“Is it like staring into the face of death?” The voice floated out from the serried ranks. Church recognised it instantly. A second later Calatin limped from the mass, a fey, malignant smile on his lips. He held a rusty sword with darkly stained teeth along one edge like a saw.
Church gripped his own sword tightly, though he could barely feel it in his grasp. Veitch was saying something to him, but the words seemed to be breaking up like a badly tuned radio. He turned, saw Witch’s concerned face through a haze of hoar frost. He realised the iciness was starting to reach his brain.
Calatin was facing him across the bridge now, smiling maliciously as though he knew exactly what was going through Church’s mind. Behind him there seemed to be just a black wall. Strangely, when he spoke, his voice rang as clear as a bell.
“Do you feel the thorns in your heart?” He laughed like glass breaking. “We have her, you know, at least that pitiful part of her that remains after the body withers. I love to hear her screams.”
Marianne, Church thought. His heart began to pound, the heat dispelling some of the cold.
“If you had not allowed death and the past to taint you so, there might have been the slimmest of chances that you might have snatched victory here.”
“The sword-” Church croaked.
“The power is not in the sword, Dragon Brother, it is in you. You are the host of the Pendragon Spirit. And you have proven yourself a betrayer of that tradition. Too weak, too trapped by guilt and doubt. We could not have given you the Kiss of Frost if you had not allowed us into your life.”
Slowly, the truth stirred in the depths of his frozen mind. The Fomorii had left nothing to chance, attacking with the Fabulous Beast and the Hunt, using Callow as backup; but most subtly of all, invading him from within, driving into his heart and soul. The Roisin Dubh-the Kiss of Frost-had been seeded into his presence right at the very start, lying dormant until releasing its cold bloom when most needed, when everything else had failed. And the worst thing was that Calatin was right: he had done it to himself, he had known in his heart he should have thrown the rose away, but he had been trapped in his obsession with Marianne and her death and that had driven him to his fate. He had been weak, pathetic; and he had doomed them all.
“Oh, the pain,” Calatin mocked. “It hurts so to see oneself truly in the mirror of life. Sick little boy. Weak little boy.”
Church raised his sword, but the heat he was generating from his emotions was not yet enough; the weapon shook violently in his hand. Veitch seemed to sense Church’s inability to act and, with a growl of obscenities, he launched himself forward. It was an attack born more out of desperation than expertise, and as he swung his sword, Calatin parried easily and lashed out with a backhanded stroke. It caught Veitch a glancing blow across the forehead and he fell to the bridge, unconscious.
Calatin gave a sickly, supercilious grin at Church. “We come with the night,” he hissed, “and all fall before us. Our ways are the truth of existence. Everything you see is decaying, winding its way down into the dark. Why fight the natural order? Welcome it into your lives. Drink up the shadows, still the ticking of the clock, open your heart to the void.”
Church shook his head weakly.
“Now,” Calatin said sarcastically, “let us see how well you fight.”
Ironically, by focusing on Marianne and her torment, Church found he could move a little easier, although it was still not enough. Calatin came at him lazily, swinging his sword like a father fencing with a child. Church blocked and almost dropped his sword. Calatin nipped in and brought the serrated edge of his weapon across Church’s arm; the blood burned on his frozen skin.
And then the strangest thing happened. Church felt as if a bright, white light had suddenly burst through his body; just a flash, and then gone in an instant. And somehow he knew it had emanated from Marianne’s locket, which he kept hidden in the same pocket as the Black Rose.
Whatever had caused it, it was enough to give him a burst of energy. With a skill that seemed to come from somewhere else, he brought his sword up sharply. The tip caught Calatin’s cheek, raising a line of insipid blood. The Fomor whipped his head back in shock, and when he next levelled his gaze at Church, another eyelid appeared to have opened vertically in the eyeball itself, revealing a piercing yellow slit-iris. There was no mistaking the fury in his face. In a frenzy of chopping and hacking, he moved forward. One blow raked open Church’s chest. The next bit deeply into his neck. Blood flowed freely.
Church staggered sideways from the bridge and fell on to the bank. The hoar frost in his vision was turning black. Calatin jumped beside him, still wielding the sword venomously. Another blow, more blood.
Church fell on to his back and slithered down to the water’s edge. He knew he was dying. As Calatin bore down on him, his sword wet with Church’s blood, Church thought of Marianne as a painful swell of bitter emotions washed the ice from him, then Laura, then Ruth and all the others.
Calatin brought the sword down hard and Church had the fleeting impression of floating above himself, looking down on the vision he had had in the Watchtower. And then all became black.
Everything was golden and shimmering, like a river of sunlight, and Ruth felt herself drifting along at the heart of it. It was a far cry from the rush of terror she had felt when the doorway first opened and she had been presented with a vista on the terrible place where the Danann had been banished. But then they had burst out of it, like dawn breaking on a desolate world, and she had been swept up with them, along with Tom and Laura; quite how, she did not know, although she had images of stallions and mares and chariots. Everything was a blur of wonder and awe. Some of them seemed almost human, with beautiful faces, golden skin and flowing hair, but others seemed to be changing their shape constantly as they moved; a few appeared just as light and one or two made her eyes hurt so much she couldn’t bear to look at them or attempt to give them any real shape.
We did it! she thought with a sweeping feeling of such relief and ecstatic joy it brought tears to her eyes. We brought the angels down to earth.
Within seconds they were out of the castle and on the road to the Fairy Bridge. Ruth caught glimpses of sky bluer than she had ever imagined, and grass so green and succulent she wanted to roll in it laughing. And there was music, although she had no idea where it was coming from, like strings and brass and voices mingling in one instrument. She closed her eyes and basked in the glory.
It didn’t last long. Another sound, discordant and somehow stomachturning, broke through the golden cocoon and she snapped her eyes open. She saw a wall of black, of monstrous eyes, and deformed features, and she recognised the sound of the Fomorii shrieking in anger. As the Danann swept down the hillside towards them, they seemed to roll up, fold in on themselves and melt into the grass.
And then in the stillness that followed there was another sound, smaller and reedier, and she discovered Veitch kneeling on the bridge, yelling something at them. His face was filled with despair so acute it broke through her trance. With a terrible wrench she pulled herself from the golden mass and ran towards him.
There was blood on his temple, but that wasn’t the cause of his dismay. He motioned over the side of the bridge, then looked away. She already knew what she would see. She told herself to turn away before she saw so the image would not be with her forever, but she knew she couldn’t be a coward. Her eyes brimming with tears, she looked down on Church’s body half-submerged in the brook, his blood seeping away with the water. She didn’t cry or shout or scream; it was as if all emotion had been torn out of her by a sucking vacuum.
By the time she skidded down the bank her tears were flowing freely and her throat burned from sobbing. She knelt next to the body and took his hand. Why should she feel so bad when it was someone she had met only a few weeks before?
A shadow fell across her and she looked up to see Laura silhouetted against the setting sun. She shifted her position to see Laura’s face and it was a
s she had guessed: cold, dispassionate. “Don’t you feel anything?” she said in a fractured voice.
But Laura didn’t even seem to recognise she was there. She stared blankly at Church’s staring eyes, cocking her head slightly to one side like she was examining a work of art. “I knew you’d do this to me, you bastard,” she said softly.
Veitch slumped down on the edge of the bridge. “At least we won,” he said wearily. “We drove them off. Despite, you know … Despite us being a bunch of losers. We did it.”
They remained there for a painful moment, not knowing what bound them together any more, barely able even to recognise themselves. And then they heard a crunch of gravel and turned to see Tom and one of the Danann walking towards them. The god exuded power from every pore of his golden skin, and when they looked into his almond eyes they saw nothing they knew.
He stopped before them and rested his gaze on each one of them in turn, a faintly disturbing smile playing on his lips.
“Who are you?” Ruth asked faintly.
The smile grew even more enigmatic. “Once my names were known to everyone in the land. So soon forgotten? It will change, it will change. Who am I? I am Nuada, known as Nuada Airgetlamh, known as Nudd, known as Lludd, known as Lud, founder of Londinium, wielder of Caledfwlch.” There was an unpleasant arrogance in the turn of his head. “The Tuatha De Danann give you thanks for freeing us from our place of banishment. In return, the Allfather has given permission for the use of his cauldron.”
Tom held out the bowl they had found under Glastonbury Tor. Ruth looked at him blankly. “The Cauldron of Dagda is the cornucopia, the Horn of Plenty,” he said softly. “It is the Grail, the source of spiritual renewal. The taker of life and the giver of life. The crucible of rebirth.” He smiled. “Take it.”
Ruth’s hands trembled as she took it, barely able to believe what he was saying. The moment her fingers closed around it, she felt a subtle heat deep in her stomach, rising up through her arms to her hands. The moment it hit the bowl, it seemed to weep droplets of gold, which collected in the bottom. When it had partially filled, Tom motioned to Church.
Though uncomprehending, Veitch jumped from the bridge and dragged Church from the water, resting the body in his lap and the head in the crook of his arm. He looked up at Ruth with the simple belief of a child.
Ruth glanced at the golden liquid, which moved almost with a life of its own. A part of her could not bring herself to accept what was being suggested: the dead were dead, a machine switched off never to be restarted; there was no subtle spirit, no beyond or Happy Home fairytale for the religiously naive; everything she had seen could not shake that part of her. But still there was another part of her that accepted wonder and hope, that believed in the World Where Anything Can Happen. There was a time for cynicism and the restraining lessons of adulthood, but this was a time to be a child. She knelt down and placed the bowl to Church’s lips, while Veitch manipulated his mouth so the liquid would flow in. And then the world seemed to hang in space.
There was darkness and warmth and a vertiginous, queasy plummet into something unpleasant. And then Church opened his eyes. Briefly, Veitch and Tom had to restrain him as he was overcome with convulsions; images of Calatin’s attack, the agony of the serrated sword biting into his flesh, the smell of his own fear, passed through his uncomprehending mind in an instant. But the sensations of the changes coming over his body drove the disturbing thoughts from him; the golden liquid seemed to be seeping into every part of him, transforming him as it passed, although he had no idea what he was becoming; yet beneath it there was the numb antagonism of the Fomorii Kiss of Frost still within him; heat and cold, light and dark, battling for supremacy.
“You have been reborn.”
Church looked up into the face of Nuada. It took a second or two to recognise who he was and what he was doing there. Slowly he looked round at the vision of gold and silver, faces almost too beautiful, presences too divine, and the transcendental wonder he felt brought a shiver of deep emotion. Tears sprang to his eyes in relief at the miracle. “The Danann!” His voice sounded like it was being ground out. “The others freed you … you drove away the Fomorii …”
“The Night Walkers departed rather than face our anger at their betrayal of the Covenant.”
Church closed his eyes in relief, resting back against Veitch’s arm. “But you came. We won. Now you can face up to them … drag them back …”
In the long silence that followed, Church knew there was something wrong. He opened his eyes to see Nuada smiling dangerously. “Now we are back,” he said, “we will not be leaving.”
“What do you mean?” Church levered himself upright, suddenly afraid.
“We always coveted a return to this place. We staked our claim upon it in the time before your race. But the pact prevented it and the doors remained closed. Now the Night Walkers have broken the pact. And the doors are open.”
“But the Fomorii are your enemy!” Church protested.
“The fruits of this land are too succulent to ignore for unnecessary confrontation. We have co-existed before. Uneasily, certainly, but the pursuit of our will overrides all other concerns.”
“But they are going to bring back Balor!” There were tears of frustration in Ruth’s eyes.
“Perhaps they will succeed,” he mused superciliously.
Tom knelt before Nuada and bowed his head in supplication. “The Brothers and Sisters of Dragons sacrificed a great deal to free you from your place of banishment, my Lord.”
“And they have our thanks, True Thomas. But their work was not all as it seemed.” Tom looked up at him quizzically. “We are not without foresight. The Fomorii betrayal was anticipated-after all, it was in their nature. We had our preparations. The Brothers and Sisters of Dragons were guided to this moment from the beginning.”
“How?” Church thought he was going to be sick; suddenly he could see all the answers, but he was afraid to examine them.
“The alchemy of death was necessary to change you, to spark the Pendragon Spirit, to start you down the road that would lead to this moment.”
They all looked blank. Tom turned to them, troubled, disorientated. “In all your lives, someone had to die-“
“You killed Marianne!” Church raged suddenly.
Nuada fixed such a dark expression on him Church was shocked into silence. “Our own hands were never raised. We set events in motion. We removed checks, moved balances.” He pointed at Veitch. “He turned and used his weapon at the perfect moment, against his will. Other fragile creatures followed our guidance-“
“Then who killed her?” Church asked dismally.
Nuada turned from him; his smile was both patronising and frightening. “There are many games we can play with this world.” Tom blanched at his words. “The prize has been well worth the rigours.”
He began to walk back to the shimmering golden horde massed beyond the bridge. Church tried to scramble to his feet, but had to be helped up by Veitch. He choked back his emotion and said, as forcefully as he could muster, “At least help us remove the Fomorii. We need you.”
Nuada turned coldly. “Your voice might have carried more weight if it were not polluted by the taint of the Night Walkers. In times before, the Pendragon Spirit would not have occupied such a weak host.”
And then he had joined the rest of the Tuatha De Danann, and Church, Veitch, Tom and Ruth could only watch as the shining host swept out across the countryside like a tidal wave of terrifying, alien force.
chapter twenty-two
beltane
ight fell quickly. Perhaps it was their mood, or the events of the day, but it seemed more preternatural than any they had so far experienced, alive with ancient terrors. They built a fire in the shelter of a grove on the top of a hill where they could see Skye spread out beneath the arc of stars. Ruth remarked they could easily have gone back in time to the Neolithic era. Church replied that in a way they had.
Before the sun se
t they had fetched Shavi from the boat. He had regained some of his equilibrium, but although he attempted to put on a brave face, they could all see that when his smile dropped, he had a look about him like something had been damaged inside; he was haunted, detached. He refused to talk about what had happened when he had linked with the serpent, but he was no longer the man he had been.
Since their individual journeys began, they had all gained new scars, some within, some external, but as their conversation slowly emerged from the atmosphere of desolation they were all secretly surprised to discover bonds of friendship had been forged among them which would not have been there in other circumstances. As Church looked at their faces around the fire, he found a surprising burst of hope at that revelation; it was such a tiny thing in the face of all that had happened, but somehow it seemed important.
Without it, he mused, the realisation that their lives had been manipulated and ruined by higher powers could have destroyed them. Even so, each of them, in their own way, felt broken. Veitch, who had been ruined by the guilt of the murder he had committed; Ruth, who had lost her uncle and father; Shavi, who had lost his boyfriend; and Laura, whose mother had died while she lay unconscious. And there he was, two years of his life wasted by a suffering that need never have happened, the one thing he valued most destroyed, his entire existence spoiled; Marianne had been so important to him, life itself, and she had been treated as if she mattered less than a weed in the garden. All of that misery had been carried out purely on a whim, by a race of beings who thought so little about humanity they couldn’t even bring themselves to act with contempt. He would have felt rage if it hadn’t been so terrible; instead there was just despair at the senselessness of it all.
He sat in silence with Laura for the first hour after twilight, both of them lost to their thoughts. “Still, it could have been worse, right?” she said eventually. “If the Danann hadn’t returned, we wouldn’t have been sitting here now. The Fomorii would have wiped the world clean. You did that.”
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