Ch. 2: The Hammer of Wrath

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             The   stars   looked   down   on   Winsted,   and   Winsted   looked   at   them.

             The   streets   were   dark   and   gray,   a   pleasant   obscurity,   without   the   orange   and   cold   blue   of   the   lights   that   man   erected   to   shut   out   the   host   of   heaven   and   surround   himself   with   day. It   was   a   strange   sight   to   see   the   streets   and   homes   asleep   and   quiet,   and   the   cold   clear   stars   looking   down   as   they   had   been   wont   to   do. People   abroad   late   were   only   shadows,   invisible   in   the   darkness. Dark   stood   the   Nine   Hills,   save   for   gleams   here   and   there   were   candles   burned   or   generators   growled. It   had   a   look,   suddenly,   of   a   place   warped   back   in   time,   to   days   when   neither   gas   nor   power   burned;   the   old   houses   and   the   spired   churches,   grey   under   the   stars,   filling   the   horseshoe   valley   and   flowing   up   its’   walls.

             The   figure   walked   under   the   stars,   and   stars   were   neath   her   feet. The   Long   Lake   lay,   a   still   dark   mirror,   unlit   by   any   lights   except   the   stars,   the   cold   hills   rising   black   around   it   upon   every   side. You   could   almost   believe,   in   that   dark   greyness,   that   there   were   no   houses,   only   the   ancient   trees   crowding   grimly   to   the   water,   watching   jealously   all   things,   lest   the   Rider   come   upon   them   and   they   be   rooted   to   resist   him. The   figure   smiled   to   herself   a   little   sadly,   gleaming   faintly,   as   a   pale   ghost   of   the   forms   that   once   had   walked   upon   these   same   forgotten   waters,   and   the   stars   wavered   under   her   feet   as   she   trod   upon   the   water. Like   a   thing   long   left   behind,   last   of   her   kind,   outstaying   her   day   and   knowing   now   sorrow   where   before   she   had   known   only   the   careless   heatless   chill   mirth   and   laughter   of   the   Stars,   Sophia   walked   upon   the   Lake,   the   last   living   Star,   and   mourned   her   folk.





             The   power   returned   to   Winsted   on   Wednesday   night,   though   outlying   areas   were   still   using   generators   on   past   Sunday. Travel   decided   to   drive   everyone   home   in   an   actual   car;   she   was   getting   a   little   homesick   for   earthbound   means   of   transport. There   was   an   atmosphere   of   somber   farewell   among   the   six   Children;   they   had   been   thrown   together   for   so   long   that   saying   goodbye   and   going   back   to   normal   almost   felt   weird. Grandmother   Lane   baked   a   cake. As   only   five   could   fit   in   Travel’s   car,   Ronnie   said   he’d   be   last,   “only   you   should   teleport   me   if   you   want   to   save   on   gas.”

             “No,   really,   Ronnie,   it’s   no   trouble.”

             “You   people   have   no   gas-consciousness.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Spoken   by   the   guy   who   drives   maybe   three   times   a   year.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   see?!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             They   stood   around a   little   awkwardly   on   the   drive. Wild   had   unmade   all   traces   of   the   battle   of   Lane   House,   even   regenerating   the   trees   and   shrubs. Of   course   the   snow   had   then   proceeded   to   snap   limbs   and   tree   tops   right   and   left. Everyone   felt   an   urge   to   procrastinate. Even   Lara   was   chatty   and   conversational.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Finally   Ronnie   began   saying   his   farewells,   as   he   was   staying   behind. Bell   and   Brooke   hugged   him. Lara   did   not,   but   she   and   Ronnie   exchanged   a   long   somber   look,   full   of   the   consciousness   of   shared   pain. Forest   shook   hands   a   little   self-consciously. Then   they   all   piled   into   Travel’s   car   and   drove   off.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             It   was   cooler   than   it   had   been   yesterday;   as   if   the   interlude   of   warmth   had   been   solely   due   to   those   being   the   Three   Days   of   the   Dead:   all   holy   dead,   all   canonized   saints,   and   all   dead   period. Ronnie   shivered   a   little   as   the   shadow   of   a   tree   branch   crept   onto   him,   and   moved   into   the   sun.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You’ll   work   on   what   I   figured   out?”   Hunter   Light   said. His   car   was   in   the   driveway;   he’d   been   driving   the   Three   Elders   around   using   Mr. Lane’s   car,   until   Mr. Lane   and   him   went   and   picked   up   his. “I’ve   got   to   be   leaving   for   the   College. With   the   outage   we   are   going   to   be   so   behind   in   our   paperwork   we   might   not   even   open this   week.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   drew   it   up   neatly   enough.”   said   Ronnie. “Thanks   for   those   explanatory   notes:   I’m   not much   on   math.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Yes,   I   remembered   that   much   about   you.”   said   Hunter   dryly. “Now   that   their   Lord   stands   incarnate   I   don’t   think   the   dragons   are   going   to   be   out   for   hostages,   or   Wild   would   have   left   them   here. And   I   think   we   are   strong   enough   to   handle   them.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Ronnie   studied   the   paper   after   Hunter   had   left. At   the   top   the   octogram   was   drawn   carefully,   the   eight   points   lettered   The   list   of   numbers,   the   letters   they   equated,   and   the   sequence   of   Grandmother   Lane’s   dance   came   underneath. Then   the   totals   of   the   hammers. The   queer   symbol   the   sequence   formed,   plus   the   runes   detected   in   it   and   their   values,   formed   a   column. Under   it   were   the   numerical   values   of   those   letters. In   a   vertical   list   were   given   the   various   calculations:

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">(for   the   list   of   letters:)   Added:   123

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Added   columnar:   72,663.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Divided   by   6:   12113.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Divided   by   9:   8074

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">123 x 6:   738

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">123 x 9:   1107

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Runic   values   added:   54

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Added   columnar:   2016

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “And   absolutely   none   of   these   make   sense.”   he   muttered. But   doubtless   that   was   intentional:   an   artifact   this   important   would   be   hedged   with   all   sorts   of   false   trails.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   would   bike   up   Platt   Hill   Rd   first.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Travel   came   back   an   hour   or   two   later. She   and   Ronnie   didn’t   talk   much   on   the   way   down   to   Burrville. Once   she   remarked,   “I   kind   of   wish   I’d   never   brought   Carlee   that   day.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “So   it   was   doomed.”   said   Ronnie.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Hey,   I   thought   Catholics   didn’t   believe   in   doom.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Oh   yes   we   do.”   said   Ronnie. “We   just   have   nicer   names   for   it. Will   of   God,   Divine   Providence…of   course,   doom   exists   in   a   strange   balance   with   free   will,   in   that   an   event   Doomed   to   happen,   comes   about   by   the   weaving   of   hundreds   of   little   free   choices. Like   you   deciding   to   bring   her   that   day. Or   her   deciding   to   say   Yes   to   me. Or   me   to   ask.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I’m   glad   you’re   not   too   cut   up   about   it.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Grieving   will   come   in   its’   time.”   said   Ronnie   grimly. “It’s   best   not   inflicted   on   others. I   walk   alone. So   it   is   doomed. I   will   weep   alone   as   well.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             She   dropped   him   off,   giving   him   a   warm   hug   and   a   sympathetic   smile. There   trees   down   here,   too,   he   observed   glumly,   including   one   on   his   roof. He   hadn’t   remembered   either   to   lock   his   door   or   to   take   his   keys,   and   the   place   was   locked. A   yellow   Crime   Scene   tape   was   around   the   house   and   a   notice   on   the   door   told   him   that   the   premises   were   sealed   up,   pending   investigation. With   a   sigh   he   set   about   breaking   in.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   increase   in   his   power   was   having   some   very   interesting   side   effects. Just   as   Forest   now   could   see   in   the   dark,   so   Ronnie   found   that   if   he   really   focused,   like   when   reading   distant   signs   or   microscopic   print,   he   could   actually   see   through solid   objects. Thus   he   was   able   to   see   the   new   burglar   alarm   the   court   had   installed,   and   the   little   control   panel   had   red   lights. If   he   broke   in,   the   cops   would   be   here.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Red   light   glowed   in   Ronnie’s   eyes. Red   light   glowed   in   Ronnie’s   hands. Obeying   a   strange   and   powerful   impulse,   he   turned   his   hands   so   that   the   palms   were   flat   to   the   horizon. The   light   in   his   eyes   grew   to   a   flame.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   am   the   Hill   of   the   Road.”   <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">he   said.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Red   light   leaped   from   his   hands. Like   the   guy   in   Fullmetal   Alchemist   he   slammed   his   palms   against   the   earth. It   quivered   at   his   call. The   foundation   broke,   raggedly,   making   a   hole   big   enough   to   crawl   through. After   he   did,   it   sealed   back   up.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   walked   through   the   house. Cops   had   labeled   everything,   but   nothing   was   taken   away   and   they   hadn’t   found   his   stashed   savings. About   half   the   preserves   and   applesauces   had   popped   their   seals,   and   re-cooking   and   re-canning   everything   took   him   two   days. The   landlord   came   over   the   first   night   and   Ronnie   did   some   fast   talking,   and   the   next   hour   or   so   was   wasted   trying   to   explain   things   to   a   pair   of   deadpan-faced   cops,   who   looked   like   they   believed   in   nothing   but   the   food   on   their   plate,   and   even   that   only after   cross-examining   the   cook. But   they   accepted   his   explanation   of   a   group   outing   that   arrived   suddenly,   though   he   had   to   give   them   the   phone   numbers   of   Grandmother   Lane   and   Hunter   Light   before   they   would;   and   they   gave   him   the   suspended   expression   cops   have   when   they   know   you’re   guilty   but   can’t   find   any   proof,   and   headed   off.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Saturday   was   cold   and   windy,   but   sunny. Around   noon   Ronnie   was   finally   done   with   chores   and   ready   to   set   off. He   smiled   despite   himself   at   the   fresh   cool   air   and   strong   blue   sky;   even   sorrow   could   not   quench   him   long.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Platt   Hill,   he   knew   well,   was   not   of   the   Nine   Hills. It   rose,   conical   and   lump-like,   above   the   south   end   of   Highland   Lake. The   road   that   bore   its’   name   snaked   up   and   down   over   the   tumbled   flanks   of   the   great   highland   of   Winchester   Heights,   branching   off   Boyd   St   near   Crystal   Lake   and   heading   south. Ronnie   reached   it   by   the   long   climb   up   Mountain   Rd   to   the   devastated   Third   Bay. The   road   had   been   repaired   and   opened   just   before   the   storm,   and   fresh   yellow   lumber   showed   from   the   cottages   being   rebuilt. Then   he   climbed   up   Sucker   Brook   Rd   a   long   way,   the   deserted   valley   behind   the   flood   dike   lying   on   his   left,   until   he   joined   Platt   Hill   Rd   just   after   its’   confluence   with   Boyd.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Following   the   house   numbers   downward,   he   soon   discovered   they   bore   an   inverse   relationship   to   those   on   Boyd:   they   were   still   around   360   when   Platt   Hill   Rd   ended,   and   the   Boyd   numbers   rose   from   there. No   123. He   looped   across   the   road   to   bag   a   Bud   Lite   can   and   headed   back   up   Platt   Hill   Rd.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             It   was   a   long   climb. Several   times   the   road   dipped   sharply   down   into   a   valley,   but   on   the   main   it   climbed,   a   broken,   rocky   bluff   on   the   right   and   a   steep   fall   on   the   left. The   beeches   here   were   all   golden,   darkening   to   bronze   at   the   edges,   and   glowing   with   the   sun   behind   them. Dark   green   hemlock   mantled   the   stones. Most   of   the   snow   was   gone,   save   what   lay   piled   at   the   sides   or   lurked   white   on   sunless   slopes.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             At   long   last   he   mounted   up   into   the   highlands. A microwave   relay   tower   rose   like   a   square   spiderweb   far   above   the   tall   dark   spruce. It   was   open,   fields   and   big   lawns   of   rich   houses   amid   rows   and patches   of   wood. He   passed   a   brown   sign   with   yellow   letters at   one   of   these,   announcing   Platt   Hill   State   Park. He   frowned:   the   Annals   had   spoken   darkly   about   how   the   state   acquired   this   hill,   by   robbery   or   little   better,   or   perhaps   part   of   the   long   policy   of   persecution   of   the   Indian   reservations. People’s   Forest   in   Barkhamsted   was   a   prime   example:   the   dwellers   there   not   allowed   to   men   their   own   homes,   nor   pass   them   on   to   heirs,   that   a   lovely   state   park   might   come   into   being   once   they   all   had   moved   away. He   lowered   his   eyes   and   pedalled   on.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   house   numbers   were   still   in   the   400s   when   he   passed   the   Little   Red   Schoolhouse,   a   small   square   hut   with   slab-plank   siding   showing   the   wavy   edges   of   logs   from   which   it   had   been   cut,   in   an   angle   where   the   road   from   Burr   Pond   slanted   in   and   joined   Platt   Hill   Rd   under   golden   oaks. Soon   after,   Platt   itself   came   to   an   end,   at   South   End   Rd   from   Winchester   Center. Old   farms   and   great   rolling   fields   opened   out,   a   mottled   quilt   of   yellow-tan   hay   and   white   snow. Struck   by   a   sudden   idea,   Ronnie   turned   right   and   headed   uphill,   homely   maples   closing   overhead. His   suspicions   were   confirmed: the   house   numbers   were   in   the   120s   and   dropping.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   road   crested   a   slow   rise   and   emerged   from   the   woods. And   left   the   living   world. Cloven   by   the   road   was   a   cemetery,   remote,   on   the   roof   of   the   world,   great   ancient   spruce   standing   mournful   around   it,   robed   in   drooping   dark   green. White   snow   and   green   grass,   blue   sky   and   stained   white   graves:   it   had   a   solemn,   almost   awful   feel,   as   if   he   had   left   the   world   and   wandered   alone   across   some   unfathomable   place. The   stone   wall   that   ringed   it   crossed   the   road   like   a   gate;   only   a   chain   link   fence   barred   the   middle   of   the   divided   cemetery   from   the   road. As   he   went   farther   the   graves   on   the   right   grew   more   tilted,   and   ancient,   worn   sandstone   mingling   with   the   eroded   marble. The   dark   spruces   stooped   closer. Then   another   gatelike   breach   in   the   stone   wall,   and   he   descended   into   another   world.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             That   was   what   it   felt   like. A   sad   tunnel   of   bare   maple   roofed   the   road   as   it   plunged   into   a   valley,   and   as   Ronnie   coasted   by   he   saw   on   his   right   in   the   golden   beeches   a   gabled   brown   house. The   mailbox   on   the   left   bore   in   gold   numerals   the   number   he   had   sought:   123.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   arrested   his   career   as   soon   as   he   was   able   and   turned   back   to   survey   the   house. It   stood   almost   under   one   corner   of   the   cemetery,   mantled   by   the   young   beeches. At   the   bottom   of   the   valley   lay   a   cold   small   pond,   open   and   wintry,   its’   coasts   weedy   and   littered with   white   bleached   rocks,   and   honking   geese;   sad   woods   of   grey   and   grim   pine   cloaked   the   shores. It   had   a desolate   look. A   dirt   road   of   smooth   gravel   branched   off,   curving   under   the   cemetery   hill   to   meet   the   road   from   Burr   Pond   at   the   schoolhouse:   Hollow   Road. On   the   farther   hill,   higher   on   the   main   road,   was   a   great   deserted   barn.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Ronnie   biked   up   to   look   at   it   closer. Forsaken   fields,   all   brush   and   young   woods,   rolled   away   to   the   left   of   the   road. The   pond   was   hidden   on   the   right   by   a   hill. A   great   concrete   silo   towered   over   the   road. The   rambling   wings   of   the   barn   were   draped   in   bittersweet,   unpainted   boards   falling   loose   and   opening   great   skeletal   gaps   in   the   sides. The   corrugated   metal   was   peeling   off   the   roof. Goldenrod,   withered   to   brown   tufts   fluffy   with seed,   hissed   in   the   cold   wind. The   bright   sun   made   it   even   more   dismal. The   inhabited,   civilised   farmhouse   a   little   up   the   road   seemed   almost   a   mirage. And   just   beyond   the   silo   was   a   burying   ground.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             A   sad   open   rectangle   of   snow-matted   grass,   it   was   surrounded   by   a   massive   old   wall   of   quarried   square   stones,   fallen   in   a   few   places. Old   trees   overhung   it   on   the   right,   maples   still   bearing   a   yellow   fringe   of   clinging   leaves   on   the   outer   edge,   and   young   trees   had   advanced   inside   the   wall. Great   masses   of   bittersweet   and   poison   ivy   littered   the   wall-top. A huge   obelisk   dominated   the   burying-ground   near   the   gateway;   plain   square   blocks   of   streaked   whiteish   marble   with   deep   dark   grooves   between,   upon   a   three-stepped   base,   it   stood   almost   20   feet   high. About   twenty   gravestones,   all   marble,   several   fallen,   stood   in   three   rows   nearby. Toward   the   rear   the   graveyard   sloped   downward,   and   several   copses   of   grey-black   young   maples   stood   there;   though   merely   bare,   they   looked   dead. With   the   green   matted   grass   and   the   patchy   snow,   and   the   stained   black-streaked   pale   grey   of   both   graves   and   monument,   it   looked   rainswept   even   under   the   staring   cold   brightness   of   early   forenoon   sun. And   graven   in   raised   letters   on   the   obelisk   was   one   word:

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">                        HINSDALE

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “H.”   muttered   Ronnie. “Both   graveyards   are   important,   I   feel;   but   how? What   does   all   this   mean?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   biked   back   across   the   valley   to   the   spruce   graveyard. Disregarding   the   newer   western   half,   he   turned   to   the   eastern,   narrow,   the   end   shrouded   by   the   huge   spruce   but   still   open,   sloping   up   toward the   back   where   it   was   lit   by   strong   sun. Slowly   he   paced   about   among   the   grey   and   dull   red   stones,   scanning   names,   looking   at   dates. Here,   as   he   had   at   the   Hinsdale   place,   he   murmered   a   prayer   for   the   dead   before   he   walked   among   their   graves. It   was   common   courtesy,   after   all.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   number   123   he   took   to   mean   the   corner   of   the   graveyard   adjacent   to   the   brown   house. The   stone   wall   climbed   up   from   the   road,   making   a   corner   almost   above   the   house,   then   running   on   in   a   widening   line   relative   to   the   road. Towards   this   end   the   stones   grew   so   ancient   that   many   were   unshaped,   uncarved,   mere   upright   chunks   of   irregular   stone. Among   these   stood   a   few   carved   sandstones,   the   dates   in   the   1770s   to   90s. All   dates   seemed   to   avoid   1790,   he   noticed;   1793   or   91,   but   never   1790.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             At   the   top   and   back   he   came   upon   one   of   the   queerest   stones   he’d   ever   seen. Not   large,   it   bore   in   great   crude   block   letters,   chiseled   with   some   attempt   at   ornament   but   evidently   by   an   amateur,

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Behind   it   was   a   smaller   footstone,   bearing   in   the   same   careful   but   tottering   letters,   BENONI   HILLS   THIS   MY   HOUSE. But   both   Ns   were   backwards:

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “That   star.”   muttered   Ronnie. His   eyes   blazed   and   his   fists   clenched. The   little   star   between   B   and   H   had   two   points   upright,   one    point   down:   a   five-pointed   star   upside   down   like   a   goat’s   head. The   symbol   of   black   magic. The   sign   of   Satanism.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   looked   around. “B   and   H   are   both   in   the   rune-list. Here—and   at   Hinsdale. That   octagon. Does   it   match   this   end   of   the   graveyard?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Looking   at   the   diagram   on   his   paper,   he   then   looked   at   Benoni’s   tomb. “If   this   matches   point   B—and   the   row   meets   the   stone   wall   at   the   right   angle—point   A   would   be   in   those   vines.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Several   old   stones,   one   of   mica   schist   on   whose   glittering   surface   no   words   remained,   stretched   leftward   along   the   row. In   the   vines   was   an   upright   rock:   one   of   the   earliest   graves,   whose   heirs   couldn’t   afford   to   hire   a   stone   to   be   shipped   all   the   way   up   here.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Point   A.”   he   muttered. It   was   about   ten   feet   from   Benoni. Angling   down   the   fringe   of   the   oldest   graves,   he   came   to   one   small   carved   slab   among   the   many   markless,   and   the   name   on   it   was   Hannah.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Point   H!”   he   crowed. In   the   next   area,   where   point   G   would   stand,   was   another   chunk,   upright   and   sharp   like   a   finger. Eyes   burning,   he   almost   didn’t   notice   Travel   Lane   appear   right   in   front   of   him,   and   nearly   plowed   her   over   before   her   presence   registered   on   his   mind.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Wow,   Ronnie,   what   the   heck?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Oh. Travel. Ah. Can   you   move? I’m   tracing   the   graves.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Travel   watched   with   a   bemused   expression. “Where   the   heck   are   we? I   thought   you’d   be   at   your   house.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Must   be   urgent   if   Miss   I-want-to-drive    goes   and   teleports   to   find   me.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Well,   you   never   answer   your   phone,   and   Grandmother   Lane   just   realized   something   really   weird   about   the   figures…”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “They   refer   to   graves.”   said   Ronnie. “The   points   of   the   octogram. You’re   standing   in   it. We’re   quarter-mile   from   Platt   Hill   Rd’s   southern   end.”   He   excitedly   explained   everything   he’d   just   discovered. Travel   listened   with   bulging   eyes. “I   might   as   well   have   saved   my   strength.”   she   said   dryly. “You   seem   to   have   cut   Grandmother   right   out   of   the   race.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Yes,   well,   I   was   just   tracing   the   octogram. If   you   don’t   mind…”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “No,   no,   go   ahead. I’ll   go   look   at   that   Benoni   guy.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">The   angle   towards   point   F   took   him   outside   the   graves,   but   a   huge   old   spruce   just   above   the   fence   was   in   the   right   place. Peering   up   the   slope   to   where   Benoni   stood   in   the   warm   sun,   Ronnie   positioned   himself   so   he   was   straight   in   line. “Travel,   can   you   stand   right   by   Benoni?”   he   called. “Good. Yep,   that’s   fine.”   Behind   him   was   a   clump   of   white   birch:   point   E. Angling   up   the   tombs   landed   him   at   a   large   stone   with   several   names. One   of   them   was   Dennis. He   soon   found   the   footstone   with   the   initial   D   on   it. Point   D. Point   C   landed   him   by   a   broken   rock   whose   first   names   he   could   not   read. From   there   the   angle   was   just   right   to   Benoni:   point   B.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Where   is   I?”   he   muttered. between   the   birch-clump   and   Benoni   were   several   tall   thin   slabs;   the   tallest,   and   as   near   as   he   could   judge   the   midmost,   read   REV. JOSHUA   KNAPP.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Knapp?”   Travel   said. “Like   Knapp   Hill? But   where’s   the   I?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Don’t   you   see?!”   Ronnie   exclaimed. “I,   J,   K. The   sequence   implies   I. The   J   and   K   are   disguises. This   is   the   middle. Points   B,   D,   H,   and   I   are   marked.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “So   that   dance   must   be   done   here—or   ritual,   or   whatever?”   said   Travel   dubiously.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I’m   positive.”   said   Ronnie. “But   whatever   is   done   here—it’s   at   Hinsdale   things   will   happen.”   He   looked   at   the   paper   and   crouched,   frowning   over   it,   for   some   time. “P   and   H   meant   Platt   Hill   Rd.”   he   said   at   last. “But   not   on   it—near   it. 123   lies   between   both   cemetaries.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “What   about   the   other   numbers?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Ronnie’s   eyes   were   gleaming   an   intense   red. “Times   and   dates.”   he   said. “The   ritual    must   be   done—when? What   time?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “But   how   do   you--?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “1107.”   said   Ronnie. “This   weekend. Monday,   Nov. 7th. At   12:11   and   3   seconds.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “It   could   be   Dec.   11th   at   11:07.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Not   with   that   remainder. The   3   fits   clock   time.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “How   do   you   know?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   red   eyes   flashed   as   they   met   hers. “Because   I   am   Ronmond   Wendtho.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “One   problem,   though,”   he   went   on   as   if   to   himself. “2016.   If   that’s   a   date   like   the   one   on   the   Methodist   milestone,   it   means   2010. Last   year. Why   would…oh   my   gosh. Of   course. Another   trap. ''What   day   of   the   week   was   Nov. 7th   last   year''? It   was   Sunday. That   means   Nov. 6th   this   year—Sunday. Tomorrow.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “So   we   all   have   to   be   here,   on   Nov. 6th,   at   12:11:3,   and   preform   this   ritual?”   said   Travel. “But   who   has   to   do   the   actual   thing?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “That’s   the   interesting   bit.”   he   answered. “Hunter   Light   is   54. I   was   born   July   19   1980—80   and   7   right   there,   and   if   you   add   8 + 0 + 7 + 4   you   get   19. But   up   there   is   that   72663—I   think   we   can   disregard   that,   as   its’   purpose   was   to   produce   12113.”   He   got   up. “Well,   that   at   last   is   clear. Let’s   get   going. Since   you’re   here,   you   can   make   yourself   useful   and   take   me   to   your   Grandmother’s.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Do   you   think   all   of   us   are   needed? And   how   long   would   it   take   us   to   walk   the   diagram?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Good   point.”   said   Ronnie. “Very   well,   let’s   walk   the   course. Get   your   watch;   mine   broke   in   the   underground   battles.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “All   I   have   is   a   cell   phone.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Technology   addicts.”   muttered   Ronnie.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “We   should   do   the   stamping,   too.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “No!”   Ronnie   roared. “Absolutely   not! Whatever   we   do,   we   must   not   do   that.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   don’t   understand.”   said   Travel. A   cold   wind   disturbed   the   sunshine’s   warmth,   and   she   shivered.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Magic.”   said   Ronnie   grimly. “Can’t   you   feel   it? If   we   do   this   ritual,   in   any   other   way   or   at   any   other   time   than   what   is   strictly   laid   down   for   us,   we   will   be   working   black   magic. We   will   be   committing   the   sin   of   superstition.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “It   does   feel   eerie,   doing   it   in   a   cemetery.”   Travel   said   as   they   made   yet   another   retreat   back   to   the   center   stone   and   advanced   to   one   of   the   other   points.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “The   goat’s-head   star   was   a   warning,   Travel. If   we   fail   to   carry   out   the   exact   conditions,   or   do   them   at   the   wrong   time…”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Something   bad   happens?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Nothing.”   said   Ronnie. “That’s   the   whole   point.    Nothing   happens   at   all. And   that   which   is   hidden   stays   so.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “This   feels   stupid.’   said   Travel   as   they   passed   from   G   to   A   and   back   to   G   again.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “This   took   us…how   long?”   said   Ronnie   as   they   made   the   last course.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Travel   checked   her   phone. “About   5 minutes.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Ronnie   nodded. “I’ll   get   my   bike.”   he   said. “Then   let’s   go.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Lara   was   rather   surprised   when   Travel   and   Ronnie   popped   suddenly   in   front   of   her,   but   when   Ronnie   began   excitedly   pointing   out   how   all   the   numbers   were   adding   up,   she   got   interested   despite   herself   and   agreed   to   be   ready. When   Travel   visited   the   others   they   were   surprised   she   hadn’t   just   called   them,   but   Ronnie   explained   he   suspected   all   their   phones   were   compromised.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You’re   paranoid.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “It   isn’t   paranoia   when   people   really   are   out   to   get   you,   as   the   great   Greg   Farshtey   once   said.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Whoever   he   is.”   said   Travel.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   dimwit,   he’s   the   Bionicle   writer.”   exclaimed   Bell,   whose   house   they   were   at. Hunter   was   so interested   in   all   this   he   actually   forgot   he   had   the   door   open   until   Mrs. Lake   shouted   she   was   getting   cold.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Sunday   dawned   with   a   massive,   glittering   frost. Every   tree   and   blade   of   grass   bore   a   mantle   of   silver. When   the   sun   rose   the   fields   sparkled   like   gems. Ronnie   went   to   an   early   Mass. The   day   was   bright   and   sunny,   a   little   warmer   than   yesterday,   when   Travel   appeared   in   his   yard   around   11   and   found   him   waiting.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             By   11:30   all   nine   of   them   stood   in   the   cemetery   under   the   leaning   ancient   spruce. The   air   hung   still   but   unquiet;   from   far   around   the   deep   moan   of   windy   forests   came   faintly   up   to   them.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Ronnie   pointed   out   the   marks   of   the   nine   points,   and   Lara   made   an   ice   kerb   connecting   them. Then   Ronnie   and   Hunter   Light   waited,   under   the   clump   of   birches   that   marked   point   E,   for   12   noon   to   strike. Hunter   felt   self-conscious,   like   a   grown-up   playing   a   kid’s   game;   Ronnie’s   face   was   set   and   grim.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Time.”   said   Travel. Her   phone   said   12   noon.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Stamp   twice   on   E.”   called   Grandmother   Lane   from   the   Knapp   tombstone.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Ronnie   and   Hunter   stamped   twice,   then   moved   swiftly   to   their   left   to   the   tree   that   marked   point   F.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Back   to   center.”   said   Grandmother   Lane. They   walked   quickly up   the   slope   until   they   touched   Knapp’s   stone. “Now   to   G.”   Down   the hill   to   the   finger-like   rock   they   paced   and   wheeled   smartly.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Up   to   B!”   They   marched   slantwise   up   the   hill   until   they   stood   at   Benoni’s   stone. The   crooked   letters   shone   in   the   warm   sun. A   faint   breeze   rustled   the   beech-leaves   and   stirred   the   cloaks   of   Arheled   the   Children   wore.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Back   to   me!”   They   stepped   downhill   to   her,   then   wheeled   and made   for   A,   the   little   stone   amid   the   vines.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Back   to   me!”   They   turned,   retracing   their   steps. “Over   to   D!”   Out   into   the   graves   they   headed,   pausing   at   the   footstone.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Stamp   thrice   on   F!”   Down   to   the   ancient   spruce   they   headed,   put   their   heels   in   the   hollow   of   its’   roots,   and   turned   to   face   Grandmother   Lane. Three   times   rose   and   fell   their   two   right   feet.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Back   to   me!”   They   walked   up   the   hill. How   much   time   do   we   have?”   Ronnie   called   over   to   her.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Four   minutes.”   said   Travel.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “To   A,   then   back   to   me.”   said   Grandmother   Lane. The   air   all   around   them   was   stirring,   slowly,   as   if   it   were   thick. It   seemed   a   little   cooler.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Now   to   B,   over   to   G.”   Back   up   to   Benoni,   then   down   the   shaded   slope   to   the   sharp   rock.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Up   to   A,   back   to   G!”   They   retraced   their   footsteps. “Over   to   me,   finish   at   C!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “One   minute   and   a   half!”   cried   Travel. The   two   men   walked   faster   as   they   headed   toward   Knapp. There   they   paused   to   touch   it,   and   strode   toward   the   small   broken   stone. Wind   stirred   around   them,   hair   and   cloaks   lifting.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Not   yet!”   barked   Ronnie   when   they   were   two   feet   away. “I   feel   it…we   have   to   wait…we   are   five   seconds   early. When   I   say. Three. Two. Now!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Both   their   feet   touched   the   broken   stone. The   dance   was   ended. The   dance   was   danced.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             A   quiver   ran   through   the   earth,   outwards   from   them. With   a   roar   the   wind   snarled   down   on   the   cemetery. Hair   sailed   wildly   and   cloaks   billowed   and   flapped. Ears   reddened   in   the   cold   wind. The   beech   leaves   flashed   as   they   fluttered   wildly   in   the   brilliant   sun. The   sky   above   was   like   blue   ice. Sudden   and   violent   from   the   hill   across   the   valley   leaped   a   tongue   of   blinding   lightning;   and   a   sharp   cracking   boom.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Hurry,   Travel!”   screamed   Ronnie. “To   the   Hinsdale! We   have   exactly   seven   minutes   and   thirty-eight   seconds!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “For   what?”   screamed   Travel   as   she   teleported   them   all.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             They   appeared   in   the   gate   of   the   Hinsdale   burying   ground,   facing   the   mammoth   obelisk,   and   nobody   needed   to   answer   her.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             A   whirlwind   of   leaves   was   dancing   around   the   column. The   side   of   it   that   faced   the   road   had   become   a   carven   arch,   wrought   in   the   likeness   of   interwined   grotesque   faces,   some   with   three   eyes,   some   with   one,   wreathed   with   lightning. In   this   was   a   grotto,   shallow   and   recessed,   its’   wall patterned   with   carven   jagged   patterns   like   woven   lightning. Like   a   bas-relief projecting   partially   from   the   wall,   erect   with   handle   downward,   was   a   huge   ornate   war-hammer.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “It’s   part   of   the   stone.”   said   Peter   Midwinter   as   he   tugged   vainly   at   the   handle.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “We   have   to   draw   the   symbol   upon   it.”   said   Ronnie. He   advanced,   a   piece   of   red   crayon   in   one   hand.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Suddenly   he   was   no   longer   able   to   move.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Well,   I   hope   I’m   not   too   late   for   the   show.”   Cornello   said   affably   as   he   stepped   out   of   the   air. “I’ll   take   that,   Ronnie,   thanks.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Lightning   smashed   down   upon   him,   hammering   his   form   into   the   ground. It   struck   again   and   again   as   the   eyes   of   Peter   Midwinter   glared. A   white   cocoon   of   Season-power   condensed   around   the   Father   of   Dragons. All   of   them   could   move   again.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   do   not   need   to   move   for   the   Seasons   to   answer   me,   Dragon.”   he   snapped.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Ronnie   snatched   the   crayon   from   the   grass   and   began   to   trace   the   symbol   on   the   haft.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Fire   leaped   up   from   the   Father   of   Dragons. Ronnie   was   hurled   into   the   air,   landing   full   across   a   tombstone. It   broke   under   him. He   lay,   bent   over,   feeling   as   if   all   his   internal   organs   were   disarranged. Only   the   fact   that   he   wore   the   shoes   of   Arheled   had   saved   him   from   the   fire. The   crayon   had   melted.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Cornello   materialized   on   top   of   the   obelisk. The   grass   was   charred,   and   one   spruce   twig   was   still   burning,   sputtering   out.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “How   did   you   know?”   shouted   Travel.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   intercepted   some   emails   a   long   time   ago,   little   Lane.”   answered   Cornello. “Anything   on   the   computer   is   open   to   me. The   deductions   it   took   you   so   long to   figure   out,   were   to   my   tremendous   mind   a   mere   five   minutes’   work. I   admit,   I   was   fooled   by   that   2016,   but   when   I   felt   the   Hammer   waking   I   knew   where   I   had   erred. So,   here   I   am,   and   here   you   are.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I’ll hold   him.”   said   Lara. Her   skin   was   blue. The   grass   turned   yellow   and   dead   under   her   feet   as   she   stepped   forward. Trees   moaned   and   stirred,   angrily,   as   the   power   that   was   in   them   of   old   slowly   awoke:   Forest’s   eyes   were   burning   with   green   fire. By   his   cold   heart   Lara   seized   the   Father   of   Dragons;   but   he   was   ready   for   her,   and   his   angelic   power   caught   her   Cold   and   strove   against   it   before   it   could   grip   him,   even   as   he   kept   back   the   power   of   resistance   in   the   rousing   angry   trees.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Ronnie   Wendy   forced   his   organs   into   place   by   sheer   strength   of   will   and   staggered   erect. “Cornello!”   he   shouted. “Picking   on   girls   now,   are   you? Why   don’t   you   fight   a   man?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “And   you   think   you   can   stand   against   me?”   mocked   the   Father   of   Dragons.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “And   do   you   think   you   can   face   me?”   Ronnie   thundered. “Look   upon   my   eyes,   and   gaze   into   their   depths!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Slowly   Cornello   turned   his   awful   eyes   upon   Ronnie   Wendy. Red   fire   grew   in   a   ball   of   light   around   him. The   air   between   them   began   to   waver   like   heat   waves   and   then   to   crackle.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Quickly!”   screamed   Travel. “We   have   half   a   minute!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Forest   lifted   his   paintbrush   and   wrote   upon   the   air. On   the   haft   of   the   hammer   lines   appeared,   as   if   graved   by   chisel:   the   odd   triangular   winged   rune. The   seven   minutes   and   thirty-eight   seconds   ran   out.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   air   around   Ronnie   was   swirling   inward. He   was   reeling,   his   whole   will   and   being   clinging   for   dear   life,   trying   to   bear   down   the   eyes   of   that   Father   of   Dragons. One   hand   gripped   the   tombstone   he   had   broken,   the   other   clawed,   defiant,   desperate   in   the   air   against   him   as   he   sank   slowly   to   the   ground.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “My   name   is   Carn’hellnar,   but   they   knew   me   in   Beleriand   as   the   Dragon   Glaurung. Do   you   think   that   you   are   Hurin,   or   that   you   are   stronger   than   Nienor? Do   you   wear   the   Dragon-helm,   or   bear   by   your   side   the   Black   Wand? You   are   only   a   human,   despite    your   Roaded    power;   I   am   a   being   of   an   order   so   far   above   you   earthworms   you   cannot   even   behold   me. Do   you   dare   to   show   me   what   I   am   truly   like? I   knew   it   for   long   ages   ere   the   world   was   begun. I   knew   what   I   was   doing   when   I   said   I   would   not   serve.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   hand   of   Forest   fastened   around   the   handle   of   the   hammer   of   stone. Under   his   touch   he   felt   it   change,   hot,   metallic,   thrumming   with   pent   fury   and   a   power   vast   beyond   measuring. As   the   stone   arch   flowed   shut,   Forest   pulled   from   the   obelisk   the   Hammer   of   the   Gods.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   whirling   wind   grew   to   a   vortex. Leaves   roared   around   Cornello,   an   awful   smile   on   his   face   as   Ronnie   reeled. “The   wolves   yammer,   the   winds   moan,   and   Finrod   fell    before   the   throne.”   he   laughed,   as   Ronnie   collapsed   upon   his   face.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Darkness   fell   upon   the   sky. The   sunlight   dimmed. In   Forest’s   hands   the   hammer   quivered,   outline   seething   like   a   thing   not   solid;   he   felt   like   he   was   holding   for   bare   life   to   a   titanic   chained   beast. Slowly   he   raised   it. Lightning   flamed   into   the   sky. He   swung.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   obelisk   flared   a   blinding   violet-red. A   tremendous   crack   of   thunder   shattered   the   air. Cornello   hovered,   rigid,   in   the   air   above   the   pillar,   caught   and   held in   place   by   the   power   of   that   blow. Tongue   after   tongue   of   unnatural,   fiery   orange,   pure   red     lightning   thundered   into   him. Words   tore   from   Forest’s   mouth,   shaken   with   titanic   rage   and   gigantic   laughter,   mingling   and   roaring   with   the   thunder.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “In   forge   and   furnace   of   flaming   wrath   was   heaviest   hammer   hewn   and   wielded! ''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             A   choking   cry   came   from   Cornello,   that   oldest   of   dragons,   who   deemed   he   had   delayed   them   until   the   arch   was   sealed   up   and   that   terrible   thing,   the   bane   of   giants,   was   sealed   forever,   unless   the   gods   who   made   it   should   come   for   it   in   person. But   his   pride   and   malice   had   betrayed   him,   and   what   he   thought   would   be   easy   had   been   far   more   than   he   expected,   and   great   power   had   gone   out   from   him;   and   he   was   exhausted,   and   could   not   face   the   sudden   power   of   the   Hammer   come   unlooked-for   in   full   wrath. Summoning   his   remaining   strength   he   tore   himself   free   of   the   lightning   of   anger   and   vanished.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   hands   of   Forest   unclenched   from   the   handle. With   a   clang   the   Hammer   fell   upon   the   stone   steps. Shadow   passed. The   sunlight   shone   down   in   renewed   warmth. Of   the   terrible   struggle   there   was   no   sign,   save   for   burnt   and   withered   grass,   a   smoking spruce   branch,   and   under   Ronnie’s   prostrate   form   the   wreckage   of   a   tombstone. The   obelisk   had   a   wide   black   streak   scorched   up   one   side,   and   where   the   Hammer   struck   was   a   blackened   dent   in   the   marble   block. Forest   staggered. Red   fire   flickered   in   and   out   of   his   sight,   as he   stubbornly   fought   down   that   tremendous   power   that   still   seemed   surging   like   a   river   in   his   veins.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Are   you   all   right?”   said   Hunter.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Drunk.”   croaked   Forest. Lara   glanced   over   at   him   and   shot   a   blade   of   blue   light   into   him. Coldness   quelled   the   bubbling   wrath,   and   Forest   fell   back   against   the   stone,   limp   but   healed.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “What’s   wrong   with   Ronnie?”   Travel’s   cry   roused   him. He   staggered   over. The   others   had   turned   him   on   his   back. His   face   was   dark,   as   if   half-strangled. The   eyes   were   frozen   open,   unclosing. Sometimes   a   red   spark   flickered   in   them.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Forest   gazed   upon   his   fallen   friend   for   a   long   time,   horrified. He   had   never   seen   or   imagined   anything   like   this.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “What   do   you   see?”   Peter   Midwinter   said    roughly.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Darkness.”   whispered   Forest. “He   is   in   the   darkness,   and   he   walks   alone. He   is   in   the   past. Walks   in   mountains   that   are   broke   beneath   the   sea,   and   They   hunt   him.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Can   we   get   him   out?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Forest   shook   his   head. “None   of   us   can   reach   him.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Travel   pushed   him   aside. “Then   I   will   take   him   to   Arheled.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   next   moment   she   and   Forest   stood   by   the   moss-encrusted   cabin   of   planks   in   the   circle   of   pines   at   the   mouth   of   Indian Meadow,   at   the   Gates   of   the   North. It   was   lit   with   candles   inside,   and   a   pleasant   bacony   smell   of   oak   wood   came   from   the   open   door. Staggering,   the   two   of   them   managed   to   carry   Ronnie   inside.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Let   me   take   him.”   said   the   Man   in   Brown. In   his   arms   the   fallen   warrior   seemed   suddenly   small,   a   lonely   boy,   lost   and   desolate   in   an   outcast   world. Arheled   laid   him   gently   on   a   mattress   stuffed   with   duck   feathers,   of   dark   cloth   in   strange   designs   and   colors.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “What’s   wrong   with   him?”   Travel   quavered.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Alas!”   said   Arheled,   looking   down   at   him. “It   was   a   valiant   deed   that   he   did,   indeed   the   only   deed   any   of   you   could   have   done   that   would   have   held   back   that   ancient   foe   in   his   new   power. But   he   took   on   one   too   great   for   any   born   of   Man   in   these   latter   days   to   endure,   and   he   has   taken   a   wound   more   grievous   than   any   of   body. He   has   been   cast   under   the   Shadow. His   mind   walks   in   the   Mountains   of   Terror   that   long   have   been   destroyed,   and   slowly   he   will   grow   farther   away,   until   at   last   he   dies,   and   walks   there   forever.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Please,”   said   Forest,   “can’t   you   do   something?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Arheled   bent   over   Ronnie’s   face. “There   is   one   plant   that   I   will   need,   Wood   of   the   Road:   but   I   cannot   have   it,   for   it   died   out   of   Middle-earth   in   the   Mighty   Waters.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   lifted   his   head. “Paint   me   athelas!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   paintbrush   of   Forest   burned   with   a   weird   green   light   as   he   worked.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   could   not   merely   paint   such   an   herb. It   was   extinct,   and   hence   his   painting   would   need   to   be   exact   in   the   smallest   detail,   if   he   would   not   only   paint   it   to   life,   but   incarnate   it   with   all   its’   virtues   inherent. Arheled   showed   him   old   drawings   and   illustrations   drawn   before   the   Grinding   Ice,   and   aided   him   with   images   planted   in   his   head,   sudden   and   vivid. At   last   Forest   felt   he   was   ready,   and   carefully   upon   the   table   he   began   to   paint.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Color   and   light   flowed   from   the   tapering   point,   fine   as   the   thinnest   needle,   of   that   enchanted   brush,   making   whatsoever   lines   he   desired   and   hues   he   needed,   be   those   lines   as   fine   as   spider-hairs   or   as   delicate   and   subtle   as   the   faintest   shades   of   morning   sky   and   smoke.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             As   he   made   the   last   stroke,   his   painting   grew   thick   and   rose   erect   out   of   the   wood,   until   there   stood   incarnate   a   curious   and   handsome   plant,   with   long   compound   leaves   of   a   deep   dark   green   with   paler   undersides   upon   short   herbaceous   stems,   from   the   centers   of   which   clustered   small   white   cups   of   flowers. The   leaves   smelled   strange,   both   sweet   and   pungent,   and   somehow   incredibly   wholesome;   and   Travel   and   Forest   were   suddenly   filled   with   flashes   of   everything   they   most   longed   for,   or   associated   with   content   and   happiness:   it   soothed,   and   yet   filled   with   intolerable   yearning. Plucking   the   leaves   Arheled   threw   them   into   a   pot   of   boiling   water   that   had   not   been   there   before,   and   a   wholesome   steam   filled   the   tiny   house. Ronnie’s   staring   eyes   closed   and   he   began   to   breathe,   as   if   sleeping.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Is   he   better?”   said   Forest.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   have   anchored   him,   so   he   will   drift   no   farther;   but   if   I   can   find   him   and   lead   him   out,   I   do   not   know. I   only   hope   he   is in   the   right   section   of   those   Mountains.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Why?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Because   one   man   did   face   those   hills   before,   and   won   through.”   said   Arheled. “If   Ronnie   meets   him,   he   may   be   able   to   follow   in   his   wake.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Wind   tore   at   Ronnie. He   gritted   his   teeth. It   was   nearly   dark;   a   sort   of   clinging   gloom   that   seemed   at   the   lashing   of   the   harsh   wind   only   to   seethe   and   flow,   as   if   it   were   heavy,   or   a   solid   thing. And   as   he   stumbled   among   it   and   the   thick   air   flowed   into   his   mind,   the   unmoving   rocks   around   him   quivered   and   flickered   in   his   sight,   taking   on   shifting   shapes   and   faces   that   turned   his   heart   cold:   yet   when   he   felt   them,   blank   were   the   stones,   and   he   knew   they   were   phantom. Yet   this   made   them   tenfold   more   fearsome,   and   he   stumbled   on,   moving   from   cover   to   cover. Tattered   rocks   rose   around   him. A   queer,   thin,   fetid   stench   like   vomit   and   the   sweat   of   a   sick   man   reeked   from   the   cold   stones. And   it   was   dry,   and   it   was   cold,   and   the   wind   blew   like   death.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “What   happens   to   this   place   when   night   comes?”   Ronnie   muttered. The   sky   was   thick   and   formless;   if   sun   there   was   beyond   the   thick   gloom,   he   could   not   see   it. He   stood   in   a   chasm   of   shattered   rocks,   running   back   into   lightless   depths:   things   moved   there. He   felt   their   eyes,   even   when   he   heard   no   clink   of   falling   stone   or   shifting   bodies;   and   he   knew   they   would   get   him. High   above   were   ancient   broken   crags,   barely   visible   through   the   dark   fogs;   below,   however,   it   seemed   brighter.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Which   way   do   I   go?”   he   murmered. “I   am   utterly   lost,   and   where   I   go   I   will   die,   no   matter   which   way. I   will   go   further   on,   and   climb   above   these   glooms.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   picked   his   way   further   along   the   cliff,   looking   for   a   way   up. It   was   dimmer,   he   perceived,   and   in   a   sudden   blind   horror   of   fear   he   moved   faster. He   could   barely   see. This   place   was   not   healthy. This   place   was   not   clean. There   is   something   in   the   mind   that   draws   a   firm   line   where   its’   thoughts   do   not   lead,   a   balance   beyond   which   is   the   tossing   upheaval     of   madness. This   place   was   on   the   other   side   of   the   line. The   solid   rocks   under   foot   and   hand   were   unreally   cold   and   rough,   stone   in   a   way   not   like   stone,   as   if   at   any   moment   they   might   ooze   into   another   shape   and   creep   away. The   shapes   in   the   gloom   did   not   behave   like   normal   shapes;   they   had   no   shape,   no   form   to   them,   and   yet   they   moved,   stealthily,   following   him.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   moved   his   hand;   he   saw   ten   shadowy   projections   in   the   gloom   moving   too. His   hand   stopped;   so   did   they. He   moved   his   legs,   and   glanced   beside   him,   and   o   horror! ten   more   appendages   were   sliding   forwards   too. He   turned   to   face   behind   him,   and   saw   only   the   shadows,   and   heard   the   howling   winds   in   the   stinking   rocks;   and   he   was   cold.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Shaking,   he   crouched   over   a   knife-sheer   ridge   and   picked   his   way   down   into   a   deep   vale. In   the   lightless   depths   he   heard   faint   shifting   noises,   like   evil   things   unseen   creeping   softly   over   slimy   stones. He   felt   their   eyes   upon   him,   and   the   pressing   weight   made   him   sick. He   sat   down,   huddled   together,   glancing   sharply   around. Just   a   little   rest. He   would   move   on   soon. He   had   to   move   on   before   night   fell.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   jumped   to   his   feet,   just   in   time   to   avoid   a   great   hooked   thorn   like   a   stinger   of   some   gigantic   wasp,   which   broke   on   the   stone,   shedding   a   horrid   trail   o   luminous   pale   venom. The   creature   hissed. He   sprang   downward,   catching   himself   on   a   ledge;   above   him   he   could   only   see   a   huge   dark   bulk   reflecting   no   light,   in   which   gleamed   purple   no   less   than   ten   scattered   eyes.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Some   distance   away   he   heard   a   harsh   cry,   like   that   of   a   man   whose   throat   is   nearly   dried   up   with   thirst. It   came   from   below,   from   the   depths   of   darkness;   but   it   was   a   human   voice,   though   madness   was   in   it. Ronnie   picked   his   way   down   toward   it.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Darker   grew   it,   and   utterly   darker. He   could    barely   see   the   black   rocks. Once   his   foot   rested   on   something   that   was   not   a   rock,   something   that   rumbled   and   bubbled   and   turned   huge   and   awful   eyes   on   him;   but   either   it   missed   its’   aim   in   the   gloom   or   Ronnie   dodged   too   well.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   was   nearly   at   the   bottom,   and   to   his   dismay   found   he   could   still   see   a   little   too   well. At   the   shapes   that   moved   around   him   his   mind   felt   as   if   he   was   hanging   upside   down,   though   he   stood   upright;   as   if   he   plunged   down   an   endless   cliff,   though   he   stood   still;   recoiling   with   unutterable   shudders   from   the   very   thought   of   the   images   his   eyes   were   seeing. He   was   cold,   yet   sweating;   but   his   sweat   had   no   smell. As   the   monsters   filed   slowly   past   him   he   moved   on   among   the,   barely   daring   to   breathe.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Below   him   was   a   man. He   moved   among   the   phantoms,   and   the   phantoms   shook   his   mind,   and   the   phantoms   fell   back   from   him. He   moved   among   the   forms   of   nightmare,   and   the   nightmares   eyed   him   warily,   for   behind   him   was   a   long   trail   of   severed   claws,   and   hewn   limbs,   and   chopped   appendages   of   those   that   had   attacked   him. He   was   in   ragged   clothes,   and   his   face   was   young;   but   his   hair   was   turning   grey. And   Ronnie   Wendy   followed   behind   him   like   a   ghost.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   man   turned,   and   looked   at   Ronnie,   and   then   headed   on. And   the   darkness   grew   less,   and   the   ground   fell   less   steeply,   and   the   rocks   were   smaller   and   less   craggy. The   monsters   fell   back,   watching   balefully   from   their   rocks. They   were   at   the   edge   of   the   fogs,   and   before   them   lay   a   grey   and   tumbled   land,   and   beyond   it   silver   mists   rose   into   a   roiled   wall.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   man   turned   to   Ronnie. He   seemed   to   split   in   two;   the   one   with   a   young   face   walked   on,   drawn   by   doom,   madness   and   horror   in   his   eyes,   his   sword   broken   and   eroded   by   venom   lying   cast   by   the   wayside. The   other   stayed,   and   he   was   not   young,   but   weathered   like   a   tree,   and   his   eyes   were   a   king’s   eyes.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Are   you   Beren?”   said   Ronnie.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Beren   is   dead.”   the   other   answered. “I   have   pulled   you   from   the   shadows. I   call   you. Return,   Ronnie   Wendy:   the   King   commands   it!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   opened   his   eyes. Arheled   pulled   him   to   his   feet. Forest   and   Travel   stared   at   him   with   wide   eyes. Then   Travel   hugged   him,   crying   a   little. He   did   not   move but   stood   stiff   and   solid   in   her   arms. She   let   go,   a   little   embarrassed.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Are   you   all   right?”   she   said.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Am   I…out?”   he   said   at   last   in   a   whisper.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Yes,”   said   Arheled,   gripping   his   face   in   both   hands,   “you   are. Ah,   Ronnie,   Ronnie,   battered   at   once   by   so   many   forces;   by   despair,   by   the   death   of   your   beloved,   by   dragon   and   by   the   madness   of   the   Dreadful   Hills. Sleep. Sleep,   and   rest   here   in   the   room   of   athelas,   while   I   tend   you   until   your   hurts   are   dressed,   fallen   warrior.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Ronnie   sank   back   on   the   bed   and   fell   into   a   deep   sleep.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   should   go   now.”   said   Arheled   gently. “Tell   the   others   he   is   out   of   danger,   but   will   need   a   long   hospitalization. It   may   be   he   will   be   ready   swifter   than   my   hope,   for   he   is   stubborn,   and   strong   as   the   earth   to   which   he   calls;   but   he   will   never   be   the   same.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Well?”   demanded   Grandmother   Lane,   when   Travel   reappeared   in   the   burying   ground. “How   is   he?”   It   was   a   full   two   hours   after   the   battle.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Out   of   danger,   but   he   needs   a   while   in   the   hospital.”   said   Travel.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Which   one   is   he   at?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Arheled’s.”   she   answered.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Hmph.”   the   old   woman   muttered. “I   hope   old   Wayfinder   isn’t   just   trying   to   keep   us   from   worrying. What   exactly   did   he   have?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Black   Breath.”   said   Travel.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   old   woman’s   wooden   face   actually   paled   half   a   shade. “My   God.”   she   breathed. “What   did   he   do,   use   athelas?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Something   else   happened.”   said   Forest. “Someone   else   intervened. It   wasn’t   Arheled. It   was   someone   very   far   away. I   heard   him   saying   inside   Ronnie,   ‘The   King   commands   it.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “The   King.”   repeated   Peter   Midwinter. “This   grows   more   and   more   strange. Giants   grow   back. The   Hammer   comes   out   of   comics   and   muttered   legends   to   sit   there   on   the   living   grass   before   us,   and   a   King   walks   again.”   He   gave   himself   a   shake. “Well,   as   the   old   word   goes,   what   cannot   be   helped   must   be   dreed. How   about   taking   us   home,   Travel?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Arheled   stood   above   the   bed. The   boy   under   the   thick   quilt   lay   huddled   together,   shivering.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “How   goes   it?”   said   the   Man   in   Brown   gently.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Ronnie   lifted   bleared   eyes   to   him. They   were   swollen,   the   pouched   skin   underneath   blue   as   if   bruised   and   mottled   with   faint   spots   of   blood. “Cold.”   he   managed   to   say. “I’m   cold.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Arheled   put   one   hand   on   his   brow. The   boy   relaxed,   sprawling   limply. “Your   body   is   warm,”   he   said   gravely. “Your   heart   shivers. Tell   me,   Ronnie,   how   is   it?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Ronnie’s   eyes   lifted,   once   more,   wild,   filled   with   pain. “Arheled…I   suffer.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “For   that   I   have no   cure.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   cannot   see.”   Ronnie’s   harsh   whisper   echoed. “I   am   trapped   in   myself. Pain   seals   me. I   see   things   outside   me   as   a   mist. A   grey   shadow   lies   between   me   and   your   face. The   world   consists   of   me,   and   the   pain,   and   nothing   exists   outside   it.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             His   eyes   grew   wild   in   their   swollen   lids. “I   want   to   get   out! I   cannot   bear   this! I   must   escape   myself! I   must   get   out   of   myself,   leave   the   pain. But   I   cannot.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   are   not   the   only   one   who   has   ever   suffered.”   said   Arheled. “You   do   not   walk   alone,   nor   suffer   alone.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Arheled,”   whispered   Ronnie,   “I   suffer,   and   I   cannot   see   beyond   it.”   His   eyes   were   haunted.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Arheled   gripped   him   by   the   hand   and   bore   him   upright. “Come   with   me.”   he   said. “You   need   to   move   around. You   are   stiff   and   cold. The   air   may   help.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “No   feel   of   air   breaks   the   grey   mist.”   Ronnie   murmered. “Those   birds…arg! Their   voices   clash   and   croak. Arheled,   what   is   wrong   with   me? Am   I   still   human?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Oh,   very   much   so.”   the   other   answered   placidly. They   stepped   out   of   the   door,   Ronnie   holding   his   cloak   close   and   walking   haltingly,   like   a   very   old   man. “You   have   no   wound   on   your   body,   nor   any   fell   splinter. Nor   are   you   fading   away. Does   that   comfort   you?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Not   much.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             They   came   to   a   fallen   oak,   so   old   and   decayed   the   brown   heart   of   the   tree   lay   exposed,   the   sapwood   as   well   as   the   bark   corroded   and   fallen   off,   and   the   remainder   had   dried   hard   and   tough   as   wooden   stone. Part   was   already   split   and   sawed   into   logs. One   section   lay   two   feet   in   the   air   between   notched   logs. Arheled   picked   up   an   antique   bucksaw   lying   nearby. It   had   a   wooden   frame   in   the   shape   of   an   H,   two   handles   slating   inward   toward   the   top,   held   apart   by   a   double   bow-shaped   spreader   in   the   middle,   a   thin   inch-high   blade   between   the   handles   at   the   bottom,   held   in   tension   by   an   ancient   rusted   metal   turnbuckle   that   screwed   together   the   two   top   ends. It   was   a   beautiful   tool,   smoothed   and   rounded   and   sturdy;   the   wood   was   a   deep   chestnut-red   with   oiling   and   polished   with   much   use. The   blade   gleamed   black   with   oil. He   held   it   out   to   Ronnie.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I-I’m   hardly   up   to   it.”   Ronnie   mumbled.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Work   calms   the   body,   and   calm   overflows   into   the   soul.”   said   Arheled. “There   is   a   power   in   work   and   good   toil,   and   a   virtue   in   labor,   that   redounds   upon   the   laborer. At   the   very   least   it’ll   get   you   warm!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “And   power   giant   robots.”   said   Ronnie   with   a   faint   twitch   of   his   old   humor. He   took   the   saw,   but   a   spasm   came   over   him   and   his   hands   shook.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “It’s   no   good. I’ll   only   break   it.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Then   I’ll   fix   it.”   shrugged   Arheled. “To   a   being   like   myself,   a   bucksaw   is   a   child’s   toy.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Abashed,   Ronnie   gripped   the   saw. All   last   winter   he   had   cut   wood   with   one   very   like   this. It   came   back   quickly   as   he   positioned   himself   and   began   moving   it   back   and   forth. At   first   he   did   it   too   rapidly,   and   then   a   sudden   stab   of   darkness   welled   up,   and   spider-faces,   and   the   saw   slipped.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Steady!”   rang   the   voice   of   Arheled. “Concentrate. You   used   to   be   good   at   this. Don’t   clear   your   mind. Sharpen   it. Focus   your   full   will   on   that   saw. Hold   it   upright   and   keep   the   cut   straight,   and   move   it   slowly.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Ronnie’s   brows   drew   level   above   his   swollen   eyes. Fiercely   he   focused   the   entire   world   on   that   log. The   saw   slid   smoothly. He   kept   it   upright,   moving   it   back   and   forth,   back   and   forth,   quick   but   steadily. Slow   yourself   down. Don’t   push   too   hard   or   you   upset   the   angle. Slowly   the   blade   sank   into   the   wood,   and   pinkish   dust   began   to   fall   like   snow. When   the   saw   was   all   but   an   inch   through,   he   pulled   it   out   and   stamped   on the   log. It   dropped   to   the   ground,   a   neat   faggot.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Keep   going.”   said   Arheled.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Ronnie   rested,   then   began   on   another   log. It   was   amazing   how   the   steady   hard   labour   wore   down   and   smoothed   out   his   mind;   as   if   it   had   tied   itself   up   in   knots   like   a   cramped   muscle,   and   massage   had   relaxed   it. He   was   even   able   to   smile   when   Arheled   said   they   were   having   cake   and   ice   cream   after   lunch.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   stopped   again   to   rest. Arheled   came   up   and   found   him   in   a   stiff   crouch,   eyes   wide   and   bleary,   tears   oozing   down.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “It   is   not   good   to   allow   your   mind   to   wander.”   said   Arheled.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You.”   whispered   Ronnie. “You   are   venda.   What   do   you   know   of   love? What   do   you   know   of   our   sufferings?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   have   watched   the   world   of   men   since   first   they   rose   to   walk   upon   it.”   answered   Arheled. “I   bear   in   my   memory   ten   thousand   million   sufferings,   some   of   which   I   was   able   to   assist,   most   of   which   I   had   to   watch   in   vain. You   saw   your   loved   one   die—I   have   seen   uncounted   tears   of   maidens   murdered   maidens   known,   whom   I   held   dear   as   I   hold   many,   seen   them   slaughtered   and   me   helpless,   held   in   place   by   fearsome   duty. Which   is   greater,   Ronnie,   to   watch   one   girl   die,   or   many   die,   not   once,   but   many   times? What   do   you   know   of   my   sorrow,   Ronnie,   child   of   the   Road? What   do   you   know   of   suffering   like   mine?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Ronnie   lifted   his   head. There   was   a   startled   look   in   his   eyes,   as   one   who   has   suddenly   learned   that   one   high   and   lofty   was   once   in   his   position. “My   apologies.”   he   said   in   a   weary   voice,   getting   up. “I   forget…I   am   not   the   only   person   who   ever   lived.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Nor   the   only   fish   in   the   sea.”   Arheled   said   whimsically. Ronnie   gave   him   a   sour   half-smile   as   he   turned   to   the   saw.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Arheled   kept   him   sawing   all   day,   until   Ronnie   got   so   tired   even   resting   didn’t   help. Only   then   did   his   strange   healer   allow   him   to   return   to   bed,   and   when   Arheled   had   cast   sleep   upon   him   he   slept   all   night.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   next   day   he   asked,   “How   long   have   I   been here?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Ah,   there   is   a   world   outside   you,   then!”   smiled   Arheled. “You   have   slept   for   a   week,   and   that   was   two   days   ago. It   is   now   mid-November.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “November…and   I   still   don’t   know   what   the   Grapevine   points   to. Or   the   Oak. Is   the   Grapevine   a   sign   of   the   Lost   Cannon?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “The   Cannon,”   said   Arheled,   “is   not   important. It   is   what   comes   out   of   it   that   is   important.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   don’t   get   it.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Oh,   you   will,   when   you   find   it.”   the   other   answered. “But   in   the   meantime,   you’re   still   recovering,   and   there’s   wood   to   cut.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Ronnie   looked   thoughtful   all   morning. That   noon,   after   lunch,   he   said,   “Sir,   may   I   check   out?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   are   sure   you   have   recovered?”   sad   Arheled   mildly.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   want   to   be   out   there   doing   something.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Yet   I   had   to   send   you   to   sleep   last   night.”   his   master   said. “Very   well. It   may   be   oversoon,   but   I   will   risk   it.”   He   gave   Ronnie   a   bottle   of   children’s   vitamins,   shaped   like   little   red   and   purple   and   yellow   animals:   he   remembered   them   from   his   own   childhood,   and   smiled. “If   you   cannot   sleep,   or   dreams   and   lamentations   oppress   you,   take   up   to   three,   but   never   more   in   any   dose.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Ronnie   bowed. “Arheled,   my   debt   to   you   can   never   be   paid.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Yet   I   will   ask   for   payment   in   the   end,   when   I   myself   am   in   dire   need;   though   the   payment   be   everything   that   you   possess.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “When   he   walks   up   from   the   South,   I   will   be   there.”   said   Ronnie.

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