World's End

by Mark Chadbourn

  Church was transfixed by the sheer savagery of their attack. The manner in which they cut a swathe through the Fomorii was almost hypnotic in its brutality.

  The spell was broken when someone grabbed his arm. Church whirled, ready to lash out. He caught himself when he saw it was Tom, then roughly pushed him away in disgust.

  “They don’t control me all the time!” Tom protested.

  “I can’t believe you!” Church began searching for Veitch and Shavi.

  “Then don’t! But heed me-don’t let the Redcaps see you! They’re being controlled to attack the Fomorii, but their natural enemy is man!”

  Just as Tom spoke, one of the creatures broke off his dismemberment of a Fomor and stared in Church’s direction. A second later it had broken away from the pack and was running towards him, its face contorted with rage.

  Church moved at once, sprinting painfully off to one side, but the Redcap followed him unerringly. There were still Fomorii everywhere, though most of them had turned on the attacking Redcaps and were attempting to repel the intruders. He tried to weave among the Fomorii, who were too distracted to pay him any attention, but still the Redcap dogged his heels. And now he could hear the noise it was making-a roar like a big cat that set the hairs on the back of his neck rising.

  Then, through the turmoil, he spotted Shavi curiously up high, waving to him frantically. He turned and ran in his direction.

  Emerging through a pack of Fomorii, Church saw Shavi standing on the top of Callow’s car while the battle raged all about. Veitch was at the rear with the boot open, repeatedly smashing his fist into Callow’s face, which had dissolved into a bloody pulp. But it was Witch’s expression that concerned him the most: he was lost to the violence and rage. Church barged past him, almost stumbling into the boot, and flicked open the crate. A shimmer of blue fire crackled through the talismans. As Church reached in to grab the sword, he was taken aback to feel it leap into his hand. He whirled round with the sword raised just as the Redcap thundered towards him, roaring like the wind, a strangely shaped, heavily chipped axe raised above its head.

  As the axe came down, Church parried the blow, half-expecting his sword to shatter. But it held firm, although the force of the clash jarred every bone in his body. He stumbled backwards against the car, fighting to regain his equilibrium. Then, as the Redcap raised the axe for another blow, Church lashed out madly. The sword hacked into the creature’s face like a knife slicing through butter. Greenish blood showered all over him, burning his skin where it landed, and the Redcap slumped to its knees, dead.

  Church yanked the sword out with an effort, then turned and caught Witch’s arm mid-punch. “Leave him. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  Without waiting for an answer, he clambered atop the car alongside Shavi, to get a better view. “Any way out?”

  “I cannot see one,” Shavi replied.

  Oddly, Church found himself unable to focus on the Fomorii fighting the battle. He could see movement, flying blood and limbs, could hear the terrible sounds they were making, but beyond that it was almost as if they had merged into one lake of darkness which was roiling in the grip of a furious storm.

  But he could see what remained of the Redcaps hacking a path directly to the car. “They want the talismans too,” he said with sudden certainty. And then it came to him. Scanning the vicinity, he soon spotted the unmistakable flurry of movement in a field picked out in silver by the moon’s light. Mollecht and a small group of Fomorii waited patiently.

  “Whoever wins the talismans, gains the power,” he muttered to himself. He turned to Shavi. “Infighting. Suits me fine. Now how-“

  He was cut off by a high-pitched, shrieking cry in the nerve-jarring Fomorii dialect. Calatin had spotted them and was trying to divert his troops from the Redcaps to a defence of the talismans. Church felt a gush of icy fear drench him as the entire ranks of Fomorii and Redcaps turned as one to face him.

  Ruth watched the chaos break out from further up the road, but from that distance it was impossible to tell exactly what was happening. She watched anxiously, wishing she were confident enough to make a decision, batting away Laura’s increasingly irritated calls for information. But then her attention was caught by the briefest shimmer of blue fire and she picked out Church and Shavi standing on the car roof.

  “Hold tight,” she said as she spun the van around in the road.

  “You can’t leave them!” Laura yelled angrily.

  “I’m not. I’m …”-she took a deep breath and slammed the van into reverse-“… ramraiding.” Then she popped the clutch and the van shot backwards with such force Laura screamed. “I said hold tight!” Ruth shouted above the roar of the engine.

  They thundered into the middle of the Fomorii as if they were crashing into a forest. Every time they hit one, something buckled; the nearside was so badly dented Ruth was sure it was going to cave in. The rear windows shattered, showering Laura with glass, then the doors burst open and the one that had been replaced at Glastonbury was torn off. Ruth kept her foot on the accelerator and her gaze on the wing mirror, although she was shaking from head to toe. Even if they made it to Church, she wondered if the van would be in any condition to get them out.

  But then she saw the car’s headlamps loom up and she popped the brakes, stopping an inch or so from its bumper. Before she had thrust the gear stick into first, Veitch had launched himself into the back, with the crate under one arm and the spear in the other hand. Church and Shavi dived in after.

  The Fomorii were already regrouping. Ruth revved the engine and prepared to drive.

  “Wait!” Church called out. She saw him scramble to the back of the van and drag in a bedraggled figure. It was Tom.

  “Leave him!” Veitch yelled. “He’s a fucking traitor!”

  Church bundled the man towards the front of the van, then called for Ruth to go. The van shot forward just as a Fomor punched a hole through the offside. Others were ready to clamber through the open doors. Ruth swung the van from side to side to throw off any that might be clinging on, then ploughed through whatever was in her path. The van was tossed and turned as if it were in an earthquake; she lost the wing mirror; one headlamp exploded; a terrible whine started to come from the engine.

  But somehow she managed to keep going. And when they rumbled over the last body and hit the open road, she was so overcome with relief her eyes filled with tears. She wiped them away before any of the others could see, then moved through the gears rapidly. Soon the dark, turbulent countryside was whizzing by and they were heading back in the direction of the motorway.

  chapter twenty

  revelations

  still say we should have dumped him.” Veitch was squatting dangerously near the missing door, trying to tend to his neck wound with the van’s depleted first aid kit.

  “He had his flaws, but he was okay before those bastards stuck that parasite in his head.” Church watched Tom surreptitiously as he sat quietly with his back to the driver’s seat, bound with the tow rope. He looked about a hundred years old; his skin was sallow, his grey hair matted, and there was a crack across one of the lenses of his wire-rimmed spectacles.

  “I tried to fight it,” Tom said. “Every time it attempted to make me do something against my will, I tried.”

  Church recalled the blood that had been streaming from his nose, ears and eyes at the roadside before the Baobhan Sith attacked, and realised just how hard he had fought.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Veitch continued. “He’s still a liability. However much he wants to help us, that thing in his head means he could turn against us any time. If you don’t want to just throw him out the back, we should at least leave him at the side of the road somewhere.”

  “If you leave me, you’ll never discover what you have to do with the talismans to summon the Tuatha De Danann,” Tom said pointedly.

  Veitch bristled, and made to advance on him. “You trying to blackmail us now?”

  “Leave it, Rya
n.” Church turned to Tom. “Is this another of your great deceits, or can we get a kernel of truth out of you this time?”

  “I know,” Tom stressed. “You need me.”

  “Perhaps that creature in his head could be removed,” Shavi suggested.

  “What? We should kidnap a brain surgeon next?” Veitch said sarcastically.

  “There might be a way,” Tom said.

  Church eyed him suspiciously. “Who could do a thing like that?”

  “No one on this earth.” Tom gave a sickly cough. “Just take me home.”

  They debated the matter as they limped through the remaining hours of night towards the motorway. Veitch was adamant he didn’t want to follow any advice from Tom in case they were led into another trap, but Church felt Tom was telling the truth. He finally extracted a promise from him that he would tell them everything if they helped him, and that was enough of a spur to convince the others; without his information they were lost anyway.

  Home for Tom was near Melrose on the Scottish borders, not far in terms of distance, but it might as well have been a million miles. The engine’s insistent whine told them the van wouldn’t last much longer, and even if they managed to get it fixed, the damage to the body was so bad the police would pull them over the moment they got on to the motorway.

  When dawn finally broke and the landscape was transformed into a place they all recognised, they stopped at a small farm not far from the M6. The farmer was pleasant enough to suggest the nightmares they had experienced at the heart of the Lake District hadn’t yet touched his borders. Even at that time of day he was a canny negotiator though, and he offered to give up his own battered Transit-a second vehicle that was at least ten years old and looked like it barely moved-only for Laura’s portable PC. But at least his Transit was whole, and although the exhaust rattled noisily, it allowed them to continue on their way.

  The day was already turning fine, with just a few streaky clouds on the horizon to mar the blue sky, but the atmosphere in the van was depressive. Although they had regained the talismans, they had paid a huge price. Laura looked sicker than ever, and they were worried she had developed an infection in some of the wounds; Church was concerned that if they didn’t get her to a doctor soon she could become fatally ill. Veitch, Shavi and Church himself were all weakened from their experience and bore numerous wounds inflicted by the Baobhan Sith, with Witch’s neck the worst. Church was convinced the Baobhan Sith had wanted to kill them, but whatever control Calatin exerted had somehow restrained them at the last. Only Ruth seemed to have the strength to continue, and Church could sense she had changed in some way he couldn’t quite understand; she seemed far removed from the woman he had first encountered under Albert Bridge.

  The journey up the M6 was uneventful, but their vigilance didn’t waver; they knew either Calatin or Mollecht would be on their trail soon enough; however, their own little difficulties had been resolved, and with the Fomorii’s shapeshifting abilities, everyone they encountered would have to be studied carefully.

  Tom began to speak more freely as soon as he saw the others were behind him, even though Veitch appeared to be unable to forgive him. As they dissected their experiences in the Lake District, Tom chipped in with occasional pieces of information, about the Baobhan Sith, and about the Redcaps, whom he claimed used to stalk the Border counties in the days when man was first beginning to get a foothold on the island. The battles between the two were bloody, but the Redcaps were eventually driven back into the wildernesses, their numbers dwindling until they eventually retreated to Otherworld. He declined to answer any questions about how he came by the information.

  They took the M6 past Carlisle and then crossed the border into Scotland and headed up to Galashiels. Heavy traffic on the motorway and the arterial road suggested an unshakable normality, which jarred with what they had witnessed in the Lakes. Tom told them to make the most of the facade; it would soon all change.

  Melrose was a compact town below the Eildon Hills on the south bank of the Tweed, dominated by a twelfth century Cistercian abbey. They parked the van near the golf course and wearily stretched their legs; it seemed like weeks since they had slept. Tom claimed his original home had been in the nearby village of Earlston, but after his wanderings began he found a new and unspecified home in the hills.

  Church surveyed the three volcanic peaks which seemed to rise to at least a thousand feet. “You’re expecting us to climb up there?” he said incredulously. “Look at us-we’re on our last legs. Laura can barely stand.”

  “You could always carry me in your big, strong masculine arms, Churchdude,” Laura said ironically.

  “Two of us could accompany Tom,” Shavi suggested, but Church instantly vetoed the idea.

  “After what happened in the Lake District, nobody should be isolated. We ought to stay together, and carry the talismans with us at all times until we get a chance to use them.”

  Laura levered herself into a sitting position. Her skin was so pale it was almost translucent and her hair was matted to her forehead. “There’s a real stink of testosterone round here. Listen, don’t wrap me in cotton wool-I’m not some fragile girlie. You might have to take baby steps, but I’ll keep up with you.” Church began to protest, but she pulled a tape measure from the tool box and threw it at his head. He ducked at the last moment, and when he saw her searching for more ammunition, he knew he would have to relent.

  They took a path beside the golf course. Although the day was sunny, the air had a definite crispness. They passed slowly through gently inclining fields where cows grazed lazily before reaching the wooded lower slopes of the rounded hills. True to her word, Laura kept pace, but Church could see the effort and pain played out on her face; she never complained, nor asked for help. Yet the weakness that occasionally consumed her when they broke for rests gave him cause for concern; he could almost see her health deteriorating before his eyes.

  As the afternoon drew on, grey clouds swept in from the northeast and the chill in the air took on a sharp edge. They became increasingly worried about being caught out in the hills in a storm, or not making it back before night fell.

  “There’s not a house in sight,” Ruth said with breathless irritation as the steepness of the climb increased sharply. “If you’re not having us on, where the hell do you expect to get any help?”

  “Nearly there,” Tom said without meeting her eye. He scanned the landscape before pointing to a hawthorn sapling thirty feet away. “The old tree died,” he said cryptically, “but hawthorn always marks the spot.”

  When they got within ten feet, Tom broke into a run and dropped to his knees before the hawthorn, where he delicately bent forward and kissed the ground.

  “It’s eaten his brain,” Veitch said.

  “Wait, he’s saying something under his breath,” Ruth said anxiously. “He could be tricking us again.”

  Before they could move, there was a deep judder that reverberated deep within the hill and then the ground next to the hawthorn began to tear apart. They fell to their knees from the tremors and when next they looked there was a ragged slit in the earth big enough for them to walk through.

  “Just like the tor!” Shavi said with wonder. “A passage to Otherworld!”

  “I don’t like this.” Ruth plucked up the spear and held it ready for defence. “Who knows where that leads?”

  “Wait. Look at Tom.” Church ran to his side; he had fallen over backwards and was trying to crawl away from the doorway. Strain was etched on his face as he fought the urging of his body and there was blood once more around his nose and ears. “It’s trying to stop him going in there!”

  “Could be a double bluff,” Veitch pointed out.

  “Remember what happened at the tor,” Ruth cautioned. “Time moves differently over there. We might come back and find we’ve missed the deadline.”

  Church ran back to the crate and took out the sword; it rang with inner vibrations as it touched his flesh. “I don’t rec
kon we’ve got any choice. Let’s get him inside.”

  Church grabbed one of Tom’s arms while Veitch hooked the other and together they hauled him towards the rift. A wind howled out of it, carrying with it alien scents that made the hairs on their neck stand upright. For an instant they glanced at each other for support and then, without saying a word, they marched into the dark.

  Church had expected a balmy summer landscape like the one they had encountered beneath the tor. Instead the passage brought them out on to a rocky mountainside shadowed by night, strewn with craggy boulders, thorny, windswept trees and bunches of gorse. A harsh wind howled around them and lightning flashed across the great arc of the sky, although there was no rain. They bunched together for security, searching for any sign of where they were supposed to be going.

  “Blimey. This is a bit different,” Veitch said unsurely.

  “Otherworld has as many different aspects as there are views.” Tom raised himself up to his full height and looked around, a faint smile on his lips. He seemed transformed, at ease. “It’s fluid. A world behind every doorway.”

  “How are you?” Church asked.

  “As well as can be expected. The Caraprix isn’t comfortable in this particular part of Otherworld-that’s why it attempted to prevent me entering. It will hibernate until we leave.”