Mark Chadbourn - Always Forever

Sweat rolled off him as he hacked and lunged in the sweltering heat. Eventually he began to make some headway. Soon he could see Mollecht once more, directing the Fomorii silently. It was enough to drive him to renew his efforts. He hit one high, spun round and caught another low, and then took out three with one blow. And then Mollecht stood before him once more.

But the hideous creature was prepared. As the final Fomorii fell away, Church saw the birds moving aside to open a hole that revealed the entity inside; his mind was as unable to accept it as the first time he had witnessed it at Tintagel. The energy inside the hole was already swirling and on the brink of erupting.

Tom thrust Church out of the way. The blast hit the Rhymer full on and within a second the blood was starting to seep through his pores. Church had no time to help. The Sword was tugging at his hand, as aware of the opportunity as Church himself. Mollecht had drained himself. It would be a moment or two before he had the strength to make another attack, or even to defend himself. The hole was already closing. Church drove the Sword horizontally towards the centre of it. The creature would be skewered, finally.

The dark shape exploded out of nowhere. Church only caught the briefest glimpse out of the corner of his eye before it slammed into him with force, knocking him to the hard stone floor. Caledfwlch went flying from his grip.

"Do I have to do everything round here?"

The voice stunned Church just enough to hamper his reactions, and by that time a figure had jumped on to his chest, pinning his arms over his head. He found himself looking up into the monstrous black-veined face of Callow. He was gloating in every fibre of his being.

"I want your finger, Mr. Churchill, and I want it at the knuckle. I've decided to make a necklace," Callow said gleefully.

And then the Fomorii were all around him, swamping him in darkness.

Church came round in a place that was dark and so unbearably hot he thought he was going to choke. Twisted leather bonds bound him to a splintered table fastened to an iron gear system that angled it forty-five degrees from the upright. Aches and bruises buzzed in his limbs, but beyond that he was in one piece. Scant, scarlet light was provided by a glowing brazier in one corner. As his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, he saw with a sickening chill where he was. Cruel, sharp implements hung from a rack on one wall, reminding Church how adept the Fomorii were at torture.

The thought was knocked aside by the blunt realisation that he had failed, at the very last, after so many obstacles had been overcome; and that it wasn't even he alone who would pay the price. It was all of humanity, everyone he had ever loved.

He tore at the bonds until he was disturbed by a low groan away to his right. The figure lay like a bundle of old rags in a slowly growing pool of blood. The moonlight glow of his skin, tinged blue at his fingers, told Church he was dying. "Can you hear me?" Church asked gently.

There was no reply or movement for a second or two and then Tom tried to lever himself up on his elbow before slipping back. He made two more attempts and then managed to roll on to his back so he could look at Church. His face was covered with blood still seeping from his pores. Church felt a wash of despair.

"If there's anything you want to get off your chest, now's the time to do it," Tom said gruffly, though his voice could barely be heard above the thunderous heartbeat.

"You saved my life."

"Lot of good it did you."

"I'm sorry," Church said, "I let you down. If only I'd moved quicker."

"Nonsense." Tom coughed violently. "You have exceeded my wildest expectations. From the first time we met I could see you were the right man for the job. Oh, I know I never said it-couldn't have you getting a big head-but you were the best possible choice, Jack. The very best."

"I wish you'd said that before." Church closed his eyes, trying to deal with all the acute emotions bubbling through him. "I've still failed, though."

"You're breathing, aren't you?"

A thought sparked in Church's still awakening mind; he looked around as best he could. "Hang on. Just you and me?"

"So it seems." There was a note of caution in Tom's voice not to say any more.

Church knew how resilient the Bone Inspector was. If he had managed to evade the Fomorii, there was still a slim chance. "How long was I out?" he said with renewed enthusiasm.

"I would say it's getting on for dawn. Not long to the feast of Samhain. The gates will be opening soon. The Heart of Shadows will get all the power he needs." He coughed then added quickly, "Don't mention its name. Not here, not this close to it. The repercussions might be…" His voice faded.

"The Sword?"

"Behind you. And the Wayfinder. They can't touch them, you know, even with the massive advances in their power. They have to rely on Callow."

"That bastard. I was convinced he'd died on Wave Sweeper. He's like a cockroach-stamp on him and he just keeps on running."

"If you get free…" Tom gave a hacking wet cough "… you must use the Wayfinder."

"To find what? The head?"

"No. Think of the symbolism. What it means. It is a lantern that will light your way to the true path. It has a direct access to the source of the Blue Fire. I always told you to keep it close to you because…" Another cough; something splattered on the stone "… it's more important than you thought."

Tom fell silent; Church couldn't even hear his ragged breathing any more. "Tom?" he called out, fearing the worst.

"Yes. I'm here. It's nearly time."

"For what?"

"Remember what I said to you. On the ship. About keeping your memories close to you. They're your Wayfinder, Jack."

Tears stung Church's eyes. "Just hang on-"

"No. This is no surprise to me. I've had the chance to prepare myself."

Church forced himself to keep his voice steady. "How long have you known?"

"A long time. Longer than you've been alive."

Church couldn't begin to imagine how that could have been: to know when your death would be, to have the shadow falling over your whole life, yet still managing to keep going, to make friends, to care for people. It threw all of Tom's difficult character into a new light. Church was overwhelmed with guilt at the bad things he had thought of his friend, certainly in the early days, and all the harsh words he had ever said. There was so much he still wanted to say. Despite their prickly relationship, Tom had been an excellent teacher, and a father figure and the best of friends; he had made a deep and lasting impact on Church's life.

Tom appeared to know what Church was thinking. "I've had a long life, Jack. Too long. Too much pain and suffering. I'm looking forward to moving on."

"I'm sorry these last few months have been so hard for you."

"They have been hard, but they have also been some of the best months of my life. I've learnt a lot from all of you, Jack. You reminded me of all those things I thought I'd lost when the Queen got her hands on me. For centuries I thought I'd become less than a man. But you-all of you-showed me the truth. And now it doesn't matter what the Queen's games did to my body, because the thing that really counts, my humanity, comes from somewhere else. And it's still there."

Tom coughed again, and this time it sounded like the fit wasn't going to stop. When it did finally end, he was noticeably weaker. His eyelids fluttered half-closed; his skin grew ashen.

"Tom," Church pleaded futilely. He had always been so flawed and weak compared to the heroic legends of Thomas the Rhymer, but in truth his heroism was even greater; deeper and more complex than the shining, courageous myth, infinitely more worthy, because it came from the best of humanity.