robes that were grey and almost metallic in the way they caught the light.
His gaze took them all in in a second, but a broad smile formed when it fell upon Tom. 'Thomas!' he said warmly, in a voice that didn't seem to come from his mouth.
Tom bowed his head deferentially. 'Wise One. We come to ask your help in these difficult times.'
'Difficult times indeed. You have heard my brothers and sisters are scattered to the wind?' Tom nodded gravely. 'The Night Walkers, you know.' A rumble of what seemed like hate formed deep in his throat. 'Only a few of us evaded the Wish-Hex. I have since heard murmurings of an attempt to locate my brethren and return them to me.'
Tom motioned to the others. 'And here are the searchers, Wise One. They need to be restored if they are to complete their task.'
'And you, Thomas. I see you too need my ministrations.'
Tom nodded, looked away uncomfortably.
Ogma turned to Laura, who was cold and still in Church's arms, her breathing barely noticeable. Gently, he ran his fingers over her face. His expression grew a little darker. 'Her light is weak. I do not know if there is aught I can do for her.'
'Please try,' Church pleaded.
'It was always said Dian Cecht could bring even the dead to life,' Tom interceded.
'But I am not Dian Cecht. And healing is not simply knowledge.' There was a brief pause while Ogma seemed to consider the matter. Then: 'Come, bring her. I will see what I can do.'
The place smelled of candle wax and limes. They trailed behind Ogma as he led them through an endless maze of chambers filled from floor to ceiling with leatherbound books, some half as big as Church and as thick as his thigh, manuscripts and papyri tied with red ribbon as if they were legal briefs. But when Shavi held back to sneak a peek at one of the books, they appeared to contain only a brilliant white light.
Finally, after what seemed to them like an hour, they reached a series of chambers that were filled with rough wooden furniture, which Church guessed were Ogma's personal rooms. He laid Laura on a low bed and stroked the hair from her forehead.
As his fingers touched her flesh, her eyes flickered open and focused on him briefly. 'I don't want to die,' she said weakly. There was a sheen of panic in her eyes.
'Do something,' Church implored Ogma.
If the god heeded, it didn't register on his face. He opened a large cabinet in one corner which was filled with jars and phials of powders, liquids and dried herbs. He selected a few, then began to mix them with a mortar and pestle on a heavy oak table. After a few moments of introspection, he seemed satisfied with a thick, reddish-brown salve, which he smeared on Laura's lips. It remained there for only a second before it was rapidly absorbed.
'Will that work?' Church asked anxiously.
Ogma fixed his curious eyes on Church, like an adult looking at a child. 'We wait. If she has it within her, her light will shine again.'
Church had to turn away from her then, barely able to cope with the painful emotions flooding him after so many months of numbness.
Ogma seemed to comprehend what was going through his head, and after cursorily examining Veitch and Shavi from a distance, he said, 'Your own light wavers. You must all rest. Use my chambers as your own. There is food and drink-' Tom started, but said nothing. Ogma noted his concern and added, 'It is given freely, without obligation.'
This seemed to satisfy Tom. After Ogma left them to explore his rooms, Veitch asked, 'What was that all about?'
'Never take food or drink in Otherworld, from anyone, unless you have their promise that it is given freely and without obligation. Otherwise, when the first drop or crumb touches your lips, you fall under the control of whomever has given it.'
Veitch looked to the other three, puzzled. 'Is that right? Or is he bullshitting again?'
'In the old tales,' Shavi began, 'anyone who crossed over to Faeryland had to avoid eating the faery food or they'd fall under the spell of the Faerie Queen.'
'So is that where we are? Faeryland?' Veitch said incredulously.
'Get a grip, Ryan,' Church replied wearily. 'Let's find somewhere to crash.'
In a nearby chamber, they found a room filled with sumptuous cushions, the harsh stone walls disguised by intricate tapestries. On a low table in the centre was an array of bowls filled with apples and oranges, some berries, tomatoes, and a selection of dried, spiced meats. A jug of wine and four goblets stood nearby.
Relishing the chance to rest their exhausted bodies, they fell on to the cushions, which were so soft and warm it was like they were floating on air. It was a difficult choice between sleeping or assuaging their pangs of hunger, but in the end the subtle aromas of the food won out. Yet as they ate and drank, they discovered their tiredness sloughing off them, and by the time they had finished their meal they felt as fully rested as if they had slept for hours. It provoked an animated conversation for a while, but Church had other things on his mind.
'We got you here,' he said to Tom. 'Now you owe us some answers.'
'What do you want to know?'
'For a start, how you know everything you do. Why you called this place home. Why Ogma seems to know you so well.'
'And no lies,' Veitch said.
Tom turned to him, eyes ablaze. 'I have never lied. I may not have given all the facts, but no untruths have ever passed my lips. I cannot lie.'
'What do you mean?' Church asked.
'What I say, as always. It is physically impossible for me to lie. One of the gifts bestowed upon me for my time in Otherworld.' There was a note of bitterness in his voice.
Church's eyes narrowed. 'Who are you?'
'I told you my name. Thomas Learmont. But you may also know me as Thomas the Rhymer.'
Veitch looked from the confusion on Church's face to the others. 'You bastards better keep me in the loop.'
'Thomas the Rhymer,' Church began cautiously, 'was a real person who managed to cross over into mythology. He was a Scottish Nationalist during the war with England. In a way, he's like Scotland's answer to King Arthur-a mythical hero who was supposed to sleep under a hill-'
'Under this hill,' Tom interrupted.
11 — until there was a time of great need, when he would return. That's what the old prophecies said. But he lived in the thirteenth century.'
Witch looked at Tom. 'Blimey, you've aged well.'
'I lived at Earlston, a short ride from Melrose,' Tom said. 'We were an old family, quite wealthy, with land hereabouts, although my estate was eventually gifted to the Church by my son.' The faint sadness in his face at the memory was amplified by the shadows cast by the flickering torches. 'Unlike my father, who worked hard, I was always too much of a dreamer. I was an elegant singer and I spent many an hour lazing in the countryside composing new works, usually just ditties about the people I knew and the women I loved. There was one girl in particular. To seek true inspiration for a song about her I rode up into the Hills of Eildon, where I settled myself beneath a hawthorn tree with a view of what seemed like, at that time, the entire world. I chose to ignore the old wives' tales linked to the hawthorn, that it signified death, that its blossom represented rebirth.' He sighed. 'That it was the chosen tree of the Faerie Queen. But I had no idea that an entire world existed under the hill, like all the fools used to say about the faery mounds. But I was the true fool, wasn't I? They were simply misremembering old wisdom. I was ignoring it.'
He took off his cracked glasses to clean them. Church searched his face for any sign that this was more dissembling, but he could only see honesty there.
'So the Faerie Queen got you?' Veitch asked; he was still having trouble grasping the truth of everything they had experienced. In numerous conversations he had exasperated Shavi with his apparent inability to see beneath the surface of the myths and legends.
'The Faerie Queen. The Great Goddess. Just names we give to attempt to understand something unknowable. She was terrible to behold. Terrible. When I looked at her I swore I was looking into the face of God. I
