"Fair enough. Then the next question is-"
"How the hell do we get there in a hurry? I mean, Cambridge!" Veitch paced around anxiously. "It's, what, five hundred miles away? No cars or planes or trains. That's crazy!"
"Horses," Tom suggested.
"Still take too long."
"A boat. We could sail up the Caledonian Canal, down the east coast to the fens-"
"No offence, mate, but I honestly don't fancy getting in a leaky old tub with you unless it's a last resort. I hate water." He sighed. "If it's the only option I'll do it, 'course I will, but it's still going to take too long."
"Well, what do you suggest?" Tom snapped. "We've gone back to the Middle Ages. A horse and a boat are top-of-the-range technology!"
Veitch chewed on his lip in thought. After a while he cast a sly glance towards Tom.
"What?" the Rhymer said sharply.
"Back at Tintagel when the crow man forced us over the edge of the cliff, you did something-"
"No," Tom said firmly.
Veitch squatted down next to him. "Yeah, you did, you did. You moved us all the way from Tintagel to Glastonbury. What's that? A hundred miles? Just like that!" He snapped his fingers.
"No."
"Stop saying no or I'll punch your head in."
Tom couldn't decide if he was joking. "What I did then was a one off. I'd been taught the principle, but I'd never been able to do it before. I don't have the ability. I don't."
"Then how did you do it?"
"The danger of the moment focused my mind. It was a subconscious act born of desperation. I couldn't repeat it if I wanted."
"Maybe I should stand with my crossbow next to your head. Focus your mind again."
Still Tom was unsure of Veitch's intention. His face was dangerously impenetrable, frightening in its coldness, with only the ever-present anger buzzing behind his eyes. "That wouldn't do any good. Too staged."
"Look, this is the answer, so we've got to make it work. Tell me about it. What makes it happen?" His eyes narrowed. "From the beginning, and make it simple. No talking over the top of my head or I really will do you. This is important."
"Make it simple, you say!" Tom cleaned his spectacles, an act of both irritation and preparation. "The Blue Fire is the essential force running through everything-the land, trees and animals, you and me. We are all part of the same thing. In ancient times it was fundamentally understood by all. The Blue Fire could be seen by everyone, and manipulated by many, particularly the adepts in a society, the shamen. Your society, certainly since the Industrial Revolution, has drifted away from the idea that man is a part of everything. Man is something special, above everything, is that not how it's seen?"
Witch was concentrating on every word.
"The Blue Fire was forgotten. But it is as much about thought and belief as it is any subtle, flowing energy stream. Its source is in the imagination and the heart. It's a wish and a hope."
"So it sort of dried up."
"In your actions around the country over the past months you have been awakening the King of the World from his slumbers, but the task is not yet complete. The Fiery Network, it was called. Lines of the Blue Fire crisscrossing the country, the world, like the pulsing arteries in a body. The Chinese understood this perfectly. They called the force chi and mapped it out both on the land and in the body. In the latter it was controlled and refocused through acupuncture. On the land, the ancient sacred sites-the standing stones and first churches and cairns-did the job. But stones have been thrown down. In the last century, narrow-minded Christians who saw them as the work of the Devil rooted up whole circles. The Fiery Network fragmented; desiccated. If you imagine the land is a body, you would see some healthy arteries, an intermittent structure of veins and capillaries, and vast swathes of cold, dead skin."
"So, it's like a machine that keeps the world running smoothly."
"In a way." Tom was relieved at his breakthrough. "An ancient technology, if you will. A global machine that allows transportation across space, even across time, that allows one to jump dimensions. The manipulation of energy. That is the language of science, but this age's petty view of science doesn't even begin to encompass it."
Veitch began to pace once more, the thoughts coming thick and fast. "So, this is what you're saying, right? That you can move along these Blue Fire lines like roads, only, immediately, like a transporter beam on Star Trek."
"Correct. Well… some people could. Not everyone. Even when the ancient races had the necessary skills to manipulate the Blue Fire, becoming one with the flow of energy was always fraught with danger."
"Why?"
"Because it's possible to go in so deep you become lost. In effect, you give yourself up to the energy to which we all aspire. The Godhead. Our lives are spent trying to attain that, so why should we ever give it up when we have it in our hands? Imagine the troubles of life washing away as you become swathed in glory, in ecstasy."
"So it's like a drug?"
"In a way, though that sounds too negative. Those who are skilled can skim along the surface of the Blue Fire, taking from it what they need. Others get sucked beneath the waves and happily drown in its wonder, never to be seen again."
"And that's what you're scared of?"
"To go into the Blue Fire and never return would be a blessed release, indeed." He wouldn't meet Veitch's eyes. "To leave behind all this… shit." He waved a hand dismissively around. "No more struggle, no more tears and hatred and misery-
Veitch looked around at the sweeping tree-swathed banks of the glen, listened to the bird song and the splashing of the river across the fields. "But no more of this."
Tom didn't appear to understand him.
"We've got a responsibility," Veitch continued, "to make things right for all those who can't go jumping into the Blue Fire."
"Yes, yes, I know that!" Tom snapped. "I'm simply saying I might not have the willpower to pull myself through it."
This time it was Veitch's turn to be puzzled. "You're not weak."
"Yes, I am. Every day is a struggle to keep going. I'm ready to give it all up." Veitch mused on this a while as he looked out over the countryside. "Nah, I don't believe it. You've got a load of faults, same as us all, but I know you, you old hippie. You'll always come through in a crunch. You just don't know yourself well enough."
Tom was so surprised to hear this character assessment coming from Witch's mouth, he was lost for words. Veitch laughed heartily. "Anyway, we have a responsibility-"
"Stop using that word! I know you've just added it to your vocabulary, but-"
11 — to the others. Whatever the risks, we've got no choice but to try. You're telling me you could live with yourself if you knew you might have been able to bring Shavi back-"
"All right, all right! Lord, you do go on."
"You'll give it a shot?" Veitch didn't mask his surprise that he'd won the argument.
Tom snorted in irritation as he collected his haversack and stood up. "Yes, but if I have to spend the rest of infinity with you, that Blue Fire will seem like the flames of Hell."
The atmosphere on board Wave Sweeper was growing increasingly oppressive. The Tuatha De Danann had distanced themselves from the other travellers, retreating to a tight coterie around Manannan, who kept a firm grip on the running of the ship. The death of Cormorel had affected them even more than their aggressive response suggested; they were scared, Church could tell.
Many of the passengers confined themselves to the lower decks, taking food in their cabins or whatever shadowy area they inhabited. The ones who did rise to greet the sun kept their heads down and their eyes averted. Of the Walpurgis, there was still no sign, although the search parties departed daily at dawn, marching as far as they could into the infinite bowels of the boat before returning at dusk.