‘What do you want?’
‘The same as anyone else – food, drink, a roof over our heads.’ His sarcasm hung in the air for a moment. ‘We are everywhere. We are legion. There, a quotation that has not yet been written. Or perhaps it is being written as we speak. Ah, the mysteries of Existence.’ He smiled coldly. ‘We are the flipside of your world, but the flipside does not always have to stay at the bottom.’
Something in the Libertarian’s eyes or tone made Church unaccountably fearful. ‘If you are what you say you are, why are you so concerned about me?’
The Libertarian’s eyes narrowed.
‘It’s the Pendragon Spirit, isn’t it?’
Niamh seized the opportunity to break free from the Libertarian’s grip. She scrabbled across the floor to Church’s side, all her haughtiness gone. ‘The light burns too brightly in you,’ she gasped. ‘They are only brave enough to crush you by subtle means, from a distance.’
‘Some of us can strike directly,’ the Libertarian said, ‘and we will, when the time is right.’
‘He asked me to destroy you, in the night, while you slept,’ Niamh said. ‘I refused. No Golden One would obey such an order.’
‘If you do it, it has to be of your own free will,’ Church noted sardonically.
‘Our power may be limited now, but it grows with each step closer to the Source,’ the Libertarian said, before skipping lithely to the open window. He bowed and dived through it.
Church rushed to the window, hoping the killer had leaped to his death, but he could just make out a dark shape disappearing down the side of the sheer wall. The handholds were few and far between, but somehow the Libertarian found them, moving with remarkable speed.
Church turned to Niamh, clearly still dazed by her experience. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.
The goddess eyed him as if he were speaking a foreign language. ‘You could have allowed me to be eradicated from Existence. You would have been freed from your obligation.’
‘I could. But I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself.’
A flicker of emotion crossed Niamh’s normally impassive features, before she snorted, haughty once more.
‘I saved your life,’ Church said. ‘You can deny it, but it’s true. And if you think your life has some value I’d ask for one small thing in reward.’
7
The journey took ten days, across a mythic landscape of forests that stretched as far as the eye could see, their secret depths dark and cool and mysterious, and sweeping grasslands skirting the edge of mountains that scraped the sky; through verdant, peaceful glens and past mirror-glass lakes where clouds scudded silently.
The landscape almost served to soothe Church’s unease. But at night, as he lay beside the campfire, the deep waters inside him moved with a slow, tidal pull. The Libertarian’s words hinted at a hidden pattern behind the mundane reality of his life, but he could not find the connections that would give him understanding.
Jerzy had been his guide, poring over maps given to him by Niamh’s advisors and studying the sun and the stars. He had been silent for much of the last leg of their journey, but as they rounded the base of a crag above which eagles soared, he said in a troubled voice, ‘The tension makes me queasy. When will the queen make her move?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Surely you do not expect to reach your destination?’
‘Why not?’
‘It is not the way of the Golden Ones to give a person what they desire. They love their sport. We will wake one morning in the Court of the Soaring Spirit and find the entire journey a dream. Or as you reach out to knock on the door, the Court of Peaceful Days will turn into a stone at the roadside, or an egg in the nest of one of those eagles. Or—’
‘If it’s going to happen, it’s going to happen. But I think Niamh might just allow me this one thing.’
‘Why would she do that? It is not her way.’
‘There was something different about her after the Libertarian left … I don’t know.’
Jerzy shrugged. His fixed grin took the edge off his downcast manner.
Soon after, the Court of Peaceful Days hove into view, a network of interconnecting, long, low stone buildings with a wood growing all around it, and amongst the residences, and in some places within the buildings themselves, sprouting out of the red-tiled roofs. Flags and banners fluttered from many buildings, while emblems were embedded in the walls. A winding path led to the main door, passing through a solitary wrought-iron gate that soared up nearly fifteen feet, topped with spearheads. The gate swung open soundlessly to allow Church and Jerzy through.