World's end

Chapter Fifteen

Ruth reached Church first. "We're on the highest spot in the area and they're drowning," she said incredulously. Without giving it a second thought, she jumped astride him and began massaging his chest to free the water trapped in his lungs.

The others reacted slightly slower-Laura gave the kiss of life to Veitch while Shavi administered to Tom-but within five minutes the three new arrivals were sitting up, gasping and wringing out their sodden clothes.

Bafflement at the bizarre situation was washed aside in a rush of emotion. Ruth threw her arms round Church and hugged him tightly. "God, I'm so glad you're alive!"

Although still dazed by the situation, his relief at seeing her was palpable. He kissed her affectionately on the cheek, then glanced up at Laura who was standing uncomfortably a few feet away.

"I knew you were too stupid to get yourself killed," she said.

He smiled; the message between the lines was obvious. "I missed you too."

Their brief introductions dissolved into a mess of garbled comments as they struggled to understand what had happened. Church described the confrontation at Tintagel and their plunge into the ocean, while glancing at Glastonbury's lights. Then he caught Tom's eye. "What do you know about it?"

Tom's grey, drawn face suggested the experience had affected him more than the others. "I moved us along the lines of power." He sucked in a deep, juddering breath.

"You transported us here?" Church said incredulously.

"It was always theoretically possible. A matter of shaping the energy to do your bidding, forcing a connection between two nodes. I'd been taught the ritual movements, the correct vibrational sounds to make-"

"Magic!" Shavi said, his face alight with excitement.

"— but I'd never achieved anything like this before. Desperation must have focused my mind."

"Who taught you?" Church asked. "You owe us a lot of explanations-"

"There is no time now," Shavi interrupted. He explained the impending sunrise ritual and the events that had led them to it.

"Don't we get a bleedin' rest?" Veitch flopped back on the grass.

"We can rest later." Church retrieved the sword from where it lay and made a tear in his jacket, slipping it in between the lining; the handle protruded above his right shoulder where he could reach it easily. "Two down," he said, "and two to go."

Huddled in the tower away from the wind, they made hasty introductions and exchanged fuller details of their experiences, but any excitement they may have felt at their reunion was muted by the apprehension of what lay ahead. Twenty minutes later the first faint silvering in the sky brought with it an oppressive silence. Shavi rose and led the way to the Living Rock, a standing stone that marked the entrance to the labyrinth. While the others waited uncomfortably behind him, he bowed his head silently in meditation. Then, when the first rays of dawn crept across the grass to hit the stone, it seemed to ignite with blue fire. A gasp of amazement rippled through the others, but Shavi simply rested his hand upon it for a moment before setting off along the first terrace; the others followed in a solemn procession.

The going was not easy. They weaved back and forth in horseshoe patterns around the tor, slowly rising through the terraces as the sky exploded in gold, purple and powder blue. Though none of them spoke, the dawn chorus soaring from the trees at the base of the hill provided an epic soundtrack. Whatever power lay in the ground reinvigorated Church, Veitch and Tom, but there was still a hard lump of fear in all their hearts.

It took them nearly two hours to complete the serpentine route. At the final turn, the path seemed to disappear, leaving a precipitous, near-impassable way to the summit. Veitch opened his mouth to question, but Church silenced him with a wave of his finger. At that spot, the underlying rock broke through the short grass to reveal a large boulder.

The others waited patiently while Shavi produced the plastic bottle containing the Chalice Well water and, after another moment of meditation, he poured the oblation upon the boulder. A strange dual tone emerged from deep within the tor, like falsetto singing merging with a bass rumble. Tiny threads of blue fire spread out across the boulder and then into the other exposed rock. It fizzed and licked for a moment while the noise grew in intensity and then, with a sudden roaring, the rock drew aside to reveal a dark tunnel winding down into the black depths.

They could remember nothing about that journey through the dark. Sometime later, they found themselves in a place that took their breath away; not some dingy cavern lying inside the tor, but green fields and thick woods, rustled by a slight breeze in the heat of a summer's day. Nearby they could hear the faint babbling of a brook. The air smelled sweeter than anything they had experienced before; to breathe it in was so fulfilling it was almost as if they had eaten a hearty meal. Ruth caught a fleeting glimpse of her owl soaring high above and wondered how it had got there.

"Where are we?" Veitch said in bewilderment. "We should be underground. I can see sky."

Tom knelt down and gently kissed the green sward. "Tir na n'Og," he muttered.

Ruth looked round in confusion. "We're not in Somerset any more, Toto."

"The Land of Youth, or Always Summer." This Church did remember from his studies. "The Celtic heaven. The Otherworld where all the gods were supposed to have gone to after they left Earth in the hands of man."

"That's one aspect of it." Tom rose and stretched; he looked revitalised. "Like everything else, it has a dual aspect. It is also The Land of Ever Winter, or hell, by any other name, depending how you come to it."

"I don't understand." Veitch looked from one face to the other.

"This place is not fixed," Tom said, "like all the things that originate here. You are all seeing something slightly different, depending on your perception. What is within, is without."

"Listen to the voice of Buddha," Laura sighed.

But now he had mentioned it, they could all see it. The edges of each blade of grass, tree branches, even the horizon, seemed vaguely fluid, as if they could change at a moment's notice; they seemed to radiate a subtle, inner light, creating a distorted sense of unreality.

"But we should be underground," Veitch protested.

"Hey, new boy, when you find your brain, let us know." Laura kicked up a few sods of turf. "We've crossed over. We're in Never land now." Veitch returned a combative scowl.

"Look at it!" Shavi said. "It is amazing. Everything is so vital." He whirled round to take in the landscape. "Even the quality of the air, the sounds-"

"Don't be mistaken," Tom interjected. "There's danger here too."

"It looks deserted," Ruth said.

"The Danann are missing. Everything else is in our world," Church said.

The Wayfinder's flame pointed them down the gentle slope of the meadow to a wood that lay beyond the brook. As they walked, Church caught up with Tom. "So this is where you stayed for all those years. Is it good to be back?"

"You misunderstand." Tom didn't take his eyes off the path. "I miss this place like a murderer who has spent his entire life in solitary confinement misses his cell. Familiarity forces you to love the things you hate."

"You were a prisoner here?"

"A prisoner, a plaything, something to be tormented by the gods, torn inside out and reshaped for their enjoyment."

Church eyed him askance. "I hope that's a metaphor."

"I told you-they are alien, unknowable. We cannot begin to grasp the power at their disposal. Do not be fooled because we view them in vaguely human form. They are beyond most of our emotions-love, hate-"

"Cruelty?"

He paused. "No. Not beyond that."

Tom was interrupted by a cry from Veitch, who had moved into lead position along the path which was skirting a thick wood. They hurried through the meadow flowers until they saw what had alerted him: an odd circular structure of timber and stone with a tower at its centre. The Wayfinder flame flickered enticingly towards it.

"Before this land was deserted you wouldn't have been able to get within an arrow's fall of this place. Even the Danann revered it and what it contained," Tom said.

"The bloody Grail!" Witch said enthusiastically.

They walked slowly until they were in the shadow of the building; an odd atmosphere hung heavily around it that invoked both awe and fear. Church pointed out five doors around its walls, without needing to explain what that meant. Shavi and Ruth were keen to enter, but after their experiences with the first two talismans Church, Veitch and Laura were more hesitant.

Tom wandered back into the sun and took up a position on one of the grassy slopes overlooking the building. "You're not coming?" Church asked.

"I would be torn apart by all the power in there. This isn't for me. It's about you, all of you."

There was something in his words that made Church feel uncomfortable, but he turned back to the others, readying himself for what lay ahead. After fifteen minutes boosting each other's confidence, they each took up a spot in front of one of the doors and on the count of three they swung them open and stepped in.

The corridor was long, pitch-black and oppressively warm. Shavi edged down it cautiously, trailing his fingertips along the rough walls for guidance. His footsteps echoed strangely, as if the size of the space were far greater than it appeared to be, and after he had been walking for ten minutes he realised that must certainly have been the case, for he could have circumnavigated the building five times in that period. By then, the faint light from the door had disappeared completely, the impenetrable darkness closing around so tightly he felt like he was floating in space. His progress slowed even further as he felt each step with his foot in case the floor fell away suddenly.

But after a short while he got a sense of diffuse illumination ahead, like candlelight. To his surprise, he found himself in what appeared to be a funfair hall of mirrors, the polished glass lined up in continuously branching avenues like a maze. After the dark it was destabilising and he had to close his eyes for a moment while he steadied himself.

It was impossible to guess where the source of the light was in the myriad subtle reflections, but it allowed him to move more freely. He chose his path at random.

For what seemed like an hour, he wandered among the images of himself, most of them normal, some grotesquely distorted. It seemed to him it was simply a trap to drive intruders insane. He could have been going round in circles for all he knew; there was nothing to distinguish the routes among the mirrors.

But as he rounded a sharp bend in the maze, he came upon a mirror which was unlike any of the others. It was larger, with a bevelled edge to the glass, and a frame of what appeared to be silver, designed with the spiral paths and interlinking patterns of Celtic art. Shavi felt drawn towards it as if it were radiating some dark power. And once he stood before it he could see it was unusual in other ways, too; at first glance, his reflection seemed perfectly normal, but the more he looked, the more he could see a difference that was so subtle it was almost a variation of mood. There was a darkness to the features, the merest tinge of cruelty around the mouth, a sense of bitter loss in the eyes, a resentment in the way the head was held.

Shavi examined it for a long moment, and then its mouth moved in no reflection of his own.

"Why do you do this to yourself, Shavi? Searching for meaning in all these silly places? All these religions that have nothing to do with you? The meaning is here, with your family and the way you were raised. It will destroy you, Shavi." It was his father's voice. A chill crept through him. He recalled the rest of that conversation, the anger, the terrible things that were said.

The mouth on the reflection became faintly sneering. "You are a selfish man, Shavi." This time it was his own voice, though harder, more contemptuous. "You destroyed your family with your actions. Think of your father and your mother-the effort they expended raising you in the correct Muslim way. Think how they must feel to see you abandon every principle which has been the bedrock of their lives. They see themselves as failures in the thing that is most important to them. You destroyed them, Shavi."

I did not-"

The image spoke more forcefully to block his protestations. "Lies. Your only motivation was your own selfish spiritual advancement, your own intellectual curiosity, and you had no concern how many people were hurt as you walked your road of excess to your own personal palace of wisdom. Life is about community, Shavi. About society. Helping others achieve their own nirvana-"

"I am helping others now."

"Because it coincides with your own desires. You are revelling in the light these experiences shine on the dark of the greater reality."

"True." Shavi felt more confident after his initial shock. Once he had realised it was the test they had all expected it became easy to detach himself. The mirror was reflecting back at him his own doubts and fears about his choices in life. But there was nothing it could show him that he hadn't weighed and discarded, or had accepted in order to change himself.

The mirror suddenly took on a milky sheen and when it cleared he was looking out on a Clapham street late one night. Several yards away, Lee was being bludgeoned to death. The blood splashed high with each thunderous blow. The attacker was like a smear on the surface of the glass, but Lee's expression was in stark relief; his eyes were turned towards Shavi, pleading for help, his mouth was an 0 of horror and desperation of a life about to be eradicated.

"You could have saved him, Shavi. You had the strength inside you to stand up, to fight. But you were afraid for your own safety. The haziness from the blow was just as an excuse. You gave into it easily so you would not have to risk yourself. And Lee died because of your cowardice."

Shavi felt the emotion well up in him uncontrollably until tears sprang from his eyes like they had been pricked by needles. There was such a rush of loss and guilt he thought he was going to break down.

"You're a bitch, Laura, and you deserve everything you get." The face in the mirror, her face, spat the words with venom. "Let's face it, you killed your mum! On a scale of one to ten that's off the Sick Bastardometer. What do you think that did to your dad? Well, it probably wasn't what was crossing his mind when he held you in that little girlie white dress at your Christening. He probably thought you'd turn out to be a vet or a nurse. You know, something useful. Hell, maybe even a dutiful daughter-some stupid fantasy like that. No wonder he opted for a life of shrinks and cells instead of giving you a big soppy hug.

"So now you think you're going to find some kind of salvation with Mr. Brooding-and-Soulful Churchill. Think again. You'll just screw up his life like you have everybody else's. You couldn't feel anything as selfless as love if it walked up and bit you on your bony arse. You're just sucking out of him anything you can find that will make you feel, Vampire-Girl. Get real. If you wanted to do something worthwhile you'd top yourself. Save the rest of the world any more heartache."

Veitch felt his finger close on the trigger, felt the kick from the ejaculation of the bullet, saw it embed itself in the man's body, burst through it, spraying the bone and the blood, saw the terrible pain on his victim's face; felt the faintly perverse pleasure rise through him, like a hard porn orgasm, the kick of having ultimate power and dispensing it with the merest thought. Nothing could control him; he could control everything.

"That was how it was, wasn't it, Ryan?"

"No! I've been living with that every day of my life since!"

"Because you enjoyed it."

"No-!"

"Yes. Secretly. In your quiet moments. Lying in bed when everyone else was asleep. When your other poor bastard brothers were doing time for you. You thought, `Yeah! That was what it was like to be a top man!"'

"You lying fucking bastard! I'm gonna make up for that if it's the last thing I do. That's right. Even if I have to die, I'm gonna pay it back. I learned a big lesson-"

"No, you didn't. You'd kill again at the drop of a hat."

"You bastard! You might look like me, but you don't know me! I've never done anything right in my life and I'm sick of it! I want to be a good bloke! I want people to look at me like they do Churchill-"

"Yeah, it's all about self, isn't it, Ryan? You don't want to do good because it makes other people feel good. You want to do it because it makes you feel good."

"Fuck you!"

"I loved my father!" The tears seared down Ruth's cheeks.

"You hated him. He dominated you from when you were young. He forced you into a career you didn't want to do-"

"He didn't force me! I did it because I wanted to make him happy! So it was the wrong career for me. It's not Dad's fault. He didn't-"

"What? He didn't know his own daughter? No, he was a typical working class bloke who wanted a bit of respectability for his family. A lawyer! That'd be something to tell them all down at the union meetings and in the labour club. His daughter had worked hard and made something of herself, despite starting with nothing. And he didn't care a thing about what you wanted-"

"That's not true! Dad didn't think like that!" The next few lines out of the mirror were drowned out by Ruth's racking sobs. She had not felt so raw since the day her father had dropped dead of a heart attack, in that fleeting moment when she thought time had stopped and the whole world was coming to an end. Somehow the magic surrounding the mirror had pushed all the right buttons to bring the emotions rushing out of her.

"He knew you were unhappy in your work. That's what killed him."

"Not true! It was the shock of Uncle Jim's murder-"

The mirror went milky and when it cleared Ruth was looking on the interior of a building society. A tall man with greying hair and a pleasant face that was locked in anxiety stared out at her; he looked remarkably like her father.

"That's Uncle Jim," she said curiously. Suddenly she realised what was coming next. "Oh no-"

The blast of a gun made her jump with shock. Her uncle was flung back against the counter, clutching at his stomach as a large red patch began to spread across his sweater.

"Oh, Uncle Jim-"

Somebody ran forward to inspect the body. He was cursing and waving his gun at Uncle Jim, as if he had done something to provoke his own murder. Ruth was transfixed in horror. The killer had on a mask, but Ruth recognised the shape of his muscular body, the long hair that flapped around as he shook his head wildly, in anger it seemed. But most of all she recognised the garish tattoo she could see snaking out from under his sleeve.

"That's the man Church brought with him." Even as she said it Ruth couldn't believe it; but it was true. "That's Veitch."

Church stared impassively at the scene of Marianne lying on the floor, her skin so pale she looked like a statue. "You're wasting your time," he said coldly. "I've lived with that image for so long now I'm immune to it. When I thought I was responsible … when I thought I was some kind of terrible person who could live with someone yet be so self-centred they had no idea of the torment their partner was going through … then it might have hurt me. But now I know she was murdered."

"You're still responsible," his voice said as the image faded and his dark, bitter reflection returned. At first he had thought it resembled him exactly; it seemed just like the face he had seen in the mirror so many times over the last two years. But now he wasn't so sure. It didn't feel like him. He felt better than that; and that thought surprised him.

"How can that be? Someone else killed her and pretty soon, with any luck, I'm going to find out who did it. That was the promise made to me, and that's the only thing driving me forward. You see, I'm going to die soon. I've seen my own death. Can you believe that? So nothing else matters, apart from finding out what happened to Marianne and getting some kind of peace before the end. Some might call it fatalistic. But if it's going to happen it's going to happenyou've just got to make the best of it. That's a big lesson I've learned recently. It's the quality of the life up to the big peg-out that matters." The reflection went to speak, but Church wouldn't let it. "Shut up. And here's something that has to be said, just for the sake of getting it out in the open, really. Once I find out who killed Marianne, if I get the chance before I die myself, I'm going to take the bastard with me. That's a promise."

The reflection opened its mouth once more, but Church had had enough. He turned his back on it and prepared to return to the maze in search of the way to the talisman. And as he did so there was a sudden shattering as shards of the big ornate mirror exploded out. Miraculously, none of them touched him. As he glanced back he noticed that behind the broken mirror there was another tunnel, this time lit by the flickering blue light of the earth energy.

Church found himself in a circular, domed room cast in sapphire by the light of four braziers burning brightly with the blue fire. There was a sense of serenity that sluiced all the negative emotions from him. In the centre was a raised marble dais bearing an object which he couldn't quite make out; the air seemed to shimmer and fold around an image which constantly changed. Church saw a construct of light with strange, unnerving angles, a robust cauldron blackened by fire, a crystal goblet, an ornate gold vase studded with jewels. As he approached, the object seemed to freeze, the air cleared and he was looking at a chipped bowl of heavily aged wood that most wouldn't have given a second glance.

He stood before it, overwhelmed by the weight of myth and symbolism; here was the dream of generations.

It was too much. Afraid to even touch it, he rested his hands on the marble top. Instantly, the bowl slid towards him of its own accord and came to a stop between his fingers, offering itself up to him. Steeling himself, he grasped it firmly, and at that moment he heard the distant sound of fracturing glass. Within minutes the other four had made their way to the chamber; Church was shocked to see their shattered expressions.

Shavi's face brightened the moment he saw what Church was holding. "The Grail!" His voice was filled with awe and wonder.

"And the cauldron, one and the same. It-"

They were interrupted by a sudden commotion. In a fury, Ruth had propelled herself towards Veitch and slammed a fist into his face. He pitched backwards, blood spouting from his nose, and now she was raining blows upon him which Veitch batted away as best he could.

"You bastard!" she screamed. "You killed him!"

Shavi and Laura managed to pull her off with great difficulty; she was transformed by rage, swearing and spitting. Veitch pulled himself into a sitting position, dabbing at his bloody nose. "Stupid bitch," he hissed, but Church could see the anger in his face was purely defensive.

Laura looked at Ruth in disbelief. "Take a stress pill. What's wrong with you-something finally popped?"

"He killed my father." She shook Laura and Shavi off, consumed by the coldness of her words, which brought back the terrible ache of futility and emptiness she had felt just after her father's death, and she hated Veitch as much for making her feel it again as for his original crime.

"He killed your dad?" Laura looked from Ruth to Veitch. None of them could comprehend what she was saying.

"He was some stupid, petty bigmouth with a gun trying to get rich quick by robbing a building society." The contempt in Ruth's voice hissed acidly. "My uncle was in there and that bastard shot him dead, then ran away. And when my father found out what had happened, it killed him."

They stared at Veitch for some sort of denial, but he couldn't look at any of them.

"He was just an old man!" Ruth cried. "He couldn't have done anything to you!" She swallowed noisily. "He was going down to Brighton with my aunt to celebrate their silver wedding anniversary. We were going to have a party.. She swallowed again. "What you did that day destroyed our family!"

Veitch bit his lip, said nothing.

Ruth glared at him, but her eyes were already filling with tears. She turned away and Church stepped in and put his arms around her. There was resistance at first, then she folded against him, although her body still felt rigid and cold, as if made of compacted ice.

"I didn't mean to do it," Veitch protested. "I know it's no fucking excuse, but I just … I was frightened. I knew I shouldn't have been there. And then I turned round and I thought he was coming for me …" He stared blankly at the ground. "If it means anything, I've never had a minute's peace since that day."

"It doesn't mean anything," Ruth said coldly.

The others shifted uncomfortably in the blast of raw emotions. Eventually Church said, "I know how you feel. Exactly how you feel. And that's why I'd never ask you to forgive him. But what's at stake in the world is more important than everything that's happening in our lives. If you break us up now-"

"I'm not going to break anything." Ruth pulled away from Church and looked him full in the face. "I'm not some stupid bimbo. I know what's at stake. I know what my responsibilities are. And I'll be there to the end." She stared hard at Veitch and what Church saw in that look unnerved him. "But don't expect me to be friends with that bastard. Don't expect me to pass the time of day with him. And if we get to the end of this alive I'm going to make sure he faces up to his responsibility. And see he gets put away for his crime."

They emerged from the Temple of Mirrors to a balmy summer night alight with thousands of stars. Only the faintest breeze stirred the treetops. Church staggered up the grassy bank with the Grail held before him so Tom could see what they had achieved. Tom was already on his feet, and Church was shocked to see his face was glowing with respect.

As they walked back across the meadows, Shavi and Laura talked quietly with Ruth while Veitch trailed along behind, lonely and isolated.

Tom caught up with Church at the front and grabbed his arm. "I'm worried we'll lose the boy."

"I'll have a word with Ryan," Church said wearily; the emotional distractions were a blow too much. "I don't want us pulled apart from within. If we can't count on each other-"

"Remain focused," Tom said. "You've done a remarkable job so far. Better than I expected on our first meeting."

"Is that a note of support?"

"Make the most of it. They're few and far between."

Was that a glimmer of humour? Church wondered. He glanced surreptitiously at Tom, but his face was as implacable as ever; all his emotions were locked so tightly inside they seemed almost separate from him. Church had the impression he hadn't always been like that, that his experiences at the hands of the gods had been so terrible that emotional detachment was the only way he could have survived.

"Are you ever going to let us into all your secrets?" Church asked.

"When the time's right."

"We're not children, you know."

"You are children, in the ways of the gods and in the true mysteries of the universe. You're learning how to see things truly after a lifetime of being blinkered. And like any learning process, too much too soon would be detrimental."

"And you're our teacher." Church sighed.

"For my sins."

"Can't you at least tell me what lies ahead?"

"That's the last thing I'd tell you."

Church glanced back at the rag-tag bunch following and felt a sweep of pessimism. There was no one he would describe as a hero. In fact, most of them seemed damaged to the point of uselessness.

Tom seemed to sense his thoughts. "People are forged by hardship," he said simply.

Church shook his head, stared at the ground.

"It's a terrible fact of life that nobody has wisdom until they've tasted bereavement," he continued. "Of all life's experiences, that's the sole one with truly alchemical power. Knowing that, given a choice, we would all stay ignorant. Yet, ironically, we're better people for having gone through it. Bereavement is the key to meaning, and you all have that wisdom within you. The building blocks are there-"

"And you expect damaged goods to pile them into some sort of structure?"

Tom shrugged and looked away; Church couldn't tell if Tom was annoyed by his defeatism or acknowledging it.

They reached the tunnel back to the world soon after. At the entrance they all turned and looked back over the idyllic landscape, glistening in the moonlight, breathing deeply of the sweet, scented air; there was true magic in every aspect of it.

"I could stay here forever," Ruth said.

Tom nodded. "Yes. That's the danger."

When they emerged on the tor, it was the dark just before dawn, yet they all felt that only an hour or more had passed since they had first entered the tunnel. They immediately noticed a subtle difference: the night was significantly warmer.

"It's like summer," Ruth said curiously.

They made their way down the winding path to the town as dawn broke, golden and comforting. But as they killed time on the high street waiting for the cafe to open for breakfast, a delivery van dropped off a bundle of papers outside the newsagents. Church wandered over to glance at the headlines.

"Look at this," he said in an uneasy voice.

The others gathered round as he pointed out the date beneath the masthead. During their brief stay in Otherworld, two weeks had passed. It was April 1.