‘Sorry, pal. I don’t have a choice.’
‘Then cross the Perilous Bridge, traveller. And pray to whatever god you recognise.’
The stink of the rotting head floated into Mallory’s nostrils as he passed beneath it. The second his horse put one hoof on the slim land bridge, the head began to scream again. Mallory kept moving, but the head continued to wail like a siren, warning of the intruder’s impending approach.
The water on either side was like glass, giving the impression of another world existing just a stone’s throw away. At times, Mallory was almost overcome by the illusion that he could dive in and swim to the green island he saw there. The image was broken only by the occasional chimney protruding from the sunken houses beneath.
On the other side of the bridge he picked up the road again and rounded Wearyall Hill. A cathedral-like mood of tranquillity lay over the town as he rode into the centre. In a world of constant upheaval, that in itself was unnerving. Something special hung in the air, a subtle power filling his lungs, calming him; he felt at home.
The centre of town looked as if it had been unaffected by the Fall, though there was a definite absence of people and all the premises appeared deserted. But as he rode forward, he was confronted by a wall of trees across the street — oak, hawthorn, rowan — so dense that he would not be able to ride through. Their trunks broke through the tarmac, soaring up tall and proud and looking decades old. Mallory dismounted and tethered his horse before inspecting the barrier more closely.
There was a tiny path leading through the trees along which he could just about squeeze, but he would have difficulty defending himself if he was attacked — which, he guessed, was the whole point. No other entrance was visible, so, reluctantly, he pushed between two trunks and began to edge sideways along the route.
He estimated that the stand of trees was only twenty yards across at best, but it was impossible to see the other side and the path didn’t take a direct route. Perfumed flowers of a kind he didn’t recognise hung down from the branches and every now and then there were other strange blooms on either side, like rare orchids, gleaming black with the texture of skin, or others, like lilies, with a cloying aroma.
After ten minutes, Mallory began to wonder why he wasn’t coming out of the other side. Fifteen minutes on, he had begun to accept that he was in some kind of maze, though he couldn’t begin to guess how it could continue for such a distance. He decided to turn back to see if he had missed a branching path. He walked for half an hour and when he found no other path and had not reached his starting point, he realised that he was caught in some obscure trap.
For the next hour he pressed on in one direction. He was convinced that he never passed the same point twice and by that stage he realised there had to be some magic at play. Perhaps the other intruders who had attempted to break into the college were still wandering along the path somewhere ahead of him, or had died of starvation and fallen into the vegetation by the wayside.
It was futile to keep walking. Mallory leaned against the trunk of a tree to think logically. But after a few moments of racking his brains, he realised he was having trouble ordering his thoughts. Cotton wool packed his skull and honey trickled down his spine; if he closed his eyes, he could probably sleep for a long, long time.
If he had continued along the path for a little while longer he would probably have been lost, but there was still a small part of his mind sending warning signals. One of them drove him to draw his sword. The blue flames erupted around the blade and the air was suddenly singed with the aroma of burned iron. The smell cut through the claustrophobic scent of the flowers and the rush of energy gave him a jolt. In that instant, Mallory realised what was happening.
Quickly, he tied his handkerchief across his face, unsure whether it would do the job. With what little energy he had left, he leaped up to slash at the hanging flowers and any others he could reach on either side of the path.
He moved quickly, pressing the handkerchief to his nose and mouth with one hand, and after a while of hacking and chopping, the confusion in his head began to lift. Either the invisible pollen, or the scents themselves, were some kind of narcotic that had subtly tied his thoughts in knots.
Not long after, the path fell back into sharp relief and the dreaminess receded. Within minutes, he caught a glimpse of buildings on the other side. When the exit became visible, he broke into a run.
He was only feet away from breaking out into the open when a vine-like plant with long thorns swung across the path with a life of its own. Mallory ducked, but one of the thorns ripped open the flesh on his cheek. It felt as if acid was burning its way into his system. His legs grew sluggish, refused to obey his mind, until he was staggering around like a drunk. Within seconds, he collapsed. Paralysis flooded through him. He was aware of other vegetation moving around him, grass and tendrils wrapping around his legs and arms, enswathing him in green like a mummy. Darkness began to close around his vision and he knew that if the paralysis reached his heart, he would die. Slowly, he was being tugged into the undergrowth where he would never be found.
Filled with excitement, Hal waited for nearly three hours before he could finally see Reid. The chief spy had been in conference from long before breakfast with a succession of ministers, military advisors and nondescript people Hal had never seen before.
When he was finally ushered into Reid’s darkened office, Hal could see the toll the current crisis was taking on the man. His face was drawn and tired, and it looked as if he hadn’t received any good news in a long time.
But he seemed to brighten a little when he saw Hal and offered him a cup of real tea. Hal took it gratefully before pouring out all he had learned about the Poussin painting and the mysterious monument at Shugborough Hall.
‘All I need is your blessing to go to Shugborough,’ Hal concluded, ‘and the resources to do so. I know it’s dangerous-’
‘It is dangerous,’ Reid stressed. ‘The enemy is advancing very rapidly. They’re already crossing Yorkshire and Lancashire. It won’t be long before they reach Staffordshire.’
The news was a harsh blow to Hal. He’d always believed that the Government would come up with something to stop the enemy in its tracks and had never given the possibility of failure a second thought. ‘We haven’t got a response?’
‘No effective one. We’ve tried…’ Reid dismissed the thought with an irritable wave of his hand.
‘I’m sorry,’ Hal said contritely. ‘I know you can’t talk about it.’
‘It’s not that. I think the time has come for radical action. Others don’t agree. But that was always anticipated.’ He took a long sip of his tea, lost to his thoughts for a moment, and then added, ‘I trust your judgment, Mister Campbell. If you feel this is important for the war effort, then do it. Just make sure you’re in and out as quickly as possible. I can provide you with a helicopter — there’s no point taking any road vehicles out in this weather.’
‘I’d like to take an assistant. To help with any local research.’
Reid shrugged, uninterested. The phone rang and Reid snatched it up, his mood brightening as he listened. When he replaced the receiver, he said, ‘Good news. The PM has agreed to see you for ten minutes.’
‘What? When?’
‘Now.’
Hal grew anxious. ‘I haven’t prepared-’
‘Doesn’t matter. Just speak from your heart. With everything that’s going down at the moment, you probably won’t get another opportunity. And I believe this to be very important. The PM needs to hear it.’
‘OK,’ Hal said hesitantly. ‘Now? Really?’
‘Now.’ Reid stood up and waited for Hal to rise before hurrying him to Balliol where the PM’s private offices were situated; normally, no one with Hal’s low-level clearance ever got anywhere near them.
Once they were outside the prime minister’s door, Reid clapped Hal on the back and whispered, ‘You’ll be fine.’ He swung the door open, but Hal knew he wouldn�
��t be able to speak for a few seconds, for his heart was wedged firmly in his throat.
Mallory woke on a rough wooden pallet, his head thick and his limbs heavy. The aroma of wood smoke filled the air. When he finally accepted that he had survived his ordeal, he managed to lever himself up on his elbows to look around. He was in a roundhouse like ones he had seen as a child in history books about the Celtic era. A small fire crackled in the centre of the room, the smoke winding its way up through the hole in the centre of the turf roof. His bed was positioned so that he could see straight out through the open door across the lush Somerset countryside. The sun was rising, framed perfectly between the door jambs, golden and large and misty.
‘You’re bloody lucky.’
Mallory strained around to see who had spoken. A man leaned on a gnarled wooden staff, watching Mallory with a suspicious expression. Mallory guessed he was well into his sixties, but he was so fit and lithe that it was difficult to tell his true age. He could just as easily have been a hundred. His skin was browned from days in the sun, but his long grey hair was matted with dirt and grease and hung lank around his shoulders. He wore a dirty cheesecloth shirt, open at the front, shapeless, filthy trousers and a pair of well-worn sandals. He looked like someone who had spent his life at the music festival they used to hold annually just outside the town.
‘If someone hadn’t seen you getting wrapped in the defences you’d have been gone for good,’ the old man continued.
‘Who are you?’ Mallory said. He was already surreptitiously searching for his weapon. His scabbard was empty.
The old man realised what he was doing and gave a brief, hard smile. ‘Where did you get the sword?’
‘None of your business.’ Mallory swung his legs on to the floor, his head spinning.
The old man brandished his staff. ‘See this? I’ve split more heads open with it than you’ve had hot dinners. You couldn’t beat me even if you were fit, and look at you now. Better answer my questions before you’re out cold again.’
‘I’m not answering any questions,’ Mallory said defiantly.
The old man moved his bony, angular body like a ballet dancer, swinging the staff in a blur. The tip thudded against Mallory’s windpipe before he had even seen it coming.
‘All right,’ Mallory choked.
‘The sword. That’s one of the three great swords. Too powerful a thing for a weedy little weak-arsed runt like you. Who did you steal if off?’
‘I didn’t steal it. It was given to me.’
The old man eased the pressure of the staff a little and eyed Mallory curiously. ‘Who gave it to you?’
‘A woman called Rhiannon.’ Mallory saw the flicker of recognition in the old man’s face and added, ‘In the Court of Peaceful Days.’
‘You’ve been to T’ir n’a n’Og?’
Mallory nodded and the old man lowered the staff and paced away. ‘They’ll let any bugger in these days,’ he muttered, opening a box in one corner. The familiar blue light of the sword illuminated his face. ‘You’d better take it, then. But don’t think it’ll give you an advantage.’
Mallory’s legs still felt weak, but when he plucked the sword from the box the familiar energy surged into his limbs.
‘You’re a Brother of Dragons?’ the old man asked.
‘Yes. The name’s Mallory.’
The old man snorted. ‘Sounds like a girl’s name to me.’ He leaned on his staff once more and surveyed Mallory’s face. ‘I’m the Bone Inspector. I run this here college.’
‘I’ve travelled a long way to get here,’ Mallory said. ‘I’m looking for someone who used to be a Brother of Dragons… someone who fought in the Fall.’
‘Then you’ve found him.’
Mallory turned to see a tall, slim young man with Asian features standing in the doorway. Long black hair framed a handsome face with perfect bone structure, and his natural beauty was accentuated by the black clothes he wore. ‘My name is Shavi,’ he said.
Chapter Eleven
The other side of Life
‘ My country is the world and my religion is to do good.’
Thomas Paine
Mallory emerged from the roundhouse into the beauty of a Glastonbury dawn. The air was fresh and sharp, a pearly mist drifting ethereally in the hollows, shimmering in the golden sunlight. The only sound was the birdsong rising up from the green landscape spreading out on all sides far below.
The roundhouse was set on the side of the Tor, just beneath the level of the terraces that formed a processional pathway to the top. Mallory observed that the college covered a vast area, from the roundhouse down the hillside, across the streets of formerly residential houses and into the grounds of the abbey. It encompassed the Chalice Well, nestling on the slopes at the foot of the Tor. The new college buildings were plain, built in a Celtic roundhouse style, and were dotted throughout the area. Nature was being allowed to reclaim parts of the old town, with new trees sprouting here and there, ivy and climbing plants swarming over brick and concrete. It was a place that looked at peace with itself.
‘Breathe deeply,’ Shavi said softly. ‘Let the tension ease from your body. Here you can be yourself. Here you can be everything you ever wanted to be.’
His words brought an unexpected juddering sigh from Mallory; he had the sudden feeling that he wanted to stay there and turn his back on the harsh daily battles of life.
‘This is a mystical place,’ Shavi continued, ‘and now the true power in the land is being allowed to rise up. We have returned it to its old use, as a college for learning and study of the mysteries of Existence. Here the important things are life and love, faith and hope.’
‘And don’t you forget it,’ the Bone Inspector said gruffly.
Mallory could feel the magic in the very air as Shavi and the Bone Inspector led him to a small campfire where they would watch the dawn turn into day. Down at the foot of the hill, Mallory could see people emerging to greet the morning. ‘You’ve taken a lot of people under your wing.’
‘Many feel the call to come, in their blood, in their dreams.’ Shavi looked beatific with his eyes closed as he felt the warmth of the sun on his face. ‘Nearly two thousand years ago there was a great race of wise men who knew the secrets of the stars and the trees and the land. They were almost eradicated by the Romans during the invasion.’
‘Druids,’ Mallory said.
‘Their true name was the Culture. But they never died out. To avoid persecution they slipped into the background, hiding in plain sight in the old communities, dispensing their wisdom where they could, ensuring that all the knowledge they had gained was passed down the generations.’ Shavi nodded to his grim-faced companion. ‘The Bone Inspector was the last of them.’
‘In this world,’ the Bone Inspector said obliquely.
‘But here we are building the Culture up again, training a new generation with the knowledge of millennia past and sending them out into a newly made world. Everything has been done over so that we can make a fresh start.’ He smiled at Mallory. ‘And this time we intend to get it right.’
‘You chose a good place. Better than Wolverhampton.’
‘Symbolism,’ the Bone Inspector grunted. ‘The Culture had their best college here. But it’s also the place where the land’s power is focused.’
‘The Isle of Avalon,’ Shavi said. ‘In the Dark Ages, Glastonbury was as you see it now, an island in the waters and marshland of the Somerset Levels. Avalon was the Celtic heaven, the Otherworld, Land of Always Summer, the mystical land of the dead where the fabled apple trees grew.’ He made an expansive gesture to indicate the apple trees that were now growing all over the area. ‘Glastonbury was considered to be the entrance to the Otherworld, a place that straddles the borders between this world and the next.’
‘And is it?’ Mallory asked.
‘Oh, yes.’ Shavi’s smile was enigmatic. ‘This is the place where legend said Arthur’s body was sent after his final battle. And all places linked w
ith Arthurian legend are tied to the Otherworld, focal points of the Blue Fire, which is the epitome of the power of transformation. But you would know all about that.’
‘Bits and pieces. No one gave me a manual when I got the job,’ Mallory said.
‘That’s for a good reason — so that you grow into it,’ the Bone Inspector said. ‘The only knowledge worth having is the stuff you learn yourself.’
Beaming, Shavi clapped Mallory on the back in a surprising show of bonhomie. ‘It is so good to meet another Brother of Dragons.’
‘How did you cope when you first found out? Because I’m worried we’re making a bit of a mess of it. Letting the side down.’
Shavi glanced at the Bone Inspector, who burst into deep laughter, clapping his thigh as if Mallory had said the funniest thing in the world. ‘You should have seen the last lot in the early days,’ he said as he caught his breath. ‘About as pathetic a bunch as you would find anywhere.’
‘We came together just as the Fall was starting to happen,’ Shavi said. ‘At that time, no one really knew what was going on. Technology was failing; magic was springing up all over. Fabulous Beasts were flying over the land, but no one would believe in them unless they’d nearly been burned to a crisp. And then the gods came back, the Golden Ones the Celts called the Tuatha De Danann when they were first in this world. They wanted control over everything.’
‘Except their natural enemies had different ideas,’ the Bone Inspector said, ‘and the Fomorii were the nastiest bastards you’ve ever clapped eyes on. Ugly as sin, shape-shifting, meaner even than me. With that lot going at it hammer and tongs, the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons had to hit the ground running.’
‘We all had our special abilities, which we had to hone,’ Shavi continued. ‘I was the spiritual one, the seer. Ruth Gallagher mastered the Craft to become quite formidable-’
‘I know about her,’ Mallory said. ‘She became the big witch-queen. Trained up my girlfriend.’ Mallory was overcome with a deep sadness. Sophie would have loved it there in Glastonbury, with its peace and abiding spirituality. He had thought his grief would diminish, even if only a little, with each passing day; instead it was growing stronger and more difficult to contain.
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