Always Forever (11 page)

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."

fter Ruth had related to Church her encounter with the Malignos, the Portune and Baccharus, they retired to their rooms for a brief rest. When the
red sun was bisected by the horizon, Cormorel disturbed them with a sharp rap
on the door.

"The Master requests your presence at his table for dinner," he said with his
usual ironic smile.

They weren't about to argue; their stomachs were rumbling and the cooking
aromas floating through the ship were mouthwatering. Spices, herbs and roast
meat were prominent, but there were other, subtler scents they couldn't quite
place. Cormorel led them across the deck to the raised section at the aft where
Manannan's quarters obviously lay. A winding, wood-panelled staircase took them
down to another corridor. Here torches roared furiously, as if fired by gas burners.
At the end, Cormorel swung open two double doors to reveal a scene that took
their breath away. Spread out before them was a banqueting hall so large it could
have filled eight or nine ships the size of the Wave Sweeper they had seen from the
seafront. They could barely think with the noise that echoed amongst the lofty
rafters. Oak tables ranged in lines, around which sat a mesmerising array of
strange creatures of all shapes and sizes, interspersed with the more sedate figures
of the Tuatha lle Danann. There was babbled, incomprehensible conversation,
shouts and screeches; in a few places brawls rolled amongst the aisles.

"Do not worry," Cormorel said wearily, "you will get used to it."

The walls were an odd mix of stone and wood, hung with luxuriant drapes
of the deepest scarlet. Log fires roared in enormous stone hearths at strategic
points around the perimeter, yet the temperature remained pleasant; the flames
cast dancing shadows over the army of diners, making them even more bizarre
and terrifying. Some of them looked towards Ruth and Church with unpleasant
stares that made the blood run cold.

"Is everyone here?" Ruth asked. "The Malignos?"

Cormorel raised an eyebrow. "Ah, you have met some of your fellow travellers,
I see. No, not all dine here. Some have very, shall we say, individual tastes."

"Where do you find the food?" Church said.

Cormorel smiled. "Our kitchens are particularly well stocked."

He led them amongst the diners where the smell of sweat and animal
musk was almost overpowering. The tables were laid out with what appeared
to be pewter plates, knives and goblets, each section with an intricate centrepiece of feathers, flowers and crystal. Nothing had yet been served. Something
reached out and tugged at Ruth's arm, but she shook it off without daring to
turn around.

At the far end of the room was the long table of the Master, piled high with
the most magnificent gold and silver plates and dishes. Manannan sat in the
centre on a large chair carved with intertwining dolphins, fish and rolling waves,
his face still a mask, his eyes unfathomable. On either side sat members of the
Tuatha lle Danann, obviously the more highborn members of the race; there
were two whose forms were so alien they hurt Church's eyes and forced him to
look away, but Niamh was there, at Manannan's right hand. Three spaces
remained at the far end, next to where Baccharus sat patiently.

Manannan let his eyes wander over them when Cormorel presented them
to him; they were unable to decipher his emotions. "Welcome to my table," he
said in a voice like the cold depths. "It is good to dine once again with a
Brother of Dragons."

Church gave a curt bow. "We are honoured."

"This sustenance is given freely and without obligation," Manannan continued. "Enjoy this repast, Fragile Creatures."

Cormorel led them to the empty chairs. "Good evening, Baccharus," he said
a little tartly as he took the seat next to his friend. "I hope you have been passing
your time well while I was engaged in the business of the Master."