Always Forever (7 page)

She shivered at the thought of what lay ahead, but before she could begin
to consider the depth of her fears, she half-caught a movement that snapped her
out of her introspection.

Something was outside her window.

Church awoke, irritable and out-of-sorts, with a nagging in his subconscious.
The storm still rampaged across the seafront, but there was another sound he
knew had been the cause of his waking: an owl's shriek mingling with a highpitched mewling that set his teeth on edge. He was out of bed in an instant,
pounding along the landing towards Ruth, his mind flashing back to all the
blood in her room in Callander.

At her door the mewling was so intense it made his stomach turn. Without
a second's hesitation, he put his shoulder to the door.

Wind and rain gusted into his face through the windows hanging jaggedly in their frame. Shattered glass crunched underfoot. Outside, Ruth's owl emitted
a hunting shriek. An impression of a grey wolf at bay formed in one corner, but
then the image coalesced into something smaller, but just as frightening: a dark
figure like a black spider. Even the quickest glance increased Church's queasiness.
It was obviously a man, yet there was something sickeningly alien about it too.

When he turned to look at Ruth he saw her face was so cold and hard with
brittle rage she was a different person. She was hunched back near the bed, her
hair flailing around in the wind, one hand moving slowly before her as if she
were waving to the intruder. Inches from her palm the air was gelatinous,
moving out in a slow wave to batter her assailant with increasing pressure.
Whatever she was doing, the creature's mewling turned into howls of agony. It
clutched a hunting knife and looked torn between throwing itself forward to
stab her and fleeing.

Ruth's concentration shifted slightly and her power flagged. The eyes of the
creature took on a murderous glow as it attacked, screeching. Church was rooted
in horror; Ruth didn't stand a chance.

Her brow knitted slightly, her hand made one insistent cutting action and
the intruder collapsed in an unconscious heap.

Filled with questions, Church moved towards her, but when her head
snapped in his direction a chill ran through him. She was still caught up in the
intensity of the moment, fury locked in her face, so much that she barely recognised him. Her hand lifted, ready to strike out.

"Ruth!"

It took an uneasy second or two for recognition to seep into her coldly glittering eyes. "The bastard thought he could take me unawares again." Her voice
was drained of energy.

Cautiously, Church approached until he was sure the Ruth he had seen earlier had departed. It wasn't the time to voice his doubts. Instead he asked,
"What is it?"

She levered herself off the bed and crossed the room. "What is it?" she
repeated bitterly. To Church's discomfort she launched a sharp kick at the prone
figure. "He's the bastard that cut off my finger." She held up her hand to show
him the mass of scar tissue that marked the missing digit. "The bastard that
delivered me to the Fomorii and put me through weeks of hell." She used her
foot to roll the intruder on to his back. "Callow."

Church started when he saw the figure's face for the first time. It was indeed
Callow, but so transformed he was almost unrecognisable. The wild silver hair
and dark, shabby suit were still there, but his skin was as dry and white as parchment across which the veins stood out in stark black. Although he was uncon scious, his lidless eyes continued to stare; in his gaping mouth they could
glimpse the dark of rotting teeth.

"My God, what have they done to him?" Church knelt down to inspect him,
but the sour stench that came off the once-man made him pull back.

"Careful. He'll be awake soon."

They bound him tightly in the old fishing net that had hung on one wall, then
waited for him to come to his senses. It was unnerving to watch his constantly
staring eyes, not knowing if he was still unconscious or slyly watching them,
but a slight tremor in his facial muscles gave away his waking.

"I ought to kill you," Ruth said.

"Do it. Put me out of my misery." He looked away. Tears had formed in the
corner of his eyes, but unable to blink them away, he had to wait for them to break.

"Don't try to make us feel sympathy," Ruth sneered. "You drained the well
dry a long time ago."

"I don't want sympathy, or pity, or any other pathetic emotion." It was the
voice of a spoiled child. "I want you dead."

The curtains flew up like a flock of birds as another gust of wind and rain
surged in. "We were very generous to you when we first met," Church said.

"I wouldn't look like this if not for you. I wouldn't be on my own, neither
fish nor fowl. I can't move amongst people any more, and Calatin will no
longer-"

"Calatin's been wiped from all existence by one of his own kind." Church
watched the confused emotions range across Callow's face.

After a moment he began to cry again, slow, silent, juddering sobs that
racked his body. "Then there's nowhere for me!"

Unmoved, Ruth turned to Church in irritation. "What are we going to do
with him?"

The sobbing stopped suddenly. Callow was watching them intently. "Little
pinkies!" He started to giggle at this. "Five fingers, and I'm taking them one at
a time, to pay you back for raising your hand against me! I took your finger, did
I not, girlie? Your life should have followed, but I can rectify that, given half a
chance. And I have another finger in my collection, too."

It took a second or two for his meaning to register, and then Ruth flew
across the room in fury. "What do you mean?"

The black veins tattooing his face shifted as his sly smile grew wider. "One
little pinkie, one little life-"

Ruth cut his words short with a hefty blow to the side of his head. Church
caught her wrist before she could repeat the assault.

"Temper, temper." Callow's overly theatrical voice was incongruous against
his hideous appearance. Yet when he looked into Ruth's face his arrogance ebbed
from him. He muttered something to himself, then stated, "The long-haired
Asian boy, the one as pretty as a girl-"

"Shavi." The word became trapped in Ruth's throat.

Callow nodded soberly. "He's dead. Most definitely. I took his life, and his
finger, in Windsor Park."

That last detail was the awful confirmation; Windsor Park had been Shavi's
destination in his search for the solution to Ruth's predicament.

Ruth walked to the shattered window where she stood in the full force of
the gale, looking out into the night, hugging her arms around her as if to protect her from her sadness. She was such a desolate figure Church wanted to take
her in his own arms to comfort her. Instead, he turned his attention to Callow.

The twisted figure giggled again like a guilty schoolboy. Church's overwhelming sorrow began to transmute into a hardened rage. It would have been
the easiest thing in the world to ease his emotions by striking out, but he controlled himself.

"I feel sorry for you," he said to the hunched figure.

That seemed to surprise Callow, who looked upset and then angry. "The first
of five!" he raged. "You'll all follow!"

Church slipped his arm round Ruth's shoulders; she was as cold and rigid as
a statue. The rain was just as icy and stung his eyes shut, but he remained there
with her until she slowly moved closer to him.

"Poor Shavi," she said quietly.

Church recalled his friend's deep, spiritual calmness, his humour and love
of life. Shavi had been a guiding light to all of them. "We mustn't let it drag us
down," he whispered.

Ruth dropped her head on to his shoulder, but said nothing.

They rose at first light after a night in Church's bed, trying to come to terms
with Shavi's death. Although they had known him for only a few months, he had
affected them both deeply. They felt they had lost much more than a friend.

The seafront was awash with puddles and scattered with the debris
deposited by the gales, but it was brighter and clearer than any morning they
had experienced since Lughnasadh, with the sun rising in a powder-blue sky and
not a cloud in sight. It felt strangely hopeful, despite everything.

Ruth's room, where they had bound and gagged Callow, was reassuringly
silent as they passed. No one else was up at that time so they ventured hesitantly
to the kitchen for breakfast. Aware of the shortage of food, they toasted a couple of slices of homemade bread each to take the edge off their hunger. While they
ate around a heavily scarred wooden table, Church surveyed the jars of tea and
coffee on the shelves.

"I wonder what's happening in the rest of the world," he mused.

"I thought about this." Ruth eyed the butter, but resisted the urge. "We get
the analogues of Celtic gods because it's part of our heritage, our own
mythology. Do you think they got Zeus in Greece, Jupiter in Italy, some Native
American gods in America, Vishnu and Shiva or whatever in India? The same
beings perceived through different cultural eyes?"

Church shrugged. "Possibly. What I can't figure out is why Britain is the
battleground."

"With communication down, anything could be happening. The rest of the
world might be devastated for all we know."

Church couldn't take his eyes off the coffee and tea, things taken for granted
for centuries. "The global economy will have crashed. There'll be death on a massive scale famine, disease. No international trade at all. Even here in the UK
we've forgotten how to feed ourselves locally. What about in less-privileged areas?"

"Let's look on the bright side: at least all the bankers and moneylenders will
be out of a job."

His laugh was polite and humourless.

"Best not to think about it." Ruth watched him from the corner of her eye
while she chewed on her dry toast, trying to see any signs of the melancholy that
had debilitated him too many times in the past. "Creeping death is the last
thing we need to worry about. Everything could be over in the blink of an eye."

"You're right." He stood up and stretched.

"I always am. You should know that by now. It's my hobby." She finished
her toast and tried to ignore the rumblings that still came from her belly. "We
need to decide what we're going to do with Callow."

Church cursed under his breath. "I'd forgotten about that bastard."

"We could execute him." She appeared to be only half joking.

Church forced a smile that faded quickly. "We can't leave him here. These
people have enough problems without a psycho like that around. And if Ryan
and Tom are still alive he'll just go after them-"

"We can't take him with us!"

"We don't know we're going anywhere yet. If we do find the ship, we might
be able to do some good for him. I'm going to try to get the Fomorii shit cleaned
out of my system. Maybe we can do the same for him-"

"Do some good!" she said incredulously. "The bastard murdered Shavi!
Almost killed Laura." She showed him the gap between her fingers.

"I know, I know." He waved her protestations away. "But still. Keep your
friends close and your enemies closer, they say."

Ruth grunted in grudging agreement, but as she rose from the table she
muttered, "I still think we should execute him."

"You sound more like Laura every day."

The morning was brittle, but filled with the warmth of a good summer. The air
had the salty tang of seaweed and fish. In the daylight, Mousehole was quaint
and comforting, hunkered up against the rugged Cornish coastline. Church and
Ruth herded Callow along the deserted seafront, the half-man keeping his
peeled-egg eyes away from the brilliant light of the sun. Church was disturbed
how the creature had begun to grow into his new form; his manner of walking
had become almost insectile in the way he skittered in and out of the gutter, a
little too fast, a tad too angular.

"You make a bolt for it, I'll boil those freaky eyes out of your head," Ruth
said calmly. "You know I can do it."

Church eyed her, not sure if it was within her new powers, which were as
mysterious to him as the sea, a feeling she did nothing to dispel. Callow flashed
her a brief glance that suggested he would kill her, given half a chance.

"What do we do when we get there?" Ruth asked.

"We call out for the ship to come to us." It sounded so stupid, he winced.
He wished Tom were there. Despite the Rhymer's brusque and generally
unpleasant manner, Church missed his wisdom and his knowledge about all the
new, strange things that had found a place in the world.

The information they had found in the pub pointed them in the direction
of Merlin's Rock. As Callow scuttled ahead of them, Church couldn't shake the
ludicrous image of the world's most bizarre couple out walking their dog.

Ruth glanced at the white-rimmed waves before flashing a teasing smile at
Church. "Better get calling, then."

"Your trouble, Ruth, is you're too straitlaced to let yourself go," he said
wryly. "You should unbutton a little."

"I'll take that on board, Mr. Black Pot."

Callow started to edge away, sure the others couldn't see his subtle movements. Church grabbed the collar of his jacket and hauled him forward so he
teetered on the edge over the choppy waves. "Enjoy the view. You might never
see it again."

"You can't make me go!" Callow protested.

"I can't make you swim, either, but I can put you in a position where you
have no choice."

"You don't understand! Those wretched golden-skinned creatures will
detest everything about me. They'll make me pay for what the Night Walkers
did to me, and it's not my fault!"

"They don't care too much for me either," Church replied. "Thankfully I
don't give a toss what those inbred aristocrats think. They might believe they're
better than us, but they're not, and given half a chance I'll bring that home to
them."