Church jumped down and advanced several paces before he realised the others were not behind him. "From here your journey must be alone," Niamh whispered in reply to his quizzical expression. That brought a sharp chill to his spine.
In the trees, it was even cooler, but the air was beautifully scented with pine and the tang of the mountain snows. Overheard, a stunning full moon glowed white and misty butterscotch, framed by icy, glittering stars. His breath bloomed; a shiver ran through him. Thankfully Baccharus had allowed him to bring the lantern to keep the shadows at bay, although his movement made them jump and recede as if they were alive. Pine needles crunched underfoot, but beneath them the path was oddly well made, with large flagstones worn by age.
The first thing he noticed when he entered the copse was the soothing sound of tinkling water. The path opened out on to a broad, still pool, black and reflective, with trees all around it. On the opposite side was a jutting rock, face down, over which white water cascaded, churning the pool just beneath but obviously carried away by some underground stream before it sent waves lashing out across the surface. The air was heavy with a feeling of deep tranquillity, but as Church stood and drank in the atmosphere, it changed slightly until he sensed something jarring uneasily just beneath it. As he gave in to his instincts he could feel a dim electricity in the air, waiting to be awakened. This was the place.
He played the lantern back and forth and noticed the stone flags disappeared around the back of the waterfall. With anxiety tight in his throat, he stepped cautiously around the edge of the pool, half expecting something to leap out and drag him in. He paused briefly next to the waterfall before darting behind.
It was like crossing over into a place completely detached from the other world. It was a grotto, with barely formed stalagmites and glistening walls where the lantern made a million sparkles dance, and reds, greens and yellows shimmered in the wet brown of the rock. It was small, barely a couple of car lengths across, and within lay another pool, a mirror image of the one without, only without the waterfall the water was even darker. The flagstones gave out to a small, rocky path that ran around the edge, at some points barely wide enough to walk around. Echoes of gently lapping water rolled off the walls, distorting but peaceful. He set down the lantern and kneeled to peer into the depths.
He expected to see the pebbled bottom of the pool easily, at least around the edges near the lantern, but the black water appeared to go down forever. He didn't really know what to do next. Baccharus had told him simply to wait, stressing that "the pool would see" and know what was needed. Yet the surroundings felt so normal it felt silly sitting back waiting.
There was a certain odd oiliness to the quality of the water, so he reached out a hand to stroke his fingers across the surface. At the last moment he withdrew; something was sending alarm bells ringing in his head. He slumped back against the wall, hugged his knees and waited.
It was less than a minute later when he perceived-or thought he did-some activity deep below. Now on all fours, he pressed his face close to the water's surface to get a better look. Something was swimming. The perspective it gave him was shocking, for the pool went down more than twenty or thirty feet, and even then he couldn't see the bottom. Whatever was there was striking out for the surface. The lantern light brought reflected glints from its skin, at times silvery, at times flesh tone. It was certainly a trick of the distorting effect of the water, but it gave him the impression that the pool's inhabitant kept changing back and forth from a fish to a human. Or was somehow both at the same time.
And still it rose, until it was obvious it was human, long arms reaching out, feet kicking, but the face was still obscured by shadows. It covered the last few feet very quickly, but stopped short of coming completely out of the water. Instead, it hovered patiently, looking up at him, only an inch or two beneath the surface, and in that instant he was overcome by a deep dread. The face he was looking into was his own, his long hair drifting in the currents, only it was changed very slightly, in the way the features were held or in some sour experience that had left its mark, so that it was darker in essence.
For long seconds they were locked in that connecting stare, and then there was a flurry of rapid movement in the water. The Other-Church's arms shot out of the pool, clamped on Church's shoulders, and before he could resist, dragged him under.
In the shock, he didn't have time to grab a breath of air. The cold water rushed into his mouth and up his nose before he clamped his lips shut and struggled frantically to push his head up above the surface. But though he fought wildly, turning the pool into a maelstrom, his other self was far too strong. Further down it hauled him, and down even more, until the light from the lantern was too dim to illuminate the water and his lungs seared from the strain. He struck out futilely a few more times, the blows so weak they barely registered, and then his mouth jerked open and the water flooded in, filling his throat, his lungs. Fractured thoughts flared briefly in his mind, but the abiding sense was that it wasn't supposed to be like that.
Except that one minute later, he realised he was still breathing; inexplicably. His brain fizzed and sparked, somehow found a state of grace that allowed his thoughts to grow ordered once more. He wasn't dead; he was breathing water.
The Other-Church released his grip, although his face still had that mean cast; Church thought how much older and unattractive a state of mind could make him look. He signed for the Other to tell him what was happening, but it gave an expression of slight contempt before turning and swimming away. Church had no choice but to follow.
The experience had the distorting feeling of a hallucination. Briefly he wondered if he was dead and this was some final, random activity in his dying brain, but then he noticed a strange sheen across the whole of the pool that resembled the skin of a bubble. The Other swam into it, and through it; Church couldn't see anything on the other side. He hesitated, then followed suit.
The bubble gave slightly as he touched it, then eased over his body, finally accepting him with a slight give. Emerging on the other side, he was shocked to realise there was no water at all; he was in midair and it was dark. Suddenly he was falling, the water shooting out of his lungs. The sensation lasted for only a few seconds until he found himself standing on a broad plain covered in stubby grass, beneath a star-studded night sky and ringed by black mountains. Before him was a pile of rocks fused into a pillar that rose three feet above his head. The OtherChurch stood on the far side of the pillar, the same distance from it as he was.
"What is happening here?" His voice resonated strangely in the wide-open spaces. As he spoke, the Other-Church mimicked him silently.
The pillar of stones began to hum with a low, bass note. Church couldn't take his eyes off it; the atmosphere was heavy with anticipation. As the OtherChurch continued to glower at him, movement became visible within the pillar and gradually a figure stepped out of the solid rock.
Church's stomach flipped. Marianne looked exactly as she had when she was alive, not the gaunt, spectral figure sent by the Fomorii to torment him. His shoulders sagged; conflicting emotions tore through him: doubt, terrible sadness, a touch of joy. "Marianne."
She smiled at him weakly.
"You're another hallucination of this place." He rubbed a hand across his face, but when he looked back up she was still there.
"I'm here, Church. At least, a part of me, a part they couldn't get to. An echo."
Tears flooded his eyes. "Really?"
"Really."
He made to move forward, arms outstretched, but she held up a sudden hand to warn him back. She shook her head strongly. "We can't."