World's End

by Mark Chadbourn

  “The best of all possible worlds,” Church said.

  “No. The worst.”

  “Is that how you got stuck in all that sixties stuff?” Witch nodded disrespectfully at Tom’s hair and clothes.

  “That period marked my longest time away from Otherworld. It was closest in thought and deed to how I felt inside me and I thoroughly enjoyed every moment of it.”

  Ruth put an arm around his shoulders. “Tom, you really are an old hippie. Peace, love and self-indulgence!”

  “You could have told us all this before,” Church said.

  “I had to be sure I could trust you implicitly before I told you anything of significance. If I learned anything from my time as a spy, it was that knowledge is power, and I didn’t want to have my true nature exposed and used against me too early in the game.”

  “And you’re sure now?” Veitch said tartly. “That’s a relief.”

  “What about the Fomorii and Balor?” Church asked. “Did they let you in on what was happening?”

  Tom shook his head; a spasm of pain crossed his face. “It still will not let me talk about that.” He rubbed at his nose furiously. “After Ogma has done what he can, perhaps.”

  With the final barrier of deceit removed, they felt they had been brought closer together. Perhaps it was the special qualities of the food and drink, or the sense of security offered by Ogma’s library, but despite the pressures and secrets amongst them, they felt ready to face up to what lay ahead; their failures didn’t seem so bad, their successes great in the face of monstrous odds. Church even ventured to say they had a chance.

  While Tom smoked another joint and Veitch finished off the wine, Shavi decided to investigate the bookshelves again, although he seemed disturbed at what he had discovered before. Church slipped out quietly, and though he didn’t say where he was going, they all knew he was checking on Laura. Ruth was sure in her heart she had more in common with him than Laura; that, if they allowed themselves, they could have the kind of relationship about which they both had dreamed.

  These thoughts were preying on her as she wandered disconsolately through the chambers until, by chance, she entered a room where Ogma sat at a table, hunched over an enormous book. She was so deep inside herself she was halfway across the room before she saw him and by then it was too late to retreat. He raised his head and levelled his undecipherable gaze at her.

  “You have the mark of one of the Golden Ones upon you,” he said, although she was sure he hadn’t glimpsed the design scorched into her palm.

  She described her experiences with Cernunnos and he nodded thoughtfully as he listened. “The Wish-Hex caused great hardship for us all.”

  “Do you hate them?” she asked. “The Fomorii, I mean.”

  He raised his eyebrows curiously, as if he couldn’t grasp her question. “The Fomorii are an infection to be eradicated.” He seemed to think it was answer enough.

  “If you don’t mind me saying,” Ruth continued, “you seem very different to Cernunnos or whatever his true name is. More approachable.” But not much, she thought.

  He thought about this for a moment, then said, “We are not of a kind. Some of us are very close to you, barely a shimmer of difference. Others are so far removed that they are like distant suns burning in the vast reaches of space. We have our own mythologies, our own codes, our own hierarchies. There are those we look up to and those we look down upon.”

  “You have a structured society like ours? But you’re supposed to be gods, at least that’s what the ancient people of my world thought.”

  He smiled. “Even the gods have gods. There is always something higher.”

  “Are you gods?”

  He raised his open hands, but gave nothing away.

  Church watched Laura for a while, but could tell nothing from her face. The only relief he felt was that at last he had some time alone to deal with the mess he felt inside. It was as if the moment he had reached out to touch Laura’s back at Manorbier, his emotions had split open like a ripe peach. He didn’t know how to deal with any of them; every single thought and sensation was almost unbearable. He fumbled anxiously with Marianne’s locket, but it seemed to have lost its magic; nothing could calm him.

  Worse, he still couldn’t shake off the sensation of cold which seemed to be eating into his marrow. There was a thin coating of frost on the Black Rose which he constantly dusted away, only to see it replaced every time he secretly inspected it. He wondered if the rose itself were actually the cause of the iciness, but he didn’t seem able to let himself consider that too deeply. He certainly couldn’t bring himself to throw the flower away,

  About an hour later, Ogma was ready to deal with Tom. They gathered in a room that was bare, apart from a sturdy oaken table and a small desk on which lay a range of shining silver instruments of indefinable use; Church was instantly reminded of Calatin’s torture rack. While Tom climbed on to the table, apparently unafraid of what lay ahead, the others gathered in one corner to watch the proceedings.

  “How’s Laura?” Ruth whispered to Church.

  His weary head shake told her all she needed to know. She didn’t probe further, but deep down she wondered how the five Brothers and Sisters of Dragons would fare if one of them were missing.

  Ogma applied some thick, white salve to Tom’s lips and while it didn’t knock him out, it must have anaesthetised his nerve endings, for a second later the god began to slice into Tom’s temple with a long, cruel knife; Tom didn’t flinch at all, but Ruth closed her eyes.

  The salve must have done something to the blood flow too, for despite the depth of the incision, there was little bleeding. Ogma followed in with a handpowered drill which ground slowly into Tom’s skull as the god rotated the handle; all the time Tom’s eyes flickered as he stared implacably at the vaulted ceiling.

  But then, as the judder of Ogma’s hand showed the drill had broken through, a transformation came over Tom: his eyes appeared to fill with blood and his face contorted into an expression of such primal rage it made him unrecognisable. The salve had worked its power on his body too, for it was obvious he couldn’t move his arms and legs, but he opened his mouth to yell and scream in the hideous Fomorii language. Ogma ignored him, but it was so disturbing to see that the others had to look away and even Veitch blanched.

  Then, as they looked back, they saw the strangest thing. The drill hole must only have been a pencil-width, but somehow Ogma seemed to work the tips of two fingers in there, then three, then four, and then his entire hand was sliding into the side of Tom’s forehead. Tom shrieked and raged impotently, but Ogma simply laid his other hand on his head to hold it still. Finally his hand was immersed right up to his forearm before he began to withdraw it.

  Church winced; Ruth gagged and covered her mouth with her hand; Veitch and Shavi were transfixed.

  And then, with a twist of his wrist, Ogma’s hand came free. Clutched in his now-stained fingers was a wriggling thing which looked like a human organ, slick with blood and pulsating. But worst of all was that the shriek that had been coming from Tom’s mouth was now emanating from the Caraprix. The cry soared higher and higher and they had to cover their ears to protect themselves. When it reached its climax, the thing began to mutate. At first it started taking on the hard form of a weapon, then something furry with needle teeth, but before it could fix its shape, Ogma dropped it on to the table and brought his enormous fist down on it hard. It burst like a balloon filled with blood.

  In the silence that followed the insane shrieking, the room seemed to hang still; then Ruth turned away, coughing, and the others muttered various epithets of disgust.

  Ogma turned to them. “It is done,” he said redundantly. “True Thomas will recover apace. The Caraprix is a parasite, but it causes no permanent damage to its victim.”

  “They’re hideous!” Ruth said, still refusing to look at the splattered mess on the table.

  Ogma seemed uncomfortable at this. “The Danann have their own Carapr
ix,” Tom interjected. He levered himself up from the table with remarkable sprightliness after what he had just been through; the hole in his head had already healed.

  Ogma removed a clasp from his robes, which transformed itself into a shape like an egg with tendrils, glowing bright white. “Tools, weapons, faithful companions,” he said.

  Church eyed it suspiciously for a second, then helped Tom to his feet, although he didn’t appear to need it. “We have much to do,” Tom said with a vigour Church recognised from the first time they had met. “A brief rest, a talk about what lies ahead, and then we must be away, for Beltane is now too close for any more delays.”

  After the operation, Ogma had lost himself among the chambers, leaving them free to talk and plan. They gathered in a dark, echoing room which resembled a baronial hall. At one end a log fire blazed in a fireplace so big Church could easily have walked into it, and collected before it were several sturdy wooden chairs with studded leather seats and backs. For some reason, no torches burnt in that room so they pulled the chairs up closer to the fire.

  Tom had centre stage, his newly repaired glasses glinting in the firelight, his eyes merely pits of shadow. “I’ll answer all your questions as best I can,” he said, “but I caution you that I don’t know all.” He took a sip of wine from a goblet rescued from the dining room.

  “Tell us what you know about the Bastards,” Veitch said; it was how he had taken to describing the Fomorii.

  Tom nodded. “Some said their forefather was Ham, who was cursed by Noah, and that curse transformed every descendant into a misshapen monster. Others claimed they were born in the all-encompassing darkness before the universe began.” The fire cracked, spurting a shower of sparks up the chimney, and they all jumped. The shadows at their backs seemed uncomfortable and claustrophobic. “They were led by Balor, the one-eyed god of death,” Tom continued, and for a second his voice wavered. Church looked round suddenly; he had the unnerving feeling someone was standing just behind his chair.

  “Balor.” Shavi shifted uncomfortably. “That is the name I heard in my trance.”

  “The embodiment of evil,” Tom continued. “Born of filth and corruption. So terrible that whoever he turned his one eye upon was destroyed.”

  The room grew still; even the crackling of the fire seemed to retreat.

  “In the first times, Balor led the Night Walkers across the land and all fell before them. After that we have only the myths to enable us to understand what happened. Before the Fomorii invasion, the Tuatha De Danann were led by Nuada, known as Nudd, known as Nuada Airgetlamh-Nuada of the Silver Arm-for the replacement created by Dian Cecht he wore for the hand he lost in the first battle of Magh Tuireadh. But because of his disability, the Danann deemed him not fit to lead them against the Fomorii and he was replaced by Breas, who was renowned for his great beauty.

  “Except Breas was half-Fomorian and he allowed the Night Walkers to terrorise the land and enslave the Danann. Dian Cecht grew Nuada a new hand and he regained his position, but by then it was too late-he couldn’t break the grip of the Fomorii.

  “All seemed lost until Lugh presented himself to Nuada at Tara. Lugh, the god of the Sun, known as Lleu, or Lug, or Lugos, was a young, handsome warrior, but he, too, was part-Fomorii. Indeed, his grandfather was Bator. Lugh rallied the Danann and they rose against the Fomorii. All hung in the balance until the two sides faced each other at the second battle of Magh Tuireadh. It seemed that once again the battle would go the way of the Fomorii. But then Lugh, with the spear you recovered in Wales, fought his way through the lines and plunged it into Bator’s eye. The Dark God was slain instantly and the Fomorii fell apart.” He sipped at the wine thoughtfully. “Yes, Bator is a terrible threat. But the Danann who helped defeat him still exist, locked in the place where the Wish-Hex banished them.”

  “Then there is hope,” Church said.

  “Is that how their original war really happened?” Ruth asked.

  Tom shrugged. “The Danann will no longer discuss that time. It was a period of great upheaval for them. At least now we know what the Fomorii are trying to do.” Veitch looked at him blankly. “The truth was there in Shavi’s vision, and Calatin confirmed it. They are attempting to bring back Balor.”

  “How can they do that if he was destroyed?” Ruth asked apprehensively.

  “The yellow drums you saw at the depot in Salisbury and which we found in vast quantities in the mine in Cornwall are the key.”

  Ruth cast her mind back. “That black gunge inside them-“

  “A foul concoction distilled at one of the Fomorii warrens like the tower you saw being constructed in the Lake District. It will be the medium for the Dark God’s rebirth.”

  “Then that’s why they haven’t moved on the cities yet. They’re waiting for Bator to lead them,” Veitch said.

  The logs cracked and sputtered, but their thoughts were so leaden they barely registered it.

  “Only the Tuatha De Danann could stand up to something like Balor,” Church said eventually.

  “But take heed too. The Danann are not overtly predatory, nor do they act with malice unless provoked. But they have their own agenda and if we get in their way we will be destroyed without a second thought,” Tom warned.

  “I thought they were angels,” Ruth said sadly.

  “At times they look like angels. Perhaps they were responsible for our myths of angels. But they are so complex in thought and deed, so unknowable in every aspect, good is too simplistic a concept.”

  They were suddenly disturbed by a movement in the dark behind them. Veitch jumped to his feet, bristling alert, but the others watched cautiously as two figures emerged from the shadows.

  “You never get treatment like this on the NHS.” Laura was walking with only the faintest sign of weakness, smiling apprehensively; everything about her body language suggested defensiveness, and the reason was plain to see. The patch of bandages had been removed from her face, revealing the mess Callow had made. Although the wounds appeared to have miraculously healed, the pink scars were still evident against her pale skin.

  Ogma laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. “She is strong of spirit. My attempts at healing merely gave her respite to fight back herself.”

  She raised a hand to her face. “Just let me know when you’re opening the cosmetic surgery ward.”

  She seemed afraid to come into the circle of light, so the others went to her. Shavi hugged her warmly and Veitch attempted to do the same, but she kept his show of emotion at arm’s length. Tom’s nod of support was restrained, but left her in no doubt of his feelings, while Ruth circled her before she gave in to her feelings as much as she could and clapped her on the arm.

  And then Laura turned to Church, searching his face for any response to her scarring. She seemed pleased by what she saw.

  “We were worried you might not be along for the last leg of this great road trip,” Church said, smiling.

  “Somebody’s got to keep an eye on you. Make sure you don’t slip back into your moody, maudlin ways.”

  They held each other’s eyes for a moment, then shifted uncomfortably and moved away without any physical contact.

  Ogma led them to a series of interconnecting chambers where he offered them beds for the night. After their conversation with Tom, they were all convinced they wouldn’t sleep a wink, but within ten minutes most of them were resting peacefully.

  For Church the thoughts and emotions were crashing around his head too turbulently and he lay with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling, trying to put them in order. When he heard Laura’s whisper at the open door soon after, everything else was swept away in an instant.

  “I couldn’t sleep.” She snorted contemptuously. “I’m getting good with the cliches. It’s like some cheap romance novel.” The analogy seemed to surprise her, and then made her feel uneasy, but she sat on the edge of his bed nonetheless. She thought for a moment, then put a hand on his chest. He slid his own on the top of
hers and she instantly folded against him, nestling into the undulations of his body, resting her face against his neck. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m not going to say anything pathetic.”

  “Then that’s up to me.” His words seemed to float in the dark. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  They held each other for a moment longer and then they turned to each other and kissed; there were so many complex emotions tied up in that simple act-affection and passion, guilt and loss, loneliness and fear-that they were both afraid it would swallow them up. Then the desperation that knotted them up faded for the first time in years, leaving a sense of simple contentment they had both convinced themselves they would never feel again.

  They awoke wrapped together several hours later, although in Ogma’s library it was almost impossible to mark any passage of time. Laura hurried back to her room before the others discovered them, but the glance she gave him at the door was enough to show a bond had been forged.

  They gathered for a breakfast of bread, fruit and milk in the dining chamber where they were all, once more, astonished by how rested they felt.

  “You promised to tell us what we need to do next,” Church said to Tom as they finished up the last of the food.

  Tom wiped the milk from his mouth and replied, “The power of the talismans will act as a beacon for the Danann once they have been brought into contact with another sacred item which has been used as an article of communication with the gods for generations.”

  “What, there’s a big searchlight somewhere that shines the shape of a sword on the clouds?” Laura sniggered. “Or is there a god-phone with a direct link-“

  “In Dunvegan Castle on the Isle of Skye is the Fairy Flag, the Bratach Sith,” Tom said. “It has the power we need.”

  “If we drive hard we could reach it in a day,” Shavi said.

  Witch clapped his hands. “Then we can wrap it up and be down the boozer for last orders!”

  “You think the Fomorii aren’t going to try to stop us?” Ruth asked caustically. “It would be a big mistake to think it’s all going to be plain sailing from here. They’ll probably throw everything but the kitchen sink at us to stop us.”