'Ye come with death at your heels and darkness like a cloak.' The hollow voice cut Shavi off sharply; there wasn't a hint of warmth or humanity in the sepulchral tones.
'We hate all life.' Another voice, even colder. 'Here, in the deep dark, we are imprisoned. Abandoned tae shadows, forgotten by almost all. We have nothing tae believe in but revenge. So we wait. And we remember. And we seethe.'
Shavi steeled himself. 'I know your story. You were the innocent victims of abject cruelty.' Somewhere distant came the dim sound of chopping, growing louder, becoming distorted before disappearing; bitter memories, trapped but continuously recurring. 'There is nothing I can say to assuage your suffering, but my heart goes out to you.'
'And ye think that is enough?'
Shavi swallowed again; his throat was too dry. 'It is all that I can do, apart from offer my prayers that you will soon be freed from this Purgatory to find the rest you deserve.'
A heartrending shrieking erupted all around. Shavi's heart leapt and he wanted to clutch at his ears to shut out that terrible sound. After a few seconds it died away and then there was just the tinkling of nonexistent chains and faint movement in the dark. He hoped what he had said was enough.
Then: 'Ye have fair eyes and ears tae sense us. Most only feel us like a shiver on the skin.'
'What d'ye want?' Another voice, gruffer, more uneducated; a hint of threat.
'Knowledge,' Shavi replied. 'I can see some, but not all. From your dark place, you can see everything. You have great power. I bow to you and ask for your aid.' Shavi smelled woodsmoke and that disturbing stink of animal blood once more.
'Speak.'
'The world is plunging into darkness-'
'Why should we care?'
'Not everyone is like your persecutors. Somewhere, descendants of your friends and family still live. Do not forget the good-'
'Dinnae preach tae us!' The voice cracked like a gunshot.
The atmosphere of menace grew stronger; Shavi knew he was losing control. 'Then I will not argue my case at all. I will simply say, we need you. And the world needs you.' In the absence of a reply, he continued talking, hoping that at least the sound of his voice would keep them at bay. 'The old gods have returned and they are already wreaking havoc across the land. But now some of them are attempting to bring back the embodiment of all evil. Balor.' The dark susurrated with their whispers. 'You must have sensed all this?'
'Aye.'
'And if he returns, it will truly mean the end of everything. He will draw the darkness of the abyss across all existence. Somehow we have to stop the Fomorii. Whatever they are planning is beginning here, in this city. But where? And how can we stop them? They are so powerful, we are so weak. But there must be a way. We will never give up while we breathe.' Shavi tried to order his thoughts. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, but he had to be selective; the dead would have only limited patience, if they told him anything at all. Yet there was only one other question that truly mattered. 'And I would beseech you to answer one more thing. One of our number is missing, presumed dead. Ruth Gallagher, a good, decent woman. We hope in our hearts she is still alive. Perhaps you could guide me towards the truth.'
As his words drifted out into the dark, he was sure that whatever was out there had drawn closer while he spoke. Every sense told him if he reached out a hand he would touch… what? He shook the thought from his head.
'There is a price tae pay for anything gleaned from the other side.'
'I will pay it.'
'Do ye not want tae know what it will be?' The words were laced with stifled triumph and sharp contempt, which unnerved him greatly, but it was too late to back out.
'It does not matter. I have my responsibilities. This information has to be uncovered. I will have to bear the burden of whatever you demand, however great.'
'So be it.'
Shavi felt a wash of cold. He couldn't shake the feeling he had agreed to something he would come to regret, but what he had said was correct: he had no choice. Whatever the price, he would have to find the strength to pay it.
'The woman lives, but only just. And her future looks very dark. Hold out little hope.' Shavi had not heard the voice before. It was clearer, younger and had an intelligence that wasn't present in the others.
Shavi didn't know whether to feel joyous or disheartened by the answer. 'If there is anything we can do to save her we will do it,' he said. Odd, muffled noises which sounded like mocking laughter echoed away in the gloom.
'Seek out the stones from the place that gave succour tae the plague victims if ye wish to find the path beneath the seat.' A woman's voice this time. The words were cryptic, but Shavi had expected no less; the dead were helping and hoping to torment at the same time.
'But the Well of Fire will not be enough tae help ye. The worms have burrowed deep in their nest and the Cailleach Bheur is tae powerful for even the blue flames.'
'Then, what?' Shavi asked.
More mocking whispers rustled around the edge of his perception. When the woman spoke again, her voice was tinged with a dark glee. 'Why, call for the Guid Son, Long Jack. Only he can help ye now.'
Shavi hoped Tom could make some sense of their cryptic words. 'I thank you for all the aid you have given me. But one thing still puzzles me-'
'The where,' the educated voice interrupted. 'Know this: the girl and the worms keep their counsel together, deep beneath Castle Rock.'
Shavi felt the tension ease slightly; he had all he came for. But his muscles still knotted at the prospect that the dead had merely been toying with him and, having given up their secrets, would not let him leave alive. Tentatively, he said, 'You have been most gracious in your aid.' He took a deep breath and steeled himself. 'I am ready to pay the price you requested.'
'That has already been put intae effect. Your time here is done. Get thee gone before we rip the life from ye.'
Shavi bowed slightly, then made his way in the direction of the exit as hastily as he could muster without breaking into a run. The hatred of the jealous spirits was heavy at his back and for a few steps it felt like they were surging in pursuit of him, unable to contain themselves any longer. Anxiously he flicked on the torch, which appeared to make them hold back beyond the boundary of the light. But he didn't breathe easily until he was up in the empty street, sucking in the soothing night air, his body slick with cold sweat. The intensity of the experience had left him shaken, even after everything else he had been through over the past few months; he had never believed he could suffer such mortal dread.
But he had come through it and that alone gave him strength. Knowing it wasn't wise to tarry in the Old Town any longer than necessary, he hurried back towards the hotel, desperate to tell the others everything he had learned; but most of all that Ruth was still alive.
As he marched back towards the lights of the New Town, he didn't notice a dark shape separate from the shadows clustering the entrance of an alley. It began to follow him, shimmering in the light, insubstantial, as it dogged his every step. If he had thought to glance behind him, curious at what price the spirits had asked of him, he would have recognised it instantly: his friend and lover, murdered in a South London street two years before.
There were no longer songs, just drum and bass suffusing her brain and body, mixing with the drug, driving reality away on waves of sound. Laura couldn't even recollect a conscious thought for the past hour; she had given herself up to the trip of flashing lights she could hear and noise she could see, dancing, sweating, not even an individual, just a cell in the body of the crowd-beast.
Will and Andy had led her to an old building on the eastern edge of the Old Town. From the outside it didn't appear to have been used for years, but inside it had been transformed by vast batteries of lights, stacks of speakers fifteen feet tall and machines pumping out clouds of dry ice and occasional frothing spurts of bubbles. The place was big enough to cram in several hundred people, yet managed to avoid feeling impersonal. By the time they
