Always Forever

Chapter Two

The gangplank unfurled towards them as mysteriously as the ship had been propelled through the water. It was made of brass, and though there was a mechanical clattering, the motion was as smooth as if it were a carpet. Church released his breath only when it clicked perfectly into place. Everywhere was tranquil; waiting. It was still impossible to see what lay on deck.

When no one summoned them aboard, he put one tentative foot on the gangplank, although it didn't feel strong enough to take his weight. He threw out his arms to steady himself when it gave slightly, but it held firm. He glanced back at the others. Callow was shying away in fear, but Ruth placed her hand between his shoulder blades to propel him forward. He squealed and Church had to grab hold of his collar to prevent him plummeting into the waves; from his expression that would have been the better option.

Cautiously Church led the way. Beneath them, the water slopped against the sea wall in a straightforward wave pattern, as though the ship wasn't even there. Callow's whimpering grew more insistent the closer they got to the deck.

"Any last words?" Ruth said ironically.

"You wouldn't want to hear them." He took a deep breath and stepped on to the deck.

The moment his foot landed on board, everything became instantly visible. He caught his breath at the sight of numerous figures all around, watching him silently. The taste of iron filings filled his mouth.

"Ho, Brother of Dragons!" The voice made him start, but he recognised its rich, faintly mocking tones instantly.

"I didn't expect to find you here."

Cormorel was beaming in the same warm, welcoming way Church recalled from their talk around the campfire in the north country, but the darkness behind his expression was a little more obvious. In the sunlight his skin almost gleamed; his hair flowed like molten metal. "Our brief discussion of the Western Isles gave me a desire to see them again." Cormorel's smile grew tight as he looked to the shore. "Besides, the Fixed Lands have lost much of their appeal."

Church felt irritated at Cormorel's easy dismissal of a place he had professed to enjoy, but he knew by now the Tuatha De Danann cared for little. "You don't have the appetite to face up to Balor," he said, pointedly.

Cormorel answered dismissively, "There will come a time, perhaps. But for now the Night Walkers leave us alone, and we, in turn, have more enjoyable things to occupy us." Brightening, he made a theatrical sweep with his hand. "But I am forgetting myself? You are an honoured guest, Brother of Dragons. Welcome to Wave Sweeper."

Church followed his gesture, expecting to see only the Tuatha De Danann standing around the deck, but there were many who were obviously not of the Golden Ones, their forms strange and disturbing. Cormorel saw Church's confusion play out on his face. "Wave Sweeper has always accepted many travellers. The journey to the Western Isles is one of significance to many races, not just the Golden Ones."

"A pilgrimage?"

Cormorel didn't appear to understand the term. Church was also concerned that the god was talking about the ship as if it were alive. He looked more closely at the wooden deck and the unnervingly detailed fittings flourishing on every part of the structure.

Cormorel noticed Ruth for the first time. "Sister of Dragons, I greet you." But then his eyes fell on Callow and a tremor ran across his face. "What is this? Night Walker corruption, here on Wave Sweeper?" His gaze flickered accusingly to Church.

"He's a danger to others. We can't afford to leave him behind."

Cormorel weighed this, then reluctantly nodded. He motioned to two gods with the youthful, plastic, emotionless faces of male models. Callow shied away from them until they were herding him in the direction of an open oak door that led beneath deck.

"What are you going to do with him?" Church asked.

"We cannot allow something so tainted by the Night Walkers to move freely about Wave Sweeper. He will be constrained for the remainder of the journey."

"You won't hurt him?"

"He is beneath our notice." Cormorel turned, the matter already forgotten. "Come, let me show you the wonder that is Wave Sweeper before we set sail."

He led them from the gangplank across the deck, gritty with salt and damp from the spray. The crew and passengers watched them impassively for a moment before returning to their business, as strange and unnerving a group as Church could have expected. He felt overwhelmed at the presence of so many of the Tuatha De Danann in one place. The whole array were represented, from those like Cormorel, who appeared barely indistinguishable from humans, to what were little more than blazes of unfocused light he could barely bring himself to examine. Although he could tell Ruth was also disturbed, she maintained an air of confidence that kept Church at ease.

Cormorel was enjoying the attention the other Tuatha De Danann lavished on him. Exhibiting his pets, Church thought sourly.

"Firstly, we must introduce you to the Master of this ship." Cormorel directed them to a raised area bearing a wooden steering wheel with ivory and gold handles. Next to it stood a god whose presence took Church's breath away once the shifting perception had settled into a stable form. He stood more than seven feet tall, his long hair and beard a wild mane of silver and brown. His naked torso was heavily muscled and burnished. Gold jewellery wound around his arms from wrist to bicep, but beyond that all he wore was a broad belt and a brown leather kilt. Even from a distance Church could see his eyes were a piercing blue grey like the sea before a storm. With no sign of emotion, the god watched Cormorel, Church and Ruth approach, standing as still as a statue.

For once, Cormorel appeared humbled. "Here is the Master of Wave Sweeper, known to you in the ages of the tribes as Manannan Mac Lir, also known as Manawydan, son of Llyr, Barinthus, ferryman to the Fortunate Island, Lord of the Stars, Treader of the Waves, Nodons, Son of the Sea, known as Neptune by the journeyman, Lord of Emain Abhlach, the Island of Apple Trees, known also as the King Leir."

Church felt little respect for the Tuatha De Danann's willful disregard for humanity, but he feared their power and he knew, although he hated it, that they were needed if the day was to be won. He bowed politely. `Jack Churchill, Brother of Dragons. I am honoured to be in your presence." Ruth echoed his words.

Manannan nodded without taking his stern regard off them. "I welcome you to Wave Sweeper." His voice sounded like the surf breaking on a stony beach.

"It is auspicious that the Master greets you at the beginning of your journey," Cormorel said. "Who knows? Perhaps it bodes well for you achieving your stated aims."

"Which are what, Brother of Dragons?" Manannan showed slight curiosity.

"To travel to the Western Isles to cleanse myself of the corruption of the Night Walkers," Church began, "and then to beseech the Golden Ones for aid in driving the Night Walkers from the Fixed Lands."

Manannan was plainly intrigued by the suggestion. "Then I wish you well, Brother of Dragons, for that is an honourable aim." Manannan's attention crawled over them uncomfortably for a moment longer before Cormorel ushered them away.

Church and Ruth were gripped with the overwhelming strangeness of their situation, but they were distracted from discussing it by a tall, thin figure looming ahead of them. It appeared to be comprised of black rugs fluttering in the breeze beneath a tattered wide-brimmed hat. In the shadows that obscured the face, Church saw eyes gleaming like hot coals. It stretched out an arm towards Ruth, revealing a bony hand covered with papery white skin. "Watch your step," the figure said in a whispery voice like the wind over dry leaves. "There are things here that would drain your lifeblood-"

Before the dark figure could continue, Cormorel stepped between it and Ruth, brushing the arm aside. With one hand in the small of Ruth's back, Cormorel steered her away.

"What was it?" Ruth looked back, but the presence had already melted away amongst the busy crew. She felt as if a shadow lay across her, although the effect diminished within seconds of leaving the figure behind.

"The Walpurgis," Cormorel replied coldly.

"Yes, but what was it?"

"A memory of the world's darkest night. A disease of life. An unfortunate by-product of the Master's policy of admitting all comers is that occasionally we must play host to… unpleasant travellers." He eyed Ruth suspiciously. "You would do well to avoid the Walpurgis at all costs," he warned.

"Did you hear me calling?" Church asked when they stood in the shadow of the mast.

"We hear all who speak of us." Cormorel had sloughed off the mood that had gripped him after the encounter with the Walpurgis and his eyes were sparkling once again. "A muttered word, an unguarded aside-they shout out to us across the void." He surveyed them both as if he were weighing his thoughts, and then decided to speak. "You did not call the ship, the ship called you-as it did everyone who travels on board, myself included. Wave Sweeper offers up to us our destiny, revealed here in signs and whispers, symbols that crackle across the void. It is a great honour. For many who travel on Wave Sweeper, the journey is the destination."

The concept wasn't something Church wished to consider; he yearned for the old days of cause and effect, linear time, space that could be measured; when everything made sense.

Irritated by the salty sea breeze, Ruth took an elastic band from her pocket and fastened her hair back. It made her fine features even more fragile, and beautiful. "You don't mind us coming?"

"We accept all travellers on Wave Sweeper. They are a source of constant amusement to us."

"That's nice," Ruth said sourly. She looked out to the hazy horizon, aware of the shortening time. "How long will it take?"

Cormorel laughed at the ridiculousness of the question. "We will pass through the Far Lands, Sister of Dragons."

"We have to be back before Samhain. A long time before." She fixed him with a stare that would brook no dissent.

"You will be in place to face your destiny." There was something in Cormorel's smile that unnerved them both.

Before they could ask any further questions, they were hailed from the other end of the deck. Cormorel's companion Baccharus hurried to meet them, his ponytail flapping. Where Cormorel was overconfident, proud and arrogant, Baccharus was humble and almost shy, traits they had never seen in any of the gods before. If they could trust any of them, he was the one.

Ruth greeted him with a smile, Church with a bow, but if anything he was more pleased to see them. "We are honoured to have a Brother and Sister of Dragons on board the ship that sails the Night Seas," he said quietly; he even sounded as if he meant it.

Cormorel laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Baccharus will show you to your quarters. They have already been prepared for you-"

"You were expecting us?" Church asked.

Cormorel smiled in his irritatingly enigmatic way. "Food and drink will be sent to your rooms-" He caught the look in Church's eye and added, "It is given freely and without obligation. Wave Sweeper is a place that defies the rules that govern our existence. It is the Master's wish." He gave an exaggerated bow.

Baccharus led them to the door through which Callow had been herded. Behind it, creaking, irregular steps went down into the bowels of the ship. The torches that lit their path were set a little too far apart, so uncomfortable shadows were always clustering. Despite the flickering flames, there was little smoke and no charring on the wooden walls. Ruth steadied herself on the boards at one point, but the surface felt so much like skin she never tried again.

They came on to a corridor that twisted and turned so much it was impossible to see more than fifteen feet ahead or behind. It was oppressively claustrophobic, barely wide enough for one person, with the ceiling mere inches above Church's head; doors were on either side, each with a strange symbol burned into the wood that was not wood. Baccharus stopped outside two doors marked with the sign of a serpent eating its tail.

Or a dragon, Church thought. He let his fingers trace the symbol. It felt as if it had been branded into the wood years before. Not wanting to consider what that meant, he stepped into the room sharply once Baccharus opened the door.

The room unnervingly echoed their bedrooms in the pub, as if they were still on land, dreaming their encounters on Wave Sweeper. A fishing net hung on one side, while lanterns, billhooks and other implements of a seafaring life covered the walls. The bed was barely more than a bench covered with rough blankets beneath a window with bottle-glass panes that diffused the light in a dazzling display across the chamber; even so, shadows still clung to the corners. A connecting door gave access to Ruth's room, an exact replica of Church's.

Ruth summoned up the courage to touch the wooden walls once more. Something pulsed just beneath the surface, while her feet picked up faint vibrations, as if somewhere in the core of the vessel a mighty heart was beating. The notion left her feeling queasy and disorientated.

Baccharus watched her curiously, as if he could read her thoughts, and then warned, "The ship is large, with many wonders, but many dangers too. You are free to roam as you see fit, but take care in your investigations."

Once he had left, Church threw open the window and looked out across the waves. "This isn't going to be easy."

"Did you expect it any other way? From the moment we started on this road we've had trouble at every turn." Ruth examined the cupboards. They were generally empty and smelled of damp and dust.

"You can't trust any of the Tuatha De Danann, any of the other creatures. They've all got their own agendas, their own secret little rules and regulations-"

"Then we don't trust them. We trust each other." Ruth joined him at the window; the sea air was refreshingly tangy, but her face was troubled. "Last night I had a dream…" She chewed on a nail apprehensively. "No, it wasn't a dream at all. I felt Balor in my head." The gulls over the sea suddenly erupted in a crazed bout of squawking. "It knows what we're doing, Church."

A chill brushed slowly across his skin.

"It was so powerful." Her eyes were fixed on the horizon. "And it's growing stronger by the minute. I'm afraid of what the world's going to be like when we get back. And I'm afraid that Bator will be waiting for us."

The food was delivered about an hour later by one of the blank-faced gods: bread, dried meat, dried fruits, and a liquid that tasted like mead. They ate hungrily and then returned to the deck. Manannan was at the wheel, surveying the horizon, while the crew prepared the ship for departure.

"If we're going to back out, now's the time," Ruth said. "Once it sets sail, we'll be trapped with this collection of freaks until the bitter end." She thought for a moment, then revised her words. "Until we reach our destination."

They moved over to the rail to take one last look at Mousehole. People moved quietly along the front, oblivious to Wave Sweeper's presence. The sky was still blue, the sun bright on the rooftops, the wind fresh. Church scanned the length of the coastline, then closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

"I love it," he said.

"What?"

"Britain. The world. There's so much-" He broke off. "I never thought about it before. It was just there."

Ruth said nothing, caught in a moment of admiration for the untroubled innocence that still lay at the heart of him, despite all that was happening.

Twenty minutes later everything appeared to be in place. Manannan looked at various crew members scattered around the ship waiting for a nod of approval before raising his hand and slowly letting it drop. A wind appeared from nowhere, filling the sail with a creaking of canvas and a straining of rope. Almost imperceptibly at first, the ship began to move, turning slowly until it was facing the open sea in a tight manoeuvre that would have been impossible for any normal vessel.

Church allowed himself one last, yearning look back at the Cornish coast and then they were moving towards the horizon, picking up speed as they went.

Wave Sweeper skimmed the sea at an impressive rate. The activity continued on deck, but Church couldn't work out exactly what it was the crew were doing; at times their actions looked nonsensical, yet they were obviously affecting the ship's speed and direction. Overhead, the gulls screeched as they swooped around the sails. Manannan faced the horizon, eyes narrowed against the wind that whisked his mane of hair out behind him.

"Can you feel it?" Ruth asked.

Until then he hadn't, but her perceptions had become much sharper than his. It manifested as a burnt metal taste at the back of his mouth, a heat to his forehead that caused palpitations and faint nausea. A drifting sea haze appeared from nowhere and was gone just as quickly, and suddenly the world was a much better place: the sun brighter, the sky bluer, the sea so many shades of sapphire and emerald it dazzled the eyes. Even the scent of the air was richer.

The gods relaxed perceptibly and an aura of calm fell across the ship. Church went to the rail and watched the creamy wake spread out behind. "I wish I could understand how all this worked."

"I shouldn't trouble yourself." Ruth held her head back to feel the sun on her face. "For years all the rationalists and reductionists have been fooling themselves, building up this great edifice on best guesses and possibilities and maybes while ignoring anything that threatened the totality of the vision. It was a belief system like any religion. Fundamentalist. And now the foundations have been kicked away and it's all coming crashing down. Nobody knows anything. Nobody will ever know anything-we're never going to find out the big picture. Our perceptions just aren't big enough to take it all in."

Church agreed thoughtfully. "That doesn't mean we shouldn't keep trying to understand it, though."

"No, of course not. There are too many wonders in the universe, too much information. The best we can hope to do is build up our own, individual view of how it all fits together. Though most people can't be bothered to look beyond their lives-"

"That's not fair. When they're not held in check by authority, people can do-"

Ruth burst out laughing.

Church looked at her sharply. "What is it?"

"You sound like my dad! He was such a believer in the strength of the people."

"Everybody has to believe in something."

Their eyes held each other for a long moment while curious thoughts came to the surface, both surprising and a little unnerving. It was Ruth who broke away to look wistfully across the waves. "I miss him."

Church slipped a comforting arm around her waist. It was such a slight movement, but a big gesture; boundaries built up during the months they had known each other crumbled instantly. Ruth shifted slightly until she was leaning against him.

"Jack."

The voice made the hairs on the back of his neck stand alert. He snatched his arm away from Ruth like a guilty schoolboy. Niamh was standing a few feet away, her hands clasped behind her back. Her classical beauty still brought a skip to his heart, her features so fine, her hair a lustrous brown, her skin glowing with the inner golden light of the Tuatha De Danann. Church didn't know what to expect. Only days ago she had been dangling him off a cliff for his refusal to return her love in the manner she expected. The fury within her at that moment had terrified him.

"Hello, Niamh." He tried to see some sign in her face, but anything of note was locked far away.

Her eyes ranged across his features as if she were memorising them. He steeled himself as he felt a sudden surge of attraction for her. Proximity to the Tuatha De Danann set human emotions tumbling out of control. It wasn't manipulation, as he had at first thought, just a natural reaction to contact between two different species.

Ruth glanced from one to the other, then said diplomatically, "I'm heading back to my room for a rest. I'll see you later." She smiled at Niamh as she passed, but the god gave no sign that she was even there; Church was the only thing in her sphere that mattered. He couldn't begin to understand the depth of her feeling. They had shared barely more than a few moments, exchanged a smattering of words, the sketchiest of emotions, though Niamh had been with him all his life, watching him constantly from his birth, a whisper away during every great happiness and every moment of despair; even that couldn't explain the depth of her love, so pure and overwhelming it took his breath away.

"How are you, Jack?"

"As well as can be expected, given that my world is on the brink of being torn apart." He tried not to sound bitter; it wouldn't do any good. But he wanted to say: considering you tried to murder me with a lunatic god who could boil the blood in my veins at a gesture. Even as he thought it, contrition lit her face. "How is Maponus?" he asked.

"The Good Son is… as well as can be expected."

"Will he recover?"

She looked down. "We do what we can."

"I'm sorry."

"May we talk?" As she gently touched his hand, a spark of some indescribable energy crackled into his arm. She led him across the deck to the highest level beyond Manannan's vantage point. A table placed where one could admire the view was laid out with crystal goblets and a jug of water.

"The Master will not mind us sitting awhile. He knows I love the sea as much as he." Niamh filled two goblets, then watched the waves for several moments, a faint smile on her face.

"The Far Lands fill me with such joy," she said eventually. "In my worst times I feared them lost to me forever." She turned to him and added sadly, "As I fear I have lost you."

"What happened-"

"Fills me with the deepest regret. I was cruel and foolish in my hurt. I sought to punish you so you would feel some of my anguish."

"You tried to kill me-"

"No." She shook her head forcefully. "I would never harm you. Once I reflected on my actions, I sought to make amends. It was I who alerted my people to bring the Good Son back to the Far Lands. Yet I knew I could never take back what I had done, however much I desired to make things well between us again. And that was almost more than I could bear." She sipped at her water, the sun glinting off the glass in golden shards.

"I can't understand it. You're all so far beyond us, yet emotionally you're just as screwed up."

"Those of us who are close to Fragile Creatures still feel deeply. We have great passions. Yet it tears through us like fire in the mighty forest. It leaves us bereft. That is our curse until we move on to the next stage."

Church looked down at Manannan, who had his back to them, wondering what rules governed the evolution of the gods.

"My heart was torn apart at the thought that I had driven you away, Jack, the only thing I ever truly wanted. And so I came here, to Wave Sweeper, in the hope that I could wash away the pain with a visit to the Western Isles, where all balm lies, if one looks carefully enough."

"You've watched over me since I was a child-"

The note of sadness in her smile had a curious tone; almost too intense for what they were discussing. "I have known you for a very long time, Jack Churchill."

"All my life. That may be a long time for you. But I've only known you for a few months and then we've only been together for-what? — an hour or more? That's not enough time for me to fall in love with anyone. I don't believe in love at first-"

She turned her face from him so he couldn't see what lay there.

He hadn't the heart to finish. "I don't hold it against you, Niamh. What you did was wrong, but I wasn't fair to you either. I shouldn't have promised something I couldn't live up to."

She turned back to him in surprise, quickly checking that it was not a cruel joke before smiling shyly. "It seems that for all I know you, I do not know you."

"We've both got a lot to learn about each other."

"May we try to be friends?"

"Of course. But don't think about anything more than that. I don't know you, I don't really know myself any more, everything's in such upheaval. It would be wrong to expect anything to happen."

"I understand," she said seriously. "But to be friends-" Her smile lit up her face.

"It's all right to lose your heart, but never lose your head." The words popped into his head, from a lifetime away, a happier time, but oddly, he didn't feel despondent. Niamh looked at him curiously. "Just a line from an old song," he explained. "I'm glad we're going to get on fine. This could be a difficult journey for all of us." He took a long draught of the water, which tasted like no water he had ever had before: vibrant, refreshing, infused with complex tastes. He savoured it for a moment, then said, "Tell me, the Golden Ones have a strange relationship with time. The past, the future… you don't see it how we see it. How are things going to work out? Not for me-I don't want to know thatbut for the world, my world? Is all this for nothing?"

"Nothing is ever for nothing." The words had an odd resonance in her mouth. "There is meaning in even the most mundane act."

"The fall of a sparrow."

"Yes. The slightest act. A pebble dropped in water. Ripples run out, bounce back, and then out again. You might not be able to see the results from your perspective, but if your actions are taken with good heart, they will be magnified."

"I'm getting the feeling you're not going to answer my question."

"You Fragile Creatures have a limited view of the turning of the Great Plan. Until your abilities advance it would be unwise to provide you with a glimpse of our vista."

"That's patronising. You're saying we're not up to it."

"That is correct. You are not ready. It is the arrogance of all emerging species that they have an understanding of everything. True wisdom comes from accepting that nothing can be understood. All existence has a framework, but it is not clockwork, although at first glance it may look so. Consider this: from the clouds the coastline is a simple unbroken line. As you fall, you see the twists and turns, the tiny inlets, the craggy outcroppings that comprise its complex shape. You fall to the beach and you see a billion, billion grains of sand, and suddenly there is no shape at all, simply chaos making an illusion of a complex pattern."

"And so it continues. Yes, I understand that-"

"But the chaos is ordered." She smiled enigmatically. "You Fragile Creatures think you see the way everything works. You can measure the height and length and breadth of it, and in your arrogance-"

"Okay, okay, I get your point. We're just kids who haven't learnt how to draw pictures with perspective. So we have to learn to see before we can be shown the view. But-"

She shook her head.

He sighed. "I can see where Tom got it all from. Everything's just too complex to sum up with words."

"Yes," she said. "It is."

"So I just do my best, and be damned."

"Or not." She took his hand briefly, then pulled away, as if she had overstepped some invisible boundary. "Everything we need to know is encoded within. Everything. But you have to be strong to trust yourself. It is easier to be a child and let others tell you this and that. That is the key to all wisdom: listen to no one. Trust what your heart tells you."

For the next ten minutes they sat in silence while Church mulled over her words. She had made exactly the same point as Ruth. It might have been coincidence, but Tom had told him so many times that what he thought was coincidence was the universe contacting him. But what was he supposed to take from it?

High overhead the owl soared on the thermals rising from the waves. It had moved along effortlessly when the ship had slipped between the worlds, though now it looked bigger than Ruth recalled, and she was sure she could see its eyes glinting golden in the sun; more than an owl. But then it always had been. In Otherworld it was simply one step closer to its true nature, Ruth imagined. She shivered, despite the heat, recalling all the things it had whispered to her in the miserable dark when she had been a prisoner of the Fomorii: secret knowledge that had transformed her into something else, while at the same time terrifying her. She was afraid she was losing part of herself in the process; her innocence, certainly. Sometimes she even feared for her sanity.

As she crossed the deck, the whispering began in the back of her head, the secret code words that shaped existence bursting continuously in her mind like bubbles on a stagnant pond: the price she had to pay for her secret knowledge.

She ignored the sly glances from the crew that followed her and slipped through the door beneath deck. As she progressed along the oppressive corridor system she became convinced the layout had changed, although it was impossible to tell for sure. Confusion reigned everywhere on that vessel. Eventually she reached her room, but the moment with Church before Niamh had arrived had left her out-of-sorts and she didn't really feel like resting. Exploring was a good way to take her mind off things, so she ploughed on past her door into the heart of the ship.

She walked for what felt like an hour or more, until her legs ached and her throat was dry. From the seafront, the ship looked like it could have been traversed in ten minutes, but she had gone at least two or three miles and there was no sign of the boat ending.

The maze of claustrophobic corridors had soon changed in form. There were passages where the roof was lost to shadows high overhead and where a jumble of beams protruded at incongruous angles like an Escher sketch, or which were as wide as a Parisian boulevard, with carved stone columns and arches where gargoyles peered down ominously. Chambers led off, some as vast as banqueting halls, while others were as cramped as her own cabin. At one point she found what appeared to be a tree growing upwards through the floor and ceiling, its roots lost somewhere in the bowels of the ship. Strange scents floated everywhere, whisked on by phantom breezes: cinnamon and onions, candle smoke, something that had the tangy bite of fresh blood, the acrid odour of hot coals, fresh lemon and cooking fish. Disconcerting symbols appeared intermittently on the walls, as if they were sigils to ward off unquiet spirits; Ruth found she couldn't look at some of them.

The immensity of the vessel made no sense to her. After a while she became convinced that however much she walked, she would never reach the end of it. The surroundings, too, were growing more chaotic and unnerving and she was afraid of what she would find if she carried on. It felt like a good time to head back.

But when she turned, the corridor wasn't how she remembered. A brief spark of panic flared within her. She glanced back the way she had been going and saw faint lights dancing in the gloom. They dipped and dived in complex patterns, reminding Ruth of the tiny, gossamer-winged figures that could occasionally be glimpsed amongst the trees of an evening. Those creatures, which had inspired the dreams of generations in times past, represented much of the good that had swept in with the chaos that had descended on the land. The corridor behind had changed layout once again. She considered her options, then headed towards the phantom lights.

However fast she walked, she never managed to catch up with them, although she couldn't tell if they were fluttering beyond her reach, or if it were some trick of the warped perspectives in Wave Sweeper. After a while the dancing lights became almost hypnotic and she had the odd sensation she was being dragged along instead of pursuing of her own will.

It might have been minutes or an hour later when she became aware she was in an area devoid of torches; the gloom was so intense she was overwhelmed by the feeling of floating in space. Uneasily, she clutched on to a wall before her troubled senses made her pitch forward. She cursed herself for following the lights, unable to recall what had prompted her to do so in the first place.

When she had calmed, she noticed an odd animal smell, thick and musky; it rankled. She leaned against a wall, trying to decide what to do next, afraid she could be wandering for days, perhaps forever. Hoping for a sound to guide her, she listened intently. At first, she could make out only the distant womb-echoes of the waves against the ship, but then another noise drifted up to her like a stranger on padded feet. Sounding dimly like an anxious rumble a cat makes deep in its throat, it filled her with inexplicable dread. She pressed her back hard against the wall and began to slide away from the approaching noise. It could be nothing, she knew, but every fibre of her being told her it was a threat.

What's down there? she wondered.

If she ran, it was so dark she would either injure herself or stumble, so whatever was there would be on her in a second. The throaty growl grew louder, the shuffling of feet echoing along behind. There was more than one, she was sure of it: they were coming from different directions. Then: a ruby glint of an eye opening and closing, the smell growing stronger until she felt like choking.

The malignancy was palpable. Be strong, she thought.

Cautiously she crept away from the approaching figures, moving as fast as she could without making a sound. In motion, she couldn't hear what was behind, so after a while she stopped and listened again. Nothing. The gloom was undisturbed by movement, although the smell remained.

Satisfied whatever was there had taken an unseen branching corridor, she began to edge along the wall.

The growl was so close every hair on her neck stood erect at once. It brought up a primal fear of being hunted at night, so strong that, despite herself, she launched herself down the corridor. Now she could hear whatever was behind: low growls, padding feet, rough breathing filled with a hungry anticipation. Terror began to lick at her; the growls sounded so bestial, so predatory. She was blind, but instinctively she knew they could see. Unable to control herself, she ran faster.

It was madness. She clipped one wall, careered over to the other, stumbled, smashing her elbows and knees, so scared she scrambled to her feet in a second and was away again.

She hit another wall head-on, dazed herself. The pursuit was growing louder, closer, more eager.

Stumbling into a side corridor, she began to run again, this time trailing one hand against the wall in a feeble attempt to guide herself. It worked reasonably well; at least she didn't knock herself out, although she picked up several more bruises. Anxiety pain spread across her chest. And then, suddenly, she realised she could no longer hear anything behind. Gradually, she came to a halt. Had she lost them?

Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed rapid motion and jerked herself to one side. Something that resembled a battle-axe, although oddly organic, crunched into the wall where her head had been. Splinters of wood showered over her. A roar nearby made her ears ache, and then shapes moved towards her, at first serpentine, then like a pig, and then covered in fur. The intensity of the stink made her retch. Her hypersensitive senses picked up more motion. This time she didn't wait for the jarring impact. She turned and ran as fast as she could, bouncing off the walls, somehow managing to keep her balance, her heart thundering wildly.

The sounds of pursuit were now deafening; there was a pack at her heels. The corridor turned sharply and in the distance she saw a flickering torch that provided enough light for her to increase her pace. She found a split second to look back, but all she could make out were leaping shadows, heavy and low, the burning sparks of eyes and the glimmer of weaponry.

She took another sharp turn into an area of more concentrated torchlight and then, midstep, a door to her left opened suddenly, arms reached out and she was dragged inside.

Behind the closed door, she dropped into a defensive posture, ready to claw at anything that came near her. But the only occupant of the tiny chamber was Baccharus, who pressed one finger to his lips, demanding silence. She calmed instantly, her breath folding into her throat as the frenzied pack approached, then passed without pausing. Once silence had returned, she relaxed her muscles and turned to her rescuer. "Thank you."

Baccharus nodded shyly. "You should not venture into this part of Wave Sweeper. The dangers down here are many and Fragile Creatures are easy prey."

"What were they?"

"The Malignos."

She stared at him blankly.

"Misshapen dwellers in the dark places, beneath the earth, or under bridges or within the barrows. The natural predator for Fragile Creatures. In your North Country one became known as Hedley Kow, another as Picktree Brag. On the Isle at the Hub off your west coast, another is still known in whispers as the Buggane. They haunt your race memory."

"I couldn't work out what they looked like."

"They are shapeshifters. In the old times they taunted their victims by appearing as gold or silver before adopting a form that could induce nightmares."

"They're like the Fomorii-"

Baccharus shook his head. "They share many qualities with the Night Walkers, but they are lowborn. They cannot transcend the Fixed Lands. Your world is their home."

Ruth slumped against the door, sucking in a deep breath as the adrenalin wore off. "I was following some lights-"

"The Ignis Fatuus."

Ruth started at the strange, tiny voice that was certainly not Baccharus's. She scanned the room twice before her eyes alighted on a figure barely half an inch high seated cross-legged on the floor next to the wall. She knelt down to get a closer look. It was a man, but although his body was young and lithe, his face was so wrinkled it looked ancient. His eyes gleamed with a bright energy that put Ruth instantly at ease.

"The Foolish Flame, your people used to call it, though it also went by the names of Spinkie, Pinket, Joan o' the Wad, Jack o' Lantern-"

"A Will o' the Wisp," Ruth added.

He nodded. "Very dangerous indeed. Another shapeshifter that used the form of gold to lure you avaricious creatures to your doom. It never allied itself with the Malignos, but here-"

"Here there are many strange bedfellows." Baccharus was still listening at the door. "Shared interests draw together. Races that would be at odds beyond these walls are forced to coexist in the confines; new alliances are drawn."

"It's not much of a luxury cruise," Ruth noted.

"All things dwell aboard Wave Sweeper. At one time, just two of each species, but now… There are many things long forgotten in these depths, some that have not seen the light of day since your world was new formed."

The tone in Baccharus's voice made Ruth grow cold. She turned quickly to the tiny figure and asked, "And what are you?"

"What is not a pleasant way of asking. Who would be more polite. And even then naming words should be proffered, not demanded." His eyes narrowed; Ruth thought she glimpsed sharp teeth as his mouth set.

"I'm sorry-

"I will vouch for her, Marik Bocat," Baccharus interjected. "She is a Sister of Dragons."

"And thus above reproach," the little man said. "Then, to you I am Marik Bocat. To others my name is neither here nor there. And to answer the what, my people are the oldest species of the Fixed Lands, distant relatives to the People of Peace." He motioned towards Baccharus. "Though the Golden Ones have more wit and sophistication, we can stand our own in conversation." He smiled so pleasantly Ruth couldn't help smiling in turn. "Your people used to call us Portunes, thanks to one of your educated folk who first wrote of us and our diet of roast frog." He wrinkled his nose in irritation. "Damn his eyes. See how he likes roast frog."

Baccharus opened the door a crack to peer out into the shadowy corridor. "We should move back to the lighter areas before the Malignos return. They will be even hungrier after their exertions."

"Won't we meet them on the way back?" Ruth asked.

"Wave Sweeper's configuration will have altered many times by now. They should be a distance away."

"Or a room," Marik Bocat noted. "Speed is of the essence."

"Do you want me to carry you?" Ruth asked.

Marik Bocat looked insulted once again. "Perhaps my legs are invisible to you?" He motioned to what appeared to be a mousehole in the wainscot. "We have our own routes about the ship."

"I'm sorry." Ruth's head was spinning from everyone she had encountered, each with their own peculiar rules and regulations. "I seem to be saying that a lot."

"Never mind. You will have time to make up for your appalling manners." He smiled sweetly again, then bowed with a flourish before disappearing into the hole.

"A strange race," Ruth noted as she slipped out of the door behind Baccharus.

His voice floated back to her, strangely detached. "We are all strange. That is the wonder of existence."

She found Church watching the waves with Niamh at his side. There was an easiness to them, in their body language and the way they stood a little too close, that made her feel an outsider. She considered leaving them alone, but the tenacious part of her nature drove her forward.

Niamh smiled politely when she saw Ruth, but she didn't appear too happy with the intrusion. "I will leave the two of you alone," she said a little stiffly. "I am sure you have much planning to do if you are to achieve your aims."

Once she was out of earshot, Ruth said, "You seem like you're getting on."

Church's eyes narrowed; he knew her too well. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing. Just what I said."

"There's nothing going on." He turned his eyes back to the cream-topped surf. The sun was slipping towards the horizon, painting the waves golden and orange. "When it comes to romance I've been an idiot in the past. I was just trying to fill the gap left when Marianne died, and it was a big, big gap. But I couldn't see what I was doing. I can now. I'm not going to make any stupid mistakes again."

"Still, it's obvious she wants to get in your trousers."

"I don't think it's a physical thing. I don't know, maybe I'm wrong, but the Tuatha De Danann value emotions more than anything. Don't worry, I'm going to be careful, not lead her on. Especially after the last time." He flinched. "It's hard, though. The way they unconsciously manipulate emotions. It's overpowering."

"I can't understand why she's so full-on."

"What, you don't think I'm worth it?" He laughed as he leant on the rail to peer down the side of the boat.

"On second thoughts, go for it. You should take what you can get."

"Steady on, acid tongue."

She slipped an arm around his shoulders; it was something a friend would do, but, as earlier, the warmth was unmistakably stronger and they both drew comfort from it.

"I know lots of terrible things have happened, but when I think about everything that's been lost so far it's all the normal things I feel acutely about," he continued. "Never being able to go to a movie. No more Big Sleep or Some Like It Hot. No more electric guitars at some seedy gig. Sometimes I'm so shallow."

"What do you miss the most? The one thing above all else?"

He thought about this for a second, then gave an embarrassed laugh. "Never being able to hear a Sinatra song again. Stupid, isn't it?"

"No."

"It's not even about the music, it's what it means to me." He tried to pick apart the tangled emotions. "It means a love of life, abandon, not worryingjust enjoying."

"Does it remind you of Marianne?"

"No, it reminds me of what life used to be like before responsibility."

In the distance sea creatures resembling dolphins frolicked in the pluming water, their shiny skin reflecting the late afternoon light. There was a certain poetry to the image that wasn't lost on either of them.

"The quicker we get there, the quicker we can get back and do something positive," Ruth said.

"Maybe we shouldn't be in such a hurry to arrive."

"Why?"

"In all the old stories, the Western Isles are a metaphor. They're where the dead live."

"Heaven?"

"Or Purgatory, in some cases. So we're leaving life behind us and moving into death."

"Trust you to put a damper on things."

He forced a smile. "Let's hope we can make the return journey."