Blaine took up position near the map and surveyed them all carefully. ‘I hope you’re ready for your first mission,’ he said in a manner that suggested he didn’t think they were ready at all.
Mallory watched Blaine’s face carefully, controlling the flame of his anger.
‘Earlier this evening we received a visitor, a vicar from a parish in Norfolk,’ Blaine continued. ‘He’d been travelling to join us here with a companion, another vicar from an adjoining parish. With the way things are, it was remarkable they got more than ten miles from home. As it was, they reached Salisbury Plain. Nearly made it.’ He shook his head grimly.
‘What happened?’ Miller asked.
‘Can’t get much sense out of the one who turned up here. Shock, I suppose. Something attacked them on Salisbury Plain, not far from Stonehenge.’ He pointed to the map. ‘Here. He ran for his life, and I don’t blame him. The other poor bastard scrambled as well - his name’s Eric Gregory. Our man thinks he saw his friend get away, but he didn’t hang around to find out what happened, understandably.’
‘You want us to bring the other one back.’ Daniels scanned the vast area of empty space on the map that signified Salisbury Plain. They were all thinking the same thing: it wasn’t the fact that they’d be looking for a needle in a haystack, it was the prospect of what might be lying in wait out there in that liminal zone free of human life.
Back in the barracks, they lay on their bunks staring up into the dark. The atmosphere was thick with apprehension, but there was also a positive feeling that at last they were being given the chance to do something good. Only Mallory lacked any enthusiasm.
‘Do you think we’re up to it?’ Miller asked.
‘It doesn’t take much to be up to a suicide mission,’ Mallory said.
‘You’re a bundle of laughs, Mallory,’ Gardener growled.
The joke had been too close to the truth. They all fell silent then, dwelling on thoughts too powerful to voice. Sleep did not come easily.
They were woken before dawn by Hipgrave, who would be leading the expedition. None of them were wholly pleased at that, particularly Mallory who had already marked the captain as someone operating well beyond his capabilities, who knew it and whose desperation to be equal to the post only caused further problems.
The morning was bitterly cold with a sharp wind sweeping down into the compound from the Plain. Frost glistened on the rooftops of the huts and turned the cathedral building into silver and gold from the conflicting illumination of moonlight and torch. They stamped their feet and clapped their hands while Gardener furtively smoked a roll-up from some mysterious stash of tobacco that never seemed to diminish.
Eventually, they were led into the quartermaster’s store where they were kitted out with thick hooded black cloaks woven by the brethren themselves, backpacks containing basic supplies (the rest of their needs were expected to be scavenged for on the way, as they had been taught in their survival classes) and, most importantly, a sword. These had all been retrieved from the museum’s store and from a vast armoury at the Museum of the Duke of Edinburgh’s Royal Berkshire and Wiltshire Regiment, which also lay within the compound.
The swords had all seen use in past conflicts, but the craftsmanship was expert, the balance perfect, the steel flawless. ‘Recognise this honour,’ Hipgrave said as he handed them out. ‘As knights, these will stay with you till you die. Your sword will be as vital to you as your right arm. Treat it that way. Look after it, sleep with it, lavish it with love and it’ll look after you.’
‘I prefer my bed partners a little less skinny and a little less sharp,’ Mallory said. ‘Though there was this model once …’
Hipgrave fixed him with a cold eye. While the others fastened their scabbards across their backs for easy use while riding, he dragged Mallory over to one side. ‘I’ll be watching you,’ he said, ‘especially now you’re armed. One wrong move …’
‘And what? You’ll stab me in the back in front of all the others?’
Hipgrave couldn’t control an unsure flickering of his eyes. Mallory laughed and joined the rest.
The horses were brought out from the stables at the back of the museum, all well fed and watered and ready for what could turn out to be a long journey. Three of them had two-man tents strapped to their backs.
After they had mounted, Hipgrave held up his hand for silence before saying a short prayer. He called for strength and courage in the face of the unknown, and for a safe return. Even Mallory found he couldn’t argue with that.
They’d been locked behind the gates for so long that they would have felt uneasy even if they didn’t have to venture into one of die most dangerous parts of the country. Blaine waited at the gates as they rode out, his hands behind his back, his face emotionless. He didn’t wish them luck. Mallory had the feeling he didn’t really care if they came back or not.
CHAPTER FIVE
into hell
‘Even if you travel everywhere you will not find the limits of the soul, so great is its nature.’
- Heraclitus
Darkness lay across the city like the breathing of a sleeping child. Their horses’ measured hoofbeats clattered with a lonely beat on the flagstones as they made their way down the High Street. Away to their left, the lanterns of the travellers’ camp spoke of comfort and friendship, food, drink and music: life. Mallory peered through gaps in the buildings to the tents in the hope that he might see someone awake. Miller caught him looking and flashed a knowing smile.
They watched the dark windows carefully, eyed every shadowy doorway and alley. The Devil was afoot, and now they were in his territory.
‘It’s better like this,’ Gardener said. He already had his hood pulled over his head so all that was visible was the red glow of his roll-up.
‘It’s freezing, it’s night-time and we’re heading for the next thing to hell,’ Daniels said gloomily. ‘I don’t think better is the right word.’
‘I didn’t mean that.’ Gardener’s smoke mingled with the cloud of his breath. ‘I mean this.’ He gestured to the wider city. ‘No cars. No pollution. No bloody politicians or McDonalds or multi-bloody-national companies only interested in cash. Just peace, nature. Like God intended.’
‘There’s always an enterprising Young Turk around the corner,’ Daniels said. ‘What’s the matter, Gardener? Weren’t you a capitalist in the old life?’
‘I was a binman, you daft bugger. It was my job to clean up for the capitalists. I saw all the filth you left behind.’
‘Oh, you Communist,’ Daniels mocked.
‘The Bible says enough about those who worship Mammon,’ Gardener countered. ‘You don’t have to be a Communist to hate greedy bastards.’
They passed St Thomas’s Church, the Guildhall and the market, all still and dark, and made their way up Castle Street towards the ring road. The frost made the streets glitter, as unreal as a movie set. Without the streetlights, and the parked cars, and the stale exhaust fumes drifting in the air, everything seemed fake.
Beyond the city limits, they rode slowly in tight formation, all eyes watching the surrounding countryside, which was peppered here and there with the silent grassy mounds that marked the spiritual life of the ancients. The ordered fields had started to break down, becoming overgrown, with self-set trees sprouting here and there. The hedges were wild, the birds and animals abundant in the pesticide-free environment. Yet they all sensed there was more going on than they could see. Miller told them of his trials during his journey to the cathedral, of the monkey- creatures and the other things he had glimpsed at a distance. They listened attentively, without comment.
‘What have you heard is out here?’ Miller asked in the lull that followed his tale.
‘The Wild Hunt rides at night, collecting souls.’ Gardener spoke with utmost confidence. ‘A black dog that’s more than a dog.’
‘Ghosts.’ Daniels picked up his line. ‘Spirits … water spirits … tree spirits.’ He appeared a little embarr
assed at saying these things, yet plainly believed in them.
‘If this is the End Times, why has it been so quiet since the attack?’ Miller said. ‘Maybe that was just a one-off. Maybe everyone’s wrong … getting worked up for no reason.’ The note of hope in his voice was almost childlike.
‘It was a calling card,’ Gardener said adamantiy, ‘just to let us know what’s coming up. This is the lull before the storm. Things will be going to hell in a handcart soon enough.’
‘Here we are!’ Hipgrave’s voice caught them unawares. He’d reined in his horse to point to grey shapes on a rise, almost lost against the background clouds and the rain.
‘Stonehenge,’ Miller said redundantly.
Hipgrave trotted back to them. ‘We treat this area with extreme caution. No one goes into the circle - I have strict instructions from Blaine.’
‘I thought our instructions were to bring back the vicar,’ Mallory said. ‘You’re saying you’ve got a whole load of other secret instructions?’
‘They’re not secret, they’re operational.’ Hipgrave nudged his horse towards the stone circle. ‘You don’t need to know.’
They progressed cautiously, all of them feeling a tingle of excitement when the menhirs came fully into view.
‘There’s real power here,’ Daniels said. ‘Can you feel it?’
‘What are you thinking, Mallory?’ Miller asked, when he saw the faraway look on his friend’s face.
Mallory shifted as if he’d been caught out. ‘I was thinking that it’s returning to the days when Constable and Turner loved the place for its loneliness, and the special quality of the light and the atmosphere.’
‘I didn’t know you were artistic,’ Miller said, surprised.
‘That’s because you don’t know anything.’ Mallory spurred his horse away. He’d been struck by a strange notion: one of the outstanding mysteries of Stonehenge was why the builders had brought a special kind of bluestone all the way from mountains in south-west Wales. Three thousand years ago, it was a tremendous, seemingly unnecessary exercise, especially when there were more suitable stones close to hand. But after what Sophie had told him of the Blue Fire, he wondered if the bluestones had some special generating quality for the earth energy. He’d been quite dismissive during the conversation in the travellers’ camp, but the concept of the invigorating lifeblood energy appealed to him.
They moved on to the English Heritage visitor centre, which was completely burned out. Scorch marks were evident all around the area, even in the tunnel that ran under the road. Hipgrave made them skirt the circle widely as if it were a sleeping beast, yet Mallory regularly caught him apprehensively scanning the clouds.
‘Split up. Look around the site as fast as you can for any sign. We need to be out of here quick,’ he said.
They segmented the grassy field around the henge and each concentrated on one sector. After fifteen minutes of futile searching, Mallory’s attention was caught by lightning on the horizon. A storm was approaching. Over in the next sector, Hipgrave stiffened and fixed his attention where the lightning had struck.
Maybe we can find a tree for him to shelter under, Mallory thought.
Three minutes later, the lightning struck again, though this time Mallory was aware it wasn’t the brilliant white of any lightning he’d seen before; there was a ruddiness to it, perhaps even a hint of gold.
Mallory watched it curiously, waiting for the repeat, until Hipgrave thundered up beside him. The leader’s face was taut. ‘We need to get out of here. Now.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘What’s wrong is we’re trespassing!’ Hipgrave spurred his horse to warn the others.
Mallory had no idea what he meant, but followed him nonetheless. Hipgrave had just spoken to Gardener when Miller called out on the north-western side of the henge.
‘Look here,’ he said when they galloped over. He pointed to a discarded bag and very obvious tracks leading away into the heart of the Plain. The bag was leather, embossed with the gold initials E. G.
‘Eric Gregory,’ Miller said. ‘That’s the name Blaine told us.’
It was exactly what they’d hoped to find, yet Hipgrave barely gave Miller’s discovery any attention. His neck craned in the direction of the lightning.
‘Come on!’ he said. ‘Move!’
Mallory followed his gaze to see a black shape just breaking the cloud cover; at that distance it resembled a fly.
Miller watched it dumbfounded until Hipgrave cuffed him on the side of his head. ‘Come on!’ He set off in the direction of the tracks, quickly spurring his horse into a gallop, not waiting for anyone.
Miller stared at the bag in his hands, not really comprehending what was happening, until Gardener grabbed his collar and hauled him into his saddle.
‘Look!’ Daniels said in awe.
Another burst of energy. Definitely not lightning, Mallory thought again. He knew exactly what they were seeing, recalling the travellers’ explanation as to why Melanie had been visiting Stonehenge when she was injured. The column of flame hit the ground and erupted, just as he had seen it do that first time in Salisbury. The Fabulous Beast approached on slow, heavy wing-strokes, its serpentine neck rising and falling with each beat.
For a brief moment, they were all transfixed. The creature carried mystery and wonder on its back; the very sight of it reached deep into the unconscious depths of their minds.
Another yell from Hipgrave finally stirred them and they spurred their horses into life, heading down the slope from Stonehenge into the heart of Salisbury Plain. Mallory estimated that the Beast was twenty miles away at least, but drawing closer rapidly. Occasionally, he could hear the sound of its wings, the jet-engine roar of its flame bursts, each explosion followed by a shower of soil and rock and wood. Now they all knew why the Stonehenge visitor centre was burned out, and, as their wonder faded, what would happen to them if that searing breath came too close.
Lying low over their mounts’ necks, they pushed on, the wind driving the rain into their faces until their skin stung and they could barely see.
The Plain passed by in a blur of green and grey. Eventually, they caught up with Hipgrave who herded them amongst old tank tracks into the once off-limits Ministry of Defence land. They finally came to rest under thick tree cover in a lower-lying area.
Mallory jumped down from his mount and ran to the tree line. In the distance, the Fabulous Beast was circling. ‘I think it’s lost track of us,’ he said.
‘Did it really see us? At that distance?’ Miller said. ‘I mean, why was it after us?’
‘They’re stupid animals,’ Hipgrave said, dismounting. ‘They’ll hunt anything.’
Mallory wasn’t convinced. From the very first sight of it, he’d instinctively felt there was an intelligence there. ‘It’s definitely searching the area,’ he noted. He turned to Hipgrave. ‘You expected to see it.’
‘They like to follow certain routes—’
‘Ley lines,’ Miller interjected, repeating the information he had learned at the pagan camp.
Hipgrave eyed him suspiciously, but didn’t ask how he had come by this knowledge.
The trail was surprisingly easy to follow. Even the persistent rain had not washed away the regular footprints, and every now and then they were presented with items that pointed the way: a fountain pen engraved with the initials E. G., a freshly broken shoelace, a page torn from an out-of- date Church diary, the writing illegible after the rain. Hipgrave was enthused by their progress, but Mallory felt oddly uneasy.
The route followed little logic, sometimes doubling back on itself. The suggestion was that the cleric was wandering, perhaps in a daze, and it would have left them completely lost in the uniformity of the Plain if they had not studied basic orienteering, as well as navigation by the sun and stars. The twisting track meant the miles passed slowly, but they also progressed with caution when they came to any area where they might be ambushed. Gardener grumbled that even in a daze
the cleric was probably outpacing them.
‘Where is this stupid bastard going?’ Mallory muttered bitterly.
‘You’d better hope something hasn’t eaten him and is walking around in his boots,’ Gardener noted.
Daniels wrung out the sopping peak of his hood, sending a shower of water splashing on to the pommel of his saddle. ‘Well, isn’t that a surprise - Gardener looking on the black side,’ he said.
‘I’m not looking on the black side. I’m considering a possibility. These days, anything’s a possibility.’ In the thin silvery light, Gardener’s face appeared as grey as the heavy clouds that now lowered overhead.
Daniels snorted. ‘I know you well enough by now, Gardener. You think life’s miserable - that’s why you opt for that Old Testament morality. All the reward’s in the next place. This one’s just blood, piss and mud, am I right?’
‘You should get down the pub more, Gardener,’ Mallory said distractedly. His attention was fixed on the trail ahead.
‘Bloody amateur psychologists,’ Gardener said sourly.
‘You know I’m right,’ Daniels continued. ‘All that fundamentalist Christianity you go for - it was right for a thousand years ago. Not now.’
‘Look around you,’ Gardener replied. ‘It is a thousand years ago.’
‘You really think the Fall was just the start of the apocalypse, Gardener?’ Miller stared ahead gloomily.
‘It’s all there in Revelation. The great dragon, that ancient serpent, who is called the Devil and Satan, the deceiver of the whole world- he was thrown down to the earth and his angels with him. We’ve had war, we’ve had starvation, and there’s talk of some plague doing the rounds. Death makes four - the pale horseman.’
‘What do you think, Daniels?’ Miller asked.
Daniels appeared bored by the conversation. ‘I think fine wine, good food and Italian furniture are the answer to all our earthly worries.’ He added, irritably, ‘Were you always like this, Gardener? Miserable, I mean.’
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