that might expose you to its master’s attention. I must make use of what time yet remains. Ach! I have journeyed far. I have known Dromenon. Let me translate the prophecy in what little time is left to me.
‘A dragon is rising
Over the Rath of Bones
Blacker than night his wings
Trailing rainbows
Over the bog of slaughter.’
Alan shook his head. ‘What does it mean?’
She whispered urgently. ‘A fragment of a longer prophecy, the meaning of which is obscure. But my attention was drawn to its mention of the Rath of Bones. Could it be that same Tower in which your friend, Kate, is imprisoned?’
Alan felt the icy mist envelop them. He pressed her: ‘Is there no way I can stop this – use my powers to heal you?’
Her hand, shrunken as a claw, clasped his own.
‘Do not even think to do so. Then it would have you too. Save yourself. In doing so, you will aid what purpose I still serve.’
Alan turned the power of the oraculum inwards. His body was flooded with the power spreading throughouthis bloodstream. He felt the hairs spring erect on his head. Yet still he returned the fierce clasp of the old woman’s hand, seeing blood appear from her nostrils and run, dripping, from the point of her chin. Her gown was smoking, not from the power of his oraculum but from a fouler flame that was consuming her. Her face was turned away from his, upwards, as if towards some visions she saw in the heavens. ‘My death I embrace willingly. My body is weak and easily conquered, but my spirit is strong. My spirit will join the De Danaan in her sacrifice.’
Blood issued from the old woman’s eyes. Her breath came in gasps. Alan couldn’t just stand aside and ignore her torment. He had to help her.
Placing his arm around her shoulders he extended the oracular protection from his own body to hers, allowing her fallen head to rest against his shoulder.
‘Foolish! Ach …!’
‘Please, tell me! You sense something important in the words of the prophecy? Something that connects to Kate?’
‘I … I cannot be sure. But Diarmuid … a great Seer … Ach … I burn!’
‘Diarmuid – what did he mean?’
‘Such a spirit … omens …’
He was losing her. Alan wished he had a little heal-well to ease her suffering. ‘Hold on – please. Just a moment longer!’ He brushed her brow again, cupped it in his pulsating hand. Though it seemed cruel to press thetormented Sister for more information, yet he felt he had to. ‘What do you mean?’
Her voice gathered a shrill crackling strength from his embrace. ‘The Great Witch … she resurrects the soul spirit of Fangorath. Fangorath … the most dreadful … the Dragonbane …’
‘Fangorath?’
‘Half divine …’ Hocht’s voice was the merest whisper, so he had to listen closely to her dying breath to catch her words. ‘A god’s own son … a titan of darkness.’ Her hand flailed, clutched at his face, as if in warning.
‘Beware …’
‘Beware this Fangorath?’
The old woman’s blood was soaking into his shoulder. His hand was dripping with her blood, yet still he held her to him, infusing what he could of his own life force into her, to keep her alive for mere moments longer.
‘What will happen if Olc resurrects Fangorath? She plans to use him – to use Fangorath’s soul spirit – to give her the power she craves?’
Hocht clutched at his face with fingers over which the parchment skin and even the very nails had been stripped to bare bone. ‘Worse!’
‘What could be worse? What is it about the Tower of Bones?’
She whispered a few words, so slurred it was almost impossible to make them out. But he saw the shape of them come from her destroyed lips. And he heard them,like a thunderclap, through the oraculum in his brow.
‘The Third Portal!’
Alan realised what she must mean. He recalled the advice given to him in Dromenon:
In Carfon is one of the three portals
…
‘The Tower of Bones – it’s a portal? A Third Portal to the
‘A dragon is rising
Over the Rath of Bones
Blacker than night his wings
Trailing rainbows
Over the bog of slaughter.’
Alan shook his head. ‘What does it mean?’
She whispered urgently. ‘A fragment of a longer prophecy, the meaning of which is obscure. But my attention was drawn to its mention of the Rath of Bones. Could it be that same Tower in which your friend, Kate, is imprisoned?’
Alan felt the icy mist envelop them. He pressed her: ‘Is there no way I can stop this – use my powers to heal you?’
Her hand, shrunken as a claw, clasped his own.
‘Do not even think to do so. Then it would have you too. Save yourself. In doing so, you will aid what purpose I still serve.’
Alan turned the power of the oraculum inwards. His body was flooded with the power spreading throughouthis bloodstream. He felt the hairs spring erect on his head. Yet still he returned the fierce clasp of the old woman’s hand, seeing blood appear from her nostrils and run, dripping, from the point of her chin. Her gown was smoking, not from the power of his oraculum but from a fouler flame that was consuming her. Her face was turned away from his, upwards, as if towards some visions she saw in the heavens. ‘My death I embrace willingly. My body is weak and easily conquered, but my spirit is strong. My spirit will join the De Danaan in her sacrifice.’
Blood issued from the old woman’s eyes. Her breath came in gasps. Alan couldn’t just stand aside and ignore her torment. He had to help her.
Placing his arm around her shoulders he extended the oracular protection from his own body to hers, allowing her fallen head to rest against his shoulder.
‘Foolish! Ach …!’
‘Please, tell me! You sense something important in the words of the prophecy? Something that connects to Kate?’
‘I … I cannot be sure. But Diarmuid … a great Seer … Ach … I burn!’
‘Diarmuid – what did he mean?’
‘Such a spirit … omens …’
He was losing her. Alan wished he had a little heal-well to ease her suffering. ‘Hold on – please. Just a moment longer!’ He brushed her brow again, cupped it in his pulsating hand. Though it seemed cruel to press thetormented Sister for more information, yet he felt he had to. ‘What do you mean?’
Her voice gathered a shrill crackling strength from his embrace. ‘The Great Witch … she resurrects the soul spirit of Fangorath. Fangorath … the most dreadful … the Dragonbane …’
‘Fangorath?’
‘Half divine …’ Hocht’s voice was the merest whisper, so he had to listen closely to her dying breath to catch her words. ‘A god’s own son … a titan of darkness.’ Her hand flailed, clutched at his face, as if in warning.
‘Beware …’
‘Beware this Fangorath?’
The old woman’s blood was soaking into his shoulder. His hand was dripping with her blood, yet still he held her to him, infusing what he could of his own life force into her, to keep her alive for mere moments longer.
‘What will happen if Olc resurrects Fangorath? She plans to use him – to use Fangorath’s soul spirit – to give her the power she craves?’
Hocht clutched at his face with fingers over which the parchment skin and even the very nails had been stripped to bare bone. ‘Worse!’
‘What could be worse? What is it about the Tower of Bones?’
She whispered a few words, so slurred it was almost impossible to make them out. But he saw the shape of them come from her destroyed lips. And he heard them,like a thunderclap, through the oraculum in his brow.
‘The Third Portal!’
Alan realised what she must mean. He recalled the advice given to him in Dromenon:
In Carfon is one of the three portals
…
‘The Tower of Bones – it’s a portal? A Third Portal to the
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