The Devil in Green

by Mark Chadbourn

‘I’m a good judge of character,’ Mallory continued. ‘I’m not saying this to flatter you, because I do have respect for you, but I can tell you’re a good man, with the best interests at heart. And I would guess injustice probably gets you down. I would think you wouldn’t want to perpetuate injustice, or misdirection, or conspiracy, for whatever reason. Not in a religion that makes so much of truth and honesty and shining the light of righteousness on the world.’

  ‘Why have you come to see me about this, Mallory? Why do you feel that strongly about it? Most people are just concerned with staying alive.’

  ‘Because I think this is about staying alive. I don’t know why, or how … it’s just a hunch. But there’s something going on at this cathedral that’s the root of all our problems, and I think it’s linked to this.’ Mallory tried to be as honest as possible, hoping it would sway James, but it wasn’t something that came easily to him. ‘I don’t know how much you know about what’s going on, but I think you have suspicions. I think you’re at least uneasy. And I certainly know you want things to turn out well—’

  And if you find the information you want, you think you might be able to do something that might help us?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Mallory replied truthfully.

  ‘What could you do, Mallory?’

  ‘At least I want to try. There aren’t many out there saying the same.’

  James’ smile was a forensic dissection of Mallory’s character. ‘That doesn’t sound like the Mallory I’ve heard so much about.’

  James sat silently for a moment, then rose sharply and began to prowl back and forth in thought; he looked as if he was tearing himself apart. Finally, he returned to his seat and began speaking animatedly as if a dam had broken. ‘This stays between us. I don’t know you well enough to know if you do have best interests at heart, but you’re right in your assessment of how I feel about the truth being hidden, or glossed over, or bent. But it must stay between us, is that understood?’

  Mallory nodded agreement to his terms.

  ‘You talk about conspiracy,’ he began. ‘Someone once said that the history of civilisation is the history of conspiracy. What you learn … established knowledge … is not always the truth. Secrets lie behind everything we pass down, sometimes big secrets. Everyone thinks they know something of history. The truth is, they know nothing. It is a facet of human nature that the most important actions and events are hidden away so that all we see are their repercussions or the lies designed to cover them. You know this - you can see it in the people and organisations around you all the time, and it was no different in the oldest times, in the same way that we are no different from our ancestors, although we like to think of ourselves as wiser, cleverer, more moral. We know nothing.’ He took a deep breath, controlled himself, then spoke in more measured terms. ‘I was part of a conspiracy myself, though a benign one. The Christian Church has been filled with them from the start … from the very earliest days. It is the nature of the structure. I was a member of a group called the Watchmen. It was our responsibility to guard certain knowledge - pre- Christian knowledge the Church had assimilated - that could be used when the Fall happened and humanity was under threat.’

  ‘You know what really happened at the Fall?’ Mallory asked.

  ‘Some of it, yes. There are worlds beyond our own, Mallory, where strange and powerful beings live. Throughout our history, they have passed back and forth, influencing events here, becoming the source of all our myths and legends. On a previous visit they became the template for the gods of the Celtic nations. And at the Fall they came back again. Their power is unimaginable to us … the world couldn’t cope. On that day, all the rules changed.’

  ‘And they’re still out there.’

  ‘The first time they came they almost destroyed the world with their rivalries and games and wars. Humanity wasn’t going to allow it to happen again. Sometime in the ancient past, we discovered that they were vulnerable to the Blue Fire … that the Blue Fire was a power above everything. That information was encoded in the landscape by many ancient peoples, not just the ones who came to be called the Celts in popular understanding. Secrets in stone, in alignments, a language that did not use words and which only came alive to us when we found the right perception through which to see it. And it was that information that the Watchmen guarded and passed down from generation to generation for whenever it would be needed. We knew about the gods, and the Otherworld they came from, and the secret history, and all the prophecies that went along with it, and we told no one. We had to wait until we were needed, when five heroes would come together to defend humanity.’

  ‘You met the five?’

  ‘Some of them. Good people, though they didn’t recognise it themselves.’

  ‘I would say, from a Christian perspective, that this all sounds a little like blasphemy, or at the very least non-canon,’ Mallory said.

  James sighed. ‘Yes, contradictions abound. But not as many as you might think. You are correct in saying that the Blue Fire is not discussed overtly in the writings and traditions of Christianity, but that is not to say that it was not known of and accepted as a central tenet from the earliest times. It was, and it was kept away from general view by those conspiracies buried in the fundament of Christianity.’

  ‘Don’t let the common man have too much knowledge … the priesthood might lose its mystique,’ Mallory said tardy.

  ‘That approach was necessary when Christianity was attempting to gain a foothold—’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘Now we are trying to gain a foothold again.’ He poured himself another cup of tea, his pleasant humour replaced by a seriousness that didn’t sit well with him. ‘One of the most powerful forces within the Church during its first centuries was a secret group of Christian geomancers. They were well aware of the Blue Fire from ancient traditions and linked it with the spirit of Christianity, and they were responsible for the precise position of churches around the world to take the best advantage of sites where this earth energy was at its most potent. Their greatest influence was during the Middle Ages, during the great period of cathedral building.’

  ‘Geomancers? In the Church?’

  ‘You see? Everyone thinks they know history, but they don’t. And this has been well documented.’ James went to the stacks and removed a volume. ‘Les Mysteres de la Cathedrale de Chartres by Louis Charpentier. Chartres Cathedral stands on a large prehistoric mound over a buried chamber, which Charpentier identifies as a confluence of four streams of this serpentine earth energy, named by him as woivres. A very powerful site indeed, and the Christian geomancers built the cathedral there to be a massive collector of that energy, to empower worshippers and to spread it out into the local area, in much the same way that the builders of the stone circles did. And if you find that hard to believe, I should point out that the cathedral site was also the home of the great Druidic university of Gaul, where ancient wise men were initiated into the mysteries of the Blue Fire. The same place, the same potency, within different belief systems. As you said earlier, coincidence?’

  Mallory felt a tingling at the base of his spine; a pattern was beginning to emerge.

  ‘These are the secrets I was privy to as a Watchman - the places of power, the spiritual energy in the land that ties people to it, the importance of it in the Great Scheme,’ James said. ‘There are books in this library that hint at it, some …’ He tapped the French volume, ‘… that speak of it directly. Guided carefully, a good student could piece together much that has been hidden for millennia.’

  ‘That’s why the first Christian churches were sited on pagan places of worship. Not because of some kind of spiritual hegemony, but because those places were a source of tremendous energy that could be used to invigorate the religion. And that’s why they keep you locked up here with the books - because you know so much about it. And that story about the siting of this cathedral by the fall of an arrow—’

  ‘It is an allegory that tell
s of the Christian geomancers’ art. Old Sarum was a strongly powerful spot, but there was some … trouble … there, and it was felt this location was even more propitious.’

  ‘So we’re all here because of this spiritual energy in the land. And that’s why the travellers have set up their camp here as well.’ Mallory tried to develop the information James had given him to understand what was happening, but one thought dominated. ‘The pagans outside the compound are right: they’ve been demonised, marginalised, and everything they believe in has been stolen. The Church is a sham.’

  ‘No,’ James stressed. ‘You misunderstand. The philosophy of Christianity is unmatched, a powerful, powerful force. It was the first religion to offer the concept of charity, of selfless devotion to others. That cannot be denied. It has had many dark periods … many times when those who profess to be Christians have warped the intrinsic beliefs … but that shining light at the heart of it still shines through. It transcends all earthly transgressions.’

  Mallory shrugged. ‘Whatever you say, James. But I can’t help thinking that a religion that allows itself to be open to corruption is on pretty shaky ground.’

  ‘We are a force for good, Mallory, despite ourselves.’

  Mallory could see that James believed this deeply, but he was sick of religion - all religion - with its ability to cause strife and suffering in its wake. ‘You’re not very good at keeping secrets, James,’ Mallory said with a smile. ‘I come in here, ask a couple of questions and you blurt it all out.’

  ‘Because I don’t believe in keeping secrets. Nobody asked me to. It was implied, but nobody came out and said it. I believe the Church would work better if it put everything out in the open and trusted its followers. But you can’t take the politics out of any organisation. That is human nature.’ He offered more tea, but Mallory declined; he could almost hear Blaine’s fury already. ‘You’re a good man, Mallory,’ James said out of the blue.

  ‘Right. I’m just looking out for myself, James.’

  ‘All of us are two separate people, Mallory. We’re the materialistic, rational person on the surface, and we’re the ghost inside who moves our hands when we’re not thinking. The ghost is the true us, our essence, freed from the petty influences of this world. And your ghost is good, Mallory, I know that.’

  ‘I wish I could have called him up to scare a few people on Hallowe’en. Might have got some more treats amongst all the tricks.’

  James laughed heartily and waved him away. ‘I enjoyed our little chat. It feels good to get things off one’s chest, you know?’

  Mallory felt strangely reluctant to leave. The conversation had reminded him of his own life, when he’d had the time and the inclination to ruminate over weighty matters of philosophy; but that was before he discovered how pointless it all was. He was halfway to the door when he turned back. ‘Thanks,’ he said simply.

  ‘Do your best, Mallory,’ James replied. ‘We all need a saviour.’

  As everyone feared, Julian’s death had a terrible effect on the brethren. Whereas before there had been some hope of salvation, the new murder had unleashed a slowly rising tide of fatal resignation. The main target was the cathedral leadership, though few had any workable alternative plans. Dissent was heard on the way to prayers, or over the refectory tables. Furious arguments cropped up regularly, shattering the atmosphere of pious devotion, and on occasion there were even fights. There was a general feeling that death and destruction were only just around the corner.

  The mood was not helped by the repeated collapse of the tunnel under the wall, killing two diggers. Accusations of incompetence were levelled; why couldn’t the bishop do something about it? Food was running out; there was no time for failure. On the surface, Stefan took the criticism with humility and stoicism, but behind the scenes, subtle and worrying changes were taking place. Unable to carry out their true role, the knights were ordered to patrol the cathedral, dampening down disputes and reporting back to Blaine the names of any troublemakers. Most took this job reluctantly, but some, most notably members of the Blues, accepted it with unfortunate relish. The Inquisition of Heretical Depravity took an increasingly active role overseeing the ‘questioning’ of the active dissenters. Their offices in the shadowy heart of the new buildings came to be feared, and the inquisitors themselves were only discussed in whispers in case comments were reported back to them.

  But the creeping repression was the least of their worries. As December crawled along and a bitter chill set in, the nightly attacks increased in intensity and lasted longer, sometimes until first light. For some reason, the hordes outside had become more successful; walls were repeatedly damaged and much of each day was spent carrying out repairs with rapidly diminishing resources. Against it all was the constant background of fear that the murderer within the cathedral could strike at any time. Nowhere was safe; no one was safe.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  a jealous god

  ‘Things continually shift between being united by love and divided by strife.’

  - Empedocles

  The snow started again on December the sixth, floating down from a grey sky just before prime. It was a display of such ethereal charm that it prompted even the depressed and hungry brothers to raise their heads from their struggle and enjoy the moment. By lunchtime, a thin coating had transformed the cathedral and its bleak gothic buildings into a fairy-tale palace, glowing soft and white. Across Salisbury, the rooftops gleamed; everywhere sound and light took on a new quality.

  And still the snow fell. By mid-afternoon, brothers were hastily assigned to clear the paths, the crunch of their boots and the scrape of their shovels echoing around the compound. Afterwards, they gathered in the shelter of the west front, stamping and steaming, ruddy-cheeked and bright-eyed, cracking jokes and swapping tales.

  Mallory watched them as he returned from a patrol around the bishop’s palace, quietly marvelling at how something as simple and natural as a snowfall could have such a transformative effect on human nature. Briefly, they had forgotten the Devil at the gates, though the oppressive nature of the threat had unbalanced several minds in recent days, especially after the horned shape had been glimpsed once again hovering over the city. The apocalypse, they all felt, was now sickeningly close.

  The snow provided a break, too, from his own thoughts as they continually turned over the many facets of the mystery without finding any connecting factor; but he was close to a solution, he knew that. A little further on, he spotted Gardener crouching down in the middle of the lawns, occasionally swinging his arm back and forth. Mallory realised he was surreptitiously feeding the birds a few bits of dry bread left over from lunch. In their increasingly dire situation, some would have considered it wasteful, but Mallory found it oddly touching: Gardener, gruff, hard-faced, occasionally unpleasant, locked in a moment of simple sacrifice for lesser creatures.

  He watched until the Geordie had finished, then was overcome with a devilish idea. As Gardener trudged away, Mallory rolled a snowball and hurled it with devastating aim, hitting Gardener squarely at the base of his skull. Gardener whirled, eyes blazing, but when he saw Mallory his face went blank. Mallory had a sudden sense of his miscalculation until Gardener dipped down, rolled a snowball and launched it with one lightning move. It struck Mallory in his chest, showering snow across his face.

  For a second, everything hung, and then they both exploded with raucous laughter, leaping into a frenzied bout of snowball-throwing. Within moments, they heard a whoop as Miller and Daniels ran up. Gardener and Mallory hit them both before they were halfway across the lawns.

  For the next fifteen minutes, they forgot all the pressures of the daily strife in complete childlike abandon. Mallory joked, ‘Stay on Daniels’ blindside!’ while Miller darted back and forth among them, whirling snowballs as if he were crazed. By the end, when they were all covered in white from head to toe, even Gardener was laughing. They collapsed into the snow, exhausted but still in high spirits.

 
Three members of the Blues walked by, watching their ridiculous fun with disdain. One of them sneered that they were bringing the knights into disrepute, following his comment with a whispered disparaging remark that brought mocking laughter from his colleagues. Mallory gave them the finger, while Miller threw a snowball in their direction. The Blues rounded, spoiling for a fight until the ringleader calmed them and led them on their way.

  ‘Wankers,’ Mallory said.

  ‘No sense of humour,’ Daniels added. ‘Always a bad sign.’

  Suddenly something struck Mallory, so obvious that he wondered why he hadn’t considered it before. ‘Why are they called Blues?’ he asked. The blue flash on their shoulders had set them apart from the very first.

  No one knew, but after his conversation with James, Mallory had an idea. Their very existence, all the mysterious missions on which they regularly embarked, had something to do with the Blue Fire: they were an elite squad in more ways than one.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the acrid smell of smoke drifting across the compound accompanied by the sound of crackling fire. Filled with curiosity, they made their way around the side of the new buildings to its source near the gates, where a large bonfire was sending up thick black clouds.

  ‘What are they wasting all that fuel for?’ Daniels asked.

  It was only then that they saw the lines of brothers emerging from the cathedral with armfuls of books, some ancient with crumbling spines, many shiny leather-backed volumes, even modern pamphlets.

  ‘The library,’ Mallory said. ‘He really did it, the Nazi.’

  ‘Ah, they’re only books,’ Gardener dismissed.

  Mallory turned on him. ‘They’re not only books. They’re ideas, thoughts, beliefs—’

  Gardener interrupted with a shrug. ‘That’s right, but they’re not our ideas, thoughts, beliefs.’

  Mallory knew there was no point in arguing. He turned back to the sad sight until he noticed three figures watching the bonfire across the way, almost obscured by the drifting smoke. When it cleared for a moment, he saw it was James, his face drawn, shoulders hunched, standing between two upright, characterless young men who were clearly inquisitors.