Mark Chadbourn - Darkest hour

The black tide came over the edge relentlessly. Images were caught briefly in his mind, disconnected: limbs that became tentacles before turning into articulated legs like a spider's, staring eyes that occasionally became multifaceted like an insect's, body parts that looked like knives, wings that weren't, other shapes he couldn't decipher but which would haunt him forever. There was one brief moment when everything just hung. Before him stretched the glistening blackness, the upper surface tinted deep red by the rays of the dying sun, swaddled in a stifling atmosphere of heat and tension. The acute impression of decay and corruption was almost beautiful in its intensity.

The sheer speed of their approach was terrifying; how pathetically naive he'd been even to think he could do something to delay them. They swept across the turf and then rose up until they blocked out the sun. He waited for the black wave to crash down on him, pounding him into grains, but then it separated and flowed on either side until the serried ranks of the Fomorii formed a crescent around the house. And he was suddenly smothered in the stink of them, the sound of them.

Somehow he found the reserves to steady himself. He focused on some dim spot deep in his head so he didn't have to look at them, forced himself not to think about what the next minute would bring, hoped he didn't look like some weak, frightened Fragile Creature.

And then, in an instant, everything grew still. Wherever his eye flickered, nothing moved; the Fomorii may as well have been obsidian. The only sound was the plaintive whispering of the wind as it began to growing in intensity with the dying of the day.

What are they waiting for? he wondered.

And then he knew. A shiver of anticipation ran through the assembled throng and a second later the last glimmering of the sun winked out and darkness fell across the land. A sound rose up into the night like the rending of metal as the Fomorii gave voice to their feelings; Church gave an involuntary shudder. A second later silence fell once again, heavy with a different kind of anticipation.

Away near the edge Church noticed the darkness start to part, then reform, moving slowly towards him like a stingray slipping through the waves. He held his breath. The ripple broke at the front of the ranks and Calatin stepped out to face him. He was wearing a filthy white silk shift beneath unsettling black Fomorii armour and he was lightly holding the rusty sword that had killed Church at their last face-to-face confrontation.

"Here we are again, on the eve of another festival." Calatin's fey voice was rich with contempt and triumph. "Is one death not enough?"

Church said nothing, but his mind was whirling. The sun had set; perhaps there was still time.

"You chose well, Dragon Brother," Calatin continued mockingly, "hiding here in the blur of blue light rather than confronting us. Still betraying the tradition of the Pendragon Spirit. You recognise your abiding weakness in the face of a greater power-"

"We caused you enough problems in Edinburgh. Destroyed your base. Stole your… " Church paused for emphasis "… prize."

A shadow crossed Calatin's face; his smile grew darker. "And you discovered high-born Night Walkers are not easily despatched." He limped forward a few paces, the sword almost too heavy for him to carry. The effort allowed him to compose himself after Church's gibe. He gestured up to the dark arc of the sky. "This is a night filled with power and wonder. Soon, all of existence will align harmoniously, the cycles will turn further away from the light, and the Heart of Shadows will return once again to the centre of all there is. And you and your brethren will have played a part in that glory, Dragon Brother." Another ripple ran through the Fomorii.

Church knew he would have to do anything to buy time. "Why Ruth?" he asked.

"She is a powerful and resilient vessel, Dragon Brother. Stronger even than you." Calatin smiled, as if this were the ultimate insult. "The birthing cauldron must be able to contain the significant forces at play. She had that strength. It was not my initial belief, but when she was delivered to me the thought of a Sister of Dragons bringing about the return of the Heart of Shadows was so richly imbued with meaning, it had to be."

Church tried not to let himself become angered by Calatin's words. "You've been planning this-"

"This has always been our design. In the Far Lands, we were bereft-that was part of the pact agreed with the Golden Ones after the Sundering. But that could never have been our state in perpetuity. Without the Heart of Shadows, the Night Walkers are…" he made a strange floating movement with his hand "… insubstantial. And so we built the Wish-Hex to break the barriers and propel us out into this world once the cycles turned. And once here, we simply had to wait for the right alignment to set events in motion." The light of someone seeking glory began to burn in Calatin's eyes. "And it will always be remembered that I was the one who brought the Heart of Shadows back into existence. My tribe will hold the highest place. None of the others. Mine."

"Balor isn't in your hands yet."

Calatin stifled his tinkling laughter with the back of his hand before it broke into a hacking cough. Then he rested on the sword, one hand drooping over the handle, his chin almost hanging on top of it, while he surveyed Church with languid eyes. "What goes through your mind now, Dragon Brother? Regret? Self-loathing at your inability to meet your responsibilities? What?"

"I'm not the person you met three months ago, Calatin. Now all my emotions are focused outwards. I feel contempt, for you and your kind, for all you outsiders who think you can come here and tell us how to live our lives. I feel a cold, focused anger for the pain you've inflicted on our lives. And for what you've done to Marianne-"

"Ah, yes!" Calatin made a flourishing gesture. "Another failure on your behalf. I expected you to seek me out for vengeance, at the least. But you chose to abandon the one who occupied your heart while you entertained yourself with brief dalliances with others." He punctuated his sneer with a sly smile.

Church knew it was designed to hurt, but it drove home nonetheless. "Not chose, Calatin. I have learned to accept my responsibilities, whatever the cost to myself."

Calatin laughed.

"You don't believe me?" He motioned towards the house. "She's dead. I killed her earlier. And your god has died with her."

A shiver ran through the breadth of the Fomorii, accompanied by a sound like knives being sharpened; there was a timbre to it that sent a corresponding shiver through Church. An incandescent fear alighted briefly on Calatin's face before he brought it under control. "No! The resonance would have torn through us!" A tremor ran through his body; it looked like it wasn't going to stop. He couldn't prevent himself glancing towards the house. Then he half turned towards the wall of darkness at his back. "If the Heart of Shadows was gone, we all would know."

Now it was Church's turn to laugh.

Calatin rounded on him angrily. "Besides, you do not have it within you. I have looked inside you, Dragon Brother, and you truly are too much of a Fragile Creature."

"The only way you're going to find out is by going in there."

The expression which rose on Calatin's face showed this was a prospect he relished; his smile froze cruelly. He raised one hand to bring the razored might of the Fomorii down on Church.

"What? You're not going to do this one-on-one again?" Church glanced towards the distant sky; still nothing.

"You remember-"

"Last time you'd hampered me with the Kiss of Frost. It wasn't a fair fight, it was a big cheat. You knew you'd win. Without that, I could beat you easily."