After a few moments' reflection away from Church and Ruth, the guards decided to cut a path around the carcass, but even when they were several feet away, the stench still followed them. Not long after that they came across another creature, this time a deer, small, with sharp, furry ridges on its back. It had the same marks of awful illness. The two discoveries in such close proximity only confirmed the worst fears of the Tuatha De Danann. The guards were in two minds whether to press on, but Niamh ordered them to continue.
"Whatever it is, it's not affecting the lizards or birds," Church hissed.
"As long as we don't catch it." Ruth kept her head down, watching Baccharus's heels.
"I don't think the Tuatha De Danann would be carrying on if there were any danger."
"I'm glad you're confident."
The incline increased sharply until they were slipping on the crumbly, peaty soil that quickly turned to mud in the humidity. Breathing was difficult and both Church and Ruth were sleeked in sweat, but at least the arduous progress kept their minds off the disease-ridden animals.
Cresting the slope, they came on to a broad, thickly forested plateau, and were hit by a sudden choking stink worse than anything they had experienced so far. Trees had been smashed down to create a wide clearing, their jagged stumps protruding from the ground like broken teeth. In the centre of the space lay a mound of decomposing flesh: the bodies of a score or more of the jungle's mammals, a range of species, all of them ravaged by disease and leaking the obscene black liquid that puddled and ran off down the slope.
Ruth took in the sight, then picked up trails on the ground. "My God, they've been dragged here."
"Maybe the local residents were clearing up to burn the carcasses. You don't want rotting animals all around your home," Church suggested unconvincingly.
"Baccharus, you know what's doing this," Ruth said sharply. "Please tell us."
He shook his head slowly, but kept his eyes fixed in the depths of the jungle. "It is not the time. Or the place."
The stench was so thick they couldn't stay there a moment longer. Covering their mouths, they bypassed the site as quickly as they could and continued on their upward path. In the eerie silence, the tension was almost unbearable. The lights hadn't been visible since they left the beach so they had no idea how much further they had to travel. The guards had grown particularly jumpy, and when the sounds started up close by, they formed a defensive posture.
"Keep moving," Niamh pressed, but even in motion they were half turned towards the source of the sound-breaking branches, snapping trunks, the noise of a large bulk moving through the vegetation. When the sickening wailing baby cry echoed loudly, they all knew they had not left the mysterious fearsome beast behind.
"Is it coming this way?" Grimacing from the sound, Ruth cocked an ear to hear the rise and fall of the cry, cut off for a moment, then appearing again suddenly. Her realisation dawned at the same time as the rest of the group. "It's coming after us!"
The crashing in the trees grew louder, unmistakably surging towards them. "What the hell is it?" Church asked hoarsely.
They were all frozen to the spot for a moment. It was impossible to tell from which direction the chilling noise was coming; distorting echoes bounced amongst the trees so that it appeared to be approaching them from every direction at once.
Baccharus was the first to move. "Come, quickly!" Surprisingly, it was to Church and Ruth that he turned his attention, grabbing their wrists and dragging them on. "The court is not far ahead-we can take refuge there!"
They moved swiftly, the guards taking up the rear, but before they had progressed far a terrible screeching erupted in the treetops above them. Suddenly the air was alive with frantic movement. Flashes of deepest black crossed Church's vision. A hard form swatted the side of his head. It left him seeing stars, and when he drew the back of his hand across the aching spot, a trail of blood was left behind. The sight of that scarlet line stunned him; he hadn't been hit that hard. Then he saw what was happening: winged creatures whirled amongst the trees, lashing out with claws and sharp teeth. Another one slammed against his head, his chest, his arm. He ducked and ran forward, trying to wave the attackers away. They were moving so quickly it was hard to see what they were; although he had an impression of bats with leathery wings, their faces were lizardlike.
He caught up with Ruth, her pale face also splattered with blood. The guards were on every side, slashing with their swords. The flying things plummeted from the sky in their tens, hacked in half. There was too much blood, like rusty rain, as if their bodies were bloated with the stuff.
Ducking and diving, now feeling the pain from many cuts, Church and Ruth managed to spy a tree with low, thick branch cover. They dived beneath where they could watch the scene. The bat creatures were an airborne maelstrom of fur and teeth, but the Tuatha De Danann stood their ground, their golden skin now an apocalpytic red, striking furiously, though their faces still registered no emotion. The bodies piled high around their feet.
It was soon apparent the bat creatures had simply been disturbed during a period of heightened tension. Eventually those on the fringes began to flap away until only a few fluttered overhead, to be swiftly dispatched by the guards' swords.
Church crawled out into the bloody mire, Ruth close behind. "What the bloody hell was-"
The screeching baby noise was so close, the words caught in his throat and his stomach did a flip. Trees crashed; they felt the tremor of the fall through the soles of their boots.
The guards hurried Niamh away through the trees. Baccharus ran over to collect Church and Ruth. "If you stay here, you will join the beasts on the pile," he said.
They ran with him, slipping on the slick, churned-up ground. Church had to haul Ruth up from her hands and knees, all her clothes now sopping with mud and the blood of the bat creatures. Another baby cry wailed close behind. It instilled in both of them a deep urge to vomit.
"It is slow," Baccharus noted as he ran. "If we move quickly we can evade it. For now."
Church didn't like the sound of his final words, but before he could question him further they had broken out of the trees on to an area of clipped, green lawns, rising up gently to an imposing edifice of white marble built partly into the mountainside. Towers and minarets and columns formed strict lines of grace and power, like some odd mix of Greek and Middle Eastern architecture. Lights burned brightly within, welcoming after the seething darkness of the jungle.
They sprinted across the lawns, relieved that they had found sanctuary from the many terrors of the preternatural forest, grateful for the cool breeze sweeping in from the sea after the suffocating heat. But when they reached the building their relief evaporated. The front was a mass of glass windows offering panoramic views over the island beneath; all were shattered and the white muslin curtains billowed out into the night. The Tuatha De Danann slowed their run until they were once again advancing cautiously, swords raised. Niamh glanced at Baccharus, but said nothing.
The cry of their pursuer from just beyond the tree line prompted them into action once more and they hurried through the broken windows into an interior which glowed white with the light from scores of lanterns, torches and candles, like some Byzantine impression of heaven.
The leader of the guards made several chopping motions with his hand and within seconds his men were in action. They dragged enormous stone tables and heavy wooden furniture to block up the windows, continuing ceaselessly until the blockade was several feet thick.
"Will that work?" Ruth asked.
"No," Baccharus replied curtly.
"Now," Church stressed, "you've got to tell us. What's out there?"
"The Plague-Bringer." Baccharus peered at the thin gap between the pile of furniture and the top of the window. "Known in your land as the Nuckelavee."
"It carries the plague with it, infecting all higher creatures in its path," Niamh interjected. The baby cry rose up again just beyond the wall; Church and Ruth started, the
n gagged; every aspect of the creature assailed the senses.
"Even you?" Ruth added once she had recovered.
Niamh looked away, but Baccharus answered for her. "There are some who think the Golden Ones unassailable, the highest of the high in all of existence. That is not be my belief." Niamh flashed him a curious stare and he changed tack. "We have seen two Golden Ones eradicated. There is no doubt an ending can come to our race, though it is blasphemous to admit it. And it is told that that creature, the Nuckelavee, is one of the few things that can bring about that ending."
The baby cry again; Ruth covered her ears. There was a rough sound as if the Plague-Bringer was dragging itself along the foot of the wall.
"And it lives on this island? Near this court?"
Baccharus shook his head. "Like all the Western Isles, this is a safe place for the Golden Ones. It was brought here."
"By the Fomorii," Ruth interjected. "Specifically to kill your people. It is war."
Baccharus nodded slowly.
They were interrupted by a cry of alarm raised by one of the guards. There was activity at one of the large arched doorways that led to the inner chambers. The guards were backing away hastily, half holding up their swords, yet somehow unsure. At first Church could pick out only a long shadow cast along the floor, moving in an odd manner. A few seconds later a figure appeared in the archway.
It was unmistakably one of the Tuatha De Danann; the male's skin had the familiar golden tinge and he was wearing what Church perceived to be a white toga held by a gold shoulder clasp. Yet he was lurching from side to side, his legs buckling every now and then, until he caught himself at the last. The smell reached them a moment later. As he closed in, Church could see the terrible ravages of whatever disease the Nuckelavee carried: part of his face had been eaten away, revealing what should have been a cheekbone and part of his jaw, but instead there was only a golden light. An unsightly black stain scarred the front of his pristine toga and left a trail as he passed. He had one arm outstretched, in greeting or pleading, Church couldn't tell, and although he opened his mouth to speak to them, the only thing that came out was a stream of shimmering moths, drifting up to the ceiling.
Niamh's jaw dropped in horror; the guards looked to her for direction. Baccharus stepped forward and said firmly, "Do not let him near."
"But he's still alive!" Church protested. "Surely you can do something to help him."
Baccharus turned and there was a shocking emotion alive in his face. "There is nothing I would like to do more," he said in a cracked voice. "He is a kinsman; we are all brothers of the same village. But if he comes near he will infect us all, and what is the good in that?"
Church watched the pitiful figure advance slowly, with a very human air of desperation. "Definitely not gods," he whispered.
"Hold him back," Baccharus ordered. "He is not long for this existence."
Ruth was about to protest that Baccharus was acting too harshly when his face grew suddenly sorrowful. He ran forward until he stood as close as he could to the diseased god. "Know this, brother. We are all people, all joined. I am filled with the great sorrow of the Golden Ones for your plight. Not because it is a crime against existence, but because of you. My brother. But, know this and forgive: I cannot let you near. You will take us all with you."
The diseased god appeared to hear this, for he paused in his relentless forward motion. The weight of the decision Baccharus had been forced to make was heavy on his face, but he could only hold out his arms impotently as the guards stepped forward to drive the ailing god back. They herded him through the archway and then Church heard the slam of a heavy door and the piling up of more furniture.
When Baccharus trailed back to them, his face a lie of composure, Church laid a friendly hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry you were forced to do that," he said.
Baccharus looked honestly touched by this gesture, and a warm smile briefly overrode the air of sadness. It was just one of many little incidents he had witnessed in Baccharus over the previous few days: cracks in the arrogant composure of the Tuatha De Danann that suggested something approaching humanity within, if that was not a contradiction. Perhaps he had been wrong in judging all the gods so harshly.
His thoughts were driven away as the bile rose in his throat at another bout of wailing just beyond the blockade. This time the heap of furniture rattled and a heavy oak chair rolled off the top and splintered on the marble floor.
"Can it force its way through?" Ruth asked anxiously.
"Seems like it's got some muscle. I'm going to take a look at it." Church ran forward and began to climb the unsteady mound, Ruth's shrill warnings echoing behind him. It probably would have been safer to have kept his distance from the barricade, but if he knew what it looked like he thought he would be more able to contain his fears, and maybe even find a way to strike back.
But the moment he crested the rocking pile of furniture and wriggled forward on his stomach to peer over the edge, he wished he hadn't. His gorge rose as he peered down at the Nuckelavee moving backwards and forwards at the base of the wall, not knowing if his disgust was at what he saw or what he felt coming off the beast. It was as big as three cars in a row, with a barrel-shaped body and a snakelike head that lolled sickeningly from side to side, as if its neck were broken. It had no legs, instead dragging its slug body along on stubby, multi-jointed arms that looked too thin to support its bulk. Most foul of all was that it had no skin; there was only a thin membrane covering its body so the blood could be seen pumping through the network of veins as its muscles slithered and stretched like an obscene anatomy textbook.
Church allowed himself only a few seconds to take it all in before he turned his eyes away in relief. He retreated cautiously down the blockade and returned to the others, his pale expression telling Ruth everything she wanted to know.
"Is there another way out of here?" Church asked. Niamh and Baccharus were almost paralysed by what they had found on the island.
"No." In the white light that flooded the room, Niamh's face was uncommonly pale. "Perhaps the Master will send others to fetch us back."
Baccharus eyed her with a curious expression. "Or perhaps he will listen to the whispered words and sail away at dawn."
A table flipped off the top of the barricade, forcing them to move aside hastily as it crashed into the floor. "I don't think we have the luxury of waiting," Ruth noted.
"We cannot run," Niamh said. "Nor can we confront the Plague-Bringer, or we will all be destroyed. What do you suggest?"
There was a brief, hanging moment of confusion until a shiver ran through Church: the gods were looking to him and Ruth for a solution. How could they have faith in Fragile Creatures? He turned to face the rocking barricade, feeling the cold weight of responsibility. They were saying there was nothing they could do; they were elevating him to a height beyond his capabilities.
Beyond the barricade, the baby cry began again, but this time it didn't sound like it was going to stop: it rose higher and higher until his ears rang and his teeth were set on edge; mingled in it somewhere he was sure he heard a note of triumph.
In T'ir n'a n'Og, time moved fast, or slow, or stood still with no rhyme or reason, but in the Fixed Lands life crept on at its solemn, relentless pace. Veitch and Tom could not be frozen between moments or see the days and weeks flash by like the view from a train, but they both felt it was moving quicker than they could handle.
They had spent twenty minutes with their own thoughts, preparing for the trial that lay ahead, watching the birds or the swaying branches of the trees, but never straying too far from the cairn at Corrimony. It felt like sanctuary: the Blue Fire that could be tapped so easily there was both protector and energiser, filling them up and giving them purpose.
Veitch was still enthused with all the energies his encounter with the archetype had instilled in him; to him, he had met Robin Hood, a hero of Britain whose good deeds transcended time. Veitch barely dared admit to himself how much
that excited him; and how much he wanted something similar. He wouldn't even mind dying if he could become a hero people would remember, wiping out in an instant the petty, twisted parts of his nature, the waste he'd made of his life.
For the first time in many years, Tom was feeling bewildered, and it wasn't from the two joints he'd smoked in quick succession as he ambled around the cairn, fascinated by the shape of the stones, their colour in the sun. He'd lived for hundreds of years. His memory was a vast library stretching into deep, subterranean chambers, but his own character he knew with weary boredom. Or thought he did. But Veitch, rough, uneducated, shallow, had made several sharp comments during the course of the night that suggested he didn't know himself very well at all. In his own eyes, he was compromised by the complexity of an age when things could no longer be seen in black and white. To Veitch, he was a hero, a conclusion born from observation, for not so long ago the Londoner had railed against his mythological status. What had Veitch seen that he couldn't see himself? It troubled him, yet excited him a little too. But it was a frisson nonetheless, and for anything that stirred his blood after such a long life he was eternally grateful.
When he finished his last joint, he peered over the top of the cairn and shouted, "It's time."
"You know you're not supposed to drive on that stuff," Veitch said as he wandered over. "I'm not so sure I want you in charge when we're throwing ourselves into the Universal Transporter."
"Oh, shut up. We had a name for you back in the sixties."
"I have a name for you right now. Get on with it."
They crawled on their bellies through the symbolic tunnel until they were sitting cross-legged inside the cairn. After the previous night, when the stones had been alive with the crackling blue energy, the place looked flat and dead, but they both could feel the vitality deep down in the earth, waiting to be brought out.
"You're sure you're ready for this?" Tom said.
Witch peered up into the blue September sky. "It's for a mate. I'm ready."
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