a stronghold for the Gododdin tribe, who named it Dunedin, the hill fort. But they weren't here because the high ground was easily defendable. It was that.' He pointed to the soaring heights of Arthur's Seat. 'The sacred place of power.'
With the help of Laura's guide book, they ignored the steepest paths to the top. Hiring a car for quick passage along the winding route of Queen's Drive, they drove up through the increasingly rough countryside towards the 823-foot summit. At the start of their journey they passed an odd grille set into a wall before being drawn by the placid waters of St. Margaret's Loch, overseen by the grim ruins of St. Anthony's Chapel. Not long after they arrived at Dunsapie Loch, where they found a path with a gentle gradient. The summit presented them with an astonishing view across the city and beyond, to the Borders and Fife. When he saw it, Tom grew still as he quietly studied the homeland he had left so many hundreds of years before, and after a moment or two he wandered off to be alone with his thoughts. Veitch and Shavi set off in a different direction to explore the surroundings.
'This is amazing.' Church was surprised to hear wonder had driven the cynicism out of Laura's voice. 'We're right in the middle of the city!'
'I didn't expect you to be bowled over by lyrical views,' Church said.
She glanced at him from behind her sunglasses. 'Shows how much you know. Nature is the only thing worth believing in in this shitty life.'
She slumped down on a rock in her usual couldn't-care-less manner, but Church knew she wanted him to join her. He sat close, feeling her body slowly come to rest against him. 'Nature girl, eh?' He mentioned the unusual desktop wallpaper of interlinking trees he had seen on her portable computer not long after they met. 'You nearly took my head off when I asked you about that before, but it was an environmental thing, wasn't it?'
'Oh, you're so sharp. It's an Earth First design.'
'What's that?'
'A radical environmental group. I'm a member. We believe in taking action where it's called for, like when some developer is ripping up ancient woodland or some farmer's trying to make a fast buck growing GM foods.'
This surprised him. 'You're good at keeping secrets, aren't you? I didn't think you believed in anything.'
'Everybody has to have something to believe in. And that's mine.' She adjusted her sunglasses slightly, then let her fingers stray to her scar tissue. 'So do you still think I have something to do with Little Miss…' She caught herself. '… with Ruth disappearing?'
'I never said I thought that.'
'No. You never say much of anything that's important.' There was a sharp edge of bitterness in her voice.
'It was just seeing you with all that blood. I knew you weren't getting on-'
'So naturally I'd go and slit her throat and hide the body. That makes a lot of sense. For the leader of this sorry little clan, you really are a moron.' She sighed. 'I just want a little trust, you know. Is that too much to ask? I know I've not gone out of my way to endear myself like some perky, eager-to-please telesales girl, but that's my way. You should be able to see through that.'
'I'm sorry. I-'
'Everybody else can act like a moron, but I have high expectations for you.'
Her words contained a weight of emotion that was in conflict with the blandness of the surface meaning; so much, it was almost too charged for him to deal with. He felt attracted to her, cared for her, certainly, but beyond that he had no idea what she meant to him. The pressure of events made his own deep feelings seem like a foreign language to him.
He searched deep in himself for some kind of comfort to give her, but all he could do was put his arm around her shoulders and pull her closer. That simple act appeared enough to satisfy her, and that made him feel even more guilty.
'So what do you reckon our chances are?' Veitch clambered on to an outcropping of rock, his muscular body compensating for the buffeting of the wind; he was fearless despite the precariousness of his position. 'You know, of finding her alive?'
'I can tell you care for her a great deal.' Shavi smiled mischievously; he knew his words would plunge Veitch into a clumsy attempt to talk about his emotions.
'She's a good kid.' Veitch kept his gaze fixed on the landscape spread out before them.
'And you feel that way even though she treated you so harshly for killing her uncle?'
'I deserved it. I did kill him. Are you going to answer the bleedin' question or not?'
Shavi squatted down on his haunches and absently began to trace the cracks in the rock. 'I have hope.'
'You know, I'm going to kill the bastard who did that to her.'
'Revenge never does much good, Ryan.'
'It makes me feel good. Do you reckon Blondie had anything to do with it?' He glanced over to where Church and Laura were sitting.
'I do not know. My instinct says probably not.'
'I just want to be doing something. All this sitting around is driving me crazy.' He found a pebble and hurled it with venom far out across the landscape. After he had watched the descent of its arc, he said, 'After we find her… if we find her… do you think, you know, me and her could ever get together? I know we're chalk and cheese and all that, but you never know, do you?'
'No, you never know.' Shavi watched Veitch fondly; for all his rage and barely repressed violence, at times he seemed like a child; inside him Shavi could sense a good heart beating, filled with values that were almost old- fashioned.
Veitch laughed. 'I don't know why I'm talking about stuff like this to a queen.'
For the first time Shavi sensed there was no edge to the slur; in fact, it was almost good-natured. 'I don't-'
'Yeah, yeah, I know what you're going to say. Men, women, they're all the same to you.'
'And emotions are all the same as well, whoever you care for.'
Veitch eyed him thoughtfully for a second, said nothing.
Shavi came over and sat next to him on the rock. 'There is a belief in many cultures that we create who we are through will alone.'
'What do you mean?'
'That we are not a product of breeding or environment. That if we wish ourselves to be a hero or a great lover, and wish hard enough, than we will transform ourselves into our heart's desire.'
Veitch thought about this for a second. 'And if we mope around thinking we're a nothing, loser, stupid, small- time crook, then that's what we end up as well.'
'Exactly.'
'So why are you telling me this?'
Shavi shrugged. 'I just want to help.'
Veitch looked at him curiously, but before he could speak, Tom wandered up to them along a muddy path worn into the scrub. Shavi and Veitch made no attempt to read his mood; at times his thought processes were as alien as those of the Tuatha De Danann or the Fomorii.
''s up?' Veitch asked.
'I can't find any sign of the gate to the Well.' Tom stood next to them, as detached as ever.
'You didn't have any problem down in Cornwall,' Veitch noted.
'The power here has been dormant for a long time. There are no structures or standing stones to keep it focused. It may even be extinct.'
'So, what? We're wasting our time? Those haunts wouldn't have bothered mentioning the place if that was the case.'
'The Aborigines have a similar view of an earth energy. In fact, it is an extremely widespread cultural belief around the world.' Shavi brushed his wind-whipped hair from his eyes. 'The Aborigines call it djang, the creative energy from which the world was formed. In their stories of the Dreamtime, djang spirit beings transformed into things in the landscape-rocks and trees, bushes and pools. That residue was always there so the people could tap into their spiritual well at any moment. And like the ley lines we have discussed before, there were dreaming tracks and song lines linking sacred sites. But the djang could also be conjured up with correct, traditional dances and
