The Devil in green

Mallory woke from a dream of flying to feel heat on his face and the crackling of fire in his ears. At first he thought he was still with the Fabulous Beast, soaring high over the magical landscape. But there was no wind in his hair and no rolling sense of motion deep in his gut. Only hardness and stability lay beneath him.

Nearby, the blazing ruins of an old barn melted the snow in a wide circle, providing warmth in the chill of the grey morning. A farmhouse with a sagging roof and broken windows stood across a courtyard. Mallory lay on boards under cover of the eaves of a disused cow shed. Old sacking had been thrown across his legs. He looked up to the lowering clouds and felt a brief, affecting sadness for what was gone.

The cold the previous night had left him almost delirious, and his memories of what happened after their escape from the cathedral were fragmented. More than anything, he recalled the flight, seeing the world in white flash by beneath, hearing the beat of the Fabulous Beast's wings and the roar of the otherworldly fire. Transcendental, wondrous, an abiding feeling of something greater.

They had descended on the eastern fringes of the city, and that's where his memories had started to dissolve. He couldn't remember the landing or much of dismounting, though he had a clear image of the Fabulous Beast rising up into the sky, limned by the moonlight as it disappeared into the snowy night.

'Finally.' Sophie emerged from a nearby copse, clutching what appeared to be twigs and leaves. Her ordeal in the cells had sloughed off her with remarkable ease — the effects of the Blue Fire, he guessed — and she appeared bright and hearty. She wandered over to him, shivering slightly. 'I thought you were going to sleep the day away.'

'You controlled it,' he said in amazement.

This amused her. 'Don't be silly. You can't control something as wonderful and elemental as that. I asked for its help. It answered.'

'You're full of tricks.'

'Yes, I'm just all-round wonderful.' She squatted down next to him and examined his shoulder where the crossbow bolt had struck. 'You've warmed up. I was worried last night.'

'Stefan didn't provide many creature comforts in the cells. Like food.'

Her face darkened. 'Revenge doesn't achieve anything, but I really want to pay that bastard back for everything he's done… to my people, to me. To you.' She looked back towards the city. 'I hope most of them managed to escape. They'll regroup. The Celtic Nation is stronger than that weak, scared…' She shook her head, overcome by emotion as the memories of the attack on the camp returned to her.

'We're out of it now.'

She laid the leaves and twigs next to him. 'Most of the goodness is frozen in the ground at this time of year,' she said. 'It's not a season when you should be homeless. But I managed to scrape together a few bits and pieces. If we can find some kind of pot, we can melt some snow and I can boil up a soup-'

'Yum.'

'OK, it won't exactly be Jamie Oliver,' she snapped, 'but it'll give us some energy, at least to keep on the move until we can find some proper food. I think the bolt might have chipped a bone in your shoulder. At least it didn't embed. But you're a tough guy… you'll get over it.'

'And the twigs?'

'They're for a ritual to keep us safe. As safe as we can expect to be in this place.' She looked around at the snow-draped landscape. A few birds flapped desolately amongst the stark trees; it appeared as if all human existence had been swept away.

Mallory took her hand. 'One advantage to nobody being around… we could always warm up under this… uh… sack.'

Sophie extricated her fingers from his. 'I know you place a lot of faith in your charm, Mallory, but really, it's not as winning as you believe.' Despite her haughty expression, some of the depression that had hung around her since the attack on her camp lifted slightly. 'I don't sleep with just anyone. I need wine… and flowers… and wrapping in warm towels. And even then my suitor has to meet my exceedingly high expectations. And frankly, Mallory, I shouldn't hold your breath.'

Mallory watched her wander towards the farmhouse in search of pots and pans. He felt at peace, he felt free, and both seemed so unusual for being absent from his life for so long. They'd escaped, and he could barely believe it. Above all, though, he was relieved that the Caretaker had been wrong — they'd escaped with their lives and sanity intact, and there hadn't been a price to pay at all.

'Which way are we headed?' Mallory asked as he sipped on the foul- tasting stew that Sophie had laboured over for the past hour. It warmed his limbs and gave him renewed energy, just as she had promised, though the process was slow. 'We could head west… maybe go to Exeter. Some of the smaller cities might not have been affected as badly as the larger ones.'

She spooned in silence for a moment and then said, 'You know I can't leave here, Mallory.'

His heart sank. He did know, although he had tried to resist believing it.

'I'm the tribe's leader. They're counting on me. I need to get them back together… lead them away to a safe place where we can regroup. You're welcome to come with us,' she added, without looking at him, though the hope in her voice was clear.

'OK… of course.' He was loath to go anywhere near the cathedral, with its weight of bad memories and the possibility that he might once again be sucked into its awful gravity. He'd hoped it could be just the two of them, insulated from the demands of a hard world, but he knew that had always been a fantasy.

She appeared honestly pleased by his response, and that warmed him. 'Besides, what about Miller?' she added. 'I thought he was your friend. Don't you want to get him out of that awful place?'

'He's no friend. He's just some stupid kid who was always hanging on my coat-tails.'

Sophie watched him carefully; Mallory felt as though she could see right inside him, all the lies and the terrible things he'd done.

'That's you down to the ground, isn't it, Mallory? Pretending nothing and nobody matters… pretending it to yourself. When are you going to learn that everything matters? That people matter most of all.'

He put the bowl to one side and stared at the flames that still roared in the remains of the barn, ignited, he guessed, by the Fabulous Beast. Did it really have the intelligence to provide them with warmth? Was it a beast at all?

'I can't work you out at all,' Sophie said sharply. 'You just switch off when a subject comes up that you don't want to talk about. And how many of those are there? Like the past…'

'The past doesn't matter.'

'You're an intelligent man, so why do you say such stupid things? The past makes us who we are.'

'You say.' He was quite aware how petulant he sounded.

Sophie bristled. 'So let's talk about the past, Mallory. I know nothing about you-'

'You know everything about me. Everything you see is everything you need to know. This is who I am.'

'Do you know how arrogant that sounds?'

'That's one of those character flaws I just have to live with.'

'And me by association, I suppose,' she said with irritation. 'Have you ever had a proper relationship? Do you understand even the most basic rules… of sharing, trust… openness?'

Mallory hardened; he wasn't going to be pushed into the forgotten wasteland of his past by anyone. 'All right. The past shapes us, but that doesn't mean we have to live in it… always revisiting it… always suffering. Somewhere down the line you have to try to leave it behind.'

Sophie watched his face carefully, picking up subtle clues. Her detailed attention made him uncomfortable.

'You want to know about my past?' he said sharply. 'Well, it's unpleasant… the details will make you sick, all right? They make me sick. But the details don't matter. I carry it around with me every day, like a big fucking pile of bricks on my shoulders, but that isn't enough. Oh, no. There are still things out there that feel I need to be reminded… or punished… I don't know, I don't care.'

'Is that why you don't believe in anything?'

He kicked over his bowl so that the remainder of the stew flowed into the sizzling snow. 'No, no, don't you understand? We're not shaped by incidents, whatever stories and movies and TV always told us. We're made by a thousand little things, and incidental thoughts, and half-considered ideas. We're built up like bits of chewing gum stuck together into a ball, and only when it's big enough to recognise do we step back and see what a monster we've made. What happened to me doesn't matter. What I am now matters, and what I'm going to be in the future. Good or bad, that's what matters. That's what matters for all of us. Don't look back, look forwards.'

'I don't know if I agree, Mallory-'

'I don't care.' He stood up abruptly and walked away.

He wandered until he came to the farmhouse, hating himself for uncovering the rawness, for letting Sophie see that big, big part of himself that he wasn't proud of at all. He wouldn't be surprised if she wasn't there when he returned. He probably deserved it.

Half of the farmhouse was little more than a shell, but the remaining half was still habitable. He couldn't understand why Sophie hadn't got them ensconced in there, away from the elements, until he saw the detritus piled high against the entrance: a washing machine, fridge, a sodden sofa, other pieces of furniture. It would take them an hour or more to pull them away to gain access.

He was just considering returning to Sophie to apologise — a first! — when he spotted a movement behind a filthy, streaked window. His hand jumped to the hilt of his sword, though he sensed no immediate threat.

As he approached the pile blocking the entrance, he noticed a path through it, hidden unless you looked closely enough. He considered leaving be whoever was inside, then shrugged, dropped to his knees and crawled into the hole; it was preferable to opening himself up to Sophie's questioning again. Halfway in, he thought he was mistaken and would have to wriggle out backwards, but then he found himself at a door that hung ajar. He slipped through and pulled out his sword.

'Who's there?' he called out.

His voice echoed. The carpet underfoot was sodden and smelled as if it was rotting, but furniture was still placed around a hearth in which a single ember glowed. The door to the back room was closed. He steeled himself, then wrenched it open, his sword glowing dimly in the half-light.

A painfully thin woman in her early thirties moaned desolately, her face buried in her hands. 'Don't kill us,' she whimpered. 'We haven't got anything!'

Behind her, a man who appeared little more than skin and bone lay unmoving on a camp bed beneath a thin, dirty sheet that would have provided little warmth in the bitter cold of recent days. Mallory looked around the room, gradually realising the couple had been existing, just, for some time in that dismal place. The man was clearly ill, barely clinging on, the woman worn down to near nothing by caring for him.

'I'm not going to hurt you,' Mallory said.

The woman didn't appear to hear him. She sobbed, rocking backwards and forwards, her face still hidden. It took Mallory five minutes to calm her, and then a further five before he could get any sense out of her. His first impressions were right: the couple had been living here since the Fall, eking out a living as best they could on their land while fighting off the occasional looter and the more frequent supernatural visitors. They'd survived, despite the destruction of half of their home by one large band of looters, and from then on had taken to subterfuge to continue existing.

Winter was the hardest time for them, particularly after the looters had gone off with their stockpile of food. The husband had managed to trap a few animals to keep them going, but then he had fallen ill — pleurisy, Mallory guessed after examining him — and the woman had not known how to continue the hunt for sustenance.

Mallory eventually convinced her to come with him to Sophie, who provided a degree of comfort that was beyond Mallory. She gave the woman the last of the stew, which was devoured hungrily, while Mallory was sent out to inspect the farmer's traps. Most of them were filled with animals that had decomposed too far, but one contained a freshly caught pheasant. As he removed the dead bird, he couldn't prevent his thoughts from turning to the guilt that was eating away at him; the background buzz became a frenzy when he considered the repercussions of his decision to leave Miller to his fate. At the least, punishment would be severe, but Mallory had the queasy feeling that with Stefan's current frame of mind, he might have condemned Miller to death.

And all because he had responded like a spoilt child in his hurt that Miller had shaken his faith. It wasn't Miller's fault he wasn't the incorruptible person Mallory had imagined him to be, just so that Mallory could believe in goodness and decency and his own salvation. And it wasn't fair that Miller would be punished so terribly for shattering that illusion. In his own way, Mallory had been as bad as Stefan.

It had been one moment of stupidity, and if he allowed it to stand he'd be as bad as he had always feared; he'd be damned, for sure.

As he made his way back to the farmhouse, he began to piece together exactly what he had to do, but it was only when he saw the thin, broken woman sitting next to Sophie that he accepted completely the path that lay ahead of him. The woman could no more have abandoned her responsibility to her husband than Mallory could have denied Sophie. Selflessness, sacrifice, hope and salvation all sprang from one source, but he'd never been able to see it before because he'd never felt it before.

It could have been the exhaustion, or the hunger, or the fading memory of the Fabulous Beast, but his internal barriers crumbled and fell and he was suddenly struck by a blinding revelation, so simple in retrospect, almost naive, but so much predicated upon it. The consequence of what that realisation meant to him and those around him sent his thoughts spinning wildly.

The epiphany dragged back the memory of his grandfather and the dying bird he had relived so acutely in the Court of Peaceful Days, and now he knew exactly why the symbolism had struck him on a subconscious level. Everything was linked — that was the meaning of the Blue Fire — everything was valuable. And it was the duty of humanity to care for it all because by doing so it was caring for itself. All things were linked; and all tied into that little thing he felt for Sophie that from his new perspective was bigger than both of them, larger than the whole universe.

He stood watching Sophie and the woman for ten minutes while his thoughts raged. He felt liberated, his own burden beginning to lift as he realised that salvation was still within his grasp if he was prepared to take a leap into the dark for the sake of others.

The woman, who finally revealed her name was Barbara, ravenously devoured her steaming meat with an edge of desperation that made Mallory turn away. He never thought he'd see starving people in Britain.

Afterwards, the woman took in some of the bird for her husband, though Mallory would be surprised if he ate anything; he didn't seem to have long left.

'What's on your mind?' Sophie asked.

'Why do you ask?'

'You seem different.'

He picked at the remnants of the meat. 'The way I see it, we've got three options. We can run away together — you've already thrown that one out. We can go back to Salisbury and round up your people, lead them somewhere else to regroup.' He paused, his mouth dry. 'Or I can go back and try to put things right at the cathedral.'

She smiled as if she'd been proven right. 'This is about Miller, isn't it?'

'I've saved his life twice. The third's the charm. Truth is, he's lost without me.'

'OK,' she began thoughtfully, 'so what are you going to do? Waltz up and bang on the gates, ask them to stop being so naughty? Because otherwise it doesn't seem like you've got any alternative.'

'Yes, I have. I'm going to see the Devil.'

She drew herself up, alert, intrigued.

'On a very basic level, my enemy's enemy is my friend, and at the moment Stefan is definitely my enemy,' he explained. 'But the fact is, I don't believe Stefan's explanation, which is that the Devil is attempting to wipe out the Church in some final apocalyptic battle between good and evil.'

She smiled.

'What?'

'I don't believe in the Devil, anyway. Satan is a Christian invention, something the Church used to demonise my religion.'

'So if it's not the Devil, it's… something else. And if it's not the Devil, the motive Stefan identified goes too — it's not about good and evil. There's another motive.'

'What could that be?'

'All this started when the Blues brought back a relic to the cathedral,' Mallory began. 'I didn't think twice about it until I realised the authorities have been lying from the start to cover up the Church's use of the earth energy, something that might have been seen as ungodly… blasphemous. There's a history of geomancers in the Church who've been attempting to utilise this supposedly pagan force since the Christian Church first established itself, and they've always kept it secret,' he explained.

'What's this got to do with some relic?' Sophie asked.

'The relic is the bones of Saint Cuthbert, which had been kept for centuries at Durham Cathedral. Only I don't think it's the bones at all. That was just a smokescreen.'

Sophie's eyes narrowed. 'What have they done?'

'I think they stole something… something vitally important to all those supernatural forces lined up outside the cathedral walls.'

'What could they possibly have stolen that would have been that important?'

'No idea, but it's got to be something to do with the Blue Fire… something that amplifies its power. That's what the Caretaker was talking about when he spoke of something warping reality — pulling in all those new buildings… raising the dead… affecting people's minds. Something incredibly powerful. And the Adversary, whoever or whatever he is, wants it back. It all comes down to arrogance — the Church thinks it has some right to take this thing and use it. Instead of winning hearts and minds the slow, laborious way, it's using this mojo to boost the spiritual energy so that the Church quickly becomes a powerful force again.'

'Who are the good guys and who are the bad guys here, Mallory?'

'Well, they brought it on themselves… maybe they thought they were doing the right thing, I don't know. That doesn't matter now. But if we can convince the Devil that we can get back whatever it is he wants-'

'And you reckon you can reason with something that has the power to lay siege to the cathedral in the way that it did? I think you should go back to hammering on the gates and begging Stefan to be good,' she teased.

'Yeah, it's a risk, but you know me… I'm nothing if not confident in my abilities.'

'You're a big-headed bastard, Mallory,' she laughed. 'So how do we find this Devil?

'No,' he said, shocked. 'I'm going alone.'

'No, you're not.'

'Yes, I am. It's too dangerous.' If he'd believed she would attempt to go with him, he would have slipped off silently during the night.

'You're nothing without me, Mallory. You'd better get used to it.'

He could see there was no arguing with her. But it changed everything: failure was no longer an option.

Darkness fell. They'd stoked up the fire in the barn with any item of wood they could find and by then it was blazing merrily. Sophie snuggled under Mallory's arm, both of them buried beneath old sacking under the shelter of the eaves. A cold wind blew from the north, bringing more flurries of snow.

'Do these count as warm towels?' Mallory held up an edge of the dirty sack.

Sophie laughed. 'In your dreams, Mallory.'

Mallory brought his fingers up to the smooth skin at the back of her neck and gently massaged it; her shoulders loosened at his touch. 'In this world, now, you need to hold on to any comfort you can get,' he mused aloud.

'I intend to.' Sophie felt under the sacking until she found his thigh. 'But then maybe it was always that way.'

In the roaring of the flames and die drifting of the snow there was an elemental magic. Mallory could feel it affecting him, pulling out emotions that had been concealed by the crystalline protection needed to make his way in the world they had inherited.

'The universe is a wonderful place,' Sophie continued dreamily, watching the snow against the night sky. 'When you're with someone you love and you're feeling as though they're the only person in the world for you, think of all the random decisions that brought you to that point. Maybe you decided to stay in instead of going down the pub that night… or maybe you'd taken a different job the year before and ended up in a different city… or maybe you'd gone to a different university and had a whole different career… and you'd never have been at that point… never met the only person in the world for you. Yet all those things aligned to get you to that exact spot when everything was right. And it didn't just happen for you, it happened for people all over the city, all over the country, all over the world, for as long as people have been on the planet. And then people try to tell you that there's no intelligence in the universe.'

'Some would say it's just chance. That there's plenty of people for you in the world, and you'd have found one sooner or later whatever you did.'

'Do you believe that?'

He thought for a long moment. 'No.'

'Romantic,' she gibed gently.

'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 threat 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.

'We ask for your guidance,' she began. 'There is a force loose in our world that has tormented our people, attempted to destroy those of a spiritual nature… taken our children…'

Abarta stayed her with a dismissive wave of his hand. 'That will come later. First, let us examine this role of yours, Dragon-Sister. You are both still bright. It would seem to me that the responsibilities of your office have only recently been laid on your shoulders. Is this so?'

'I have no idea what my responsibilities are,' Sophie replied carefully in case there was some hidden trap in his words. 'I only learned of my… office… second-hand and still do not truly understand what a Sister of Dragons is.'

Abarta mused on this for a moment. 'Then you have much to learn, yet you are deprived of a tutor. Let me aid you: Existence demands five Brothers and Sisters of Dragons. In times of hardship, as now, when one group passes another must be formed. The king is over the water — all Fragile Creatures await his return — and the other Dragon-warriors now have new responsibilities. So Existence called to you to take up the mantle. Do you understand?'

Sophie nodded, but her mind was clearly on other matters. She made as if to speak, but Abarta silenced her with a finger.

'The old stories are locked into the very fabric of Existence,' he continued. 'They repeat themselves as the seasons turn. The kings have different names, or different weapons, but they have the same role. They are all the same king because Existence has a need for this role to be filled. If one king fades from view, another must arise to take his place.'

The conversation was rambling, yet the beings remained intent and filled with anticipation. Mallory prickled, trying to read the meaning behind the surface. It was only when Sophie began to attempt to lead the talk back to the matter at hand that he realised: Abarta was seeking to distract them. In that place the sun was still high in the sky, but in their world it would be almost gone.

At that realisation, Mallory became anxious and attempted to catch Sophie's eye, but she had already decided to stop any more dissembling. 'I thank you for your guidance on this issue,' she began, with a little more curtness in her voice than she probably intended, 'but I wish to return to the questions I brought with me-'

'Oh, but there are so many things yet to discuss,' Abarta said, placing the tips of his fingers together. 'Of your roles and responsibilities, of the states of our respective worlds, of wars fought and ones yet to come-'

'Please. Time is of the essence.'

'Not here.' His eyes flashed sparks of annoyance at being interrupted. 'In your world, alignments may take place that have repercussions here in the Far Lands. But in our place, there is no then and might be, or not in terms that you might understand, and so no echoes or alignments.' He paused, ready to launch into another rambling discourse. Tension spread across Mallory's chest. Abarta tapped a finger on his chin in thought, then began, 'Now-'

Sophie opened her mouth and a sound came out that made Mallory's ears hurt. It appeared to be composed of syllables he had never heard before, alien sounds he could hardly comprehend coming from a human throat. Sophie only uttered it, yet it created a deafening roar that cracked the sky.

Fury grew on the faces of the crowd. Mallory's fingers clasped even tighter on the hilt of his sword, so sure was he that they were ready to strike.

'You have made enemies of us through your discourtesy.' Rage flashed across Abarta's face and edged his cold voice. 'The words of power should never be used lightly. We are not beasts of the field to heed your command.'

'I came here to make an offering… to put us at your favour,' Sophie said sharply, 'but you tried to trick us — and that's a discourtesy to us.' She was shaking. Mallory could sense her fear, though her confidence masked it from the others. 'Now you must answer my questions.'

'Three,' Abarta said, refusing to acknowledge that she had the upper hand. 'Only three.'

Sophie looked to Mallory. He nodded for her to continue using her own judgement; time was running out.

'Who… or what… is the one we are searching for?' she said tentatively.

Abarta gave a faint triumphal sneer. 'Someone who wishes harm to some of your kind.'

Sophie cursed under her breath. 'Where can we find him?'

Mallory flinched; he knew Abarta could give another non-answer: a name they didn't know, or on your world, or in the Far Lands. But instead, Abarta smiled. 'I give you this, knowing it will do you no good. If you want to find the one for whom you are searching, you must travel to a place in the Fixed Lands… in your world… known to your kind as Knowlton. There you may attempt to storm his keep.' A ripple of mocking laughter passed through the crowd.

Sophie took a deep breath. 'How can we stop him attacking our kind?'

'By defeating him.' Another ripple of laughter. 'Or by surrendering to him.'

'Come on,' Mallory said quietly. 'We have to get out of here.'

The door of Blue Fire still crackled at their backs. They took a step towards it.

The ringing sound of knives being drawn echoed across the cathedral site. 'Know this,' Abarta said. 'Old Shuck blocks the way for all who travel to Knowlton. And where Old Shuck leads, can the Wild Hunt be far behind? You will fall before them like saplings in a storm, in the Fixed Lands or in the Forest of Night… and then we will see how fragile you really are.'

Suddenly they moved as one, knives drawn and glinting, black eyes filled with a hungry horror. Mallory grabbed Sophie and threw the two of them through the door. There was the sensation of warm rain again and then they crashed hard on snow. Night was almost upon them; only a thin line of light lay along the horizon.

They didn't wait to catch their breath. Instead they ran across the outer bailey and the car park and along the road out of the site, and they didn't stop until Old Sarum was far behind them.