They debated the matter as they limped through the remaining hours of night towards the motorway. Veitch was adamant he didn't want to follow any advice from Tom in case they were led into another trap, but Church felt Tom was telling the truth. He finally extracted a promise from him that he would tell them everything if they helped him, and that was enough of a spur to convince the others; without his information they were lost anyway.
Home for Tom was near Melrose on the Scottish borders, not far in terms of distance, but it might as well have been a million miles. The engine's insistent whine told them the van wouldn't last much longer, and even if they managed to get it fixed, the damage to the body was so bad the police would pull them over the moment they got on to the motorway.
When dawn finally broke and the landscape was transformed into a place they all recognised, they stopped at a small farm not far from the M6. The farmer was pleasant enough to suggest the nightmares they had experienced at the heart of the Lake District hadn't yet touched his borders. Even at that time of day he was a canny negotiator though, and he offered to give up his own battered Transit-a second vehicle that was at least ten years old and looked like it barely moved-only for Laura's portable PC. But at least his Transit was whole, and although the exhaust rattled noisily, it allowed them to continue on their way.
The day was already turning fine, with just a few streaky clouds on the horizon to mar the blue sky, but the atmosphere in the van was depressive. Although they had regained the talismans, they had paid a huge price. Laura looked sicker than ever, and they were worried she had developed an infection in some of the wounds; Church was concerned that if they didn't get her to a doctor soon she could become fatally ill. Veitch, Shavi and Church himself were all weakened from their experience and bore numerous wounds inflicted by the Baobhan Sith, with Witch's neck the worst. Church was convinced the Baobhan Sith had wanted to kill them, but whatever control Calatin exerted had somehow restrained them at the last. Only Ruth seemed to have the strength to continue, and Church could sense she had changed in some way he couldn't quite understand; she seemed far removed from the woman he had first encountered under Albert Bridge.
The journey up the M6 was uneventful, but their vigilance didn't waver; they knew either Calatin or Mollecht would be on their trail soon enough; however, their own little difficulties had been resolved, and with the Fomorii's shapeshifting abilities, everyone they encountered would have to be studied carefully.
Tom began to speak more freely as soon as he saw the others were behind him, even though Veitch appeared to be unable to forgive him. As they dissected their experiences in the Lake District, Tom chipped in with occasional pieces of information, about the Baobhan Sith, and about the Redcaps, whom he claimed used to stalk the Border counties in the days when man was first beginning to get a foothold on the island. The battles between the two were bloody, but the Redcaps were eventually driven back into the wildernesses, their numbers dwindling until they eventually retreated to Otherworld. He declined to answer any questions about how he came by the information.
They took the M6 past Carlisle and then crossed the border into Scotland and headed up to Galashiels. Heavy traffic on the motorway and the arterial road suggested an unshakable normality, which jarred with what they had witnessed in the Lakes. Tom told them to make the most of the facade; it would soon all change.
Melrose was a compact town below the Eildon Hills on the south bank of the Tweed, dominated by a twelfth century Cistercian abbey. They parked the van near the golf course and wearily stretched their legs; it seemed like weeks since they had slept. Tom claimed his original home had been in the nearby village of Earlston, but after his wanderings began he found a new and unspecified home in the hills.
Church surveyed the three volcanic peaks which seemed to rise to at least a thousand feet. "You're expecting us to climb up there?" he said incredulously. "Look at us-we're on our last legs. Laura can barely stand."
"You could always carry me in your big, strong masculine arms, Churchdude," Laura said ironically.
"Two of us could accompany Tom," Shavi suggested, but Church instantly vetoed the idea.
"After what happened in the Lake District, nobody should be isolated. We ought to stay together, and carry the talismans with us at all times until we get a chance to use them."
Laura levered herself into a sitting position. Her skin was so pale it was almost translucent and her hair was matted to her forehead. "There's a real stink of testosterone round here. Listen, don't wrap me in cotton wool-I'm not some fragile girlie. You might have to take baby steps, but I'll keep up with you." Church began to protest, but she pulled a tape measure from the tool box and threw it at his head. He ducked at the last moment, and when he saw her searching for more ammunition, he knew he would have to relent.
They took a path beside the golf course. Although the day was sunny, the air had a definite crispness. They passed slowly through gently inclining fields where cows grazed lazily before reaching the wooded lower slopes of the rounded hills. True to her word, Laura kept pace, but Church could see the effort and pain played out on her face; she never complained, nor asked for help. Yet the weakness that occasionally consumed her when they broke for rests gave him cause for concern; he could almost see her health deteriorating before his eyes.
As the afternoon drew on, grey clouds swept in from the northeast and the chill in the air took on a sharp edge. They became increasingly worried about being caught out in the hills in a storm, or not making it back before night fell.
"There's not a house in sight," Ruth said with breathless irritation as the steepness of the climb increased sharply. "If you're not having us on, where the hell do you expect to get any help?"
"Nearly there," Tom said without meeting her eye. He scanned the landscape before pointing to a hawthorn sapling thirty feet away. "The old tree died," he said cryptically, "but hawthorn always marks the spot."
When they got within ten feet, Tom broke into a run and dropped to his knees before the hawthorn, where he delicately bent forward and kissed the ground.
"It's eaten his brain," Veitch said.
"Wait, he's saying something under his breath," Ruth said anxiously. "He could be tricking us again."
Before they could move, there was a deep judder that reverberated deep within the hill and then the ground next to the hawthorn began to tear apart. They fell to their knees from the tremors and when next they looked there was a ragged slit in the earth big enough for them to walk through.
"Just like the tor!" Shavi said with wonder. "A passage to Otherworld!"
"I don't like this." Ruth plucked up the spear and held it ready for defence. "Who knows where that leads?"
"Wait. Look at Tom." Church ran to his side; he had fallen over backwards and was trying to crawl away from the doorway. Strain was etched on his face as he fought the urging of his body and there was blood once more around his nose and ears. "It's trying to stop him going in there!"
"Could be a double bluff," Veitch pointed out.
"Remember what happened at the tor," Ruth cautioned. "Time moves differently over there. We might come back and find we've missed the deadline."
Church ran back to the crate and took out the sword; it rang with inner vibrations as it touched his flesh. "I don't reckon we've got any choice. Let's get him inside."
Church grabbed one of Tom's arms while Veitch hooked the other and together they hauled him towards the rift. A wind howled out of it, carrying with it alien scents that made the hairs on their neck stand upright. For an instant they glanced at each other for support and then, without saying a word, they marched into the dark.
Church had expected a balmy summer landscape like the one they had encountered beneath the tor. Instead the passage brought them out on to a rocky mountainside shadowed by night, strewn with craggy boulders, thorny, windswept trees and bunches of gorse. A harsh wind howled around them and lightning flashed across the great arc of the sky, although there was no rain. T
hey bunched together for security, searching for any sign of where they were supposed to be going.
"Blimey. This is a bit different," Veitch said unsurely.
"Otherworld has as many different aspects as there are views." Tom raised himself up to his full height and looked around, a faint smile on his lips. He seemed transformed, at ease. "It's fluid. A world behind every doorway."
"How are you?" Church asked.
"As well as can be expected. The Caraprix isn't comfortable in this particular part of Otherworld-that's why it attempted to prevent me entering. It will hibernate until we leave."
"Where do we go?" Ruth asked. The mountainside disappeared down into darkness and it was impossible to make out anything of the landscape beyond.
Tom searched the night, then pointed just above the edge of a massive boulder which was keeping the worst of the wind off them. In the distance they could make out a flickering light.
"I hoped there would be someone here who escaped the Wish-Hex," Tom said. "If it were to happen anywhere, it would have been in this place. Come." He set off down the mountainside, keeping a surefooted control as he slipped and slid on the pebbles and exposed rock.
Before they could follow, Laura suddenly keeled over; Church lunged for her before she hit the hard ground, swinging her round into his arms. Her breathing was shallow and he could see the whites of her rolled eyes beneath her halfclosed lids.
Shavi took Laura's pulse at her neck. "We need to get her to a doctor very quickly," he said grimly.
Church looked round frantically, wishing someone else could take responsibility, hating his own ineptitude at leadership. "We've got to get her back-find a doctor in Melrose!"
"It's a long way down that hill," Veitch said doubtfully.
Tom stepped forward with an expression of surprising concern. "Our only hope is to go on. Otherwise she'll die."
"No!" Church tried to get a grip on her to carry her back to the doorway.
Tom placed a gentle hand on his forearm. "Believe me, I know she'll die if you try to take her back." There was an unnervingly confident insistence in his voice.
Church felt a sudden hopelessness sweep through him. "If you're lying and she dies, I'll kill you myself," he said quietly.
Veitch helped Church carry her, all of them hoping the light wasn't as far away as it looked, praying that Church had made the right decision; wondering whether Tom really was leading them into a trap. And all the while the strange electrical storm seemed to grow in intensity over their heads.
The light was coming from a torch in the front porch of an imposing building which resembled a mediaeval stone monastery, although one constructed into, and part of, the mountainside. Above the porch was a squat, three-storey tower topped by a weathervane in the shape of a dragon and a lightning rod. Behind it, the slate roof and the walls with the tall, arched, leaded windows went straight into the bedrock, almost as if the mountain had formed around it. Three steps led up to the porch, where they were confronted by a large oaken door, studded with black nails.
"Where is this place?" Church asked suspiciously.
Tom traced his fingers down one of the porch's stone columns. "Using the name you would understand, it is the Library of Ogma, wisest of all the Old Ones."
Church searched his memory for the dimly recollected reference. "In the myths he was supposed to have invented Ogham."
"That's the writing you thought was on the spear," Ruth said.
"A runic writing system. There's not much of it about, but it's the earliest form discovered in Ireland." Church looked at Tom, who was lost in thought. "One of the Danann?"
"His store of knowledge is vast. Chamber upon chamber, filling the entire mountain. If he were at the heart of it when the Wish-Hex struck, it should have afforded him some protection." Tom climbed the steps cautiously and hammered on the door.
"So he's good with words. How's he going to help us?" Veitch asked.
"Have respect," Tom cautioned; his tone suggested it was an imperative. "He bonded with Etain, daughter of the great healer Dian Cecht. In his constant search for great wisdom, he has archived all the knowledge they possess."
"That's not all." Church suddenly began to make connections. "He was also supposed to ferry the souls of the dead to Otherworld for a period of rest before they were reborn in our world." There was almost a prayer woven into his words. "Are there souls here?"
"So they say."
"Don't you know?" Church wanted to shake Tom, to stop his obfuscation; there was only one lost soul that mattered to him.
"I'm just human like you, Jack," Tom replied with some exasperation. "I'm not privy to the great scheme. I observe, I consider, but I'm not always correct in my assumptions. And the gods don't give up their wisdom freely, and certainly not any wisdom that matters."
"Typical bosses," Veitch muttered. "Keep the menials in the dark."
"Actually," Tom said tartly, "they presume, rightly, that we wouldn't be able to handle the truth."
"How very patrician of them," Ruth replied, just as acidly.
They were interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching the door. When it finally swung open silently, they all caught their breath at the figure revealed: for a second, different faces seemed to flicker across him, some almost too terrible to behold, before one settled that was kind and thoughtful. It reminded Church of Oscar Wilde; Ruth of Einstein; Veitch of the only teacher who ever tried to help him. He was wearing long flowing robes that were grey and almost metallic in the way they caught the light.
His gaze took them all in in a second, but a broad smile formed when it fell upon Tom. "Thomas!" he said warmly, in a voice that didn't seem to come from his mouth.
Tom bowed his head deferentially. "Wise One. We come to ask your help in these difficult times."
"Difficult times indeed. You have heard my brothers and sisters are scattered to the wind?" Tom nodded gravely. "The Night Walkers, you know." A rumble of what seemed like hate formed deep in his throat. "Only a few of us evaded the Wish-Hex. I have since heard murmurings of an attempt to locate my brethren and return them to me."
Tom motioned to the others. "And here are the searchers, Wise One. They need to be restored if they are to complete their task."
"And you, Thomas. I see you too need my ministrations."
Tom nodded, looked away uncomfortably.
Ogma turned to Laura, who was cold and still in Church's arms, her breathing barely noticeable. Gently, he ran his fingers over her face. His expression grew a little darker. "Her light is weak. I do not know if there is aught I can do for her."
"Please try," Church pleaded.
"It was always said Dian Cecht could bring even the dead to life," Tom interceded.
"But I am not Dian Cecht. And healing is not simply knowledge." There was a brief pause while Ogma seemed to consider the matter. Then: "Come, bring her. I will see what I can do."
The place smelled of candle wax and limes. They trailed behind Ogma as he led them through an endless maze of chambers filled from floor to ceiling with leatherbound books, some half as big as Church and as thick as his thigh, manuscripts and papyri tied with red ribbon as if they were legal briefs. But when Shavi held back to sneak a peek at one of the books, they appeared to contain only a brilliant white light.
Finally, after what seemed to them like an hour, they reached a series of chambers that were filled with rough wooden furniture, which Church guessed were Ogma's personal rooms. He laid Laura on a low bed and stroked the hair from her forehead.
As his fingers touched her flesh, her eyes flickered open and focused on him briefly. "I don't want to die," she said weakly. There was a sheen of panic in her eyes.
"Do something," Church implored Ogma.
If the god heeded, it didn't register on his face. He opened a large cabinet in one corner which was filled with jars and phials of powders, liquids and dried herbs. He selected a few, then began to mix them with a mortar and pestle on a heavy oa
k table. After a few moments of introspection, he seemed satisfied with a thick, reddish-brown salve, which he smeared on Laura's lips. It remained there for only a second before it was rapidly absorbed.
"Will that work?" Church asked anxiously.
Ogma fixed his curious eyes on Church, like an adult looking at a child. "We wait. If she has it within her, her light will shine again."
Church had to turn away from her then, barely able to cope with the painful emotions flooding him after so many months of numbness.
Ogma seemed to comprehend what was going through his head, and after cursorily examining Veitch and Shavi from a distance, he said, "Your own light wavers. You must all rest. Use my chambers as your own. There is food and drink-" Tom started, but said nothing. Ogma noted his concern and added, "It is given freely, without obligation."
This seemed to satisfy Tom. After Ogma left them to explore his rooms, Veitch asked, "What was that all about?"
"Never take food or drink in Otherworld, from anyone, unless you have their promise that it is given freely and without obligation. Otherwise, when the first drop or crumb touches your lips, you fall under the control of whomever has given it."
Veitch looked to the other three, puzzled. "Is that right? Or is he bullshitting again?"
"In the old tales," Shavi began, "anyone who crossed over to Faeryland had to avoid eating the faery food or they'd fall under the spell of the Faerie Queen."
"So is that where we are? Faeryland?" Veitch said incredulously.
"Get a grip, Ryan," Church replied wearily. "Let's find somewhere to crash."
In a nearby chamber, they found a room filled with sumptuous cushions, the harsh stone walls disguised by intricate tapestries. On a low table in the centre was an array of bowls filled with apples and oranges, some berries, tomatoes, and a selection of dried, spiced meats. A jug of wine and four goblets stood nearby.
Relishing the chance to rest their exhausted bodies, they fell on to the cushions, which were so soft and warm it was like they were floating on air. It was a difficult choice between sleeping or assuaging their pangs of hunger, but in the end the subtle aromas of the food won out. Yet as they ate and drank, they discovered their tiredness sloughing off them, and by the time they had finished their meal they felt as fully rested as if they had slept for hours. It provoked an animated conversation for a while, but Church had other things on his mind.
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