Always Forever (55 page)

"What do you mean?"

"Do you want to talk like smart people?" Her expression was teasing. "Or
shall we carry on as we always have done?" He motioned for her to continue.
"Thanatos, the death urge. When I died, you were consumed by it. That's what
infected you. It made your days black, your thoughts worse. You couldn't see
life, you couldn't see yourself. You've pulled away from the worst part of it, but
it's still there, a little black cancer of the soul. A mess on that Fiery Network
that makes up the real you, stopping the true flow. Making something so vital
and powerful grow dormant. You have to wake the sleeping king if you want to
save the world."

"All that Arthurian stuff is a metaphor. For waking the Blue Fire in the
land. Nothing to do with me."

"As without, so within. This whole business is about celebrating life in all
its forms, Church. Seeing death as part of a cycle: life, death, rebirth. You've
been through the damn thing yourself, as have most of your merry little group.
Haven't you got the picture yet?"

"I have to let go of you, is that what you're saying?"

"You don't have to forget me. Just remember the good parts. Don't let death
rule your life."

The Other-Church's expression was even darker now, murderous. "Am I
really seeing you?" Church asked. "Or is this some hallucination, some part of
my subconscious speaking to me?"

"You should know better than to ask questions like that by now."

"Then what do I have to do? It's one thing saying I won't obsess about
death, but it's a subconscious thing-"

"Just wish, Church. Wish so hard it changes you from inside out. Kids
know best how existence works. We unlearn as we go through all those things
the Age of Reason saw fit to throw at us during our formative years. The Celts
never had that, all those ancient people who shaped the world. You know I'm
not some stupid, anti-progress Luddite. But the truth is, we took a wrong turn
and now it's time to get back to how things should really be. A time to feel. The
world's been waiting for this for a long time."

"For all the death and suffering?"

"No, of course not. It's your job to minimise that. But it's not your job to
take things back to the way they were. You've got a bigger destiny than you ever
thought, Church. It's all down to you to make things better."

His lips attempted to form words, but nothing would come.

"Just wish, Church." A whisper. "Just wish."

He closed his eyes. And wished; not with a thought, but with every fibre of
his being, and he found power was given to that wishing from somewhere else,
either deep within himself, or without, in the distance where strange things
moved against the sky.

And when he opened his eyes, Marianne was smiling. "If you could only see
yourself as I see you. We're all stars, Church. All stars." She drifted back towards
the pillar of stones.

"Is that it? Have I done enough?" His question was answered by the OtherChurch, who began to fade, slipping back into the shadows that had gathered
around the area until he was no longer there.

"From here it gets hard. Harder than anything you've been through so far.
Pain and death and suffering and sacrifice and misery. It'll be a trial, Church, but
you always knew that." Parts of her became misty, merging with the rock. "If
you stay true, you'll see it through. Have faith, Church, like I have faith in you."

The tears were flooding down his face now; he had never cried so much since
he was a child. "Thank you." His voice, autumnal. "For this, and for everything
else you gave me. I'll never forget you."

"Until we meet again." The smile again, filled with long, beautiful days,
fading as she was fading. And then she was gone.

It was like a rope tied around his waist had suddenly been attached to a speeding
truck. He shot straight up into the air, that strange place disappearing in the blink
of an eye, the sky and the stars whizzing by, rocketing so hard he blacked out.

And when he woke, he was sitting on the edge of the Pool of Wishes.

He made his way back along the worn path in a daze, trying to separate reality
from hallucination and to make sense of the true weight of what he had learned.

When he reached the others, Ruth said curiously, "What's wrong?"

"What do you mean?"

"You've only been gone about five minutes. Isn't there anything there?"

His smile gave nothing away. He climbed on his horse and spurred it back
down the slope, feeling brighter and less burdened than at any time before in
his life.

The Palace of High Regard lay at the centre of a confusing geometric design of
streets, laden with symbolism. Church and Ruth's winding progress along the
route was an intricately designed ritual, affecting their minds as well as their hearts; it was an odd sensation when simply turning a corner resulted in a flash
of long-lost memory or insight, a fugitive aroma or barely heard sound. By the
time they reached the enormous doors of ivory and silver, it had worked its
magic on their deep subconscious so their heads felt charged with a disorienting
energy, as if they were about to embark on a drug trip.

Baccharus was waiting to admit them. He carried a long staff carved from
black volcanic rock. When Church and Ruth paused ten feet away, as they had
been instructed, he tapped the doors gently with the staff. The resultant echoes
were so loud Ruth put her hands to her ears.

The doors swung open of their own accord. Within was a hallway flooded
with sunlight from a glass dome a hundred feet above. There were columns and
carvings, niches filled with statues and braziers smouldering with incense. The
floor had an inner path of black and white tiles, but on the edge was a pattern
Ruth remembered from the floor tile at Glastonbury, with its hidden message
that had pointed them towards T'ir n'a n'Og.

They waited for an age at the second set of doors, eventually being admitted
to a room so large it took their breath away. It resembled the Coliseum in size
and layout: rising tiers of seats in a circle around a vast floor area that made them
feel insignificant. There was enough distortion of perception around the edges
that Church wondered what it really looked like. The power of the Tuatha De
Danann was focused there in all its unknowable, fearful glory. Ahead of them,
the highest tier of gods was obviously seated, but the golden light that came off
them was so forceful Church couldn't look at it. At the centre was the being the
Celts had called Dagda, the Allfather, and around him others of the oldest and
most powerful branch of the Golden Ones. On the perimeter he could just make
out the ones the Celts had characterised as Lugh, and Nuada, whom he had first
met on Skye when he had been brought back from the dead.

The air was crushing down on his shoulders and deep vibrations ran through
him. It made him feel queasy, and he didn't know how long he would be able to
endure it; it was apparent Fragile Creatures were not meant to be in that place,
or to spend time in close proximity to those potent gods.

They waited, uncomfortable beneath the oppressive attention of the Golden
Ones; the weight of all those fearsome intellects focused upon them was almost
palpable. The debate started soon after. Nuada rose to deliver a speech to the
assembled mass, although they couldn't understand a word he was saying; it
sounded like a song caught in the wind, lilting and beautiful, with occasional
threatening notes. Others spoke: some from the rank of the highest, many from
the lower levels. Back and forth the discourse ranged. It felt odd to be under the
scrutiny of such powerful beings, having hopes dissected with the very fate of the world hanging in the balance, but Church refused to be cowed by it. He held
his head high and looked every speaker in the face.

Eventually Manannan rose, but instead of making his speech from the tier
of the highest, he descended to the floor and stood beside Church and Ruth. He
spoke with a passion and belief not previously visible in his reticent nature.
Standing next to him, his ringing, incomprehensible voice resonating in the
cavities of their bodies, they had an even deeper sense of the power around them.

Though Manannan never acknowledged their presence in the slightest, they
knew he was arguing their case powerfully. The Tuatha De Danann hung on his
every word, and when he finished speaking, a ripple of obvious disagreement ran
around the arena. The tension in some of the comments that followed suggested
that even Manannan's involvement might not swing the Golden Ones' support
behind humanity.

But when the notes of dissent threatened to become a tumult, a hush suddenly fell across the arena. It was eerie the way it went from noise to silence in
the merest moment. Church turned, searching for the source, and saw a large
shadow fall across the arena. Cernunnos strode forward, his partner at his side.
As she moved, her shape changed from that of a young, innocent girl, to a
round-checked, middle-aged woman to a wizened crone and back again.

They stopped beside Manannan, and when Cernunnos spoke in a clear,
booming voice it was in words Church could understand. "No more. The seasons have turned. The days of holding on to faint beliefs have long since passed.
Some of us have been wiped from existence for all time. Is this not a sign that
it is time to act? How many more Golden Ones must lose the shining light
before a reckoning comes? You have heard my brother speak of many things, of
the warp and weft of existence, of reasons and truth and change, of the rising
and advancing of spirits. Yet at the last, it must come down to this: do we sit
proud and true and wait for the Night Walkers to bring their foul corruption to
our door-even to this hallowed place itself-or do we fight as we have done in
the past, for what is ours and for our place in the scheme of things? We aid these
Fragile Creatures in their task, and thereby aid ourselves. The greater questions
that trouble you need not be considered at this time. This is about the Golden
Ones, and the Night Walkers, and the age-old history of lies and treachery and
destruction that lie between us."

He paused as his voice continued to echo around the vast chamber. There
was no other sound; every god was listening intently to what he had to say. A
swell of hope filled Church's heart.

"The Golden Ones have always been fair-minded, and we have always come
to the aid of those who have aided us," Cernunnos continued. "These Brothers and Sisters of Dragons freed us from the privations of the Wish-Hex, and they
prevented an even more heinous crime being inflicted, one that might well have
wiped all of us from existence." Mutterings of disbelief ran round the hall.
"They acted freely, and without obligation, and the Golden Ones should repay
that debt. There is no longer the taint of the Night Walkers upon this champion. We are free to act at his behest." He paused once more and looked slowly
round. Briefly his appearance wavered and instead of the creature that Church
saw as half animal, half vegetation, there was something almost angelic, but it
was gone in an instant.

"I stand here with my brother, the two of us shoulder-to-shoulder. We say
the old ways of noninvolvement must end now. Risen and proud, the Golden
Ones were always a force to be feared. The time is right."

Complete silence followed his plea. Church's heart fell; his words had not
stirred them at all. He looked around frantically, wondering if he should speak
himself, but before he could decide, Baccharus had gripped his arm and was
leading him and Ruth out of the hall. "The case has been made," he whispered.

They were deposited in an annex where a crystal fountain gently tinkled. Baccharus refused to answer any of their questions, but they had only to look in each
other's faces to confirm their private thoughts: they had failed.

Baccharus returned to them an hour later. At first they couldn't read his face,
but when he was close it broke into a broad and unlikely grin. "They will ride
with you. The Night Walkers have been designated a true threat, and the
feeling is that an agreement of cohabitation is not enough. It is time to eradicate them completely."

Church jumped to his feet and hugged Ruth. "We did it!"

"We need to thank Cernunnos and Manannan," Ruth said.

"There will be time enough for that later," Baccharus replied. "The decision
has been reached. The Golden Ones will act swiftly and we must be away at
dawn. But first there is a ceremony to be enacted."

"What ceremony?"

Baccharus ignored Church and motioned to the door. In the chamber, Cernunnos and Manannan waited patiently on the floor, but around them were
gathered some of the highest of the gods, with only Dagda and those whose form
was most fluid still remaining in their old place.

"Your hearts are true, Brother and Sister of Dragons," Cernunnos said. "An
agreement has been reached that rings across existence. Not since the most
ancient times of your people has the like been seen."

He raised his right hand and the crowd parted to admit Lugh, leading four
of the younger gods. Each carried one of the ancient artefacts Church, Ruth and
the others had located to free the Tuatha De Danann from exile: the Stone ofFal,
the Cauldron of Dagda, the Spear of Lugh and the Sword of Nuada Airgetlamh.
Lugh himself carried the Wayfinder, the lantern with the flickering blue flame
that had pointed them in the direction of the mystical objects.

"The Quadrillax," Cernunnos intoned, "are yours once more. Use them well
and wisely."

Church could barely believe what he was seeing. The four objects were so
powerful, such a part of the traditions of the Tuatha De Danann, that he could
never imagine an occasion when they would have freely given them up. But he
could tell from the way the other gods looked to Cernunnos and Manannan that
he knew who to thank.

He bowed. "The Brothers and Sisters of Dragons thank you. And we shall
use them well and wisely."