Rounding a corner, they came upon a cool grove in which a woman stood. Her features swam, but long before they settled into an image of ravishing beauty, both Shavi and Tom knew she was the most sexually attractive woman they had ever seen. Long, golden hair cascaded past her shoulders. Her lips were full and parted in a teasing smile. She wore a semi-transparent white dress, belted at the hips, that revealed and then hid the figure beneath.
‘I see the blue light in you.’ Her voice was low and warm. ‘Strange trespassers, indeed.’
‘Who are you?’ Shavi asked.
‘I live in the ice and the fire, in the roar of battle and the silence of the bedroom, in the pulse of the blood, in forests, in passion.’ She looked from Shavi to Tom, pleased with her control over them. ‘Those of your kind called me Freyja, once of the Vanir, now of the Aesir.’
‘Freyja,’ Tom repeated. Shavi felt his companion struggling. Why fight? Tom thought. Why not give in to the sensual delight?
‘For so long we have slept in the Halls of the Dead,’ she said. ‘But now you have woken us. What made you think you could enter our Great Dominion unbidden?’
‘They are Brothers and Sisters of Dragons.’ Tom’s voice was small, wavering. ‘Champions of Existence. They go where they please.’
Shavi found her laughter even more arousing. But Tom’s resistance had cast a shadow upon the golden world that now existed inside him. ‘If … if we should have asked your permission to come here, then I apologise,’ Shavi said hesitantly. ‘But our safe passage is imperative. We are on a mission of the greatest importance.’
Freyja came closer, and closer still, moving her lips to within a fraction of an inch from Shavi’s cheek, smelling his musk. It was all he could do to contain the heat rising in him.
‘A Brother of Dragons,’ she mused. ‘So you fight for the World Serpent, which is curled around Midgard with its tail in its mouth?’
‘Yes,’ Shavi breathed.
‘It is said that the World Serpent will burst forth at Ragnarok,’ she whispered. ‘Are these the End-Times? Is that why we have been woken?’
‘It is.’ The flint in Tom’s voice shocked Shavi. ‘Loki has already joined the Enemy.’
Freyja recoiled. ‘That sly, malignant trickster? Are you lying, old man?’
‘It is true,’ Shavi said.
Freyja considered the information. ‘This deserves our attention. But that does not alter the severity of your transgression.’ Her smile grew darker.
She motioned, and a figure detached itself from the vegetation. It had been there all along, but they had not seen it, for it appeared to be constructed from the greenery itself. A long green beard of moss trailed down its front, above which green eyes glowed.
‘The Leshy,’ she introduced. ‘My dark brother of the woods. He does not abide trespassers, and his punishment is terrible. Look — he casts no shadow!’
The importance of this was lost on Shavi and Tom. Their attention was caught by the realisation that they could no longer move.
14
‘You don’t have to solve this on your own. Talk to me.’ Church sat on the edge of the bed, one hand resting on the small of Ruth’s back as she buried her face in the pillow.
‘I want to. I want us to be just how we used to be.’ She rolled over to look at him. Tears streaked her cheeks.
‘If Veitch did something, we can find a way to put it right.’
‘So we stop saving the world to save ourselves? You know that’s not an option.’
‘I’m not going to let us fall apart. You mean more to me than the world.’
‘Maybe that’s why he did it,’ she said. ‘A blow struck for the Army of the Ten Billion Spiders. You get me and the world is lost.’
Church didn’t have to think. ‘I want you.’
She laughed quietly, without humour. ‘I knew you’d say that — that’s why I love you. You’re an idiot. Don’t you get it? Veitch has made me a weapon to destroy everything we’re trying to achieve.’
‘It’s a suicide mission, no hope of success. Everyone keeps telling me-’
‘Shut up.’ She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and wiped the tears from her face. ‘Now that my memory’s coming back, I know what my legacy is. I’m a conduit for the Craft, and all that represents. For life. All that responsibility, you know? I can’t allow myself to be used to screw everything up. And I can’t allow you to walk away from your own destiny. Not for me. Not for us.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘I’m saying goodbye, Church.’ She brushed her fingers against his temple and Church pitched backwards onto the bed in a deep sleep.
For a moment, Ruth paced the room, kneading her hands in desperation. Then she grabbed her spear and kissed Church tenderly on the lips one final time. Before the tears started again, she marched quickly out of the room, descended in the lift, strode across the lounge — so driven she was oblivious to the frost — and outside. She wore no coat. Without hesitation, she continued through the thick snow towards the bleak horizon. The wind was bitter and well below zero.
It wasn’t long before the warmth left her completely and she felt as if she was walking into a dream.
15
When Church came round, he rushed from the room. A vision of ice and a blast of north wind brought him up sharp. The corridor had been transformed into a frozen cavern. Icicles hung from the ceiling and hoarfrost covered everything, glimmering in the light from his room.
His breath clouding, he returned to fetch Caledfwlch from the holdall in the wardrobe. Blue flames fizzed and spattered in the cold, and with them came the first wash of bitterness. He wanted to be pursuing Ruth, bringing her back into his arms, not standing there, sword in hand, fighting again for something so immense he could barely comprehend its importance.
The frost crunched under his boots. At the top of the stairs, he paused and listened to a distant scraping of metal on stone. The noise made him feel unaccountably queasy.
Down one flight of stairs, then another, the scraping growing louder as he descended. In his hand, the sword hummed in protest.
As he neared the last few stairs, Church saw the shadow first. Enormous, it fell across the hallway revealing someone out of view sharpening an axe. Sparks flew. He came down another step and saw that the axe was double-headed, the edges nicked from long use, the handle black and rune-covered near the blade, and wrapped with black leather further down.
‘Come, little fox.’ The voice was a deep bass rumble.
‘Who are you and what do you want?’
As Church continued down the stairs, the figure slowly came into view. At first, Church took it to be a wild animal, at least eight feet tall with a mane of black hair and a full beard, eyes the red of a summer sunset. The teeth visible through the thick beard were rows of needles, all bloodstained. The muscular body was nearly naked apart from an animal-hide tied roughly around the waist, but the exposed skin was nearly invisible beneath blue tattooed runes, hideous battle scars and body hair, thick and shiny.
He held up his right hand to reveal a cruel silver hook. ‘That bastard wolf!’ he growled. ‘But I survived and I will slaughter it yet!’
‘Who are you?’ Church repeated.
‘Your little fox-brothers called me Tyr. I am the thunder of the battlefield. Now I am returned, my power awakened by the sacrifice of the hanged man.’
Tyr saw Church sizing him up and smiled cruelly. ‘You walk our Great Dominion. There are rules, blood and earth. You have taken a step too far. A prayer and a sacrifice may have bought your passage, but now there is no hope for you.’
Tyr swung his axe so fast Church barely saw it move. Only instinct saved him. It cleaved horizontally, shattering stair rails and reducing to dust a large part of a pillar.