Always Forever

by Mark Chadbourn

  Breathless, he waved the Sword at them while attempting to look over his shoulder to see if there was some exit he had missed.

  "There is no escape from here," the dogs said as one. "You have reached the Chapel Perilous. Your life is now over." They advanced a step in perfect, unnerving rhythm, like some drilled Roman legion.

  "No," Church gasped. "It wouldn't end like this. There has to be a way out or there's no point to the trial." He looked all around quickly, but could see no exit. "I'm missing something."

  "No escape," the dogs repeated. "This is your death. Behind you is the source of everything. One step and you will be swallowed up, eradicated. Here we stand, ready to tear you to pieces. To turn your meat to fibres and your bones to dust."

  "I can fight," Church said.

  "You can," the dogs said, "for you have already killed some of us. But do we seem any less to you?"

  The pack appeared to go on forever. "Where there's life, there's hope," Church said.

  The dogs advanced another step.

  He wiped the blood away from his eye, his heart pounding. The Sword handle was slick with sweat.

  The dogs moved four paces in rapid procession. He waved the Sword wildly. Only a couple of yards away now, the white of their coats was almost blinding. Their jaws moved in unison-click-their eyes rolled as one.

  Perhaps this was the trial: to fight and fight and fight, until he was down to his last reserves. But against an enemy that could not be killed, or even weakened? What was the point in that? Sooner or later they would overwhelm him.

  He gripped the Sword with both hands and adopted a fighting stance.

  What was the meaning in that?

  And then it came to him. It took only a second or two to weigh it up, and then he sheathed the Sword and spun round. The blue looked so inviting: relief after his long, arduous struggle. He closed his eyes and stepped off the cliff.

  He expected burning, but there was no sensation at all for a long time, just a world of blue overwhelming everything. He also expected his consciousnesshis sense of self-to be broken up within seconds of contact, then dissipated amongst the blue waves, to be returned to the source, but that didn't happen either. He remained who he had always been, since the beginning of time.

  When sensation began to return, it was fitful, and quite alien. He felt the beating of mighty wings coming from his own arms; he saw with crystal refracted vision through serpent eyes; he felt the blast of flames pass his lips, the stink of smoke in his nostrils.

  "You are one," a voice from nowhere said.

  He was looking at blue, but the shade was much softer. It took him a few seconds to accept the change in hue, and then a fluffy cloud drifted into his vision and he realised he was staring at the sky. He closed his eyes, smiling, enjoying the heat of the sun on his face.

  Sitting up, he found himself lying on the causeway that joined St. Michael's Mount to the mainland. From the position of the sun, it must have been around noon; he had been gone barely any time at all.

  Ruth's cry stirred him from memories of flying; reluctantly, he realised they were fading rapidly, but the sense of freedom didn't go. She came running along the causeway towards him, her hair lashing in the breeze. She grinned with relief and joy. He jumped up and took her in his arms, overjoyed that she was with him.

  "I saw you from the top," she said. "How did you get here?"

  "Look at that," he said, pointing over their heads.

  A Fabulous Beast swooped on the air currents, the sun glinting brightly off its scales, reds and golds and greens. Church was overcome with a sense of wonder. The Beast was otherworldly and lithe and graceful as it gently circled the top of the Mount, but it was what it represented that truly affected him: a world where anything could happen, a world where the mundane had forever been stripped from life.

  "It's the old one, from Avebury. The oldest of them all." Tom was at their side, craning his neck to peer beneath a shielding hand. "You've done it. It wouldn't have left its home if the Fiery Network hadn't been brought back to life."

  "Then I really did it?" Church asked, barely believing. "I woke the sleeping land?"

  "There are more of them," Ruth marvelled. "Loads of them."

  Church counted ten, then gave up; they were coming from all directions to converge on the Mount. Some were smaller, some obviously younger, their colours slightly different, but they were all flying with abandon, rolling and gliding and looping the loop, so that there was an unmistakable feeling of joyous celebration.

  "We did it," he said in awe.

  That night they made camp on a hillside overlooking St. Michael's Mount. Tom had already located tents and sleeping bags before coming to meet them at Mousehole, and they lit a fire to keep out the autumnal chill that came down with the night. He had also found a bottle of whisky to drink to their success.

  The cleric, Michael, had met them briefly after Church's return, but he was eager to get back to his parishioners to spread a message of hope. The deference he had shown Church had been almost embarrassing.

  "How do you feel?" Ruth asked Church hesitantly, once Tom had gone off to build up their wood supply.

  It was a question he had avoided, for he was almost afraid to examine himself. "Good," he said.

  "Don't think you're going to get away with that. Do I have to kiss your hand every time I meet you? Are you going to walk on water for your party trick?"

  He tapped his head. "Up here I feel pretty much the same as always. I mean, I think the same way. I'm definitely the me I always was, which is good because I had this feeling I'd turn out like a reformed smoker or Born-Again Christian, turned off by half the things I used to be in my old life."

  Her smile showed relief; it was obvious she had felt the same way.

  "But in here," he said, tapping his chest, "I feel amazing. I feel ... I don't know, the best way to describe it is right. I feel at ease with everything. Positive. Confident." He thought hard. "I feel at peace."

  She was looking at him with an expression that suggested she wished she felt that way too. She took his hand and gave it a squeeze.

  "I expected it to be earth-shattering," he continued. "But it's so subtle. I don't feel like the man who's going to lead humanity to the next level. In fact, I cringe at the thought of it."

  "Maybe that's the point. Maybe you were like a jigsaw with one piece missing. Now you've found it you can be the person you always might have been."

  He shook his head, laughing quietly. "Now I know how I feel, I'm taking it all with a pinch of salt. Tom gets so wrapped up with these predictions and prophecies. They're all so vague they can mean virtually anything under any circumstance. Who knows? Maybe Veitch is the big saviour."

  "But what does it mean? For us?" Her eyes shimmered brightly in the firelight.

  "I'm carrying on with my life as it was. I'm not thinking about tomorrow. I'm not thinking about the big picture. I'm making the most of each minute and I'll deal with whatever's thrown at me, as and when it happens. And I'm doing it with you." He pulled her forward and kissed her tenderly.

  They were interrupted by Tom's irritated muttering. "You've got time for all that spooning in the privacy of your tent," he said.

  "You're only jealous because you're not getting any," Ruth replied.

  The night was clear and bright and filled with a deep, abiding magic. The full moon brought silver tips to the waves, their gentle lapping a soothing symphony accompanied by the occasional breeze rustling the goldening leaves; the perfect soundtrack to Church's thoughts. Stars glistened everywhere they looked; they felt peaceful for the first time in months.

  "It could be like this all over," Church said, his arm around Ruth, the two of them watching the light on the waves.

  "And I thought I was the hippie," Tom said. "Don't start going soft. This is a little oasis. The real world is out there and it's thoroughly unpleasant."

  "Can't we just enjoy the moment?" Ruth protested.

  "You go right a
head." Tom prodded the fire with an annoyance that matched the sneer in his voice. "We'll just forget about all those bodies getting torn apart and eaten, all those lives being ruined, land being blasted, cities razed to the ground, rivers polluted. Oh, and while we're at it, let's forget the end of the world in just a few short days." He punctuated it with a tight smile.

  "I didn't mean that." Ruth's eyes blazed. "But we can't do anything right here, right now, so do we have to continue flagellating ourselves? We've worked hard. We've achieved something ... Church has achieved something. We should celebrate our victories."

  "I simply wanted you to remember-"

  "Of course I remember! I know what we're up against! And I know what our chances are, even with what Church has done today." Tom flinched. "Yes, I can see it in your face. Even if we win we aren't all going to make it through alive, right? So I just want to enjoy this quiet time with Church and my friend because it might be my last."

  Tom shrugged. "Point taken." He gave a slight grin that punctured the mood.

  For the next half hour, they did take it easy, enjoying their company with jokes and gossip while handing round the whisky. Even so, they found it impossible to bury the momentous events of the day and soon they were chatting animatedly once more about what had happened. Church couldn't bring himself to discuss what he had felt once he had given himself up to the Blue Fire-it had been too personal, a spiritually transcendent moment that would be devalued by being discussed. That infuriated Ruth, who was eager to understand.

  "But I don't see what he did to bring the land alive," she said. "It wasn't as if he unblocked a channel or something."

  "He gave it his life, his spirit, in honesty and openness, and the Blue Fire gave it back to him, but not before that vital surge had brought the whole of the system alive." Tom was lying on his back, watching the stars through his cloud of smoke. "It is fuelled by belief, and Church believed in a way that nobody had for centuries. Not just believed in the Fiery Network, but in himself, in humanity and the universe and hope, and childish things too, like dreams and wishing."

  "So he's just one big battery."

  "The only battery who could have done it."

  "I don't get it," Ruth continued. "You talked about waking the land as if it were a big thing, but apart from the Fabulous Beasts we saw earlier, everything looks the same."

  "Maybe you're not looking in the right place, or the right way. Maybe you're not feeling."

  Ruth hurled some mild abuse at his patronising attitude. He sighed wearily and dragged himself to his feet. "Do you remember that night at Stonehenge when I gave you the first sign of the Blue Fire?" he said.

  "No, I don't," Ruth said, "because I was fast asleep. You saved that demonstration for your favourite son here."

  "Yes, I remember," Church said. "It was amazing. Like something I'd been looking for all my life."

  "The power of Stonehenge made that easier," Tom said, "because it's a node in the network. Look around-do you see any standing stones in the vicinity?" They agreed that there weren't any.

  They waited for him to continue, but all he did was smoke, and check his watch and the moon and stars, until they were convinced he'd slipped into a drugged stupor. Ruth shifted impatiently, made to speak, but Church placed a restraining hand on her forearm. She looked at him curiously; he put his finger to his lips.

  After fifteen minutes, Tom said, "Now." He dropped to his haunches and placed one hand flat on the cool grass. "The time has to be right. The mood has to be right. Everything has to be right, and it's not been righter for centuries. You even need the right eyes for this-not everyone can see it-but you should be ready now. Watch carefully."

  Around his hand, tiny sparks began to fly. They had a life of their own, dancing and jumping into the grass, surging towards the nearby trees. Other strands ran to Church and Ruth, infiltrating them with a prickly thrill; they both felt a sudden surge of euphoria.

  "It's in everything," Ruth gasped.

  "You think that's good." Tom smiled. "Watch this."

  The ground erupted with Blue Fire. It shot out in lines across the land, towards the sea and under the waves, intersecting at regular points where tiny flares burned. And then it suddenly burst upwards in a tremendous, breathtaking rush, hundreds of feet high, a dazzling cathedral of lights like the one Church had seen at Stonehenge. A paler blue light shimmered between the connecting strands, turning opaque, then clear, like protective walls. Only this cathedral was not the only one. An even bigger structure covered St. Michael's Mount; and there were more beyond, stretching right across the land. It was dazzling in its potency. Caught up in the sheer wonder of it, there was no doubt the whole of the land had become infused with the vital force.

  "How did you do that?" Ruth gasped.

  "Sometimes when things fall into alignment it becomes more active. I simply helped you to see it."

  "This is why the ancients put up the stone circles," Ruth said in awe.

  "And the standing stones and cairns and other places of sacred power." Tom was now sitting cross-legged on the grass, watching the display with a beatific smile. "To channel it, to help it to live, and to reap the benefits it provides."

  "It heals," Ruth said.

  "It heals the body, certainly. But more importantly, it heals the spirit."

  "I want to feel that." Ruth looked from Tom to Church. "You've both had experience of it. It's changed you both, I can see. I need to feel it."

  "There'll be time," Tom said.

  "Will there?" Ruth replied. The note in her voice infected them all, and gradually the astonishing display faded.

  Church put his arm tightly around her shoulders. "But it's worth fighting for, isn't it?"

  Veitch and Shavi escaped from the farmhouse, but only with a helping of guile and a good serving of luck. They kept to the hedgerows, hiding in ditches at the slightest sound, barely moving, barely breathing.

  The Fomorii were out in force, scurrying along the roads all around the farm. Veitch and Shavi were in no doubt the Night Walkers still considered them a threat. At times when the beasts drew a little too close, Shavi used his shamanic abilities to direct various field animals to cause a distraction so they could escape. Since his return from the Grim Lands, he was even more adept at the things at which he had previously excelled.

  Eventually they were faced with open countryside; as dawn began to break they were moving as fast as they could towards the west.

  Over the following days, they kept as far away from any roads or centres of population as possible. They slept in trees or ditches, wrapped in dustbin bags and other items of rubbish, like two tramps. Sometimes they found a hollow where they could light a fire without being seen. Veitch cooked rabbits or birds, while Shavi satisfied himself with any autumnal berries and fruits or roots that he could scavenge.

  On a day that began cold and overcast with light drizzle sweeping across the countryside in gusts, they made their way over fields towards the rendezvous point. Ahead lay a rise where they expected a good vista over the rolling valleys that led down to the Thames; the outer reaches of the London sprawl was not far away.

  When they came close to the ridge, they dropped to their bellies and wriggled up the remaining few yards, their clothes already sodden and thick with mud. Peeking over the summit so they would not be silhouetted against the skyline, they witnessed a sight that made their blood run cold.

  London lay beneath a thick bank of seething clouds that formed no part of the surrounding weather system. Occasional bursts of lightning punctured the oppressive gloom so they could see that, somewhere in the centre of the capital, a large black tower had been raised up. It was still incomplete, and the edges were indistinct, as if roughly constructed. It reminded Shavi of pictures he had seen of enormous termites' nests in the African veldt. Ruth had spoken of a similar tower she had seen in the Lake District, constructed from the detritus of humanity: abandoned cars, plastics, bricks and girders, old washing machines, anything
that could be reclaimed and stacked. And all across the city, fires blazed, sending up thick gouts of greasy smoke to join the lowering clouds.

  There were things buzzing the tower with the insistent, awkward motion of flies. The distance was too great to tell exactly what they were, but there were clouds of them, black and threatening. And from the periphery of the city, across the surrounding countryside, swarmed what at first glance appeared to be ants. The Fomorii scurried back and forth, thousands upon thousands of them, sweeping out in wider and wider arcs as they spread across the country. Their movement looked chaotic and meaningless, but that only masked the complexity of regimented actions designed to scour and destroy. It was a scene from Hell.

  Veitch watched the panorama for long minutes, his face heavy with hatred and repressed anger. "How the fuck are we going to fight something like that?" he said in a cold, dead voice.

  In the shadow of the M25, Laura and the Bone Inspector sheltered amongst a tangled maze of wrecked and abandoned cars. Through gaps in the vehicles they could make out waves of Fomorii fanning out across the Essex fields.

  "We don't stand a chance," Laura whispered. "They're everywhere." She still felt sick from the shock of losing her arm. Pressure was building deep in her shoulder, as if her blood was about to gush out of the gaping socket, despite the stained shirt she had pressed against the wound; she still couldn't understand why she hadn't bled out.

  "They're searching for us." The dismal note in the Bone Inspector's voice told her he agreed with her assessment. Their luck had run out.

  "What do we do? Stay here?"

  "Nowhere to run. They're all around now." He tapped a syncopated rhythm with his staff.

  Laura rubbed at her shoulder joint; the pressure was growing unbearable.

  "We can't stay-

  Her words were drowned out by the sudden rending of metal. Cars flew on either side, as if they were made of paper. Laura flung herself backwards in shock. The Bone Inspector raised his staff in defence, his face drained of blood. Eight or nine Fomorii ploughed through the vehicles with ease, tossing aside what they could move, rending apart what they could not.