Always Forever (20 page)

"Then how did you do it?"

"The danger of the moment focused my mind. It was a subconscious act
born of desperation. I couldn't repeat it if I wanted."

"Maybe I should stand with my crossbow next to your head. Focus your
mind again."

Still Tom was unsure of Veitch's intention. His face was dangerously impenetrable, frightening in its coldness, with only the ever-present anger buzzing
behind his eyes. "That wouldn't do any good. Too staged."

"Look, this is the answer, so we've got to make it work. Tell me about it.
What makes it happen?" His eyes narrowed. "From the beginning, and make it
simple. No talking over the top of my head or I really will do you. This is
important."

"Make it simple, you say!" Tom cleaned his spectacles, an act of both irritation and preparation. "The Blue Fire is the essential force running through
everything-the land, trees and animals, you and me. We are all part of the
same thing. In ancient times it was fundamentally understood by all. The Blue
Fire could be seen by everyone, and manipulated by many, particularly the
adepts in a society, the shamen. Your society, certainly since the Industrial Revolution, has drifted away from the idea that man is a part of everything. Man is
something special, above everything, is that not how it's seen?"

Witch was concentrating on every word.

"The Blue Fire was forgotten. But it is as much about thought and belief as
it is any subtle, flowing energy stream. Its source is in the imagination and the
heart. It's a wish and a hope."

"So it sort of dried up."

"In your actions around the country over the past months you have been
awakening the King of the World from his slumbers, but the task is not yet
complete. The Fiery Network, it was called. Lines of the Blue Fire crisscrossing
the country, the world, like the pulsing arteries in a body. The Chinese understood this perfectly. They called the force chi and mapped it out both on the land
and in the body. In the latter it was controlled and refocused through acupuncture. On the land, the ancient sacred sites-the standing stones and first
churches and cairns--did the job. But stones have been thrown down. In the last
century, narrow-minded Christians who saw them as the work of the Devil
rooted up whole circles. The Fiery Network fragmented; desiccated. If you
imagine the land is a body, you would see some healthy arteries, an intermittent
structure of veins and capillaries, and vast swathes of cold, dead skin."

"So, it's like a machine that keeps the world running smoothly."

"In a way." Tom was relieved at his breakthrough. "An ancient technology,
if you will. A global machine that allows transportation across space, even across
time, that allows one to jump dimensions. The manipulation of energy. That is
the language of science, but this age's petty view of science doesn't even begin
to encompass it."

Veitch began to pace once more, the thoughts coming thick and fast. "So,
this is what you're saying, right? That you can move along these Blue Fire lines
like roads, only, immediately, like a transporter beam on Star Trek."

"Correct. Well ... some people could. Not everyone. Even when the
ancient races had the necessary skills to manipulate the Blue Fire, becoming one
with the flow of energy was always fraught with danger."

"Why?"

"Because it's possible to go in so deep you become lost. In effect, you give yourself up to the energy to which we all aspire. The Godhead. Our lives are
spent trying to attain that, so why should we ever give it up when we have it in
our hands? Imagine the troubles of life washing away as you become swathed in
glory, in ecstasy."

"So it's like a drug?"

"In a way, though that sounds too negative. Those who are skilled can skim
along the surface of the Blue Fire, taking from it what they need. Others get
sucked beneath the waves and happily drown in its wonder, never to be seen
again."

"And that's what you're scared of?"

"To go into the Blue Fire and never return would be a blessed release,
indeed." He wouldn't meet Veitch's eyes. "To leave behind all this ... shit." He
waved a hand dismissively around. "No more struggle, no more tears and hatred
and misery-

Veitch looked around at the sweeping tree-swathed banks of the glen, listened to the bird song and the splashing of the river across the fields. "But no
more of this."

Tom didn't appear to understand him.

"We've got a responsibility," Veitch continued, "to make things right for all
those who can't go jumping into the Blue Fire."

"Yes, yes, I know that!" Tom snapped. "I'm simply saying I might not have
the willpower to pull myself through it."

This time it was Veitch's turn to be puzzled. "You're not weak."

"Yes, I am. Every day is a struggle to keep going. I'm ready to give it all up."
Veitch mused on this a while as he looked out over the countryside. "Nah,
I don't believe it. You've got a load of faults, same as us all, but I know you, you
old hippie. You'll always come through in a crunch. You just don't know yourself well enough."

Tom was so surprised to hear this character assessment coming from Witch's
mouth, he was lost for words. Veitch laughed heartily. "Anyway, we have a
responsibility-"

"Stop using that word! I know you've just added it to your vocabulary,
but-"

11
-to the others. Whatever the risks, we've got no choice but to try. You're
telling me you could live with yourself if you knew you might have been able
to bring Shavi back-"

"All right, all right! Lord, you do go on."

"You'll give it a shot?" Veitch didn't mask his surprise that he'd won the
argument.

Tom snorted in irritation as he collected his haversack and stood up. "Yes,
but if I have to spend the rest of infinity with you, that Blue Fire will seem like
the flames of Hell."

The atmosphere on board Wave Sweeper was growing increasingly oppressive.
The Tuatha De Danann had distanced themselves from the other travellers,
retreating to a tight coterie around Manannan, who kept a firm grip on the running of the ship. The death of Cormorel had affected them even more than their
aggressive response suggested; they were scared, Church could tell.

Many of the passengers confined themselves to the lower decks, taking food
in their cabins or whatever shadowy area they inhabited. The ones who did rise
to greet the sun kept their heads down and their eyes averted. Of the Walpurgis,
there was still no sign, although the search parties departed daily at dawn,
marching as far as they could into the infinite bowels of the boat before
returning at dusk.

Baccharus, however, remained Church and Ruth's link with the Tuatha De
Danann, repaying, perhaps, the kindness they had shown him since their first
meeting. He spoke about his people's thoughts and their strategy without going
into too much detail, and he stressed, on behalf of Manannan, that neither
Church nor Ruth were under suspicion. They both knew that state of affairs
could change instantly; the gods had loyalty only to themselves.

The ship skimmed the waves with great speed, even when the wind was low
and the enormous sails scarcely billowed, but Ruth and Church were more concerned than ever that time was running away from them. It didn't help when
Baccharus told them Wave Sweeper would continue to make its scheduled stops
throughout the Western Isles before it reached its ultimate destination.

"I can't bear this," Church said one morning as they leaned on the rail and
watched what could have been dolphins rolling in the waves, but which made
cries that sounded like shrieking women. "Anything could be happening back
at home."

Ruth shielded her eyes against the glare of the sun off the water. "It would be
good to have a despatch from the front. Just to know we're not wasting our time."

Activity further along the deck caught their attention. A strange contraption with a seat fixed at the end of a long, jointed arm was being dragged
towards the side by a group of the plastic-faced younger gods. Once it was in
place, the arm was manipulated over the side until the seat hovered mere inches
above the water. With remarkable agility, one of the gods skipped up on to the
rail then manoeuvred his way down the arm until he was precariously balanced
on the seat, with no straps to restrain him and only providence keeping him from a ducking in the blue-green waves. A spear made from an intricately carved
piece of enormous bone with an attached rope was lowered to him. He weighed
it in his right hand, then poised to strike, concentrating on the depths.

"Do you think this is our sole reason for existing?" Church waited for something to happen, but the fisherman remained stock-still. "The life we had in
London, everything leading up to this point, it's like a dream sometimes. Not
quite real at all. But the only thing that keeps me going through all this
struggle is the thought that at some point, I'll be able to return to that life. If I
thought this was all there was ..."

"A lot of religions say we have one purpose in life. We just have to find it."

"That's my worry. I don't want to have a life of nothing but sacrifice. When
I used to read stories of the saints, and Gandhi, and Mother Theresa, I never
found them uplifting. They always filled me with something like despair,
because they were missing out on all the great things life had to offer: you know,
fun and friendship and love and all that."

Ruth brushed a strand of hair from her face. Oddly, she felt closest to him
during his brooding moments, when all his attention was turned inward; a usually hidden fragility was revealed that made her want to protect him. "Some
people have to give up their lives so everyone else can enjoy theirs. I'm sure it's
tough for the person in question, but that seems to be the way it works. Anyway,
you know what Tom and Shavi would say-we can't ever see the big picture, so
it's a waste of time for us trying to put something like that into perspective. Perhaps the reward is in the next world."

"This is the next world," Church said dismally.

"You know what I mean. There's always something higher."

"Well, I want my life back when all this is over. I don't think that's too
much to ask. I'll have met my obligations, done everything expected of me. I
don't want to die an old man, still fighting this stupid, nightmarish battle."

"Hmm, considering old age-that's optimistic of you. Me, I'm happy if I
make it through to tomorrow."

The water exploded upwards in a spout, followed by thrashing tentacles and
the glinting of teeth. The fisherman struck hard with his spear, his face as calm
as if he were lazing on the banks of a river, and then he struck again several times
in rapid succession. A gush of black liquid soured the water. One of the tentacles
lashed around his calf, and when it retracted, the flesh was scoured. More tentacles shot up, folding around his legs like steel cables. Church gripped the railing.
It was obvious the fisherman was going to be dragged off the seat, yet none of the
other gods who hung over the rail above him were in the slightest concerned.

"Dog eat dog." The words at his left ear made him start. Standing just behind him was Taranis, Manannan's right-hand man, who oversaw the mysterious star charts by which the crew navigated. The face Church had chosen for
him had a faint touch of cruelty, thin and sharp, with piercing eyes and a tightly
clipped goatee. His presence made Church feel queasy. "Fish eat fish," he continued, by way of explanation for the scene they were observing. "Bird eat worm,
cat eat mouse, wolf eat rabbit."

Church returned his attention to the fisherman and the crazed splashing
that surrounded him. He was on the verge of slipping beneath the waves,
clutching on to the seat with one hand while hacking mercilessly with the spear
with the other. At the point when Church thought he would have to go, the
spear bit into some vital point and he managed to wriggle his legs free and lever
himself back up on to the seat. A few more choice hacks and an indescribable
black bulk bobbed to the surface where it floated, motionless.

"Dinner?" Ruth asked distastefully.

Taranis gave a thin-lipped smile at the outcome. "The way of existence,"
he said.

"I'm heading back to my cabin for a bit," Ruth said, before turning to
Taranis. She motioned to the collapsible telescope made of ivory and inlaid sable
and gold that hung from his belt. "May I borrow this for a while?"

Taranis seemed taken aback by her request, and Church, too, was surprised by
her forwardness, but the god acceded with a curt nod. Ruth weighed it in her palms,
nodded thoughtfully, and headed towards the door that led beneath the deck.

Without Ruth to talk to, and with Niamh distracted, Church felt out of sorts.
The other occupants of the ship made his skin crawl, even the ones that most
closely resembled humans. There was nothing to see across the water, nothing
to do in his cabin, little anywhere to occupy his time. He was reminded of
Samuel Johnson's quotation: Going to sea is going to prison, with a chance of
drowning besides.

As he made his way along the corridor towards his cabin, his nose wrinkled
at an incongruous, sulphurous odour; it was powerful enough to sting his eyes
and make the back of his throat burn. It appeared to be emanating from a
branching corridor he had never seen before. In the back of his head an insistent
alarm was warning him not to venture down it, but if there were a fire on board
the alarm would need to be raised. He vacillated for the briefest moment before
turning down the offshoot.

The corridor followed a serpentine route that made no sense, even doubling
back on itself before ending at a double arched door made from seasoned wood.
The handles were big enough to take two hands, made from blackened cast-iron. From behind it he could hear a thunderous pounding. The sulphurous stink was
so potent now it almost made him choke.