‘If you close your eyes and listen to yourself … listen to your heart … you know. You know in a way that you could never explain to someone who only believed in the Selfish Gene and the evolutionary drive. There is only one person for you.’
Sophie rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes; the warmth of their bodies together was soothing.
‘And you’ll find them,’ she said, ‘if you trust the universe. That’s the thing. You give yourself up to the universe and it helps you out.’
She turned to look at him, her dilated pupils reflecting the snow so that it looked as if she had stars inside her. ‘This is our time,’ she said softly. ‘The world’s gone to hell and the old order’s gone with it. This isn’t a place for big business … for those who’re only interested in making money … the soul-dead. It’s a place for dreamers and romantics … the passionate … the hopeful.’
‘Hippie.’
‘There’s no point being anything else. We make the best of what we’ve got. Life’s short. You’ve got to love what’s around you.’
He brushed the hair from her forehead. ‘I used to be like that.’
Her eyes shimmered. ‘You’re still like that, Mallory. You just can’t see it.’
She leaned forwards until her lips were brushing his. They were like velvet, so full of life that Mallory could almost feel the pulse of blood. He moved against them; her mouth was soft and warm and moist, yielding slowly, following his rhythm perfectly. Her fingers touched the back of his neck and it was as though electricity jolted through him. Everything about her was supercharged. In comparison, he was sluggish, like someone emerging from a coma.
The air was filled with energy. Mallory was surrounded by frost and fire, opposites coming together in an alchemical union that made them more than they were before.
‘We’ re special,’ Sophie whispered in his ear, before nuzzling into his neck.
His hand moved across her breast, feeling the rise of the nipple, the subsequent surge of power in his groin. She didn’t resist; she met him move for move, desire for desire. Her fingers eased over his body, down to his jeans, fumbling for the buttons. Their clothes loosened, their temperature soared, hardness and softness lay under their hands.
In their passion they were like beasts clawing at each other, completely consumed by the raw feelings of the moment. When Mallory penetrated her, he thought he would come immediately, so powerful was the rush. But he kept himself going, and they kissed, and they bit, and rolled around half-naked despite the coldness of the night.
Afterwards they lay in each other’s arms, feeling their unified heartbeats slowly subside. Mallory dragged the sacking back over them when they became aware of their breath clouding, and for a long while they said nothing, barely believing what had happened and what it meant for both of them.
Sometime later, Sophie suddenly jerked and exclaimed, ‘Look there.’
Footprints tracked their way across the blue-white snow barely ten feet from them.
A chill ran through Mallory. The prints were cloven, but with a hooked toe or claw at the rear, clearly belonging to something that walked on two legs.
‘We didn’t see it.’ Sophie’s voice was low and rigid. ‘It was almost on top of us and we didn’t see it at all.’
‘Fools and lovers are protected,’ he muttered, pulling her close, aware how fragile they were, how defenceless in a dangerous world.
They moved closer to the fire where the heat made their skin bloom, and decided to take it in turns keeping watch. Mallory constructed a makeshift shelter with some of die sacks and selected items from the pile of rubbish near the farmhouse to keep the snow off them.
‘You still haven’t told me what we’re going to do.’ she asked him sleepily.
‘Tomorrow,’ he replied, ‘we’re going to petition the gods.’
In the pale morning light, Mallory retrieved a couple more animals from the fresh traps and delivered them to the woman and her husband, before they set off north. They walked a fine line, keeping beyond the edge of the city’s built-up area yet not straying into the open countryside. Danger lay all around. The snow had abated, but it was still thick underfoot and the going was hard. Occasionally, Sophie or he would disappear into a drift, but they still found the energy to laugh at each other’s misfortune, and that helped the time to pass.
His mood changed when he finally saw the bulk of Old Sarum rising up against the snow-filled sky. ‘You know we’re linked,’ he said obliquely. She eyed him curiously. He told her what the Caretaker and Rhiannon had said about the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons.
Sophie was shocked, then humbled. ‘Ruth Gallagher, the woman who taught Melanie,’ she said, ‘she was a Sister of Dragons, one of the five at the time of the Fall.’
‘And now you’re following in her footsteps.’
‘But she was a great person!’
‘Yeah, I can hardly believe it either. Somebody must have faith in us.’
His revelation appeared to be lying heavily on her, so he changed the subject by telling her about his experience on Old Sarum on the night he met Miller.
‘There are certain places where the barriers between this world and the other one are thin … where you can cross over to places like that Court you visited,’ she said. ‘High peaks, lakes, rivers, springs, the seashore. But the strongest sites have already been marked, and they’re places where the Blue Fire is powerful.’
‘The stone circles,’ Mallory suggested.
‘That’s right. And the Iron-Age hill-forts, and the standing stones, and all the other sites where our ancestors have left their mark on the landscape.’
‘How do you know all this?’
‘Part of my initiation into the Craft.’
‘That Gallagher woman passed it on?’
She nodded. ‘It’s the truth behind all the things we learned at school. When the Christian Church came, it tried to colonise many of those old places where the Blue Fire … a spiritual energy … was strongest. At some it succeeded. At others, the powers that had already laid claim to it were too strong. The war’s been going on for nearly two thousand years. It’s summed up in a carving at Saint James’ Church in Avebury. The building itself is Saxon, but it’s believed that some of the sarsen stones may have come from the megalithic monument on the site. On the font is a carving of a bishop holding a book and piercing the head of a dragon with his crosier. It’s a symbolic depiction of the old Church conquering the Blue Fire and bending its force to its will. Avebury, of course, is one of the most powerful sources of the dragon-energy in the country. And the Christian legend of Saint Michael, the dragon-killer, is the same symbol. That’s why so many sites along the main ley running through Britain - from Cornwall to the east coast - are dedicated to Saint Michael.’
‘You’ve got a thing against Christianity, haven’t you?’
‘Not against the Faith, no,’ she replied. ‘There are lots of different roads leading to the same mystery - people take the one that suits them. But I’ve got a thing against the men … and it always is men … who come to control a religion and impose their own prejudices on it. There’s an argument that paganism is weaker than Christianity because it’s never provided any martyrs. But then there’s not been any oppression, torture and war in its name, either. And remember this, Mallory: at its heart, Britain is a pagan country. Christianity has standing because it’s the State religion. But you go out to Cornwall or Wales or Scotiand and the old beliefs still prosper. Even in the heartland of England, in the industrial centres, you strip away the lip service to a religion that’s been taught from birth and you find an instinctual acceptance of the old ways, though people don’t often realise it.’
Mallory shielded his eyes against the snow-glare. He had a sudden shaky feeling they were being watched. ‘So that could be one reason why the cathedral was moved to its new location. It was in conflict with what was already there.’ He recalled James hinting at something similar.
‘The gods at Old Sarum are still strong. In times past they were stronger still,’ Sophie said.
‘And that’s who we’re going to talk to,’ Mallory said. He looked at the lonely, windswept hill, remembered the crackling old man’s voice, the presence in the dark that was there and then not there, and felt his apprehension rise.
By the time they reached the entrance to Old Sarum on the main road it was mid-afternoon and the sun was already falling. ‘We’d better hurry,’ Sophie said. ‘I want to get this over before nightfall. They’re much more powerful then. They might not let us leave.’
They followed the winding path towards the car park. As they came over a rise, the ancient fort was presented to them. This time, Mallory saw it in a new light: the history of an ancient struggle written in the landscape. There were the prehistoric outer ramparts dating back to Neolithic times more than 5,000 years earlier; the Iron-Age defences from 2,500 years ago when Stonehenge was a great religious centre; the Roman roads converging on the site from several directions, marking its significance 1,900 years ago. By that measure, Christianity had been there hardly any time at all. The cathedral had been built off to one side of the old Saxon town on the summit shortly after the Norman Conquest, less than a thousand years ago.
As they walked past the deserted car park, the old defences rising up before them, Mallory became aware of a heightened atmosphere: tension filled the air, becoming more oppressive the further they advanced.
‘Can you feel it?’ Sophie said redundantly.
The sun was insipid, the clouds occasionally obscuring it; Mallory tried to estimate how long they had before it finally set.
‘I don’t know how I’m going to get in touch with them,’ he said. ‘I’m just kind of hoping they’ll come when I call.’
‘I knew there was a good reason why I came along,’ Sophie replied. ‘I can help.’ She looked around, distracted. ‘Magic is about symbolism,’ she said. ‘It’s all around us. Look over there - yew trees. They mark the passage between this life and another, and grow in abundance at these places where it’s possible to cross over. The Church used that symbolism by planting yews in graveyards.’
‘I’m not ready to cross over in that way.’
Sophie didn’t appear to hear. They paused at the wooden bridge crossing the ditch to the old Norman castle; the gates that Mallory had scrambled over with Miller had now been torn asunder.
They passed amongst the ruins of the gatehouse into the inner bailey. Within the remaining fortifications, the silence had an overwhelming quality, as if the entire place was holding its breath. The snow lay thick and undisturbed across the circular area of the inner stronghold. The raised ramparts prevented any view of the surrounding countryside and cast a long, cold shadow over half of the interior, warning of the impending end of daylight.
Ahead of them lay the corbelled flint of what was left of the great tower. To the right were the remains of the royal palace. Sophie closed her eyes, swaying slightly, before striding purposefully to the centre of the site.
Mallory waited patiently while she drew a circle around them in the snow and then marked the cardinal points. She had already collected items from outside the site - what to Mallory had seemed only leaves and other pieces of dead vegetation - and these she deposited at intervals around the circumference. When she had finished this, she squatted down with her back to Mallory and began to whisper so he couldn’t make out her words.
This continued for ten full minutes. Despite his thick cloak, Mallory began to shiver as a cold wind blew up from nowhere. Sophie stood, a little shakily, and leaned on him for support. ‘It’s done,’ she said.
‘What now?’
‘We’ll see.’ She bit her lip.
The wind continued to blow, and after a while Mallory realised it was sweeping back and forth with a life of its own. He had the uncomfortable feeling that something was searching for a way through the circle.
‘Over there,’ Sophie whispered.
She pointed towards what Mallory at first took to be a glistening patch of snow. It shimmered just above the rim of the Iron-Age ramparts, but then began to hover about two feet off the ground. As it neared, Mallory could see something within the ball of light, and when it was only a few feet from them he realised it was a tiny humanoid figure, all gold as if the light was radiating from its skin. Horns protruded from its forehead, but its eyes were black and gleaming, like little windows on to space.
It floated around the edge of the circle, then drifted away towards the royal palace ruins.
‘I think we have to follow it,’ Sophie said.
‘Can we break the circle?’ Mallory looked towards the sun, now bisected by the ramparts.
‘I don’t think we have a choice.’
Cautiously, they stepped outside. Instantly, the wind dropped and all was still again. The tiny figure waited for them, then led them past the palace and over the edge of the defences. They had no choice but to go down the precipitously steep bank where it was impossible to gain a foothold. They skidded, then rolled and fell in the deep snow, winding themselves as they hit the bottom of the ditch.
Covered in snow from head to toe, they clambered out into the wide expanse of the outer bailey, but their guide didn’t slow. They hurried behind it to the site of the old cathedral, the ground plan visible in the stumps of walls protruding through the white. Down rotting wooden steps they stumbled, into a regular area that had once been the cloister, and then into a room that lay lower than the surroundings. Once there, the golden figure soared high until it disappeared.
Mallory felt uneasy; there was only one exit from the room. A fizzing in the snow near his feet attracted his attention.
‘There’s something in the air,’ Sophie said, shaking the snow from her hair. ‘Power … danger … The whole place is charged.’
Squinting, Mallory could make out coruscating blue energy just beneath the snow cover. He squatted down and brushed aside the flakes to reveal a faint sapphire arc crackling across six inches. The urge to touch it overwhelmed him. Sophie rested a hand on his shoulder for support.
It felt cool and soothing; strength flowed into his limbs. He closed his hand around the energy flow, then made to stand up, expecting his fingers to pass through it like water. Instead, the Blue Fire came up with him, more of it rising from the ground in a regular structure: two uprights connected by a crossbar that lay just beneath the arc.
When he withdrew his fingers, it continued to rise until it stood just over six feet high, the energy painting the snow blue all around and throwing dancing shadows across their faces.
‘What is it?’ Mallory said in awe.
Sophie slipped an arm in the crook of one of his, transfixed by the light. ‘It looks like … a door.’
Mallory shrugged. ‘Well, we can see what’s on the other side. Maybe we should …’
They stepped through together.
It felt as if warm rain was on their skin, even beneath their clothes. When their feet fell on the other side, they jolted; everything had changed.
They could taste the air, a thousand complex flavours stirring their senses at once. The quality of light made their heads spin; it felt like the seaside on a steely bright morning. The landscape was the same - the ruins of the cathedral, the snow - except for the figures standing silently all around, or squatting on the broken masonry, watching them.
At first, they appeared to Mallory like blurred shadows, an aberration that he could blink away. He had an impression of tall, slender figures oozing golden light. But then they diminished, became more squat.
A voice sounded like broken glass, the echoes rolling out across the plateau. ‘This is how you see us now.’
And then everything fell into relief. The figures were barely more than three feet tall, though fully formed adults. There were men and women, young and old, dressed in medieval-style clothing in shades of scarlet and green. Their eyes glittered horribly. From most, Mallory felt contempt and thre
at potent enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand erect. Others appeared curious, a few, amused.
One stepped forwards on to a pile of stone that had been the wall of the north transept, a few feet above Mallory’s head. He was younger than most, long golden hair falling down from a high crown; his features were cruel, his regard cold.
‘We will grow in stature again,’ he said icily.
Mallory’s eyes darted around. He felt particularly uneasy about the ones unseen at his back. Sophie, though, was concentrating on the matter at hand. ‘Greetings,’ she said. ‘How may I address you?’
The spokesman bowed his head slightly, though his mood did not thaw. ‘You may call me by the name known to your kinsmen: Abarta.’ He nodded as he surveyed them. ‘I see you are a Brother and Sister of Dragons. In some quarters that standing commands respect.’
But not here, Mallory thought. Under his cloak he moved his hand on to the hilt of his sword, though he knew he could do nothing if they attacked as one.
Abarta smiled like a sneaky child. ‘This is our cathedral now. The ground is unconsecrated … disempowered.’ He motioned towards the expanse of the outer bailey. ‘Welcome to Sorviadun. That is how your people knew it once. The fortress by the gentle river.”
‘Thank you for allowing us into your home,’ Sophie said with studied deference. ‘We come to you with a plea for help.’
‘We heard your call. There are few who know how to bridge the wall between worlds. You have a fine ability … for a Fragile Creature.’ A ripple of cold, contemptuous laughter ran through the assembled group. Mallory watched one of the men sitting cross-legged on the top of a stone column, cleaning his nails with a long curved knife. He smiled dangerously when he saw Mallory looking at him. Abarta eyed Mallory curiously. ‘The sword, Llyrwyn, has long been lost to your world, and here it is in the hands of a Fragile Creature. I hope it has chosen its new champion well.’
The setting was so alien, fraught with so many potential dangers, that Mallory wasn’t comfortable speaking; he felt instinctively that the slightest word out of line could bring the strange, threatening creatures on them in a frenzy. Sophie, though, took the lead confidently.
The Devil in Green Page 40
