Always Forever taom-3

by Mark Chadbourn

  "You don't need the Banshee to tell you it's not going to be a walk in the park tomorrow." The Bone Inspector slumped back on to the table.

  "Some stories say anyone who hears it will die," Ruth said. Church wished he could comfort her, but Veitch appeared to be watching them both closely.

  "You're all going to die," Tom said. "Sooner or later." He lay back down on the table.

  "Thanks for the morale boost, old git," Laura said sleepily.

  "It doesn't mean death for anyone who hears it," Tom said wearily. "But it does mean death. And destruction and suffering and devastation on an epic scale."

  "Situation normal, then." As Veitch lay down, Church steeled himself and surreptitiously moved next to Ruth.

  The others assimilated the information and after a few minutes somehow managed to go back to sleep, but Ruth was aware Church was still lying awake.

  "What are you thinking?" she whispered.

  His words were given greater weight by the long pause before he replied. "I'm thinking, where are they keeping the Wish-Hex? And when are they planning on using it?"

  They were woken at first light by the sound of stirring across the camp. The smell of cooking drifted into the tent, teasing pangs of hunger from their sluggish forms. With an effort, they dragged themselves out into a cold, clear morning, their breath pluming; they were forced to bang their arms against their sides in a futile bid to keep warm. It was a beautiful dawn: a full-hearted swell of gold and purple before the sky slowly turned a pale blue; a day for hope and love and great things, not a day for war.

  The lesser gods had gathered in the various large clearings amongst the tents, eating at long wooden tables. Church still wasn't sure that they really needed to eat, but they relished experience with a hunger that belied their status, as if searching for something valuable they had long since left behind. They certainly ate with gusto, shovelling down platefuls of food, swilling it down with flagonfuls of a hot, fragrant liquid.

  All of the gods appeared to be in high spirits. They called Church and the others over with hearty shouts and made a space for them at the end of one table with much backslapping and camaraderie. It was so out of place that all of them felt uncomfortable. Platefuls of dried fruit and spiced meat and several loaves of bread were brought to all but Laura and Shavi, who were given an odd but tasty bouillabaise of tomatoes, mushrooms and peppers without having to ask. Laura admitted that although she didn't have to eat, she too, like the gods, still enjoyed the sensation.

  As they ate, their spirits rose, all except Veitch who remained sullen and uncommunicative. "They look like they're eager to get off to war," Ruth noted.

  "For all their many claims to a wonderful life, they lack much colour in their existence," Tom said, dipping a sausage into an egg. "Quite simply, they are bored."

  "Despicable bastards, the lot of 'em," the Bone Inspector muttered as he gnawed on a chunk of bread. "Like a bunch of upper class idiots whipping themselves up before a rugby game, without a single thought for all the suffering that's going to happen. With any luck a few of 'em will meet their maker."

  "That is a little harsh," Shavi said.

  "Might teach 'em to appreciate life a bit more."

  "I still don't get why you're helping us." Church sipped on the hot, invigorating liquid.

  "That's because you're a moron." The Bone Inspector threw the remainder of his bread to a group of ravens that had ventured fearlessly into the camp.

  "I can see why you and the old git get on so well," Laura said under her breath. "Both graduates of the Finishing School for Irritating, Miserable Bastards."

  Shavi pushed out his chair and stretched his legs. "I would guess the Bone Inspector is simply following his office as a guardian of the land's old places. If the End of Everything happens on the morning after Samhain, there will not be many old places to guard."

  "Well, aren't you the smarty-pants." The Bone Inspector was watching the ravens intently. "Ready for carrion," he mused.

  "Carry On to the End of the World, maybe," Laura said. "With Kenneth Williams as the dark god Balor and Charles Hawtrey as the Guardian of the Old Places."

  The Bone Inspector eyed her so darkly Laura realised she couldn't chide him in the same way that she toyed with Tom.

  Shavi was laughing. "Oh, yes. And you would be Barbara Windsor," he said to Laura. "And Church would be Sid James-"

  "Bwah hah hah," Church said flatly. "So what's going to happen after we've stuffed our faces?"

  "In half an hour there will be a meeting to outline the strategy," Tom said. "As the spearhead of the attack, we must be there."

  "The generals sending the disposables in first?" Veitch said sourly.

  "Something like that," Tom replied. "They have their agenda and we have ours. As long as we are not swayed, who cares what their motivations are?"

  "But they have the Wish-Hex." Church made the comment quietly so none of the gods could hear.

  "Yes," Tom said, "which is why we shall have our own meeting first."

  After the meal they wandered off separately, agreeing to meet fifteen minutes later. Ruth had not gone far when her arm was grabbed sharply enough to cause her pain. She whirled angrily. It was Veitch. She could tell instantly from his threatening expression what was on his mind.

  "You couldn't wait to get off with him, could you?" There was pain in his voice beneath the anger.

  "I'm sorry you're upset, Ryan, but-"

  "Upset? I'm upset when my team loses on a Saturday. This is like a kick in the bollocks, and another one in the face for good luck."

  She bowed her head, sorry to see him so hurt. "I didn't want you-"

  "No, you didn't want me. I put my life on the line in Scotland-for you. Not for all this end of the world bollocks. I couldn't care less if the whole miserable place went belly-up tomorrow. But, you… " He shook his head, his long hair falling across his face. "I nearly died for you. I took risks to get down herefor you."

  She was shocked to see the rage lighting in his face; there was a seething glow in his hooded eyes. "You've got so much anger in you! Were you always like this?"

  Her words appeared to strike him hard. He rubbed at his temples furiously. "Stop talking about that!"

  "I tried to be honest to you about how I felt, Ryan. I think you're a good man. I admire you. But there was never going to be anything between us."

  "Never?" She flinched as he bunched his fist but instead he smashed it into his side. There were tears of hurt in his eyes.

  She went to comfort him, but he backed away. "Ryan, don't hate Church and don't hate me. We love each other. And we both care about you, really."

  "You're only saying that to keep me on the team. Afraid I'll go running off to join the other side?"

  "Don't be stupid! None of us would ever think that. You said you always wanted to be a hero. Well, you are, Ryan. You are. And everyone here respects you."

  He looked away towards the horizon, blinking off the tears. "Yeah…"

  "That must mean something?"

  He nodded. "But not enough. I always thought it was the most important thing. I've never had that… never had any respect." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "One of them was talking about how they'd all learned something important from all this shit. Well, I have too. I've learnt you're the most important thing to me, and if I can't have you I might as well be dead. So I can go into this with no fear 'cause I've got nothing to lose. They'll remember me as the biggest bleedin' hero of all by the end of it." The anger disappeared briefly and all she could see was the face of a hurt child, but then he turned sharply on his heel and marched away.

  She called after him, but he didn't look back.

  They met in their tent while the Tuatha De Danann were away making their preparations for battle, although Baccharus and Niamh were there, much to Veitch's suspicion. The first thing they did was distribute the Quadrillax. Church kept the Sword and took the Wayfinder lantern, while Ruth reaffirmed her hold on the Spear
. Veitch agreed to carry the Stone ofFal and Shavi took the Cauldron in a pack on his back. Laura was happy to have nothing to do with any of them.

  "If the Wish-Hex is here, its location has been kept from us," Niamh said when they had gathered around the table. "Those of us who believe in the destiny of mankind would never allow such a thing to be used, and certainly never in this form, adulterated by the Night Walkers."

  "It would be good," Tom said, "if all your brethren felt the same way. But many believe this is too good an opportunity to pass by: two irritants wiped out in one fell swoop."

  "And the prime position in the evolutionary pile secured for the Tuatha De Danann," Church noted. "We need you to find out where the Wish-Hex is being kept, and when it will be used," he said to Baccharus and Niamh. "We'll have to find some way to neutralise it."

  "The aim would be to unleash the Wish-Hex in the core of the Night Walkers' lair, close to the Heart of Shadows," Niamh said. "The Night Walkers are more resilient than Fragile Creatures. They need to be closer to the release."

  "We just get wiped out in the plague fallout," Church said bitterly.

  "We will uncover the intention and pass it on to you as soon as we can," Niamh said. "We understand what is at stake."

  Veitch appeared not to have been listening, and had spent the meeting carving his name into the wooden table with his knife. Then he said, "I'm worried we're spreading ourselves too thin," and Church realised the Londoner had instead been carefully weighing all the strategies. "We'll be driving forward on more than one front, and this thing will be coming up behind. We're not going to be in a position to split our attention."

  "What are you saying?" Church asked.

  "Sounds like a recipe for disaster to me."

  Church thought for a moment. "It might help if one of us found a back way in."

  "What do you mean?" Veitch said.

  "I've been thinking about this… about a lot of things. There's been important stuff that's been there right in our face before and we missed it." He turned to Ruth. "Like Maurice Gibbons."

  "The civil servant who was murdered under Albert Bridge the night we met. So?"

  "We got so wrapped up in what he discovered, we never thought about how-"

  "He saw one of the Fomorii changing-'

  "But why was he under Albert Bridge on that particular night?"

  She opened her mouth to answer him, but no words came. "Okay, smartypants."

  "Why was that Night Walker there too?"

  Her eyes narrowed. "You've already worn out your dramatic buildup, Church."

  "The Fomorii were already building their base under London. And Gibbons had somehow found one of the entrances to it. He was investigating when that thing came out and killed him."

  Veitch was already ahead of them. "So if we could get to it, we might be able to get straight into their base before they know it!"

  "But the danger of us all going together is that it is easier to stop us with one well-timed strike," Shavi noted. "They would be able to target all their resources at us."

  "Good point," Veitch mused. "All right, we split up. But we do our damnedest to get to where we're going, even if it means leaving all those goldenskinned twats behind." He nodded to Niamh and Baccharus curtly. "No offence."

  "And we all know where we're going," Laura said. "That big tower they're throwing up near the City. I saw it up close. That has to be the place."

  "At the ritual in Scotland, when we summoned the dead for guidance, they told us we needed to find the Luck of the Land before we could beat Balor," Shavi noted. "Do we have any more of an idea what that means?"

  Tom shifted uncomfortably. "That is not a matter to concern us now."

  "Why not?" Veitch asked suspiciously.

  "Heed me." Tom's voice was unduly stern. "When we are closer to the confrontation."

  Church noticed Ruth was deep in thought. "What's on your mind?" he asked.

  She looked at him with a curious expression. "What you said about Maurice Gibbons. It made me think how much else we missed that was right in front of our eyes."

  The war council took place in a heavily guarded marquee of purple silk, deep in the heart of the camp. It was at the centre of an area where all the higher-born gods had congregated, and the sense of dislocation as Church and the others entered was palpable.

  Many gods were already waiting in the tent, communicating quietly, and in some cases, silently. Church recognised Nuada Airgetlamh, his almond eyes like razor blades in his golden face, and Lugh, with his long mane of black hair and his torso bearing the scars of battle; both of them exuded power. But there were many Church didn't know. Their faces shimmered and changed as his gaze passed across them. He saw famous generals, renowned political leaders at times of crisis, a bully he recalled from school, the hardened casts of terrorists and revolutionaries, but eventually their images settled down into distinctive personalities, all of them grim. Church had the unshakeable feeling the important things had already been discussed and agreed.

  "I offer the greetings of the Golden Ones to the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons, who have served us so well in the past," Nuada said, seemingly unconscious of his patronising attitude. "You know me as Fragile Creatures have known me in the past: Nuada Airgetlamh, wielder of Caledfwlch, which in my wisdom I have gifted to you, Dragon Brother. Your people have also known me as Nudd, of the Night, as Llud, and Lud, founder of this place on whose doorstep we stand-Londinium. This is my place where, in the Fixed Lands, I stand supreme. This is where Fragile Creatures bowed their heads to me, made offerings of the little things that had importance in their brief lives. Where blood ran, where my heart beats."

  Lugh's eyes were fixed on his Spear, which Ruth held tightly to her side. She felt uncomfortable at the attention, as if he were desperate to wrest it from her.

  "You Brothers and Sisters of Dragons have proved your worth," Nuada continued, "and it has been deemed that you should wield the Quadrillax on our behalf. Only with those objects of power will the Heart of Shadows finally be wiped from all existence. But the path to it will be hard. Too hard for Fragile Creatures. And so the Golden Ones have agreed to drive a route through the shadows, to protect you from the attacks of the Night Walkers, until you are in a position to carry out the act required of you. Does this meet with your agreement?"

  All eyes turned to Church. "It does."

  "Then this is what is suggested. There will be three lines of attack into the city, until the Heart of Shadows' location is established. I will lead the drive from the north. My brother, whom you know as Lugh, will bring our forces from the west. And the Master will take Wave Sweeper along the river into the centre of the city."

  "And that will be the most important," Church said, "because it will take us directly to one of the entrances to the Fomorii lair."

  Nuada's gaze was incisive. "You have access to secrets, Brother of Dragons."

  Church gave nothing away.

  Tom stepped forward. "May I speak?"

  "Your exalted position is recognised, True Thomas."

  "Then I would suggest the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons divide into teams to ensure the best chance of success. Ruth and Ryan will join you in the attack from the north."

  Ruth went cold. Surreptitiously, she glanced over at Veitch, but his gaze was fixed firmly on Nuada.

  "Shavi and Laura will come from the west with Lugh," Tom continued. "And I and the Bone Inspector will accompany Church through the secret tunnels. Though he is powerful, he is also young, and we have the experience to guide him through the darkest turns."

  Nuada nodded. "Your views are acceptable, True Thomas."

  Laura smirked and whispered to Church behind her hand, "Fun day out with the senior citizen club for you, boy. Hope you don't get in any fights or there'll be Zimmer frames all over the place."

  "Use the Quadrillax wisely," Nuada said. "You have already drawn the Sword from the stone of disbelief. Now is the time to fire it with your heart. And
the others-each must be used at the right time, in the correct manner, with the full weight of your essence behind you, and even then victory is not assured. Much death and suffering lies ahead. This is a period of pain that will be remembered when the stars go out. Go well, Brothers and Sisters of Dragons. Your world turns with you."

  They left the tent to prepare themselves for what lay ahead. The joy of their initial reunion had dissipated, to be replaced by an oppressive sense of foreboding. There were no jokes or smiles; they were lost to their own thoughts as they wrestled with their secret fears or searched for the depths of strength that would get them through the coming hours.

  Veitch was the last to leave. Before he had gone ten paces from the tent, Nuada called him back.

  "We have seen your sacrifice," the god said, motioning to Witch's bandaged wrist. "I know only too well the pain of such a wound." He removed a glove that covered an ornately crafted silver hand that looked like it had come from some futuristic robot. "The scars go much deeper than the skin."

  Nuada's eyes felt like they were going right through him. "I had to do it to bring my mate back. I'm not bitter about it."

  "Not bitter, no." Nuada smiled knowingly. "Still, I understand your heart, Brother of Dragons. Listen, then: if you are to be effective, you will need a new hand. Would you like that?"

  "Can you do it?"

  Nuada indicated the silver hand again. "We are gods. We can do anything."

  The tent was the deepest red, so that within even the air had the hint of blood. It was enormous, bigger even than the marquee where the war council had met, with numerous annexes and branching passages so it was impossible to see all of it from one view. Nuada presented Veitch to Dian Cecht, who wore robes of scarlet. He carried himself with bearing, his features as aristocratic as his manner: a high forehead above a Roman nose, sharp, grey eyes and gunmetal hair tied in a ponytail.

  "We have little time," Nuada said, as Dian Cecht gently unfastened the material on Veitch's wrist stump.

  "It is a simple operation on a Fragile Creature." Dian Cecht examined the burnt flesh, then shrugged and turned away, motioning for Veitch to follow.