of Tom's difficult character into a new light. Church was overwhelmed with guilt at the bad things he had thought of his friend, certainly in the early days, and all the harsh words he had ever said. There was so much he still wanted to say. Despite their prickly relationship, Tom had been an excellent teacher, and a father figure and the best of friends; he had made a deep and lasting impact on Church's life.
Tom appeared to know what Church was thinking. 'I've had a long life, Jack. Too long. Too much pain and suffering. I'm looking forward to moving on.'
'I'm sorry these last few months have been so hard for you.'
'They have been hard, but they have also been some of the best months of my life. I've learnt a lot from all of you, Jack. You reminded me of all those things I thought I'd lost when the Queen got her hands on me. For centuries I thought I'd become less than a man. But you-all of you-showed me the truth. And now it doesn't matter what the Queen's games did to my body, because the thing that really counts, my humanity, comes from somewhere else. And it's still there.'
Tom coughed again, and this time it sounded like the fit wasn't going to stop. When it did finally end, he was noticeably weaker. His eyelids fluttered half-closed; his skin grew ashen.
'Tom,' Church pleaded futilely. He had always been so flawed and weak compared to the heroic legends of Thomas the Rhymer, but in truth his heroism was even greater; deeper and more complex than the shining, courageous myth, infinitely more worthy, because it came from the best of humanity.
'The spiderweb.' The Rhymer's voice was a papery rustle. 'Diamonds all along it. Little worlds.' Another cough, slow and laboured. 'Beautiful, little worlds.'
And then there was silence and a heavy stillness.
His eyes burning, Church rested his head on the hard wood. He would miss his old friend immeasurably.
His sorrow had turned to a cold, hard anger when the door swung open and Mollecht entered, flanked by three Fomorii guards. Behind them, Callow danced a little jig. Mollecht led the Fomorii to the array of torture tools, ignoring Church completely.
'They're going to punish you, you know.' Callow moved across the floor in a manner that reminded Church more of an insect; insanity burned bright in his eyes.
'I'd call you crazy if it wasn't stating the obvious,' Church said. 'Throwing your lot in with these bastards again, after all they've done to you. Do you think they'll give you what you want?'
Callow cast a sly, admiring glance towards the mass of flapping birds. 'Oh yes, oh yes. My new best friend.'
'I had some sympathy for you, Callow, but it was misplaced. You aren't how you are because you didn't get the breaks in life. There have always been too many people like you, blaming everybody and everything for their suffering because they're too weak to face up to the selfishness or the greed that drove them into bad situations. Doing the right thing is difficult, and there's always some kind of hardship, but it pays off-for yourself, for society, for humanity. You were just too lacking to go down that road. Too pathetic. You wanted things for yourself and you wanted them quick and easy. Face up to it, Callow. All your misery in your life is because of the choices you made.'
'No!' Callow protested childishly. 'Nobody looked after me! I never had what others had!'
'You said it yourself, the first time we met. Longfellow, wasn't it?' Church drove the nail home harder, enjoying every blow.
'Shut up!' Callow covered his ears.
'In ourselves, are triumph and defeat.'
'No!' He ran over and kicked Tom's body hard, then looked to Church for a reaction.
'He can't feel it, you know,' Church said. 'He's away taking a rest from this big mess. It's all of us left behind who still get to feel the pain.'
Callow scuttled forward to Church's side so he could whisper in his ear, 'And that's just what you'll get, old boy. Once he's finished with you'-he pointed to Mollecht-'I'll have my finger.'
Mollecht completed whatever task he had been carrying out on the other side of the room and turned back. Church couldn't tell if it was his imagination, but the crows appeared to fly even faster, like a heart speeding up at the anticipation of pleasure.
'Enjoy it while it lasts,' Callow whispered gleefully.
The three Fomorii guards were each carrying one of the cruel-looking implements; Church tried not to look at them, nor to think what damage they could wreak on his frail body.
Close up the sound of flapping wings was deafening, the smell of the birds potent. Church couldn't comprehend how they could fly so fast, so close together without once crashing.
Callow sloped back to the far corner of the room, obviously unnerved by Mollecht, even though he considered him an ally. The Fomorii guards roughly flipped the board back so it was horizontal, and Mollecht moved to stand at the head, where his presence was oppressive, but only partly seen. Two Fomorii positioned themselves on Church's right, one over his knee joint, the other close to his hand. The third Fomorii moved in on his left and held a rod tipped with a corkscrew over his groin; Church remembered that one well from the tunnels beneath Dartmoor.
Something was happening with Mollecht, although it was impossible to see exactly what. Church had a sense that the birds were moving their formation slightly; he could feel the air currents from their wings on his forehead. A moment later an unpleasant sucking sensation throbbed deep in his head, though he was sure it was not physical.
He writhed on the table in an attempt to shake it off, but it grew more and more intense until he felt something deep in him rushing out. There was a moment of utter darkness and then the torture room was gone, although he felt his body still lying in it. Everything was infused with intense, smoky colours, unreal, like a distorted Technicolor film from the sixties. A large, armoured insect appeared to be crawling around the inside of his head. His whole being recoiled; it was the mind of Mollecht.
Church had flashes of a nightmarish landscape where threatening creatures loomed up before receding in speeded-up motion. There was a shift and he glimpsed a building as big as a mountain made of black glass. Another shift and he was inside, in a room as dark as the deepest well despite a brazier glowing a dull red in one corner. One of the Fomorii stood hunched over the hot coals pouring some dust on to them from a glass philtre. This Fomor-whom Church knew was Mollecht-was a half-breed, just like Calatin, but while Calatin had more of the Tuatha De Danann in his physical appearance, Mollecht was closer to the grotesque Night Crawlers.
As the dust fell on the coals, a cloud of smoke rose up in purples and reds. Church had a sudden sense of a great Evil, greater even than Balor, lying somewhere on the edge of the universe. He felt its attention turn on him/them, and was convinced he was going to die from dread.
The smoke billowed with a life of its own. Finally it folded back and out of it flew the murder of crows, although there was something sickeningly alien about them; they were much larger, their eyes glittering red, and Church could sense in them an awful intelligence. They fell on Mollecht, pecking at his skin with blades as sharp as razor blades, tearing through flesh and bone.
As Mollecht fell to his knees, he howled in the insane monkey-gibbering way of the Fomorii, but there was nothing he could do to fend them off. At the same time as they ate him alive, they spun a chartreuse web, like spiders, that coagulated, folding within his body to make another form. As he shrank, it grew, not as large but more powerful, and when he was completely gone, it lay there, infinitely more hideous, both within and without. It was so fragile it threatened to fall apart in an instant, but the crows began to fly, faster and faster, weaving a binding spell that created a network of restraining energy. And when it opened its eyes…
The shock jolted Church out of the trance state; he would never, ever forget the sickness of seeing the world through Mollecht's eyes.
Mollecht retreated from his head and moved to where he could direct proceedings.
'Have you lost hope yet?' Callow jeered from the other side of the room.
'Mollecht belongs to something else,' Church gasped. 'He wants to challenge Balor.'
All the Fomorii stopped; Callow dropped to his knees whimpering. The air pressure in the room fell; a wind rushed through it. Church was aware of a presence in the room, unbearably threatening; fear surged through him. It was only there for a second or two before moving on, but it left deep scars on his mind.
Somehow he forced himself to speak. 'Where is-'
'Don't say the name!' Callow pleaded.
'Where is he?'
