operated.'
'They fit in with the way the world should be, and once was.'
'What are we supposed to do now?' Church asked, looking down the steep slope of tunnel where it disappeared into the gloom. 'I don't know how the hell I'm supposed to get the earth energy moving again. And to be honest, even if we could find a way, I still don't see how it's supposed to help us.'
Tom set off walking, his voice floating back ethereally. 'Perhaps it won't help us. But healing the wounded land, perhaps, is a mission that exceeds opposition to the Fomorii. Your prime mission.'
'If Balor returns, there won't be a land left to heal,' Church said sourly, trying to keep up.
The tunnel pitched downwards steeply until there were points when Church had to grab hold of the walls to stop himself slipping out of control. The air grew colder and dustier and at times he felt the blast of strong air currents, although he couldn't begin to guess where they were coming from. As they descended they seemed to move into an oppressive doom-filled atmosphere; their sporadic conversation dried up accordingly, so the only sound was the soft tramp of their feet.
The air currents grew worryingly stronger until gusts surged up the tunnel, knocking them against the walls. It was almost as if they were coming to the edge of a cliff. Church had a sudden vision of the vast underground sea inJourney to the Centre of the Earth. And then the tunnel ended abruptly and the the source of the wind became clear.
They were standing on a small ledge which ran around a yawning hole so big they couldn't see the other side. It plunged away from their feet in a dizzying drop into darkness, but the rush of air and odd, disturbing echoes suggested it was very deep indeed. It may well have gone down forever. Church closed his eyes and threw himself backwards into the tunnel mouth as a rush of vertigo made his head spin.
'Here we are,' Tom said. 'The well of fire.'
Church eventually found the strength to creep forward on his hands and knees to peer over the edge into the abyss. The wind rushed up, buffeting his face, tugging at his hair. His head reeled as he fought the sensation that he was being sucked over the lip.
'There are spirit wells like this all over the country, all across the world.' Tom's voice floated distantly behind him; Church felt like the darkness was swallowing him whole. 'Few as mighty as this, however,' Tom continued. 'And fewer still that are actually alight.'
Church sat back, pressing himself firmly against the rock wall. 'What am I doing here? It's a dirty, big hole in the ground. This is hopeless.'
'Hopeless?' Tom said. 'Haven't you learned anything yet?'
'You're great at tossing out cryptic advice. Why don't you say something useful for a change-tell me what I'm supposed to do.'
'Sort it out yourself,' Tom snapped. 'You're the one who's supposed to be learning.'
Church cursed under his breath and returned his attention to the abyss. He peered into it for inspiration, but nothing came. Slowly his mood dipped. Was he going to fail again? Then thoughts surfaced like bubbles on that black, oily pool. This was a source of the blue fire. It wasn't truly a hole in the earth; they weren't really under Arthur's Seat. It was a place between worlds, beyond reality, like Otherworld. Perhaps it was Otherworld, but somehow he doubted it; it was more likely the well was a channel through to wherever the blue fire originated. He looked up at Tom who was standing with his hands behind his back, as if on a stroll through the park. 'Where does that go?' he said, pointing into the well.
Tom smiled like a teacher whose favoured pupil had just made a great leap of logic. 'Where do you think it goes?'
Church cursed again and waved him away; answering questions with questions was Tom's favourite type of conversation and over the months it had not diminished in irritation factor.
Church pondered some more; gradually his thoughts seemed to come together. What was the nature of the blue fire? That was obvious, if everything Tom had said was true: it was the essence of the spirit. And the blue fire had dried up here and stagnated across the land, once the people had turned away from believing.
'Can we ignite it again… can we draw back the blue fire… by doing…' The words failed him and he held up his hands in irritation. Then: 'An act that touches the spirit, that resonates in that plane.'
Tom nodded thoughtfully. 'Perhaps. In this new world a leap of faith can have as far-reaching an effect as a leap of logic. Will it work? Perhaps, if you want it enough.'
The strain of the responsibility began to seep into Church's shoulders. He wanted out of it, back to the life he once knew, but there was no hope of that, ever again. He closed his eyes, feeling his emotions and thoughts wash over him, then he dipped into his pocket and pulled out the locket given to him by the young Marianne.
'This saved my life.' He held it up so it spun gently. 'A cheap piece of jewellery with a cut-out magazine photo of Princess Diana stuffed inside. Meaningless, really. And then suddenly infused with meaning and power. Why? Because a little girl put her heart and soul and dreams into it? It's like some stupid fairy story.'
'We now live in a time of myth,' Tom began quietly, 'where archetypes live and speak with a power that can bend reality, where thoughts take shape. If something is wished to have meaning, then it will have power. Things were like that before the change, but the power was muted. Myth has always shaped us, you know that. You can see it in Diana's life-the years of suffering, the sacrificial death, the mourning that became almost worship. The resonances and coincidences shout out loudly, so much so that you would not believe them. Diana, the name of the moon goddess, the goddess of hunting and woodlands and fertility, worshipped by women. Which Diana are we talking about?' He shrugged. 'There have always been powers moving behind the scenes, ordering our lives. We call them by different names, trying to make sense of them, but we never will. The only way to proceed with any equanimity is to accept that we exist at the heart of magic and mystery and nothing will be revealed, certainly not before death, and perhaps not even after. Enjoy the moment, go with the flow-'
'And all the other hippie values.' Church shook his head. 'I should make this locket my offering in the hope that somehow its power, its spirit, can set things in motion. But that girl, she changed my life in just one meeting. She was a kid, but she was everything I wasn't. Brave in the face of death, positive, filled with some kind of faith. It was magical to see.'
'And the name connection reminds you of your girlfriend,' Tom said pointedly.
Church nodded slowly. 'Yes, they're both tied up in my mind. I can't see where one ends and the other begins. With Marianne's spirit still trapped, I don't know if I can give this up. It feels like my only connection with her. Maybe I'm supposed to have it to free her.'
He looked at Tom for some kind of support and guidance, but the face he saw was impassive and unreadable.
'I know what you're thinking,' Church continued. 'That I screwed everything up before Beltane because I was so wrapped up in my own problems and Marianne. I promised myself I'd shake all that, but some things run too deep.' He looked back at the locket, spinning gently, catching the light like a tiny star. 'I wish I was better at this.'
A noise echoed along the tunnel behind them, just a tiny sound, but in the acoustics of the well chamber it sounded like thunder; they both snapped alert immediately. Breath held tightly, eyes staring unblinkingly up the tunnel, they waited. For a moment there was nothing. And then another sound, a crunch of a foot on the grimy tunnel floor, but so faint it suggested whoever was there was walking cautiously, so as not to be discovered. That alone sent uneasy signals running through them.
'Someone's coming,' Church whispered redundantly. 'Who else could be in here?'
'No one,' Tom replied. 'Unless we were followed.'
Church looked around hastily; the tunnel was the only way out. 'This isn't the best place to get caught. I wish Veitch was here.'
Tom surveyed the thin ledge. 'We could edge around to the shadows on the other side.' His voice was barely audible.
Church glanced into the deep dark of the well and felt his head spin again. 'Or we could greet them here with open arms. It might be nothing… it might be somebody…' His voice faded; he was being stupid. The chances were, in that place, at that time, whatever was coming was a threat. He looked at the ledge and winced. °I don't know if I can do it.'
'And the alternative is?' Tom said, irritatedly. He grabbed Church's arm to try to drag him, but Church shook him off so violently they both almost fell into the well.
