Darkest Hour (Age of Misrule, Book 2) (44 page)

Tom sat cross-legged, rolling a joint, alone with his thoughts. Shavi was beside him, handing out the cans of beer when needed, ensuring the bottle of whisky never stayed in one place too long. When he had first returned to the camp, his face was grey and haggard, as if he was suffering from some debilitating illness, but Laura recognised the truth instantly. She knew in the dark woods he had encountered the thing that would never leave him alone, and she knew how deeply it had affected him, yet he never complained to any of the others about his private burden. She wished she had some of the inner strength that saw him through it. When the others weren’t looking she gave his hand a secret squeeze; his smile made her night.

The drink flowed freely, the conversation ranged across a variety of subjects: archaeology, drugs, music, films, sex, football, but nothing dark or threatening; it was a celebration of all the things that made their lives worth living.

Shavi became animated when the talk drifted on to some of the places they had seen in their travels: the wonders of Stonehenge and Avebury, infused with history, meaning and mystery, the rugged beauty of Cornwall, the joys of little seaside towns, the majesty of the Lake District and the Scottish Highlands.

“There is nowhere in the world that is richer in natural beauty than Britain,” he said. “Stories of the people live on in the shape of the hedgerows, in the cut of fields, in the landscape itself. The place is a living mythology, constantly changing with the weather. The fens in a storm, Oxfordshire in winter, London on a summer night. Mountains and marches, beaches and flood plains, rivers and gorges and chalk downs. Where else can you find all those in a short drive of each other?” He sighed, tracing his fingers along the soil. “There is magic infused in the very fabric of the place.”

“The history adds to it for me,” Church noted. “It’s not just about the beauty of the landscape. It’s the places where humanity and nature have interacted.”

“Exactly,” Shavi said passionately. “Which is why an industrial landscape can be as exciting as a natural one. It all comes down to single images, frozen in time. Step back, look at them, and you can see the magic instantly. Power stations gushing white clouds at sunset. Wildfowl skimming the glassy surface of the Norfolk Broads. People trooping home from the tube after work on a cold winter night, smelling cooking food, hearing music and TV noise coming from a hundred windows. Tractors rolling down a snow-covered lane.” They drifted with his lyrical words, conjuring up the pictures he described. “And that,” he said firmly, “is what the blue fire represents.”

The conversation came to an abrupt halt when Veitch saw the light. It floated among the trees like a golden globe, slowly and silently, almost hypnotic in their drunkeness. But they had seen too much to accept any phenomenon at face value; threats lurked in even the most mundane sight. Veitch leapt to his feet instantly, his sword gripped firmly. Church and Shavi joined him a second later.

“What is it?” Ruth whispered, but Veitch waved her silent.

The globe bobbed and weaved directly towards them, and as it drew closer they realised it wasn’t alone. They could hear a faint, melodious singing, and although they couldn’t understand the words, the music made them feel like they were filled with honey. The sword gradually fell to Veitch’s side. Only Tom remained alert.

A second later they spied the outline of two figures approaching through the shadows. The globe was a lantern one of them was holding to light the way. The singing grew louder as they neared, and it seemed like it was a song of joy with the world, of great experiences savoured, of drinking in all life had to offer.

Veitch’s languor disappeared the moment the two arrivals stepped into the light from the campfire. They were both of the Tuatha De Danann, their skin faintly golden, their features breathtakingly beautiful. They were obviously of the caste closest to humans, for none of them felt the squirming alien thoughts in their heads or experienced the warping perception caused by the more powerful of the gods.

One of the visitors had long, flowing fair hair and a face which seemed to permanently beam. The other looked more sensitive and thoughtful; his hair was tied in a ponytail. They both wore loose-fitting blousons open to the waist, tight breeches and boots like movie buccaneers.

“What have we here? Fragile Creatures? Alone in the woods at night?” The smiling one turned his open face from one to the other and they all found themselves smiling in return. “Do you not realise the seasons have changed? The dark is no longer a time for Fragile Creatures to walk abroad.”

“We are not as fragile as you think.” Tom stepped from behind Shavi to present himself to the visitors.

“True Thomas!” His smile grew broader, if that were possible. “We have missed your rhymes in the Far Country. How have you fared, good Thomas?”

“As well as could be expected, Cormorel, under the circumstances.” Tom gestured to the others. “You have heard of the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons?”

Cormorel looked surprised for an instant, but then the smile returned and he bowed his head, politely and formally. “It is indeed a great honour to meet the blood-champions of the Fixed Lands. The fame of the Pendragon Spirit’s vessels has extended even unto our home. Hail, Quincunx. The faithi have spoke proudly of the five who are one hero.”

Veitch surveyed the two new arrivals suspiciously, poised to move at the slightest sign of danger. Church was afraid Veitch’s barely contained rage would force an unnecessary confrontation, until he realised his friend was surreptitiously watching Tom for his lead.

“This is my good friend and fellow traveller, Baccharus,” Cormorel continued. The other golden one’s bow was more clipped than that of his colleague.

Church and the others introduced themselves hesitantly. Tom motioned to the campfire. “Will you join us?”

“Gladly, True Thomas. It has been too long since we enjoyed the company of people.” Cormorel pronounced the last word as if it were alien to him.

Cormorel and Baccharus sat together next to the fire, seemingly revelling in the event. Church took a position next to them with Tom on the other side, while the others gathered around the rest of the fire with varying degrees of discomfort; only Shavi seemed truly at ease.

Church picked up his beer to take a sip, then noticed Cormorel’s eyes following his hand. “Would you like a drink?” Church said. “Can you drink?”

“We can eat, drink, make merry in many ways.” Cormorel eyed Ruth and Laura slyly. “Of course, we may not appreciate the sensations in quite the same way as you Fragile Creatures. But it is the experience we seek, the keys to existence.” Church opened two cans for him and Baccharus, which they took gratefully. They sniffed the drink, sipped at it cautiously, then nodded to each other. “When we were last here there was something made of honey,” Cormorel noted thoughtfully. “This is more to my palate.”

“What brings you here, Cormorel?” Tom asked.

“We are reacquainting ourselves with the Fixed Lands, True Thomas. It always held a special place in our hearts. We have been denied its pleasures for too long.”

Baccharus leaned forward and said quietly, “Here, with your truncated existence, lives burn brightly. Experience is savoured. There is a potency which we find invigorating.”

“And you are all so much fun!” Cormorel added with a flourish.

“Glad we entertain you,” Veitch muttered coldly. If Cormorel and Baccharus noticed the offence in his voice, they didn’t show it.

“We are revisiting the places we knew before the Sundering,” Baccharus said, “but so much has changed. The air is filled with unpleasant particles. The water in the rivers is sour. Even the trees are in pain. I can hear the dryads whispering their distress as I pass. You have not fared well without us.”

“Things haven’t gone well on a lot of fronts,” Church agreed. Baccharus’ words touched a nerve with him that made him uncomfortable. Was humanity really better off when the gods ruled over them?

Cormorel suddenly noticed Ruth staring at him curiously. “What is it?” he asked.

“We don’t know anything about you,” she replied. “The only ones of your kind we’ve met before weren’t exactly easy to talk to.”

“And as you can see,” Cormorel said, raising his hands, “we are not all cut from the same cloth.”

“Tell us about you, then. About your people. Where you come from, what excites you.” Church recognised the incisive gleam in her eye; she was using her lawyerly skills to extract information which might be of use to them later.

“You are trying to define us in your terms and we cannot be defined. We simply are. A part of the universe and outside the universe, outside of time and all reality. We move among the stars, slipping between moments. As great as the fabric of existence, as fluid as thought.” He winked at Tom. “It is hard to know us, eh, True Thomas? However long you spend at our side.”

“But you seem comfortable with the way we perceive reality,” Ruth continued, undeterred. “Try to express it in terms which make sense to us.”

Cormorel nodded thoughtfully. “Then I will try to tell you of the glory and the wonder and the anguish and the pain. Of a race cut adrift from its home, condemned to wander existence for all time.” His voice took on a mournful quality which made their hearts ache; there was something in the way the Tuatha De Danann manipulated sound which had a dramatic effect on human emotions; Church wondered if this explained his confused feelings for Niamh. “We have always been the Golden Ones. There when the universe winked into life. And we will be there when it finally whispers out. Our storytellers spin vast accounts of our days when all was well with Creation and we resided in four cities of wonder. It is the arch-memory, the homeland, to which we all dream of returning. We have never found it in our wanderings.” His voice grew sadder still. “And I for one would say we probably never will. But the Far Lands, with their ebb and flow, and, strangely, the Fixed Lands too, are the closest in our hearts. And so we move between one and the other, and we stay and go, and we yearn. And though we remember our home and see the connections, we are always an echo away. That is our curse. Never to be at peace. We exist in the great turn of the universe. Our lives are lived at the heart of everything. And so our joys are great, and our sorrows too.” He fixed a sad eye on Ruth. “Can you understand what it is never to have the only thing that makes you whole? Without our home, we cannot understand our place in the scheme of things. We are bereft. That is our character.”

“That is everybody’s character,” Shavi said.

Baccharus began to sing in their lyrical, alien tongue; there was so much sadness in every syllable they felt as if their chests were being crushed by despair. Their heads bowed as one, and in that song they finally felt the true pain of the Tuatha lle Danann.

When the last note of Baccharus’ magical singing finally faded away, there was a brief moment of ringing silence, and then Cormorel brightened instantly. “Come. We have driven the sadness from our being for a time and now we are free to drink deep!” He raised his beer and emptied the can, letting forth an enormous belch. Church handed him another one, which he glugged eagerly.

“Now let me tell you of joy and wonder!” he continued. “Would you like to hear how our greatest warriors crushed the Night Walkers beneath their heel at the second battle of Magh Tuireadh? Or perhaps a personal tale of my great wassailing? Or perhaps something of the Fragile Creatures who preceded you?” He gave a strange, weighted smile that none of them could quite understand. “Not so fragile, some of them. For your breed at least. They did not accept us with kindness in the early days.”

“I heard they resisted you quite forcefully,” Tom noted.

Cormorel mused on this for a moment. “They were slow to appreciate the true order of things. They were, I think, quite brutal in spirit. There was something of the Night Walkers about them.”

“A matter of perception, I would say,” Tom persisted.

Cormorel didn’t seem offended by his tone. “We crushed them in the end, you know.”

Tom nodded. “Yet they still exert an influence. Knowledge encoded in the landscape for future generations to decipher. Information to be used to resist you.” Church and the others all looked at Tom, but he wouldn’t meet their eyes. “Their bravery is beyond question, but perhaps you have underestimated their intelligence. They were playing a very long game.” Tom let the words hang, but it was obvious he was not going to elucidate.

Cormorel maintained a curious expression for a moment, then shrugged as if it were nothing, but Church could tell Tom’s comments were still playing in his mind.

“Tell me why some of you are almost like us and some are just … unknowable,” Ruth said.

Cormorel smiled condescendingly. “None of us are truly like you.”

Baccharus held up his hand to silence his partner. “No, that is a good question. Some of us are very like the Fragile Creatures, if only in our joys and sorrows. How many of our brethren would take pleasure in this, here, tonight, around this fire? Yet to me this is a moment of great pleasure, to be savoured and discussed at length once we are back in the Far Lands.” He smiled sweetly. “We love our stories. They are the glue that holds the universe together.”

Tom bent forward to intrude in the conversation once again. “There is a hierarchy among the Tuatha De Danann. They have a very complex society which is layered depending upon the power they wield. At the top is the First Family. At the bottom …” He motioned towards Cormorel and Baccharus.

Church flinched; it sounded distinctly like an insult. Cormorel seemed to feel the same way, for he eyed Tom askance as he sipped his beer.

“Do you hold no grudges, True Thomas, for the time you spent with us?” he asked pointedly.

“I have learned to be at peace with my situation.”

Cormorel nodded. “That is not quite an answer to my question, but I will accept it nonetheless.” His smile grew tight. “Did you know, True Thomas, your Queen has returned to her court under Tom-na-hurich, the Hill of Yews? Your white charger still resides there, as vital as the last day you saw him.” His eyes never left Tom’s face.