She looked over their heads as if the voice had come from the shadowy corners. 'Fragile Creatures are always offensive.'
'What's wrong?' Veitch was shocked when the words emerged from his mouth, so rimmed with pathetic submission were they; he couldn't help himself, that was the worst thing.
'You are free to leave the Court of the Yearning Heart.' She addressed Tom directly. 'All compacts and contracts are rescinded. This is a gift given freely and without obligation.'
Tom kept his head bowed. 'We thank you for your hospitality, my Queen. And may I say-'
She raised her hand. Instantly Melliflor was at Tom's side, directing him towards the exit. The rapidity of their dismissal took them both by surprise, but Tom saw Veitch bristle before they had reached the door.
'Is that it?' Veitch hissed. Then: 'What's up with her?' When Tom didn't answer, Veitch thought for a long moment and then said, 'She just got bored, didn't she, like some fucking spoilt aristocrat.' He tried not to sound too hurt. 'She's found something else to interest her more. We're just… nothing.'
'Hush!' Tom cautioned with blazing eyes. 'If you want to get out of here alive-'
'True Thomas.'
A look of horror crossed his face at her voice. He turned sharply. 'My Queen?'
'The Quincunx are no more, True Thomas.'
Veitch saw Tom blanch. 'What's she on about?' he whispered.
'The shaman has moved on from the Fixed Lands.' A cruel smile lay comfortably on her face.
Tom bowed his head, this time for himself. 'And the other Brother and Sisters of Dragons, my Queen?'
She inclined her head thoughtfully. 'One of them sleeps in a charnel pit. I hear the other two travel to the Western Isles, True Thomas. And you know what that means.'
Veitch looked to Tom for explanation, although in his heart he understood the sense of the Queen's words. He stifled the rising panic, pretending he didn't believe them. Tom's face wouldn't allow him to wallow in the lie, and then Melliflor was once again steering them towards the door.
They emerged on to the summit of the Hill of Yews on an ethereal, late summer morning. Grey mist drifted amongst the gravestones and the clustering trees; the whole world was half-formed; fluid. It was cool and still, disturbed only by the occasional bird song and a wild fluttering in the treetops. They could hear no car nor plane nor boat on the nearby river. Their first thought was that they were the only ones left alive.
'Can you feel it?' Tom asked.
And Veitch did, though he was by far and away the least sensitive of them all: there was a sourness in the air.
'Balor is here,' Tom said redundantly.
Like a child, Veitch still refused to accept. 'Then why hasn't it all been wiped away?' His gesture took in the towering trees and the stones and the War monument and the glimpses of Inverness beyond.
'It can afford to take its time. Not that time has any meaning for it.' Tom drew in a deep breath of air, surprised he was still alive, stunned by how much he was glad to be back; he had thought he couldn't feel anything so acutely any more. 'It's waiting for Samhain, when its power is at a peak. But things are moving.' He closed his eyes and gave himself up to the sensations. 'Things are moving over the lip of reality, creeping here, eating away at the edges.'
Veitch kicked at the wet grass. 'That's why she threw us out. Suddenly she's got something more important to think about. She's like a spoilt brat who's been told she can't play with her toys because she'd got to do her homework.'
'You could be right. It would be unwise for the Tuatha De Danann to ignore the threat of the Fomorii. The Queen may well have been entreated to face up to her obligations.'
'Fuck it.' Veitch furiously blinked away tears that had appeared from nowhere. 'Shavi's dead.'
Tom nodded slowly. 'It appears so.'
Veitch's shoulders slumped until a new revelation dawned on him. 'But not Ruth!'
'Somehow she survived.'
'But if Shavi died, and we failed, who saved her?' His eyes narrowed. 'That bitch wasn't lying, was she?'
'No. She told us about Shavi to hurt us. If she could have hurt you more by telling you Ruth was dead, she would have done.'
Veitch punched the air. 'Yes! Jesus, yes!' Tom watched his emotions seesaw as he struggled to cope with Shavi's loss and Ruth's survival. 'But Shavi…'
'You were close to him. I'm sorry.' His sorrow was much deeper than his words suggested; without the five of them there was no hope. But that didn't make sense: he had seen the end, or part of it at least. That was the trouble with second sight: it never gave a true picture.
'I know he was a queen and all, but, you know, he was all right.' Veitch, never one to express sensitive emotions, looked like he was about to tear himself apart trying to find words to maintain his pride, yet show his true feelings.
Tom spared him. 'Come on. This isn't a place we want to tarry.'
Inverness was a ghost town. It didn't take them long to discover that technology had finally given up its futile battle to maintain a foothold in the world. The people they met looked uniformly dazed, as if they were walking through a dream, waiting to wake. But as the day passed, those who were determined to maintain some degree of normality came out of the woodwork. They found a cafe near the river where the owner had sourced produce from local farmers, but her face had the perpetually troubled expression of someone who worried how much longer it could last. Cash was still accepted; things hadn't yet broken down that much. Veitch and Tom had only a few pounds left between them in crumpled notes and coins, and they decided to blow it all on a big breakfast. Nothing tasted as vibrant or heady as the food in Otherworld, but, surprisingly, it was more fulfilling. Three weeks had passed since Lughnasadh and Balor's return, nearly a month of so-far gentle winding down.
The breakfast passed in funereal silence. They should have been jubilant at their escape from Otherworld, but Shavi's death weighed so heavily on Veitch, nothing else felt important.
Over strong tea at the end of the heavy, fried meal, Veitch asked, 'So what do we do now?'
Tom blew on his tea, but even before he spoke, Veitch could tell he had no answers. That disturbed him; the hippie had always acted like he knew everything. 'Jack and Ruth are on their way to the Western Isles. There's nothing we can do until they return. If they return.' He spent a moment floundering around for words, then looked Veitch squarely in the eye. 'Everything has changed, Ryan. We cannot move ahead as we have in the past.'
'So we didn't stop the biggest Bastard of all coming back. We've had setbacks before-'
'No. It's worse than you understand. I know you find it hard to see beneath the surface-that's not where your strengths lie. But I think you realise everything we see around isn't the picture at all. It's a shop window decoration, a lie designed with a particular aim in mind. Behind it is a complex pattern of powers and relationships. Things work differently there. A single muttered word can have unguessed repercussions. Symbols weave through that pattern, across time and space, wielding powers undreamed of. There are rules none of us know, Ryan, a language we can't begin to understand.'
'What are you saying?'
'Five is one of those things that sends powerful ripples through all of existence, Ryan. Forget everything you know for a moment, if you can. Five is not a number. Let's give it another definition to point you in the right direction. Say, Five is a word we give to a nuclear generator, creating great energy that could transform the world, but also great destructive force.' Tom stared into Veitch's eyes, waiting for that familiar glazing over, but Veitch's gaze remained true, if troubled. 'There have to be five of you, Ryan. If not, the power isn't there. However much effort you expend, however clever you are, it will amount to nothing, because in the new language we're talking about, Three has a different meaning. It has to be Five. And it has to be the Five selected by whatever the unifying force is, whether you call it God or Goddess or the Voice of the Universe.'
Veitch looked dazed. 'You're saying it really is all over? I thought the message you were trying to drum into us all was that there's always hope? Because that's what I feel here.' He thumped his heart. 'So I know it's right. You taught us that, and I learned it well. So don't come here with your bleedin' mealymouthed talk of failure 'cause I'm not having any of it. Are you telling me we can't do anything?' He jabbed a finger at Tom's face. 'Are you?'
Tom finished his tea thoughtfully. 'I know things will come to a head. I know it will be a dark and disturbing time, but I have no idea if the resolution will be the one we all hope for. Perhaps we can do something.' At that moment he felt the weight of his great age.
