Always Forever (10 page)

"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.