Chapter 6

Down again. Down to the beach, down to the rotting sea. The air was thick with fog, the stench almost choking as Milo stumbled along, slipping on rocks coated with slime. His heart raced, fluttering under his ribcage. His stomach was a tight, nauseous knot. His friends were dying. The people who had stood beside him and risked their lives for him were dying, if they weren't dead already. Audrey. Vinny. Mole. Sweet. All gone.

He forced himself to stop thinking like that, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. No. It would all be fine. They could stop this. They could find the cave, and make the offering, and everyone would be fine again. All his friends. Mavis. Her husband. The children. …Oh god, the children. Were they still hanging on? He hadn't dared to check.

Down onto the sands now, the sand clotted with slime, slick under his feet. Kida walked silently by his side, the only sound her breath panting between her teeth. Obby scuttled along behind them, unusually quiet too. His stomach lurched. Nerves. He was just nervous. That's why he felt slightly queasy, why his knees were wobbly. It was just paranoia, that was all.

"Milo! I think this is the cave!" Kida called, pointing into the distance. Milo squinted. Yes, there it was, the entrance filled in with fallen boulders, a thin trickle of water snaking out of the pile, and down to the slimy sea.

"Great!" He said, doubling his pace. His legs felt weak, his chest tight. Just the heat. "I think you're right." He strode forwards, towards the entrance. Then one of his knees buckled and he fell forwards, his hands tearing furrows in the sand as he caught himself.

"Milo!"

Kida was knelt beside him in what seemed like an instant, her arms around his trembling waist. She lifted his skinny frame, propping him into a sitting position against a rock. Her eyes stared into his, glinting with fear.

"I'm fine. I just tripped, that's all."

Kida slid a hand onto his forehead, worming her way under his fringe, and frowned.

"No you're not, Milo." Little lines of worry traced across her face. Milo looked up at that beautiful, slightly blurred face, and knew what he had to say.

"Kida, I…I think the old lady was right." Good grief, when she looked at him like that, with so much concern, so much affection, it made him burn inside. "You've got to get off this island. You're the only one left."

"I'm not leaving you!" Her voice rang with incredulity.

"Listen. Please, Kida. I think it's too late. It won't be long before the next boat comes. If you can just keep safe until then, you can escape." He coughed, salty mucus rising in his throat. "Kida…I think it's the crystal. You've lived under it almost all your life. It's protecting you. It protected me, for a while, let me hold on for a bit longer than the others, but it wasn't enough. I…I think you might be immune. You can keep your head down. You can go back to Atlantis, and be safe."

"And leave you to die? Leave all my friends to die?" There was a trace of anger creeping into her voice. "None of you gave up on me when I needed you. And you think, for one minute, that I wouldn't do the same?"

"No. No, it's not like that. But you're a queen. Your people need you. And-"

Kida gave an exasperated sigh.

"This talking isn't getting us to the cave. Come on." She wrapped an arm around Milo, and pulled him to his feet. "I'm not leaving you out here."

At their feet, Obby began to whine. Milo's heart gave another flutter, as he and Kida followed Obby's gaze, out to the still, stinking ocean. For a moment, there was nothing to see but the slow slop of the slimy waves. Then, billowing up from the deep, the water began to run red.

"Oh god…" Milo heard himself whimper.

The sea sloshed against the shore in sticky crimson waves, the breakers leaving the sand stained red. Then, rising from the gore-clotted sea, came the vast, mutilated head of the Nuckelavee. A wave of warm, putrid air came rushing in from the deep as it rose, pulling more and more of its body from the water, a flayed hoof reaching out onto the sand.

"No!" Kida's voice came out as a hoarse shriek of rage. "Not now!"

She stared up at the beast, flashing blue eyes meeting its lone, fiery one. Now it was looming towards them, pulling its rear limbs from the sea with a dull squelching, its huge, gnarled arms dragging on the sand as it came. Kida loosened her grip on Milo, setting him back down on the sand.

"Get to the cave if you can." She whispered softly. "You'll be safe there."

"Wait, no! What are you doing?"

Then, with a scream tearing itself from her throat, Kida was running, running full speed towards the Nuckelavee. Milo saw her go, boots barely touching the sand. For a moment, the Nuckelavee itself seemed stunned, stunned that someone dared run towards it rather than away. In that moment, Kida closed the distance between the two, and in one lithe movement, vaulted onto the beast's lower head. Milo saw her wobble for a moment, as the creature began to thrash. Then she threw herself forward, hands grabbing at the exposed muscle of its torso, seizing handholds of raw sinew, drawing spurts of black blood. The Nuckleavee contorted, with an earth-shaking moan, as she clambered hand over hand up its back, pulling herself up, until she was straddling its shoulders, her boots crushing into its exposed windpipe. Milo saw her clinging there, white hair wild, her teeth bared in a savage snarl, her eyes flashing. Milo saw her reach into her pocket, and brandish something high above her head: a folding pickaxe. Then her arm came down, with a raw scream of rage, driving the pick into the Nuckelavee's rolling eye.

The Nuckelavee screamed, an unearthly sound, like a multitude of voices screaming together. And Kida, clotted now with the creature's black blood, rained blows down on its head again and again. One of the great, decaying hooves came pounding down close to Milo: he forced himself to move, throwing himself out of the way. He heard a savage snarl from beside him. In a blur of purple, Obby threw himself at the Nuckelavee. Teeth built for crushing rock clamped onto the beast's leg. Muscles strong enough to pull their owner through viscous molten rock tightened, bringing his teeth slicing through muscle and sinew, splintering through bone with ease.

With trembling limbs, Milo pulled himself to his feet. There was nothing he could do here, nothing that could help Kida. He'd only distract her, get them both killed. His head swam as he stood up, spots of unearthly colours twinkling in front of his eyes, but he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, always keeping his eyes fixed on the small, dark hole in the cliff. He stumbled up to it, grabbing the rock-face for support. Behind him, the Nuckelavee bellowed. Ahead of him yawned the black hole. Getting down on his hands and knees, he pushed himself through.

He landed hard on the other side, on a rocky, slimy floor. Fumbling in his pocket, he pulled out his headlamp, and struggled with it until it flickered to life, bathing the interior of the cave with a dull, yellow light. He straightened his glasses and squinted around. Yes, this was it. There were indentations carved in the walls, filled with pottery fragments, and the remains of previous offerings. There was the pool of freshwater, at the back of the cave. As for the rest of it, though…the cave was a dead-end. He cast his gaze around the cave, panic starting to rise inside him. There was no way through. No way deeper into the cave…except for that still, dark pool in the far corner.

He struggled over to the pool. The floor of the cave was slick with slime, making it hard to keep his footing. There, below him, the black water glistened, leading off into darkness. There was no telling how far the tunnel went on for, or indeed if it came up anywhere at all. For all Milo knew, he would be diving into a dead end, getting lost in a maze of tunnels, drowning down there. Bile rose in his throat, and he fell forwards on his hands and knees, spewing out the acid, lumpy contents of his stomach onto the rocks. Panting, he spat the vile taste out of his mouth. His head was swimming. He knew what he had to do, knew he had to do it fast, before he couldn't do it at all.

He swung his legs over the side of the pool, gasping as he slid into the icy water. His head dipped under, and he floundered to the surface, grabbing onto the rocks. He fumbled with his torch, strapping it firmly to his head. He didn't want to think what would happen to him down there without light. Taking a deep breath, Milo dived.

Water closed around him, in his ears, in his eyes, ice prickling into his scalp. He pushed forwards, into the gloom, into the rocky tunnel, kicking with his legs, pulling himself along with his hands. Ahead, more tunnel loomed. He crawled along, fingers numb, chest beginning to ache. Here, the tunnel was tight, even on his skinny frame, scraping his clothes. He flailed, fear rising, forcing himself through the tight confines. Now the pain in his chest was desperate, spasms running through his lungs, and still there was no surface in sight. He thrashed, a few bubbles escaping. He was going to die down here! He clawed at the sides of the tunnel, blood billowing into the water as he split a nail. He was going to die down here in the dark! Spinning, clawing, disorientated, he knew this was it. He gave a final, frantic thrash, grasping for something, anything that could save him. Then his desperately clawing hand broke the surface. Gasping, he erupted from the water, clinging to the edge for dear life, coughing violently. With great effort, he managed to pull himself half-out of the water, whole body trembling and wracked with coughs. He'd done it. He'd made it.

The dimly lit chamber swam in his vision, and gave way to blackness for a moment. Milo fought his way back to painful consciousness. No. He hadn't done it, not yet. There, in the centre of the room, surrounded by broken rocks and debris, stood a carved altar, a small stone bowl resting on a crudely hewn pillar. That was where he had to be, not here, lying on his side, panting like a dying fish.

Painfully, he pulled himself forwards. Standing was out of the question: it was all he could do to move his heavy body at all. He crawled, the jagged floor tearing the knees from his trousers, cutting his hands as he pulled himself along, focusing on one movement at a time. Abruptly, a pain ripped through him from the base of his gut up into his chest, strong enough to make him gasp. His stomach heaved again, and warm red blood spewed from his mouth, glistening on the wet rocks. Weird colours shimmered in front of his eyes again.

He fell at the base of the altar. It would be so easy to lie there, just for a minute, just until the pain faded. He couldn't allow himself that. That way lay death. Shaking, gasping, he pulled himself up, clutching the stone basin for support. There were two parts to the basin, although it was hard to get his mind to focus now: a main bowl, blackened with ash, with a thin furrow surrounding it.

"Fire and water…"

Holding himself up with one arm, he lifted the other, letting his sodden sleeve drip into the furrow, filling it up with shining water. His grip slipped as he did so, and he fell heavily onto his side. Something thick and salty was on his tongue. Coughing, he repeated the agonising process, dragging himself up again. His numb hand fumbled in his pocket, found the slippery metal of the match-case, pulled it open. He shook the contents out, all the matches spilling out into the blackened central hollow. His fingers barely obeyed him as he took a match from the pile, and struck it against the basin.

The match snapped.

Swearing, shaking, he grabbed another match, struck it again. This time, the match guttered into life. Milo dropped it into the rest. The phosphorous caught, the whole pile sparking into fitful, spitting life. Milo barely registered it. The world was a blur, the purplish shades of unconsciousness gathering at the corners of his vision. He fell to the floor, hardly feeling his head hit the ground, staring up at the distorted flames. Had it worked?

Above him, the flames began to die, the matches making poor fuel, the fire flaring up strong but brief. There was no sign of anything happening. No spirits. No flashing lights. Milo let his eyes close. Of course it hadn't worked. Had he really believed that he could just wave his hands, do some magic, and everything would suddenly be alright again? Had he really expect to summon up a spirit with stagnant water and a packet of matches?

This was it, he realised. This was where he died, alone in the dark. His friends were probably already dead: Audrey, Sweet, Vinny and Mole, taken by the Mortasheen, Kida and Obby torn to pieces by the Nuckelavee. In a way, it was almost a relief. There was nothing more he could do. He didn't have to fight any more.

He stopped fighting. He relaxed into the darkness, letting the pain fade, leaving his troubled thoughts behind.

Above him, the fire flickered out.