'I feel so tired, Marianne. I want a rest from all this.'
Her smile grew sad. 'There won't be any rest, Church.'
'I heard that before.'
'It's true. No rest. But there'll be a balance. You'll know why there's no rest, and though it'll be hard, it'll make you feel good to know that what you do is valuable.'
'Life's good as long as you don't weaken.'
She laughed, and he was surprised at how wonderful it sounded, even in that place. 'That's the kind of person you are, Church. A good person. Someone for people to look up to-'
'You haven't been watching very closely over the last few months, have you?' Church moved around the circle a few paces to get away from the glowering stare of the Other-Church, but it matched him pace for pace.
— you shoulder your burden and still focus on what's important in life. It won't grind you down. Life's too good.'
He shrugged. His surroundings had started to intrude and so he asked, although he didn't want to, 'What are you doing here, Marianne?'
'You called me.'
'No, I didn't.'
'Yes, you just don't know you did.'
He turned his thoughts over rapidly, trying to make sense. 'I'm here to get rid of the Fomorii corruption that's eaten its way into me from the Kiss of Frost that you-that Calatin made you-give me. That's why I'm here. At least, I think that's why. Nothing makes sense any more. Nothing ever has.'
There was movement in the shadowy distance, high above the mountains, against the sky. At first he thought it was clouds, but it looked briefly like a Caraprix, only enormous, hundreds of feet larger than the tiny creatures the Tuatha De Danann and the Fomorii carried with them. It was gone so quickly he could easily have dismissed it as a bizarre hallucination, except that he was convinced it had been there. The part of his back brain that always attempted to make sense of what was happening told him he had glimpsed something of a much larger truth, although what it was, and why the Caraprix felt so at home in that place, was beyond him.
'Church.' Marianne called his attention back. 'The symbolism is bigger than the reality. In the wider sweep of existence, symbols tell the truth. I'm the cause of all your misery, Church. I'm what's holding you back from achieving your destiny. The stain of the Night Walkers is minor compared to that, and it wouldn't even be there if I wasn't holding it in place.'
'What do you mean?'
'Do you want to talk like smart people?' Her expression was teasing. 'Or shall we carry on as we always have done?' He motioned for her to continue. 'Thanatos, the death urge. When I died, you were consumed by it. That's what infected you. It made your days black, your thoughts worse. You couldn't see life, you couldn't see yourself. You've pulled away from the worst part of it, but it's still there, a little black cancer of the soul. A mess on that Fiery Network that makes up the real you, stopping the true flow. Making something so vital and powerful grow dormant. You have to wake the sleeping king if you want to save the world.'
'All that Arthurian stuff is a metaphor. For waking the Blue Fire in the land. Nothing to do with me.'
'As without, so within. This whole business is about celebrating life in all its forms, Church. Seeing death as part of a cycle: life, death, rebirth. You've been through the damn thing yourself, as have most of your merry little group. Haven't you got the picture yet?'
'I have to let go of you, is that what you're saying?'
'You don't have to forget me. Just remember the good parts. Don't let death rule your life.'
The Other-Church's expression was even darker now, murderous. 'Am I really seeing you?' Church asked. 'Or is this some hallucination, some part of my subconscious speaking to me?'
'You should know better than to ask questions like that by now.'
'Then what do I have to do? It's one thing saying I won't obsess about death, but it's a subconscious thing-'
'Just wish, Church. Wish so hard it changes you from inside out. Kids know best how existence works. We unlearn as we go through all those things the Age of Reason saw fit to throw at us during our formative years. The Celts never had that, all those ancient people who shaped the world. You know I'm not some stupid, anti-progress Luddite. But the truth is, we took a wrong turn and now it's time to get back to how things should really be. A time to feel. The world's been waiting for this for a long time.'
'For all the death and suffering?'
'No, of course not. It's your job to minimise that. But it's not your job to take things back to the way they were. You've got a bigger destiny than you ever thought, Church. It's all down to you to make things better.'
His lips attempted to form words, but nothing would come.
'Just wish, Church.' A whisper. 'Just wish.'
He closed his eyes. And wished; not with a thought, but with every fibre of his being, and he found power was given to that wishing from somewhere else, either deep within himself, or without, in the distance where strange things moved against the sky.
And when he opened his eyes, Marianne was smiling. 'If you could only see yourself as I see you. We're all stars, Church. All stars.' She drifted back towards the pillar of stones.
'Is that it? Have I done enough?' His question was answered by the OtherChurch, who began to fade, slipping back into the shadows that had gathered around the area until he was no longer there.
'From here it gets hard. Harder than anything you've been through so far. Pain and death and suffering and sacrifice and misery. It'll be a trial, Church, but you always knew that.' Parts of her became misty, merging with the rock. 'If you stay true, you'll see it through. Have faith, Church, like I have faith in you.'
The tears were flooding down his face now; he had never cried so much since he was a child. 'Thank you.' His voice, autumnal. 'For this, and for everything else you gave me. I'll never forget you.'
'Until we meet again.' The smile again, filled with long, beautiful days, fading as she was fading. And then she was gone.
It was like a rope tied around his waist had suddenly been attached to a speeding truck. He shot straight up into the air, that strange place disappearing in the blink of an eye, the sky and the stars whizzing by, rocketing so hard he blacked out.
And when he woke, he was sitting on the edge of the Pool of Wishes.
He made his way back along the worn path in a daze, trying to separate reality from hallucination and to make sense of the true weight of what he had learned.
When he reached the others, Ruth said curiously, 'What's wrong?'
'What do you mean?'
'You've only been gone about five minutes. Isn't there anything there?'
His smile gave nothing away. He climbed on his horse and spurred it back down the slope, feeling brighter and less burdened than at any time before in his life.
The Palace of High Regard lay at the centre of a confusing geometric design of streets, laden with symbolism. Church and Ruth's winding progress along the route was an intricately designed ritual, affecting their minds as well as their hearts; it was an odd sensation when simply turning a corner resulted in a flash of long-lost memory or insight, a fugitive aroma or barely heard sound. By the time they reached the enormous doors of ivory and silver, it had worked its magic on their deep subconscious so their heads felt charged with a disorienting energy, as if they were about to embark on a drug trip.
Baccharus was waiting to admit them. He carried a long staff carved from black volcanic rock. When Church and Ruth paused ten feet away, as they had been instructed, he tapped the doors gently with the staff. The resultant echoes were so loud Ruth put her hands to her ears.
The doors swung open of their own accord. Within was a hallway flooded with sunlight from a glass dome a hundred feet above. There were columns and carvings, niches filled with statues and braziers smouldering with incense. The floor had an inner path of black and white tiles, but on the edge was a pattern Ruth remembered from the floor tile at Glastonbury, with its hidden message that had pointed them towards T'ir n'a n'Og.
They waited for an age at the second set of doors, eventually being admitted to a room so large it took their breath away. It resembled the Coliseum in size and layout: rising tiers of seats in a circle around a vast floor area that made them feel insignificant. There was enough distortion of perception around the edges that Church
