Always Forever (13 page)

A rapid flicker of memories, the speed making him feel queasy. Making love
to Marianne, slicked with sweat. Out drinking with Dean and his other buddies.
Kissing Marianne under the stars. Watching a band. Drinking. Writing something. Eating ... somewhere. A restaurant. Already gone, and two more as well.
Brighton. And ... and America. And back to South London. The pub with all
the bric-a-brac in Clapham. Faster, and faster still. And then ...

Oh God. No. Not that.

The images were slowing down as if the Walpurgis had been fastforwarding through a video and was now getting closer to the point he was after.
Flicker, flicker, click, click, click. The flat, the night he had been out drinking.
The night Marianne died.

No. Please, no.

But how could he be remembering that? He hadn't been there. And then he
realised he wasn't exactly remembering the night, he was recalling his experience in the vast cave beneath Arthur's Seat in Edinburgh, when time bent and
he had been thrust into that awful moment.

The Walpurgis's eyes cut through the familiar image of his flat. "Here. Now."

"No!" Church said aloud.

The image coalesced. The empty flat, removed of the clutter of his maudlin
bachelor years. And it was no longer just an image: he could hear and smell, feel
the texture of the carpet through the soles of his shoes. In the background one of
Marianne's acid jazz CDs played quietly, and she, just out of sight, was humming
along. There was no sorrow, only cold, hard fear; he knew what was coming.

"Please." The Walpurgis ignored him, draining every sensation out of his head.

Marianne crossed to the bathroom. The sound of the cabinet opening, just
as he recalled it from Arthur's Seat. But then he had broken the spell before the
final, sickening moment, so what was the point of the Walpurgis's actions? He
loosened up a little; of course he wouldn't see the worst thing.

And there it was: the faint click of the front door opening. Nearly there
now. Through the moment, Church could feel his fingernails biting into the
flesh of his hand. "Church? Is that you?" Her voice, almost unbearable. The
shape, like a ghost, flitting across the hall. He hadn't concentrated before; it had
all been too painful.

And then, oddly, the image rewound a few seconds and played again.
Church's head spun. What was going on?

It reached the same point, then rewound again. And again. And again. And then Church realised: the Walpurgis was trying to show him something. This
time he concentrated.

The shape, flitting across the hall. No, not the shape; that wasn't it at all.
He was looking at the wrong thing. What was it? The image rewound and
played again. And then he saw something: the shadow the shape cast on the wall
as it passed. So brief, a fraction of a second, but Church knew he had seen its
outline before. That wasn't all, though: a smell, wafting briefly in the air. A
familiar smell. Vague, unsettling thoughts began to ripple up from the hidden
depths of his mind. What were they? Piece them all together.

And then he had the first part of it. The realisation swept through him like the
harshest winter. The shadow of the intruder, the one who had murdered Marianne,
had been one of his recent companions: a Brother or Sister of Dragons. Every subtle
indicator told him his instincts were right. At that stage he couldn't pin it down any
more, but he knew if he watched the image a few more times he would have it.

His stomach was turning loops. Surely it couldn't be true. One of the people
who had been closest to him over the last few months, someone he trusted more
than life itself? Not Laura. Or Veitch. Surely not Shavi. Not Ruth. His stomach
flipped again and he felt like he was going to vomit. It was so close, he could
almost see the face. So close, so close.

"Here it is," the Walpurgis said sickeningly.

Church wanted to snap himself away. He didn't think he could bear the revelation, like discovering a loved member of your family had committed the ultimate perversion. It would destroy him, he was sure.

But he had to see. It was his responsibility. He concentrated and waited for
the dismal tableau to begin once more.

But within seconds of it beginning again, the whole world went sideways.
Electric fracturing lines lanced across his vision; pain crackled deep within his
head. The Walpurgis was breaking contact. His stomach did another flip. When
the bizarre TV screen effect disappeared and he saw the Walpurgis's fingers
withdrawing from his forehead, he knew the revelation wasn't going to come.

"No!" he yelled. He reached out to drag the Walpurgis's arm back to him,
but it was like a cartoon nightmare: though he stretched and stretched, the
Walpurgis was receding in slow time. Church's stomach was continuing to move
of its own accord. A sudden bout of vertigo made him reach for the table that
was no longer there.

"Church!"

His thoughts rolled in a daze. The world was turning turtle.

"Church!" His shoulders were roughly dragged round. It was Ruth yelling
at him, concern etched on her pale face. "We're going down!"

It took another second for her words to register and then he snapped completely back into the real world. The room was engulfed in chaos. Platters and
cutlery were floating through the air, along with the occasional traveller. The
floor was at an impossible angle.

"We're going down!" she screamed at him again, so close to his ears it made
them ring. She pulled him to his feet, they clung for an instant before pitching
across the floor.

Everywhere were screams and yells and clanging metal and splintering
wood. Church was rolling as the floor rose to forty-five degrees. Violent vibrations thundered back and forth, at odds with the sucking, downward motion; it
felt like Wave Sweeper was being shaken apart. Some enormous creature that
smelled of burned rubber crashed against his back with such force he thought
he had broken it. He had barely recovered when the gigantic top table began to
slide, picking up speed until it was rushing towards his head. When it was
inches from turning his skull to jelly, he propelled himself a few inches to one
side so he passed between the hefty, carved legs.

He too started to slide backwards towards the melee of bodies thrashing
near the far wall. He'd moved a few feet, spread-eagling his arms and legs as far
as they would go to slow his fall, when his fingers found purchase in a crevice
between two floorboards. Clutching on tightly, he searched for Ruth, but she
was nowhere to be seen.

Something cut through the madness and left him feeling like he was
floating in a soundless, slow-motion vacuum: Manannan moved eerily across the
floor, perpendicular to it, oblivious to the force of gravity dragging everything
else downwards. Bodies flashed past him, but he continued his gradual progress
in such a languid manner it looked like he was actually floating an inch or two
above the boards. And then, when he was halfway across the room, his head
turned almost mechanically and his attention fixed on Church. It was only a
second or two, but it made Church's blood run cold.

The ship tipped a degree more and Manannan was lost behind more flying
bodies as he made his way to the main exit at the rear of the banqueting hall.
Just as Church feared he couldn't hold on any longer, the boat pitched forward.
The moment the keel hit the waves, Church was thrown six feet into the air
before landing hard on the boards.

Instantly the ship began pitching from side to side. Creatures careered
wildly around the room, throwing him to his knees every time he tried to stand
upright. Finally he was attempting to run with them towards the exit, but the
rippling floor made him stagger as if he were gallon drunk. In the end he
clubbed aside anyone or thing which got in his path, anxious to find Ruth.

When he saw the heaps of broken, unmoving bodies he feared the worst
until he caught sight of her in a space against the wall, dazed, half kneeling, a
cut leaking blood on to her forehead. It looked like they would never get past
the throng fighting to get out, but when the ship lurched crazily to one side
they managed to hang on to a set of drapes while all the others near the exit were
swept away.

The constrained space of the corridor made it easier for them to catch their
breath. "What the hell's going on?" Church was still disoriented after the
Walpurgis's intrusion.

Ruth pulled herself along the wall towards the deck. "I thought our
progress was a little too smooth."

They emerged into madness. Black waves soared up, some passing completely
over the boat before crashing on the other side. The ship rolled in the wild water
so violently that first one rail almost touched the churning sea, and then the
other. The night sky was cloud tossed and torn by lightning, with no sign of
moon or stars. Church and Ruth had to grip on to the mast to prevent the
howling wind hurling them into the turbulent ocean. Every time they inhaled
they took in a mouthful of salty water; the very air was infused with it.

In a flash of lightning that froze the tableau in glaring white, they sensed
movement above them. The next burst confirmed their fears. Something with the
texture of black rubber gleamed in the light. It moved rapidly, but they recognised
it was a tentacle, so large Church would not have been able to put his arms around
it. Another lashed out of the water in an arc across the boat. The monster was
trying to wrap itself around the entire ship to drag it down into the depths.

A further tentacle smashed into one of the crew, his body folding where no
joints had been. Others skidded across the deck, fighting to keep control of the
boat so it wasn't breached by the waves. And then, in another lightning burst,
they caught sight of the bulk of the creature just off the port side, ten times as
large as Wave Sweeper, something that was part octopus and part whale, with
other, stranger inclusions too. It reminded Church of engravings he'd seen in old
books about the mysteries of the deep.

"A G'a'naran." Baccharus was beside them, answering Church's unspoken
question. He was almost white, trembling from the shock of the attack. "They
breed on the ocean floor, grazing on the dreams of mortals. They rarely challenge
ships, and never Wave Sweeper."

"Then why is it here?" Ruth yelled above the storm.

Baccharus was steadying himself with a rope around his wrist attached to a
nearby spinnaker. "I fear it was summoned."

"By whom?" Church could tell from the god's face some vital information
was not being passed on. Baccharus's gaze grew hollow.

"What's going on here, Baccharus?" Church pressed.

The god might have answered, but in that instant a tentacle swept along the
length of the deck towards them. Baccharus ducked at the last moment, but the
tip of it slapped Ruth away from the safety of the mast. She hit the deck hard,
stunned. Church barely had time to register what had happened when a wave
crashed over them and Ruth was propelled by the thick, foaming surf towards
the rail. At the same time the ship began to roll on that side. In shock, Church
realised she was going over the edge.

Without any consideration for his own safety, he threw himself forward,
allowing the surge of water to give him speed. It was futile. He watched in
horror as the waves flung Ruth over the rail.

At the last moment her jacket snagged on one of the hooks used to secure
the rigging and she was jerked to a sudden halt. Church was already moving fast
with the force of the water and it was difficult to direct himself. He prayed her
jacket would hold until he reached her.

Somehow she managed to buy a little extra time by clutching on to the
carved rail, and then he slammed into the side with such force it knocked all the
wind from him.

"Hang on!" he yelled.

The boat dipped down even further. Church thought he was going to pitch
over the rail too, while Ruth's feet were now dragging in the bubbling cauldron
of ocean. He could see the panic in her face, though she tried to bury it; her
strength gave him strength.

They were a pocket in a universe of water, where it was impossible to tell
up from down; when he breathed, there was only brine. The rest of the world
was invisible through the constant stream.

Somehow he found her arm. He tried to tug, but there was nowhere to get
purchase. Ruth would have been dragged to her death if the boat had not then
rolled sharply in the other direction. The sheer force of the reversal sent them
both flying: Ruth's hand wrenched from the rail and they turned in the waterinfused air before slamming into the deck. It stunned them both, but soon
helping hands were dragging them to safety. Baccharus and a group of other
Tuatha lle Danann lashed ropes around their wrists to keep them steady. Despite
the worsening situation, Church grabbed Ruth tightly, overcome with relief.

She fell into him for a second, before pushing him away. "I can help." She
turned to Baccharus. "The storm is making things worse. If it stopped, can you
do something about the monster?"

His answer was a gesture towards the poop deck where Manannan was
floating a few inches above the boards, his hands making intricately complex
gestures in the air, some so convoluted he must have disjointed his limbs to
achieve them. Just beyond the cone of movement, starbursts flashed in the air,
focusing and moving out in streams towards the dark bulk of the G'a'naran,
where they exploded like arcing electricity, blue sparks showering into the
water. "The Master is doing what he can," Baccharus said.

Ruth was already loosening the rope around her wrist.

Church grabbed her arm. "What are you doing?"

"I can do a lot of things." The look on her face scared him.

She heaved her way along the rolling deck, coughing out mouthfuls of seawater. Church lost her to the spray within seconds, but by then there were other
things to occupy his mind. Tentacles lashed the boat with increasing ferocity,
sweeping crew members into the boiling sea or crushing them against the deck.
Church ducked the frenzied thrashing repeatedly, sometimes throwing himself
flat on to the sodden boards.