Just as he was about to wriggle on to the van floor, the house door slammed open and the sound of running feet approached.
‘Shit,’ he muttered.
Around the front of the van appeared a dishevelled, large-boned man with the wild-eyed appearance of someone who had retreated from the world. He brandished an old shotgun with shaking hands. ‘Get away!’ he screeched. ‘Get away! Get away!’
He pulled the gun up and fired wildly. Birds rose screaming into the air. Mallory had thrown himself backwards an instant earlier when he realised the van’s owner wasn’t going to waste any time talking. He landed on his back and rolled on to his feet just as another blast raised a shower of wet gravel an inch from his boot.
His instinct was to sprint to Sophie and get out of there as fast as possible, but the gun had already been reloaded and there would be a clear shot at his back if he ran. Another retort made his head ring. Shot passed his head so closely that his hair moved with the turbulence. Mallory launched himself to one side and bounded into the trees, weaving randomly. Wood splintered past his ear.
‘You won’t kill me!’ The man’s voice had the crackling paranoia of someone who had been unbalanced by existing in a climate of fear for too long.
Mallory had hoped his attacker would retreat into the house, but irrationality consumed him. He ploughed into the wood on Mallory’s trail, obsessed with the idea that he would never find peace until the destroyer of his equilibrium was eradicated.
Mallory cursed at such a stupid distraction. His only choice was to go deeper into the woods to lose his pursuer, then circle around to get back to Sophie. But his legs were leaden, and as the shot whistled around him and branches crashed to the snowy ground, it was clear that the wild man was more likely to bring him down with his random shooting than if he had been taking aim.
He pressed on, running from one side to the other while trying to keep his balance on the uneven ground, with its fallen branches and hollows hidden beneath the covering of snow. He was faster and more agile than his lumbering pursuer, who was struggling with loading his shotgun on the run, but his progress was slowed by the increasing thickness of the wood and the old brambles and detritus that clogged the ground between the trees. In the shade the snow had not even started to melt and his footprints marked his direction clearly.
He slipped behind a trunk to catch his breath, pressing his back against the bark so he wouldn’t be seen. Behind him, he could hear the sounds of ragged breathing and pounding feet against a background of constantly dripping water from the higher branches. The sun gleamed brightly through the branch cover, making the snow glow. With his dark clothes, it would be even more difficult for him to hide.
He drove on into the wood.
Five minutes later, he decided it was time to stop running and to attempt to circle back. Annoyingly, his pursuer had managed to keep pace with him, while the random shooting had kept Mallory permanently wrong- footed. The hunter wasn’t going to give up until Mallory was dead.
Mallory came up suddenly on a snow-filled hollow about forty feet across that would take him out of his pursuer’s line of sight. He skidded down into it and instantly turned to his left, scurrying low across the bottom. Ahead of him was a large area of bushes, tangled brambles and dead grass where he would leave no tracks behind him. On his hands and knees, he crawled into it, wriggling past the tearing thorns until he was hidden in the very heart; it would be impossible to get through standing upright. All he had to do was wait until the hunter got caught up trying to follow him in, then rush out of the other side and back to Sophie. Holding his breath, he waited.
It wasn’t long before he heard the hunter hurrying through the crunching snow. He had reached the lip of the hollow, was obviously surveying the area cautiously.
Come on, you hick bastard, Mallory thought.
The sound of booted feet sliding down into the hollow: the wild man was picking his way along the mess of Mallory’s tracks, the gun undoubtedly pointed dead ahead. Tension gripped Mallory’s chest.
When the hunter passed into the thicket, kicking at the brambles that attempted to ensnare his boots, Mallory propelled himself forwards, low and hard. He burst out of the other side and hurtled up the bank and over the lip. The gunfire was so loud he thought his heart would stop; the blast ripped a chunk out of a tree to his right.
He ran.
It had worked; he didn’t look back. But he’d only gone a few metres when he glimpsed movement on the periphery of his vision. The hunter was relentless; how could he have struggled through the thicket so quickly?
Mallory drove himself on, detoured to his left. The sound of crunching snow was loud enough to tell him that the hunter was keeping pace. Breathless, he paused behind another tree. Perhaps he could catch the hunter unawares, disarm him.
He set off again. The figure was slower, but still stalking efficiently, however fast Mallory ran. The hunter had clearly adopted new tactics, weaving amongst the trees, letting the trunks obscure him so that Mallory couldn’t really tell where he was until he caught the most fleeting glimpse.
Steeling himself, Mallory hid behind the largest tree he could find and waited. Every fibre of his body was rigid. The constant drip-drip of water was disorienting; he strained to listen past it.
Finally, he had it: the familiar crunch of footsteps, slow, regular, coming nearer. Mallory drew his sword so carefully there was not even the familiar zing of the metal escaping the sheath.
Closer, and closer still. Mallory kept calm, though his chest was as taut as a piano wire. Only a few feet away; Mallory told himself to hold on until the hunter was right beside the tree.
Don’t kill him, he had to tell himself.
At the last moment, Mallory lurched out, swinging his sword in front of him. Only it wasn’t the hunter.
A black shape lay before him, huge and threatening, like death itself. Blood-red eyes seared intensely, a snort of hot breath like escaping steam rising in a cloud in the cool air. The sight was so terrifying that Mallory turned cold at the sight of a demon with the form of a dog, as big as a small pony, its sable coat sucking all light from die surrounding area.
It was the eyes that affected him the most, not dull and stupid like an animal’s, but a man’s eyes, crackling with an otherworldly intelligence that spoke of horror and threat and dread beyond his imagining.
For the briefest time, the tableau froze: there was just Mallory and the dog in a world of white. Then a deep bass rumble escaped from its throat and a gobbet of saliva oozed from its mouth, which opened slowly to reveal a monster’s yellowing fangs.
Mallory was already moving as he saw tensing muscles ripple across its black fur. It erupted from the spot with the speed and mass of a car. Despite his advantage, Mallory only just got out of the way; the dog clipped his sword, sending it spinning across the ground. Its head turned as it passed and a ferocious snap of its enormous jaws only just missed taking off his face. He yelled out as some of its saliva splashed on his wrist, where the skin sizzled and smoked.
The dog was around in an instant, relentless, driving forwards. The ground shook beneath its thundering paws. Mallory tried to dodge; it smashed into his leg so hard it felt as if the bones were splintering. He spun, slammed into a tree, saw stars.
By the time his fumbling consciousness had returned, it was too late: the dog stood a few feet away, teeth bared, ready to tear him apart whichever way he tried to escape. But he couldn’t have moved anyway; those red eyes held him fast. Something emanated from them, drilling into his skull above the bridge of his nose, into his brain, where it scurried and wriggled. In his mind, words that were not words echoed; images and impressions burst like fireworks in the night, so sickeningly alien he thought his consciousness was going to shut down at the contact.
Its muscles tensed again; the bass rumble began.
The blast shocked Mallory out of his mesmerised state. Shot smashed into the creature’s skull - he saw the skin flow like liquid - b
ut it made no impression; it kept its gaze on Mallory. Through fractured vision, Mallory made out the hunter lurching in the background, waving his gun, ranting incomprehensibly.
Mallory thought, Here it comes.
But the attack never came. Slowly the pinpricks of black at the centre of the fiery red eyes moved to the side. Its head began to follow suit, cranking around until it was staring directly at the hunter. What Mallory’s pursuer saw in the beast drained the blood from his face. His eyes widened in terror, and briefly the banal madness that had gripped him was replaced by a startling clarity. Mallory saw how unpleasant true dread looks in a man’s face: it stripped away everything that made him civilised, everything that made him human.
He had time to fire one final, useless blast before the thing crashed against him, smashing him to the ground. Mallory saw both of the hunter’s shins snap in two on impact, but then Old Shuck’s rending head was moving in a blur.
Shaking himself from the horror, Mallory jumped to his feet and ran, pausing only to snatch up his sword. He found an energy reserve he didn’t know existed, speeding across the uneven terrain as if he were flying.
Sophie was searching the periphery of the wood, desperately upset. She was overcome with relief when he skidded up to her, throwing her arms around his neck. ‘I heard the sounds,’ she said queasily.
Mallory threw her off. ‘No time.’ He dragged her behind him as if she were feather-light, then scrambled into the van and deftly hot-wired the ignition.
‘What about the owner?’ Sophie asked, anticipating the truth.
‘He’s had it.’ Mallory was filled with lightning. He thrust the gears into reverse and roared backwards, the wheels screeching in protest. Through the trees he could see a low, black shape approaching, now bizarrely part red.
Mallory spun the van around in the road and sped away.
There was more than half a tank of fuel, easily enough to get them to their destination. They had to drive cautiously along roads that had barely seen any traffic for a year, where the snow drifted so deeply they had to dig a path through with a shovel they found in the back.
Sophie began to doze intermittently and seemed on the brink of complete exhaustion. It left Mallory alone with his thoughts at a time when he really didn’t need to be. Fragmented, buried memories surfaced, mingling with stark images of another world, another life. Once, he glanced at the side mirror and saw the hooded figure that haunted him standing in the middle of a field, lonely and stark amid the ruts of snow and sweep of mud and grass, scavenging crows bucking and diving around it. The sight made him cold and sick, and left him with a feeling that he was rushing towards a reckoning. The past wouldn’t be staying behind him for much longer.
A mile from their destination, and with twilight coming in hard, the van suddenly lost all power and drifted to the side of the road.
‘What’s wrong?’ Sophie mumbled as she stirred from sleep.
The next ten minutes were spent checking everything under the bonnet, but the problem remained a mystery. ‘Back to walking, I think.’ Mallory looked up at the darkening sky, then forced a smile. ‘Maybe we’re just jinxed.’
The warmth of the day faded quickly. The black dog was a way behind them, but a strange, troubling atmosphere was rolling out across the deserted landscape. The road wound amongst oppressive clusters of trees heavy on both sides. The occasional isolated house appeared, dark- windowed and uninhabited, but still with curtains and hanging baskets, as though the residents had been driven out and no looters had dared to venture in.
This far from the city, the fields were now clogged with thistles and weeds, the grass unclipped by cows or sheep. Soon the only mark of farming would be the wild hedge boundaries. The wind blew across the land, cold and shrill, stirring the rooks’ nests in the tallest trees. The birds occasionally broke the silence with their raucous calls.
‘We can’t be far off,’ Mallory said, consulting the book of maps he had brought with him from the van.
Sophie fumbled for his hand. ‘Are you nervous?’ she said, manifestly feeling so herself.
‘No,’ he said reassuringly. ‘But I still wish we were walking in the opposite direction.’
‘We’re a Brother and Sister of Dragons,’ she said ironically. ‘We’re only allowed to do the right thing.’
As they passed a deserted pub standing lonely at a junction, Sophie started and looked out across the fields. ‘There’s someone out there,’ she said urgently.
‘I noticed them about half a mile back,’ Mallory said. ‘They’ve been tracking us, keeping to the hedges and the shadows.’
‘What are they?’
‘I don’t know. At first I thought they were animals, deer or something … I thought I saw horns … I don’t know.’ He adjusted his cloak so he could reach his sword easily if necessary. ‘But then they looked as if they were walking on two legs sometimes.’
‘Oh.’
‘I think they’re waiting for dark.’
‘They like that, don’t they?’
‘I’ve been wondering,’ Mallory said obliquely, ‘do the gods you worship come to your rescue if you pray? Or aren’t they that hands-on?’
‘I think whatever created the universe would have an interest in the life that populates it, don’t you?’
‘I thought for a long time that there wasn’t a God,’ Mallory mused. ‘You look at all the random suffering and the mean-spiritedness and the venality, and you think if there was a God He needs to be deposed pretty damn quick.’
Sophie sensed the gravity at the end of his comment. ‘But?’
He sighed. ‘Anything I say would be too twee. No one would take me seriously any more.’
‘Go on, I won’t tell.’ They both knew the conversation was a distraction to keep away the void that lay at the end of the day.
‘Well,’ he began uncomfortably, ‘take love. The evolutionists say it’s a mechanical impetus, perfectly designed to create a bond between two breeding partners and then to provide an atmosphere of security so the offspring can thrive and perpetuate the species. But anyone who feels love knows that’s not true. Inside your head you know exactly what love is but you can’t express it in words because it’s too rich and complex … so otherworldly … so non-human …‘He was struggling to find the words. ‘That’s it. It’s not of us. It doesn’t exist within our frame of reference at all. It comes from … somewhere else …’
‘Are you trying to tell me something, Mallory?’ She smiled teasingly.
‘Tallent, the only people who could possibly love you are the kind who’ll come up to you in a park in piss-stained trousers and do a dance for twenty pence.’
‘There’s hope for you yet, then, Mallory.’
The road sloped gently down, curving around the edge of another thick copse. A house stood dark and forlorn amongst the trees. Sophie eyed the dying light anxiously; they couldn’t pretend the dark wasn’t coming any longer.
‘Are we nearly there?’ she asked.
Mallory closed the map book with a bang. ‘It should be around here somewhere. Which is good. Because they’re getting closer.’
A tiny B-road branched off past the deserted house. A little further on, they saw their destination, the symbolism so striking it brought an instant frisson. A ruined church stood at the centre of a large field, while encircling it, enclosing it, forever linked to it, was a Neolithic henge monument consisting of a raised bank and an internal ditch with a ceremonial entrance. The scene was heavy with the resonance of ancient mysteries in conflict yet at the same time inextricably joined.
The wind whistled across the countryside, buffeting them as they ran for the church. On the edge of the world the light was now only a pencil- width. Across the fields on all sides, grey shapes scurried and jumped and ran, neither animals nor beasts but something of both, all converging rapidly on Knowlton.
Mallory and Sophie slipped past the iron gate and sprinted through the gap in the ringbank. Instantly the wind fell
, but the grass continued to ripple.
The church was no shelter. The roof and the outer wall on the far side were completely missing. The bell tower standing erect at the heart of the feminine circle offered a feeble defensive position, but it was still open to the sky and the doorway was wide enough to ensure Mallory wouldn’t have to make a stand for long.
Mallory spun around on the crunching gravel, sword in hand, then said, ‘This is it, then.’ He tried to make it sound positive, but the fatalism wouldn’t stay out of his voice. He looked to Sophie as if to say, Now’s the time - do your stuff.
She leaned in the doorway and looked out across the henge, mesmerised by the shapes sweeping towards them. She guessed there must be hundreds of them.
Mallory’s sword was growing bluer with each passing second. She turned to him and said, ‘Drive it into the ground.’
He didn’t question her. Once it was embedded in the gravel, Sophie squatted down and muttered. A second later, she threw her head back and gasped. ‘So powerful here.’ The words sounded like steam escaping from a pipe.
Mallory knew better than to interrupt. He was disturbed by the sound of a horn, a distinct blast that sounded somehow ancient and eerily threatening. The light was almost gone and everything had taken on a ghostly greyness. Across the sky, clouds swept in that looked strangely like men on horseback. He fixed on them until Sophie exclaimed and pointed through the doorway.
Two red lights approached the perimeter of the henge. They floated unsettlingly in the dark, and it was a second before Mallory realised they were eyes. Old Shuck had found them.
Urgently, he turned back to Sophie - threats were converging on them from every side and their time was almost gone. In the split second his attention had been away from her, she had changed. Her eyes blazed with blue light, her muscles holding her as rigid as wood while sapphire sparks flashed around her limbs. From the sword, lines of the earth energy radiated up into the stone structure of the church and, even as he watched, rushed out into the henge.
The Devil in Green Page 42