The Firehills (16 page)

“We are still deep within the realm of the Sidhe,” explained Amergin. “These are internal walls. A doorway
here would simply lead us to the next room.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” agreed Sam, as if the answer
had been on the tip of his tongue. Charly sighed. They paced onward in silence.

Charly began to recognize her surroundings. They were
passing through the heartland of the Faery Folk, close by the feasting hall.
Beyond that, she was in unfamiliar territory, relying on Amergin’s instincts.
The wizard seemed far more purposeful than she had seen him for a long time,
more like the Amergin who had led her and Sam in their quest against the
Malifex. From time to time, however, he would mutter under his breath,
“Foolish, foolish.”

Puzzled, Charly said, “We’ve told you most of what
happened to us. What about you? What have you done that was so foolish?”

Amergin sighed. “Lost sight of my appointed task, child.
Let that be a lesson to you, Sam,” he called over his shoulder. “I allowed
myself to be distracted by the flash and glitter of your modern world. I forgot
my mission to train a hero for the battle against evil. Never again. Buffy!” he exclaimed. “Ha!”

Charly looked at Sam, who shrugged.

Moving on, they entered an area given over to the practice
of war—barracks with row after row of low, hard beds; huge, empty stables;
vast armories with all but a handful of weapons missing from their racks.
Finally, they came to a low doorway, a rectangle of deeper darkness in
the general gloom. Amergin held up a hand for them to slow down and approached
the doorway cautiously. After a moment, he beckoned them forward, whispering,
“We must be silent. There is something evil within, but our way lies beyond
this door.”

With a feeling of mounting dread, Charly and Sam followed
the bard through the doorway. The darkness within was unrelieved by torches,
but after a moment, their eyes began to adjust. They were in a cavern, long and
broad, with stalactites dripping from the half-glimpsed roof high above. And
they were not alone.

It seemed that the Sidhe had taken only their horses to
war, leaving their other pets behind. In the half-light, Charly recognized the
creatures that had pursued her to the feasting hall of Lord Finnvarr and then
mysteriously vanished. The ebb and flow of their breath filled the chamber as,
in the gloom, they slept.

Amergin raised a finger to his lips, though neither Sam
nor Charly had any intention of making a noise. They were both frozen with
dread, staring wide-eyed at the seemingly endless ranks of horrors.

Nearest to the central path sprawled untidy heaps of
unclean bodies. Goblins and boggarts were asleep in a tangle of limbs.
Scattered among them were the midnight black forms of the cu sith, their huge
canine heads on their paws and tongues lolling in the dirt. Farther back in the
gloom were larger shapes: the mounded backs of great black bulls and rams—the
bugganes—lost in evil dreams. And finally, in the shadowy recesses of the
cavern, sights that made Sam bite off a cry of horror: huge and formless in
the darkness, the towering figures of giants and trolls, their snores rumbling
through the very foundations of the cave. Charly and Sam exchanged glances,
each seeking reassurance in the other’s eyes. Then they turned to follow
Amergin as he stepped softly along the central path. In places, the tangle of
goblin bodies spilled out in front of them, and they were forced to pick their
way through a maze of hairy arms and dark, misshapen legs. Charly’s heart
threatened to leap out of her chest whenever a goblin stirred and grunted in
its sleep. At one point, Sam came perilously close to treading on clawlike
fingers as a boggart flopped its arm out in front of him. But the creatures of
the Sidhe were deep in slumber, and gradually, the three made progress toward
the far end of the chamber.

Suddenly Amergin waved a hand behind him, gesturing for
Sam and Charly to stop. Peering around his back, they saw the problem. Blocking
the path was a shaggy black mound—one of the cu sith, a dog the size of a
horse, built like an Irish wolfhound but with the muscular bulk of a
rottweiler. It lay on its side across the path, and it was hunting in its
dreams, whimpering softly, its paws and eyebrows twitching as it pursued some
unfortunate prey through the forests of its mind.

Amergin gestured toward the belly of the dog, miming that
they should try to step between its legs and over its tail. When Sam and Charly
nodded that they understood, he set off, slowly and smoothly, testing each
footstep before he committed his weight, eyes glued to the dog’s legs for
signs of movement. And then he was past, and it was Charly’s turn. She placed one foot in the space between
the hound’s chin and chest, made sure of her balance, and prepared to step
over the forelegs. She had one foot in the air when the dog’s nostrils began
to twitch, and it let out a long, high whimper. Charly froze, teetering on one
leg. Gradually, the whimper trailed away, and the dog settled back into sleep.
Charly put her foot down next to the huge chest with relief. With more
confidence, she stepped along the length of the dog’s belly, over its hind
legs and tail, and was greeted with a silent hug from Amergin.

Sam had been watching Charly’s progress carefully and
realized that the first step had to be swift, otherwise his scent would linger
before the sleeping hound’s nose for too long. Moving boldly, he strode past
the head and over the forelegs. The dog remained silent. Pausing beside the
slowly heaving chest, Sam scrubbed at his nose with the back of his hand and
contemplated the next step. One huge hind leg was pawing at the ground as the
dog chased its dream prey. Sam moved closer, waiting for the motion to subside.
He sniffed—the noise loud in the silence—and received a glare from Amergin.
The leg ceased its frantic twitching, and Sam stepped over, skipped lightly
over the tail, and joined the others. And then he sneezed, a huge, unexpected
sneeze that bounced off the walls of the cavern and receded into the distance.

“Sam! You idiot!” hissed Charly.

“I can’t help it!” he whispered in reply. “I’m
allergic to dogs!”

“Well, why didn’t you—?”

But Charly was cut off by a high, drawn-out wail. Up near the roof of the cavern, where stalactites hung in
great, fluted curtains, something was stirring. One by one, more of the
unearthly cries sprang up around the cavern as the banshees awoke. Upside down,
their long, black hair falling around their beautiful faces, they crawled down
the stalactites and launched themselves into the air. As they swooped and
wheeled around the chamber, wailing and screeching, the other creatures of the
Sidhe began to stir.

The procession wound through the streets of Hastings, its
numbers swollen now by curious holidaymakers. Despite the overcast sky and a
chill wind from the sea, the town was filled with holiday bustle, and the
revelers made slow progress through the crowds.

Along the seafront and into the Old Town they made their
way, the towering figure of Jack-in-the-Green, like an animated Christmas tree
topped with a crown and ribbons, at the head. Behind him came his bogies, clad
in vibrant green, adorned with sprigs of vegetation, antlers, and horns. With
them came the chimney sweeps, blackclad and sooty-faced, and a red-faced man
with a drum, who wore a parody of a military uniform. Drums, large and small,
appeared throughout the procession, all of them pounding out the same primeval
rhythm. There were giants too, towering figures of papier-mâché; a knight
with red hair and beard, brandishing a sword and shield; a witch in a black
dress, with ruby lips and huge, dark eyes; a hooded man, all in green. The
giants swayed and lurched above the heads of the crowd, while the hobby horse
danced around them, sinister in its long black cape. It chased after children who screamed at its snapping jaw and
sad, mad eyes.

From time to time, at prearranged points, the procession
would stop to rest. Then the music of accordions and pipes began, and morris
dancers in crisp white costumes would wheel and spin, bells jingling and
ribbons streaming behind them. Above the music and dancing towered Jack, silent
and enigmatic beneath his leaves. And whenever the procession moved on, more
tourists followed, infected by the feeling that something was imminent, that
they were part of some drama that would play out its final act when
Jack-in-the-Green reached his destination.

High above the streets of town, beneath a gray lid of
clouds, the green bowl of the castle was beginning to fill up as tourists and
revelers poured in through the gate. The deck chairs around the central stage
were all occupied, and the slopes beneath the high circling walls were thick
with picnickers. Megan was doing a brisk trade, trying to smile at the
customers, but half of her attention was on the crowd. Here and there, she
could make out familiar faces, practitioners of the Craft who dropped in and
out of the Aphrodite Guest House as if it were their second home. They all had
heeded Mrs. P.’s call, and all had the same look, a tightness around the eyes
and mouth, their auras filled with expectation, tension, fear. But it was Mrs.
P. who caused Megan the greatest concern. Her aura showed all of those things
and something more. Something dark and cold—a great, bottomless sadness.

Megan shuddered as she handed a customer his change.

“What now?” demanded Charly, looking from Sam to
Amergin.

The bard peered into the darkness, where huge figures were
lurching out of the shadows. “I think,” he began carefully, “that we
should run.”

“And that’s the wizard’s approach, is it?” Charly
snapped.

“There is a time for magic,” replied Amergin, breaking
into a jog, “and a time for running. And now is definitely running time.
MOVE!”

Charly started to follow Amergin, then realized that Sam
had remained behind. Turning, she saw that he was rooted to the spot, and she
understood why. The floor of the cavern behind them seemed to writhe as
hundreds of goblins and boggarts shook off sleep and began to scramble to their
feet. High above, one of the banshees wheeled and began to plummet toward them,
a terrible scream trailing out behind it. Sam’s eyes grew wider as it arrowed
toward him, long black hair snapping in the wind of its flight. In a face of
porcelain skin and perfect features, blood red lips were pulled back to reveal
sharp fangs.

“Come on!” shouted Charly, grabbing Sam by the arm. He
stumbled backward, and the banshee hissed past his face, its talons millimeters
from his eyes. Gagging on the stench from its black robes, he turned and broke
into a run behind Charly, who was sprinting down the chamber toward the
retreating figure of Amergin.

The cavern began to echo with cries as the cu sith awoke
and began to bay, and the boggarts called to each other in harsh voices. The
bugganes lumbered from their resting places, shifting shape from bull to ram to
foul goblin form, and in the farthest shadows, the first of the trolls lurched
into motion.

The procession left the busy shopping streets along the
seafront and turned inland. To the hypnotic pounding of the drums, the
holidaymakers and morris dancers, bogies, and giants began their final ascent.
The stragglers were still setting off from the seafront as the leaders of the
throng began to make their way up Castle Hill, so long had the procession
become. High above, a thrill of excitement ran through the crowd assembled in
the castle grounds as the word spread: Jack was on his way. From deep within
the Hollow Hills, the Host of the Sidhe rode forth. Lord Finnvarr and Lady Una
were at its head, mounted on black steeds with eyes of flame. Behind them rode
fifty of the Faery Folk, and twice as many again were on foot—almost all that
remained of that race—dressed for war. The hoofs of their horses struck sparks
from the stone floor as they made their way toward the human world.

Sam and Charly scrambled over boulders and dodged around stalagmites as they struggled to catch up with
Amergin. The moisture that had created the spires of rock by its slow,
millennial dripping made every surface slippery, and both Sam and Charly had
lost their footing. Charly had cracked her shin painfully on a rock ledge. But
the hoarse breath and howling of the cu sith was close behind them, spurring
them on. As they reached the farther end of the cavern, the walls drew closer
and the floor became more broken. Amergin was slowing down as the terrain
became rougher, and soon Charly and Sam caught up with him.

Turning to them, he cried, “Duck!” and they felt a
gust of foul air as two of the banshees swooped over them. Amergin let loose a
bolt of energy from his fingertips, dropping one of the creatures with a
shriek. They heard a sickening crack as it collided with a spire of rock.

“Come on!” shouted Amergin. “I can see a way out.”

He pointed ahead to a narrow crack of deeper darkness
toward the cavern’s end. Sam and Charly scrambled after him as he picked his
way through the tumbled rock debris toward the opening. Sam heard a clatter of
stone and turned. The cu sith were close now, claws skittering on the damp
rock, their tongues lolling from their mouths and their jaws flecked with foam.
And behind them came the goblins and boggarts, a foul tide sweeping over every
surface, some running upright, some scuttling on all fours, trampling each
other in their haste to reach their quarry. The air resounded with harsh cries
in nameless languages, the furious baying of the cu sith, and farther off but
drawing nearer, the rumbling bellows of trolls.

The nearest of the great black dogs scented victory and
made a huge bound forward, its eyes blazing red in the darkness. It landed
close behind Sam, who was struggling to move at speed over the wet rubble of
the cavern floor. Amergin had reached the opening in the cave wall and paused.
Turning, he saw the massive hound bearing down on Sam. Pulling Charly to him,
he flung out one hand and sent forth a blast of violet energy, but at that
moment, the dog slipped and crashed to the floor. The bolt of energy passed
over its head, and then it was on its feet once more, talons scrabbling as it
fought for a footing. As Sam sprinted the last few agonizing meters to the
exit, the claws of the cu sith caught on solid rock and it sprang forward, jaws
agape. Charly reached for Sam’s hand and dragged him into the opening in the
cavern wall. The faery hound, unable to stop its momentum, crashed headlong
into the opening and slumped to the ground, its massive head and shoulders
blocking half the exit.