Beneath the Tor Read Online Free PDF Page A

struck by such a blow, the land becomes a wasteland.”
    â€œA desert. Barren. Shrivelled.”
    â€œAnd … doomsday comes upon the land …”
    She nods once. “Unless the foe be struck down.”
    Swords and shields clash in his head. He wants to do it; beyond question, he must strike the knight down. He bites his lip, feels the taste of iron like a drug. And in his breast, a stirring, as if a trapped bird was fluttering awake and struggling to get out. “I want to come back to you, Morgan.”
    â€œYour initiation will be hard. A journey of pain.”
    Initiation. Hard. Painful. Like last time. “What … what should be my weapon?”
    â€œExtemporize, acolyte. Use whatever comes to hand.”
    The dolorous blow. Infected with foes. Wasteland. Everything ravaged. Black dots over his vision. The sun hot on his face. Six in the morning but already the solstice sun is too bright. His eyes water. He’s dazzled by the sun and the return of Morgan and the drums that still echo inside his aching head.
    She can make that happen. When he’s with Morgan le Fay, hours are moments. Her needlepoint heels glint in the sun; he’s lost in the dazzle. They stride for leagues over the hills and moors of Somerset, never losing sight of the Green Knight.
    Finally, the perfect place. Morgan le Fay rests one hand on his back, briefly. The chill of it is like an ice statue. He blinks and there is the weapon.
    It’s only a stone, kicked into the gutter, but it will do.
    He hefts it in his hand.
    The Green Knight turns into a quieter road, full of shuttered houses set back from the road. The acolyte looks at the stone. All he hears is the laugh of the Green Knight, grown loud and long in his mind. All sees is the damsel, her legs askew beneath her limp body.
    â€œThis is for her.” The stone is loosed from his hand. It bowls in an arc through the air.
    The stone strikes true. The knight’s knees buckle. He slumps—an almost slow-motion descent onto a grassy verge.
    â€œLife from life!” the acolyte screams. He’s jumping as he screams, like a child who’s bowled a stunning shot. “Death of beauty!”
    Then he’s running and running through dazzle and drumbeat, his heart rupturing inside his chest.

four
    stefan
    Bit by bit, everyone straggled back to Stonedown Farm.
    Shell, looking washed out with what she’d been through, arrived around midday. She brought the news we all knew anyway.
    â€œAlys was pronounced dead on arrival. Brice is in pieces. His parents are on their way, and Alys’s family. I’m afraid I’m not stopping. I’ve come to take Brice’s car to the hospital.”
    â€œHere,” Ricky passed her a mug. “Lemon balm and spearmint tea.”
    Shell left before Anag and Juke turned up. Anag had a silvery cauldron under his arm; Juke was carrying the tripod that came with it.
    â€œIt’s a Gundestrup replica.” Anagarika’s eyes shone with his find, as if a bit of shopping could take the sting out of anything.
    Yew pushed his hair from his eyes. His usual plait had unravelled after the night on the Tor and since he’d arrived back from Glastonbury town he’d been brushing his thick hair with a paddle brush. It seemed to bring him solace. He got up from the kitchen table and his hair flowed over his shoulders, full of electricity. He took the cauldron off Anag, weighing it on his open palm. “It’s made of resin, you dunce.”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œSo why get the tripod? You can’t put this over a fire.”
    â€œI can do what I like with it, ta very much.”
    â€œMy friend”—Freaky always started his little lectures with my friend —“the fleshpots of the High Street are for tourists with bulging wallets.”
    â€œYeah? Well, I live here, as it happens. I’m pally with a lot of the tradespeople in town. I got a discount on