World's End (Age of Misrule, Book 1) (70 page)

"This may seem a stupid question," Church said once they were all aboard, "but has anyone here sailed before?"

Veitch made a face. "Been on the Thames Ferry. Didn't like it very much. And that boat in Wales."

"I owned a small boat for fishing on the loch in my heyday," Tom said. "And I have even fished at sea, so I have enough knowledge to get us out there. But the currents between the mainland and island are rumoured to be strong and if the serpent gets angry, his backwash will capsize us. I presume we can all swim?"

They all nodded, apart from Veitch, who began to look a little wary.

"That's not an option," Church said. "How are we going to do anything if the talismans are at the bottom of the deep blue? You've got to get us out there and keep us steady so Shavi can do his bit."

"Try to," Shavi stressed.

They cast off and Tom steered the boat away from the shore. Although the water had appeared calm from dry land, they were soon bouncing across the waves in a queasy chopping motion. The wind had changed direction and now the thick, acrid smoke was being blown out across the bay; it was as if a thick fog had rolled between them and Skye.

"If we get past the serpent, we can take the boat around the north of the island to Dunvegan. It is built on a sea loch, so we can go right up to its walls."

Church stood in the prow, tasting the salt as the spray stung his face, trying to ignore the icy cold that now permeated his entire body. Shavi rested on the wooden rail next to him to stare into the blue-green depths.

"How are you holding up?" Church asked.

"I think we are all holding up remarkably well, seeing that we are a mass of neuroses and contradictions wrapped up in skin and bone-in short, very human-being expected to do the job of heroes."

Church shrugged. "What's a hero? Some big muscular guy with a sword? Or some normal person who takes a swing for the greater good, despite everything?"

Shavi looked at him curiously.

"I'm just saying we're trying to do the best we can under the circumstances. Maybe the historians will come in with their whitewash brushes in a few years' time to turn us into heroes."

"You are only a hero if you win." Shavi looked up, his smile taking the edge off the bitter words. "There is no place in Valhalla for those who simply tried hard."

The smoke rolled in around them, choking, stinging their eyes. They all sat down in the bottom of the boat where the air was freshest, listening to the eerie echoes as the smoke muffled the lapping of the water and the sound of the town burning. They could have been hundreds of miles away, lost in the centre of the Atlantic.

Then Shavi's clear, sharp voice made them all start. "It is coming."

At first they could hear nothing. A few seconds later, from out of the smoke, came the almost mechanical sound of something breaking the water at regular intervals, growing louder as it drew closer. Church watched anxiously as Shavi closed his eyes, his face growing taut with concentration. The splashing, stitching sound came on relentlessly. Shavi's brow furrowed, his lips pulled back from his teeth.

At the last moment Church realised it wasn't going to work and he called out to the others to hold on. The serpent surged just past the prow and the boat lifted up at forty-five degrees. Church ground his eyes shut and gritted his teeth: someone cried out; he was convinced they were going under, dragged to the bottom in the backwash; a horrible way to die. But the boat poised on the cusp of tragedy like some terrible fairground ride and then went prow down just as steeply into the trough left by the serpent's passing. Waves crashed over them. Church sucked in a mouthful of seawater, but somehow held on. The boat righted itself jarringly, as if it were skidding across sand dunes. Church looked round; amazingly, everyone was still clinging on.

"If it hits us astern it'll shatter the boat," he yelled to Shavi.

Shavi screwed up his face in anger at his failure before flinging himself upright and gripping on to the rail. "Here!" he shouted. "To me!"

"Get down!" Church cried. "If it comes by again you'll be over the side!"

Shavi ignored him. A second or two later a shiver ran down Church's spine as he heard the serpent stitching water towards them. It was like a goods train; his breath grew as hard as stone in his chest. He braced himself for the impact. And waited, and waited.

There was a sound like a boulder being pitched into the water and then the drizzle of falling droplets as a shadow fell across him. The serpent had risen up out of the waves, as high as a lamppost, its flattened head swaying from side to side like a cobra. It had skin that was as shiny black and slick as a seal and eyes that seemed to glow a dull yellow; odd whiskers tufted out around its mouth like a catfish. And it seemed to be staring at Shavi.

Church was about to call out to his friend when he noticed the rigid posture and ghosted expression on Shavi's face, as if he were in a coma with his eyes open. They stayed that way for a long moment, two drunks staring each other out in a bar, and then, slowly, the serpent melted into the waves and swam languorously away.

Church heard Laura whisper, "Good doggy."

A spontaneous cheer arose from the others, just as Shavi pitched backwards alongside Church. His face was still locked tight. Church felt a sudden surge of panic when he looked into those glassy eyes; there was not even the slightest sign of Shavi within them. He scrambled forward and began to shake his shoulders.

The others' jubilation died away when they saw the edge of panic in his actions. "Shavi," he said. "Come back!"

"Leave him!" Tom barked. "If you disturb him now he could be lost forever!"

"But what if he can't get back?" Church said. He stared again into those glassy eyes and couldn't control his desperation; the price they were paying was increasing constantly and he despaired at where it would end.

"Leave him!" Tom shouted again.

Reluctantly, Church stood back in the prow-then suddenly all thought of Shavi was gone. A gust of wind cleared the billowing smoke like a theatre curtain being rolled back, presenting a view of Skye that chilled him to the bone. At first details along the coast were blurred and he blinked twice to clear his vision. Then he realised the loss of distinction to the sharp edges of the green and grey coastline was caused by constant movement. Along the seafront, Skye was swarming; there was a sickening infestation of darkness as far as the eye could see, like ants on a dead rat.

"My God! How many are there?" Ruth was beside him, one hand on his shoulder.

They were mesmerised by the sheer enormity of what they were seeing, the malevolence that seemed to wash out across the water towards them. In that one moment, they knew: the world was ending and there was nothing they could do about it.

Church turned to Veitch, Laura and Tom, who were bickering at the rear of the boat, oblivious to the brief vision of hell that had been presented. "Come on," he ordered. "We need to get a move on if we want to be there before sundown."

It was a long, arduous journey up the Sound of Raasay, where the currents were as powerful as they had feared. Tom fought to keep the boat under control and eventually they rounded the north of the island as the afternoon began to draw on. They were all desperately aware of the hours running away from them, but no one gave voice to fears that there was not enough time left. At least they had left the massed ranks of the Fomorii behind, which gave Church a little more hope. Shavi's sacrifice had at least bought them that.

As the wild hills rose up grey and purple, brooding and mist-shrouded, away to their left, Tom steered the boat around to the west and eventually into the loch that led to Dunvegan Castle. The more they progressed inland, the more the choppy seas subsided, until they were sailing on water as smooth as polished black glass. Everywhere was still; no birds sang, the wind had dropped and the only sound was the gentle lapping of the water against the boat. Eventually the castle loomed up, a squat, forbidding presence perched on a rocky outcropping overlooking the loch. There were no signs of life around it.

Church and Veitch scanned the steep banks where gnarled, rugged trees clustered together in the face of the biting Atlantic winds. "Do you think they're lying in wait?" Veitch asked.

"Could be." But Church's instinct told him otherwise. "We might be lucky. I don't think they expected us to get this far."

"After all the hassle we've been through, wouldn't it be a laugh if we just waltzed into the castle, got the flag and did our business?" He snapped his fingers. "Over. Just like that."

"You love tempting fate, don't you, Ryan?"

They pulled the boat up on to the rocks at the foot of the castle where there was an easy path among the boulders round to the front. Veitch and Church shouldered the talismans between them, every muscle taut, eyes never still. They hated having to leave Shavi behind, but he was too much of a burden and time was short; the sun was already slipping down the sky and Church was afraid the castle would be sealed and they would have to find some way to break in.

But they had gone barely twenty paces from the boat when they heard Shavi cry out. They ran back to find him near-delirious, foam flecking his mouth, his eyes roving, unseeing. "The Fairy Bridge!" he called out to someone they couldn't see. "They come across the Fairy Bridge!"

"What's he talking about?" Veitch said dismissively. He had half-turned away when Tom caught his arm.

"The Fairy Bridge lies not far from here. It's over a stream, near to one of the liminal zones. Some of the Fomorii may pass through Otherworld to appear there quicker than if they'd travelled over the land."

Veitch looked puzzled. "Yeah, but doesn't everything move slower over there?"

"Time is fluid. Slower, faster, there are no rules. If there is a chance, the Fomorii will take it."

Church chewed on a nail for a moment. "Ryan and I can go down there and do what we can to delay them while the rest of you get into the castle." He hoped it didn't sound as futile as it did in his head. Veitch nodded his agreement; in one glance they both recognised that it was probably a suicide mission.

Leaving Shavi raving in the boat, they all hurried up the path to the front of the castle. It was open, but there was no one in the ticket booth, nor could they hear any sound coming from anywhere within.

While Veitch searched for some weapons, Church opened the crate to examine the sword one final time; it seemed comfortingly familiar, radiating strength and security, and he wished he could take it with him, but it was needed for the summoning ritual. As he reached in to caress the worn handle, a blue spark jumped out from it with such force it threw him across the floor. His fingers ached painfully and there was a dim burning sensation; it felt so powerful because his entire body was numb with cold.

"What was that?" Ruth said. "It was like it didn't want you to touch it."

Church shook his head, puzzled, but he had a nagging feeling he knew why. The Roisin Dubh continued to pulse coldly against his heart.

Veitch returned soon after with two swords which he had stolen from a display at the end of the entrance hall. Church examined them apprehensively. They would be as much use against the Fomorii as a pair of dinner knives, but there was no point stating the obvious.

They took directions for the bridge from Tom and had just set off when Ruth called Church back. She ran forward and gave him a hug of surprising warmth. "Don't be stupid," she said. "I don't want to lose my best friend."

"Don't I get a hug and a kiss?" Veitch called to Laura, who seemed to be avoiding Church's gaze.

She blew him one theatrically. "Throw yourself at them. It might buy us a minute."

He mumbled something, then they turned and hurried across the moat to the winding road that led away from the castle.

"Where's this flag, then?" Laura asked as they began to trawl through the castle's many rooms. Their footsteps echoed dismally in the empty chambers.

"It has always been kept in the drawing room," Tom replied. "Wherever that might be."

"What I don't understand is why beings as terrifying as the Danann provided the basis for faery tales," Ruth said. "You know, cuddly, mischievous little men and women with wings sitting on toadstools."

"In the old days faeries were frightening. Their reputation has been watered down over the years." Tom paused at a junction in a corridor, irritated by the maze of rooms. "People would not venture near sidh-the fairy mounds-at night and would not take their name in vain for fear of their reputation. Their memories of when the Danann walked the earth were too strong." He chose the lefthand path at random and strode away without checking that they were behind him. "When the Age of Reason came around, the fear generated by the gods was too much to bear in the brave new world, and so the people set about diminishing them-not only in stature-to make them less of a threat to their way of life."

Ruth wondered if the others recognised that they were making small talk to avoid thinking about what might be happening to Church. "And the Fairy Bridge has that name because the locals dimly recollected there was some doorway to Otherworld nearby?" she continued.

"Not so dimly recollected. The Danann had connections with the Celts long after they left other parts of the country alone. In Scotland, Wales, Cornwall and Ireland they are always felt strongly nearby. They may be unknowable in their actions, but they seem to feel loyalty for the people who first accepted them." He cursed as they came to another dead end, then swung on his heel and carried on marching forcibly. "The Fairy Bridge is so called because of an old tale about a MacLeod clan chieftain who married a woman of the Danann-"

"What? Inter-species romance?" Ruth exclaimed.

Tom sighed. "You know very well some of the Danann are not so far removed from us. And those nearest seem to feel a kinship which isn't evident in the higher gods. May I continue?" She nodded. "After twenty years of marriage, the Danann wife felt driven to return to Otherworld-she couldn't bear to be separated from her people for any longer. The husband was heartbroken, but as a gift to show her love for their long-in human terms-romance, she gave him the Bratach Sith, the Fairy Flag, so he could call on her people for help if the MacLeods ever faced defeat in battle. And the Fairy Bridge was the place of the giving and the place of the parting."