Ahken smiled slyly. 'You feel at home on the Last Train.'
Veitch stroked the leather seat. 'It's weird. It feels a bit Egyptian, some Chinese, Arabic, Victorian.'
'Oh, the Last Train is very old,' Ahken said. 'It was here in the earliest time, before the Golden Ones, before even the Drakusa.'
'Before the Oldest Things in the Land?' Church asked.
Ahken did not reply.
'What are you going on about?' Veitch asked.
'There's a hierarchy. The gods manipulate us. The Oldest Things in the Land manipulate the gods and us. Puck, the Caretaker…' With an involuntary shudder, Church recalled the two figures he had seen, or imagined, hovering over the cauldron that was not a cauldron while he suffered the Sleep Like Death in the casket of gold and ivory. 'There's always something higher. Apparently.'
Defiance hardened Veitch's features. 'Humans are on the way up, and we're not taking any bollocks from anyone any more.'
Church nodded in agreement. 'This whole period is ushering in the next step of our evolution, if we can follow the right path. Not Fragile Creatures any longer. A lot of the ones above us don't like that.' He eyed Ahken, who smiled, giving nothing away.
'So does that mean we get one of those little silver rats like all the gods?' Veitch said.
'A Caraprix?'
Ahken flinched.
'You know something about them?' Church asked him.
'I know the Last Train, and that is all,' Ahken lied.
'The Tuatha De Danaan can't live without them,' Veitch said. 'But what use are they? They change shape, yeah, but I mean, so what, right? It's not like they serve up your dinner. They're like pets.'
'Except I can never tell which is the pet — the Caraprix or the god,' Church said.
2
Laura kept one eye on her reflection in the window of the adjoining carriage as she teased her white-blond hair. 'The end of the world is no excuse for looking less than perfect,' she hummed.
Further down the carriage, a piper played a heart-wrenching lament to the four lost cities of the homeland of the Tuatha De Danaan. The king of the Seelie Court maintained a cold dignity, but the queen's head was raised, eyes closed, tears streaming down her cheeks.
'Do you miss Hunter?' Shavi sat cross-legged on the opposite seat.
Laura noted the tinge of rawness around his left eye where the stolen alien orb had been inserted, but it only emphasised the beauty of his bone structure, the gleam of his black hair, his flawless skin. 'Like I miss crabs.'
His smile revealed he recognised the truth behind her words.
'All right, so he's not a complete loser. And trust me, I've shagged enough of those in my life to tell one at fifty paces.'
Shavi continued to smile.
'Will you stop that?' She sighed. 'He's not had the experience we've had. I mean, we've all died and come back, for a start.'
'He is a strong and capable man. There is little in the Far Lands that would give him pause.'
'I'm going to be really pissed off if he goes and dies on me. At least before I've managed to suck the life out of him.'
'You deserve a little happiness.'
'Yeah. Tell that to her.' Laura nodded towards Ruth, who stood apart from the strange members of the Seelie Court, lost to the music and her thoughts. She leaned on the Spear of Lugh as if it was a crutch.
'Ruth does not think badly of you.'
'She doesn't like it that I'm not a frosty, miserable moaner. And she envies my beauty, wit and charm.'
'You know, you do not have to be afraid to be honest about your feelings.'
'I've never been honest in my life. Why start now?' She fixed him with a telling gaze, but for once Shavi did not notice the subtle signs.
'When are you going to tell us your real name?' he asked.
'It's DuSantiago.'
Shavi nodded; another faint smile.
'So how's the new eye? Causing you a great deal of pain?'
'It appears to have settled in remarkably well. For an eye stolen from an otherworldly construct to replace the one it stole from me.'
'Shame.' She saw the briefest shadow cross Shavi's face. 'What's up?'
'The eye doesn't always show him things he wants to see.' Ruth stood in the aisle. Laura felt a charge in the air, as if Ruth were some kind of generator. It was both comforting and unsettling at the same time.
'So what are you seeing, Shavster? Or should I cross your palm with silver?'
'Nothing.'
Laura grew serious. 'I'm going to throw back at you all that shit you tell me about friends. You shouldn't keep all this stuff inside you. It'll eat away at you and drive you mad. Trust me, I know.'
'She's right, Shavi,' Ruth prompted.
'I do not see specifics, just fleeting images, impressions.' He shrugged.
'He sees death,' Ruth said.
Shavi flinched.
'How do you know that?' Laura asked.
'It's circling all around us. Can't you feel it?' Ruth hugged herself. 'A coldness, that brief feeling of a shadow passing over you?'
Laura shook her head. 'What do I know? Thanks to Cernunnos I'm more plant than human. A beautiful little nature sprite.'
'Maybe it's my Craft,' Ruth accepted. 'Come on, Shavi — share your burden.'
Reluctantly, he replied, 'Yes, death is all around. As it comes closer, symbols of its presence will arise, as they always have done, but we are usually oblivious to their presence.'
'You're creeping me out now.' Laura said. 'What are you talking about?'
'In life, death is an anomaly. It is like a weight dropped onto a taut rubber sheet, bending the patterns all around, throwing up indicators of its presence. In the midst of them, we discount them as coincidences, randomness. Only after death has passed do we see those things for what they are.'
'Patterns,' Ruth said. 'Symbols. That's where the true magic lies.'
'Who dies, Shavi?' Laura said sharply.
'The Pendragon Spirit responds to the gravity that lies ahead.'
'So if I can cut through all your verbal wankery,' Laura said, 'you're saying Brothers and Sisters of Dragons. Us. One? More?'
'The details are not clear.'
Laura couldn't tell if he was lying.
The musician came to an abrupt end of his piece, and with silent awe the Seelie Court moved to one side of the carriage. The Last Train emerged from the gulf into a crepuscular zone and then rapidly burst into a blaze of colour and detail. They had arrived at the distant edge of the Far Lands.
But the members of the travelling court were not entranced by their return to the land the Golden Ones now called home. Their apprehensive attention was fixed on the Fortress that sprawled to the lip of T'ir n'a n'Og, as big as several cities and growing with every moment as armies of labourers relentlessly scurried with ant-like organisation to erect annexes, walls, towers, courtyards, keeps. From one angle, it didn't resemble a fortress at all, but an enormous insect squatting on the land. All around was blasted, dry and dusty, and devoid of life. And over it all loomed the Burning Man.
