But then, miraculously, he was alive again, driving a stolen car to Salisbury shortly after the Fall, and he knew he wasn’t of this world at all. The point of his death had been an instant of transition. Somewhere there was another world, a little like the one he was in, with people who loved and hated and who were forced to do unspeakable things. But he had the feeling that it was a greyer world, without wonder, where meaning was not so clear and where the joys of life had been diffused. A world where the Fall had never happened.

It was the reason why he was so unpredictable, why the Devourer of All Things would not be able to see him clearly. He didn’t fit properly into the landscape of this world, like an old bottle washed up on a beach. Whatever was watching skittered over the anomaly to preserve the purity of the holistic view.

‘There are worlds upon worlds upon worlds, Mallory. All connected, all joined to the source.’ For the first time there was a faint smile on Jenny’s lips. Mallory shivered; he had the feeling that something beyond her, beyond even the Fabulous Beast, was speaking to him through them both. ‘Your world no longer exists, in the way that this world exists,’ she continued. ‘Existence has shifted. A new structure has been raised around you.’

Mallory felt whole for the first time; and more, he realised what it meant to feel whole. Along with it came a deep sense of purpose. ‘I’m not going to fail,’ he said. The sword felt like a bomb on the brink of exploding, and whatever energy it contained surged into him and back, combining, infusing.

‘You are the Knight, Mallory,’ Jenny said. ‘You carry in your heart the standard of Existence.’

‘You’ve done your duty now,’ Mallory said to her, ‘and I thank you for that. You can come back to your grandfather now.’

Her sapphire eyes blazed brightly, and Mallory already knew the response before the words appeared. ‘I cannot, for I am now with the First. I am its conduit in this world. There must be many sacrifices to achieve the shining future.’

‘You’re going to stay here?’

‘I will be there at the end, for better or worse. Even if the Hounds of Avalon cry to the moon. Go now, Mallory, Brother of Dragons. The world waits for you.’

Mallory turned and left them, but even when he had reached the shadow of the house in the gathering gloom, he could still feel their presence, warm at his back.

He found the old man cowering in the lounge next to a dead fire. Mallory did his best to explain what had happened, but the old man’s sobs were still hard to bear. Afterwards, when Stanley sat in a plush armchair staring blankly into the corner, Mallory remade the fire and cooked them both a small dinner. He knew it would be hard for Stanley to survive on his own, especially if the bleak winter continued. Mallory encouraged him to find others in the area, but the old man simply shook his head silently.

The next morning, which was bright and clear but at least a degree colder, Mallory set off for Cirencester with renewed vigour. The cold no longer bothered him as much. Whatever else had happened when he plunged his sword into the Blue Fire, it had given a boost to the Pendragon Spirit. He felt he could do anything, win any fight. He stopped at the nearest inhabited house and convinced the residents to seek out Stanley and offer what help they could, but he could see the growing fear in their faces. The winter that had corrupted the land was driving its ice deep into their hearts. Everyone was starting to believe that the end really was approaching.

The next three days passed without incident and on the fourth, when Glastonbury was within reach, Mallory noticed a change. The day appeared slightly warmer, the wind not so bitter; the snow that had been falling faded away to reveal a clear blue sky. At first he wondered if it might be his imagination, but the closer he got to the town, the more the temperature increased. The hard-packed snow grew thinner, turned to slush, melted away completely. The icicles on the houses and the fences disappeared in the warmth of the sun. The leaves on the trees, the shrubs and flowers and vegetation that had shrivelled in a cold they had never expected to endure gave way to verdant life, the perfume of honeysuckle, the colours of hedgerow flowers. Birds called and there were cattle and sheep in the fields. Residents greeted Mallory with a cheery wave as he rode by. And finally it became too hot to wear his cloak. He stripped it off and turned his face to the sun, surprised at how quickly he had forgotten the sensation of its warmth on his skin, realising how much he had missed it.

By the time he reached the town it was summer again, and all was right with the world.

‘You’ll never get in there.’ The farmer eyed Mallory wryly as he leaned on a gate, gently swinging the hammer he had been using to fix the adjoining fence.

‘What have they got — guards? Dogs?’

‘Flying pigs for all I know, lad.’ The farmer shielded his eyes from the sun. ‘We get one or two of you a week. Riding in from God knows where, or on foot, all thinking they can turn their lives around. I ’spect the word’s all over the country now about what we’ve got down here.’

‘And what have you got?’

The farmer tapped his nose.

‘You don’t mind having the college in town?’

‘Nooo. They look after all us locals. Keep us in food — crops have never been so good since they came down, and the beasts have never given so much milk. They know a thing or two, and no mistake. And they keep us safe.’

‘So, what? They’ve got guards? Some kind of militia?’

‘They don’t need guns.’ He nodded at Mallory’s sword protruding from its scabbard. ‘Or pig-stickers like that. There’s more than one way to skin a cat.’

Mallory could see that he wasn’t going to get anything useful out of the farmer, so he nodded politely and urged his horse on. It wasn’t a surprise — he’d got the same response from everyone he’d encountered as he neared the town boundary.

As Mallory drew closer to his destination, he was surprised to see that a massive flood had cut off the centre of the town and the Tor from the surrounding countryside. At first he presumed it had been caused by run-off from the melting snows on the periphery of the warm zone. But as he skirted the deep water and marshland seeking a path through, he realised it had turned Glastonbury into a naturally protected island.

He was forced to approach from the south where there was a thin defensive bank that formed a land bridge to the edge of Wearyall Hill. As he drew closer, he saw that the entrance to the bridge was marked by an arch of thick, entwining blackthorn. And hanging from it was a severed human head. It was a lurid green-black from the early stages of decomposition, but strangely untouched by birds and insects.

As Mallory guided his horse to pass under the arch, the head’s eyelids snapped open and Mallory jolted back in his saddle, his sword drawn in an instant

‘Who goes?’ The rotten lips parted to reveal black teeth. The eyes rolled as if unused to seeing and eventually focused on Mallory. The deep horror embedded in them only enhanced the chilling image.

‘I want to visit the college.’

The head made a low, rattling exhalation. ‘Only those who have been invited may enter. Turn back or face the consequences.’

‘I’ll try my luck.’ Mallory guided his horse forward until the head emitted a high-pitched scream that brought him to a sharp stop.

‘Know then my story! In life I was sent to capture the leaders of this college, and in this act I killed one who had come here to learn. Now my punishment is to hang here for evermore as a warning to all others who trespass. Of those who have ignored me, none have returned this way.’

‘Sorry, pal. I don’t have a choice.’

‘Then cross the Perilous Bridge, traveller. And pray to whatever god you recognise.’

The stink of the rotting head floated into Mallory’s nostrils as he passed beneath it. The second his horse put one hoof on the slim land bridge, the head began to scream again. Mallory kept moving, but the head continued to wail like a siren, warning of the intruder’s impending approach.

The water on either side was like glass, giving the impression of another world existing just a stone’s throw away. At times, Mallory was almost overcome by the illusion that he could dive in and swim to the green island he saw there. The image was broken only by the occasional chimney protruding from the sunken houses beneath.

On the other side of the bridge he picked up the road again and rounded Wearyall Hill. A cathedral-like mood of tranquillity lay over the town as he rode into the centre. In a world of constant upheaval, that in itself was unnerving. Something special hung in the air, a subtle power filling his lungs, calming him; he felt at home.

The centre of town looked as if it had been unaffected by the Fall, though there was a definite absence of people and all the premises appeared deserted. But as he rode forward, he was confronted by a wall of trees across

Вы читаете The Hounds of Avalon
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