The van was still there, glowing white in the moonlight, but weaving in and out of the trees in a wide circle around it were the Baobhan Sith, no longer shrieking or as wild and predatory as they had been earlier. Tom was sitting a distance away, his head between his knees. Church, Shavi and Veitch were on the ground, slumped against the van. They weren’t moving and blood stained their clothes and skin; Veitch, in particular, had a ragged wound in his neck where Ruth had seen the spectral creature prepare to bite. Her first thought was that they were dead. Her stomach knotted and she felt like bursting into tears; another part of her told her that wasn’t the case. With an effort, she calmed herself and watched.
Not long after, the silence was broken by the drone of a car engine as twin beams splayed light over the trees. A nearly new BMW, but with deep, fresh scratches on its wing, screeched to a halt near the van. Callow’s grinning skullface was behind the wheel; in the back seat an ominous form was sprawled with a car blanket pulled roughly over it. Ruth could tell from its shape that a man lay beneath it; she guessed it was the car’s former owner.
Callow stepped out with a flamboyant flourish, leaving the headlights switched on so they spotlit Church and the others. “Mister Churchill! So pleased to see you again!” he said, grinning superciliously.
At his voice, Church stirred and looked around. When he saw Callow, rage crossed his face and he forced himself to his feet. A second later the Baobhan Sith were around him, shrieking and gnashing their teeth, and they didn’t retreat until he had fallen again.
“Nice little doggies!” Callow said after them.
“You bastard!” Church yelled.
Callow waved his finger and tut-tutted, but he didn’t seem interested in engaging in conversation. Instead, he walked to the rear of the car and opened the boot. The Baobhan Sith looked towards it and hissed as one, moving away from it before resuming their weird circling dance.
As if in answer to the boot opening, Ruth realised she could just make out an odd, distant noise, like metal being dragged across gravel, and the kind of hideous animal sounds she had heard at the black tower. Callow turned in its direction and peered into the gloom. Slowly, his grin melted away.
Ruth could feel whatever was coming on some instinctual level. Her skin, however insubstantial, was crawling, and she felt like snakes were slithering through her intestines. The Baobhan Sith seemed to sense it too; for the first time she saw them motionless, facing in the same direction as Callow. The air seemed to swell with feverish anticipation.
Tensely, she watched the shadows that clustered around the bend in the road and within minutes the night seemed to come alive with a greater darkness. An insectile swarming broke free from the gloom and headed towards the van. Although her eyes told her there were individual shapes, she felt there was just one hideous, dark creature, radiating an evil power that made her feel sick. And in the mass, the shapes themselves were difficult to distinguish, although she knew they were Fomorii. They continued until they were teeming around the van, the car, Callow, Church and the others, so that the road now resembled a churning black river.
My God! Ruth thought. I never realised there were so many of them!
One of the forms separated from the others and walked into the glaring circle of light thrown by Callow’s car headlamps. It was a man with golden skin, long hair and a frail, spindly body; there was an air of sickness and decay about him, and however stylishly he had dressed, his long, white silk tunic appeared dirty. Ruth recognised him as Fomorii, although he was closer to how she had imagined the Tuatha De Danann. She guessed, from Church’s description of his captor in the mine, that it was Calatin.
Witch and Shavi were also conscious now, and Church was muttering something to them, although Ruth couldn’t hear what it was.
“Little rabbits!” Calatin said in a voice like breaking glass. “You ran the course I mapped for you so perfectly. How you slipped from your cell remains a mystery, but it was only a matter of time before the doors were left ajar. And from that point you did everything I hoped. Reclaimed the Quadrillax-a remarkable achievement. Even as Brothers and Sisters of Dragons, I thought it beyond you. And turned back the Wild Hunt too, though there was more of chance in that. But then this frail creature …”-he motioned to Callow”… served his purpose well. And now, for the first time, the Quadrillax are in Fomorii hands. We thought you too weak for the responsibilities laid upon you and we have been proven correct.”
Ruth winced at that and she could see it hit Church too.
“Tom-” Church began weakly.
Calatin’s smile was so cold it froze the words in Church’s throat. He turned and summoned something from the seething mass of Fomorii; a second later something glinting silver, small and scurrying like a spider ran out, up his legs and into his hands, where it formed itself into a dagger. Ruth recognised it: she had seen something like it before, at Heston Services when the Fomor had first tried to kidnap her.
“The Caraprix,” Calatin said, examining it. In his hand the dagger shifted its shape, became something indistinct but disgusting, then returned to its dagger form. Calatin showed it to Church as if it was explanation in itself, but when he saw Church’s blank look, he continued, “Their fluidity and versatility makes them useful to us.”
“They are alive?” Shavi asked.
Calatin looked at him as if he didn’t understand. “They do our bidding in many different ways. Sometimes,” he mused to himself, “they are almost companions.”
“What’s this got to do with Tom?” Church looked at him, still slumped on the roadside nearby.
Calatin eyed him slyly. “Oh, the pain of betrayal.”
Church winced, looked away.
“When the wanderer fell into my hands, I saw the opportunity to have a subtle hand on your wheel.” He held up the Caraprix, which wriggled in the light from the headlamps. “One deep incision is all it takes. Painful, but he remained conscious until the last. The Caraprix slipped in through the wound, attached itself in here.” He tapped his temple. “It sits there still, tormenting him, doing our will.”
At first Church couldn’t grasp what Calatin was saying, but then he remembered the wounds on Tom’s forehead when they first met him in the mine and he felt horror grow within him. “He’s got one of those in his head?” he said with disgust.
“Oh, it’s not all bad.” Callow sidled up until he was near Calatin.
“You’ve got one too?”
“Mine was by choice, dear boy. I have a remarkable aptitude for seizing opportunities.”
“You call that an opportunity?” Church was disgusted. “It’s probably eating away at your brain.”
“It can be removed at any time, or I can simply live with it. If you think that’s bad, you should try to get rid of lice.”
“Why did you do it?” Church asked.
“I told you, an opportunity. By declaring my allegiance early in the game, it gave me access to all the miracles and wonders that will rain down on us.”
“You sold us all out.” The intensity of hatred in Veitch’s voice made Church feel almost uncomfortable.
“Now, now,” Callow cautioned. “You must accept some responsibility. If young Mr. Churchill had not been so indiscreet about what was happening to the world that night in the tavern, I would not have been prepared when I did encounter my good allies here.” He sighed theatrically. “Oh, how strange fate is. I knew sooner or later you would involve yourself in something that would favour me, so after our evening’s wassailing I resolved to follow you. I must admit, after the devastation you wreaked at the depot in Salisbury I thought things might be a little too hot even for me. But then I met my good friends!” Callow seemed about to clap Calatin on the shoulders, then thought twice about it. “They made it easier for me to shadow you. But at a distance it was so hard to discern exactly what you had achieved; it required a little, shall we say, investigative skill on my behalf. Did you ever wonder who had gained access to your car? Your tent
s?”
“I’m going to kill you.” Witch’s voice was low and understated, but the words contained power.
“I don’t think so,” Callow replied sneeringly, but Church could see a flicker of unease in his eyes.
Calatin lurched forward unsteadily, knocking Callow out of the way; he looked even sicker than he had in the mine. “You still do not seem to understand exactly what has occurred. Your loss of the Quadrillax has destroyed more than merely your own feeble attempt to stop our advance. Through all time and all space, their significance has radiated: objects of such power that we never dared achieve our ultimate dream-the eradication of all light from the universe. Our victories were always tempered. We settled for control, in the certain knowledge that a step too far would rebound on us tenfold. Now, anything is possible.”
As he neared, Church’s gorge rose at the hideous stink coming off him. Calatin bent down and lowered the living dagger until its tip was only an inch from Church’s right eye. Church tried not to blink, nor even to think about what Calatin was going to do next; the Fomor had revealed his sadism quite plainly in the mine’s torture chamber. He thought for a moment, then lowered it to Church’s cheek, where he pressed its razored edge into the soft flesh and made a slight downward cut. Church winced as the blood flowed.
“With the Quadrillax in our hands, everything has been lost. And you are responsible.” He showed a row of blackened teeth and released a blast of foul breath into Church’s face.
“You’re going to destroy them?” Church asked once he had recovered.
Calatin peered at him as if he were insane, then rose and limped away. “They will be taken from here to our nearest retreat, where they will be encased in molten iron, then buried in the furthest reaches of the earth, never to be recovered-“
“What about Balor?” Shavi interrupted.
Calatin whirled, his eyes blazing, but slowly the insipid smile returned to his face. “The Highfather will soon be back,” he said in a manner that made Church shiver, “and the glory will be mine.”
Then he turned and yelled out something in the guttural Fomorii language before limping away. A second later Church, Shavi and Veitch were wrenched up in the black mass of bodies and swept away.
Ruth watched the scene in horror from the treetop branch, then turned to Nina, who motioned that they should return. The brief journey back to the cottage contained none of the awe and wonder Ruth had felt during her first flight, just a sense of impending doom and a feeling of utter futility. Nina led the way back down the chimney and as they emerged into the main room, Ruth had the same sensation of being fired from a cannon as she rushed back into her prone body. A second later, she stirred, feeling leaden and stupid, her thoughts no longer quicksilver; her mouth felt as if she had awoken after a night on the tiles; all her muscles were aching. The loss seemed so great her eyes filled with tears.
“I could have stayed like that forever,” she said.
“And there lies the danger.” Nina levered herself to her feet, stumbling awkwardly. “Spend too long in that form and your essence begins to break down, dissipate like smoke, until you return to the universe.”
Ruth rose and dressed dismally, trying to tell herself it was simply the effects of coming down off the drug. But as the initial edge of her experience began to fade, the threat facing them returned in force.
“I can’t let them take Church and the others to that awful black tower. I can’t let them take the talismans. But what can I do?”
Nina nodded sympathetically. “There were so many of them-“
“They’ve got a way to go to reach the tower. We could head them offl”
“You’re starting to sound like John Wayne.” Nina’s faint humour underlined the futility of what Ruth was saying, but she wasn’t going to be deterred.
“Will you come with me?”
Nina shook her head. “I love my life too much. If there was a chance-“
“Then I’ll have to try it alone. I can’t give up.” She fastened her jacket and strode defiantly to the door.
“Wait.” Nina hurried to the dresser and returned with what appeared to be a piece of root with grass and vines wrapped around it. “I laboured hard over that. Slip it in your pocket. It won’t make you invisible to the things out there, but it should mask your presence enough to make it easier for you to travel through the countryside at night.”
Ruth thanked her, but her mind was already on what lay ahead. As she opened the door and slipped out, Nina called behind her, “Be true to your destiny. Blessed be.” And then the door slammed shut and Ruth was alone in the night.
It was a real effort to scramble up the steep hillside amongst the trees, but soon she was at the road. It was deserted, with no sign that the Fomorii had ever been there. Callow’s car had gone too, and Ruth presumed they were using it to transport the talismans because the Fomorii were unable to touch them.
She ran to the van, then swore angrily; she didn’t have the keys. “Laura!” she called out. “It’s Ruth.” At first there was no answer and Ruth feared the worst, then she heard what seemed to be a stream of abuse in a frail voice. “Never mind that. Open the doors.”
It took an agonisingly long time, but finally the doors swung open. Laura hung on the handle, obviously in great pain, barely able to hold herself up. “It’s freezing,” she said hoarsely. “I thought I was going to die in here.”
“There’s still a chance for that.” Ruth clambered past her. “God, I hope your shady past taught you how to hotwire an ignition system.”
“Yes, but if you think I’m going to crawl under a steering wheel-“
“Just tell me!” Ruth heaved herself over the back of the seats. “I never thought I’d say this, but I’m glad it’s you here and not someone who’s lawabiding.” She paused. “How come they left you here?”
“I guess they thought I was dead after what that bastard did. No one figured to look in the van.”
Laura guided Ruth through the process, laughing at Ruth’s scream as she almost burned her fingers in the flash as the spark jumped between the two wires. Once the engine roared into life, Ruth slammed the van into first and pulled on to the road. While she powered through the gears, Laura told how she had listened to the attack of the Baobhan Sith and everything that happened after, while keeping as quiet as she could to avoid detection.
“How do you feel?” Ruth asked.
“Like I’ve been slashed into bloody chunks with a razor. How do you think I feel?”
“Just asking.”
There was a long pause and then Laura said, “I could do with some more painkillers.”
“Hurts?”
“Like hell. I think some of the wounds have opened up.” Ruth heard Laura shift around under the pile of sleeping bags that were supposed to be keeping her warm. “Sorry I’m not going to be much use.”
“Even if you were fighting fit, there wouldn’t be much you could do.”
“No big plan, then?”
Ruth didn’t answer. She didn’t even know what she was doing. The thought of that mass of Fomorii filled her with dread. The only way she could avoid paralysis was to keep moving on instinct, ignoring the ringing alarms in her head that were saying her futile act was going to be the death of her.
She took the treacherous bends at breakneck speed, peering over the wheel for some sign of the Fomorii. She knew they couldn’t have travelled far in the time since she had left the cottage, so she killed the lights and cruised by the light of the moon, using the central white lines for guidance. She had the window wound down a little, listening for the cacophany of grunts and shrieks, but the night was eerily still, just the rustling of the trees and the singing of the tires on the road.
Then, as she rounded the next bend, she saw the seething mass ahead of her, moving in complete silence-which was somehow even more disturbing than the hideous sound they normally made. She slammed on the brakes and slewed to a halt, switching off the engine as quickly as she co
uld and praying the Fomorii were singleminded enough to ignore the sound of her approach. Away up front she could make out the headlamps of Callow’s car, moving slowly.
She turned to Laura, whose shock of blonde hair glowed like the moon where it stuck out of the sleeping bags. “Hold tight,” she said softly.
Although Church could feel rough hands on him, he seemed to be floating in and out of consciousness. It was all he could do to maintain any rational thought among the overwhelming sense of evil which seemed to wrap around him in thick, black swathes. But he could feel movement as he was dragged or carried, smell the sickening stink that clouded all around, hear the rasp of inhuman breath. He had no idea where they were being taken, but he knew their lives wouldn’t last long after their arrival, and he feared, in a way he didn’t think possible, what tortures Calatin would inflict before his death.
Then, through all the turmoil, he became aware of a distant sound, slowly rippling closer like the rumbling of an approaching tidal wave. As it neared, he tried to clutch at his ears to keep it out; his stomach bucked and flipped, his gorge rose, his mind threatened to switch off completely. And only then did he guess what it was: the sound of the Fomorii in fear.
Suddenly there was chaos. The night was torn apart by ferocious cries as the Fomorii broke up in disarray. Church was dropped roughly to the ground, where he bounced around like a pinball as the beasts surged in all directions, tearing and bruising his flesh. But with the claustrophobic atmosphere of evil disrupted by the confusion, he found it easier to think. Somehow he got to his feet and looked around frantically for Veitch and Shavi. Instead, he saw what appeared to be a whirlpool in the dark sea of Fomorii ahead of him as they circled crazily in one spot. At first he watched in confusion, until he realised there was something at the heart of the maelstrom. Slashing sounds began to cut through the frenzied gibberings, and then the black wave parted and he saw what lay at the heart of the churning area. There was a group of creatures about five feet high, their skin a sickening green, scaled in part, with long black hair and monstrous features. They were moving through the Fomorii with some kind of weapons that Church couldn’t quite make out, but he saw the aftermath: disembowellings, severed limbs, hacked heads. A slurry of blood and bone was beginning to mire the green grass. There was something about the creatures’ heads that didn’t appear right, but it was only when they drew closer that he could see what it was; they wore head-dresses made out of bloody human body parts-torsos, scalps, faces-and the grue from them matted the creatures’ hair and bodies.
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