‘We do not know how many have already fallen under their spell,’ Math said.
The silver-eyed woman clutched at her hair. ‘Madness! If we cannot confront the Enemy, how do we destroy these weapons?’
‘I’m not going to pretend I know how these weapons work,’ Church said, ‘but it appears they have to be operated – if that’s the right word – from my world, otherwise the Enemy would have summoned Lugh and Apollo to their fortress. They didn’t. They did it in my world, and they chose their time very carefully. They didn’t rush into it, so I’m betting they can’t use the skull and the box at the drop of a hat.’
‘So the weapons must be found in the Fixed Lands,’ Math mused.
‘And you can do that?’ Ceridwen said to Church.
‘There are people in my world who are my eyes and ears. They can look out for any activity, anything that might point me to the weapons.’
‘And you will fight for the Golden Ones?’ the silver-eyed woman said in amazement.
Church considered this for a moment. ‘I will fight for Existence,’ he said.
2
Church and Tom rode to the top of the rise and looked down on the Court of the Final Word. It was like a Roman temple, majestic in gleaming white marble, with Doric columns supporting a portico that towered over a pair of brass doors that could have admitted ten men standing on each other’s shoulders. The pure white light that reflected off the extensive complex spread for at least ten square miles across the floor of the sunlit valley. The court was so large that a river ran through the centre of it, and numerous smaller tributaries emerged from under the walls. At the point where the river flowed out of the court the waters ran red.
‘One entrance, see.’ Tom indicated the brass doors.
Church could see the Rhymer was shaking. ‘Are you all right?’
‘No,’ Tom snapped. ‘And if you ever get inside that place you’ll see why.’ With trembling hands he rolled himself a smoke and dragged on it to calm himself. ‘I don’t know if I can go any nearer. I don’t know if I can carry on doing this at all. There’s nothing written that says just because I can see what’s coming, I should have to play some part in preventing it. I could walk away. I might just do that. Make the most of what little time I’ve got left.’
‘It’s your choice, Tom. And nobody would think badly of you for doing that. But I’d miss your advice—’
Tom snorted.
‘When you actually give me any. You’re a cryptic, miserable bastard, but you’re the only person I can rely on round here.’
‘By default, then,’ Tom said. ‘And isn’t that a pathetic state of affairs. You’re a poor excuse for a king, and I’m a pitiable example of a wise man. We both have a lot to learn and we need to find some fast ways of doing it.’
Church looked back at the brooding presence of the Court of the Final Word. ‘There are too many priorities – get in there and retrieve my Pendragon Spirit, return to our world and destroy the skull and box, stop Veitch killing any more Brothers and Sisters of Dragons—’
‘That’s why there should be five of you. Can’t do it on your own.’
‘So there’s no other way in there?’
‘One door. Like death, once you pass through it you’re changed for ever.’
Reluctantly, Church turned his horse around and headed back down the rise. Tom followed. ‘So how am I supposed to do this without Shavi and Laura?’ he said. ‘And Ruth?’
3
Ruth lay on the sofa with her iPod on, eyes shut and drifting close to sleep. Aimee Mann was singing about someone looking like a perfect fit, for a girl in need of a tourniquet, and Ruth felt tears spring to her eyes without any understanding of why they were there.
Like Peter Pan, like Superman, someone would come to save her, the song said.
She wanted to make the most of the music because there was something wrong with her iPod. Her downloads kept disappearing into the ether every time she found a song that touched her heart. They were wiped from her PC, too, and CDs vanished, there on the table one minute, gone the next. She was increasingly convinced that her flimsy grip on sanity was fading by the day.
The flat smelled strange, too, as if something had crawled into her wardrobe and died. Ruth felt sick and sad, and couldn’t shake the feeling that she too was dying, slowly but surely.
As she sank down into the music, dreams, half-memories and fractured images rose up to meet reality. There was Albert Bridge again, shrouded in mist. Why did it prey so heavily on her mind? There was fire, but not the kind of fire you see in autumn gardens. And somewhere she was calling, ‘I’ll love you … always,’ and her sadness felt like a deep, dark pool.