we are back in the Far Lands.' He smiled sweetly. 'We love our stories. They are the glue that holds the universe together.'
Tom bent forward to intrude in the conversation once again. 'There is a hierarchy among the Tuatha De Danann. They have a very complex society which is layered depending upon the power they wield. At the top is the First Family. At the bottom…' He motioned towards Cormorel and Baccharus.
Church flinched; it sounded distinctly like an insult. Cormorel seemed to feel the same way, for he eyed Tom askance as he sipped his beer.
'Do you hold no grudges, True Thomas, for the time you spent with us?' he asked pointedly.
'I have learned to be at peace with my situation.'
Cormorel nodded. 'That is not quite an answer to my question, but I will accept it nonetheless.' His smile grew tight. 'Did you know, True Thomas, your Queen has returned to her court under Tom-na-hurich, the Hill of Yews? Your white charger still resides there, as vital as the last day you saw him.' His eyes never left Tom's face.
Tom's face remained as emotionless as ever, but Church recognised a faint hardening. 'The point I was making,' he continued, turning to the others, 'is that power seems to come with the extent of time they have existed, and some of the Tuatha De Danann are much more powerful and alien than us. Although they say they have all existed since the dawn of time, it would appear that some are much older than the others. Dagda, the Allfather, was there at the beginning, and he has no connection to us at all. These two, I believe, came later.'
'Then perhaps there is an evolution, even among the gods,' Shavi mused.
Church was struck with a moment of clarity. 'And perhaps one day we will evolve to be like the Danann.'
Cormorel laughed faintly, patronisingly. 'And perhaps the arc of sky will rain diamonds.'
'It is unwise to be so arrogant, Cormorel,' Baccharus said. 'Though it is easy to accept our place in the universe, we of all races should know there is a cycle to everything. Powers rise and fall, influences ebb and flow. And the Fragile Creatures have shown their resilience in the face of the uncaring hand of existence. You see these here, you know the power they represent.'
Cormorel shrugged dismissively. 'You are a dreamer, Baccharus.'
In the brief lull that followed, Church saw his opportunity. 'How are you dealing with the Fomorii?'
Cormorel took the whisky and sipped it, smacking his lips. 'They leave us alone. We do not bother them,' he said as he passed the bottle on.
'They won't leave you alone for long. They were trying to bring Balor back. Now we've stopped them they'll just turn to something else. And you could be the target next time.'
'Oh, most certainly. And when they dare raise their hands against us, we shall strike them down.'
Church couldn't believe Cormorel's arrogance. 'Surely it would be better to attack first, before they can-'
'There are too many things to do, too many places to visit here in this world that has been denied us. We need to be making merry, drinking this fine…' He held up the can, then shook his head when he couldn't summon a word to describe it.
'They beat you once before. When they first emerged into this world.'
Cormorel's gaze lay on Church coldly. 'We did not fully realise the extent of their treachery. Now we are prepared.' He sighed, his annoyance dissipating quickly. 'However much I meet people, I find it hard to understand your inner workings. You have so little time and indulge in so little enjoyment. But you are entertaining, for all your foibles. We will continue to try to understand you.'
'Have you heard what the Fomorii are doing now?' Shavi asked.
Cormorel smiled and shook his head. 'They may burrow into the deep, dark earth and wrap themselves in shadows until the stars fall, for all I am concerned. The Night Walkers are a poisonous brood, given to plotting and hating, but they are wise and would not seek to challenge us unnecessarily. We can afford to leave them alone.' He peered at Church, his brow furrowed. 'Strangely, I see you have the taint of the Fomorii about you.'
Church explained how the Fomorii had infected him with the Kiss of Frost and how, although the Roisin Dubh had been destroyed, some of its dark power still lay within him.
Cormorel shook his head sadly. 'Very unwise, Brother of Dragons. You will not find any of the Golden Ones aiding you until you have expunged that taint.' He wrinkled his nose as if there were a bad smell.
'And how do I do that?' Church asked.
Cormorel shrugged. 'Perhaps if you travelled to the Western Isles, immersed yourself in the Pool of Wishes…' His voice trailed off; the question was obviously of no interest to him. 'Now,' he said animatedly, 'have we more drink? This is a celebration, not a conference!'
They drank deep into the night, with Cormorel and Baccharus taking it in turns to entertain with wild songs and great stories which carried with them the vast movement of the depths of the ocean or the shifting of tectonic plates. Church and the others were entranced with stories of the four lost cities of wonders, of the many, deep, mysterious mythologies which the Tuatha De Danann kept close to their heart, of puzzles and tricks, great battles and terrible failures, of passion and love, cruelty and hatred. The Tuatha De Danann, for all their alienness, were a race of powerful emotions and Church and the others could not help but be awed by the things they heard. Even Veitch gave in to a broad grin during one song, while Laura had to hide the tears that came to her eyes during another particularly sad lay. Only Tom remained impassive throughout.
And when the birdsong rose in earnest and the shadows receded at the first lick of dawn, Cormorel and Baccharus stood up and bowed, thanking the others profusely and politely for their hospitality.
'The next time you are in the Far Lands we will return the favour,' Cormorel said.
'I fear not,' Tom interjected.
Cormorel eyed him cunningly and nodded, but said nothing. And then the two of them turned and set off through the woods, their melodious singing eventually fading into the sounds of nature awakening.
'They were very charming,' Ruth said. 'The stories they told were wonderful. You could yearn for everything they've experienced, the sights they've seen. Otherworld could be such a magical place to live.'
Tom turned his back on them and headed towards the tents. 'Yes, and that is the greatest danger of all.'
Chapter Eleven
Their dreams were filled with spires of silver and gold, of giants who cupped spinning suns in their palms, of wonders so bright and startling they could not bring them back to the world of waking. When they did finally emerge from their tents, dry-mouthed and thick-headed, the day seemed more vital than even the blazing sun and clear blue sky promised. They bathed in the cool, rushing river, ate a lazy lunch of beans on toast and drank tea while gently reminding each other of the stories they had been told, like old friends remembering favoured times.
By 1 p.m., Veitch was starting to get anxious. He scanned the trees continuously, and while the others laughingly told him to unwind, he refused to rest. 'We've been here too long,' he said, packing his bag. Using belts and rope and a few other items they'd picked up in town the previous day, he made a makeshift harness to hold his sword and crossbow. His jacket hung over it awkwardly-he looked like a hunchback, Laura gibed from afar-but he could reach the weapons easily.
Eventually he'd dampened the mood enough that everyone reluctantly packed up and returned to the van. 'I liked it here,' Ruth said with irritation. 'There was some peace and quiet for a change. And lots of nature.'
'There'll be other places.' Veitch spoke without looking at her directly, but he'd been watching her all day, surreptitiously. Her health seemed to have improved immeasurably, thanks to Tom's potions. She'd still vomited among the trees on emerging from the tent, but she was sure that was the alcohol she'd downed. He felt good to see her so well, especially knowing he'd contributed to it. He still wished she'd look at him sometimes, talk to him in the close, confiding way she'd done when they first emerged from the castle. But there was time. And he actually felt like there was hope.
They picked up the A68 heading south. Traffic normally streamed along the route, but vehicles were sparse; fewer and fewer people seemed to be travelling any great distance from their homes. The landscape was green and
