Mark Chadbourn - Always Forever

"So it's linked directly to the Blue Fire? That's what all the Arthur myths mean, isn't it?"

"Correct."

Church looked out at the quiet, dead countryside that bordered the river. "But what can it do?"

"The Celts revered severed heads, believing them to have great magical power. In their view, the head is the source of the soul. They knew the truth at the heart of this legend. And don't forget…"

"… myths and legends are the secret history of the land. I'll be happy when I don't hear that phrase again."

"The head has great power, both in real terms, and symbolically. It encompasses everything you have discovered about the Blue Fire."

"So, in the day and a half we have left, we have to avoid Balor and about a million Fomorii in the heart of their power, locate this head somewhere under the Tower of London-like it's going to be just lying around ready to be picked up-and then find some way to use it or activate it or whatever the hell you're supposed to do with it?"

"Well, you didn't expect it to be easy, did you?" Tom said curtly. "If you only had to waltz in there and chop off a head or two they could have got anyone to do it."

"I'll take that as a vote of confidence," Church said moodily.

All that remained of the Thames Barrier flood defence system were columns of concrete and twisted steel jutting out of the slow-moving water. It looked as if it had been smashed into pieces by a giant fist. The rubble just beneath the surface formed a treacherous defence that would have sunk most ships coming up the river, but Manannan's magical skill picked the only path through. It slowed them down a little, but they were still on course to be in the heart of London by noon.

As they progressed further into the eastern fringes of the capital, the mood on Wave Sweeper darkened considerably. The pleasant sunshine was soon blocked out by continually rolling black clouds whipped by the powerful winds circulating the city. It brought the temperature down several degrees while adding a permanent gloom to the cityscape. Vast swathes of southeast London were burning, bringing huge clouds of smoke rolling across the river. Church fastened a scarf across his mouth, but the foul smell of charred plastics and rubber still stung his throat.

As he saw the city up close for the first time, Church thought of all the people he knew who lived there, his old friends, like Dale, who had done so much to try to lift his spirits in the dark weeks after Marianne's death. Had they survived? Had they suffered? It was too depressing to consider, and he was almost pleased when Tom grunted, "Not as bad as the Great Fire."

"Things always were better in the good old days, weren't they?"

The ship suddenly lurched dramatically to the starboard. Church gripped the rail to avoid being thrown into the grey waters. A second later it was swinging back the other way. "What's going on?" he shouted over the wild activity that had erupted on deck. The crew struggled to restrain any item that wasn't lashed down, while Manannan fought with the wheel to keep Wave Sweeper steady.

Tom pointed into the water further upstream. A black, sinuous shape stitched white surf into boiling water.

"Their guard dog," Tom said.

"Dogs," Church corrected. Two more serpentine shapes rolled in the waves. Their attacks were throwing up so much backwash the ship was buffeted back and forth. They were tiny compared to the monster that had attempted to sink Wave Sweeper in Otherworld, but their speed and random, darting movements made them equally dangerous.

The ship sloughed towards the north bank before executing a sharp turn towards the south, rapid manoeuvres that no real-world craft would ever be able to complete. Members of the crew sprawled across the desk, clutching for handholds. Church and Tom were drenched by the eruptions of water as the serpents threw themselves against the sides, either in an attempt to hole the ship or to turn it over.

A shadow fell across them. Church knew what it was before he looked up. The serpent's head towered over them, the same terrifying features he had glimpsed in the sea off Skye: a flattened cobra head, yellowish eyes glowing with an alien intelligence, strange whiskers like a catfish tufting from its mouth, which contained several rows of lethal teeth.

It hovered for a second or two, during which time Church felt the faintest contact with an intelligence that fizzed in the back of his head. He knew what it was going to do before the head darted down towards them, jaws prised wide. Church rolled over and pulled the Sword from its scabbard, jabbing it upwards towards the descending darkness. It impaled the head as if it were slipping through crude oil. The serpent made a high-pitched mechanical whine as it thrashed madly. Church felt an electric jolt in that deep connection the serpent had made with him. An instant later it transformed into a searing scream. Caledfwlch's particular powers ensured that death always resulted from the slightest injury it inflicted.

Church tried to retreat from the bond the serpent had made with him, but it was locked in place. He felt its life force flare briefly, then dwindle down into a dark tunnel before finally winking out. Its body slipped back into the water, lifeless.

The shock of feeling the beast's final moment left Church dazed and distressed. Tom shook him roughly to bring him round, but the sensations stayed with him like a shadow in his subconscious.

Wave Sweeper continued to lurch from side to side. By then the Tuatha De Danann forces had made it on to the deck with several silver weapons resembling harpoons plugged into grenade launchers. Three of them manhandled one to the rail and launched it.

Lightning crackled out across the water. It headed towards the north bank, and then made an unnatural dogleg to the right to strike one of the serpents as it attempted to dive. The creature burst from the water, stinking foully as it charred. A moment later, its shrivelled form drifted downstream.

The remaining serpent was retreating as the Tuatha De Danann struck. It was eradicated just as quickly.

Tom saw Church eyeing the weapons cautiously. "Yes," he said. "They are too powerful to be in hands that cannot be trusted."

Manannan forged on quickly along the centre of the channel. Church watched the banks intently, but he could see no sign of any Fomorii threat. Yet the air of incipient danger grew more and more intense until deep, rhythmic vibrations began to run through Church's legs; it was accompanied by a distant noise, almost too low to be heard beneath the wind. Something about it made his stomach turn. "What is that?" he asked.

Tom stared into the water darkly. "The beating of Balor's heart." The wind whipped at him.

Soon after the smoke and river fog closed in around the ship, limiting vision to a few yards ahead. Manannan let Wave Sweeper drift slowly. The crew remained silent, listening intently for any sound of attack.

Thoom. Thoora. Thoom. The beating had grown a little louder. Church felt it in the pit of his stomach.

And then the obscuring mists parted and Church's blood ran cold. A black tower soared up from the northern bank, its top lost in the clouds above. It rested on the remnants of the Tower of London, the ancient fortress that symbolised the defence of the nation, and was constructed like a termite nest from rubble, crushed vehicles, plastics, household refuse, girders torn from other buildings and anything else that came to hand. Slowly Church looked up the structure as far as he could see. Fires blazed at various points, some inside seen through ragged windows, some on the surface where the leftovers of the twenty-first century still burned. It was a sinister mockery of the gleaming skyscrapers that rose out of the City's financial district only yards away, another source of unbridled power.