Always Forever

Chapter Eight

The night was hot and humid, filled with the distant cries of alien birds. Beyond the barricade, the Nuckelavee roamed relentlessly, testing its strength with repeated attacks that sent furniture rolling off the top. Time and again the Tuatha De Danann guards clambered up to replace them, but it was a futile act. Sooner or later the Plague-Bringer was going to break through.

Church had led Ruth and Baccharus on a tour of the building to try to find something they could use to escape, but had given up after an hour. The rooms went on forever, filled with insane bric-a-brac and useless objets d'art. When they tried to retrace their steps the layout of the house had changed, just like Wave Sweeper, but after a while they passed through the chamber where the dying god had been imprisoned. All it held now was a noxious black stain on the floor to mark his passing.

When they finally made it back to the main area, the baby cry was rising and falling until Ruth wanted to tear at her ears. She dragged Church to one side. "What are we going to do?" Before he could protest, she added, "You're the leader."

"Don't worry, I know my responsibility." He scrubbed his hand roughly through his long hair; he had only one option. "We need a diversion. Someone to pull that thing over to one side so the rest of us can get out, get back, or-"

"Attack it."

"You've got an idea?"

"I can do some stuff." She tapped her head. "It's all locked up here."

"You've been trying it out?"

"Little things. Here and there. Just to get a feel for it." For some reason she looked guilty, wouldn't meet his eyes.

"How much can you do?"

There was a long pause before she said, "I honestly don't know. But it's like I've been made the receptacle for all the knowledge that exists about the Craft. It's like being supercharged." Still not meeting his eyes, she added, "Sometimes I feel like I can do anything."

Church rested a hand on her shoulder, played with her hair. He was worried about how distant and troubled she appeared. Most of the time she had a blase attitude to her new-found abilities, but it was obvious that behind it lay a deepseated concern. "What are you planning on pulling out of the bag this time?"

She peered at the thin gap of dark sky above the blockade. "I have a couple of ideas."

Church gave the back of her neck a squeeze before heading over to Niamh and Baccharus, who had been waiting patiently. "I hate to ask this," he said, "but I need a volunteer to draw that thing's attention. There's not much chance of getting off alive. One of the guards-"

"I shall do it," Baccharus said confidently.

"No!" Niamh's face crumpled with worry. "There is no need-"

"There is every need. How could I ask another being to take such a risk if I would not do it myself?"

"Your abilities are needed. You have responsibilities." Niamh's voice rose a notch.

Baccharus took her hand with surprising tenderness, the mark of deep friends. "I have to shed my burden."

Niamh nodded reluctantly. Baccharus turned back to Church. "What do you request?"

"We need to move most of the blockade from the far end. When the PlagueBringer moves up the other end, we kick over the last of it, and you make a break for the tree line." He paused. "How close does it have to be to infect you?"

Baccharus gave a faint smile, said nothing.

Church spent the next half hour fashioning a spear with a length of wood and one of the guards' swords. It was a paltry weapon compared to what roamed beyond the walls, but there was nothing else to hand that he could use. He longed for the mystical sword he had rescued from its hiding place underneath Tintagel; he had responded to whatever power it held, understood how it had been responsible for the coded legends of Excalibur. He had never seen himself as much of a fighter, but with that sword he had felt capable of anything.

Ruth spent the time meditating quietly in one corner. Church watched her serious face as the arcane knowledge gradually emerged from its secret chambers. Some of it brought a smile of surprise to her lips, others left her brow furrowed in concern.

When they were nearly ready, he knelt next to her, caressing the back of her neck. "Are you fit?" he asked softly.

She flashed him an unsure smile. "As fit as I ever will be. The way this thing seems to work is that I have to act on instinct as much as possible. That means I can't plan. And if the instinct fails, I have no idea what I'm going to do."

"You could always run."

"That doesn't help Baccharus. Or you." Her smiled faded. "I'm not going to let you down."

"I never for a minute thought you would." He leaned over and gave her a gentle kiss.

"We can't afford to lose this, you know," she whispered.

There was nothing he could say to that.

As he stood up, he realised Niamh was watching them from the other side of the room, her face impossible to read. She turned away when she saw him looking at her.

By the time they were ready, the Nuckelavee was rattling the blockade so hard it was rocking wildly, nearly toppling over. Church marshalled the guards, who obeyed him reluctantly, their eyes flickering in the direction of Niamh and Baccharus. When the beast reached one end of the row, Church dropped his hand and the guards hastily dismantled the barricade at the other end where Baccharus waited.

There was a moment of intense tension and then Church gave the nod; Baccharus silently slipped out into the hot night. The response was instantaneous. The cry rose up several notches, followed by the thunder of sturdy arms hitting the ground and the obscene slithering as it dragged its body behind it. The speed of the movement shocked them all. Church wondered briefly if his plan was already doomed; at the rate it was moving, it would reach Baccharus and be back on them before anyone reached the tree line.

Once the Nuckelavee was far enough away, Church gave the signal and the guards demolished the barricade at the other end of the room. They were hurrying out into the moist dark before the last item of furniture was rolling away. Ruth blanched when she laid eyes on the Nuckelavee for the first time-there was something sickening about it beyond mere appearance-but then she caught herself and set off in pursuit with Church beside her while the guards hurried Niamh towards the trees.

"Why us, eh?" Ruth said with a tight smile.

"Cannon fodder. We know our place in life." Church shouldered the spear, ready to throw.

Baccharus moved across the lawns like a shimmer of light cast by numerous mirrors, his form growing hard to perceive, but he was not fast enough for the Nuckelavee, which had surprising speed for its bulk and awkwardness. Church could see every bunch of its muscles, every pulse of its blood with each minor exertion.

At the tree line, Baccharus came to a halt. Church had given him strict instructions not to take the creature into the jungle, where it would be hard for them to attack it in the dense undergrowth, but it was bearing down on him so quickly it was impossible for him to run in any other direction. He sensed this, for he brought himself round to face the Nuckelavee and drew himself up ready to meet his fate. There was something so noble about the way he stood-head slightly bowed, accepting the worst kind of death; even worse for the Tuatha De Danann, who thought they would never die-Church felt compelled to succeed. He hurled the makeshift spear as hard as he could, even though his plan had optimistically called for it to be used for the deathblow once Ruth had made her attack.

In the split second before Church launched the spear, the Nuckelavee drew itself up and threw its grotesque head back, before making a silent belching motion. A barely visible exhalation rushed from the creature's mouth. It had little substance-Church could see the jungle and dappling stars through itbut Baccharus's face darkened as it raced towards him, and at the last moment he threw himself to one side. The cloud continued into the trees, where there was a sudden crash as an ape-like beast fell from the branches in violent death throes.

The sword spear embedded in the Nuckelavee at the base of its skull; a fountain of dark-red blood gushed out. The creature went into paroxysms, the baby cry turning into a shriek of agony. Near to it, it smelled like an old rubber boot that had been left in the rain.

The size, speed and hideous appearance of the beast were hypnotic. Church found himself rooted as it curled around on its slug-like body to examine him, the spear waving on its back with every violent tremor that ran through the torso. He took a step back and then became rooted once more when he looked into the Nuckelavee's pink-rimmed black eyes; what he saw there was cruel and alien, but undoubtedly intelligent.

"Church! Back offl" Ruth yelled.

He heard her words, but all he could do was consider the Nuckelavee's swirling gaze; it drowned out all his senses until the only thing in his world was the creature. Deep in his head came a skittering, like cockroach feet on the surface of his brain: the Nuckelavee's thoughts, reaching out to his own. The part of him that held the Fomorii taint understood, and somehow that was worse than anything.

Ruth saw Church freeze in the grip of the Nuckelavee's mesmerising eyes. It brought itself round, its mouth thrown wide to emit those stomach-churning cries, the disproportionately powerful arms dragging the body in lumbering jerks. It gave the illusion of slow, methodical progress, but Ruth had seen how quickly it had pursued the now-forgotten Baccharus, and the lightning-fast reactions when the spear had struck.

His life lay in her hands, and that was the fear that had gripped her from the moment he outlined his plan. She would never reach him in time. Even if she could knock him out of the way, they would be too close to the Nuckelavee to evade it. She wouldn't be able to utilise her Craft quickly enough.

But she had to do it or she would never be able to live with herself. She had to do it or nothing else would matter in her life ever again.

Seconds, that was all. Seconds.

She closed her eyes in an attempt to shut out all extraneous sensation: the cries that sounded like a war zone orphanage, the stink that made her nostrils flare and her throat close up, the wind in her hair, the sweat on her back, the nausea in her gut, the thunder of her heart. She closed it down like she was pulling shutters in her head. She was surprised how quickly it worked; accessing the Craft was predicated on need and at that point she needed it more than ever before. It came up like whispers from a deep, dark well. And as the images and sounds that shaped reality began to coalesce in her mind, she felt the power ignite.

And then she opened her eyes. Church was still rooted, the Nuckelavee rising above him, opening its mouth, ready to release the infection. Her concentration fragmented as desperation intruded.

She fought to get her focus back, her eyes fixed on Church, knowing he was about to die, knowing it was her fault, her stupid weakness, the shame and the guilt making it even harder to reach that quiet part of her.

Just as the knowledge began to rise again, there was movement like a flash of light on the periphery of her vision. It hit Church in a shimmer of gold and an instant later he was gone, just as the Nuckelavee's corrupting breath washed through the spot where he had been.

He reappeared several yards away, dragged by Niamh; and then was gone again. It wasn't as if the goddess was running, more that she was dropping in and out of reality, becoming, in the process, not human, something that was almost composed of light. They finally settled into her perception across the other side of the lawns, in safety. And then her shame was coloured by other, darker feelings: self-loathing, jealousy, irritation, then anger.

The rush inside took her by surprise, petrol on the bonfire of her emotions, more potent even than the exhilarating explosion of her abilities at the end of her tantric bout with Veitch. Fire filled her belly, her limbs, her head, until the world without didn't exist at all, only flame, blue, blue flame, and the feeling that she wanted to jump out of her skin and explode.

Shining across her mind with a blinding light were words her rational mind found incomprehensible, but which she instinctively understood. They leapt to her lips unbidden; she felt her mouth forming them as if it were someone else's. Her will became a spear, plucking the words and launching them into the night sky.

And then, spent, the fire cleared and she was overcome with a calmness that kept all sound from her ears. In the eerily silent scene, the Nuckelavee was rising up over her, veins throbbing, muscles glistening, eyes glowing. And beyond it, the stars were being eaten. Thick, black clouds rushed in from the north. Unnatural winds alive with rage tore through the trees. The Nuckelavee was buffeted back and forth, but Ruth stood calm in the eye; untouched.

The gale drew strength, flexed. Baccharus had lashed himself around a tree, the others were unseen. The Nuckelavee slid forwards against its volition, was driven down on to its bony elbows. The mouth still opened and closed, emitting the baby cry that Ruth could no longer hear, too distracted to unleash its infection. Now bowed before her, Ruth thought she glimpsed a cast to its eyes, not of fear but of incomprehension. It was time.

More words in her mind, but this time they were surrounded by the coldness of deep space. She spoke, and whatever sound she made cut through the heart of the gale, reached up directly to the clouds that swirled overhead. Briefly they appeared to spin faster, a whirlpool of grey, until at the heart of them a hole formed through which she could not see the night sky, could see nothing at all. Lightning erupted from it, filled with a force beyond the control of nature. In the time between seconds it scorched through the air to strike the Nuckelavee squarely. There was a burst of brilliant light, a shockwave that split and folded around Ruth before moving on to blast the nearest trees, a smell of charged air that became the sickening stench of a butcher's shop on fire.

And when it cleared a moment later, there was only a circle of blackened grass where chunks of flash-fried flesh smoked or were limned with dancing, blue will o' the wisps.

Ruth was filled with an emptiness that made her feel weepy for something vital that had been lost. But when that faded, there was at first regret, then fear, and then horror at what she had done without even realising. For the first time she had a glimmer of what she was capable, of dark paths that lay ahead if she so chose, and she knew she must never let her anger get the better of her again.

Weakly, she staggered around, almost blank to her surroundings until she felt strong hands on her shoulders. Church pulled her close and kissed her. "I knew you could do it," he said in a whisper, tinged with relief, but also coloured by something that sounded like dismay. She saw Niamh sitting alone on the lawns, the guards gathered in a huddle far away, not wishing to approach her.

"The thing caught her," Church said. "She's been infected."

Ruth couldn't begin to describe her emotions, although she knew she wouldn't be proud of them. Already aware of the situation, Baccharus rushed over. "We are all in danger. We may already have been infected." He looked coldly at the sullen guards and then, without a moment's thought, walked over to Niamh. She tried to wave him away, then fend him off as he dropped down next to her, eventually giving in and allowing her head to drop dismally on to his shoulder. Ruth was suddenly consumed with guilt.

"You must not come near me," Niamh said directly to Church and Ruth. "The Fixed Lands need you. All of existence needs you. You must leave me here."

Church turned to Ruth and asked in an anxious, low voice, "Can you help her?"

Ruth tried to read his face, wondering if she could be so evil that her choices would actually be decided by what she saw there, then feeling disconcerted by what she did see.

"Perhaps," she replied, trying not to give her thoughts away. She knelt down next to Niamh, who looked up at her with an honest, open face that made her feel even worse. She wished she had seen bitterness there, or jealousy, or incipient rage, something that would blight the goddess's inherent goodness, or make her as distant and contemptuous as most of the other Tuatha De Danann. "Lie down," Ruth said a little too sharply; "let me examine you."

Niamh had obviously not caught the full force of the Nuckelavee's infection, but it was certainly there in nascent form; the golden skin of her forearm was mottled with faint blue rings that were spreading up to her armpit. Her body hadn't yet started breaking up, but Ruth knew it was only a matter of time. "Alien viruses," she muttered wearily. "As above, so below. This whole place is a nightmare."

She turned to Baccharus. "I need you to send one of the guards back to the ship for supplies. You seem to stock everything there. I need some dainty weed ground ivy and wild celery to help with muscle cramps and vervain for an analgesic. That should help combat the side effects of the virus. Then I'll need some rowan berries, mugwort and mallow to fight off any enchantment, as I suppose this thing doesn't act like any ailment we've come across on earth."

"Will that do it?" Church asked hopefully.

Ruth looked up at him wilfully. "No," she said. "Then it's down to me."

Baccharus and Church carried Niamh back to the house, where they made her comfortable on a large divan piled high with sumptuous cushions. She was already growing weak. Once she was settled, Church brushed the hair from her pale face. "Thanks for saving my life," he said gently.

She smiled faintly.

"Why did you put yourself at risk for a Fragile Creature?"

"You know why, jack."

"You're not like others of your kind."

"We are not all alike." She paused. "My kind have more differences than you could know."

"But you gods see yourself as infinite, as much a part of existence as the stars in the sky."

"More so."

Church's expression grew more puzzled. "You believe your continued survival is paramount in the rules of nature. I know what the concept of death means to you-a hundred times worse than it even means to us. I don't-"

She shushed him with a wave of her hand.

"But-"

"A small sacrifice."

He smiled again, though it was a troubled one, and withdrew slowly until Ruth caught his arm on the other side of the room. "Why don't you give her a big kiss?" she said and regretted it instantly. She'd always prided herself on her maturity and here she was acting like a stupid, jealous teenager.

The puzzlement on Church's face became comical until his expression darkened. "Don't be an idiot."

"Don't call me an idiot."

"Well, stop acting like one. I'm not going to start mooning for her like some stupid kid just because she saved my life."

"It looked like mooning to me." She tried to bite her tongue; why couldn't she help herself?

"Look, she showed some nobility there." His voice was low, filled with both hurt and annoyance. "She was ready to sacrifice her life for another being, whatever her motivations. It's not about stupid relationship issues-"

"Relationships are stupid, are they?"

"I didn't say that."

She marched away, regretting that Church would see it as some argumenta tive point-scoring ploy, but she only did it to save herself from saying anything further that would damn her. She was supposed to be smart, educated, and emotions had made her a moron in seconds.

She had planned to walk out of the room to get some calming night air, but to do that she had to go past Niamh's divan; the goddess motioned to her to come over. Reluctantly she perched on the end.

"I want to thank you for trying to help me, Ruth. I know my kind appear aloof to Fragile Creatures. But I hope you will accept I am very grateful."

"Don't worry. I would have done it for anyone."

"And that is why you are honourable and good. One of the best of your race."

"No, I'm not. I'm typical, not good or bad, not stupid or smart. Just… just human."

"You do yourself a disservice." Niamh waved this part of the conversation away with a gesture and began, "I know you are concerned about Church and me-

Ruth stood up sharply and made to go.

"Please hear me out."

"I don't want to talk about that."

"Please-"

"I'm not used to having my emotions in this much upheaval." I've never been in love before, she could have said. "I don't want to say anything I might regret."

Niamh continued to plead silently until Ruth felt she couldn't walk away. She sat down heavily and stared into the middle distance. "I hold nothing against you, Ruth, for your feelings for Jack. I can understand them completely. He has a good, good heart."

Ruth listened, but didn't respond.

"We are not rivals, Ruth. We are not fighting. There is nothing we can do. Jack will decide the direction of his own heart. The tragedy is that only one of us can benefit. That should cause sadness for both of us, not anger or jealousy."

"When someone has a relationship, however new," Ruth began, "it's not considered very decent to try to break it up."

"You do not know the whole story, Ruth."

"Then tell me." Ruth's eyes flashed; she was sick of being patronised by the gods.

Niamh chose her words carefully, which made Ruth instantly suspicious; there was something the goddess was trying to hide. "You think my emotional response to Jack is some fleeting thing. After all, we have seen each other little, spoken to each other less. But that is simply your perception." Ruth flinched visibly; Niamh noticed and caught herself. "You should know by now, Ruth, that there is more than one way of seeing existence, and the way of the Fragile Creatures is the least apt. My love for Jack is not new and ill formed."

"I know you watched his development from when he was a child without interacting with him, but if you'll forgive me for being so forward," she said tartly, "that's both a little sick and a little pathetic. Love from afar, without any interaction, is worthless."

Niamh's face remained calm, despite the sharpness of Ruth's words. "I have loved Jack for longer than that, Ruth."

Ruth snorted derisively. "How can that be?"

Niamh ignored her. "My feelings grew stronger as I understood his true nobility. He has a good heart. He is confused, directionless, has little confidence in his own abilities, but at his core he is good."

Listening to Niamh, something struck Ruth sharply. "Sometimes you don't even sound like your own kind. You sound like one of us."

Niamh smiled, a little sadly. "I have had a good tutor."

Ruth watched her carefully, but Niamh wasn't giving anything away.

"Ruth, I will speak honestly to you. This is a vital time for my relationship with Jack." Ruth wanted to yell: You have no relationship! "If I cannot convince Jack to love me before the festival you know as Samhain then my love will never be returned. Therein lies my desperation, and my tragedy. Such a small window to convince a Fragile Creature to match the feelings of a god. If I lost Jack now it would be forever."

Niamh had grown oddly introspective; the gods never usually appeared to have any real inner life. "There will be no peace for him, Ruth," she said quietly. "That is not the path that existence has mapped out for him. Jack will have a life of struggle and strife, but that only makes love and comfort so much more valuable to him. He will have to seize it where he can, and cherish it, for it will be transitory."

"What path is mapped out for him?"

"The same path all you Brothers and Sisters of Dragons must walk. You have been chosen to be champions of the vitality that runs through everything. That is a responsibility that dwarfs all. You must suffer for the sake of everyone else, everything else."

"Well, isn't that wonderful," Ruth said sourly, trying to ignore the panic flaring inside her.

"But is that not always the way? A few must redeem the many. If those with ability do not act, the darkness will win. There are few rules of existence open even to we Golden Ones, but that is one of them."

"Yes, but why me? Why us?"

"Simply? Because you have what it takes." A wave of exhaustion crossed Niamh's face; the disease was starting to bite.

"Take it easy," Ruth said. "The guard will be back with the supplies any minute and then we can get to work."

Niamh smiled and took Ruth's wrist with her long, cool fingers. "You have a good heart too."

Once Ruth had the flowers and herbs she administered them to Niamh, although she had no idea how they would work on her constitution. The ones that worked magically appeared more effective than the simple medicinal ones, but it was still only a stopgap measure. She had Niamh moved into a chamber where the lights could be darkened until only one candle flame cast a dim light across the proceedings. The others were driven from the room so the atmosphere was calm and reflective.

The mottled blue rings had spread across the right side of Niamh's body and in places had grown black. In some areas the skin was fracturing.

"What are you planning to do?" Niamh asked weakly.

Ruth raised a chalice of water and kissed it gently. "I'm planning on approaching a higher authority."

"Higher?"

"When I met Ogma in his library, or court, or whatever you want to call it, I asked him if you really were gods. He said, there is always something higher. And now I have the knowledge gifted to me by my owl friend I can see that's true. I have no idea what it really is, but I like to think it has a feminine aspect, like the triple goddess that first led me down this path. Whatever it is, I feel close to it, because it's the source of the Blue Fire. And I, as you pointed out, am the champion of the Blue Fire."

Niamh nodded thoughtfully. "It is as I thought. Can you reach that power?"

Ruth's laugh came across as faintly bitter, to mask her inability to answer that question. "Keep your fingers crossed."

If she were honest with herself, she would really have preferred leaving the ritual to another day. Every time she utilised the knowledge of the Craft it took a great deal out of her, as if she was pushing herself beyond the limits of endurance, or psychologically beyond what her body had been created to do. But with Niamh's deterioration, there was no chance of delay. She would have to press on and deal with the repercussions later.

Baccharus had found some incense in another part of the house; Ruth burned it in a small brazier next to the divan on which Niamh was lying. Like everything in Otherworld, it had an unexpected potency, filling the room with heady aromas. But it was soothing and aided the concentration that her growing exhaustion made increasingly difficult. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as the fragrant, sweet fumes enveloped her.

She began slow, rhythmic breathing, giving herself up to the shussh-boom of air, matching it with her heartbeat until it filled her consciousness, until she began to drift…

In T'ir n'a n'Og, Ruth could achieve things that would have been impossible at home, but it was still a struggle for her to break through the barrier. After a while, she moved outside time, so that her whole world was only the beat of her heart and the rhythm of her breath and the smell of the incense. Eventually, though, something appeared to crack in her mind, a hairline fracture running through a rock. She exerted pressure and the rift grew wider, and suddenly she was inside the protected area, and just as quickly rushing out, through her head, passing through the chamber where she could see Niamh lying sickly, through the ceiling and the upper rooms of the house and out into the night sky. And still upwards, until the green island lay like an emerald in a sea of ink, and up. And then through the sky itself…

What happened next came back to Ruth only in vague, fleeting impressions later. She knew she had entered some kind of blue, blue world, for the colour haunted her for days after, but of any other detail of the place-if it were a place-there was nothing. She sensed a tremendous presence, a sentience, so big it dwarfed the entire universe; even so, it appeared to recognise her. But the most striking impressions were abstracts: contentment so powerful everything else disappeared; connection; losing all her fears and worries in an instant. She didn't recall uttering a sound, never mind begging for what she required, knew instinctively she didn't have to.

And one other thing: an odd, fractured remembrance of Veitch and Tom, so quick it could easily have been a memory leaking through from another time.

She came out of what felt like a deep slumber with Church's hands on her shoulders, feeling more refreshed than she had done in months. She took his hand and smiled beatifically; whatever he saw in her face appeared to shock him briefly. Then he said, "I was worried when there was no sound so I took a peek in. I saw you slumped on the floor here, thought something bad had happened. Did I screw up?"

She turned to Niamh who was sitting up, rubbing her arms, looking faintly dazed, yet also slightly transcendent. The blue-black mottling on her arms was fading before their eyes, the strength returning to her limbs with amazing speed.

"You have changed the course of existence, Ruth," Niamh said with deference. "The alterations to the fabric spinning off from this point will be startling."

Through her bliss, Ruth wasn't wholly sure she liked the sound of that.

Back on Wave Sweeper, an account of what Ruth had achieved passed swiftly through the crew and passengers. Ruth and Church barely had time to put their feet on the deck before they were ushered into Manannan's cabin. He stood next to his table, hands clasped behind his back.

"You have achieved a great thing, Brother and Sister of Dragons." His voice appeared to come from all parts of the room at once. "The gratitude of the Golden Ones is with you." He moved around the table, still aloof, barely looking at them, but Church thought there was a surprising warmth somewhere far beneath it all. "More than gratitude. You prevented another of our kind being stripped from existence. You have helped maintain one of the vital props of the way things are."

"We see all life as equal," Ruth said pointedly. "That's why we helped."

He nodded thoughtfully, as if, for once, he was actually listening, then fixed a curious gaze on them. "This is indeed an argument that has raged amongst my own kind. I have never held strong views, allowing my opinions to be swayed by the voices of one side or the other, dependent on who was speaking. Now, I feel, I have made my choice." He went to a crystal decanter filled with an unusual golden liquid. He poured three glasses and brought one each for Church and Ruth.

"Is it given freely and without obligation?" Church asked.

"Of course. Everything on my ship is given freely and without obligation. That is my way. And it is especially true for Brothers and Sisters of Dragons."

He raised his glass and drained it in one draught. Church and Ruth followed suit, and were stunned by the immediate effect of whatever the drink was. The aroma was flowers and spices. The instant the drink touched their tastebuds, it created an explosion across all five of their senses, a bizarre synesthaesia, and as it passed down their throat it filled them with a warmth and light as golden as the liquid itself, infusing them with a transcendent feeling of wonder and excitement. Once it settled into their system their vision sparkled around the edges. Objects in the room took on a strange cast, as if the very essence of them was visible. Manannan appeared to be made of light, and when Church and Ruth looked at each other they saw the same illusion-if that was what it was-although the light was of a slightly different shade.

"What is this?" Church asked in awe.

"The drink of gods. The distillation of all there is."

Church looked at Ruth again; they felt like they could read each other's thoughts; in one moment they could see the connections that bound them, something it often took couples a lifetime to discover. They would have embraced there and then, committed themselves to each other for all time, if Manannan's foreboding presence had not stopped them.

"Fragile Creatures have rarely tasted this liquid," Manannan continued. "Some of my kind consider it too rarefied for your tastes, that you are too rough to appreciate it and so should be denied it." He took the glasses from them and returned them to the table. "It can make you see like gods." His voice drifted back to them, disembodied, yet filled with meaning they couldn't discern.

When he came back he took Ruth's hand and pointed to the mark left by Cernunnos. "My brother, I see, has already come to his decision. Know this, then: you have an ally here too. I will take my stand with the Fragile Creatures."

"Thank you." Church made a slight bow. "And can we count on your arguments to influence the minds of your brothers when we reach our destination?"

"I will do what I can."

His mood changed abruptly as his attention focused on a number of charts unfurled on his desk, and it was obvious the audience was over. They thanked him, but he was already engrossed in new business.

Outside, they rested against the rail, pleased that the hot, humid microclimate of the island was no longer with them. The anchor had been raised while they were in Manannan's room and they were already speeding out into open water.

"You know what?" Church said curiously. "I had a feeling there was a lot going on behind that conversation, stuff that wasn't said."

"It's like he was talking about something important without telling us exactly what it was."

"Maybe he thought we already knew."

"These gods don't give anything away unless they have to, even when they're supposedly being friendly."

Church pulled Ruth close, draping an arm across her shoulders; he still felt warm and fuzzy from Manannan's drink. "I think it's time we stepped up our investigations." She rested her head on his shoulder, enjoying the comfort of contact after the stress of the day. "There's something very strange and disturbing going on here. We've been moving through it, seeing and hearing little parts of it. I think it takes in Cormorel's murder, and… lots of things."

"Would you like to elaborate, or are you going to keep talking vaguely just for the hell of it?"

"I don't know what else to say. It's a gut instinct." In his arms, she felt soft and hard and warm and cold all at the same time. "I think if we don't find out what's going on, we're going to lose everything."

"What do you suggest? An inquisition? You know they won't tell us anything."

"I suggest it's time to go searching for the Walpurgis. Tomorrow. Just after dawn."

An hour before first light they came upon the third of the Western Isles. Taranis summoned Manannan from his cabin and together they surveyed the rocky outcropping. A thick column of smoke rose from the island and settled in a pall across the area, the underside of it a dull ruddy brown from the fires that raged there.

Manannan did not even bother dropping anchor. Taranis moved to mobilise the crew. The itinerary was dropped instantly and they set a course for the island they called the Green Meadows of Enchantment, with the certain knowledge that the vile corruption of the Heart of Shadows had extended to the very walls of their home.

"There weren't really giants," Veitch said as they wandered down the hill from Gog Magog House.

"There were so." Tom's face had grown sterner as the day passed. He had been quite rude to Robertson, who had refused to come with them to an area he claimed was cursed. "Even in my time, before the Queen got her hands on me, there were still a handful of giants scattered around the island. Some died off, some wandered through to T'ir n'a n'Og. But they're not the kind of giants we're interested in right now."

"So… what? These are short giants?"

Tom snorted with irritation, even though he knew Veitch was only trying to provoke him. "There are giants in the earth," he muttered to himself. "How little they knew."

They crossed the path and made their way alongside a defunct electric fence that once kept sheep from the nature preservation area. The early afternoon sun was hot. Flies and wasps buzzed along the tree line, while darting mosquitoes made brief forays from the pond. Under the trees the atmosphere had grown sweaty and oppressive. Tom picked his way amongst the brambles, scrambling over fallen trees and amongst the thorny bushes, with Veitch following easily behind.

"So, is it going to be a surprise, then?" Veitch continued to gibe. "Like always. Blowing up in my face at the last minute. Like in the Queen's court?"

"You were warned about that."

"Well, you didn't do a very good job of it, did you?"

"Sorry. I underestimated your stupidity."

Veitch said something obscene, but Tom had already picked up his step until he arrived at an area where the topsoil had been cleared to reveal mysterious patterns on the ground.

With a puzzled face, Veitch attempted to make head and tail of them. "Looks like one of those ink blots they show you when they think you're crazy."

"The Rorschach Test," Tom noted. "That's quite fitting. Everyone who comes here sees in these patterns what they want to believe."

"Not what's actually there?"

"Nothing is actually there, anywhere. You've not learned anything in all this, have you?"

Veitch stared at him for a long moment, then said, "I've learned you're a-"

"Archaeologists have been digging around here for decades, ever since the famous antiquarian T. C. Lethbridge excavated this site on the south side of the ring in late 1955 and 1956." Tom rested his hands on his knees so he could lean forward to get a better look. "He pumped metal rods in the ground, claiming he found different depths, bumps, shapes underneath the surface which marked out this. He christened this the Gog Magog figure. All told, he claimed he'd discovered a sun goddess, two other male figures and a chariot."

"You're talking like it isn't true."

"Not in the eyes of archaeologists who came after him. All of Lethbridge's work here is steeped in controversy. Academics and the usual amateur historical sleuths who want to be seen as professional claim there is absolutely no evidence for Lethbridge's claim. All this is a figment of his fevered imagination. But if there's one thing we've learned, it's not to trust the establishment. Is that not so?"

"Too bleedin' right."

"The occult groups always backed Lethbridge because they knew truth does not always come in facts and figures, quantifiable evidence."

"You've lost me again." Veitch's attention was drifting amongst the trees, searching for any signs of threat. For a while he had been aware of a deep level of unease that he couldn't quite understand. He was good at sensing obvious danger near at hand, or even more subtle signs of peril, but this was different; it was almost like the threat was there but not there, buried very deeply or watching from such a distant place it could barely be called a threat. But he felt it nonetheless.

"Whatever they say, there were certainly some hill figures carved on this site," Tom continued. "There are many antiquarian sources which confirm that. And with these hills bearing the name Gog Magog, and the house on the summit, it doesn't take a great detective to know who this sacred site was dedicated to."

"Giants?"

Tom sighed, clambering on to the rough pattern and kneeling down so he could sweep it with his fingers. "You should know by now, no one knows anything about the past. Every historian and archaeologist has theories, and yes, they can make convincing arguments. The ones who shout loudest set the agenda. But the clever man ignores their voices and looks closely at the evidence. And once he realises all of it is conflicting, he understands: Nobody. Knows. Anything."

"But you know it all, right?" Veitch took the opportunity to check his weapons: the crossbow slung across his back, the sword secreted in his jacket, the dagger strapped to his leg. All in place, all ready for action.

"Who is Gog Magog? Who are they? They are there in the Bible, in Jewish and Christian apocalyptic literature. In one account, Gog and Magog are two hostile forces, in another Gog comes from the country of Magog. But the Bible is adamant they or he is a force for evil in the final battle between God and Satan. The Battle of Armageddon."

"So they're evil?" Veitch had the blank expression that always irritated Tom.

"The Bible is a book, Ryan. The Church likes to pretend it's the word of God, but as we all know, it's the word of God as edited by men, by councils of the religion's great and the good for hundreds of years after Jesus lived. Many of God's words were thrown out to present a more cohesive story. And man is flawed, so the Bible tells us. Ergo, the Bible is flawed and cannot be wholly trusted."

Witch chuckled. "They'd have you dragged out and stoned for that in some places."

"Then they would be morons," Tom said sourly, "mistaking intellectual questioning for blasphemy. It's all a matter of intent." He stood up and stretched his old limbs. "In the Guildhall in London are two wooden effigies of Gog and Magog, supposedly the last of a race of giants. And that itself is a mistake of history, for in ancient times they were statues of Gogmagog, a twelve foot Goliath, and Corineus, the Trojan general who threw him to his death. Or perhaps we listen to another story that says Gog and Magog are two mythical London heroes. Or Geoffrey of Monmouth, the mediaeval historian, who said Gogmagog was a giant chieftain of Cornwall. Or are we, indeed, talking about the giant oak trees at Glastonbury, sole survivors of an ancient Druid grove and ceremonial path? No one knows anything."

"So is this the time for your catch phrase? Mythology is-"

11 — the secret history of the land. Exactly. We read between the lines. We look for common threads. We search for the metaphors that all the old stories are reaching for. Giants in the earth, Ryan. A sacred site since the earliest times of man, their bodies buried far beneath our feet, along with a horse, the familiar metaphor for wild energy, for fertility, and the chariot of spiritual transcendence. People believed in this enough to keep the myth alive for thousands of years. Isn't that astonishing? Doesn't that shout out about the power that resides here?"

Veitch surveyed the light through the trees. "Okay, enough talk. Get on with what you've got to do."

"That's easier said than done." Tom wandered around the pattern left by Lethbridge's excavations, swatting away the wasps that assailed him continually. Although to Witch his meanderings looked random, Tom was actually following the tracings of Blue Fire in the land that Veitch had not yet learnt to see. The camp was a potent source of the earth energy, scything in sapphire strands across the grass, pumping through arteries as wide as a gushing stream, reaching through capillaries into the roots of trees and bushes. The Blue Fire added new shape and meaning to the barely discernible pattern Lethbridge had uncovered. The archaeologist had instinctively uncovered a figure that was spiritual in nature, rather than an exact outline on the hillside: a true representation of an ancient figure of worship, carved through ritual and prayer by the ancient people who first inhabited Wandlebury Camp, kept in focus by the Celts who followed.

But it wasn't just a figure. It was a mandala for reflection, allowing direct access to the spiritual realm, as well as one of the ancient people's landscape markers for a defence against incursions from Otherworld-and also a doorway. Near the top of the outline, at the large circle Lethbridge had identified as the head of the figure, the Blue Fire flowed back and forth between this world and the next. Tom knelt down, steeled himself, then thrust his hand into the current of flames.

"My body is the key," he whispered.

From Witch's perspective Tom's hand disappeared up to the wrist in the soil. For long minutes nothing happened, until soft vibrations began, growing into a deep rumbling and a shaking in the ground that made his knees buckle. A large section opened upwards like a trapdoor, trailing soil and pebbles. Beyond the mass of hanging roots, Veitch could see a dark tunnel disappearing down into the depths.

He made to duck into the opening, but Tom waved him back. "This is for me," he said. "You must stay here to prepare yourself for what is to come. I will attempt to be back with the information we need by sunset. But if not, flee this place until the sun rises on the morrow. Do you hear me? Do not stay during the night."

Veitch agreed silently. Tom nodded goodbye before diving into the hole like the White Rabbit. It closed at his heels with a thunderous shaking, leaving Veitch alone with a growing sense of apprehension.