‘But there has to be one true path,’ Mallory said. ‘That’s how this works in all the old stories. So how do we know which is the true one?’
Sophie closed her eyes while she pondered, and after a moment a smile came to her lips.
‘What?’ Mallory asked.
‘Close your eyes.’
Mallory did as he was told. ‘OK… now what?’
‘Go calm. Feel. Really feel with your senses. You know which one is the right path now, don’t you?’
At first, Mallory couldn’t understand what she meant, but gradually the realisation crept over him. The lines of blue force that had crisscrossed the hill also ran through this place, though at that point they were invisible. But Mallory could feel them even through the soles of his boots, buzzing gently, soothing him with their caress. He stepped forward, following the faint sensation. It led directly to the right-hand path.
‘So we’ve got to trust that the freaky Blue Fire is leading us to the right one,’ he said.
‘That’s the point, isn’t it? We’re showing trust — and humility. Two qualities that mean we’re worthy to find what lies ahead.’
‘I’m glad one of us has got it all figured out.’
As he prepared to take the first step on the path, Sophie took his hand and squeezed. ‘It’s the Pendragon Spirit, Mallory. Think of what it represents.’
Her words reassured him and, tentatively, he edged out on to the precarious path. It felt like tightrope walking; he had to hold his arms out to keep his balance, not looking down, moving one foot in front of the other only when he was sure he was secure and balanced. Sophie followed in his footsteps.
When they’d gone about twenty feet, Mallory realised that the other two paths had disappeared. Theirs was the only path leading into the gloom ahead.
Mallory was soon sleeked with sweat, his concentration so intense that his head hurt. He didn’t say a word to Sophie for fear of distracting her, but every time he heard her foot skid slightly on the stone, his heart beat wildly.
He didn’t know how they carried on. Each step became a mountain to climb, each movement a mantra of whispered prayer. But finally they reached solid ground and collapsed on to the stone flags, hugging each other in relief.
When they had recovered, they found themselves confronted by two stone doors. An image of a dragon eating its own tail was carved in the stone lintel over the point where the doors met.
‘I think this is it,’ Sophie said, with barely restrained excitement. She stepped forward and cautiously placed the palm of her hand on the centre of the dragon circle.
With a fizz of blue sparks, the doors slid open with a deep rumble to reveal a row of iron railings, and within them a gate. Sophie pushed it gently. It swung open with a reverberating creak to allow them entrance to an inner sanctum. More incense smouldered in one corner and the torches on the walls burned more dimly, imbuing the chamber with a reverential air. Small stone platforms, each one big enough for a man to lie on, lined both walls, and at the far end a similar platform stood alone, raised up to waist-height. Intricate carvings of serpents lined its base.
‘Oh,’ Sophie said quietly.
‘What is it?’
‘This is where the knights should be sleeping, waiting to be awakened.’ She gestured at the low stone plinths. ‘And that larger one is where the king should be.’
‘I thought you said that was a metaphor.’
‘It is, but look, it’s obvious,’ Sophie replied, confused.
‘Nothing is obvious.’ As Mallory walked towards the stone dais at the end of the chamber, the torches in that area burned more brightly to reveal a space beyond.
‘If there’s no hero waiting to come back when England really needs him, what does that mean?’ Sophie said, oblivious to Mallory. ‘Has something happened to him? Is there no hope?’
‘Look at this.’ Mallory was supporting himself on the raised dais, one hand clutching his injured side. He was looking into the area beyond where a brazier burned with the cool blue flames of the earth energy. In the middle of the flames lay a stone, round and grey with no discernible markings.
‘Is that why we were brought here?’ Sophie said, disappointed. ‘It doesn’t make any sense.’
‘Never judge a book by its cover. See, I have a cliche for every occasion.’ Mallory steeled himself. Although he knew the blue flames didn’t burn like ordinary fire, it still took a leap of faith to plunge his hand into their depths. As he leaned in, a column of blue fire surged up to the ceiling high overhead. For the briefest instant, Mallory saw a face in that blazing pillar, but it was gone before he could register its features. But it left him with one piece of knowledge: the object in the fire was called the Wish Stone. Mallory retrieved it quickly and the column of fire instantly died away.
At the same moment, the Wish Stone came to life on his open palm. Crackling blue light sprang out of it, forming an image in the air of two men crouching next to a stone tomb with a woman standing nearby. The picture, which Mallory thought resembled a hologram, hung over the stone for a few seconds and then winked out.
‘What’s that all about?’ Mallory said.
‘No idea. But it’s got to be important.’ There was a note of doubt in Sophie’s voice.
‘I think that just about defines anti-climax. Night of the living dead outside. Throat nearly ripped out in here. Almost fall to my death down the crack of doom. The prize: a fucking rock.’
‘Let’s get out of here,’ Sophie said. ‘We can sort out what this means later.’
Mallory slipped the Wish Stone into his pocket. ‘I’m going to get my sword back now, and if that big mouser is sitting on it, I’m going to use this stone to-’
‘All right, so you’re a big man,’ Sophie said. ‘Let’s go.’
The day after briefing Hunter and his team, the General moved along the corridors of Brasenose with a renewed vigour. Ever since the Fall, it had all been about logistics — getting the supply lines in place, ensuring that the base was secure, developing policies and plans. Finally he felt as if they were in a position to take the first steps towards a campaign that would drive out the invaders.
He marched into Kirkham’s suite of laboratories and eventually found the scientist in a darkened room far away from the main area of activity, labouring over a model of a town laid out across a large map table, illuminated by a single light overhead.
‘So this is where you get away from it all to play with your toys,’ the General said sarcastically.
Kirkham was unruffled. ‘It’s a model.’
‘I can see that.’
‘A model of reality.’
The General masked his puzzlement in case it was construed as a mark of weakness and leaned over the table to get a better look. It was a facsimile of any small town — central shopping area, streets of suburban semis, rows of terraces, a few mansions and grand residences dotted here and there.
‘I created it for my next briefing to the Joint Board. The concepts are quite difficult to communicate to…’ He paused to find the right word.
‘The uneducated? Thick soldiers?’
‘No-’
‘Try it on me.’
Kirkham blinked through his thick glasses, clearly uneasy about going down that route.
‘Go on. Tell me about reality.’
Kirkham could see that the General had the bit between his teeth; there was no backing down. He began hesitantly. ‘As I said, these are difficult concepts. Understanding the nature of reality is key to the situation we now find ourselves in. I talked earlier about branes and String Theory, and their possible relationship with parallel universes — that’s one view. There are others. You’ll forgive me if I begin by delving into what seems to be mysticism-’
‘Just get on with it.’ The General continued to be engrossed by the model town.
‘Reality… material reality, such as you see around you, is regarded as an illusion in the Hindu religion,’ Kirkham began. ‘They have a word for it: maya, the veil of illusion. Ironically, many of the ancient spiritual philosophies are actually quite close to current scientific thinking.’ He peered at the General. ‘Do you understand that?’