5
Sophie emerged from the ritual so weary she could barely stand. Using the Craft in the Far Lands was a rush, all her senses on fire, her mind experiencing things that would change her for ever. But even abilities that had been a wild dream a few days earlier could not uncover any sign of the Market of Wishful Spirit. It was as if it had never existed.
Niamh waited in the anteroom, hands clasped behind her back as she stared into a mirror with a sunburst design. She gave a troubled smile.
‘Have you had good fortune in your search?’
‘Not yet, but I’m not going to give up.’ Sophie flopped onto a sumptuous couch, feeling as if she could fall asleep in seconds. ‘Can I help you with something?’ she asked wearily.
‘Counsel.’ Niamh sat beside her. She curled her legs under her and stretched, cat-like. The movement revealed a striking vulnerability that Sophie had not seen before. ‘I cannot discuss my doubts and fears with my own people. It would be seen as a sign of weakness. If Church were here, I know he would help, but he … abandoned me.’ The final words were barely audible, but Sophie could hear the longing in them.
‘He’s got a big responsibility.’
‘I know. We all have. There is no room for the personal in our lives.’
‘But we have to have that. It’s what keeps us going through all the hard times. Everyone who knows me says I’m strong, able to cope with anything. And I am strong. But if I didn’t have Mallory, I’d be … lost. I love him so much.’
‘And he loves you?’
‘He says so. I … I believe him. Our relationship is weird. We never really tell each other our feelings. We just sort of know. Although … I don’t think he knows exactly how much I need him.’
‘Then you should tell him.’
‘It’s not that easy. I don’t want to appear weak — or desperate. And when you love somebody that much it makes you weak on some level. It makes you scared, because you have something to lose.’ Long-suppressed memories of the heartache that Mallory had healed threatened to rise. She fought to hold them back, knowing they would tear her apart again. She closed her eyes, and gradually calmed herself. Sleepiness crept up on her.
‘I understand what you say. We all fear abandonment. We need that love. For me, there are times of great loneliness … at night … during the stillness after dawn. I have grown fond of your people. I miss your companionship.’
Sophie was aware of Niamh’s closeness, the arm trailing behind her, gently touching her hair. An atmosphere of honeyed warmth enveloped her. It appeared to be exuding from Niamh, and it brought a fluttering deep in Sophie’s belly. ‘How can we help you?’ she asked lazily.
‘Advise me in my negotiations with the other courts, and in my preparation for the coming battle.’
‘Of course we’ll do what we can.’
‘Fragile Creatures … so beautiful,’ Niamh said gently.
Sophie smiled. ‘Oh, that’s good, coming from you.’
‘The Golden Ones do not see the surface. We look deep inside. And that is where the beauty lies in all you Fragile Creatures.’
Sophie felt Niamh’s fingers gently play with her hair. She almost jumped when the fingertips brushed her scalp.
‘Church opened my eyes to the beauty of your people,’ Niamh continued. ‘Each of you shines like a star. So far beyond us … rising so fast.’
Sophie lost herself in Niamh’s ethereal eyes.
‘It takes my breath away,’ Niamh whispered. ‘All of you. You.’
Niamh’s fingers exerted a slight pressure on the back of Sophie’s head, easing her forward. Niamh’s eyes pulled her in with the depth of her yearning.
‘I am so lonely,’ Niamh whispered.
Sophie felt the bloom of Niamh’s breath on her cheek, then on her lips. The shimmer of golden light blinded her. A touch on her lips, an electric jolt, pressing harder. Heat rose inside her. Slowly her mouth responded, warm and soft.
6
Dombas was a small town almost lost in the folding snow of the majestic Norwegian highlands, about an hour’s drive from the hotel. At five a.m. it was deserted, but the tiny railway station was open for business, though equally devoid of life. In the warm waiting room, Hunter continued to swig Jack Daniel’s while keeping watch. The others huddled by the fire.
‘We could call the Last Train,’ Shavi mused. ‘Perhaps it would help us reach our destination quicker.’
‘What?’ Tom said with angry disbelief. ‘You have ridden the Last Train?’
‘It wasn’t exactly the Orient Express.’ Laura’s face was lost in the hood of her parka. ‘More like a cattle carriage for freaks. And it smelled just as bad.’
‘Stay away from it!’ Tom shouted. ‘Do you know where it has come from? Do you know where it is going?’
‘No,’ Laura said in a couldn’t-care-less tone.
‘Be thankful you don’t.’ Tom delved into his pocket for the tin that contained his roll-up materials. ‘Bloody know-nothing idiots,’ he muttered.
‘Oslo’s going to be a problem,’ Hunter said. ‘Big city like that, we’ll have to be careful wandering around.’
The sound of the approaching train rumbled through the walls. Church stirred himself from his brooding and went to the door for one final look out. ‘She’s not dead,’ he said. ‘She can’t be dead.’
7
Veitch made his way down Karl Johans Gate, dodging the artists lining Oslo’s main street. It was late morning and the bars, cafes and restaurants along the route were already beginning to fill.
There was a bright optimism to the city that dovetailed with his own mood. It was a strange feeling. The only other time in his life when he’d felt even vaguely hopeful was when he had discovered his heritage as a Brother of Dragons alongside Church, Ruth, Shavi and Laura. Good people striving to be better. It had given him a sense of purpose that had always been missing.
But then he had been manipulated by higher powers, forced to betray the only people in the world he cared about, and his reason for living was exposed as the sham it truly was. He blamed the gods, he blamed Church. But in his darker moments he knew the truth: he was a loser who had brought it all on himself. When the Void had originally brought him back into the world, he had considered suicide; there was no way to fill the emptiness inside him.
But now things were different.
On the edge of Vigeland Park, he paused and took a deep breath of the cold, crystal air. He thought he could smell juniper berries and a hint of the fjord beyond. So many experiences since he had returned, so many new sights and thoughts that it was difficult to process it all. He remembered Church telling him once that every new experience turned you into a new person. So who was he now? That was the question.
The park was a vast, green sprawl of trees, lawns and duck ponds interspersed with life-size statues by the sculptor Gustav Vigeland. Veitch found his target in the dead centre, near the most impressive piece, a forty-six- foot-high sculpture of a mass of writhing bodies called
Standing next to the sculpture was a man in his mid-twenties with a sickly appearance, pale skin and lank
