2
Church and Tom rode to the top of the rise and looked down on the Court of the Final Word. It was like a Roman temple, majestic in gleaming white marble, with Doric columns supporting a portico that towered over a pair of brass doors that could have admitted ten men standing on each other’s shoulders. The pure white light that reflected off the extensive complex spread for at least ten square miles across the floor of the sunlit valley. The court was so large that a river ran through the centre of it, and numerous smaller tributaries emerged from under the walls. At the point where the river flowed out of the court the waters ran red.
‘One entrance, see.’ Tom indicated the brass doors.
Church could see the Rhymer was shaking. ‘Are you all right?’
‘No,’ Tom snapped. ‘And if you ever get inside that place you’ll see why.’ With trembling hands he rolled himself a smoke and dragged on it to calm himself. ‘I don’t know if I can go any nearer. I don’t know if I can carry on doing this at all. There’s nothing written that says just because I can see what’s coming, I should have to play some part in preventing it. I could walk away. I might just do that. Make the most of what little time I’ve got left.’
‘It’s your choice, Tom. And nobody would think badly of you for doing that. But I’d miss your advice-’
Tom snorted.
‘When you actually give me any. You’re a cryptic, miserable bastard, but you’re the only person I can rely on round here.’
‘By default, then,’ Tom said. ‘And isn’t that a pathetic state of affairs. You’re a poor excuse for a king, and I’m a pitiable example of a wise man. We both have a lot to learn and we need to find some fast ways of doing it.’
Church looked back at the brooding presence of the Court of the Final Word. ‘There are too many priorities — get in there and retrieve my Pendragon Spirit, return to our world and destroy the skull and box, stop Veitch killing any more Brothers and Sisters of Dragons-’
‘That’s why there should be five of you. Can’t do it on your own.’
‘So there’s no other way in there?’
‘One door. Like death, once you pass through it you’re changed for ever.’
Reluctantly, Church turned his horse around and headed back down the rise. Tom followed. ‘So how am I supposed to do this without Shavi and Laura?’ he said. ‘And Ruth?’
3
Ruth lay on the sofa with her iPod on, eyes shut and drifting close to sleep. Aimee Mann was singing about someone looking like a perfect fit, for a girl in need of a tourniquet, and Ruth felt tears spring to her eyes without any understanding of why they were there.
Like Peter Pan, like Superman, someone would come to save her, the song said.
She wanted to make the most of the music because there was something wrong with her iPod. Her downloads kept disappearing into the ether every time she found a song that touched her heart. They were wiped from her PC, too, and CDs vanished, there on the table one minute, gone the next. She was increasingly convinced that her flimsy grip on sanity was fading by the day.
The flat smelled strange, too, as if something had crawled into her wardrobe and died. Ruth felt sick and sad, and couldn’t shake the feeling that she too was dying, slowly but surely.
As she sank down into the music, dreams, half-memories and fractured images rose up to meet reality. There was Albert Bridge again, shrouded in mist. Why did it prey so heavily on her mind? There was fire, but not the kind of fire you see in autumn gardens. And somewhere she was calling, ‘I’ll love you … always,’ and her sadness felt like a deep, dark pool.
And then, strangely, she dreamed she was lying on the sofa listening to her iPod, only there was someone in the room with her. At first she thought it was an owl flying here and there, but then she realised it was a man pacing the floor, except he had features like an owl. As he walked, his head swivelled unnaturally, his big, round eyes constantly surveying her. Ruth felt that he wasn’t particularly pleasant, and probably extremely dangerous, but for now he had allied himself with her.
After a moment, he bent over her so that those eyes filled her entire vision. ‘You must wake from your slumber,’ he said in a harsh voice. ‘You are the most powerful.’
‘I can’t wake,’ Ruth replied dreamily. ‘I’ll never be able to find my CDs if I do that.’
Ruth could smell his breath and that jarred her reverie. Are there aromas in dreams? she thought absently.
‘Shake yourself,’ he pressed. ‘You must Craft a message, spell out your intent, unpick the fabric and weave new words of wonder. Fly again. Dream again. Tear out your heart and show it to another. Only a shared heart beats in time. Do it now, now, now. Two-day, for two is one, and one makes five. Do it now. Not on the Sun-Day or the Moon-Day, not on Woden’s Day or Thor’s Day or even Freya’s Day. Do it today, the Satyr’s Day.’
‘I can’t.’ Ruth began to cry again.
‘There are others who can help you. Your brother and sister. And more, four more. The Knight and his combat honey. The Broken Woman. The Warrior-Shaman with bloody clothes.’
‘I don’t know what you mean!’ Ruth called out.
The front door burst open with a tremendous crash. The owl-man retreated to the window as a dark shape that looked like a million tiny shapes joined together rushed towards him.
Ruth felt a huge weight on her chest preventing her from moving, but she was aware obliquely of a raging fight, flickering light and sucking shadows.
It ended suddenly and Ruth found herself being shaken gently awake. Rourke was sitting on the sofa next to her.
‘You were having a bad dream,’ he said with a reassuring smile.
Ruth gently pushed him away. ‘I don’t know … it was so strange.’
He put his arm round her shoulders and leaned in to kiss her.
‘Don’t,’ she said.
Rourke pressed on. ‘I thought we might go to bed. You’ve been teasing me along for ages …’
Ruth’s cheeks flushed. ‘I have not.’ She wriggled out of his grasp and stood up. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know how to say this, but … I don’t really want a relationship right now. I thought I did, but I don’t.’
Rourke looked more surprised than hurt.
‘I know I’ve not been fair to you,’ Ruth continued, ‘and I did agree to all those dates, but …’ Her thoughts were moving too fast for words to express, faster than they had moved in a long time. ‘I’m just very sorry.’
‘I don’t understand-’
‘I don’t either, really. I just know I’ve been acting like some sappy loser. For a long time. And I’m not like that. I don’t need a boyfriend, but I thought I did, and you were around … I sound awful, don’t I?’
‘You’re saying you don’t want to see me any more?’
A slow sound echoed through the flat. Ruth was sure it was her wardrobe door opening just a little, perhaps stirred by a breeze. Suddenly she felt unaccountably frightened.
‘Can’t we just be friends?’ Rourke was saying. ‘You know I love your company, Ruth.’
‘Okay,’ she replied hesitantly. ‘Sure. Why not?’
The feeling of dread subsided. Ruth went to the window and found herself looking into the night for a dream-owl. ‘What day is it Two-Day?’ she asked dreamily.
‘Today? Saturday.’
‘Satyr Day,’ she whispered. Mist was drifting along the dark street, reminding her of Albert Bridge, where she thought she had first met somebody special. And despite the dark, and despite the mist, it felt as if the sun was coming out.
4
Shavi inhaled deeply and tasted the night, the grass, the stones. A dangerous, uncertain future lay ahead, but he felt more at peace than he ever had.
‘You’re a bloody idiot.’ The Bone Inspector sat on one of the fallen menhirs, clutching his staff like a weapon. ‘Coming to Stonehenge on a fool’s errand when we could be hiding out in Callanish. Do you want to get us both killed?’