Always Forever (78 page)

The tunnel was rough hewn, dripping with water that ran in rivulets along the
edges. It was only wide enough for two people to walk side by side, though the
ceiling was high enough to accommodate the Fomorii bulk. It sloped down
quickly into deep shadows. Tom lit a torch they had brought with them, as did
one of the Tuatha De Danann.

Then, when they had all steeled themselves, Church and Tom led the way,
with the Bone Inspector close behind and the rest coming up at a distance as if
they were barely connected.

When the tension of entering enemy territory had ebbed a little, the
thought that had been troubling Church the most rose to the surface. "I've just
been talking to Niamh," he whispered to Tom. "I got a hint she knows what's
going to happen."

"They all do."

"I don't get it. How does that work? Even you, you're always talking darkly
about what the future holds like you know it inside out."

Tom said nothing, but Church wasn't prepared to let it lie. This was
fundamental.

"If everything is set in stone," he stressed to get a reaction, "what's the point?"

"It isn't like that."

"Then what is it like?"

Tom sighed. "It is beyond your perception."

"Then put it in simple terms. For a stupid old country boy." Church thought
about adding a few choice words, but decided it would be unproductive.

"Those who can see the future-although that's really not the right term for
it-see it as a series of snapshots, not as a movie. Sometimes there is no context.
Sometimes the photos are out of order. Reading meaning in them is a dangerous
business. You recall, I described it once as catching glimpses from the window
of a speeding car."

"But it's still fixed."

"Nothing is fixed. Anywhere."

Church cursed quietly. "Just give it to me straight, instead of packaged
around your usual-"

"Everything can be changed by the will of a strong individual. One man.
Or woman. There are no rules, not at the level the great thinkers of humanity
examined, anyway. Only the illusion of rules. The future runs right on like a
river, but it can be turned back by someone with the right heart and drive and
state of mind. What the old storybooks laughingly call a hero. The Tuatha De
Danann pretend they know everything that's going to happen and that has happened, pretend it even to themselves, but you can see from the way they've been acting in the last few hours that in their hearts they know the truth. What they
perceive might not turn out to be the way it appears, or perhaps they have
missed part of the equation. Or perhaps someone like you will come along.
There is a reason for free will, jack."

Church thought about this for several minutes. It gave him a deep feeling
of comfort, although he couldn't quite tell why. "Then you don't really know
anything."

Tom remained silent for a long, uncomfortable moment. "That's not quite
true. Some things are so weighed down by the monumental events around them
that they might as well be set in stone."

However much Church questioned him about this, he would say no more.
But Tom's words had set other thoughts in motion. Barely daring to ask, he said
firmly, "Do you know who's going to betray us?"

Tom kept his eyes fixed firmly ahead.

"You do, don't you?" His anger rose quickly. After all the months of worry,
Tom could have told them at any time. "Why didn't you say something? You
know it could mean everything might fall apart! You've got to tell me!"

"I can't." Tom's face was unreadable.

"Even with the potential repercussions? Why not? Do you want to see us
suffer?"

Tom rounded on him furiously. "Of course not! I can't tell you because
there's too much that might be changed."

"How long have you known?"

"I've always known."

"Always?"

"Always. And if you'd been paying attention, you would have known too."

The words were like a slap to the face. In the space between seconds, a million memories flashed across his mind as he turned over everything he had seen
and heard over the previous months. Had he missed something? Had he screwed
up again? "I guess I'll know soon enough," he said with bitter resignation. "I
just hope you can live with yourself when it comes out."

The tunnel followed an undulating path, the changes in the air pressure telling
Church it regularly ran under the river. He had taken to holding the Wayfinder
permanently aloft so the walls were painted with a sapphire wash. The tiny blue
flame gave him a measure of encouragement in that dark place, and raised the
spirits of Tom and the Bone Inspector too. The flame pointed dead ahead.

"Why didn't it lead us to the head before?" Church asked.

"Because it is responding to what you hold in your heart," Tom replied.

"It's alive?"

"As much as anything can be said to be alive, yes."

When they'd been walking an hour or more, the Wayfinder flame began to grow
brighter. At the same time, the unnerving background beat became rapidly
louder. Within ten minutes it was coming through the walls all around-BADOOM, BA-DOOM-a war drum marking their passage to disaster.

Two and a half hours later, the tunnel rose up, while at the same time becoming
more formed, with props and stone lining the walls. The Wayfinder's flame had
started to point away from the main route of the tunnel so that when they came
to a large oaken door Church was prepared for it.

"Looks like we're here," he said. The door was locked, but Caledfwlch sliced
through the rusty iron mechanism easily. Church looked around at the others.
Tom and the Bone Inspector were grim faced, the Tuatha De Danann impassive,
Niamh concerned and colourless; they all nodded.

He yanked open the door.

It felt like they had walked into a foundry. After the chill of the tunnel, the
heat was stifling, the air suffused with the smell of acrid smoke that caught the
back of their throats. The thunder of Balor's heart was almost deafening.

The stone walls and flagged floor suggested they were somewhere in the
lowest level of the Tower of London. The Bone Inspector breathed deeply,
despite the atmosphere. "Can you feel it? Ancient power, even though those bastards have tried to pervert it. I haven't been here for years-too many people.
Should have come back sooner." He looked at Church. "This place was sacred
long before they threw up this mountain of stone over the top of it. If any place
can be called the heart of the country, it's here."

The Tuatha De Danann set the chest containing the Wish-Hex down in the
middle of the room. "What is in that box?" Church said mockingly. Nuada's
lieutenant didn't reply, didn't even acknowledge he had spoken. Church caught
Niamh's eye as he turned back to the others and she gave him a secret nod. "We
need to move quickly," he continued. "They might already know we're here-"

"The Wayfinder will blind Balor's perception to you, at least for a while,"
Tom said. "And if you hadn't brought the energy flow back to life at St.
Michael's Mount you wouldn't be here at all."

Church made to follow the lantern's flame until he saw the Tuatha De
Danann were not moving. "We shall wait here," Nuada's lieutenant said.

"I'd say we've got even less time than we thought," Church said under his
breath to Tom and the Bone Inspector as they left the room.

The seething heat had them all red-faced and soaked in sweat before they had
got very far along the maze of once-dank corridors. Church had visited the
Tower before and had never seen any sign of that area, so he guessed it must lie
beneath the zone normally open to the tourists. He had the Sword at the ready,
but the entire lower level was deserted.

"They're all up top throwing rocks at the boat," the Bone Inspector said, but
Church wasn't convinced.

The Wayfinder led them to a short corridor that ended in a dead end. At first
sight there was nothing out of the ordinary, but then Church allowed his perceptions to shift until he could see the lines of Blue Fire running through the stone
like veins, converging into the circular design of a serpent eating its own tail. He
steeled himself, then placed his hand hard on the pattern. The wall ground open
to reveal a shaft plunging down into the earth, the bottom lost in shadows.

The Bone Inspector leaned in to inspect it. "There are handholds cut into
the stone." He tucked his staff into the back of his shirt and levered himself over
the lip. "Don't know why they made these things so bloody lethal. One slip and
there'll be a mess on the floor."

The Bone Inspector had disappeared from view and Tom was just about to
follow when they heard the faintest sound behind them. They spun round to
find the corridor filled with Fomorii. And at the head of them was a frantically
fluttering mass of crows.

Church had sheathed Caledfwlch to open the doorway, but it was back in his
hand in an instant. Before the first Fomorii could move, he was advancing
quickly, swinging the Sword back and forth in an arc. His target was Mollecht,
the leader, the most powerful. Faced with the enemy, the Sword was even more
alive in his hands than he recalled. Its subtle shifts of weight forced his hand in
different directions to make the most exacting of strikes, while at times he felt
it squirm so hard it almost leapt from his fingers.

But before he had gone three paces, the Fomorii had closed around Mollecht
to protect him. They were obviously aware of Caledfwlch's abilities, but they
showed no sign of self-preservation at all. Church carved through them as they
flooded forwards ceaselessly, the bodies falling then shrivelling to nothing at
each cut of the blade.

Sweat rolled off him as he hacked and lunged in the sweltering heat. Eventually he began to make some headway. Soon he could see Mollecht once more, directing the Fomorii silently. It was enough to drive him to renew his efforts.
He hit one high, spun round and caught another low, and then took out three
with one blow. And then Mollecht stood before him once more.

But the hideous creature was prepared. As the final Fomorii fell away, Church
saw the birds moving aside to open a hole that revealed the entity inside; his mind
was as unable to accept it as the first time he had witnessed it at Tintagel. The
energy inside the hole was already swirling and on the brink of erupting.

Tom thrust Church out of the way. The blast hit the Rhymer full on and
within a second the blood was starting to seep through his pores. Church had
no time to help. The Sword was tugging at his hand, as aware of the opportunity as Church himself. Mollecht had drained himself. It would be a moment or
two before he had the strength to make another attack, or even to defend himself. The hole was already closing. Church drove the Sword horizontally towards
the centre of it. The creature would be skewered, finally.

The dark shape exploded out of nowhere. Church only caught the briefest
glimpse out of the corner of his eye before it slammed into him with force,
knocking him to the hard stone floor. Caledfwlch went flying from his grip.

"Do I have to do everything round here?"

The voice stunned Church just enough to hamper his reactions, and by that
time a figure had jumped on to his chest, pinning his arms over his head. He
found himself looking up into the monstrous black-veined face of Callow. He
was gloating in every fibre of his being.

"I want your finger, Mr. Churchill, and I want it at the knuckle. I've decided
to make a necklace," Callow said gleefully.

And then the Fomorii were all around him, swamping him in darkness.

Church came round in a place that was dark and so unbearably hot he thought
he was going to choke. Twisted leather bonds bound him to a splintered table
fastened to an iron gear system that angled it forty-five degrees from the
upright. Aches and bruises buzzed in his limbs, but beyond that he was in one
piece. Scant, scarlet light was provided by a glowing brazier in one corner. As
his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, he saw with a sickening chill where he
was. Cruel, sharp implements hung from a rack on one wall, reminding Church
how adept the Fomorii were at torture.

The thought was knocked aside by the blunt realisation that he had failed,
at the very last, after so many obstacles had been overcome; and that it wasn't
even he alone who would pay the price. It was all of humanity, everyone he had
ever loved.

He tore at the bonds until he was disturbed by a low groan away to his right. The figure lay like a bundle of old rags in a slowly growing pool of blood.
The moonlight glow of his skin, tinged blue at his fingers, told Church he was
dying. "Can you hear me?" Church asked gently.

There was no reply or movement for a second or two and then Tom tried to
lever himself up on his elbow before slipping back. He made two more attempts
and then managed to roll on to his back so he could look at Church. His face
was covered with blood still seeping from his pores. Church felt a wash of
despair.