The Burning Man

1

The night was warm as summer reached its end. Frank Sinatra crooned ‘Fly Me to the Moon’ and the middle-aged Irish guys around the radio joined in as if they were on stage at the Sands. In their beer-fuelled exuberance there was a sense of good times just around the corner.

In the backroom of McSorley’s Old Ale House on East Seventh Street, a nude woman with a parrot looked down on the proceedings. Church, Shavi and Tom sat near the old fireplace under the motto Be good or be gone, blending into the background amongst the collection of weirdos, loners and curious tourists. They had spent three days searching the city without any luck. Halfway down his fourth glass of beer, Church was desperately trying not to behave like some lachrymose old drunk, but was unable to shake the memory of the last time he had heard the song performed with such abandon, in a pub on Dartmoor, with Ruth.

He gained some comfort from the bar’s long, rich history and the knowledge that he was drinking in the shadow of Abraham Lincoln, John Lennon and Woody Guthrie. Faces stared from the old black-and-white photos lining the walls, reminding him of the turn of events, large and small, and how the world was shaped.

‘Ruth is staying with Ryan to prevent him from doing any more terrible things,’ Shavi insisted quietly.

Tom had been oblivious to their conversation as he soaked up the surroundings, overjoyed to be back in the country he loved most.

‘It’s more complex than that,’ Church replied. ‘I could see it in her face. She wanted to be with him.’

‘We are all so close, bound by the Pendragon Spirit, that our feelings are often confused and distorted. Under stress, thrown into close proximity with him for so long, perhaps she does not even know herself what she really feels. And then there is whatever spell Veitch has cast over the three of you-’

‘Will both of you shut up!’ Tom snapped. ‘It’s only love. Anybody would think you were fretting about something important.’

‘Haven’t you ever been in love?’ Church responded sharply.

‘Why, yes. I fell in love with the queen of the Court of the Yearning Heart. She kidnapped me from my home and had me torn apart and rebuilt by that bastard Dian Cecht. I think that’s what you call a metaphor. Never again.’

Church sighed. ‘All right, beats me.’ He pushed his empty glass towards Tom. ‘Make yourself useful. And have a small sherry yourself while you’re at it.’

Muttering and grumbling, Tom went to the bar.

‘I’m not going to give up on Ruth,’ Church said to Shavi. ‘I crossed two thousand years to get back to her. This won’t stop me.’

‘That is good.’

‘There’s something else.’ Ever since he had arrived in New York, he hadn’t been able to bring himself even to think about the devastating revelation that had emerged in the Forbidden City, but it loomed darkly over everything he did, and everything they planned. ‘In Beijing, while you were off with Tom, I was given a vision of my future. There’s no easy way to say this: the Libertarian is me. I become him, sometime in the future, because of how I feel about Ruth. Everything falls apart because of me, because of my failure. I become that sick killer working for the Void.’

Outside in the street, police sirens blared past.

‘All that slaughter he carried out as he moved through time — how could I do that? It’s all got to be inside me, somewhere. Is the Pendragon Spirit just a lie?’

‘Nothing is written, Church. You know that. Time does not exist. Reality is not fixed. These concepts are all just illusions we create so our poor human brains can cope with what is out there. Remember, reality changes, like the globe that Dian Cecht showed you in the Court of the Final Word. Put pressure on one point and another part shifts to accommodate it.’

Another police car sped by.

‘Matter cannot be destroyed,’ Shavi continued. ‘Nor can energy, which is why no one ever really dies. It all just reforms in endless new shapes. Whatever you were shown, you can change it.’

‘I wish I could have your faith.’

‘I told you — that is why I am here, so you do not have to.’ Shavi followed Church’s gaze to Tom at the bar. ‘Why did you wait until Tom had gone to tell me about the Libertarian?’

‘He’s getting back his old flashes of the future. Why didn’t he say anything about me becoming the Libertarian?’

‘Because he is protecting you as he always has, from the moment you met. He is the best friend you could ever hope for.’

Church watched Tom wind his way back through the drinkers, just another sixties burn-out mourning Jerry Garcia, no sign of all the scars he kept assiduously hidden away.

‘Yeah, I’m a useless friend, aren’t I? One day I’ll get over this whole self-obsessed thing.’

‘I think we are all allowed one flaw.’

Church took his drink from Tom and raised his glass. ‘Here we go, then: no happy endings!’

They all drank to it.