“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
he 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 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.”
V
eitch suddenly spotted them huddled together. “Oi! What are you two plotting?”
Shavi lost himself in thought for a moment, then confidently strode over.
They headed 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.
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