Always Forever (81 page)

Shavi gasped in amazement. As the abundant flora became thicker, the
Fomorii were driven back and a path formed within the greenery, now stretching across Parliament Square. "Can you keep this up?"

"Not for long. It's knackering. But I can do it enough to get us through the
worst of it. Then, I'm sorry to say, we'll have to run. Unless you can call up some
badgers." She looked up finally and smiled with pride at her achievement. It was
quickly replaced by a dark determination. "Okay," she said. "Let's go."

They glimpsed the carnage the Wild Hunt, the Dark Sisters and the Morrigan
were inflicting on the Fomorii forces, but then they were across the Square and
heading along the Embankment. After all the choking smoke of the city, the
aromas of the vegetation were invigorating, and died away too soon, but the
streets beyond were empty and Laura was already growing weak.

Shavi put an arm round her shoulders to support her as she shakily came to
a halt in the middle of the road. "I'll be fine in a moment." She could already
feel the Blue Fire working its wonders in her limbs. "You know what? If we get
through this, I think I'm going to come back and turn the City into a garden."

Shavi gave her a hug, but he knew as well as she that the chance of them
coming back were still very slim. Ahead of them lay the deep shadow cast by
the ominous black tower rising out of the east. With a shiver that had less to do
with the cold, they moved into it.

The journey through the tunnels to Tower Hill tube station passed in a blur.
Before, Ruth had found that when she was using her new abilities she became
so focused the real world was almost a distraction. Now the power was sucking her further and further from life into a place that was like a waking dream,
where she could do anything; where the power defined her completely.

But as she gradually made her way up the frozen escalators, she began to slip
back to how she had been. The realisation of the near-fugue state that had taken
her over terrified her, as did its implications, but it was wiped away in an instant
by her disgust that she was standing amidst a carpet of brown, writhing bodies
that stretched as far as she could see. She closed her eyes briefly to compose herself, then continued on her way, but she couldn't help her shudders every time
one brushed its cold fur against her feet.

Whatever she had done to control the rats began to diminish with her
return to awareness and by the time she reached the top of the escalator they had
begun to thin out. A few torches flickered in the ticket station, but Ruth was
puzzled that she couldn't see any daylight. As she approached the doorway she
realised the tower she had seen from Hampstead Heath had been built over the
top of the tube station. The door that normally led out to the gardens overlooking the Tower of London now exited directly into a dark structure constructed out of compacted steel and melted plastic. In the walls amongst the
twisted girders and building rubble, she could make out bits and pieces of the
things that had been used in the building: computers, cash registers, mobile
phones, cars and vans and motorcycles, part of a London bus. It was suffocatingly
hot and filled with what sounded like some mining machine pounding away
rhythmically nearby.

Broad steps ran up and down, with warren-like rooms on either side. She
hesitated, unsure which way to go. A wave of panic flooded through her. Earlier
she had sensed Church had made it, but what if he was now dead? What if she
was the only one left? The responsibility was so vast she could barely comprehend it. What was she supposed to do?

As she agonised she caught sight of a faint blue glow above her that ignited
a desperate hope. Holding the Spear before her, she took the steps two at a time.
Her heart beat faster as she almost stumbled across the remains of several
Fomorii, and then she rounded a corner into an intense blue light.

Church and the Bone Inspector were climbing ahead of her. She was shocked
to see the illumination was streaming from what appeared to be a severed head,
hanging by its hair from the same hand in which Church held the Wayfinder.

When he saw her his face broke into such an open expression of relief she
had to run over and throw her arms around him. He held the head and
Wayfinder away, although she didn't sense any danger from them. "Where's
Ryan?" he asked.

"I don't know. Don't know if he's alive or dead."

"He'll get here if it's humanly possible," Church said confidently.

"Tom?"

Church's expression told her all she needed to know. Her spirit sagged. "I
thought he'd go on forever."

"This isn't the place to stand around talking," the Bone Inspector said
curtly.

They began to move cautiously back up the stairs. Occasionally one of the
Fomorii would wander out of an adjoining room, only to be dispatched in an
instant by Caledfwlch or by a flash of searing energy from the head.

"I presume you know where you're going," Ruth whispered.

"No. But if you stop and let yourself feel, you'll know you're going in the
right direction."

As he spoke she realised she could sense a palpable pressure in the air that was
slowly squeezing the life out of her chest; and it was getting stronger the more
they climbed. A corresponding feeling of dread was eating away at the edges of
her mind; all she could think of was the hideous thing she had seen during her
spirit flight from Wave Sweeper. "What are we going to find?" Her voice suggested she hoped for some comfort, although she knew there would be none.

"I always expected it to be something like Calatin or Mollecht, only bigger.
But I don't think it's going to be anything like that at all."

"Worse?"

"What do you think?"

"Hasn't Frank got a song for an occasion like this?"

"Yes, `Get Happy.' As the lyric goes, Get ready for the judgment day."

"Thanks. That's dismal."

"No, no, it's positive. Really. We're going to the Promised Land."

There was something so naive about him, even in the face of such terrible
surroundings, Ruth felt a surge of love. "We'll get out of this," she said gently.

Her words were lost as a shadow crossed Church's face. "Did you hear that?"

She hadn't heard anything.

Church was suddenly consumed with anxiety. He dashed up a few steps and
threw open a door on the outside of the tower. It was empty apart from piles of
burning rubbish before irregular windows looking out over the Thames. Flying
Fomorii were zipping around without, diving down on something that was
below their range of vision. A tremendous shock rocked the entire tower. Liquid
flame gushed past the window.

Church tried a door on the inner wall of the stairway. It was locked. "I've
got to look in here," he said anxiously.

"We haven't got time," the Bone Inspector replied harshly. He was contin ually peering up and down the stairs for any sign of attack. "It's already
morning. The gates will be opening in a few hours."

"There's time for this." Church tried to force the door.

"I told you not to be so stupid. The hour's almost here!" The Bone Inspector
made to drag Church away, but Church knocked his blackened hand off. They
squared up to each other.

"This isn't helping," Ruth pleaded. "Why is this room so important?"

Raw emotion flickered across his face. "Marianne's in there. I heard her."

Ruth stepped in before the Bone Inspector could began a rant. "You have to
let him do it," she begged. "There'll still be time."

After a moment, the Bone Inspector relented. Overcome with apprehension,
Church stepped back and levelled the Sword at the lock. It burst with a
resounding crack and the door swung open.

The room was not like any they had seen before. It was spacious, about fifty
feet square, with smooth walls lined with black stone. A single torch burned on
the far side. The flagged floor had been marked out with an intricate pattern of
lines and geometric shapes, along with bizarre symbols that suggested an alien
language. The effect of the relationship of the various elements was so intensely
disturbing it made Church's head spin. A large block of black stone stood in the
centre of the design, and on it was a stoppered green-glass bottle.

"Be careful." The Bone Inspector held out a hand to stop Church stepping
over the threshold. "Don't go blundering in."

Church scanned the room one more time. "Can't see anything that might be
a problem. What makes you worried?"

"Instinct."

Church fixed his eyes on the bottle. "That's it. That's where she is." He set
down the head and the Wayfinder, but held on to the Sword. "I'm going to have
to chance it."

"Bloody stupid. All this at stake and you're taking risks," the Bone
Inspector muttered.

"It's an obligation to someone I loved. Don't you understand that?"

There was a long pause before the Bone Inspector replied quietly, "Maybe."
Then: "Get a bloody move on! Time's running out!"

In the room the temperature was inexplicably below freezing. Church's
breath clouded, his body protesting with shivers after the intense heat. Church
let his foot hover over the design, but couldn't think of any other way to reach
the bottle. Slowly he brought it down.

"You okay?" Ruth called out.

"Fine. No problem." He took another step.

"Just keep that big head and big mouth in check," the Bone Inspector
growled. "And stop dawdling."

As Church took the third step, he felt a strange tingling sensation in his
extremities. Ruth noticed his surprised reaction. "What is it?"

"Nothing. Just the cold. It's like the Arctic in here."

With the next step, he lost the feeling in his fingers and toes. He shook
them for warmth and was surprised to see them glisten in the torchlight.

"Tread ... careful-" The Bone Inspector's voice was oddly distorted before
disappearing completely. Church was too fixated on the bottle to be concerned
about it. All he could think about was Marianne and everything she'd suffered
because of his unwitting involvement in the events now being played out. He
had made her a promise to free her spirit and he would not fail; his own redemption was tied up in his success.

The words of warning and encouragement from Ruth and the Bone
Inspector had ended; they must have realised he was doing okay.

Several more steps passed unnoticed, so much did the bottle fill his mind.
Memories of Marianne and the time they had spent together traipsed across his
head until the black stone chamber almost faded from his perception. He was
there with her, happy, as they always had been.

It was only when he realised he was having trouble moving forward that he
jolted back to reality. What he found was so shocking it took him a few seconds
to assimilate. His arms and the parts of his body he could see were strangely
white. His dulled thought processes eventually told him the truth: he was covered in rime frost. It sparkled across his limbs, so thick his joints would barely
work against it. Even his eyelashes were heavy with the weight of it, shimmering so that he found it hard to see past the glare.

If he had not had the Blue Fire coursing through him, he would most certainly have been dead; even now he was close to it. If he turned back there was
still a chance he might actually survive. Yet the bottle was only a couple of paces
away. How could he leave when he was so close? He couldn't abandon Marianne.

In his mind, there was no choice. He forced another step. Almost there. He
couldn't feel any of his body now; his mind was disembodied, recalling a dream
of being trapped in a person. Oddly, that helped him. With no physical sensations to distract him, his thoughts were pure and strengthened. He slipped
easily into the perception where he was aware of the Blue Fire, and was surprised
to see that even in that awful place the spirit energy still flowed, though much
weaker.

By force of will, he drew some of it to him; a little but it was enough. He
took the final step and swept the bottle off the stone with the back of his hand. It shattered on the floor to release the gentlest breeze; he could feel it even
through the thickening frost. With it came the scent of a woman he once loved,
of a hot day in the Caribbean and a warm night on a boat on the Thames when
they had kissed. And something else: the faintest touch of an intelligence, like
a lover reaching out to reassure themselves their sleeping partner was still there
in bed, still breathing. It was a small thing, but filled with so much. Church felt
enormous gratitude that swelled his emotions, and admiration for him and his
abilities, and forgiveness; and love, but not the love of a young couple, a spiritual thing that sent his soul soaring.

Emotions that had been held in stasis for so long finally rushed through him;
it felt like someone had plunged a hand deep within him and dragged out every
shadow, every shred of misery, every tear. The burden that shifted left him as light
as air. Finally, an ending for something that had manacled him for so long.

She was free. And he was finally free of the burden her death had placed
upon him. A tear squeezed out of the corner of his eye and burned a path
through the white down his cheek.

After that the getting back was easy, despite the cold and the weight of the frost,
both of which appeared to be increasing. The shock of the heat outside the room
made him lose consciousness for a moment, and when he came round he was
lying on the floor, his clothes soaked, with Ruth wiping his face. Her concern
was unmissable, but it faded when he forced a smile.

"It was the Kiss of Frost," he said, recalling the Fomorii spell that had
almost destroyed him on the Isle of Skye. "Mollecht had obviously left it there
for me, knowing I'd undoubtedly attempt to free Marianne's spirit. To remind
me of how I screwed up last time. His final malicious act."

"Well, you showed him, didn't you?" She brushed his hair away from his
face. "How do you feel? About Marianne?"