'You are only a hero if you win.' Shavi looked up, his smile taking the edge off the bitter words. 'There is no place in Valhalla for those who simply tried hard.'
The smoke rolled in around them, choking, stinging their eyes. They all sat down in the bottom of the boat where the air was freshest, listening to the eerie echoes as the smoke muffled the lapping of the water and the sound of the town burning. They could have been hundreds of miles away, lost in the centre of the Atlantic.
Then Shavi's clear, sharp voice made them all start. 'It is coming.'
At first they could hear nothing. A few seconds later, from out of the smoke, came the almost mechanical sound of something breaking the water at regular intervals, growing louder as it drew closer. Church watched anxiously as Shavi closed his eyes, his face growing taut with concentration. The splashing, stitching sound came on relentlessly. Shavi's brow furrowed, his lips pulled back from his teeth.
At the last moment Church realised it wasn't going to work and he called out to the others to hold on. The serpent surged just past the prow and the boat lifted up at forty-five degrees. Church ground his eyes shut and gritted his teeth: someone cried out; he was convinced they were going under, dragged to the bottom in the backwash; a horrible way to die. But the boat poised on the cusp of tragedy like some terrible fairground ride and then went prow down just as steeply into the trough left by the serpent's passing. Waves crashed over them. Church sucked in a mouthful of seawater, but somehow held on. The boat righted itself jarringly, as if it were skidding across sand dunes. Church looked round; amazingly, everyone was still clinging on.
'If it hits us astern it'll shatter the boat,' he yelled to Shavi.
Shavi screwed up his face in anger at his failure before flinging himself upright and gripping on to the rail. 'Here!' he shouted. 'To me!'
'Get down!' Church cried. 'If it comes by again you'll be over the side!'
Shavi ignored him. A second or two later a shiver ran down Church's spine as he heard the serpent stitching water towards them. It was like a goods train; his breath grew as hard as stone in his chest. He braced himself for the impact. And waited, and waited.
There was a sound like a boulder being pitched into the water and then the drizzle of falling droplets as a shadow fell across him. The serpent had risen up out of the waves, as high as a lamppost, its flattened head swaying from side to side like a cobra. It had skin that was as shiny black and slick as a seal and eyes that seemed to glow a dull yellow; odd whiskers tufted out around its mouth like a catfish. And it seemed to be staring at Shavi.
Church was about to call out to his friend when he noticed the rigid posture and ghosted expression on Shavi's face, as if he were in a coma with his eyes open. They stayed that way for a long moment, two drunks staring each other out in a bar, and then, slowly, the serpent melted into the waves and swam languorously away.
Church heard Laura whisper, 'Good doggy.'
A spontaneous cheer arose from the others, just as Shavi pitched backwards alongside Church. His face was still locked tight. Church felt a sudden surge of panic when he looked into those glassy eyes; there was not even the slightest sign of Shavi within them. He scrambled forward and began to shake his shoulders.
The others' jubilation died away when they saw the edge of panic in his actions. 'Shavi,' he said. 'Come back!'
'Leave him!' Tom barked. 'If you disturb him now he could be lost forever!'
'But what if he can't get back?' Church said. He stared again into those glassy eyes and couldn't control his desperation; the price they were paying was increasing constantly and he despaired at where it would end.
'Leave him!' Tom shouted again.
Reluctantly, Church stood back in the prow-then suddenly all thought of Shavi was gone. A gust of wind cleared the billowing smoke like a theatre curtain being rolled back, presenting a view of Skye that chilled him to the bone. At first details along the coast were blurred and he blinked twice to clear his vision. Then he realised the loss of distinction to the sharp edges of the green and grey coastline was caused by constant movement. Along the seafront, Skye was swarming; there was a sickening infestation of darkness as far as the eye could see, like ants on a dead rat.
'My God! How many are there?' Ruth was beside him, one hand on his shoulder.
They were mesmerised by the sheer enormity of what they were seeing, the malevolence that seemed to wash out across the water towards them. In that one moment, they knew: the world was ending and there was nothing they could do about it.
Church turned to Veitch, Laura and Tom, who were bickering at the rear of the boat, oblivious to the brief vision of hell that had been presented. 'Come on,' he ordered. 'We need to get a move on if we want to be there before sundown.'
It was a long, arduous journey up the Sound of Raasay, where the currents were as powerful as they had feared. Tom fought to keep the boat under control and eventually they rounded the north of the island as the afternoon began to draw on. They were all desperately aware of the hours running away from them, but no one gave voice to fears that there was not enough time left. At least they had left the massed ranks of the Fomorii behind, which gave Church a little more hope. Shavi's sacrifice had at least bought them that.
As the wild hills rose up grey and purple, brooding and mist-shrouded, away to their left, Tom steered the boat around to the west and eventually into the loch that led to Dunvegan Castle. The more they progressed inland, the more the choppy seas subsided, until they were sailing on water as smooth as polished black glass. Everywhere was still; no birds sang, the wind had dropped and the only sound was the gentle lapping of the water against the boat. Eventually the castle loomed up, a squat, forbidding presence perched on a rocky outcropping overlooking the loch. There were no signs of life around it.
Church and Veitch scanned the steep banks where gnarled, rugged trees clustered together in the face of the biting Atlantic winds. 'Do you think they're lying in wait?' Veitch asked.
'Could be.' But Church's instinct told him otherwise. 'We might be lucky. I don't think they expected us to get this far.'
'After all the hassle we've been through, wouldn't it be a laugh if we just waltzed into the castle, got the flag and did our business?' He snapped his fingers. 'Over. Just like that.'
'You love tempting fate, don't you, Ryan?'
They pulled the boat up on to the rocks at the foot of the castle where there was an easy path among the boulders round to the front. Veitch and Church shouldered the talismans between them, every muscle taut, eyes never still. They hated having to leave Shavi behind, but he was too much of a burden and time was short; the sun was already slipping down the sky and Church was afraid the castle would be sealed and they would have to find some way to break in.
But they had gone barely twenty paces from the boat when they heard Shavi cry out. They ran back to find him near-delirious, foam flecking his mouth, his eyes roving, unseeing. 'The Fairy Bridge!' he called out to someone they couldn't see. 'They come across the Fairy Bridge!'
'What's he talking about?' Veitch said dismissively. He had half-turned away when Tom caught his arm.
'The Fairy Bridge lies not far from here. It's over a stream, near to one of the liminal zones. Some of the Fomorii may pass through Otherworld to appear there quicker than if they'd travelled over the land.'
Veitch looked puzzled. 'Yeah, but doesn't everything move slower over there?'
'Time is fluid. Slower, faster, there are no rules. If there is a chance, the Fomorii will take it.'
Church chewed on a nail for a moment. 'Ryan and I can go down there and do what we can to delay them while the rest of you get into the castle.' He hoped it didn't sound as futile as it did in his head. Veitch nodded his agreement; in one glance they both recognised that it was probably a suicide mission.
Leaving Shavi raving in the boat, they all hurried up the path to the front of the castle. It was open, but there was no one in the ticket booth, nor could they hear any sound coming from anywhere within.
While Veitch searched for some weapons, Church opened the crate to examine the sword one final time; it seemed comfortingly familiar, radiating strength and security, and he wished he could take it with him, but it was needed for the summoning ritual. As he reached in to caress the worn handle, a blue spark jumped out from it with such force it threw him across the floor. His fingers ached painfully and there was a dim burning sensation; it felt so powerful because his entire body was numb with cold.
'What was that?' Ruth said. 'It was like it didn't want you to touch it.'
Church shook his head, puzzled, but he had a nagging feeling he knew why. The Roisin Dubh continued to
