Always Forever

Chapter Seventeen

Despite all they had seen, Laura and Shavi were still overwhelmed by the incongruous sight of an army of otherworldly beings trooping along the M4, where tourist buses and cars and articulated lorries had once trundled bumper to bumper. Occasionally they passed an abandoned vehicle, windows smeared in thick dust, that only added to the sense of dislocation.

There had been a brief flurry of activity as they came into London past the now-silent Heathrow Airport. A group of Fomorii had attacked, shrieking and howling, but it had been half-hearted and directionless, and the attackers had drifted off once their casualties had started to mount. The Tuatha De Danann were armed with a terrifying array of weapons constructed by Goibhniu and his brothers in their secret smithies, some of which could deal death at a great distance, but it did not appear that this show of strength was the cause of the retreat. Many of the Fomorii had disappeared into the houses that lined the motorway, while the flying Night Walkers had retreated into the bank of thick clouds.

"I expected greater defiance," Baccharus said as the road wound past Osterley towards Brentford. "They will not allow us to drive directly into the heart of their nest, where their most sacred thing resides."

The atmosphere didn't help the growing apprehension. When the wind blew in the wrong direction, Shavi and Laura had to cover their mouths and noses with scarves to keep out the choking smoke filled with sickening chemical undertones. It was cold, too, the sun mostly obscured by the clouds; they were wearing several layers of borrowed clothes beneath their old jackets.

The fires blazing near to the motorway brought little warmth, but cast a hellish red glow across the empty houses, shops and business premises. Homes stood with doors torn off and windows smashed. In some the roof had caved in, while in the worst places entire streets had been demolished. Although many areas appeared relatively untouched, it was almost impossible to imagine the Fomorii occupation, and how terribly the residents must have suffered.

Shavi continually scanned the buildings on either side, until Laura said, "Can't you do something? You're supposed to be the big magician."

"Any abilities I might have are shamanic. I prefer a quiet space to meditate, something to put me into the right frame of mind."

"You set all those animals on the Bone Inspector at Rosslyn Chapel. Can't you send an army of… I don't know, badgers, on ahead?"

"Badgers?"

"You know what I mean. Anything."

He coughed into his scarf as a swirl of smoke engulfed them. "We would need a Ryan or a Church to offer any true resistance to a direct assault by the Fomorii. Or even a Ruth, if what I hear of her advancing abilities is true. This is not the best situation for us."

"Speak for yourself. I've learnt a few new tricks myself since I became the Chlorophyll Kid."

"Oh?" He eyed her curiously. "What can you do?"

"Mind your biz. And hope I don't have to show you." She tied her scarf tighter so she resembled a Bedouin riding into a sandstorm.

The lack of resistance was unnerving even the Tuatha De Dannan now. They were moving more cautiously, watching the surrounding cityscape for any sign of movement, Goibhniu's bizarre weapons levelled for a quick strike.

Baccharus rode up next to them once more. "The Night Walkers are an underhand race. We fear an attack from the side or rear, rather than an honourable face-to-face confrontation."

"An ambush makes sense," Laura mused. "Veitch made a smart suggestion for the two land teams to use the motorways to get right into the city quickly, but it does make us sitting targets."

"The Golden Ones," Baccharus said self-deprecatingly, "are too proud to hide."

Ahead of them the Hammersmith Flyover rose up as the houses and shops fell away on either side. As they passed over it, Laura could see the edges of the roundabout under the bridge way below, and the rooftop of the Hammersmith Odeon. "At least we're above the snipers now."

"Not for long," Shavi noted. "The road drops down quickly towards Earls Court."

"Thanks for wrecking my one tension-free moment of the day." Movement away to her right caught her eye. "Look at all those birds. What are they? You know, I haven't seen any pigeons yet. Do you think they've all moved out to the country?"

Shavi watched the flock swirling around one particular rooftop. "Crows," he said, and the moment the word had left his lips, he knew. Anxiously, he turned to the Tuatha De Danann. "Beware-!

His warning was cut off by a deafening explosion. The ground beneath their feet rolled like water, then dropped suddenly. Shavi was still watching the birds fly into a tight formation that made the shape of a man when he realised he was falling.

Laura was yelling and fighting with her horse, which was frantically attempting to gain purchase on the crumbling road surface. They were all engulfed in noise: the panicked whinnying of the horses, the yells of the gods, the crack and rumble of the shattering flyover, the booming bursts of more supports getting blown out, a roaring cacophony that threatened to burst their eardrums.

They were lucky all the supports didn't go at once. Instead of dropping in one block, the bridge concertinaed, twisting one way, then the other, so those who were on that section slid back and forth as they moved towards the ground. Shavi and Laura were best placed. On the area where they had skidded it only fell sharply for the final ten feet, but that was enough to fling them both from their horses as they were showered in rubble.

Shavi blacked out briefly, and when he came to there was a large chunk of concrete crushing down on him. With an effort he managed to drag it off, but he could feel the blood soaking through his clothes; nothing appeared to be broken, though. He staggered to his feet, calling Laura's name. The air was so choked in dust and smoke, it was impossible to see more than a few feet, but what he could discern was bad enough. Many of the Tuatha lle Danann had been torn apart or crushed by the falling sections of bridge. Horses lay dead or dying all around. A few of the gods staggered to their feet in one piece, and a similar number of the horses had survived.

The smoke and dust cleared enough to reveal the rest of the army in a chaotic melee on the remaining part of the flyover, desperately urging their mounts to move back along the motorway towards the slip road to ground level. It was exactly as Laura had foreseen: there were too many of them fighting for too little space. They were easy targets.

A sound like wind rushing through a derelict house filled the air. Mollecht was on the edge of the building, the crows that made up his body flying in everfaster formation. The crows increased their speed until they were just a blur, and then a hole opened up in their centre. The sound of rushing wind became almost deafening. There was a flash as a fine, red spray erupted out of Mollecht's body, sweeping across the gulf to the Tuatha lle Danann struggling to get off the bridge.

As it fell across them, the reaction was instantaneous. Black, mottling patches sprang up across any exposed skin. Foam burst from their mouths and their eyes rolled as they clawed at their throats. Those nearest to the shattered end of the bridge staggered backwards and plummeted to the ground, bursting open like sacks of jelly. Shavi had only an instant to reflect on what could have had such an effect on near-invulnerable gods before the thick smoke rolled in again to obscure the rising tide of panic on the flyover.

"Laura!" he yelled again, moving amongst the rubble.

"Here." Her voice was muffled. He found her struggling out from a thick shelter of vegetable manner that had kept the worst of the masonry from crushing her. "The wonders of green blood," she said by way of explanation.

He offered his hand to drag her out.

"Well, that didn't take long to go pear-shaped," she said bitterly.

"They were too arrogant. And we should have trusted our own judgment more."

Some of the gods staggered in a daze out of the swirling smoke. A few attempted to rein in the horses cantering around wildly. Laura watched Shavi's face grow serene; a moment later all the horses had calmed.

Baccharus came stumbling over the broken tarmac and twisted girders. "Move quickly," he yelled. He caught three horses and herded them towards Shavi and Laura. The other Tuatha De Danann were already mounting their own steeds.

Shavi and Laura had barely taken the reins when a gust of wind cleared the smoke and dust to reveal a sight that rooted them to the spot. All around, silent and unmoving, were the Fomorii, their monstrous faces turned towards Shavi and Laura. It was an eerie scene, as if they were robots waiting to come alive. The pile of broken masonry on which they and the Tuatha De Danann stood was a tiny island in a sea of black.

Shavi and Laura jumped on to their horses, casting around for a way out. A breeze rippled across the immobile sable statues. They began to move.

The shrieks and howls that rang out were deafening, the sight of the Fomorii sweeping forward in a tidal wave enough to drive all conscious thoughts from their minds.

Baccharus threw Shavi a strange sword with twin blades and a jewel embedded in the handle. "Press the jewel," the god yelled.

Shavi looked at the weapon in incomprehension.

"Press the jewel!"

The Fomorii were surging forward. One of the Tuatha De Danann tried to fend them off with a sword, but sheer force of numbers dragged him from his horse, and both he and the mount were swallowed up by the sickening tide.

Laura lashed out at Shavi's arm, shocking him alert. "Press the jewel, you moron!"

Shavi thumbed the gem. He felt a subtle sucking sensation deep in the heart of him as a blue spark began to crackle between the twin blades. The Fomorii appeared to recognise what was happening, and obviously feared it, for their forward motion halted and the shrieks died away with a ripple of apprehension. The Blue Fire burned a little higher up the blade.

Then, Shavi understood. He closed his eyes and focused his concentration on his heart, his spirit. The effect was remarkable. He jolted as an electric surge rushed through him, and when he opened his eyes, the Blue Fire was burning brighter than he had ever seen it. It tore up the remainder of the blades in an instant.

He thought he heard a whisper of terror rush through the Fomorii, and then the sapphire energy exploded from the sword like a summer lightning storm. The force almost knocked him from the horse; for a moment the whole world was blue. He heard Laura's exclamation of wonder, and when next he looked there was a massive blast zone around them where lay the charred remains of many Fomorii. Beyond it, the other Fomorii were backing away frantically.

Shavi felt so exhausted he could no longer sit upright. He slumped against the horse's neck as the sword slipped from his grasp. Laura caught it. "I think we'll save this for later, don't you?" She slipped it into an empty scabbard fixed on Shavi's saddle.

Baccharus was at their side, his skin so pale there was barely a hint of gold in it. "Come, we must not tarry here. The Night Walkers will not hold back for long. Although they fear like beasts of the field, their individual existence is meaningless. They will give themselves up happily for the will of the collective."

A pitched battle was raging along what remained of the flyover and the stretch of the M4 they could still see. The Fomorii were clambering over the edges of the motorway, getting torn apart by the array of Tuatha De Danann weapons, then coming back for more. And on the rooftops Mollecht was unleashing more of his plague-blasts.

"We won't be getting any help from them," Laura said. She looked round and pointed to a path that had been cut through the Fomorii.

They had no idea where they were going, knew there was little hope for such a small band riding ever deeper into enemy territory, but there was no chance of them going back. Even so, they refused to countenance failure, and thoughts of their deaths never entered their minds.

The only route open to them was along Hammersmith Road. They soon left behind the main mass of Fomorii, more concerned with defeating the Tuatha De Danann army than with hunting a few stragglers. Yet there were still random bursts of movement in the buildings on either side.

Baccharus was accompanied by nine other gods. They all looked stunned, as if they'd taken a detour into a world they never dreamed existed. Baccharus, however, had best overcome the blow and was now leading the group; they obeyed him blindly, glad that someone else was taking the responsibility.

The road led on to Kensington High Street. It was snarled with discarded cars, trucks and a burnt-out bus, forcing them to ride on the pavement. Names from another age reached out to them: Smith's, Boots, Barker's department store.

The smoke was thicker towards the eastern end of the high street. Kensington Palace was still burning, its roof collapsed, the walls blackened and broken. The huge security gates that had closed off the road leading to the palace had been torn down and lay mangled and barely recognisable in the street.

"I wonder what happened to the Royal Family," Shavi mused as they passed.

"Those sort of people always have a bolt-hole. The Great and the Good." The contempt in Laura's voice was heavy. "The secret service probably spirited them off to a cushy estate in Scotland long before all this came to a head. And I bet they never told any of the little people that Armageddon was coming to their doorsteps."

Ahead of them the green expanse of Kensington Gardens stretched out towards Hyde Park, silent and eerie in the drifting smoke. Baccharus reined in his horse uneasily and scanned the stark trees towards the Serpentine. "Some of my people used to come here on summer evenings," he said. "They would steal children and take them back to the Far Lands. Some would stay, some would be returned."

Shavi closed his eyes, letting himself read the atmosphere. "It is a liminal zone," he said. "Green space in an open city. The boundary between here and T'ir n'a n'Og is fluid."

"I tripped here once," Laura said. "It was summer. Everything was yellow and green. Me and a friend dropped a tab up near Temple Lodge, then went out on a boat on the lake. Just drifting along. It was… peaceful." The memory jarred with the landscape that now lay before her. She shivered. "I don't think we should go in there."

Behind them the sound of pitched battle grew more intense. Someone was screaming, high-pitched and reedy, so despairing they all wanted to cover their ears. Another explosion sent a booming blast of pressure over them.

Shavi noticed shapes moving in the doorways across the street. Fomorii were emerging slowly. They looked wary, as if they knew of the sword even though they had had no contact with the other group.

Laura fought back another wave of nausea when she looked at them. "God, this place is disgusting! It's infested." She turned to Shavi. "Are you up to using that super-cool sword again?"

He shook his head. "It is powered by the spirit. It will take a while to bring my energy levels back up."

Baccharus pointed along Kensington Road towards Knightsbridge. "The Night Walkers are attempting to cut us off. Moving across the road ahead, coming up behind us."

"Then we go across the park," Shavi said. "Perhaps lose them in the smoke. We cannot afford to move so slowly."

They spurred their horses and headed into the disquieting open space of Kensington Gardens.

The smoke was even thicker there, blowing in from the palace, and from another large fire burning somewhere nearby. They kept their scarves tied tightly across their mouths, but it was still choking them; their eyes reared so much it was often hard to see the way ahead.

It was Shavi who first recognised they were no longer alone. His ears were attuned to the shifting moods of nature and he felt the pressure drop rapidly. It was followed by rapid footsteps padding in the grass all around, moving back and forth. Although the smoke was too dense to see what was there, he had the unmistakable feeling that it was hunting.

"Be on your guard," he said quietly.

And then they all could hear the running feet, sometimes ahead, sometimes behind. They reminded Laura of a group of preschool children at play. There was no other sound; not the shrieks of Fomorii, no voices at all.

Baccharus motioned for the other Tuatha De Danann to bring their horses close together. They urged their steeds to step lightly, but every now and then the hooves would hit a stone with a clatter.

"What are they?" Laura whispered.

Shavi shook his head. The footsteps moved closer, as if their owners had begun to get their bearings. The Tuatha De Danann reined their horses to a stop and drew their swords.

The throat-rending, bloodthirsty cry behind them made Laura almost leap from her saddle. The Tuatha De Danann whirled ready to lash out, but it was too late. One of them was torn from his horse and thrown to the ground, where a squat figure about five feet tall stooped over it, its muscular arms rending and tearing with a frantic clawing motion. The agonised screams of the god were sickening, but the sheer brutality of the attack froze them in place.

Laura was nauseated to see the figure was wearing a hat made out of human body parts-she thought she saw half a face there-and its tangled, black hair was matted with dried blood. It turned and bellowed triumphantly. Its bloodstained teeth were large and broken, its features monstrous, but its skin was green and scaled in part. Laura felt a wash of cold.

Another launched itself from the smoke towards one of the Tuatha lle Danann. Its huge hands were grasping with long, jagged nails as it roared ferociously. The god reacted quickly, swinging his sword down to split the beast's head open. It fell to the ground, twitching and vomiting.

"What are they?" she gasped.

"You were ill in the van when they attacked before," Shavi said. "In the Lake District. They are called Redcaps. Tom said their natural enemy is man."

"Mollecht's favourite brood," Baccharus said, with something approaching contempt.

Others emerged from the smoke-Laura counted eight of them-and these were carrying short swords that were chipped and soiled. For the first time they saw Shavi and Laura, and the transformation that came over them was terrifying to see: savage before, they were now Berserker, ignoring the Tuatha lle Danann to drive towards the two humans.

Baccharus barked an order in his natural alien language and the Tuatha lle Danann formed a barrier between Shavi and Laura and the attacking Redcaps. Although the gods hacked and slashed in a constant blur of weaponry it did little to repel the ferocity of their attack. While they came at the gods, they were also continually circling to find a route through the defences to the two humans. Laura's heart beat even faster when she realised the Redcaps never took their eyes off her or Shavi for an instant; the look in those eyes was ravenous hunger.

The assaults continued relentlessly for fifteen minutes until it became obvious even the Tuatha De Danann would soon be worn down. One of the gods eventually made a slight error in his parrying that was punished instantly. A Redcap dragged the sword from his hand, oblivious to the deep gashes it was cutting in the creature's fingers, while the one closest to it dived in and ripped out the god's neck with its talons. He had been torn savagely limb from limb before he hit the ground.

An instant later the air was filled with the fluttering of golden moths. The rest of the Tuatha lle Danann saw them and froze, their faces registering unspeakable dread. The Redcaps sensed their moment and prepared to move.

"This is insanity," Shavi hissed, his guilt over the dead god almost painful. He turned to Laura. "Follow me." He dug his spurs sharply into his horse's flank and it shot off in the direction of the Serpentine. Laura was behind him in an instant.

Their escape stirred the Tuatha lle Danann, who were soon following in their tracks. Shavi glanced over his shoulder and was shocked to see how fast the Redcaps were moving in pursuit. Although they were only on foot, their leg muscles were unbelievably powerful. They weaved around trees and rubbish bins without slowing their speed at all, and were soon passing the Tuatha De Danann, who were urging on their terrified horses even more.

Laura noticed the Redcaps approach too. "Jesus, what powers those things?"

"Hunger. And hatred."

"Any idea where we're going now?"

"We could attempt to outrun them. Or we could find a place that will offer us sanctuary, somewhere to rest and lick our wounds."

"In this place?" She laughed mockingly. "Maybe we can take in some sights while we're at it."

The smoke rolled across the surface of the Serpentine where the abandoned boats bobbed and drifted. Shavi pressed on along Rotten Row until Hyde Park Corner came into view. The roundabout was choked with dead traffic, much of it blackened and twisted in the aftermath of a flash fire that had raged through the area. It still smelled of charred oil and singed plastic.

"They're closing," Laura gasped as she sent her horse along the pavement until they found a space to get through the traffic to Constitution Hill. The high brick wall of Buckingham Palace lay to their right.

Their manoeuvres had slowed them considerably, while the Redcaps merely powered over the heaps of blackened metal.

"Shavi," Laura said, "this is the time for your big idea. You have got one, haven't you?" The jungle cat-snarling of the Redcaps was now close behind.

Shavi guided his horse in close to Laura until there were barely two inches between them as they pounded down the centre of the street. With his left hand gripping the reins, he fumbled with his right for the twin-bladed sword, then held it out for Laura.

"What am I supposed to do with that?"

"It is easy to operate."

"Get lost. You're the one with the big soul-charge. The only spirit I've got is vodka and Red Bull."

"Take it."

Uncomfortably she accepted the sword and immediately thumbed the jewel in the hilt. The Blue Fire began to build. "Now tell me how I ride while facing backwards."

"Have you never seen Hopalong Cassidy?"

"Uh, no."

"The Lone Ranger?"

"Get real."

"I am sure you will pick it up."

Laura swore at him violently, then half-spun round in her saddle. The yell erupted from her lips unbidden. Three Redcaps were so close behind they could almost touch the horse's tail. She could smell the rotting-meat reek of their breath. When they saw her face, their eyes flared hungrily with a red light.

One of them threw itself forward. The charge leapt from the sword like a missile, tearing through the Redcap's face in a blue blast. When her eyes cleared, all three creatures were headless, still twitching on the road as their bodies struggled to catch up with the news. The other Redcaps had stopped and were blinking stupidly at this strange development.

"That'll teach them to wear hats out of season," Laura said weakly. This time it was Shavi's turn to catch the sword and steady her with the other hand as she threatened to slip from the saddle. "Shit, I feel like I'm coming off a six-day bender. Is this how it was for you?"

"I feel a little better now, but it will take a while to recover completely."

Baccharus rode up and then past them, urging them on. "Come! They will be on you again in a moment!"

Laura somehow managed to get her horse moving again before resting against its neck, hoping it would find the right direction by itself. Shavi once again took the lead. But they had barely got out into the wide open space surrounding the Queen Victoria Memorial in front of Buckingham Palace when a harpoon trailing fire tore through the air to impale one of the Tuatha De Danann, who fell from his horse.

Fomorii were swarming over the roof of Buckingham Palace, where they had sited an odd weapon that looked like a cross between a mediaeval siege machine and a piece of WWII artillery. Five Fomorii were loading it with another harpoon that mysteriously burst into flame the moment it was in place.

"They're changing the guard at Buckingham Palace," Laura said ironically.

The harpoon rocketed into the Queen Victoria Memorial, which exploded in chunks of stone.

"They are slowly picking us off." Shavi's face had grown dark with anger. "We must not allow this."

Laura felt a tingle run down her spine when she saw the Tuatha De Danann were waiting on the two of them for orders. "This is about as weird as it gets," she muttered.

When she looked back, Shavi had his head bowed and his hands over his face, one of the rituals he regularly used when he was meditating.

"Quickly," Baccharus insisted. "The Redcaps will be coming."

When Shavi looked up, Laura thought she saw blue sparks leap from his eyes. "Church did a good job," he said, moving his horse on.

"What do you mean?"

"The Blue Fire is all around now. So easy to see, I barely need any concentration."

Almost the instant he said the words, Laura realised she could see it too: in some areas just thin capillaries of sapphire, in others like a raging current beneath the ground, as if the road surface was made of glass.

"Trippy! So this is what it means…" Her words trailed off, unable to capture the depth of what she was feeling.

"Then this city is not dead to us," Shavi said. "Church suggested the force would be a weakening power for the Fomorii. They hate it, and what it represents. And here we can see the lines leading to the most potent sources."

"Come, then." Baccharus's voice was strained, his eyes darting all around.

"What is it?" Shavi followed his gaze, but could see nothing.

"Can you not feel it?"

The moment the words were uttered, he could. Against the background of rising anxiety like a deep bass rumble, something unpleasant was stirring. The roar of the Redcaps bouncing off the buildings disturbed Shavi before he had time to analyse the sensation, and then the feral creatures surged into view with renewed vigour.

Baccharus, Shavi and Laura spurred their horses, with the other Tuatha De Danann following a split second later. Shavi, who had his perception fixed on the flow of the Blue Fire, took the lead.

The unbearable speed of the Redcaps was the least of their worries. They had barely broken into the once-serene environment of St. James's Park when Shavi realised what it was he had sensed. When the smoke and icy mist cleared to present a view of the sprawling city, he had the unnerving impression that it was altering its shape like a Night Walker. The edges of the stately buildings along Whitehall, of the sedate and cultured pale stone blocks of The Mall, of those further away in the West End, were continually moving, like some bad, speeded-up animation. When he realised what it was, his blood, already chilled by where he was and what he had seen, became even colder.

Thousand upon thousand of Fomorii were emerging from their hiding places, moving out into the city, across rooftops, down walls; all the sickening, alien activity of a disturbed anthill. The speed of their waking suggested some call must have gone out on a level only those hideous creatures could understand.

"They're coming for us." Laura's voice was drained of all life.

Behind them, the ferocious roaring of the Redcaps drew nearer. "No way back." Shavi spurred the horse on faster. "Only forward."

"This is what they wanted," Laura said dismally, her words almost drowned out by the thunder of the hooves. "To separate us. To get us into a place where there wasn't the slightest chance we could fight back." She gulped in a mouthful of air to stifle the rising emotion. Then: "Do you think they've got the others?"

Shavi wasn't listening. The sea of black, roiling bodies moved in rapidly on either side; soon they would be submerged in the deluge. Dread formed a lump in his throat. Always hope, he told himself, a calming mantra repeated over and over. Focus on the source of the hope, not the source of the fear. Gradually the black, oppressive world faded away into the background until all he could see were the streams of brilliant blue. And the deepest, fastest and most brilliant of them blazed a channel between the enclosing darkness. Shavi guided his horse on to it and prayed.

The scorched grass, blackened trees and thick layer of grey ash that blanketed St. James's Park passed in a blur. The jolt of hooves on hard road. Great George Street. Then the wide open space of Parliament Square, the statue of the great war leader Churchill reduced to a broken stump. Westminster Bridge shattered, ending after only a few yards in broken concrete and twisted iron girders. The Houses of Parliament seething, across the roof, through the smashed windows, bubbling out towards them. The Fomorii that had the ability to fly on leathery bat wings swarmed across the Thames like angry wasps.

"All around!" Laura yelled. "This is it!"

The Fomorii surged down Whitehall and Millbank into Parliament Square, black, gleaming bodies as far as the eye could see. Shavi guided his horse round until the dark, majestic bulk of Westminster Abbey rose up in front of them.

"There," he said.

They raced their horses to the western entrance, where Shavi saw the Blue Fire swirling into a coruscating pillar of energy, lighting up the ornate columned front with its imposing twin towers. Three of the Tuatha De Danann jumped down to try the handles before putting their shoulders to the heavy oaken doors without budging them in the slightest.

"Locked," one of the guards said. Panic bloomed in his face. The Square was completely obscured now; the relentless torrent was almost upon them.

"Who's there?" The voice was timorous, broken.

Shavi leapt from his horse and threw himself at the door. "Let us in! We need sanctuary!"

There was one hanging moment when they feared whoever was within had left them to die, but then came the sound of heavy bolts being drawn.

The Redcaps were ahead of the driving wall of Fomorii, jumping and leaping like crazed tigers. One of the Tuatha De Danann guards attempted to fend them off to give the others more time. They fell on him in a frenzy.

The door swung open and a voice shouted, "Quick!"

Shavi led them in, horses and all, and then the doors slammed shut with a sound like the tolling of a bell.

Within the Abbey there was an abiding stillness. The thick stone walls muffled the noise of the terrible force without, but all Shavi was aware of was the thunder of the blood in his brain. The entire building was filled with the iron tang of the Blue Fire, too potent, he was sure, for the Fomorii to attempt to enter. Yet as he came to terms with the amazing fact that they were safe, he gradually took in his surroundings and was overcome with surprise.

The vast body of the Abbey was filled as far as he could see with pale, silent faces. Men and women, old, middle-aged and young, babies and children, all looking up with expressions riven by fear. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, turned towards the new arrivals, or slumped on pews or on the stone floor, at first glance barely human; sheep, he thought, even less than that.

But there was humanity behind the fear, although it was of a pathetic kind, of people desperately trying to cope with a paralysing disbelief that everything they understood had crumbled in an instant.

"Who are you?" It was the voice of the man who had spoken to them through the door. He was in his early fifties, stylishly dressed, with a sallow face, cropped grey hair and designer glasses. He appeared to notice the Tuatha De Danann for the first time. "Who are they? Are they-?"

"Friends." Shavi rested a calming hand on the man's shoulder. He glanced once more at the expectant mass. Around the edges of the nave were empty cans and boxes, the remains of whatever food supplies they had brought with them, but many of the faces looked hungry. "How long have you been in here?"

"From the moment it all blew up. It took everyone by surprise. We scrambled in here with what we could grab, a few provisions, not enough… How in heaven's name did you manage to get here? We thought everyone else must be dead by now." His voice died; there were tears in his eyes. "We can't go outside. A few tried it, to get more food." He shook his head, looked at his shoes.

Laura pulled Shavi over to one side. "This is a nightmare. They're either going to starve or go outside and get slaughtered."

"We are in the same predicament."

"Yes, but they're not like us. They're normal people. That shit is part of our job description, not theirs."

Shavi still couldn't comprehend how much she had altered. Not so long ago she would have been advocating self-preservation at all costs, and now she was urging them to accept their responsibility. Could someone really change that much? "You are right," he said, smiling. "We owe them what little hope we have, at the very least." He turned to the sallow-faced man. "Are you in charge here?"

He shook his head. "You want Professor Michell, I suppose. He's not really in charge. But he makes decisions. Any decisions that need making."

"Then," Shavi prompted, "could you take us to him?"

The nave was beautiful and awe-inspiring, with fabulous monuments on either side. An air of solemnity hung over it. As they passed through, brief hope flared in the eyes of the refugees. Some held out their hands like the Victorian poor, silently begging for food. A Nigerian woman, overweight in a too-tight coat, offered a tentative smile, her eyes flooded with tears. Children stared blankly into the shadows. A girl in a blue dress, Sunday-best smart, as if she'd been on her way to a special function when her life had been arrested, said, "Have you seen my mummy? I'm waiting for her." Babies shuddered with sobs drained of tears. Shavi and Laura tried to offer reassuring smiles to the first few, but the emotional cost was too great and they averted their eyes for the remainder of the long walk.

To distract herself, Laura nodded to a monument in the centre of the nave. "What's that?"

"The tomb of the Unknown Soldier." Shavi had stood in front of it before, but this time it was laden with meaning. "An unidentified British soldier brought back from a French battlefield during the Great War. He represents all the victims of that great tragedy, indeed, all the lowly warriors who have since given their lives in conflict."

Beyond the nave were the aisles to the choir, which was also packed with refugees. Shavi paused to examine the monuments that lined the walls. Now everything he saw was filled with so much meaning, the emotion was welling up and threatening to overflow. "This is what we are losing," he said gravely. "Not fast cars and computers and mobile phones. This is what truly matters." He pointed to each monument in turn. "Elgar. Purcell. John Wesley. William Wilberforce. Charles Darwin." He pointed towards the south transept. "Down there, Poets' Corner: Chaucer, Auden, Shakespeare, Shelley, Blake, Keats, Dryden, Spenser, Jonson, Milton, the Brontes, Wordsworth, Tennyson, Coleridge, Dickens, Kipling-"

"Don't get maudlin on me, Shav-ster," Laura said gloomily. She wandered off ahead.

Eventually the sallow-faced man brought them to St. Edward the Confessor's Chapel, the sacred heart of the abbey where its most precious relics lay. Here a man in his sixties, with shoulder-length, straggly grey hair, sat wearily in a Gothic, high-backed chair. He was painfully thin, his wrists protruding skele tally from the fraying arms of an old, woollen overcoat. Behind his wire-rimmed glasses, his face suggested a man burdened by the greatest of worries, but underneath it Shavi saw integrity and intelligence.

The sallow-faced man hurried over and whispered in his ear. Without looking up, the Professor gestured exhaustedly for Shavi and the others to approach. When they were in front of him, he cast a brief eye over them, but if he felt any shock at the sight of the Tuatha De Danann, he didn't register it. "More strays sheltering from the storm?" His voice was achingly tired.

"We are here to confront the invaders," Shavi said.

He counted them off silently. "So many of you. Did you really need to come so mob-handed?"

"We're only part of it," Laura said. "The best part, sure, but there are others. Lots of them. There's a war going on." She gestured towards the Tuatha De Danann. "These-"

The Professor acknowledged them with a nod. "Old gods made new again. I expected they were around, though I haven't seen any of them till now."

"Who are you?" Shavi asked.

"The wrong man in the wrong place at the wrong time." He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes for a long period. "An academic. Just what the world needs now. Even better, one versed in anthropology." He laughed bitterly.

"So how did you get the top job?" Laura watched the sallow-faced man slope away.

"Someone had to do it. Not that there's anything to do, apart from preventing everyone from killing themselves. Though even that may be an exercise in futility."

The Tuatha De Danann shifted awkwardly until Baccharus silently motioned to Shavi that he was taking them back to the horses.

"So, introductions. My name is Brian Michell. And you are?"

Shavi and Laura introduced themselves before briefly outlining what was happening in the city. Michell listened thoughtfully, nodding at the correct moments. When they had finished, he said, "When I first saw those horrible things out there I knew they were the template for all the worst things in our old myths. There was something inexpressibly ancient about them, something laden with symbolism. It was only a matter of time before the ones responsible for the other archetypes appeared."

"You'd get on well with our own old git," Laura said. "Same language, same old bollocks."

"I still haven't worked out why they haven't come in here to tear us apart."

Shavi explained as best he could about the Blue Fire, but Michell picked up on the concept quickly. "Good old woolly-minded New Agers. I always knew they were on to something. The spiritual wellhead, eh? Then I suppose it's only natural this place is a potent source of it. It's been a sacred spot for as long as man's been around, so the legends say. A divine island in prehistoric times, bounded by the Thames and the two arms of the River Tyburn that's now buried in pipes. The old Isle of Thorns, sacred to the Druids. Later, sacred to Apollo, where his temple was sited. Home of numerous other now long-lost religious monuments. And still giving up all it has to our generation. Amazing." He forced a smile.

"What have you been doing for all those people?" Laura asked.

"Ensuring the little food we had was distributed fairly. Not much to do in that quarter now. In the early days, mediate in disputes. Try to keep them from taking their frustrations out on each other. They turned to me because they thought, being an educated man, I know about things. Now isn't that a laugh? I haven't even been able to look after my own life. The wife, God bless her, left long ago. Sick of all my cant. And the booze, I suppose. Haven't had a drink since I came in here. Now isn't that a thing? They should have examined my curriculum vitae a little more closely."

"Whatever you say, I am sure you are the right man for the job. You have held them together," Shavi said. Michell shrugged, wouldn't meet Shavi's eye. "I would like to talk to them," Shavi continued.

Michell chewed on a flayed nail, his eyes now fixed on Shavi's face. "And say what to them? I don't want you making their last days any more miserable."

"He's not going to do that." Laura grinned. "Shavi here's the preacher-boy. He's going to uplift their souls."

"I want to tell them there is still hope."

The Professor winced, shook his head. "I think we've all had enough fairy stories."

Shavi rested a hand on the Professor's thin fingers, which felt unbearably cold. "I ask you to trust me."

A tremor ran through Shavi as he ascended to the pulpit and looked down at the array of pale faces turned towards him. There was too much emotion there. It made him feel he wasn't up to the task, not even slightly. I am just a London boy, he wanted to say. Not a shaman, not a hero, not a saviour.

But after a moment, his heart took over and the words flowed to his mouth without any thought. "For centuries, this has been a place of miracles..

They made their base in one of the Sir Christopher Wren-designed twin towers on the western side. Outside, night had fallen; without any lights in the city, the Abbey felt like it was suspended in space.

The Tuatha De Danann settled easily in one corner of the gloomy old room and rested their eyes. Shavi was still not sure if they actually slept.

"That was a good thing you did," Laura said quietly as she, Shavi and Baccharus sat around a stubby candle from the Abbey's store. "You could see it in their faces. What you did for them… amazing. I couldn't have done it. No one else could have done it." She gave Shavi's thigh a squeeze. "You missed your calling, preacher-boy."

"Hope is a human essential."

"Hope is essential for all things in the sweep of existence." Baccharus stared at the flickering candle flame. It is common currency, too often in short supply." He looked up at Shavi. "And to give hope is the greatest gift of all."

"Oh, don't. His head's big enough already." Laura rested on Shavi's shoulder. After a moment she said, "So what are we going to do? We can't sit here forever."

"I fear we have been removed from the conflict," Baccharus said. "Unless my people can fight their way through to us, or one of the others achieves something remarkable that changes the situation, there is little we can do." His voice suggested he didn't expect it to happen.

"But it's so pathetic," Laura protested. "We didn't do anything! We barely got into the city!"

"No," Shavi said. "I have to ensure the cauldron is there for the final battle. Laura and I both need to be there. We have to find a way."

Baccharus held out his hand in equanimity. "But there is nothing we can do. We are surrounded by a city of Night Walkers where we cannot move the slightest step without being cut down. The wise one accepts when events are beyond control."

Laura looked from Baccharus to Shavi. "So we sit here waiting to die?"

"Or," Shavi said, "waiting to live."

At some point the quiet conversation became a distant drone and Laura's eyelids grew heavy, although a dim part of her was amazed that she could even consider sleeping. When she next stirred she realised the talk had stopped. Baccharus was lying next to the guttering candle, his eyes closed. Shavi was nowhere to be seen.

She stood up and stretched, although since her transformation her limbs no longer really ached. But she did feel the cold more, and her breath was clouding. She pulled her jacket tightly around her, the chill of the stone flags rising through the soles of her boots.

She found Shavi in an adjoining corridor lined with windows that looked out over the city. She might not have seen him in the pervasive gloom if not for a brief instant when the smoke and mist cleared to allow the moonlight to break through. Then he was limned in silver, like a ghost, leaning against the wall.

As Laura approached quietly, she was disturbed to see a strange cast to his face. It was heavy with dark thoughts and deep troubles, and she suddenly wondered whether his experience in the Grim Lands had affected him more than they thought. What if it had twisted a part of him, and even he didn't know?

She was considering retreating when he looked up to see her. His warm smile instantly dispelled all her doubts.

"Planning a suicide mission?" she asked.

He held out an arm so she could slide in next to him. "I was thinking about the others."

She felt warm and secure wrapped against his body. The smell of him brought back memories in a rush and she was surprised how happy they made her feel, but there was an edge of sadness to them as well. "That time we did the monkey dance in Glastonbury," she began, "I was being a little manipulator."

"I know."

"Not in a bad way. I just wanted to get close to you. I thought nobody would do that if I didn't try to play them. Anyway, I'm sorry. I should have been more honest."

"Why do you feel the need to tell me this now?"

She thought about this for a moment. "If I screw up… if I'm not up to what you expected of me… I just don't want you thinking I'm all bad. Too bad."

"I could never think badly of you, Laura."

"Yeah, well, you don't know what lies ahead. I might run off screaming at a vital moment. Or something."

"I have faith in you." He gave her a squeeze. "I wonder where the others are now. Ryan and Ruth should have realised how dense the Fomorii forces are in the city by now. I hope their regiment of the Tuatha De Danann had more success than ours."

"The worst thing is that we might never find out, just be stuck here while everything winds down, not knowing if the people we care about are alive or dead."

"And Church-"

"Church will be fine." She nuzzled into Shavi's shoulder. "He's got God on his side. Too damn decent to screw up."

"It must hurt you to still love him."

"Not really. Yes, I still love him. But I've got my head round the fact that we're never going to be together." She put on a fake voice. "It's just one of those terribly tragic love stories."

"It is not the end, you know."

She laughed silently. "That's a good thing to say in this predicament. But if we're just talking about our stupid personal lives, then I know you're right. For the first time I feel optimistic about me. About what I could do. Which is ludicrous when there might only be a day left, and I've got green blood running through my veins. But, you know, I feel… hopeful. And I never thought I'd feel that in my life."

Shavi rested his head against hers, smelling her hair, relishing the new aromas she generated since her change. Above all, he was happy for her, even if there were only hours left. "What do you want to do now?" he asked quietly.

"I just want you to hold me here like I was some pathetic child. And I want to watch the dawn come up with you."

Silence draped across them in the deep dark, with only the occasional soughing of the wind to remind them there was a world beyond their own sphere. And there was peace for both of them.

When dawn rose in intermittent bursts of gold and red through the shifting smoke, Laura was asleep on the floor in Shavi's arms. His thoughts had been too troubled to sleep himself, but the magical colour ignited in the corridor by the light through the stained glass was enough to lift his mood.

"A beautiful day." Michell was standing in the doorway. "I'm sorry-irony doesn't go down too well at this time in the morning."

Shavi slipped out from under Laura without waking her and wandered over to greet the Professor.

"I just wanted to say thank you for what you said to everyone last night," Michell continued. "It did them the world of good. I'm a little too cynical to say I was affected by it myself."

"I am glad I could be of some help." Shavi glanced out of the one window he had left open the previous night. "Has the food gone completely?"

"There's a little left. For emergencies."

"Then I suggest you divide it up amongst them this morning."

Michell searched Shavi's face and then nodded slowly, chewing on his lip. "I'll arrange it. Do you have any plans for the day? Any sights to see? I thought I'd work on a few lectures myself."

Shavi smiled. "No. No plans."

Behind them Laura stirred and yawned loudly, eventually making her way to them, still sleepy eyed. A racking shiver brought her fully awake. "When do you think the end'll start coming down?"

"It should not be too long."

"How do you know that?" Michell asked.

Shavi pointed to the open window. Laura and the Professor peered out together.

The Fomorii stood shoulder-to-shoulder everywhere they looked, packing the main drag of Victoria Street and every surrounding street to the dim distance. The entire cityscape gleamed an oily black in the wan sunlight. None of them made the slightest sound, nor did they move an inch: an army of sable statues. And all their faces were turned up to the window where Shavi, Laura and the Professor stood.

Waiting.