"Shut up!" Callow covered his ears.
"In ourselves, are triumph and defeat."
"No!" He ran over and kicked Tom's body hard, then looked to Church for a reaction.
"He can't feel it, you know," Church said. "He's away taking a rest from this big mess. It's all of us left behind who still get to feel the pain."
Callow scuttled forward to Church's side so he could whisper in his ear, "And that's just what you'll get, old boy. Once he's finished with you"-he pointed to Mollecht-"I'll have my finger."
Mollecht completed whatever task he had been carrying out on the other side of the room and turned back. Church couldn't tell if it was his imagination, but the crows appeared to fly even faster, like a heart speeding up at the anticipation of pleasure.
"Enjoy it while it lasts," Callow whispered gleefully.
The three Fomorii guards were each carrying one of the cruel-looking implements; Church tried not to look at them, nor to think what damage they could wreak on his frail body.
Close up the sound of flapping wings was deafening, the smell of the birds potent. Church couldn't comprehend how they could fly so fast, so close together without once crashing.
Callow sloped back to the far corner of the room, obviously unnerved by Mollecht, even though he considered him an ally. The Fomorii guards roughly flipped the board back so it was horizontal, and Mollecht moved to stand at the head, where his presence was oppressive, but only partly seen. Two Fomorii positioned themselves on Church's right, one over his knee joint, the other close to his hand. The third Fomorii moved in on his left and held a rod tipped with a corkscrew over his groin; Church remembered that one well from the tunnels beneath Dartmoor.
Something was happening with Mollecht, although it was impossible to see exactly what. Church had a sense that the birds were moving their formation slightly; he could feel the air currents from their wings on his forehead. A moment later an unpleasant sucking sensation throbbed deep in his head, though he was sure it was not physical.
He writhed on the table in an attempt to shake it off, but it grew more and more intense until he felt something deep in him rushing out. There was a moment of utter darkness and then the torture room was gone, although he felt his body still lying in it. Everything was infused with intense, smoky colours, unreal, like a distorted Technicolor film from the sixties. A large, armoured insect appeared to be crawling around the inside of his head. His whole being recoiled; it was the mind of Mollecht.
Church had flashes of a nightmarish landscape where threatening creatures loomed up before receding in speeded-up motion. There was a shift and he glimpsed a building as big as a mountain made of black glass. Another shift and he was inside, in a room as dark as the deepest well despite a brazier glowing a dull red in one corner. One of the Fomorii stood hunched over the hot coals pouring some dust on to them from a glass philtre. This Fomor-whom Church knew was Mollecht-was a half-breed, just like Calatin, but while Calatin had more of the Tuatha De Danann in his physical appearance, Mollecht was closer to the grotesque Night Crawlers.
As the dust fell on the coals, a cloud of smoke rose up in purples and reds. Church had a sudden sense of a great Evil, greater even than Balor, lying somewhere on the edge of the universe. He felt its attention turn on him/them, and was convinced he was going to die from dread.
The smoke billowed with a life of its own. Finally it folded back and out of it flew the murder of crows, although there was something sickeningly alien about them; they were much larger, their eyes glittering red, and Church could sense in them an awful intelligence. They fell on Mollecht, pecking at his skin with blades as sharp as razor blades, tearing through flesh and bone.
As Mollecht fell to his knees, he howled in the insane monkey-gibbering way of the Fomorii, but there was nothing he could do to fend them off. At the same time as they ate him alive, they spun a chartreuse web, like spiders, that coagulated, folding within his body to make another form. As he shrank, it grew, not as large but more powerful, and when he was completely gone, it lay there, infinitely more hideous, both within and without. It was so fragile it threatened to fall apart in an instant, but the crows began to fly, faster and faster, weaving a binding spell that created a network of restraining energy. And when it opened its eyes…
The shock jolted Church out of the trance state; he would never, ever forget the sickness of seeing the world through Mollecht's eyes.
Mollecht retreated from his head and moved to where he could direct proceedings.
"Have you lost hope yet?" Callow jeered from the other side of the room.
"Mollecht belongs to something else," Church gasped. "He wants to challenge Balor."
All the Fomorii stopped; Callow dropped to his knees whimpering. The air pressure in the room fell; a wind rushed through it. Church was aware of a presence in the room, unbearably threatening; fear surged through him. It was only there for a second or two before moving on, but it left deep scars on his mind.
Somehow he forced himself to speak. "Where is-"
"Don't say the name!" Callow pleaded.
"Where is he?"
Church thought Callow was going to cry. He looked around in terror. "Don't you know? You are inside him."
Church had no time to ask what that meant. The crows that made up Mollecht shifted their formation; a signal. The Fomorii moved in with the torture instruments.
Before any of them could hurt him, there was another drop in air pressure, only this one felt different: Church's nerve endings tingled, warmth flooded into his limbs. The Fomorii felt it too, for they looked towards the door as one. Mollecht backed away.
The door was growing a dim blue, distinct in the darkness of the room, and it was from there that the electric atmosphere was flooding. Mollecht let out a series of barks and yelps. The Fomorii guards threw away the torture instruments and pulled out their swords, but before they reached the door, the blue glow became noticeably brighter and a resonant hum filled the room. An instant later the door exploded in thousands of shards. Church was close enough to the blast to have been torn to pieces by the flying wood, but nothing touched him at all.
When he looked back he was confronted with a miraculous sight. On the stone floor outside the door was a severed head. It was the source of the brilliant blue glow that now flooded the room. The head of Bran, the Luck of the Land; the god who had sacrificed himself for the sake of humanity. Church could make out long, flowing hair, but where the eyes and mouth should have been there were only holes out of which the blue light streamed. The most unnerving thing was that the head appeared to be still alive. Its mouth moved, the muscles on its cheeks twitched, the eyes grew wider and then narrowed.
The Fomorii guards hesitated, but another command from Mollecht drove them on. They barely had time to move. The light became a river of surging Blue Fire rushing towards them. Church was mesmerised as he watched it burn away everything down to the skeletons, and an instant later they were gone too.
In the corner, Callow was shrieking. Church's attention was drawn to the door as a tall silhouette slipped in. The Bone Inspector hurried over, his face drawn in pain. Church saw that his hands had been charred black.
"Too hot," he said in a fractured voice.
Somehow he managed to undo Church's bonds, although Church could barely look into his face at the pain he was experiencing. "You did a good job," Church said.
The Bone Inspector grunted. "I've suffered worse."
Once Church was free, he dived behind the table and snatched up the Sword. Mollecht was pressed against one wall, unable to leave the room while the head was there. Even so, the birds were shifting formation ready to unleash another of the plague attacks.