The Devil in green

Mallory woke on a pile of furs on a long, low bed in the corner of a darkened room. The windows were flung open, revealing the silhouettes of trees beneath a starry sky. The perfumes of a summery wood floated in on the breeze.

Cautiously, he raised himself on his elbows. It took him a second or two to comprehend his state, but more important than his location was the realisation that he felt astonishingly well: refreshed, free from pain, his thoughts once again sharp and focused. He swung his legs off the bed and sat on the edge before examining the injuries on his chest. His clumsy stitches were all gone and the deep wounds themselves had almost healed. It didn't make sense to him at all. How long had he been unconscious?

In confusion, he went to the window. He was in a wing of a low building made of stone with a timber and thatched roof that stretched out for a hundred feet on either side; the architecture was unfamiliar. It was in a large clearing in a wood. Close-clipped grass ran down to the trees, and here and there torches blazed. There was no sign of life.

Instinctively, Mallory went for his sword — it was no longer there.

'No weapons are allowed in the Court of Peaceful Days.'

Mallory whirled at the sound of the voice, though it was melodic and gende. A woman stood in the open doorway, smiling enigmatically. When Mallory looked into her face, it took a while before he understood what he was seeing. At first he thought it was his mother, who had died ten years ago, then the Virgin Mary, then the dinner lady who was always kind to him during his lonely, troubled days at school. Finally, her features settled into those of a woman in her late forties, long black hair framing a face that was still beautiful, with lines of happiness around her mouth and eyes. She was wearing a dark blue dress that appeared to be made of velvet yet reflected the light of the torches filtering through the window. A mysterious quality to her made him feel instantly at ease.

'Where is this place?'

'The Court of Peaceful Days.'

'I heard you the first time. But where is it? I walked for a while.' His day's journey came back to him in flashes, impossible to place in any context. 'On the way to Bath?'

'It is further away than you could have walked in a lifetime.'

Her smile melted him instantly; he could no longer resist. 'My injuries-?'

'We healed you. They were minor.'

'They didn't feel minor.'

'To us they were.' She stretched out a supple arm; her hand was pale and delicate. 'Come. Let us walk outside.'

He took it, despite himself. Though he had almost recovered, he still felt as if he was existing in a dream. 'Who are you?'

'My name is Rhiannon. The Court of Peaceful Days is my home.'

'I'm Mallory.'

'I know.' She led him out into a long stone corridor. Guards were posted at regular intervals, dressed in a strange golden armour designed with an avian style. She nodded to each of them as she passed. Outside in the warm night she let go of his hand and they walked side by side across the grass until they reached a fountain of fire. The flames gushed out of a spout in the centre and rolled down into a surrounding pool, swirling like liquid against all the laws of physics. Even close to it, Mallory could feel no heat.

'Where is this place?' he whispered, suddenly overcome by awe.

'In the Far Lands. A heartbeat away from your own fields, yet as distant as the farthest star.' She stood before him, still smiling benignly. 'You were brought to me by some of the market people. They feared for your safety.'

'When I was blacking out, I thought they were going to rob me. Or worse.'

'Indeed, some of the traders come from far afield, and they have a predatory nature. But those who live within the remit of the Court of Peaceful Days would never harm anyone. That is our law, immutable, a law of all Existence, though recognised by few.'

There was something about her that reminded him of Sophie, an odd combination of gentleness and power, perhaps. 'As laws go, that's one of the best.'

'It is a law of Existence.' Rhiannon looked from the flames to the stars scattered overhead. 'So simple when compared with the great philosophies, yet it is the only law that matters. We are all brothers and sisters of spirit, joined on levels Fragile Creatures can never comprehend.'

Mallory looked back at the building. From his new perspective he could see that it was quite enormous. It stretched far back into the trees, and in parts, on the fringe of his vision, it appeared that the trees were growing in it and through it, were part of the very structure. Though the construction was simple, there was a breath-taking majesty to it that made him feel as if it had a slumbering life of its own, as peaceful and gentle as Rhiannon.

'Fairyland,' he said. 'That's what you're talking about.'

'It has always existed, though for many generations of your kind the doors were locked.' Her brow furrowed as she examined his face closely; Mallory had the strangest feeling she was looking deep into his mind. 'Does it trouble you?' she asked.

'I'm not surprised by anything anymore.'

Her smile returned. She motioned for him to follow her into the trees where the perfume of summer vegetation was more heady. Enough moonlight broke through the cover to allow them to see the nocturnal animals scurrying out of their path and the ghostly imprint of owls in the branches over their heads. Mallory was surprised to see glitter trails moving through the treetops, which he at first took to be fireflies, but which eventually revealed themselves to be tiny gossamer-winged people frolicking amongst the branches. They, too, made him feel powerfully happy, as if they radiated an energy field that altered his emotions. For the first time in ages he felt at ease. In his swirl of feelings, he suddenly felt like crying, and he hadn't cried in a long while. The thought of going back to the bleakness of his own home depressed him immensely.

'I think I'd like to stay here a while,' he ventured.

She shook her head, looked away into the dark. 'You have a job to do, Mallory. Every Fragile Creature has work of the greatest importance to do before they finally depart die Fixed Lands. A task that is unique to them, so important it is stitched into the fabric of Existence. And you cannot rest — none of you can rest — until your personal task has been completed.' She paused. 'There is always time to rest, when the work is done.'

'What task?' he asked. 'What use can I be?'

When she turned her face back to him, there was something profound locked in her eyes and her smile, but it was too enigmatic for him to decipher. She carried on amongst the trees in silence until they reached a large clearing where the moon appeared to have come down to earth, so milky and luminescent was the light reflected on the metallic items scattered all around. Swords were embedded in the ground. Shields lay like seashells; helms and breastplates, axes, spears and other weapons Mallory didn't recognise had been discarded there. It was the detritus of some great battle.

'These remain here, so even at this, the most gentle of all the Courts… especially at this Court… we never forget,' Rhiannon said gravely. 'Suffering is always only a whisper away. Peace and happy days never last. Pain and war and despair will always rise up.'

'That's a depressing view of life,' Mallory said.

She disagreed forcefully. 'Peace and happy days have their potency because of this dark side. Without it, the things we treasure would tarnish with boredom. They shine because we know the dark is always over the next rise.'

'So you're justifying war… and suffering…?' He was deeply surprised by her position after what he had seen of her so far.

'Justifying? No. Accepting. It is the way of Existence. There is a meaning for everything that happens. We deal with the unpleasant things in the same way that we celebrate the wondrous. And we must always deal with them. Never turn our backs, let them gain an upper hand, throw Existence out of balance so the darkness gains ascendancy, for that is what the darkness always wants.'

He had a feeling she was no longer talking in abstract terms; indeed, was talking directly to him.

'We must be vigilant,' she continued, 'all of us, and even the gentlest must take a stand, on their own terms, when needs call.'

She moved amongst the weapons of the dead before selecting a sword. She nodded knowingly as she weighed it in her hands, then handed it to him. Moonlight limned its edges so that it appeared as if a faint blue light was leaking out of the very fabric of the blade. Its handle was inlaid with silver and was carved with two entwining dragons, like the flag he saw flying over the pagan camp.

'I have a sword,' he said.

'Your sword is built to despatch the threats of the Fixed Lands. This is a sword of my people. It has a power that transcends the space it holds. Three great swords were forged from the very stuff of Existence, so our stories tell us. Three swords that can cleave the very foundations of life. One is the Sword of Nuada Airgetiamh — that stands alone and will not be seen again until the Dragon-Brother returns. The second is lost, believed corrupted, a danger to all who wield it. This is the third, and it is linked to your land in a fundamental way. Keep it close. It will bring you light and warmth in the dark days ahead.'

'You're talking as if it's alive.'

'It is, in the way that all things are alive, from the stones of the field to the clouds of the sky.' She proffered the sword. Mallory hesitated before taking it, but when it slipped into his fingers it felt instantly comfortable. A tingling warmth spread through his palm into his arm. It felt as if the dragons on the handle were shifting to accommodate the unique musculature of his hand. 'It is called Llyrwyn.'

'It has a name?' Mallory said wryly.

'There is a reason it has a name, and that reason should be clear, if not now, then in good time.'

'Why are you giving me a sword?'

'I told you, there is a meaning to everything that happens. You are not here by chance. In the terms of your world, you may have arrived a little earlier or a little later, but you would always have come here, to this spot. For the sword.'

Mallory turned the blade over in his hand curiously. The faint blue glow wasn't a product of the moonlight at all — it truly was coming from the weapon. 'I don't understand.'

She moved her hand slowly to indicate the trees, the sky, the grass. 'Everything is alive, everything is linked. There is a mind behind it all. We cannot know it, nor begin to know it, but it shapes us all… Fragile Creatures, Golden Ones… We are all part of it. And it demands champions. In its wisdom, it has decreed they come from the ranks of Fragile Creatures… of your kind, Mallory. They fight for the very essence of Existence, for Truth and Life. They are known in the Fixed Lands… in your world… as Brothers and Sisters of Dragons. At any time, five are chosen, though they may never be called to fight the enemies of Existence.'

Mallory didn't like the way the conversation was going. 'What are you saying?'

'The five who held that role throughout the troubles that devastated your land are broken, Mallory. Gone… to time long gone, to the Grey Lands, to different roles where the need for them is greater. A new five must arise.'

He shook his head as if his own denial would prevent what she was saying from being true.

'You are the first, Mallory.'

'That's ridiculous. It's so ridiculous it's laughable. Me, a champion?'

The concept was absurd in so many different ways he couldn't begin to tell her.

'There is a need for you, Mallory. A great need. And you will be ready for it, though there may be more forging necessary. Existence does not choose its champions unwisely. You are a Brother of Dragons.'

'A Brother of Dragons,' he repeated with a disbelieving laugh. 'OK, I'll bite. For now.'

She gave him a scabbard, which he fastened to his belt, and then she motioned for him to follow her again. Mallory's mind was racing. He'd just about accepted that he was nowhere on earth, that he was in a place that had slipped into folklore as Fairyland and that the woman with him was of a race that simpler people had come to call fairies. But where he really was, and what she truly was, escaped him. What made him uneasy was the realisation that since the Fall the world was not simply at the mercy of isolated supernatural predators that looked as if they'd wandered in from Grimm's Fairy Tales. There were other powers, perhaps higher powers, that had some interest in humanity; mankind was no longer in control of its own future.

As they moved back through the trees towards the Court, he put his tumbling thoughts to one side and said, 'Why are you helping me?'

'You were brought to me, and I never turn away a creature in need.' She appeared to consider this for a while before adding, 'My people have always had a relationship with your kind, sometimes friends, sometimes enemies, but always there.'

An owl broke through the branches and circled her until she held out an arm for it to land. Her skin remained unscathed under its claws. She leaned towards it, apparently listening, as it made a series of strange sounds deep in its throat. 'There is food and drink on the table if you wish to refresh yourself,' she said as it took flight.

On the way back to the Court, Mallory thought he could sense a deep sadness underneath her calm, as if she had lost someone or something very dear to her. He found he had warmed to her with remarkable speed; she appeared uncomplicated and uncorrupted by cynicism.

In the Court, they walked for ten minutes along corridors where the only sound was the soft tread of their feet. Eventually, they entered a large hall with a beamed ceiling and luxuriant tapestries hanging on the stone walls. Food and drink were laid out on the table — silver dishes and platters containing seafood, spiced meats, breads and fruit, and decanters of a deep red wine — but there was no sign of any servants.

'Not many people here,' he said.

'The Court of Peaceful Days is filled with life, but my subjects know I prefer silence to follow at my heels.' She gestured for Mallory to sit. 'Everything in my Court is given freely and without obligation.'

'Subjects?' You're the queen?' Mallory suddenly realised how hungry he was. He didn't know how long he had been out, but after the days of cathedral rations his stomach yearned for sophisticated food. He tore into the ham and bread, washing them down with a goblet full of red wine.

She took the seat at the head of the table but didn't touch the food, seemingly content to watch Mallory enjoy himself. 'That is my responsibility.'

'The queen of all Fairyland.'

She laughed silently at his name for the land. 'There are many Courts in the Far Lands, and each has its own queen or king, its own hierarchy, its rules and regulations, petty rivalries and intrigues, loves and vendettas.'

Once he had taken the edge off his hunger, Mallory sat back and looked at her in the light of the latest information. 'When everything went pear- shaped a while back, everyone was talking about gods carrying out miracles all over the place. That was your people?'

She nodded slowly. 'We were worshipped when your race was in its infancy. The tribes called us the Tuatha De Danann. We are known to ourselves, in your tongue, as the Golden Ones.'

'Why did everything change?'

She gestured dismissively as if it were a minor question. 'The seasons turned. It was time once again for an age of wonder, of magic. We returned to the land we knew, and that many of us loved.'

Mallory selected a sharp silver knife and began to quarter an apple. 'Your kind were supposed to be everywhere during the troubles, but since then there's hardly been any sign of you.'

'My people have detached themselves from Fragile Creatures once again. After the rigours of the Great Battle, when suffering and hardship were felt on all sides, the decision was taken to withdraw amongst ourselves, to concentrate on our own affairs. But we can no more leave Fragile Creatures alone than your kind, good Mallory, can leave the Golden Ones alone. Isolationism never works. We are all bound. We must find ways to exist together.'

Mallory poured himself another glass of wine. The velvety warmth of it was spreading through his limbs. 'I wouldn't hold your breath. My own people can't get on together.'

She stared introspectively into the warm shadows in the corner of the room. 'We are all bound, Mallory. Freedom to act independently is an illusion. Obligations and responsibilities tie our hands, as do love and friendship. And good men can no more turn their backs on need than cowards can face danger.'

Mallory finished his apple and pushed himself back from the table, replete. 'That's a very optimistic view of human nature.'

She rose without replying and he trailed behind her out of the room into another chamber, heavily carpeted and filled with sumptuous cushions. She stretched out, catlike, upon them. 'Threats lurk where you least expect them, Mallory,' she said.

He slipped into the cushions, cocooned by every aspect of that place; he didn't want to go back to the hardship of the cathedral, or of his world. He wanted to stay there for ever, listening to her voice, letting her take care of him.

'Your wounds were caused by something terrible,' she continued, 'even to my own people. It has no business being in the Fixed Lands, or the Far Lands, for that matter. It crawled up from the edge of Existence, where even worse things have been stirring. Your kind have been noticed.' This last comment sounded like a tolling bell.

'But that thing's been left behind,' he said. 'I'm never going to go within a million miles of it again.'

'Pick the pearls from my words, Mallory,' she warned. 'And beware.'

He pressed her further, but she would say no more. Her statement, though, remained with him, niggling at the back of his head, spoiling the comfort he felt. In a bid to forget, he questioned her about her kind. She told him of four fabulous cities that haunted her nomadic people's memories, an ancient homeland they could never return to and the terrible sadness that knowledge engendered in all of them. And she told of the wonders the Golden Ones had seen: astonishing creatures that soared on the sun's rays, breathtaking worlds where the very fabric changed shape with thought, the play of light on oceans greater than the Milky Way, the great sweep of Existence. Tears sprang to her eyes as the stories flowed from her, memories of amazement that cast a pall over her current life.

'We have lost so much, and I fear we will never regain it,' she said, and the terrible regret in her voice made Mallory's chest heavy.

At some point, her voice became like music, lulling him to sleep. He dreamed of worlds of colour and sound, bright and infinitely interesting, of nobility and passion and magic, and when he woke with tears in the corners of his eyes he resolved not to return to his world of bleakness and dismal low horizons.

The room was empty. He stretched, surprised at how wonderfully rested he felt. The corridor without had the stillness and fragrance of early morning. He wandered along it, searching for Rhiannon to ask her if he could stay at the Court, but the whole place appeared deserted; not even the guards were visible. He took branching corridors in the hope of finding some central area, but the building was like a labyrinth and he quickly became quite lost.

After a while, he came upon an atrium big enough to contain trees at least eighty feet tall. Sunlight streamed through the crystal glass high overhead, yet the space was cool and airy. A grassy banked stream babbled through the centre of the room, while birds sang in the branches and rabbits and squirrels ran wild amongst the trunks.

In the very heart of the atrium was a pillar of marble so white it glowed. Mallory felt oddly drawn to it, but as he approached, a disturbing whispering broke out on the edge of his consciousness. He couldn't quite make out what was being said, but still it unnerved him. He had an impression of strange intelligences, so alien he could barely comprehend what form they might take. Turn away, he told himself, fearing that his own mind would be burned by any further contact; but the pillar pulled him in.

Yet when he came within a foot of it, the subtle whispering faded away and there was only an abiding silence in his head. The marble was hypnotic in its blankness. As he stared at it he began to feel as if he was floating in a world of white with no up or down, no horizon. Peace descended on him.

He didn't know how long he was like that, but time had certainly passed when he realised he was seeing something in the nothingness. Shapes coalesced like twilight shadows on snow, taking on substance, clarity, depth and eventually context, until he realised with a shock that he was looking at Miller lying on a muddy trail, his dead, glassy eyes staring up at the grey sky.

His cry broke the spell. When he looked around, Rhiannon was standing at his shoulder. 'I just saw…'

She nodded slowly, her face grave.

The pillar was just white marble again. 'A hallucination? Or did I see what was really happening back on earth?'

'The Wish-Post looks into you as you look into it,' she said. 'What you saw is the road not travelled. You are thinking about not returning?'

He didn't answer, but she could see the truth in his face.

'Your vision showed you the state of Existence if you stay here.'

'Is it for real?'

She took his hand; her fingers were cool and calming.

'He was going to die sooner or later anyway,' he continued, without meeting her eyes.

'I know what happened to you, Mallory. What you did.' No accusation marked her face, only pity, and somehow that was worse. He turned away, sick at what had been laid bare.

Her fingers grew tighter, more supportive. 'As above, so below. As without, so within. The rules of Existence are simple, Mallory, and unyielding. To everything there is an opposite, though it may often remain hidden, and these opposites are continually at war. We choose our sides, make our stand and hope for the best.'

'How do you know what happened to me?' Briefly, he thought he might cry.

'Some of us have the ability to peer into Fragile Creatures. But your essence, Mallory, is so raw that any of us could see. There is a battle raging in your heart, the same battle that sweeps through all Existence. Which side you take is within your control, but you will pay the consequences of your choice.'

'I don't know what you're talking about.'

'There is no need to lie to me, Mallory.' Her voice was so gentle that his feelings surged again. He had the sudden, aching desire to put his head in her lap so she could stroke his hair, tell him of good and noble things. 'Your bitterness and despair consume you. Do not let them.'

'What do you know?' he said defensively. He made to break free from her hand, but couldn't bring himself to do it.

'Let me show you something else.' She turned him so he was once again staring into the Wish-Post. He had obviously become attuned to the object for he quickly fell into the swirling whiteness. He dreaded seeing Miller's dead face again, but this time the snowstorm fell away to show a woman leading a pack of ragtag travellers along a muddy track. It was Sophie Tallent.

'Why are you showing me this?' he asked.

'You know, Mallory.'

As Sophie and her band crested a rise, a dark smudge appeared on the horizon, and though it appeared insubstantial, Mallory knew instantly it was the thing they had faced at Bratton Camp.

'Now you're trying to tell me that if I don't go back, she'll die too?' he said acidly. 'You really do want me out of here.'

'No.' Rhiannon pulled him gently away from the pillar; it felt as if white tendrils were withdrawing from his mind. 'It is important that you are free to weigh what lies within you, and to make your choices accordingly.

Good or bad, the choice is the important thing. But it is also important you have all the information to make your decision.'

Following the flight of a bird, Mallory let his gaze rise up to the crystal roof. The way the sunlight shimmered through the glass brought a tremendously evocative memory of his childhood rushing up from deep within him with such force that it literally took his breath away. He was at his grandparents' farm just outside Worcester on a sun-drenched summer Sunday morning, with the light forming starbursts through the branches of the trees as they swayed in the breeze. The air was heavy with the fruity farmyard smell and he could still taste the saltiness of the home-cured bacon on his tongue. His parents were back in the house with his little sister, but he'd gone walking with his grandfather. It was one of his favourite pastimes. The old man with the lantern jaw and snowy hair had told vivid country tales with a rich Worcestershire accent, filling Mallory with an appreciation of the seemingly mystical power of nature, of the epic cycles of the seasons and the strangely intelligent actions of the animals and birds that surrounded the farm.

On that morning, they had walked the ancient cart track to the thick wood clustering the hillside where his grandfather had once terrified him by telling him that all the trees had spirits, and they watched him as he passed. In the middle of the track they had come across a chaffinch writhing in the dust and grass seed. It might have been clipped by a car on the road down in the valley or winged by a raptor, but it was undoubtedly dying. The seven-year-old Mallory had been deeply upset by its death throes, more so when his grandfather had told him there was nothing they could do to save it. Yet his grandfather had gently picked up the bird and held it securely, stroking its head with his thumb.

'Grandpa, you're getting blood on your shirt,' Mallory had pointed out. But his grandfather had ignored the needless stain, only whistling soothingly to the bird, still stroking its head until it eventually passed away. When he finally laid it to rest in the shade of a hedgerow, Mallory had been shocked to see deep scratches in the old man's palms where the bird's talons had clawed out their fear.

'Why did you let it hurt you?' Mallory had asked. 'It was going to die anyway.'

His grandfather had leaned down until he could look deeply into Mallory's face, and what Mallory saw in his blue eyes had been strange and mysterious. 'Every second is as valuable as the one that went before, lad, and we do our best to prove that. We've got no other job in this world,' he had said, smiling, not really caring if Mallory understood or not.

And Mallory hadn't understood, but there in the Court of Peaceful

Days he had the overwhelming yet incomprehensible belief that it was more important than anything else he had ever been told. Desperately, he grasped for the meaning, but it was as elusive as the shimmer of the sunbeams through the glass, and eventually the memory retreated to its hiding place.

'This place,' he began, 'it's affecting me… making me remember things…'

'Peace has that effect.'

'How long before I have to make my decision?' he said.

'As long as you require. Time here is not the same as in your land. The breath between seconds can be an uncrossable gulf. Centuries can pass in the blink of an eye.' She led him out of the atrium into the cool, shady corridor beyond.

'Then I could stay here for ever and what you showed me might never happen,' he said desperately.

Her sad smile told him that was not an option.

She left him alone to wander out into the lawned area that ran down to the thick wood surrounding the Court. The sun was pleasantly warm before the full heat of the day set in and the air was vibrant with birdsong. He found a grassy bank next to a stream and lay back with his hands behind his head, watching the clouds drifting across the blue sky. After a while, he realised it was spoilt: he couldn't appreciate the tranquillity, for his mind had been made up for him and it was already turning to what lay ahead.

An hour later, he trudged back to the Court with heavy legs. Rhiannon was waiting for him; she already appeared to know what his decision had been.

The kitchens prepared him a meal of bread, cheese and fruit, which he stored in his haversack, and then Rhiannon led him into a large entrance hall he hadn't seen before. It had stone flags and wooden beams, and appeared home to as many birds and woodland animals as the atrium. In the centre, two blue and green globes hovered in mid-air, seemingly substantial, yet occasionally passing through each other as they spun.

Mallory was surprised how heavy his heart felt. He had been deeply moved after only a few hours in a strange place with a strange woman; it made no sense.

As they approached the large oaken door, it swung open of its own accord, revealing a winding path leading through a white gate before crossing green meadows that stretched to the horizon.

'Follow that path and it will lead you back to your world,' Rhiannon said.

He considered asking how this could be, before accepting that the question was as pointless as everything else in his life. Instead, he asked the only question that mattered to him. 'Would you mind if I came back here? One day?'

'The Court of Peaceful Days will always be here for you, Mallory. When you've walked your road and shed your burden, there will be peace waiting for you.'

The words 'Goodbye, Mum' popped into his head and he only just escaped the embarrassment of saying them aloud. Instead, he let his hand close around the dragon handle of his sword for comfort, and then he stepped over the threshold.

'Dark times lie ahead for you, Mallory,' Rhiannon said. 'You will find yourself in a labyrinth of opposing views, with peril on every side. Look to learning to understand the conflict.'

He was about to ask what she meant by this when the door began to swing shut, and Rhiannon appeared to recede backwards across the hall as if the image of her was being refracted through bottle glass. She allowed him a smile and a wave and then the door closed silently.

Mallory walked for an hour along the winding path through the idyllic countryside until he became aware that the weather had grown colder and the landscape was cast in muddy greys, greens and browns instead of the vibrant colours of the start of his journey. The air smelled sourer; every sensation was muted after the heightened perceptions to which he had become accustomed. Yet there had been no sign of passing from there to here; the change had happened in the blink of an eye as if the two lands were merged.

As he skidded down a muddy slope, wondering how far he would have to walk and in which direction he needed to go, he heard voices carried faintly on the wind. He ran towards them until they lay on the other side of a ridge, and then he waited. A moment later, Sophie and the travellers came over the top, just as he had seen them in the Wish-Post.

She caught her breath in surprise, but then looked past him coldly. The others — a band of six, four men and two women — made no secret of their dislike for his uniform. Mallory could see that her first instinct was to ignore him, but she couldn't contain herself.

'You're not going to tell me you being here is a coincidence,' she said sourly.

'Is that any way to talk to your rescuer?' Mallory retorted. He enjoyed manipulating the flash of annoyance on her face.

'I need your help like I need my eyes burned out,' she replied, but he noticed she didn't lead the travellers past him.

'OK,' he said, 'but I was only doing my Good Samaritan bit. You're lost in the middle of Salisbury Plain with some very unsavoury things on the loose. And they're possibly very close on your trail.'

'What makes you think we're lost?' a red-headed teenage girl said contemptuously.

'You're heading into the heart of the Plain and I don't think you'd really want to be doing that at this time of day. Not without tents, food and heavy ordnance.'

Sophie looked from Mallory to the sun that he had obviously read. Mallory could tell she was fighting the urge to be confrontational. 'Perhaps we did make a slight mistake,' she said. 'And you would be able to lead us out of here, would you?'

'If you promise to say thank you.'

'OK, I'm sorry,' she snapped. 'If you're offering to help us, we're very grateful. But we're not Christians and you stand no chance of converting us. So why would you want to help us?'

'I help everyone,' Mallory said blithely. He thought for a moment, then added, 'Except people with very bad body odour. And Chelsea fans. I've never forgiven them for David Mellor.'

He marched off a few paces, then realised that no one was following him. Doubt was clear on their faces. A flash of their crippled leader slowly dying in bed mellowed him and he said, 'I'm offering to get you back to Salisbury, after a short detour to pick up a friend, and I don't want anything in return. Understood?'

Sophie nodded. She silently reached an agreement with the others and they all set off together.

After they'd gone about half a mile, Mallory realised that Sophie had increased her pace so she was just behind his shoulder; the others trailed a few yards behind. He slowed, and she accepted the unspoken offer.

'What were you doing there?' she asked, without looking at him.

'Waiting for you.'

'Don't lie.'

'I'm not.'

They walked a few more paces in silence before she snapped, 'Have you lot been spying on us?'

'By my lot, I presume you mean the Knights Templar. Possibly. Quite frankly, I wouldn't put anything past some of the people involved.' She was taken aback by his candidness, and for the first time looked him in the face. He stared back into her eyes, enjoying what he saw there. 'If you're up for an unbelievable story, I'll tell you the truth.'

He proceeded to describe his encounter with Rhiannon, although he left out the nightmare that preceded his journey to that other place. He ended the account with, 'So, I was in Fairyland,' and then waited for her laughter.

Instead, she appeared unduly serious. 'The Celts called it Otherworld,' she said, 'or T'ir n'a n'Og, the Land of Always Summer. The place where the dead go.'

'Well, I'm alive and kicking.'

'The five who everyone says saved us in the war after the Fall,' she said, impatient at his jokes, 'they were supposed to have travelled to T'ir n'a n'Og.'

'The five,' he repeated. He'd heard all the stories about the heroes who had fought during the Fall and dismissed most of them as unbelievable, but now they took on a new significance. He wasn't in any mood to face up to what Rhiannon had told him about following in their footsteps, so he tried to make light of it instead. 'We've come to a right state if I say, "I was in Fairyland," and you treat me like the sanest man on the planet.'

'You were really there?' She looked at him in a different way that he found encouraging. 'What was it like?'

'It was…'He pictured the Court of Peaceful Days and instantly felt a yearning that brought a swell of damp emotion. '… heavenly.'

'I wish I'd seen it,' she said dreamily.

'Maybe you will one day.' He scanned the landscape carefully, trying to recall any landmarks from his vision that might reveal where Miller was. He hoped he would be in time. 'So what are you doing out here?'

'We took a trip up to Stonehenge.' She hugged her arms around her against the cold; she was poorly dressed for the time of year. Mallory took off his cloak and put it around her shoulders in a dismissive way so she didn't think he was doing anything so lame as being courteous. She attempted to fend it off at first, then relented, pulling it tight. She flashed a nervous glance back at the others, but none of them were paying any attention. 'Thank you.'

'Don't mention it. It's not really the time of year for trips, is it?'

'There's a problem with the ley. I can sense it… some of the others can, too, the ones who've worked on their abilities with the Craft. It's weakened, almost seems to be dying out, and it was so powerful before. Stonehenge is one of the main nodes of the Fiery Network. So is Avebury, and Saint Michael's Mount, but Stonehenge was close enough to investigate. We wanted to see if there was any sign of what was causing the problem.'

'That's not very smart, indulging yourself like that. You know the risks on the Plain.'

She bristled. 'Indulgent? The earth is responsible for the wellbeing of the planet — and humanity, for that matter. We've taken it upon ourselves to be the guardians of the Fiery Network, as the Celts were, and the ancient people who were custodians of the land before them.'

'The new Celtic Nation.' His comment sounded more mocking than he had intended.

'Exactly,' she said defiantly. 'There's nothing wrong with continuing their traditions. They believed in the interconnectedness of everything, in being supportive of nature and the planet, which is perfectly sensible in my books.'

'As well as slaughtering anyone who got in their way.'

'That's right. So don't get on my tits.' She swung the cloak around her with a flourish; her delicate features disappeared into the depths of the cowl.

'A big, important mission in life. You couldn't just do stuff for food and beer like everyone else?'

'I'm not like you, Mallory.'

'Yes, they broke the mould.' He spotted a skeletal tree standing alone on a ridge that looked familiar. 'Let's try over there,' he said.

'What are you looking for?'

Mallory ignored her; it was the place, he was sure of it. He picked up his pace and called Miller's name, suddenly terrified he was too late. Why does it matter? he thought as he broke into a run. The way things are, he's going to be dead soon enough anyway. He didn't want to let it get to him — he didn't want anything to get to him. But it did. And he knew it in the speed that he was driving himself across the turf, the desperation that made the blood surge through his head, obscuring Sophie's yells.

He reached the tree and looked down the other side of the ridge. Miller lay in a crumpled heap where he had fallen, but his eyes were closed, not glassy. Mallory threw himself down the incline. Miller's eyelids flickered open at the vibrations in the ground.

'Mallory. I knew you'd come for me.'

'Don't fool yourself, Miller. I was looking for a pub, and here you are littering the highways and byways.'

Miller smiled, then coughed. Blood spattered across his chin. Mallory knelt down to examine Miller's wounds: his stomach was badly torn and he'd lost a great deal of blood, but hadn't had the benefit of the Court of Peaceful Days to put him right; and he still had both his hands. So it was Gardener, Daniels or Hipgrave who lay dead somewhere in the vicinity of Bratton Camp.

Sophie let out a startled cry as she came over the ridge and saw Miller, but without a second thought she ran down and helped Mallory administer what treatment they could with the contents of his medicine pack.

'I didn't think I'd see you again,' Miller muttered deliriously to Mallory. 'I saw Daniels go down — it hit him in the face. I don't know what happened to Gardener, or Hipgrave.' Tears came at the memory.

'Save your strength, Miller,' Sophie said gently.

Miller tried to focus on her face. 'Sophie? What are you doing here?' Then, 'I knew you two would get together.'

Mallory and Sophie didn't look at each other, but instead busied themselves stitching and daubing ointment. Miller couldn't feel their ministrations, and after a while drifted into a delirious semiconscious state.

Mallory pulled Sophie off to one side. 'I don't think he's going to make it back.'

'I might be able to help.' She turned to the others. 'We need vervain to quell the pain. And see if you can find any mallow, though we'll be lucky at this time of year.' She reeled off another five or six plants unknown to Mallory, each containing some healing attribute. While the travellers headed off to find the items, Sophie said, 'Give me some time on my own. I need to meditate.'

Mallory watched her sitting alone on the top of the ridge, staring into the banks of grey clouds. She looked small in the wild landscape, and part of it, wrapped in the wind and the long grass, the oversized cloak giving her a fragility that only served to emphasise the simple beauty in her features. She remained there, unmoving, graceful, for fifteen minutes before slowly making her way back to him.

'This will work?' he said.

'If I focus correctly.'

'You don't just say a spell?'

'Nothing would be that easy, would it?' The wind whipped a strand of hair across her face. 'The words and the symbols of the ritual are a different kind of language that communicate with the subconscious where the ability lies.'

He made to ask another question, but she put two fingers to his lips to silence him before moving on to Miller. Mallory took himself to the foot of the lonely tree where he could watch the proceedings. Her voice, chanting softly, escaped the whistle of the wind as she knelt over Miller's fragile form. After a while, she threw her head back and said something loudly; he didn't recognise or understand the word but it made his ears ring. He thought, though he couldn't be sure, that he heard an echo rolling across the bleak grasslands.

The ritual lasted fifteen minutes, and when she made her way back to him she looked exhausted. For a while, she sat next to him in silence, slowly drifting back from wherever she had been.

'Are you OK?' he asked.

'Sometimes it takes a lot out of you, depending what you're trying to do.'

No longer delirious, Miller appeared to be resting peacefully. 'Did it do the trick?' Mallory said.

'It should be enough for you to get him back to the cathedral.'

'Thanks.' It was expressed with restraint, but the simple act of saying it warmed her to him.

'You're welcome.'

The others drifted up and sat around quietly before Sophie arranged them into parties to search for wood to make a stretcher for Miller. It took them an hour to construct one, and by the time they set off they knew they wouldn't reach Salisbury before nightfall. Though none of them said anything, Mallory could see the fear buried in the travellers' faces.

They broke for dinner just as the sun was setting. They'd already agreed not to set up camp for the night. Mallory judged that they would be less of a target if they kept on the move, but either way he knew the odds of them making it home safely had shortened considerably.

The last of their provisions went quickly and when they picked up the march again, they were all still hungry. The sunset was a hallucinogenic mix of angry reds and florid purples, spectacular in its own way but oppressive. They watched the shadows race voraciously across the flat landscape with trepidation, wishing they had more weapons, torches, anything that could give them even the illusion of security.

Sophie stayed with Mallory at the head, undisputed leaders of the expedition. Though they couldn't be described as friendly, the travellers were less suspicious of Mallory because Sophie had accepted him. They trailed behind, taking it in turns to pull Miller's stretcher. Eventually night fell, but there was enough of a break in the clouds to allow moonlight to illuminate their way.

'I still can't believe how much the world's changed.' Sophie snuggled deep in the cloak for warmth. 'Yet there's been so much good with all the bad. Take the Craft — it was strong before, but nothing like now.'

Mallory rarely took his eyes off the landscape as he continually tried to discern which shadows were benign and which posed a threat. He had already seen silhouettes circling them, low and bestial, but so far they had chosen to keep their distance. 'We've gone back to a time before science and reason and technology, when people relied on the power within them,' Sophie continued. 'What we have is so important, Mallory, yet we'd all lost sight of it. The Fall, for all the suffering, has let us forge a link with the people we used to be, and should be.'

'Try telling that to someone whose family has just been wiped out by an illness that shouldn't exist in this day and age.'

'I know, it's easy for me to say. But I'm just trying to see the big picture.'

He laughed, then caught himself.

'What's so funny?'

'I wonder how my friends back at the cathedral would take my consorting with a witch.'

She snorted derisively. 'It's about time we got rid of all those stereotypes your lot foisted on us. We were the original religion-'

'You're not going to lay claim to that, are you? Murray and Gardener had an academic approach, but they made huge leaps of logic when they claimed there was a heritage for Wicca stretching back to prehistory.'

'There might not be an unbroken line, although that's debatable. But there's still a basis of ancient traditions.' She looked at him askance, a little surprised. 'You're very well informed, Mallory. Did you have Burn The Witch classes at the cathedral?'

'I'm just well read, one of my very many strengths.' Away to his right, something was keeping pace with them, staying low. He only caught sight of it when the ground rose slightly and it was briefly silhouetted against a moon-silvered cloud.

'One good thing about the Fall is that Wicca is in the ascendancy once again after centuries of repression.'

'Don't get all whiny about it,' he said. 'You're in good company with all the beliefs Christianity has repressed over the last couple of millennia. Everything from tribal faiths in Africa to Taoism in the Far East.'

'What's up with you, Mallory?' Incomprehension filled her voice. 'You're not a Christian — you don't believe in anything, or so you said. So how can you do all this… fighting for something you don't believe in?'

'I told you — it's a job. It pays. It keeps me alive.'

'You're a mercenary.'

'Well, if you want to get into name-calling… witch.'

She couldn't contain a smile at his ridiculous humour and had to look away. 'Don't you take anything seriously?'

'Yes, sex and alcohol.'

'I bet you're a bundle of laughs in bed.'

'It's not supposed to be funny. With me it's a spiritual experience. You should try it some time.'

'I'd rather cut off an arm,' she said, though he thought he saw the first glimmer that she might mean the opposite.

'Anyway, where's your broomstick?'

'I have one, but I don't use it how you think. And you'd better get any stereotypes out of your head quickly,' she said. 'No hooknosed crones carrying out nasty business over bubbling pots. We were the original wise women, offering advice and help to anyone in the tribes or villages. And we did good deeds, generally, because we all know that whatever we do is brought back to us threefold. It's all about balance, Mallory… a universal constant you can see just by opening your eyes and looking around. But not something your Christian colleagues would ever understand with their horsehair shirts and ascetic, sexually repressed lifestyles.'

'Now who's dealing in stereotypes?'

Her rant was well rehearsed, and even though Mallory knew her arguments, he let her continue while he tried to keep track of whatever was stalking them.

'And we're not Satanists. Does that make me mad when I hear it. There is no Satan in the pagan religions — that's a Christian invention. No personification of pure evil. We look to nature for our guidance, where evil doesn't exist, just a dark side and a light side to everything. Our deity has two aspects: the horned male and the triple goddess of mother, maiden and crone. Christianity demonised the male one, turned him into Satan with the horns and the tail and the cloven hooves, but he's really a god of nature, embodying aspects of the flora and fauna-'

'Sorry to interrupt your history lesson, Sophie, as interesting as it is, but we're about to be attacked.' It seemed that his sword whispered as it slid out of the sheath; an aural trick, nothing else.

Before Sophie could say anything more, the shape loomed towards them. At first, it appeared to be on its knees, then loping like a wolf and finally upright. Mallory had the unnerving feeling it was floating an inch or so above the ground, its legs motionless.

One of the travellers had made the mistake of drifting off to one side. He was in his forties, but prematurely aged through drink and too many drugs, his hair thin on top but long and wiry down the back. He saw it first and let out a shriek that made Mallory's blood run cold. The traveller was rooted for a second, then half-turned to run, but it was too late.

Coming up fast on him was a thing with the body of a man, but a head that was just a white skull with an angry red light seeping out of its hollow orbs. Its clothes were black, tattered in part as if it had been wrapped in a shroud, but gleaming black armour lay beneath.

The creature shimmered as it bore down on the traveller, appearing to change shape slightly so that its limbs elongated, the hands stretching into bony talons. It swung one and took the traveller's head off at the neck.

One of the girls fainted, hitting the turf as a dead weight. Mallory could feel the desperate eyes of the other travellers heavy on him.

The thing fell down on the corpse, tearing with its talons in a frenzy until the body fell apart. Then it ducked down into the soft tissue and began to feed so ravenously that the blood flew like rain.

Mallory's first reaction was to look after himself, but he couldn't do it. He gripped the sword with both hands and took a step forwards.

At Mallory's movement, the creature raised its head, the bone now stained scarlet. Mallory wished it would let out some growl so he could characterise it as flesh and blood, but it was as silent as the grave. It launched itself towards him, eerily lighter than air as it tore across the distance between them.

The ghostliness wrong-footed him so that he wasn't ready for the force of impact. It felt as if someone had thrown a full oil drum at him. He went down underneath it as screams erupted all around.

It didn't use its talons immediately. Instead, those seething red eyes began to inspect him. Mallory had the feeling of being dissected, his hopes torn apart and thrown away, his fears peeled back. He could smell the traveller's fresh blood, but beneath it there was the odour of loam and rotting vegetation. It opened its mouth briefly, then closed it with a clack of bare teeth.

Mallory acted just as it launched its attack. When it shifted its weight to raise a bony hand he rolled to one side, brought up his knee and levered it off him. The thing was already flinging itself back at him like a cornered wildcat. He tried to bring up the sword, but there wasn't room and he could only jam it crossways between them awkwardly. The creature's talons were just a flash. If Mallory hadn't snatched his head away instinctively it would now be bouncing alongside the traveller's.

He tried to fend it off with his left arm, but to his horror it brought its skull down sharply and closed those ferocious jaws on his forearm. He yelled with pain, but at the same time seized his opportunity to arc the sword around into the creature's ribs. It felt as if he'd swung it into the trunk of an oak tree.

But it did enough. The creature released its grip on his arm and recoiled, still silent even when Mallory yanked the sword out, bringing part of a bone with it. In that instant, Mallory knew no earthly sword would have had any effect; the dragon-sword sang in his hands, setting his nerve endings alight.

Now the thing hung back, floating eerily from side to side, its hideous red-stained skull cocked as it surveyed him in a new light. It only took a moment to size him up before it attacked again, unannounced and with rattlesnake speed. Mallory had the merest instant to respond; he shifted weight, parried, but it was like trying to fence with a cloud of claws and snapping jaws.

For fifteen minutes the battle raged back and forth. Occasionally, Mallory would sneak through the creature's defences to slice into his unbelievably dense body. More often it would catch him a glancing blow that would make his teeth ring, or raise droplets of blood with a rake of its talons. But with each wound, Mallory felt the dull rage within him grow colder and harder, focusing his mind, sharpening his reactions. He couldn't see Sophie or the travellers — even their cries were lost to him. Everything was centred on the grinning skull, the abomination that had no right to cause suffering when so much already existed.

He saw the opening, instantly dissected tactics and all possible responses, then acted with a swiftness that turned his sword arm to a blur. The dragon-sword drove into the creature's chest, and then Mallory gripped it with both hands and drove down with all his strength. It felt as if he was forcing the blade through stone.

As the thing began to split in two, Mallory snatched the sword free and slashed. The red skull flew free, rattled on to the ground and bounced across the turf.

Mallory staggered back, catching his breath after the exertion, still shaking with the battle rage. Sophie stepped in to support him.

'Are you OK?' she said, with deep concern.

He steadied himself, then quickly herded her away from the carcass, still quivering with its death throes. 'Let's get moving.'

'You need to rest. We've got to treat your wounds.' She gently dabbed at a deep cut on his forehead.

'Too risky. Anything else out here won't give us time to rest.'

Reluctantly, she agreed. The travellers, who were now looking at Mallory with new eyes, grateful but awed, picked up Miller's stretcher and set off as fast as their weary legs would muster.

They hadn't gone far when the girl who had fainted cried out once more. Mallory followed the line of her pointing finger to the place of his battle. In a pool of moonlight, the creature was rising up from the ground, body rejoined, skull firmly reattached. It steadied itself for a second, then turned towards them.

'It's not going to let us go,' the girl moaned.

Mallory cursed, feared he wouldn't have the strength and the luck to defeat it again, wondered how many times he'd have to attempt it before the bony jaws were feeding on his own lights.

'Get moving,' he said.

'What are you going to do?' Sophie said.

'Just get moving. I'll catch you up.'

'You're stupid-'

Eyes blazing, he spun round, but his voice was low and moderated. 'You've got a responsibility to these people who trust you. And you need to get Miller back. This is my job, for better or worse. You do yours.'

She marshalled the others without further discussion. They headed off, but her voice floated back to him. 'Catch us up, Mallory. We need you.'

Then it was just him and the thing sweeping over the grass, black shroud flapping in the wind, jaw open in a silent scream.

He fought for a half-hour this time, eventually stabbing the sword through its right eye socket before shattering its skull. He spent the next ten minutes chopping the body into chunks no bigger than a bag of sugar before lurching away, exhausted.

He caught up with the others, and this time they had fifteen minutes' grace before the thing came at them again.

Three more times he battled it. Each fight lasted longer, each time he grew weaker, picked up more wounds, undoing all the good works of the Court of Peaceful Days. After the last one he was convinced he wouldn't be able to do it again.

Sophie remained silent, but her eyes never left him. She understood his suffering, knew there was no point in discussing it, but in her silence there was a support that gave him an added reserve of strength.

The fluttering silhouette was against the now clear sky of the horizon when they came over a rise to find serendipity. Scattered across the downward slope were the picked-clean bones of soldiers, their shredded uniforms blowing in the breeze. A tank stood silently, a hole rupturing its side; Mallory had no idea what could have committed such a devastating attack. And beyond it was a covered truck, the driver's door sagging open where the occupant had been torn out.

Sophie saw it too, their hopes too fragile to voice. They ran down the slope towards it with the last of their energy. Mallory scrambled in and ducked under the steering column just as the creature whisked over the rise. He ripped out the ignition wires with ease — he'd done it enough times before — and sparked them. The lorry coughed, then fired.

The travellers had already piled into the back alongside Miller. Sophie took the seat next to Mallory.

'Everybody in?' He flicked the windscreen wipers to clear several months' worth of dust.

'Put your foot down, OK?' Sophie hadn't shown a glimmer of fear throughout their ordeal, but Mallory could sense it just beneath the surface.

'Can't you do a spell or something?' he said, thumping the gear stick into first and lurching off.

'I told you, it doesn't work like that… not in the heat of things. I'll try to do something as we go.' She closed her eyes, whispering a mantra as she meditated.

In the side mirror, Mallory saw the thing bearing down on them. Now the crimson skull appeared to be the only thing of substance, its body a ragged black sheet billowing in the wind as it rushed on with alarming speed. It wasn't far behind the truck now. Something about it made him feel sick: its relentlessness, the sheer inhumanity of its attacks, the way he couldn't be sure of its shape.

What is it? he said to himself, desperately urging the truck to go faster. He kept his foot to the floor as he rammed through the gears, but the vehicle felt as if it was running through mud. It slowly began to build speed, churning up the turf as it juddered and skidded.

In the mirror, the skull loomed up just to the left side of the rear lights. Mallory could hear the screams from the back and a crashing noise as someone lashed out with an object they'd obviously found in the back.

Just as the truck began to hit thirty miles per hour, there was a sickening scream followed by a tumult from the rear. Mallory could see the reflection of the thing hunched over a flailing shape pinned to the ground, ready to feed. It was the girl who had fainted.

'What's happening?' Sophie said anxiously.

Mallory set his jaw. 'We've got away from it.'

The rest of the journey passed in near silence as Sophie and the travellers mourned their two friends and Mallory turned over the events of the night, sickened that he hadn't been able to prevent the deaths. In one brief period of conversation, Sophie had thanked him 'for being a good man', for his bravery and compassion, and he felt like such a fraud he couldn't look her in the face. She thought he was just exhibiting humility; another trait he didn't have.

They reached Salisbury at four a.m. The city was deserted, the houses and shops dark, not even a candle flame burning. Mallory expected someone to poke their head out at the long-lost sound of a combustion engine, but no one came to see.

Sophie pointed out the most unusual sight. There were barricades along some of the streets, and several doors and windows had been fitted with security covers. 'It looks as if everyone's boarding themselves in,' she said.

Apprehension tugged at Mallory's mind. What had been happening while they had been gone?

He pulled over on Castle Street so that the travellers could make their way to their camp without the guards on the cathedral walls seeing to whom he'd been giving a lift; no point making unnecessary trouble for himself. The remaining travellers came by one by one to thank him. He felt uncomfortable at the undiluted strength of their gratitude, yet touched, too, as he watched them troop sadly off in the direction of the tent city.

Sophie hung around until they were out of sight, then said, 'You look a picture.'

He leaned out to look in the side mirror. He was covered in blood and mud, his hair matted, a growth of beard shadowing his face. 'At least all the relevant bits are there.'

'I'm grateful for what you did for us, Mallory,' she said. 'You didn't have to help us… you could have abandoned us at any time. If all the knights are like you, I might have to reassess my judgement.'

She looked even more attractive in the cold moonlight. He seriously thought about asking her to go with him, just drive off, but he knew she would never abandon her responsibilities.

'And I'll stand by you, if you ever need me,' she continued. 'I won't forget what you did.'

She smiled properly for the first time on the journey. It was only a brief flash, but it was so honest it brought a shiver to his spine. 'Don't I get a kiss?' he said, only half-joking.

'Don't push it, Mallory. This isn't the Middle Ages where the shy, retiring damsel has to reward her knight.' She slipped out, but before she closed the door she poked her head back in. 'You know where I am.' It wasn't much, but there was a substance to it that excited him.

He waited as she hurried down the street, hoping she'd turn back but sure she wouldn't; she knew he was watching her and she wouldn't give him that advantage. When she'd finally disappeared, he took a deep breath and moved the truck slowly in the direction of the cathedral.

But as he turned on to High Street and the final stretch to the compound gates, the shock of what he saw made him slam on the brakes.

Instead of the lone spire rising majestically from the cathedral's bulk, an enormous building of black stone now covered most of the area within the compound. The cathedral was still there at the core, but it had been expanded into a massive gothic construction that mirrored the original in the fundamentals, but had been elaborated into a feverish vision of gargoyles, towers, cupolas, stained-glass windows — some of them forty feet tall — statues, carvings and insanely pitched roofs branching out all over the place. It would have taken decades to build with hundreds, if not thousands, of skilled craftsmen. The dislocation made him queasy; Mallory felt as if he had been transported back to the Otherworld, but everything else in the surroundings was as it always had been.

He let his eyes drift over what appeared to be a mad architect's dream. If the first cathedral had been an elegant vision of God's Glory, this was something much, much darker.