Always Forever

Chapter Nineteen

Save Sweeper was moored not far from Southend when Church came sweeping down from the northwest with the remainder of the Tuatha Df Danann force. The journey skirting Greater London and through the green fields of rural Essex had passed in a golden blur. He was accompanied by Tom, the Bone Inspector and Niamh, but he didn't recognise any of the other gods, although he sensed many of them were not sympathetic to the cause of the Fragile Creatures. He wondered why his particular task force was burdened with more dissenters than the other two, but Tom wasn't too concerned when he raised the matter.

On board it felt strangely good to be back in the familiar detachment of Otherworld with its heightened sensations, away from all the suffering of the real world. There was an atmosphere of stillness that eased the anxiety coiled in his chest; even the sun was shining brighter than on the shore. He made his way to the rail where he quietly enjoyed the tang of the sea and the warmth on his skin, until Tom joined him.

"You're going to bring me down, aren't you?" Church said without looking round.

"I'm the last person to advocate an injection of reality, but-"

"I know: responsibility, obligation, and all that. Is this the standard precrisis pep talk?"

"Something like that." Tom leaned against the rail, facing the sun, his eyes closed. "You know, I can remember the days of my youth as clearly as if they were yesterday. Hundreds of years-although it's not really, not by Otherworld time. But it's still a long, long time and so many experiences." He took a deep breath. "I smell the blossom in the garden of my childhood, so powerful, like incense and fruit wrapped up together. I remember distinctly the way the sunlight caught the dew on a spiderweb in an old yew tree, one dawn when I had crept out of the house before anyone had awoken. The rosewater on the neck of the first woman I ever loved. The touch of her fingers on the back of my neck." He shook his head dreamily. "Amazing."

Church watched Tom curiously. He had never heard him speak so tenderly, nor talk of any of the happy times in his human life before his transformation at the hands of the Tuatha De Danann Queen. It was as if he had wanted to keep them secure from the horrors that had assailed him since.

"Now I begin, for the first time in many years, the memories come thick and fast." Tom's eyes glistened in the sun. "Days of tenderness, composing songs and poems. Nights watching the stars over the Eildon Hills. My mother and father, at Christmas, leading the singing before the fire. My best friend James, playing hide-and-seek in the kitchens, then later courting the girls from the village together." He turned fully to Church with no attempt to hide his tears. "Remember your own bright moments, Jack, and hold them in your heart. They will keep you warm in the coldest nights."

"Why are you telling me these things?"

"Nothing I could say would help you to comprehend right now. You will understand everything presently."

Church tried to glean some insight from Tom's face, but he was taken aback to see it was packed with complex emotions. For so long, Tom had appeared to have no feeling in him at all; as inhuman as he always believed himself to be. It felt like a sea change had come over him, even in the last hour. "What's happened to you?"

"Time has come a-calling. Finally."

Church could see he was not going to get anything out of the Rhymer; infuriatingly, his friend's unexplained words worked their way deep into his mind, where they set off a troubling resonance.

While he wrestled with his thoughts, he scanned the deck where the crew busied themselves for departure. The main Tuatha De Danann force had all disappeared below with their weapons. Manannan stood at the wheel, overseeing the activity. He raised a hand in greeting when he saw Church.

"I hope you're telling him what a pathetic little runt he is." The Bone Inspector's gruff voice shattered the mood in an instant. He leaned on his staff, the wind whipping his grey hair.

Tom snapped, "No-"

"I was talking to him." The Bone Inspector nodded towards Church.

"Don't start with your useless prattling." Tom eyed him murderously.

"You may have been honoured by the Culture in the times of my ancestors, but that doesn't mean I can't give you a good whupping with my staff." The Bone Inspector underlined his point by twirling the staff around his arms as if it were alive.

"Great. Two old people fighting," Church muttered. "It'll be like watching your granny barge her way into the bread queue."

"Don't forget," Tom cautioned the Bone Inspector, "the Culture dies out with you." He smiled sadistically.

"Well, that's where you're wrong. I've been making some plans-"

"Don't you think that's a little premature?" Church said.

"You shut up and concentrate on your job, you lanky-arsed weasel." The Bone Inspector returned his attention to Tom, nodding superciliously. "Yes, I've been thinking. Now the seasons have turned and all the materialistic, logic-obsessed bastards have had a rude awakening, it might be time for a reflowering of the Culture. I can see the colleges now, maybe at Glastonbury and Anglesey, like we used to have in the old, old days. Passing on the wisdom to a new generation of bright-eyed-"

"You think you'd make a good teacher?" Tom sneered. "After all that time sleeping in ditches they'll need to hose you down with industrial cleaning fluid just to get somebody in a room with you."

The Bone Inspector scowled. "At least I know my arse from my elbow."

"Yes, but do you know your arse from your mouth? I think not."

Church sighed and made to pacify them, but they turned on him so venomously he backed away. "Okay, go ahead, knock yourself out," he said tartly. "Literally, if possible."

The bickering ended when Niamh walked over. Tom gave a restrained, deferential bow, but the Bone Inspector simply looked away, as if he were alone on deck and lost in a reverie.

"The Master is preparing to sail," she said. She glanced round to ensure she could not be overheard, then added quietly, "Taranis oversaw the arrival of a container brought aboard by Nuada's personal guard. It was stowed in a section of the hold where access is restricted only to the Master and Taranis. Those faithful to Nuada stand guard without."

"I think I saw it," Church said. "Was it a large wooden chest with bands of iron around it and a gold clasp?"

"That may be how you perceived it." Niamh looked from one to the other. "I believe it to be the Wish-Hex."

"They won't even let you near it?" Church asked.

She bit her lip. "I could attempt… It would cost…" She shook her head. "No matter. There is too much at stake."

Church looked to Tom. "When do you think they'll detonate it?"

"When it's close to Balor and they're well away."

"Not on board ship?"

"Good Lord, no!" Tom looked horrified. "And lose Wave Sweeper? This isn't just a collection of timber and nails, you know!"

Church took Niamh's hand and led her to one side. "I know this is hard for you, working against your own people, but if there's anything you can do-"

"Do not feel you have to ask anything of me, Jack. I do what I do freely because I believe in the rightness of this course. And I believe in you." She looked down at where her slim, cool hand still lay in his. "You have changed my existence, Jack. And to one of the Golden Ones, who are as constant as the stars, that is a humbling and profound thing."

"I don't see how I could have, Niamh," he protested. "I'm nothing out of the ordinary."

She leaned forward to kiss him gently on the cheek. "Things are coming to a head, Jack. All will be made clear soon."

Her smile was filled with such deep love he was left floundering. She turned and drifted away amongst the frantic activity of the crew, an oasis of calm and dignity.

The ship hove to soon after and made its way into the Estuary. Though it still remained a tranquil place, the strain on all who sailed was apparent. Tom rejoined Church at the prow, looking around nervously. "Now if we can get to that pep talk without any interruptions from that old curmudgeon…" He pointed to the makeshift rucksack hanging from Church's shoulder. "You have the Wayfinder?"

Church removed the old lantern with the flickering blue flame that had guided him through the earliest days of the mystery to show him. "But I don't know what use it's going to be. I was thinking of leaving it here. I don't want to be carrying any more weight than necessary."

Tom shook his head furiously. "There is still one talisman to find." His smile suggested this was another long-kept secret he was relieved to be revealing. "The biggest one of all."

"Where is it?"

"Somewhere near our destination. You recall when we summoned the Celtic dead for guidance in Scotland? They said: You must find the Luck of the Land if you are ever to unleash the true power of the people."

"Yes," Church said suspiciously, "and you said you had no idea what they were talking about."

"At that exact moment, I did not. But it came to me soon after. There was only one thing it could be."

Church bared his teeth. "And you didn't see fit to tell me until now?"

Tom shrugged dismissively. "The time was not right."

"Tom… "

"All right," he snapped. "I wanted only you to know. And I left it to this late stage because I did not want you to confide in any of the others, as you undoubtedly would have done with your various romantic liaisons," he added sniffily. "And then it would have been all over the place."

"All right. No need to act like my granddad."

"It is my role to be-"

"All right, all right! What is the bloody Luck of the Land?"

"The Luck of the Land is the severed head of Bran the Blessed. He was a great hero, and the closest of the Golden Ones to humanity. He knew about the destiny of the Fragile Creatures and he was even prepared to sacrifice himself to see us achieve it. The old stories tell how he was murdered by a poisoned arrow. On his deathbed, he told his followers to cut off his head, yet even removed, it could still eat and talk. It was brought back to London and buried beneath the Tower, where it became the source of the land's power. Of humanity's power. Another myth said King Arthur sought it out as the source of his own strength. You can see the symbolism."

"So it's linked directly to the Blue Fire? That's what all the Arthur myths mean, isn't it?"

"Correct."

Church looked out at the quiet, dead countryside that bordered the river. "But what can it do?"

"The Celts revered severed heads, believing them to have great magical power. In their view, the head is the source of the soul. They knew the truth at the heart of this legend. And don't forget…"

"… myths and legends are the secret history of the land. I'll be happy when I don't hear that phrase again."

"The head has great power, both in real terms, and symbolically. It encompasses everything you have discovered about the Blue Fire."

"So, in the day and a half we have left, we have to avoid Balor and about a million Fomorii in the heart of their power, locate this head somewhere under the Tower of London-like it's going to be just lying around ready to be picked up-and then find some way to use it or activate it or whatever the hell you're supposed to do with it?"

"Well, you didn't expect it to be easy, did you?" Tom said curtly. "If you only had to waltz in there and chop off a head or two they could have got anyone to do it."

"I'll take that as a vote of confidence," Church said moodily.

All that remained of the Thames Barrier flood defence system were columns of concrete and twisted steel jutting out of the slow-moving water. It looked as if it had been smashed into pieces by a giant fist. The rubble just beneath the surface formed a treacherous defence that would have sunk most ships coming up the river, but Manannan's magical skill picked the only path through. It slowed them down a little, but they were still on course to be in the heart of London by noon.

As they progressed further into the eastern fringes of the capital, the mood on Wave Sweeper darkened considerably. The pleasant sunshine was soon blocked out by continually rolling black clouds whipped by the powerful winds circulating the city. It brought the temperature down several degrees while adding a permanent gloom to the cityscape. Vast swathes of southeast London were burning, bringing huge clouds of smoke rolling across the river. Church fastened a scarf across his mouth, but the foul smell of charred plastics and rubber still stung his throat.

As he saw the city up close for the first time, Church thought of all the people he knew who lived there, his old friends, like Dale, who had done so much to try to lift his spirits in the dark weeks after Marianne's death. Had they survived? Had they suffered? It was too depressing to consider, and he was almost pleased when Tom grunted, "Not as bad as the Great Fire."

"Things always were better in the good old days, weren't they?"

The ship suddenly lurched dramatically to the starboard. Church gripped the rail to avoid being thrown into the grey waters. A second later it was swinging back the other way. "What's going on?" he shouted over the wild activity that had erupted on deck. The crew struggled to restrain any item that wasn't lashed down, while Manannan fought with the wheel to keep Wave Sweeper steady.

Tom pointed into the water further upstream. A black, sinuous shape stitched white surf into boiling water.

"Their guard dog," Tom said.

"Dogs," Church corrected. Two more serpentine shapes rolled in the waves. Their attacks were throwing up so much backwash the ship was buffeted back and forth. They were tiny compared to the monster that had attempted to sink Wave Sweeper in Otherworld, but their speed and random, darting movements made them equally dangerous.

The ship sloughed towards the north bank before executing a sharp turn towards the south, rapid manoeuvres that no real-world craft would ever be able to complete. Members of the crew sprawled across the desk, clutching for handholds. Church and Tom were drenched by the eruptions of water as the serpents threw themselves against the sides, either in an attempt to hole the ship or to turn it over.

A shadow fell across them. Church knew what it was before he looked up. The serpent's head towered over them, the same terrifying features he had glimpsed in the sea off Skye: a flattened cobra head, yellowish eyes glowing with an alien intelligence, strange whiskers like a catfish tufting from its mouth, which contained several rows of lethal teeth.

It hovered for a second or two, during which time Church felt the faintest contact with an intelligence that fizzed in the back of his head. He knew what it was going to do before the head darted down towards them, jaws prised wide. Church rolled over and pulled the Sword from its scabbard, jabbing it upwards towards the descending darkness. It impaled the head as if it were slipping through crude oil. The serpent made a high-pitched mechanical whine as it thrashed madly. Church felt an electric jolt in that deep connection the serpent had made with him. An instant later it transformed into a searing scream. Caledfwlch's particular powers ensured that death always resulted from the slightest injury it inflicted.

Church tried to retreat from the bond the serpent had made with him, but it was locked in place. He felt its life force flare briefly, then dwindle down into a dark tunnel before finally winking out. Its body slipped back into the water, lifeless.

The shock of feeling the beast's final moment left Church dazed and distressed. Tom shook him roughly to bring him round, but the sensations stayed with him like a shadow in his subconscious.

Wave Sweeper continued to lurch from side to side. By then the Tuatha De Danann forces had made it on to the deck with several silver weapons resembling harpoons plugged into grenade launchers. Three of them manhandled one to the rail and launched it.

Lightning crackled out across the water. It headed towards the north bank, and then made an unnatural dogleg to the right to strike one of the serpents as it attempted to dive. The creature burst from the water, stinking foully as it charred. A moment later, its shrivelled form drifted downstream.

The remaining serpent was retreating as the Tuatha De Danann struck. It was eradicated just as quickly.

Tom saw Church eyeing the weapons cautiously. "Yes," he said. "They are too powerful to be in hands that cannot be trusted."

Manannan forged on quickly along the centre of the channel. Church watched the banks intently, but he could see no sign of any Fomorii threat. Yet the air of incipient danger grew more and more intense until deep, rhythmic vibrations began to run through Church's legs; it was accompanied by a distant noise, almost too low to be heard beneath the wind. Something about it made his stomach turn. "What is that?" he asked.

Tom stared into the water darkly. "The beating of Balor's heart." The wind whipped at him.

Soon after the smoke and river fog closed in around the ship, limiting vision to a few yards ahead. Manannan let Wave Sweeper drift slowly. The crew remained silent, listening intently for any sound of attack.

Thoom. Thoora. Thoom. The beating had grown a little louder. Church felt it in the pit of his stomach.

And then the obscuring mists parted and Church's blood ran cold. A black tower soared up from the northern bank, its top lost in the clouds above. It rested on the remnants of the Tower of London, the ancient fortress that symbolised the defence of the nation, and was constructed like a termite nest from rubble, crushed vehicles, plastics, household refuse, girders torn from other buildings and anything else that came to hand. Slowly Church looked up the structure as far as he could see. Fires blazed at various points, some inside seen through ragged windows, some on the surface where the leftovers of the twenty-first century still burned. It was a sinister mockery of the gleaming skyscrapers that rose out of the City's financial district only yards away, another source of unbridled power.

As he watched, there was movement through the windows and a second later winged Fomorii burst out in a massive swarm. They swooped up as one, then hurtled down towards Wave Sweeper.

The Tuatha lle Danann were prepared. The harpoons that had made short shrift of the serpents were hooked upwards and unleashed. Lightning crackled across the sky, tearing holes in the Fomorii swarm before the harpoons were drawn back, reloaded and fired again.

Some of the Fomorii made it through and engaged with the Tuatha De Danann in fierce fighting across the deck. Church ran into the fray wielding Caledfwlch. Wherever he went the Tuatha De Danann stepped aside deferentially. The Fomorii he encountered shrivelled in the air like dry autumn leaves and fluttered into nothingness on the wet boards.

But the Fomorii were proving too numerous. Many of the Tuatha lle Danann were driven over the rails into the river or carried off into the black tower to meet an undoubtedly hideous fate. Others were torn apart as the winged menace descended on them like raptors. Manannan kept the ship going at full speed, steering it as far towards the south bank as he could without running aground.

A difficult course had to be navigated through the remains of the shattered bridges-London, Southwark, Blackfriars and Waterloo-but eventually they rounded a bend in the river and the swarms of Fomorii began to fall back.

Finally, the aerial assault ended. Church slumped against the mast, exhausted. "I can't believe they've left us alone."

Tom, who had kept well out of the trouble, replied, "It is just a lull, a regrouping. They will be back in force soon."

"Then we better get to where we're going quickly."

The parade of broken bridges continued apace: Westminster, Lambeth, Vauxhall, Chelsea. But then the familiar site of the Battersea Park Peace Pagoda loomed up out of the smoke, reminding Church of Sundays spent walking there with Marianne. Finally the remains of Albert Bridge came into view, as misty as the day when it all started for Church so many months before.

He felt a brief frisson as the images flooded into his mind: the figure washing his head in the water, the first meeting with Ruth, the trip beneath the bridge and his first encounter with one of the Fomorii before it murdered Maurice Gibbons.

"If I'd known then what I know now…" he said.

"Be thankful you don't know what lies ahead," Tom said darkly.

As they prepared to drop anchor, Church headed below deck to find Niamh so he could say goodbye to her; he felt he owed her that at least. He searched for fifteen minutes with a number of Tuatha De Danann pointing him this way and that. Eventually he saw her emerging from a cabin in an area set aside for the Tuatha De Danann force. He called her name and was instantly surprised by what he saw on her face: unmistakable shame. She attempted to walk away as if she had not heard him, then thought better of it.

"What's wrong?" he asked, honestly concerned.

She forced a smile before leading him away from the door a few paces. "I will be allowed to accompany the small group Nuada has placed in charge of the Wish-Hex."

"To Balor? I don't think I like that. You'd be better off here."

"Why? Because you think I have not been in a dangerous situation before?"

"No, because I don't want you to get hurt." He shrugged, uncomfortable at the open way she was watching him. "The others I don't care about-"

She placed a hand on his forearm to stop him. "That makes it all worthwhile, Jack. There is no need to say any more. But I must come, for the WishHex is now my responsibility, and your survival is my responsibility. If I am not there, you may die."

"Maybe-"

"That is the way it is."

The door swung open on the cabin Niamh had just exited and one of Nuada's lieutenants swaggered out. He cast a glance at Niamh, then moved lazily towards the stairs.

Church looked from him into Niamh's face, but he couldn't find the words to express the thoughts that were suddenly falling into place.

She saved him the trouble. "We all do what we can, Jack."

Deeply troubled at what he had forced upon her, Church made his way back to the deck where Tom and the Bone Inspector were waiting for him. They would be going ashore with a small group of Tuatha De Danann briefed by Nuada before he'd left with Lugh and Veitch. Another group would remain to guard the entrance to the tunnels so no Fomorii could come up behind them, while the remainder would stay on board Wave Sweeper to take the fight back to the enemy, as a distracting ploy more than anything.

"I want to know who's in charge," the Bone Inspector said. He patently wasn't going to accept any answer that included the Tuatha lle llanann.

"The Brother of Dragons will lead the way," Taranis said in his usual aloof manner. "However, the Golden Ones who will be accompanying you must be free to follow their own hearts if the need arises."

Church knew what that meant-they must be free to sneak off to unleash the Wish-Hex.

While they prepared for a boat to be lowered, no one noticed the dark figure slip out from the place where he had been hiding for so long, living on the blood and meat of rats and other foul creatures. Nor did they hear the faint splash as he slipped into the cold water and swam quickly to the shore. Callow had bided his time well and now things were working out better than he could have dreamed.

The area beneath the bridge gave Church an uncomfortable feeling. Despite the fact that most of the span was missing, it was still uncommonly dark. An unpleasant atmosphere set his nerves on edge.

The Tuatha lle Danann stood back to allow Church to search for an opening. They gathered protectively around the large chest that he knew contained the Wish-Hex. Niamh was with them, pretending to be aloof from the Fragile Creatures.

"I don't know how I'm going to find this," he said after five minutes wandering around the featureless area.

The Bone Inspector swore profusely. "Call yourself a leader of men?" He marched past Church and rammed his staff against a stone set into the wall on which the bridge's foundations were set. The ground fell away with a ghostly silence. "After you," he said sarcastically.

The tunnel was rough hewn, dripping with water that ran in rivulets along the edges. It was only wide enough for two people to walk side by side, though the ceiling was high enough to accommodate the Fomorii bulk. It sloped down quickly into deep shadows. Tom lit a torch they had brought with them, as did one of the Tuatha De Danann.

Then, when they had all steeled themselves, Church and Tom led the way, with the Bone Inspector close behind and the rest coming up at a distance as if they were barely connected.

When the tension of entering enemy territory had ebbed a little, the thought that had been troubling Church the most rose to the surface. "I've just been talking to Niamh," he whispered to Tom. "I got a hint she knows what's going to happen."

"They all do."

"I don't get it. How does that work? Even you, you're always talking darkly about what the future holds like you know it inside out."

Tom said nothing, but Church wasn't prepared to let it lie. This was fundamental.

"If everything is set in stone," he stressed to get a reaction, "what's the point?"

"It isn't like that."

"Then what is it like?"

Tom sighed. "It is beyond your perception."

"Then put it in simple terms. For a stupid old country boy." Church thought about adding a few choice words, but decided it would be unproductive.

"Those who can see the future-although that's really not the right term for it-see it as a series of snapshots, not as a movie. Sometimes there is no context. Sometimes the photos are out of order. Reading meaning in them is a dangerous business. You recall, I described it once as catching glimpses from the window of a speeding car."

"But it's still fixed."

"Nothing is fixed. Anywhere."

Church cursed quietly. "Just give it to me straight, instead of packaged around your usual-"

"Everything can be changed by the will of a strong individual. One man. Or woman. There are no rules, not at the level the great thinkers of humanity examined, anyway. Only the illusion of rules. The future runs right on like a river, but it can be turned back by someone with the right heart and drive and state of mind. What the old storybooks laughingly call a hero. The Tuatha De Danann pretend they know everything that's going to happen and that has happened, pretend it even to themselves, but you can see from the way they've been acting in the last few hours that in their hearts they know the truth. What they perceive might not turn out to be the way it appears, or perhaps they have missed part of the equation. Or perhaps someone like you will come along. There is a reason for free will, jack."

Church thought about this for several minutes. It gave him a deep feeling of comfort, although he couldn't quite tell why. "Then you don't really know anything."

Tom remained silent for a long, uncomfortable moment. "That's not quite true. Some things are so weighed down by the monumental events around them that they might as well be set in stone."

However much Church questioned him about this, he would say no more. But Tom's words had set other thoughts in motion. Barely daring to ask, he said firmly, "Do you know who's going to betray us?"

Tom kept his eyes fixed firmly ahead.

"You do, don't you?" His anger rose quickly. After all the months of worry, Tom could have told them at any time. "Why didn't you say something? You know it could mean everything might fall apart! You've got to tell me!"

"I can't." Tom's face was unreadable.

"Even with the potential repercussions? Why not? Do you want to see us suffer?"

Tom rounded on him furiously. "Of course not! I can't tell you because there's too much that might be changed."

"How long have you known?"

"I've always known."

"Always?"

"Always. And if you'd been paying attention, you would have known too."

The words were like a slap to the face. In the space between seconds, a million memories flashed across his mind as he turned over everything he had seen and heard over the previous months. Had he missed something? Had he screwed up again? "I guess I'll know soon enough," he said with bitter resignation. "I just hope you can live with yourself when it comes out."

The tunnel followed an undulating path, the changes in the air pressure telling Church it regularly ran under the river. He had taken to holding the Wayfinder permanently aloft so the walls were painted with a sapphire wash. The tiny blue flame gave him a measure of encouragement in that dark place, and raised the spirits of Tom and the Bone Inspector too. The flame pointed dead ahead.

"Why didn't it lead us to the head before?" Church asked.

"Because it is responding to what you hold in your heart," Tom replied.

"It's alive?"

"As much as anything can be said to be alive, yes."

When they'd been walking an hour or more, the Wayfinder flame began to grow brighter. At the same time, the unnerving background beat became rapidly louder. Within ten minutes it was coming through the walls all around-BADOOM, BA-DOOM-a war drum marking their passage to disaster.

Two and a half hours later, the tunnel rose up, while at the same time becoming more formed, with props and stone lining the walls. The Wayfinder's flame had started to point away from the main route of the tunnel so that when they came to a large oaken door Church was prepared for it.

"Looks like we're here," he said. The door was locked, but Caledfwlch sliced through the rusty iron mechanism easily. Church looked around at the others. Tom and the Bone Inspector were grim faced, the Tuatha De Danann impassive, Niamh concerned and colourless; they all nodded.

He yanked open the door.

It felt like they had walked into a foundry. After the chill of the tunnel, the heat was stifling, the air suffused with the smell of acrid smoke that caught the back of their throats. The thunder of Balor's heart was almost deafening.

The stone walls and flagged floor suggested they were somewhere in the lowest level of the Tower of London. The Bone Inspector breathed deeply, despite the atmosphere. "Can you feel it? Ancient power, even though those bastards have tried to pervert it. I haven't been here for years-too many people. Should have come back sooner." He looked at Church. "This place was sacred long before they threw up this mountain of stone over the top of it. If any place can be called the heart of the country, it's here."

The Tuatha De Danann set the chest containing the Wish-Hex down in the middle of the room. "What is in that box?" Church said mockingly. Nuada's lieutenant didn't reply, didn't even acknowledge he had spoken. Church caught Niamh's eye as he turned back to the others and she gave him a secret nod. "We need to move quickly," he continued. "They might already know we're here-"

"The Wayfinder will blind Balor's perception to you, at least for a while," Tom said. "And if you hadn't brought the energy flow back to life at St. Michael's Mount you wouldn't be here at all."

Church made to follow the lantern's flame until he saw the Tuatha De Danann were not moving. "We shall wait here," Nuada's lieutenant said.

"I'd say we've got even less time than we thought," Church said under his breath to Tom and the Bone Inspector as they left the room.

The seething heat had them all red-faced and soaked in sweat before they had got very far along the maze of once-dank corridors. Church had visited the Tower before and had never seen any sign of that area, so he guessed it must lie beneath the zone normally open to the tourists. He had the Sword at the ready, but the entire lower level was deserted.

"They're all up top throwing rocks at the boat," the Bone Inspector said, but Church wasn't convinced.

The Wayfinder led them to a short corridor that ended in a dead end. At first sight there was nothing out of the ordinary, but then Church allowed his perceptions to shift until he could see the lines of Blue Fire running through the stone like veins, converging into the circular design of a serpent eating its own tail. He steeled himself, then placed his hand hard on the pattern. The wall ground open to reveal a shaft plunging down into the earth, the bottom lost in shadows.

The Bone Inspector leaned in to inspect it. "There are handholds cut into the stone." He tucked his staff into the back of his shirt and levered himself over the lip. "Don't know why they made these things so bloody lethal. One slip and there'll be a mess on the floor."

The Bone Inspector had disappeared from view and Tom was just about to follow when they heard the faintest sound behind them. They spun round to find the corridor filled with Fomorii. And at the head of them was a frantically fluttering mass of crows.

Church had sheathed Caledfwlch to open the doorway, but it was back in his hand in an instant. Before the first Fomorii could move, he was advancing quickly, swinging the Sword back and forth in an arc. His target was Mollecht, the leader, the most powerful. Faced with the enemy, the Sword was even more alive in his hands than he recalled. Its subtle shifts of weight forced his hand in different directions to make the most exacting of strikes, while at times he felt it squirm so hard it almost leapt from his fingers.

But before he had gone three paces, the Fomorii had closed around Mollecht to protect him. They were obviously aware of Caledfwlch's abilities, but they showed no sign of self-preservation at all. Church carved through them as they flooded forwards ceaselessly, the bodies falling then shrivelling to nothing at each cut of the blade.

Sweat rolled off him as he hacked and lunged in the sweltering heat. Eventually he began to make some headway. Soon he could see Mollecht once more, directing the Fomorii silently. It was enough to drive him to renew his efforts. He hit one high, spun round and caught another low, and then took out three with one blow. And then Mollecht stood before him once more.

But the hideous creature was prepared. As the final Fomorii fell away, Church saw the birds moving aside to open a hole that revealed the entity inside; his mind was as unable to accept it as the first time he had witnessed it at Tintagel. The energy inside the hole was already swirling and on the brink of erupting.

Tom thrust Church out of the way. The blast hit the Rhymer full on and within a second the blood was starting to seep through his pores. Church had no time to help. The Sword was tugging at his hand, as aware of the opportunity as Church himself. Mollecht had drained himself. It would be a moment or two before he had the strength to make another attack, or even to defend himself. The hole was already closing. Church drove the Sword horizontally towards the centre of it. The creature would be skewered, finally.

The dark shape exploded out of nowhere. Church only caught the briefest glimpse out of the corner of his eye before it slammed into him with force, knocking him to the hard stone floor. Caledfwlch went flying from his grip.

"Do I have to do everything round here?"

The voice stunned Church just enough to hamper his reactions, and by that time a figure had jumped on to his chest, pinning his arms over his head. He found himself looking up into the monstrous black-veined face of Callow. He was gloating in every fibre of his being.

"I want your finger, Mr. Churchill, and I want it at the knuckle. I've decided to make a necklace," Callow said gleefully.

And then the Fomorii were all around him, swamping him in darkness.

Church came round in a place that was dark and so unbearably hot he thought he was going to choke. Twisted leather bonds bound him to a splintered table fastened to an iron gear system that angled it forty-five degrees from the upright. Aches and bruises buzzed in his limbs, but beyond that he was in one piece. Scant, scarlet light was provided by a glowing brazier in one corner. As his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, he saw with a sickening chill where he was. Cruel, sharp implements hung from a rack on one wall, reminding Church how adept the Fomorii were at torture.

The thought was knocked aside by the blunt realisation that he had failed, at the very last, after so many obstacles had been overcome; and that it wasn't even he alone who would pay the price. It was all of humanity, everyone he had ever loved.

He tore at the bonds until he was disturbed by a low groan away to his right. The figure lay like a bundle of old rags in a slowly growing pool of blood. The moonlight glow of his skin, tinged blue at his fingers, told Church he was dying. "Can you hear me?" Church asked gently.

There was no reply or movement for a second or two and then Tom tried to lever himself up on his elbow before slipping back. He made two more attempts and then managed to roll on to his back so he could look at Church. His face was covered with blood still seeping from his pores. Church felt a wash of despair.

"If there's anything you want to get off your chest, now's the time to do it," Tom said gruffly, though his voice could barely be heard above the thunderous heartbeat.

"You saved my life."

"Lot of good it did you."

"I'm sorry," Church said, "I let you down. If only I'd moved quicker."

"Nonsense." Tom coughed violently. "You have exceeded my wildest expectations. From the first time we met I could see you were the right man for the job. Oh, I know I never said it-couldn't have you getting a big head-but you were the best possible choice, Jack. The very best."

"I wish you'd said that before." Church closed his eyes, trying to deal with all the acute emotions bubbling through him. "I've still failed, though."

"You're breathing, aren't you?"

A thought sparked in Church's still awakening mind; he looked around as best he could. "Hang on. Just you and me?"

"So it seems." There was a note of caution in Tom's voice not to say any more.

Church knew how resilient the Bone Inspector was. If he had managed to evade the Fomorii, there was still a slim chance. "How long was I out?" he said with renewed enthusiasm.

"I would say it's getting on for dawn. Not long to the feast of Samhain. The gates will be opening soon. The Heart of Shadows will get all the power he needs." He coughed then added quickly, "Don't mention its name. Not here, not this close to it. The repercussions might be…" His voice faded.

"The Sword?"

"Behind you. And the Wayfinder. They can't touch them, you know, even with the massive advances in their power. They have to rely on Callow."

"That bastard. I was convinced he'd died on Wave Sweeper. He's like a cockroach-stamp on him and he just keeps on running."

"If you get free…" Tom gave a hacking wet cough "… you must use the Wayfinder."

"To find what? The head?"

"No. Think of the symbolism. What it means. It is a lantern that will light your way to the true path. It has a direct access to the source of the Blue Fire. I always told you to keep it close to you because…" Another cough; something splattered on the stone "… it's more important than you thought."

Tom fell silent; Church couldn't even hear his ragged breathing any more. "Tom?" he called out, fearing the worst.

"Yes. I'm here. It's nearly time."

"For what?"

"Remember what I said to you. On the ship. About keeping your memories close to you. They're your Wayfinder, Jack."

Tears stung Church's eyes. "Just hang on-"

"No. This is no surprise to me. I've had the chance to prepare myself."

Church forced himself to keep his voice steady. "How long have you known?"

"A long time. Longer than you've been alive."

Church couldn't begin to imagine how that could have been: to know when your death would be, to have the shadow falling over your whole life, yet still managing to keep going, to make friends, to care for people. It threw all of Tom's difficult character into a new light. Church was overwhelmed with guilt at the bad things he had thought of his friend, certainly in the early days, and all the harsh words he had ever said. There was so much he still wanted to say. Despite their prickly relationship, Tom had been an excellent teacher, and a father figure and the best of friends; he had made a deep and lasting impact on Church's life.

Tom appeared to know what Church was thinking. "I've had a long life, Jack. Too long. Too much pain and suffering. I'm looking forward to moving on."

"I'm sorry these last few months have been so hard for you."

"They have been hard, but they have also been some of the best months of my life. I've learnt a lot from all of you, Jack. You reminded me of all those things I thought I'd lost when the Queen got her hands on me. For centuries I thought I'd become less than a man. But you-all of you-showed me the truth. And now it doesn't matter what the Queen's games did to my body, because the thing that really counts, my humanity, comes from somewhere else. And it's still there."

Tom coughed again, and this time it sounded like the fit wasn't going to stop. When it did finally end, he was noticeably weaker. His eyelids fluttered half-closed; his skin grew ashen.

"Tom," Church pleaded futilely. He had always been so flawed and weak compared to the heroic legends of Thomas the Rhymer, but in truth his heroism was even greater; deeper and more complex than the shining, courageous myth, infinitely more worthy, because it came from the best of humanity.

"The spiderweb." The Rhymer's voice was a papery rustle. "Diamonds all along it. Little worlds." Another cough, slow and laboured. "Beautiful, little worlds."

And then there was silence and a heavy stillness.

His eyes burning, Church rested his head on the hard wood. He would miss his old friend immeasurably.

His sorrow had turned to a cold, hard anger when the door swung open and Mollecht entered, flanked by three Fomorii guards. Behind them, Callow danced a little jig. Mollecht led the Fomorii to the array of torture tools, ignoring Church completely.

"They're going to punish you, you know." Callow moved across the floor in a manner that reminded Church more of an insect; insanity burned bright in his eyes.

"I'd call you crazy if it wasn't stating the obvious," Church said. "Throwing your lot in with these bastards again, after all they've done to you. Do you think they'll give you what you want?"

Callow cast a sly, admiring glance towards the mass of flapping birds. "Oh yes, oh yes. My new best friend."

"I had some sympathy for you, Callow, but it was misplaced. You aren't how you are because you didn't get the breaks in life. There have always been too many people like you, blaming everybody and everything for their suffering because they're too weak to face up to the selfishness or the greed that drove them into bad situations. Doing the right thing is difficult, and there's always some kind of hardship, but it pays off-for yourself, for society, for humanity. You were just too lacking to go down that road. Too pathetic. You wanted things for yourself and you wanted them quick and easy. Face up to it, Callow. All your misery in your life is because of the choices you made."

"No!" Callow protested childishly. "Nobody looked after me! I never had what others had!"

"You said it yourself, the first time we met. Longfellow, wasn't it?" Church drove the nail home harder, enjoying every blow.

"Shut up!" Callow covered his ears.

"In ourselves, are triumph and defeat."

"No!" He ran over and kicked Tom's body hard, then looked to Church for a reaction.

"He can't feel it, you know," Church said. "He's away taking a rest from this big mess. It's all of us left behind who still get to feel the pain."

Callow scuttled forward to Church's side so he could whisper in his ear, "And that's just what you'll get, old boy. Once he's finished with you"-he pointed to Mollecht-"I'll have my finger."

Mollecht completed whatever task he had been carrying out on the other side of the room and turned back. Church couldn't tell if it was his imagination, but the crows appeared to fly even faster, like a heart speeding up at the anticipation of pleasure.

"Enjoy it while it lasts," Callow whispered gleefully.

The three Fomorii guards were each carrying one of the cruel-looking implements; Church tried not to look at them, nor to think what damage they could wreak on his frail body.

Close up the sound of flapping wings was deafening, the smell of the birds potent. Church couldn't comprehend how they could fly so fast, so close together without once crashing.

Callow sloped back to the far corner of the room, obviously unnerved by Mollecht, even though he considered him an ally. The Fomorii guards roughly flipped the board back so it was horizontal, and Mollecht moved to stand at the head, where his presence was oppressive, but only partly seen. Two Fomorii positioned themselves on Church's right, one over his knee joint, the other close to his hand. The third Fomorii moved in on his left and held a rod tipped with a corkscrew over his groin; Church remembered that one well from the tunnels beneath Dartmoor.

Something was happening with Mollecht, although it was impossible to see exactly what. Church had a sense that the birds were moving their formation slightly; he could feel the air currents from their wings on his forehead. A moment later an unpleasant sucking sensation throbbed deep in his head, though he was sure it was not physical.

He writhed on the table in an attempt to shake it off, but it grew more and more intense until he felt something deep in him rushing out. There was a moment of utter darkness and then the torture room was gone, although he felt his body still lying in it. Everything was infused with intense, smoky colours, unreal, like a distorted Technicolor film from the sixties. A large, armoured insect appeared to be crawling around the inside of his head. His whole being recoiled; it was the mind of Mollecht.

Church had flashes of a nightmarish landscape where threatening creatures loomed up before receding in speeded-up motion. There was a shift and he glimpsed a building as big as a mountain made of black glass. Another shift and he was inside, in a room as dark as the deepest well despite a brazier glowing a dull red in one corner. One of the Fomorii stood hunched over the hot coals pouring some dust on to them from a glass philtre. This Fomor-whom Church knew was Mollecht-was a half-breed, just like Calatin, but while Calatin had more of the Tuatha De Danann in his physical appearance, Mollecht was closer to the grotesque Night Crawlers.

As the dust fell on the coals, a cloud of smoke rose up in purples and reds. Church had a sudden sense of a great Evil, greater even than Balor, lying somewhere on the edge of the universe. He felt its attention turn on him/them, and was convinced he was going to die from dread.

The smoke billowed with a life of its own. Finally it folded back and out of it flew the murder of crows, although there was something sickeningly alien about them; they were much larger, their eyes glittering red, and Church could sense in them an awful intelligence. They fell on Mollecht, pecking at his skin with blades as sharp as razor blades, tearing through flesh and bone.

As Mollecht fell to his knees, he howled in the insane monkey-gibbering way of the Fomorii, but there was nothing he could do to fend them off. At the same time as they ate him alive, they spun a chartreuse web, like spiders, that coagulated, folding within his body to make another form. As he shrank, it grew, not as large but more powerful, and when he was completely gone, it lay there, infinitely more hideous, both within and without. It was so fragile it threatened to fall apart in an instant, but the crows began to fly, faster and faster, weaving a binding spell that created a network of restraining energy. And when it opened its eyes…

The shock jolted Church out of the trance state; he would never, ever forget the sickness of seeing the world through Mollecht's eyes.

Mollecht retreated from his head and moved to where he could direct proceedings.

"Have you lost hope yet?" Callow jeered from the other side of the room.

"Mollecht belongs to something else," Church gasped. "He wants to challenge Balor."

All the Fomorii stopped; Callow dropped to his knees whimpering. The air pressure in the room fell; a wind rushed through it. Church was aware of a presence in the room, unbearably threatening; fear surged through him. It was only there for a second or two before moving on, but it left deep scars on his mind.

Somehow he forced himself to speak. "Where is-"

"Don't say the name!" Callow pleaded.

"Where is he?"

Church thought Callow was going to cry. He looked around in terror. "Don't you know? You are inside him."

Church had no time to ask what that meant. The crows that made up Mollecht shifted their formation; a signal. The Fomorii moved in with the torture instruments.

Before any of them could hurt him, there was another drop in air pressure, only this one felt different: Church's nerve endings tingled, warmth flooded into his limbs. The Fomorii felt it too, for they looked towards the door as one. Mollecht backed away.

The door was growing a dim blue, distinct in the darkness of the room, and it was from there that the electric atmosphere was flooding. Mollecht let out a series of barks and yelps. The Fomorii guards threw away the torture instruments and pulled out their swords, but before they reached the door, the blue glow became noticeably brighter and a resonant hum filled the room. An instant later the door exploded in thousands of shards. Church was close enough to the blast to have been torn to pieces by the flying wood, but nothing touched him at all.

When he looked back he was confronted with a miraculous sight. On the stone floor outside the door was a severed head. It was the source of the brilliant blue glow that now flooded the room. The head of Bran, the Luck of the Land; the god who had sacrificed himself for the sake of humanity. Church could make out long, flowing hair, but where the eyes and mouth should have been there were only holes out of which the blue light streamed. The most unnerving thing was that the head appeared to be still alive. Its mouth moved, the muscles on its cheeks twitched, the eyes grew wider and then narrowed.

The Fomorii guards hesitated, but another command from Mollecht drove them on. They barely had time to move. The light became a river of surging Blue Fire rushing towards them. Church was mesmerised as he watched it burn away everything down to the skeletons, and an instant later they were gone too.

In the corner, Callow was shrieking. Church's attention was drawn to the door as a tall silhouette slipped in. The Bone Inspector hurried over, his face drawn in pain. Church saw that his hands had been charred black.

"Too hot," he said in a fractured voice.

Somehow he managed to undo Church's bonds, although Church could barely look into his face at the pain he was experiencing. "You did a good job," Church said.

The Bone Inspector grunted. "I've suffered worse."

Once Church was free, he dived behind the table and snatched up the Sword. Mollecht was pressed against one wall, unable to leave the room while the head was there. Even so, the birds were shifting formation ready to unleash another of the plague attacks.

Church knew how fast they came, and this time he didn't hesitate. Bounding across the room, he began to thrash wildly with the Sword. Black feathers showered across the room. Deep puddles tinged with red formed as the crows' bodies fell heavily all around.

There was a sound that made Church's gut turn, and it was a moment or two before he realised it was Mollecht screaming. The remaining birds had to fly harder to maintain the binding pattern, but every time the Sword nicked one it plunged to the ground.

Church lost himself in a storm of black and red until there was only one bird flying frantically around the hideous shape that lay within; the thing he still couldn't bring himself to look at. He paused briefly, took a deep breath, and then struck the last crow.

The bird hit the stone flags, followed by the thing within. It thrashed and shrieked wildly for a full minute, and then slowly it began to break up, then melt away. Eventually there was only a black sludge on the floor, and soon that, too, was gone.

Church rested on the Sword, shattered from fear and exertion, and in that moment Callow broke his frozen position and darted for the door. He skirted the head, glancing back once at the threshold.

Church pointed at him. He didn't need to say a word, and he knew from the look of terror on Callow's face as he disappeared that his message had been received.

Church hurried back to the Wayfinder, lying on its side behind the table. "What do we do now?" the Bone Inspector croaked. He was resting heavily against a wall.

"I don't know. But this lantern is going to show me." He sat down and pulled it upright before him. "I hope."

Closing his eyes, he focused on the Blue Fire as Tom had taught him at the foot of Arthur's Seat in Edinburgh. The Rhymer had been a good teacher; it took him only a second or two to reach the necessary state of heightened perception.

The lantern flame surged and the energy crackled into his fingers, his hands. For the first time on his own he saw in the flames the tiny faces and minute bodies he had witnessed when Tom had introduced him to the earth power at Stonehenge. He knew what they were now. "All stars," he whispered.

Things fell into alignment.

It seemed to him that the Wayfinder had moved deep in his head, and the flame was now blazing as bright as a lighthouse. It was a direct connection with the source of the spirit fire, wherever that might be. Church felt it flare in his head, in his heart, as a doorway opened, and then the Blue Fire was streaming out of him.

Veitch awoke on a mudflat next to a grille that looked across the Thames. Next to him the River Fleet rushed out on its journey to the sea. He felt like he was dying: too cold, too exhausted, broken-spirited.

On the south bank he could see the dawn light painting the buildings in beautiful pastel shades. It was only a second or two later that he realised there was a corresponding light in the culvert in which he lay, only that illumination was a deep sapphire; and it was coming from him, from his very pores. With it came not only a tremendous sense of well-being, but also renewed vigour.

He clambered to his feet, stamping the last remaining cold from his limbs as he cracked his knuckles. "Bleedin' hell," he said in awe.

Then he was at the grille, attempting to prise it open.

The Fomorii marched back and forth at the camp in the underground tunnel, oblivious to the foul-smelling smoke rolling off the burning piles of rubbish. They were long used to the foraging rats that ventured close before scurrying back into the shadows, so they paid scant attention to the movement further along the tracks.

It was only when the activity refused to recede, indeed began to move closer than any of the rats had dared before, that they looked up, and by then it was too late.

A torrent of undulating brown bodies swept towards them from the dark, covering every square centimetre of the tunnel floor. The rats surged past the perimeter bonfires up on to the Fomorii, biting chunks out of their forms, tearing their way into any orifice they found. Their relentless speed and vast numbers belied the weakness of their size; however many the Fomorii crushed or swatted away, there were a thousand more to take their place and within seconds the Night Walkers were lost beneath the deluge.

Walking amongst them was Ruth, her eyes blazing with righteous fury. She was untouched by the scurrying creatures that moved exactly where she wanted, did just what she required. The information had been there in her mind, ready to be accessed, all part of the detailed lore she had soaked up from her familiar while imprisoned in Edinburgh. She had always thought she might be able to control one, perhaps two, maybe even three, but the extent of her abilities stunned her. She felt able to do anything.

As she passed the camp, the Blue Fire surged into her limbs, driving out the exhaustion so her physical strength could match the overwhelming confidence she had discovered. She had a sudden, deep connection with Church, and knew he had made it through to his destination. Now all she had to do was join him.

Muttering beneath her breath, the rats responded, surging on beyond the camp, with tens of thousands more coming up behind her.

"Did you feel that?" Laura's jaw sagged in cartoon style as the electric jolt jerked her limbs.

Shavi held up his hand towards the end of the corridor where the dawn light had still not penetrated. A ghostly blue aura could just be made out around his fingers. "It is Church."

Laura closed her eyes in relief. "Good job we're not all losers."

Shavi looked back out of the window at the army of silent Fomorii staring back. "We have to join him. All of us need to be there."

"That's all well and good, Shav-ster, but I'm still waiting to hear the cunning plan. Maybe the one that turns us invisible so we can waltz past the hordes of Hell."

As the sunlight slowly moved across the rooftops, the deathly silence was suddenly broken. From somewhere in the distance came the dim but instantly recognisable sound of a hunting horn, low and mournful, but drawing nearer.

And the Blue Fire rolled out across the city, joining up with the Fiery Network, and with it flowed Church's thoughts and hopes and prayers. The Wayfinder had lit the way for the very essence of his being, the part that had been transformed from base lead into gold by his experiences at St. Michael's Mount. Deep in his subconscious, encoded in his spirit, was the link he had with the vital energy that flowed into everything. He was, finally and truly, its champion, the Brother of Dragons. He was One.

When he had achieved what it became apparent that he had to do, he broke the link and put the Wayfinder aside.

"Tell me that did some good," the Bone Inspector said.

Church looked up at him with bright eyes. "The Fabulous Beasts are coming," he said.