Marc Chadbourn - The Devil in green

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.