Always Forever taom-3

by Mark Chadbourn

  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."

  Church stared into the dark depths of his beer. "Tom knows about all this?" Comments Tom had made, which at the time had been cryptic or just plain strange, suddenly fell into a new perspective; Baccharus nodded. "So this isn't just about saving humanity from a big threat, it's about preserving the future of life, everything?"

  "True Thomas knew the Golden Ones would have to be resisted as much as the Night Walkers if you Fragile Creatures were to prosper. He is an adept at politics." Baccharus smiled. "I like him immensely."

  What had been a quiet conversation about Baccharus's motivation for murder had suddenly taken on a terrible significance that he couldn't absorb all at once. "What are you saying exactly?"

  °I am saying you are all stars. Each Fragile Creature bursting with the potential of a god. Given the right situation, that potential could easily blossom, and from what I have seen of you and the other Brothers and Sisters of Dragons, you could far surpass the Golden Ones. You could all become greater than everything that ever existed. For you love and cry, you are tender, and caring-"

  11 — and hateful and murderous."

  Baccharus shrugged. "It is there within you. The light burns very brightly. Brighter than my own."

  "You're talking about a long period of time-"

  Baccharus lowered his head so shadows pooled in his eyes; a skull in the play of light and shade. "These events you find yourselves in are a catalyst that could propel you-all of your kind-into the next phase of development. My people know thissome will deny it, but they know it somewhere within themselves-and they seek to prevent you achieving your destiny. You will have to fight for your future."

  "That makes a change." Church pushed his stool back on two legs and rocked, tipsy now. "So, trickery and deceit right the way down the line. Situation normal."

  "There are manipulations ahead," Baccharus continued. "You need to know what is at stake so you can act accordingly; when lies are told to you, when seemingly simple choices are asked of you. Do not allow anyone to make you believe you are lesser, unimportant."

  "I never did."

  Baccharus smiled. "I always admired your confidence, Brother of Dragons."

  "I saw some of the splits on Wave Sweeper. Many were angered that Manannan offered us his support."

  "The Master had always steered a calm path between the troubled waters. I felt his sympathies lay with you and your kind, but with his position amongst the Golden Ones, to openly endorse our stance would have caused too much upheaval. "

  "But now he's going to do it?"

  Baccharus nodded slowly.

  "This must be the first time that gods are servant to the people who worshipped them."

  "All should be in servitude to others, and all should be free."

  "But this split amongst your people… is it really so bad?"

  Baccharus gave a thin-lipped smile. "If there is to be war amongst the Golden Ones, you will find many fighting for the future of the Fragile Creatures."

  "You'd do that? Against your own people
?"

  "This concerns much more than one severely limited perspective, even if that vista belongs to the Golden Ones. We are all servants of existence, and we must do what we can to ensure the best possible state for all."

  "So let me get this straight-humans have the potential to become gods-"

  Baccharus winced at the description, waved it away with a lazy hand.

  — greater, then. Than we are now. To achieve the massive potential-"

  "— encoded in your very make-up." Baccharus nodded emphatically. "You were made with the powers of stars inside you. All sentient creatures are formed to rise and advance. That is the reason for all this." He made an expansive gesture.

  "The Golden Ones have stopped advancing, for whatever reason. Some fatal flaw. But they don't want to be supplanted by Fragile Creatures and so they will do everything they can to keep us down. To prevent us achieving our destiny." Church looked dreamily towards the bar where the red-headed men were still punching each other, though their laughter was now more forced.

  Baccharus smiled proudly at Church's expert summing up of the complex matters he had raised. He raised a finger. "One more thing: the lie is given to my people's assertions of superiority by the mere existence of the Court of the Final Word."

  Church grew cold at the mention of the Tuatha De Danann court supposedly devoted to healing, but where more sinister things happened in its deepest recesses. "What do you mean?"

  "For many generations of your people the Court of the Final Word has been investigating mortal children." Baccharus pronounced the word carefully. "My people wish to know what innate part of Fragile Creatures is the key to their advancement."

  "So they can steal it for themselves!" Church grew rigid at the repercussions that spun out of Baccharus's comment. "That's why Tom's Queen was so adept at taking him apart and putting him back together!"

  "Oh, my people know every component part of Fragile Creatures. They know how every molecule interlocks with every other molecule. But they have still not found the source of your potential." His eyes sparkled. "And they never will."

  "This is too much for me to take in right now." Church held up the beer. "This doesn't help. But you're right-it puts me in the correct frame of mind. I thought I'd get everything laid out in my mind about what we were fighting for. Now it's even bigger stakes. Not just survival, but our… evolution? Crazy."

  "These are monumental times."

  "You're telling me. Wait till Ruth hears about this." He leaned forward once more and peered back into his beer. "Now tell me about Cormorel," he said quietly.

  Baccharus stared at one of the flickering torches for a long time. "It is said my people feel nothing like you Fragile Creatures feel. But I loved Cormorel. I think, once we see things from your perspective, we learn to be how we perhaps once were."

  "Then how could you kill him?"

  "It was not my intention at the time, but in the instant before I acted, I knew it had to be done. Cormorel had discovered there was a conspiracy afoot. That is his word. Conspiracy. Niamh, myself, certain others, had taken the decision to confound those who attempted to block the chances which might come the way of the Fragile Creatures on their path to enlightenment. Niamh and I had formed an alliance with some of the other creatures on Wave Sweeper-"

  "The Portunes."

  "And others. And in the eyes of my people, associating with such lowly creatures against our own kind was the ultimate crime. Cormorel was preparing to expose us. The Portunes and all the others would have been eradicated. Niamh would have been despatched to the Court of the Final Word, where she would have suffered. Immeasurably." He bowed his head even further. "I pursued Cormorel on to the deck during the upheaval of the attack-"

  "That was the Fomorii's first strike, right? Not you?"

  He nodded. "I was pleading with him. He would have none of it. In fact, he took great pleasure in the pain he saw he was causing me. For all that he considered himself above the emotions of Fragile Creatures, he was filled with cruelty."

  "How did you do it?"

  "There is a manner known only to my people." Church wouldn't have dreamed of asking, but Baccharus added, "It cannot be revealed to any outsider."

  "And the Walpurgis was caught with his hand in the biscuit tin, having a final meal."

  "Destroying the evidence. If he had succeeded, my people would have believed Cormorel was simply washed overboard during the attack and would have turned up sooner or later."

  The weight that lay on Baccharus's shoulders was palpable. Church rested a supportive hand on his forearm. "You did the right thing. Under the circumstances. There was too much at stake."

  "But that does not diminish the pain I feel, for I committed a crime against existence itself. While striking a blow for existence. I have wrestled with the conundrum every hour since then and still made no sense of it. Did I do the right thing? Can an act of such terrible negativity create something worthwhile?"

  The questions were not rhetorical; the weight of emotion in Baccharus's voice showed he was asking for guidance. The fact that he felt Church somehow had the wisdom was shocking; how could Baccharus possibly perceive him as someone who had a grasp of such things? "Time will give you the answer to that, Baccharus." He hoped it didn't sound like too much of a platitude.

  They were disturbed by a blast of warm air as the door swung open. Ruth walked in, looking around curiously. Church called her over.

  "Typical. First chance you get, you men are straight down the pub," she said in a faux-chiding voice.

  "How did you find us?"

  "A little bird told me." She wrinkled her nose as she looked round at the raucous activity at the bar. "So let me guess. I've got a choice of beer, beer or beer."

  "I'll see if I can get you a lady's glass." Church dodged away before she could hit him. She turned to Baccharus. "So what were you two talking about so seriously?"

  "Death. Conspiracy. The rising and advancing of the spirit."

  She rolled her eyes. "Oh, how we laughed."

  "It could have been worse." Veitch huddled closer to the fire. In his weakened state, the chill October night bit deep into his bones.

  "In what way could it have been worse? The Grim Lands were a particularly unpleasant experience." Shavi took a sip of the bright green absinthe they'd picked up in a deserted off-licence before passing the bottle on to Tom.

  "I could have had to give you the kiss of life."

  "And how would that have been worse?"

  "Because you'd still be lying there!" Veitch chuckled.

  "Well, you seem to be getting better." Shavi eyed his friend warmly. He had been worried Veitch was going to crack under the shock of losing his handcertainly the first few hours after their return from the Grim Lands had been very hard-but since then he had regained much of his equilibrium. However, there were still too many worrying signs for Shavi to relax: a wildness in the eyes, exaggerated movements, overreactions. He hoped the Blue Fire would work its magic before things started to fall apart.

  Veitch took the absinthe from Tom.

  "You know you're not supposed to drink it neat," Tom said, with a little too much contempt. "You mix it with water, a spoon of caramelised sugar. They say you'd have to have half a brain to take it without watering it down."

  Veitch grinned, waving the bottle in front of Tom's face before taking another slug.

  Tom gave him a sour stare. "It's got hallucinogenic properties, you know. The active ingredient from cannabis."

  "Oh yes… you're right." Veitch pretended to waver. "I can see things! It's amazing! You look… almost human!"

  Tom snorted and waved him away.

  Veitch let his chuckles die away before rubbing his hand thoughtfully over his three-day stubble. He looked over at Shavi curiously.

  "What?"

  "How you doin'?"

  Shavi gave a questioning shrug.

  "You died, or nearest thing to it. That must have done your head in. How do you come back fr
om something like that?"

  "So you do care."

  "Just checking you're not going to go psycho with an axe in the middle of the night." His smile gave the lie to his words. He threw another log on the fire; it cracked and spattered, sending sparks shooting up with the smoke.

  "I actually feel better than I did before I died." Shavi pulled the blanket tight around his shoulders, his breath white. Winter was not far away. "You may find that hard to believe. But I have made my peace with Lee. I have seen the other side of death and returned to talk about it. I have been reborn, bright and new in the world. It was a redemptive experience, highly spiritual, uplifting."

  "Yeah, but can you still get a stiffy?" Veitch leaned back against his rucksack, laughing drunkenly.

  "Don't be talking to him," Tom said sternly. "You won't be getting any sense out of him tonight."

  "You are implying I get sense out of him at any time." Shavi didn't see the boot coming; it hit him on the side of the head.

  "Yessss! One-nil!"

  They had embarked on a meandering route west after leaving Wandlebury Camp, careful to keep a good distance from London. The darkness in the south was growing with each hour, like night eating the day. The cinders in the breeze were more pronounced, and there was an overall sense of despair hanging in the increasingly cold wind. The world was winding down.

  With Samhain approaching rapidly, a deep anxiety had gripped them, amplified by the certain knowledge that there was nothing they could do alone. They needed Church to succeed in his mission. They needed Ruth and Laura too. Sometimes it was almost too hard to hope, and that was when the depression set in.

  But their abiding friendship, forged through hard times, kept them going and ensured the evenings around the campfire were filled with light talk and humour, lifting spirits dampened by the day's sights of deserted villages, frightened people hiding in their homes, or children and old people begging for food.

  It wasn't as if they had any plan except to find Church and Ruth and Laura. That lack of direction left Veitch feeling strained and irritable. He was not a person who coped well with inactivity, particularly with time running out, when there was so much that needed to be done.