they had to discuss.
Now was not the time, Church thought. 'We really need to find the Walpurgis,' he said redundantly.
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
