The scene inside the vast cabin was shocking enough to take the edge off their charge the moment they crossed the threshold. The Tuatha De Danann had been herded to one end of the room, where they were guarded by several prowling Fomorii. The Golden Ones were on their knees, humbled, eyes fixed dead ahead. The scene reminded Church of old pictures from the Second World War, of Nazis guarding brutalised POWs. Niamh was at the front, pale and worried, but there was no sign of Ruth.
The attention of the gods was fixed on Manannan-at least Church presumed it was Manannan-and at the glowing geometric shape he had seen when he had probed the mind of the Night Walker. Three Fomorii had Wave Sweeper's Master bound across the enormous desk, where several monstrous implements appeared to have been used to torture him. It was impossible to tell the exact use of the instruments, which resembled bear traps and hand drills, but they had obviously had a profound effect on the Master. He had lost his familiar shape. The body was blurred and pulsing, leaking light in dazzling beams, and the face was like a running mixture of oil and water.
Church couldn't believe the Fomorii had overwhelmed Manannan, one of the most powerful of the gods. The only explanation was that he had been forced to succumb because of the Wish-Hex; yet he had still patently resisted attempts to coerce him to take Wave Sweeper to the Court of High Regard.
Even to glance at the Wish-Hex made Church feel queasy. It looked like a system of interlocking cubes and triangles and pentagons made of light, hovering in midair, but at some point all the elements seemed to disappear into a different dimension.
By the time he took this in, the Fomorii were aware of their presence. Five of the Night Walkers rushed at once, the others preparing to follow.
Church looked to Baccharus to use the Wish-Sword. To his horror, he saw the god's thumb wavering over the gem. Why is he holding back? Church thought until a shocking thought ripped through him. Perhaps Baccharus was a traitor. In the pay of the Fomorii. He was going to give Church up to the enemy. Was that what Callow had been trying to tell him?
At the last moment, Baccharus did thumb the trigger. The blue fire built quicker than it had with Church, but it did not burn so brightly. It surged through the Fomorii, creating a chain of blue balls of light where it passed through the Night Walkers' chests. Four, five, six, all writhing in the brilliant arc light. But with each one it possessed, the light grew a little dimmer, and then Church realised Baccharus's strategy: he had been waiting for the Fomorii to get close enough for the force to strike them all. Eight, nine, ten. The light dying now.
Come on, Church prayed silently. Only five more.
Twelve, thirteen. But after it had passed through the fourteenth, the light faltered, then died. The corpses of the Fomorii fell to the ground, crumbling into a black dust.
The single surviving Night Walker was already moving. He reached the Wish-Hex before anyone in the room could react.
Niamh dashed over to Manannan and loosed the shackles. As she helped him up, his body and features gradually returned to the form Church knew, but his body was still leaking too much light. He didn't have the strength to help.
The Night Walker positioned himself with one arm on either side of the Wish-Hex. Church removed his sword and weakly moved forward, hoping he didn't look as impotent as he felt.
"Hold." Baccharus waved Church back frantically. "The foul beast will trigger the Wish-Hex if you approach."
"It can't hope to get anything. What's it going to do? Commit suicide?"
"It will destroy us all, and itself, in the blink of an eye. But it does not want to waste the Wish-Hex. The Fomorii will not be able to create another one in the near future."
"A standoff."
"We will never take this foul beast to the Green Isles of Enchantment." Niamh was speaking with pride. "We will see ourselves wiped from the face of existence first."
The Night Walker appeared to understand her words, for he brought his hands closer to the Wish-Hex. It began to throb; the light turned scarlet, then black. A faint tremor ran across Niamh's face, but she did not back down.
The Wish-Hex glowed brighter and brighter. The unease it radiated became more intense, turning Church's stomach, making him inexplicably want to cry. This is the end? he thought in disbelief.
And then the strangest thing happened. The Night Walker tripped backwards. The light surrounding the Wish-Hex began to die. The Fomor fought to get back to the weapon, but it stumbled, and then it propelled itself in the direction of Church.
In that moment, the empty space where the Night Walker had been was suddenly occupied. Astonishingly, Church realised he was looking at Ruth, her face anxious, fearful, but with a rising note of triumph.
The Night Walker turned at speed to rush back to the Wish-Hex. Church didn't even think. He drove his sword into the base of its skull, cleaving the beast's head in two. And then when it hit the floor, he waited for a second before splattering the Caraprix the moment it left the corpse.
A cry rose up from the assembled Tuatha De Danann-not just triumph, but also gratitude, directed at him, and Ruth. Directed at Fragile Creatures.
He threw his steaming sword to one side and rushed over to Ruth, throwing his arm around her waist.
"Well, aren't you Mr. Testosterone." She held her head back from him, grinning. "See, even the sensitive ones can't wait to let it out."
"What was that all about? How did you do that? Where did you come from?"
"I am a woman of many talents and great fortitude and you are very, very lucky to have me."
While the Tuatha lle Danann tended to Manannan's wounds, feeding him the strange drink Ruth and Church had sampled earlier, the two of them sat next to the window where they could watch the storm.
"It was something the familiar taught me," she said as she cupped his hand loosely between hers. "To avoid being seen in plain sight. But you can't keep it up for long, and it doesn't really work if anyone is actively looking for you, but-"
"How much more have you got in your bag of tricks?"
"I don't really know." She fixed an eye on him. "What's the matter? Scared?"
"Should I be?"
"I'ni scared."
"That's understandable-it's powerful stuff. But Cernunnos and his partner wouldn't have invested it in you if they didn't trust you to do a good job with it."
This comforted her a little. "We're all becoming something, aren't we?"
"I think we're achieving the potential we always had. I think everybody has great potential, but necessity is the greatest motivator for discovering it."
"Stop it. You're starting to sound like an optimist." She smiled shyly. "I was worried about you."
He gave her hand a squeeze. "It's made things worse."
"What do you mean?"
"Before, I had only myself to worry about, and let's face it, I didn't worry too much. Now I can't stop worrying about you. All the time."
"You're saying that's too much of a price to pay?"
"No. I'm saying it's given me even more of an impetus to find some way out of this mess so we can get back to our lives." He felt a deep yearning for the normality he had once taken for granted. "I want to lie in bed on Sunday morning with you, wander out for a lazy lunch. I want to feel what it's like just to do nothing with someone you love."
She looked surprised. "Do you love me?"
"Yes." And he realised in that moment, for the first time, that he truly did, and that it was a feeling as potent as he had had for Marianne.
"Brother and Sister of Dragons." The interruption came from Baccharus, who was bowing formally. "The Master requests your presence."
"Oh, we're back to requests, are we?" Ruth said under her breath. From the colour of her cheeks and the brightness in her eyes, Church could tell he had touched her deeply.
Baccharus led them to Manannan who rested in a large, high-backed chair. The light no longer broke out of his form, but his face had a weary cast. Even so, he brightened perceptibly when he laid eyes on Church
and Ruth. It was strange to see any emotion on that normally impassive face, never mind something as subtle and human as gratitude.
"Brother and Sister of Dragons, you have my thanks for the part you have played this day. Amongst the Golden Ones there is a hard-held belief that we are the pinnacle of creation, a part of the fundament of existence. And with that belief is the certain knowledge that all other creatures lie beneath us. Some would argue this is reason enough to treat all other races with contempt. They are beasts of the field, and we are shepherds. But you have shown this day that Fragile Creatures are not so fragile, that you have the facility to climb the ladder of existence, even to rub shoulders with the Golden Ones. The signs are true. No more the centre path. This is my belief. And I mark it with this." Manannan beckoned them forward, then gently took their hands in turn. His fingers felt like cold light; insubstantial, ghostly. There were faint sounds of surprise from some of the gathered gods, but when Manannan levelled his heavy gaze slowly around the room, the murmurings died away sharply.
"You will have my support in your undertaking, Brother and Sister of Dragons. My voice carries weight. The Golden Ones shall heed your call. This is the day the seasons have turned once more. This is the time. The Night Walkers shall be cleansed from existence."
He spoke with such authority, Church almost believed him.
chapter thirteen
all stars
his is crazy! We can't sit here forever!" Laura hurled the empty baked beans tin across the warehouse.
The Bone Inspector winced at the clattering echoes bouncing around the vast, empty space. "What do you suggest, then? Going out there and asking them nicely if you can go home?" He snorted contemptuously, wiping the bean juice from his mouth with the back of his hand.
Laura paced around the embers of the fire, her irritation turning to curiosity at the unfamiliar emotions growing inside her. For months she had been arguing with the others about running away from their obligations; now she couldn't do it even if she wanted. "The responsibility's on us to find a way out," she said firmly. She realised the Bone Inspector was watching her with a strange expression. "What?"
"Nothing." He slurped some more beans. "I always thought you were the weak link who'd bring everything down."
"You and me both." She wandered over to one of the dirty windows. Smearing a patch clear, she watched the Fomorii scurrying along the banks of the Thames as they went about their mysterious tasks. The view was sickening, but strangely hypnotic. In another moment or two, though, another notion began to creep in. She turned to the Bone Inspector with a confident smile and said, "Okay, here's the plan."
The river had the dank, sour smell of rotting vegetation. Under the night sky, the water looked almost black as it lapped languidly against the creaking wharves. A hint of frost sparkled all around; it was the coldest night so far. Laura lay on the sodden boards and held out a hand so the Bone Inspector could steady himself. It had taken them three hours to find something they could use. The boat was holed and filled with a couple of inches of water; it looked like it had been abandoned for months. But it was big enough for them to lie in the bottom while it drifted in the strong currents out of the city and towards the sea.
After ten minutes of splashing and cursing, the Bone Inspector finished plugging the hole with the oily rags they had brought from the warehouse.
"Do you think it'll hold? I don't fancy swimming in this weather."
"How should I know?" he snapped. "I'm not a shipwright."
"No. What you are is-"
"Just get in the boat."
She lowered herself down to the tiny pebbly beach where plastic bottles and old ropes formed a trail along the water line. She was still amazed they had managed to avoid the Fomorii. They had encountered several large groups of them moving silently through the dark streets, but had always had time to find cover. She hoped it was a sign luck was on their side.
Once they had baled out as much as they could, they pushed the boat out into the freezing shallows, then jumped aboard. Water had already started to trickle into the bottom.
"We should stay near the banks," the Bone Inspector said.
"There'll be too much chance of being seen."
"This river has powerful currents. If we go down in the middle of it, we won't stand a chance."
"All right. But if we get caught, I'm blaming you."
They guided the boat into the current with a broken plank and then lay down in the bottom, watching the stars pass overhead.
Manannan recovered quickly enough to take back control of Wave Sweeper and soon they were speeding on their way. By the time dawn was breaking the sea was calm, the sky poised to turn a brilliant blue, free of even the smallest cloud. Soon the gulls were clustering around the mast and a cry was rising up from the watcher in the crow's nest. The Green Fields of Enchantment came up quickly on the horizon, a sunlit haven of rolling, emerald downs dotted with crystal streams and cool woods.
From his position at the prow, Church watched in growing wonder. There was something breathtaking about the place that went far beyond its appearance; it was in the air, in some too-subtle signs that only his oldest senses could perceive, but it left his nerves singing and his stomach filled with tremors of excitement. Some deep-seated part of his mind was registering recognition of one of the oldest archetypes: a place of miracles and peace. Heaven.
Wave Sweeper sailed into a small harbour built of gleaming white marble. There were no other ships in sight and the dockside was deserted, apart from two of the younger gods manning the jetty. They took the ropes Taranis's men threw out and fastened them to iron spurs, but Church had the feeling Wave Sweeper would have waited there like a faithful dog anyway.
The Tuatha lle Danann were allowed to disembark first, while the other strange travellers congregated below deck ready to begin their search for some meaning in their lives. Church and Ruth, however, were given pride of place at the front of the column with Manannan and Niamh.
They marched along a dusty road, baking in the heat, which wound briefly along the golden beach where the blue sea broke in white-topped waves before ending amongst the soothing shadows of the trees. Flowers bloomed in clusters of blue, red and gold. It reminded Church of Andalucia, or Umbria, an unspoiled rural climate designed for dreaming.
Manannan was borne on a gold chair carried sedan-style by four young gods. He was still weak, but he cocked his attention to Church and Ruth often enough for them to know they lay heavily on his mind. Niamh watched Church surreptitiously from beneath long lashes; it was impossible to tell what she was thinking, though her praise in the aftermath of the rescue had been fulsome, for both Church and Ruth.
The Court of High Regard lay in a shallow valley beyond the wall of soaring black pines, surrounded by pleasant grassed slopes where the breeze moved back and forth soothingly. If the first sight of the island had taken Church's breath away, the Court of High Regard was a hundred times more affecting. Tears of sheer awe stung his eyes; it was in the very fibre of the place, majesty in every atom.
Unlike the Court of the Final Word, it was more of a town-if not a citythan a court. The buildings were all white stone, so that the whole was almost impossible to view in the sun. In the architecture, Church glimpsed touches of the Middle East, of ancient Greece and Rome, Japan and the heavy Gothic stylings of mediaeval France. There were domes and towers, cupolas and obelisks, Doric columns and piazzas and sweeping boulevards where fountains tinkled pleasantly. Clusters of cultivated trees provided shade to talk and think.
"It's beautiful." Ruth blinked away her own tears. "Now I know why the stories said visitors never wanted to leave."
They entered through gates of ivory and glass. Once within, the Tuatha lle Danann dispersed into small groups conversing quietly but intently.
Church and Ruth were left alone next to a statue that resembled the god Pan, but every time Church looked at it, it had a different face. "Now what?" Ruth said.
After ten
minutes Baccharus returned with a tall, thin god with flowing black hair and sculpted bone structure who resembled an aristocrat in his late twenties. "The Master has already announced your presence to the court," Baccharus said. "A decision will be announced soon on when you may make your case. In the meantime, I have discussed your needs with Callaitus, Provarum of the sector of Trust and Hope, who will make the arrangements for your stay."
Church took his hand and shook it. "Thank you for everything you've done for us, Baccharus."
Surprisingly, Baccharus appeared humbled by this. "I will be along shortly. There are other matters-"
"I understand," Church said knowingly. "We'll talk later."
Callaitus took them to a light and airy chamber, far removed from the cramped quarters of Wave Sweeper. At the window, the most delicate linen blew gently in the breeze. There was a large bed covered with sumptuous cushions and deep, soft blankets. A small wooden table held a bowl of fruit and a crystal decanter filled with sparkling water.
"Married quarters," Ruth said, looking round at the furniture and space.
"What?"
"On the ship they put us in adjoining cabins. Here we've got a room together. How very presumptuous of them," she added with mock affront.
"They're good at looking beneath the surface."
She eyed him studiously, remembering his words on Wave Sweeper, saying nothing.
"I wonder where I'll find the Pool of Wishes." He threw himself on the bed and slipped his hands behind his head. The soothing atmosphere made him feel instantly sleepy.
"I wonder what you'll find there." A dark note rang clearly in her voice.
"What are you inferring?"
"You know how these things work. Everything comes with a price. You want to get rid of something big. That's got to be balanced out."
He threw an arm across his eyes. "I don't think I can take any more sacrifice."
"Let's have none of that." He felt the bed give as she climbed on. There was a rustle of clothing, more movement, and then she straddled him. He looked up to see her naked to the waist. She laughed silently at his expression. "Remember your mantra: Life's good as long as you don't weaken. So stop thinking about all the sacrifice and suffering. Focus on the good stuff. That's a rule for living, Churchill." She slowly ground her hips on his groin, smiling now, gently teasing.
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