Always Forever (56 page)

Barely able to contain himself, he walked over to the sword that was resting
on a cushion of strange, shimmering material. He had once seen it as a rusty,
crumbling artefact. Now it gleamed as if it were made of silver and gold, and
looked as sharp and strong as if it had just been forged. A shiver of anticipation
made him pause before his fingers closed on it. But then it was in his hand and
once again the power rushed through him; it felt warm and alive, comforting,
against his skin. "Now we'll see some justice," he said in hushed tones.

Church sheathed the sword in a leather scabbard presented to him by Baccharus,
while Ruth took the spear that she had used to such good advantage when
freeing Cernunnos from Fomorii control in South Wales. The other artefacts
were placed in a golden box that the young gods would hold until directed by
Church.

Once they were on their own in their room, Church dragged Ruth on to the
bed and hugged her tightly. "A result," he grinned, "on every front."

"So where's that familiar pessimism? Come on, you're the man who manages to drag misery from every victory."

"I'm still pragmatic-I know it's still going to be near impossible. But at
least we have the two things we need: the support of the Tuatha De Danann and
the Quadrillax. That's a chance, and I'm going to seize it with both hands."

"Oh, get away from me. You're not the real Church. You've been possessed
in that mysterious pool." She playfully attempted to push him away, before
relaxing so he could fold into her. "Go on, there's got to be something on your
mind." The flicker across his face gave her answer. "Spit it out."

"Okay, there's one thing that worries me, and it's a big thing." He rolled
over so he was lying next to her, staring at the ceiling. "Everything was tidied
up nicely on the ship, except for one thing. You've seen the Tuatha De Danann.
You know what they're capable of. And now they have the Wish-Hex."

ater began to flood in around Laura as she shivered in the cold beneath
the insipid dawn light. The Bone Inspector attempted to force the rag
back into the hole, but it only made matters worse. "We're going to go down
like a brick," he hissed.

"I can get a bit further if I throw you overboard." She leaned up just
enough to peek over the rim. They hadn't even made it as far as the Dartford
river crossing. Nearby, gleaming mudflats lined the bank. There was no movement anywhere, nor was there any sound, not even birdsong. The stillness was
unnatural.

"If we drag it over to the side, we might have a better chance of plugging
it up again," she hissed.

The Bone Inspector grunted before rolling over the side into the waist-deep
water; he appeared oblivious to the cold. Laura allowed him to drag the boat
close to the flats before she jumped out to help it across the last few feet.

Once they'd beached it, the water drained out and the Bone Inspector could
attempt the repairs a little easier. But it was soon apparent why the previous
owner had abandoned the craft. As the Bone Inspector worked the rag in tightly,
his hand went right through the bottom, taking out a chunk of rotten wood
about a foot square.

"You ham-fisted git!" Laura slapped a shaking hand over her eyes. "Now
what do we do?"

The Bone Inspector ignored her attempts at blame. Quickly surveying the
area, he pointed toward some streetlights beyond an expanse of waste ground.
"The Fomorii may not have spread this far out of the city. If we proceed cautiously, it would be quicker to use the road to put the city behind us."

Laura wrapped her sopping arms around her. "All right. But you go first."

The wasteland had been used as a dump. Burst dustbin bags lay around amidst
broken bottles, empty milk crates, a burnt-out car and decaying furniture. It smelled of chemicals and excrement. The road beyond was deserted, apart from
a jackknifed petrol tanker.

"Looks safe," Laura mused after ten minutes in the shadows of the hedgerow.
"Shall we chance it?"

"No choice." The Bone Inspector sniffed the air, then stepped out on to the
pavement.

They'd gone only a few yards down the road when Laura experienced a
prickling sensation. Looking back quickly towards the city, all she could see
were a few birds swooping in the grey sky. She attempted to dismiss the nagging feeling, but if anything it was growing stronger. She took a few more paces
and only then realised that since she had woken in the charnel house she had not
seen any birds at all. With a shiver of dread, she turned back.

The dark smudges had moved much closer in the seconds between looks,
and now she could see they were far too big for birds. Their uncanny speed held
her rapt for a few seconds and by then she could see they were winged Fomorii.
"Shit. I didn't know some of them could fly."

The Bone Inspector turned at her strained voice, before grabbing her arm to
propel her back the way they had come.

"Away from them!" she yelled.

"There's no cover." His voice was remarkably calm, although his body had
dropped into a low, loping posture that reminded her of a hunting wolf.

He was right; their only chance was to attempt to hide and hope the
Fomorii couldn't see where they were going, but there was hardly anywhere in
the flat open landscape.

The only place in view was the jackknifed tanker. It offered little protection,
but if they could crawl beneath it they might be able to scurry into the ditch
beyond where the Fomorii would have trouble reaching them. In the heat of the
moment Laura didn't have time to consider how sickeningly short-termist that was.

The Fomorii had the terrifying speed of jet fighters. The tanker was still
yards away when the wash of driven air buffeted Laura and the Bone Inspector.
There was a smell like rotting meat and what sounded like a power drill. Their
peripheral vision was filled with constantly changing horrors; a deep, arctic
shadow fell across them. The Bone Inspector knocked Laura to the ground and
threw himself across her.

They both felt the breeze as the Fomorii tore through the space where they
had been. Despite his advancing years, the Bone Inspector was on his feet in an
instant, hauling Laura up behind him as if she weighed nothing.

Amidst the frantic activity and danger, Laura was surprised to find an area
of deep serenity in which she could step back to observe herself. What she saw surprised her: just weeks ago she would have been paralysed by fear. Instead she
felt calm and focused and, if it hadn't sounded so incongruous, brave.

She was thrown out of the moment by a hard impact to her right shoulder.
Relieved that the Fomorii had missed clubbing her to the ground she continued
a pace before an object came flying past her to skid across the road. It was an
arm. Her arm.

The shock of the sight brought her to a halt. Her vision wavered a second;
impressions rushed towards the front of her mind, but didn't coalesce. She was
dimly aware of several shapes converging on her.

The Bone Inspector was in her frame of vision, yelling something she
couldn't hear. A second later she was being lifted across his back as he ran the
final few yards. They dived beneath the tanker as the road erupted at their heels.

Laura came out of her daze, aware of a dull ache at her shoulder. She didn't
look at all. Shards of metal clattered across the road as the Fomorii tore frenziedly
at the side of the tanker to get at them. "Keep moving," she croaked. "I'm fine."

The Bone Inspector cast a searching eye across her face, and then scurried
into the ditch. Laura followed, keeping low, feeling brambles tear at her face and
hair, not really caring.

The Fomorii continued to attack the tanker. "Stupid bastards," Laura said
under her breath.

The two of them had managed to crawl three hundred yards away when the
inevitable happened. The tanker went up in a massive explosion that rained
burning debris all around them. They had just crawled in a culvert that ran
beneath the road as the hedgerow disappeared in a blur of flame; trees turned to
charcoal and the field beyond disappeared in red and yellow smoke. For a second
or two, Laura couldn't breathe, until fresh air rushed in to fill the vacuum. Her
ears rang from the blast.

She slumped back against the culvert, suddenly convulsed in tremors. The
Bone Inspector was at her side in an instant, ready to bandage her shoulder with
his shirt. When he paused suddenly, she gasped, "I know. Green blood."

"And not much of it." He pressed the shirt against the protruding socket
joint and torn arteries. Despite his comment, it quickly grew wet.

"It had to be the right one," she said miserably. "Now I'll never beat Veitch
at darts." Her attempt at humour sounded pathetic. She let her chin slump on
to her chest, listening to the roar of the inferno.

"We'll rest here for a while," the Bone Inspector said. "We'll start moving
again when the fire dies down."

"Good idea," Laura murmured. "I feel so tired." She closed her eyes and
drifted away.

"I'm just saying it's bad strategy, that's all." Veitch finished up the last of his
plate of rabbit stew hungrily and eyed the black pan on the old range with a
measure of hope. Through Tom's judicious herbal treatments, he had recovered
from the shock of the amputation and appeared back to his old irascible self, a
piece of white cloth he washed obsessively was tied around his stump.

"Ryan is our strategist, after all." After his dinner of steamed vegetables,
Shavi gnawed on a raw carrot, his dessert, much to Witch's disgust.

Tom furiously dunked his homemade bread in the last dregs of gravy. Before
he could launch into a bad-tempered tirade, Davenport, the farmer who had
taken them in earlier that day, poked his head round the door. He was wearing
a dirty, shapeless hat and old coat, protection against the evening chill as he finished up the last of the jobs around the farm. "Everything all right, lads?"

"It was a very enjoyable meal, Mr. Davenport," Shavi said. "Our compliments to your wife. And we offer you our thanks for feeding us, when we have
nothing to offer in return. We know there are shortages-"

Embarrassed, Davenport waved him quiet. "We've got enough to go round.
I'd be worrying if I was one of the big boys. They won't know what to do now
they can't get hold of their pesticides and chemical fertilisers. But I've been
organic for a few years now, so, cross fingers, we should be all right for a while."

His wife, Rowena, pushed in next to him. She was in her late thirties,
attractive, though weary looking. "Go on, Philip," she said, nudging her husband in the ribs, "ask them."

"I'm not going to ask them." Davenport shifted uncomfortably.

"If you don't, I will."

He sighed with irritation. "The wife wants to know if you're the heroes-"

She slapped him on the arm. "Don't say it like that!"

He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "If you're-"

"Oh, get out of the way!" She pushed past him. "People are talking about a
group of men and women going round the country trying to put right this awful
thing that's happened. The farmers have been talking about it for weeks. They
keep saying how some of these people helped out a farmer down in the West
Country who'd got one of those spooks or goblins or whatever in his house.
That's the story, anyway. But then we heard it from somebody else ... a woman
in the village. She's part of this parish pump news grapevine that's being set up
to let everyone know what's going on. And one of the stories passed down the
wire was about this group up in the north somewhere who fought against all those horrible things and saved an entire village. And they were doing all sorts
of other . . . " Her voice faded away as she realised she was starting to ramble. She
looked at her husband and added, "And yes, they did call them heroes. Said they
could do things no other people could do. Said they were special."