The Devil in Green (40 page)

He reached the tree and looked down the other side of the ridge. Miller
lay in a crumpled heap where he had fallen, but his eyes were closed, not
glassy. Mallory threw himself down the incline. Miller's eyelids flickered
open at the vibrations in the ground.

'Mallory. I knew you'd come for me.'

'Don't fool yourself, Miller. I was looking for a pub, and here you are
littering the highways and byways.'

Miller smiled, then coughed. Blood spattered across his chin. Mallory
knelt down to examine Miller's wounds: his stomach was badly torn and
he'd lost a great deal of blood, but hadn't had the benefit of the Court of
Peaceful Days to put him right; and he still had both his hands. So it was
Gardener, Daniels or Hipgrave who lay dead somewhere in the vicinity of
Bratton Camp.

Sophie let out a startled cry as she came over the ridge and saw Miller,
but without a second thought she ran down and helped Mallory administer
what treatment they could with the contents of his medicine pack.

'I didn't think I'd see you again,' Miller muttered deliriously to Mallory.
'I saw Daniels go down - it hit him in the face. I don't know what
happened to Gardener, or Hipgrave.' Tears came at the memory.

'Save your strength, Miller,' Sophie said gently.

Miller tried to focus on her face. 'Sophie? What are you doing here?'
Then, 'I knew you two would get together.'

Mallory and Sophie didn't look at each other, but instead busied
themselves stitching and daubing ointment. Miller couldn't feel their
ministrations, and after a while drifted into a delirious semiconscious state.

Mallory pulled Sophie off to one side. 'I don't think he's going to make it
back.'

'I might be able to help.' She turned to the others. 'We need vervain to
quell the pain. And see if you can find any mallow, though we'll be lucky at
this time of year.' She reeled off another five or six plants unknown to
Mallory, each containing some healing attribute. While the travellers
headed off to find the items, Sophie said, 'Give me some time on my
own. I need to meditate.'

Mallory watched her sitting alone on the top of the ridge, staring into the
banks of grey clouds. She looked small in the wild landscape, and part of it,
wrapped in the wind and the long grass, the oversized cloak giving her a
fragility that only served to emphasise the simple beauty in her features.
She remained there, unmoving, graceful, for fifteen minutes before slowly
making her way back to him.

'This will work?' he said.

'If I focus correctly.'

'You don't just say a spell?'

'Nothing would be that easy, would it?' The wind whipped a strand of
hair across her face. 'The words and the symbols of the ritual are a
different kind of language that communicate with the subconscious where
the ability lies.'

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.