Always Forever (76 page)

The water began to rise soon after, a half-hour later it was up to chest height. He
was racked by convulsive shivers, drifting in and out of a fugue state brought on
by the cold. Gradually he became aware that the tunnel was becoming increasingly steep. By the time he had grasped how sharply it was falling away, his feet
would no longer give him purchase and suddenly he was sliding down. He barely
had time to take a breath before the water washed above his head, and then he was
rattling down an incline, faster and faster, until it became a vertical drop.

The rush of water burst out into thin air. He could vaguely feel his legs
bicycling as he plunged thirty feet into more water, deeper this time and
rushing in a torrent. One random thought flickered through his head: Ruth's
beautiful face as she told him about London's old River Fleet, now buried
beneath the city as it rushed down towards the Thames. And then the impact
stole his consciousness and the water closed over his head.

ave Sweeper was moored not far from Southend when Church came
sweeping down from the northwest with the remainder of the Tuatha Df
Danann force. The journey skirting Greater London and through the green fields
of rural Essex had passed in a golden blur. He was accompanied by Tom, the
Bone Inspector and Niamh, but he didn't recognise any of the other gods,
although he sensed many of them were not sympathetic to the cause of the
Fragile Creatures. He wondered why his particular task force was burdened with
more dissenters than the other two, but Tom wasn't too concerned when he
raised the matter.

On board it felt strangely good to be back in the familiar detachment of
Otherworld with its heightened sensations, away from all the suffering of the
real world. There was an atmosphere of stillness that eased the anxiety coiled in
his chest; even the sun was shining brighter than on the shore. He made his way
to the rail where he quietly enjoyed the tang of the sea and the warmth on his
skin, until Tom joined him.

"You're going to bring me down, aren't you?" Church said without looking
round.

"I'm the last person to advocate an injection of reality, but-"

"I know: responsibility, obligation, and all that. Is this the standard precrisis pep talk?"

"Something like that." Tom leaned against the rail, facing the sun, his eyes
closed. "You know, I can remember the days of my youth as clearly as if they
were yesterday. Hundreds of years-although it's not really, not by Otherworld
time. But it's still a long, long time and so many experiences." He took a deep
breath. "I smell the blossom in the garden of my childhood, so powerful, like
incense and fruit wrapped up together. I remember distinctly the way the sunlight caught the dew on a spiderweb in an old yew tree, one dawn when I had
crept out of the house before anyone had awoken. The rosewater on the neck of
the first woman I ever loved. The touch of her fingers on the back of my neck."
He shook his head dreamily. "Amazing."

Church watched Tom curiously. He had never heard him speak so tenderly,
nor talk of any of the happy times in his human life before his transformation at
the hands of the Tuatha De Danann Queen. It was as if he had wanted to keep
them secure from the horrors that had assailed him since.

"Now I begin, for the first time in many years, the memories come thick
and fast." Tom's eyes glistened in the sun. "Days of tenderness, composing songs
and poems. Nights watching the stars over the Eildon Hills. My mother and
father, at Christmas, leading the singing before the fire. My best friend James,
playing hide-and-seek in the kitchens, then later courting the girls from the village together." He turned fully to Church with no attempt to hide his tears.
"Remember your own bright moments, Jack, and hold them in your heart. They
will keep you warm in the coldest nights."

"Why are you telling me these things?"

"Nothing I could say would help you to comprehend right now. You will
understand everything presently."

Church tried to glean some insight from Tom's face, but he was taken aback to
see it was packed with complex emotions. For so long, Tom had appeared to have
no feeling in him at all; as inhuman as he always believed himself to be. It felt like
a sea change had come over him, even in the last hour. "What's happened to you?"

"Time has come a-calling. Finally."

Church could see he was not going to get anything out of the Rhymer; infuriatingly, his friend's unexplained words worked their way deep into his mind,
where they set off a troubling resonance.

While he wrestled with his thoughts, he scanned the deck where the crew
busied themselves for departure. The main Tuatha De Danann force had all disappeared below with their weapons. Manannan stood at the wheel, overseeing
the activity. He raised a hand in greeting when he saw Church.

"I hope you're telling him what a pathetic little runt he is." The Bone
Inspector's gruff voice shattered the mood in an instant. He leaned on his staff,
the wind whipping his grey hair.

Tom snapped, "No-"

"I was talking to him." The Bone Inspector nodded towards Church.

"Don't start with your useless prattling." Tom eyed him murderously.

"You may have been honoured by the Culture in the times of my ancestors,
but that doesn't mean I can't give you a good whupping with my staff." The
Bone Inspector underlined his point by twirling the staff around his arms as if
it were alive.

"Great. Two old people fighting," Church muttered. "It'll be like watching
your granny barge her way into the bread queue."

"Don't forget," Tom cautioned the Bone Inspector, "the Culture dies out
with you." He smiled sadistically.

"Well, that's where you're wrong. I've been making some plans-"

"Don't you think that's a little premature?" Church said.

"You shut up and concentrate on your job, you lanky-arsed weasel." The Bone
Inspector returned his attention to Tom, nodding superciliously. "Yes, I've been
thinking. Now the seasons have turned and all the materialistic, logic-obsessed bastards have had a rude awakening, it might be time for a reflowering of the Culture.
I can see the colleges now, maybe at Glastonbury and Anglesey, like we used to have
in the old, old days. Passing on the wisdom to a new generation of bright-eyed-"

"You think you'd make a good teacher?" Tom sneered. "After all that time
sleeping in ditches they'll need to hose you down with industrial cleaning fluid
just to get somebody in a room with you."

The Bone Inspector scowled. "At least I know my arse from my elbow."

"Yes, but do you know your arse from your mouth? I think not."

Church sighed and made to pacify them, but they turned on him so venomously he backed away. "Okay, go ahead, knock yourself out," he said tartly.
"Literally, if possible."

The bickering ended when Niamh walked over. Tom gave a restrained, deferential bow, but the Bone Inspector simply looked away, as if he were alone on deck
and lost in a reverie.

"The Master is preparing to sail," she said. She glanced round to ensure she
could not be overheard, then added quietly, "Taranis oversaw the arrival of a container brought aboard by Nuada's personal guard. It was stowed in a section of
the hold where access is restricted only to the Master and Taranis. Those faithful
to Nuada stand guard without."

"I think I saw it," Church said. "Was it a large wooden chest with bands of
iron around it and a gold clasp?"

"That may be how you perceived it." Niamh looked from one to the other.
"I believe it to be the Wish-Hex."

"They won't even let you near it?" Church asked.

She bit her lip. "I could attempt ... It would cost ..." She shook her head.
"No matter. There is too much at stake."

Church looked to Tom. "When do you think they'll detonate it?"

"When it's close to Balor and they're well away."

"Not on board ship?"

"Good Lord, no!" Tom looked horrified. "And lose Wave Sweeper? This isn't
just a collection of timber and nails, you know!"

Church took Niamh's hand and led her to one side. "I know this is hard for
you, working against your own people, but if there's anything you can do-"

"Do not feel you have to ask anything of me, Jack. I do what I do freely
because I believe in the rightness of this course. And I believe in you." She
looked down at where her slim, cool hand still lay in his. "You have changed my
existence, Jack. And to one of the Golden Ones, who are as constant as the stars,
that is a humbling and profound thing."

"I don't see how I could have, Niamh," he protested. "I'm nothing out of
the ordinary."

She leaned forward to kiss him gently on the cheek. "Things are coming to
a head, Jack. All will be made clear soon."

Her smile was filled with such deep love he was left floundering. She turned
and drifted away amongst the frantic activity of the crew, an oasis of calm and
dignity.

The ship hove to soon after and made its way into the Estuary. Though it still
remained a tranquil place, the strain on all who sailed was apparent. Tom
rejoined Church at the prow, looking around nervously. "Now if we can get to
that pep talk without any interruptions from that old curmudgeon ..." He
pointed to the makeshift rucksack hanging from Church's shoulder. "You have
the Wayfinder?"

Church removed the old lantern with the flickering blue flame that had
guided him through the earliest days of the mystery to show him. "But I don't
know what use it's going to be. I was thinking of leaving it here. I don't want
to be carrying any more weight than necessary."

Tom shook his head furiously. "There is still one talisman to find." His smile
suggested this was another long-kept secret he was relieved to be revealing.
"The biggest one of all."

"Where is it?"

"Somewhere near our destination. You recall when we summoned the Celtic
dead for guidance in Scotland? They said: You must find the Luck of the Land if you
are ever to unleash the true power of the people."

"Yes," Church said suspiciously, "and you said you had no idea what they
were talking about."

"At that exact moment, I did not. But it came to me soon after. There was
only one thing it could be."

Church bared his teeth. "And you didn't see fit to tell me until now?"

Tom shrugged dismissively. "The time was not right."

"Tom . . . "

"All right," he snapped. "I wanted only you to know. And I left it to this
late stage because I did not want you to confide in any of the others, as you
undoubtedly would have done with your various romantic liaisons," he added
sniffily. "And then it would have been all over the place."

"All right. No need to act like my granddad."

"It is my role to be-"

"All right, all right! What is the bloody Luck of the Land?"

"The Luck of the Land is the severed head of Bran the Blessed. He was a great
hero, and the closest of the Golden Ones to humanity. He knew about the destiny
of the Fragile Creatures and he was even prepared to sacrifice himself to see us achieve
it. The old stories tell how he was murdered by a poisoned arrow. On his deathbed,
he told his followers to cut off his head, yet even removed, it could still eat and talk.
It was brought back to London and buried beneath the Tower, where it became the
source of the land's power. Of humanity's power. Another myth said King Arthur
sought it out as the source of his own strength. You can see the symbolism."

"So it's linked directly to the Blue Fire? That's what all the Arthur myths
mean, isn't it?"

"Correct."

Church looked out at the quiet, dead countryside that bordered the river.
"But what can it do?"

"The Celts revered severed heads, believing them to have great magical
power. In their view, the head is the source of the soul. They knew the truth at
the heart of this legend. And don't forget ..."

"... myths and legends are the secret history of the land. I'll be happy when
I don't hear that phrase again."

"The head has great power, both in real terms, and symbolically. It encompasses everything you have discovered about the Blue Fire."

"So, in the day and a half we have left, we have to avoid Balor and about a
million Fomorii in the heart of their power, locate this head somewhere under
the Tower of London-like it's going to be just lying around ready to be picked
up-and then find some way to use it or activate it or whatever the hell you're
supposed to do with it?"

"Well, you didn't expect it to be easy, did you?" Tom said curtly. "If you
only had to waltz in there and chop off a head or two they could have got anyone
to do it."

"I'll take that as a vote of confidence," Church said moodily.

All that remained of the Thames Barrier flood defence system were columns of
concrete and twisted steel jutting out of the slow-moving water. It looked as if it had been smashed into pieces by a giant fist. The rubble just beneath the surface
formed a treacherous defence that would have sunk most ships coming up the
river, but Manannan's magical skill picked the only path through. It slowed them
down a little, but they were still on course to be in the heart of London by noon.