of the trees on to an area of clipped, green lawns, rising up gently to an imposing edifice of white marble built partly into the mountainside. Towers and minarets and columns formed strict lines of grace and power, like some odd mix of Greek and Middle Eastern architecture. Lights burned brightly within, welcoming after the seething darkness of the jungle.
They sprinted across the lawns, relieved that they had found sanctuary from the many terrors of the preternatural forest, grateful for the cool breeze sweeping in from the sea after the suffocating heat. But when they reached the building their relief evaporated. The front was a mass of glass windows offering panoramic views over the island beneath; all were shattered and the white muslin curtains billowed out into the night. The Tuatha De Danann slowed their run until they were once again advancing cautiously, swords raised. Niamh glanced at Baccharus, but said nothing.
The cry of their pursuer from just beyond the tree line prompted them into action once more and they hurried through the broken windows into an interior which glowed white with the light from scores of lanterns, torches and candles, like some Byzantine impression of heaven.
The leader of the guards made several chopping motions with his hand and within seconds his men were in action. They dragged enormous stone tables and heavy wooden furniture to block up the windows, continuing ceaselessly until the blockade was several feet thick.
'Will that work?' Ruth asked.
'No,' Baccharus replied curtly.
'Now,' Church stressed, 'you've got to tell us. What's out there?'
'The Plague-Bringer.' Baccharus peered at the thin gap between the pile of furniture and the top of the window. 'Known in your land as the Nuckelavee.'
'It carries the plague with it, infecting all higher creatures in its path,' Niamh interjected. The baby cry rose up again just beyond the wall; Church and Ruth started, then gagged; every aspect of the creature assailed the senses.
'Even you?' Ruth added once she had recovered.
Niamh looked away, but Baccharus answered for her. 'There are some who think the Golden Ones unassailable, the highest of the high in all of existence. That is not be my belief.' Niamh flashed him a curious stare and he changed tack. 'We have seen two Golden Ones eradicated. There is no doubt an ending can come to our race, though it is blasphemous to admit it. And it is told that that creature, the Nuckelavee, is one of the few things that can bring about that ending.'
The baby cry again; Ruth covered her ears. There was a rough sound as if the Plague-Bringer was dragging itself along the foot of the wall.
'And it lives on this island? Near this court?'
Baccharus shook his head. 'Like all the Western Isles, this is a safe place for the Golden Ones. It was brought here.'
'By the Fomorii,' Ruth interjected. 'Specifically to kill your people. It is war.'
Baccharus nodded slowly.
They were interrupted by a cry of alarm raised by one of the guards. There was activity at one of the large arched doorways that led to the inner chambers. The guards were backing away hastily, half holding up their swords, yet somehow unsure. At first Church could pick out only a long shadow cast along the floor, moving in an odd manner. A few seconds later a figure appeared in the archway.
It was unmistakably one of the Tuatha De Danann; the male's skin had the familiar golden tinge and he was wearing what Church perceived to be a white toga held by a gold shoulder clasp. Yet he was lurching from side to side, his legs buckling every now and then, until he caught himself at the last. The smell reached them a moment later. As he closed in, Church could see the terrible ravages of whatever disease the Nuckelavee carried: part of his face had been eaten away, revealing what should have been a cheekbone and part of his jaw, but instead there was only a golden light. An unsightly black stain scarred the front of his pristine toga and left a trail as he passed. He had one arm outstretched, in greeting or pleading, Church couldn't tell, and although he opened his mouth to speak to them, the only thing that came out was a stream of shimmering moths, drifting up to the ceiling.
Niamh's jaw dropped in horror; the guards looked to her for direction. Baccharus stepped forward and said firmly, 'Do not let him near.'
'But he's still alive!' Church protested. 'Surely you can do something to help him.'
Baccharus turned and there was a shocking emotion alive in his face. 'There is nothing I would like to do more,' he said in a cracked voice. 'He is a kinsman; we are all brothers of the same village. But if he comes near he will infect us all, and what is the good in that?'
Church watched the pitiful figure advance slowly, with a very human air of desperation. 'Definitely not gods,' he whispered.
'Hold him back,' Baccharus ordered. 'He is not long for this existence.'
Ruth was about to protest that Baccharus was acting too harshly when his face grew suddenly sorrowful. He ran forward until he stood as close as he could to the diseased god. 'Know this, brother. We are all people, all joined. I am filled with the great sorrow of the Golden Ones for your plight. Not because it is a crime against existence, but because of you. My brother. But, know this and forgive: I cannot let you near. You will take us all with you.'
The diseased god appeared to hear this, for he paused in his relentless forward motion. The weight of the decision Baccharus had been forced to make was heavy on his face, but he could only hold out his arms impotently as the guards stepped forward to drive the ailing god back. They herded him through the archway and then Church heard the slam of a heavy door and the piling up of more furniture.
When Baccharus trailed back to them, his face a lie of composure, Church laid a friendly hand on his shoulder. 'I'm sorry you were forced to do that,' he said.
Baccharus looked honestly touched by this gesture, and a warm smile briefly overrode the air of sadness. It was just one of many little incidents he had witnessed in Baccharus over the previous few days: cracks in the arrogant composure of the Tuatha De Danann that suggested something approaching humanity within, if that was not a contradiction. Perhaps he had been wrong in judging all the gods so harshly.
His thoughts were driven away as the bile rose in his throat at another bout of wailing just beyond the blockade. This time the heap of furniture rattled and a heavy oak chair rolled off the top and splintered on the marble floor.
'Can it force its way through?' Ruth asked anxiously.
'Seems like it's got some muscle. I'm going to take a look at it.' Church ran forward and began to climb the unsteady mound, Ruth's shrill warnings echoing behind him. It probably would have been safer to have kept his distance from the barricade, but if he knew what it looked like he thought he would be more able to contain his fears, and maybe even find a way to strike back.
But the moment he crested the rocking pile of furniture and wriggled forward on his stomach to peer over the edge, he wished he hadn't. His gorge rose as he peered down at the Nuckelavee moving backwards and forwards at the base of the wall, not knowing if his disgust was at what he saw or what he felt coming off the beast. It was as big as three cars in a row, with a barrel-shaped body and a snakelike head that lolled sickeningly from side to side, as if its neck were broken. It had no legs, instead dragging its slug body along on stubby, multi-jointed arms that looked too thin to support its bulk. Most foul of all was that it had no skin; there was only a thin membrane covering its body so the blood could be seen pumping through the network of veins as its muscles slithered and stretched like an obscene anatomy textbook.
Church allowed himself only a few seconds to take it all in before he turned his eyes away in relief. He retreated cautiously down the blockade and returned to the others, his pale expression telling Ruth everything she wanted to know.
'Is there another way out of here?' Church asked. Niamh and Baccharus were almost paralysed by what they had found on the island.
'No.' In the white light that flooded the room, Niamh's face was uncommonly pale. 'Perhaps the Master will send others to fetch us back.'
Baccharus eyed her with a curious expression. 'Or perhaps he will listen to the whispered words and sail away at dawn.'
A table flipped off the top of the barricade, forcing them to move aside hastily as it crashed into the floor. 'I
