he said.

'That is my question,' she said in that strange accent. 'You persuaded Sorrow to send you here.' She circled him and he tried to keep his eyes on her.

'I wouldn’t be here unless you wanted something from me. This isn’t the first time I’ve been to your woods. And you invited me into your pool. When are you going to tell me what’s going on?'

'Soon. But not yet. I would hate to spoil the surprise.' She swam into his arms.

'Then why am I here?' He didn’t want to embrace her. He wanted to keep treading water. But she was there, inside the sweep of his arms and it seemed impolite not to.

'I wanted a closer look at the spoils.' She was inspecting his face and he felt her hands on his arms, squeezing his biceps.

'As in the spoils of battle?'

'Yes. You drive my handmaidens to distraction. It’s so unlike them.' She looked up at the trees and he followed her gaze. Every branch of every tree was occupied by a raven and they were all staring at him.

'I’m the spoils? Who’s fighting? Over what?'

'And deny you the honour of working it out for yourself? I would never be so cruel. Don’t worry. You’ll understand soon. And send my greetings to the witch when you meet her.'

There was nothing for it. He would have to try charm. He had been hoping to avoid it. He took her face in both his hands and gazed deep into her amber eyes. 'Surely you can tell me something? A little crumb from your table. I’ve come a long way to ask you.'

She smiled but it wasn’t a smile that eased his mind. 'Very well. I suppose I could tell you what’s ahead. After the battle you might serve as my chosen, as my champion. Or you might die. One or the other. It all depends on Sorrow.' She dragged her eyes away from his and looked up at the trees.

He followed her gaze. 'Which one is Sorrow?' he said.

'None of them.. Sorrow is in your dreams, in your desert, finding out your secrets.'

Seven froze. Suddenly the Morrigan’s hand was on his throat. She forced his head backwards into the water and he couldn’t resist. The water flooded over his face and up his nose and he felt a sudden shock of cold.

#

Sorrow sat, wrapped in the extra blanket, on the folding chair by the desk and stared at the sleeping man in the bed. She could see his eyes moving behind the tight closed eyelids. He must be dreaming.

Seven rocketed awake. In a single breath he went from dream sleep to sitting bolt upright with eyes wide open. Sorrow watched the hope bleed out of his face when he realised that she wasn’t still in bed with him.

'You dreamed about the desert.' A statement, not a question but with a painful lift at the very end as if he was trying to persuade himself that perhaps there was some doubt.

'Yes.' Her own voice sounded strange to her. Flatter than usual.

'I’m sorry.'

'Sorry that it happened or just sorry that I know about it?' She tried to keep the anger out of her voice but only succeeded in giving it a sarcastic edge.

'I’m sorry about everything, not that it matters.'

'Tell me about it.'

'Bring the bottle in the bottom drawer. I’m not talking about this sober.'

Sorrow searched the drawer and found a bottle of vodka. She walked over to the bed and held it out.

'Get in. Please? It’s too cold not to. If you can’t stand to be near me when I’ve finished I’ll sleep in the car.' His voice was conciliatory but somehow avoided that irritating wheedling note that many men develop when they know they’ve fucked up.

She slipped under the covers next to him.

Seven opened the bottle and threw the lid away. He took a good sized swig and passed the bottle to Sorrow.

'It was called Operation Bombastic Codename. It was Nancy’s, that’s Number Six’s, turn to pick the name. Does it show? The Americans had intel about a hidden compound in the border country between Afghanistan and Pakistan where a local warlord was holding chemical weapons for the Taliban. They couldn’t send in an air strike because it was too well dug-in and invisible from the air. Their own special forces were tied up so my CIA contact asked us for a favour.' He stopped and looked at Sorrow as if waiting for her to drink before he went on.

Sorrow took a sip of the vodka. She couldn’t tell good vodka from antifreeze by taste but a quick glance at the label suggested that this might be some of that genuine Russian rocket fuel that Jude occasionally waxed lyrical about.

'There was no time to plan anything,' said Seven. 'We had to take it out before they had a chance to move or use the weapons. The Boss decided to send all of us. That almost never happens.' He reached for the bottle and drank again.

'Number Two tracked down some of the guards and Number Five picked up local gossip about them and their… preferences. Four was able to get close to one of them. She neutralised the gate guards. Two, Five and Six planted charges. Three and I were in place with rifles and Number One was our spotter.' He stopped briefly to drink.

'It all went like clockwork. The charges detonated. The buildings emptied. We shot a few people. Then the flamethrowers showed up. Two of them. I shot one but I didn’t get a clean kill. Three shot the other dead but the bullet went through both the man and the tank and created a cloud of volatile gas that my target ignited. The children ran out of the bunker and right into the exploding gas.' He stopped talking and stared into space.

Sorrow could see him remembering it, watching it all over again in his mind. She wondered how many times he’d seen it now. He gulped down more of the vodka and passed the bottle back.

'So what was the compound then?' she said. She sipped at the vodka and kept hold of the bottle.

'It was a secret compound belonging to a local warlord. But only by the American definition of warlord. He was really more of a tribal leader. And a big family man. He had 4 wives and with them he’d fathered 12 daughters and five sons and he was very fond of all of them. He built the compound in the middle of nowhere to protect them. The source that went to the Americans was a rival leader. He’d demanded the eldest daughter in marriage as a peace offering. She was 13. Her father refused and hid the family but one of the guards talked. The rival didn’t fancy his chances in an attack and went running to the Americans.'

'And they just took his word for it?' said Sorrow.

'They did some checking. There was a compound. He had been buying weapons from dubious sources. He had those Flamethrowers and there was a lot of very old Semtex.' Seven stopped and reached for the vodka again.

Sorrow gulped more of it down, stalling for time. She didn’t want him drinking the whole thing in his current state of mind. 'And Number Five killed the last survivor?' She passed the bottle back.

'I couldn’t have done it. I don’t think even Three could have. I don’t think Four ever forgave him.' He took another swig from the bottle.

'And Number Two blamed you for the intel?'

'She did at the time. She took it back later but she was right. I should have checked it myself before I took it to the Boss. She was always too eager to have the Americans owe her a favour.' He drank again.

Sorrow took the bottle back. 'What happened to the source?'

'He was found dead in his home three weeks later. He’d been choked to death with his own severed genitals. At the time his American contacts assumed that the Taliban had found out he was talking to them.'

'But you thought it was one of the Blanks?'

'I suspected.'

'What about your CIA contact?'

'Felicity was recalled to Washington and died in a car accident.'

'Could be a coincidence. If we believed in those,' she said.

'She was sideswiped by a hit and run driver into a petrol tanker. The tanker ruptured and the car caught fire and she burned to death in front of a crowd of onlookers.' He looked terrible, as if the strain of talking about it had drained the life out of him.

'Not a coincidence then.' Sorrow drained the last of the vodka.

'You think that was her paying her share of the debt?' said Seven. He looked up and noticed the empty bottle. 'I thought you couldn’t get drunk?'

'I’m drinking it for your sake. Now go to sleep. In the morning we have to see a witch.'