Always Forever

Chapter Twenty-one

Over London, the Fabulous Beasts swooped on heated currents rising from the raging flames that had eradicated any taint of the Fomorii. In their grace and serpentine power, in their glittering like jewels in the setting sun, they were inspirational. Hope and wonder soared with them, and on their backs rode a new age, free of the hated old ways and the tyranny of mundanity. Again, as it once had been, it was a world where anything could happen.

Of the Fomorii there was no sign. Whether they had followed their god into oblivion, or simply retreated, broken-backed, to T'ir n'a n'Og, no one knew, but no trace remained of them in the world. All the places they had made their own burned in the flames of the Fabulous Beasts: the financial district, the Palace of Westminster, Buckingham Palace; and of the black tower that had been the source of their power, nothing at all remained, not even rubble.

Ruth, Shavi, Laura and the Bone Inspector had escaped, carrying the body of Witch, before the ultimate destructive force of the Fabulous Beasts had been unleashed on the tower; indeed, it had almost been as if the serpents had waited for them to vacate before attacking.

They made their way north through the city, skirting the areas of greatest destruction. For the main the journey passed in a blur; they were in shock, too distraught by the blows that had been inflicted on them to comprehend the scale of their victory. It was a triumph they had never imagined in their wildest dreams, but it didn't feel like one. Occasionally the Tuatha De Danann could be glimpsed like flitting golden ghosts, moving out across the land. Survivors, but not victors; that title belonged to humanity, thanks to the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons, and the sacrifice of people who cared.

The Bone Inspector slipped away respectfully while they buried Veitch by torchlight on the heights of Hampstead Heath overlooking the city. None of them really knew what to say; the loss was too acute, the atmosphere of broken dreams too oppressive. As they started to throw the clods of earth back into the hole, Shavi finally broke down.

"Goodbye, my good friend," he said, the tears streaming down his face. "You brought something to all of us. And you did your best, often despite yourself, and that is more than enough. I will miss you more than you ever could have believed."

And then they were all crying, not just for Veitch, but for all the ones they had lost, and for themselves, who would have to deal with the world left behind and the lack of their friends in it; and none of them tried to hide their tears, not even Laura, who surprised herself with the weight of the emotion pouring out of her.

When all their tears were gone, and the mound of brown earth stood complete and alone in the rolling green, they turned to face the uncertain times ahead.

The night felt subtly different. The lamp of the moon cast a beautiful white light from a sable sky now devoid of storm clouds. The sourness in the air that had arrived with Balor's rebirth was gone, replaced by the aroma of green vegetation in an atmosphere slowly ridding itself of pollution; it smelled like hope.

Beneath the stars, Shavi, Ruth and Laura huddled together around a bonfire against the October chill. The Bone Inspector leaned against his staff and watched the city thoughtfully. They sensed the spirits of the Invisible World were beginning to venture abroad, as they always did on that night that had come to be known as Hallowe'en, yet the small group felt no sense of threat.

"How are you doing?" Laura said to Ruth after a long period of silence, punctuated only by the crackle of the fire. Her voice held a real tenderness that made Ruth even more emotional after their long period of rivalry.

"At the moment I feel dead." Distractedly, she prodded the grass with a stick, before releasing a juddering sigh. "And I know it's going to get worse before it gets better. I know we won… I know the whole world benefited… but the price we paid seems so high."

Laura tossed more wood on the fire, though it hardly needed it. "You can talk about Church, you know."

"Thanks. Really." Ruth wiped away a stray tear, smiled. "It seems so unfair. Personally, I mean. I'm being selfish here and I know anyone else would tell me to get some perspective-

"That is not how grief works," Shavi interjected.

"It took us so long to get together," Ruth said, "but when we did I felt happy, truly happy, for the first time in my life. Church was always talking about searching for meaning, and for me that was where I found meaning in my life: in my love for him. Does that sound vomit-inducing?"

"Yes, but keep going. I need to make a space for dinner." Laura's gibe was gentle and Ruth couldn't help laughing.

"It would have been perfect for me if we'd stayed together into old age, and I know it's a childish thing, but sometimes you think that's reason enough for it to keep going. But life has its own plan. I think that's when you know you've grown up-when you can accept you have no control over anything. Church told me the Tuatha De Danann believe everything is fluid. I suppose the mind has complete control over everything, and that if you wish hard enough you can change reality. Well, I wished and I wished. And he still hasn't come back to me."

Laura fumbled for her hand and gave it a squeeze. Shavi slipped an arm round her shoulders. Overhead, a shooting star blazed across the heavens, reminding them of other times, when they had been all together.

"All I think now is what would he have wanted me to do," Ruth said. "And the answer's obvious: keep doing the right thing, make the world a better place, ignore what anybody else might tell you. Emotionally, it will be hard for me, for all of us, but that's a good reason for living. Don't you think?"

They all agreed.

"You know, I don't really want to think about this," Laura said, "but, do you reckon he suffered? I mean, he'd been stabbed and all, I know. But that gate he was sucked through-"

"I don't know. But even if he did he would probably say pain is transitory and there are better things to look forward to."

"You believe that?"

"I do. Now. I'll see him again one day, I know it."

Laura remained silent for a long moment, then said, "You know Veitch and me didn't get on. He scared me. But I think the real reason was because we were so alike. Two losers trying to escape the past that held them back. I feel bad that I'm here and he's not."

"Don't feel guilty." Ruth gave her arm a squeeze.

"No, Ryan would not want that." Shavi leaned forward into the firelight. "Ryan did the best he could, but he was a victim, and that is the great tragedy of what happened to him. Under other circumstances, he would have found his redemption, as you did."

"Those bastards took it away from him," Laura said vehemently.

"Exactly. We were all manipulated by higher powers, run ragged and forced to suffer, yet in the end we-humanity-still won. Despite everything inflicted on us. That is our great success."

Ruth watched the sparks flying high in the smoke. "When do you think the Tuatha De Danann first stuck that Caraprix in Veitch's head?"

"I do not know," Shavi replied, "but they were manipulating us from the moment we were born. They knew they needed the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons together ready to free them if the Fomorii ever got the upper hand. And to achieve our destiny we all had to experience death at first hand, so they utilised Veitch to engineer that state. With the Caraprix driving him, he set off on his murderous spree. I wonder how that must have affected him? His conscious mind did not know, but it was there in his subconscious, eating away at him."

"Why Witch?" Ruth asked. "Why didn't they get you or me to do their dirty work?"

"Because Ryan was perfect for the job. His life already contained violence. He had crossed a barrier that the rest of us would have found hard to deal with."

"So he did exactly what they wanted," Laura said bitterly, "you'd have thought they'd have left him alone after that. But they gave him that silver hand to do Church in at the end."

"That was the faction that didn't want humanity to become a threat," Ruth said. "They were scheming all the time, both the Tuatha De Danann and the Fomorii. Plan after plan, manipulation after manipulation. We were like kids in comparison, so trusting."

"It did not do them any good," Shavi said. "In fact, it was their arrogance that did it for them in the end. The Fomorii never saw us as a real threat. They had implanted their own Caraprix in Ryan's head, but it only came into play right at the end when it actually looked like we might stand a chance. If they had set Ryan to pick us off one by one over a period of time, they would have won. But we were just Fragile Creatures; beneath their notice."

"That'll teach the bastards," Laura said. "It's like the French Revolution all over again."

Ruth stretched, the aches of the past few days finally coming out. " Liberte, fraternite, egalite."

"Look. What's that?" Laura pointed to a light that suddenly flared brightly in the sea of night.

As they scanned the darkness, their breath caught in their throats, others glimmered faintly across the city. It was such a simple thing, but after so long it seemed like an act of God.

Shavi thought for a moment, then said, "An emergency generator has come on."

They were all silent for a long moment, barely daring to believe what it meant. It was Ruth who gave voice to it: "Technology is working again."

"What's left of it." With a fake dismissive shrug, Laura played up to what they expected of her. "No web, no MP3, no ER. What's the point?"

"Technology and magic, side by side," Shavi mused. "Interesting times lie ahead."

They spent the next half hour talking animatedly about what the coming months would hold as humanity crawled out from the wreckage of society and attempted to make a new life out of the devastation. Power lost, industry destroyed, food distribution ruined, transport in tatters, and how many deadthousands? Millions? How long would it take them to get even a modicum of organisation up and running again? In the short term the hardship would be intense, but they all agreed there was hope. After all, mankind was now on a new road, one rising to a glorious future.

Eventually they decided to wander away from the fire for a while, to stretch the chill from their legs and be alone with their thoughts. Ruth found herself drawn to a dark copse; even before she had entered the trees she sensed an old magic in the air: a deep musk and the snorting of an animal that was not an animal. Antlers were silhouetted against the moon.

Cernunnos roamed through the undergrowth, his breath steaming. Beyond him, Ruth could see the woman who had haunted her during those early days after the world had changed: at first glance a wizened old hag, then a middleaged mother, and finally a young woman, filled with vitality and sexuality.

"You called to me," Ruth said. In the branches of the trees above, her owl hooted eerily.

Cernunnos loomed up before her, his power daunting but tempered in that aspect by a subtle gentleness. "You have overcome all challenges, as I knew you would. And now you have reached your blossoming there is no longer any need for my guidance."

"I don't know who I am anymore."

"You are a daughter, not of my flesh, but of my spirit. And a daughter too, of my bright half. You are a guardian of the old ways, a champion of the moon, the sum of all the potential carried in the essence of every woman. Nature will bend before you. The grass will plead for your foot, the air for your lungs."

"Yes, but what does it mean? What am I supposed to do now?" Her voice was strained with emotion from the stresses tearing her apart.

Cernunnos snorted once more and prowled amongst the trees as if he was doing a strange, ritual dance. When he returned to her, he said, "You will be a light in the dark, showing the way between old days and new, between summer and winter, day and night, sun and moon, man and woman. Many trials lie ahead. But you will not walk the path alone."

"Who's going to be with me?"

"Let the seasons turn, and take them as you find them."

Ruth thought about this for a moment; she felt strangely comforted that there was some sort of direction planned for her. It would give her something to immerse herself in so she didn't have to think. "But where do I start? Where do I go from here?"

"Let the seasons turn."

"Something will turn up, I suppose. It always does." She made to go, then turned back. "Thank you. For giving me something to believe in. Something… more." She couldn't find the words to adequately express the depth of what she had discovered since her change, and so she simply bowed her head and left. She had no doubt she would see him again.

As Ruth walked away, Laura stepped from the shadow of the trees. "She doesn't realise exactly what she can do yet, does she?"

"Do you?" Cernunnos said.

"I have an idea."

"You will watch her? Ensure she overcomes her pain?"

"Yeah, I'll be her shadow," Laura said. "I'll be a friend, and I hope she'll be mine."

"Winter may be approaching, but this is a time for all growing things. The two of you will be needed as the heart of nature begins to beat strongly once more. Through the harsh days before the seeds that have been planted come forth, you will be needed more than ever. Existence has changed in more ways than you can comprehend. There are new rules. Old magic is loose in the land. Nothing will be the way it was." He raised his head to make a strange, throaty call to the moon. "When next you encounter the Golden Ones, they will not be how you recall."

"How will they look?"

Cernunnos ignored her question. "Unchanged for so long, my people have now had change thrust upon them. They, too, must deal with the new rules."

"There's certainly going to be a lot of bad blood amongst them. This whole business has split them in two. Will you all go back to Otherworld?"

"Some. Others will retreat to their Courts to lick their wounds. A few will remain abroad in the Fixed Lands. The success of the Fragile Creatures will have consequences even the Golden Ones cannot foresee. We will no longer see this land as our territory."

"I bet a few of you are going to hate us for what happened. There'll be trouble. And how are we going to cope with all the other crazy stuff that came out of Otherworld? That'll still hang around-the Fabulous Beasts and the Redcaps and the Baobhan Sith and all the rest of the shit."

"The Fragile Creatures are a resilient breed."

"Not so fragile, eh?" She looked up at the owl as it beat a path towards Ruth. "So Ruth and I have got our work cut out. We'll be a good team. I've got the mouth and the looks, and she…" Laura was surprised at how excited she was about the prospect of what lay ahead, an opportunity to do the kind of good she always dreamed of doing "… she'll be the best there is."

"So you're some big-shot shaman?" The Bone Inspector leaned on his staff, examining the theatre of stars. His burned hands miraculously appeared to be healing.

"So they say." Shavi was smiling in the dark at his side. He liked the Bone Inspector; all his curmudgeonly ways and his difficulty with human relationships only added to his appeal.

"I've heard lots of people say that. They couldn't do anything."

"Hmm."

"At least you haven't got a big head like some of your associates." He fiddled with his staff uncomfortably. "Do you know what you're going to be doing after this night?"

"Not yet. Travelling, I suppose. Seeing how the landscape now lies. Finding out what I can do."

"I could offer you a position."

"Oh?"

"You've heard talk of the Culture?" Shavi said he had. "The Culture were the original wise people. In society from the earliest days, from when man had just a few sticks to hack out a life, I reckon. The Egyptians sailed to these shores for guidance from us about the pyramids. The Celts revered us. We knew all the lore of the land, how animals and birds acted, trees and plants grew. We knew about the stars and the planets. The spirit fire. We knew everything. And then the damn Romans came. Slaughtered some, drove the rest underground where we couldn't do the job that we were meant to do. The colleges at Glastonbury and Anglesey were destroyed. It was hard to pass on the knowledge. And then, thanks to that God-awful Age of Reason, the Culture gradually died out."

"And you are the last," Shavi said.

"Now wouldn't it be a shame for all that thousands of years of knowledge to die out with me?"

"What are you suggesting?"

"The land needs the Culture. The people need the Culture-especially now when they need to learn a new way of living to cope with what it's going to be like out there." He faced Shavi, his eyes sparkling. "I want to start the colleges up again, pass on all the knowledge I've got before I'm gone. Build a new Culture."

"And you want me to help?"

"I want you to be the first to learn. And then I want you to help me pass it on. Maybe set up at Glastonbury, I don't know. What do you say?"

Shavi's face was so serious as he considered the offer that the Bone Inspector was convinced he was going to refuse. But then a warm smile crept across his face. "I think that would be an excellent idea."

When they returned to the fire, thoughts of what lay ahead were put to one side, and once more they were old friends enjoying each other's company. They remembered the ones they had lost and thought about the times they had spent together, and they cried a little. But as good friends should, they helped each other along the rocky path, and after a while they even found the strength to laugh.

Lying back beneath the sweep of stars, there was some sadness that they would soon be going their separate ways. But though they might not meet again, they would never forget all that they had shared, and everything they had learned: in the midst of hardship they had discovered the best that life had to offer, both in the world, and in themselves.

And though there were undoubtedly hard days ahead, they had been forged in the worst of times, and with hope and optimism in their hearts, the road would always rise before them.

Church woke on a hard, cold floor surrounded by the smell of wood smoke. A deep ache suffused his limbs, though slowly fading; his stomach turned queasily. Strange dreams had paraded through his head, of people in dark suits and army green, but the last vibrant thoughts he had were of the dying light in poor, tormented Veitch's eyes, of the desperate love in Ruth's face, and of plunging into nothingness in the company of a deep shadow. He was still clutching Caledfwlch tightly. His free hand moved to his side where Veitch had torn him open, but there was no blood, no wound. It made no sense.

He levered himself up to see he was in a dark, round room constructed from wood. The only light came from a fire smouldering in the centre, the smoke drifting up to disappear through a hole in the turf roof. It was undeniably primitive, filled with the aromas of animals and damp vegetation.

His thoughts careered. Where were the others? Where was Balor? As his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, he realised with a start that he was not alone. Jumping to his feet anxiously prompted a shriek from the dark shapes huddling across the other side of the room.

Moving past the fire, he could see a woman was protecting her two children. She had long dark hair that framed a face hardened by harsh living. The children, a boy and a girl of around seven or eight, had the same dark hair and eyes. They were all terrified.

"Don't worry. I won't hurt you," he said gently, but his voice only agitated them further.

The woman jabbered in a language he didn't understand until he caught one word: Samhain.

As he repeated it, the woman froze, her eyes widening. "Samhain," she said again.

And then the elements began to fall into place: the house, the basic peasant clothes of the woman and children, the language. Somehow the gate had flung him into the distant past, amongst one of the tribes that modern scholars had lumped together under the catch-all title of Celts.

He closed his eyes and rested on his sword as he fought the rising panic. His first thought was that it couldn't be true, but everything he saw, heard, smelled, told him otherwise. Then the impressions came thick and fast: isolation, utter loneliness amongst people who would consider him an alien or a madman, the brutality of life in those times, of Ruth, whom he would never see again, of his friends, and his world. Slowly, he went down on to his knees, unable to bear the weight.

His torment was disturbed by the woman gradually advancing. She pointed tentatively. "Nuada?"

She was indicating the Sword. He held it up, nodding. "Nuada Aigetlamh." It was the god's sword; of course she would be familiar with it.

She suddenly pointed towards the open door and jabbered once more, excitedly this time. There was little else for him to do but follow her direction.

Outside, a wild electrical storm lit up other roundhouses clustered nearby. Frightened horses and cattle added to the deafening cannon-fire of thunder. A terrible wind tore across the landscape, though there wasn't even the faintest hint of rain; in the gale was the familiar stink of corruption that had surrounded Balor.

He looked round, overcome with the strangest impression someone familiar had only just left the vicinity. Despite the grinding sense of disconnection, he felt uncannily good, and he knew why. His deep perception showed him the Blue Fire was stronger in the land, and the buildings and the animals than he had ever seen it before. That was why the wound in his side had healed. As a Brother of Dragons he had tapped into it.

And with that realisation came another thought: he recalled Tom telling him there were no coincidences, no accidents. Then why had he been saved? There was no obvious answer, but he had the strangest feeling that somebody had wanted it to happen for him.

As he tried to decide what his next move would be, he became aware of a faint golden glow approaching across the dark, storm-torn countryside. It was Niamh. His shock was palpable until he accepted this was long before she had sacrificed herself to save them all.

She came up to him sharply, an unfamiliar contemptuous expression inscribed on her face. "Fragile Creature!" Her words were the arrogant bark of someone used to complete deference. "Is that the Sword of my brother?" As always, he understood her words in a way that transcended language.

It was intriguing to see the difference in her. Here she was more like the worst of her kind, cold and aloof with a hint of cruelty. "It was once. It's my Sword now."

Fury tinged her features. "How can a Fragile Creature dare to touch so powerful an object? How can you dare to take it from my brother, and now, when he needs it most?"

"I'm a Brother of Dragons."

This puzzled her a little. "I have not seen you amongst that dismal brood."

His spine prickled as connections began to be made. "What's happening?" he asked, listening to the noise that was almost masked by the storm.

"You do not know? It is the Second Battle of Magh Tuireadh. This night the future of the Golden Ones will be decided, when the Night Walkers are finally driven into the sea after their bitter rule."

"And the future of the Fragile Creatures," he added wryly.

She didn't deem his comment worthy of any acknowledgment.

And then everything fell into place, with a frisson that was so acute it shocked him. The mysterious comments that he would not find rest at the end of his struggle. The hints that he had a wider role to play in leading humanity towards the next level. Tom telling him to use his memories as a source of warmth in troubling times.

He steeled himself, letting the obligation settle into his bones. Then he said: "Take me to the battle."

"You mean to fight?"

"I intend to do what I can. And to be there when Balor is finally destroyed."

She appeared quite taken aback by his bravado; a little warmth broke into her frosty features.

"My name's Jack." His heart was already soaring as he realised the solution to his predicament. "I think we're going to become good friends."

"Friends? With a Fragile Creature?" she snorted.

After the battle he would return to the home of the gods T'ir n'a n'Og, where time could pass much slower than it did in the real world. And while he aged only slightly, the centuries would tumble by in a mad parade until he could once again step back into the world to take Ruth in his arms and meet their future together. The paradox made his head spin. For a while he would exist in two places at once: in the real world, where he would be born and grow to maturity; and in Otherworld, waiting for the culmination of the confrontation with Balor so he could step back into the Fixed Lands to reclaim his life. Could he sit idly by in Otherworld, knowing the suffering that would be inflicted on humanity during the Age of Misrule? Could he wait there when he might be able to save Witch's life? Or would he cross over earlier, to meet his younger self and change the course of history? Was that at all possible, or would existence come crashing down around his ears? It was a conundrum that would have to wait.

Now he knew why Niamh had appeared in his childhood bedroom, guiding him along the path he had eventually walked, why she had been filled with such a deep love that had made no sense for the little time they had known each other. Between now and then, they would become friends, and he would bring humanity to her, and she would in turn convince other members of the Tuatha De Danann to come over to the Fragile Creatures, something that would have such great import so many years down the line. And eventually, although he would aim to prevent it, she would learn to fall in love with him.

In the meantime he had so many things to do: establishing the reputation of the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons, convincing them to prepare for the return of the Fomorii, ensuring the first steps were taken on the path to godhood.

And then one other thought came to him that filled him with warmth. In just a few brief centuries' time he would see Tom again. Tom, who had kept so many secrets, hidden his character and his emotions for the sake of those around him. They would become the best of friends and he would finally pay the Rhymer back for saving his life.

"Come on," he said to Niamh, "let's go to war."

His one hope was that the world he eventually returned to would not have been bequeathed to the worst of humanity; that the old, bad ways had simply slotted back into place. "I'm wishing," he whispered aloud, his eyes closed. "I'm wishing for a place where the good things have the upper hand: love and honesty and friendship and wonder and hope. I'm wishing enough to change the world."

In a bleak room filled with hard men, a cold wind blew. For as long as anyone could remember they had dreamed the world their way; and it was a world filled with lies and power and money, of subtle manipulation and limpid promises, where Fragile Creatures were held in place by a little of this and a little of that, but never anything that mattered. Yet beneath their arrogance lay fear, for sooner or later the scales might fall.

A lie was needed to cement their rule. A Big Lie. Lives were shattered in the telling of it, families torn apart, good men and women twisted out of shape. But the hard men were right to be afraid, for even in the worst of all worlds, good men and women aspire; and inspire.

With that same arrogance, the hard men believed no one could be moved by a world without money or power; dreams were for children; dreams had no power. And so they released the means to their downfall. The Lie proved more seductive than the world they had wished; it was filled with love and wonder and friendship and hope and faith; and meaning; a world where anything could happen.

A wish was all it took; because if you wish hard enough you can change the world.

The Lie became the Truth, and everything that hadn't happened, had happened. Five people quested through untold hardship; they plumbed worlds beyond imagination, rubbed shoulders with gods and beasts; and in the end brought the magic back home.

This is how it was, and is, and will be.

The cold wind blew the bad things right away. The hard men no longer existed. The hard men never existed. Their world was just a bad dream; and only bad dreams have no power.

The Blue Fire is in everything.

And the world turns slowly towards the light.