Veitch inspected the rest of the chamber, but there were no other distinguishing marks. "So, what? We have to find the combination?"
"Something like that."
"Good job there's not a lot riding on it," Veitch noted bitterly.
"You know," Church said, "there might be a switch in one of those holes." He tapped his fingers gently at the entrance to the middle one.
"That's not much of a security system."
"Here," Tom said sharply. Church and Veitch turned to where he was pointing. A trickle of frothy sea water had washed up the tunnel to the mouth of the chamber.
"The tide must sweep in quickly through the other entrance to the cave." Church handed Tom the Wayfinder, then turned back to the holes. "Bloody hell. We haven't got much time. What do we do?" Steeling himself, he rammed his hand into the middle hole. It went in up to the middle of his forearm and at the far end there were two loops of metal which his fingers slipped through easily. "I think there is a switch here!"
"Well, pull the bleedin' thing then and let's get the hell out." Veitch eyed the advancing water nervously; it was already another six inches into the chamber.
Tom and Veitch both realised something was wrong from the sudden, bloodless expression on Church's face. "Something's closed around my wrist. I can't get my hand out." He tugged frantically, but his arm wouldn't retract at all.
The sea water washed around their shoes, which were sinking into the sandy floor. Veitch leapt into action. He put his arms around Church's waist, braced himself with one foot against the chamber wall and heaved. Church yelled in pain. "You'll pull my bloody hand off!" Veitch released his grip with a curse.
"Relax your muscles," Tom ordered. "It might be like one of those oriental finger locks-the harder you pull, the more you are held tight."
"I don't feel in a particularly relaxed frame of mind," Church hissed. His socks and the bottoms of his Levis were already wet. He closed his eyes and attempted to calm himself with pleasant thoughts from his past, then felt a dismal wash of emotion when he realised they all contained Marianne. But it did the trick. Yet even when he let his hand go limp, the bond around his wrist remained as tight as ever. His shoulders slumped and he shook his head desolately.
"This water's flooding in!" Veitch barked. It was up to their calves, and when he paced anxiously it splashed dark stains up the legs of his trousers.
"That's not doing any good!" Church snapped.
"Calm down," Tom said. "It won't do any good to panic."
"That's easy for you to say." Church could feel his heart beating like a triphammer, his back and shoulder muscles knotting tightly. Although he tried not to think about it, images flashed through his mind of the water flooding into his mouth and nose, filling his throat, his lungs. "You two should get out of here while you still can," he said as calmly as he could muster.
"Don't be stupid! We can't leave you here-you're the important one!" Veitch's face was filled with the anger of frustration.
"Just get out!" Church shouted, his eyes blazing.
"He's right," Tom said, his voice almost lost beneath the echoes of lapping water. "Someone has to be left to try again, or everything-"
"Shut up, you coldhearted bastard," Veitch growled. "You're talking bollocks." He splashed around the cave like a trapped animal, his fists bunching, then opening. "I told you, he's the important one. We're just a couple of losers."
"Get out," Church repeated, gentler now he had seen the dismay in Witch's face.
"There's got to be an answer!" Veitch exploded. "Whoever did this wouldn't just leave it so everybody died!"
The water surged in, lapping up the walls, tugging at their legs. It appeared to be coming faster and faster. When it hit Church's waist, it seemed to flush the panic from him briefly. Suddenly, on a whim, he pushed his free hand into the left hole. There was a click and his trapped hand came free, but as he withdrew it jubilantly a bond snapped around his other wrist. He cursed loudly, waving the now-free hand to stimulate the blood supply.
"So triggering one switch frees the other one," Tom said.
"That's a lot of use!" Church said. "There's always got to be one hand in there."
"But still ..." Tom mused, wiping the splashes of water off his glasses.
"How can you be so calm?" Veitch bellowed at him. Tom replaced his glasses as if he hadn't heard a sound, and for a second Church thought Veitch was going to punch him.
"Take it easy, Ryan," he said.
Church's calmness had an odd effect on Veitch. For a second his eyes ranged over Church's face, then he turned away as if he suddenly couldn't understand what was happening in the world.
The sea water continued to rush in, splashing up high, throwing them around. It had reached their chests in just a couple of minutes; desperation gripped them all. Tom held the Wayfinder up high, its light painting the water azure, but even when the tide splashed over the flame it didn't extinguish it. Church wondered if it would still be burning away beneath the water at the side of his drowned, bloated body.
Tom placed one hand on Veitch's shoulder. "We need to leave," he said quietly.
The water whooshed in, the current almost too much to bear. Church thought it was going to tear his hand off at the wrist. He had to fight to keep his head above the swell. Now he could feel the panic surging.
There were tears in Veitch's eyes as he looked from Tom to Church, then he ducked his face in the water. When he threw his head back, the shock of the cold had sluiced off his emotion and he seemed to have a renewed purpose.
Church took a mouthful of salty water. He choked, tried to kick upwards, sucked in a huge gulp of air.
Veitch half-swam over to the holes and paused while he looked deeply into Church's eyes. Through his panic, Church could see Veitch weighing something up. Then the Londoner moved, suddenly forcing both his hands into the remaining holes.
"No!" Church yelled, but it was too late. He felt the bond around his wrist release and his hand shot free.
Before Church could vent his anger at Veitch for his sacrifice, there came a rumble from deep within the cavern wall and gradually a dark space appeared at head height above the holes. Within it Church could see blue sparks flashing, and an aged iron sword lying on a stone shelf. At the same time, Veitch's hands came free and another space opened-a doorway this time-on the other side of the chamber. Veitch whooped triumphantly as Church grabbed the sword and then they were all swimming frantically to the doorway. On the other side was a tight spiral of stairs rising steeply. They scrambled up high above the water level and crashed down on to the steps in exhaustion.
"I don't believe it," Church gasped. "I don't bloody believe it!"
Tom removed his glasses and rubbed a hand over his weary eyes. "There was another dimension to the puzzle," he said. "The key was sacrifice. It would not give up the sword until we showed we understood sacrifice."
"You're talking like it knew what we were doing." Veitch had a satisfied, slightly amazed smile on his face. He closed his eyes and lay back on the steps until his breathing returned to normal. Then he sat up and said, "Let's have a look at it, then."
Church laid the sword on the steps and held the Wayfinder over it so they could examine it. Few would have given it a second glance. It was of a bare, basic design and appeared to be made of iron which had corroded badly; there were no distinguishing marks or aesthetic elements at all.
But it was obvious from Witch's face that he was seeing something different. "Excalibur?" he asked reverentially.
"The Sword of Nuada Airgetlamh," Church corrected. He glanced at Tom, who had a flicker of a knowing smile on his lips. "Or perhaps they're different names for the same thing, for something that can't be defined."
"That is the problem with legends," Tom said wryly. "They are imprecise ways of defining the indefinable."
"You two bastards should never be allowed to talk to each other," Veitch grumbled, pulling himself to his feet. "Let's get out of here before the w
ater finds us."
As Church rose, he turned to Veitch and said awkwardly, "Thanks. You know, for what you did-"
Veitch shifted uncomfortably. "No problem." Then, "You're not going to bloody hug me, are you?"
"No, I'm not!" Church said indignantly. "Come on. Let's climb."
The steps ascended steeply in a spiral so tight it made them dizzy; they had to rest at regular intervals. Yet their success had left them with a strange euphoria, as if they had started living only at that moment; the sharp, salty tang in the air, the touch of the hard, cold rock, the echoes of their feet, the shimmering blue light reflected off the wet walls, all seemed heightened to such a degree they almost seemed like new experiences. The sword was strangely warm against Church's back as they scrambled up the rough-hewn steps; if he allowed himself to think about it, he would have noted it almost felt alive, like some unseen friend was resting an arm against him.
The steps ended suddenly at a stone ceiling on which was carved a stylised image of a dragon with a serpent-like body. There was another brief flurry of blue sparks when Church placed both hands on it and heaved, and then, with a loud creak, a square trapdoor eased open, revealing a patch of star-sprinkled sky. Church hauled himself out on to clipped grass and then offered a hand to Veitch and Tom.
They were on the windswept top of the island where the oldest part of the castle stood. All around, Church could see the broken foundations and rough outlines of buildings that dated back to the Celts.
"We did it!" Veitch said with a broad grin. Even Tom allowed himself a tight smile of triumph.
"If Laura and Ruth got away, we're two artefacts down and only two to go," Church noted with a grin. "You know, I think we're going to do it."
"That was a buzz and a half!" Veitch continued exuberantly. "Better than drugs. This is what life's about!"
The small island was just a high mound of rock covered by scrubby grass and the ruins. From their vantage point they could look down on the surrounding coastline where the sea crashed in eruptions of white foam, and in the distance the lights of the village of Tintagel blazed like a beacon.
"You reckon we can get a room for the night? I don't fancy kipping in a ditch," Veitch asked as they headed in the direction of the bridge over the thin neck of rock that joined the island to the mainland.
Before Church could answer, the wind died briefly and they heard the unnerving fluttering sound that had pursued them into the cave earlier. Tom's face grew taut; in the excitement he had obviously forgotten about it too.
"What is that?" Veitch asked anxiously. They stood stock-still, listening intently; it seemed to be coming from the direction of the bridge. As it grew louder it sounded like a sheet flapping in the wind, but there were other disturbing notes which they couldn't place.
Church looked behind him. The land fell away sharply into treacherously steep, crumbling cliffs. "There's no other way out, is there?"
"I said, what is it?" This time Veitch gripped Tom's arm, who shook it off roughly, then started to cast around for some place to turn.
While the others held back, Church ran to the ruins of a chapel and peered down the bank to the Inner Ward, fifty yards away from where the noise seemed to be emanating. He saw several dark shapes moving cautiously through the castle and, at the head of them, a strange disturbance in the air; he could see movement, but the shadows prevented him picking out any detail. Two of the shapes waited at the top of the steps which were the only exit from the island.
"Fomorii?" Tom asked him when he ran back to them.
"I think. And something else too, but I can't make it out. There's no way past them."
"Then we fight the bastards here." Veitch's bravado belied the fear in his eyes. He pulled out his gun and examined it-they all knew it would do no good-before returning it to his pocket and removing a long hunting knife from a sheath he had hidden under his jacket.
"I got it while you two were buying the food in Launceston," he said.
"I didn't think you had any cash," Church noted.
"I don't." He looked away uncomfortably, then pointed to a small jumble of foundations near where the land fell away on to the cliffs. "If we make a stand there, they won't be able to come up behind us."
As they hurried towards the spot, Church pulled out the sword; Tom shied away from it instantly. It seemed to shift slightly in Church's hand, as if it were settling into his grip. The warmth he had noted earlier flowed up his tendons into his forearm.
"That thing looks like it'll fall apart if you clout anything with it," Veitch said.
"It's got power inside it, I can feel it. I reckon I can do a bit of damage."
They were aware of the Fomorii approaching before the dark shapes had separated from the shadows; the attackers were preceded by an unpleasant feeling that operated beyond the five senses, churning the stomach and making their throats constrict. Tom brushed Church's and Veitch's temple briefly. "You will keep your senses when you see them," he said quietly.
"Magic?" Veitch grunted. "You bloody well are Merlin."
"Shut up," Tom snapped.
The fluttering sound grew much louder as the hideously misshapen figures gradually took form. They crested the summit of the island and began to move forward, powerfully and relentlessly. In the centre of the approaching force was an intense, tightly constrained mass of whirling shapes.
As it drew nearer, Church picked details out of the gloom, until he said querulously, "Birds?"
"Crows," Tom corrected.
"Mollecht." Church winced at the memory of Tom's description.
The crows were swirling around, wings flapping madly yet seeming never to collide with each other. Their incredibly complex pattern suggested the shape of a man at their core, but it was impossible to see any sign of him.
Witch gasped as the birds swept across the grass towards them with an eerie, unnatural speed; it was such a terrifying sight that the other Fomorii seemed insignificant.
Tom was muttering something under his breath, prayers or protective incantations, Church couldn't tell which. Veitch kept glancing down at the hunting knife in his hand, now made pathetic and useless. He went to throw it away, then clutched it tight for security.
Church took a deep breath and cleared all thoughts from his head. Ignoring the fear, he stepped in front of the other two and held the sword up with both hands. He moved it awkwardly, but somehow it seemed to correct its balance itself. From the corner of his eye, he thought he glimpsed a crackle of blue fire along its edge.
It had an immediate effect. The crows came to a sudden halt about twenty feet away and began to shift back and forth along a wide arc. The night was suddenly torn by the monkey screeches and guttural roars of the Fomorii. Church moved the sword around, hoping it would be enough to frighten them off, but the attackers held their ground.
Before he could make another move, the crows emitted a fierce cawing and their swirling became even more frenzied. A second later a hole opened up in the heart of them. Church glimpsed an entity inside that made his eyes sting and his gorge rise, and then something dark and translucent erupted out of it and burst over their heads. The shockwave threw them to their knees and an awful sulphurous smell filled the air. Church felt his skin crawling, as if insects were swarming all over him. He glanced down to see pinpricks of blood bursting from his pores. Tom was screaming something, but Church's ears were still ringing from the explosion, and when he glanced to one side Veitch was yelling too. His face was covered with blood.
In that instant the other Fomorii surged forward. Tom grabbed Church's shirt and yanked, a signal to retreat. The three of them backed away hurriedly, but within seconds the ground was falling away beneath their feet and they were desperately trying to right themselves on the steep incline towards the cliffs. Church brandished the sword before him, but the Fomorii seemed quite content to herd the three of them where there was nowhere else to go. The buffeting wind at his back and the roaring of the sea as it crashed against the
cliffs told him when they had run out of land, and time. He glanced back briefly. They were a foot away from the precipice; far beneath, the white water sucked and thrashed menacingly against the rocks. There was no way they could survive a plunge.
His skin was slick with blood from head to toe, but the only thought that dominated his mind was that he had wasted too long worrying about the Watchtower's untrue premonition of his death.
The first of the Fomorii moved forward with a roar and, despite Tom's spell, Church could still not look it full in the face. He closed his eyes and lashed out blindly with the sword. The impact made his bones ache, forcing his eyes open. He was shocked to see the sword had sliced through whatever the creature had instead of a collar bone and had imbedded itself in its skeleton. It was howling wildly and flailing its limbs as it died; Church almost vomited from the foul stench that was emanating from the wound. With an immense effort, he wrenched out the sword and swung it in an arc, cleaving off the beast's head.
He didn't have time to celebrate, for at that moment the screeching of the remaining Fomorii reached a crescendo and they moved forward as one. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Tom hunched over, muttering to himself, his hands and arms twitching as if he had an ague. Then Veitch was at his side, shouting obscenities as he waved the hunting knife so violently it no longer seemed as feeble as it had before.
The Fomorii bore down on them in a wave of deformed bodies, radiating a dark, terrifying power that made him sick to his stomach. Feeling the fear and despair surge through him, Church swung the sword back and closed his eyes. He thought, This is-
Something grasped the collar of his jacket and hauled him backwards. His heels kicked grass, rock and then nothing, and he was falling so fast the wind tore his breath from his mouth. There was no time to think of anything before he hit the waves hard. An instant later he blacked out as the water surged into his mouth and nose and pulled him far beneath the swell.
Shavi, Ruth and Laura sat on the cold stone bench in the tiny tower that was all that remained of St. Michael's Church, perched high on top of the tor. Through the open arch where the wind blew mercilessly they could see the lights of Glastonbury spread out comfortingly in the intense dark just before dawn. On the cracked stone floor before them stood the plastic bottle which contained the water they had brought from the Chalice Well.
World's End (Age of Misrule, Book 1) Page 35
