Always Forever (24 page)

The Fomorii had one thing in their favour: a complete lack of selfpreservation. Insectlike, they swarmed forward, attempting to overcome the
guards with the sheer weight of their bodies. The floor was slick with the foul,
acidic grue that spilled from the dead Fomorii. The guards slipped, then righted
themselves, tripped over severed limbs, fought as hard to keep their balance as
they did to repel the enemy; and still the Fomorii drove on.

The Tuatha lle Danann paused at the threshold of the next door, blocking
the Fomorii from circling behind them. The guards were an impenetrable wall,
shoulder to shoulder as they lashed out, but the captain found a second or two
to shout back, "We shall hold them off. Go with speed."

Niamh gave a faint, deferential bow. "Your sacrifice will not go unmarked."

Baccharus stepped through the door into the next chamber with Niamh
close behind. She had gone only a few steps when she checked behind to ensure
Church was following. "Come," she mouthed.

"Don't wait for us," Church yelled above the rising cacophony as the
Fomorii saw what was happening.

Baccharus and Niamh were astonishingly fleet-another ability they shared
with the Fomorii-and soon they had outpaced Church and Ruth.

"What are the Fomorii doing here?" Ruth gasped as they sprinted through
chamber upon chamber, trying to piece together their route back to the entrance
hall. The grey shapes that dogged their route had grown frantic, shrieking
silently on the periphery of their vision.

"It doesn't make sense. They should be preoccupied with our world before
getting mired in a potential war with the Tuatha De Danann."

They paused at a junction of corridors, peering up and down in desperation. From behind came an eruption of noise: the Fomorii had broken through
the guards and were in pursuit. Church swore under his breath, selected a path
and set off.

It wasn't long before they realised it had been the wrong choice. They were
soon passing through chambers and corridors they didn't recognise, swathed in
dark colours, deep carpets, black wood, purple drapes. The noises of pursuit
were drawing closer; it was as if all the cages of a zoo had been opened at once.

"We're getting nowhere! They'll be on us in a second!" Ruth snapped,
exhausted.

Church skidded to a halt next to a window crisscrossed with lead flashing.
The glass was of a type that let light in while preventing any view out. When
the catch wouldn't open, he searched around anxiously until he found a small
stool, which he heaved through it. Smashing away the remaining shards with
his elbow, he leaned out. They were about twenty feet above the main gate.

The animal noises were about two chambers away. With an effort he tore
down one of the luxurious drapes and threw one end out of the window. "Climb
down," he barked, bracing himself against the wall.

"What about you?"

"I'll be able to hang, then drop after you. If you get a bloody move on!"

She reflected for only a second and then clambered out of the window, lowering herself as quickly as she could down the heavy cloth. Church grunted as
he took her weight. She dropped the final few feet to the ground, then beckoned
anxiously for him to follow.

The cold hit him in a wave, frosting his skin with tracings of white. He
sucked in a deep breath of air and his lungs were seared. Winter had stormed
into the chamber. Shaking so much he could barely control his limbs, he turned
to look towards the doorway. The Fomorii were surging through the next room,
a black river sprouting limbs and fangs. One had separated from the mass and
was gesturing towards him with strange movements that occasionally vibrated
so fast he couldn't see them. More cold hit him with the force of a truck. His fingers contorted into talons; there was ice in his hair. He knew some of the
Fomorii had control over temperature, but he had never experienced it himself.
It was unbearable; his body was telling him to sink to the floor and seek respite
in sleep. That was where warmth lay. Another shiver made his teeth rattle.

"Church!" Ruth's plaintive cry shocked him alert. A wave of darkness was
sweeping towards him, rising up, ready to strike. No time to climb out; his
limbs could scarcely respond anyway. Somehow he found the strength to shift
his body weight, and then he was toppling out of the window, the air rushing
past him, the cold dissipating as quickly as it had come.

He heard Ruth scream and then he hit the ground hard. There was a sickening crack and pain shot through his leg into the pit of his stomach. It was too
much; he blacked out.

He came round only moments later to find Ruth shaking him, her eyes
filled with tears. Pain filled his body. He looked down to where the worst of it
writhed like a nest of snakes and saw a white bloody bone bursting from midway
down his shin; another joint where one had not existed before. The sight almost
made him black out again.

Ruth shook him harder. "Church! You can't stay here!"

Above him he saw insectile swarming at the window. There was some kind
of disturbance; he guessed the last of the Tuatha De Danann were making a final
stand. At least it would hold up the Fomorii for a little longer. "You'll have to
help me." Every word was like a hot coal in his throat.

He didn't know how he got on to his good leg, but then he was hopping like
crazy, one arm round Ruth's shoulders, trying to stay conscious when spikes were
being rammed through his body. With his head spinning and the sea and sky
becoming one, they reached the top of the vertiginous stairs. He felt Ruth's tension
through her arm, knew exactly what she was thinking: they would never make it
down the stairs together, there wasn't enough room, they had to go one at a time.

"You go first," he gasped.

"Don't talk so beered up." She tried to ease him ahead of her, but he grabbed
her and shoved her down the first few steps. She cursed, then said, "I'll help you.
Give me your hand."

"No. I can do it. Go on. Go on!" He could hear the Fomorii at the gate, only
seconds away. He clung to the rock face and began to hop down a step at a time.
It was easier going down, until he made the mistake of steadying himself with
his broken leg and felt pain like he had never before experienced. Somehow he
kept going. He found a rhythm that kept him moving quickly, focusing on
Ruth's pale, concerned face so that he didn't overbalance. How he did it, he had
no idea; it was all down to his subconscious.

Through the pain he could hear the Fomorii just a few steps behind him.
At least the path was so narrow they were also forced to advance cautiously, but
he couldn't afford to slow up for even a second.

"Not far now, Church," Ruth shouted encouragingly. "Halfway down. More
than halfway."

His lungs and muscles burned from the exertion. He glimpsed the sky, brilliant blue through the clouds, the sea, a queasy green; spinning, merging.

"Church! Keep going! Concentrate!"

He looked back, saw something black snaking around the rock face towards
him, attempted to push himself away from it, realised that with his damaged
leg he had no sense of balance whatsoever. And then he was moving away from
the rock, reaching out frantically for the dry grass, feeling it burn through his
fingers. And then he was toppling backwards, over the edge, scrabbling for purchase, but he had only one good heel and that was not enough. Ruth was
screaming and the air was thick with beast smell and jubilant shrieking. And he
was falling.

The world rushed by. He hit the water hard, gulping in a massive mouthful
of salty, sickeningly pungent liquid that felt more like oil. His precarious consciousness fled once again, but the cold shocked him awake when he was several
feet beneath the surface, wrapped in bubbles, feeling the sea flood his nose and
ears. Panic washed him in its wake and he tried to strike out for the surface, but
he was hampered by his leg, and anyway, he couldn't tell which way was up. The
Otherworld sensations were too potent, the smell of the water too strong, the
feel too greasy. His mind fizzed in protest. He was drowning, sweeping down
towards the dark water below. And that wasn't all. Whatever thinking part of
him remained alert had caught sight of movement in the water, heading towards
him. Something as big as a car, with fins and trailing tentacles, undulating with
the speed of a torpedo, a large black maw opening and closing in hungry anticipation. Beyond it, other terrible shapes darted in the green depths, smelling
blood, sensing food.

Strength returned to his arms enough to make a few feeble strokes in
what he hoped was the right direction, but the predator bore down on him
relentlessly.

Just as he anticipated those enormous jaws crunching down on his legs,
rending and tearing and dragging him down into the dark depths, his collar was
gripped and he was hauled out of the water. Face down on wet boards, he felt
the boat rock violently as the creature passed just beneath. Then Ruth was at his
side, caring for him as he coughed up seawater, and, as he looked up, he saw
Niamh watching him worriedly.

Baccharus was beside him, his sleeve wet where he had rescued Church.
"Quickly, now. You must help me row. The Night Walkers are close."

Barely conscious, Church let Ruth help him into a seat where he clutched
an oar feebly. Ruth and Niamh both joined them and soon the boat was moving
slowly away from the island.

"I don't understand why they aren't following us," Ruth said, glancing over
her shoulder.

"They know we can be seen from Wave Sweeper. Any further pursuit would
be futile." Baccharus turned to Church. We will find treatment for you on Wave
Sweeper, Brother of Dragons," he said with surprising tenderness.

"Thanks for saving me."

"I could not let such an honourable being die, Jack Churchill." His words
and tone were unlike any Church had heard from the Tuatha De Danann before.
Closing his eyes, he leaned across the oar and reflected on what it meant as they
drifted back towards safety.

Church woke in his cabin, the window thrown open to reveal the last sunlight
of the day, mellow gold in a pastel blue sky, coolness on the wind. His leg ached
with a rude heat beneath the rough blanket, but there was none of the agony
that had consumed his body immediately after the break. Cautiously, he peeked
under the sheet.

"It's still there."

Ruth was sitting just out of his line of vision, keeping watch over him. "Yes,
but will I still be able to play in the Cup Final?"

"I'm glad you've retained your sense of humour. I lost mine when I saw that
bone jutting out. Almost lost my lunch too." She sat on the edge of the bed.

There was a splint fastened hard around his lower leg; it bit sharply into his
too-taut flesh as he shuffled up into a sitting position. "When I saw it I was convinced it was an amputation job. Luckily I didn't have much opportunity to
think about it after that."

"You were luckier than you think. Most ships of this kind have some old
sawbones. But this being the gods and all, you get operated on by some selfproclaimed deity. Geltin, I think his name was. And did he work miracles! His
hands disappeared into your leg like it was water, popping the bone together
and fusing it. He slapped some poultice on and Bob's your uncle. With that and
the Pendragon Spirit you'll be back to normal in a day or two. Even beats
BUPA." She took his hand. "I was worried."

He gave her fingers a squeeze.

She leaned over and kissed him gently on the forehead, lingering a moment, her lips cool and moist. When she withdrew she hastily changed the subject, as
if embarrassed by her actions. "They've been in conference ever since you went
under. This murder, coming so hard on Cormorel's, has really shaken them up.
I think they thought they were inviolate before. Now it's like any old enemy can
knock one of them off whenever he feels like it."

"And now they know how the rest of us feel." Church instantly felt guilty
for the harshness in his voice. "I know it must be hard for them-"

"No, you're right. It's hard to feel sympathy when they have such little
regard for other living creatures. It has really shaken them up, though. And just
as much because this murder was committed by the Fomorii."

Church tried to choose his words carefully, but after a moment gave up. "I
know this might sound coldhearted, but this could really work in our favour. It's
not just a murder. With the history between the Fomorii and the Tuatha De
Danann, it's an act of war."

"You'd think, but I could tell from some of the comments flying around the
deck that they weren't exactly breaking a neck to retaliate."

Through the window, Church watched a gull skimming the surface of the
sea; the other islands must be nearby. "I don't understand."

"Neither do I. Who knows how their minds work?"

Church tried to shift into a more comfortable position, then gave up. "Why
would the Fomorii risk committing such a senseless act? The Tuatha De
Danann, their arch enemies, were giving them free rein to wipe out our world."

Ruth examined her palm for a while, then said, "I think it might be me."

"What do you mean?"

"When I did the spirit flight to London, that awful thing I told you about
... Balor, I suppose ... followed me back, at least across our world. Maybe it
saw us as a threat, sent out a killing party to wipe us out."

"They'd have had to move quickly."

"You know time means nothing to these freaks."

Church grabbed her wrist and pulled her down on to the bed next to him
so he could slip his arm around her shoulders. "It's too confusing to try to work
it out sitting here. Who knows what's going on? The important thing is I need
to be up and about to lobby our case if I have to."

She leaned down beside the bed and emerged with a cane, carved in the
shape of a dragon. "Voila."