World's end

Chapter Eighteen

The moment Ruth disappeared with the Erl-King, Church thought all their lives were about to end. He was hacking blindly with the sword, watching the hounds crisp and fade, but seeing another replace each one he killed, realising Laura and Veitch were within an instant of being overwhelmed. Yet in that instant that the spear pierced the Erl-King, the Hunt seemed to freeze in its attack, and a second later the dogs were milling round in confusion, while the remaining riders were reining their horses back and retreating beyond the churchyard wall.

"She's done it," he gasped, barely able to believe it.

Laura's eyes were filled with tears of fear and strain and blood was dripping from a score of wounds. "I thought we were dead," she moaned.

Veitch, who was just as injured, still held the iron bar high. "Don't relax! They might just be gearing up for a new attack!" he barked.

Church knew he was right and returned to the alert, but he couldn't help calling out Ruth's name. When there was no reply, his heart sank.

They remained watching the Hunt for what seemed like hours, fighting against the exhaustion that racked them all. And then, as if in answer to a silent call, the riders simply turned their mounts and galloped away, the hounds baying behind them. Church looked to the wall in the corner of the graveyard; the glowering presence of Black Shuck was gone too.

Soon after, they heard a noise in the bracken and Ruth emerged from the shadows, pale and shaking. As she clambered over the wall awkwardly, Church ran forward and grabbed her.

"You did it!" he said, unable to contain his relief. "I could kiss you!"

"Well do it now, before I faint," she gasped. And then she did.

After retrieving the battered tent, they lit a fire on the edge of the beach and enjoyed the calm which had followed the departure of the storm. Though not fully recovered, Shavi seemed well enough to talk, which raised their already high spirits. With the van's minimal medical kit, they tended to their wounds, and by the time the warmth had started to penetrate their bones, Ruth was ready to tell them what she had experienced.

Afterwards, they stared into the heart of the fire, trying to assimilate all the new information. "So," Ruth said, summing up, "the way I see it is this: for some reason we don't yet know, the doors between Otherworld and here were opened. The Danann were preparing to return when the Fomorii launched something called the Wish-Hex, which I imagine as a kind of nuclear bomb in their terms. When the blast swept out, it took the majority of the Danann to some place from where they can't return on their own. But some of the Danann were corrupted by this Wish-Hex radiation and, against their basic nature, fell under the control of the Fomorii. The Erl-King … Cernunnos … was one of them. And some of the other creatures of Otherworld must have been affected too. I think this explains the Fabulous Beast that attacked Church and I near Stonehenge. Obviously they're linked to the earth spirit, power, whatever, so they wouldn't have done the Fomorii's bidding against us unless they were forced."

"And a few of the Danann escaped entirely," Church added. "Like the woman in the Watchtower. But she didn't tell me the doors between the two worlds were already open and the Danann were planning on coming through. She implied everything happened because the Fomorii broke the Covenant."

"Maybe she was spinning you a line," Veitch said.

Church shifted uncomfortably. Could they really trust a race that was so far beyond them that their motivations were almost incomprehensible? And what did that mean for the woman in the Watchtower's promise that his prize for success in freeing her people would be knowledge of Marianne's fate? He had a sudden image of cynical, educated western explorers conning indigenous people out of land and resources for a few paltry beads.

"So it was like a first strike," Veitch continued. "The Fomorii tried to wipe out all the opposition in one swoop, leaving them free to do whatever horrible stuff they wanted once they got over here."

"But what was he like?" Shavi asked shakily. He was in a sleeping bag, propped up by a pile of rucksacks. "Did you get a sense of something divine?"

Ruth saw the excitement in his eyes, but it was an issue she didn't really want to face. °I don't believe in God," she replied, but her voice wavered enough that she knew he wouldn't let her leave it there. "Yes, I have tailored my beliefs a little. I couldn't be a humanist in the face of something like that. There is an existence beyond our own, and he was certainly unknowable. But divine? You might consider him a god. Others might call him an alien, or a higher being." She couldn't tell if it was Shavi's smile or her own unsureness after a lifetime of disbelief that irritated her the most.

"But do you not see? This is the question. The thing we spend all our lives searching for-"

"Oh, I don't know," she snapped.

Church stepped in quickly. "This isn't the time for intense theological debate-"

"No, it's the time for a party!" Veitch held out his arms in jubilation. "We won!"

"That's poultry you're calculating," Laura snorted. She finally seemed to be coming out of the fearful mood that had gripped her since the encounter in the graveyard.

"What do you mean?" Veitch threw a box of Elastoplast at her with a little more force than was necessary. "We've found all the talismans. The Hunt has gone for good. And we're all alive!"

"As much as we ever were," Laura said coolly.

"But we still don't know what to do with the talismans." Ruth turned to Tom. "When are you going to spill the beans?"

"When we're nearly where we need to be and there's no chance of anything going wrong," he replied gruffly.

"At least we're well under the wire on the deadline," Church said. "More than three weeks to go. I never thought we'd do it so quickly."

Despite their certain knowledge that their trials were not over, they slept more easily than they had done in weeks. When they awoke to the sound of seagulls, the sun was already up and the fire had burned out. They all laughed when a man out walking his dog avoided them by a wide margin, realising they must look like dirty itinerants with their matted hair and crumpled clothes.

The sea air was invigorating and by 8 a.m. they felt fully rested and ravenously hungry. Their supplies were low, so Veitch volunteered to walk up to the village to see if he could find something for breakfast. Church, Shavi and Tom said they wanted to come too, to stretch their legs, and once Ruth saw she would be left alone with Laura she opted to join them.

"You lot are freaks," Laura gibed. "Choosing physical exercise when you can lounge around and chill?" Tom convinced her she should sit in the van to guard the talismans so she could drive away at the first sign of trouble. Church borrowed Laura's small knapsack and tucked the Wayfinder inside it. "I'm never letting this out of my sight again, whether we need it or not," he said with a grin.

They strode up the leafy lane to the village with a lively step, despite the exertions of the night before.

"You know what?" Veitch said to Church ahead of the others. "I never felt as alive as I do now."

Church knew what he meant. "It's like you don't fully appreciate life until you've faced up to death. I know that's a real cliche-all those adrenalin junkies doing dangerous sports say it all the time. But I never thought for a moment it might be true."

"Makes you think how bad we're leading our lives, with awful office jobs and poxy suburban houses." Veitch thought for a moment, then glanced at Church. "Maybe we're on the wrong side."

"What do you mean?"

"We're fighting to keep the things the way they always have been, right? What happens if that's not the best way? What if all this magic and shit is the way it really should be?"

Church recalled a conversation he had with Ruth soon after they first met about his dismay at the way magic seemed to have drained out of life. "But what about all the death and suffering? People getting slaughtered, medical technology failing?"

"Maybe that's all part and parcel of having a richer life. What's better-big highs and deep lows or a flatline?"

Church smiled. "I never took you for a philosopher, Ryan. But it all sounds a little Nietzchean to me."

"You what?"

At that point Tom and Shavi caught up with them and introduced a vociferous religious debate. Veitch listened for a moment, then dropped back until he was walking just in front of Ruth. She eyed him contemptuously. "Don't even think of talking to me."

"I just wanted to say that was a really brave thing you did last night. You saved us all."

"Do you really think I need your validation?"

Veitch went to reply, but her face was filled with such cold fury he knew it was pointless. He dropped back further and trailed behind them all.

The village shop was just opening up for the morning. Church and Shavi both picked up wire baskets and loaded them up with essentials. Just before they reached the checkout, a short, ruddy-faced man in his fifties with white hair and a checked flat cap rushed in, leaving the door wide open.

"Born in a barn, Rhys?" the woman behind the counter said.

Ruth, who was nearest, saw that he wasn't in the mood to banter. His face was flushed and he was breathless, as if he'd run all the way there. "Did you hear about Dermott?" he gasped. The woman shook her head, suddenly intrigued. "Missing, he is. They found his bike and a shoe up near the old Pirate's Lantern. Edith is in a right old state. She expected to find him in bed after the night shift and when he wasn't there she called the police."

The woman and the man launched into a lurid conversation about what might have happened to their friend, but Ruth was no longer listening. She knew what had happened to him. The Hunt had found their sacrificial soul. Feeling suddenly sick, she dashed out of the shop and sat on the pavement, her head in her hands. How many people who had crossed their path had suffered? she wondered.

The others emerged soon after, laughing and joking, but she found it impossible to join in. Even when they won, there was a price to pay.

The knock at the passenger door window came just as Laura had settled out in the back, mulling over whether or not she had fallen for Church, hating herself for it. It was brief, friendly; not at all insistent. Deciding it was kids playing or the part-time car park attendant wanting to check their ticket, she decided she couldn't be bothered to answer it. But when it came again thirty seconds later, she sighed irritably and then scrambled over the back of the passenger seat. She was surprised to see a man who looked like a tramp in his shabby black suit. Yet his red brocade waistcoat added a note of flamboyance, as did his swept-back silver hair and sparkling eyes, which suggested a rich, deep humour. His skin had that weathered, suntanned appearance that only came from a life on the road, but his smile was pleasant enough.

Laura wound down the window. "I haven't got any spare change. I like to sharpen it to throw at authority figures."

"An admirable pursuit, my dear," he said in a rich, theatrical voice. "But I am not seeking financial remuneration. Although I must say I am a little down on my luck at the moment. Travelling great distances can be an expensive business. But that is by-the-by. In actual fact, I am seeking young Mr. Churchill. Is he around, by any chance?"

Laura laughed in surprise. "You know Church?"

"We had a wonderful evening of great humour, fantastic storytelling and, frankly, serious inebriation at a Salisbury hostel. Why, your generous friend even allowed me to drink his health into the night on his hotel tab. A wonderful fellow, and no mistaking." Laura laughed at his faux dramatic persona, which seemed to have been culled from old films and older books, but his charm was unmistakable. "And, as is his genial nature, he asked me to look him up the next time I was in the vicinity. And here I am!" He suddenly clapped his hands into a praying posture and half buried his face between them. "Oh, forgive me! I have forgotten the very basis of good manners-the introduction. My name, my dear, is Callow."

He held out his hand. Laura hesitated for a moment, then took it. "Laura DuSantiago," she said, aping his theatrical style.

"And will you allow me to rest a while in your vehicle until young Mr. Churchill's return? I fear my legs are weary."

Laura began to open the door, but then a thought jarred: Church didn't have the van when Callow would have met him, and there was no way he could have known they'd be there in an obscure Welsh village. She looked into his face suspiciously.

Callow smiled, said nothing. He was still holding on to her hand and his grip was growing tighter. "Let go." Her voice was suddenly hard and frosty.

She tried to drag her hand free, but Callow's strength belied his appearance. His smile now seemed grotesque. He forced his head through the open window and she was hit by a blast of foul breath. She realised he was trying to prevent anyone seeing what was happening. "You bastard-"

Before she could say any more, Callow gently brushed his free hand across the back of her arm. She couldn't understand his action, until she saw a thin red line blossom where his fingers had passed. It seemed almost magical. She watched it in bemusement, trying to work out how he had done it. But the stinging shocked her alert and she caught hold of his wrist, forcing his hand up; a razor blade was surreptitiously lodged between his tightly held fingers. She had only a second to take it in when he suddenly let go of her hand and smashed his fist hard into her face. Laura saw stars, felt the explosion of pain, then pitched backwards across the seats in a daze. When she came around, Callow had the door open and was clambering in over her.

She savagely kicked a foot towards his groin, but instead it slammed into his thigh. He winced, but the smile never left his lips. His eyes, no longer sparkling, were fixed on her face.

Laura began to yell and struggle, but Callow made another pass with his hand, slashing the soft underside of her forearm, dangerously near to the exposed veins at her wrist. Before she could respond, he started sweeping his hand back and forth across her face. She threw her arms up to protect herself, feeling her flesh split and the wet warmth trickle down to her T-shirt. She yelled out, the agony of the moment multiplied by a sudden image of her mother showing her the bloodstained razor blade two years earlier. Not again, her mind roared.

The seriousness of her predicament hit her like a train; no one was going to save her; Callow had forced her into a position where she couldn't fight back; and just as she decided her only hope was to scream until someone came run ning, he hit her in the face again, grabbed her by the hair and bundled her over the back of the seats.

In her daze, she was vaguely aware of him dropping down beside her like a giant spider, and then he had gripped the razor blade between knuckle and thumb and was cutting into her in a frenzy. The last thing Laura saw before she blacked out was so horrible she couldn't tell if it was a hallucination brought on by the pain and the shock of her approaching death: his eyes seemed to be flooded with blood, as if every capillary in them had burst at once, and there was a subsequent movement under the skin around his orbits. As if something was crawling there.

Church was the first to notice the rear doors of the van hanging raggedly open. There was nothing inherently sinister in the image-Laura might simply have opened them to get some air to the suffocating interior-but his intuition sent a flood of icewater through his system. And then he was running, leaving the others chatting obliviously behind him. Bloody footprints led away from the van. Anxiety spurred him on, driving all rational thought from his mind. When he reached the doors and glanced in, his stomach turned.

The inside of the van looked like an abattoir. Blood was splattered up the walls and across the floor where Laura's pale, unmoving form lay. Her T-shirt was in tatters, the taunting legend Jesus Saves looming out at him, now appearing as if someone had attempted to scribble it out.

And the crate containing the talismans was gone.

The journey back to Tenby passed in a high-speed blur of madly overtaken vehicles, blaring horns and heart-stoppingly dangerous turns. They screamed into Accident amp; Emergency at the hospital on Trafalgar Road and Church ran in with Laura in his arms, her blood soaking through his shirt, leaving sickening spatter marks behind them like the spoor of some giant beast; despite his first impression, she was still alive, but in shock. If they had tried to deny it until then, the moment they saw the faces of the team of young doctors and nurses, they were left in no doubt as to the seriousness of her condition. She was whisked off behind flapping curtains, leaving them alone in an empty waiting room.

"But we'd won!" Veitch pleaded, his staring expression revealing the shock that played across all their minds. "It's not fair." It sounded pathetic and spoilt, but it was all he could think to say.

Ruth chewed her thumb knuckle. "God, I hope she's going to be okay." Church watched the regret and guilt play out on her face.

"But we'd won!" Veitch repeated, as if saying it enough times would make it come true.

"They selected the right time to attack," Shavi noted, "when our defences were down. Perfect, really."

"She was attacked with a knife or a razor-you saw the cuts. That doesn't seem like the Fomorii," Church said. "Maybe it's just a random disaster-just some nut who crossed paths with us. The kind of thing that happens in life all the fucking time," he added bitterly.

"Who specifically took the talismans?" Tom seemed more upset than Church would have expected. His eyes had been filled with tears from the moment they had discovered her; sometimes he could barely talk; at other times he shook with the ague which increasingly seemed to be afflicting him.

"All that bleedin' struggle. For nothing!" Veitch buried his head in his hands.

"This is probably not the best time to discuss it," Tom began, "but we need to get on the trail of the talismans. There's much more at stake here than-"

"No!" Church stared at him angrily, but all he could see was Marianne. "Nothing is bigger than people! Individuals. People you love. They deserve your time and attention and passion. Not a world that couldn't care less if it went to hell in a handcart!"

Tom made as if to argue, then looked away.

"I don't care about anything else right now. I just want to see my friend pull through. If you haven't got friends, if you haven't got people you love, you've got nothing."

Veitch stared at Church as if he was seeing him in a new light, then nodded thoughtfully.

Just then Tom put his head in his hands and started to sob silently. The others stared at him in surprise. Ruth slid up next to him and put a comforting arm around his shoulders, but he seemed inconsolable.

Veitch's shoulders were weighted with desolation. "What the hell are we going to do now?"

They were allowed to see her at noon. Against the crisp white sheets of the bed she looked uncommonly frail, like a sickly child; they barely recognised her. Her dyed blonde hair was matted and unkempt, her skin like frost, her body somehow thinner and more angular than they remembered. Pads had been taped to the left side of her face. A couple of tubes snaked into her; she was dead to the world.

"We sedated her," the doctor explained. "It was for the best, after the shock."

"Is she going to be okay?" Church asked.

The doctor didn't look too sure of his answer. "Physically, I suppose. We gave her some blood, stitched the deepest wounds, bound the others. But …"-he shrugged-"you know, a razor attack. It's sick, disgusting. When I see the mess it leaves, I can't understand how anybody could be so twisted as to carry it out." He paused, swallowed. "And her face … she's going to have some bad scarring on that left side. You saw her back, her arms. She looks like a jigsaw. The psychological scars will be the hardest to heal. I noticed the old scar tissue …" He looked from one face to the other, hoping for an explanation.

"She's suffered before," Church said simply.

The doctor nodded as if that was answer enough. "That makes it worse. She's been bitten twice, as it were."

"When can we take her with us?" Tom asked tentatively. He succeeded in ignoring the others' annoyed stares.

"Oh, well, a few days. She needs lots of rest, nothing too strenuous. I can put you in touch with the counselling service."

They thanked him for what he had done, but said nothing further until he had left the room. Then Church turned on Tom. "Christ, if she were dead you'd have us dumping her at the side of the road!" When Tom didn't seem too shocked by this allegation, Church became even more angry.

"You may not be so outraged when you see the way things will be in a few short months." He seemed to be struggling with the conversation, dragging up each word individually, but some of his old frostiness had returned. "If you do not pursue the talismans now, you'll be making the decision to give up the world, civilisation, everything. Is that what you are prepared to do?"

Church looked away, angry that Tom was making him face up to it, when all he wanted to think about was Laura.

"She's going to be fine," Tom continued. "You heard the doctor. But we can't afford to leave it another day. The trail could be lost by then."

The room was filled by a long, hanging silence and then Veitch said, "I'd really like to find who did this to her."

"You heard the doctor. She's in no state to be moved," Church protested. "What happens if she gets an infection in the wounds? Tears one of them open? We could be putting her life at risk."

"A decision needs to be taken now," Tom said insistently.

Church saw all eyes were on him. "Why are you looking at me?" he raged. They looked away uncomfortably, but the answer to his question was obvious; no one else was going to speak out.

Tom stepped in front of him and rested a hand on his shoulder; there was an honest paternalism in his face. "It's your call," he said softly.

Church had the sudden, terrible feeling that he would be damned whatever he decided.

Veitch managed to find a wheelchair and they lifted Laura into it after a heated discussion about the status of the drips and whether they should remove them; one appeared to be a rehydrating solution, while the other was a painkiller with some kind of electronically timed dose. In the end, they decided to wheel both of the drips out behind her, still attached. A blanket was hastily thrown over her legs to try to hide the fact she obviously wasn't in any condition to be moved. If they were stopped, they would never be allowed to take her out, and would probably pay a heavy price for trying to kidnap a patient, so they hurried through the corridors, desperately following a roundabout route that took them away from the busiest areas. The alarm was raised only at the last minute by a furious nurse, when they were forced to pass through reception to where they had abandoned the van.

They made a makeshift bed of sleeping bags on the floor of the van for Laura and tried to secure the drip trolleys with clothes, but every time Shavi went round a corner they fell over with a clatter.

After the euphoria of the morning, the mood in the van was dismal. Suddenly it seemed like everything was turning sour and whatever they did would not be able to make it right. Church sat on the floor next to Laura, watching her face for any sign of awakening, or of her condition deteriorating. He hated himself for the decision he had had to make, and for the fact that he had no choice. And he wanted to yell at them all that he wasn't up to the job of being leader and making enormous choices that people's lives depended on; he had been so unperceptive that he had allowed his own girlfriend to die, hadn't even realised she had been murdered. Sometimes he wondered if it would be better for all of them if he simply walked away and left them to it.

The Wayfinder pointed them north-east out of Tenby. Shavi kept just within the speed limit in any area where it was likely there might be traffic police and floored the accelerator at all other times. Although the lantern suggested a route which took them across country, after their experience in Builth Wells they agreed it would be best to avoid the open Welsh countryside and instead keep to the main roads. They picked up the busy A40 just outside Carmarthen and followed it all the way to Ross-on-Wye, then cut across to the motorway. There the Wayfinder resumed its northwards pointing.

"Whoever has the talismans is travelling fast," Shavi noted. "And they obviously have a definite direction in mind."

"Here, why don't you do that thing you do? You know, with the mushrooms and the trance and everything? We could find out where they're going and try and head them off at the pass," Veitch suggested.

Shavi fixed his gaze on the road ahead, his face suddenly emotionless. "No," he replied simply.

The sky grew an angry red, then shifted through various shades of purple as they trundled north through the West Midlands conurbation, the flat countryside of Staffordshire and Cheshire and then over the Manchester Ship Canal, where the traffic seemed as busy as if nothing were wrong. By the time they had passed Lancaster and the proliferation of signs for the Lakes, darkness had fallen.

In the back, Church, Ruth and Tom sat quietly around Laura's unmoving form while Veitch and Shavi found security in a rambling discourse on the mundane, punctuated by long, introspective silences.

"I've never seen this much of the country," Veitch mused. "Barely been out of London before. The odd trip to Southend to see me nan. Never north of Watford."

"Beautiful, is it not?" Shavi noted thoughtfully. "Every part of it. And not just the parts you expect to be beautiful, like the downs and the heaths. Cooling towers seen in the right light are golden. Once I was on a train coming out of Derby and we passed through a terrible industrial wasteland that they were in the process of turning into some civic site. There were heaps of dirt and weeds and huge pools of polluted water. And then, just for one moment, the quality of the light reflected the grey clouds off the pools and the whole landscape turned silver. It was so wonderful it took my breath away. We have lost sight of that wonder in the every day."

"Yeah, I suppose. But have you ever been to Becton?" Veitch thought for a moment, then looked at him suspiciously. "You don't look like a queen."

Shavi returned his gaze, a faint smile on his lips. "I do not like labels."

"Well, you are, aren't you? A shirtlifter?"

"I prefer to consider myself polymorphously perverse."

"What's that bollocks?"

"It means I take my pleasure from wherever and whatever I please. We have a limited time to indulge ourselves. Why limit yourself to just one sex?"

Veitch snorted, stared out the passenger window.

Shavi stifled a laugh at his Victorian values. "What is wrong?"

"Makes me sick what you people do."

"Do not think about it, then. I will not force you."

"You better not try it on with me."

"You are not my type."

Veitch snapped round indignantly. "Why not?"

"You are just not."

Witch turned back to the passenger window, muttering under his breath.

At that moment, Laura stirred in the back. Church leaned forward anxiously and for a moment the tense silence in the van was unbearable. Gradually, her eyes flickered open, burst with momentary panic as they tried to establish her situation, then calmed when they saw Church leaning over her.

"Shit, this hurts," she said in a fragile voice.

"Take it easy," Church whispered, "you've been through a lot."

His heart ached when he saw the terrible memories suddenly play out across her features. Her hand jerked up to the pads that covered her left side. "My face," she said desolately. Her eyes filled with tears that brimmed over on to her cheeks. She clamped her lids shut so they wouldn't see her weakness.

Church took her hand, thinking she would shake it off, but she held on tightly. "We're here with you," he said gently.

"God, nobody's going to want to look at me." Her voice was filled with such awful pain that he felt queasy. In her despair he could see through all her defences and the honesty was almost too much to bear, like someone had opened a door on to a searchlight from a pitch black room.

"Don't be silly. You're with friends here."

She snorted a bitter laugh. "Friends? You all hate me." Church could hear the irrational, overly despairing ring of the drugs in her words.

"We'd stand by you through thick and thin." Church looked round in surprise as Ruth leaned in next to him.

"Hey. Miss Frosty," Laura said weakly. "Do I smell the stink of pity?"

"No. That's Tom."

Laura lifted her head as much as she could then let it drop once she had seen his indignant expression. She let out a wheezy laugh. "Old git. Nice to see you. Bet you thought there was someone actually going to die before you."

"You need to get some rest," Tom replied acidly. "A week or two, maybe. We could turn up the drip-"

"How do you feel?" Church asked. When he looked into her face he felt something flash between them; a brief light in her eyes, the faintest hint of a smile; it sang through the air and he felt a shiver run down his spine.

He could see she felt it too; she smiled at him, then it slipped away uncomfortably, as if she couldn't understand the emotions sweeping through her. "Like I've been on the bacon slicer," she said.

"They did quite a number on you. Do you know who it was?"

Her brow furrowed as she struggled to remember. "Some tramp. He said you knew him." A long pause as the name surfaced. "Callow."

"Callow?" Church and Ruth said in simultaneous surprise.

"He's just a scrounging no-mark!" Church looked at Ruth for some explanation. "He was in Salisbury. What's he doing here?"

"He knew where we were," Laura said. "There's no way he could have found us by accident."

"Shit! What the hell's going on?" Church felt an impotent rage sweep through him. "When we find the bastard, I'll kill him."

"There was something else …" Laura's voice almost broke from the strain. "I remember … His eyes turned red, like they were filling with blood. And there was something moving under his skin. He wasn't human …"

Her voice trailed away and the van filled with silence until Veitch called back, "We've got to pull in at the next services for some petrol."

They swung into the sweeping drive of Tebay Services, past clustering trees that seemed too dense and frightening, but the cafeteria was a welcoming oasis of light blazing in the night. Enormous picture windows looked out over the bleak high country of the northern Lakes, the stark interior lamps casting illumination over a cold duck pond and wind-blasted scrub. Church noticed the breathtaking view and thought briefly how pleasant it must have been in summers past; now it seemed too close to the dangerous, deserted countryside.

"I've got to stretch my legs," he said. "Get some tea. We should take tenminute breaks in twos. Who's with me?" Ruth volunteered, but Tom, who had been poring over the book of maps with a pocket torch, overruled her rudely.

They found a seat in the cafeteria next to the windows looking out over the impenetrably dark landscape. There were a few other travellers, scattered around, as if they didn't dare sit near to anyone else, just in case.

"It's changing quickly now, isn't it?" Church stared out into the night morosely. "I wonder how long we've got before everything falls apart."

"Not long." Tom sipped his hot chocolate thoughtfully. "But there's still time for you to make a difference."

"Is that irony? We've lost everything we've fought for, and Laura … Christ, I can't believe that."

Tom looked away for a long moment. When Church glanced up to see why he was so quiet, he saw sweat standing out on Tom's brow and shivers rippling though him, as if someone were shaking his shoulders.

"What is wrong with you?" Church said with a lack of sympathy he instantly regretted. "Have you got some kind of illness you're not telling us about?"

Tom took a moment to compose himself, then said hoarsely, "None of your business." He took another drink of his chocolate and continued as if nothing had happened. "Callow is obviously working for one or the other of the Fomorii tribes-as a backup to the Wild Hunt for Calatin in case of their failure, or as a chanter for Mollecht, hoping to snatch the talismans during the confusion of any of our conflicts with Calatin's agents."

"He seemed fine when we met him in Salisbury."

Tom shrugged. "Perhaps they got to him after then. That's immaterial. The point is to reach him before he hands over the talismans to whomever controls him. And I believe I know how to do that."

"How?"

"In the current climate, the Lake District will be one of the most dangerous areas in the country. Lakes are liminal zones, as I told you, doorways between here and there, and with so many lakes the place will be overpopulated with all the misbegotten creatures of Otherworld. Certainly a place where it's too threatening to travel at night."

Church sipped his tea, wincing at the bitterness. "Go on."

"That would also make it a prime spot for the Fomorii. Callow must be travelling there. If we knew where he was going we could intercept him."

"But we don't know where he's going."

"There's a place called Loadpot Hill overlooking Ullswater. It has always held a peculiar attraction for the Fomorii. They'll make the handover somewhere near there."

"How do you know that?"

"I just do."

Church searched his face; as usual, there was something Tom was not telling him, but he had learned to trust Tom's silences, if not to appreciate them.

"There are plenty of other things out there beyond the Fomorii, so it will still be dangerous for Callow to travel over the fells at night. I would guess he will probably take the best-lit route rather than the most obvious. We might be able to beat him to the road to the hill where we can cut him off."

"By the dangerous, direct route? You expect me to sell that to the others?"

"At this stage we have to take risks."

Tom headed off to the toilet, leaving Church alone to finish his coffee. For some reason he hadn't been able to get warm for the last couple of days, even though he was wearing a T-shirt, shirt, sweater and jacket buttoned tightly. He hoped he wasn't coming down with something.

Despite Tom's claims, the first mile or so from the motorway into the heart of the Lake District was uneventful. Although they saw no other traffic, they passed houses with lights gleaming through chinks in drawn curtains and caught the occasional whiff of smoke from their hearths. But then it was as if they had passed an invisible boundary. Odd, lambent lights moved across the fells that provided the district with its magnificent backdrop, and as they travelled down from the heights, will o' the wisps danced deep in the thick forests that crowded the road. Things were caught in the corner of their eyes which they never saw full on, but could tell instinctively were inhuman. And at one point something flying that seemed half-bat, half-human baby was caught briefly in the headlights before slamming into the side of the van with a hefty clang and a sickeningly childish shriek.

"Don't stop for anything," Tom said as if any of them had entertained the idea. "Keep your foot to the floor."

They all remained silent, eyes fixed on the scenery flashing past, apart from Laura, who was drifting in and out of consciousness; at times she seemed so delirious Church feared seriously for her well-being.

But the shortcut Tom suggested seemed to work; when Church next checked the Wayfinder, it was clearly indicating the talismans were behind them. Finally Tom ordered Shavi to pull over on a shadowy lay by beside the lonely road which wound its way around a hillside halfway up the slope. "You sure?" Veitch said, peering into the thick woods on both sides. "Why is this place any safer than anywhere else we've just driven through?"

Tom shrugged. "I never said it was. But this will be the best place to wait to intercept him." He motioned away to the west. "Loadpot Hill is over there. This is the nearest road to it and it ends a little further up the way."

Veitch didn't seem convinced. "We can't see anybody sneaking up on us here."

"If we keep the doors locked, we can drive off if anything comes near," Ruth suggested hopefully.

Tom shook his head. "We need to keep watch at the bend in the road. We can pull the van out to block the road at the last minute before he sees us."

"And you think somebody's going to volunteer to go out there on lookout?" Veitch said.

"We should all go," Church said. "Safety in numbers."

"I should stay here, ready to pull out when the car comes," Shavi said.

"There will be plenty of time to get back and behind the wheel when we see the headlights," Tom replied.

"What about Laura?" Ruth stroked a couple of stray hairs from her forehead.

"She'll be fine here with the doors locked." Church turned to Tom. "How will we know his vehicle?"

"It'll be the only one on the road in this place at this time."

"You have all the answers." Church became even more aware of the chill once the engine was switched off. He wished he had the sword with him. As he opened the rear doors and jumped out, he felt as defenceless as if he had both hands tied together.

The others followed him silently, with Veitch on his guard at the rear, his eyes constantly searching. They took up position at the bend in the road, although it was impossible to stand still for too long; wherever they were, their backs were to the dark, brooding trees, which made them all feel uncomfortable. Several times they turned with the unmistakable feeling that someone was just behind them.

Tom had been correct; the vantage point allowed them a clear view of anyone approaching. Veitch repeatedly complained they were too far from the van until Ruth threatened to shove him in front of Callow's vehicle if he didn't shut up.

Despite the danger, Church felt a tingle of wonder when he opened himself up to their surroundings. He had never experienced a night so silent-no drone of cars or distant rumble of planes, and the air had the clear, fresh tang of the pine trees, as if all the pollution had been drained from it. It was so intoxicating it seemed unnatural-an irony that was not lost on him-and he wondered if it was another by-product of the change.

Their conversation dried up quickly, until the only sound that punctuated the silence was the stamping of their feet to keep warm. They never lowered their guard for a second, even though they kept watch for the better part of an hour. But instead of getting used to their situation, the atmosphere of menace increased gradually until it became so claustrophobic Ruth complained that she felt like being sick.

"Tell you what, I could shoot his windscreen out," Veitch suggested. Church could tell from the timbre of his voice that he was only speaking because he couldn't bear the now-unpleasant silence any longer.

"Guns are so symptomatic of the worst of what went before," Shavi said. "They do not have a place in this new age. I feel the more we rely on the old ways, the more likely we are to bring something terrible down on our heads."

"What, more terrible?" Church said.

"I'm sick of people moaning about how bad guns are," Veitch said. "What, you think we should go back to swords? Have you seen what damage they can do?"

"Have you?" Ruth snapped.

After a pause, Veitch replied, "No, but I can guess."

Ruth was about to attack this line of reasoning when she suddenly did a double take at Tom. "You're bleeding," she said.

Blood was trickling from both his nostrils. Tom dabbed at it with his fingertips and then examined them curiously.

"Hang on, can you hear something?" Veitch began to look around anxiously, but the night seemed as silent as ever.

Church became aware of the unpleasant expression on Tom's face. It didn't seem to be a reaction to his nosebleed; more as if he were struggling with some terribly disconcerting thoughts. "Are you okay?" he asked. "Is it the illness again?"

Tom looked at him with an inexplicable expression of such horror Church fell instantly silent.

"There is something," Veitch said insistently. "Listen!"

"Will you shut up!" Ruth snapped. "There's nothing! You're just winding everybody up!"

Tom choked, raised his hand to his mouth. Church noticed with alarm there were now trickles of blood at the corners of his eyes, and another seeping out of his left ear. "Jesus!" he said. "What's wrong with you?"

"Wait!" Shavi said. "Ryan is right. There is something." The two of them were looking with concern all around.

Ruth glared at both of them, then looked to Church for support. "Is everybody going mad?"

Church turned to the van, thinking of Laura. It did seem too far away. "Maybe we should move back that way a little," he suggested.

Tom pitched forward, clutching his head. Blood spattered on to the road surface. Kneeling like a dog, he retched and hawked as if something was stuck in his throat.

Anxiety transfixed Veitch's face. Ignoring Tom, he gripped Church's shoulders. "Let's get out of here. Something bad is going to happen."

"I agree," Shavi said.

But Church was already crouching down next to Tom, one arm around his shoulders. "We have to get help for him. This looks serious."

"Church?"

Ruth's quizzical, faintly unnerved voice caught Church's attention more than anything the others could have done. He looked up into her face, now pale and troubled.

"I can hear it," she said edgily.

And then he could too. It was reedy, high-pitched, almost beyond the audible range, jarring in its intensity. A queasy sensation bubbled in his stomach. It reminded him of the cry of sea birds, yet continuous, and with a vague, uneasy human quality that was intensely disturbing.

"What is that?" he said, rising to his feet, Tom now forgotten.

"Look." Shavi had walked ahead of them a few paces to peer into the trees on the upward slope. "Is there something in there?"

"I said let's get out of here!" Veitch snapped.

Shavi was correct; shadows seemed to be flitting amongst the trees, oddly lighter in quality than the surrounding gloom.

Tom made another stomach-churning retching sound deep in his throat. Droplets of blood were flying everywhere.

"Why won't he shut up?" Ruth cried uncharitably. Her fearful thoughts played out on her face.

We should run, Church thought, but the shadows' strange movements and the shrieking sound that was emanating from them were so hypnotic he was rooted to the spot.

The shapes were sweeping down the slope towards them across a wide arc. And as they drew closer they appeared grey and oddly translucent, as if they were filled with smoke, finding consistency only in their proximity to whomever was viewing them. Church caught his breath when he realised there were scores of them. Their movements were strange and jarring, almost a dance amongst the trees, twisting and fluttering like paper in a breeze. Church couldn't understand how they could have substance and no substance at the same time.

And then as they drew closer still, Church could make out their grey faces; they were women, quite beautiful in their way, but with hollow cheeks, eyes staring, unblinking, mouths frozen wide to make that terrible scream. They were wearing billowing shrouds and their wild hair streamed behind them. Church, Ruth, Shavi and Veitch were frozen in horror.

"What are they?" Ruth asked hoarsely.

"The Baobhan Sith."

Church was shocked to hear the croaking words come from Tom's mouth. He had rolled on to his back and was staring crazily at the sky.

"The Baobhan Sith?" Church recalled the sharp pang of fear he felt as he lay under the quilt in the Salisbury hotel room while the unseen thing prowled around the room. Then he realised Tom had uttered the name without seeing. Terrible understanding gelled in his mind. "You knew this was going to happen! You led us here on purpose!" he shouted at Tom with dismay.

Tom made to reply, but all that came from his mouth was a gout of blood.

It seemed to break the spell, just as the Baobhan Sith were on the verge of emerging from the trees. As one, Church, Veitch and Shavi turned and bolted towards the van.

Still caught in the horror of the moment, Ruth simply backed across the road. For an instant reality seemed to hang in the air, and then suddenly everything erupted in too-fast speed. The Baobhan Sith burst from the trees, now a monstrous hunting pack. The sharp retort of Witch's gun came and went ridicu lously. Most of the shades swarmed round and descended on the fleeing figures of Church, Shavi and Veitch, screeching with an animal ferocity. Although their forms still seemed insubstantial, Ruth saw them latch on to her friends with hideously cruel fingers. And then they seemed to sweep up, as if they were lighter than air, and their mouths seemed to open wider than was possible, revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth. The last thing she saw before she tore her gaze away were the heads swooping down, jaws about to snap shut on her friends' exposed necks.

The remaining Baobhan Sith were coming for her. They bypassed Tom, as if he were not there, and danced across the road. Ruth continued to back away hurriedly until she was moving into the trees on the downward slope; she had to escape so she could find some way to save the others. The ground fell away sharply. Her heels kicked, didn't find any purchase. And then, as the shriek of the Baobhan Sith seemed to fill everything, she was falling, turning over and over as she plummeted down the slope, feeling the branches and brambles tear at her skin, rolling faster and faster until everything became a blur of fear and pain.