Always Forever

Chapter Twenty

Shavi and Laura hung out of the window high up on Westminster Abbey to get a better view. At first it looked like birds moving across the rooftops, until they saw the drifting smoke and mist rolling away mysteriously before them. The occasional breaks in the cloud cover became a broad swathe, allowing sunlight to flood in across the ancient monuments and modern office blocks of London, spotlighting what they could now see were figures on horseback preceded by a pack of baying hounds.

"The Wild Hunt," Shavi said, recalling the last time he had seen them at Windsor, shortly before his death.

The unearthly red and white dogs bounded effortlessly across tiles, leaping the gulfs between buildings as if they were nothing. The Hunt thundered behind, Cernunnos in his Erl-King aspect at the head, blowing the horn, the horses galloping an inch or more above the roofs.

And the Hunt was not alone. The Dark Sisters, Macha, Badb and Nemain, swooped like ravens across the skyline, and beyond them Shavi could just make out the Morrigan, harbinger of war.

"Look." Shavi pointed to a commotion amongst the Fomorii near the Government offices off Great George Street. Black Shuck, the devil-dog that always heralded the Wild Hunt, tore through the Night Walkers with huge jaws that could rend metal.

The Hunt descended on the gathered Fomorii army, ripping back and forth until they had cleared an area where they could stand and fight. The Dark Sisters swooped from above and the Fomorii fell wherever they chose to attack. But it was the Morrigan that chilled Laura's blood the most. She walked amongst the Night Walkers as if she were strolling in the park, and whichever beast she passed crumpled to the ground, dead.

Laura and Shavi looked at each other; neither of them needed to speakthey knew the attack had given them the opportunity to break out. The Professor, who had been about to return to the detritus of humanity sheltered below, understood too. "How on earth do you propose to get out there?" he said in horror. "You'll die. Of course you'll die."

"Thanks for the pep talk, granddad. That's got me all jazzed up." Laura snickered to herself as she ran her fingers through her hair to spike it up.

"These times demand more of us," Shavi said, smiling. "From our conversation last night, I would guess you never imagined you would be a leader of men, a rock that holds a desperate community together."

"I'm not a leader." Michell looked out at the now-raucous fighting. "No, you're right. I was shaping my life to end it in the dustbin."

"And now you feel better about yourself. Now there is hope."

He nodded. "How strange that it takes a world falling apart to make us become better people."

"The life we were leading seduced us away from the things that mattered," Shavi said. "We thought society, technology, money, were offering us something better, but instead we ended up indolent, bored and depressed. This has been a terrible time, but if we find a way through it, something good will come out of it. A better life."

"There's something undeniably sad that we can't get back on the tracks without experiencing such suffering." The strain had made Michell emotional; tears flecked the corners of his eyes.

"It is the human way. But we do learn. Good does come out of bad, although at the time of suffering it is impossible to see what good there might be."

"If you two are going to keep talking, I'll just wander off and slit my throat. Jesus, analyse, analyse. Start living, for God's sake."

Shavi flashed a secret smile at Michell, who winked in return. "Come on, then," he said to Laura. "I guarantee you won't find it boring from here on in."

"Are you sure you know what you are going to do?" Shavi asked as they stood at the Abbey door with Michell ready to swing it open.

"Why don't you patronise me a bit more, you big, poncey shaman?" Laura's face was moody, with a hint of apprehension. "Offer to do somebody a favour and what do you get? Nag, nag, nag." She squatted down and bowed her head, balancing herself with one hand in front of her. "Okay, granddad. Put those creaking joints to use."

The Abbey was suddenly filled with the deafening clamour of battle. Laura knew if she looked up she would be too terrified to act; for all that Cernunnos had transformed her, she was still the frightened, unconfident woman she had been for most of her life.

She surprised herself by containing her fears; necessity was a great moti vator, she thought. In her meditative state she had no problem accessing that corner of her mind she characterised as a brilliant green screen. It gave her a great sense of pride to see it, a feeling that she was doing the right thing. Environmental activism had been all she had ever truly believed in, and the thing she felt might actually balance out the weighty debit side of her life. And now, she thought, nature had paid her back by giving her a reason to live.

It started small. Hairline cracks ran out from her fingers where they touched the stone. Beyond the Abbey walls, they grew into fissures in pavements and roads; further on, a street lamp swayed, then crashed to the ground. The Fomorii nearest to her were thrown this way and that as the ground went into upheaval.

From the long-hidden soil beneath, green shoots sprouted, rapidly growing into a tumbling thicket of vegetation that moved as if it had a life of its own: bushes and vines, brambles, flowers, reeds, and then saplings that became trees, rowan, oak, yew, hawthorn.

Shavi gasped in amazement. As the abundant flora became thicker, the Fomorii were driven back and a path formed within the greenery, now stretching across Parliament Square. "Can you keep this up?"

"Not for long. It's knackering. But I can do it enough to get us through the worst of it. Then, I'm sorry to say, we'll have to run. Unless you can call up some badgers." She looked up finally and smiled with pride at her achievement. It was quickly replaced by a dark determination. "Okay," she said. "Let's go."

They glimpsed the carnage the Wild Hunt, the Dark Sisters and the Morrigan were inflicting on the Fomorii forces, but then they were across the Square and heading along the Embankment. After all the choking smoke of the city, the aromas of the vegetation were invigorating, and died away too soon, but the streets beyond were empty and Laura was already growing weak.

Shavi put an arm round her shoulders to support her as she shakily came to a halt in the middle of the road. "I'll be fine in a moment." She could already feel the Blue Fire working its wonders in her limbs. "You know what? If we get through this, I think I'm going to come back and turn the City into a garden."

Shavi gave her a hug, but he knew as well as she that the chance of them coming back were still very slim. Ahead of them lay the deep shadow cast by the ominous black tower rising out of the east. With a shiver that had less to do with the cold, they moved into it.

The journey through the tunnels to Tower Hill tube station passed in a blur. Before, Ruth had found that when she was using her new abilities she became so focused the real world was almost a distraction. Now the power was sucking her further and further from life into a place that was like a waking dream, where she could do anything; where the power defined her completely.

But as she gradually made her way up the frozen escalators, she began to slip back to how she had been. The realisation of the near-fugue state that had taken her over terrified her, as did its implications, but it was wiped away in an instant by her disgust that she was standing amidst a carpet of brown, writhing bodies that stretched as far as she could see. She closed her eyes briefly to compose herself, then continued on her way, but she couldn't help her shudders every time one brushed its cold fur against her feet.

Whatever she had done to control the rats began to diminish with her return to awareness and by the time she reached the top of the escalator they had begun to thin out. A few torches flickered in the ticket station, but Ruth was puzzled that she couldn't see any daylight. As she approached the doorway she realised the tower she had seen from Hampstead Heath had been built over the top of the tube station. The door that normally led out to the gardens overlooking the Tower of London now exited directly into a dark structure constructed out of compacted steel and melted plastic. In the walls amongst the twisted girders and building rubble, she could make out bits and pieces of the things that had been used in the building: computers, cash registers, mobile phones, cars and vans and motorcycles, part of a London bus. It was suffocatingly hot and filled with what sounded like some mining machine pounding away rhythmically nearby.

Broad steps ran up and down, with warren-like rooms on either side. She hesitated, unsure which way to go. A wave of panic flooded through her. Earlier she had sensed Church had made it, but what if he was now dead? What if she was the only one left? The responsibility was so vast she could barely comprehend it. What was she supposed to do?

As she agonised she caught sight of a faint blue glow above her that ignited a desperate hope. Holding the Spear before her, she took the steps two at a time. Her heart beat faster as she almost stumbled across the remains of several Fomorii, and then she rounded a corner into an intense blue light.

Church and the Bone Inspector were climbing ahead of her. She was shocked to see the illumination was streaming from what appeared to be a severed head, hanging by its hair from the same hand in which Church held the Wayfinder.

When he saw her his face broke into such an open expression of relief she had to run over and throw her arms around him. He held the head and Wayfinder away, although she didn't sense any danger from them. "Where's Ryan?" he asked.

"I don't know. Don't know if he's alive or dead."

"He'll get here if it's humanly possible," Church said confidently.

"Tom?"

Church's expression told her all she needed to know. Her spirit sagged. "I thought he'd go on forever."

"This isn't the place to stand around talking," the Bone Inspector said curtly.

They began to move cautiously back up the stairs. Occasionally one of the Fomorii would wander out of an adjoining room, only to be dispatched in an instant by Caledfwlch or by a flash of searing energy from the head.

"I presume you know where you're going," Ruth whispered.

"No. But if you stop and let yourself feel, you'll know you're going in the right direction."

As he spoke she realised she could sense a palpable pressure in the air that was slowly squeezing the life out of her chest; and it was getting stronger the more they climbed. A corresponding feeling of dread was eating away at the edges of her mind; all she could think of was the hideous thing she had seen during her spirit flight from Wave Sweeper. "What are we going to find?" Her voice suggested she hoped for some comfort, although she knew there would be none.

"I always expected it to be something like Calatin or Mollecht, only bigger. But I don't think it's going to be anything like that at all."

"Worse?"

"What do you think?"

"Hasn't Frank got a song for an occasion like this?"

"Yes, `Get Happy.' As the lyric goes, Get ready for the judgment day."

"Thanks. That's dismal."

"No, no, it's positive. Really. We're going to the Promised Land."

There was something so naive about him, even in the face of such terrible surroundings, Ruth felt a surge of love. "We'll get out of this," she said gently.

Her words were lost as a shadow crossed Church's face. "Did you hear that?"

She hadn't heard anything.

Church was suddenly consumed with anxiety. He dashed up a few steps and threw open a door on the outside of the tower. It was empty apart from piles of burning rubbish before irregular windows looking out over the Thames. Flying Fomorii were zipping around without, diving down on something that was below their range of vision. A tremendous shock rocked the entire tower. Liquid flame gushed past the window.

Church tried a door on the inner wall of the stairway. It was locked. "I've got to look in here," he said anxiously.

"We haven't got time," the Bone Inspector replied harshly. He was contin ually peering up and down the stairs for any sign of attack. "It's already morning. The gates will be opening in a few hours."

"There's time for this." Church tried to force the door.

"I told you not to be so stupid. The hour's almost here!" The Bone Inspector made to drag Church away, but Church knocked his blackened hand off. They squared up to each other.

"This isn't helping," Ruth pleaded. "Why is this room so important?"

Raw emotion flickered across his face. "Marianne's in there. I heard her."

Ruth stepped in before the Bone Inspector could began a rant. "You have to let him do it," she begged. "There'll still be time."

After a moment, the Bone Inspector relented. Overcome with apprehension, Church stepped back and levelled the Sword at the lock. It burst with a resounding crack and the door swung open.

The room was not like any they had seen before. It was spacious, about fifty feet square, with smooth walls lined with black stone. A single torch burned on the far side. The flagged floor had been marked out with an intricate pattern of lines and geometric shapes, along with bizarre symbols that suggested an alien language. The effect of the relationship of the various elements was so intensely disturbing it made Church's head spin. A large block of black stone stood in the centre of the design, and on it was a stoppered green-glass bottle.

"Be careful." The Bone Inspector held out a hand to stop Church stepping over the threshold. "Don't go blundering in."

Church scanned the room one more time. "Can't see anything that might be a problem. What makes you worried?"

"Instinct."

Church fixed his eyes on the bottle. "That's it. That's where she is." He set down the head and the Wayfinder, but held on to the Sword. "I'm going to have to chance it."

"Bloody stupid. All this at stake and you're taking risks," the Bone Inspector muttered.

"It's an obligation to someone I loved. Don't you understand that?"

There was a long pause before the Bone Inspector replied quietly, "Maybe." Then: "Get a bloody move on! Time's running out!"

In the room the temperature was inexplicably below freezing. Church's breath clouded, his body protesting with shivers after the intense heat. Church let his foot hover over the design, but couldn't think of any other way to reach the bottle. Slowly he brought it down.

"You okay?" Ruth called out.

"Fine. No problem." He took another step.

"Just keep that big head and big mouth in check," the Bone Inspector growled. "And stop dawdling."

As Church took the third step, he felt a strange tingling sensation in his extremities. Ruth noticed his surprised reaction. "What is it?"

"Nothing. Just the cold. It's like the Arctic in here."

With the next step, he lost the feeling in his fingers and toes. He shook them for warmth and was surprised to see them glisten in the torchlight.

"Tread… careful-" The Bone Inspector's voice was oddly distorted before disappearing completely. Church was too fixated on the bottle to be concerned about it. All he could think about was Marianne and everything she'd suffered because of his unwitting involvement in the events now being played out. He had made her a promise to free her spirit and he would not fail; his own redemption was tied up in his success.

The words of warning and encouragement from Ruth and the Bone Inspector had ended; they must have realised he was doing okay.

Several more steps passed unnoticed, so much did the bottle fill his mind. Memories of Marianne and the time they had spent together traipsed across his head until the black stone chamber almost faded from his perception. He was there with her, happy, as they always had been.

It was only when he realised he was having trouble moving forward that he jolted back to reality. What he found was so shocking it took him a few seconds to assimilate. His arms and the parts of his body he could see were strangely white. His dulled thought processes eventually told him the truth: he was covered in rime frost. It sparkled across his limbs, so thick his joints would barely work against it. Even his eyelashes were heavy with the weight of it, shimmering so that he found it hard to see past the glare.

If he had not had the Blue Fire coursing through him, he would most certainly have been dead; even now he was close to it. If he turned back there was still a chance he might actually survive. Yet the bottle was only a couple of paces away. How could he leave when he was so close? He couldn't abandon Marianne.

In his mind, there was no choice. He forced another step. Almost there. He couldn't feel any of his body now; his mind was disembodied, recalling a dream of being trapped in a person. Oddly, that helped him. With no physical sensations to distract him, his thoughts were pure and strengthened. He slipped easily into the perception where he was aware of the Blue Fire, and was surprised to see that even in that awful place the spirit energy still flowed, though much weaker.

By force of will, he drew some of it to him; a little but it was enough. He took the final step and swept the bottle off the stone with the back of his hand. It shattered on the floor to release the gentlest breeze; he could feel it even through the thickening frost. With it came the scent of a woman he once loved, of a hot day in the Caribbean and a warm night on a boat on the Thames when they had kissed. And something else: the faintest touch of an intelligence, like a lover reaching out to reassure themselves their sleeping partner was still there in bed, still breathing. It was a small thing, but filled with so much. Church felt enormous gratitude that swelled his emotions, and admiration for him and his abilities, and forgiveness; and love, but not the love of a young couple, a spiritual thing that sent his soul soaring.

Emotions that had been held in stasis for so long finally rushed through him; it felt like someone had plunged a hand deep within him and dragged out every shadow, every shred of misery, every tear. The burden that shifted left him as light as air. Finally, an ending for something that had manacled him for so long.

She was free. And he was finally free of the burden her death had placed upon him. A tear squeezed out of the corner of his eye and burned a path through the white down his cheek.

After that the getting back was easy, despite the cold and the weight of the frost, both of which appeared to be increasing. The shock of the heat outside the room made him lose consciousness for a moment, and when he came round he was lying on the floor, his clothes soaked, with Ruth wiping his face. Her concern was unmissable, but it faded when he forced a smile.

"It was the Kiss of Frost," he said, recalling the Fomorii spell that had almost destroyed him on the Isle of Skye. "Mollecht had obviously left it there for me, knowing I'd undoubtedly attempt to free Marianne's spirit. To remind me of how I screwed up last time. His final malicious act."

"Well, you showed him, didn't you?" She brushed his hair away from his face. "How do you feel? About Marianne?"

He knew what she was saying. "It made me realise how much I love you. The relationship I had with Marianne was strong, but it's all in the past. What I felt in there was about something different."

"Care to elaborate?"

Church looked at the Bone Inspector, who appeared to be considering whether he should clout Church with his staff. "I don't think this is quite the time."

He pushed himself to his feet, pleased at the recuperative powers the Blue Fire gifted him. What lay ahead would be much, much worse.

After Veitch had torn the grille away from the stone, he stumbled out into the cold waters of the Thames. The mist and smoke that had blanketed the city for so long was drifting away, leaving a sky that was golden and pink. The rooftops of the buildings along the south bank gleamed in the early morning light. Everything hinted at a beautiful day.

The quickest way to his destination was obviously to swim; he was thankful he now felt curiously immune to the chill. He kept to the shallows where he could not be seen from the bank and let the current push him along.

The spirit energy had raised his spirits, but there was still a dark area at the back of his head where all his worst traits lay. It was there where the selfloathing multiplied at the thought that he had failed again, not just Ruth, but Church, everyone, the world, and that was such an enormous failure he couldn't keep out the seductive fantasies of suicide. And it was there, where his consuming anger generated a dull heat.

Eventually the black tower was in view. He rounded a bend in the river to see Wave Sweeper launching an attack on Balor's lair. Bizarre flashes of energy lanced out from strange weapons positioned around the deck. The flying Fomorii dived and soared like crows over food, but the Tuatha lle Danann didn't allow them the slightest opportunity to get through.

As he drew closer, an enormous shadow passed over him. He craned his neck expecting to see another Fomorii creature, and was transfixed. A Fabulous Beast glittered like a jewelled brass robot in the sunlight, wondrous and terrible at the same time. It swooped down towards the tower to release a blast of fire that atomised a host of the flying Night Walkers. More of the serpentine creatures were approaching from all directions; Veitch had never dreamed there were so many. Columns of searing flame lanced down across the capital. As he drifted in the current, he saw the financial district engulfed in a fireball, Docklands decimated, pillars of billowing black smoke shoot up from the West End. Wherever the Fomorii had made their nests, the Fabulous Beasts sought them out.

Though he would dearly have loved to have joined in the simple battle of black and white, good versus evil, he passed unseen. He entered the Tower of London at the foot of the black tower through a riverside gate that opened on to a sandy area and a flight of stone steps where so many important men and women had trod before him.

Veitch still had his dagger, but it was little enough defence against what lay ahead. As he reached the top of the steps he came across a pile of items obviously discarded by the Fomorii as worthless. Amongst the broken doors and ripped tourist guides, jewels shimmered brilliantly. It was only when he fished out a crown bearing a remarkable diamond that he realised he was looking at the Crown Jewels. He considered-for a brief moment-prising out the diamond to slip into his pocket, but then his eyes fell on an ornate sword protruding from the bottom. He dragged out the Curtana, the Coronation Sword of Mercy. It was blunt, but it would still be a better weapon than his dagger.

As he made his way through the Tower, he was almost disappointed that he didn't meet any Fomorii. He was desperate to release some of the anger burning away inside him, an unpleasant sensation that was only getting worse.

At some point he left the historic castle and found himself in the black tower that circumscribed it. There, a pitched battle was taking place, and at the heart of it were Shavi and Laura.

Veitch was so overjoyed to see his friends, he rushed in with a whoop, whirling his sword around his head. His intervention cheered them immeasurably for they had reached a point where they feared they might be overwhelmed. Vegetation tangled everywhere, but Laura hadn't learnt enough to utilise it in close quarters. Shavi used a sword hesitantly, but his hatred of violence hampered him severely.

Once Witch had hacked a Fomorii warrior into a pile of seeping chunks, the battle turned, although both Laura and Shavi were a little concerned at the glee with which he despatched his enemy.

Yet it was a short-lived victory. More and more Night Walkers began to stream in from outside. "They're trying to force us downstairs," Veitch said. "That means we go up."

It was easier for them to hold their ground as they fought while edging backwards up the steps. The Fomorii could stand only two abreast and as every one fell it made it harder for the others to clamber over the bodies.

"I hope we do not meet any more coming down," Shavi said.

"I'm more concerned about what happens when we get to the top," Laura replied.

Church was beginning to wonder exactly how high the tower soared above the cloud cover. It felt like they had been climbing for an hour or more, although the heat hadn't diminished at all. Increasingly, explosions rocked the construction to its very core; chunks fell from the ceiling and walls. Through the windows he occasionally caught glimpses of Fabulous Beasts laying waste to the city and was stunned by both their number and diversity. He had never seen so much grace and power in one form, so many gleaming colours. How could humanity have traded them away, and all the wild magic that came with them, for the brutal rationalism of the twenty-first century?

The Fabulous Beasts provided an uplifting counterpoint to the oppressive presence of Balor looming darkly. The rising sense of threat was putting a huge psychological strain on all of them. There was a perpetual feeling of Balor always standing one pace behind them, ready to strike.

In a sense, that was true. Church could feel Balor's essence throbbing in the very walls; it was all a part of him. The dark god of the Fomorii was an amorphous evil that pervaded everything, even the very air; Church could taste the sourness when he swallowed. The atmosphere was almost painfully pregnant; despite the power it already held, Church knew the Beast was waiting for the Doors of Samhain to open so it could claim the undreamable force it needed to destroy all life. It could afford to wait; they were insignificant beside it.

The steps opened out on a wide, flat area covering the entire floor space of the tower. It was the first time they had come across a room like it, but they could tell from the windows around the circumference that it wasn't the top. After the claustrophobic gloom, they were pleased to see the rough holes cut in the walls provided a pleasant amount of sunlight, but there was still not enough to illuminate the shadows at the centre of the room.

As they tentatively crossed the floor in search of the next flight of steps, they noticed a figure sitting hunched in that dark zone, next to a shimmering motion in the air. With weapons at the ready, they approached until they saw it was Niamh. Church laid down the head and the Wayfinder and hurried over, but she was so locked in her thoughts she didn't see him until he was almost upon her.

When she did look up, her face was filled with such a terrible grief that Church stopped short. The movement all around her were golden moths rising up to the ceiling. On the floor lay the gradually disappearing bodies of the Tuatha De Danann guards.

Church dropped down and put his arm around her shoulders. She rested her head against him, oddly frail for such a powerful being. "I'm sorry for your people," he said. "Did the Fomorii hurt you?"

"There were no Night Walkers."

"Then what happened?"

She raised her head to look at him deeply, her face haunted, her eyes damned. "I happened."

As her meaning gradually dawned on him, he looked around at the brutally slain bodies uneasily.

"Do not think badly of me, Jack." Every part of her was shaking. "I have committed a crime that will ensure my name is despised by my people for all time. I never thought I had it within me to commit such a monstrous act. But I did, Jack, I did."

Church tried to console her, but she would have none of it.

"I did it for you, Jack. For all Fragile Creatures. I did it for all existence. And I have lost myself in the process."

Church looked round until he saw the chest a little way away. "The Wish-Hex?"

"I attempted to prevent them unleashing it. They ignored my pleas. And so I… I…" Her face fell into her hands; her sobs were silent and racking.

"I know it's a terrible burden," Church said gently, "but you did do the right-"

"You do not understand, Jack. I failed. The Wish-Hex has been set in motion."

He stared at the chest, suddenly cold despite the heat. "In motion?"

"There is no stopping it now. Soon, very soon, it will begin."

Church fought back a wave of despair. The odds had always been incalculable, but now it truly was hopeless. He began to ask her how long it would take for the energy to drive the plague across the world, then caught himself; it didn't really matter. The Tuatha De Danann would get what they wanted: a universe free of competition.

He helped her to her feet. "Don't worry. You did your best." He looked across at the others, wondering whether to tell them that whatever they now did was futile.

Niamh took his hand. "There will be an ending, Jack, but it might not be how you imagine," she said as if she could read his mind.

"But what can we possibly-"

He was interrupted by the sound of violent fighting rising from the stairwell. Ruth rushed over to investigate before calling back excitedly, "It's Shavi, Ryan and Laura." The hope in her face made him feel even worse.

"We need to keep going," he shouted.

The Bone Inspector sniffed the air like an animal. "I think we're nearly there."

"Then they'll do anything they can to try to stop us."

"Time's running out," the Bone Inspector continued. He looked more worried than Church had ever seen him. "Not long left now."

"Will you stop it with the countdown!" Church snapped.

Laura and Shavi emerged at the top of the steps. Veitch was just below, holding back the Fomorii. "There's bleedin' millions of them now!" he yelled. "They're not bothering with the ship any more. They just want us!"

Ruth came running up to him. "The next flight of steps are just over there."

"Okay, shout down to Ryan. When he reaches the top of his steps, he'll just have to run for it." He turned back to Niamh, who had lifted the chest easily. "What's the point in taking that along with us? We might as well leave it here now."

"I am afraid of it falling into the hands of the Night Walkers. They created this Wish-Hex. They may know some way to ensure it destroys only Fragile Creatures."

"I appreciate what you've done, Niamh, more than you can know." Her sad smile told him how much his words meant to her.

He called Ruth over to help Niamh with the chest while he reclaimed the Wayfinder and the head; its blue glow was coming out in waves, accompanied by a dim but insistent hum. The features continued to move; Church had the unnerving feeling the head had been listening to them.

At the foot of the steps, he waited, urging the others up ahead of him. Eventually Veitch came sprinting past.

"You all right, boss?" he said with a grin.

"Fine and dandy." As he leapt on to the steps at the rear, Church threw one backwards glance and was instantly chilled. Flooding the vast room was what appeared to be a river of shadows. He knew it was the Fomorii, but it was like one entity, of one mind. It moved and spread with such speed he guessed there must be hundreds, if not thousands, of the Night Walkers pouring in.

Then the awful sight was wiped out in an instant by a blinding revelation. "What's that foul smell?" he called out.

Ruth's voice floated back. "It's the Fomorii. Nuada told me that when the Caraprix is in control it stimulates that stink."

Church felt sick and shaky as numerous troubling thoughts slotted into place. It was the same smell he recalled from the Walpurgis-induced vision of the night Marianne was murdered; and he had smelled it, too, when Tom had been driven to betray them in the Lake District. His pounding heart threatened to burst.

The traitor amongst them was being controlled by a Caraprix. That was why he couldn't imagine one of his closest friends selling them down the river; any acts of betrayal would be against type, and therefore unexpected. The Fomorii must have implanted the parasite months ago. Their scheming was unparalleled: back-up plan after back-up plan, and now this, the final defence to prevent their defeat.

He glanced up at Veitch taking the steps two at a time, thought of Ruth and Shavi and Laura. Which of them was it? It could be any one of them. And when would they be forced to make their move? He would have to watch all of them now, at a time when all his attentions should be focused on the threat without.

With a heavy heart, he pressed on, holding the head out behind him to deter the advancing Fomorii.

Gradually the circumference of the tower narrowed as they neared the top. When they finally thought they could climb no more it opened out into another large room that took up half the floor space. There were no windows to provide light, but they could just make out building debris scattered all around.

"I can't stand here holding the rest back forever," Church said impatiently. More explosions brought a shower of debris from the ceiling. As he jumped to one side to avoid it, he was struck with an idea. Directing Witch and Shavi to collect rubble, girders and beams, and anything else they could lay their hands on, they flung it down the stairwell. It didn't take them long to jam it.

"So we won't be going down in a hurry," Laura said dismally.

"It won't take them long to get through that," the Bone Inspector said.

Veitch glared at him before venturing to the edge of the barrier. "Can't hear anything on the other side. I reckon they've fallen back."

"Now why would they do that?" Ruth laid down her edge of the chest and Niamh followed suit.

"They probably think we're a lost cause." Church almost had to shout over the echoing beat of Balor's heart.

A large stone wall bisected the floor, with an oaken door placed in the middle; it had looked unusual from the instant Church emerged from the stairwell, but up close he could see it was seeping a viscous, black liquid. The gunk oozed down into a gully and then ran through the wall and down the side of the building, adding to the tower's skin.

Church moved his ear towards the wall to see if he could hear any sound from the other side. As he neared the stone his stomach turned; radiating through it was a sensation of unbearable evil that spoke to his most primal fears.

He staggered away quickly. "In there." If it was that strong without, he thought, what would it be like when they entered?

The others must have noticed his expression when he was against the wall, for Laura said, "Are we up to this?"

"There aren't any other candidates. We'd better get the Quadrillax together."

They each gave up the artefact they had protected until the Sword, the Spear, the Cauldron and the Stone stood in front of the door. As the pieces came in proximity, a faint metallic singing rang up, melodic and strangely soothing in that awful place. Church realised that the Way-finder and the head would be needed too. All were linked, and while they appeared as objects they all recog nised, Church knew that they were not seeing their true forms at all; what they really were, he guessed they would probably never know.

During the frantic activity the futility had been put to one side, but in the lull it returned in force. He didn't know why they were there. They might as well have vacated the tower and enjoyed their final hour together, as much as they could. "How much longer with the Wish-Hex?" he asked. When there was no reply, he looked round and could tell from Niamh's face that it was almost upon them. Yet oddly he didn't see any fear there, just a deep, painful sadness; she forced a smile, and somehow that made it worse. "Then we had better get moving."

He walked up to the door. Ruth, Shavi, Laura and Veitch followed without any prompting, although the fear was obvious on all their faces. He was suddenly aware of a deeply moving feeling of gratitude that he had been allowed to spend time with them; they were the best.

A faint glow began to leak out of the Wish-Hex chest; the air pressure dropped a notch. It's beginning, he thought. He stooped down to pick up the Sword and something crashed against the side of his head, plunging him into unconsciousness.

The first Ruth realised was when Laura yelled and leapt back. Church was sprawled on the floor with blood seeping from a wound on the side of his head. Standing over him was Callow, his eyes baleful and filled with hatred. He was clutching a lump of rock, one end jagged and as sharp as a knife.

With a strength that belied his size, he grabbed hold of Church's jacket and began to drag him away into the shadows. Veitch dived forward, his ceremonial sword at the ready, but Callow moved as fast as a snake, yanking up Church's head and jabbing the rock against his throat.

"Anatomy lesson, little boy: the carotid artery," he said. "One slight cut and there's not a thing you can do. His beautiful heroic blood will wash across this dirty floor and it will all be over."

"You're bleedin' crazy!" Veitch raged. His temple pulsed; his expression suggested he would hack Callow to pieces at the bat of an eyelid. Callow merely smiled, which infuriated Veitch all the more.

"Please," Shavi said. "There is no-"

"There is every need. If you win, I will be lost."

"If we lose, you'll be lost, you wanker!" Veitch advanced another step.

Callow dug the rock into the pulsing artery. "Can't you understand? Humanity is weak. If we don't ally ourselves with greater powers, we are nothing. Do you think the working classes ever got anywhere on their own? This isn't a world for the powerless."

"Excuse me. Pathetic loser alarm." It was the first time Laura had seen him since he had clambered over the van seat to slash her face with a razor. Even the torments inflicted on his body didn't assuage the hatred she felt for what he had put her through.

"What lies on the other side of that wall is the greatest thing this puny little world has ever seen," Callow continued. "He will take me and give me the position I truly deserve: as a leader of men, not someone crushed by the yoke of an uncaring society. You're not going to take that away from me. This is my time that's coming. Your time is gone."

Ruth held up her hand and waggled her fingers at him so he could see where one was missing. "I was nice to you the first time we met in Salisbury. I thought you were down on your luck and maybe you just needed a helping hand. You showed me the truth when you did this. Everything I've seen over the last few months has shown me how much greatness there is in humanity. But you, you're the flip side. You're everything that drags humanity back: selfishness, and greed, and a belief that any act, however vile, is justified by your own needs."

"You seem to forget I'm the one holding your boyfriend's life in his hands."

"Yes, you are. And that's your big mistake. In Cornwall, and on the ship, I was ready to get my pound of flesh from you, Callow. And the only thing that stopped me was Church, because he's decent, and he believes in second chances and forgiveness. I don't."

Laura stepped to her side. "Who'da thought it? Me and Frosty with something in common."

"So who's going to speak up for you now, Callow?" Lightning flashed in Ruth's eyes. "Who's going to stop me?"

A shiver ran through Callow. His unblinking gaze left Ruth's face only to take in the flinty defiance in Laura's features.

A wind blew up from nowhere, rushing through the room violently. The force of it buffeted Callow a few paces backwards. "I'll kill him!" he screamed.

Ruth made a sweeping gesture with her right hand and Callow flew several feet across the floor as if he had been struck heavily. The rock went spinning away into the shadows. He jumped to his feet, looking frantically from side to side like a cornered animal. Laura squatted down, one hand on the floor. Before Callow could flee, vegetation burst up from minute seed particles buried amongst the stone flags and lashed itself around his legs, pinning him tight. He wrenched at them, screaming and cursing insanely.

Ruth was filled with an otherworldly fury, though on the surface she appeared completely calm. "Revenge does nobody any good," she said. "But sometimes you have to punish yourself."

Veitch took a step away from her, shocked by what he saw. As the tempest screamed around the room, she appeared-although he didn't know if it was an illusion-to rise a few inches above the floor.

Church came round with his head ringing and blood seeping down to his neck. When he saw Ruth, the pain was instantly replaced with a panic that slowly changed to despair. That unrecognisable cast to her face told him everything he needed to know, the one terrible fact that destroyed his life in an instant. With the route his life had taken since the gods had started to manipulate it, he could almost have forecast the traitor would be the one person who meant more to him than the world. There had been signs before, he knew, but like a child he had avoided the harsh reality of investigating them too closely. He had pretended, and in truth had known he was pretending.

The one thought that saved him was that he wouldn't have to deal with it. The light leaking from the crate was now intense; the faint hum had become an insistent throb.

Laura's head was bowed in concentration. The vegetation had bound Callow like a mummy to his neck. When she looked up, she was in two minds about whether to continue, though her anger was still clear on her face.

She looked up at Ruth for guidance and saw her friend was not going to back down. Ruth was changed; the terrifying elemental forces crackling around her appeared infinite, reaching deep into the heart of creation. Though she looked exactly the same, the others were convinced it was no longer Ruth, but what had replaced her, they were not sure.

In that instant, Laura knew it was the moment of which Cernunnos had warned. If Ruth gave in to her hatred and killed Callow she would be lost; the immense power she had been gifted would be corrupted and would consume her.

Laura had only a second to act. She threw herself at Ruth, knocking her down hard. The lightning Ruth had been calling up erupted from the ceiling and missed Callow by a hairsbreadth.

And then Ruth turned her attention on Laura. Her face was unrecognisable, her eye black and empty like space. "Mine," she hissed.

Terror washed through Laura. Ruth began to focus the power towards her.

Laura had only a slim chance to defend herself. Instead, she rolled round towards Callow and concentrated until green vegetation rippled from her fingers across the floor, lashing up Callow's body. As he ranted and raged, it twirled briefly around his neck and then jerked. The head came free and bounced away into the shadows.

Laura waited for the blow to strike her. When nothing came, she looked back to see Ruth slumped in a daze, her eyes no longer black. "Thank you," she said weakly.

Church could feel Ruth's eyes on him as he rose, desperate for comfort after her experience, but he couldn't meet her gaze. And then it was too late. The room was quickly filled with twisting flashes of yellow light. The throb became a constant drone.

They all stared at the chest blankly: they had overcome so much, over so many months, and had still failed at the last. The light washed over them, almost soothing in its way.

Before they could say their goodbyes, Niamh flicked open the chest and removed the Wish-Hex. It was so bright it hurt their eyes and they were forced to turn away.

Church was closest and only he heard Niamh say, "This is the way it must be." It was a simple statement, but it brought a shiver to his spine. She pressed the Wish-Hex to her stomach until the light began to dim. He was shocked to see that somehow it was disappearing inside her. The sight was too strange to comprehend, but he knew exactly what she was doing; she had told him, in her own way.

When the Wish-Hex was finally gone, for the briefest instant she stood exactly as he remembered her from that first, misty appearance in his childhood bedroom. Her face open and honest and filled with unconditional love.

The droning noise ended. For a second her body shimmered and distorted, as if he were watching her on an out-of-tune TV, and then she was replaced by a massive cloud of golden moths that soared up into the shadows of the ceiling, twinkling like stars before slowly fading out.

Like Tom, she had known the moment of her death, Church was sure of it. That was part of her desperation that their love affair bloom. Somehow he knew she believed that if it happened, the course of events would be changed; that she would have a happy life.

He recalled the moment he told her they would never be together. How would that have felt? Not just rejection by the one she truly loved, but the announcement of her death sentence. And she had not complained, or attempted to change his mind.

And even after all the heartache he'd dealt her, she had still sacrificed herself so alien, weak, violent, spiteful, greedy, deceitful Fragile Creatures could move along the road towards their destiny.

Her act was humbling, but she had shown him an important lesson: that no race should be judged by the worst elements. That however bad humanity was at times, it could always be redeemed by the best.

Ruth was at his side, her arm around his waist. "She did that for us? God, I feel so guilty!" She appeared honestly shaken by what she had witnessed.

Church looked down at Ruth in growing dismay as the repercussions of Niamh's actions slowly fell into place. They had been given another chance; now he couldn't simply let things run their course to a bitter end. He had to take whatever action was necessary to ensure their success, and that meant dealing with Ruth when she attempted to betray them. What would he do? Kill her? He had faced that terror when she had been a host to Balor, but that was before he had realised the true depth of the feelings they had for each other.

Ruth grabbed his hand. "Look at you-you're shaking," she whispered. "Don't worry, we're all scared."

"This is like Ten Little Indians," Laura said morosely. "Bags not being next." She looked round and fixed on the Bone Inspector. "Oldest first, I say."

He gave a dark, triumphant smile. "Ah, but I'm not going in there. That's your job."

In his sly way, he had pointed them back on track. They turned as one and stared at the door, then looked to Church.

"Okay," he said. "Let's do it."

As they collected the artefacts in silence, they were constantly aware of the door, like a sentient creature watching them malignantly.

"What's the plan?" Veitch asked Church.

"We have to use the talismans as soon as we get in there."

"That's a plan?"

"We might not even get a chance," Ruth said. "He's so powerful he could strike us down in a second."

"The talismans should offer us some protection." Church was aware he had to sound as positive as possible. "Individually, they're powerful. Together they'll be incredible. And with the head, the Luck of the Land…" He shrugged.

"So, we're winging it, right?" Laura's grin eased the mood a little.

"Just remember the legends," Church said. "He was always described as having a single eye-if he turned it on you it would cause death in an instant. I don't know if that's for real or symbolism, but there's a reason it was passed down the years. Keep it in mind."

"So what's it like in the land of the dead, Shav-ster?" Laura asked.

"It's like Jamaica, but with free drink."

"Really?"

"No."

"You could have lied, you know."

As they turned to face the door, Veitch stepped in close to Church and said quietly, "I'm glad I'm with you, boss. You've done right by us all the way down the line."

His face had the same childlike innocence that had made Church warm to him in the first place; for all his flaws, and there were many, that saved him.

"I'm okay, you know," he continued. "About you and Ruth."

Church winced.

"I feel like I've been stabbed in the gut, but that's not important. I want her to be happy. And I want you to be happy. Whatever happens here, I'm going to be a winner. For the kind of life I've had, that's the only thing that matters to me. And I've got you to thank for it, mate." He took Church's hand and shook it forcefully, hesitated a second, then stepped in and gave him a stiff hug. The others pretended not to notice.

"Will you lot get a move on." The Bone Inspector marched around anxiously. "The gates will be open any moment, and then it will all be-"

"Make sure you cheer loudly so we can hear you from way back here," Laura said acidly.

Finally, it was time. Church gripped the door handle. Before he swung it open, he cast an eye on Ruth. Her move would undoubtedly be made at the worst possible moment. But could he face up to Balor and watch for an attack from the back as well?

The answer would come soon enough. He opened the door in one swift movement and stepped over the threshold.

The room was as silent and still as night. Darkness clustered on every side, but the sapphire glow from the talismans gave them enough light to see by. The pounding of the blood in their head drowned out all thoughts and sensations for the first few seconds before everything fell into stark relief.

They each had their own idea of what monstrous form Balor would take, so they were all left floundering around when their eyes fell on a small boy, standing with his arms behind his back in the centre of the huge, empty chamber. A shock of black hair tumbled around an innocent, smiling face. His clothes were Sunday School-best, his posture polite and upright like a dutiful Victorian son.

"If I'd known we could just have spanked him, I wouldn't have got so worked up," Laura said breathlessly.

"A boy, right?" Church said. "We're all seeing a boy? You know that's only the form our own perception is putting on it."

"But why a boy?" Ruth's voice had an edge of dismay to it.

It was only then that the finer detail of what they were seeing broke through. Unimaginable dread pressed like a boulder on their chests, choking the air in their throats. A deep, primal part of their subconscious recognised what lay beyond the physical: a race memory of unbearable evil that demanded they flee or lose not only their lives, but also their souls. And then they saw his eyes were completely black, as immeasurable as the void.

The shock of the image kept them rooted for a second too long; they had already missed the opportunity to act. Something was happening to the boy. A horizontal crack opened slowly in his face. The top and bottom folded back gradually to reveal a twisting geometric shape made of brilliant red light so complex their minds couldn't make sense of it.

"The eye!"

They scattered at the sound of Church's voice; he was the head, they were the vital, component parts of the body, the reason why they worked so well together. In the instant the face opened completely they felt something as dank and chill as the grave brush past them. Church saw Shavi turn white, fight to control himself before moving off. He dabbed at his own ears and found blood on his fingers.

The thing with the body of a boy was already turning to focus on them.

"Keep moving!" Church shouted.

They scattered amongst the shadows just as death swept through them again. It whispered by a hair's-breadth away. An ache sprang up deep in Church's bones. The thing was too fast, too powerful; they wouldn't have an instant to lay out the talismans. The worst thing was that Church knew it was using only a fraction of its power. Most of it was maintaining the integrity of the tower, overseeing the Fomorii forces, preparing for the gates to open. They were a distraction, nothing more.

They ran back and forth as the boy turned this way and that. Each time the icy, whispering wind rushed out it came a little closer to them. Laura appeared to have lost the use of her left arm. Veitch was bleeding from his nose.

Yet there was a moment between attacks when the eye needed to focus, and in that time Ruth snatched up the Spear. It was the kind of smart, brave move he would have expected of her, but all he felt was panic. This is it! he thought.

Ruth hurled the weapon, but not at him. It shot like an arrow, much faster and stronger than she could have propelled it herself. It would have driven through the eye, but at the last instant, the boy folded like a paper figure. Instead, it rammed through his chest. White light exploded across the room like gouts of molten metal and there was a shrieking that came from everywhere at once.

Laura was already crouching, her good hand resting on the floor before her. Vegetation sprouted madly along a rapid path between her and the boy. Thorns of the hardest wood burst through its legs, vines and brambles snapping round and round like steel wire.

Church seized the moment. He turned for the talismans, but Shavi was already scrambling to lay them out. Church dived in to help him, aware of the agonies Balor was going through behind him, knowing how futile it really was. It was a shock to feel the talismans writhe and twist beneath his fingers, subtly forcing him to put them in the right place. The head sat in the centre of the array, its mouth opening and closing as if it were barking orders. Yet Church didn't feel scared by it; there was a deeply comforting warmth rolling off the objects.

Finally the five talismans they still had were laid out. Instantly they began to change. No longer were they a Sword, a Stone, a Cauldron, a Lantern or a severed head, but something that Church couldn't begin to get a fix on, yet they were undoubtedly one thing, unified, beating powerfully; it was like he was staring at a storm cloud through a heat haze.

One part was still missing; he could feel that intensely. He had to retrieve the Spear. All he needed was Veitch to launch one of his brutal attacks to keep Balor off balance and he would be able to do it.

Shavi was already moving towards the Heart of Shadows, but Church pulled him back; it was his responsibility, his risk. Secure in the knowledge that Veitch would instinctively know what to do as his exquisite strategic skills came into play, he ran towards the creature that no longer resembled a boy, now as unknowable as the talismans, growing and changing all the time.

Laura was still drawing the greenery out of nothing, swathing Balor in bark and leaf, but as his form changed he was rising above, sucking in the true power that he had dissipated throughout the tower, perhaps even throughout London. And from the corner of his eye Church saw Ruth utilising all the power Cernunnos had gifted her to attack Balor, and he wondered why, at the end, she had turned away from betraying them.

And then he was within Balor's sphere, sickened by the power and the evil, his thoughts fragmenting with the chaos that swept around him. Somehow he managed to grab the Spear; it squirmed in his fingers as he dragged it out.

White-hot pain exploded in his side. The shock snapped him away from the Spear as his mind struggled to understand what was happening.

Ruth?

He staggered backwards, blood flooding into his clothes. Scarlet flashes burst across his mind. In the madness that engulfed him, the world seesawed sharply: he saw Balor looking down on him dispassionately, its attention already moving elsewhere; and he saw Ruth, her face torn with anguish.

Somehow he found himself on the floor near the talismans, and Shavi was over him, desperately trying to staunch the wound. He tried to strain towards Ruth, but all he could see was Laura continuing her attack on Balor, her face as white as the moon. Slowly the Beast was driving her back.

Veitch drifted into his fractured frame of vision, and the maelstrom of insanity grew infinitely worse. His silver hand was dripping blood. Church's blood. Veitch stared at the prosthetic dismally as it clenched and unclenched, seemingly beyond his control. Suddenly it lashed out of its own accord, smashing with the force of a hammer into the side of Shavi's head. Shavi flew across the floor, droplets of blood trailing behind him. Blood, everywhere. More on Witch's face, trickling from his nose, mingling with the streaming tears. The blood that did not come from an injury inflicted by Balor, as Church had thought, but was the mark of a Caraprix in action.

"Bastard!" Veitch hammered his fists against his temple, his face scarlet with the strain. "Bastard, bastard, bastard!" He bucked at the waist as the rage consumed him.

Church looked down hazily; the pool of blood around him was so large! He never dreamed he had so much blood in him. The blue light streaming off the talismans was reflected in it, as he watched those tracers in the dark he had a moment of clarity. Witch's anger, always so close to the surface, so terrible when unleashed, was the product of his subconscious continually struggling against the subtle influence of the Caraprix. They had judged him by that anger, all of them, and they had been so wrong.

"Fight it, Ryan." Church's voice cracked; cold spread along his side. "I know they stuck one of those things in your head."

"Not one! Two!" His nails tore deep furrows in the sides of his head. A scream ripped from his throat. "I didn't know! I knew! But I didn't know!" He jackknifed at the waist again, still fighting. "Those golden bastards stuck one in first so I'd do all their dirty business to get us all together!" A sob; more tears. "I'm sorry!" He threw his head back and howled. "I'm sorry! Church, for Marianne! Oh Christ, I'm sorry! The others, Shavi, mate! Shavi!" And then he was crying uncontrollably.

Horrific images shimmered across Church's mind: Veitch bludgeoning Shavi's boyfriend to death in a South London street; Veitch murdering Laura's mother while Laura lay unconscious on the floor; Veitch gunning down Ruth's uncle in the building society rage.

And then he was back in the sequence the Walpurgis had played over and over in his head. The flat, comfortable with a woman's presence. The acid jazz CD playing. Marianne humming as she moved into the bathroom. Dread surged through Church; he didn't want to imagine anymore. But just as it had with the Walpurgis, the images came thick and fast: the gentle click of the front door that Marianne never heard. His heart boomed. The strange smell he now knew was the Caraprix at work on Veitch; the familiar shadow. Veitch slipping through the flat like a shadow, his eyes glassy. The knife glinting in his hand. Her voice, as clear as day: "Church? Is that you?" And then Witch in like thunder. A merciful blur of limbs and steel and blood…

"Ryan…" Church felt he was swimming away from the world.

"Then those Fomorii bastards did it too! You didn't even think it through!" Witch's voice had the shattering pain of a child who had been failed by a parent. "They dragged Tom off and stuck one in his head when we were in those cells under Dartmoor! And I was there first-why shouldn't they have done it to me?"

Church felt sick; he had never considered it for even a moment. He had failed him, failed them all.

Laura and Ruth fell back as Balor grew; to Church's warped perception the Beast appeared to be filling the entire room.

Veitch was sobbing now. "The Queen-that witch that screwed Tom-she kicked me out because she found out I was tainted. Useless. Just thrown away. Too much of a loser to fight back. Doing everything they made me do. Useless! A part of me always knew that shit was in my head, and I couldn't tell anybody! Couldn't even tell the part of me that did the thinking!"

There was a noise like metal sheets being torn in two. Behind Balor, a doorway had opened in the air presenting a vista on to shimmering stars hanging in the cold void. Streams of sparkling dust began to drift out of it into Balor; the final power he needed.

"Not fair." Veitch was on his knees, whimpering. "Not fair."

"The gates are open, Ryan. You can stop it." Church felt like he was calling up from the bottom of a well.

"I can't do it. I'm too weak. I've always been too weak."

"No, you're not. You've just got to see yourself. Have faith in yourself."

Veitch shook his head, blood splattering from his nose. He was still fighting it, but his heart wasn't in it; he'd already given up.

Anger flashed across his face. Against his will, he lifted the silver hand to drive it into Church's chest.

A long, low moan emanated from the glowing head of Bran the Blessed. Light flowed from it into Church's mouth, soothing, invigorating; whispers crackled across his head; the god was telling him the secrets of the infinite. A word that was not a word was branded in sapphire letters on his mind. A word of power from a language before language. A symbol that could change reality with a single utterance.

Church fumbled to one side. Caledfwlch jumped into his hand of its own accord. With a tremendous effort, he drove himself up and forward. The Sword punched through Veitch's gut, ripped upwards. For one moment they were locked together, in body and in thought.

Veitch retreated into the depths of his head. In the end he had amounted to nothing; despite all his hopes and dreams, he hadn't wished hard enough. Briefly, his eyes flickered towards Ruth, as beautiful as the first time he had seen her. He remembered them making love in a warm room, recalled the way her hair reminded him of the liquorice sticks he had as a child; the way she made him feel he was more than what he was; the deep peace she had given him in his soul for the first time in his life. Through all the violence and bitterness and despair, he could hold on to that sparkling moment of transcendence.

Life gushed from him; the room grew slowly dim. And then he was in a slow boat drifting to an island off the Welsh coast, watching a mermaid swim in the waters beneath him, seeing her wave at him and smile. And he was lying on the warm ground looking up at tiny, golden figures flitting through the trees on gossamer wings; one of them coming down to see him; to say he wasn't so bad after all.

Life filled with wonder. Moments of peace he could count on one hand.

If only… If only…

Shavi watched his friend's face grow pale. His heart broke in two. Laura stared, wishing it was her. And Ruth cried gently, tried to catch his eye to give him some affection to take with him, to say he was forgiven his sins; to say he was a good man and a hero. But he didn't see her.

Church saw the despair flare in Witch's face, saw his dreams shatter and fall into nothing. There was one instant when life flickered in his pupils, an instant later there was nothing. He slumped to the floor, dead.

Church could barely see for his own tears. He was aware of the sucking power of the gate, and Balor rising up, ready to usher in the End of Everything. And it was the End; for him.

With the last of his strength, he ran forward. The word of power burst from his throat and the whole of existence turned inside out. Blue Fire leapt from the artefacts to each of the five-including the prone form of Veitch. Tom had been right; there had to be five, the final element in a spell as old as time. The energy rose up in a column in the space amongst them and then rushed towards the Heart of Shadows. For the briefest instant, Balor was drained of every shred of dark power. Church seized the moment. Caledfwlch, known as Excalibur, known as the Sword of Righteousness, drove straight into the Beast. Church saw terror etched on a boy's face, saw a sharp-suited man recoil in horror, saw a general roll his eyes in despair. And still he pressed on, driving Balor back towards the gate.

The effort was too great, but then they passed a certain point and the dreadful vertiginous pull of the beyond took over. The flesh felt like it was being ripped from Church's body. Balor went first, his form compressing as the power was sucked back out of it; and then he was folding becoming nothing, less than a child, less than the enormous black insect he resembled for a fleeting moment, and then he plunged into the gate, blocking its pull briefly.

Church had time to turn. His eyes fell on them one after the other: first Veitch for whom he grieved as if he had lost a brother, and then Shavi, and Laura, as close to his heart as he could imagine. And then Ruth, who was his heart.

He was dying, even if the gate didn't have him in its pull. His regrets at doubting Ruth were driven away the moment he looked into her face. All he wanted to remember was the love he saw there, mingled with the terrible pain.

"I'll love you." Ruth was shouting, her voice torn apart by an unbearable grief. "Always, Church. Always."

She loved him, she loved him, she loved him, and it wasn't fair.

She saw his face one final time, just as she remembered that first night under the bridge, filled with decency and honesty and all the best things she had ever wanted in her life. Slowly the haze that swirled at the gate's entrance folded around him. One word drifted back to her: "… forever…"

And then he was gone.