He made it hover in between them, so that Jack was reflected back to himself, and so that Jack could see Tom’s face through it. The thunder was rolling so deeply, and caught up in the drums and whoops of the Samdhya, all now whirling around the island, the trees stretching their branches, crows and jackdaws and rooks flapping all around, and Tom yelled from the depths of his stomach.

A second later, Jack was not there any more. He was inside the box. Tom could see Jack’s teeth, bared in a grin.

Without any more thought, Tom hurled the box down onto the bridge; and it smashed into thousands of glittering pieces.

There was a silence. Water flowing through the moat. The farmhouse seemed to shiver for a second or two, as if, having been held up by Jack all these years, it might collapse. Then it settled. On the island, Kit and Zita were clutching each other. Zita’s eye make-up had run, and Kit’s hair was flattened to his face. Leana had vanished. The Samdhya seemed, on the other side of the bridge, to be absolutely still, rank upon rank of tall, long-haired warriors, tattoos bright on their cheeks, some with horns sprouting from their foreheads, and one even with wings from her back. The Captive was standing before them all, and she glowed, bright, like a star.

Tom collapsed onto his knees, rain pouring down his cheeks and into his clothes, and sank his head onto the sodden grass.

A hawk settled on the bridge, gripping the rail with its claws. Zita yelled something Tom could not quite hear. There was a barking, a hooting.

And the Samdhya, loud and strong, like meltwater rushing into the river, exploded into cries of triumph.

Chapter 21

I went to the monument we built for her, outside the church walls. A simple thing, a stone, and her name. Someone had placed a rose upon it, although it was December. I saw a wild figure standing by the church door, and I thought it was my daughter. And then the figure was gone; a hare scudded by me, and the sun pooled on the stone, and the scent of the petals filled me with joy.

— From the papers of the Rev. Laurence Ravenswood, dated 1875

The sun was low in the sky and the air was still and clear. It was towards evening, on the day that Tom had trapped Jack in the glass and smashed it. Moving slowly across the lawn in front of Mundham Farm, beyond the bridge, was a group of four people, a black lurcher weaving in between them.