World's End

by Mark Chadbourn

  “I think we’re all adapting,” Ruth said. There was something in her tone that made them feel uncomfortable.

  “You’re simply achieving your potential,” Tom said. “That’s why you’ve all been selected.”

  “You have to survive to achieve potential,” Church said with irritation. “Look, this isn’t getting us anywhere. Shavi, if you can do something, anything, do it. If not, let’s get searching.”

  In the end, Shavi agreed he would find a quiet place to attempt a divination while the others continued the hunt. Accompanied by Church, they settled on an area where they were unlikely to be disturbed, in a secluded corner of the ruined hall where thistles and willowherb grew with abandon. It was a fencedoff, sheltered space under an overhanging stairway that ended in thin air.

  “I normally do this alone,” Shavi said, taking a mouthful of mushrooms from a tightly wound plastic bag hidden in his jacket, “but there is no time to recover from the trip. I fear I will be of little use to you for a while afterwards.”

  “I don’t care if we have to carry you round on a stretcher as long as you give us something we can use,” Church said. He sat on a lump of masonry while Shavi adopted a cross-legged position against the wall. “This stuff really works, then?”

  “Sometimes. Never quite in the way I hope, but enough to make it worthwhile. It is not scientific. If there are any rules, I have no idea what they might be.”

  “That sounds like a mantra for this new age,” Church said wearily.

  “It was always that way, Jack. Before, we lied to ourselves or listened to religious leaders and scientists who lied to themselves. Perhaps one of the good things that will come out of all this is that people will start searching for meaning within themselves.”

  “You have a very optimistic view of human nature.” Church let his eyes rise up the cracked grey walls to the clear blue sky above. “Sometimes I think there’s no meaning in anything. Just random events impacting on one another. Chaos giving the illusion of a coherent plan.” But his words were lost; Shavi was already immersed in his inner world.

  For half an hour, nothing happened. Church became increasingly agitated as Shavi sat stock-still and silent, his eyes closed. But just as Church was about to give in to the futility of the moment, Shavi began to mumble, barely audibly to begin with, but then increasingly louder; Church had the uneasy sensation that he was hearing one side of a conversation.

  “Yes.”

  “We are searching for something. You know what.”

  “That is correct.”

  “No. Everyone is to be trusted.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Everyone is to be trusted.”

  “Yes, I am sure. Will you guide me to the item we need to find?”

  “I will accept responsibility if things go wrong. Of course I will.”

  “Yes.”

  “And we will find it there?”

  “Thank you for your guidance. Now I must-“

  “What do you want to show me?”

  “Oh.”

  There was a long humming silence in which Church realised he was holding his breath waiting for the next part of the unsettling conversation. Shavi’s lips seemed to quiver as if he were about to speak; Church leaned forward in anticipation.

  Suddenly Shavi’s eyes burst wide open and he let out a deep, strangled cry. Church leapt back in shock. “I see it!” he gasped. Blood bubbled out of one nostril and trickled down to his lip.

  Recovering quickly, Church jumped forward and grabbed Shavi by the shoulders, afraid he was about to have some kind of fit. “Are you okay? I can get help.”

  Although Shavi’s eyes were open, he was not looking at anything Church could see; his pupils were fixed on a distant horizon. “I see it!” he repeated. “Coming across the land, like someone drawing a black sheet. They are here! They are everywhere!” He swallowed noisily. “The city is burning! We walk over bodies heaped in the road. There is no hope anywhere. Everyone is dead. What did they do? They brought him back. Balor!” He coughed a mouthful of blood on to the stony ground. “Balor.”

  The word sent a shiver through Church. Suddenly he was back in the mine, listening to Tom’s croaking voice recounting the terrible history of the Fomorii. “Balor,” he repeated fearfully. Their long-dead leader, all-powerful, monstrously evil. The one-eyed god of death who almost destroyed the world.

  Church prevented Shavi slumping sideways, then, holding him under his arms, dragged him to his feet. He was afraid to take Shavi out into the main part of the castle in case someone saw, but the fear that he might be on the verge of a coma or heart attack drove him on. As Church struggled to walk with him, though, Shavi seemed to recognise what Church was doing.

  “Leave me,” he croaked. “Fine … fine … just need time.”

  Church was torn, but when Shavi protested more insistently, Church went along with his wishes. He laid him back down against the wall, on his side in case he vomited. “I’ll get the others,” he whispered.

  But as he started to walk off, Shavi grabbed his leg and hissed, “Under the drawbridge.” He wiped away the blood with the back of his hand, but his eyes were already rolling up. Church left him there with an uncontrollable sense of impending doom.

  “You reckon we’re on a wild goose chase too?” Veitch caught up with Laura on top of the highest tower, where she leaned on the battlements staring out to sea.

  Her ever-present sunglasses made it impossible to read her eyes, but there was the hint of an ironic smile. “That, and other cliches.”

  “We haven’t had much of a chance to talk-“

  “That’s because you’re a murderer and everybody hates you.”

  Despite himself, Veitch felt his welcoming smile wash away. “That’s a sharp tongue,” he said coldly.

  “I like it. I can get olives out of a jar without a fork.”

  Veitch shook his head, unsure. “You ever say anything that isn’t smart?”

  “Do you ever say anything that is?”

  The smile remained; Veitch couldn’t tell if it was playful or mocking, but his insecurities made him fear the worst. “If you don’t want to-“

  “Stop being so sensitive. You shot some poor bastard. Deal with it and move on. Make amends, ignore it, just don’t wallow in a big, slimy pool of guilt.” She turned back to the sea, raising her face slightly to feel the sun.

  Her words gave him some comfort, but he still couldn’t begin to work her out; she made him feel stupid, uncomfortable, but he couldn’t deny being attracted from the first time he had heard her display her savage wit. He leaned on the masonry next to her, fumbling for the right words. “How do you feel about giving up your life to join this nightmare expedition?”

  “It’s something to do.”

  “What about your friends? Your folks?”

  “Friends are those who’re around you at the time. My parents died in a car crash.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  She inclined her face slightly towards him, her smile now sly. Veitch felt his cheeks colour. “Was that your idea of subtle?”

  “Dunno what you mean.” He shifted uncomfortably.

  “You’ve got a pretty face and a good bod, but you’re not my type, coniprende? No offence and all, but I think we ought to nip this in the bud before the conversation gets clogged up with all those stupid manoeuvrings.”

  Veitch looked away, unsure what to say.

  “Don’t get all hurt-“

  “I’m not hurt.” He felt a sudden surge of irritation at that supercilious smile.

  “If you’re looking for a girlie, there’s always Gallagher, although you could get a bad case of frostbite. Or,” she chuckled mischievously, “Shavi.”

  Veitch eyed her suspiciously. “He’s a queen?”

  “131, actually.” His face obviously gave away his prejudices, because her smile drained away. “You never know,” she said icily, “it might do you the world ofgood.”

  Before he coul
d reply, she spotted Church walking across the green and hailed him. Veitch saw an obvious enthusiasm in her face that revealed exactly how she felt about their unelected leader; it was the first honest emotion he had seen in her, and after his rejection it made him feel cold inside. As he followed her down the steps to meet the others, his anger was already forming into an impacted lump in his chest.

  Church took the others back to where Shavi lay, explaining what had happened as they ran. The bloodflow from his nose had stemmed, but he was still dazed, rambling. Ruth knelt beside him and checked his pulse.

  “We should get him to a hospital.” The concern was evident on her face. “He could have had a brain seizure. This is what happens when you mess with drugs.”

  “I don’t think it was the mushrooms.” Church still couldn’t shake the memory of what had happened. “It began after he had some kind of apocalyptic vision.”

  “Did he tell you anything important?” Tom said anxiously.

  “Come on,” Ruth protested. “Shavi needs help!”

  “I can do something for him,” Tom snapped. “Leave him with me while you continue with the search. Now, did he tell you anything important?”

  Church tried to remain calm. “Something about them … the Fomorii, I suppose … being everywhere. About bodies in the streets and some city burning.” With a shiver, Church had a sudden flash of his own premonition in the Watchtower; he hadn’t made the connection before. “And he said they’re bringing back Balor.”

  Tom blanched.

  Ruth saw the expressions on both their faces. “What does that mean?”

  “We can talk about it later,” Church said. “Finding the spearhead is more pressing. Shavi also said to look under the drawbridge. That makes sense-the first three artefacts were under Avebury, under Tintagel and under Glastonbury Tor.”

  He left Tom behind to care for Shavi and led Laura, Ruth and Veitch out of the castle gates. His first thought had been to leave the crate with Tom to free up their hands, but after Shavi’s premonition he decided to keep the objects of power as close to him as possible. Through the gatehouse they skidded down the grassy bank into the dry moat and walked under the drawbridge. At first nothing caught their eye, but after Church had run his hands over the turf on the castle side, he discovered an odd, raised shape. It seemed to be a protruding lump of masonry, but he scrabbled the grass off with his fingernails and discovered it was in the shape of a spearhead.

  After checking they weren’t being watched, Church pushed, pulled and twisted the rock in a blind attempt to open it. Eventually something seemed to work, although he wasn’t sure what, and there was a burst of blue sparks. An opening grew in the grassy bank, leading under the castle. As they slipped in quickly, they felt the same odd sensation of entering a bubble as they had on Caldey. The moment they were all in, the opening closed silently behind them, leaving them in the oppressive darkness of a tomb.

  Church took out the Wayfinder, which gave them enough light to see they were in a tunnel in what appeared to be the bedrock. The walls were wet and shimmering, and the floor sloped slightly downwards.

  “If these artefacts were hidden millennia ago, are you telling me it’s pure coincidence that structures have been erected over the top of them?” Ruth’s whisper was almost reverential, yet it echoed like the tide along the tunnel.

  “You’ve felt their power,” Church replied. “Who knows what subtle influences they exert? Maybe they drew the builders.”

  The tunnel opened out into a stone chamber about the size of the one they had discovered under Tintagel.

  “If you see any holes in the wall, don’t put your hands in them,” Veitch deadpanned.

  “There are holes,” Church noted, spraying the light across the chamber. “Or niches, to be more precise.”

  The four openings were of different sizes in a horizontal line on the far wall. Veitch was the first to them, and he investigated cautiously, withdrawing his hand repeatedly in case something shut down on it.

  “There’s an indentation at the bottom of each one,” he said. “This one’s round.” He moved on. “Another round one.” The next. “Long and thin. And this one, not so long and not so thin.”

  They mulled over the information briefly, but Ruth was the first with the answer. “They’re for each of the talismans,” she said excitedly. “It’s impossible to solve this one unless you’ve already got through all the other ones.”

  “Big wows. Aren’t you smart?” Laura said sarcastically. “So if we’re also supposed to learn something from each of these puzzles, tell me what we’ve picked up from Caldey and here. Apart from never look a severed head in the eye.”

  Church ignored her; he was already unloading the talismans from the packing crate. With Veitch’s help, he dropped the stone and the cauldron into the first two holes; they fit perfectly. The sword went into the fourth. The inden tation in the third hole showed the full shape of the spear, including the head. Church carefully positioned the handle of the spear and the moment it lowered into place, the space for the head opened and a blue light flooded up. A second later the actual head rose into place.

  “We’ve done it!” Church said triumphantly.

  “You know, I almost expected cheers,” Ruth added with a broad grin.

  Veitch didn’t seem so jubilant. “Yeah, great, we’ve just signed our death warrant.”

  “Ah, Mr. Glass-Half-Empty,” Laura said coolly. “Just pick up the damned pieces and let’s get out of here.”

  They hurriedly gathered up the artefacts, and the moment the last one came out, another door opened up in the wall; they could see blazing sunlight at the end of it.

  “How long to sunset?” Veitch asked anxiously.

  Church checked his watch. “Four hours. Lots of time.”

  “Depends which way you look at it.” Veitch was already in the tunnel and moving as fast as he could.

  Whatever Tom had done, Shavi had recovered slightly when they met up with them, but he was still loose-limbed and dazed. To the curious stares of onlookers, Church and Veitch helped walk him out of the castle and back to the van.

  “He’s not going to be much use to us tonight,” Church said redundantly.

  “He wouldn’t be much use if he was normal,” Veitch said sourly. “So, we going to run for it or make a stand?”

  “I vote we run and don’t spare the horses,” Laura said hastily.

  Veitch was obviously ready for a confrontation. “And I vote we make a stand. Let’s face it, they’re going to catch us sooner or later. That’s their whole reason for existing.”

  “Well, aren’t you the macho man. What are you doing to do-flex your biceps and hope they faint?” Laura jabbed him in the sternum with her fingertips, unbalancing him.

  Church held out an arm as Veitch advanced angrily. “He’s right,” he said. “We wouldn’t get far if we ran.”

  “Then what do you suggest? Wet towels at dawn?”

  Church was encouraged to see some real emotion in Laura’s blazing eyes; it seemed to be happening more and more. “We’ve got four powerful artefacts here. Surely they’ve got to be some use.”

  “What? Use them ourselves?” Laura said.

  “It might work.”

  “It might work. If we lived in cloud-cuckoo-land.”

  “We are supposed to be some kind of champions,” Ruth said.

  “Right.” Laura’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “A screwed-up techno head, an old hippie, a woman with a poker up her arse, a drugged-up fey romantic, a murderer and-” she nodded towards Church “-him. Some big fucking champions.”

  “So we roll over and die like good little slaves?” Veitch responded angrily.

  Laura pulled a face, then walked off. Church waited a moment before following and found her sitting on the grass on the other side of an ice cream van where the attendant was lazing in the back with a copy of the Sun.

  “All this is out of our hands now, you know,” he said, sitting down next to her.<
br />
  Eventually she said, “I like to have choices.”

  He nodded, watching the midges dance in the sunlight. “I know it’s a cliche, but this is bigger than anything we feel. This must be how they felt going off to the Great War. Scared, but with a great sense of responsibility, a feeling of being part of some great … I don’t know, destiny.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way, because I’m completely ruled by selfpreservation here.”

  “You’re saying we can’t count on you when the chips are down? I don’t believe that.”

  “You think you know me, do you?” She turned her head away so he couldn’t see her expression.

  “Yes. I think I know you.”

  She thought for a moment, then rolled up her T-shirt so he could see the words scarred into her back.

  Church caught his breath, but said nothing for a while. Then, “Who did that?”

  “It doesn’t matter who.” She paused. “Does it make you feel sick to see it?”

  “My God, how could someone be so inhuman?” Church said in shocked disbelief.

  “There are a lot of sick bastards out there. I said, does it make you feel sick?”

  Church gently reached out to touch the scar tissue, then retracted his fingers at the last moment. Laura seemed to sense what he was doing for she leaned in towards him, only slightly, but enough to move into his personal space. Away from the pink cicatrix, her skin seemed unduly soft; he could smell her hair, the faint musk of her sweat from the morning’s exertions. And suddenly he had an overwhelming need for physical contact, just to feel humanity and emotion rather than the cold, hard wind of constant threat. He reached out his hand again.

  “Stop making goo-goo eyes at each other. We’re running out of time.” Veitch was standing at the back of the ice cream van, his expression cold and hard.

  Church jumped to his feet. “Yeah, you’re right.” He held out his hand and hauled Laura up; she held on to it for a moment longer than she needed, then withdrew her fingers so softly it was almost a caress.

  Back at the van, they decided to find someplace with strong defences where they at least stood a chance of making a stand; if any of them were feeling fatalistic, it didn’t show. But when Witch went to turn the key, the engine was dead. “We can’t fucking rely on anything!” he said, hammering his fist on the steering wheel.