The Devil in Green (38 page)

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.