Prologue

For an age there is blackness, and silence, and then with a spark and a hiss, the lantern flares. The orange glow casts strange shadows on the uneven walls of the cave; shadows bearing no resemblance to the three figures they belong to. The three girls - young women, really - stand evenly spaced around an area of rocky floor that has been swept clean. The dust around its edge forms a circle.

They are all dressed in a similar fashion, in long, loose black wool dresses that reach their ankles. The only distinctions are the colours of the twisted silken rope belts looped around their waists. Angharad wears a dark blue cord. She holds a silver chalice in both hands, which is almost plain except for a narrow band of engraved pattern around the top. The style of the patterning is unfamiliar to her, but Lyna told her once that in the country she comes from, it is known as "knotwork". Angharad kneels, takes a large earthenware bottle from behind a rock, and slowly pours the contents into the chalice. The bottle contains a mixture of water and wine, and she spills some on her fingers. Hissing in annoyance, she licks her hand clean, like a cat, and replaces the stopper in the bottle's neck.

To her left, Rhiannon stands rigid, her arms crossed over her chest, one hand on either shoulder. Her gaze is fixed on the floor at the moment, but when the rite begins she will turn her face to the cavern ceiling. The cord around her waist is deep green, almost the same colour as her eyes. At her feet is a shield, about a foot across, made of ebony, and slung low across her hips is a black leather belt, with a leather sheath dangling from the left hand side. It contains a sword, short, but gleaming and sharp. It is a ritual weapon, and has never known battle, although it has tasted blood once or twice.

Finally, Lyna, slightly younger than either of them, holds the lantern. In her other hand is a slender wand, made of pale wood with a spiral carved around its final few inches. Her rope belt is yellow, a bright contrast against the black dress. She takes a step forward as Angharad rises to her feet and comes towards her, holding out the chalice so that she may drink.

After three swallows, Angharad moves on to Rhiannon, and lets her do the same. Finally, retaking her own position and drinking from the cup herself, she places the chalice at her feet and crosses her hands over her chest. When she speaks, they all do, chanting words that are obviously well rehearsed.

The chant repeats, becoming faster and faster as they all raise their arms as if in supplication. A tiny flame appears at the centre of the circle, growing larger and brighter - and hotter - the louder and faster they speak. Finally it grows too hot for them to bear and they all break the circle, falling back and covering their faces. Lyna drops the lantern and it goes out, rolling behind a pile of stones.

Once again, all is blackness, and silence.


Chapter One

There was a flicker of light, and Owen Taylor's eyes snapped open as the realisation hit him that he was no longer in his bedroom. For a start, the ground beneath him was rocky, instead of carpeted, and the light was wrong. His room had been lit by candles, yes - little tea-lights, arranged in a circle on a plate to avoid any dripping wax that would have to be explained away in the morning - but this light was brighter, and hotter, and right next to his head. Plus, he was fairly sure that there hadn't been a blond girl kneeling beside him before.

He raised his head off the ground and tried to struggle into a sitting position, but his vision kept blurring, and his brain seemed to be trying to convince him that everything was spinning around.

"Lie still," a low voice said softly. "Keep your eyes closed, if it helps. Angharad is getting you some water."

He felt his head being lifted slightly, and the rim of a metal cup was pressed against his lips. He let the cool water slide into his mouth and swallowed gratefully. After a couple of gulps of the liquid, he did feel better, and managed to sit up without passing out again. Cautiously, in case he had a concussion or something, he looked around at the totally unfamiliar surroundings.

He seemed to be in some kind of cave. Rock walls stretched up about fifteen feet to meet in a domed roof. The floor had been cleared of anything loose, but chunks of jagged stone stuck up from the ground here and there. The blond girl was still sitting next to him, dust all over her black woollen dress, hand resting on her knees. Another girl, this one with brown hair, stood behind her, clasping a large silver goblet in both hands, and beyond her, a third girl with long black hair sat cross-legged on a flat stand of rock. This one had her arms tightly folded and an expression on her face that bordered on furious.

"Is that better?" the girl with the cup asked anxiously. He nodded then winced. There was a bump on his head, but when he reached up and touched it gingerly with his fingertips, it didn't seem too bad.

"Well?"� the black-haired girl snapped. Owen was about to speak when he realised she hadn't been talking to him. The blond girl stood and faced her.

"I can't say for certain. Probably, judging by his clothes."

"But why is he a he at all?"

"Did we specify it should be a woman?"

"We specified it should be a witch. I would have thought that made it pretty clear. What can we do with him?"� Her emphasis on the word was so scathing that Owen winced again.

"I told you, Rhiannon, where I come from men can work magic just as easily as women can."

"And I didn't believe you."

"Rhiannon, will you please calm down? Can we just get him back to the house, and then we can discuss this all you like."

"Fine. But I'm not carrying him." She slipped lithely off the rock and started to gather together the various objects that were lying around; he noticed a shield, and a small sword, which she wrapped in a black silken cloth.

"No-one said you had to." Raising her eyes and shaking her head, the blond girl turned back to him. "You can walk, I take it?"

"I should be okay now,"� Owen replied. He managed to get to his feet. "I don't think I need to be carried, but I might need someone to lean on."

"Of course. Angharad, you're the tallest."� She gestured to the brown-haired girl, who nodded and passed Rhiannon the goblet. She scowled again, picked up a large sack and began to thrust the things she had collected into it. When everything was tidied away, she slung it over her shoulder and stalked off towards the cave's exit.

Angharad held her arm out to Owen, and he moved a little closer, allowing her to curl her hand around his waist in support. He held himself gingerly at first, not wanting to put too much weight on her, but she seemed fairly strong, and gradually he relaxed and let himself lean on her properly.

The blond girl picked up the lantern, and the three of them followed Rhiannon out of the cave.

Outside it was dark, but something in the quality of the shadows made Owen realise that it was close to dawn. This presented him with another point of confusion; when he'd begun his spell, it had only been about nine o'clock; pitch black outside, yes, what with it being November and all, but surely he couldn't have been unconscious that long? He wanted to ask the girls where he was, but his head had started to ache uncontrollably.

The one supporting him noticed his expression of pain. "It's not too far," she reassured him, and they began to make progress along a sandy path with grass growing randomly on either side. If Owen strained his ears, he could just about make out the sound of the ocean to his left. There was no moon, so he couldn't see a great deal, but the sky was getting distinctly lighter as they walked.

Eventually the sand underfoot changed to hard-packed dirt. They took a sharp right turn into a thicket of trees, and then walked to the edge of a small river. Owen was starting to feel a little sick, and he turned to Angharad.

"How much further?"� he asked weakly.

"It's just up there," she said, gesturing to a light in the midst of the trees. "We just follow the river for a few more yards. Lyna, can you see Rhiannon?"

"No,"� the blond girl replied. "I suppose she must have gone straight back to the house."

"Let's hope so," Angharad said darkly. "If she's gone off again, I'm going to say something to her."

"What's the point?" Lyna responded. "She does what she wants, she always has."

"I know, but this is taking it too far," Angharad continued. "We all agreed to this, and she has a fit just because..."

"Here we are,"� Lyna interrupted, looking sternly at her friend. "I'll get the door for you."

They were standing outside a smallish cottage, with a low, tiled roof and white painted walls. Lyna opened the front door and Angharad led Owen inside. The door led directly into a very old-fashioned kitchen, with a large wooden table and wooden benches. Instead of a cooker or microwave, all Owen could see was a stone hearth, with an iron bar over it. As Angharad helped him to take a seat on the bench, Lyna filled a cast iron kettle with water from a pitcher on the table. She hung it over the stack of wood that was already laid in the fireplace, and within a moment or two a merry blaze was heating the kettle.

"I suppose 'where am I' would be a really stupid question to ask," Owen said.

"We'll get to that," said Lyna. "Let's start with 'who are you', shall we?" She sat down on the bench opposite him, and Angharad took a seat to his left.

"My name's Owen,"� he replied. "Owen Taylor. I'm nineteen, I'm at college, I'm misunderstood. Hence the spell." He grinned wryly.

"What was your spell?" Lyna asked carefully.

"Sorry?"

"What spell did you cast? For what purpose?"

"Er - it was supposed to take me away from - well, from my life, I suppose. College. Mum. My total lack of friends and the misery associated with said lack."

"Congratulations," Lyna said, raising an eyebrow. "It worked."

"Well, I'd gathered that much," Owen responded. "So going back to my earlier query, where am I?"

"It would be trite in the extreme to tell you that you're in another world," the girl replied. "But unfortunately that's all I can say. I don't know whether this dimensional realm has a name as such; ours certainly doesn't - although a lot of people tend to refer to it, rather arrogantly, as reality."

"I beg your pardon?"

Lyna turned to the other girl, and shook her head. "Angharad, I don't think you should really listen to this. It's not going to make much sense to you, and it'll only confuse you."

"I can deal with it."

"No, you can't. Maybe we'll talk about it later, but right now I need to discuss this with Owen alone. Can you go and find Rhiannon?"

Angharad sighed wearily. "I'll try."� With great reluctance she left the cottage, only slamming the door behind her a little.

"Right. Owen, I'm going to have to hit you with some pretty heavy concepts here. It may be difficult for you to absorb them, but please try. My name is Caroline Dawson, and I'm fairly certain that I come from the same world as you. I arrived here through magical means three years ago, and I've been trying to create a link with my own universe ever since; not to get home, but to call someone else through. That someone is you."

"Okay,"� Owen said, and waited for her to continue.

"Okay? Is that all you can say?"

"What would you like me to say?"

"Well, don't you want to tell me you don't know what I'm talking about? Or that you don't believe me?"

"No. I do know what you're talking about, and of course I believe you."

"You do?"

"You've had this speech prepared for quite some time, haven't you - Lyna, do you call yourself here?"

"Yes."

"Look, Lyna, I've been trying to get away from what we will, for ease of reference, call 'reality' for most of my life. I've tried books, I've tried video games, and I've tried music, and last night, in desperation, I tried magic. If here is where it sent me, then okay, I'll be here. Having struggled to find another world for ten years, I'm not going to challenge my luck by not believing the person who got here before me."

For a moment, she just stared at him, and finally she smiled.

"Well, this is going to make things a hell of a lot easier."