Darkest Hour (Age of Misrule, Book 2) (51 page)

Veitch removed his trousers and his shorts. He was very hard, aching for her. A shiver ran through her. He seemed filled with vitality, as if the blue fire burned in every cell, nuclear fission raging out of control, ready to consume her.

She took his hand and pressed him towards the floor. When he was sitting with his legs out in front of him and his hands behind, she climbed astride him and gently lowered herself on her taut leg muscles, gripping his erection in her fist and feeding it into her. His hardness was shocking; it seemed to go in so deep she felt it was almost in her chest. She wrapped her legs around him and supported herself on her hands behind her. Her heart was thundering, the passion crackling through every fibre of her.

“Don’t move,” she said. “This is the hard part. The aim is to achieve orgasm without moving, through meditation, directing the energy. I’ve had some guidance how to do it. Normally it takes a long period of training and discipline. Do you think you can do it?”

“I can try.” He closed his eyes, his body rigid, still.

Ruth took the opportunity to scan his features; in relaxed mode there was a surprising tenderness to his expression, almost an innocence. In that moment she could imagine how he would have turned out if not for the privations of his early life. And then she lowered her gaze to the startling colours of his torso: the Watchtower was there, swimming in a sea of stars, some kind of sword, a bulky creature in an insectile armour that made her feel so uncomfortable she moved on quickly, a strange ship skimming blue waves, a burning city and, most disturbingly, a single, staring eye which she knew represented Balor.

She put all thoughts out of her mind, leaned forward and kissed his clavicle. A slight shiver ran through him. She moved up, kissed the curve of his throat. Then up further to gently brush his lips. She felt his erection throb inside her.

Leaning back, closing her own eyes, she focused her sharp mind in the way the familiar had told her, the way she had practised during those long, terrible hours of imprisonment. It came to her with surprising ease. She felt the world moving beneath her, the shifting of subtle energies deep in the rock and soil. Whatever Church had done in Edinburgh had worked. The Fiery Network was slowly coming to life, breaking through the dormant areas, joining up the centres that had remained powerful, like blood filling a vascular system. She saw in the darkness in her head the flicker and surge of the blue fire as it ran in the earth, came up through the ground, through the walls of the building, along the floor, burst in coruscating sapphire into the base of her spine. And gradually it started its serpentine coiling up towards her skull.

Time was suspended; they had no idea how long they were there. Their very existence was infused with the dark, shifting landscapes in their heads, the feeling of the engorged blood vessels in their groins. Veitch fought the urge to thrust, although every fibre of his being was telling him to drive hard into her. Her vaginal muscles seemed so tight around him, massaging him gently. Even with his eyes closed he was aware of her body as if he was staring at it: the flatness of her belly, the heaviness of her breasts, the hardness of her nipples, electric sexual signals driving into the depths of his mind.

And then everything came in a rush, the blue fire suddenly crackling up the final inches of their spines, erupting in their heads like the birth of stars; every nerve bursting with fire, rushing back down to their joined groins. Veitch ejaculated in such a fierce manner he felt as if his life was being sucked out of him. The sudden crackling current inside Ruth’s vagina danced jaggedly to the tips of her fingers and then to the front of her brain. Their orgasm brought a fleeting moment of blackness that felt like the end of everything.

And in the following instant, Ruth was consumed with a power she had never experienced before. It felt like she was flying high above the earth, deep into the depths of space. And there she saw the thing that had the face of a man and the face of an owl simultaneously, and it was frantically tracing a strange sigil in the air with its hands, desperate to keep her at bay.

“I cannot come near you,” it said in its half-shrieking voice. “You are tainted. Seek help now. Seek help or die.”

She fell into Witch’s arms and he held her tightly while their thundering hearts subsided. But Ruth couldn’t enjoy the warm honey glow that infused them both in the aftermath of their passionate experience. She pulled herself back and looked Veitch deep in the eye; he was horrified to see the fear shining brightly within her.

“Something’s gone badly wrong,” she said in a fractured voice. “What the Fomorii did to me under the castle … it isn’t over. It’s still going on inside me.”

They dressed hurriedly and found the others sunning themselves on the steps in front of the pub while Tom finished his cider.

“Where did you two scuttle off to?” Laura asked suspiciously.

Ruth turned straight to Tom and Church and began to explain her fears, and for the first time told them about the black pearl. Her heart sank as she saw Tom’s face at first darken and then blanch.

“Why didn’t you tell us this before?” Tom hissed.

“It was too traumatic!” she protested. “I could barely get my head round it myselfl” She tried to look him in the eye. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know. But it was a ritual the Fomorii carried out. They wouldn’t have done it without a reason.”

“You have your suspicions,” Ruth pressed.

“I have ideas, but it’s best not to say them right now. Not until I’m sure.”

Tears stung Ruth’s eyes. “It’s going to get worse, isn’t it? I thought the sickness was just a natural result of all that trauma. I thought it’d pass.”

Church stepped in and put a comforting arm round her shoulder. Both Laura and Veitch flinched. “What are we going to do?” he said to Tom.

Tom took off his glasses and cleaned them while he thought. “She needs to be examined by one of the Tuatha De Danann. They are the only ones who might reasonably be able to tell us what the Fomorii have done.”

“And they might be able to help,” Ruth said hopefully, “like Ogma helped you when you had the Caraprix in your head.” Veitch’s gaze grew sharp.

“Will they help us?” There was an edge to Church’s voice.

“They might.” Tom rubbed his chin, his gaze fixed firmly on the ground. “If I asked them.”

“But what if they don’t help?” Church continued. “What’s Plan B?”

Tom said nothing. After a long moment he wandered off down the road to weigh his thoughts.

The shadows were growing longer when he eventually returned to them. Ruth had been away to throw up twice in the meantime; Church guessed the stress was already contributing to what was wrong with her. The others waited anxiously around the pub table.

Tom looked around their concerned faces, then said, “One of the Prime Courts of the Tuatha De Danann can be reached through a door not far from here. The Court of the Final Word is the closest translation of its name. Unlike the usual Tuatha De Danann courts, it is a place of quiet reflection, of study. If there is anyone who can provide an insight into Ruth’s condition we will find them there.”

“Where is it?” The concern in Veitch’s voice was palpable.

“Beneath Richmond Castle.” Tom glanced at the clock over the bar. “If we move quickly we can be there before nightfall.”

“Is it that serious?” Church asked.

Tom’s silence was the only answer he needed.

d been keeping the full tank of petrol for emergencies,” Max said ruefully. `The way things are going, I think it’s going to become a priceless commodity.” He cast a worried glance at Ruth’s drawn face. “But if this isn’t an emergency, what is?” He smiled, trying to bolster the atmosphere.

The car was a red Fiesta, peppered with rust on the wings and sills. The inside was a mess. He opened the doors with some embarrassment, then swept the crumpled maps and fast food wrappers out on to the pavement. “Sorry. You can always tell a hack’s car.”

Tom climbed into the passenger seat while Church took the back seat with Ruth. He slipped an arm across the top of the seat; her head fell naturally on to his shoulder. The others stood on the pavement; Veitch and Shavi were grimfaced, but Laura was impossible to read.

They eventually picked up the B6270 through the ragged, romantic countryside of Swaledale, heading southeast. During the journey Church and Tom tried to explain to Max about Tir n’a n’Og, the Otherworld, and the alien ways of the Tuatha De Danann to prepare him for what lay ahead. In other circumstances his dumbfounded expression would have been comical, but it soon fell away as he assimilated every detail with a speed that surprised them both. It wasn’t long before he was babbling excitedly about a new way of seeing the world.

The scenery flashed by in a blur of rolling fields and green hedges; seeming normality. While Max and Tom passed the time in sporadic conversation, enthusiastic on Max’s part, barely tolerable on Tom’s, Church and Ruth slid down in the back seat and spoke in hushed voices.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” she said, staring out of the window at the blue sky.

“You’re right. You’ve suffered enough,” Church said.

“No, the people out there have suffered enough. I’ve had a little pain, but at least I know what’s happening in the world. What’s a few aches and pains compared to having your life turned on its head? I mean, I want to get back to doing something that matters and there’s all this-” she gestured irritatedly holding me back.”

The weariness was evident on her face. Slowly she lowered her head back on to his shoulder, but Church continued to watch her while she rested, feeling a sense of deep respect that almost overwhelmed him.

They’d just moved on to the A6108 when Tom exclaimed loudly.

“What’s wrong?” Church threw himself forward between the seats. He quickly saw it wasn’t the right thing to do. Tom was already sliding down as low as he could go. On the side of the road, three policemen stood stiffly around a patrol car. They were gone so quickly Church had no way of telling if they were Fomorii, nor if they had seen him. He ducked down, turned and crawled up the seat just enough to peer out of the back window. The police all appeared to have got into the car, but it wasn’t in pursuit. He held his breath and watched until it was out of sight.

“Close shave,” he said, still not wholly sure.

Shavi had spent an hour doing his best to boost Veitch’s spirits, but the Londoner still wore the broken expression of someone who had seen ultimate victory snatched from his fingertips. “We have to believe Ruth will be all right.” Shavi’s voice rolled out softly across the quiet bar. His arm rested comfortingly around Veitch’s shoulders, and Veitch made no attempt to shake it off. Laura watched them both carefully from behind her sunglasses, but added nothing to the conversation.

“You saw the old man’s face. He looked like it was already over.” Veitch gently massaged his temples. There was an intensity about him that made the atmosphere uneasy.

“We have to have hope, Ryan. That is the message of this whole era.”

Veitch looked up suddenly and curiously into Shavi’s face. He seemed surprised at what he saw there. After a moment’s contemplation, he said, “Okay, you’re right. Course you are.” In the centre of the table where they had been abandoned earlier, he noticed the sheaf of notes Ruth had prepared. “We’ve got to sort this out. Help these poor bastards.”

Shavi could see it was merely a displacement activity for the futility Veitch was feeling at his inability to do anything to help Ruth, but if it kept his mind focused on something positive, it was worthwhile. Veitch examined the notes with gusto, making observations as he read before handing each paper he finished to Shavi or Laura. No obvious conclusion presented itself to them, but they continued to turn it over while they ate the dinner Geordie had prepared for them.

“There’s nothing new here,” Laura protested. “Unless you’re thinking of tracking them out to their lair, and then we wouldn’t know how to kill them.”

“We don’t even know where the lair is,” Veitch said. He shovelled a forkful of mashed potato into his mouth.