The Firehills Part 10

"This crop circle you describe," he mused, "this phenomenon concerns me. Finnvarr said that the Old Ways-the ley lines, you would call them-are full to overflowing with energy since the power of the Malifex was dispersed. I fear these crop circles are a manifestation of that. The land is saturated with power. Any attempt to use the Craft may attract that surplus power like a lightning strike. You had a fortunate escape, my friend."

Charly drew gasps and a "Wow!" from Sam as she described her initiation and her encounter with the G.o.ddess Epona. She secretly hoped that he was slightly jealous, but to her disappointment, he just seemed impressed. When Sam described his escape from the Sidhe into the ancient forest of the Weald, Charly asked, "If you can make a door anywhere you want, to any place or time, just by thinking about it, why can't you make a door to Hastings, just here for instance?" She gestured at a nearby wall.

"We are still deep within the realm of the Sidhe," explained Amergin. "These are internal walls. A doorway here would simply lead us to the next room."

"Yeah, that's right," agreed Sam, as if the answer had been on the tip of his tongue. Charly sighed. They paced onward in silence.

Charly began to recognize her surroundings. They were pa.s.sing through the heartland of the Faery Folk, close by the feasting hall. Beyond that, she was in unfamiliar territory, relying on Amergin's instincts. The wizard seemed far more purposeful than she had seen him for a long time, more like the Amergin who had led her and Sam in their quest against the Malifex. From time to time, however, he would mutter under his breath, "Foolish, foolish."

Puzzled, Charly said, "We've told you most of what happened to us. What about you? What have you done that was so foolish?"

Amergin sighed. "Lost sight of my appointed task, child. Let that be a lesson to you, Sam," he called over his shoulder. "I allowed myself to be distracted by the flash and glitter of your modern world. I forgot my mission to train a hero for the battle against evil. Never again. Buffy!" he exclaimed. "Ha!"

Charly looked at Sam, who shrugged.

Moving on, they entered an area given over to the practice of war-barracks with row after row of low, hard beds; huge, empty stables; vast armories with all but a handful of weapons missing from their racks. Finally, they came to a low doorway, a rectangle of deeper darkness in the general gloom. Amergin held up a hand for them to slow down and approached the doorway cautiously. After a moment, he beckoned them forward, whispering, "We must be silent. There is something evil within, but our way lies beyond this door."

With a feeling of mounting dread, Charly and Sam followed the bard through the doorway. The darkness within was unrelieved by torches, but after a moment, their eyes began to adjust. They were in a cavern, long and broad, with stalact.i.tes dripping from the half-glimpsed roof high above. And they were not alone.

It seemed that the Sidhe had taken only their horses to war, leaving their other pets behind. In the half-light, Charly recognized the creatures that had pursued her to the feasting hall of Lord Finnvarr and then mysteriously vanished. The ebb and flow of their breath filled the chamber as, in the gloom, they slept.

Amergin raised a finger to his lips, though neither Sam nor Charly had any intention of making a noise. They were both frozen with dread, staring wide-eyed at the seemingly endless ranks of horrors.

Nearest to the central path sprawled untidy heaps of unclean bodies. Goblins and boggarts were asleep in a tangle of limbs. Scattered among them were the midnight black forms of the cu sith, their huge canine heads on their paws and tongues lolling in the dirt. Farther back in the gloom were larger shapes: the mounded backs of great black bulls and rams-the bugganes-lost in evil dreams. And finally, in the shadowy recesses of the cavern, sights that made Sam bite off a cry of horror: huge and formless in the darkness, the towering figures of giants and trolls, their snores rumbling through the very foundations of the cave. Charly and Sam exchanged glances, each seeking rea.s.surance in the other's eyes. Then they turned to follow Amergin as he stepped softly along the central path. In places, the tangle of goblin bodies spilled out in front of them, and they were forced to pick their way through a maze of hairy arms and dark, misshapen legs. Charly's heart threatened to leap out of her chest whenever a goblin stirred and grunted in its sleep. At one point, Sam came perilously close to treading on clawlike fingers as a boggart flopped its arm out in front of him. But the creatures of the Sidhe were deep in slumber, and gradually, the three made progress toward the far end of the chamber.

Suddenly Amergin waved a hand behind him, gesturing for Sam and Charly to stop. Peering around his back, they saw the problem. Blocking the path was a s.h.a.ggy black mound-one of the cu sith, a dog the size of a horse, built like an Irish wolfhound but with the muscular bulk of a rottweiler. It lay on its side across the path, and it was hunting in its dreams, whimpering softly, its paws and eyebrows twitching as it pursued some unfortunate prey through the forests of its mind.

Amergin gestured toward the belly of the dog, miming that they should try to step between its legs and over its tail. When Sam and Charly nodded that they understood, he set off, slowly and smoothly, testing each footstep before he committed his weight, eyes glued to the dog's legs for signs of movement. And then he was past, and it was Charly's turn. She placed one foot in the s.p.a.ce between the hound's chin and chest, made sure of her balance, and prepared to step over the forelegs. She had one foot in the air when the dog's nostrils began to twitch, and it let out a long, high whimper. Charly froze, teetering on one leg. Gradually, the whimper trailed away, and the dog settled back into sleep. Charly put her foot down next to the huge chest with relief. With more confidence, she stepped along the length of the dog's belly, over its hind legs and tail, and was greeted with a silent hug from Amergin.

Sam had been watching Charly's progress carefully and realized that the first step had to be swift, otherwise his scent would linger before the sleeping hound's nose for too long. Moving boldly, he strode past the head and over the forelegs. The dog remained silent. Pausing beside the slowly heaving chest, Sam scrubbed at his nose with the back of his hand and contemplated the next step. One huge hind leg was pawing at the ground as the dog chased its dream prey. Sam moved closer, waiting for the motion to subside. He sniffed-the noise loud in the silence-and received a glare from Amergin. The leg ceased its frantic twitching, and Sam stepped over, skipped lightly over the tail, and joined the others. And then he sneezed, a huge, unexpected sneeze that bounced off the walls of the cavern and receded into the distance.

"Sam! You idiot!" hissed Charly.

"I can't help it!" he whispered in reply. "I'm allergic to dogs!"

"Well, why didn't you-?"

But Charly was cut off by a high, drawn-out wail. Up near the roof of the cavern, where stalact.i.tes hung in great, fluted curtains, something was stirring. One by one, more of the unearthly cries sprang up around the cavern as the banshees awoke. Upside down, their long, black hair falling around their beautiful faces, they crawled down the stalact.i.tes and launched themselves into the air. As they swooped and wheeled around the chamber, wailing and screeching, the other creatures of the Sidhe began to stir.

CHAPTER 8.

The procession wound through the streets of Hastings, its numbers swollen now by curious holidaymakers. Despite the overcast sky and a chill wind from the sea, the town was filled with holiday bustle, and the revelers made slow progress through the crowds.

Along the seafront and into the Old Town they made their way, the towering figure of Jack-in-the-Green, like an animated Christmas tree topped with a crown and ribbons, at the head. Behind him came his bogies, clad in vibrant green, adorned with sprigs of vegetation, antlers, and horns. With them came the chimney sweeps, blackclad and sooty-faced, and a red-faced man with a drum, who wore a parody of a military uniform. Drums, large and small, appeared throughout the procession, all of them pounding out the same primeval rhythm. There were giants too, towering figures of papier-mache; a knight with red hair and beard, brandishing a sword and shield; a witch in a black dress, with ruby lips and huge, dark eyes; a hooded man, all in green. The giants swayed and lurched above the heads of the crowd, while the hobby horse danced around them, sinister in its long black cape. It chased after children who screamed at its snapping jaw and sad, mad eyes.

From time to time, at prearranged points, the procession would stop to rest. Then the music of accordions and pipes began, and morris dancers in crisp white costumes would wheel and spin, bells jingling and ribbons streaming behind them. Above the music and dancing towered Jack, silent and enigmatic beneath his leaves. And whenever the procession moved on, more tourists followed, infected by the feeling that something was imminent, that they were part of some drama that would play out its final act when Jack-in-the-Green reached his destination.

High above the streets of town, beneath a gray lid of clouds, the green bowl of the castle was beginning to fill up as tourists and revelers poured in through the gate. The deck chairs around the central stage were all occupied, and the slopes beneath the high circling walls were thick with picnickers. Megan was doing a brisk trade, trying to smile at the customers, but half of her attention was on the crowd. Here and there, she could make out familiar faces, pract.i.tioners of the Craft who dropped in and out of the Aphrodite Guest House as if it were their second home. They all had heeded Mrs. P.'s call, and all had the same look, a tightness around the eyes and mouth, their auras filled with expectation, tension, fear. But it was Mrs. P. who caused Megan the greatest concern. Her aura showed all of those things and something more. Something dark and cold-a great, bottomless sadness.

Megan shuddered as she handed a customer his change.

"What now?" demanded Charly, looking from Sam to Amergin.

The bard peered into the darkness, where huge figures were lurching out of the shadows. "I think," he began carefully, "that we should run."

"And that's the wizard's approach, is it?" Charly snapped.

"There is a time for magic," replied Amergin, breaking into a jog, "and a time for running. And now is definitely running time. MOVE!"

Charly started to follow Amergin, then realized that Sam had remained behind. Turning, she saw that he was rooted to the spot, and she understood why. The floor of the cavern behind them seemed to writhe as hundreds of goblins and boggarts shook off sleep and began to scramble to their feet. High above, one of the banshees wheeled and began to plummet toward them, a terrible scream trailing out behind it. Sam's eyes grew wider as it arrowed toward him, long black hair snapping in the wind of its flight. In a face of porcelain skin and perfect features, blood red lips were pulled back to reveal sharp fangs.

"Come on!" shouted Charly, grabbing Sam by the arm. He stumbled backward, and the banshee hissed past his face, its talons millimeters from his eyes. Gagging on the stench from its black robes, he turned and broke into a run behind Charly, who was sprinting down the chamber toward the retreating figure of Amergin.

The cavern began to echo with cries as the cu sith awoke and began to bay, and the boggarts called to each other in harsh voices. The bugganes lumbered from their resting places, shifting shape from bull to ram to foul goblin form, and in the farthest shadows, the first of the trolls lurched into motion.

The procession left the busy shopping streets along the seafront and turned inland. To the hypnotic pounding of the drums, the holidaymakers and morris dancers, bogies, and giants began their final ascent. The stragglers were still setting off from the seafront as the leaders of the throng began to make their way up Castle Hill, so long had the procession become. High above, a thrill of excitement ran through the crowd a.s.sembled in the castle grounds as the word spread: Jack was on his way. From deep within the Hollow Hills, the Host of the Sidhe rode forth. Lord Finnvarr and Lady Una were at its head, mounted on black steeds with eyes of flame. Behind them rode fifty of the Faery Folk, and twice as many again were on foot-almost all that remained of that race-dressed for war. The hoofs of their horses struck sparks from the stone floor as they made their way toward the human world.

Sam and Charly scrambled over boulders and dodged around stalagmites as they struggled to catch up with Amergin. The moisture that had created the spires of rock by its slow, millennial dripping made every surface slippery, and both Sam and Charly had lost their footing. Charly had cracked her shin painfully on a rock ledge. But the hoa.r.s.e breath and howling of the cu sith was close behind them, spurring them on. As they reached the farther end of the cavern, the walls drew closer and the floor became more broken. Amergin was slowing down as the terrain became rougher, and soon Charly and Sam caught up with him.

Turning to them, he cried, "Duck!" and they felt a gust of foul air as two of the banshees swooped over them. Amergin let loose a bolt of energy from his fingertips, dropping one of the creatures with a shriek. They heard a sickening crack as it collided with a spire of rock.

"Come on!" shouted Amergin. "I can see a way out."

He pointed ahead to a narrow crack of deeper darkness toward the cavern's end. Sam and Charly scrambled after him as he picked his way through the tumbled rock debris toward the opening. Sam heard a clatter of stone and turned. The cu sith were close now, claws skittering on the damp rock, their tongues lolling from their mouths and their jaws flecked with foam. And behind them came the goblins and boggarts, a foul tide sweeping over every surface, some running upright, some scuttling on all fours, trampling each other in their haste to reach their quarry. The air resounded with harsh cries in nameless languages, the furious baying of the cu sith, and farther off but drawing nearer, the rumbling bellows of trolls.

The nearest of the great black dogs scented victory and made a huge bound forward, its eyes blazing red in the darkness. It landed close behind Sam, who was struggling to move at speed over the wet rubble of the cavern floor. Amergin had reached the opening in the cave wall and paused. Turning, he saw the ma.s.sive hound bearing down on Sam. Pulling Charly to him, he flung out one hand and sent forth a blast of violet energy, but at that moment, the dog slipped and crashed to the floor. The bolt of energy pa.s.sed over its head, and then it was on its feet once more, talons scrabbling as it fought for a footing. As Sam sprinted the last few agonizing meters to the exit, the claws of the cu sith caught on solid rock and it sprang forward, jaws agape. Charly reached for Sam's hand and dragged him into the opening in the cavern wall. The faery hound, unable to stop its momentum, crashed headlong into the opening and slumped to the ground, its ma.s.sive head and shoulders blocking half the exit.

"That should hold off some of the others," shouted Amergin, and he set off along a narrow pa.s.sageway. Charly cast a concerned eye over the white-faced Sam, then turned to follow the bard.

The procession picked its way up the entrance track to the castle and paused at the ticket office. The papiermache giants-the knight, the black-clad Morrigan, old Hannah Clarke the witch-were manhandled to the ground and reverently pa.s.sed through the entrance. Once inside, they were hefted aloft once more and the procession moved on. A thrill pa.s.sed through the crowd as the first drummers and morris dancers appeared inside the castle wall. Jack was coming.

On the summit of West Hill, under the blank-eyed gaze of the guesthouses, was a wide, gra.s.sy, open s.p.a.ce known as the Ladies Parlor. Once it had hosted tournaments for the nearby castle and resounded to the clash of jousting knights. Now it was the preserve of dog walkers and kite flyers. The wind, wet from the sea, hissed through the short gra.s.s, bowling stray candy wrappers across the expanse of green. Scattered leaves and pieces of paper swirled, dancing together in the air. A pattern began to emerge, a stately rotation of debris, sc.r.a.ps of litter tracing the edges of a wide vortex.

The pace of the wind increased, lashing the gra.s.s in a broad circle, dust and twigs spiraling faster around a point in the center of the Ladies Parlor. And then they came. From the heart of the whirlwind rode the Host of the Sidhe, clad in the full panoply of war. The hoofs of their horses sounded like thunder on the hard turf, and the thin gray light glinted on jeweled bridles as Finnvarr, King of the Host of the Air, led his people to war. By his side, the Lady Una shook her long black hair free in the sea wind and laughed, high and cruel. In response, her steed tossed its head and snorted, fire jetting from its nostrils. The shouts of tourists in the distance, converging on the castle for the festival, mingled with the crying of the gulls. Finnvarr reined in his horse and paused for a moment, looking back at the a.s.sembled throng, the last of their race. Then turning his gaze to the castle entrance, he cried out in the ancient tongue of the Tuatha de Danaan-a battle cry from the old days, before the coming of the Milesians-and the Host rode on.

Sam and Charly followed Amergin through a complex maze of tunnels. They were leaving behind the realm of the Sidhe. The pa.s.sageways here had been little modified, merely cleared of the worst obstacles. Often they were forced to crawl on hands and knees or squeeze themselves through cracks in the dripping rock. When they paused to tackle a particularly tricky scramble over fallen boulders, Charly said, "On my way in here, I turned into a bat."

"What do you mean, turned into? " Sam asked with a smirk on his face. Charly ignored him.

"I turned into a bat," she continued, "and it was much easier. You can get through tiny gaps, and you can see everything. Well, sort of see . . . or hear . . ." She trailed off.

"Hm-m-m," pondered Amergin. "It's not a bad idea, but I fear it would not serve us now. To find an exit from the Hollow Hills, we will need our human senses. No, I fear we must stay as we were born, though it grieves me to move so slowly." He paused, holding up a hand. Charly and Sam heard the approaching sound of voices, harsh and cruel. The goblins, being smaller than humans and accustomed to their subterranean home, could move more rapidly. They had pa.s.sed the obstacle of the fallen cu sith and were drawing near.

"Come," continued Amergin. He stooped, cupping his hands together, the fingers interlaced. Charly placed one foot into Amergin's firm grip and felt herself hoisted upward. Scrambling onto the top of a slab of fallen rock, she gazed back into the threatening darkness as Sam and Amergin joined her. Then they were off once more, slipping and stumbling on weary legs through the broken landscape.

Most of the procession had dispersed into the castle grounds, to the craft stalls and refreshment tent, leaving Jack and his followers to pick their way up the slope of gra.s.s at the rear of the amphitheater. Here they paused, resting high above the revelers, while morris dancers took their turn upon the stage below.

Down on her stall, Megan could bear it no longer. Ignoring the waiting customers, she fled into the crowd. To one side of the castle, behind a stall selling cards and Tshirts, was an area where the giants had been abandoned. They looked strangely forlorn, propped against the pitted stonework, their time of glory over. It was here that she found Mrs. P.

The old lady was gazing at the pale paper features of the Morrigan, black hair and black dress contrasting sharply with her white skin. Without looking around, she said, "I used to look like her once, my sweet. You may find that hard to believe now." She turned to smile at Megan. Tears glistened on her cheeks. "They're close now," she continued. "I can feel them."

Megan reached out and touched Mrs. P.'s arm, and suddenly they were hugging, the old woman's head buried against Megan's chest. When she finally looked up, Megan barely recognized her. Mrs. P. seemed to have aged a decade in a matter of seconds.

Mrs. P. sighed. "I'm sorry, my dear. I'm just a foolish old woman. Age is supposed to bring wisdom, but some days I think it only brings rheumatism and a tendency to forget where you left things."

"It's going to be fine," said Megan, squeezing Mrs. P.'s shoulders.

"Of course it is, lovey. Of course it is. Come on. We must get ready."

Megan gave her what she hoped was a rea.s.suring smile, turned, and headed back into the crowd.

Mrs. P. watched her for a moment, then muttered under her breath, "Lady, grant me the strength to leave them behind." And then she set off, a tiny figure beneath the towering giants.

The Host of the Sidhe crossed the road, their horses oblivious to the screeching of car brakes and the screams of fleeing tourists. Faces stern and pale, they made their way along the narrow track that led to the castle entrance. Up ahead, at the entrance to the castle, King Finnvarr saw an obstacle: the low, wooden ticket office that spanned the narrow gap in the stone walls. He reined in his horse and stared for a moment. Then he raised one hand in the air, palm upward and fingers clawed. The wind began to gust, swirling savagely in the confined s.p.a.ce. Gradually, the ragged gusts gathered into a whirlwind, a screaming funnel of air that tracked slowly across the ground, clouds of dust billowing at its feet. With a horrifying inevitability, it smashed into the ticket office. There was a rending sound, a shattering of gla.s.s, and a chorus of screams. Chunks of timber flew out into the track, one clattering to a halt at the feet of Finnvarr's horse.

Finnvarr lowered his hand and the twister dispersed. Paper leaflets advertising local attractions fluttered to the ground like autumn leaves. Finnvarr tapped his heels against his mount's flanks, and the Host of the Sidhe moved on.

The goblins were close now, the scrambling sound of their feet and hands like a rising tide in the narrow tunnel. Charly, Amergin, and Sam were battered and weary, the palms of their hands sc.r.a.ped raw by the rock, their shins bruised and aching.

"We're nearly there," gasped Amergin. "I can feel the outer world drawing close. Sam, you must use your power."

Sam stared at his feet, panting helplessly.

"Sam? Come on! We need your power." Charly shook him by the shoulder. His head wobbled up, and he looked at her blankly.

"Power?"

"You are a Walker Between Worlds, my friend," said Amergin kindly. "Come-find us a doorway."

Behind them, goblins and bugganes began to spill through a narrow gap between two stalagmites. A crude bronze knife struck the rock by Charly's face, showering her with dust. She helped Amergin to push Sam into the lead. He stumbled forward, hands groping blindly along the walls of the pa.s.sage. And then he collided with something: a blank wall of stone.

"It's a dead end," he mumbled and then louder, "It's a dead end!"

"Come on, Sam," hissed Charly. "You're the hero-do something!"

"I'm not." He sighed, "I . . . I don't know how."

The nearest goblins saw that they had halted and soon realized why. Knowing that they had their prey cornered, they slowed. Despite their vast numbers, they were wary, edging forward, t.i.ttering and hissing with antic.i.p.ation.

"Charly," said Amergin, "we must help him. Take his shoulder." He placed one hand on Sam's shoulder, gesturing for Charly to do the same. Leaning close to Sam, he said quietly, "Sam, my friend, only you can do this, but we can help. Take our strength. Find us a way."

"Quickly!" shouted Charly. A boggart, bigger and bolder than the rest, was shuffling toward them with a sideways gait, ready to turn and run, but with a glint of bloodl.u.s.t in its eyes. It made lunging motions with a dagger as it came, hissing through yellow teeth. Sam shut his eyes, sending his thoughts out into the rock. He tried to recall what it had felt like when he had found his way into the ancient Weald, spilling out onto the sunny gra.s.s of the South Downs with the mighty forest stretched out before him. But all he could remember was a feeling of fear, of overwhelming need. The stone beneath his hand felt like stone, nothing more-just the old familiar crystal tang of ancient bedrock. Suddenly, Charly screamed. The boggart had reached her and grabbed her by the arm. Frantically, she tried to beat it off while still clinging with one hand to Sam's shoulder. "Sam," she sobbed. "Now!"

For a split second, Sam turned and saw the leering face of the boggart bearing down on Charly, the bronze dagger raised to strike. He closed his eyes, turned back to the rock, and pushed.

He stumbled, lost his footing, and fell, rolling forward. He felt the comforting hands on his shoulders wrenched free, but then something solid rose up and struck him on the temple, and he sank into oblivion.

Up on the high slope within the castle yard, Jack's followers began to drum. With looks of intense purpose, they fell into a particular rhythm, throbbing and somehow primeval. Drummers all around the castle heard the rhythm and synchronized with it, until the whole green bowl of the ancient site seemed to pulsate to the sound. It could be felt in the chest, in the time-worn stone walls, in the old bones of the West Hill itself.

Then Jack began to move. Slowly, with great dignity, the towering green figure made its way down the winding path in the castle grounds to the central stage, and there he took up his position. Surrounded by his followers, he dominated the crowd, ancient and enigmatic, a faceless green cone of vegetation, ribbons fluttering in the breeze. The pounding of the drums rose to a crescendo and abruptly ceased. Silence fell. A single female voice, high and pure, was raised in song, bidding farewell to the winter, yearning for the summer that would soon be set free by the ritual destruction of Jack-in-the-Green. But something was wrong. Screams could be heard from outside the castle walls and a crashing sound, the shattering of gla.s.s. The crowd around the stage began to exchange worried looks. Some of the tourists smiled, thinking that this was part of the day's entertainment, some sort of historical reenactment.

The screaming outside grew more intense, and a cloud of dust could be seen at the entrance. Then the ticket office exploded, sending fragments of wood into the air. The crowd panicked, but there was nowhere to run. The only way in or out was through the ticket office. A few people set off in that direction anyway, despite the screams coming from its shattered remains. But they soon halted in their tracks. For out of the dust came figures from a dream-the Faery Folk, riding abroad in the mortal world, fire flickering around the mouths of their horses. Silence fell, broken by sobs. Side by side, King Finnvarr and the Lady Una rode into the castle grounds.

Charly opened her eyes. "It hasn't worked!" she cried in dismay. They were clearly still in the caves. She was at the foot of a wall of rock, in some kind of narrow crevice.

There was one improvement, though-light was shining down on her. Her eyes tracked upward, and she screamed. Above her head, jammed into a narrow chimney of rock, was a skeleton. It was suspended, face down, in some sort of iron cage, tattered sc.r.a.ps of clothing and pale bones hanging above her. She jumped to her feet and scuttled backward, tripping over Sam's inert body. He groaned, shaking his head. Putting a hand to his temple, he felt something wet and a dull ache.

"We're still in the caves!" shouted Charly, to n.o.body in particular. "It hasn't worked, and now we're going to be too late!"

Sam peered back into the recess from which Charly had emerged and found Amergin sitting up, rubbing his head.

"Come on," said Sam, "Charly says we're still in the caves. We'd better get going before those . . . things catch up."

He pulled Amergin to his feet, and together they set off after Charly. Crossing the floor of a broad, smooth-floored chamber, they heard an urgent hiss and ran toward its source. They found Charly by the door of a side chamber. She waved for them to slow down and to stay quiet, then gestured into the open doorway. Sam tiptoed forward and peered around the edge of the opening. He jerked his head back, eyes wide with surprise. There were people in the small room, definitely human, bent over something as if deep in concentration. Charly followed him. She frowned for a moment, then chuckled.