This is the way to see the world, he thought.
Despite the glorious morning, a misty luminescence had gathered along the horizon like a heat haze over a summer road, igniting in him a feeling of delighted anticipation that he could barely contain.
"It's coming," he whispered.
It felt like the air itself was singing. Church realised he was kneading his hands in expectation and had to hold them tightly behind his back to control himself.
The white, misty light curled back on itself, suggesting a life of its own. There was a billow, another, and then something could be glimpsed forcing its way through the intangible barrier. His heart leapt.
A second later the ship was visible, ploughing through the waves towards him. It gleamed brilliantly in the sunlight, a water-borne star of gold, silver and ivory. At first it looked like a Phoenician galley he had seen during his university studies. Then it looked Greek, and then Roman, then like nothing he had ever come across before, its shape changing with each crash of white surf on its prow, although he knew it was his own perception that was altering. A white sail marked with a black rune on a red circle soared above it, but the ship didn't appear to be driven by the wind, nor were there any oars visible. Every aspect of it was finely, almost oppressively, detailed. Fantastic golden carvings rolled in undulating patterns along each side, culminating in an enormous splash of silver and white like streamlined swans' wings at the aft. The prow curled round into a statue with an awesome visage made of what appeared to be thousands of tiny, interlocking figures; the eyes glowed ruby red. There was something about the design of the face that spoke to Church on a deep level; it was as if it were an analogy for the ultimate secret made plain for all to see.
Ruth appeared at his side, eyes fixed on the approaching ship. Her arm brushed his and goosebumps rushed across his skin.
"It's magnificent," she said in a hushed voice.
Church turned, expecting Callow to be galloping away now Ruth had abandoned his side, but he remained just as fixated, although the wonder in his face was tempered by a steely streak of terror.
It took five minutes for the ship to reach them. Church attempted to scan the deck on its approach, but whatever was there remained hidden; his eyes couldn't focus on it at all and he was repeatedly forced to look away.
When it was only feet away, a jewelled anchor lowered into the water. Church was beginning to feel a touch of apprehension.
Once the ship was secure, they waited and waited. Ten minutes passed without a sign or sound. Before Church could decide on a course of action, there was a shimmer of movement on the deck, like light striking a mirror. A second later a booming voice rolled out over the water, the quality of it constantly changing across a wide scale so it sounded like it was rising from the deepest depths.
"Who calls?"
Electricity spiked Church's spine and he suddenly wished he were a thousand miles away.
Chapter Two
The gangplank unfurled towards them as mysteriously as the ship had been propelled through the water. It was made of brass, and though there was a mechanical clattering, the motion was as smooth as if it were a carpet. Church released his breath only when it clicked perfectly into place. Everywhere was tranquil; waiting. It was still impossible to see what lay on deck.
When no one summoned them aboard, he put one tentative foot on the gangplank, although it didn't feel strong enough to take his weight. He threw out his arms to steady himself when it gave slightly, but it held firm. He glanced back at the others. Callow was shying away in fear, but Ruth placed her hand between his shoulder blades to propel him forward. He squealed and Church had to grab hold of his collar to prevent him plummeting into the waves; from his expression that would have been the better option.
Cautiously Church led the way. Beneath them, the water slopped against the sea wall in a straightforward wave pattern, as though the ship wasn't even there. Callow's whimpering grew more insistent the closer they got to the deck.
"Any last words?" Ruth said ironically.
"You wouldn't want to hear them." He took a deep breath and stepped on to the deck.
The moment his foot landed on board, everything became instantly visible. He caught his breath at the sight of numerous figures all around, watching him silently. The taste of iron filings filled his mouth.
"Ho, Brother of Dragons!" The voice made him start, but he recognised its rich, faintly mocking tones instantly.
"I didn't expect to find you here."
Cormorel was beaming in the same warm, welcoming way Church recalled from their talk around the campfire in the north country, but the darkness behind his expression was a little more obvious. In the sunlight his skin almost gleamed; his hair flowed like molten metal. "Our brief discussion of the Western Isles gave me a desire to see them again." Cormorel's smile grew tight as he looked to the shore. "Besides, the Fixed Lands have lost much of their appeal."
Church felt irritated at Cormorel's easy dismissal of a place he had professed to enjoy, but he knew by now the Tuatha De Danann cared for little. "You don't have the appetite to face up to Balor," he said, pointedly.
Cormorel answered dismissively, "There will come a time, perhaps. But for now the Night Walkers leave us alone, and we, in turn, have more enjoyable things to occupy us." Brightening, he made a theatrical sweep with his hand. "But I am forgetting myself? You are an honoured guest, Brother of Dragons. Welcome to Wave Sweeper."
Church followed his gesture, expecting to see only the Tuatha De Danann standing around the deck, but there were many who were obviously not of the Golden Ones, their forms strange and disturbing. Cormorel saw Church's confusion play out on his face. "Wave Sweeper has always accepted many travellers. The journey to the Western Isles is one of significance to many races, not just the Golden Ones."
"A pilgrimage?"
Cormorel didn't appear to understand the term. Church was also concerned that the god was talking about the ship as if it were alive. He looked more closely at the wooden deck and the unnervingly detailed fittings flourishing on every part of the structure.
Cormorel noticed Ruth for the first time. "Sister of Dragons, I greet you." But then his eyes fell on Callow and a tremor ran across his face. "What is this? Night Walker corruption, here on Wave Sweeper?" His gaze flickered accusingly to Church.
"He's a danger to others. We can't afford to leave him behind."
Cormorel weighed this, then reluctantly nodded. He motioned to two gods with the youthful, plastic, emotionless faces of male models. Callow shied away from them until they were herding him in the direction of an open oak door that led beneath deck.
"What are you going to do with him?" Church asked.
"We cannot allow something so tainted by the Night Walkers to move freely about Wave Sweeper. He will be constrained for the remainder of the journey."
"You won't hurt him?"
"He is beneath our notice." Cormorel turned, the matter already forgotten. "Come, let me show you the wonder that is Wave Sweeper before we set sail."
He led them from the gangplank across the deck, gritty with salt and damp from the spray. The crew and passengers watched them impassively for a moment before returning to their business, as strange and unnerving a group as Church could have expected. He felt overwhelmed at the presence of so many of the Tuatha De Danann in one place. The whole array were represented, from those like Cormorel, who appeared barely indistinguishable from humans, to what were little more than blazes of unfocused light he could barely bring himself to examine. Although he could tell Ruth was also disturbed, she maintained an air of confidence that kept Church at ease.