Tom shrugged. 'The more we developed the rational side of the brain, the more we lost touch with the intuitive. We simply forgot the skill to combine the senses, to be holistic in feeling. It's one of the great arrogances of man that we consider we are constantly evolving, that to dwell wholly on reason and science and logic is somehow better. But what would you think of a man who chopped off his left arm to make his right arm stronger? That ability to combine the senses, to feel, that was the most amazing skill of all. Man hasn't been whole for a long time, yet everyone in this century thinks they're some kind of superman, the pinnacle of existence. If it wasn't so bitter, the irony would make me laugh.'
Church thought about this. The passage began to slope down, but just as he thought they were going to head into the bowels of the earth it rose up sharply, then descended again. Soon he'd lost all sense of direction.
'I've got a question,' he said eventually.
'Go ahead.'
'In all the stories there's a myth that the fairies are scared of iron. The Fomorii and Tuatha De Danann don't seem to have any problem with it.'
'Correct.'
'But I noticed the earth energy seems to smell and taste of iron-' Tom's sudden grin brought him up sharp.
'Very perceptive! You've found the source of the myth! It's the blue fire and everything it represents that fills them with fear. That's what can bind them. And in its most potent form, that's what can destroy them.'
Church surprised himself with the awe he felt. 'I didn't realise the power of it. Then if we can control it-'
'The Brothers and Sisters of Dragons truly can be the defenders of the land.'
'We have to awaken it,' Church said firmly, almost to himself.
'That's your destiny,' Tom added.
Ahead of them the tunnel dipped down into the darkness again. Church found himself subconsciously going for the locket given him by the young Marianne; it filled him with strength in a way he still couldn't quite understand.
'What lies ahead, then?' he said uneasily.
Tom shrugged. 'It won't be an easy journey. This close to such a powerful source of the earth energy, time and space will warp. It will be disorientating. We will have to keep our wits about us.'
'And when we get to where we're going, how are we supposed to get the blue fire moving again?'
'Do I look like the fount of all knowledge?' Tom said irritably. 'We'll find out when we get there. Hopefully.'
And with that he set off into the darkness.
The hotel seemed empty without the others around. Veitch ate dinner early, steak and potatoes with a good red wine, but the high life he could never have afforded before did little to raise his spirits. With everything in such a state of flux, so many pressures and so much at risk, there was too much even to think about. And it wasn't just that the world was changing, it was the deep things shifting within him. Here, finally, was a chance to change; he could leave behind the Ryan Veitch he had despised all his life and become the person he always dreamed he would be: good, decent, unselfish, caring. Until chaos had descended on the world, he had dismissed the idea with the certain knowledge that he was who he was-he would never change. But now he had a chance, he was determined not to let it slip through his fingers.
When the sun started to go down he took his brooding with him to the bar. The room was near-deserted. It would have been wiser to stick with wine, but he couldn't resist ordering a pint of lager, which he took to a table where he could see the door; an old habit.
He'd got halfway down his drink when he noticed the elderly gentleman who'd come up to him in the lobby the previous day. He was smiling at Veitch from a nearby table, as elegant as ever with his smart suit and his swept-back white hair. He sat with his hands crossed on top of his cane.
'You know, this old place used to be thronging at this time of year,' the man said. Veitch smiled politely, but he had never been one for small talk, particularly with a higher class. Toffs always made him feel insignificant, stupid and uncultured, whatever his better judgement. But this man seemed pleasant enough; his smile was warm and open, and there didn't seem any judgment in the way he looked at Veitch. 'Do you mind if I join you?' He smiled at Veitch's reticence. 'Oh, don't worry. I'm not some predatory shirtlifter. I merely wish to share your company and, well, and perhaps my thoughts.' His smile changed key, but Veitch couldn't read what it signified.
'Okay,' Veitch said, recognising his own loneliness. 'I'll have a drink with you.' He took his lager over to the man's table and sat opposite him. Up close, he could see the man's eyes sparkled with a youthfulness that belied his age. He smelled of expensive aftershave and pipe tobacco.
'Gordon Reynolds,' the old man said holding out a well-tended hand. Veitch shook it and introduced himself.
For the next hour they exchanged small talk: about how Veitch was finding Edinburgh, about the weather, the best tourist sites, the malts that really ought to be sampled and a host of other minor issues. Reynolds broke off to sip at his whisky and when he replaced his glass there was a gleam in his eye. 'You look like a bright young man,' he said. 'You are aware, of course, that something very strange is going on in the world.'
'I've seen some funny things.' Veitch sipped at his lager.
'They closed off the Old Town today.'
Veitch nodded.
'You're very reticent.' Reynolds smiled. 'I suspect you know much more than you're saying.'
'I know a bit. Don't like to talk about it.'
'It's bad, then. No, don't bother telling me otherwise. I've some friends in Wick who used to keep in touch before the telephones went down. They were keen hill-walkers, used to go off into the wilderness. Well, rather them than me. Give me a warm fire and an old malt by it any day. But one day, not so long ago, they went off into the wilds and saw some… quite terrible things. Quite terrible. Now they never leave the town. No one does. The wilderness is offlimits.' He scanned Veitch with a dissecting gaze, taking in every minute movement of the Londoner's face. 'But you know all this, I can see. Then you know it's not just happening up in Wick. There's word coming from all over. Here in Auld Reekie, with our sophisticated ways, we could laugh at the superstitions of our country cousins. And now they've closed off the Old Town.'
'It's going to get worse before it gets better.'
'I'm sure it is, I'm sure it is. And there's the Government with the hints and whispers and `it's a crisis, we can't give you too much information,' trying to make us think it's the Russkies or the Iraqis or God knows who while they desperately flounder around for an answer that will constantly evade them. Never trust the Establishment, my boy. They're in-bred with arrogance. They think we're too stupid to be told anything as radical as the truth.'
'I'll drink to that.' Veitch drained his pint and glanced towards the bar, hoping for a lull in the conversation so he could get a refill.
'The ironic thing is that most of the people are starting to know better than they. The Establishment is too inflexible and this new age needs people who are prepared to take great leaps forward. They'll be left behind. Only the fleet of mind will survive. What do you think of that?'
'I think-' Veitch raised his glass '-I need another lager.'
Reynolds looked up and motioned to the barman. A minute later another round of drinks arrived at their table.
'How did you manage that?' Veitch asked. 'They don't do table service.'
'Oh, I've been a resident here for many years, my boy. They grant me my little indulgences out of respect for my great age and my deep wallet.'
Veitch laughed. 'You're all right, Gordon.'
'That's very decent of you to say, my boy. But tell me, you're troubled, aren't you? I could see it written all over your face whenever I saw you around the hotel. Share your burden. I may, may, I stress, be able to help.'
Veitch sighed, looked away. 'No, best not.' But when he caught Reynolds' eye, the elderly man seemed so supportive he said, 'Oh, bollocks, what's the harm.'
He wasn't sure it was completely wise of him, but over the next hour he proceeded to tell Reynolds everything that had happened since he had encountered Church in the old mine beneath Dartmoor. He was sure some of it made no sense-he could barely grasp the intricacies himself-but Reynolds kept smiling and nodding.
'So that's the way it is, Gordon,' he said after he had related the latest impending crisis. 'Sometimes I
