“He’ll start straight away,” the Bone Inspector said. “At least once he’s recovered from getting dragged back into this God-forsaken world. He can’t be in tip-top shape after being locked up on the other side of death for God knows how long. Then there’s getting established in his new little nest,” he sneered, and motivating his troops, listening to all their whiny little pleas after all that time they’ve been separated from him.”
Church looked at him curiously.
“And of course he won’t be at full strength till he’s drained every last drop of power at the next festival, the big one on their calendar, when the gates really do open and all the worst nightmares in the universe come scurrying back to this place to be here for the end of it all.” The Bone Inspector fixed a cold eye on Church, almost daring him to continue.
Church glanced at Ruth. “You’re right, I have changed. Not so long ago I’d have rolled over and died at odds like that. But, you know-“
She nodded in agreement “-maybe there’s a chance we can do something.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” the Bone Inspector continued, “the End of Everything has started. But it’s still gathering pace. Maybe you can jam a stick in the spokes, maybe not.”
Church continued to look into Ruth’s eyes and he was pleased at what he saw. “Of all of us, I certainly don’t think we were the most deserving. Veitch, maybe, Shavi, they were better than us in many ways. But we’ve learned a lot from all we’ve been through and maybe this is our chance to put it to good use.”
“Maybe we can finally prove our worth.”
“Rather you than me,” the Bone Inspector snorted; but Church glimpsed a faint smile before he wiped it away.
“This is our chance, then,” Church said. “The last one. Rearguard action while the world’s going to hell around us.”
Ruth pulled her knees up under her chin. “It’s amazing how brave you can feel when you’ve got nothing left to lose.”
Church realised she was right; surprisingly, he didn’t feel any fear, nor any of the worries nor indecision that had dogged him before. There was a clarity to his emotions that gave him hope. “What do we have to do?”
The Bone Inspector sucked in a weary breath of air. “Are you expecting me to do it all for you?”
“I’m expecting you to use some of that knowledge that’s been sitting around in your head gathering dust,” Church said sharply. “We might not have got in this mess if you’d told us more before.”
“Don’t get snippy with me. It’s secret knowledge for a reason, you idiot. It’s not there to be told to any little runt who comes asking-“
“Just give us some guidance,” Ruth pleaded. “Where do we go from here? We’ve lost two-thirds of the people helping us-we don’t know if they’re alive or dead. We’ve got no idea what the next step is!”
The passion in her voice seemed to strike a chord with him. “It’s a good job you’re here. I wouldn’t have told that little bastard anything.” He pulled himself up on his staff and walked slowly to the twilight zone beyond the firelight; he appeared to be weighing up his responsibilities. “All right,” he said eventually. “But don’t go asking me for anything else. The only way you’re going to get anywhere is with the sword, the spear, the cauldron and the stone.”
“The Quadrillax,” Ruth said. “But the Tuatha De Danann have them now.”
“And they’re not going to help us while I’ve got the Fomorii taint in my system,” Church said despondently.
“Well you better do something about it, then, hadn’t you?” the Bone Inspector said bluntly. “Remember, it was the spear that killed the Great Beast last time. The sword, the spear, the cauldron and the stone are the only things in the whole of existence with enough power to do him in.”
Deep in thought, Church threw more wood on the fire so it roared away wildly. It seemed to him, at that moment, that the light was more important than anything and he had to do everything in his power to preserve it. “When we came across two members of the Tuatha De Danann one night a few weeks back, I asked them how I could clear the Fomorii corruption out of my system. They said I should travel to the Western Isles to find something called the Pool of Wishes.”
The Bone Inspector shrugged. “I wouldn’t know about that. The Western Isles are somewhere in Otherworld, so the stories say. But I’ll tell you this, there’s another old story that says if you go down to Mousehole in Cornwall and stand at the quay and look across to Merlin’s Rock, you can catch a fairy ship that will take you wherever you want to go.”
Church nodded thoughtfully. “It isn’t a lot, but we’ve gone a long way on much less.” The Bone Inspector dipped into his pocket and pulled out a halfbottle of whisky. “Found it in one of the houses.” He took a long slug, then threw it to Church. “You’re at a turning point in your life. The mechanics of the mind are rituals. They tell that ancient bit at the back of your head to clear out the last cycle and prepare to move on to the next. This is your ritual, now-the best we can do under the circumstances. Make a toast.”
Church didn’t have to think long. He held up the bottle and said, “To absent friends. Let’s hope they’re all well. And to Laura, for being the best of all of us.” He took a drink and tossed the bottle to Ruth.
“I’ll drink to that,” she said, “and I’ll say this. It’s just the two of us now, like it was when we started. But that’ll be enough. And we’ll win.” There was so much fire and defiance in her voice Church almost believed her.
After that they sat drinking quietly, talking about their friends, trying to keep them alive with words; and at some point, they looked up from their discussion and found the Bone Inspector had gone, back to his age-old round of the sacred sites of their ancestors.
They moved as close to the fire as they could without burning themselves and kept it well stoked against the oppression of the night. “Do you really think we can do it?” Church asked above the crackling of the wood.
“Look what we’ve achieved so far.” Ruth slid next to him and rested her head on his shoulder; he put his arm around her. “You killed Calatin-“
“With Mollecht’s help.”
“But you killed him. And it was your planning that brought Maponus here to devastate the Fomorii forces. You pulled out a great victory when it didn’t look like we had a chance.”
“There was a lot of luck-“
“And that’s a quality a good leader needs.” She looked up into his dark eyes and smiled. “But don’t try lording it over me, all right?”
They rested silently, half-dozing, but too uneasy to sleep fully. Although they never discussed it with each other, they both knew the world had changed: a faint smell of cinders drifted in the chill wind and there was an unpleasant feeling of a great weight pressing in all around them. And though they waited and waited for the streetlights to come back on, they never did.
Somewhere away in the dark, the Heart of Shadows had started to pulse, a beat that was growing stronger with every passing minute; relentless, like the pounding of war drums signalling the End of Everything.
about the author
two-time winner of the prestigious British Fantasy Award, Mark Chadbourn has published his epic, imaginative novels in many countries around the world. He grew up in the mining community of the English Midlands, and was the first person in his family to go to university. After studying Economic History at Leeds, he became a successful journalist, writing for several of the UK’s renowned national newspapers as well as contributing to magazines and TV.
When his first short story won Fear magazine’s Best New Author award, he was snapped up by an agent and subsequently published his first novel, Underground, a supernatural thriller set in the coalfields of his youth. Quitting journalism to become a full-time author, he has written stories which have transcended genre boundaries, but is perhaps best known in the fantasy field.
Mark has also forged a parallel career as a screenwriter with many hours of produced work fo
r British television. He is a senior writer for BBC Drama, and is also developing new shows for the UK and US.
An expert on British folklore and mythology, he has held several varied and colourful jobs, including independent record company boss, band manager, production line worker, engineer’s “mate,” and media consultant.
Having traveled extensively around the world, he has now settled in a rambling house in the middle of a forest not far from where he was born.
Darkest Hour (Age of Misrule, Book 2) Page 63