Darkest Hour (Age of Misrule, Book 2) (53 page)

There was a flicker of coldness in Dian Cecht’s eye as he cast it suddenly in Tom’s direction. “Ah, True Thomas, one would have thought you would have learned diplomacy during your time among us. Still, I am sure there was no offence intended, and I understand your point.” He turned back to Ruth, now smiling warmly. “The Filid I am sure will sing loudly of your courageous struggle. I will do for you what I can.”

As he turned to go, he spied Max hovering behind the others. “I see you have left this Fragile Creature out of your accounts, True Thomas.”

Tom had the expression of a schoolboy who had been caught out. “He is here to keep a record of these great things transpiring in this world of ours.”

“Ah,” Dian Cecht nodded thoughtfully. “Then you maintain the traditions of the Filid. Good, good. Wisdom and knowledge needs to be recorded and disseminated.”

Once he had glided out of the room to make his preparations, Ruth turned to Tom. “Who is he? Can he do the job?”

“I was speaking correctly when I said you were honoured. Dian Cecht is one of the greatest of the Tuatha De Danann.” Tom flopped down on to a cushion as if his conversation with the god had wearied him.

“He seemed … wise,” Max ventured.

“Wisdom is the essence of him. He has a vista into the very workings of existence. He sees the building blocks that make up everything, the spirit that runs through them. That is why he is the greatest of physicians, the deepest of thinkers, the best maker of all things.” Although his words seemed on the surface to be filled with awe, there was a sour note buried somewhere among them.

“All of the Tuatha De Danann seem very different from each other,” Church noted.

Tom nodded. “While obviously a race, they are all set apart as individuals-“

“So he’s a top doctor?” Ruth interjected.

Tom sighed at her phraseology. “He is the god of healing in the Tuatha De Danann pantheon. He was renowned for guarding the sacred spring of health, along with his daughter, Airmid. It is believed it has its source here, within this temple complex, though no one knows for sure. Its miraculous waters can cure the sick and bring the dead back to life.” Church stirred at this, but he didn’t dwell on the thoughts that surfaced. “It can, so they say, even restore the gods.”

Ruth could barely contain her relief. “So he shouldn’t have any problem with whatever those dirty bastards did to me.”

“Then he’s one of the good guys,” Max said.

“You could say that,” Tom replied contemptuously. “The truth is buried in the old stories. When Nuada lost his hand in the first battle of Magh Tuireadh, Dian Cecht made him a new one out of silver. The Tuatha lle Danann were impressed by his handiwork, but it was not enough. Because he was not truly whole, Nuada was no longer allowed to lead them into battle. He coped as best he could with the shame, but eventually he turned to Dian Cecht’s son, Miach, who was believed to be an even greater physician. And it was true. Miach knew the workings of existence even better than Dian Cecht. He grew Nuada a new hand, a real one, and fixed it on to him. A remarkable feat, even for the Tuatha lle Danann. Nuada was whole again and once more took up the leadership of the race. A time of celebration, you would think? Instead, Dian Cecht promptly murdered Miach for upstaging him. So, yes, a good guy. That’s a fair description, isn’t it?”

They all fell silent while they considered this information. Then Church said, “If he’s such a big shot, why did he come so quickly when you called instead of sending out some menial?”

“Perhaps,” Tom replied, “he was stricken with guilt.” But he would not elaborate on his comment any further.

The young man and woman who had greeted them at the door were sent to fetch them an hour later. With Church supporting Ruth, who had been overcome by another bout of nausea, they were led into a massive precinct with a ceiling so lofty they could barely see it through the glare that streamed in through massive glass skylights. Vines crawled around the columns which supported the roof, while some seemed to have trees growing through them as if the stone had formed around the wood.

Dian Cecht stood in a shaft of sunlight in the centre of the room, next to a spring which bubbled up out of the ground. The water was crystal clear and caught the light in a continually changing manner. Although it had no odour, the air near it seemed more fragrant, clearer. They found their gaze was continuously drawn to its sparkle and shimmer, as if it were calling them on some level they didn’t understand.

Dian Cecht was wearing robes of the deepest scarlet, which made Ruth instinctively uneasy; he was like a pool of blood in the whiteness of the room. A scarf of red was tied around his head, hiding his hair. He motioned to Ruth to come forward. She glanced briefly at Church for support, then moved in front of the tall, thin god. His eyes were piercing as he silently surveyed her face; she felt he was looking deep into the heart of her, and that made it even more worrying when a troubled expression crossed his face.

“What is it?” she asked.

He shook his head, said nothing. Beside him, a strange object lay on a brass plate that rested atop a short marble column. Ruth tried to see what it was, but her eyes strangely blurred every time she came close to focusing.

He bent over the object and muttered something that sounded like the keening of the wind across a bleak moor. It seemed to respond to the sound, changing, twisting, folding inside out, until it settled on the shape of a bright, white egg with waving tendrils. Ruth instantly recalled the creature she had seen in Ogma’s library immediately after the operation to remove the Fomorii equivalent from Tom’s brain. “A Caraprix,” she said.

Dian Cecht smiled when he looked on it. “My own faithful companion.” He said something else in that strange keening voice and the creature glowed even brighter.

“What are you going to do with it?” Ruth asked, suddenly wary.

“Do not worry. You will not be harmed.” He took her hand to comfort her, but the moment they touched a shudder ran through him. “The Fomorii have weaved the darkness tightly inside you. I cannot see through it.” He retracted his hand a little too quickly. “But my friend here should be able to penetrate to the periphery of the shadows and return with the information we need.”

Church’s heart leapt when he saw the pang of fear in Ruth’s face. “What is inside me? What have they done?” Her voice sounded as if it was about to shatter.

Dian Cecht smiled a little sadly, then gentle brushed her forehead with his fingertips; she went out in an instant, as she had when Tom had utilised the same technique at Stonehenge. Church started forward, but Dian Cecht caught her easily in his deceptively strong arms and carried her to a pristine marble bench nearby. Church was shocked to see her skin was almost the same colour as the stone on which she lay.

The atmosphere grew more tense and Church had the uncomfortable feeling that a cloud had passed across the sun, although the light in the room remained as bright as ever. Dian Cecht knelt down beside Ruth’s head and held the gently throbbing Caraprix in his palm. Church glanced to Tom for support, but the Rhymer would not meet his eyes; Max’s face was still with queasy concentration.

The Caraprix was brought slowly towards Ruth’s right ear. When it was almost touching, the creature burst into life, snapping like elastic in a wild blur before becoming something like a tapeworm that darted into the waiting orifice. Even unconscious, a spasm crossed Ruth’s face.

Dian Cecht stood up and took a step back, fingering his chin as he watched Ruth with resolute thoughtfulness. Church fought to contain his disgust. He imagined the Caraprix wriggling through the byways of Ruth’s body, probing into the nooks and crannies as it sought out the Fomorii corruption. But he guessed it wasn’t like that at all. Instinctively he knew that if a surgeon cut Ruth open he would find no sign of anything unusual in her body at all; the shadow Dian Cecht sensed was lodged in the invisible shell of her spirit.

The moments went by agonisingly slowly. Neither Dian Cecht nor Tom moved, which made Church realise how very alike they were, although he would never have told Tom that. Max, it was obvious, was forcing himself to watch the proceedings: a trained observer, lodging every incident for posterity.

The tableau seemed frozen in time and space; and then everything happened at once. There was a sound like a meteorite shrieking through the atmosphere to the ground. Ruth’s face flickered, then grimaced; finally she convulsed, jackknifing her knees up as if she had been punched in the belly. There was a blur in the air erupting from Ruth’s ear and then a shush-boon as the shrieking sound crashed into the room with them; Church clutched at his aching ears.

The Caraprix, once more in its egg shape, lay on the floor, surrounded by a pool of gelatinous liquid, throbbing in a manner that Church could only describe as distress. Dian Cecht’s face contorted, ran like oil on water until Church found it unrecognisable; it settled only when he was on his knees beside the Caraprix, scooping it up into his hands like a broken-winged sparrow, and then he was hurrying out of the room, the air filled with the terrible keening of the wind.

Ruth came round soon after with the sluggish awareness of someone waking from a deep anaesthetic. She made no sense at first, talking about a ship skimming across the sea, and then her wide eyes focused and locked on Church. He held her hand tightly, brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. Beads of sweat dappled the pale skin.

“What did he find?” Her voice was a croak. Church maintained his demeanour; she looked past him, at Tom, and then Max, and a single tear crept on to her cheek.

They wondered if Dian Cecht was ever going to return. He kept them waiting for more than two hours in the cathedral silence of the precinct. When he did finally arrive, he was not alone. On either side were the young man and woman who were obviously his attendants, and behind them at least twenty others, some with the stern, shifting faces that signified high power. A grim atmosphere wrapped tightly around them.

Dian Cecht spoke in moderate tones; the others remained silent, but it felt as if they were on the verge of screaming. “We cannot help you or your companions, True Thomas.”

Tom stepped forward and bowed slightly. “Thank you for the assistance you have given, High Lord of the Court of the Final Word.”

Church couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Hang on a minute,” he said incredulously, “you can’t just brush us off like that!”

Dian Cecht surveyed him with aristocratic coldness, his warm nature suddenly departed. “It would do well to maintain respect-“

“No,” Church said firmly. “You respect me. I represent this world, these people. I’m a Brother of Dragons.”

Tom stepped in quickly. “He has not learned the ways of-“

Dian Cecht silenced him with an upraised hand. “For all your power, Brother of Dragons, you are powerless. You are a Frail Creature. Your voice may crow louder than your stature prevails, but in essence that is what you are and that is what you will always be. And even by your own meagre horizons you have failed so dramatically that you are not worthy of whatever position to which you so feebly aspire.” His freezing gaze washed over Church’s face. “You have no notion what has happened?”

“What did you find?” Church tried to maintain equilibrium in his voice. His contempt for the Tuatha De Danann was growing; he wanted to drive them all from the land at that moment, Niamh included.

Ruth’s hand closed tightly on his forearm. “Church. Don’t.” He ignored her.

“The Sister of Dragons has been corrupted beyond all meaning of the word.” Dian Cecht’s stare fell on Ruth, but he seemed unable to keep it there. “She is the medium for the return of the Heart of Shadows.”

His words fell like stones in the tense atmosphere. There was a sharp intake of breath which Church guessed came from Tom. Church watched the Rhymer’s hand go involuntarily to his mouth, but slowly, as if it were only confirmation of an idea he had not dared consider.

“What do you mean?” Church didn’t want to hear an answer.

“The black pearl-” Ruth began.

“Was the essence of Balor, the one-eyed god of death, Lord of Evil, Heart of Shadows.” Dian Cecht’s face filled with thunder.

Church’s head was spinning; he looked from Dian Cecht to Ruth to Tom, who seemed to have tears in his eyes, then back to Ruth.

“The black pearl, the Gravidura, was distilled over time by the Night Walkers to maintain the consistency of whatever essence remained from the Heart of Shadows,” Dian Cecht continued. Church recalled the drums of the foul black concoction they had come across in Salisbury and under Dartmoor. “It is the seed. He will be reborn into the world at the next festival of the cycles.”

Ruth turned to him, her face filled with a terrible dawning realisation. Tears of shock rimmed her eyes. “What are you saying? That I’m pregnant?” Her hands went to her belly; she watched them as if they belonged to someone else, with a look of growing horror. “Inside me?” She started to scratch at her stomach, gently at first, but with growing manic force until Church caught her wrists and held them tight. The look in her eyes was almost unbearable to see. “What will happen?” she asked dismally.

“When the time comes, the Heart of Shadows will burst from your belly fully formed.” Church wanted to run over and hit Dian Cecht until he removed the coldness from his voice. “No Fragile Creature could survive that abomination.”

Ruth looked dazed, like she was going to faint. Church slipped an arm around her shoulder for support. “Why are you treating her this way? She’s a victim, not a-“

“She allowed it to happen.”

“Don’t be ridiculous-!” Church caught himself, tried a different tack. “Look, you’ve got him here, your arch-enemy. If you can get the essence … the seed … out of her-“

“We will have nothing to do with the corruption. Even to be in the same presence fills us with …” He made a gesture as if there was a foul smell under his nose.

“But it makes no sense! If Balor is reborn he’s not going to leave the Tuatha De Danann alone for long. He’ll wipe you out like he’s going to wipe out everything-“