The air was filled with energy. Mallory was surrounded by frost and fire, opposites coming together in an alchemical union that made them more than they were before.
'We' re special,' Sophie whispered in his ear, before nuzzling into his neck.
His hand moved across her breast, feeling the rise of the nipple, the subsequent surge of power in his groin. She didn't resist; she met him move for move, desire for desire. Her fingers eased over his body, down to his jeans, fumbling for the buttons. Their clothes loosened, their temperature soared, hardness and softness lay under their hands.
In their passion they were like beasts clawing at each other, completely consumed by the raw feelings of the moment. When Mallory penetrated her, he thought he would come immediately, so powerful was the rush. But he kept himself going, and they kissed, and they bit, and rolled around half-naked despite the coldness of the night.
Afterwards they lay in each other's arms, feeling their unified heartbeats slowly subside. Mallory dragged the sacking back over them when they became aware of their breath clouding, and for a long while they said nothing, barely believing what had happened and what it meant for both of them.
Sometime later, Sophie suddenly jerked and exclaimed, 'Look there.'
Footprints tracked their way across the blue-white snow barely ten feet from them.
A chill ran through Mallory. The prints were cloven, but with a hooked toe or claw at the rear, clearly belonging to something that walked on two legs.
'We didn't see it.' Sophie's voice was low and rigid. 'It was almost on top of us and we didn't see it at all.'
'Fools and lovers are protected,' he muttered, pulling her close, aware how fragile they were, how defenceless in a dangerous world.
They moved closer to the fire where the heat made their skin bloom, and decided to take it in turns keeping watch. Mallory constructed a makeshift shelter with some of die sacks and selected items from the pile of rubbish near the farmhouse to keep the snow off them.
'You still haven't told me what we're going to do.' she asked him sleepily.
'Tomorrow,' he replied, 'we're going to petition the gods.'
In the pale morning light, Mallory retrieved a couple more animals from the fresh traps and delivered them to the woman and her husband, before they set off north. They walked a fine line, keeping beyond the edge of the city's built-up area yet not straying into the open countryside. Danger lay all around. The snow had abated, but it was still thick underfoot and the going was hard. Occasionally, Sophie or he would disappear into a drift, but they still found the energy to laugh at each other's misfortune, and that helped the time to pass.
His mood changed when he finally saw the bulk of Old Sarum rising up against the snow-filled sky. 'You know we're linked,' he said obliquely. She eyed him curiously. He told her what the Caretaker and Rhiannon had said about the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons.
Sophie was shocked, then humbled. 'Ruth Gallagher, the woman who taught Melanie,' she said, 'she was a Sister of Dragons, one of the five at the time of the Fall.'
'And now you're following in her footsteps.'
'But she was a great person!'
'Yeah, I can hardly believe it either. Somebody must have faith in us.'
His revelation appeared to be lying heavily on her, so he changed the subject by telling her about his experience on Old Sarum on the night he met Miller.
'There are certain places where the barriers between this world and the other one are thin… where you can cross over to places like that Court you visited,' she said. 'High peaks, lakes, rivers, springs, the seashore. But the strongest sites have already been marked, and they're places where the Blue Fire is powerful.'
'The stone circles,' Mallory suggested.
'That's right. And the Iron-Age hill-forts, and the standing stones, and all the other sites where our ancestors have left their mark on the landscape.'
'How do you know all this?'
'Part of my initiation into the Craft.'
'That Gallagher woman passed it on?'
She nodded. 'It's the truth behind all the things we learned at school. When the Christian Church came, it tried to colonise many of those old places where the Blue Fire… a spiritual energy… was strongest. At some it succeeded. At others, the powers that had already laid claim to it were too strong. The war's been going on for nearly two thousand years. It's summed up in a carving at Saint James' Church in Avebury. The building itself is Saxon, but it's believed that some of the sarsen stones may have come from the megalithic monument on the site. On the font is a carving of a bishop holding a book and piercing the head of a dragon with his crosier. It's a symbolic depiction of the old Church conquering the Blue Fire and bending its force to its will. Avebury, of course, is one of the most powerful sources of the dragon-energy in the country. And the Christian legend of Saint Michael, the dragon-killer, is the same symbol. That's why so many sites along the main ley running through Britain — from Cornwall to the east coast — are dedicated to Saint Michael.'
'You've got a thing against Christianity, haven't you?'
'Not against the Faith, no,' she replied. 'There are lots of different roads leading to the same mystery — people take the one that suits them. But I've got a thing against the men… and it always is men… who come to control a religion and impose their own prejudices on it. There's an argument that paganism is weaker than Christianity because it's never provided any martyrs. But then there's not been any oppression, torture and war in its name, either. And remember this, Mallory: at its heart, Britain is a pagan country. Christianity has standing because it's the State religion. But you go out to Cornwall or Wales or Scotiand and the old beliefs still prosper. Even in the heartland of England, in the industrial centres, you strip away the lip service to a religion that's been taught from birth and you find an instinctual acceptance of the old ways, though people don't often realise it.'
Mallory shielded his eyes against the snow-glare. He had a sudden shaky feeling they were being watched. 'So that could be one reason why the cathedral was moved to its new location. It was in conflict with what was already there.' He recalled James hinting at something similar.
'The gods at Old Sarum are still strong. In times past they were stronger still,' Sophie said.
'And that's who we're going to talk to,' Mallory said. He looked at the lonely, windswept hill, remembered the crackling old man's voice, the presence in the dark that was there and then not there, and felt his apprehension rise.
By the time they reached the entrance to Old Sarum on the main road it was mid-afternoon and the sun was already falling. 'We'd better hurry,' Sophie said. 'I want to get this over before nightfall. They're much more powerful then. They might not let us leave.'
They followed the winding path towards the car park. As they came over a rise, the ancient fort was presented to them. This time, Mallory saw it in a new light: the history of an ancient struggle written in the landscape. There were the prehistoric outer ramparts dating back to Neolithic times more than 5,000 years earlier; the Iron-Age defences from 2,500 years ago when Stonehenge was a great religious centre; the Roman roads converging on the site from several directions, marking its significance 1,900 years ago. By that measure, Christianity had been there hardly any time at all. The cathedral had been built off to one side of the old Saxon town on the summit shortly after the Norman Conquest, less than a thousand years ago.
As they walked past the deserted car park, the old defences rising up before them, Mallory became aware of a heightened atmosphere: tension filled the air, becoming more oppressive the further they advanced.
'Can you feel it?' Sophie said redundantly.
The sun was insipid, the clouds occasionally obscuring it; Mallory tried to estimate how long they had before it finally set.
'I don't know how I'm going to get in touch with them,' he said. 'I'm just kind of hoping they'll come when I call.'
'I knew there was a good reason why I came along,' Sophie replied. 'I can help.' She looked around, distracted. 'Magic is about symbolism,' she said. 'It's all around us. Look over there — yew trees. They mark the passage between this life and another, and grow in abundance at these places where it's possible to cross over. The Church used that symbolism by planting yews in graveyards.'
'I'm not ready to cross over in that way.'
