Jack of Ravens

11

1966 was a year of running away. Church and Niamh travelled to New Orleans and then to Boston, and finally to Maine, as far away as possible from the conflict that was beginning to grip the rest of the nation.

In San Francisco the Grateful Dead staged the first light show in front of 10,000 people, and Jefferson Airplane and Big Brother and the Holding Company performed at the Fillmore with Janis Joplin. Anti-Vietnam War protests brought tens of thousands onto the streets of New York City in March, and two months later another 10,000 marched on Washington DC.

At the same time the FBI was working hard to ensure that LSD had a bad press, and the Bureau launched a raid on Timothy Leary’s Millbrook Mansion, arresting him for possession of marijuana. Leary, in true showmanship style, refused to take it lying down. In September he held a press conference announcing the formation of a psychedelic religion, the League for Spiritual Discovery, where he called on the world to Turn on, tune in, drop out’.

Church found himself growing closer to Niamh by dint of shared time and experience; they were rarely apart. At first she was difficult to comprehend. Over meals she would tell him sad stories of the Golden Ones unable to find their way back to their mythic homeland where they would finally feel complete. She wove tales of adventure, magic and mystery that reached back long before humanity ascended. The gods in those stories were alien and unknowable, but gradually he came to understand Niamh as a woman who was a product of her culture, struggling to come to terms with her own mortality and emotions that had been repressed by her upbringing.

And as she listened intently to his own account of his childhood, and the dreams he had nurtured in his formative years, he accepted that she had fallen in love with him. The moment when he finally recognised her feelings for him was ironically banal, as she sat next to a beaten-up mono record player, listening to Songs for Swingin’ Lovers over and over again as she struggled and failed to comprehend his love for the music of Frank Sinatra. She felt more at home with the bands Tom had championed, the groundbreaking guitar music of the Yardbirds, the Beatles and the rest, and she was unaccountably happy when Church would sit and listen to them with her.

It was in the late autumn that everything changed. The trees were a mass of red and gold and the leaves rushed back and forth along the empty sidewalks of the small town in which they had rented a white clapperboard house. As they walked, deep in conversation, through the late-afternoon woodsmoke and wind hinting of coming snow, Church became aware of a man waiting under an oak tree ahead. His hair was fashionably long and he wore frayed denim and a battered military surplus jacket. It was only as they neared that Church realised it was Lugh, his golden skin resembling a honeyed Californian tan.

Niamh was understandably happy to see him, yet underneath it Church sensed a deep unease. Lugh hugged Niamh and then greeted Church with surprising warmth, but his smile faded quickly.

‘Sister, dark days are drawing in across the Far Lands. The Enemy is growing in power, and their forces are making incursions into our territory. I fear war is imminent.’

‘I am sorry to hear that, brother, but it is not unexpected.’

‘Some of our people who have an affinity with the Fragile Creatures have fled here to the Fixed Lands. Those who remain refuse to acknowledge the threat.’

‘They still can’t see it?’ Church said. ‘They’ll be indulging themselves while their courts burn around them.’

‘As you are aware, Brother of Dragons, my people are slow to recognise the nature of reality beyond their own fields.’ He turned to Niamh. ‘My sister, I ask you to return to the Far Lands to attend to the needs of your court. Defences must be established. The ruling council you left in place has neither the wisdom nor the popular support to do what is necessary.’

Niamh turned to watch the leaves falling from the tree to hide her conflicting emotions, though Church could see the sadness in her body language. ‘This is a beautiful place, brother, and there is an abiding peace, too, if one looks carefully. I understand my responsibilities to my court, but here-’

‘I understand, sister,’ Lugh interjected without judgment. ‘I wish you well and hope to see you again in more glorious times.’ He made to go, but then turned to Church. ‘Take care of my sister, Brother of Dragons. There is fragility even in the hearts of the Golden Ones.’ And with that he walked away until he was lost in a flurry of golden leaves, and when they had passed, he was lost to the Earth itself.

‘Why didn’t you go with him?’ Church asked.

Niamh’s eyes brimmed with tears. He had never seen her cry before. ‘You know why.’

‘Don’t do it for me, Niamh.’

‘That is what Fragile Creatures do, is it not? They make sacrifices for love.’

‘I-’

Niamh pressed a finger to his lips to silence him. ‘I know you do not love me. That is not the point. Love is not an arrangement that demands reciprocation. I know my heart, and I must be true to it, whatever the outcome.’

He stood beneath the tree amidst the falling leaves and watched her walk away, a small figure, lonely and sad, not a god at all.