Faerie Lord

Seventy-Six

‘Get him back!’ shouted Henry in sudden panic. All very well to say he had to rescue Blue, but from what? And when? Was she in trouble right this minute, or was this something Mr Fogarty saw in the future? Was she ill? Had she picked up the time fever thing? And, most important of all, where was she? He needed to know more! But the stupid ark only sat there, silent and inert.

Euphrosyne smiled and nodded. ‘Soon, En Ri,’ she said.

Henry felt like shaking her, but didn’t. Instead he said firmly, ‘No – now!’

‘It is not possible now,’ Euphrosyne said calmly. She was still smiling, but there was an absolute finality in her voice that stopped him dead.

Henry felt his panic deflate like a punctured balloon. Euphrosyne would help him if she could. Every one of the Luchti would help if they could: they might be primitive but they were about the nicest people he’d ever met in his life. But he wasn’t going to get anywhere by shouting at them. He needed to know what he was doing, needed to ask intelligent questions, needed to show them how they could help. He had to stop feeling so much out of his depth. He needed information. Most of all, he needed information about Mr Fogarty and how, incredibly, he was able to talk to these people as their god after he was dead.

‘Euphrosyne,’ Henry said. ‘That was Charaxes I just talked to, wasn’t it?’

Euphrosyne nodded enthusiastically. ‘Yes.’

‘And your people have talked to Charaxes for centuries, haven’t you?’

She nodded again. ‘Yes.’

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed other members of the tribe were approaching, Lorquin among them. Even at a distance, he could tell they were happy. However confused he was now, he seemed to have muddled through the business of their ceremony. To Euphrosyne he said, ‘How was Charaxes able to talk to you centuries ago?’ Mr Fogarty wasn’t dead centuries ago. Mr Fogarty wasn’t even born centuries ago. So how did Mr Fogarty get to be the god of the Luchti?

Euphrosyne said happily, ‘With the ark.’

‘Yes, I know with the ark, but Charaxes wasn’t there centuries ago.’

She looked at him blankly. ‘Charaxes is always there, otherwise how could we be here? How could you be here, En Ri?’

‘You mean Charaxes created the world?’ Mr Fogarty as a creator god was more than he could cope with. There was something badly wrong here. He wasn’t understanding what was going on.

‘Oh no,’ Euphrosyne said. She looked almost shocked. ‘The world was created many billions of years ago in the Great Explosion that caused the universe. Charaxes had nothing to do with it. They were not born yet.’

They? There was more than one Charaxes? It had never occurred to him that the word might be plural. ‘Euphrosyne,’ Henry said, ‘who are the Charaxes?’

‘Our ancestors,’ said Euphrosyne promptly. ‘Was that not your illustrious ancestor you just talked to, En Ri?’

Well, it wasn’t, but a lot of things were clearer now. The ark wasn’t some religious object like the Ark of the Covenant designed so the Luchti could talk to God. It was a device that helped you get in touch with dead relatives. Mr Fogarty wasn’t a relative, but he was certainly dead and he was a lot closer to Henry than either of the grandfathers Henry had never even known. He gave a relieved sigh. Now he understood, he might be able to get things moving.

‘Is there any way,’ he asked, ‘any way at all that I can get in touch with my Charaxes again? Like, now, I mean?’

‘I can help you, En Ri,’ said a strangled voice behind him.