Veitch smiled with a mixture of affection and embarrassment. "Sorry about that." His eyes were fixed on hers, wide and childlike; there was a flush to his cheeks. "I've missed you."
Ruth smiled back awkwardly, but said nothing. The moment was deflated by Shavi who hugged Church and Ruth in turn, his emotions also close to the surface. "It feels good to be together again," he said quietly. "Now all we need is Laura."
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before Church said, "She's dead."
"No, she's not," Veitch said, puzzled. "Shavi was the only one who was dead."
They looked from one to the other blankly.
It was hard for any of them to believe they were back together again. Each of them felt, at times, overwhelmed; and then they would simply sit and listen to the others talking, enjoying the motion of faces, the animation of limbs, the energy crackling amongst them. Elation overwhelmed them all, completely wiping out any thought of what the morning might bring. There was drinking and raucousness, jokes that made light of their hardships, and the warm glow of old friends brought together again.
Veitch held up a flagon marked with a design of a Fabulous Beast. "You seen this?"
"Isn't that the one with the pellet with the poison?" Church laughed, but Veitch completely missed the reference.
"No, no," Shavi said, grinning, "that is in the chalice with the palace. That one is the brew that is true."
"You lot haven't bleedin' changed," Veitch muttered.
Veitch was mesmerised by every movement Ruth made, as if he could barely believe she was there before him. Part of Ruth felt uncomfortable at the depth of emotion she sensed, yet she was excited by it too. That conflict made her uneasy. She knew she loved Church, so why was she responding to the attentions of someone else, in particular a man with whom she had so little in common?
When the conversation became a heated debate about Laura she was thankful for the opportunity to distract herself from her thoughts. Neither she nor Church could believe Laura was still alive; Tom and Veitch were adamant she was. It was left to Shavi to argue that they now lived in a world where anything could happen.
The conversation moved on. Ruth tried to stay out of the limelight, but Veitch brought her in at every opportunity, rapt at the tales she told.
"You hung on the outside of a ship in a storm? You're a crazy girl!"
"At least I didn't manage to lose a hand," she said wryly.
"Maybe we should get ourselves a little Amputation Club going." Veitch chortled; he was drinking too much, too fast. Beneath his upbeat exterior, they all could see the strain the loss of his hand had brought in him.
"That'd exclude me," Church said, "so in defence I'm proposing the Born Again Club."
Veitch furrowed his brow. "What's that, then?"
"Well, I died and came back." He nodded to Shavi. "So did you. And Ruth did, fleetingly, just before Laura took the seed of Balor from her."
Veitch snorted. "You're not counting me out, you tosser."
"Do not worry, Ryan," Shavi joked, "there is plenty of time for you to meet your maker and come back down to earth."
"Right. And I'll do it in style. With a choir of bleedin' angels!"
Tom muttered something indecipherable, but patently irritable. Veitch swore at him playfully, laughed when Tom bit, then broke open another amphora of wine.
"You know, I miss technology less than I thought," Ruth said, lounging back on one of the enormous cushions. "But one thing I could do with now is a CD player, or a tape deck ... anything that gives music." She eyed Church with faux contempt. "As long as I don't have to listen to any Sinatra."
He laughed. "Shame. I could come up with a good soundtrack for all this." He thought for a moment. "How about `That Old Black Magic' from Come Swing with Me! followed by `It's Nice to Go Trav'ling-
Ruth covered her face.
"No, no, something soulful. Spiritual," Shavi said. "Curtis Mayfield. Perhaps Van Morrison-"
"Geezer music," Veitch said. "I never thought I'd say this, but I wish Laura was here. She might have been a pain in the arse most of the time, but musically she kept you music fans in your pen."
Shavi looked towards the tent flap. "I still expect her to walk in at any moment."
An outcry outside brought them all to their feet. They rushed out into the cold night to see the Tuatha De Danann in a state of excitement around one of the campfires.
Church grabbed one of the gods by the shoulder. "What's going on?"
The god was shocked that he had been accosted by a Fragile Creature, but he appeared aware of Church's reputation. "The Norta has been seen! And her sisters too!"
"What's that?"
The god struggled for the right words in his excitement. "The one your people called the Morrigan."
A hand fell on Church's shoulder and he turned to face Baccharus, equally animated. "A great portent, my friend. The Morrigan is one of our own, but she prefers her own company, or that of her sisters, Macha, Badb and Nemain. They have not been seen by the Golden Ones since the first days after the pact. But they are drawn to war ... and ... and bloodshed ... and ..."-he attempted to speak in a manner Church could understand, but he struggled with a word that was still alien to him-"death. The Dark Sisters are fearsome, both in what they represent and in their prowess. The Morrigan and her clan helped us win both battles of Magh Tuireadh. Undoubtedly, her appearance is a good omen."
"Where is she?" Church scanned the campsite, eager to see a figure of such reputation.
"The Dark Sisters will not come into the light." Baccharus raised his head to the gleaming moon. "Macha, Badb and Nemain were seen circling the camp earlier. They wore the armour of war."
"And the Morrigan?"
"There is a stream nearby. In it she was seen washing the heads of those who are to die in the forthcoming battle. The Morrigan keeps count of those who move from existence."
Church flashed back to a cold February night before he had any inkling of the terrible change that had come over the world. It was the Morrigan he had seen washing his own head in the Thames. His throat closed up when he thought how she had turned and looked at him, with a face that appeared like death itself. But another worry crept up on him: was that portent referring to his previous death on Skye or was she revealing what lay in store for him in the Battle of London?
"Tell me," he said, "did your people see the heads?"
Baccharus knew exactly what he was asking. "I cannot lie. There were Fragile Creatures."
Church's blood ran cold. "Who was it?"
"No!" Tom strode over, his face cold and hard. "Do not tell him! It would not help for anyone to know they are going to die. Hope is the engine of success."
Church studied his face carefully. Tom didn't meet his eyes. "You know who's going to die, don't you? You've always known."
Tom fixed an eye on Church that made his stomach turn. "Yes. Pity me for it." He turned and marched away without another word.
Church felt sick. He looked round at the others, who were talking to another of the Tuatha De Danann; none of them had heard the exchange. In that instant he understood exactly what Tom was going through. He couldn't tell them one of them was destined to die; it was a burden he would have to carry himself.
The sadness came up quicker and harder than he anticipated as he watched the people who had become his best friends over the last few months. He couldn't imagine being without any of them, even though that had been a constant from the moment they had banded together. Unbidden, his thoughts turned to which of them he would miss the least, and that made him feel even worse.
Dismally, he turned back to Baccharus, who deftly changed the conversation. "True Thomas is a good man. Do not blame him for being the bearer of bad news."
"We never got on at the start. I thought he was manipulating us. That he was cold and patronising and arrogant. I wish I'd been better to him."
"True Thomas has accepted his responsibility. He does not expect anything from
you."
"That makes it even worse."
A whistling like an incoming missile passed overhead. Church looked up to see the terrifying form of a woman pass by, her hair as wild as winter, her black clothes streaming off her in rags, her mouth torn wide as she made the anguished noise. He shivered as her shadow passed over him.
"Badb, Queen of Crows," Baccharus said.
"I'm glad she's on our side."
He watched the other figures moving across the sky for a while, but the night was too cold to stay for long. Returning to the warmth of the tent, he found the others already in deep conversation, though Tom was nowhere to be seen. Their faces showed the mood had darkened.
"We were talking about the traitor," Ruth said as he entered.
"I don't want suspicion causing any rifts at this critical stage."
"Yeah, but we've got to be on our guard." Veitch was repeatedly unwrapping, then rewrapping the cloth around the stump of his wrist. Church knew his mind was working through numerous strategies, dismissing some, rethinking others. He was still drunk, but he was now brooding, and it was easier to see the anger that always lay just beneath the surface. "We've come through all this shit together, trusted each other. If I found out one of us had been playing the others just to sell them out, I'd kill them."
"Ryan!" Ruth said.
"I find it hard to believe one of us could be a traitor." Shavi looked around them, as honest and open as always. "We come from different backgrounds. We are all different people, with nothing, superficially, in common. Yet we have seen into each other's souls. We are good people, all of us, at heart. I trust my instinct implicitly. I cannot see anything in any of us that suggests betrayal."
"Exactly." Church sat down close to Ruth, then became aware of Veitch watching him curiously. He shuffled away an inch or two. "I can't pretend it hasn't bothered me, but we all know how much the dead love to twist things. Who knows what they really meant?"
Veitch took a knife and diced an apple into four quarters. "I'm still going to be watching my back."
The conversation drifted to lighter subjects, but they never caught the uplifting mood of celebration again. Just after one a.m., when the sounds of revelry from the camp had died down, the growing quiet was disturbed by the distant blast of a horn. It was barely audible, but it brought a chill to them all. A second or two later it sounded again, much closer to hand, followed by the fearsome baying of hounds.
"The Wild Hunt," Shavi said.
Ruth fingered the mark that had been imprinted on her hand. "Cernunnos is joining us. That's good news."
"Right. He's obviously on the side of us Fragile Creatures." Even so, Church couldn't shake the fear he felt at the god's Erl-King aspect. He would never forget how the Hunt had torn through the revellers leaving the pub on Dartmoor: so brutal, yet cold, like a force of nature.
They fell silent with their thoughts until they heard the sound of two pairs of footsteps approaching the tent. They waited for the flaps to be thrown back, but the visitors slipped in quietly. The tall one at the rear was the Bone Inspector, his greying hair matted with grease and filth hanging loosely around his shoulders. His cheesecloth shirt was covered with green stains.
The shorter one at the front wore a cloak with a hood pulled over her head, but Church immediately knew who it was. His stomach flipped; a shiver ran up his spine. "Laura." The word was barely more than an exhalation.
She threw back her hood with her typical flair for the dramatic. They were shocked to see Veitch was right about the tinge to her skin, but that the scars Callow had inflicted on her face were mysteriously missing shocked them more. "Church-dude. You look like you've seen a ghost. Instead of just the walking dead." She looked round at the others, who were rapt. "Well, that's the kind of wild reception I always expected from this little group."
Church jumped up, looking deeply into her eyes for a long moment, before putting his arms around her. She smelled of spring leaves and summer flowers. He didn't know what to say, so he led her to a space and sat her down.
Ruth leaned across the circle. "I want to thank you-"
"Don't. We've all made sacrifices. That's what we do." She nodded to the Bone Inspector. "He's the one you should thank. If not for him I wouldn't be here for all that mystical five symbolism baloney you need to do the big job."
"Somebody had to do it," the Bone Inspector said grumpily. He shifted around, uncomfortable with the attention. "Where's the Rhymer? I need to sort something out with him."
When they said they didn't know, he left in a bad temper to scour the camp. Their attention turned back to all the confusing emotions Laura's reappearance had raised.
"We were just saying we could not believe you were truly dead," Shavi said with a smile, reaching out to take her hand. She smiled back, sweetly, without a trace of the bitterness that had always characterised her.
"Don't get me wrong, hon. I did die. And now I'm back, the same, only different."
Another one, Church thought. What does it all mean?
"But how did you survive?" Ruth was pale and troubled. "I had Balor in me. I know what it felt like, what would have happened when it came out."
Laura lifted up her over-sized T-shirt to reveal a rapidly fading jagged white scar, running from her belly to her sternum. "Something like this?"
Ruth couldn't help gasping. "That would have killed you!"
"It would have if I wasn't already dead. This is the key." She showed the back of her right hand where she sported the mark of Cernunnos, the circle of interlocking leaves. "You know how screwed up I got about all the changes taking place in my body ... the green blood that had a life of its own? It was such a shock at the time." She traced her finger around the mark. "I had no idea what he'd done to me ... could never have guessed." She looked around them. "I died that day up at Loch Maree when he marked me with this."
Church shook his head in disbelief, but she silenced him with a wave of her hand.
"I died, and then he remade me in his own image. For the rest of you time was frozen. But for me ... well, I don't know how he did it." She shook her head, barely able to summon up the words. "I'm not human, I'm a plant."
There was a hanging moment when they all tried to work out if she was joking. She laughed to herself, silently, at their expressions. "Okay, maybe that's not the right word. Physically, he turned me into something that has the characteristics of flora rather than fauna. I don't need to eat or drink or breathe, not in the same way you do. I can survive under water. I can survive where there's no air at all. And when I get hurt, I repair myself like a plant. That's what happened with Balor. I'll tell you now, I don't remember much about it, apart from the fact that it was agony. That's one thing he didn't sort out. It tore me apart. It wasn't pretty. But I put myself back together. And-" she held her arms wide "-I did it better than before." She pointed to her face. "No scars. Not on my back, either. So I've got a slight skin problem, but that's a small price to pay. At least I don't pollinate or any of that shit."
Her flippant manner made it difficult for them to assimilate what she was saying. Church's brow furrowed. "So all the time we were together-"
"That's right, Church-dude-you were having sex with a plant."
"A nature spirit." Shavi leaned forward excitedly. "He distilled the essence of what you already were, and made you an avatar."
"Well, he might have asked." Her smile was relaxed.
"Are you okay with it?" Ruth asked, concerned.
"It's better than being a nobody. And it's better than being really, truly dead. I think the same, I feel the same. I'm still the same gorgeous, wonderful, witty and charming Laura DuSantiago. Apart from the fact you have to water me twice a day."
Church leaned forward and touched her forearm. The skin felt exactly the same as it always had done. She took his hand with honest affection. "I'm okay. Really. "
"You seem different," Ruth said. "I mean, as well as all that-"
"I have my flaws, but stupid
ity isn't one of them. When somebody shoves a big, fat, old lesson in my face, I make sure I learn from it." She looked down at her fingers as she knotted and unknotted them. "I've found peace, I guess, if that doesn't sound like some stupid, navel-gazing New Ager. It was always there, I just couldn't see it. I don't hate myself any more."
Her words were simple, but Church felt a swell of affection; he knew how deep her pain really went. If Laura had found some kind of redemption, there was hope for all of them; for everyone. The others recognised this too. As she looked round, for the first time she felt accepted.
"Then we really are all back together," Shavi said. "As it was intended."
"Yes, yes, yes, the stars are aligned, and God is looking down on you from his heaven." Tom was standing in the entrance with the Bone Inspector. "Now I suggest you get some rest. For tomorrow, as the saying goes, you may die."
Veitch slipped into a drunken sleep quickly; Shavi had a remarkable ability to nap instantly, wherever he was. Tom and the Bone Inspector sat at the table, talking quietly, their faces stern. Ruth tried to stay awake as Laura and Church chatted, but even her faint jealousy couldn't stop her eyelids from drooping.
Laura watched the regular movement of Ruth's chest for a moment or two before turning back to Church. "So I'll ask you again: have you and little Miss Frosty done the monkey dance yet?"
"Laura-"
"You still don't know me, do you?" There was a trace of sadness in her smile. "In most cultures that's known as humour."
"Are you really okay?"
"Yes, I am. For the first time in my life. So don't go giving me any pity or I might be stirred to be my old catty self." She put her fingertips on his sternum and pushed him down.
"I'm sorry I wasn't better to you. And that's not pity. What you did to save Ruth ... that showed a side of you I never knew, and I feel bad for that. I jumped to conclusions, just like everybody else."
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