Marc Chadbourn - The Queen of sinister

Mahalia felt Matt flinch against her back. Everything rested on the next few moments.

All around, the Baobhan Sith started to slip into their holes, the rocks magically rolling back into place. The night creatures passed on either side, heading home, and at last one began to stalk direcdy to the entrance. It paused outside, puzzling that the opening had been filled, and then began to pluck the rocks away with its unfeasibly long, thin fingers.

Matt tapped Mahalia on the shoulder and whispered, 'Now.'

Without thinking twice, Mahalia drove forward, sending the remaining rocks flying. Jack and Matt piled out after her.

The Baobhan Sith drew back, hissing like a cat, but it didn't attack. Instead, it cast repeated menacing glances as it passed by them, easing into the cairn and replacing the rocks behind it.

More Baobhan Sith streamed by on all sides, snarling or scraping the air with their talons, but not one of them made a move towards the companions. The three of them were frozen in the face of the preternatural terror, until finally they accepted that they weren't going to be harmed. The Baobhan Sith were driven by one primal fear: of the rising sun. Matt motioned for the other two to follow him, and they quickly picked a path, continually veering away from any of the Baobhan Sith who came too close, just in case.

Mahalia was soaked in sweat. She still couldn't believe they had got out; she had resigned herself to a quick and painful death. Glancing back hopefully, she was overjoyed to see Crowther plodding relentlessly behind them. She felt a deep and surprising connection with the professor that had crept up on her; even more surprisingly, it felt good. Once they found some way to get the mask off him, she was determined to let him know that he was a good person and that she trusted him. She felt there was no higher recommendation. By the time the sun emerged fully above the horizon, the last of the night creatures were gone, and only then did they allow themselves the chance to celebrate. Mahalia and Jack hugged each other and then they both hugged Matt.

'I thought our number was up there!' Matt gushed. 'Good old Crowther. Who'd have thought the old fool would save the day?'

Mahalia went over to thank the professor personally, but he gave no response at all. She returned to the others, undeterred.

Their survival invigorated them, wiping away the exhaustion they had felt for most of the journey. 'You know what?' Mahalia said. 'If we can get through that, we can get through anything.'

'Don't speak too soon,' Matt cautioned, but his face showed that he clearly felt the same way. The Plain of Cairns ended in a band of lush greenery. Once they saw it, they ran as fast as they could, whooping and skipping. Just beyond, in the shade of some tall trees, lay a series of lakes. They dived in fully clothed, washing the dust from their hair and throats.

Afterwards, they lay on the banks, resting and talking quietly, but they knew it was only a brief respite. The sky overhead mutated furiously with colours and sounds. 'Close,' Matt mused as he looked up at it. He nodded to a steep, grassy rise beyond the lakes. 'Just over there, I would say.'

They steeled themselves, then set off, climbing slowly, putting off what they knew lay ahead. As they neared the top of the rise, the House of Pain loomed up in the distance. It appeared to reach right up into the sky itself, but their minds still couldn't absorb any detail. They saw it as just a black smudge on their vision, and the more they looked, the more it made their heads hurt and the queasier they felt.

Finally they reached the top of the rise. As they looked out across another massive plain of grassland and rocky outcroppings, they realised that the Baobhan Sith hadn't been the worst thing at all.

Purple haze drifted as far as the eye could see, like the smoke of some First World War battiefield. Within it and behind it lay the army of the Lament-Brood, now swelled to apocalyptic proportions. The Whisperers faced the rise, completely surrounding the House of Pain, their numbers disappearing into the misty distance.

'Jesus H. Christ,' Matt said in awe.

'It looks like they've taken over everybody in the Far Lands,' Jack gasped. 'There must be a hundred thousand of them.'

'And there's just four of us.' Mahalia turned from the terrible spectacle and faced them with glittering eyes. Inside her, passion carved its way to the surface. This was it: her time. There was no backing away, no chance of survival. It was all about going out in the best way possible and she didn't care about death. She just wanted to do it right.

She smiled tightly and said, 'Game on.'

Despair washed up from the grassy plain on the back of a hundred thousand whispers. Mahalia, Matt and Jack did their best to keep its insidious flow at bay — humming, chattering, staring deep into each other's eyes — but at some level they were still tainted.

'They're not going to let us leave, are they?' Jack said dismally. He glanced back across the massed ranks as if he hoped they'd all been magicked away while his gaze was averted. 'We should have known it would turn out like this. We never stood a chance.'

Matt's face was filled with the realisation of their failure. He looked back at the Plain of Cairns and then over the Lament-Brood. 'He's right — it's all over. We can't go back, and if we go forward we'll be wiped out in seconds… and any minute now they're going to come and get us.' He bowed his head, attempting to come to terms with his impending death. Taking a deep breath, he looked up and forced a smile. 'No point crying about it. This is it.'

'Then we should go out in style,' Mahalia stressed. 'I don't want to be forgotten. I don't want to be some nameless loser, or if people do remember me, I don't want them calling me some selfish, spoilt little girl. I want everyone to remember me like the Culture talked about those five who stood up against the gods when they came back. They're like some myth now… like King Arthur and his knights or something. That's what I want.' She bit her lip hard, holding back her emotions so that she could appear defiant.

Matt shrugged. 'I don't think there's going to be anybody reporting back-'

'You don't know! Maybe the Void or whatever you want to call it will see us taking a stand here and think, If all the human race is like that, I don't stand a chance. I'm going back where I came from…'

Matt grinned, then shook his head dismissively.

'Don't laugh! You don't know. Sometimes when you do things, they take on a life of their own. Actions have energy.' She waved him away and went to cross the rise to the downward slope.

Matt caught her arm. 'You're right — we need to do this together. It's Roarke's Drift time.' He looked from Mahalia to Jack. 'You'd better say your goodbyes.'

His words brought home to them the awful truth of what was about to happen. Jack and Mahalia fell into each other's arms with a desperation that brought tears to their eyes. Their kisses were just as hard and before they pulled apart they whispered into each other's ears the promise of what might have been.

Once Mahalia broke away, she instantly became unemotional, didn't even cast another look at Jack. 'OK,' she said. 'Let's do it.'

Before they began, she hurried back to Crowther. 'Professor, you helped us on the Plain of Cairns and we're eternally grateful for that — you saved our lives. But we need you again. And this is even worse. If there's anything you can do… anything…' There was no response, but Mahalia was convinced that he had heard her. Against all her natural reservations, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him, just briefly, before returning to the others.