Jack of Ravens (54 page)

Church watched them for a while, mesmerised. For those moments he felt an abiding peace that he had not experienced since childhood. It was with great reluctance that he continued to the door at the end of the corridor.

This new room was dark, and unlike the rest of the court had walls of studded iron. In the centre hovered a globe formed from interconnecting blue lines, which shifted every now and then so that the globe took on new dimensions and warped perspectives. After Church had studied it for a while, he decided it was a representation of how the Blue Fire ran through reality.

And there, on a platform scattered with instruments whose use Church couldn’t divine, sat the lamp. Church felt an ache in his heart as it tugged him towards it.

‘You may take it.’

Church started at the voice. Behind him stood a red-robed figure with aristocratic features, a high forehead, piercing grey eyes and a Roman nose. His long, grey hair was tied in a ponytail. Church could sense his authority.

‘You’re Dian Cecht.’ Church cautiously lowered his hand to Llyrwyn, knowing that if he chose to fight he would not escape the court alive.

‘That is the name by which I was known by the tribes of your people.’ He smiled warmly. It was difficult to reconcile his benign appearance with the horrors Church had witnessed.

‘You can’t be allowed to carry on with what you’re doing here,’ Church said.

‘And how far would your kind go if you were faced with the annihilation of your race?’

‘Don’t tell me this is all a response to the Army of the Ten Billion Spiders. You’ve been doing this for a long time.’

‘A race can die in many ways. By annihilation in one devastating attack or by the slow attrition of stagnation.’ He motioned to the lamp. ‘Your kind
were chosen to be the receptacle of the Pendragon Spirit, not mine. We, who have always been at the heart of Existence, were not considered to be champions of Existence. At the moment you are Fragile Creatures, but soon you will supplant us. And what then for the Golden Ones?’

‘So you’re going to torture us? Try to stop us reaching our potential, is that it?’

‘Here in the Court of the Final Word we try to understand what makes a Fragile Creature so valuable to Existence. What is Existence? And can we shape it to our will?’

‘The simple fact of what you’re doing here shows you will never understand.’

Dian Cecht considered this for a moment as he searched Church’s face.

‘There is a more pressing problem. The Enemy has changed everything that lies ahead – nothing now is fixed. Soon, very soon, your people will be enslaved, the rising and advancing of their spirit halted. And my own people will be eradicated. That cannot be allowed to happen.’

‘Then you have to find a way to work with us.’

‘Perhaps.’ Dian Cecht smiled. ‘Take the lamp. I had hoped to plumb the depths of the Pendragon Spirit, but its mysteries still elude me.’

Keeping a wary eye on Dian Cecht, Church took the lamp. It felt warm and soothing to his touch.

‘You still do not trust me. That is understandable.’ The god went over to a stone column that reminded Church of the Wish-Post in the Court of Peaceful Days, but this one glowed with capillaries of blue energy. The Blue Fire lies behind everything we know … behind time and space, which are but the thin skin stretched across it,’ Dian Cecht continued. By moving into the medium of the blue energy, it is possible to alter everything. To reconstruct reality from the smallest particle.’

‘Who could do that?’

‘Why, someone in whom the Pendragon Spirit burns strongly. Fire and fire, one within, one without, one and the same. You
are
the Blue Fire. I believe that locked inside you is the very thing for which I have been searching, and which I have failed so completely to find.’

Church felt uneasy at the way Dian Cecht was looking at him.

‘You are the key. Once you discover how to turn the lock, anything is possible. You could save my people by altering what is to come.’ Dian Cecht shook his head, bemused. ‘The Golden Ones, in the hands of Fragile Creatures.’ The god turned to the stone column. ‘This Wish-Post is unusual. It is one of my small successes. It allows you to see what your heart desires across the spread of Existence. But for anyone whose will is strong enough it allows travel to that time and place.’

More trickery
, Church thought – Dian Cecht knew exactly what Church wanted and was tempting him. Yet he wanted it so badly, he
couldn’t hide it. He could join Ruth immediately. He could save her, help the others.

‘Will you try?’ Dian Cecht said.

Church stepped forward, knowing he could not pass up the opportunity, whatever his doubts.

‘Be warned – when the opportunity arises you must step through the doorway swiftly, for it will not maintain its integrity long. Do not waste time on thought.’

Church looked into the Wish-Post and felt it shift and look back. ‘Go on.’

Blue energy burst briefly like a camera flash, and when his vision cleared he was looking at a reflection of himself in a blue mirror. The reflection faded to be replaced by Shavi, only now he wore an eye patch and his face was spattered with blood. He looked disoriented and anxious.

‘Shavi?’ Shavi looked startled. ‘I’m Jack Churchill … Church.’

Shavi’s eyes widened. Church? You must come quickly. You are the only one who can help—’

‘I’m coming.’ He prepared to walk into the blue rectangle.

‘Laura is dead,’ Shavi continued. ‘Ruth, too. They are going to bring him back, Church. They are—’

‘Ruth’s dead?’ The words hit Church like a hammer blow. Reeling, he staggered back. The blue light faded, the moment lost. ‘Ruth’s dead?’ he repeated. It felt as if everything inside him was crumbling to dust.

Dian Cecht stood impassively, his hands behind his back. ‘Love is the source of all hope,’ he said, ‘the absence of love the source of all despair.’

9

Black thoughts filled Church’s head as Dian Cecht led him into a gleaming atrium. In one corner, a man cowered.

‘Tom?’ Church said.

The Rhymer looked ten years older than the last time Church had seen him.

‘We found True Thomas wandering beyond the walls,’ Dian Cecht said. ‘How could we not offer such an old friend our hospitality? True Thomas has revisited many acquaintances and many fondly recalled parts of the court.’

Church helped Tom to his feet. The Rhymer was shaking. ‘Are you all right?’ Church asked him, concerned, but Tom couldn’t find a voice to answer. Dian Cecht showed them to the door.

‘You are both friends of the Court of the Final Word and I hope you will feel free to return at any time.’ To Church, he said, ‘And you, Brother of
Dragons, have seen and learned much this day. I hope it enriches your life and guides you on your future path.’

Church and Tom left without a backward glance. The despair that had infected Church’s heart so long ago spread quickly through his system. He thought of Eleanor Dare and her daughter, victims of an uncaring universe that heaped suffering on good people, and he considered how powerless he had been to prevent their fate. But more than anything he thought of what he had seen in the Court of the Final Word. Its horrors ate through his mind, beating down any hope he had for a better world. The sheer scale of the pain inflicted dwarfed any goodness that glimmered in humanity. Hope was an aberration. That sick cruelty was the true state of being.

By the time they had set off on horseback, the black despair had infected every part of him. ‘Everything I’ve done has been pointless,’ he said. ‘I might as well have died in Carn Euny.’

Tom said nothing.

‘We need to make a detour on the way back.’ Church urged his horse on into the night.

10

At the Court of Peaceful Days, Rhiannon welcomed Church and Tom warmly. ‘You come to look into the Wish-Post?’ she said.

Church shook his head. I want to return this.’ He held out Llyrwyn.

Puzzled, Rhiannon took the sword and weighed it in her hands. ‘Very well. I will keep it safe until it seeks out another owner.’ She looked at Church with concern. ‘You seem changed, Brother of Dragons. Is all well?’

‘No,’ Church replied. ‘And it never will be again.’

11

Days passed dismally in the Court of the Soaring Spirit. Church mourned, and wrestled desperately with his memory, but it would not give up its ghosts. In the end, he was left with a terrible heartache, but no remembrance of good times to light up his grief.

Then, one evening, Tom came to him with Niamh. ‘I’ve had enough of this,’ he said. ‘Without you, it’s all a waste of time. I just want to make the most of what few days I’ve got left. I’m going home.’

Church considered this, and said, I’ll come with you.’ He glanced at Niamh. ‘If you’ll let me.’

‘Of course.’ A deep sadness shadowed her eyes. ‘I will come, too.’

‘But what about your responsibilities here in the court?’ Church said.

Niamh bowed her head. ‘I have given up my throne. The first queen to turn her back on her court in the long history of the Golden Ones.’

‘Why?’

She smiled sadly. ‘Because it is the right thing to do.’

‘I was hoping for a bit of free time,’ Tom said sourly, ‘but it looks as if I’m going to be wiping your snotty noses for a while longer.’

As he turned away, the others didn’t see his smile.

1

Neshoba County, Mississippi, December 1963

The radio played bluegrass while men in short sleeves with fists like hamhocks and bellies like barrels drank from the bottle and played cards for nickels. Church, Tom and Niamh huddled around a table in one corner, their clothes sweaty and the dust of the road coating their boots.

Niamh looked transcendentally beautiful in a floaty cotton dress. Tom had decided to grow a beard and had adopted a down-at-heel beatnik chic. Church barely noticed any of the changes that had come over his travelling companions, or any of the towns they had passed through during the last week. Ruth’s death haunted him day and night, and he was starting to feel as if he would never get over the empty-headed, hollow-hearted feeling.

‘Those men keep staring at me,’ Niamh said, puzzled. ‘Are my clothes not correct for this time and place?’

‘They’re perfect,’ Tom said. ‘You’d better start getting used to it.’

‘Church?’ When he didn’t respond, her hand sought out his and gave it a warm squeeze.

‘Sorry. I was miles away.’

‘Where do you want to go next?’

‘Does it matter?’

Tom pulled a collection of flyers from his haversack. ‘I like the look of this San Francisco.’ He studied the information, as he had done many times over the past week.

‘One place is as good as the next,’ Church said.

The door swung open and an intense young man of around eighteen stepped in hesitantly. He had a sensitive face emphasised by large brown eyes that took in detail quickly.

The barman bristled. ‘I told you—’

‘I’m just looking for someone,’ the teenager interjected.

‘I know who you’re looking for, and you won’t find her in here. Or any of her kind.’

The teen opened his mouth to protest, then resigned himself to an exasperated silence.

One of the men chuckled as he checked his cards. ‘You had J. Edgar Hoover round yet about those Little Green Men?’

The teenager’s cheeks flushed. ‘It wasn’t Little Green Men.’

‘Aliens killed Kennedy!’ Another of the card-players brayed with laughter.

The teenager stalked over to their table. ‘You can laugh all you want. There was a conspiracy.’

The men continued to mock loudly. Niamh leaned into Church and whispered, ‘Who is Kennedy?’

‘Used to be the president. Assassinated last month in Dallas. A lot of people who didn’t have a voice loved him. A lot of people with conservative views hated him.’

‘It was the same in the Court of Alexander of Scotland,’ Tom said. ‘Politics and conspiracy go hand in hand.’