Stretched out in a large field was a scene of utter carnage. Scattered as far as the eye could see were the dead bodies of hundreds of soldiers, some of them mutilated beyond recognition, the churned turf of the field dyed red with their blood. It was like some horrific mediaeval battlefield. The carrion birds were already feeding on the remains with greedy shrieks and frenzied pecking. The smoke was billowing up from the remains of a burnt-out truck or troop carrier.
"They didn't stand a chance." Veitch's voice trembled with emotion.
As they returned to the van in silence, Veitch pulled out his gun, examined it for a second, then tossed it away.
It was several miles before they could bring themselves to discuss what they had seen.
"At least we can be sure the Government knows. There's some kind of resistance," Ruth ventured.
"For what it's worth." Church hugged himself for warmth. "All those modern weapons, all those experts in the art of warfare, they didn't mean a thing. There wasn't one enemy body there."
"So what chance do we have if a bunch of professional killers can't cut the mustard?" Laura was wearing her sunglasses once again, hiding her true emotions from them all.
"You want to know what's worse?" Veitch said quietly. "That they're obviously somewhere between us and where we're supposed to be going, settled in to a nice defensive position."
"We have to keep going," Ruth said. "What else can we do?"
They fell silent once more.
They saw the smoke from fifteen miles away. They had probably noticed it earlier and mistaken it for a storm cloud, so large was the black column; it rose up thickly and rolled out to obscure the sun. At ten miles Shavi had to use the windscreen wipers and spray continuously to clear away the charred flakes caught in the wind.
"Black snow," Laura said absently. "Trippy."
The atmosphere became unbearable as they neared the coast; even in the confines of the van they were coughing and covering their mouths. Then, as they crested a ridge and looked out over the sea, they saw the source. Kyle of Lochalsh, the tiny historic town that guarded the crossing to Skye, was burning. From their vantage point, they could see almost every building was ablaze, painting the lapping waves burnt orange and smoky red. It was almost deafening: the roaring of the flames caught by the wind, the sound of dropped milk crates as superheated windows erupted out, the thunder of crashing walls, every now and then punctuated by an explosion as a car petrol tank went up. There was no sign of life.
They stumbled from the van like drunks, intoxicated by the sheer horror of their vision. At least they could breathe a little easier as the wind took the worst of the smoke inland, but every breath was still filled with the stink of charcoal, rubber and plastic.
"God," Ruth said in a voice so small it was almost lost beneath the noise of the inferno. "Is this how the world is going to look?"
Through their daze, harsh truths began to seep; eventually Laura gave voice to them. "Nobody's forcing us to do this. We could turn back, make the most of whatever time we've got left ..." Her voice trailed off hopefully.
"How could we live with ourselves?" Church glanced at her briefly before staring back into the flickering light. "Nobody wants to be here, but some responsibilities are too big to ignore. This is what we were meant to do-"
"Perhaps it is the only reason we are alive," Shavi noted.
"We have to see it through to the end." Laura nodded reluctantly at the resolution in Church's voice; in her heart she had known there was no other option.
"Should we search for any survivors?" Shavi suggested.
Church shook his head. "I don't think there's any point. It looks like they went through the place systematically."
"Look." Veitch pointed beyond the flames to the short stretch of water that separated Skye from the mainland. The bridge that had been built at a cost of millions of pounds was shattered. The first section ended suddenly, as if it had been lopped off by an axe, and chunks of concrete and steel protruded from the swirling water. Nearby they could see the old ferries that had prospered before the bridge were burning or half-submerged in the tiny harbour.
"What are we going to do now?" Veitch continued. "Swim?"
"I do not think so." Shavi stood beside him and directed his gaze away from the harbour to the deep water in the middle of the channel. At first it just seemed to be a mass of chopping waves and odd little eddies and whirlpools, but then Veitch noticed a strange sinuous motion that was at odds with the movement of the water; it was like a black pipe rolling gently as it moved between the mainland and the island.
He was about to ask what Shavi was suggesting when there was a sudden churning of the water and something large rose up in a gush of white foam and sleek black skin cast ruddy in the light of the fire. Its head reached as high as a double-decker bus for just an instant before it ducked back beneath the waves.
"What the hell was that?" Veitch looked dumbfounded.
"The sea serpents have always been close to the Fomorii. They don't need to be coerced like the Fabulous Beasts." Tom shuffled up beside them to watch the swirling water. "Even when the doorways were supposed to be closed, the serpents swam back and forth, prefering neither here nor there, but somewhere in between."
"Are they dangerous?" Veitch's eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he considered ways to reach the island.
"They have the teeth of sharks and their coils can crush bones and boats."
"A watchdog," Ruth said.
"Then how the hell are we going to get over there?" Veitch's frustration boiled over into impotent rage.
While the others threw ideas around, Laura watched from a distance, and she was the only one who saw the faint shadow cross Shavi's face. Quietly she tugged at his sleeve and drew him away from the rest.
"Spit it out," she whispered.
When he looked at her she realised the expression had been one of fear. "I cannot control these changes that are coming over me-"
"You should try being a twelve-year-old girl."
11 -the things I can do ..." He struggled to find the correct words.
"I know it's scary. But everything's spinning out of control."
He sighed and lowered his dark brown eyes. "At first it seemed so wonderful, all these amazing new possibilities opening up to me. The trances, the dreams. But when I had that vision at Manorbier, it took nothing at all to get it started and it was so powerful it was almost as if I was really there. I could smell the blood on the wind ..." He raised the back of his hand to his mouth in distaste. "Now I am afraid. I wonder where it will all end."
Surreptitiously, Laura took his hand; his fingers were cool and supple against her hot palm.
That subtlest of connections brought a smile to his lips. "One should never shy away from new experiences, I suppose."
"So what can you do?"
"When the change first came over me it was like I could almost understand what the birds were saying in their song. Then, as time progressed, I discovered it was more than that ... it was as if I were in their heads, listening to their thoughts. And not just birds, but all animals." He paused for a long time as he weighed his words. "It is possible I could get into that creature's head, enough to subtly direct it. Perhaps enough to keep it away from a boat."
"But?"
"But I am afraid if I truly try to enter its mind, I may never be able to get out again." He watched her face closely for her reaction. When none was noticeable, he said, "I am waiting for you to tell me not to be so ridiculous and to do my duty."
"You're talking like I'm the responsible one. It's your call-I won't think any differently of you one way or the other."
He smiled broadly. "You are very mature. Why do you act like you are not?"
"We all know what happens to cheese when it gets mature."
Veitch suddenly spotted them huddled together. "Oi! What are you two plotting?"
Shavi lost himself in thought for a moment, then confidently strode over.
They h
eaded back a couple of miles until they found a road which skirted the town; the fires were burning too hard to drive through it. On the north side there were plenty of little coves and they eventually chanced on one where a boat was moored at a private jetty. If the owner had survived the Fomorii attack, he was nowhere to be seen. Reluctantly they abandoned the van and transferred the talismans and what provisions they thought absolutely essential to the boat.
"This may seem a stupid question," Church said once they were all aboard, "but has anyone here sailed before?"
Veitch made a face. "Been on the Thames Ferry. Didn't like it very much. And that boat in Wales."
"I owned a small boat for fishing on the loch in my heyday," Tom said. "And I have even fished at sea, so I have enough knowledge to get us out there. But the currents between the mainland and island are rumoured to be strong and if the serpent gets angry, his backwash will capsize us. I presume we can all swim?"
They all nodded, apart from Veitch, who began to look a little wary.
"That's not an option," Church said. "How are we going to do anything if the talismans are at the bottom of the deep blue? You've got to get us out there and keep us steady so Shavi can do his bit."
"Try to," Shavi stressed.
They cast off and Tom steered the boat away from the shore. Although the water had appeared calm from dry land, they were soon bouncing across the waves in a queasy chopping motion. The wind had changed direction and now the thick, acrid smoke was being blown out across the bay; it was as if a thick fog had rolled between them and Skye.
"If we get past the serpent, we can take the boat around the north of the island to Dunvegan. It is built on a sea loch, so we can go right up to its walls."
Church stood in the prow, tasting the salt as the spray stung his face, trying to ignore the icy cold that now permeated his entire body. Shavi rested on the wooden rail next to him to stare into the blue-green depths.
"How are you holding up?" Church asked.
"I think we are all holding up remarkably well, seeing that we are a mass of neuroses and contradictions wrapped up in skin and bone-in short, very human-being expected to do the job of heroes."
Church shrugged. "What's a hero? Some big muscular guy with a sword? Or some normal person who takes a swing for the greater good, despite everything?"
Shavi looked at him curiously.
"I'm just saying we're trying to do the best we can under the circumstances. Maybe the historians will come in with their whitewash brushes in a few years' time to turn us into heroes."
"You are only a hero if you win." Shavi looked up, his smile taking the edge off the bitter words. "There is no place in Valhalla for those who simply tried hard."
The smoke rolled in around them, choking, stinging their eyes. They all sat down in the bottom of the boat where the air was freshest, listening to the eerie echoes as the smoke muffled the lapping of the water and the sound of the town burning. They could have been hundreds of miles away, lost in the centre of the Atlantic.
Then Shavi's clear, sharp voice made them all start. "It is coming."
At first they could hear nothing. A few seconds later, from out of the smoke, came the almost mechanical sound of something breaking the water at regular intervals, growing louder as it drew closer. Church watched anxiously as Shavi closed his eyes, his face growing taut with concentration. The splashing, stitching sound came on relentlessly. Shavi's brow furrowed, his lips pulled back from his teeth.
At the last moment Church realised it wasn't going to work and he called out to the others to hold on. The serpent surged just past the prow and the boat lifted up at forty-five degrees. Church ground his eyes shut and gritted his teeth: someone cried out; he was convinced they were going under, dragged to the bottom in the backwash; a horrible way to die. But the boat poised on the cusp of tragedy like some terrible fairground ride and then went prow down just as steeply into the trough left by the serpent's passing. Waves crashed over them. Church sucked in a mouthful of seawater, but somehow held on. The boat righted itself jarringly, as if it were skidding across sand dunes. Church looked round; amazingly, everyone was still clinging on.
"If it hits us astern it'll shatter the boat," he yelled to Shavi.
Shavi screwed up his face in anger at his failure before flinging himself upright and gripping on to the rail. "Here!" he shouted. "To me!"
"Get down!" Church cried. "If it comes by again you'll be over the side!"
Shavi ignored him. A second or two later a shiver ran down Church's spine as he heard the serpent stitching water towards them. It was like a goods train; his breath grew as hard as stone in his chest. He braced himself for the impact. And waited, and waited.
There was a sound like a boulder being pitched into the water and then the drizzle of falling droplets as a shadow fell across him. The serpent had risen up out of the waves, as high as a lamppost, its flattened head swaying from side to side like a cobra. It had skin that was as shiny black and slick as a seal and eyes that seemed to glow a dull yellow; odd whiskers tufted out around its mouth like a catfish. And it seemed to be staring at Shavi.
Church was about to call out to his friend when he noticed the rigid posture and ghosted expression on Shavi's face, as if he were in a coma with his eyes open. They stayed that way for a long moment, two drunks staring each other out in a bar, and then, slowly, the serpent melted into the waves and swam languorously away.
Church heard Laura whisper, "Good doggy."
A spontaneous cheer arose from the others, just as Shavi pitched backwards alongside Church. His face was still locked tight. Church felt a sudden surge of panic when he looked into those glassy eyes; there was not even the slightest sign of Shavi within them. He scrambled forward and began to shake his shoulders.
The others' jubilation died away when they saw the edge of panic in his actions. "Shavi," he said. "Come back!"
"Leave him!" Tom barked. "If you disturb him now he could be lost forever!"
"But what if he can't get back?" Church said. He stared again into those glassy eyes and couldn't control his desperation; the price they were paying was increasing constantly and he despaired at where it would end.
"Leave him!" Tom shouted again.
Reluctantly, Church stood back in the prow-then suddenly all thought of Shavi was gone. A gust of wind cleared the billowing smoke like a theatre curtain being rolled back, presenting a view of Skye that chilled him to the bone. At first details along the coast were blurred and he blinked twice to clear his vision. Then he realised the loss of distinction to the sharp edges of the green and grey coastline was caused by constant movement. Along the seafront, Skye was swarming; there was a sickening infestation of darkness as far as the eye could see, like ants on a dead rat.
"My God! How many are there?" Ruth was beside him, one hand on his shoulder.
They were mesmerised by the sheer enormity of what they were seeing, the malevolence that seemed to wash out across the water towards them. In that one moment, they knew: the world was ending and there was nothing they could do about it.
Church turned to Veitch, Laura and Tom, who were bickering at the rear of the boat, oblivious to the brief vision of hell that had been presented. "Come on," he ordered. "We need to get a move on if we want to be there before sundown."
It was a long, arduous journey up the Sound of Raasay, where the currents were as powerful as they had feared. Tom fought to keep the boat under control and eventually they rounded the north of the island as the afternoon began to draw on. They were all desperately aware of the hours running away from them, but no one gave voice to fears that there was not enough time left. At least they had left the massed ranks of the Fomorii behind, which gave Church a little more hope. Shavi's sacrifice had at least bought them that.
As the wild hills rose up grey and purple, brooding and mist-shrouded, away to their left, Tom steered the boat around to the west and eventually into the loch that led to Dunvegan Castle. The more they pr
ogressed inland, the more the choppy seas subsided, until they were sailing on water as smooth as polished black glass. Everywhere was still; no birds sang, the wind had dropped and the only sound was the gentle lapping of the water against the boat. Eventually the castle loomed up, a squat, forbidding presence perched on a rocky outcropping overlooking the loch. There were no signs of life around it.
Church and Veitch scanned the steep banks where gnarled, rugged trees clustered together in the face of the biting Atlantic winds. "Do you think they're lying in wait?" Veitch asked.
"Could be." But Church's instinct told him otherwise. "We might be lucky. I don't think they expected us to get this far."
"After all the hassle we've been through, wouldn't it be a laugh if we just waltzed into the castle, got the flag and did our business?" He snapped his fingers. "Over. Just like that."
"You love tempting fate, don't you, Ryan?"
They pulled the boat up on to the rocks at the foot of the castle where there was an easy path among the boulders round to the front. Veitch and Church shouldered the talismans between them, every muscle taut, eyes never still. They hated having to leave Shavi behind, but he was too much of a burden and time was short; the sun was already slipping down the sky and Church was afraid the castle would be sealed and they would have to find some way to break in.
But they had gone barely twenty paces from the boat when they heard Shavi cry out. They ran back to find him near-delirious, foam flecking his mouth, his eyes roving, unseeing. "The Fairy Bridge!" he called out to someone they couldn't see. "They come across the Fairy Bridge!"
"What's he talking about?" Veitch said dismissively. He had half-turned away when Tom caught his arm.
"The Fairy Bridge lies not far from here. It's over a stream, near to one of the liminal zones. Some of the Fomorii may pass through Otherworld to appear there quicker than if they'd travelled over the land."
Veitch looked puzzled. "Yeah, but doesn't everything move slower over there?"
World's End (Age of Misrule, Book 1) Page 52