was the way to perceive them, as the embodiment of evil, one mind, one form, which could break itself down into smaller parts when called for. That line of thinking made his head spin. The Fomorii, and the Tuatha De Danann too, were so alien the only yardsticks he could apply to measure them were human ones which made no sense. There was a whole new set of rules and regulations out there which mapped the existence inhabited by those two races.
He wondered, with a note of dark humour, how the scientists were coping right then. Madly trying to apply their laboratory conditions to something which could not be measured or categorised? Going crazy trying to force all those square pegs into the round holes which comprised their intellectual life?
Yet, strangely, there were some parts of the Fomorii that were parallel to human experience, as if people had learned the baser part of their existence from the Night Walkers long ago. Or perhaps, he mused, everyone was cut from the same cloth. That thought was so depressing he wiped it from his mind immediately.
They certainly had a hierarchical structure, tribal in nature, with the different factions constantly rivalling. He guessed only the iron rule of Balor could keep them united, in fear and in the promise of ultimate victory over all existence. But while the Fomorii were like the barbarians in the outer darkness, the Tuatha De Danann reminded him of some emperor's court structure, but one that had passed its peak and was winding down into decadence and decay. How could they be gods when aspects of them were so human?
And so he waited. Halfway up the tor he began to hear those horrible animal cries and grunts that tormented his sleep. Then came the zoo smell, thick and stomach turning. And then, finally, he could see them, no longer as one dark mass, but as swarming black insects, thousands upon thousands of bodies, scrambling upwards, clambering over each other, their shapes flickering in and out of his perception so that sometimes they seemed to have bony shells and wings, other times gleaming black armour, sometimes wielding twisted limbs with scorpion stings and lobster claws, other times brandishing cruelly deformed battle axes and those terrifying swords with the serrated edge along one side. It was too much. He had to withdraw from the edge as he felt the nausea rise to the point where he was almost blacking out.
He retreated until he was a few yards from the house door and then he took his stand again.
Laura watched the impending confrontation from the house with a mounting sense of desolation. All the suffering and heartache had come down to this: more failure. Behind her, Ruth had started to buck and writhe once more. Getting ready to give birth, Laura thought.
She wondered what it would be like to die, almost welcomed it in a way. But in contrast the thought of Church or Ruth passing filled her with an overwhelming sickness; it brought tears to her eyes.
As she blinked them away, she caught sight of a movement close to the house. Her stomach turned. The Fomorii had outflanked Church and were coming. It was an obvious ploy; they wouldn't leave their god in the hands of others for longer than they had to, she thought. She glanced round frantically for some kind of weapon. She'd go down fighting if she had to, protecting Ruth to the last. If only she could have had time to say sorry for all the terrible things she had done; for being so weak and pathetic and twisted when confronted by someone so unselfish.
Before the thought had barely formed, the door burst open and it was in there with her. Terror bloomed in her face and in that instant she knew it was over.
An age seemed to pass while the atmosphere grew charged with the overpowering force of an electrical storm; he tasted burnt metal in his mouth, felt disturbing vibrations run through the ground and into his legs. Although he tried to find that place deep within him where all his aspirations to heroism and bravery lay, when the Fomorii rose into view the cold fear that washed through him almost drove him to his knees.
The black tide came over the edge relentlessly. Images were caught briefly in his mind, disconnected: limbs that became tentacles before turning into articulated legs like a spider's, staring eyes that occasionally became multifaceted like an insect's, body parts that looked like knives, wings that weren't, other shapes he couldn't decipher but which would haunt him forever. There was one brief moment when everything just hung. Before him stretched the glistening blackness, the upper surface tinted deep red by the rays of the dying sun, swaddled in a stifling atmosphere of heat and tension. The acute impression of decay and corruption was almost beautiful in its intensity.
The sheer speed of their approach was terrifying; how pathetically naive he'd been even to think he could do something to delay them. They swept across the turf and then rose up until they blocked out the sun. He waited for the black wave to crash down on him, pounding him into grains, but then it separated and flowed on either side until the serried ranks of the Fomorii formed a crescent around the house. And he was suddenly smothered in the stink of them, the sound of them.
Somehow he found the reserves to steady himself. He focused on some dim spot deep in his head so he didn't have to look at them, forced himself not to think about what the next minute would bring, hoped he didn't look like some weak, frightened Fragile Creature.
And then, in an instant, everything grew still. Wherever his eye flickered, nothing moved; the Fomorii may as well have been obsidian. The only sound was the plaintive whispering of the wind as it began to growing in intensity with the dying of the day.
What are they waiting for? he wondered.
And then he knew. A shiver of anticipation ran through the assembled throng and a second later the last glimmering of the sun winked out and darkness fell across the land. A sound rose up into the night like the rending of metal as the Fomorii gave voice to their feelings; Church gave an involuntary shudder. A second later silence fell once again, heavy with a different kind of anticipation.
Away near the edge Church noticed the darkness start to part, then reform, moving slowly towards him like a stingray slipping through the waves. He held his breath. The ripple broke at the front of the ranks and Calatin stepped out to face him. He was wearing a filthy white silk shift beneath unsettling black Fomorii armour and he was lightly holding the rusty sword that had killed Church at their last face-to-face confrontation.
'Here we are again, on the eve of another festival.' Calatin's fey voice was rich with contempt and triumph. 'Is one death not enough?'
Church said nothing, but his mind was whirling. The sun had set; perhaps there was still time.
'You chose well, Dragon Brother,' Calatin continued mockingly, 'hiding here in the blur of blue light rather than confronting us. Still betraying the tradition of the Pendragon Spirit. You recognise your abiding weakness in the face of a greater power-'
'We caused you enough problems in Edinburgh. Destroyed your base. Stole your… ' Church paused for emphasis '… prize.'
A shadow crossed Calatin's face; his smile grew darker. 'And you discovered high-born Night Walkers are not easily despatched.' He limped forward a few paces, the sword almost too heavy for him to carry. The effort allowed him to compose himself after Church's gibe. He gestured up to the dark arc of the sky. 'This is a night filled with power and wonder. Soon, all of existence will align harmoniously, the cycles will turn further away from the light, and the Heart of Shadows will return once again to the centre of all there is. And you and your brethren will have played a part in that glory, Dragon Brother.' Another ripple ran through the Fomorii.
Church knew he would have to do anything to buy time. 'Why Ruth?' he asked.
'She is a powerful and resilient vessel, Dragon Brother. Stronger even than you.' Calatin smiled, as if this were the ultimate insult. 'The birthing cauldron must be able to contain the significant forces at play. She had that strength. It was not my initial belief, but when she was delivered to me the thought of a Sister of Dragons bringing about the return of the Heart of Shadows was so richly imbued with meaning, it had to be.'
Church tried not to let himself become angered by Calatin's words. 'You've been planning this-'
'This has always been our design. In the Far Lands, we were bereft-that was part of the pact agreed with the Golden Ones after the Sundering. But that could never have been our state in perpetuity. Without the Heart of Shadows, the Night Walkers are…' he made a strange floating movement with his hand '… insubstantial. And so we built the Wish-Hex to break the barriers and propel us out into this world once the cycles turned. And once here, we simply had to wait for the right alignment to set events in motion.' The light of someone seeking glory began to burn in Calatin's eyes. 'And it will always be remembered that I was the one who brought the Heart of Shadows back into existence. My tribe will hold the highest place. None of the others. Mine.'
'Balor isn't in your hands yet.'
Calatin stifled his tinkling laughter with the back of his hand before it broke into a hacking cough. Then he rested on the sword, one hand drooping over the handle, his chin almost hanging on top of it, while he surveyed
