World's end taom-1

by Mark Chadbourn

  "No, you didn't. You'd kill again at the drop of a hat."

  "You bastard! You might look like me, but you don't know me! I've never done anything right in my life and I'm sick of it! I want to be a good bloke! I want people to look at me like they do Churchill-"

  "Yeah, it's all about self, isn't it, Ryan? You don't want to do good because it makes other people feel good. You want to do it because it makes you feel good."

  "Fuck you!"

  "I loved my father!" The tears seared down Ruth's cheeks.

  "You hated him. He dominated you from when you were young. He forced you into a career you didn't want to do-"

  "He didn't force me! I did it because I wanted to make him happy! So it was the wrong career for me. It's not Dad's fault. He didn't-"

  "What? He didn't know his own daughter? No, he was a typical working class bloke who wanted a bit of respectability for his family. A lawyer! That'd be something to tell them all down at the union meetings and in the labour club. His daughter had worked hard and made something of herself, despite starting with nothing. And he didn't care a thing about what you wanted-"

  "That's not true! Dad didn't think like that!" The next few lines out of the mirror were drowned out by Ruth's racking sobs. She had not felt so raw since the day her father had dropped dead of a heart attack, in that fleeting moment when she thought time had stopped and the whole world was coming to an end. Somehow the magic surrounding the mirror had pushed all the right buttons to bring the emotions rushing out of her.

  "He knew you were unhappy in your work. That's what killed him."

  "Not true! It was the shock of Uncle Jim's murder-"

  The mirror went milky and when it cleared Ruth was looking on the interior of a building society. A tall man with greying hair and a pleasant face that was locked in anxiety stared out at her; he looked remarkably like her father.

  "That's Uncle Jim," she said curiously. Suddenly she realised what was coming next. "Oh no-"

  The blast of a gun made her jump with shock. Her uncle was flung back against the counter, clutching at his stomach as a large red patch began to spread across his sweater.

  "Oh, Uncle Jim-"

  Somebody ran forward to inspect the body. He was cursing and waving his gun at Uncle Jim, as if he had done something to provoke his own murder. Ruth was transfixed in horror. The killer had on a mask, but Ruth recognised the shape of his muscular body, the long hair that flapped around as he shook his head wildly, in anger it seemed. But most of all she recognised the garish tattoo she could see snaking out from under his sleeve.

  "That's the man Church brought with him." Even as she said it Ruth couldn't believe it; but it was true. "That's Veitch."

  Church stared impassively at the scene of Marianne lying on the floor, her skin so pale she looked like a statue. "You're wasting your time," he said coldly. "I've lived with that image for so long now I'm immune to it. When I thought I was responsible … when I thought I was some kind of terrible person who could live with someone yet be so self-centred they had no idea of the torment their partner was going through … then it might have hurt me. But now I know she was murdered."

  "You're still responsible," his voice said as the image faded and his dark, bitter reflection returned. At first he had thought it resembled him exactly; it seemed just like the face he had seen in the mirror so many times over the last two years. But now he wasn't so sure. It didn't feel like him. He felt better than that; and that thought surprised him.

  "How can that be? Someone else killed her and pretty soon, with any luck, I'm going to find out who did it. That was the promise made to me, and that's the only thing driving me forward. You see, I'm going to die soon. I've seen my own death. Can you believe that? So nothing else matters, apart from finding out what happened to Marianne and getting some kind of peace before the end. Some might call it fatalistic. But if it's going to happen it's going to happenyou've just got to make the best of it. That's a big lesson I've learned recently. It's the quality of the life up to the big peg-out that matters." The reflection went to speak, but Church wouldn't let it. "Shut up. And here's something that has to be said, just for the sake of getting it out in the open, really. Once I find out who killed Marianne, if I get the chance before I die myself, I'm going to take the bastard with me. That's a promise."

  The reflection opened its mouth once more, but Church had had enough. He turned his back on it and prepared to return to the maze in search of the way to the talisman. And as he did so there was a sudden shattering as shards of the big ornate mirror exploded out. Miraculously, none of them touched him. As he glanced back he noticed that behind the broken mirror there was another tunnel, this time lit by the flickering blue light of the earth energy.

  Church found himself in a circular, domed room cast in sapphire by the light of four braziers burning brightly with the blue fire. There was a sense of serenity that sluiced all the negative emotions from him. In the centre was a raised marble dais bearing an object which he couldn't quite make out; the air seemed to shimmer and fold around an image which constantly changed. Church saw a construct of light with strange, unnerving angles, a robust cauldron blackened by fire, a crystal goblet, an ornate gold vase studded with jewels. As he approached, the object seemed to freeze, the air cleared and he was looking at a chipped bowl of heavily aged wood that most wouldn't have given a second glance.

  He stood before it, overwhelmed by the weight of myth and symbolism; here was the dream of generations.

  It was too much. Afraid to even touch it, he rested his hands on the marble top. Instantly, the bowl slid towards him of its own accord and came to a stop between his fingers, offering itself up to him. Steeling himself, he grasped it firmly, and at that moment he heard the distant sound of fracturing glass. Within minutes the other four had made their way to the chamber; Church was shocked to see their shattered expressions.

  Shavi's face brightened the moment he saw what Church was holding. "The Grail!" His voice was filled with awe and wonder.

  "And the cauldron, one and the same. It-"

  They were interrupted by a sudden commotion. In a fury, Ruth had propelled herself towards Veitch and slammed a fist into his face. He pitched backwards, blood spouting from his nose, and now she was raining blows upon him which Veitch batted away as best he could.

  "You bastard!" she screamed. "You killed him!"

  Shavi and Laura managed to pull her off with great difficulty; she was transformed by rage, swearing and spitting. Veitch pulled himself into a sitting position, dabbing at his bloody nose. "Stupid bitch," he hissed, but Church could see the anger in his face was purely defensive.

  Laura looked at Ruth in disbelief. "Take a stress pill. What's wrong with you-something finally popped?"

  "He killed my father." She shook Laura and Shavi off, consumed by the coldness of her words, which brought back the terrible ache of futility and emptiness she had felt just after her father's death, and she hated Veitch as much for making her feel it again as for his original crime.

  "He killed your dad?" Laura looked from Ruth to Veitch. None of them could comprehend what she was saying.

  "He was some stupid, petty bigmouth with a gun trying to get rich quick by robbing a building society." The contempt in Ruth's voice hissed acidly. "My uncle was in there and that bastard shot him dead, then ran away. And when my father found out what had happened, it killed him."

  They stared at Veitch for some sort of denial, but he couldn't look at any of them.

  "He was just an old man!" Ruth cried. "He couldn't have done anything to you!" She swallowed noisily. "He was going down to Brighton with my aunt to celebrate their silver wedding anniversary. We were going to have a party.. She swallowed again. "What you did that day destroyed our family!"

  Veitch bit his lip, said nothing.

  Ruth glared at him, but her eyes were already filling with tears. She turned away and Church stepped in and put his arms around her. There was resistance at first, the
n she folded against him, although her body still felt rigid and cold, as if made of compacted ice.

  "I didn't mean to do it," Veitch protested. "I know it's no fucking excuse, but I just … I was frightened. I knew I shouldn't have been there. And then I turned round and I thought he was coming for me …" He stared blankly at the ground. "If it means anything, I've never had a minute's peace since that day."

  "It doesn't mean anything," Ruth said coldly.

  The others shifted uncomfortably in the blast of raw emotions. Eventually Church said, "I know how you feel. Exactly how you feel. And that's why I'd never ask you to forgive him. But what's at stake in the world is more important than everything that's happening in our lives. If you break us up now-"

  "I'm not going to break anything." Ruth pulled away from Church and looked him full in the face. "I'm not some stupid bimbo. I know what's at stake. I know what my responsibilities are. And I'll be there to the end." She stared hard at Veitch and what Church saw in that look unnerved him. "But don't expect me to be friends with that bastard. Don't expect me to pass the time of day with him. And if we get to the end of this alive I'm going to make sure he faces up to his responsibility. And see he gets put away for his crime."

  They emerged from the Temple of Mirrors to a balmy summer night alight with thousands of stars. Only the faintest breeze stirred the treetops. Church staggered up the grassy bank with the Grail held before him so Tom could see what they had achieved. Tom was already on his feet, and Church was shocked to see his face was glowing with respect.

  As they walked back across the meadows, Shavi and Laura talked quietly with Ruth while Veitch trailed along behind, lonely and isolated.

  Tom caught up with Church at the front and grabbed his arm. "I'm worried we'll lose the boy."

  "I'll have a word with Ryan," Church said wearily; the emotional distractions were a blow too much. "I don't want us pulled apart from within. If we can't count on each other-"

  "Remain focused," Tom said. "You've done a remarkable job so far. Better than I expected on our first meeting."

  "Is that a note of support?"

  "Make the most of it. They're few and far between."

  Was that a glimmer of humour? Church wondered. He glanced surreptitiously at Tom, but his face was as implacable as ever; all his emotions were locked so tightly inside they seemed almost separate from him. Church had the impression he hadn't always been like that, that his experiences at the hands of the gods had been so terrible that emotional detachment was the only way he could have survived.

  "Are you ever going to let us into all your secrets?" Church asked.

  "When the time's right."

  "We're not children, you know."

  "You are children, in the ways of the gods and in the true mysteries of the universe. You're learning how to see things truly after a lifetime of being blinkered. And like any learning process, too much too soon would be detrimental."

  "And you're our teacher." Church sighed.

  "For my sins."

  "Can't you at least tell me what lies ahead?"

  "That's the last thing I'd tell you."

  Church glanced back at the rag-tag bunch following and felt a sweep of pessimism. There was no one he would describe as a hero. In fact, most of them seemed damaged to the point of uselessness.

  Tom seemed to sense his thoughts. "People are forged by hardship," he said simply.

  Church shook his head, stared at the ground.

  "It's a terrible fact of life that nobody has wisdom until they've tasted bereavement," he continued. "Of all life's experiences, that's the sole one with truly alchemical power. Knowing that, given a choice, we would all stay ignorant. Yet, ironically, we're better people for having gone through it. Bereavement is the key to meaning, and you all have that wisdom within you. The building blocks are there-"

  "And you expect damaged goods to pile them into some sort of structure?"

  Tom shrugged and looked away; Church couldn't tell if Tom was annoyed by his defeatism or acknowledging it.

  They reached the tunnel back to the world soon after. At the entrance they all turned and looked back over the idyllic landscape, glistening in the moonlight, breathing deeply of the sweet, scented air; there was true magic in every aspect of it.

  "I could stay here forever," Ruth said.

  Tom nodded. "Yes. That's the danger."

  When they emerged on the tor, it was the dark just before dawn, yet they all felt that only an hour or more had passed since they had first entered the tunnel. They immediately noticed a subtle difference: the night was significantly warmer.

  "It's like summer," Ruth said curiously.

  They made their way down the winding path to the town as dawn broke, golden and comforting. But as they killed time on the high street waiting for the cafe to open for breakfast, a delivery van dropped off a bundle of papers outside the newsagents. Church wandered over to glance at the headlines.

  "Look at this," he said in an uneasy voice.

  The others gathered round as he pointed out the date beneath the masthead. During their brief stay in Otherworld, two weeks had passed. It was April 1.

  Chapter Sixteen

  the harrowing

  "You lot have got it all wrong. This is the key to eternal youth. You spend a couple of weeks in that place and when you get home, everyone goes, `How do you stay so young? What are your beauty secrets?' Then you go round to all your old boyfriends and point out their wrinkles." Laura sat with her feet on the dashboard between Veitch and Shavi, who was driving. Church, Tom and Ruth sat in the back amidst the camping equipment and what clothes and supplies they could afford. The discovery of the time differential had left them feeling uncomfortable.

  "You're missing the point," Church said irritably. "We can't afford to lose two weeks. We've still got one more of these damned talismans to recover-"

  "Stop moaning." Laura swivelled to flash him a challenging smile. "There's nearly a month to the deadline. That's enough time to do this walking backwards." She turned to Tom. "Anyway, Grandad, you must have known about this before we crossed over."

  "Yes," Ruth said. "Why didn't you say anything? I'm sick of you not telling us things before they happen."

  Tom took off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt. "No point. We had to go. You would have found out sooner or later."

  "You mean you didn't want to take the chance some of us wouldn't cross over." He didn't return Ruth's pointed stare.

  "It's a good thing this mission is based on trust," Laura said ironically before slipping off her boots and planting her feet on the windscreen.

  "Bet that position feels familiar," Ruth said sharply. Laura showed her middle finger over her shoulder.

  Church rested one hand on the crate they'd picked up from the grocer's to store the stone, the sword and the cauldron; it seemed faintly sacrilegious, but the need for easy, well-disguised transport was more pressing. He could almost feel the power of the talismans through his fingertips. And sometimes it was like he could feel them talking to him, incomprehensible whispers curling like smoky tendrils around his mind. Part of it made him tremble with awe; another part of it made his skin crawl. "I feel nervous carrying these things around with us."

  "The Fomorii can't touch them," Tom noted.

  "They'll just get somebody else to do their dirty work." He paused. "Now we're out of Glastonbury, does that mean we're meat for the Wild Hunt again?"

  Tom nodded.

  "We'd better make sure we're somewhere secure by nightfall," Ruth said.

  "How about some music?" Laura went to turn on the radio. Ruth told her to wait while she pulled a cassette out of her bag and threw it up front. Laura made a face, but put it in the machine anyway. A second later Sinatra began to sing about flying off to foreign climes for excitement and romance.

  Church's face brightened with surprise. "I thought we'd lost this!"

  "Even the Wild Hunt didn't want it," Laura said sulkily.

&nbs
p; Ruth flashed him a grin and he smiled thankfully; he found real comfort in the way she seemed instinctively to know him. If nothing else, the previous few weeks had given him a true friend.

  The Wayfinder led them back to the M5 motorway and then north in the bright, warm sunshine. The van ran as good as new after the repairs, but the cost had made them worry about their funds. They all had credit cards and made their monthly payments by phone transfer from their savings accounts, but their reserves weren't endless.

  Shavi was talkative on a range of subjects and Laura kept the banter going, but Veitch hardly said a word. His confrontation with the results of his actions seemed to have had a profound effect on him; above all, it appeared to have confirmed his own worst fears about himself. Church began to worry that Tom's assessment of Veitch had been correct and he resolved to talk to him as soon as he could get him alone.

  They picked up the M4 and headed west into Wales, which, as Shavi noted, was an obvious destination, with its rich Celtic history and links to Arthurian legend.

  "So, we're talking themes here," Laura noted. "Church has got his sword, so that makes him the big, fat king. I guess the tattooed boy here is Lancelot, the old hippie would be Merlin, Miss Gallagher back there acts like Queen Bee so I suppose she's Guinevere." She slapped a hand hard on Shavi's thigh. "Don't know what that makes you and me, though."

  "Is that it?" Ruth said with the excitement of someone who's just seen the light. "We're, like, some kind of reincarnation-"

  "No, that's too literal," Church said insistently. "And I keep saying this, but those are just stories. There was no Round Table or chivalrous knights. Arthur, if he existed at all, was a Celtic warlord-"

  "So the historians say." Tom pronounced the word with faint contempt.

  "I'm not even going to begin talking to you about it." Church waved his hand dismissively. "You'll keep us talking round in circles and then tell us nothing new."

  Laura grabbed the rag Shavi used to wipe the windows and threw it hard at Tom's head. "Come on, you old git. Spill the beans or we're going to tie you up and drag you along behind the van."