Always Forever

Chapter Sixteen

Twilight was already heavy on the land when Church and Ruth wearily crested a ridge above the rendezvous point. What they saw made them rein in their horses in astonishment. After the long grey shadows, they were confronted by a sea of light filled with the noise of activity and a complex range of smells. Spread out before them was what appeared to be a mediaeval tent city, but it covered vast acres. Campfires showered columns of sparks amongst the billowing tents, some small, others of marquee size, while torches flickered with yellow-white light, marking paths and meeting areas. The air was fragrant with incense, spices and perfume, but there was also the powerful musk of horses and the aromas of cooking food. The hauntingly seductive music of the Tuatha De Danann rose from numerous quarters, but instead of conflicting, it came together in a symphony that made their spirits soar. For a while they were entranced by the gods walking, talking, preparing weapons, making merry.

"I don't remember this many on the ship," Ruth said.

"They must have been joined by some of the other Courts." Church tried not to be engulfed by the wonder of what he saw, but it was impossible. Whatever he might think of the gods, they were a source of remarkable magic.

They urged their exhausted mounts slowly down the slope, but they hadn't gone far when they heard a sound like wind in a mountain pass. A second later there was movement all around. Figures barely more than ghosts separated from the dark landscape to form a barrier between them and the camp. They were lower-born Golden Ones, in strange shimmering armour offset by red and white silk, with helmets that looked like enormous seashells.

"Fragile Creatures," one of them said to the others.

"We are a Brother and Sister of Dragons," Church pronounced. "We are here at the behest of the First Family."

There was sudden activity beyond the ranks. The guards fell roughly aside as another god strode through. From the more intricate designs of his armour, he looked to be of higher rank, but he had a cold, cruel face that Church instantly disliked. When he laid eyes on Church and Ruth, he gave a dark, cun- ping smile and did a bow that could easily have been mockery. "Greetings, Brother and Sister of Dragons. Your reputation precedes you. I am Melliflor, of the Court of the Yearning Heart. I welcome you to this place, though it lacks the charms of our home." He stepped aside and motioned to a path that had opened up between the guards. "Come, let me take you to my Queen. She will be eager to learn the latest from the world of Fragile Creatures. You will be able to rest and eat and drink your fill-"

"Hold, Melliflor." The voice was stern and a little threatening.

The guards moved to one side as another group marched up, their silver armour bearing designs based on an avian motif. Their leader's face gave nothing away, but it had none of the unpleasant qualities of his opposite number.

"Greetings, Gaelen. I was about to lead these two weary travellers to partake of the hospitality for which the Golden Ones are famed."

Gaelen barely looked at Melliflor. "I think the Brother and Sister of Dragons would rather be spared the hospitality of your Queen."

Melliflor bristled. "Step carefully, Gaelen. My Queen would not-"

"I have orders to take these two directly to the Lady Niamh. That is the desire of the First Family."

Melliflor appeared to consider challenging this, but eventually backed down. He gave another dislikeable smile to Church and Ruth and bowed once more. "Another time, then. I hope you do not regret missing the comforts on offer, nor the information my Queen could have imparted." He turned on his heel and marched away, with his guards trooping behind.

Gaelen nodded curtly before leading Church and Ruth slowly to the camp. They dismounted on the outskirts where one of the guards led their horses away for food and watering.

Within the camp their perceptions became increasingly distorted. They felt like they were drifting through a dream where everything was fluid, strong enough for them to wonder if they would remember any of it once they left. Their senses were stifled beneath the constant assault of sounds, smells and sights. As they passed, eyes turned towards them, some filled with contempt, others accompanied by a smile of greeting. They saw no one they recognised. Many of the gods were of the lower caste, but on two occasions they caught sight of burning golden lights unable to stay in one shape.

Gaelen halted at a large purple tent made of a heavy material that resembled velvet. Over it fluttered a flag showing two dragons, red and white, either in embrace or fighting. The god pulled aside the flap and bid them enter.

The inside was cosy with sumptuous cushions scattered on a richly par terned carpet. Lanterns hung from poles at intervals around the perimeter, but the flames were turned down so the light was soft and hazy. Baccharus slumped in a low chair, his legs stretched out before him, drinking from a wooden flagon studded with four rubies. He lifted it in greeting, but didn't rise.

Niamh stood next to a trestle table in the centre of the tent, poring over a large map that had previously been rolled around large brass spindles. She hurried over to Church, smiling broadly. She made to embrace him, but when she saw Ruth, her face lost its sheen and she turned away sadly.

"You completed your mission, then, Brother?" Baccharus said.

"I did," Church replied. "The land is alive again. That should at least give us something for the fight."

Baccharus sipped from his flagon. "We can feel it. It is a powerful defence. Even my kind fear the force of the Blue Fire."

Church and Ruth flopped wearily on the cushions while Niamh sent out for food and drink, "all given freely and without obligation," a statement that told Church this was a Court of the Tuatha De Danann in all but location.

"You've already agreed a plan?" Church asked as he ate his fill of fruit and bread.

"The Golden Ones you know as Lugh and Nuada have overseen the battle planning," Niamh said. "The Night Walkers are well established in their den and it will not be easy to unseat them. The dark ones are a foul infestation. They swarm everywhere. But a direct assault on several fronts should weaken them. We come from the North and the West. The Master will lead Wave Sweeper along the river to split their force in two."

"What about us?"

Perhaps it was a trick of the flickering lanterns, but she suddenly looked deeply sad. "Though some of my kind refuse to admit it, you are the key to defeating the Heart of Shadows. You must find a way into its lair and use the Quadrillax to wipe it from existence." She turned away, pretending to unfurl another map.

Ruth's hand fumbled for Church's and gave it a squeeze. "We'll do our part," she said.

Baccharus and Niamh left them alone to eat and doze in the warm atmosphere, but they were too tense to get much rest. Four hours later, the tent flaps were roughly thrown aside. Church automatically jumped to his feet, his hand on the Sword hilt, but he was almost bowled over by a large figure that crossed the tent in seconds and threw its arms around him tightly.

"Ey, you bastard!" Veitch lifted Church off the ground and hugged him until he felt his ribs were about to crack. "I thought you'd have done a runner by now."

"You can't get rid of me that easy." He clapped Veitch on the shoulder, more pleased to see him than he would have believed.

Shavi slipped in behind, smiling quietly, and then Tom, looking tired and irritable. Veitch turned and waved the stump of his wrist at Shavi and Ruth. "Beat you both, as bleedin' usual."

Ruth stared in horror for a while, then followed his gaze down to where the finger was missing on her hand, and over to Shavi who sported the same gap. They all burst out laughing together.

But then Veitch could control himself no longer. He marched over to pull Ruth to him tightly, burying his face in her hair to hide the emotion that rushed through him. After a few seconds, he pulled back to kiss her gently on the head. Ruth went rigid in the face of his show of feeling, knowing it wasn't the time to tell him about Church, unsure what to do, but Veitch didn't appear to notice her reticence. She flashed a glance at Church, who gave one quick shake of his head.

Veitch smiled with a mixture of affection and embarrassment. "Sorry about that." His eyes were fixed on hers, wide and childlike; there was a flush to his cheeks. "I've missed you."

Ruth smiled back awkwardly, but said nothing. The moment was deflated by Shavi who hugged Church and Ruth in turn, his emotions also close to the surface. "It feels good to be together again," he said quietly. "Now all we need is Laura."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before Church said, "She's dead."

"No, she's not," Veitch said, puzzled. "Shavi was the only one who was dead."

They looked from one to the other blankly.

It was hard for any of them to believe they were back together again. Each of them felt, at times, overwhelmed; and then they would simply sit and listen to the others talking, enjoying the motion of faces, the animation of limbs, the energy crackling amongst them. Elation overwhelmed them all, completely wiping out any thought of what the morning might bring. There was drinking and raucousness, jokes that made light of their hardships, and the warm glow of old friends brought together again.

Veitch held up a flagon marked with a design of a Fabulous Beast. "You seen this?"

"Isn't that the one with the pellet with the poison?" Church laughed, but Veitch completely missed the reference.

"No, no," Shavi said, grinning, "that is in the chalice with the palace. That one is the brew that is true."

"You lot haven't bleedin' changed," Veitch muttered.

Veitch was mesmerised by every movement Ruth made, as if he could barely believe she was there before him. Part of Ruth felt uncomfortable at the depth of emotion she sensed, yet she was excited by it too. That conflict made her uneasy. She knew she loved Church, so why was she responding to the attentions of someone else, in particular a man with whom she had so little in common?

When the conversation became a heated debate about Laura she was thankful for the opportunity to distract herself from her thoughts. Neither she nor Church could believe Laura was still alive; Tom and Veitch were adamant she was. It was left to Shavi to argue that they now lived in a world where anything could happen.

The conversation moved on. Ruth tried to stay out of the limelight, but Veitch brought her in at every opportunity, rapt at the tales she told.

"You hung on the outside of a ship in a storm? You're a crazy girl!"

"At least I didn't manage to lose a hand," she said wryly.

"Maybe we should get ourselves a little Amputation Club going." Veitch chortled; he was drinking too much, too fast. Beneath his upbeat exterior, they all could see the strain the loss of his hand had brought in him.

"That'd exclude me," Church said, "so in defence I'm proposing the Born Again Club."

Veitch furrowed his brow. "What's that, then?"

"Well, I died and came back." He nodded to Shavi. "So did you. And Ruth did, fleetingly, just before Laura took the seed of Balor from her."

Veitch snorted. "You're not counting me out, you tosser."

"Do not worry, Ryan," Shavi joked, "there is plenty of time for you to meet your maker and come back down to earth."

"Right. And I'll do it in style. With a choir of bleedin' angels!"

Tom muttered something indecipherable, but patently irritable. Veitch swore at him playfully, laughed when Tom bit, then broke open another amphora of wine.

"You know, I miss technology less than I thought," Ruth said, lounging back on one of the enormous cushions. "But one thing I could do with now is a CD player, or a tape deck… anything that gives music." She eyed Church with faux contempt. "As long as I don't have to listen to any Sinatra."

He laughed. "Shame. I could come up with a good soundtrack for all this." He thought for a moment. "How about `That Old Black Magic' from Come Swing with Me! followed by `It's Nice to Go Trav'ling-

Ruth covered her face.

"No, no, something soulful. Spiritual," Shavi said. "Curtis Mayfield. Perhaps Van Morrison-"

"Geezer music," Veitch said. "I never thought I'd say this, but I wish Laura was here. She might have been a pain in the arse most of the time, but musically she kept you music fans in your pen."

Shavi looked towards the tent flap. "I still expect her to walk in at any moment."

An outcry outside brought them all to their feet. They rushed out into the cold night to see the Tuatha De Danann in a state of excitement around one of the campfires.

Church grabbed one of the gods by the shoulder. "What's going on?"

The god was shocked that he had been accosted by a Fragile Creature, but he appeared aware of Church's reputation. "The Norta has been seen! And her sisters too!"

"What's that?"

The god struggled for the right words in his excitement. "The one your people called the Morrigan."

A hand fell on Church's shoulder and he turned to face Baccharus, equally animated. "A great portent, my friend. The Morrigan is one of our own, but she prefers her own company, or that of her sisters, Macha, Badb and Nemain. They have not been seen by the Golden Ones since the first days after the pact. But they are drawn to war… and… and bloodshed… and…"-he attempted to speak in a manner Church could understand, but he struggled with a word that was still alien to him-"death. The Dark Sisters are fearsome, both in what they represent and in their prowess. The Morrigan and her clan helped us win both battles of Magh Tuireadh. Undoubtedly, her appearance is a good omen."

"Where is she?" Church scanned the campsite, eager to see a figure of such reputation.

"The Dark Sisters will not come into the light." Baccharus raised his head to the gleaming moon. "Macha, Badb and Nemain were seen circling the camp earlier. They wore the armour of war."

"And the Morrigan?"

"There is a stream nearby. In it she was seen washing the heads of those who are to die in the forthcoming battle. The Morrigan keeps count of those who move from existence."

Church flashed back to a cold February night before he had any inkling of the terrible change that had come over the world. It was the Morrigan he had seen washing his own head in the Thames. His throat closed up when he thought how she had turned and looked at him, with a face that appeared like death itself. But another worry crept up on him: was that portent referring to his previous death on Skye or was she revealing what lay in store for him in the Battle of London?

"Tell me," he said, "did your people see the heads?"

Baccharus knew exactly what he was asking. "I cannot lie. There were Fragile Creatures."

Church's blood ran cold. "Who was it?"

"No!" Tom strode over, his face cold and hard. "Do not tell him! It would not help for anyone to know they are going to die. Hope is the engine of success."

Church studied his face carefully. Tom didn't meet his eyes. "You know who's going to die, don't you? You've always known."

Tom fixed an eye on Church that made his stomach turn. "Yes. Pity me for it." He turned and marched away without another word.

Church felt sick. He looked round at the others, who were talking to another of the Tuatha De Danann; none of them had heard the exchange. In that instant he understood exactly what Tom was going through. He couldn't tell them one of them was destined to die; it was a burden he would have to carry himself.

The sadness came up quicker and harder than he anticipated as he watched the people who had become his best friends over the last few months. He couldn't imagine being without any of them, even though that had been a constant from the moment they had banded together. Unbidden, his thoughts turned to which of them he would miss the least, and that made him feel even worse.

Dismally, he turned back to Baccharus, who deftly changed the conversation. "True Thomas is a good man. Do not blame him for being the bearer of bad news."

"We never got on at the start. I thought he was manipulating us. That he was cold and patronising and arrogant. I wish I'd been better to him."

"True Thomas has accepted his responsibility. He does not expect anything from you."

"That makes it even worse."

A whistling like an incoming missile passed overhead. Church looked up to see the terrifying form of a woman pass by, her hair as wild as winter, her black clothes streaming off her in rags, her mouth torn wide as she made the anguished noise. He shivered as her shadow passed over him.

"Badb, Queen of Crows," Baccharus said.

"I'm glad she's on our side."

He watched the other figures moving across the sky for a while, but the night was too cold to stay for long. Returning to the warmth of the tent, he found the others already in deep conversation, though Tom was nowhere to be seen. Their faces showed the mood had darkened.

"We were talking about the traitor," Ruth said as he entered.

"I don't want suspicion causing any rifts at this critical stage."

"Yeah, but we've got to be on our guard." Veitch was repeatedly unwrapping, then rewrapping the cloth around the stump of his wrist. Church knew his mind was working through numerous strategies, dismissing some, rethinking others. He was still drunk, but he was now brooding, and it was easier to see the anger that always lay just beneath the surface. "We've come through all this shit together, trusted each other. If I found out one of us had been playing the others just to sell them out, I'd kill them."

"Ryan!" Ruth said.

"I find it hard to believe one of us could be a traitor." Shavi looked around them, as honest and open as always. "We come from different backgrounds. We are all different people, with nothing, superficially, in common. Yet we have seen into each other's souls. We are good people, all of us, at heart. I trust my instinct implicitly. I cannot see anything in any of us that suggests betrayal."

"Exactly." Church sat down close to Ruth, then became aware of Veitch watching him curiously. He shuffled away an inch or two. "I can't pretend it hasn't bothered me, but we all know how much the dead love to twist things. Who knows what they really meant?"

Veitch took a knife and diced an apple into four quarters. "I'm still going to be watching my back."

The conversation drifted to lighter subjects, but they never caught the uplifting mood of celebration again. Just after one a.m., when the sounds of revelry from the camp had died down, the growing quiet was disturbed by the distant blast of a horn. It was barely audible, but it brought a chill to them all. A second or two later it sounded again, much closer to hand, followed by the fearsome baying of hounds.

"The Wild Hunt," Shavi said.

Ruth fingered the mark that had been imprinted on her hand. "Cernunnos is joining us. That's good news."

"Right. He's obviously on the side of us Fragile Creatures." Even so, Church couldn't shake the fear he felt at the god's Erl-King aspect. He would never forget how the Hunt had torn through the revellers leaving the pub on Dartmoor: so brutal, yet cold, like a force of nature.

They fell silent with their thoughts until they heard the sound of two pairs of footsteps approaching the tent. They waited for the flaps to be thrown back, but the visitors slipped in quietly. The tall one at the rear was the Bone Inspector, his greying hair matted with grease and filth hanging loosely around his shoulders. His cheesecloth shirt was covered with green stains.

The shorter one at the front wore a cloak with a hood pulled over her head, but Church immediately knew who it was. His stomach flipped; a shiver ran up his spine. "Laura." The word was barely more than an exhalation.

She threw back her hood with her typical flair for the dramatic. They were shocked to see Veitch was right about the tinge to her skin, but that the scars Callow had inflicted on her face were mysteriously missing shocked them more. "Church-dude. You look like you've seen a ghost. Instead of just the walking dead." She looked round at the others, who were rapt. "Well, that's the kind of wild reception I always expected from this little group."

Church jumped up, looking deeply into her eyes for a long moment, before putting his arms around her. She smelled of spring leaves and summer flowers. He didn't know what to say, so he led her to a space and sat her down.

Ruth leaned across the circle. "I want to thank you-"

"Don't. We've all made sacrifices. That's what we do." She nodded to the Bone Inspector. "He's the one you should thank. If not for him I wouldn't be here for all that mystical five symbolism baloney you need to do the big job."

"Somebody had to do it," the Bone Inspector said grumpily. He shifted around, uncomfortable with the attention. "Where's the Rhymer? I need to sort something out with him."

When they said they didn't know, he left in a bad temper to scour the camp. Their attention turned back to all the confusing emotions Laura's reappearance had raised.

"We were just saying we could not believe you were truly dead," Shavi said with a smile, reaching out to take her hand. She smiled back, sweetly, without a trace of the bitterness that had always characterised her.

"Don't get me wrong, hon. I did die. And now I'm back, the same, only different."

Another one, Church thought. What does it all mean?

"But how did you survive?" Ruth was pale and troubled. "I had Balor in me. I know what it felt like, what would have happened when it came out."

Laura lifted up her over-sized T-shirt to reveal a rapidly fading jagged white scar, running from her belly to her sternum. "Something like this?"

Ruth couldn't help gasping. "That would have killed you!"

"It would have if I wasn't already dead. This is the key." She showed the back of her right hand where she sported the mark of Cernunnos, the circle of interlocking leaves. "You know how screwed up I got about all the changes taking place in my body… the green blood that had a life of its own? It was such a shock at the time." She traced her finger around the mark. "I had no idea what he'd done to me… could never have guessed." She looked around them. "I died that day up at Loch Maree when he marked me with this."

Church shook his head in disbelief, but she silenced him with a wave of her hand.

"I died, and then he remade me in his own image. For the rest of you time was frozen. But for me… well, I don't know how he did it." She shook her head, barely able to summon up the words. "I'm not human, I'm a plant."

There was a hanging moment when they all tried to work out if she was joking. She laughed to herself, silently, at their expressions. "Okay, maybe that's not the right word. Physically, he turned me into something that has the characteristics of flora rather than fauna. I don't need to eat or drink or breathe, not in the same way you do. I can survive under water. I can survive where there's no air at all. And when I get hurt, I repair myself like a plant. That's what happened with Balor. I'll tell you now, I don't remember much about it, apart from the fact that it was agony. That's one thing he didn't sort out. It tore me apart. It wasn't pretty. But I put myself back together. And-" she held her arms wide "-I did it better than before." She pointed to her face. "No scars. Not on my back, either. So I've got a slight skin problem, but that's a small price to pay. At least I don't pollinate or any of that shit."

Her flippant manner made it difficult for them to assimilate what she was saying. Church's brow furrowed. "So all the time we were together-"

"That's right, Church-dude-you were having sex with a plant."

"A nature spirit." Shavi leaned forward excitedly. "He distilled the essence of what you already were, and made you an avatar."

"Well, he might have asked." Her smile was relaxed.

"Are you okay with it?" Ruth asked, concerned.

"It's better than being a nobody. And it's better than being really, truly dead. I think the same, I feel the same. I'm still the same gorgeous, wonderful, witty and charming Laura DuSantiago. Apart from the fact you have to water me twice a day."

Church leaned forward and touched her forearm. The skin felt exactly the same as it always had done. She took his hand with honest affection. "I'm okay. Really. "

"You seem different," Ruth said. "I mean, as well as all that-"

"I have my flaws, but stupidity isn't one of them. When somebody shoves a big, fat, old lesson in my face, I make sure I learn from it." She looked down at her fingers as she knotted and unknotted them. "I've found peace, I guess, if that doesn't sound like some stupid, navel-gazing New Ager. It was always there, I just couldn't see it. I don't hate myself any more."

Her words were simple, but Church felt a swell of affection; he knew how deep her pain really went. If Laura had found some kind of redemption, there was hope for all of them; for everyone. The others recognised this too. As she looked round, for the first time she felt accepted.

"Then we really are all back together," Shavi said. "As it was intended."

"Yes, yes, yes, the stars are aligned, and God is looking down on you from his heaven." Tom was standing in the entrance with the Bone Inspector. "Now I suggest you get some rest. For tomorrow, as the saying goes, you may die."

Veitch slipped into a drunken sleep quickly; Shavi had a remarkable ability to nap instantly, wherever he was. Tom and the Bone Inspector sat at the table, talking quietly, their faces stern. Ruth tried to stay awake as Laura and Church chatted, but even her faint jealousy couldn't stop her eyelids from drooping.

Laura watched the regular movement of Ruth's chest for a moment or two before turning back to Church. "So I'll ask you again: have you and little Miss Frosty done the monkey dance yet?"

"Laura-"

"You still don't know me, do you?" There was a trace of sadness in her smile. "In most cultures that's known as humour."

"Are you really okay?"

"Yes, I am. For the first time in my life. So don't go giving me any pity or I might be stirred to be my old catty self." She put her fingertips on his sternum and pushed him down.

"I'm sorry I wasn't better to you. And that's not pity. What you did to save Ruth… that showed a side of you I never knew, and I feel bad for that. I jumped to conclusions, just like everybody else."

She rolled on to her back, her hands behind her head. "It's all in the past now. We learn, we move on, and all that shit." She looked at him from the corners of her eyes. "I'm still sorry it didn't work out between you and me, but I've finally got a good injection of reality. It wasn't the right time, maybe we weren't the right people, but I was so desperate I was trying to force it." She nodded to Ruth. "You and her, you're the real deal. She's a good person, for all her many, many problems. And you, well, you're Saint Church, aren't you? Mr. Walks On Water."

He watched Ruth's chest rising and falling and wished he was lying next to her. "Is it that obvious?"

"It was obvious to everybody right from the start. You were the only one who couldn't see it. Because, let's face it, when it comes to emotion, you're damaged goods."

"And you're okay about it? It's important to me. Really."

There was a brief pause in which he dreaded her answer, but then she said, "I'm okay with it. All I really wanted was somebody to stand by me shoulder-toshoulder. I've never had that. But I was, like, where's the dog and the white stick? It was all around me. It's stupid. The world's falling apart and right here I've got the best friends I could ever wish for. You, the Shav-ster, even Miss Icy Knickers. We'd have got on okay if I hadn't been the Bitch From Hell from the get-go. Witch, well, he's about as fucked-up as it gets, but if it came to the crunch I know he'd come through. I just hope I haven't learnt my big old life lesson too late."

He fumbled for her hand and gave it a squeeze. "It's a lesson we've all had to learn. When you're looking for meaning in life, don't look at the big picture, look at this. Look at your friends and your life and your loves-you need no meaning other than people."

She yawned theatrically. "You're getting up your arse again, aren't you? Just enjoy it, for Christ's sake. And don't screw up your love life this time. If she doesn't kill you, I will." She watched him for a minute, her eyes shining, and then she smiled, still a little sadly, and rolled over to sleep.

As Church shuffled down to rest his head on the cushion, his gaze fell on Veitch's still form and for a fleeting moment he thought the Londoner was still awake. The notion disturbed him, but as he slipped into sleep he couldn't quite work out why.

The cry ripped through the camp, snapping them all awake in an instant. It was the sound of a woman shrieking, filled with such desolation and horror it left them frozen in shock. The cry rose, becoming more hysterical, louder, until they thought their ears would burst, and then, just as suddenly, it snapped off. The ringing echoes of it persisted for several more seconds.

"What the bleedin' hell was that?" Veitch's face was drained of blood.

Tom pushed himself back from the table where he had been resting his head. "La Belle Dame Sans Merci."

"The Banshee, to you and me," the Bone Inspector said, bleary eyed.

"Bummer." Laura crashed back on to her cushions. "Bad omen-a-go-go."

Church looked to Tom. "Is it as bad as the legends say?"

"You don't need the Banshee to tell you it's not going to be a walk in the park tomorrow." The Bone Inspector slumped back on to the table.

"Some stories say anyone who hears it will die," Ruth said. Church wished he could comfort her, but Veitch appeared to be watching them both closely.

"You're all going to die," Tom said. "Sooner or later." He lay back down on the table.

"Thanks for the morale boost, old git," Laura said sleepily.

"It doesn't mean death for anyone who hears it," Tom said wearily. "But it does mean death. And destruction and suffering and devastation on an epic scale."

"Situation normal, then." As Veitch lay down, Church steeled himself and surreptitiously moved next to Ruth.

The others assimilated the information and after a few minutes somehow managed to go back to sleep, but Ruth was aware Church was still lying awake.

"What are you thinking?" she whispered.

His words were given greater weight by the long pause before he replied. "I'm thinking, where are they keeping the Wish-Hex? And when are they planning on using it?"

They were woken at first light by the sound of stirring across the camp. The smell of cooking drifted into the tent, teasing pangs of hunger from their sluggish forms. With an effort, they dragged themselves out into a cold, clear morning, their breath pluming; they were forced to bang their arms against their sides in a futile bid to keep warm. It was a beautiful dawn: a full-hearted swell of gold and purple before the sky slowly turned a pale blue; a day for hope and love and great things, not a day for war.

The lesser gods had gathered in the various large clearings amongst the tents, eating at long wooden tables. Church still wasn't sure that they really needed to eat, but they relished experience with a hunger that belied their status, as if searching for something valuable they had long since left behind. They certainly ate with gusto, shovelling down platefuls of food, swilling it down with flagonfuls of a hot, fragrant liquid.

All of the gods appeared to be in high spirits. They called Church and the others over with hearty shouts and made a space for them at the end of one table with much backslapping and camaraderie. It was so out of place that all of them felt uncomfortable. Platefuls of dried fruit and spiced meat and several loaves of bread were brought to all but Laura and Shavi, who were given an odd but tasty bouillabaise of tomatoes, mushrooms and peppers without having to ask. Laura admitted that although she didn't have to eat, she too, like the gods, still enjoyed the sensation.

As they ate, their spirits rose, all except Veitch who remained sullen and uncommunicative. "They look like they're eager to get off to war," Ruth noted.

"For all their many claims to a wonderful life, they lack much colour in their existence," Tom said, dipping a sausage into an egg. "Quite simply, they are bored."

"Despicable bastards, the lot of 'em," the Bone Inspector muttered as he gnawed on a chunk of bread. "Like a bunch of upper class idiots whipping themselves up before a rugby game, without a single thought for all the suffering that's going to happen. With any luck a few of 'em will meet their maker."

"That is a little harsh," Shavi said.

"Might teach 'em to appreciate life a bit more."

"I still don't get why you're helping us." Church sipped on the hot, invigorating liquid.

"That's because you're a moron." The Bone Inspector threw the remainder of his bread to a group of ravens that had ventured fearlessly into the camp.

"I can see why you and the old git get on so well," Laura said under her breath. "Both graduates of the Finishing School for Irritating, Miserable Bastards."

Shavi pushed out his chair and stretched his legs. "I would guess the Bone Inspector is simply following his office as a guardian of the land's old places. If the End of Everything happens on the morning after Samhain, there will not be many old places to guard."

"Well, aren't you the smarty-pants." The Bone Inspector was watching the ravens intently. "Ready for carrion," he mused.

"Carry On to the End of the World, maybe," Laura said. "With Kenneth Williams as the dark god Balor and Charles Hawtrey as the Guardian of the Old Places."

The Bone Inspector eyed her so darkly Laura realised she couldn't chide him in the same way that she toyed with Tom.

Shavi was laughing. "Oh, yes. And you would be Barbara Windsor," he said to Laura. "And Church would be Sid James-"

"Bwah hah hah," Church said flatly. "So what's going to happen after we've stuffed our faces?"

"In half an hour there will be a meeting to outline the strategy," Tom said. "As the spearhead of the attack, we must be there."

"The generals sending the disposables in first?" Veitch said sourly.

"Something like that," Tom replied. "They have their agenda and we have ours. As long as we are not swayed, who cares what their motivations are?"

"But they have the Wish-Hex." Church made the comment quietly so none of the gods could hear.

"Yes," Tom said, "which is why we shall have our own meeting first."

After the meal they wandered off separately, agreeing to meet fifteen minutes later. Ruth had not gone far when her arm was grabbed sharply enough to cause her pain. She whirled angrily. It was Veitch. She could tell instantly from his threatening expression what was on his mind.

"You couldn't wait to get off with him, could you?" There was pain in his voice beneath the anger.

"I'm sorry you're upset, Ryan, but-"

"Upset? I'm upset when my team loses on a Saturday. This is like a kick in the bollocks, and another one in the face for good luck."

She bowed her head, sorry to see him so hurt. "I didn't want you-"

"No, you didn't want me. I put my life on the line in Scotland-for you. Not for all this end of the world bollocks. I couldn't care less if the whole miserable place went belly-up tomorrow. But, you… " He shook his head, his long hair falling across his face. "I nearly died for you. I took risks to get down herefor you."

She was shocked to see the rage lighting in his face; there was a seething glow in his hooded eyes. "You've got so much anger in you! Were you always like this?"

Her words appeared to strike him hard. He rubbed at his temples furiously. "Stop talking about that!"

"I tried to be honest to you about how I felt, Ryan. I think you're a good man. I admire you. But there was never going to be anything between us."

"Never?" She flinched as he bunched his fist but instead he smashed it into his side. There were tears of hurt in his eyes.

She went to comfort him, but he backed away. "Ryan, don't hate Church and don't hate me. We love each other. And we both care about you, really."

"You're only saying that to keep me on the team. Afraid I'll go running off to join the other side?"

"Don't be stupid! None of us would ever think that. You said you always wanted to be a hero. Well, you are, Ryan. You are. And everyone here respects you."

He looked away towards the horizon, blinking off the tears. "Yeah…"

"That must mean something?"

He nodded. "But not enough. I always thought it was the most important thing. I've never had that… never had any respect." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "One of them was talking about how they'd all learned something important from all this shit. Well, I have too. I've learnt you're the most important thing to me, and if I can't have you I might as well be dead. So I can go into this with no fear 'cause I've got nothing to lose. They'll remember me as the biggest bleedin' hero of all by the end of it." The anger disappeared briefly and all she could see was the face of a hurt child, but then he turned sharply on his heel and marched away.

She called after him, but he didn't look back.

They met in their tent while the Tuatha De Danann were away making their preparations for battle, although Baccharus and Niamh were there, much to Veitch's suspicion. The first thing they did was distribute the Quadrillax. Church kept the Sword and took the Wayfinder lantern, while Ruth reaffirmed her hold on the Spear. Veitch agreed to carry the Stone ofFal and Shavi took the Cauldron in a pack on his back. Laura was happy to have nothing to do with any of them.

"If the Wish-Hex is here, its location has been kept from us," Niamh said when they had gathered around the table. "Those of us who believe in the destiny of mankind would never allow such a thing to be used, and certainly never in this form, adulterated by the Night Walkers."

"It would be good," Tom said, "if all your brethren felt the same way. But many believe this is too good an opportunity to pass by: two irritants wiped out in one fell swoop."

"And the prime position in the evolutionary pile secured for the Tuatha De Danann," Church noted. "We need you to find out where the Wish-Hex is being kept, and when it will be used," he said to Baccharus and Niamh. "We'll have to find some way to neutralise it."

"The aim would be to unleash the Wish-Hex in the core of the Night Walkers' lair, close to the Heart of Shadows," Niamh said. "The Night Walkers are more resilient than Fragile Creatures. They need to be closer to the release."

"We just get wiped out in the plague fallout," Church said bitterly.

"We will uncover the intention and pass it on to you as soon as we can," Niamh said. "We understand what is at stake."

Veitch appeared not to have been listening, and had spent the meeting carving his name into the wooden table with his knife. Then he said, "I'm worried we're spreading ourselves too thin," and Church realised the Londoner had instead been carefully weighing all the strategies. "We'll be driving forward on more than one front, and this thing will be coming up behind. We're not going to be in a position to split our attention."

"What are you saying?" Church asked.

"Sounds like a recipe for disaster to me."

Church thought for a moment. "It might help if one of us found a back way in."

"What do you mean?" Veitch said.

"I've been thinking about this… about a lot of things. There's been important stuff that's been there right in our face before and we missed it." He turned to Ruth. "Like Maurice Gibbons."

"The civil servant who was murdered under Albert Bridge the night we met. So?"

"We got so wrapped up in what he discovered, we never thought about how-"

"He saw one of the Fomorii changing-'

"But why was he under Albert Bridge on that particular night?"

She opened her mouth to answer him, but no words came. "Okay, smartypants."

"Why was that Night Walker there too?"

Her eyes narrowed. "You've already worn out your dramatic buildup, Church."

"The Fomorii were already building their base under London. And Gibbons had somehow found one of the entrances to it. He was investigating when that thing came out and killed him."

Veitch was already ahead of them. "So if we could get to it, we might be able to get straight into their base before they know it!"

"But the danger of us all going together is that it is easier to stop us with one well-timed strike," Shavi noted. "They would be able to target all their resources at us."

"Good point," Veitch mused. "All right, we split up. But we do our damnedest to get to where we're going, even if it means leaving all those goldenskinned twats behind." He nodded to Niamh and Baccharus curtly. "No offence."

"And we all know where we're going," Laura said. "That big tower they're throwing up near the City. I saw it up close. That has to be the place."

"At the ritual in Scotland, when we summoned the dead for guidance, they told us we needed to find the Luck of the Land before we could beat Balor," Shavi noted. "Do we have any more of an idea what that means?"

Tom shifted uncomfortably. "That is not a matter to concern us now."

"Why not?" Veitch asked suspiciously.

"Heed me." Tom's voice was unduly stern. "When we are closer to the confrontation."

Church noticed Ruth was deep in thought. "What's on your mind?" he asked.

She looked at him with a curious expression. "What you said about Maurice Gibbons. It made me think how much else we missed that was right in front of our eyes."

The war council took place in a heavily guarded marquee of purple silk, deep in the heart of the camp. It was at the centre of an area where all the higher-born gods had congregated, and the sense of dislocation as Church and the others entered was palpable.

Many gods were already waiting in the tent, communicating quietly, and in some cases, silently. Church recognised Nuada Airgetlamh, his almond eyes like razor blades in his golden face, and Lugh, with his long mane of black hair and his torso bearing the scars of battle; both of them exuded power. But there were many Church didn't know. Their faces shimmered and changed as his gaze passed across them. He saw famous generals, renowned political leaders at times of crisis, a bully he recalled from school, the hardened casts of terrorists and revolutionaries, but eventually their images settled down into distinctive personalities, all of them grim. Church had the unshakeable feeling the important things had already been discussed and agreed.

"I offer the greetings of the Golden Ones to the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons, who have served us so well in the past," Nuada said, seemingly unconscious of his patronising attitude. "You know me as Fragile Creatures have known me in the past: Nuada Airgetlamh, wielder of Caledfwlch, which in my wisdom I have gifted to you, Dragon Brother. Your people have also known me as Nudd, of the Night, as Llud, and Lud, founder of this place on whose doorstep we stand-Londinium. This is my place where, in the Fixed Lands, I stand supreme. This is where Fragile Creatures bowed their heads to me, made offerings of the little things that had importance in their brief lives. Where blood ran, where my heart beats."

Lugh's eyes were fixed on his Spear, which Ruth held tightly to her side. She felt uncomfortable at the attention, as if he were desperate to wrest it from her.

"You Brothers and Sisters of Dragons have proved your worth," Nuada continued, "and it has been deemed that you should wield the Quadrillax on our behalf. Only with those objects of power will the Heart of Shadows finally be wiped from all existence. But the path to it will be hard. Too hard for Fragile Creatures. And so the Golden Ones have agreed to drive a route through the shadows, to protect you from the attacks of the Night Walkers, until you are in a position to carry out the act required of you. Does this meet with your agreement?"

All eyes turned to Church. "It does."

"Then this is what is suggested. There will be three lines of attack into the city, until the Heart of Shadows' location is established. I will lead the drive from the north. My brother, whom you know as Lugh, will bring our forces from the west. And the Master will take Wave Sweeper along the river into the centre of the city."

"And that will be the most important," Church said, "because it will take us directly to one of the entrances to the Fomorii lair."

Nuada's gaze was incisive. "You have access to secrets, Brother of Dragons."

Church gave nothing away.

Tom stepped forward. "May I speak?"

"Your exalted position is recognised, True Thomas."

"Then I would suggest the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons divide into teams to ensure the best chance of success. Ruth and Ryan will join you in the attack from the north."

Ruth went cold. Surreptitiously, she glanced over at Veitch, but his gaze was fixed firmly on Nuada.

"Shavi and Laura will come from the west with Lugh," Tom continued. "And I and the Bone Inspector will accompany Church through the secret tunnels. Though he is powerful, he is also young, and we have the experience to guide him through the darkest turns."

Nuada nodded. "Your views are acceptable, True Thomas."

Laura smirked and whispered to Church behind her hand, "Fun day out with the senior citizen club for you, boy. Hope you don't get in any fights or there'll be Zimmer frames all over the place."

"Use the Quadrillax wisely," Nuada said. "You have already drawn the Sword from the stone of disbelief. Now is the time to fire it with your heart. And the others-each must be used at the right time, in the correct manner, with the full weight of your essence behind you, and even then victory is not assured. Much death and suffering lies ahead. This is a period of pain that will be remembered when the stars go out. Go well, Brothers and Sisters of Dragons. Your world turns with you."

They left the tent to prepare themselves for what lay ahead. The joy of their initial reunion had dissipated, to be replaced by an oppressive sense of foreboding. There were no jokes or smiles; they were lost to their own thoughts as they wrestled with their secret fears or searched for the depths of strength that would get them through the coming hours.

Veitch was the last to leave. Before he had gone ten paces from the tent, Nuada called him back.

"We have seen your sacrifice," the god said, motioning to Witch's bandaged wrist. "I know only too well the pain of such a wound." He removed a glove that covered an ornately crafted silver hand that looked like it had come from some futuristic robot. "The scars go much deeper than the skin."

Nuada's eyes felt like they were going right through him. "I had to do it to bring my mate back. I'm not bitter about it."

"Not bitter, no." Nuada smiled knowingly. "Still, I understand your heart, Brother of Dragons. Listen, then: if you are to be effective, you will need a new hand. Would you like that?"

"Can you do it?"

Nuada indicated the silver hand again. "We are gods. We can do anything."

The tent was the deepest red, so that within even the air had the hint of blood. It was enormous, bigger even than the marquee where the war council had met, with numerous annexes and branching passages so it was impossible to see all of it from one view. Nuada presented Veitch to Dian Cecht, who wore robes of scarlet. He carried himself with bearing, his features as aristocratic as his manner: a high forehead above a Roman nose, sharp, grey eyes and gunmetal hair tied in a ponytail.

"We have little time," Nuada said, as Dian Cecht gently unfastened the material on Veitch's wrist stump.

"It is a simple operation on a Fragile Creature." Dian Cecht examined the burnt flesh, then shrugged and turned away, motioning for Veitch to follow.

They came to a room set with several tables. Cruel-looking silver instruments were laid out on small trays next to each table. Dian Cecht nodded for Veitch to lie down, then busied himself at a large cabinet at one end. He returned with a wooden box inlaid with gold, which he placed on the tray next to Veitch. Inside, on a velvet inlay, was a silver hand the exact replica of the one Nuada wore. "A spare," Dian Cecht said with a smile.

Veitch felt a faint flutter of excitement; the thought of being whole once more was seductive. Dian Cecht gave him a foul-tasting potion to drink, which instantly made him sleepy. After a moment he was drifting in and out of hallucinatory waking dreams, filled with strange, disturbing images, including one of a black and a white spider fighting furiously over him. He was vaguely aware of Dian Cecht working on his wrist with a long knife with three rotating blades; the smell of blood filled his nostrils with surprising potency. A glimmer of silver in the corner of his eye told him the hand was about to be fitted. He watched with the curious detachment of a drug trip as Dian Cecht placed it against his stump, now soaked with blood.

At the instant the blood touched the pristine silver, three arms snapped out of the hand and poised erect; on each one was a row of sharp silver spikes. Veitch only had a second to consider what was going to happen next before the arms suddenly sprung down, driving the spikes deep into the bone and muscle of his wrist. Even through the sedation, he screamed in agony, but there was more pain to follow: something within the hand was burrowing into his arm, wrapping its way around ligaments and tissue, bonding with nerves and veins.

Witch's throat grew raw from screaming and a moment later he blacked out.

Church and Ruth stood behind their tent, embracing each other silently. The weight of what they wanted to say was too great, crushing them silent. Ruth blinked off tears as she pulled away. She forced a smile.

"We'll be meeting again soon," Church said gently. "In the hideous lair of the one-eyed god of death. How about that for a one-off?"

"Oh, very romantic. Every girl's dream."

"At least you'll never forget it."

Neither could bring themselves to discuss the possibility that they might not see each other again; the occasion called for sweeping optimism and hope and faith.

They pulled away, ready to meet the others, but Ruth turned and caught Church's arm. "Be careful," she said with a quiet intensity that moved him.

Tom poked his head round the corner of the tent. "For God's sake, get a move on! They're not going to hold up the end of the world for you."

The others were waiting quietly. Veitch looked pale and drained, but his new hand was a source of wonder and he appeared proud of it. The others were not so sure. "What did they demand in return for that?" Tom asked harshly. When Veitch told him nothing, he said, "I'm very disappointed in you," before walking away.

"Just be careful, Ryan," Church said to him. "They can't be trusted. And they're not known for their charity."

"'Course I'll be careful." Veitch couldn't help examining the hand in the light. "I'm whole again. That's what matters." He was patently oblivious to the foreboding that filled the rest of them.

At that time, though, they couldn't hold it against him. They hugged in turn-even Veitch and Tom. They knew each other well enough not to need to say anything more.

Once they were all on their horses, Church couldn't part without adding something. "This is what it's all been leading to, all that pain and hardship and suffering. We've been to hell and back and we've come through it. Of all the people who could have been here at this point, I'm glad it's you, all of you. You're the best there is, and I'm proud to be one of you."

Veitch looked to the horizon, his cheeks flushed. "Yeah, well, we're not going to let you down, boss. Death or glory, and all that."

"Just glory," Laura corrected.

In the moments before they departed, Church found himself turning over the wild parade of events that had led them to that place. At the start it had seemed so simple: a straight fight between good and evil for the sake of humanity. Instead, they had found themselves probing the very mysteries of existence, travelling through worlds where reality and illusion intermingled until it was impossible to tell what was real and what was not. There had been so much hardship, pain and death on every side, yet, ironically, it had been the best time of his life. He had become a better person because of it, although he knew he still had a way to go.

Now it was back to being a simple fight once more: humanity against all the alien powers that were attempting to deny its destiny. And all to be decided in two short days. He hoped they were up to the obligation that had been placed on their shoulders.

They rode over a slight rise to see a massive army spread out across the countryside in the wan October sunlight. As the call went out somewhere at the head, a charge of excitement ran through all of them. A grin jumped like wildfire from one to the other. After the weariness of all the buildup, the culmination came like a jolt of energy. Veitch gave a triumphant yell and then they spurred their horses to join the others, lost to the pump of the blood in their heads.

When they were finally in motion, it looked like a sea of gold was sweeping across the countryside towards the capital. Within it, Church and the others felt enveloped in a dreamy, yellow haze, where figures and horses faded into the background, to be replaced by an amorphous feeling of wonder.

The journey passed in a blur, faster than they could ever have galloped on normal horses. They only slowed when London hove into view, and in that instant all brightness drained from them. In the centre of the city, the monstrous black tower rose up, its summit lost in the clouds that swirled continually overhead. Greasy black smoke lapped up towards them from the fires that burned all around. There were things flying, and things moving on the ground, but Church didn't focus on any of them.

All he could think of was the prophecy of him watching a burning city that had haunted his nights since his visit to the watchtower between the worlds. It had felt like the ultimate in desolation, and as he sat there, watching the scene for real for the first time, he understood how true that feeling had been.