argument; the man continued to smile until Church looked away.
'So was he real or not?' Veitch said looking from one to the other. 'Excalibur! Lancelot! Bleedin' great stories.'
'I don't deny they're great stories,' Church said, 'but that's all they are. Archaeologists recently dug up a piece of slate or something here with part of the name Arthur scrawled on it, and suddenly all the thick bastards on the national papers were saying it was proof he lived here. But Arthur and all the derivations were common names, meaning bear-like-'
'Old stories do not always tell the truth in a literal sense,' Tom said directly to Veitch, 'but sometimes they tell the truth in their hidden meaning.'
Veitch seemed quite satisfied by this, but, wearied by the travelling, Church had little patience for Tom's obfuscations. 'So what are the hidden meanings?' he snapped. 'I know this was an important place to the Celts, like all the other places we've trawled through, but I can't see what any of it has to do with a character who didn't exist, or at least not in the form everyone's talking about.'
Tom glanced up at the darkening sky, then turned to the track down to the castle. 'Come on. We must be there before nightfall.'
Church thought it was another attempt to divert his questions, but as they trudged down the steep incline, Tom said, 'When the Celts ruled Britain was the last time the land was truly alive.'
'You're talking about the Blue Fire-the earth energy?'
He nodded slowly, thoughtfully, his eyes fixed firmly on the sea in the distance. 'When the gods departed, the people were freed from the yoke of terror, but they lost something too. The people and the land are linked; like a mother and the baby in the womb, the blood that flows through one nourishes the other. But more than that, what you call the Blue Fire is also a powerful force for offence-for the defence of the land and the people. But like any weapon it needs to be nurtured to prevent it falling into disrepair. With the gods gone, there was no longer the immediate need for the people to unite and stay strong, with the force of the land at their backs. The mundane, day-to-day struggle of survival in a difficult environment took over and they forgot the importance of caring for the land through ritual at its sacred sites. The power dimmed, then grew dormant, and the people continued happily in their ignorant belief that all they needed was what their hands could grasp. But the Blue Fire is the spirit of the land and the people, inextricably linked for all time.'
The track grew less steep as a small valley opened beside them with a tiny stream winding among wildly overgrown nettles and brambles. To their left, the side of the valley soared up high above their heads where part of the ruined castle lay. No tourists ventured down at that time, and the only sound was that of the sea crashing against the crags.
'So now the Fomorii are back we need to awaken that power again? To help us get the strength to defend ourselves?' Church searched Tom's face for answers, but his features were unreadable.
'It's all talk with you two, isn't it.' Veitch seemed uncomfortable. He was continually scanning the thick vegetation away to their left and the growing shadows behind them.
'And Arthur?' Church continued.
'The Celts used their stories to pass vital information down the generations. Nobody can be bothered to remember facts, but if they are stitched into the fabric of an exciting tale …' Now he was distracted by the landscape. Perhaps it was the way the valley's steep slopes made them feel insignificant and trapped, or perhaps Veitch's obvious uneasiness was catching, but Tom seemed to be growing increasingly wary.
'And?' Church said with frustration.
'And all myths and legends are the same. Arthur is not a man. He is the embodiment of the spirit of man and the spirit of the land.'
Church suddenly saw what Tom was suggesting. 'The legend of Arthur sleeping under a hill to be woken in Britain's darkest hour … That's a coded message to awaken the power in the land.'
'Finally,' Tom said wearily.
'And all the sites linked to Arthur are ones that are important to the earth energy! But I don't understand-'
'No more talk,' Tom snapped. He stopped suddenly and glanced back up the sweeping track, as if he had heard something. Church listened intently, but the only sound was of the faint breeze rustling the bushes. 'Let us get to our destination. At least we should be safe there.'
'Safe from what?' Witch said. Church saw his hand go unconsciously to the gun hidden in his jacket.
They speeded their step along the gravel track, falling into an uncomfortable silence. Above, the sky had turned deep blue and they could make out the diamond stars; it made Church feel very alone. The English Heritage building was locked and dark at the point where the valley opened out at the coast. The stream plunged into an impressive white waterfall cascading down on to the pebbled beach. The tide was out, the sea dark and powerful, licked with creamy surf where the waves broke powerfully.
And high up on their left were the ruins of the twelfth century castle like jagged teeth on a broken jaw. 'We go up there, I suppose,' Church said hesitantly.
'No,' Tom corrected. 'Down. To the beach.'
Church looked at him curiously, but he gave no hint of how he knew the direction.
They clambered across the culverted stream and along a path that ran over treacherous, slick rocks where signs warned of the dangers of the crumbling cliff face. In the growing gloom, it was difficult to haul their way over the jumbled boulders to the crunching pebbles, but they managed it with only a few knocked bones. The beach had the thick, fishy smell of seaweed and the thunder of the waves was almost deafening.
Tom led them across the stones to a gash of impenetrable black in the soaring cliffs beneath the castle. 'Merlin's Cave,' he noted.
Veitch laughed. 'Merlin! That's not you, is it? You've got that look about you.'
'No, it is not,' Tom said indignantly.
'We're going to do ourselves some damage in there,' Church said, trying to pierce the darkness. 'We won't be able to see our hands in front of our faces.'
Tom marched past him into the shadows. Church cursed and glanced at Veitch, who circled his finger at the side of his head. But a second later they were slipping and sliding over seaweed and rocks, splashing into pools and stubbing their toes, while desperately trying to keep up with him; in the end they were gripping on to each other's jackets so they didn't become separated. They seemed to hang suspended in the dark where the echoing sound of the sea was almost unbearable until Church cursed, irritated with himself for not thinking, and pulled out the Wayfinder. In its shimmering blue light he could see the cave actually went right through the thin promontory that joined the mainland to the bulk of the island where the oldest part of the castle stood.
'What the hell are we looking for in here?' Veitch yelled above the roar.
'A door of some kind, I suppose.' Church told him how the ground had opened magically at Avebury. Veitch shook his head in disbelief.
Tom's frustration was obvious as he stood on an enormous boulder and scanned the shadows that scurried across the walls away from the lamp's light. 'Where is it?' he muttered.
Veitch glanced back to the cave entrance nervously. 'There's something out there.' He looked back at Church for some kind of comfort. 'I must be going mad. I can't see anything, hear anything, but I feel like my heart's going to burst. I can't shake the feeling there's something bad coming for us.'
Church nodded as supportively as he could muster, then returned his attention to washing the lantern's light across the rock. 'We've all got to learn to trust our feelings,' he said distractedly.
'Thanks a bunch,' Veitch replied moodily.
And then Church did hear something, in the slight lull between the breaking of the waves. It sounded like a wild rustling or fluttering, but he couldn't think of anything that might have caused it. He looked to Tom, who was searching the walls with renewed, almost frantic energy. 'Just keep looking,' he said before Church could speak.
'There!' Witch exclaimed suddenly. He pointed to a part of the wall that was now in darkness. 'Bring the lamp back!'
Church slowly swung the Wayfinder round until the section was illuminated. The shadows ebbed and flowed and then, for the briefest instant, a shape appeared. Church adjusted the lamp gently until the faint outline of a broadsword materialised out of a chaotic jumble of cracks that would not have been visible in any other light. Tom
