At the scooped breast of her gown, Niamh wore a piece of silver jewellery. Church was shocked to see it move of its own accord. At first it shivered, before the edges blurred and it reshaped itself into a silver egg that sprouted legs and scurried over Niamh’s breast and onto the table.
Church realised this must be one of the Caraprix of which Jerzy had spoken. He was mesmerised as the creature shifted its form again, growing into an upright, flat oval shape. In its movements, Church recognised a warped echo of the black spider that had burrowed into his arm.
The oval took on a glassy appearance; all Church could think about was Snow White’s wicked stepmother asking who was the fairest. The glass grew smoky, and when it cleared a moving image played across the surface.
‘I have been informed of your recent troubles.’ Niamh maintained her haughtiness, but now Church could hear an unfamiliar tone of unease beneath it.
‘Our apologies for being such a trouble, Your Highness,’ Jerzy said with a fawning bow. ‘We will ensure such a thing does not happen again.’
‘How can we ensure it?’ Church said. ‘Not that I’m not thankful for the last-minute rescue, but I’m betting you didn’t do it out of the goodness of your heart. You just didn’t want your possessions harmed.’
Niamh waved his comments away. ‘I would know the nature of the thing that hunted you.’
‘I don’t know what it was or why it was after me,’ Church half-lied. ‘Perhaps it’s like you, preying on humans just because it can.’
Niamh eyed Church forensically before indicating the Caraprix-mirror. ‘Reports have arrived from the very edges of the Far Lands, where they disappear into the mysterious heart of Existence. The foulest things in all of this realm are being drawn there.’
In the mirror, dark shapes tramped across a bleak landscape of volcanic rock and scrubby trees and brush, like ants trailing back to their nest from different directions. Fires sent up thick clouds of greasy smoke that added a hellish tone to the view. Church glimpsed a Redcap, its hair covered by ragged human skin, the remnants of intestines draped around its neck like jewellery. There were other things that Church half-recognised, though whether from his own memory or some bad dream he wasn’t sure, and others so horrific he had to look away.
‘What is their purpose?’ Jerzy saw Niamh’s expression harden and added hastily, ‘If you do not mind me asking, Your Highness.’
‘That is not yet known, though there have been reports of a structure being formed – a nest, perhaps, for these scurrying creatures.’
‘Something you can’t control?’ Church taunted.
Niamh’s eyes flashed. ‘At this time there is no need for the Golden Ones to pay it any attention.’
‘But you’re still worried that what hunted us is connected to it in some way.’
‘Begone! I find you tiresome. I will summon you again the next time I require entertainment.’ Her words were designed to sting, but Church found them reassuring; she was not as all-powerful and controlling as she pretended.
5
Church’s prison was as big as a city. He was free to roam it, like a convict sent out to the yard to exercise, and like the hero of some jailbreak movie he spent his time searching for an escape route. But the Court of the Soaring Spirit was surrounded by seemingly impenetrable defences, made even more stringent since Etain’s incursion. A forty-foot-thick stone wall that soared up the length of a football pitch was broken at regular intervals by watchtowers, and guards patrolled the top relentlessly.
Church had already identified a hierarchy amongst the Tuatha Dé Danann that he couldn’t quite comprehend. The Golden Ones of Niamh’s rank resembled humans, but were breathtakingly attractive with skin that appeared to radiate a faint golden light. Yet the gods who made up the guards and the more menial ranks had a touch of bland plasticity to their features, as if they were mannequins given life.
Though the Tuatha Dé Danann ruled the court, they were far from the only residents. The court was a seething cauldron of cultures, shapes, sizes and abilities. Church wandered the winding streets in a state of rapt wonder. He saw short, grizzled men with axes and hammers, complexions pale from being too long underground; women with serpents for hair; others with blazing red eyes that pierced his soul; humanoid creatures with leathery wings and scaly skin; monkeys that smoked and chatted. A new burst of astonishment around every corner, a new chill in every dark alley.
Occasionally he would stop and talk with shopkeepers who appeared more amazed by him than he was by them. Every nugget of information about the strange, twisted rules of that world was a piece of the key that would unlock his shackles. Yet every time he learned something new it only led to further conundrums, and the means of his escape remained elusively just out of reach. The one stark fact that struck him hardest was that only Niamh could release him from the obligation he had placed himself under when he had consumed her food and drink.