"So it's not about you being scared at all, then," Laura said, with a false smile. Tom looked away.
"Veitch, Laura and I can go to Rosslyn Chapel," Shavi began, but this time it was Witch's turn to refuse.
"I'm staying here." He turned towards them, his face set.
"Why?" The fresh stitches in Church's finger began to ache.
"Someone has to get Ruth out."
"On your own!" Church exclaimed. "I know I asked you for a plan, but I expected it to be one you'd thought about for more than five minutes."
"I know what I'm doing-"
"Right. So you're going to waltz into a stronghold filled with Fomorii out to tear you limb from limb, go directly to Ruth and carry her out like at the end of An Officer and a Gentleman."
"Something like that."
"And, of course, it'll be no problem that when the Well of Fire is ignited or redirected or whatever I'm doing, you'll be right at ground zero."
Veitch shrugged. He obviously wasn't going to be deterred.
"Muscle boy's in love," Laura mocked in a singsong voice. Veitch flashed her a cold, hateful stare, but said nothing.
"Ryan-" Church began.
"I'm going to find a way in to that place and I'm going to do my best to get her out. Because it's the right thing. Just like you're trying to do the right thing for everybody else. If I can get in just before the shit hits the fan, there's a chance-"
"How will you know the right time?"
"I'll know. I feel things. You know, the right way to act. The right thing to do at the right time. I don't know where it's coming from, but it's getting stronger. You said it yourself." He stared into the middle distance, faintly uncomprehending. "I'm different now. Better. I'm not going to let it go to waste."
Church searched his face for a moment, then nodded. "It's decided, then. I go to the Well with Tom. Laura and Shavi head south to Rosslyn Chapel. And Veitch-"
"Attempts Mission: Impossible. I don't fancy your chances, even for a big, tough, street boy." Church heard a surprising note of concern in Laura's voice. "A nest of Fomorii. Their biggest stronghold, protecting the thing most valuable to them. And you." She paused. "Shall I order the pine box?"
"I'll take my chances. Let's face it, I'm the only bastard who actually has a chance among you bleedin' lot. If I kick the bucket, well, you know, it was for the right reason. That's what this is all about, right?" He turned to Church. "That's what you keep saying, innit? Do it for the right reason. This is nay right reason." He seemed surprised to see admiration in their stares and grew uncomfortable.
Laura attempted to break the mood with some glib, mocking comment, but for once the words escaped her. Church watched her face sag as she bit her lip; he wondered what lay behind her sunglasses.
"Where are we gonna meet up afterwards?" Veitch asked optimistically.
"Greyfriars Churchyard." Church had spent most of the previous afternoon planning, armed with a map of the city and the guidebook, while fighting back nausea from the pain in his finger.
"Why there?"
"Because I always wanted to see that statue of the little dog that sat by his master's grave. Greyfriars Bobby-what a great tourist attraction that is." He tried to make light of the conversation, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Veitch wouldn't be meeting them. "I think we can pick a quick route out of town from there. And it's an easy place to find if the shit really is hitting the fan."
They all thought about this for a moment.
Nobody wanted to be the first to go, but eventually Shavi shouldered the responsibility. He knelt beside Veitch and gave his shoulder a brief squeeze before setting off down the hill. Tom followed, resting one hand on Witch's head in passing, a restrained show of respect that was surprisingly voluble in a man normally so emotionally detached. Laura paused, but couldn't bridge the gap and hurried uncomfortably after the others.
It was only then Church realised how truly strong were forged the bonds that joined them. Their communication was silent, but deeply expressed; powerful emotions united them, of respect and trust, friendship and faith, even love. It was even harder to believe the Celtic spirits' accusation that one of them was a traitor.
"Are you going to be okay here on your own?" he said.
Veitch grinned with fake confidence. "No, but fuck it." He stripped off his shirt to feel the sun on his skin, his tattoos gleaming across his torso. "See this?" He pointed to a pentacle picked out in an intertwining Celtic design. "I always wondered what that was. But it's us, innit? See, five points, all separate, but all joined together, and stronger for it."
Church gave him a friendly clap on the shoulder. "You're a smart bloke, Ryan. You shouldn't hide it so much."
"Yeah, smart like shit." He fumbled for Church's hand and shook it awkwardly. "You know, I never thought I'd ever be a part of something like this… fuck it!" He shook his head, embarrassed. "You better get going. It's time to go to work."
Church set off down the hill. Halfway down, where the trees began to close in around the path, he glanced back to see a figure silhouetted against the dawn sky, framed by the soaring Athenian columns. It was such a sad, lonely sight he quickly turned and hurried after the others.
It was already early afternoon as Shavi and Laura made their way south. The sun had started to give way to the sea mist the locals called the haar. It swept in from the northeast, obscuring Arthur's Seat and the castle, rolling out across the rooftops and clinging hard to the streets. They had considered hiring a car, but Church had cautioned them about keeping a low profile, so Shavi had convinced Laura to walk the six and a half miles towards the misty, purple bulk of the Pentland Hills. She refused, however, to carry any of the camping gear which was mounted on a framed rucksack on his back. As they set out through Tollcross the Old Town seemed uncomfortably close; Laura was convinced she could feel a wintry chill radiating out from the streets that emptied on to Lothian Road. They kept to the other side, near to the comforting modernity of the new financial district, until the blackened, ancient buildings of the Old Town were far behind.
Although it was not raining, the haar infused the air with so much moisture their clothes soon became damp and Laura's spikey hair sagged on to her forehead.
"You can probably remove your sunglasses now," Shavi said wryly.
"When you get the pomposity out of your arse." She looked around. "Not much traffic for a capital city."
"People are only making journeys when they feel it is absolutely important. They subconsciously sense the danger that is all around."
"And it hasn't got so bad yet."
The street rode the rolling hills, past rows of smart shops where a few people seemed at ease enough to hover outside the windows, up towards the ring road. Laura leaned over the barrier, still curious to see such little transport.
"Well, the airport is shut now all the flights have been grounded," Shavi pointed out. "And with the Old Town closed off I suppose they have lost the parliament, the newspaper offices, many businesses-"
"Don't they realise they can't carry on with their lives?"
"I think they probably do. But it is human nature to carry on with routines in an attempt to maintain normalcy, often in the face of all reason."
A little further on Laura began to complain of aching feet, and from then on, as they left the city behind and wound out into the countryside, they had to take numerous long breaks while she nursed her burgeoning blisters.
"I've never walked this far in my life," she moaned.
"I once walked the entire length of Kashmir-"
"Oh, shut up." She was limping away before she had to listen to any more of his tale. "It hurts enough already," she muttered.
It was late afternoon before they reached the Rosslyn Chapel sign which pointed down a lane off the main road. Between wet fields and under a slate-grey sky, it took them in to the village of Roslin.
"Did you know," Shavi began, "that the Roslin Institute is nearby, where they cloned Dolly the
sheep. A place of mysteries both old and new."
"Whoop de doo."
They were barely in the village when another tiny lane led them off to the right. A little way down it they reached the chapel car park; they could tell they were nearing their destination from the stark change in atmosphere: it grew oppressive and brooding, as if the mystery that lurked there was potent enough to affect the air itself. The chapel was completely obscured by trees, a visitor centre and high fences which made it difficult for anyone to get inside. The custodians had already locked up for the day.
Shavi checked the sky and rubbed his chin thoughtfully, but before he could speak, Laura said, "Pull yourself together. We're not going in there today. I'm not going to be caught anywhere near the place after night has fallen."
Shavi smiled. "Then we make camp."
They needed to find somewhere where they wouldn't be stumbled across or reported to the authorities. Picking their way down a steep path, they came to the graveyard, with its neatly tended plots, ancient and new stones mingling together. Another footpath led off to one side where the trees grew thickest. The whole area was still. No traffic rumbled, no birds sang.
"Maybe it's just the weather, but I can feel something like… despair." Laura glanced into the thick vegetation beneath the tree cover where the water dripped from the leaves in a steady rhythm.
Shavi nodded, said nothing.
The path wound around until the graveyard was lost behind them and the branches closed over their heads, sealing them in a gloomy, verdant world. A rabbit started at their approach and dived into the undergrowth. Eventually they could hear the splashing water of a stream or falls, and then they were out of the trees again, suddenly confronted by the breathtaking view of a treeclustered glen far beneath them. The haar drifted eerily in white tendrils among the treetops. Everywhere was still, waiting.
"It's beautiful," Laura said. "But there's something not natural about the place. Which is a pretty stupid thing to say about the countryside."
The path wound round until it crossed a tiny stone bridge which soared high above the glen. On the other side, hanging over the steep sides of the valley like some fairy-tale fortress, were the majestic stone ruins of Rosslyn Castle. Just beyond the broken turrets and fallen walls they could see lights; part of the building was still in use. They picked up a rough track just before the bridge which led them scrambling down into the glen and then the trees were closing over them again. Oak, ash and elm mingled all around, hinting at the great age of the woodland, and this was reflected in the diversity of the undergrowth that prospered beneath the tree cover: wood sorrel, ransoms, golden saxifrage, dog's mercury and wood-rush.
The place was so lonely Laura couldn't help but feel unnerved and when she glanced at Shavi she could see it reflected on his normally stolid face too; it was in the air, in every tree and rock. They trekked along the floor of the glen by the banks of the white-foamed North Esk until they found an isolated clearing where the smoke from any fire would not be seen from the castle.
"Are you sure we shouldn't go back and find a B amp;B?" Laura ventured. She was even more disturbed when she saw Shavi almost considered it.
They pitched the tent with its rear end in an impenetrable cluster of undergrowth to prevent anyone approaching them from behind. To Laura's growing anxiety, the flora all around was so dense, the noise from the swishing leaves and the thundering river so great, it would have been impossible to discern strangers until they were almost upon them.
"If this was a movie," Laura began, "I'd say, `I can't shake the feeling there's somebody watching us."' Shavi nodded. "You're supposed to say, 'Don't be so stupid, it's just the trees,"' she added irritably.
"I think we should take a chance and light the fire now." He looked up at the streaks of drifting white in the gloomy treetops. "It will get dark here much quicker than if we were out in the open."
"You can build a beacon they could see in Holland for me."
Shavi spent the next half hour collecting enough wood to last them all night while Laura sat morosely in the mouth of the tent. Her anxiety eased a little when he finally had a small fire glowing in the clearing a few feet away from them. They boiled up a little rice while Shavi roasted kebabs of peppers, onions and tomatoes, which they ate while listening to the crack, drip and shiver of the living wood around them.
Shavi was correct about the dark, which swept in unnervingly quickly until it was sitting just beyond the glimmer of the campfire, breathing in and out oppressively.
After a while Laura found herself leaning against Shavi; she had shuffled up to him almost unconsciously, for comfort. He slipped an arm around her shoulders, out of friendship; there wasn't a hint of any of the passion they had shared in Glastonbury. And she leaned her head gently against his shoulder, glad he was there, for so many reasons she could barely count them.
"You seem unhappy," he ventured.
"And you look like a dickhead, but do I take it out on you?"
He smiled and waited for a few moments while the rushing of the river took over. "Romance is by necessity difficult."
"Everything is difficult." Then: "Why 'by necessity'?"
"The value of anything is defined by the effort it takes us to get it. And romance is the most valuable thing of all."
"That's one opinion. Me, I'd go for an iced bottle of Stolichnaya, an ounce of Red Leb and some peace and quiet."
"Jack is going through a difficult time. He has suffered an extreme emotional blow-"
"We've all got our problems."
— and a great deal is expected of him, more than he thinks he can possibly give. He is torn between the things he wants to do, the things his heart is telling him, and what he feels is the right thing to do."
"He's too wrapped up in this whole `heroes have to sacrifice' thing."
"Yes, he is." Shavi gave her a faint, comforting squeeze. "But he is a good, decent man. The best of all of us."
"I know that."
"Everyone knows it. Except Jack."
"And you're about to say I should cut him some slack."
"No. I am just saying this by way of explanation."
"You think I've done the wrong thing by getting in with him, don't you?" She looked round at him, but his gaze was fixed firmly away in the trees.
"I think your romance would have a better chance at a different time. There are so many obstacles being placed before it by external events."
She looked away so he couldn't see her face.
"But you know your heart better than I." He turned and stared at the back of her head, hoping she would look at him, but she kept the barriers up. "And if there is any lesson from all this hardship we are experiencing, it is that things are worth fighting for and fighting to the last, and tremendous things do happen."
"Who do you think he should be with?"
"I-" He struggled to find words that would not hurt her. "My opinion does not matter."
"It matters to me." When he didn't answer, she said in a barely audible voice, "He's my last chance."
"What do you mean?" he asked curiously.
"Nothing."
Shavi thought about what she said for a moment. "You are a good person," he stated firmly.
"No, I'm not. I'm a bad girl. And I've got coming to me what all bad girls get."
"No-"
Her face flared with long-repressed emotion. "Don't give me all that redemption shit! Don't even begin to tell me everything will turn out bright and sunny. That's not how it works!"
"It does in my world."
That brought her up sharp. She eyed him askance, then looked away, her expression so desolate with the flood of uncontrollable feelings and ideas that Shavi wanted to pull her tightly to him to comfort her.
But before he could act he caught a movement away in the trees. It was barely anything, a shift of a shadow among shadows in the gloom, and it could easily have been some small animal investigating the fire, but his instincts told him otherwise.
Laura felt his body stiffen. "What is it?" she asked, sensing his urgency.
"I do not know." He rose and advanced to the fire.
"Didn't you ever see Halloween?" she cautioned. "Don't go any further, dickhead."
"I am simply trying to see-" The words strangled in his throat in such an awful manner Laura didn't have to see his face to know he had glimpsed something terrible.
"What is it, for God's sake?" she hissed.
The fear surged into a hard lump in her chest, but it melted into burning ice when she saw him moving quickly away from the firelight into the dark.
"Don't go!" Her yell trailed away in dismay and disbelief. How could he be so stupid?
And then she was alone in that dismal place with the dark pressing tight around her, feeling small and weak in the face of all the awful things loose in the world. She couldn't bring herself to move even a finger. Instead, she strained to hear the sound of his returning footsteps, any sound from him that proved he was still alive. But there was nothing. Just the constant rustle of the leaves, the creak of branches under the wings of the wind, the rumble of the river; the lyrical sounds oppressed her. It was too noisy, too alive with nothing.
"Shavi," she whispered, more to comfort herself with the sound of a voice than in the hope he might hear. Don't do this to me, she wanted to say. I'm not strong enough to deal with this on my own.
She sat there for an age while she grew old and wizened. Her rigid muscles ached, her stomach was clenched so tightly she thought she was going to vomit or pass out. And still there was no sign of him. He could have been swallowed up, torn apart; there could be things feeding silently on his remains right then, waiting to finish their meal before moving on to her.
And then he suddenly lurched into the circle of light and all of it erupted out of her in a piercing scream.
"Don't worry," he croaked.
"You stupid bastard!" she shouted in a mixture of embarrassment and angry relief.
But then, as he clambered down next to her, she saw his normally dark, handsome features were grey and there was a strained expression which made him look fifteen years older. "What was out there?" she said, suddenly afraid once more.
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