Always Forever

Chapter Thirteen

This is crazy! We can't sit here forever!" Laura hurled the empty baked beans tin across the warehouse.

The Bone Inspector winced at the clattering echoes bouncing around the vast, empty space. "What do you suggest, then? Going out there and asking them nicely if you can go home?" He snorted contemptuously, wiping the bean juice from his mouth with the back of his hand.

Laura paced around the embers of the fire, her irritation turning to curiosity at the unfamiliar emotions growing inside her. For months she had been arguing with the others about running away from their obligations; now she couldn't do it even if she wanted. "The responsibility's on us to find a way out," she said firmly. She realised the Bone Inspector was watching her with a strange expression. "What?"

"Nothing." He slurped some more beans. "I always thought you were the weak link who'd bring everything down."

"You and me both." She wandered over to one of the dirty windows. Smearing a patch clear, she watched the Fomorii scurrying along the banks of the Thames as they went about their mysterious tasks. The view was sickening, but strangely hypnotic. In another moment or two, though, another notion began to creep in. She turned to the Bone Inspector with a confident smile and said, "Okay, here's the plan."

The river had the dank, sour smell of rotting vegetation. Under the night sky, the water looked almost black as it lapped languidly against the creaking wharves. A hint of frost sparkled all around; it was the coldest night so far. Laura lay on the sodden boards and held out a hand so the Bone Inspector could steady himself. It had taken them three hours to find something they could use. The boat was holed and filled with a couple of inches of water; it looked like it had been abandoned for months. But it was big enough for them to lie in the bottom while it drifted in the strong currents out of the city and towards the sea.

After ten minutes of splashing and cursing, the Bone Inspector finished plugging the hole with the oily rags they had brought from the warehouse.

"Do you think it'll hold? I don't fancy swimming in this weather."

"How should I know?" he snapped. "I'm not a shipwright."

"No. What you are is-"

"Just get in the boat."

She lowered herself down to the tiny pebbly beach where plastic bottles and old ropes formed a trail along the water line. She was still amazed they had managed to avoid the Fomorii. They had encountered several large groups of them moving silently through the dark streets, but had always had time to find cover. She hoped it was a sign luck was on their side.

Once they had baled out as much as they could, they pushed the boat out into the freezing shallows, then jumped aboard. Water had already started to trickle into the bottom.

"We should stay near the banks," the Bone Inspector said.

"There'll be too much chance of being seen."

"This river has powerful currents. If we go down in the middle of it, we won't stand a chance."

"All right. But if we get caught, I'm blaming you."

They guided the boat into the current with a broken plank and then lay down in the bottom, watching the stars pass overhead.

Manannan recovered quickly enough to take back control of Wave Sweeper and soon they were speeding on their way. By the time dawn was breaking the sea was calm, the sky poised to turn a brilliant blue, free of even the smallest cloud. Soon the gulls were clustering around the mast and a cry was rising up from the watcher in the crow's nest. The Green Fields of Enchantment came up quickly on the horizon, a sunlit haven of rolling, emerald downs dotted with crystal streams and cool woods.

From his position at the prow, Church watched in growing wonder. There was something breathtaking about the place that went far beyond its appearance; it was in the air, in some too-subtle signs that only his oldest senses could perceive, but it left his nerves singing and his stomach filled with tremors of excitement. Some deep-seated part of his mind was registering recognition of one of the oldest archetypes: a place of miracles and peace. Heaven.

Wave Sweeper sailed into a small harbour built of gleaming white marble. There were no other ships in sight and the dockside was deserted, apart from two of the younger gods manning the jetty. They took the ropes Taranis's men threw out and fastened them to iron spurs, but Church had the feeling Wave Sweeper would have waited there like a faithful dog anyway.

The Tuatha lle Danann were allowed to disembark first, while the other strange travellers congregated below deck ready to begin their search for some meaning in their lives. Church and Ruth, however, were given pride of place at the front of the column with Manannan and Niamh.

They marched along a dusty road, baking in the heat, which wound briefly along the golden beach where the blue sea broke in white-topped waves before ending amongst the soothing shadows of the trees. Flowers bloomed in clusters of blue, red and gold. It reminded Church of Andalucia, or Umbria, an unspoiled rural climate designed for dreaming.

Manannan was borne on a gold chair carried sedan-style by four young gods. He was still weak, but he cocked his attention to Church and Ruth often enough for them to know they lay heavily on his mind. Niamh watched Church surreptitiously from beneath long lashes; it was impossible to tell what she was thinking, though her praise in the aftermath of the rescue had been fulsome, for both Church and Ruth.

The Court of High Regard lay in a shallow valley beyond the wall of soaring black pines, surrounded by pleasant grassed slopes where the breeze moved back and forth soothingly. If the first sight of the island had taken Church's breath away, the Court of High Regard was a hundred times more affecting. Tears of sheer awe stung his eyes; it was in the very fibre of the place, majesty in every atom.

Unlike the Court of the Final Word, it was more of a town-if not a citythan a court. The buildings were all white stone, so that the whole was almost impossible to view in the sun. In the architecture, Church glimpsed touches of the Middle East, of ancient Greece and Rome, Japan and the heavy Gothic stylings of mediaeval France. There were domes and towers, cupolas and obelisks, Doric columns and piazzas and sweeping boulevards where fountains tinkled pleasantly. Clusters of cultivated trees provided shade to talk and think.

"It's beautiful." Ruth blinked away her own tears. "Now I know why the stories said visitors never wanted to leave."

They entered through gates of ivory and glass. Once within, the Tuatha lle Danann dispersed into small groups conversing quietly but intently.

Church and Ruth were left alone next to a statue that resembled the god Pan, but every time Church looked at it, it had a different face. "Now what?" Ruth said.

After ten minutes Baccharus returned with a tall, thin god with flowing black hair and sculpted bone structure who resembled an aristocrat in his late twenties. "The Master has already announced your presence to the court," Baccharus said. "A decision will be announced soon on when you may make your case. In the meantime, I have discussed your needs with Callaitus, Provarum of the sector of Trust and Hope, who will make the arrangements for your stay."

Church took his hand and shook it. "Thank you for everything you've done for us, Baccharus."

Surprisingly, Baccharus appeared humbled by this. "I will be along shortly. There are other matters-"

"I understand," Church said knowingly. "We'll talk later."

Callaitus took them to a light and airy chamber, far removed from the cramped quarters of Wave Sweeper. At the window, the most delicate linen blew gently in the breeze. There was a large bed covered with sumptuous cushions and deep, soft blankets. A small wooden table held a bowl of fruit and a crystal decanter filled with sparkling water.

"Married quarters," Ruth said, looking round at the furniture and space.

"What?"

"On the ship they put us in adjoining cabins. Here we've got a room together. How very presumptuous of them," she added with mock affront.

"They're good at looking beneath the surface."

She eyed him studiously, remembering his words on Wave Sweeper, saying nothing.

"I wonder where I'll find the Pool of Wishes." He threw himself on the bed and slipped his hands behind his head. The soothing atmosphere made him feel instantly sleepy.

"I wonder what you'll find there." A dark note rang clearly in her voice.

"What are you inferring?"

"You know how these things work. Everything comes with a price. You want to get rid of something big. That's got to be balanced out."

He threw an arm across his eyes. "I don't think I can take any more sacrifice."

"Let's have none of that." He felt the bed give as she climbed on. There was a rustle of clothing, more movement, and then she straddled him. He looked up to see her naked to the waist. She laughed silently at his expression. "Remember your mantra: Life's good as long as you don't weaken. So stop thinking about all the sacrifice and suffering. Focus on the good stuff. That's a rule for living, Churchill." She slowly ground her hips on his groin, smiling now, gently teasing.

Sleep was going to have to wait.

When he woke, dark had fallen. It was still warm, and fragrant with woodsmoke and the heady perfume of night blooms. There was a sense of magic in the air. He eased his arm out from under Ruth, who stirred and muttered, but didn't rouse, then dressed lazily before stepping out. The evening was alight with flickering torches gleaming off the white buildings. Faint, melodic music drifted across the jumbled rooftops, and somewhere he could make out the excited chattering of many voices. He leaned against the doorjamb and breathed deeply, enjoying the peace.

Across the piazza, a shadow stirred, then separated from the surrounding shadows. Baccharus made his way over from the bench where he had been sitting patiently.

"You needed to rest," he said by way of greeting.

"Have you been waiting long?"

"It is not waiting if you are engaged in something important, and I was enjoying my time here in the Court of High Regard. I could have sat there until light."

"You missed this place?"

"It is where I feel comfortable." He placed a hand on Church's shoulder. "Come, there is much we need to discuss, and this is not the best place."

The streets wound round and back on themselves, diverged, became vast boulevards, then a network of interlocking alleys; briefly Church felt like he was back on Wave Sweeper in the endless corridors. He mentioned this to Baccharus, and for a second or two he had the odd impression he was lying on his back looking up into a brilliant, phosphorescent light. It faded into a gentler luminescence that flickered over a studded oak door. Baccharus pushed open the door and beckoned for Church to step through.

It was an inn, low ceilinged, straw on the floor, lots of tables and stools nestling in the comfortable shadows of nooks and crannies. A large fire roared in the grate despite the summery warmth, yet the temperature remained agreeable. The drinkers were a mixed group. Church recognised many of the travellers he had seen on Wave Sweeper-some of them even nodded to him as if they were old friends-but there were many strangers.

"None of your people?" Church said.

"This place is for the benefit of others. The many who come to visit us, seeking the gratitude of the gods, seeking direction or redemption."

There was a raucous group of muscular men with red beards, so they headed to a quiet table under the overhang of a staircase. It was pleasantly dark and secluded. Baccharus returned from the bar with two pewter mugs filled with ale that frothed over the edges.

"Given freely and without obligation?"

"This is a place for visitors," Baccharus replied. "Everything here is given freely and without obligation."

Church took a sip. It felt like light and colours were streaming down his throat; a faint buzz of exhilaration filled his veins. "You're trying to get me drunk before you tell me what you have to say?"

"No. This is the drink of welcome, to put you in a receptive frame of mind."

"That's what I said." Church took a long draught, then looked Baccharus directly in his deep, golden eyes. "What's the true story?"

"That is unanswerable. You strip away one story and another lies behind, and another, and another. You will never find the true story that lies behind it all, for there lies the truth of life. All is illusion, each illusion as valid as any other, until you reach that final level, and to find that is to know how everything works. To know the mind of…" His words trailed off and he ended his thought with a gesture suggesting something too big to comprehend.

"You're as bad as Tom. Ask a simple question and you get a philosophy lecture."

"The Rhymer is a good man."

"That's not the point. In this story"-his sweeping arm took in the whole of the bar-"there are a lot of illusions, and now it's time for the truth. Like why you murdered Cormorel."

Church expected some kind of surprise from Baccharus, or guilt perhaps, or even anger that he had been uncovered, but there was nothing. "I pay a price every day for that act."

"You were friends."

"More than that. To lose Cormorel was like losing part of myself. My existence is forever tainted."

"Then, why?"

"How long have you known?"

"Don't change the subject." He softened slightly when he saw Baccharus was telling the truth about his hurt. "It came to me just before we disembarked. No blinding revelation. Just a gentle understanding that that was what must have happened. You were arguing at the banquet just before he died-"

"Cormorel and I held contrary positions of a kind that you would find hard to grasp unless you were a Golden One."

"Try me."

Baccharus finished his beer, then signalled for the barman to bring over two more. "Then I will tell you of the things I brought you here to understand. Of truth, of a kind. Consider: the view held by the Golden Ones of Fragile Creatures."

"That we're the lowest of the low."

"There are many of my kind who would disagree."

Church was taken aback by this. "I know some of you are closer to us than others, but I thought all of you at least vaguely held the same view. Veitch defined it: you're like aristocrats looking down on what you consider the lesserborn. Some of you despise us, some of you hold us in contempt, some of you mock us, and even the ones of you who think we're okay still think we're way beneath you."

"I can understand how you might think that, for that is the view of some, but not all. No, some of us believe the Fragile Creatures are in an exalted position; even above the Golden Ones in the structure of existence, for in their arrogance the Golden Ones have embraced stagnancy, while you Fragile Creatures continue to rise and advance. Within your kind lies tremendous potential. The Golden Ones no longer have potential. This view, as you might expect, is tantamount to blasphemy in some quarters. Indeed, the Golden Ones are riven. But for those of us who are concerned with the great sweep of existence rather than the narrow perspective of our kind, the future of the Fragile Creatures is very important indeed."

At the bar, the red-bearded men had started to punch each other hard, while laughing heartily. Some of the other drinkers were moving away hesitantly. "That would be quite a turnaround. Riven, you say. Like a civil war situation?"

"It is very close to that. The Golden Ones have always seen our position as unassailable. Yet to suggest we are not all-knowing, all-powerful, would weaken our position and allow us to be supplanted. A contradiction that gives the lie to the former. I think the latter is not only inevitable-for it is the way of existence — but also to be desired, again, in terms of existence."

"I remember the first time we met you and Cormorel at the campfire," Church mused. "The two of you had a disagreement about whether humanity could ever evolve into gods."

"At that time, Cormorel did not know the extent of my beliefs, although he was aware of the fractures forming amongst my people. I was influenced by others who have had more contact with the Fragile Creatures across the turning of the ages."

"Niamh?"

"And the one you know as Cernunnos, and his partner. Ogma. And many more."

"The three smiths on Wave Sweeper? Were they preparing weapons for a civil war?"

"Perhaps." Baccharus was uncomfortable. "Or for a war against the Night Walkers. We would have launched one independently, if necessary. It was, as you pointed out, inevitable. To pretend otherwise was the height of arrogance."

"Goibhniu wasn't very pleasant to me."

"He is new to our beliefs, brought round by Niamh, who knew he would be an important asset to our side. He accepts the way things are, but he finds it hard to break from past feelings for Fragile Creatures."

Church stared into the dark depths of his beer. "Tom knows about all this?" Comments Tom had made, which at the time had been cryptic or just plain strange, suddenly fell into a new perspective; Baccharus nodded. "So this isn't just about saving humanity from a big threat, it's about preserving the future of life, everything?"

"True Thomas knew the Golden Ones would have to be resisted as much as the Night Walkers if you Fragile Creatures were to prosper. He is an adept at politics." Baccharus smiled. "I like him immensely."

What had been a quiet conversation about Baccharus's motivation for murder had suddenly taken on a terrible significance that he couldn't absorb all at once. "What are you saying exactly?"

°I am saying you are all stars. Each Fragile Creature bursting with the potential of a god. Given the right situation, that potential could easily blossom, and from what I have seen of you and the other Brothers and Sisters of Dragons, you could far surpass the Golden Ones. You could all become greater than everything that ever existed. For you love and cry, you are tender, and caring-"

11 — and hateful and murderous."

Baccharus shrugged. "It is there within you. The light burns very brightly. Brighter than my own."

"You're talking about a long period of time-"

Baccharus lowered his head so shadows pooled in his eyes; a skull in the play of light and shade. "These events you find yourselves in are a catalyst that could propel you-all of your kind-into the next phase of development. My people know thissome will deny it, but they know it somewhere within themselves-and they seek to prevent you achieving your destiny. You will have to fight for your future."

"That makes a change." Church pushed his stool back on two legs and rocked, tipsy now. "So, trickery and deceit right the way down the line. Situation normal."

"There are manipulations ahead," Baccharus continued. "You need to know what is at stake so you can act accordingly; when lies are told to you, when seemingly simple choices are asked of you. Do not allow anyone to make you believe you are lesser, unimportant."

"I never did."

Baccharus smiled. "I always admired your confidence, Brother of Dragons."

"I saw some of the splits on Wave Sweeper. Many were angered that Manannan offered us his support."

"The Master had always steered a calm path between the troubled waters. I felt his sympathies lay with you and your kind, but with his position amongst the Golden Ones, to openly endorse our stance would have caused too much upheaval. "

"But now he's going to do it?"

Baccharus nodded slowly.

"This must be the first time that gods are servant to the people who worshipped them."

"All should be in servitude to others, and all should be free."

"But this split amongst your people… is it really so bad?"

Baccharus gave a thin-lipped smile. "If there is to be war amongst the Golden Ones, you will find many fighting for the future of the Fragile Creatures."

"You'd do that? Against your own people?"

"This concerns much more than one severely limited perspective, even if that vista belongs to the Golden Ones. We are all servants of existence, and we must do what we can to ensure the best possible state for all."

"So let me get this straight-humans have the potential to become gods-"

Baccharus winced at the description, waved it away with a lazy hand.

— greater, then. Than we are now. To achieve the massive potential-"

"— encoded in your very make-up." Baccharus nodded emphatically. "You were made with the powers of stars inside you. All sentient creatures are formed to rise and advance. That is the reason for all this." He made an expansive gesture.

"The Golden Ones have stopped advancing, for whatever reason. Some fatal flaw. But they don't want to be supplanted by Fragile Creatures and so they will do everything they can to keep us down. To prevent us achieving our destiny." Church looked dreamily towards the bar where the red-headed men were still punching each other, though their laughter was now more forced.

Baccharus smiled proudly at Church's expert summing up of the complex matters he had raised. He raised a finger. "One more thing: the lie is given to my people's assertions of superiority by the mere existence of the Court of the Final Word."

Church grew cold at the mention of the Tuatha De Danann court supposedly devoted to healing, but where more sinister things happened in its deepest recesses. "What do you mean?"

"For many generations of your people the Court of the Final Word has been investigating mortal children." Baccharus pronounced the word carefully. "My people wish to know what innate part of Fragile Creatures is the key to their advancement."

"So they can steal it for themselves!" Church grew rigid at the repercussions that spun out of Baccharus's comment. "That's why Tom's Queen was so adept at taking him apart and putting him back together!"

"Oh, my people know every component part of Fragile Creatures. They know how every molecule interlocks with every other molecule. But they have still not found the source of your potential." His eyes sparkled. "And they never will."

"This is too much for me to take in right now." Church held up the beer. "This doesn't help. But you're right-it puts me in the correct frame of mind. I thought I'd get everything laid out in my mind about what we were fighting for. Now it's even bigger stakes. Not just survival, but our… evolution? Crazy."

"These are monumental times."

"You're telling me. Wait till Ruth hears about this." He leaned forward once more and peered back into his beer. "Now tell me about Cormorel," he said quietly.

Baccharus stared at one of the flickering torches for a long time. "It is said my people feel nothing like you Fragile Creatures feel. But I loved Cormorel. I think, once we see things from your perspective, we learn to be how we perhaps once were."

"Then how could you kill him?"

"It was not my intention at the time, but in the instant before I acted, I knew it had to be done. Cormorel had discovered there was a conspiracy afoot. That is his word. Conspiracy. Niamh, myself, certain others, had taken the decision to confound those who attempted to block the chances which might come the way of the Fragile Creatures on their path to enlightenment. Niamh and I had formed an alliance with some of the other creatures on Wave Sweeper-"

"The Portunes."

"And others. And in the eyes of my people, associating with such lowly creatures against our own kind was the ultimate crime. Cormorel was preparing to expose us. The Portunes and all the others would have been eradicated. Niamh would have been despatched to the Court of the Final Word, where she would have suffered. Immeasurably." He bowed his head even further. "I pursued Cormorel on to the deck during the upheaval of the attack-"

"That was the Fomorii's first strike, right? Not you?"

He nodded. "I was pleading with him. He would have none of it. In fact, he took great pleasure in the pain he saw he was causing me. For all that he considered himself above the emotions of Fragile Creatures, he was filled with cruelty."

"How did you do it?"

"There is a manner known only to my people." Church wouldn't have dreamed of asking, but Baccharus added, "It cannot be revealed to any outsider."

"And the Walpurgis was caught with his hand in the biscuit tin, having a final meal."

"Destroying the evidence. If he had succeeded, my people would have believed Cormorel was simply washed overboard during the attack and would have turned up sooner or later."

The weight that lay on Baccharus's shoulders was palpable. Church rested a supportive hand on his forearm. "You did the right thing. Under the circumstances. There was too much at stake."

"But that does not diminish the pain I feel, for I committed a crime against existence itself. While striking a blow for existence. I have wrestled with the conundrum every hour since then and still made no sense of it. Did I do the right thing? Can an act of such terrible negativity create something worthwhile?"

The questions were not rhetorical; the weight of emotion in Baccharus's voice showed he was asking for guidance. The fact that he felt Church somehow had the wisdom was shocking; how could Baccharus possibly perceive him as someone who had a grasp of such things? "Time will give you the answer to that, Baccharus." He hoped it didn't sound like too much of a platitude.

They were disturbed by a blast of warm air as the door swung open. Ruth walked in, looking around curiously. Church called her over.

"Typical. First chance you get, you men are straight down the pub," she said in a faux-chiding voice.

"How did you find us?"

"A little bird told me." She wrinkled her nose as she looked round at the raucous activity at the bar. "So let me guess. I've got a choice of beer, beer or beer."

"I'll see if I can get you a lady's glass." Church dodged away before she could hit him. She turned to Baccharus. "So what were you two talking about so seriously?"

"Death. Conspiracy. The rising and advancing of the spirit."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, how we laughed."

"It could have been worse." Veitch huddled closer to the fire. In his weakened state, the chill October night bit deep into his bones.

"In what way could it have been worse? The Grim Lands were a particularly unpleasant experience." Shavi took a sip of the bright green absinthe they'd picked up in a deserted off-licence before passing the bottle on to Tom.

"I could have had to give you the kiss of life."

"And how would that have been worse?"

"Because you'd still be lying there!" Veitch chuckled.

"Well, you seem to be getting better." Shavi eyed his friend warmly. He had been worried Veitch was going to crack under the shock of losing his handcertainly the first few hours after their return from the Grim Lands had been very hard-but since then he had regained much of his equilibrium. However, there were still too many worrying signs for Shavi to relax: a wildness in the eyes, exaggerated movements, overreactions. He hoped the Blue Fire would work its magic before things started to fall apart.

Veitch took the absinthe from Tom.

"You know you're not supposed to drink it neat," Tom said, with a little too much contempt. "You mix it with water, a spoon of caramelised sugar. They say you'd have to have half a brain to take it without watering it down."

Veitch grinned, waving the bottle in front of Tom's face before taking another slug.

Tom gave him a sour stare. "It's got hallucinogenic properties, you know. The active ingredient from cannabis."

"Oh yes… you're right." Veitch pretended to waver. "I can see things! It's amazing! You look… almost human!"

Tom snorted and waved him away.

Veitch let his chuckles die away before rubbing his hand thoughtfully over his three-day stubble. He looked over at Shavi curiously.

"What?"

"How you doin'?"

Shavi gave a questioning shrug.

"You died, or nearest thing to it. That must have done your head in. How do you come back from something like that?"

"So you do care."

"Just checking you're not going to go psycho with an axe in the middle of the night." His smile gave the lie to his words. He threw another log on the fire; it cracked and spattered, sending sparks shooting up with the smoke.

"I actually feel better than I did before I died." Shavi pulled the blanket tight around his shoulders, his breath white. Winter was not far away. "You may find that hard to believe. But I have made my peace with Lee. I have seen the other side of death and returned to talk about it. I have been reborn, bright and new in the world. It was a redemptive experience, highly spiritual, uplifting."

"Yeah, but can you still get a stiffy?" Veitch leaned back against his rucksack, laughing drunkenly.

"Don't be talking to him," Tom said sternly. "You won't be getting any sense out of him tonight."

"You are implying I get sense out of him at any time." Shavi didn't see the boot coming; it hit him on the side of the head.

"Yessss! One-nil!"

They had embarked on a meandering route west after leaving Wandlebury Camp, careful to keep a good distance from London. The darkness in the south was growing with each hour, like night eating the day. The cinders in the breeze were more pronounced, and there was an overall sense of despair hanging in the increasingly cold wind. The world was winding down.

With Samhain approaching rapidly, a deep anxiety had gripped them, amplified by the certain knowledge that there was nothing they could do alone. They needed Church to succeed in his mission. They needed Ruth and Laura too. Sometimes it was almost too hard to hope, and that was when the depression set in.

But their abiding friendship, forged through hard times, kept them going and ensured the evenings around the campfire were filled with light talk and humour, lifting spirits dampened by the day's sights of deserted villages, frightened people hiding in their homes, or children and old people begging for food.

It wasn't as if they had any plan except to find Church and Ruth and Laura. That lack of direction left Veitch feeling strained and irritable. He was not a person who coped well with inactivity, particularly with time running out, when there was so much that needed to be done.

Shavi, however, guessed Tom knew more than he was saying.

"Do you think we'll find them?" Shavi said, breaking the rule of keeping the conversation light. Next to him, Veitch snored loudly in a drunken sleep.

"I think there is always hope." Tom enjoyed a joint as he stared into the fire.

"But you are True Thomas. You can see the future. You must know something."

"I try not to look. What will be, will be."

Perhaps it was the drugs or the drink affecting him, but for the first time Tom's cool exterior was not impervious. Shavi caught a glimpse in the Rhymer's face of all the things Tom was not saying, and he was uncomfortable with what he saw.

"What if you really did see everything?" Shavi suggested. "What if you knew exactly what was going to happen, bar a few minor hiccups here and there. What if you knew who lived and who died?"

Tom raised his head sharply to fix a stare that was so cold Shavi felt a chill in his bones. "Then," Tom said, "my life would be damned."

At the heart of the Court of High Regard stood an enormous tree with a trunk as far around as an office block and a top lost high overhead. All around it spread an area of distortion that left Church continually disoriented; buildings were never quite the same each time he looked at them. Some were substantially altered, one moment a sweeping dome like St. Paul's, the next a thrusting tower of Middle Eastern design. At times Church would glimpse rapid movement from the corner of his eye, the hint of crystal birds flapping across the sky, but when he looked there was nothing. People came and went as they crossed a piazza, or appeared in a haze on a corner, while the dead appeared to be everywhere, dazed, beatific, unthreatening.

"This is where our heart beats, the closest to the fabled home of our deepest memory." Niamh's voice trembled with awe. Church was struck by how young and girlish she appeared, not alien at all. Now Baccharus had explained the distinction amongst the Tuatha De Danann, Church was amazed he hadn't seen it before. It was as simple as those who felt and those who didn't.

"Have you always been like this?"

She looked at him curiously with her large, innocent eyes. "No," she said after a moment's thought, "once I was a true daughter of the Golden Ones, one of the confirmed rulers of all existence, above all else."

"Then why did you change? When you hold such a position, it must take something phenomenal to turn you around."

"I was taught, over what your people would consider a long period of time."

"Who taught you?"

She smiled a little sadly, but did not answer.

They continued their tour in silence for a while, until Church broke the restrained mood by asking about the enormous tree.

"It is the World-Tree," Niamh said, looking up into the distant branches. "It is at the heart of all worlds. Its roots go down, its branches reach up."

"Linking Heaven and Earth. This is an amazing place." And it was. Wonder brought every nerve alive, just breathing air, looking round at the fluid scenery. It was filled with magic, the thing his life had always lacked.

"Once the Fixed Lands had the same power. Everything was alive, constantly changing. But your brethren stopped believing, or believed in the wrong things. You wished your world to be something lesser."

Church examined a fountain where the water turned into tiny diamonds. "I keep hearing that phrase, about wishing the world a certain way."

"Nothing is truly fixed. The Fixed Lands are only such because they are sleeping. All is illusion, and all illusion is fluid. Belief is a powerful tool. Creatures great and small-life-is at the centre of everything, and they can shape things as they see fit. Nothing has to be accepted."

"If you just wish hard enough," he mused. "I was never happy with how things were in my world. There was always something lacking. And it was get ting worse. The people I didn't like, the ones interested in money over everything, and personal power, they seemed to be driving things their way. It wasn't a world for people like me."

"You gave up your responsibility, Jack."

"What do you mean?"

"The people you despised were wishing harder, setting the world the way they wanted. They are the Night Walkers, whichever form they take. People like you, Jack, people who truly believe, have a responsibility to take a stand and wish the world the way it should be. To wake the land, to dream it real. Belief is stronger than anything the Night Walkers have."

The crystal birds were still flying around the edges of his vision and there was faint music on the wind, still powerful enough to make his emotions soar. What Niamh was saying echoed deeply inside him. He realised she was staring at him intently, and when he turned to her he was shocked to see tears in her eyes.

"I have made my peace with the way things are, Jack."

He took her hand, concerned. "Don't cry. What's wrong?"

"The Golden Ones have always used their power without responsibility. They have achieved their ends by force. I would never do that, for I have learned it would be valueless, and the thing I strive for has too much value to be wasted. I see now we will never achieve the love that has filled my thoughts since the darkest days of the Fragile Creatures." She gazed into the middle distance, her eyes full. "I had hoped, once it came to this time, your heart would have opened to me, as mine did to yours so long ago. But I see clearly now your love for the Sister of Dragons is true; that indeed it is worthy of a love that transcends all time."

Church felt truly sorry for what he saw in her face. "We can still be friends, Niamh."

She smiled wanly. "And that enriches my existence, but if you only knew what lay before this point…" Her words drifted away.

"What do you mean?"

Her smile became a little brighter, to hide her thoughts. "I will always love you, Jack, and in time you will understand where that love comes from." She cupped his hand in hers. "I have always had your best interests at heart, but from this moment on I dedicate myself to helping you achieve your aims, whatever it may cost me."

He gave her hand a warm squeeze, overwhelmed by the level of emotion that was being expressed. "You're a good woman, Niamh."

"Now, come, I have many sights to show you. Wonders beyond your imagining." She brushed her tears away, her smile gleaming. "These days will stay with you always."

The tour was indeed as amazing as Niamh had predicted. Some of the sights were so startling his mind could barely cope within them, and within the hour the reality of them began to fade until they took on the warmly comforting but intangible quality of dreams that would haunt him forever.

But even though time meant nothing in that place, he was acutely aware of events running away from him. The real world seemed so far gone, but what he might find when he returned filled him with dread. Each moment wasted could mean another death, another life filled with suffering. And it felt like he had been gone so long.

But when he returned to his chamber, Baccharus informed him that approval to enter the Pool of Wishes had been granted by some higher authority. It was finally time to act.

As twilight fell across the Court, thousands of torches sprang into life like summer fireflies. Baccharus, Niamh and Ruth gathered in the main piazza with four horses. The beasts were powerful, snorting and stamping loudly on the shimmering marble; at first glance they appeared normal to Ruth, then she noticed the hint of Otherworld in their eyes where a disturbing intelligence burned.

Church had spent the previous hour in his room preparing himself; he had enjoyed the tranquillity after spending so long with Ruth discussing the shocking repercussions of what Baccharus had told him in the inn. Baccharus had also warned him that the Pool of Wishes was not something to be taken lightly, as if anything in that realm was. He would be forced to journey deep inside himself to locate the taint of the Fomorii, Baccharus said, and if he was not at ease with himself, the experience would drive him mad.

And so he spent the time thinking of his life, of Dale and his friends in London-where were they now? — of Marianne and his love for her, of the terrible grief he had felt at her death, of his parents, and his studies, his dreams and fears, of Laura and Niamh and Ruth, and at the end of it, it still didn't make any sense.

Finally he was ready. The other three were already mounted when he took the long walk across the piazza, his footsteps echoing solemnly. Their greeting was just as serious, a simple nod, a faint smile, and then they were away through the labyrinthine streets of the Court towards the green countryside beyond.

Baccharus led the way, with Church behind, then Ruth, and Niamh taking up the rear. As they passed, Church glimpsed strange faces watching him from the darkened windows, some of them golden and alien, some of them terrible and dark. The buildings grew more solid as they approached the outskirts, jumbling tight up against themselves like the oppressive weight of ancient habitation that lay crushed within Jerusalem's walls.

Once the Court was behind them, green fields lined by thick, old hedges rolled out. They passed intermittent copses and trickling brooks that made their way through culverts under the rough road. But then the country became wilder, the trees taller and darker, pressing hard against the roadside, forming a roof above their heads. Baccharus held up a lantern as they rode and they were all grateful for the flickering golden light that flooded ahead.

Church occasionally heard movement, although in the thick shadow it was impossible to discern what was amongst the trees; some seemed too large for any animal he knew, others were small and fast, some came far too close to the circle of light, which increasingly felt insignificant. Eventually the road all but disappeared and the trees came up so hard they could have reached out and touched them on either side if they had so wished. Church spent so much time attempting to probe the woods on either side, he nearly ran his mount into Baccharus on more than one occasion. The undergrowth was thick with bramble and bracken, which would have made the going hard if they had strayed from the path.

To Church's relief, as the going became steeper the wood eventually gave way. When they finally emerged from the trees, he realised they were on the foothills leading up to snow-capped mountains, although he couldn't recall seeing them from the ship as they approached the island.

"Are we going right to the top?" Church asked.

Baccharus put a silencing finger to his lips. "There are things around here that appreciate silence," he whispered.

The road-now barely more than a track-became rocky and the horses had to step slowly. Boulders piled up on either side, cracked and patchworked with moss. The air was much cooler. Church pulled his jacket around him, oddly wondering what the weather was like back home.

After a little while longer, Baccharus reined in his horse and nodded towards a group of pine trees separated from a thickly forested slope by a rocky outcropping on three sides. A distinct path wound its way into the centre of the copse.

"In there?" Church asked quietly.

Baccharus nodded once more.

Church jumped down and advanced several paces before he realised the others were not behind him. "From here your journey must be alone," Niamh whispered in reply to his quizzical expression. That brought a sharp chill to his spine.

In the trees, it was even cooler, but the air was beautifully scented with pine and the tang of the mountain snows. Overheard, a stunning full moon glowed white and misty butterscotch, framed by icy, glittering stars. His breath bloomed; a shiver ran through him. Thankfully Baccharus had allowed him to bring the lantern to keep the shadows at bay, although his movement made them jump and recede as if they were alive. Pine needles crunched underfoot, but beneath them the path was oddly well made, with large flagstones worn by age.

The first thing he noticed when he entered the copse was the soothing sound of tinkling water. The path opened out on to a broad, still pool, black and reflective, with trees all around it. On the opposite side was a jutting rock, face down, over which white water cascaded, churning the pool just beneath but obviously carried away by some underground stream before it sent waves lashing out across the surface. The air was heavy with a feeling of deep tranquillity, but as Church stood and drank in the atmosphere, it changed slightly until he sensed something jarring uneasily just beneath it. As he gave in to his instincts he could feel a dim electricity in the air, waiting to be awakened. This was the place.

He played the lantern back and forth and noticed the stone flags disappeared around the back of the waterfall. With anxiety tight in his throat, he stepped cautiously around the edge of the pool, half expecting something to leap out and drag him in. He paused briefly next to the waterfall before darting behind.

It was like crossing over into a place completely detached from the other world. It was a grotto, with barely formed stalagmites and glistening walls where the lantern made a million sparkles dance, and reds, greens and yellows shimmered in the wet brown of the rock. It was small, barely a couple of car lengths across, and within lay another pool, a mirror image of the one without, only without the waterfall the water was even darker. The flagstones gave out to a small, rocky path that ran around the edge, at some points barely wide enough to walk around. Echoes of gently lapping water rolled off the walls, distorting but peaceful. He set down the lantern and kneeled to peer into the depths.

He expected to see the pebbled bottom of the pool easily, at least around the edges near the lantern, but the black water appeared to go down forever. He didn't really know what to do next. Baccharus had told him simply to wait, stressing that "the pool would see" and know what was needed. Yet the surroundings felt so normal it felt silly sitting back waiting.

There was a certain odd oiliness to the quality of the water, so he reached out a hand to stroke his fingers across the surface. At the last moment he withdrew; something was sending alarm bells ringing in his head. He slumped back against the wall, hugged his knees and waited.

It was less than a minute later when he perceived-or thought he did-some activity deep below. Now on all fours, he pressed his face close to the water's surface to get a better look. Something was swimming. The perspective it gave him was shocking, for the pool went down more than twenty or thirty feet, and even then he couldn't see the bottom. Whatever was there was striking out for the surface. The lantern light brought reflected glints from its skin, at times silvery, at times flesh tone. It was certainly a trick of the distorting effect of the water, but it gave him the impression that the pool's inhabitant kept changing back and forth from a fish to a human. Or was somehow both at the same time.

And still it rose, until it was obvious it was human, long arms reaching out, feet kicking, but the face was still obscured by shadows. It covered the last few feet very quickly, but stopped short of coming completely out of the water. Instead, it hovered patiently, looking up at him, only an inch or two beneath the surface, and in that instant he was overcome by a deep dread. The face he was looking into was his own, his long hair drifting in the currents, only it was changed very slightly, in the way the features were held or in some sour experience that had left its mark, so that it was darker in essence.

For long seconds they were locked in that connecting stare, and then there was a flurry of rapid movement in the water. The Other-Church's arms shot out of the pool, clamped on Church's shoulders, and before he could resist, dragged him under.

In the shock, he didn't have time to grab a breath of air. The cold water rushed into his mouth and up his nose before he clamped his lips shut and struggled frantically to push his head up above the surface. But though he fought wildly, turning the pool into a maelstrom, his other self was far too strong. Further down it hauled him, and down even more, until the light from the lantern was too dim to illuminate the water and his lungs seared from the strain. He struck out futilely a few more times, the blows so weak they barely registered, and then his mouth jerked open and the water flooded in, filling his throat, his lungs. Fractured thoughts flared briefly in his mind, but the abiding sense was that it wasn't supposed to be like that.

Except that one minute later, he realised he was still breathing; inexplicably. His brain fizzed and sparked, somehow found a state of grace that allowed his thoughts to grow ordered once more. He wasn't dead; he was breathing water.

The Other-Church released his grip, although his face still had that mean cast; Church thought how much older and unattractive a state of mind could make him look. He signed for the Other to tell him what was happening, but it gave an expression of slight contempt before turning and swimming away. Church had no choice but to follow.

The experience had the distorting feeling of a hallucination. Briefly he wondered if he was dead and this was some final, random activity in his dying brain, but then he noticed a strange sheen across the whole of the pool that resembled the skin of a bubble. The Other swam into it, and through it; Church couldn't see anything on the other side. He hesitated, then followed suit.

The bubble gave slightly as he touched it, then eased over his body, finally accepting him with a slight give. Emerging on the other side, he was shocked to realise there was no water at all; he was in midair and it was dark. Suddenly he was falling, the water shooting out of his lungs. The sensation lasted for only a few seconds until he found himself standing on a broad plain covered in stubby grass, beneath a star-studded night sky and ringed by black mountains. Before him was a pile of rocks fused into a pillar that rose three feet above his head. The OtherChurch stood on the far side of the pillar, the same distance from it as he was.

"What is happening here?" His voice resonated strangely in the wide-open spaces. As he spoke, the Other-Church mimicked him silently.

The pillar of stones began to hum with a low, bass note. Church couldn't take his eyes off it; the atmosphere was heavy with anticipation. As the OtherChurch continued to glower at him, movement became visible within the pillar and gradually a figure stepped out of the solid rock.

Church's stomach flipped. Marianne looked exactly as she had when she was alive, not the gaunt, spectral figure sent by the Fomorii to torment him. His shoulders sagged; conflicting emotions tore through him: doubt, terrible sadness, a touch of joy. "Marianne."

She smiled at him weakly.

"You're another hallucination of this place." He rubbed a hand across his face, but when he looked back up she was still there.

"I'm here, Church. At least, a part of me, a part they couldn't get to. An echo."

Tears flooded his eyes. "Really?"

"Really."

He made to move forward, arms outstretched, but she held up a sudden hand to warn him back. She shook her head strongly. "We can't."

"Why not?" Almost a plea.

"There are rules, Church. Things going on that you can't imagine, beyond what you see here, or there, or anywhere. I can't tell you… can't explain. I'm not allowed."

"Not allowed by whom?" Her face grew still. She took a step back towards the pillar. "No! Okay, I won't ask any more about that!"

She smiled, brighter this time. "It's good to see you, Church."

For a brief while, he couldn't see for the tears. "Thank you," he choked as a delaying tactic, "for the contact you made in the house… on Mam Tor… The writing…

"I had to do something, Church. I couldn't bear to see you so broken."

"You could see me?" No answer. "Okay… the part of you the Fomorii have-"

Her face darkened; she hugged her arms around her, a mannerism he recalled her doing when she was distraught; when she was alive. "It feels like it's tearing my heart out."

His voice grew rough and fractured. "I'm going to save you, Marianne."

Her expression was, if not quite patronising, then certainly pitying.

"I am." Reassuring at first, then defiantly: "I am."

His emotions felt they would break him in two. He wanted to ask her about her death, about who had killed her, how bad it had been, whether she had really suffered as he always imagined, but looking into her face where the Marianne he loved still resided, he couldn't bring himself to do it. There were a thousand questions, but his overwhelming desire was for the one thing every bereaved person wished for above all else, but could never, ever achieve: to tell her how he truly felt.

As he was about to speak, she silenced him with a raised finger. "I know how you feel, Church, and I always felt the same about you. You were the only person I ever loved."

He covered his eyes.

"I know your thoughts now, Church. I know your hopes. And that's a good thing, truly. In the days that follow, remember that. And I know about Ruth, and that's okay. She's a remarkable person. You've made a lot of silly mistakes since I died, but she was the right one. You stick with her, she'll stick with you."

A sob choked in his throat. "I miss you."

"I know. But you should have learned a lot of things by now. That nothing is truly fixed in the Fixed Lands." Her use of words he had heard before brought him up sharp. He blinked away his tears and started to listen. "You see things from your own perspective, but in the broad sweep of existence, things look very different. When you know the rules, everything changes. Things are switched right around when they're put in context: what seems a bad experience becomes good, good, bad. I can't explain better than that at the moment, but you can't judge now, Church. Just accept things, and know there's something more."

"I know, I do."

"But sometimes it's hard."

He nodded.

"Feel it, don't think it. The Age of Reason is long gone."

"I feel so tired, Marianne. I want a rest from all this."

Her smile grew sad. "There won't be any rest, Church."

"I heard that before."

"It's true. No rest. But there'll be a balance. You'll know why there's no rest, and though it'll be hard, it'll make you feel good to know that what you do is valuable."

"Life's good as long as you don't weaken."

She laughed, and he was surprised at how wonderful it sounded, even in that place. "That's the kind of person you are, Church. A good person. Someone for people to look up to-"

"You haven't been watching very closely over the last few months, have you?" Church moved around the circle a few paces to get away from the glowering stare of the Other-Church, but it matched him pace for pace.

— you shoulder your burden and still focus on what's important in life. It won't grind you down. Life's too good."

He shrugged. His surroundings had started to intrude and so he asked, although he didn't want to, "What are you doing here, Marianne?"

"You called me."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you just don't know you did."

He turned his thoughts over rapidly, trying to make sense. "I'm here to get rid of the Fomorii corruption that's eaten its way into me from the Kiss of Frost that you-that Calatin made you-give me. That's why I'm here. At least, I think that's why. Nothing makes sense any more. Nothing ever has."

There was movement in the shadowy distance, high above the mountains, against the sky. At first he thought it was clouds, but it looked briefly like a Caraprix, only enormous, hundreds of feet larger than the tiny creatures the Tuatha De Danann and the Fomorii carried with them. It was gone so quickly he could easily have dismissed it as a bizarre hallucination, except that he was convinced it had been there. The part of his back brain that always attempted to make sense of what was happening told him he had glimpsed something of a much larger truth, although what it was, and why the Caraprix felt so at home in that place, was beyond him.

"Church." Marianne called his attention back. "The symbolism is bigger than the reality. In the wider sweep of existence, symbols tell the truth. I'm the cause of all your misery, Church. I'm what's holding you back from achieving your destiny. The stain of the Night Walkers is minor compared to that, and it wouldn't even be there if I wasn't holding it in place."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you want to talk like smart people?" Her expression was teasing. "Or shall we carry on as we always have done?" He motioned for her to continue. "Thanatos, the death urge. When I died, you were consumed by it. That's what infected you. It made your days black, your thoughts worse. You couldn't see life, you couldn't see yourself. You've pulled away from the worst part of it, but it's still there, a little black cancer of the soul. A mess on that Fiery Network that makes up the real you, stopping the true flow. Making something so vital and powerful grow dormant. You have to wake the sleeping king if you want to save the world."

"All that Arthurian stuff is a metaphor. For waking the Blue Fire in the land. Nothing to do with me."

"As without, so within. This whole business is about celebrating life in all its forms, Church. Seeing death as part of a cycle: life, death, rebirth. You've been through the damn thing yourself, as have most of your merry little group. Haven't you got the picture yet?"

"I have to let go of you, is that what you're saying?"

"You don't have to forget me. Just remember the good parts. Don't let death rule your life."

The Other-Church's expression was even darker now, murderous. "Am I really seeing you?" Church asked. "Or is this some hallucination, some part of my subconscious speaking to me?"

"You should know better than to ask questions like that by now."

"Then what do I have to do? It's one thing saying I won't obsess about death, but it's a subconscious thing-"

"Just wish, Church. Wish so hard it changes you from inside out. Kids know best how existence works. We unlearn as we go through all those things the Age of Reason saw fit to throw at us during our formative years. The Celts never had that, all those ancient people who shaped the world. You know I'm not some stupid, anti-progress Luddite. But the truth is, we took a wrong turn and now it's time to get back to how things should really be. A time to feel. The world's been waiting for this for a long time."

"For all the death and suffering?"

"No, of course not. It's your job to minimise that. But it's not your job to take things back to the way they were. You've got a bigger destiny than you ever thought, Church. It's all down to you to make things better."

His lips attempted to form words, but nothing would come.

"Just wish, Church." A whisper. "Just wish."

He closed his eyes. And wished; not with a thought, but with every fibre of his being, and he found power was given to that wishing from somewhere else, either deep within himself, or without, in the distance where strange things moved against the sky.

And when he opened his eyes, Marianne was smiling. "If you could only see yourself as I see you. We're all stars, Church. All stars." She drifted back towards the pillar of stones.

"Is that it? Have I done enough?" His question was answered by the OtherChurch, who began to fade, slipping back into the shadows that had gathered around the area until he was no longer there.

"From here it gets hard. Harder than anything you've been through so far. Pain and death and suffering and sacrifice and misery. It'll be a trial, Church, but you always knew that." Parts of her became misty, merging with the rock. "If you stay true, you'll see it through. Have faith, Church, like I have faith in you."

The tears were flooding down his face now; he had never cried so much since he was a child. "Thank you." His voice, autumnal. "For this, and for everything else you gave me. I'll never forget you."

"Until we meet again." The smile again, filled with long, beautiful days, fading as she was fading. And then she was gone.

It was like a rope tied around his waist had suddenly been attached to a speeding truck. He shot straight up into the air, that strange place disappearing in the blink of an eye, the sky and the stars whizzing by, rocketing so hard he blacked out.

And when he woke, he was sitting on the edge of the Pool of Wishes.

He made his way back along the worn path in a daze, trying to separate reality from hallucination and to make sense of the true weight of what he had learned.

When he reached the others, Ruth said curiously, "What's wrong?"

"What do you mean?"

"You've only been gone about five minutes. Isn't there anything there?"

His smile gave nothing away. He climbed on his horse and spurred it back down the slope, feeling brighter and less burdened than at any time before in his life.

The Palace of High Regard lay at the centre of a confusing geometric design of streets, laden with symbolism. Church and Ruth's winding progress along the route was an intricately designed ritual, affecting their minds as well as their hearts; it was an odd sensation when simply turning a corner resulted in a flash of long-lost memory or insight, a fugitive aroma or barely heard sound. By the time they reached the enormous doors of ivory and silver, it had worked its magic on their deep subconscious so their heads felt charged with a disorienting energy, as if they were about to embark on a drug trip.

Baccharus was waiting to admit them. He carried a long staff carved from black volcanic rock. When Church and Ruth paused ten feet away, as they had been instructed, he tapped the doors gently with the staff. The resultant echoes were so loud Ruth put her hands to her ears.

The doors swung open of their own accord. Within was a hallway flooded with sunlight from a glass dome a hundred feet above. There were columns and carvings, niches filled with statues and braziers smouldering with incense. The floor had an inner path of black and white tiles, but on the edge was a pattern Ruth remembered from the floor tile at Glastonbury, with its hidden message that had pointed them towards T'ir n'a n'Og.

They waited for an age at the second set of doors, eventually being admitted to a room so large it took their breath away. It resembled the Coliseum in size and layout: rising tiers of seats in a circle around a vast floor area that made them feel insignificant. There was enough distortion of perception around the edges that Church wondered what it really looked like. The power of the Tuatha De Danann was focused there in all its unknowable, fearful glory. Ahead of them, the highest tier of gods was obviously seated, but the golden light that came off them was so forceful Church couldn't look at it. At the centre was the being the Celts had called Dagda, the Allfather, and around him others of the oldest and most powerful branch of the Golden Ones. On the perimeter he could just make out the ones the Celts had characterised as Lugh, and Nuada, whom he had first met on Skye when he had been brought back from the dead.

The air was crushing down on his shoulders and deep vibrations ran through him. It made him feel queasy, and he didn't know how long he would be able to endure it; it was apparent Fragile Creatures were not meant to be in that place, or to spend time in close proximity to those potent gods.

They waited, uncomfortable beneath the oppressive attention of the Golden Ones; the weight of all those fearsome intellects focused upon them was almost palpable. The debate started soon after. Nuada rose to deliver a speech to the assembled mass, although they couldn't understand a word he was saying; it sounded like a song caught in the wind, lilting and beautiful, with occasional threatening notes. Others spoke: some from the rank of the highest, many from the lower levels. Back and forth the discourse ranged. It felt odd to be under the scrutiny of such powerful beings, having hopes dissected with the very fate of the world hanging in the balance, but Church refused to be cowed by it. He held his head high and looked every speaker in the face.

Eventually Manannan rose, but instead of making his speech from the tier of the highest, he descended to the floor and stood beside Church and Ruth. He spoke with a passion and belief not previously visible in his reticent nature. Standing next to him, his ringing, incomprehensible voice resonating in the cavities of their bodies, they had an even deeper sense of the power around them.

Though Manannan never acknowledged their presence in the slightest, they knew he was arguing their case powerfully. The Tuatha De Danann hung on his every word, and when he finished speaking, a ripple of obvious disagreement ran around the arena. The tension in some of the comments that followed suggested that even Manannan's involvement might not swing the Golden Ones' support behind humanity.

But when the notes of dissent threatened to become a tumult, a hush suddenly fell across the arena. It was eerie the way it went from noise to silence in the merest moment. Church turned, searching for the source, and saw a large shadow fall across the arena. Cernunnos strode forward, his partner at his side. As she moved, her shape changed from that of a young, innocent girl, to a round-checked, middle-aged woman to a wizened crone and back again.

They stopped beside Manannan, and when Cernunnos spoke in a clear, booming voice it was in words Church could understand. "No more. The seasons have turned. The days of holding on to faint beliefs have long since passed. Some of us have been wiped from existence for all time. Is this not a sign that it is time to act? How many more Golden Ones must lose the shining light before a reckoning comes? You have heard my brother speak of many things, of the warp and weft of existence, of reasons and truth and change, of the rising and advancing of spirits. Yet at the last, it must come down to this: do we sit proud and true and wait for the Night Walkers to bring their foul corruption to our door-even to this hallowed place itself-or do we fight as we have done in the past, for what is ours and for our place in the scheme of things? We aid these Fragile Creatures in their task, and thereby aid ourselves. The greater questions that trouble you need not be considered at this time. This is about the Golden Ones, and the Night Walkers, and the age-old history of lies and treachery and destruction that lie between us."

He paused as his voice continued to echo around the vast chamber. There was no other sound; every god was listening intently to what he had to say. A swell of hope filled Church's heart.

"The Golden Ones have always been fair-minded, and we have always come to the aid of those who have aided us," Cernunnos continued. "These Brothers and Sisters of Dragons freed us from the privations of the Wish-Hex, and they prevented an even more heinous crime being inflicted, one that might well have wiped all of us from existence." Mutterings of disbelief ran round the hall. "They acted freely, and without obligation, and the Golden Ones should repay that debt. There is no longer the taint of the Night Walkers upon this champion. We are free to act at his behest." He paused once more and looked slowly round. Briefly his appearance wavered and instead of the creature that Church saw as half animal, half vegetation, there was something almost angelic, but it was gone in an instant.

"I stand here with my brother, the two of us shoulder-to-shoulder. We say the old ways of noninvolvement must end now. Risen and proud, the Golden Ones were always a force to be feared. The time is right."

Complete silence followed his plea. Church's heart fell; his words had not stirred them at all. He looked around frantically, wondering if he should speak himself, but before he could decide, Baccharus had gripped his arm and was leading him and Ruth out of the hall. "The case has been made," he whispered.

They were deposited in an annex where a crystal fountain gently tinkled. Baccharus refused to answer any of their questions, but they had only to look in each other's faces to confirm their private thoughts: they had failed.

Baccharus returned to them an hour later. At first they couldn't read his face, but when he was close it broke into a broad and unlikely grin. "They will ride with you. The Night Walkers have been designated a true threat, and the feeling is that an agreement of cohabitation is not enough. It is time to eradicate them completely."

Church jumped to his feet and hugged Ruth. "We did it!"

"We need to thank Cernunnos and Manannan," Ruth said.

"There will be time enough for that later," Baccharus replied. "The decision has been reached. The Golden Ones will act swiftly and we must be away at dawn. But first there is a ceremony to be enacted."

"What ceremony?"

Baccharus ignored Church and motioned to the door. In the chamber, Cernunnos and Manannan waited patiently on the floor, but around them were gathered some of the highest of the gods, with only Dagda and those whose form was most fluid still remaining in their old place.

"Your hearts are true, Brother and Sister of Dragons," Cernunnos said. "An agreement has been reached that rings across existence. Not since the most ancient times of your people has the like been seen."

He raised his right hand and the crowd parted to admit Lugh, leading four of the younger gods. Each carried one of the ancient artefacts Church, Ruth and the others had located to free the Tuatha De Danann from exile: the Stone ofFal, the Cauldron of Dagda, the Spear of Lugh and the Sword of Nuada Airgetlamh. Lugh himself carried the Wayfinder, the lantern with the flickering blue flame that had pointed them in the direction of the mystical objects.

"The Quadrillax," Cernunnos intoned, "are yours once more. Use them well and wisely."

Church could barely believe what he was seeing. The four objects were so powerful, such a part of the traditions of the Tuatha De Danann, that he could never imagine an occasion when they would have freely given them up. But he could tell from the way the other gods looked to Cernunnos and Manannan that he knew who to thank.

He bowed. "The Brothers and Sisters of Dragons thank you. And we shall use them well and wisely."

Barely able to contain himself, he walked over to the sword that was resting on a cushion of strange, shimmering material. He had once seen it as a rusty, crumbling artefact. Now it gleamed as if it were made of silver and gold, and looked as sharp and strong as if it had just been forged. A shiver of anticipation made him pause before his fingers closed on it. But then it was in his hand and once again the power rushed through him; it felt warm and alive, comforting, against his skin. "Now we'll see some justice," he said in hushed tones.

Church sheathed the sword in a leather scabbard presented to him by Baccharus, while Ruth took the spear that she had used to such good advantage when freeing Cernunnos from Fomorii control in South Wales. The other artefacts were placed in a golden box that the young gods would hold until directed by Church.

Once they were on their own in their room, Church dragged Ruth on to the bed and hugged her tightly. "A result," he grinned, "on every front."

"So where's that familiar pessimism? Come on, you're the man who manages to drag misery from every victory."

"I'm still pragmatic-I know it's still going to be near impossible. But at least we have the two things we need: the support of the Tuatha De Danann and the Quadrillax. That's a chance, and I'm going to seize it with both hands."

"Oh, get away from me. You're not the real Church. You've been possessed in that mysterious pool." She playfully attempted to push him away, before relaxing so he could fold into her. "Go on, there's got to be something on your mind." The flicker across his face gave her answer. "Spit it out."

"Okay, there's one thing that worries me, and it's a big thing." He rolled over so he was lying next to her, staring at the ceiling. "Everything was tidied up nicely on the ship, except for one thing. You've seen the Tuatha De Danann. You know what they're capable of. And now they have the Wish-Hex."