Cormorel was enjoying the attention the other Tuatha De Danann lavished on him. Exhibiting his pets, Church thought sourly.
"Firstly, we must introduce you to the Master of this ship." Cormorel directed them to a raised area bearing a wooden steering wheel with ivory and gold handles. Next to it stood a god whose presence took Church's breath away once the shifting perception had settled into a stable form. He stood more than seven feet tall, his long hair and beard a wild mane of silver and brown. His naked torso was heavily muscled and burnished. Gold jewellery wound around his arms from wrist to bicep, but beyond that all he wore was a broad belt and a brown leather kilt. Even from a distance Church could see his eyes were a piercing blue grey like the sea before a storm. With no sign of emotion, the god watched Cormorel, Church and Ruth approach, standing as still as a statue.
For once, Cormorel appeared humbled. "Here is the Master of Wave Sweeper, known to you in the ages of the tribes as Manannan Mac Lir, also known as Manawydan, son of Llyr, Barinthus, ferryman to the Fortunate Island, Lord of the Stars, Treader of the Waves, Nodons, Son of the Sea, known as Neptune by the journeyman, Lord of Emain Abhlach, the Island of Apple Trees, known also as the King Leir."
Church felt little respect for the Tuatha De Danann's willful disregard for humanity, but he feared their power and he knew, although he hated it, that they were needed if the day was to be won. He bowed politely. `Jack Churchill, Brother of Dragons. I am honoured to be in your presence." Ruth echoed his words.
Manannan nodded without taking his stern regard off them. "I welcome you to Wave Sweeper." His voice sounded like the surf breaking on a stony beach.
"It is auspicious that the Master greets you at the beginning of your journey," Cormorel said. "Who knows? Perhaps it bodes well for you achieving your stated aims."
"Which are what, Brother of Dragons?" Manannan showed slight curiosity.
"To travel to the Western Isles to cleanse myself of the corruption of the Night Walkers," Church began, "and then to beseech the Golden Ones for aid in driving the Night Walkers from the Fixed Lands."
Manannan was plainly intrigued by the suggestion. "Then I wish you well, Brother of Dragons, for that is an honourable aim." Manannan's attention crawled over them uncomfortably for a moment longer before Cormorel ushered them away.
Church and Ruth were gripped with the overwhelming strangeness of their situation, but they were distracted from discussing it by a tall, thin figure looming ahead of them. It appeared to be comprised of black rugs fluttering in the breeze beneath a tattered wide-brimmed hat. In the shadows that obscured the face, Church saw eyes gleaming like hot coals. It stretched out an arm towards Ruth, revealing a bony hand covered with papery white skin. "Watch your step," the figure said in a whispery voice like the wind over dry leaves. "There are things here that would drain your lifeblood-"
Before the dark figure could continue, Cormorel stepped between it and Ruth, brushing the arm aside. With one hand in the small of Ruth's back, Cormorel steered her away.
"What was it?" Ruth looked back, but the presence had already melted away amongst the busy crew. She felt as if a shadow lay across her, although the effect diminished within seconds of leaving the figure behind.
"The Walpurgis," Cormorel replied coldly.
"Yes, but what was it?"
"A memory of the world's darkest night. A disease of life. An unfortunate by-product of the Master's policy of admitting all comers is that occasionally we must play host to… unpleasant travellers." He eyed Ruth suspiciously. "You would do well to avoid the Walpurgis at all costs," he warned.
"Did you hear me calling?" Church asked when they stood in the shadow of the mast.
"We hear all who speak of us." Cormorel had sloughed off the mood that had gripped him after the encounter with the Walpurgis and his eyes were sparkling once again. "A muttered word, an unguarded aside-they shout out to us across the void." He surveyed them both as if he were weighing his thoughts, and then decided to speak. "You did not call the ship, the ship called you-as it did everyone who travels on board, myself included. Wave Sweeper offers up to us our destiny, revealed here in signs and whispers, symbols that crackle across the void. It is a great honour. For many who travel on Wave Sweeper, the journey is the destination."
The concept wasn't something Church wished to consider; he yearned for the old days of cause and effect, linear time, space that could be measured; when everything made sense.
Irritated by the salty sea breeze, Ruth took an elastic band from her pocket and fastened her hair back. It made her fine features even more fragile, and beautiful. "You don't mind us coming?"
"We accept all travellers on Wave Sweeper. They are a source of constant amusement to us."
"That's nice," Ruth said sourly. She looked out to the hazy horizon, aware of the shortening time. "How long will it take?"
Cormorel laughed at the ridiculousness of the question. "We will pass through the Far Lands, Sister of Dragons."
"We have to be back before Samhain. A long time before." She fixed him with a stare that would brook no dissent.
"You will be in place to face your destiny." There was something in Cormorel's smile that unnerved them both.
Before they could ask any further questions, they were hailed from the other end of the deck. Cormorel's companion Baccharus hurried to meet them, his ponytail flapping. Where Cormorel was overconfident, proud and arrogant, Baccharus was humble and almost shy, traits they had never seen in any of the gods before. If they could trust any of them, he was the one.
Ruth greeted him with a smile, Church with a bow, but if anything he was more pleased to see them. "We are honoured to have a Brother and Sister of Dragons on board the ship that sails the Night Seas," he said quietly; he even sounded as if he meant it.
Cormorel laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Baccharus will show you to your quarters. They have already been prepared for you-"
"You were expecting us?" Church asked.
Cormorel smiled in his irritatingly enigmatic way. "Food and drink will be sent to your rooms-" He caught the look in Church's eye and added, "It is given freely and without obligation. Wave Sweeper is a place that defies the rules that govern our existence. It is the Master's wish." He gave an exaggerated bow.
Baccharus led them to the door through which Callow had been herded. Behind it, creaking, irregular steps went down into the bowels of the ship. The torches that lit their path were set a little too far apart, so uncomfortable shadows were always clustering. Despite the flickering flames, there was little smoke and no charring on the wooden walls. Ruth steadied herself on the boards at one point, but the surface felt so much like skin she never tried again.
They came on to a corridor that twisted and turned so much it was impossible to see more than fifteen feet ahead or behind. It was oppressively claustrophobic, barely wide enough for one person, with the ceiling mere inches above Church's head; doors were on either side, each with a strange symbol burned into the wood that was not wood. Baccharus stopped outside two doors marked with the sign of a serpent eating its tail.
Or a dragon, Church thought. He let his fingers trace the symbol. It felt as if it had been branded into the wood years before. Not wanting to consider what that meant, he stepped into the room sharply once Baccharus opened the door.
The room unnervingly echoed their bedrooms in the pub, as if they were still on land, dreaming their encounters on Wave Sweeper. A fishing net hung on one side, while lanterns, billhooks and other implements of a seafaring life covered the walls. The bed was barely more than a bench covered with rough blankets beneath a window with bottle-glass panes that diffused the light in a dazzling display across the chamber; even so, shadows still clung to the corners. A connecting door gave access to Ruth's room, an exact replica of Church's.