World's end

Chapter Nineteen

Ruth came to a rough halt against a drystone wall, knocking the air from her lungs and stunning her for the briefest moment. She had leaf mould in her nostrils and mouth and myriad scratches across her face and hands. Coughing and spluttering, she scrambled to her feet, the terror rising within her as images of the Baobhan Sith burst like fireworks in her mind. Desperately, she glanced back up the slope. There was no sign of them in pursuit, but she could hear the haunted shrieks floating down through the budding branches. It wouldn't be long before they found her.

The thought of having to flee through the wild countryside filled her with dread. Her best option would be to find somewhere secure to hide, but how easy would that be? Glancing round, she discovered she was resting against the garden wall of a tiny cottage. It appeared ancient; the thatch came down to just above the ground floor windows, which were barely larger than portholes. What walls were visible appeared as thick as the length of her arm, to keep out the bitter winter winds. It was surrounded by a neat garden containing a handful of fruit trees that were so gnarled and twisted with age they looked like old men gossiping on a street corner. But Ruth was warmed to see a golden light glowing behind the curtains and the air was scented with the aroma of woodsmoke rising from the large stone chimney.

The shriek of the Baobhan Sith seemed unpleasantly near-she didn't have time to weigh her options. Cursing as she cracked her knees and shins, she clambered over the wall, dropped into a bed of herbs and ran round the side of the house to the front door. It was oak and so weathered it probably hadn't been replaced since the cottage was built. A cast-iron bootscraper stood next to it, alongside a broom made of a branch with twigs bound for bristles.

Although she felt frantic, Ruth knocked on the door as calmly as she could, so as not to frighten whoever lived there. The inhabitant must have heard her run round the house, for the curtain at the window next to the door twitched in an instant; Ruth caught a glimpse of glittering eyes in a woman's face before the curtains fell back.

But still no one came to the door. The nerve-jangling cry of the Baobhan Sith sounded just beyond the garden wall on the other side of the cottage now. There wasn't time to flee anywhere else.

Ruth hammered on the door with all her strength and this time it did swing open. The woman was in her late fifties, her hair long and silver and tied at the back with a black ribbon. Her cheeks bloomed with the broken capillaries of life in the cold Lake District gales. She stood several inches shorter than Ruth, but she was just as slim and elegant. For a split-second she searched Ruth's face, and what she found there must have been agreeable, for she grabbed Ruth's wrist tightly to drag her inside, slamming the door behind her. Three iron bolts shot across an instant later.

Ruth sucked in a lungful of air. "There's something out there-"

"I know what's out there," the woman barked. "Come away from the door!"

They were inside the woman's sitting room, which was spartanly decorated. It was lusciously warm from a log fire banked up in the wide stone hearth. A cracked and aged dresser stood against one wall and a similarly ancient dining table against the other, on which were arrayed a collection of corked pot containers; the contents of a few-seeds and dried herbs-were scattered around. Other herbs hung in bunches from the rafters creating a heady, perfumed atmosphere. A rush mat lay on the flags near the fire, but the only other item of furniture was a heavy wooden armchair with a floral cushion right next to the hearth. A sandy cat was curled up next to it.

"We could barricade ourselves upstairs. Try to keep them out till dawn-" Ruth began.

"They won't even know we're here if we don't draw attention to ourselves." The woman watched Ruth suspiciously, her eyes still glittering in the light of the fire. "What are you doing around these parts at this time? It's no longer safe to travel by night-nor even by day, really."

"I didn't have any choice," Ruth replied. The full force of what had happened hit her and she rested against the back of the armchair, placing one hand over her eyes to try to clear the image of the Baobhan Sith attacking Church, Shavi and Veitch. When she'd blinked away the tears a moment later, she brought her hand down and noticed the woman was staring at it intently.

She suddenly lurched forward and grabbed Ruth's wrist, turning her arm over so the palm was uppermost. The mark Cernunnos had scorched into her flesh was revealed in the firelight.

"Goddess!" The suspicion drained from the woman's face and was replaced by awe. When she looked up into Ruth's face, her features were now open and smiling. "These are very strange times. Sit! I'll brew up a pot."

"There's no time!" Ruth protested.

"There's always time. I've cast a spell of protection on this place. It's invisible to any of those hideous things crawling around out there these days. But we can't go out until the ones after you have gone or they'll have us in a moment. Times when you can relax are few-grab hold of them!"

Ruth reluctantly allowed herself to be pressed into the armchair, but her thoughts were in chaos and she felt a desperate urge to run away, even though there was nowhere she could go. The heat from the fire was comforting after the attack, but still she felt like crying after the strain of it all; everything seemed to be going wrong; Tom betraying them was one blow too much.

"It's all a bloody awful mess!" she said, her voice breaking. "No. I've got to help them!" She jumped up and ran to the window. Outside, the Baobhan Sith roamed, their wild eyes ranging over the vicinity. Ruth knew she wouldn't get five yards from the door. Dejectedly, she trudged back to the fireside.

"Cheer up, lovie. It's always darkest." The woman hung a blackened kettle over the fire, then placed two mugs, a strainer, a tin of tea leaves and some milk and sugar on a tray with the pot. "I'm Nina, by the way."

"Ruth." She rested her head on the back of the chair and closed her eyes. "What's all this about a spell of protection?" she added wearily. "It seems like everybody can do something they shouldn't these days."

Nina laughed. "You're right there. I spent ten years studying the Craft, working on spells and rituals. Sometimes they worked, or seemed to work, in a halfhearted way, but very rarely. It always seemed more like wishful thinking on my part. And then just after Christmas it was like I'd had an electric charge! I could do things I never dreamed of? It was …"-she laughed again-"… magic!"

"Everything's changed," Ruth said morosely.

"Oh, indeed. At first I thought it was just me, like after all this time I'd suddenly chanced on the knack. But then I saw what was happening all around and I knew it wasn't me at all. It was the world." She noticed the gloom in Ruth's face. "It's not all bad-just different. The magic is back. How it probably was centuries ago. That's a cause for celebration."

"You really can do stuff?"

"Not great, world-changing things. Just the skills we were always reputed to have. Controlling the weather, communing with the birds and animals, making potions that work. It's the link, you see. With nature. It's solid now." She pointed at Ruth's hand. "But you should know. You're one of us. Greater than me, certainly. That's the mark of the Horned Hunter, consort of the Mother Goddess."

Ruth shook her head. "I don't know what you're talking about. I've never been into all this."

There was an unmistakably dismissive note in Ruth's voice, but Nina wasn't offended. "Your brain may not know, but it's there inside you. Or you wouldn't have received the mark. You're a wisewoman, no mistake. You just need to learn and apply yourself."

"With all due respect, I can't see myself doing, you know, whatever it is you do. I'm a lawyer."

Nina laughed. "What, you think only embittered old crones like me get to learn the Craft?"

"I didn't mean-"

Nina silenced her with a goodnatured wave of her hand. "The only qualification is being a woman. And probably having a natural aptitude for the necessary skills. Take me-I wasn't always how you see me. I just happened to like the traditional lifestyle." She motioned around the room. "I used to be in medical supplies. Worked all the hours given to build up the business. Then my Ralph was taken suddenly. Brain tumour. He didn't suffer long." She fell silent for a moment, the weight of memories adding age to her face. "After that, work didn't seem important. There wasn't much of my life that did." She smiled sadly. "It's terrible, isn't it, that it takes a tragedy to point out that all the things we trick ourselves into relying on in our lives have no substance? We have to have something to believe in-it's the way we're made. But once work and the family disappear, you start to wonder what there really is to have faith in. I fell into the old religion. At first it just made me feel good. Then it started to feel right. Now I can't imagine being without it."

Ruth watched her as she used a teacloth to lift the hissing kettle from the fire. She warmed the pot, then put in the tea leaves, adding a pinch of spice from a dish on the side. "My own special recipe," she said conspiratorially. "Gives it a little kick. It's how they drink it in the Middle East."

"What's it like to be able to make things happen?" Ruth asked as she took her mug. "It's the kind of thing you always dream about as a child."

"Well, it's not like any of that fairybook stuff," Nina replied a little brusquely. "You can't just wish and make things happen. It's all about controlling energy-the invisible energy of the world. I always saw it as a science that the physicists haven't got round to explaining yet." She smiled at the curiosity in Ruth's face.

As the fire blazed and as they sipped their spiced tea, Nina explained about the Craft while Ruth attempted to batten down her anxiety and desperation; she wanted to be doing something, not listening to old stories. When Nina mentioned the triple deity of mother, maiden, crone, though, Ruth's heart quickened as she connected with her visions of the mysterious girl.

She related her experience to Nina who smiled and said, "See. You were called long before you realised. And probably a long time before that."

"There was an owl-"

Nina nodded towards the cat on the hearth. "We all have our friends."

Ruth stared into her tea, trying to divine her feelings about what she was hearing. The stubborn streak of scepticism her father had instilled in her as a girl was still there, but her instinct was beginning to shout louder.

"Look, this is all too much to get my head round right now. I can't stay here talking. There's got to be something-"

She made to rise, but Nina stopped her with a hand on her thigh. "I might be able to help you."

"How?"

She thought for a moment, then said, "We can fly up, see what has happened to your friends, get the lie of the land. Then, once you have the knowledge, you'll be able to decide on your course of action."

"Fly?" Ruth said incredulously. "What? On broomsticks?"

"No, no!" Nina said sharply. "Stop falling for the old propaganda, please! I'm showing you how it really is." She paused, and added with a smile, "But actually yes, on broomsticks, only not the way you think!"

Ruth sat back down. She covered her eyes for a moment, suddenly aware she might break down in tears if she allowed herself to think about her situation too closely. "So you're probably the only person in the area who can help me and I ended up here by chance. I don't like coincidences."

"There are no coincidences. Once you understand there's an invisible world, you can see that." Nina took her hand and pulled her to her feet again. "If you really want this, you will have to do exactly what I say."

"I'll do anything to save my friends."

Nina nodded understandingly. "Come, then. Take off your clothes."

When Ruth hesitated, Nina made hurrying gestures, then turned to the table and went along the rows of jars until she found the one she wanted. Ruth undressed a little unsurely, but Nina just pulled her dress over her head. She was naked beneath it. Her breasts had long lost their firmness and she had shaved off her pubic hair, but she walked around completely unselfconsciously. She opened a cupboard in one corner and pulled out a broom like the one Ruth had seen outside the front door.

As Ruth stepped out of her knickers, she was shocked to see what appeared to be a tiny little man slowly lowering himself upside down from the chimney to peer at her curiously. Ruth pointed and yelled out, "What's that?" at which point a look of dismay crossed its face and it disappeared from where it had come.

Nina seemed as unconcerned as if it were the cat who had entered. "One of the brownies," she said distractedly. "They seem to have settled in here. They help me out quite a lot with the cleaning at night."

While Ruth stared at the chimney unsurely, Nina gently pushed her back into the chair, then sat down before her on the rush mat, the broom and jar beside her.

"As with all these things, you must place your trust in me and always do as I say," Nina stressed.

Ruth nodded.

Nina opened the jar and dipped in two fingers. When she removed them they were covered in a greenish cream, which she proceeded to smear over the end of the broom handle. "A little hemlock, some monkshood-sacred to Hecate-a little thornapple and a touch of belladonna." Then she lay back, opened her legs wide and placed the handle against her vagina. "It would be easier if you could help me," she said, "if you can overcome your embarrassment."

"I'm not putting that inside me!" Ruth said in horror.

Nina sighed and sat up. "The salve has an antiseptic quality, if that's what you're worried about."

"That's not all I'm worried about! It's disgusting!"

"Let's not be prudish," Nina cautioned like a school ma'am. "This is the way it's been done traditionally. When those who weren't practising heard about us riding our brooms, they got the wrong end of the stick, as it were. The vaginal walls absorb the active drug much more effectively. I could insert it in your anus if that suits you better," she added acidly.

"I don't need a drug trip! I need help!"

"That's what I'm doing!" Nina said with irritation. "It's not just a drug trip. The mind and body are separate entities. The drug in the salve enables our brain to free our spirit-selves so we can fly over the countryside, see things, hear things, gain knowledge, then return with it to our bodies. All the shamans and the mag- icmen and women in the old cultures use it." She laughed dismissively. "The scientists said their experiences were just hallucinations because there was no way they could really happen. I wish I could take a few of them along with me!"

Ruth shook her head, still horrified. I can't do it, she thought.

Nina seemed to read her mind. "Do you want to save your friends or not?" she snapped.

Ruth stared at the broom handle with distaste for a long moment. Then she asked, "Are you sure this will do any good?"

"A few months back I would have said no. Now … of course!"

Ruth grimaced. "Okay. I suppose. What do I have to do?"

"Hold the handle." She opened herself up. "Now insert it gently." Ruth steeled herself, but Nina didn't seem concerned. She relaxed onto it, then closed her eyes. After a moment she motioned to Ruth to remove it. "Now it's your turn."

Nina reapplied the salve to the handle, then positioned herself between Ruth's legs. Ruth's muscles were so tense she couldn't get the stick to penetrate, but whatever powerful drug was on it seemed to begin to affect her from even a cursory application. She gradually relaxed, allowing Nina to insert the handle. At first she felt a not-unpleasant burning sensation, but then it changed, so that she felt like warm syrup was slowly rising up her body from her groin. There was a definite sexual element to it; her clitoris engorged and she had a sudden, nearly overwhelming desire to bring herself to orgasm. But when Nina removed the handle, the edge was taken off her desire and she was able to look up and around. The quality of light in the room had changed; it was more diffuse and golden, as if it were being refracted through crystal. The edges of the furniture sparkled and shimmered and the crackling of the fire shushed and boomed like the sound of the sea.

Then there was the odd sensation of her retreating into her body, as if she were looking out at the world from the end of a long tunnel.

"Hold on," she heard Nina say distantly. "It's beginning."

And then she was rushing out of herself, as if she had been fired from a cannon. She rocketed up to the ceiling, where she briefly looked down at her naked body staring with glassy eyes up at her; Nina was slumped next to her, one hand draped across her thigh. And then she felt as if someone had yanked a rope attached to her neck and she was dragged wildly into the fire, which fizzed coldly around her, and then up into the yawning black hole of the chimney.

A second later she burst out into the night sky, swooping and swirling as if she were smoke caught in the wind. It took her a second to get her bearings and then she discovered that, with the right mental effort, she could begin to control her movements. Ruth twisted in practice and caught sight of Nina floating over the thatch waiting for her. She looked beautiful, years younger, with a firm, full body. She smiled and beckoned.

"Where are we going?" Ruth said, but no sound came out of her mouth. Nina seemed to understand nonetheless. She pointed along the valley, away from where the Baobhan Sith had attacked. Ruth looked at her curiously, but she acted as if she wanted to show her something important.

And then she was away, rushing on the night winds. Ruth launched herself behind her, lost in the wild, exciting sensation of flying. She could feel the breeze on her skin, feel her hair flow behind her, but although she was still naked, she didn't feel the cold. It was a wonderfully exhilarating feeling as she swooped and soared, remembering a score of similar dreams, wishing she could never come down; it was so powerful it almost made her want to cry.

The trees passed beneath her in a black carpet, the sweet scent of the pine floating up to fill her nostrils. With care, she could dive down and skim their gossamer-frail uppermost branches, leaving them waving in her passage. From her vantage point, she could see the landscape in its true form: alive; the sweep and swirl of the hillsides, the subtle gradation of colours in the grasses, the snake-twist of rivers, the mirror-glimmer of lakes, all linked into one awesome organism, each part affecting its neighbour. From there, it all made sense.

A long, low hoot made Ruth look round to see her owl-companion flying in circles nearby. She waved to him, but he continued spiralling on the thermals without any sign that he had any connection with her.

Nina's mad aerial dash slowed near Loadpot Hill. Ruth could read caution in her body language as she took advantage of the occasional treetop for cover. Eventually she came to a halt and pointed to something ahead, her face drained of the good nature Ruth had seen before; now she was fearful.

Ruth followed her guide and could instantly see why. Rising up out of the isolated green hillside was something that reminded Ruth of pictures of enormous African termites' nests. It was the first part of a tower that was still under construction, covering an area the size of ten football pitches. Although it was fundamentally black, she could make out crushed cars and trucks, washing machines, fridges, plastic, girders and broken masonry embedded in its walls as if the makers had plundered the local communities for the material. Above it, the stars were obscured by smoke from a hundred fires burning a dull red, visible through ragged openings all over the tower. And as she watched, Ruth could see movement around the base of the construction, up its walls, on its growing summit; the termites were swarming.

In her uneasy curiosity, Ruth flew a little closer, only to be disturbed by roars, shrieks and insane monkey chattering. She felt as if a terrible power had been turned on her, like a black ray projected from the tower; she suddenly became so cold her entire body shook, and an unbearable sense of despair began to gnaw at the pit of her stomach.

It was numbing, but then she felt Nina frantically tugging at her arm. Her terrified face left no doubt that they had been seen. The fear was infectious, and as Nina pirouetted in the air and sped away faster than Ruth could imagine, she felt instinctively that whatever was being built there would be too terrible to even imagine.

Nina's panic lessened only once they had put several miles between them and the black tower. They followed the landmarks back to the cottage, and then Nina took the route Ruth had first expected, up the hillside to the road above. As they neared where the van had been parked, they dipped down beneath the treetops and made their way cautiously among the upper branches until they found an eyrie where they could peer down on the stretch of road like two ghostly birds.

The van was still there, glowing white in the moonlight, but weaving in and out of the trees in a wide circle around it were the Baobhan Sith, no longer shrieking or as wild and predatory as they had been earlier. Tom was sitting a distance away, his head between his knees. Church, Shavi and Veitch were on the ground, slumped against the van. They weren't moving and blood stained their clothes and skin; Veitch, in particular, had a ragged wound in his neck where Ruth had seen the spectral creature prepare to bite. Her first thought was that they were dead. Her stomach knotted and she felt like bursting into tears; another part of her told her that wasn't the case. With an effort, she calmed herself and watched.

Not long after, the silence was broken by the drone of a car engine as twin beams splayed light over the trees. A nearly new BMW, but with deep, fresh scratches on its wing, screeched to a halt near the van. Callow's grinning skullface was behind the wheel; in the back seat an ominous form was sprawled with a car blanket pulled roughly over it. Ruth could tell from its shape that a man lay beneath it; she guessed it was the car's former owner.

Callow stepped out with a flamboyant flourish, leaving the headlights switched on so they spotlit Church and the others. "Mister Churchill! So pleased to see you again!" he said, grinning superciliously.

At his voice, Church stirred and looked around. When he saw Callow, rage crossed his face and he forced himself to his feet. A second later the Baobhan Sith were around him, shrieking and gnashing their teeth, and they didn't retreat until he had fallen again.

"Nice little doggies!" Callow said after them.

"You bastard!" Church yelled.

Callow waved his finger and tut-tutted, but he didn't seem interested in engaging in conversation. Instead, he walked to the rear of the car and opened the boot. The Baobhan Sith looked towards it and hissed as one, moving away from it before resuming their weird circling dance.

As if in answer to the boot opening, Ruth realised she could just make out an odd, distant noise, like metal being dragged across gravel, and the kind of hideous animal sounds she had heard at the black tower. Callow turned in its direction and peered into the gloom. Slowly, his grin melted away.

Ruth could feel whatever was coming on some instinctual level. Her skin, however insubstantial, was crawling, and she felt like snakes were slithering through her intestines. The Baobhan Sith seemed to sense it too; for the first time she saw them motionless, facing in the same direction as Callow. The air seemed to swell with feverish anticipation.

Tensely, she watched the shadows that clustered around the bend in the road and within minutes the night seemed to come alive with a greater darkness. An insectile swarming broke free from the gloom and headed towards the van. Although her eyes told her there were individual shapes, she felt there was just one hideous, dark creature, radiating an evil power that made her feel sick. And in the mass, the shapes themselves were difficult to distinguish, although she knew they were Fomorii. They continued until they were teeming around the van, the car, Callow, Church and the others, so that the road now resembled a churning black river.

My God! Ruth thought. I never realised there were so many of them!

One of the forms separated from the others and walked into the glaring circle of light thrown by Callow's car headlamps. It was a man with golden skin, long hair and a frail, spindly body; there was an air of sickness and decay about him, and however stylishly he had dressed, his long, white silk tunic appeared dirty. Ruth recognised him as Fomorii, although he was closer to how she had imagined the Tuatha De Danann. She guessed, from Church's description of his captor in the mine, that it was Calatin.

Witch and Shavi were also conscious now, and Church was muttering something to them, although Ruth couldn't hear what it was.

"Little rabbits!" Calatin said in a voice like breaking glass. "You ran the course I mapped for you so perfectly. How you slipped from your cell remains a mystery, but it was only a matter of time before the doors were left ajar. And from that point you did everything I hoped. Reclaimed the Quadrillax-a remarkable achievement. Even as Brothers and Sisters of Dragons, I thought it beyond you. And turned back the Wild Hunt too, though there was more of chance in that. But then this frail creature …"-he motioned to Callow"… served his purpose well. And now, for the first time, the Quadrillax are in Fomorii hands. We thought you too weak for the responsibilities laid upon you and we have been proven correct."

Ruth winced at that and she could see it hit Church too.

"Tom-" Church began weakly.

Calatin's smile was so cold it froze the words in Church's throat. He turned and summoned something from the seething mass of Fomorii; a second later something glinting silver, small and scurrying like a spider ran out, up his legs and into his hands, where it formed itself into a dagger. Ruth recognised it: she had seen something like it before, at Heston Services when the Fomor had first tried to kidnap her.

"The Caraprix," Calatin said, examining it. In his hand the dagger shifted its shape, became something indistinct but disgusting, then returned to its dagger form. Calatin showed it to Church as if it was explanation in itself, but when he saw Church's blank look, he continued, "Their fluidity and versatility makes them useful to us."

"They are alive?" Shavi asked.

Calatin looked at him as if he didn't understand. "They do our bidding in many different ways. Sometimes," he mused to himself, "they are almost companions."

"What's this got to do with Tom?" Church looked at him, still slumped on the roadside nearby.

Calatin eyed him slyly. "Oh, the pain of betrayal."

Church winced, looked away.

"When the wanderer fell into my hands, I saw the opportunity to have a subtle hand on your wheel." He held up the Caraprix, which wriggled in the light from the headlamps. "One deep incision is all it takes. Painful, but he remained conscious until the last. The Caraprix slipped in through the wound, attached itself in here." He tapped his temple. "It sits there still, tormenting him, doing our will."

At first Church couldn't grasp what Calatin was saying, but then he remembered the wounds on Tom's forehead when they first met him in the mine and he felt horror grow within him. "He's got one of those in his head?" he said with disgust.

"Oh, it's not all bad." Callow sidled up until he was near Calatin.

"You've got one too?"

"Mine was by choice, dear boy. I have a remarkable aptitude for seizing opportunities."

"You call that an opportunity?" Church was disgusted. "It's probably eating away at your brain."

"It can be removed at any time, or I can simply live with it. If you think that's bad, you should try to get rid of lice."

"Why did you do it?" Church asked.

"I told you, an opportunity. By declaring my allegiance early in the game, it gave me access to all the miracles and wonders that will rain down on us."

"You sold us all out." The intensity of hatred in Veitch's voice made Church feel almost uncomfortable.

"Now, now," Callow cautioned. "You must accept some responsibility. If young Mr. Churchill had not been so indiscreet about what was happening to the world that night in the tavern, I would not have been prepared when I did encounter my good allies here." He sighed theatrically. "Oh, how strange fate is. I knew sooner or later you would involve yourself in something that would favour me, so after our evening's wassailing I resolved to follow you. I must admit, after the devastation you wreaked at the depot in Salisbury I thought things might be a little too hot even for me. But then I met my good friends!" Callow seemed about to clap Calatin on the shoulders, then thought twice about it. "They made it easier for me to shadow you. But at a distance it was so hard to discern exactly what you had achieved; it required a little, shall we say, investigative skill on my behalf. Did you ever wonder who had gained access to your car? Your tents?"

"I'm going to kill you." Witch's voice was low and understated, but the words contained power.

"I don't think so," Callow replied sneeringly, but Church could see a flicker of unease in his eyes.

Calatin lurched forward unsteadily, knocking Callow out of the way; he looked even sicker than he had in the mine. "You still do not seem to understand exactly what has occurred. Your loss of the Quadrillax has destroyed more than merely your own feeble attempt to stop our advance. Through all time and all space, their significance has radiated: objects of such power that we never dared achieve our ultimate dream-the eradication of all light from the universe. Our victories were always tempered. We settled for control, in the certain knowledge that a step too far would rebound on us tenfold. Now, anything is possible."

As he neared, Church's gorge rose at the hideous stink coming off him. Calatin bent down and lowered the living dagger until its tip was only an inch from Church's right eye. Church tried not to blink, nor even to think about what Calatin was going to do next; the Fomor had revealed his sadism quite plainly in the mine's torture chamber. He thought for a moment, then lowered it to Church's cheek, where he pressed its razored edge into the soft flesh and made a slight downward cut. Church winced as the blood flowed.

"With the Quadrillax in our hands, everything has been lost. And you are responsible." He showed a row of blackened teeth and released a blast of foul breath into Church's face.

"You're going to destroy them?" Church asked once he had recovered.

Calatin peered at him as if he were insane, then rose and limped away. "They will be taken from here to our nearest retreat, where they will be encased in molten iron, then buried in the furthest reaches of the earth, never to be recovered-"

"What about Balor?" Shavi interrupted.

Calatin whirled, his eyes blazing, but slowly the insipid smile returned to his face. "The Highfather will soon be back," he said in a manner that made Church shiver, "and the glory will be mine."

Then he turned and yelled out something in the guttural Fomorii language before limping away. A second later Church, Shavi and Veitch were wrenched up in the black mass of bodies and swept away.

Ruth watched the scene in horror from the treetop branch, then turned to Nina, who motioned that they should return. The brief journey back to the cottage contained none of the awe and wonder Ruth had felt during her first flight, just a sense of impending doom and a feeling of utter futility. Nina led the way back down the chimney and as they emerged into the main room, Ruth had the same sensation of being fired from a cannon as she rushed back into her prone body. A second later, she stirred, feeling leaden and stupid, her thoughts no longer quicksilver; her mouth felt as if she had awoken after a night on the tiles; all her muscles were aching. The loss seemed so great her eyes filled with tears.

"I could have stayed like that forever," she said.

"And there lies the danger." Nina levered herself to her feet, stumbling awkwardly. "Spend too long in that form and your essence begins to break down, dissipate like smoke, until you return to the universe."

Ruth rose and dressed dismally, trying to tell herself it was simply the effects of coming down off the drug. But as the initial edge of her experience began to fade, the threat facing them returned in force.

"I can't let them take Church and the others to that awful black tower. I can't let them take the talismans. But what can I do?"

Nina nodded sympathetically. "There were so many of them-"

"They've got a way to go to reach the tower. We could head them offl"

"You're starting to sound like John Wayne." Nina's faint humour underlined the futility of what Ruth was saying, but she wasn't going to be deterred.

"Will you come with me?"

Nina shook her head. "I love my life too much. If there was a chance-"

"Then I'll have to try it alone. I can't give up." She fastened her jacket and strode defiantly to the door.

"Wait." Nina hurried to the dresser and returned with what appeared to be a piece of root with grass and vines wrapped around it. "I laboured hard over that. Slip it in your pocket. It won't make you invisible to the things out there, but it should mask your presence enough to make it easier for you to travel through the countryside at night."

Ruth thanked her, but her mind was already on what lay ahead. As she opened the door and slipped out, Nina called behind her, "Be true to your destiny. Blessed be." And then the door slammed shut and Ruth was alone in the night.

It was a real effort to scramble up the steep hillside amongst the trees, but soon she was at the road. It was deserted, with no sign that the Fomorii had ever been there. Callow's car had gone too, and Ruth presumed they were using it to transport the talismans because the Fomorii were unable to touch them.

She ran to the van, then swore angrily; she didn't have the keys. "Laura!" she called out. "It's Ruth." At first there was no answer and Ruth feared the worst, then she heard what seemed to be a stream of abuse in a frail voice. "Never mind that. Open the doors."

It took an agonisingly long time, but finally the doors swung open. Laura hung on the handle, obviously in great pain, barely able to hold herself up. "It's freezing," she said hoarsely. "I thought I was going to die in here."

"There's still a chance for that." Ruth clambered past her. "God, I hope your shady past taught you how to hotwire an ignition system."

"Yes, but if you think I'm going to crawl under a steering wheel-"

"Just tell me!" Ruth heaved herself over the back of the seats. "I never thought I'd say this, but I'm glad it's you here and not someone who's lawabiding." She paused. "How come they left you here?"

"I guess they thought I was dead after what that bastard did. No one figured to look in the van."

Laura guided Ruth through the process, laughing at Ruth's scream as she almost burned her fingers in the flash as the spark jumped between the two wires. Once the engine roared into life, Ruth slammed the van into first and pulled on to the road. While she powered through the gears, Laura told how she had listened to the attack of the Baobhan Sith and everything that happened after, while keeping as quiet as she could to avoid detection.

"How do you feel?" Ruth asked.

"Like I've been slashed into bloody chunks with a razor. How do you think I feel?"

"Just asking."

There was a long pause and then Laura said, "I could do with some more painkillers."

"Hurts?"

"Like hell. I think some of the wounds have opened up." Ruth heard Laura shift around under the pile of sleeping bags that were supposed to be keeping her warm. "Sorry I'm not going to be much use."

"Even if you were fighting fit, there wouldn't be much you could do."

"No big plan, then?"

Ruth didn't answer. She didn't even know what she was doing. The thought of that mass of Fomorii filled her with dread. The only way she could avoid paralysis was to keep moving on instinct, ignoring the ringing alarms in her head that were saying her futile act was going to be the death of her.

She took the treacherous bends at breakneck speed, peering over the wheel for some sign of the Fomorii. She knew they couldn't have travelled far in the time since she had left the cottage, so she killed the lights and cruised by the light of the moon, using the central white lines for guidance. She had the window wound down a little, listening for the cacophany of grunts and shrieks, but the night was eerily still, just the rustling of the trees and the singing of the tires on the road.

Then, as she rounded the next bend, she saw the seething mass ahead of her, moving in complete silence-which was somehow even more disturbing than the hideous sound they normally made. She slammed on the brakes and slewed to a halt, switching off the engine as quickly as she could and praying the Fomorii were singleminded enough to ignore the sound of her approach. Away up front she could make out the headlamps of Callow's car, moving slowly.

She turned to Laura, whose shock of blonde hair glowed like the moon where it stuck out of the sleeping bags. "Hold tight," she said softly.

Although Church could feel rough hands on him, he seemed to be floating in and out of consciousness. It was all he could do to maintain any rational thought among the overwhelming sense of evil which seemed to wrap around him in thick, black swathes. But he could feel movement as he was dragged or carried, smell the sickening stink that clouded all around, hear the rasp of inhuman breath. He had no idea where they were being taken, but he knew their lives wouldn't last long after their arrival, and he feared, in a way he didn't think possible, what tortures Calatin would inflict before his death.

Then, through all the turmoil, he became aware of a distant sound, slowly rippling closer like the rumbling of an approaching tidal wave. As it neared, he tried to clutch at his ears to keep it out; his stomach bucked and flipped, his gorge rose, his mind threatened to switch off completely. And only then did he guess what it was: the sound of the Fomorii in fear.

Suddenly there was chaos. The night was torn apart by ferocious cries as the Fomorii broke up in disarray. Church was dropped roughly to the ground, where he bounced around like a pinball as the beasts surged in all directions, tearing and bruising his flesh. But with the claustrophobic atmosphere of evil disrupted by the confusion, he found it easier to think. Somehow he got to his feet and looked around frantically for Veitch and Shavi. Instead, he saw what appeared to be a whirlpool in the dark sea of Fomorii ahead of him as they circled crazily in one spot. At first he watched in confusion, until he realised there was something at the heart of the maelstrom. Slashing sounds began to cut through the frenzied gibberings, and then the black wave parted and he saw what lay at the heart of the churning area. There was a group of creatures about five feet high, their skin a sickening green, scaled in part, with long black hair and monstrous features. They were moving through the Fomorii with some kind of weapons that Church couldn't quite make out, but he saw the aftermath: disembowellings, severed limbs, hacked heads. A slurry of blood and bone was beginning to mire the green grass. There was something about the creatures' heads that didn't appear right, but it was only when they drew closer that he could see what it was; they wore head-dresses made out of bloody human body parts-torsos, scalps, faces-and the grue from them matted the creatures' hair and bodies.

Church was transfixed by the sheer savagery of their attack. The manner in which they cut a swathe through the Fomorii was almost hypnotic in its brutality.

The spell was broken when someone grabbed his arm. Church whirled, ready to lash out. He caught himself when he saw it was Tom, then roughly pushed him away in disgust.

"They don't control me all the time!" Tom protested.

"I can't believe you!" Church began searching for Veitch and Shavi.

"Then don't! But heed me-don't let the Redcaps see you! They're being controlled to attack the Fomorii, but their natural enemy is man!"

Just as Tom spoke, one of the creatures broke off his dismemberment of a Fomor and stared in Church's direction. A second later it had broken away from the pack and was running towards him, its face contorted with rage.

Church moved at once, sprinting painfully off to one side, but the Redcap followed him unerringly. There were still Fomorii everywhere, though most of them had turned on the attacking Redcaps and were attempting to repel the intruders. He tried to weave among the Fomorii, who were too distracted to pay him any attention, but still the Redcap dogged his heels. And now he could hear the noise it was making-a roar like a big cat that set the hairs on the back of his neck rising.

Then, through the turmoil, he spotted Shavi curiously up high, waving to him frantically. He turned and ran in his direction.

Emerging through a pack of Fomorii, Church saw Shavi standing on the top of Callow's car while the battle raged all about. Veitch was at the rear with the boot open, repeatedly smashing his fist into Callow's face, which had dissolved into a bloody pulp. But it was Witch's expression that concerned him the most: he was lost to the violence and rage. Church barged past him, almost stumbling into the boot, and flicked open the crate. A shimmer of blue fire crackled through the talismans. As Church reached in to grab the sword, he was taken aback to feel it leap into his hand. He whirled round with the sword raised just as the Redcap thundered towards him, roaring like the wind, a strangely shaped, heavily chipped axe raised above its head.

As the axe came down, Church parried the blow, half-expecting his sword to shatter. But it held firm, although the force of the clash jarred every bone in his body. He stumbled backwards against the car, fighting to regain his equilibrium. Then, as the Redcap raised the axe for another blow, Church lashed out madly. The sword hacked into the creature's face like a knife slicing through butter. Greenish blood showered all over him, burning his skin where it landed, and the Redcap slumped to its knees, dead.

Church yanked the sword out with an effort, then turned and caught Witch's arm mid-punch. "Leave him. We've got to get out of here."

Without waiting for an answer, he clambered atop the car alongside Shavi, to get a better view. "Any way out?"

"I cannot see one," Shavi replied.

Oddly, Church found himself unable to focus on the Fomorii fighting the battle. He could see movement, flying blood and limbs, could hear the terrible sounds they were making, but beyond that it was almost as if they had merged into one lake of darkness which was roiling in the grip of a furious storm.

But he could see what remained of the Redcaps hacking a path directly to the car. "They want the talismans too," he said with sudden certainty. And then it came to him. Scanning the vicinity, he soon spotted the unmistakable flurry of movement in a field picked out in silver by the moon's light. Mollecht and a small group of Fomorii waited patiently.

"Whoever wins the talismans, gains the power," he muttered to himself. He turned to Shavi. "Infighting. Suits me fine. Now how-"

He was cut off by a high-pitched, shrieking cry in the nerve-jarring Fomorii dialect. Calatin had spotted them and was trying to divert his troops from the Redcaps to a defence of the talismans. Church felt a gush of icy fear drench him as the entire ranks of Fomorii and Redcaps turned as one to face him.

Ruth watched the chaos break out from further up the road, but from that distance it was impossible to tell exactly what was happening. She watched anxiously, wishing she were confident enough to make a decision, batting away Laura's increasingly irritated calls for information. But then her attention was caught by the briefest shimmer of blue fire and she picked out Church and Shavi standing on the car roof.

"Hold tight," she said as she spun the van around in the road.

"You can't leave them!" Laura yelled angrily.

"I'm not. I'm …"-she took a deep breath and slammed the van into reverse-"… ramraiding." Then she popped the clutch and the van shot backwards with such force Laura screamed. "I said hold tight!" Ruth shouted above the roar of the engine.

They thundered into the middle of the Fomorii as if they were crashing into a forest. Every time they hit one, something buckled; the nearside was so badly dented Ruth was sure it was going to cave in. The rear windows shattered, showering Laura with glass, then the doors burst open and the one that had been replaced at Glastonbury was torn off. Ruth kept her foot on the accelerator and her gaze on the wing mirror, although she was shaking from head to toe. Even if they made it to Church, she wondered if the van would be in any condition to get them out.

But then she saw the car's headlamps loom up and she popped the brakes, stopping an inch or so from its bumper. Before she had thrust the gear stick into first, Veitch had launched himself into the back, with the crate under one arm and the spear in the other hand. Church and Shavi dived in after.

The Fomorii were already regrouping. Ruth revved the engine and prepared to drive.

"Wait!" Church called out. She saw him scramble to the back of the van and drag in a bedraggled figure. It was Tom.

"Leave him!" Veitch yelled. "He's a fucking traitor!"

Church bundled the man towards the front of the van, then called for Ruth to go. The van shot forward just as a Fomor punched a hole through the offside. Others were ready to clamber through the open doors. Ruth swung the van from side to side to throw off any that might be clinging on, then ploughed through whatever was in her path. The van was tossed and turned as if it were in an earthquake; she lost the wing mirror; one headlamp exploded; a terrible whine started to come from the engine.

But somehow she managed to keep going. And when they rumbled over the last body and hit the open road, she was so overcome with relief her eyes filled with tears. She wiped them away before any of the others could see, then moved through the gears rapidly. Soon the dark, turbulent countryside was whizzing by and they were heading back in the direction of the motorway.