Church thought Callow was going to cry. He looked around in terror. 'Don't you know? You are inside him.'
Church had no time to ask what that meant. The crows that made up Mollecht shifted their formation; a signal. The Fomorii moved in with the torture instruments.
Before any of them could hurt him, there was another drop in air pressure, only this one felt different: Church's nerve endings tingled, warmth flooded into his limbs. The Fomorii felt it too, for they looked towards the door as one. Mollecht backed away.
The door was growing a dim blue, distinct in the darkness of the room, and it was from there that the electric atmosphere was flooding. Mollecht let out a series of barks and yelps. The Fomorii guards threw away the torture instruments and pulled out their swords, but before they reached the door, the blue glow became noticeably brighter and a resonant hum filled the room. An instant later the door exploded in thousands of shards. Church was close enough to the blast to have been torn to pieces by the flying wood, but nothing touched him at all.
When he looked back he was confronted with a miraculous sight. On the stone floor outside the door was a severed head. It was the source of the brilliant blue glow that now flooded the room. The head of Bran, the Luck of the Land; the god who had sacrificed himself for the sake of humanity. Church could make out long, flowing hair, but where the eyes and mouth should have been there were only holes out of which the blue light streamed. The most unnerving thing was that the head appeared to be still alive. Its mouth moved, the muscles on its cheeks twitched, the eyes grew wider and then narrowed.
The Fomorii guards hesitated, but another command from Mollecht drove them on. They barely had time to move. The light became a river of surging Blue Fire rushing towards them. Church was mesmerised as he watched it burn away everything down to the skeletons, and an instant later they were gone too.
In the corner, Callow was shrieking. Church's attention was drawn to the door as a tall silhouette slipped in. The Bone Inspector hurried over, his face drawn in pain. Church saw that his hands had been charred black.
'Too hot,' he said in a fractured voice.
Somehow he managed to undo Church's bonds, although Church could barely look into his face at the pain he was experiencing. 'You did a good job,' Church said.
The Bone Inspector grunted. 'I've suffered worse.'
Once Church was free, he dived behind the table and snatched up the Sword. Mollecht was pressed against one wall, unable to leave the room while the head was there. Even so, the birds were shifting formation ready to unleash another of the plague attacks.
Church knew how fast they came, and this time he didn't hesitate. Bounding across the room, he began to thrash wildly with the Sword. Black feathers showered across the room. Deep puddles tinged with red formed as the crows' bodies fell heavily all around.
There was a sound that made Church's gut turn, and it was a moment or two before he realised it was Mollecht screaming. The remaining birds had to fly harder to maintain the binding pattern, but every time the Sword nicked one it plunged to the ground.
Church lost himself in a storm of black and red until there was only one bird flying frantically around the hideous shape that lay within; the thing he still couldn't bring himself to look at. He paused briefly, took a deep breath, and then struck the last crow.
The bird hit the stone flags, followed by the thing within. It thrashed and shrieked wildly for a full minute, and then slowly it began to break up, then melt away. Eventually there was only a black sludge on the floor, and soon that, too, was gone.
Church rested on the Sword, shattered from fear and exertion, and in that moment Callow broke his frozen position and darted for the door. He skirted the head, glancing back once at the threshold.
Church pointed at him. He didn't need to say a word, and he knew from the look of terror on Callow's face as he disappeared that his message had been received.
Church hurried back to the Wayfinder, lying on its side behind the table. 'What do we do now?' the Bone Inspector croaked. He was resting heavily against a wall.
'I don't know. But this lantern is going to show me.' He sat down and pulled it upright before him. 'I hope.'
Closing his eyes, he focused on the Blue Fire as Tom had taught him at the foot of Arthur's Seat in Edinburgh. The Rhymer had been a good teacher; it took him only a second or two to reach the necessary state of heightened perception.
The lantern flame surged and the energy crackled into his fingers, his hands. For the first time on his own he saw in the flames the tiny faces and minute bodies he had witnessed when Tom had introduced him to the earth power at Stonehenge. He knew what they were now. 'All stars,' he whispered.
Things fell into alignment.
It seemed to him that the Wayfinder had moved deep in his head, and the flame was now blazing as bright as a lighthouse. It was a direct connection with the source of the spirit fire, wherever that might be. Church felt it flare in his head, in his heart, as a doorway opened, and then the Blue Fire was streaming out of him.
Veitch awoke on a mudflat next to a grille that looked across the Thames. Next to him the River Fleet rushed out on its journey to the sea. He felt like he was dying: too cold, too exhausted, broken-spirited.
On the south bank he could see the dawn light painting the buildings in beautiful pastel shades. It was only a second or two later that he realised there was a corresponding light in the culvert in which he lay, only that illumination was a deep sapphire; and it was coming from him, from his very pores. With it came not only a tremendous sense of well-being, but also renewed vigour.
He clambered to his feet, stamping the last remaining cold from his limbs as he cracked his knuckles. 'Bleedin' hell,' he said in awe.
Then he was at the grille, attempting to prise it open.
The Fomorii marched back and forth at the camp in the underground tunnel, oblivious to the foul-smelling smoke rolling off the burning piles of rubbish. They were long used to the foraging rats that ventured close before scurrying back into the shadows, so they paid scant attention to the movement further along the tracks.
It was only when the activity refused to recede, indeed began to move closer than any of the rats had dared before, that they looked up, and by then it was too late.
A torrent of undulating brown bodies swept towards them from the dark, covering every square centimetre of the tunnel floor. The rats surged past the perimeter bonfires up on to the Fomorii, biting chunks out of their forms, tearing their way into any orifice they found. Their relentless speed and vast numbers belied the weakness of their size; however many the Fomorii crushed or swatted away, there were a thousand more to take their place and within seconds the Night Walkers were lost beneath the deluge.
Walking amongst them was Ruth, her eyes blazing with righteous fury. She was untouched by the scurrying creatures that moved exactly where she wanted, did just what she required. The information had been there in her mind, ready to be accessed, all part of the detailed lore she had soaked up from her familiar while imprisoned in Edinburgh. She had always thought she might be able to control one, perhaps two, maybe even three, but the extent of her abilities stunned her. She felt able to do anything.
As she passed the camp, the Blue Fire surged into her limbs, driving out the exhaustion so her physical strength could match the overwhelming confidence she had discovered. She had a sudden, deep connection with Church, and knew he had made it through to his destination. Now all she had to do was join him.
Muttering beneath her breath, the rats responded, surging on beyond the camp, with tens of thousands more coming up behind her.
'Did you feel that?' Laura's jaw sagged in cartoon style as the electric jolt jerked her limbs.
Shavi held up his hand towards the end of the corridor where the dawn light had still not penetrated. A ghostly blue aura could just be made out around his fingers. 'It is Church.'
Laura closed her eyes in relief. 'Good job we're not all losers.'
Shavi looked back out of the window at the army of silent Fomorii staring back. 'We have to join him. All of us need to be there.'
'That's all well and good, Shav-ster, but I'm still waiting to hear the cunning plan. Maybe the one that turns us invisible so we can waltz past the hordes of Hell.'
As the sunlight slowly moved across the rooftops, the deathly silence was suddenly broken. From somewhere in the distance came the dim but instantly recognisable sound of a hunting horn, low and mournful, but drawing
