Always Forever (8 page)

"They'll hurt me!"

"Not while I'm there. You deserve some justice for what you've done,
Callow, but not at their hands. You're one of us and if anyone's going to make
you pay-

Callow struggled frantically. He calmed instantly when Ruth rested a hand
on his shoulder.

Church moved away from them and faced the horizon. The wind rustled his
long hair with soothing fingers; a tingle ran down his spine. He thought of
Frank Sinatra singing "Fly Me to the Moon," remembering the great times he'd
had with that music playing in his head: kissing Marianne in the lounge of their
flat in the early hours of New Year's Day, staggering through Covent Garden,
drunk with all his friends, watching the dawn come up on a boat on the Thames.
They were at the start of something big, a great journey, and there was still
hope; he could feel it in every fibre of his being. The moment felt right.

"Come to us." The wind whipped the words from his mouth. He coughed;
then spoke with greater firmness and clarity: "Come to us. Take us to the
Western Isles." Once again his voice was caught by the wind, but this time it
rolled out across the waves. The tingling in his spine increased a notch.

Cautiously he scanned the horizon. The weather was so clear he would see
any ship miles away. He glanced back at Ruth, unsure.

"Be patient," she said firmly.

Once more he spoke loudly. "I beseech the Golden Ones to carry us, their
humble servants, away to the wonders of the Western Isles." Behind him,
Callow sniggered.

For several long minutes he waited, sure he was making a fool of himself,
but gradually he began to sense slight changes in the atmosphere. The air grew
more charged, until he could taste iron in his mouth, as if he were standing next
to a generator. He looked back at Callow and Ruth and saw they could sense it
too; Ruth was smiling, but Callow had an expression of growing anxiety.
Church couldn't stop himself smiling either-almost laughing, in fact: a ball of
gold had formed in his gut and was slowly unfolding along his arteries and
veins. Everything around became more intense. The sea shimmered as if the waves were rimmed with diamonds, emeralds and sapphires and the sun's
golden light suffused every molecule of the air. The scent of the ocean was powerfully evocative, summoning a thousand childhood memories. The wind
caressed his skin until every nerve tingled.

This is the way to see the world, he thought.

Despite the glorious morning, a misty luminescence had gathered along the
horizon like a heat haze over a summer road, igniting in him a feeling of
delighted anticipation that he could barely contain.

"It's coming," he whispered.

It felt like the air itself was singing. Church realised he was kneading his
hands in expectation and had to hold them tightly behind his back to control
himself.

The white, misty light curled back on itself, suggesting a life of its own.
There was a billow, another, and then something could be glimpsed forcing its
way through the intangible barrier. His heart leapt.

A second later the ship was visible, ploughing through the waves towards
him. It gleamed brilliantly in the sunlight, a water-borne star of gold, silver and
ivory. At first it looked like a Phoenician galley he had seen during his university studies. Then it looked Greek, and then Roman, then like nothing he had
ever come across before, its shape changing with each crash of white surf on its
prow, although he knew it was his own perception that was altering. A white
sail marked with a black rune on a red circle soared above it, but the ship didn't
appear to be driven by the wind, nor were there any oars visible. Every aspect of
it was finely, almost oppressively, detailed. Fantastic golden carvings rolled in
undulating patterns along each side, culminating in an enormous splash of silver
and white like streamlined swans' wings at the aft. The prow curled round into
a statue with an awesome visage made of what appeared to be thousands of tiny,
interlocking figures; the eyes glowed ruby red. There was something about the
design of the face that spoke to Church on a deep level; it was as if it were an
analogy for the ultimate secret made plain for all to see.

Ruth appeared at his side, eyes fixed on the approaching ship. Her arm
brushed his and goosebumps rushed across his skin.

"It's magnificent," she said in a hushed voice.

Church turned, expecting Callow to be galloping away now Ruth had abandoned his side, but he remained just as fixated, although the wonder in his face
was tempered by a steely streak of terror.

It took five minutes for the ship to reach them. Church attempted to scan
the deck on its approach, but whatever was there remained hidden; his eyes
couldn't focus on it at all and he was repeatedly forced to look away.

When it was only feet away, a jewelled anchor lowered into the water.
Church was beginning to feel a touch of apprehension.

Once the ship was secure, they waited and waited. Ten minutes passed
without a sign or sound. Before Church could decide on a course of action, there
was a shimmer of movement on the deck, like light striking a mirror. A second
later a booming voice rolled out over the water, the quality of it constantly
changing across a wide scale so it sounded like it was rising from the deepest
depths.

"Who calls?"

Electricity spiked Church's spine and he suddenly wished he were a thousand miles away.

the gangplank unfurled towards them as mysteriously as the ship had been
propelled through the water. It was made of brass, and though there was a
mechanical clattering, the motion was as smooth as if it were a carpet. Church
released his breath only when it clicked perfectly into place. Everywhere was
tranquil; waiting. It was still impossible to see what lay on deck.

When no one summoned them aboard, he put one tentative foot on the
gangplank, although it didn't feel strong enough to take his weight. He threw
out his arms to steady himself when it gave slightly, but it held firm. He glanced
back at the others. Callow was shying away in fear, but Ruth placed her hand
between his shoulder blades to propel him forward. He squealed and Church
had to grab hold of his collar to prevent him plummeting into the waves; from
his expression that would have been the better option.

Cautiously Church led the way. Beneath them, the water slopped against
the sea wall in a straightforward wave pattern, as though the ship wasn't even
there. Callow's whimpering grew more insistent the closer they got to the deck.

"Any last words?" Ruth said ironically.

"You wouldn't want to hear them." He took a deep breath and stepped on
to the deck.

The moment his foot landed on board, everything became instantly visible. He
caught his breath at the sight of numerous figures all around, watching him
silently. The taste of iron filings filled his mouth.

"Ho, Brother of Dragons!" The voice made him start, but he recognised its
rich, faintly mocking tones instantly.

"I didn't expect to find you here."

Cormorel was beaming in the same warm, welcoming way Church recalled
from their talk around the campfire in the north country, but the darkness
behind his expression was a little more obvious. In the sunlight his skin almost
gleamed; his hair flowed like molten metal. "Our brief discussion of the Western
Isles gave me a desire to see them again." Cormorel's smile grew tight as he
looked to the shore. "Besides, the Fixed Lands have lost much of their appeal."

Church felt irritated at Cormorel's easy dismissal of a place he had professed
to enjoy, but he knew by now the Tuatha De Danann cared for little. "You don't
have the appetite to face up to Balor," he said, pointedly.

Cormorel answered dismissively, "There will come a time, perhaps. But for
now the Night Walkers leave us alone, and we, in turn, have more enjoyable
things to occupy us." Brightening, he made a theatrical sweep with his hand.
"But I am forgetting myself? You are an honoured guest, Brother of Dragons.
Welcome to Wave Sweeper."

Church followed his gesture, expecting to see only the Tuatha De Danann
standing around the deck, but there were many who were obviously not of the
Golden Ones, their forms strange and disturbing. Cormorel saw Church's confusion play out on his face. "Wave Sweeper has always accepted many travellers.
The journey to the Western Isles is one of significance to many races, not just
the Golden Ones."

"A pilgrimage?"

Cormorel didn't appear to understand the term. Church was also concerned
that the god was talking about the ship as if it were alive. He looked more
closely at the wooden deck and the unnervingly detailed fittings flourishing on
every part of the structure.

Cormorel noticed Ruth for the first time. "Sister of Dragons, I greet you."
But then his eyes fell on Callow and a tremor ran across his face. "What is this?
Night Walker corruption, here on Wave Sweeper?" His gaze flickered accusingly to Church.

"He's a danger to others. We can't afford to leave him behind."

Cormorel weighed this, then reluctantly nodded. He motioned to two gods
with the youthful, plastic, emotionless faces of male models. Callow shied away
from them until they were herding him in the direction of an open oak door that
led beneath deck.

"What are you going to do with him?" Church asked.

"We cannot allow something so tainted by the Night Walkers to move freely
about Wave Sweeper. He will be constrained for the remainder of the journey."

"You won't hurt him?"

"He is beneath our notice." Cormorel turned, the matter already forgotten.
"Come, let me show you the wonder that is Wave Sweeper before we set sail."

He led them from the gangplank across the deck, gritty with salt and damp
from the spray. The crew and passengers watched them impassively for a
moment before returning to their business, as strange and unnerving a group as
Church could have expected. He felt overwhelmed at the presence of so many of
the Tuatha De Danann in one place. The whole array were represented, from those like Cormorel, who appeared barely indistinguishable from humans, to
what were little more than blazes of unfocused light he could barely bring himself to examine. Although he could tell Ruth was also disturbed, she maintained
an air of confidence that kept Church at ease.

Cormorel was enjoying the attention the other Tuatha De Danann lavished
on him. Exhibiting his pets, Church thought sourly.

"Firstly, we must introduce you to the Master of this ship." Cormorel
directed them to a raised area bearing a wooden steering wheel with ivory and
gold handles. Next to it stood a god whose presence took Church's breath away
once the shifting perception had settled into a stable form. He stood more than
seven feet tall, his long hair and beard a wild mane of silver and brown. His
naked torso was heavily muscled and burnished. Gold jewellery wound around
his arms from wrist to bicep, but beyond that all he wore was a broad belt and
a brown leather kilt. Even from a distance Church could see his eyes were a
piercing blue grey like the sea before a storm. With no sign of emotion, the god
watched Cormorel, Church and Ruth approach, standing as still as a statue.

For once, Cormorel appeared humbled. "Here is the Master of Wave
Sweeper, known to you in the ages of the tribes as Manannan Mac Lir, also
known as Manawydan, son of Llyr, Barinthus, ferryman to the Fortunate Island,
Lord of the Stars, Treader of the Waves, Nodons, Son of the Sea, known as Neptune by the journeyman, Lord of Emain Abhlach, the Island of Apple Trees,
known also as the King Leir."

Church felt little respect for the Tuatha De Danann's willful disregard for
humanity, but he feared their power and he knew, although he hated it, that they
were needed if the day was to be won. He bowed politely. `Jack Churchill, Brother
of Dragons. I am honoured to be in your presence." Ruth echoed his words.

Manannan nodded without taking his stern regard off them. "I welcome you
to Wave Sweeper." His voice sounded like the surf breaking on a stony beach.

"It is auspicious that the Master greets you at the beginning of your
journey," Cormorel said. "Who knows? Perhaps it bodes well for you achieving
your stated aims."

"Which are what, Brother of Dragons?" Manannan showed slight curiosity.

"To travel to the Western Isles to cleanse myself of the corruption of the
Night Walkers," Church began, "and then to beseech the Golden Ones for aid
in driving the Night Walkers from the Fixed Lands."

Manannan was plainly intrigued by the suggestion. "Then I wish you well,
Brother of Dragons, for that is an honourable aim." Manannan's attention
crawled over them uncomfortably for a moment longer before Cormorel ushered
them away.

Church and Ruth were gripped with the overwhelming strangeness of their
situation, but they were distracted from discussing it by a tall, thin figure
looming ahead of them. It appeared to be comprised of black rugs fluttering in
the breeze beneath a tattered wide-brimmed hat. In the shadows that obscured
the face, Church saw eyes gleaming like hot coals. It stretched out an arm
towards Ruth, revealing a bony hand covered with papery white skin. "Watch
your step," the figure said in a whispery voice like the wind over dry leaves.
"There are things here that would drain your lifeblood-"