Always Forever (27 page)

Ruth easily accepted the rearrangement of priorities. "Marik Bocat will
probably be back once he's had a think about us. He's a suspicious sort." She
threw open the windows to let some cool night air into the stifling room, which
was still filled with the scents of their lovemaking. The sparse lights of the
island twinkled over the waves. "I think he will come back," she stressed. "We
need him to, really. It's even more dangerous to venture below decks now, with
Callow on the loose as well as the Malignos. I've been down there, and believe
me, when you get to the lower levels you can't tell what's a few feet ahead or
behind you."

"If I have to-"

She silenced him with a flap of her hand. The silence was broken by a dragging noise on deck. "They're readying a boat," she said. "Looks like they're off
to the island."

"What, now? In the dark?"

"Hey, they're the Golden Ones. They don't jump at shadows," she mocked.

Church said, "We ought to go, you know. There might be something
important out there."

He looked reluctantly at the dishevelled bed and she laughed quietly.
"There'll be time enough for that. Come on."

A cool breeze moved effortlessly across the deck, teasing out the heat of the day,
bringing a hint of lush vegetation to the familiar aroma of salty water. The night
was filled with the slap and rustle of the flaps hanging from the furled sails and
the rusty hinge creaking of the rigging. Up on the mast, Ruth's owl glowed like
a ghost, watching ominously. Although lanterns hung at regular intervals, there
were still too many dangerous shadows lapping across the deck. Church and Ruth
moved as quickly as they could to the small group of figures preparing for the
landing party. Taranis was overseeing the activity as the crew prepared to lower
the boat into the water, while Niamh and Baccharus hung back ready to board.

Taranis eyed Church and Ruth with cold suspicion, but Church ignored his
gaze. Instead, he spoke directly to Baccharus and Niamh. "We'd like to come
with you."

"You may accompany us, Brother of Dragons," Baccharus said as Taranis
opened his mouth to speak.

Surprisingly, Niamh looked unsure. "There may be danger abroad," she cau tioned. "The arrival of Wave Sweeper is always heralded by the denizens of the
Western Isles."

"And you've heard nothing," Church noted. "It could be the Fomorii again.
Have you considered this is their first strike in a war against you, catching you
off guard as they work their way towards your most sacred lands?"

There wasn't the slightest flicker across the faces of the assembled Tuatha
De Danann, but for the first time Church felt that unease was gestating deep
inside them.

Wave Sweeper floated in silence as the landing boat was lowered to the waves.
There was no sign of Manannan, or any of the thousands of strange creatures who
occupied the lower levels. Taranis watched them impassively from the rail until
he was swallowed up by the night, and then there was only the gentle lapping
of the waves against the side.

As they neared land, Church was surprised to feel the air grow substantially
warmer, as if each island had its own microclimate. Here it was almost subtropical, the heat lying heavy on his lungs as his T-shirt grew steadily damp
from the spiralling humidity. Their destination was more familiar than their last
port of call; it reminded Church of one of the smaller Caribbean islands. From a
rocky base where the spectral surf splashed, it rose up sharply through thick
vegetation to a mountaintop lost in the dark. It smelled heavily of steaming
jungles, rich and evocative, but tainted by an underlying corruption.

A small beach came into sight, at which point the crew had to fight to keep
the boat steady against the heavy currents that swirled just off the shore. Church
spied the tip of cruel rocks breaking the surface on either side and realised a delicate path was being picked; one miscalculation and they would have been
dashed in an instant. As the currents grew more intense, the boat became a
stomach-churning rollercoaster ride. Church and Ruth gripped the sides tightly,
but the crew were in complete control at all times.

Eventually the shore came up fast and the rowers jumped out into the shallows to haul the boat up on to the white sand. A minute later they were all
standing on the beach, allowing the adrenalin to drop while Church and Ruth
surveyed the dazzling array of stars overhead. There, with the night sounds of
the jungle at their back and the waves crashing before them, there was an exhilarating sense of paradise that outshone any South Pacific dream.

"Do you notice how each of these islands has a different feel?" Church whispered to Ruth.

"The last one was edgy," she agreed. "This one makes me want to kick off
my shoes and run across the sand like some moron in a Bounty ad. So relaxing."

"Come," Baccharus interjected. "We have a long walk, and it is dark
beneath the trees. We must stay close together."

"Who are we visiting this time?" Church asked.

"This is the Isle of Lost Lament," Baccharus said, as if that explained it all.
But then he added, "Six dwell here. Kepta, Quillot ..." He waved his hand dismissively instead of listing the remaining names. There was a strange undercurrent in his manner, but Church couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Once Niamh had given the word, the leader of the guards motioned them
to move out, his men taking up positions behind and on either side. They
quickly passed the tide line on to the dry sand beyond and then into the impenetrable darkness beneath the trees.

It was claustrophobic under the cover of foliage in the hot, steamy atmosphere. The trees were clustered quite tightly in areas, their trunks oddly twisted,
with branches resembling arthritic claws. They vaguely reminded Church of
ones he had seen in the mangrove swamps of the southeastern United States on
a holiday with Marianne, only these trees had thick, fan-like leaves of a shiny
green that served to keep the light out and the heat and moisture battened down
against the ground. Vines as thick as Ruth's forearm trailed from the upper
branches, clinging to their flesh with some unpleasant sticky substance when
they brushed past. They weren't the only obstacle: scattered all around were
thick bushes covered in thorns like razors; with only the slightest pressure, one
drove through Church's jacket and shirt and into the soft flesh just above his
waist. Away in the dark they occasionally saw colours glowing, dull starlets and
fuschias and sapphires, which they eventually discovered were disturbingly alien
blooms, like orchids, only much larger; their perfume was cloying and sickly.
They appeared to be straining for the faint moonlight that occasionally made its
way through the vegetation.

When they had first crossed the forest boundary they had expected silence,
but the jungle was alive with movement and sound. Their feet crunched noisily
on the carpet of twigs and branches, sending things scurrying for cover ahead of
them: the sinuous motion of snakes, and the creepily rapid and erratic motion
of large lizards. Church saw one of them nearby; it resembled an iguana, but
when it half turned away in the trees he thought he glimpsed a human face on
its scaly body. Spiders as big as his hand dropped from the branches and scuttled across their path, their corpulent bodies coloured rouge and cream.

The screech of night birds, again distressingly human, echoed amongst the
treetops. On several occasions, Church and Ruth thought they heard voices whispering comments, but when they looked round they saw only grey shapes fading
in the strands of mist that floated around the boles; the dead were restless.

After twenty minutes of hard hacking, with the point men slashing a path
through the thickest flora, Niamh dropped back until she was standing beside
Church. Despite herself, Ruth tensed.

"You must promise me you will take care of yourself, jack." Niamh kept her
head slightly bowed so her hair fell forward, obscuring her face. "There is great
risk here."

"I always take care of myself, Niamh."

Ruth was convinced she heard tenderness in his words, though he had managed to keep his face impassive. Despite everything he said, she knew Church
still found his emotions as unknowable as the Tuatha De Danann; he could react
to them on a superficial level, but he had no idea what was moving far beneath
the surface. Ruth could see he felt affection for Niamh, against all his protestations. What was happening here? As Church said, they had experienced little
contact, certainly no intimacy, yet sometimes, in little movements or looks, it
was as if they had known each other for a lifetime. Now she had found Church,
after all those years of looking and knowing exactly what she wanted without
even coming close to finding it, she was not about to give him up. She would
fight if she had to.

Church and Niamh were engrossed in a conversation about the jungle
plants when they were shocked into silence by the sound of something enormous
crashing through the trees about half a mile away. The loud splintering was followed by a wail like a crying baby; the effect made them feel sick to the pit of
their stomachs.

"What's that?" Church asked anxiously.

Niamh looked puzzled. Ruth thought she spied a glimmer of fear.

The leader of the guards came back to hurry them along the path they were
carving ahead. Church and Ruth tried several times to peer through the darkness in the direction of the sounds, but only once did they see movement, and
that faded away in an instant.

"Large predators," Church said to Ruth, one eyebrow raised comically.

"There's always something bigger." She tried to lighten the mood, but
whatever it was had upset them immensely.

Conversation dried up for the next fifteen minutes. It might have been their
imagination, but since they had heard the creature, the atmosphere had grown
steadily more oppressive, until they were starting at every crack of wood or
bird's cry.

Then, so sharply that Ruth broke out in goosebumps, they entered an area
of complete silence: no birdcall, no rustling in the undergrowth. Even the trees
appeared to be holding their breath.

Ruth shivered. "What is it?" Her voice was a whisper, but it sounded like
a shout in the stillness.

Ahead, the lead guard raised his hand to bring them to a halt. Although he
couldn't see the reason for their stop, Church felt his throat close up. The same
anxiety was clear in Ruth's face. She looked at him, said nothing.

A change in the mood of the Tuatha De Danann rippled back from the
front, like the first tremors before an earthquake. Anxiously, Church pushed his
way through the group until he reached the head.

It was the stench that assailed him first, so rich with fruity corruption it
made him gag. Across the path lay the carcass of some animal, a cross between
a zebra and a warthog. Yet the beast had not been killed by a predator. The body
was covered with deep, suppurating sores and a thick, creamy foam frosted its
mouth and eyes. Around the belly, the groin and the neck, the tissue had liquefied into an oily black goo.

Church backed away until he found Baccharus. "What's wrong?"

"The creature is diseased." There was more to it than that, but however
much Church pressed, he would say nothing more. Neither would Niamh make
any comment, but there was evident concern in her face.

"I don't know what's going on here, but they've certainly got the jitters,"
Church whispered to Ruth. "Watch your back."

After a few moments' reflection away from Church and Ruth, the guards
decided to cut a path around the carcass, but even when they were several feet
away, the stench still followed them. Not long after that they came across
another creature, this time a deer, small, with sharp, furry ridges on its back. It
had the same marks of awful illness. The two discoveries in such close proximity
only confirmed the worst fears of the Tuatha De Danann. The guards were in
two minds whether to press on, but Niamh ordered them to continue.

"Whatever it is, it's not affecting the lizards or birds," Church hissed.

"As long as we don't catch it." Ruth kept her head down, watching Baccharus's heels.

"I don't think the Tuatha De Danann would be carrying on if there were any
danger."

"I'm glad you're confident."

The incline increased sharply until they were slipping on the crumbly, peaty
soil that quickly turned to mud in the humidity. Breathing was difficult and
both Church and Ruth were sleeked in sweat, but at least the arduous progress
kept their minds off the disease-ridden animals.

Cresting the slope, they came on to a broad, thickly forested plateau, and
were hit by a sudden choking stink worse than anything they had experienced so far. Trees had been smashed down to create a wide clearing, their jagged
stumps protruding from the ground like broken teeth. In the centre of the space
lay a mound of decomposing flesh: the bodies of a score or more of the jungle's
mammals, a range of species, all of them ravaged by disease and leaking the
obscene black liquid that puddled and ran off down the slope.

Ruth took in the sight, then picked up trails on the ground. "My God,
they've been dragged here."

"Maybe the local residents were clearing up to burn the carcasses. You don't
want rotting animals all around your home," Church suggested unconvincingly.

"Baccharus, you know what's doing this," Ruth said sharply. "Please tell us."

He shook his head slowly, but kept his eyes fixed in the depths of the jungle.
"It is not the time. Or the place."

The stench was so thick they couldn't stay there a moment longer. Covering
their mouths, they bypassed the site as quickly as they could and continued on
their upward path. In the eerie silence, the tension was almost unbearable. The
lights hadn't been visible since they left the beach so they had no idea how much
further they had to travel. The guards had grown particularly jumpy, and when
the sounds started up close by, they formed a defensive posture.