"It is wonderful to see you again, True Thomas." Her voice was lazy and filled with strange, enticing notes.
"My Queen." Tom bowed.
"Come." She waved them nearer. "Who is your companion, True Thomas?"
They stood so close Veitch could smell the warm perfume of her skin. She looked at his face intently, her eyes dark beneath half-lids; Witch felt sucked in by them.
"This is Ryan Veitch, my Queen. He is a Brother of Dragons."
"Ah, one of the champions of the solid lands." There was none of the mockery or contempt in her voice that Veitch had heard in so many of the other Tuatha lle Danann. She sounded honestly interested, even impressed. He attempted an awkward bow, which seemed to please her. "You did us a great service by freeing us from the Night Walkers' place of exile," she said directly to Veitch. "You are in our gratitude. If there is anything you require here in my court, you only have to ask."
"Thank you." Veitch was embarrassed his voice sounded so strained.
The Queen suddenly noticed the colourful tattoos only half-covered by the sleeve of his jacket. Her brow furrowed in curiosity. "What have we here? Is that the Staff of Heart's Desire?" She looked up brightly into Veitch's face. "Please. Remove your shirt. I must see."
Veitch glanced at Tom who nodded curtly. Self-consciously he slipped off his jacket and shirt; on his naked skin, the tattoos gleamed vibrantly. The Queen leaned forward until her face was close to his hard stomach muscles; Veitch could feel her breath. "The Watchtower," she mused. "And here, the sword, Caledfwlch. Amazing. You are a walking picture book."
She smiled seductively. Then, while her eyes were fixed firmly on his, she reached out gently until her fingers touched his skin just above his belt. A deep, uncontrollable shiver ran through him. Within an instant he had an erection so hard it was painful. The Queen kept her fingertips there a moment longer, then withdrew them just before he came. Veitch took an involuntary step back and sucked in a juddering breath.
Her little game won, the Queen turned from Veitch as though he were no longer there and spoke directly to Tom. "You were always my favourite, True Thomas."
He bowed. "You are gracious, my Queen."
"Why have you returned to me? I thought it likely I would never see you again. I presume you are not here to seek my affection?"
"We request your aid in a matter of great importance, my Queen."
"We, True Thomas?" Her gaze was incisive.
"I request your aid, my Queen. And I will be forever in your debt if you will help me."
"That is indeed a gift worth having, True Thomas."
Veitch had the impression of an owner curbing her dog. Suddenly he could see the huge edifice of power and malice that lay behind her eyes, but that did not stop him desiring her.
"One of the Sisters of Dragons has been infected with the taint of the Night Walkers," Tom began. He paused while he formed his argument, knowing that everything depended on it. "That understates the situation. It is not a taint, it is the ultimate corruption. The essence of the Heart of Shadows grows within her. The Night Walkers seek to bring back the End of Everything."
"That is indeed a serious development." Her gaze never wavered from Tom's face; she didn't seem even slightly troubled by the news. She shifted her position, raising her behind slightly so Veitch once again had a perfect view of her sex. "What is your primary wish?"
Tom collected himself before he said, "To destroy the End of Everything."
Veitch started. "To save Ruth's life," he corrected sharply.
The Queen's smile grew as she looked from one to the other. "A disagreement?"
"No disagreement." Tom fixed a cold eye on Veitch.
"There is no need to argue." Her voice was like honey. "There is a possibility I may be able to help you achieve both your aims."
Tom bowed again. "Anything you can do to help us would be gratefully received, my Queen." She glanced at Veitch and he realised he was supposed to prostrate himself too. He bowed awkwardly once more and muttered something that approximated Tom's statement.
It appeared to please her; she nodded and smiled. "There are many secrets here in the Court of the Yearning Heart, some which are hidden even from my brethren; even from the Court of the Final Word. Here, all things are given up eventually." She sucked on her index finger as she thought deeply for a moment. "The Eddy-Ball," she said with a certain nod. "A gift of great value to me." A smile; the game had begun. "The orb opens out into the void between worlds. It has the ability to suck the essence from the solid."
"And this could be done without harming the Sister of Dragons?"
"Of course. And the Heart of Shadows will find itself in a place where no shadows are cast." This amused her.
Veitch could barely contain his relief. Although Tom maintained his plain expression, Veitch could see the signs in the Rhymer's face too.
"Thank you, my Queen," Tom said.
"And you will do something for me. True Thomas?"
His face grew taut. "Of course, my Queen." Tom waited for her to demand he stay behind.
She pretended to think, toying with him. "No, True Thomas, not you. This Brother of Dragons." She glanced seductively at Veitch. "I will give the Eddy-Ball to him and him alone, and in return he will carry out a simple request for me."
"Anything," Veitch replied before Tom could stop him.
There was a triumphant note in her smile that made Veitch uneasy. "The Questing Beast has again escaped from the pits beneath us. It is loose in the solid world. It is my heart's desire that this Brother of Dragons seek it out and destroy it, or at least lead it back here to the Court of the Yearning Heart."
Veitch could hear her words, but all he could see was Tom's face, which had grown eerily bloodless. "The Questing Beast-" he began.
The Queen silenced him with an upraised hand, her eyes watching Veitch's face intently. "Will you do this for me?"
Whatever doubts Tom felt, Veitch knew he didn't have an option. "All right."
"Then I will make the arrangements. Go with Melliflor and he will provide you with all you require."
They moved slowly away until the gently stirring sheets of silk had swallowed up the Queen once more. As they walked, Veitch brushed against Tom and felt the trembling that was running through the Rhymer's body.
They were provided with two connecting chambers far from the noise of the Great Hall where they could rest and prepare themselves. They were both ravenously hungry, made worse by the plates of food left for them on tables in the corners of the room. Tom plucked from his ever-present haversack two bags of roasted peanuts he had been saving as a last resort, and they munched on them hungrily.
Veitch was filled with questions, but at first Tom wouldn't speak to him; it was almost as if he couldn't bring himself to do it. He retreated to his chamber for an hour where he smoked a joint quietly on the deep, comforting bed.
Veitch couldn't begin to rest. His mind turned over all that he had experienced, but kept returning to the image of the naked Queen; it was beginning to torment him. And when he forced himself not to think about her, his eyes drifted to the food.
When Tom finally walked in, he sat bolt upright with relief and said, "Come on. Spill the fucking beans. What am I up against?"
Tom pulled up a chair and sat on it backwards, folding his arms on top of the backrest. "You and your big mouth, agreeing to anything she said."
"We didn't have any choice."
"Of course we had a choice. They play games, barter, throw things back and forth. You don't take the first thing offered. You were too hypnotised by the sight of her cunt."
"And you weren't? You were almost down on your knees with your tongue hanging out!"
Tom cursed under his breath and put a hand on his eyes. "There's no point arguing about it. It's done. We have to find a way to make sure you survive."
Veitch kicked the other chair so hard it flew across the room. "Come on, then. Talk. What's this thing I've got to hunt?"
/> "The Questing Beast. It's a living nightmare, something that even the Tuatha De Danann are wary of facing head-on. Their own legends say it was there in Otherworld long before they arrived, one of the first creatures to exist after the universe was formed. They call it a Rough Creature. A prototype for what was to come, if you will. Not fully formed."
Veitch sat carefully on the edge of the bed. "If it's in their legends-"
"Exactly."
"So they're sending me out there because they don't want to have a go themselves. That's par for the course, isn't it? Those Bastards don't like getting their hands dirty. So if they're so wary of it, what was it doing here? And how the fuck am I going to kill it?"
"The Queen keeps many dangerous things here at the Court. It's a mark of prestige. How are you going to kill it?" He shrugged wearily. "I don't know enough about it. Neither do the Tuatha De Danann. But their distaste for it isn't because of its power, it's because of its imperfect form, which they find abhorrent in the same way they react to the Fomorii. Us, they can just about tolerate. Anything less is to be despised."
"So how dangerous is it?"
"Very. Make no mistake about that. It escaped into our world several centuries ago, before my time, and many people died before it was driven back to Otherworld. The general belief of the time was that a mortal girl gave birth to it after having sex with the Devil. The legends that grew up around it described it as having the head of a snake, the body of a big cat and the hindquarters of a lion, which is just another way of saying the people of the time couldn't describe it. It was said to give off a sound like forty hounds baying, or questing, in its stomach, and that's how it got its name."
"So we don't know what it looks like, just that it's very fucking bad." Veitch jumped to his feet and started pacing round the room; his eyes repeatedly strayed to the appetising food. "Well, it was driven off, so it can be done. It sounds like a big deal, but I'll be hunting it, not the other way round. Anyway, it's got to be, for Ruth, for Church and everything. Can't fuck up now."
Tom realised he was talking to himself, planning, bolstering; it was like the ritual of a boxer preparing for a fight.
After another moment's pacing, he turned to Tom and said, "Okay, I've got my head round it. I'm going to get some Zs in now. We'll do it when I wake."
As he left the room, Tom hid the fact that he was secretly impressed; once a conflict situation had been established Witch's developing abilities made him like a machine. Fear or overconfidence didn't burden him; he simply weighed up all the available evidence and decided what needed to be done. Tom hoped that would be enough.
In the court it was impossible to know if it was night or day. But when Veitch woke his body told him he had had a good rest; the exhaustion had seeped from his muscles and he felt ready for anything. He was still hungry, but he knew he could find something to eat back in the real world.
Tom joined him soon after, as if he had been waiting for the sounds of stirring. Together they stepped out into the corridor where Melliflor was waiting.
Veitch had hoped the Queen would have come to see him off, but she was nowhere around. Instead, Melliflor led them to the armoury, a long, lowceilinged chamber where the walls were covered with a variety of bizarre weapons and strangely shaped body armour. Veitch picked up one of the weapons which looked like an axe with a spiked ball hanging from it, but in his hands it felt a different shape completely to how it appeared and he replaced it quickly.
While Melliflor oversaw, three other members of the guard brought Veitch different pieces of armour. They strapped across his chest a breastplate which shone like silver, but which was covered with an intricate filigree. Shoulder plates were fastened on, and he was given a helmet which vaguely resembled a Roman centurion's, but was much more ornate. After mulling over the weapons for fifteen minutes he eschewed them all for his own sword and crossbow.
He had no idea of what the armour was constructed, but it was surprisingly lightweight; he could have walked for miles in it. He didn't have to, though, for as soon as he was ready Melliflor took him through to an adjoining stable which contained enough horses for a small army.
"Stolen from our world," Tom muttered. It allows the lesser members of the Tuatha De Danann to travel quickly when they cross over."
"This is no bleedin' good, I've never ridden before," Veitch moaned.
"The steed will respond to your every movement. We have adapted it," Melliflor said ominously.
Melliflor offered Veitch a handsome white charger, but he didn't feel comfortable with it. "Too flash," he grumbled. Instead he chose a nut-brown stallion indistinguishable from many of the others.
Once he had mounted the steed, Melliflor led it by its reins to a blank stone wall at one end of the stable. He made a strange hand gesture and the wall opened with a deep, rumbling judder. They were high up on a hillside with a vista over Loch Ness. Mist drifted across the water in the post-dawn light. From all around came the sweet aroma of pine trees. Everywhere was still and quiet.
Veitch turned to view the scene in the stables, but he couldn't think of anything to say to Tom. Instead, he merely waved; Tom nodded curtly in reply, but there was much hidden in the two gestures. Then Veitch spurred his horse and galloped off into the world.
The darkness licked at the foot of Mam Tor, an angry sea crashing on the rocks. From his vantage point beneath a burning sun and a brilliant blue sky, Church watched as hopelessness washed over him.
"They'll be coming up soon." Laura's voice made him start.
"Best not to think about that."
"Sure. Do you want me to help bury your head or can you do it yourself?"
Church managed a tight smile; he didn't have much humour left in him. With Ruth's condition worsening by the day, the strain of their isolation and the constant fear that their hiding place would be discovered at any moment, it was surprising he hadn't lapsed into permanent silence.
"No sign of the others yet?" Laura rested on his shoulder and peered out to the horizon. It was a running joke; she asked the same thing every day, knowing the answer.
"Not yet. Maybe tomorrow." He tried, but he couldn't help believing that they wouldn't be coming back at all. He knew they had long distances to travel, with huge obstacles along the way, but they still seemed to have been gone a long time. Even if they did return, how would they be able to slip past the mass of Fomorii? He had been right the first time: best not to think about it.
"She's asking for you." Laura continued to scan the horizon, as if by doing it everything in the foreground could be forgotten.
"How is she?"
"Not talking like she's pissed up for a change." Ruth's lucid moments were increasingly few and far between; at times she ranted and raged in the throes of her delirium so much they thought they would have to restrain her. It always happened at night, in the small hours, snapping them out of sleep and filling them with fear that they were being attacked. Sometimes she would hold conversations with someone neither of them could see; on those occasions they didn't go to sleep again.
Church turned despondently to wander back to the house, but he hadn't gone more than a few steps when Laura grabbed him and gave him a long, romantic kiss. It was an astonishing show of emotion for someone who seemed ever more locked up with each passing day.
"What was that for?" he asked, pleasantly surprised.
"What's the matter? Can't I show you I love you?" She had turned and was walking away before he had a chance to grasp what she had said.
He mulled over it until he was in the house, but the moment he saw Ruth it was driven from his mind. Her skin was like snow, emphasised by the darkness of her hair, which was plastered with sweat to her head. There were purple rings under her eyes and her cheeks had grown increasingly hollow. Beneath the sleeping bag, her belly was hugely swollen. Her appearance was so shocking he had a horrible feeling she was going to die before Balor's rebirth. A part of himself that he never faced hoped that was the case; then he woul
d be saved from having to make the awful decision to kill her.
Although he was creeping quietly, she looked up before he had crossed the threshold. "Hi. You're starting to get a tan." Her voice was just a rustle.
"You know how it is. Nothing to do apart from lie by the pool with a good book." He knelt down next to her to brush a strand of hair from her forehead. When he rested his hand against her cheek, her skin felt like it was burning up.
She put her hand on top of his and gave it a squeeze. "I'm glad you're here."
"Sure. I'm doing so much-"
"I just feel better having you around." He smiled; her eyes brightened briefly before she was forced to close them; a tear squeezed out and trickled down her cheek.
"I'm sorry you've had to go through all this," he said gently. "You've had the worst of all of us. One bad thing after another."
"You know, bad things happen." She pulled his hand round so she could softly kiss his fingers; her lips were too dry.
"You don't have any right to take it so well. You're giving us all too much to live up to. You git."
They laughed together, and the sound of it in that dismal room made Church's own eyes burn. He blinked them dry. "Sometimes I feel like I've known you forever. I know it's only been a few months since that night under Albert Bridge, but it seems like a lifetime ago."
"Maybe we have known each other forever. Maybe it's that old Pendragon Spirit speaking. Telling you we've stood side by side across the centuries."
"You're an old romantic."
She tried to laugh again, but it broke up into a hacking cough. When the attack had subsided, her mood had grown forlorn. "I just wish it wasn't happening here. This house feels bad, sour. I don't know what happened here, but sometimes I can hear voices whispering to me. The things they say… that Ryan's going to die… that other terrible things are going to happen-"
"Hush."
"That writing on the wall… Sometimes words seem to leap out at me-"
He put two fingers on her lips to silence her. Gradually the delirium returned to her eyes as they started to roll upwards. After a moment or two she began to rave, occasionally speaking in tongues, thrashing from side to side. Church sat patiently beside her during the worst of it, then stroked her head until she eventually drifted off to sleep.
Darkest hour aom-2 Page 53
