Always Forever (54 page)

In the trees, it was even cooler, but the air was beautifully scented with pine and
the tang of the mountain snows. Overheard, a stunning full moon glowed white
and misty butterscotch, framed by icy, glittering stars. His breath bloomed; a
shiver ran through him. Thankfully Baccharus had allowed him to bring the
lantern to keep the shadows at bay, although his movement made them jump
and recede as if they were alive. Pine needles crunched underfoot, but beneath
them the path was oddly well made, with large flagstones worn by age.

The first thing he noticed when he entered the copse was the soothing sound
of tinkling water. The path opened out on to a broad, still pool, black and reflective, with trees all around it. On the opposite side was a jutting rock, face down,
over which white water cascaded, churning the pool just beneath but obviously
carried away by some underground stream before it sent waves lashing out across
the surface. The air was heavy with a feeling of deep tranquillity, but as Church
stood and drank in the atmosphere, it changed slightly until he sensed something jarring uneasily just beneath it. As he gave in to his instincts he could feel
a dim electricity in the air, waiting to be awakened. This was the place.

He played the lantern back and forth and noticed the stone flags disappeared around the back of the waterfall. With anxiety tight in his throat, he
stepped cautiously around the edge of the pool, half expecting something to leap
out and drag him in. He paused briefly next to the waterfall before darting
behind.

It was like crossing over into a place completely detached from the other
world. It was a grotto, with barely formed stalagmites and glistening walls
where the lantern made a million sparkles dance, and reds, greens and yellows
shimmered in the wet brown of the rock. It was small, barely a couple of car
lengths across, and within lay another pool, a mirror image of the one without,
only without the waterfall the water was even darker. The flagstones gave out to
a small, rocky path that ran around the edge, at some points barely wide enough
to walk around. Echoes of gently lapping water rolled off the walls, distorting
but peaceful. He set down the lantern and kneeled to peer into the depths.

He expected to see the pebbled bottom of the pool easily, at least around the
edges near the lantern, but the black water appeared to go down forever. He
didn't really know what to do next. Baccharus had told him simply to wait,
stressing that "the pool would see" and know what was needed. Yet the surroundings felt so normal it felt silly sitting back waiting.

There was a certain odd oiliness to the quality of the water, so he reached
out a hand to stroke his fingers across the surface. At the last moment he withdrew; something was sending alarm bells ringing in his head. He slumped back
against the wall, hugged his knees and waited.

It was less than a minute later when he perceived-or thought he did-some
activity deep below. Now on all fours, he pressed his face close to the water's surface to get a better look. Something was swimming. The perspective it gave him
was shocking, for the pool went down more than twenty or thirty feet, and even
then he couldn't see the bottom. Whatever was there was striking out for the
surface. The lantern light brought reflected glints from its skin, at times silvery,
at times flesh tone. It was certainly a trick of the distorting effect of the water,
but it gave him the impression that the pool's inhabitant kept changing back
and forth from a fish to a human. Or was somehow both at the same time.

And still it rose, until it was obvious it was human, long arms reaching out,
feet kicking, but the face was still obscured by shadows. It covered the last few
feet very quickly, but stopped short of coming completely out of the water.
Instead, it hovered patiently, looking up at him, only an inch or two beneath the
surface, and in that instant he was overcome by a deep dread. The face he was
looking into was his own, his long hair drifting in the currents, only it was
changed very slightly, in the way the features were held or in some sour experience that had left its mark, so that it was darker in essence.

For long seconds they were locked in that connecting stare, and then there
was a flurry of rapid movement in the water. The Other-Church's arms shot out
of the pool, clamped on Church's shoulders, and before he could resist, dragged
him under.

In the shock, he didn't have time to grab a breath of air. The cold water
rushed into his mouth and up his nose before he clamped his lips shut and struggled frantically to push his head up above the surface. But though he fought
wildly, turning the pool into a maelstrom, his other self was far too strong. Further down it hauled him, and down even more, until the light from the lantern
was too dim to illuminate the water and his lungs seared from the strain. He
struck out futilely a few more times, the blows so weak they barely registered,
and then his mouth jerked open and the water flooded in, filling his throat, his
lungs. Fractured thoughts flared briefly in his mind, but the abiding sense was
that it wasn't supposed to be like that.

Except that one minute later, he realised he was still breathing; inexplicably. His
brain fizzed and sparked, somehow found a state of grace that allowed his
thoughts to grow ordered once more. He wasn't dead; he was breathing water.

The Other-Church released his grip, although his face still had that mean cast; Church thought how much older and unattractive a state of mind could
make him look. He signed for the Other to tell him what was happening, but
it gave an expression of slight contempt before turning and swimming away.
Church had no choice but to follow.

The experience had the distorting feeling of a hallucination. Briefly he wondered if he was dead and this was some final, random activity in his dying brain,
but then he noticed a strange sheen across the whole of the pool that resembled
the skin of a bubble. The Other swam into it, and through it; Church couldn't
see anything on the other side. He hesitated, then followed suit.

The bubble gave slightly as he touched it, then eased over his body, finally
accepting him with a slight give. Emerging on the other side, he was shocked to
realise there was no water at all; he was in midair and it was dark. Suddenly he was
falling, the water shooting out of his lungs. The sensation lasted for only a few seconds until he found himself standing on a broad plain covered in stubby grass,
beneath a star-studded night sky and ringed by black mountains. Before him was
a pile of rocks fused into a pillar that rose three feet above his head. The OtherChurch stood on the far side of the pillar, the same distance from it as he was.

"What is happening here?" His voice resonated strangely in the wide-open
spaces. As he spoke, the Other-Church mimicked him silently.

The pillar of stones began to hum with a low, bass note. Church couldn't
take his eyes off it; the atmosphere was heavy with anticipation. As the OtherChurch continued to glower at him, movement became visible within the pillar
and gradually a figure stepped out of the solid rock.

Church's stomach flipped. Marianne looked exactly as she had when she was
alive, not the gaunt, spectral figure sent by the Fomorii to torment him. His
shoulders sagged; conflicting emotions tore through him: doubt, terrible sadness, a touch of joy. "Marianne."

She smiled at him weakly.

"You're another hallucination of this place." He rubbed a hand across his
face, but when he looked back up she was still there.

"I'm here, Church. At least, a part of me, a part they couldn't get to. An echo."

Tears flooded his eyes. "Really?"

"Really."

He made to move forward, arms outstretched, but she held up a sudden
hand to warn him back. She shook her head strongly. "We can't."

"Why not?" Almost a plea.

"There are rules, Church. Things going on that you can't imagine, beyond
what you see here, or there, or anywhere. I can't tell you ... can't explain. I'm
not allowed."

"Not allowed by whom?" Her face grew still. She took a step back towards
the pillar. "No! Okay, I won't ask any more about that!"

She smiled, brighter this time. "It's good to see you, Church."

For a brief while, he couldn't see for the tears. "Thank you," he choked as a
delaying tactic, "for the contact you made in the house ... on Mam Tor ... The
writing ...

"I had to do something, Church. I couldn't bear to see you so broken."

"You could see me?" No answer. "Okay ... the part of you the Fomorii
have-"

Her face darkened; she hugged her arms around her, a mannerism he
recalled her doing when she was distraught; when she was alive. "It feels like it's
tearing my heart out."

His voice grew rough and fractured. "I'm going to save you, Marianne."

Her expression was, if not quite patronising, then certainly pitying.

"I am." Reassuring at first, then defiantly: "I am."

His emotions felt they would break him in two. He wanted to ask her about
her death, about who had killed her, how bad it had been, whether she had really
suffered as he always imagined, but looking into her face where the Marianne he
loved still resided, he couldn't bring himself to do it. There were a thousand
questions, but his overwhelming desire was for the one thing every bereaved
person wished for above all else, but could never, ever achieve: to tell her how
he truly felt.

As he was about to speak, she silenced him with a raised finger. "I know how
you feel, Church, and I always felt the same about you. You were the only person
I ever loved."

He covered his eyes.

"I know your thoughts now, Church. I know your hopes. And that's a good
thing, truly. In the days that follow, remember that. And I know about Ruth,
and that's okay. She's a remarkable person. You've made a lot of silly mistakes
since I died, but she was the right one. You stick with her, she'll stick with you."

A sob choked in his throat. "I miss you."

"I know. But you should have learned a lot of things by now. That nothing
is truly fixed in the Fixed Lands." Her use of words he had heard before brought
him up sharp. He blinked away his tears and started to listen. "You see things
from your own perspective, but in the broad sweep of existence, things look very
different. When you know the rules, everything changes. Things are switched
right around when they're put in context: what seems a bad experience becomes
good, good, bad. I can't explain better than that at the moment, but you can't
judge now, Church. Just accept things, and know there's something more."

"I know, I do."

"But sometimes it's hard."

He nodded.

"Feel it, don't think it. The Age of Reason is long gone."

"I feel so tired, Marianne. I want a rest from all this."

Her smile grew sad. "There won't be any rest, Church."

"I heard that before."

"It's true. No rest. But there'll be a balance. You'll know why there's no rest,
and though it'll be hard, it'll make you feel good to know that what you do is
valuable."

"Life's good as long as you don't weaken."

She laughed, and he was surprised at how wonderful it sounded, even in that
place. "That's the kind of person you are, Church. A good person. Someone for
people to look up to-"

"You haven't been watching very closely over the last few months, have
you?" Church moved around the circle a few paces to get away from the glowering stare of the Other-Church, but it matched him pace for pace.

-you shoulder your burden and still focus on what's important in life. It
won't grind you down. Life's too good."

He shrugged. His surroundings had started to intrude and so he asked,
although he didn't want to, "What are you doing here, Marianne?"

"You called me."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you just don't know you did."

He turned his thoughts over rapidly, trying to make sense. "I'm here to get
rid of the Fomorii corruption that's eaten its way into me from the Kiss of Frost
that you-that Calatin made you-give me. That's why I'm here. At least, I
think that's why. Nothing makes sense any more. Nothing ever has."

There was movement in the shadowy distance, high above the mountains,
against the sky. At first he thought it was clouds, but it looked briefly like a
Caraprix, only enormous, hundreds of feet larger than the tiny creatures the
Tuatha De Danann and the Fomorii carried with them. It was gone so quickly
he could easily have dismissed it as a bizarre hallucination, except that he was
convinced it had been there. The part of his back brain that always attempted
to make sense of what was happening told him he had glimpsed something of a
much larger truth, although what it was, and why the Caraprix felt so at home
in that place, was beyond him.

"Church." Marianne called his attention back. "The symbolism is bigger
than the reality. In the wider sweep of existence, symbols tell the truth. I'm the cause of all your misery, Church. I'm what's holding you back from achieving
your destiny. The stain of the Night Walkers is minor compared to that, and it
wouldn't even be there if I wasn't holding it in place."