look around you. Seasons turn. Things fall into the earth, then rise again. New forms are made, but the essence remains the same. The rules have always been laid bare for your kind to see, but in recent times you have been blinded by arrogance. You saw yourselves as special. You thought that, for you, with death there came an ending when everything around you told you otherwise. It trapped you in your forms, made you truly into frail, fragile creatures. It prevented you reaching out to existence or utilising the greatness that lies within you.'
She examined her arm once more, not sure if she should feel horror or wonder. 'I can grow bits of myself? Like a plant?'
'This gift is not given lightly, Sister of Dragons. You are of my essence now. You are part of the greatness of nature, you are a vibrant branch of my bountiful family.'
Laura nodded; slowly it was starting to feel right. If Cernunnos hadn't changed her she would have died when Balor had been reborn into the world. But more than that, she felt something indefinable yet all-consuming, as if she had finally come to a place she was always meant to be.
'All things are open to you now, Sister of Dragons, Daughter of the Green,' Cernunnos continued. 'The sunlit uplands stretch before you. All is possible.'
'Why me? There were others, Shavi-'
'Your heart was given to the green long ago.'
He was right: in childhood, she had always been drawn to nature; as an adult, she had devoted herself to environmental activism. It had always been the most important thing in the world to her. 'Ruth got the same mark from you, but she didn't get the same treatment.'
'As my daughters, you each have roles to fulfil. She echoes a different aspect of my essence. The force that cannot be stopped.'
'She's the sledgehammer, I'm the stiletto.' She felt uncomfortable using weapons as a metaphor for abilities that were so life affirming.
'Yet there is danger for her. The gift I have given her is great. It fills her being, shifts the balance of her day and nightside. She must learn to encompass it or it will consume her.' Cernunnos began to roam around her, tearing at the turf with his hooves.
'Will she be okay?'
He remained silent for a little too long. 'The greatest danger lies at the place where all things converge. If her will fails her, the power will drive her down darker lanes.'
Laura subconsciously flexed her new fingers. 'The power's eating her up. She's losing control.' She felt a pang of worry for the woman she had disliked for so long. 'Can't you do something?'
'It is her gift. To intervene would make it worthless.'
Laura ground her teeth; the shock of losing then regaining her arm had ebbed and she was overcome once more with urgency. 'I need to get back to the others. Time's running out.' She stood up shakily. 'So Ruth gets all the bigshot powers. I'm just indestructible.'
'You can do more. Much more. Let me show you.' He smiled and held out his hand.
Church and Ruth had been intrigued by Tom's account of how he had used the lines of Blue Fire to travel vast distances, and were eager to utilise it to get closer to the rendezvous point. He refused flatly, emphasising the many dangers.
'It's not like catching a train, you know. Whatever you might think, the chance of getting lost in it is high. You need skills taught over the course of a lifetime to follow the channels and flow. I could look after one of you, but two… that's too many. Imagine diving into a white water river gushing through a ravine over rapids-that is what it is like. If it is a life or death matter, I will attempt it. But after coming so far, we can't afford to throw it all away by losing one of you. Time is short, but in my opinion the best option is to take the horses and ride them hard.'
Reluctantly, they agreed, and within minutes of sunrise they were riding fast across the rugged Cornish landscape. They picked up the A30, eventually following the route on which Ruth, Laura and Shavi had been pursued by the Wild Hunt, crossing the M5 to bypass Bristol, where they joined the M4. It was still eerie to see the motorway devoid of cars. Already thick weeds and long grass had sprouted in the central reservation, and birds strutted defiantly across the lanes. At one point they disturbed rabbits gambolling lazily in the fast lane, enjoying their freedom from the tyranny of humanity.
They ransacked the motorway services for any food that had not spoiled, giving the horses water and rest, taking the opportunity to doze in the dry air of the cafeterias. But the closer they got to London, the more the atmosphere became depressive, the more they felt an unpleasant anxiety building in the pit of their stomachs. The skies were darker, filled with charred matter blowing in the wind. The stink of burning was everywhere. Their instincts told them to turn back to seek out the green fields and sunlit lands of the West Country, but they forced themselves to keep on.
With only two days to Samhain, they finally parted company just past Reading, with Tom heading on to find Veitch and Shavi, while Ruth and Church continued to the camp of the Tuatha De Danann. Although none of them gave voice to it, they all dreaded what the coming days would bring.
Chapter Sixteen
Twilight was already heavy on the land when Church and Ruth wearily crested a ridge above the rendezvous point. What they saw made them rein in their horses in astonishment. After the long grey shadows, they were confronted by a sea of light filled with the noise of activity and a complex range of smells. Spread out before them was what appeared to be a mediaeval tent city, but it covered vast acres. Campfires showered columns of sparks amongst the billowing tents, some small, others of marquee size, while torches flickered with yellow-white light, marking paths and meeting areas. The air was fragrant with incense, spices and perfume, but there was also the powerful musk of horses and the aromas of cooking food. The hauntingly seductive music of the Tuatha De Danann rose from numerous quarters, but instead of conflicting, it came together in a symphony that made their spirits soar. For a while they were entranced by the gods walking, talking, preparing weapons, making merry.
'I don't remember this many on the ship,' Ruth said.
'They must have been joined by some of the other Courts.' Church tried not to be engulfed by the wonder of what he saw, but it was impossible. Whatever he might think of the gods, they were a source of remarkable magic.
They urged their exhausted mounts slowly down the slope, but they hadn't gone far when they heard a sound like wind in a mountain pass. A second later there was movement all around. Figures barely more than ghosts separated from the dark landscape to form a barrier between them and the camp. They were lower-born Golden Ones, in strange shimmering armour offset by red and white silk, with helmets that looked like enormous seashells.
'Fragile Creatures,' one of them said to the others.
'We are a Brother and Sister of Dragons,' Church pronounced. 'We are here at the behest of the First Family.'
There was sudden activity beyond the ranks. The guards fell roughly aside as another god strode through. From the more intricate designs of his armour, he looked to be of higher rank, but he had a cold, cruel face that Church instantly disliked. When he laid eyes on Church and Ruth, he gave a dark, cun- ping smile and did a bow that could easily have been mockery. 'Greetings, Brother and Sister of Dragons. Your reputation precedes you. I am Melliflor, of the Court of the Yearning Heart. I welcome you to this place, though it lacks the charms of our home.' He stepped aside and motioned to a path that had opened up between the guards. 'Come, let me take you to my Queen. She will be eager to learn the latest from the world of Fragile Creatures. You will be able to rest and eat and drink your fill-'
'Hold, Melliflor.' The voice was stern and a little threatening.
The guards moved to one side as another group marched up, their silver armour bearing designs based on an avian motif. Their leader's face gave nothing away, but it had none of the unpleasant qualities of his opposite number.
