Always Forever (51 page)

Manannan recovered quickly enough to take back control of Wave Sweeper and
soon they were speeding on their way. By the time dawn was breaking the sea
was calm, the sky poised to turn a brilliant blue, free of even the smallest cloud.
Soon the gulls were clustering around the mast and a cry was rising up from the
watcher in the crow's nest. The Green Fields of Enchantment came up quickly
on the horizon, a sunlit haven of rolling, emerald downs dotted with crystal
streams and cool woods.

From his position at the prow, Church watched in growing wonder. There
was something breathtaking about the place that went far beyond its appearance; it was in the air, in some too-subtle signs that only his oldest senses could
perceive, but it left his nerves singing and his stomach filled with tremors of
excitement. Some deep-seated part of his mind was registering recognition of
one of the oldest archetypes: a place of miracles and peace. Heaven.

Wave Sweeper sailed into a small harbour built of gleaming white marble. There
were no other ships in sight and the dockside was deserted, apart from two of
the younger gods manning the jetty. They took the ropes Taranis's men threw
out and fastened them to iron spurs, but Church had the feeling Wave Sweeper
would have waited there like a faithful dog anyway.

The Tuatha lle Danann were allowed to disembark first, while the other
strange travellers congregated below deck ready to begin their search for some
meaning in their lives. Church and Ruth, however, were given pride of place at
the front of the column with Manannan and Niamh.

They marched along a dusty road, baking in the heat, which wound briefly
along the golden beach where the blue sea broke in white-topped waves before
ending amongst the soothing shadows of the trees. Flowers bloomed in clusters
of blue, red and gold. It reminded Church of Andalucia, or Umbria, an
unspoiled rural climate designed for dreaming.

Manannan was borne on a gold chair carried sedan-style by four young gods.
He was still weak, but he cocked his attention to Church and Ruth often enough
for them to know they lay heavily on his mind. Niamh watched Church surreptitiously from beneath long lashes; it was impossible to tell what she was
thinking, though her praise in the aftermath of the rescue had been fulsome, for
both Church and Ruth.

The Court of High Regard lay in a shallow valley beyond the wall of soaring
black pines, surrounded by pleasant grassed slopes where the breeze moved back
and forth soothingly. If the first sight of the island had taken Church's breath
away, the Court of High Regard was a hundred times more affecting. Tears of
sheer awe stung his eyes; it was in the very fibre of the place, majesty in every
atom.

Unlike the Court of the Final Word, it was more of a town-if not a citythan a court. The buildings were all white stone, so that the whole was almost
impossible to view in the sun. In the architecture, Church glimpsed touches of
the Middle East, of ancient Greece and Rome, Japan and the heavy Gothic
stylings of mediaeval France. There were domes and towers, cupolas and
obelisks, Doric columns and piazzas and sweeping boulevards where fountains
tinkled pleasantly. Clusters of cultivated trees provided shade to talk and think.

"It's beautiful." Ruth blinked away her own tears. "Now I know why the
stories said visitors never wanted to leave."

They entered through gates of ivory and glass. Once within, the Tuatha lle
Danann dispersed into small groups conversing quietly but intently.

Church and Ruth were left alone next to a statue that resembled the god
Pan, but every time Church looked at it, it had a different face. "Now what?"
Ruth said.

After ten minutes Baccharus returned with a tall, thin god with flowing
black hair and sculpted bone structure who resembled an aristocrat in his late
twenties. "The Master has already announced your presence to the court," Baccharus said. "A decision will be announced soon on when you may make your case. In the meantime, I have discussed your needs with Callaitus, Provarum of
the sector of Trust and Hope, who will make the arrangements for your stay."

Church took his hand and shook it. "Thank you for everything you've done
for us, Baccharus."

Surprisingly, Baccharus appeared humbled by this. "I will be along shortly.
There are other matters-"

"I understand," Church said knowingly. "We'll talk later."

Callaitus took them to a light and airy chamber, far removed from the cramped
quarters of Wave Sweeper. At the window, the most delicate linen blew gently
in the breeze. There was a large bed covered with sumptuous cushions and deep,
soft blankets. A small wooden table held a bowl of fruit and a crystal decanter
filled with sparkling water.

"Married quarters," Ruth said, looking round at the furniture and space.

"What?"

"On the ship they put us in adjoining cabins. Here we've got a room
together. How very presumptuous of them," she added with mock affront.

"They're good at looking beneath the surface."

She eyed him studiously, remembering his words on Wave Sweeper, saying
nothing.

"I wonder where I'll find the Pool of Wishes." He threw himself on the bed
and slipped his hands behind his head. The soothing atmosphere made him feel
instantly sleepy.

"I wonder what you'll find there." A dark note rang clearly in her voice.

"What are you inferring?"

"You know how these things work. Everything comes with a price. You
want to get rid of something big. That's got to be balanced out."

He threw an arm across his eyes. "I don't think I can take any more sacrifice."

"Let's have none of that." He felt the bed give as she climbed on. There was
a rustle of clothing, more movement, and then she straddled him. He looked up
to see her naked to the waist. She laughed silently at his expression. "Remember
your mantra: Life's good as long as you don't weaken. So stop thinking about all the
sacrifice and suffering. Focus on the good stuff. That's a rule for living,
Churchill." She slowly ground her hips on his groin, smiling now, gently teasing.

Sleep was going to have to wait.

When he woke, dark had fallen. It was still warm, and fragrant with woodsmoke
and the heady perfume of night blooms. There was a sense of magic in the air.
He eased his arm out from under Ruth, who stirred and muttered, but didn't rouse, then dressed lazily before stepping out. The evening was alight with flickering torches gleaming off the white buildings. Faint, melodic music drifted
across the jumbled rooftops, and somewhere he could make out the excited chattering of many voices. He leaned against the doorjamb and breathed deeply,
enjoying the peace.

Across the piazza, a shadow stirred, then separated from the surrounding
shadows. Baccharus made his way over from the bench where he had been sitting patiently.

"You needed to rest," he said by way of greeting.

"Have you been waiting long?"

"It is not waiting if you are engaged in something important, and I was enjoying my time here in the Court of High Regard. I could have sat there until light."

"You missed this place?"

"It is where I feel comfortable." He placed a hand on Church's shoulder.
"Come, there is much we need to discuss, and this is not the best place."

The streets wound round and back on themselves, diverged, became vast boulevards, then a network of interlocking alleys; briefly Church felt like he was back
on Wave Sweeper in the endless corridors. He mentioned this to Baccharus, and
for a second or two he had the odd impression he was lying on his back looking
up into a brilliant, phosphorescent light. It faded into a gentler luminescence
that flickered over a studded oak door. Baccharus pushed open the door and
beckoned for Church to step through.

It was an inn, low ceilinged, straw on the floor, lots of tables and stools
nestling in the comfortable shadows of nooks and crannies. A large fire roared in
the grate despite the summery warmth, yet the temperature remained agreeable.
The drinkers were a mixed group. Church recognised many of the travellers he
had seen on Wave Sweeper-some of them even nodded to him as if they were
old friends-but there were many strangers.

"None of your people?" Church said.

"This place is for the benefit of others. The many who come to visit us,
seeking the gratitude of the gods, seeking direction or redemption."

There was a raucous group of muscular men with red beards, so they headed
to a quiet table under the overhang of a staircase. It was pleasantly dark and
secluded. Baccharus returned from the bar with two pewter mugs filled with ale
that frothed over the edges.

"Given freely and without obligation?"

"This is a place for visitors," Baccharus replied. "Everything here is given
freely and without obligation."

Church took a sip. It felt like light and colours were streaming down his
throat; a faint buzz of exhilaration filled his veins. "You're trying to get me
drunk before you tell me what you have to say?"

"No. This is the drink of welcome, to put you in a receptive frame of mind."

"That's what I said." Church took a long draught, then looked Baccharus
directly in his deep, golden eyes. "What's the true story?"

"That is unanswerable. You strip away one story and another lies behind,
and another, and another. You will never find the true story that lies behind it
all, for there lies the truth of life. All is illusion, each illusion as valid as any
other, until you reach that final level, and to find that is to know how everything
works. To know the mind of. . ." His words trailed off and he ended his thought
with a gesture suggesting something too big to comprehend.

"You're as bad as Tom. Ask a simple question and you get a philosophy
lecture."

"The Rhymer is a good man."

"That's not the point. In this story"-his sweeping arm took in the whole of
the bar-"there are a lot of illusions, and now it's time for the truth. Like why
you murdered Cormorel."

Church expected some kind of surprise from Baccharus, or guilt perhaps, or
even anger that he had been uncovered, but there was nothing. "I pay a price
every day for that act."

"You were friends."

"More than that. To lose Cormorel was like losing part of myself. My existence is forever tainted."

"Then, why?"

"How long have you known?"

"Don't change the subject." He softened slightly when he saw Baccharus
was telling the truth about his hurt. "It came to me just before we disembarked.
No blinding revelation. Just a gentle understanding that that was what must
have happened. You were arguing at the banquet just before he died-"

"Cormorel and I held contrary positions of a kind that you would find hard
to grasp unless you were a Golden One."

"Try me."

Baccharus finished his beer, then signalled for the barman to bring over two
more. "Then I will tell you of the things I brought you here to understand. Of
truth, of a kind. Consider: the view held by the Golden Ones of Fragile Creatures."

"That we're the lowest of the low."

"There are many of my kind who would disagree."

Church was taken aback by this. "I know some of you are closer to us than others, but I thought all of you at least vaguely held the same view. Veitch
defined it: you're like aristocrats looking down on what you consider the lesserborn. Some of you despise us, some of you hold us in contempt, some of you
mock us, and even the ones of you who think we're okay still think we're way
beneath you."

"I can understand how you might think that, for that is the view of some,
but not all. No, some of us believe the Fragile Creatures are in an exalted position; even above the Golden Ones in the structure of existence, for in their arrogance the Golden Ones have embraced stagnancy, while you Fragile Creatures
continue to rise and advance. Within your kind lies tremendous potential. The
Golden Ones no longer have potential. This view, as you might expect, is tantamount to blasphemy in some quarters. Indeed, the Golden Ones are riven. But
for those of us who are concerned with the great sweep of existence rather than
the narrow perspective of our kind, the future of the Fragile Creatures is very
important indeed."

At the bar, the red-bearded men had started to punch each other hard, while
laughing heartily. Some of the other drinkers were moving away hesitantly.
"That would be quite a turnaround. Riven, you say. Like a civil war situation?"

"It is very close to that. The Golden Ones have always seen our position as
unassailable. Yet to suggest we are not all-knowing, all-powerful, would weaken
our position and allow us to be supplanted. A contradiction that gives the lie to
the former. I think the latter is not only inevitable-for it is the way of existence
-but also to be desired, again, in terms of existence."

"I remember the first time we met you and Cormorel at the campfire,"
Church mused. "The two of you had a disagreement about whether humanity
could ever evolve into gods."

"At that time, Cormorel did not know the extent of my beliefs, although he
was aware of the fractures forming amongst my people. I was influenced by
others who have had more contact with the Fragile Creatures across the turning
of the ages."

"Niamh?"

"And the one you know as Cernunnos, and his partner. Ogma. And many
more."

"The three smiths on Wave Sweeper? Were they preparing weapons for a
civil war?"

"Perhaps." Baccharus was uncomfortable. "Or for a war against the Night
Walkers. We would have launched one independently, if necessary. It was, as you
pointed out, inevitable. To pretend otherwise was the height of arrogance."

"Goibhniu wasn't very pleasant to me."

"He is new to our beliefs, brought round by Niamh, who knew he would be
an important asset to our side. He accepts the way things are, but he finds it
hard to break from past feelings for Fragile Creatures."