World's end taom-1

by Mark Chadbourn

  "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."

  "Ruth's right," Church said. "It's been tough so far, but this could be the worst part."
>
  They gathered up their things and Ogma led them through the maze of chambers to the entrance. They thanked him profusely for his hospitality and his aid for Tom and Laura, but it was so hard to read his emotions they felt uneasy and headed hastily back to the path up the mountainside.

  Tom hung back on the steps of the porch to offer his private thanks to Ogma. Together they watched the others walking away, chatting and bickering.

  Ruth's owl appeared suddenly from somewhere above their heads and swooped down until it was hovering a few feet away. Ogma spoke to it in a strange, keening voice.

  "What is that?" Tom asked.

  "A friend. An aide on your mission."

  The bird soared once over their heads, then shot up into the sky. Ogma watched it disappear into the clouds, then turned his attention back to the others as they made their way up the mountainside.

  "You see clearly, True Thomas?" Ogma asked.

  Tom nodded, his face suddenly dark and sad. "We're going to hell and we won't all be coming back. How do I tell them that?"

  "You offer the truth selectively, Thomas, as you always have." For a second his eyes seemed to burn with fire, then he turned and went back to his books without another word.

  Tom stood on the steps a moment longer, struggling to damp down the simmering emotions that threatened to consume him. Once he had regained his equilibrium, he hurried after the others, fervently wishing he had died the day before he had fallen asleep under that hawthorn tree.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  last stand

  The sun was only just rising as they passed through the rift back into the world and by the time they had trekked into Melrose, it was apparent it was going to be a fine spring day. The sky was blue and cloudless; in the sun it was beautifully warm, but with an exhilarating crispness from that faint underlying chill that was always present at that time of year that far north. But not even the fair weather could mitigate the desperate anticipation they all felt.

  They picked up the van and drove to a 24-hour garage. "Everything looks normal," Church said. "But here's the moment of truth."

  They all watched anxiously as Ruth darted inside to buy a paper. She picked one up, scanned the date, but her face gave nothing away. By the time she had clambered back into the van, the others couldn't contain themselves. "Well?" Veitch almost shouted.

  Ruth held out the paper. "It's Mayday. Today's the day."

  There was a long moment of silence until Church said, "Do we still have time to reach Dunvegan?"

  "It is less than a day's drive," Shavi replied. "Unless we encounter any obstacles."

  His words hung in the air for a second or two, and then they launched themselves into frantic activity. Veitch ran back into the garage to load up with sandwiches and crisps while Church selected a cheap portable radio to replace the one they had lost with their old van.

  Once they were on the road, he swept through the bands, but the radio could only tune into a disappointing handful of stations. There was one playing classical music, another with easy listening tracks and one which concentrated on old pop and rock back-to-back, punctuated by the occasional jingle, but with no DJ in evidence. The jaunty sound of The Turtles' "Happy Together" rang out.

  "Spare us the sickening optimism," Laura moaned. "I could do with some jungle or techno or anything with a beat to clear my head out."

  "At least it's not Sinatra," Ruth said.

  "Bit of a coincidence that we emerged with just enough time to spare," Church noted. He caught Tom's eye and mouthed, "There are no coincidences," just as Tom started to spout his mantra. The others laughed; Tom looked irritable.

  "So what's this Beltane?" Veitch asked.

  "The great festival of light in the Celtic world," Tom replied moodily. "It's the midpoint of the Celtic year. In the old days, the people used to offer tributes to Belenus, the god of sun, light and warmth, to mark the onset of summer, the return of the sun's heat and the fertility of the land."

  "But why's today so important as a deadline? It's just a day like any other one."

  Tom opened a bag of cheese and onion crisps and began to munch on them with irritating slowness. Out of the corner of his eye, Church could see Laura glancing around for something to throw at him. "Imbolg, Beltane, Lughnasad and Samhain-the four great Celtic festivals-weren't just chosen at random," he said with his mouth full. "They were of vital importance to the gods, when all of reality was so aligned that power flowed back and forth between Otherworld and here. On those days it was like the whole of the universe was filled with a charge. Days when anything could happen."

  "So if we miss out today we've got to wait until the next festival?" Veitch asked.

  Tom nodded. "And by then it will be too late."

  Despite the momentous events that lay ahead, Church found himself feeling surprisingly bright. It wasn't hard to guess why: in just a few short hours he would finally get the answers he had prayed for during the bitter months when his life had seemed to be over, although the why had now been replaced by who. He could barely contain his anticipation, yet behind it he felt the cold, hard core which he knew was a desire for retribution just waiting to be unleashed. Closing his eyes, he drifted along with The Beach Boys singing "Wouldn't It Be Nice." If only he could get warm.

  They took the A72 out of Galashiels, then swung north to Edinburgh, crossing the Firth of Forth to pick up the M90. They selected the major routes, both for speed and to keep away from the more desolate areas, but as they hit Perth, where the map showed fewer and fewer signs of population, they knew they were drawing into dangerous territory.

  After passing Dalwhinnie, they steeled themselves and set off across country. Up in the hills the air was crystal clear and filled with the scent of pines. They passed barely a car and any traffic they did see appeared to be local; farmers in beat-up old bangers splattered with primer, or old ladies taking the air, driving excruciatingly slow. An eerie stillness lay over the whole landscape.

  As they progressed further into the Highlands, Church felt the biting cold ness in his chest begin to grow more intense, as if someone were driving an icicle into his heart. A corresponding sweat sprang out on his forehead. Slipping his hand into his pocket and touching the Roisin Dubh, he felt as if he had plunged his hand into snow. When he drew it partly out, away from the eyes of the others, he saw its delicate petals were now obscured by hoar frost that sparkled when it caught the light; it was almost too cold to touch. And the iciness seemed to be spreading from the rose deep into his body; it felt like it was consuming him. He knew he should tell the others, but the cold seemed to have numbed his brain. He fumbled with Marianne's locket, vaguely hoping it would make him feel better. Then he slipped the flower back into his pocket and tried to ignore the alarm bell that was starting to toll sonorously, deep in his mind.

  They crossed the country without incident, and after following the placid, picturesque waters of Loch Lochy for a short spell, they picked up the A87 which would take them directly to Kyle of Lochalsh, the crossing point for Skye.

  But as they trundled along the edge of Loch Cluanie, Shavi noticed a column of black smoke rising from an area beyond a steep bank just off the road. Although wary of stopping, once the acrid stink permeated the van it brought with it such an overwhelming sense of unease that they felt an obligation to pull over to investigate. While Veitch scrambled up the bank, the others watched from the van. They knew their worst fears had been confirmed when they saw him grow rigid at the summit. For several moments he stared at what lay beyond and then, without turning, he waved a hand for them to follow. Outside, the smell of oily smoke was choking and the air was filled with the screeching of birds. Cautiously they climbed the bank.

  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 c
arrion 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.