The Devil in Green (99 page)

'The Infinite has no beginning. It is the beginning of all other things. It is divine, immortal and indestructible.
'
-
Anaximander

'Time's running out,' Mallory said, as they marched through the crisp snow at first light. 'If the brethren aren't dying already, they will be soon - either from starvation or because those things will have broken through the walls.'

'We're doing the best we can.' Sophie walked beside him gravely. The moment they had set foot on the road to Knowlton, the last remnants of elation at their escape from the cathedral had been wiped away by the gravity of what lay ahead. They were under no illusion about their chances of surviving an encounter with the Devil, less still that they could convince the Adversary to call off the attack. But they had hope.

'Still time to back out,' Mallory said.

'I will if you will.'

'I've got nothing to lose. Your people are counting on you.'

'Then we'd better make sure we get back in one piece, hadn't we?' She stamped her feet to warm them. 'You really think you can pull this off?'

'No, but I'd never be able to live with myself any more if I didn't try.'

His tone was striking, almost desperate; she wondered what it was in his past that was playing out in his decision to save Miller and the others. 'And the same goes for me, Mallory. If you've got the ability to do good, then you've got an obligation to use that ability. That's what my beliefs tell me.'

Awkwardly, she reached for his hand. He took it, and for a while their mood lightened.

They had spent the dark hours of the previous night huddled in one of the deserted semis on the northern fringes of the city before searching out a militiaman at dawn. He had never heard of Knowlton, but after consulting a map book in his sentry post, they discovered it was a hamlet of only one or two houses south of Salisbury.

'I wouldn't be going down that way if I were you,' the militiaman had warned them. 'It's wild country. Not much between Salisbury and the south coast.'

Now the city limits were visible away to the west and the road stretched out before them. The sun was turning golden as it crested the horizon. The cloud-free sky was a pastel blue; it was going to be a glorious day.

'At least we know where we're going,' Mallory said, without highlighting the anxiety he felt at what lay ahead.

They broke for a snack around eleven. They'd found a stash of cans on their overnight stay that had escaped the looters, and had brought a few tins of beans and fruit, a couple of spoons and a can-opener with them. They found a sheltered spot on the edge of a wood and Mallory lit a small fire to take the chill from their bones. A thaw had set in under the unseasonably warm sun, which eased their mood a little.

'I'm still trying to work out the rules of this world,' Sophie said, eating her baked beans with little desire.

'Does it matter?'

'When you're not top dog - which humanity isn't now - it matters more than ever. You don't want to offend some of the things that are loose.'

Mallory rubbed his hands in front of the fire. 'You want a rule? Never get in a transporter with a fly.'

She laughed, but the unsettled mood returned to her features too quickly. Her restiess eyes ranged across the countryside; there was no sign of human life. 'What Abarta said about the Wild Hunt—'

'He was just trying to scare us.'

'I've heard of it . . . something from mythology—'

'Lots of different mythologies. It's very adaptable. A Dark Lord leads a few mates and a pack of ghostly hounds across the countryside, scooping up anyone unlucky enough to be out. The Christians said it was Satan hunting lost souls to drag off to hell.'

'Ruth Gallagher met them, I think.'

'Sounds as if the Uber-Witch passed on a lot of useful information.' He paused when he realised Sophie was watching him curiously.

'You know a lot of things, Mallory.'

'I'm very well read.'

'What did you do in your past life?'

'I ate, I drank and I slept.'

She cursed. 'You're as infuriating as those things at Old Sarum.'

'I try.'

'What are we up against, Mallory?'

'Something that makes us look blind and stupid. It planned everything so carefully, manipulated us from the start. The
siege ...
the way we were run to bring the beast in ourselves so we could be attacked from the inside, to break the faith of the brothers . . . even the choice of victims, picked to play off the two factions vying for power, so they'd suspect, and doubt, and
hate ...
It knew everything that was going on, knew us better than we knew ourselves.'

'If this is supposed to be a pep talk, Mallory, you need to re-examine your material.' She dumped the remnants of her beans in the fire, then said, 'Why are you doing this, Mallory? Not so long ago, you were saying you didn't believe in anything, and now you're putting your life on the line. Have you finally found something worth fighting for? It must be something big to cause this kind of volte-face.'

Any answer he could have given her would have been too momentous. Instead, he said, 'We should get moving.'

She watched him for a long moment, even though he wouldn't meet her eye.

As Mallory stamped out the fire, the snap and crackle of the wood gave way to the deep stillness of the snow-muffled world. Yet the quiet only lasted for a second. In the deep background, Mallory picked up another sound that instantly set him on edge: the crunch of snow, but restrained as if someone or something was sneaking up on them.

Quickly, he caught up with Sophie, who had already started along the road. They hurried as fast as they could through the growing slush, pausing for breath ten minutes later, just before the road went over a rise. Mallory shielded his eyes against the gleaming countryside and looked back. A dark shape emerged from the edge of the wood where they had rested, keeping low, moving slowly but insistently. Not a man, certainly, but larger than any animal Mallory could imagine. It followed the line of their tracks, and at the road turned in their direction.

'What is it?' Sophie asked breathlessly some time later as they jogged along.

'I don't know, but it's not letting up. It doesn't matter what it is - we just need to keep ahead of it.'

Sophie was looking exhausted, and he was feeling weary himself. In shaded areas the snow wasn't melting at all and in some parts the drifts were so deep they had to wade through them. The conditions didn't appear to be slowing up their pursuer; in fact, over the previous hour it had gained on them.

They continued south-west along the Weymouth road, through wide- open countryside that would once have felt soothing in its agrarian order but was now wild and frightening. Just after the rolling Pentridge Hill loomed up on their left, they took a B-road that felt even more exposed, the hedgerows too close and too thick.

'I've got to try something,' Sophie said. Any rejuvenating effect of the Blue Fire had clearly worn off. 'Things don't work well when I'm tired. It peters out, or it has no effect at all . . . but I've got to try. I don't know if I can carry on at this rate.' Her face was drawn with exhaustion. Demanding privacy to help her concentrate, she climbed over a six-bar gate and disappeared into a field.

Mallory backed up to where he had a clear view along the road. The shape plodded along maybe a mile away, maybe less. He had an idea of what it was now: a dog, some supernatural entity, bigger than any real- world breed and black as space. The knowledge that it was something mundane yet at the same time alien was somehow even more disturbing. It carried with it an atmosphere that operated on some level beyond ordinary senses; Mallory felt threat and a growing sense of despair. Was this the Old Shuck that Abarta had mentioned?

Movement just on the edge of his vision to his right startled him. His hand went to his sword, but he didn't have time to draw it. A terrifying woman stood before him, as though she had appeared from nowhere. She was as thin as a winter tree, her skin almost grey, barely fitting her bones. A long black dress flapped around her, stained with tree-bark green and the white dust of a dry road. Her hair was grey and wild, untouched by a comb for months, years. But it was her face that chilled him, something that lay beyond its physical appearance, which was upsetting enough: it was smeared black with dirt or grease, malting the grey eyes even more striking; they contained thunder and lightning, and the end of him.

She stretched out an accusing finger. 'It's coming. You won't escape it now. You can't run any more.'

He backed off, almost slipping on a patch of melting snow, finally managing to get the sword out.

The woman began to laugh, sheer venom underlining the mockery in that sound, so palpable it stung him. Thoughts burst in his head, memories or dreams; she was releasing them. He was speeding away in a grey car, his face framed in the rear-view mirror, locked in an awful shock at what he had discovered in himself, tears streaming down his cheeks, his entire body racked with such shakes that it was almost impossible to drive.

'What do you want?' he yelled, with a fury that far exceeded the moment.

The old woman's laughter rose several notches, became hysterical, bitter. She threw her head back and her hair shook wildly.

'Stop it!' Mallory yelled. Tears sprang to his eyes.

Slowly, the woman backed away, still laughing, still pointing. There was one instant when he thought he would have to attack her with the sword, to shut her up before she said something he didn't want to hear, but then the sunlight glinted off his blade, blinding him, and when his eyes cleared, she was gone.

He'd just about composed himself when Sophie clambered wearily back on to the road. The dog - and he could finally see clearly that's what it was - was now only half a mile away.

'Are you OK?' Sophie said. 'I heard you yell out.'

'Did you hear anyone else?'

She looked at him curiously, shook her head.

'Did it work?' he snapped.

'I don't know . . . we'll see.'

They turned and hurried along the road.