'They've been saying the Last Days are here ever since the Book of Revelation was written, Miller. I'm not going to start running my life around something composed at a time before underwear had been invented.' He waved away Miller's hurt expression. 'These days, everybody's desperate to find something to believe in,' he continued. 'They can't face what a nightmare the world's turned into… how many people have died… how hard it's become. It's made children of everyone. They're wishing for a way out because the alternative is decades… at the very least… of hardship and suffering as we try to crawl back to some measure of the society we had before. Look around… we're back in the Dark Ages.'
Sophie listened carefully, but gave no sign of what she was thinking. 'And what do you believe in, Mallory?' she asked.
'Nothing. That's what I believe in.'
'Everyone believes in something. But sometimes they don't recognise what they put their faith in. Money, drugs, sex-'
'That works for me.'
Her eyes narrowed as she examined his face. 'No, it's none of those things. There's something there, but I can't tell exactly…'
He had the sudden, uncomfortable feeling that she was trying to read his mind. He broke eye contact. 'You're just being dazzled by my charisma and earthy sex appeal.'
She smiled ironically. 'That must be what it is.'
Miller hugged his knees. The firelight actually gave some colour to his normally pallid face. 'Who are you people?'
'Pagans, philosophers,' Rick began. 'Environmentalists, travellers, freethinkers-'
'There's a movement going on all over the country, Mallory. We're just one sign of it,' Sophie said passionately. 'We're rebuilding a new Celtic Nation from the ground up. You don't have to have Celtic blood to be a part of it, but we're using that ancient culture as a template-'
'If you're trying to get some kind of historical credence, you're off to a bad start,' Mallory interrupted. 'There was no Celtic Nation, just a bunch of tribes-'
'With a similar culture, music, belief system-'
'Fragmentary. The Romantics built them up into something bigger… a fantasy…'
'Exactly.' She leaned forwards, emphasising the word with a blow of her palm to die ground. 'You've obviously read the right books, Mallory, but you're missing the point. We want an ideal. The system we had before was woefully bereft. It worked for a few, the elite, the Establishment, and disenfranchised the many. We've got a chance here to start with a clean slate and we want something better.'
'So you're going to cover yourself with blue paint and go into war naked?'
Her smile was a challenge. 'If we have to. I love to see cynics proved wrong, Mallory. As an aside, don't go basing your views of the Celts on the writings of some tired old Romans. The victors write history and they disempower the vanquished. What we want is a society of equality, a strong community that looks after the weakest members, that's close to nature, that emphasises the arts and spirituality over making money and personal greed-'
'Well, when you put it like that
She watched him cautiously with those big, unnaturally dark eyes, slowly getting the measure of him. He relished her attention, enjoyed the fact that, liked or disliked, he had somehow been raised above the herd in her eyes. 'If we don't do it, there'll be plenty ready to take us back to the old, failed ways,' she said.
'OK, that seems a reasonable motivation,' Mallory conceded, 'but all this other stuff…' He waved a dismissive hand towards the perimeter posts.
'It's part of the human condition to be arrogant.' Her smile was as confrontational as Mallory's words. 'Everyone thinks they know exactly how the world works. Everyone.' Irony laced her comments. 'What do you think that suggests? We're all fumbling in the dark towards an answer.'
The calming atmosphere in the camp had almost made them forget the devastation going on in the city beyond. Occasionally, they would be distracted by a sudden pillar of fire, or when the wind with its chilling voices rushed close by, but generally they felt cosseted in an atmosphere of security that made Mallory face up to the possibility there might be something in the travellers' magical thinking.
They continued their conversation well into the night. Mallory enjoyed the challenge of sparring with Sophie's sharp intellect, and it soon became apparent that Sophie found something intriguing in Mallory, too, though whether she liked him was a different matter. She maintained eye contact, spoke to him much more than she did to Miller, and underneath it all there was definite sexual tension. Sophie spoke warmly of her background, growing up in Cambridge, father a doctor, mother a lawyer, studying English at university before feeling there was more to life. She committed herself to campaigning: for the environment, for Amnesty International, was briefly arrested during a protest against the World Trade Organisation that got out of hand. Mallory was taken by the rich depth of her beliefs and the passion she exhibited. She was so full of life he felt revitalised being next to her.
He, in return, told her nothing, but he did it in a humorous enough way to win her over.
Other members of the community came and went during the night hours, occasionally bringing them food — roasted vegetables, branded snacks that had a desirable rarity post-Fall — and cider. They were uncommonly cheerful; most of the people Mallory encountered in life were surly, suspicious, broken or downright violent. Probably all on drugs, he thought, yet he felt oddly disturbed that they were genuinely pleased to see him, and never once questioned who he was or from where he came.
At one point, an impromptu music session broke out, with guitars, harmonicas, saxophones and makeshift percussion, intermingling old pop songs and traditional folk tunes. It was the first time he had heard them since the Fall and he was surprised at how powerfully they tugged at his emotions.
But there was also something about the idyll that irritated Mallory: they had no right to be so content when the rest of the world had a cast of misery. 'So who's in charge here?' he said. 'Or is it one of those idealistic communes where everything starts to fall apart the moment the washing- up rota comes into play?'
Sophie thought briefly, then said to Rick, 'How is she?'
'She'll probably be asleep.'
'Let's check. She likes the night.' She stood up and motioned for Mallory and Miller to follow. They picked their way amongst the tents, past many smaller fires, to a larger tent outside which two torches blazed.
Sophie disappeared inside, emerging a moment later to say, 'She'll see you.'
The interior of the tent was shadowy, warm and perfumed with lavender. The front section contained a few chairs, rugs, pot plants — one of them cannabis, Mallory noted — and ornaments with a faintly occult bent, including the skull of a cow.
The second section lay behind a purple velvet drape. Here, it was even gloomier and it took a second or two for their eyes to adjust. There was a large wooden bed that appeared medieval in origin and must have been brought from somewhere in the city, and on it lay a woman in her late forties, her long black hair streaked with silver. Despite the heat emanating from a brazier in one corner, she sprawled beneath several thick blankets. Her face was nearly white and drawn, as though she had some debilitating illness. Her gaze, though, was incisive, and she fixed instantly on Mallory.
'This is Melanie,' Sophie said quietly.
Mallory introduced himself and Miller. The woman gave off a peaceful air, as if whatever lay in the ground at that site had been absorbed by her.
'I hope my friends have been looking after you.' Her voice was hoarse, almost a whisper.