Always Forever

by Mark Chadbourn

  Veitch grinned, waving the bottle in front of Tom's face before taking another slug.

  Tom gave him a sour stare. "It's got hallucinogenic properties, you know. The active ingredient from cannabis."

  "Oh yes ... you're right." Veitch pretended to waver. "I can see things! It's amazing! You look ... almost human!"

  Tom snorted and waved him away.

  Veitch let his chuckles die away before rubbing his hand thoughtfully over his three-day stubble. He looked over at Shavi curiously.

  "What?"

  "How you doin'?"

  Shavi gave a questioning shrug.

  "You died, or nearest thing to it. That must have done your head in. How do you come back from something like that?"

  "So you do care."

  "Just checking you're not going to go psycho with an axe in the middle of the night." His smile gave the lie to his words. He threw another log on the fire; it cracked and spattered, sending sparks shooting up with the smoke.

  "I actually feel better than I did before I died." Shavi pulled the blanket tight around his shoulders, his breath white. Winter was not far away. "You may find that hard to believe. But I have made my peace with Lee. I have seen the other side of death and returned to talk about it. I have been reborn, bright and new in the world. It was a redemptive experience, highly spiritual, uplifting."

  "Yeah, but can you still get a stiffy?" Veitch leaned back against his rucksack, laughing drunkenly.

  "Don't be talking to him," Tom said sternly. "You won't be getting any sense out of him tonight."

  "You are implying I get sense out of him at any time." Shavi didn't see the boot coming; it hit him on the side of the head.

  "Yessss! One-nil!"

  They had embarked on a meandering route west after leaving Wandlebury Camp, careful to keep a good distance from London. The darkness in the south was growing with each hour, like night eating the day. The cinders in the breeze were more pronounced, and there was an overall sense of despair hanging in the increasingly cold wind. The world was winding down.

  With Samhain approaching rapidly, a deep anxiety had gripped them, amplified by the certain knowledge that there was nothing they could do alone. They needed Church to succeed in his mission. They needed Ruth and Laura too. Sometimes it was almost too hard to hope, and that was when the depression set in.

  But their abiding friendship, forged through hard times, kept them going and ensured the evenings around the campfire were filled with light talk and humour, lifting spirits dampened by the day's sights of deserted villages, frightened people hiding in their homes, or children and old people begging for food.

  It wasn't as if they had any plan except to find Church and Ruth and Laura. That lack of direction left Veitch feeling strained and irritable. He was not a person who coped well with inactivity, particularly with time running out, when there was so much that needed to be done.

  Shavi, however, guessed Tom knew more than he was saying.

  "Do you think we'll find them?" Shavi said, breaking the rule of keeping the conversation light. Next to him, Veitch snored loudly in a drunken sleep.

  "I think there is always hope." Tom enjoyed a joint as he stared into the fire.

  "But you are True Thomas. You can see the future. You must know something."

  "I try not to look. What will be, will be."

  Perhaps it was the drugs or the drink affecting him, but for the first time Tom's cool exterior was not impervious. Shavi caught a glimpse in the Rhymer's face of all the things Tom was not saying, and he was uncomfortable with what he saw.

  "What if you really did see everything?" Shavi suggested. "What if you knew exactly what was going to happen, bar a few minor hiccups here and there. What if you knew who lived and who died?"

  Tom raised his head sharply to fix a stare that was so cold Shavi felt a chill in his bones. "Then," Tom said, "my life would be damned."

  At the heart of the Court of High Regard stood an enormous tree with a trunk as far around as an office block and a top lost high overhead. All around it spread an area of distortion that left Church continually disoriented; buildings were never quite the same each time he looked at them. Some were substantially altered, one moment a sweeping dome like St. Paul's, the next a thrusting tower of Middle Eastern design. At times Church would glimpse rapid movement from the corner of his eye, the hint of crystal birds flapping across the sky, but when he looked there was nothing. People came and went as they crossed a piazza, or appeared in a haze on a corner, while the dead appeared to be everywhere, dazed, beatific, unthreatening.

  "This is where our heart beats, the closest to the fabled home of our deepest memory." Niamh's voice trembled with awe. Church was struck by how young and girlish she appeared, not alien at all. Now Baccharus had explained the distinction amongst the Tuatha De Danann, Church was amazed he hadn't seen it before. It was as simple as those who felt and those who didn't.

  "Have you always been like this?"

  She looked at him curiously with her large, innocent eyes. "No," she said after a moment's thought, "once I was a true daughter of the Golden Ones, one of the confirmed rulers of all existence, above all else."

  "Then why did you change? When you hold such a position, it must take something phenomenal to turn you around."

  "I was taught, over what your people would consider a long period of time."

  "Who taught you?"

  She smiled a little sadly, but did not answer.

  They continued their tour in silence for a while, until Church broke the restrained mood by asking about the enormous tree.

  "It is the World-Tree," Niamh said, looking up into the distant branches. "It is at the heart of all worlds. Its roots go down, its branches reach up."

  "Linking Heaven and Earth. This is an amazing place." And it was. Wonder brought every nerve alive, just breathing air, looking round at the fluid scenery. It was filled with magic, the thing his life had always lacked.

  "Once the Fixed Lands had the same power. Everything was alive, constantly changing. But your brethren stopped believing, or believed in the wrong things. You wished your world to be something lesser."

  Church examined a fountain where the water turned into tiny diamonds. "I keep hearing that phrase, about wishing the world a certain way."

  "Nothing is truly fixed. The Fixed Lands are only such because they are sleeping. All is illusion, and all illusion is fluid. Belief is a powerful tool. Creatures great and small-life-is at the centre of everything, and they can shape things as they see fit. Nothing has to be accepted."

  "If you just wish hard enough," he mused. "I was never happy with how things were in my world. There was always something lacking. And it was get ting worse. The people I didn't like, the ones interested in money over everything, and personal power, they seemed to be driving things their way. It wasn't a world for people like me."

  "You gave up your responsibility, Jack."

  "What do you mean?"

  "The people you despised were wishing harder, setting the world the way they wanted. They are the Night Walkers, whichever form they take. People like you, Jack, people who truly believe, have a responsibility to take a stand and wish the world the way it should be. To wake the land, to dream it real. Belief is stronger than anything the Night Walkers have."

  The crystal birds were still flying around the edges of his vision and there was faint music on the wind, still powerful enough to make his emotions soar. What Niamh was saying echoed deeply inside him. He realised she was staring at him intently, and when he turned to her he was shocked to see tears in her eyes.

  "I have made my peace with the way things are, Jack."

  He took her hand, concerned. "Don't cry. What's wrong?"

  "The Golden Ones have always used their power without responsibility. They have achieved their ends by force. I would never do that, for I have learned it would be valueless, and the thing I strive for has too much value to be wasted. I see now we will never achieve th
e love that has filled my thoughts since the darkest days of the Fragile Creatures." She gazed into the middle distance, her eyes full. "I had hoped, once it came to this time, your heart would have opened to me, as mine did to yours so long ago. But I see clearly now your love for the Sister of Dragons is true; that indeed it is worthy of a love that transcends all time."

  Church felt truly sorry for what he saw in her face. "We can still be friends, Niamh."

  She smiled wanly. "And that enriches my existence, but if you only knew what lay before this point ..." Her words drifted away.

  "What do you mean?"

  Her smile became a little brighter, to hide her thoughts. "I will always love you, Jack, and in time you will understand where that love comes from." She cupped his hand in hers. "I have always had your best interests at heart, but from this moment on I dedicate myself to helping you achieve your aims, whatever it may cost me."

  He gave her hand a warm squeeze, overwhelmed by the level of emotion that was being expressed. "You're a good woman, Niamh."

  "Now, come, I have many sights to show you. Wonders beyond your imagining." She brushed her tears away, her smile gleaming. "These days will stay with you always."

  The tour was indeed as amazing as Niamh had predicted. Some of the sights were so startling his mind could barely cope within them, and within the hour the reality of them began to fade until they took on the warmly comforting but intangible quality of dreams that would haunt him forever.

  But even though time meant nothing in that place, he was acutely aware of events running away from him. The real world seemed so far gone, but what he might find when he returned filled him with dread. Each moment wasted could mean another death, another life filled with suffering. And it felt like he had been gone so long.

  But when he returned to his chamber, Baccharus informed him that approval to enter the Pool of Wishes had been granted by some higher authority. It was finally time to act.

  As twilight fell across the Court, thousands of torches sprang into life like summer fireflies. Baccharus, Niamh and Ruth gathered in the main piazza with four horses. The beasts were powerful, snorting and stamping loudly on the shimmering marble; at first glance they appeared normal to Ruth, then she noticed the hint of Otherworld in their eyes where a disturbing intelligence burned.

  Church had spent the previous hour in his room preparing himself; he had enjoyed the tranquillity after spending so long with Ruth discussing the shocking repercussions of what Baccharus had told him in the inn. Baccharus had also warned him that the Pool of Wishes was not something to be taken lightly, as if anything in that realm was. He would be forced to journey deep inside himself to locate the taint of the Fomorii, Baccharus said, and if he was not at ease with himself, the experience would drive him mad.

  And so he spent the time thinking of his life, of Dale and his friends in London-where were they now?-of Marianne and his love for her, of the terrible grief he had felt at her death, of his parents, and his studies, his dreams and fears, of Laura and Niamh and Ruth, and at the end of it, it still didn't make any sense.

  Finally he was ready. The other three were already mounted when he took the long walk across the piazza, his footsteps echoing solemnly. Their greeting was just as serious, a simple nod, a faint smile, and then they were away through the labyrinthine streets of the Court towards the green countryside beyond.

  Baccharus led the way, with Church behind, then Ruth, and Niamh taking up the rear. As they passed, Church glimpsed strange faces watching him from the darkened windows, some of them golden and alien, some of them terrible and dark. The buildings grew more solid as they approached the outskirts, jumbling tight up against themselves like the oppressive weight of ancient habitation that lay crushed within Jerusalem's walls.

  Once the Court was behind them, green fields lined by thick, old hedges rolled out. They passed intermittent copses and trickling brooks that made their way through culverts under the rough road. But then the country became wilder, the trees taller and darker, pressing hard against the roadside, forming a roof above their heads. Baccharus held up a lantern as they rode and they were all grateful for the flickering golden light that flooded ahead.

  Church occasionally heard movement, although in the thick shadow it was impossible to discern what was amongst the trees; some seemed too large for any animal he knew, others were small and fast, some came far too close to the circle of light, which increasingly felt insignificant. Eventually the road all but disappeared and the trees came up so hard they could have reached out and touched them on either side if they had so wished. Church spent so much time attempting to probe the woods on either side, he nearly ran his mount into Baccharus on more than one occasion. The undergrowth was thick with bramble and bracken, which would have made the going hard if they had strayed from the path.

  To Church's relief, as the going became steeper the wood eventually gave way. When they finally emerged from the trees, he realised they were on the foothills leading up to snow-capped mountains, although he couldn't recall seeing them from the ship as they approached the island.

  "Are we going right to the top?" Church asked.

  Baccharus put a silencing finger to his lips. "There are things around here that appreciate silence," he whispered.

  The road-now barely more than a track-became rocky and the horses had to step slowly. Boulders piled up on either side, cracked and patchworked with moss. The air was much cooler. Church pulled his jacket around him, oddly wondering what the weather was like back home.

  After a little while longer, Baccharus reined in his horse and nodded towards a group of pine trees separated from a thickly forested slope by a rocky outcropping on three sides. A distinct path wound its way into the centre of the copse.

  "In there?" Church asked quietly.

  Baccharus nodded once more.

  Church jumped down and advanced several paces before he realised the others were not behind him. "From here your journey must be alone," Niamh whispered in reply to his quizzical expression. That brought a sharp chill to his spine.

  In the trees, it was even cooler, but the air was beautifully scented with pine and the tang of the mountain snows. Overheard, a stunning full moon glowed white and misty butterscotch, framed by icy, glittering stars. His breath bloomed; a shiver ran through him. Thankfully Baccharus had allowed him to bring the lantern to keep the shadows at bay, although his movement made them jump and recede as if they were alive. Pine needles crunched underfoot, but beneath them the path was oddly well made, with large flagstones worn by age.

  The first thing he noticed when he entered the copse was the soothing sound of tinkling water. The path opened out on to a broad, still pool, black and reflective, with trees all around it. On the opposite side was a jutting rock, face down, over which white water cascaded, churning the pool just beneath but obviously carried away by some underground stream before it sent waves lashing out across the surface. The air was heavy with a feeling of deep tranquillity, but as Church stood and drank in the atmosphere, it changed slightly until he sensed something jarring uneasily just beneath it. As he gave in to his instincts he could feel a dim electricity in the air, waiting to be awakened. This was the place.

  He played the lantern back and forth and noticed the stone flags disappeared around the back of the waterfall. With anxiety tight in his throat, he stepped cautiously around the edge of the pool, half expecting something to leap out and drag him in. He paused briefly next to the waterfall before darting behind.

  It was like crossing over into a place completely detached from the other world. It was a grotto, with barely formed stalagmites and glistening walls where the lantern made a million sparkles dance, and reds, greens and yellows shimmered in the wet brown of the rock. It was small, barely a couple of car lengths across, and within lay another pool, a mirror image of the one without, only without the waterfall the water was even darker. The flagstones gave out to a small, rocky path that ran around the edge, at some poin
ts barely wide enough to walk around. Echoes of gently lapping water rolled off the walls, distorting but peaceful. He set down the lantern and kneeled to peer into the depths.

  He expected to see the pebbled bottom of the pool easily, at least around the edges near the lantern, but the black water appeared to go down forever. He didn't really know what to do next. Baccharus had told him simply to wait, stressing that "the pool would see" and know what was needed. Yet the surroundings felt so normal it felt silly sitting back waiting.

  There was a certain odd oiliness to the quality of the water, so he reached out a hand to stroke his fingers across the surface. At the last moment he withdrew; something was sending alarm bells ringing in his head. He slumped back against the wall, hugged his knees and waited.

  It was less than a minute later when he perceived-or thought he did-some activity deep below. Now on all fours, he pressed his face close to the water's surface to get a better look. Something was swimming. The perspective it gave him was shocking, for the pool went down more than twenty or thirty feet, and even then he couldn't see the bottom. Whatever was there was striking out for the surface. The lantern light brought reflected glints from its skin, at times silvery, at times flesh tone. It was certainly a trick of the distorting effect of the water, but it gave him the impression that the pool's inhabitant kept changing back and forth from a fish to a human. Or was somehow both at the same time.

  And still it rose, until it was obvious it was human, long arms reaching out, feet kicking, but the face was still obscured by shadows. It covered the last few feet very quickly, but stopped short of coming completely out of the water. Instead, it hovered patiently, looking up at him, only an inch or two beneath the surface, and in that instant he was overcome by a deep dread. The face he was looking into was his own, his long hair drifting in the currents, only it was changed very slightly, in the way the features were held or in some sour experience that had left its mark, so that it was darker in essence.