Always Forever (49 page)

Yet the charts and books covering every table, desk, chair, shelf and most of
the floor were not thrown around. It was almost as if they were watching the
storm from some distant place, which Church suspected was probably true.

The Fomorii came in about ten minutes later. They acted unnerved by the
light, wandering around the room with uncharacteristic caution, prodding
potential hiding places with their swords. Church was surprised to see that in
the glare of the torches they looked diminished; quite literally. They were
smaller, their gleaming sable forms no longer holding so many surprises: two
legs, two arms, a head.

As one of them passed a bookshelf packed with maps, it didn't notice a
column of mist, fading in and out of the light. The haze curled around the
Fomor, then moved away as if it had been caught on a breeze. For a second or
two the beast froze. Then slowly it threw its head back and released a terrible
cry that was immediately and surprisingly recognisable as despair. The Night
Walker lashed out wildly, demolishing the bookcase with one blow, then began
to run backwards and forwards in a frenzy, tearing at its eyes and ears. Black
gunk splashed on to the pristine white of the charts.

"What's happening?" Church whispered.

Baccharus shrugged slightly. "The Spriggan has whispered a secret."

"Christ, what kind of secret?"

"One that can drive anything insane."

What this could possibly be disturbed Church so deeply he decided not to
consider it further.

The other Fomorii grew as animated as monkeys in the jungle at their
fellow's demise by its own hands, but they didn't back off. Opting for a tight
defensive formation, they moved cautiously through the vast room in search of
the invisible enemy. Church couldn't identify the Spriggans either, and he had
suggested areas where they could secrete themselves. He knew of the legends
surrounding them long before Cormorel had pointed them out. The ghosts of
giants, supposedly, haunting the standing stones of Cornwall, but in actuality
they had the shapeshifting abilities of many denizens of T'ir n'a n'Og. Often
they appeared as insubstantial as morning mist, but when they took on substance they were even more grotesque than the Fomorii.

Despite their fearsome reputation, they respected Church for his links with
the Blue Fire, which apparently calmed their violent natures.

The Fomorii were growing irritated with their inability to locate the enemy
and had taken to hacking randomly at shelving and piles of books. But as they
passed near heavy purple drapes flapping in the breeze from one open window,
there was sudden movement. The drapes folded back and out of them-out of
the air itself-came the Spriggans, now solid, and monstrous in their rage. They
descended on the Fomorii like frenzied birds, intermittently fading so the Night
Walkers could never get a handle on them.

If there had been fewer than the eight Spriggans Church counted, the
Fomorii might have stood a chance; as it was the Night Walkers managed to
bring down one with a lucky blow while he was solid. But the white-hot rage
of the Spriggans drove them on relentlessly. Soon the torn bodies of the Fomorii
lay heaped in the centre of the room.

In the light of what he had seen, Church was wary of emerging from his
hiding place, but Baccharus was quickly out to thank the Spriggans with a taut
bow. They were shifting anxiously around the corpses, as if they were considering feasting. Rather than see what transpired, Church thanked them from a
distance and quickly exited.

For the next hour and a half, the attacks proceeded relentlessly. Here the tearing
claws of the thing that resembled a griffin, there the ferocity of the Manticore
analogue. Losses amongst the ship's passengers were relatively few-a couple of
Portunes crushed by a falling Fomor, something that had a body covered with
sharp thorns, like a human porcupine-but the Night Walkers were decimated.
Once Church and Baccharus had convinced themselves no others roamed the
corridors, they moved speedily towards the deck.

They emerged into the face of a gale as sharp as knives. The rain was horizontal,
bullet hard, and mixed with sheeting salt water. Lightning tore the sky ragged
with barely a break between strikes. Below deck, they had been aware of the
ship's movements on the waves, but had somehow been protected from it. There
in the open they faced the full force of the wild pitching that almost tipped
Wave Sweeper from end to end. Even shouting, they could not be heard above
the explosive force of the thunder. Purchase on the streaming boards was almost
impossible to find. They skidded from side to side, clutching on to rigging or
railing to prevent themselves being thrown overboard. At one point, Church
was hanging on by only his arms, his legs dangling out at near right angles to
the deck. Strangely unaffected by the yawing, Baccharus hooked a hand in
Church's jacket to keep him anchored until the boat began to turn the other
way, and then they hurried to the next safe point.

After fifteen minutes, the door to Manannan's quarters loomed agonisingly
close. Church clung to a spinnaker, ready to make the final dash. Just as he was
about to put a foot forward, lightning painted the deck a brilliant white and
from the corner of his eye he caught sight of an incongruous shadow. He whirled
and dodged with a second to spare. Talons like metal spikes turned wood to
splinters where his head had been.

Another flash brought a face into stark relief only inches from his own: slit
pupils turning to a black sliver in the glare, reptilian scales, a flickering tongue,
flaring nostrils steaming in the storm's chill, the bone structure of the skull
ridged and hard.

Church thrust hard and the Maligna flew on to its back and rolled down the
deck. But he was not alone. The lightning flashes created an odd strobe effect,
freezing then releasing, before freezing again, as the rest of the Malignos
attacked. It was a surreal scenario, the creatures leaping like lizards from railing
to rigging, caught in the light, untroubled by the wild swings of the ship. And
at the back, clutching the jamb of the door that led below deck, was Callow, his
face as furious as the storm.

The Malignos were flitting shadows until the lightning caught them, and
then it was apparent why they were so feared. Their bodies were lithe yet packed
with muscle, efficient machines with only one brutal purpose in mind. The speed
with which they moved made it impossible for any prey to avoid them in open
pursuit, while their reputation as flesh eaters made them even more fearsome.

Church was caught between running for cover and standing and fighting his
ground, but in the violently tossing ship it was impossible to do either; the most
he could do was hang on to the spinnaker for grim life.

There must have been six or seven of the Malignos, but it was impossible to pin down the exact number because of the speed of their movement and the
force of the storm. They were coming at him from both sides, but shifting
around rapidly to confuse him like a pack of hunting wolves.

Baccharus was yelling something, but Church couldn't hear above the wind.
In that instant, the Malignos struck. A ball of flailing, wiry limbs slammed into
Church head-on. He lost his grip on the spinnaker and went down hard.
Another Maligna flashed by just close enough to rake him with its talons. Warm
blood seeped out through the tears on his jacket. The first one planted itself
astride him, raising up one arm ready to tear out his throat. Church frantically
tried to throw him off, but the creature was too strong. The talons curled; the
arm came down.

Baccharus caught the Maligna with the back of his hand, a blow of such
force Church felt the vibrations in his bones. The beast flew down the deck. Baccharus managed to get Church to his feet. The god was still trying to tell
Church something, but before Church could decipher it, another Maligna
crashed into his back. The deck tipped, his feet left the boards and he was flying
down the length of the ship, careening off the rigging, bouncing off the railing,
inches from going overboard into the savage sea. He slammed into the wall next
to the door leading below deck, and for a second lost consciousness.

When he came to, Callow was over him, a rusty razor blade clutched
between thumb and forefinger, ready to slice into Church's jugular. His hideous
face glowed white in the lightning, the black veins standing out in stark relief.
Church suddenly flashed to Callow's attack on Laura in the back of the van, to
what he had done to Ruth in Callendar, and he was overcome with fury.

Church came up sharp, catching Callow on the jaw with the top of his head.
Callow stumbled back; the razor blade was washed away. Spinning round,
Church faced the Malignos and knew what Baccharus had been telling him to
do. From his side, he pulled up the Wish-Sword that he had been saving for the
final assault on Manannan's captors; Baccharus had warned him the effect it had
on his spirit would mean he could only use it once in a day, but there was no
other option. He thumbed the gem in the handle and waited as the blue fire
crackled between the twin blades, building from the handle towards the tip.

The Malignos were almost upon him. They leapt as one from different
directions, but they were a second too late. The energy leapt from the blade in
a sapphire flash; lightning brought down to earth, it jumped from one Maligna
to the other, seizing them in a coruscating field so bright Church had to look
away. When his eyes cleared, all of the attackers were gone, with not even the
slightest remains to indicate they had ever existed.

Weary, Church slumped back against the wall. He felt as if a vital part of him had been lost, but Baccharus had told him the debilitating sensation would
pass.

Nearby, Callow was shakily making his way to his feet. Church didn't know
if he would have the energy to repel another attack.

When Callow saw Baccharus approaching, his expression grew sly and he
pointed accusingly, mouthing something over and over. The insistence in his face
suggested the importance of his unheard words, but they were snatched from his
lips the moment they were born. Church was drawn magnetically to the shaping
of that mouth, divining the syllables. Again. And again. He almost had it ...

The wave must have been twenty feet high, the water as grey and hard as
stone. It came down with the force of an angry god swatting flies. Church
grabbed hold of the door jamb the moment he saw it rushing towards him,
screwing his eyes and mouth shut tight. For a brief moment a new universe
closed around him and he was convinced his arms were going to be torn from
his sockets. He held fast while his fingers felt like they were breaking, and when
the rush passed and he opened his eyes, Callow was gone.

There was little point searching overboard; even if Church could spot him
in the turbulent waters he would have had no way of getting him back on to the
ship. He didn't feel any sense of victory at the loss; he didn't feel anything at all.
The weariness that had afflicted him since using the Wish-Sword reached into
his very bones and although it had eased slightly in the passing moments, he
wondered if he had any reserves left to face what lay ahead.

They paused at the door to Manannan's quarters briefly before stepping inside.
There was no guard waiting for them; the remaining Fomorii still expected their
forces to be swarming on deck.

A moment later they stood outside Manannan's private room. Through the
thick wood came the muffled growls of the Fomorii, but there was no other
recognisable voice. Church wondered if Manannan was still alive, and Niamh
too, but his real thoughts were for Ruth.

"Give me the Wish-Sword," Baccharus whispered, pulling Church a few
paces back from the door.

"What am I going to do?"

"Rest, and watch my back. What I can provide the Wish-Sword will not be
as powerful as you, but it should suffice."

"So, what? We just barge in there?"

"An act of surprise may win the day."

They exchanged a look that underlined their mutual respect and trust,
paused to gather their thoughts, and then rushed the door.