Ch. 10: Tu

Back to The Men in Brown

''             He   saw   Ronnie   first. At   least,   it   resembled   Ronnie,   but   a   much   younger   and   merrier   Ronnie;   the   harsh   lines   graven   into   his   long   sharp   features   were   not   there,   nor   was   there   any   grey   in   his   red   hair,   and   he   was   laughing. Forest   was   beside   him,   looking   exactly   the   same   as   how   he   had   when   Chris   had   seen   him   at   the   beach:   had   the   dreadful   events   fallen   so   recently,   then,   that   turned   Ronnie   grey? ''

''             “This   has   been   a   strange   year.”   Ronnie   was   saying   to   Forest. They   were   on   an   island   with a   lake   house,   and   behind   them   a   dock   ran   out   into   the   water   with   a   floating   section   farther   out,   and   Bell   sat   there   with   another   girl   who   Chris   knew   somehow   was   named   Brooke, dangling   bare   feet   in   the   water   and   talking   girl   talk. ''

''             “Mm.” ''

''             “We   started   out   as   quite   ordinary   people,”   Ronnie   mused,   “and   now   here   we’re   battling   dragons   and   wielding   queer   and   increasing   powers…things   are   rushing   toward   some   fearsome   end,   Forest,   much   grimmer   than   the   mere   returning   of   the   Road.” ''

''             “To   say   the   least.”   muttered   Forest. ''

''             “Most   of   the   Signs   of   the   Hills   have   been   explained…there’s   still   the   Grapevine,   and   that   Oak,   and   the   date   1790…” ''

''             “What   is   the   Cannon?” ''

''             “Yes,   that’s   what   the   Grapevine   indicates. There   was   an   old   Revolutionary   War   cannon   that   was   a   town   ornament   till   the   Civil   War,   fired   on   Independence   Day   and   all,   and   then   it   was   lost   for   a   while. Boyd   wrote   his   Annals   in   1847,   I   think…or   was   that   1874? Well,   the   Cannon   figured   in   a   couple   of   town   riots,   one   time   shelling   the   newspaper   building   when   a   mob   was   mad   at   the   editor. Then   it   vanished   for   a   few   decades,   turning   up   buried   somewhere,   I   think   or   fished   out   of   a   pond,   and   then   was   fired   off   from   overlooking   hills—Cobble,   Street   and   maybe   Camp   Hill   were   mentioned   by   name. I   do   know   that   it   vanished   again   and   this   time   was   never   found. Wha-at?”   as   Brooke   began   repeatedly   shouting   his   name. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Come   out   here! We’re   having   an   argument   and   we   need   you   to   settle   it!” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Women.”   muttered   Ronnie   with   a   smile,   rolling   his   eyes   at   Forest. He   headed   out   to   the   dock’s   end,   ignoring   how   it   bounced   and   rolled   under   his   feet. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   have   good   balance.”   said   Bell. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You’d   better   not   have   called   me   out   here   just   to   splash   me.”   he   retorted,   sitting   down. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Brooke   laughed. “No,   we   were   having   a   Tolkien   argument   and   we   need   a   loremaster   to   settle   it.” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “And   I   am   as   it   so   turns   out,   a   Loremaster   of   Middle-earth.”   said   Ronnie   in   a   Gandalf   voice. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Okay. Bell   insists   that   there’s   a   tale   of   the   Garden   of   Eden,   and   I   told   her   there   wasn’t.” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Well,”   said   Ronnie   slowly,   “in   the   debate   between   Finrod   and   Andreth   Wisewoman,   she   does   give   a   sort   of   ‘corrupted’   myth   of   the   Fall   of   Man,   while   Finrod   deduces   from   the   fact   that   or   eyes   have   a   tendency   to   go   blank   after   we’ve   looked   at   something   for   a   moment…” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Seeking,   seeking,   always   seeking.”   murmered   Brooke. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “—Exactly—that   we   Men   once   came   from   a   paradise,   and   from   our   interior   longing   he   deduces   our   unfallen condition. But   there   was   a   tale,   in   the   Book   of   Lost   Tales   part   1,   which   dealt   with   the   Awaking   of   Men.” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Yes!”   shouted   Bell. “I   knew   I   was   right!” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Not   wholly.”   said   Ronnie. “Tolkien   carried   it   only   partway. But   you   know,   there   are   so   many   good   new   writers   cropping   up   these   days? I   was   on   the   Tolkien   Wiki,   they   have   a   sub-wiki   for   Lord   of   Rings   Fan-fiction,   and   one   guy   called   James   Farrell   actually   undertook   to   revise   the   Lost   Tales. Complete   them,   bring   them   in   line   with   the   Silmarillion,   integrating   it. Quite   an   ambitious   project,   but   my   point   is,   he   also   took   up   that   tale.” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   barely   remember   it.”   said   Bell. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “It was   a   queer   one,”   said   Ronnie   slowly. “There   was   a   wizard   named   Tû,   of   all   things,   a   fay-being   not   an   Elf,   long   before   the   Five   came   Over-sea,   before   the   Sun. He   ruled   the   Dark-elves   around   Cuevienon,   the   lake   where   the   Elves   awoke. One   Elf   named   Nuin   went   into   the   northeast   parts   of   Middle-earth   and   found   a   secret   vale   full   of   marvellous   plants,   and   in   it   many   sleeping   youths:   the   Fathers   of   Men.” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Oh   yes,   I   remember   Men   awoke   in   Hildorien   when   the   Sun   first   rose.”   said   Brooke. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Some   men.”   Ronnie   answered   gravely. “Nuin   told   Tû   of   his   find,   and   Tû   told   him   he   too   had   been   there,   and   he   passed   lands   laden   with   evil   memory,   and   the   stones spoke   to   him   of   abominable   rites   carried   out   in   the   darkness;   from   which   he   knew   that   Men   had   dwelt   here   before,   but   not   all   served   Melkor,   and   these   the   One   laid   asleep,   without   memory   or   even   speech,   the   fathers   of   the   Edain,   the   good   men   of   the   North-west   of   Middle-earth.” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “But   I   thought   Men   began   when   the   Sun   rose.” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Tolkien   thought   it   over   a   lot. He   realized   that   the   language-structure   of   Men   was   too   complicated   to   have   arisen   in   the   mere   400   years   between   the   Rising   of   the   Sun   and   the   Coming   of   Men   into   Beleriand. I   mean,   even   English   hasn’t   changed   much   in   that   amount   of   time. You   can   still   read   Shakespeare! Yet   you   have   the   folk   of   Haleth,   with   one   language,   Hador   with   a   different   dialect,   the   Druedain   with   yet   another   language,   and   Beor   with   yet   a   third,   not   to   mention   the   Easterlings. And   that’s   just   in   Beleriand. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “So   he   decided   Men   were   made   long   before,   and   the   sleepers   in   Eden   were   those   who   rebelled   against   Melkor,   and   speech   was   taken   from   them   that   the   Elves   might give   them   language. And   Nuin   and   Tû   guided   them,   until   the   darkness   of   Original   Sin   began   to   crop   out,   and   quarrels   arose   and   Men   split into   three   groups. Then   a   demon   named   Fankil   came   and   Nuin   was   betrayed   to   him   by   Atrai,   whose   name lives   on   as   the   root   of   ‘betray’,   and   Atrai   then   set   all   three   camps   of Men   at   war. Some   stood   by   the   Dark-elves,   but   most   stood   by   Fankil,   and   the   Elves   were   slain   though   their   allies   escaped. And   at   the   last   the   ground   shook,   and   Tû,   who   had   grown   increasingly   to   shun   the   daylight   and   dwell   underground,   came   forth   in   great   wrath   and   flayed   Atrai   alive. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “And   Fankil   said   to   him,   “’You   would   fit   right   in   with   us! Come   and   serve   Melkor!’   But   Tû   answered,   ‘Men   I   hate,   but   thee   more,   and   Melkor   most!’   Then   he   and   Fankil   fought,   and   the   land   broke   around   them,   and   Fankil   was   slain,   but   Tû   buried   under   falling   hills.” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             In   the   strange   but   natural   manner   of   dreams   Chris   was   no   longer   listening   to   them,   but   walking   through   the   overgrown   meadow   of   the   Forsaken   Farm. He   headed   toward   the   barn,   ploughing   through   the   thick   matted   clumps   of   grass. Burrs   grew   around   the   chicken   coop,   and   vines   covered   a   fence. One   part   of   the   roof   of   the   long   barn   seemed   to   be   imploding. A   tarp   once   stretched   over   another   section   had   long   since   frayed   into   ribbons. He   ducked   past   towering   weeds   and   went   in   an   open   doorless   space   in   the   side. A   long   staff   lay   there,   oddly   twisted,   as   if   it   had   once   been   a   hard-wooded   young   tree   from   whose   stem   the   flesh   and   bark   had   long   since   eroded   with   age   and   warping,   leaving   only   great ridged   wooden   tendons. The   twisted   roots   formed   the   head,   like   a   thick   cankered   knot. It   was   dark   and   polished   with   wear. Slowly   Chris   bent   down   and   picked   it   up. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">''<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Now   he   was   facing   a   strange   and   mysterious-feeling   swamp. Low-branching hemlock   crouched   amid   winding   islets   and   hummocks   made   by   their   own   moss-hung   roots,   or   the   boles   of   long-fallen   trees,   or   the   roots   of   trees   long   since   gone   into   the   bog. Green   spagnum   moss   grew   on   the   surface   of   the   many   boggy   pools,   which   were   now   mostly   black   mud,   and   climbed   in   feathery   pillows   over   the   logs and   tree-bases. Fern   rose   here   and   there   in   more   open   spots. In   the   dim,   detailed   gloam   of   dayfall   the   swamp   had   a   tumbled,   damp   appearance. In   the   dim   brown-green   gloam   details   were   clear   and   distinct,   the   star-shaped   towers   of   the   spagnum   heads,   the   mushrooms,   roots   and   boles   and   boughs   of   trees. There   was   a   clear   wet   smell   of   moss   and   wet   earth. Insects   chirred   sleepily   in   the   background. There   were   no   katydids   here   and   few   mosquitos. Hemlock   closed   in   once   more,   with   here   and   there   an   odd maple   or   oak. Here   a   tall   cluster   of   red   maples   rose   from   a   more   dry   isle,   straight   as   pillars,   four   in   a   row   and   a   fifth   displaced. And   nearby   was   the   queerest   sight   in   all   that   queer   swamp. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">A   ''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">hemlock   of   large   size   had   slumped   over,   its’   tilted   bole   now   twisting   back   up   toward   the   light,   stubby   little   branches   growing   from it. It’s   roots   arched   up   and   over   in   a   cave   bigger   than   most,   roofed   with   a   few   black   roots   hung   at   the   base   with   moss,   high   enough   to   enter   stooped;   but   the   floor   was   black   mud. There   was   utter   silence. With   a   sudden   swishing   crack   Chris   brought   down   the   staff   upon   the   tree. <span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"> ''

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

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

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<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             He   looked   up. Even   though   the   dream   had   shifted,   he   felt   no   dislocation:   one   never   does   in   dreams. He   was   on   a   high   field,   upon   a   windy   hilltop;   half-ready   hay-grass   stood   tall   and   waving,   the   wheat-heads   still   green. Clover   bloomed   pink   among   them. The   field   sloped   down   to   the   right,   and   when   he   turned   his   head   he   saw   nestled   among   the   woolly   green   hills   Highland   Lake   curving   like   a   big   river. On   the   left    and   before   him   a   patchy   forest   crowned   the   hilltop:   low   crouching   hornbeams   with   flowing   lumpy   stems   and   old   ragged   maples,   and   some   younger   trees   among   them. Some   had   been   cut   down,   and   the   farmer   and   two   other   men   were   sawing   them   into   logs   with   a   chain   saw. They   got   up   and   headed   farther   down   the   gently   sloping   crown,   toward   a   monstrous   tree   that   rose   there. Half   had   fallen,   but   the   half   that   remained   was   still   five   feet   across,   one   leg   of   live   wood   separated   by   the   decay   of   the   trunk   between,   so   that   it   stood   disconnected,   joining   higher   up. The   great   rugged   trunk   forked   swiftly   into   limbs. It   was   an   oak. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “We’d   better   cut   up   the   downed   tree,   too.”   said   the   farmer. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “Should   we   knock   down   the   big   one?” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “I   don’t   know,   I   never   liked   cutting   up   really   old   trees. I   think   we’ll   let   it   blow   down   on   its’   own.” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             Even   asleep   Chris   felt   a   vast   and   nameless   relief. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             He   watched   as   the   men   walked   away. Out   of   the   air   a   boy   appeared,   dressed   in   brown   and   green,   pale   and   nondescript   save   for   his   burning   green   eyes. Luminous   green,   like   beech   leaves. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “That   was   close,”   he   said. Or   seemed   to,   at   least,   for   his   mouth   never   moved. Oh,   right,   this   was   Forest,   who   never   talks. He   was   saying   it   in   his   head. “The   Sign   of   Spencer   Hill   nearly   fell. We   can’t   delay   any   longer. Time   or   not,   I   have   to   call   him.” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             As   Chris   watched   in   complete   bewilderment—for   even   in   the   dream   it   was   incredible—Forest   began   to   glow. Clothes   and   flesh   and   eyes   shone   with   a   soft   brightness   like   new   leaves. Stronger   grew   the   light,   till   he   hurt   to   look   at   the   way   a   flame   does,,   and   then   the   Wood   of   the   Road   uttered   a   single   shouted   word: ''

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             The   hill   seemed   to   quiver. As   if   solid   stone   and   earth   were   jello   or   something. Chris   could   only   watch   and   gape,   for   there   was   no   doubt   about   it:   the   tree   was   coming   to   life. Bark   was   flowing   and   pulsing,   wood   moved   like   muscle,   twigs   fell   off   as   branches   shed,   till   the   two   main   boughs   far   up   that   branched   off   opposite   each   other,   lowered   like   immense   arms   allowed   to   relax. Protuberances   bulged   in   the   smaller   trunk   above   the   branches,   till   they   formed   features,   a   wise   ancient   face   of   bark;   and   the   separated   leg   of   wood   grew   thicker   and   huger,   while   the   main   bole   shrank. On   two   legs   the   tree   stood,   lifting   feet   made   of   mighty   woven   roots,   lifting   arms   that   now   ended   in   great   hands   to   shield   its’   huge   eyes   from   the   fiery   light   of   Forest. Limbs   and   twigs   and   leaves   fell   on   every   side   like   rain. Seeing   the   huge   treelike   creature   in   motion   like   a   giant—for even   after   shedding   excess   branchage   he   was   still   a   good   thirty   feet   tall—was   the   most   shocking   thing   yet. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “I   call   you.”   said   Forest. “I   am   the   Wood   of   the   Road. In   the   name   of   the   Road   I   have   called   you   awake,   last   of   living   Ents,   swept   here   by   the   Flood,   long   since   fallen   into   sleep!” ''

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

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             It   was   warm   but   cloudy   and   growing   more   humid   when   he   woke   up. The   clock   said   4:30. He   showered   himself   awake   and   came   out,   just   in   time   to   hear   somebody   knocking. It   turned   out   to   be   Mindy,   in   blue-jean   shorts   and   a   shirt   with   horizontal   red   and   pink   stripes.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “Can   you   play?”   she   said.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “Sure. Stevie’s   asleep   upstairs,   so   I   guess   it’s   just   me.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “That’s   all   right. You’re   cool   too.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “So   are   you.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “Thank   you. Wow,   I   feel   all   grown-up. I’m   trading   compliments   like   an   adult.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “Yeah. Boy,   wait   till   you   hear   what   just   happened   to   us!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             It   took   him   till   supper   to   finish   the   tale,   and   Mom   invited   Mindy   inside. She   was   quite   impressed   with   the   young   girl’s   good   manners   and   pleasant   conversation,   and   the   upshot   was   that   Mindy   stayed   for   supper. Mom   was   apologizing   for   the   mess   and   Mindy   began   laughingly   describing   how   much   messier   her   room   was.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             After   supper   Mindy   and   Chris   sat   on   the   sofa   and   kept   talking. He   told   her   about   his   latest   weird   dream   (figuring   it   didn’t   have   much   sensitive   information)   and   Mindy   said,   “I   want   to   see   that   barn. Wouldn’t   it   be   cool    if   this   was   real?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             A   queer   feeling   of   inevitability   came   over   Chris. Stephen   had   gone   back   upstairs,   complaining   of   a   headache,   but   when   Mindy   asked   if   Chris   could   bike   with   her,   Mom   gave   the   go-ahead. “Just   be   back   by   dark.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “This   is   awesome!”   said   Mindy   as   they   headed   outside. “Hey,   grab   your   suit,   cause   there’s   this   cool   swimming   hole   I   want   to   show   you. It’s   a   bit   of   a   way   but   we’re   on   that   side   of   the   hill   already.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “Does   your   mom   know   where   you   are?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “I’m   latchkey.”   She   said   this   in   a   rather   flat   voice. “So   long   as   I’m   back   by   dark,   nobody   cares. Mom   works   late. Dad   comes   in   and   watches   TV. I   usually   make   my   own   supper.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “I’m   so   sorry.”   said   Chris   sympathetically.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “Hey,   compared   to   what   most   of   my   friends   have   for   a   family,   I   got   it   lucky. At   least   they   don’t   fight. Or   divorce.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             The   long   bike   ride   all   the   way   to   the   Old   New   Hartford   loop   road   was   somehow   much   nicer   in   Mindy’s   company. They   shouted   remarks   to   each   other   as   they   pedaled,   and   sometimes   Mindy   would   look   back,   catch   his   eye   and   give   a   frank   smile. Chris   would   grin   back. He   was   actually   rather   glad   his   brother   wasn’t   along.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             They   crept   carefully   past   Root’s   house,   just   for   the   fun   of   it,   before   bowling   down   the   long   hill   and   pulling   up   outside   the   Forsaken   Farm. In   the   warm   but   grey   evening   the   old   farmhouse   and   the   neglected   barns   and   long   grass   looked   unutterably   forlorn.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “We’ve   got   to   sneak   in    very   carefully.”   Mindy   said   conspiratorially. “We   don’t   want   to   be   caught.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “I’m   surprised   you   believed   me   so   quick.”   said   Chris. “About   earlier,   I   mean.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “Hey,   after    Bree   being   a   dragon   and   a   lake-summoning   superhero   and   a   Wild   Monster   Man,   a   witch   cashier   and   magicians   who   sing   cars   to   life   sound   almost   normal. Though   I   admit   I’m   not   totally   convinced. I   mean,   I   never   saw   any   of   this. I’m   taking   it   all   on   faith.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             They   moved   fast,   hiding   their   bikes   under   bushes   and   ducking   into   the   nearest   shed,   a   sad   lean-to   affair   but   large   as   a   garage,   with   old   farm   machinery   deep   in   rusted   dust. This   had   a   back   door   and   they   slunk   across   another   expanse   of   pillowed   grass   to   where   the   end   of   the   multisectioned   barn   stood.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “Where   did   you   see   it   exactly?”   Mindy   asked   in   a   hushed   voice. Chris   thought   how   much   more   fun   it   was   to   be   doing   this   with   her;   Stephen   would   be   hanging   back   and   complaining   they   were   trespassing. They   were   in   a   sort   of   washroom   with   a   counter   and   sink   and   dry   dust-brown   windows   letting   in   a   mournful   light.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “It   was   farther   in.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             They   came   through   a   door   and   out   into   a   very   old   cattle   barn. It   was   one-story,   the   loft   overhead;   the   higher   barn   was   at   the   rear. Ancient   manure,   rotted   by   time   to   a   mere   earthy   crust,   softened   the   outlines   of   the   floor   and   the   drain   trough   and   the   crusted   stall   barriers. The   only   smell   was   of   old   hay   and   decayed   earth;   cows   must   not   have   seen   this   place   in   decades. Through   the   open   end   they   saw   that   the   farther   barn   had   given   way:   the   roof   had   descended,   intact,   to   rest   on   the   floor,   arched   supports   and   all.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “Up   here.”   said   Chris. “This   looks   more   like   it.”   Both   were   talking   in   hushed   voices.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             They   walked   farther   up   the deserted   barn. There   it   lay,   unmistakable:   the   staff,   as   tall   as   he   was,   long   and   knobbed   yet   worn   till   the   grain   of   the   wood   stood   out   like   veins. It   was   hard   as   metal.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             Chris   picked   it   up. “We   should   leave   it   at   Root’s.”   His   voice   sounded   high   and   panicky   even   in   his   own   ears. “I   don’t   think   this   was   supposed   to   have   been   left   here.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “Yeah.”   Mindy   sounded   subdued. “But   later. After   we   go   swimming.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             They   made   their   way   out   of   the   barn,   softly,   as   if   they   were   leaving   a   tomb. Maybe   it   was   a   tomb,   thought   Chris. The   tomb   of   generations   of   toil,   and   dreams,   and   lives   lived   out:   and   passed   away,   leaving   this   huge   decaying   shell   as   their   only   trace.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             The   staff   was   awkward   to   balance   on   his   handlebars,   but   he   managed. Mindy   took   him   down   W. West   Hill   Rd   (which   made   both   of   them   laugh)   and   then   along   Rt. 44.   They   passed   the   meat   farm,   which   was   a   charming   barren   mess,   all   dead   trees   and   mud   and   plank   fences   leaning   crazily   about,   and   amid   all   of   this   a   square   housebuilding   with   a   big   sign   for   Eaglebrook   Farms   on   it. An   old   man   was   in   the   driveway,   talking   earnestly   to   someone. He   had   a   white-grey   beard   and   long   grey   hair,   and   wore   a   white   shirt   and   light   grey   pants. It   cast   a   strange   impression   in   Christopher’s   eyes:   was   he   a   Man   in   Brown? But   he   wore   no   brown.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             They   biked   along   a   long   dreary   slight   rise   and   then   down   a   low   hill. “It’s   just   ahead.”   called   Mindy. A   great   swamp   lay   below   on   the   right,   open   save   for   stunted   maples,   and   hills   rose,   ringing   it   in. A level   followed,   after   Old   North   Road   entered   on   the   left,   and   opposite   the   old   antiques   store—which   was   now   the   Feed   and   Grain   store,   after   the   charming   square   of   wandering   old   sagging   shop-buildings   in   Winsted   center   in   which   it   had   been,   was   pulled   down—was   E. West   Hill   Rd. A   stream   crossed   under   this   street,   paralleling   Rt. 44.   They   turned   up   the   side   road. A   sandy   parking   spot   opened   on   the   right   just   after   the   bridge,   and   something   like   an   abandoned   road   led   off   under   the   trees. Here   Mindy   dismounted. “This   is   the   way   in.”   she   said. “What’s   with   you?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             Chris,   the   staff   in   hand,   was   staring   up   the   road. It   passed   two   houses   and   rolled   upward   to   vanish   into   hemlocks. He   started   and   followed   her. A   sort   of   path   curved   between   downed   tree   limbs   from   the   2011   hurricane   and   autumn   blizzard,   and   beneath   a   high   bank   on   the   left   they   followed   a   flat   grade   cut   into   a low   slope. A   ditch   on   the   right   was   shut   in   by   a   high   berm,   and   hidden   by   this   they   could   hear   the   stream   in   its’   bed   a   little   below. The   stream,   shallow   and   stony,   was   nearly   as   wide   as   a   river. The   grade   curved   slowly   round   to   the   left.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “Was   this   a   road?”   he   asked.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “Railroad,   I’m   pretty   sure.”   said   Mindy. “Same   one   that   has   the   bike   path   between   Main   and   Prospect. See   how   level   it   is?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             They   left   the   bikes   behind   a   bush,   but   Chris   hung   on   to   the   staff. The   path   grew   more   obvious   as   they   left   woodland   behind   and   came   to   more   overgrown   parts,   where   barberry   and   bracken-fern   covered   the   grade. They   crossed   an   old   bridge   of   concrete   slabs,   half   fallen   in. The   bank   on   the   left   had   ended   and   a   swamp   now   stretched   on   the   right,   the   one   they   had   passed. Open   and   weedy   with   clumps   of   short   sparse   swamp   maples,   alders   and   red   dogwood,   it   had   an   odd   charming   ragged   appearance. White   pines   stood   above   the   sparsely   shaded   grade,   now   a   causeway   piercing   the   swamp. Olive   bushes   clustered   thicker. Mindy   descended   the   right   side   through   an   arch   of   bushes,   jumped   a   channel   and   crashed   through   high   weeds   and   shrubs   on   a   sandy   delta.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “We’re   here!”   she   said   happily.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             A   beaver   dam   on   the   left   (and   behind,   in   a   long   curve)   had   considerably   deepened   a   broad   hole   in   the   brook. On   the   left   the   RR   grade   was   split   by   a   bridgeless   gap,   the   abutments   of   old   concrete,   cut   stones   flooring   the   stream:   perhaps   the   remnants   of   abutments   from   an   older   road   that   the   railroad   had   taken   over. Rushing   through   this,   Mallory   Brook   had   eaten   out   a   deep   little   pond,   maybe   forty   feet   circular,   before   it   turned   to   flow   among   sandy   channels   and   clumps   of   elderberry,   parallel   to   the   grade. On   the   far   side   a   swamp   maple   with   two   trunks   had   long   ago   been   undermined   and   now   lay   almost   in   the   water. Far   off   across   the   open   swamp   the   crown   of   West   Hill   rose,   green   and   somber,   like   a   wave.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “Isn’t   this   cool?”   said   Mindy   excitedly   as   she   shed   her   clothes;   she’d   worn   her   suit   underneath. Chris   changed   in   the   weeds. Mindy   had   already   jumped   in   when   he   came,   and   standing   neck-deep   she   squirted   water   at   him   from   her   mouth. He   aimed   on   purpose   so   as   to   splash   her   when   he   jumped   in.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “It’s   cold.”   said   Mindy. “Feels   nice.”   he   answered.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “It   used   to   be   deeper.”   she   said,   surveying   the   dam. Water   reached   only   partway   up   and   the   pond   was   a   foot   lower. “I   guess   the   beaver   moved.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “Or   got   eaten.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “Oh,   the   poor   beaver.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “It   happens. Get   used   to   it.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             She   laughed   and   struck   out. “The   tree   slid   in   more.”   she   said. “It   used   to   be   high   up   and   you   could   drop   five   feet. But   you   can   still   dive   from   it.”   She   pulled   herself   onto   the   trunk   with   effort,   legs   churning   valiantly. Chris   climbed   up   with   more   ability,   to   his   secret   satisfaction. The   tree   bobbled   up   and   down,   a   foot   or   so   above   the   water.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “How   deep   is   it?”   said   Chris.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “Like,   so   deep   even   when   I   jumped   in   off   the   end,   when   it   was   higher,   I   never   touched   bottom.”   Mindy   exclaimed. “It’s   awesome. You   go   way   down   where   it’s   so   cold   and   you   stop   moving   and   then   you   struggle   up   into   warmer   water   way   above   you—probably   ten   or   twelve   feet   deep.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “Ugh.”   said   Chris.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             They   jumped   in,   and   liked   it   so   much   they   climbed   up   and   did   it   again. And   again. Then   they   swam   over   to   the   shallow   part   and   threw   sand   at   each   other   and   then   splashed   violently. They   only   realized   how   late   it   was   when   they   noticed   it   was   a   little   dimmer:   the   grey   overcast   showed   no   sunset.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “We’d   better   run.”   said   Mindy. “We’re   going   to   catch   it.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             They   jogged   back   to   their   bikes   to   try   to   get   warm. When   they   came   to   the   road,   Chris   came   to   a   stop   and   stood,   staff   in   his   hand,   staring   fixedly   up   the   street.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “What   IS   it,   Chris? Come   on!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “It   was   here.”   said   Chris.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             Without   paying   her   any   attention   he   mounted   and   pedaled   off,   up   E. West   Hill   Rd. Mindy   followed,   expostulating,. The   hill   steepened   quickly   in   the   hemlocks   and   Chris   began   to   walk   his   bike.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “Chris,   where   the   heck   are   you   going?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “It   was   right   up   the   hill. I’m   dead   certain   of   it.”   he   said. “And   we   can   call   our   parents   from   Root’s. It   would   be   dark   anyway   by   the   time   we   got   back.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             Up   they   climbed. <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Yes,   here   the   road   paused   in   its’   final   climb,   running   along   the   edge   of   a   small   narrow   hollow   on   the   left,   spilling   over   a   finger-lip   of land. It   was   a   swamp. There   was   a   strange   feel   about   it,   as   if   it   was   the   hidden   home   of   mysterious   beings. As   they   went   farther   the   swamp   widened,   a   flat   lap   of   land   amid   the   hills. Queer   feathery   hemlock,   deep   moss,   that   mysterious   feel   stronger   than   ever.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             Chris   stared   into   the   depths   of   the   enclosed   swamp. His   bike   fell,   unheeded,   behind   him.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “This   is   the   place.”   he   said. “The   place   I   saw   in   my   dream.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             Mindy   didn’t   say   anything,   but   she   followed   him   into   the   swamp,   an   anxious,   watchful   look   on   her   pleasant   face.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             As   if   he’d   been   here   before   Chris   threaded   his   way   over   root-tussocks   and   black   pools   and   through   the   ferns,   the   crouching   hemlocks   dark   around   him. The   street   behind   and   hill   ahead   were   closed   out   by   the   green   branches. It   was   much   darker   beneath   the   trees. Then   he   came   to   a   cluster   of   red   maples,   tall   as   pillars,   on   a   hump   of   firm   ground. And   nearby   was   a   leaning   old   hemlock,   roots   arching   over   a   hollow   floored   with   mud.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             As   if   under   a   spell   Christopher   stretched   out   his   hand,   the   long   polished   staff   of   wood   as   old   as   stone   light   in   his   grasp. With   a   sudden   swishing   crack   he   brought   it   down   against   the   trunk   as   he   had   done   in   his   dream.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             There   was   a   flash   of   red-brown fire   from   the   staff   as   it   struck. The   blow   jarred   Chris’s   hand   and   the   staff   fell   from   it. A   charred   wound   was   blasted   into   the   reddish   wood.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             Two   eyes   opened   in   the   bole.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             In   a   panic   Chris   and   Mindy   stumbled   backward,   Chris   wishing   he   actually   did   have   that   funny   magic   shirt. Now   would   be   a   really   good   time   to   go   invisible.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             For   the   solid   tree   was   swirling   as   though   the   wood   had   become   liquid. It   bulged. It   expanded. It   bunched   and   twisted,   and   squirmed   out   limbs,   and   a   face:   a   manlike   figure   was   forming   from   the   tree. Its’   eyes   burned   like   sunlight   seen   through   water. Its’   huge   voice,   gurgling   like   deep   water   under   deep   stones,   thundered   words   in   a   language   Chris   had   never   heard. The   children   crashed   madly   through   the   ferns,   until   the   nightmare   was   hidden   by    the   trees. They   yanked   their   bikes   onto   the   road.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             The   houses   on   the   far   side   of   the   road   disintegrated   in   a   tornado   of   scattered   timbers. Cars   crunched,   imploding as   if   crumpled   in   a   huge   fist. Dark   had   nearly   fallen,   made   more   so   by   the   boiling   shadow   that   was   engulfing   the   forest.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “Run,   Mindy!”   Chris   screamed. “Down   the   hill!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             Fast   as   they   pedaled   and   fast   as   their   bikes   flew,   faster   still   flew   the   arms   of   the   shadow. Their   bicycles   flipped   over,   catapulting   them   into   the   leaves   beside   the   road. “Morkû   moko!”   the   thing   was   thundering,   over   and   over,   and   horrible   meaning   seeped   out   of   the   words   into   Chris’s   mind.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “I   know   what   he’s   saying.”   he   murmered.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “What   is   it,   then?”   Mindy   screamed.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   hate   Men.” <span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">   said   Chris   faintly.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             A   blast   threw   them   to   the   earth. A   passing   car   exploded   in   swirling   shards. Mindy,   partly   under   Chris,   huddled   to   the   ground. Feelers   of   blackness   raced   about   in   every   direction,   as   if   probing. It   hadn’t   destroyed   them. It   hadn’t   struck   them   because   it   could   not   see   them.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             The   shirt. He   was   wearing   the   magic   shirt.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             He   felt   it   under   his   own,   silky   and   queer,   just   as   it   felt   in   his   dream. He   lay   close   above   Mindy. If   she   held   into   him   they   both   were   unseen.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “Listen!”   he   said. “Hang   on   to   me. ''He   can’t   see   us. Or   hear   us. Or   find   us. ''   As   long   as   you’re   touching   me,   you’re   safe.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “I   don’t   understand,   what   IS   that   thing?”   Mindy   was   bawling.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             Riding   double   on   his   bike,   they   bowled   down   the   hill. An   earthquake   nearly   made   them   crash,   and   they   screeched   to   a   stop   as   the   house   at   the   bottom   of   the   hill   turned   into   a   fireball   in   front   of   them. Fearfully   they   looked   behind. Out   of   the   forest   a   storm-cloud   was   building,   ramparts   of   hard   solid   brown-white   shooting   out   of   a   boiling   green-black   heart. Lightning   flamed   and   lanced.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             Out   of   the   earth   Ronnie   Wendy   erupted,   fiery   red   light   escaping   from   him. “Tû!”   his   voice   roared   like   the   voice   of   the   earth. “Cease!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             Again   the   being   who   now   wore   the   form   of   storm   spoke   like   gurgled   thunder,   and   as   he   could   in   his   dreams   Christopher   found   he   could   understand   it:   ''“You   are   only   a   Hill! How   do   you   dare   to   take   the   part   of   Morkû?''”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             The   storm   poured   itself   down   upon   the   Hill   of   the Road. Chris   saw   the   sheer   power   of   the   being   that   was   in   that   form,   simply   quench   Ronnie   Wendy   into   the   ground.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   was   buried   under   hills! No   hill   masters   me!” ''<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">   the   voice   roared.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             Then   the   storm   crashed   overhead,   rearing   into   the   air   as   the   human-hater   howling   turned   his   rage   toward   the   nearby   cities.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             Ronnie   Wendy   got   shakily   to   his   feet. “Grab   my   hand.”   he   said. “I   can   only   earthtravel   a   little   way,   after   that   kind   of   pounding. We   need   a view.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             Mindy   and   Chris   shakily   grabbed   his   hand. The   world   became   whirling   streaks   of   red   and   black. They   found   themselves   standing   on   a   lip   of   rock,   below   the   crown   of   a   lofty   height   that   fell   in   faces   of   rock   toward   them. Trees   were   growing   either   side,   but   a   broad   view   opened   before   them. The   flat   valley   south   of   Winsted   lay   like   a   gorge   below   them,   Still   River   placid   and   snakelike   in   its’   swamp. Above   it   rose   an   immense   detached   upland,   rolling   and   dark:   the   West   Hill   highland. To   the   right,   some   nine   miles   south,   they   could   see   the   lights   of   Torrington. The   last   sad   paleness   of   dusk   lay   over   the   land   from   the   west,   but   the   east   was   black   and   boiling   and   glowed   an   awful   tornadic   green   behind   the   black. Green   and   blue   lightnings   crashed   about   the   charging   storm   like   fire.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “Where   are   we?”   said   Chris.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “The   viewpoint   behind   Bachellor   School,   on   Case   Mt   just   south   of   Winsted.”   said   Ronnie. “Here   he   comes. I   hope   the   rest   of   us   hurry   up…I   cannot   stop   him.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “What   is   he?”   Mindy   screamed.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “He   is   Tû.”   said   Ronnie. “Once   he   was   the   shepherd   of   Men   and   Dark-elves. Now   he   hates   Men. He   was   woken   far   too   soon. We   were   preparing   to   wake   him   ourselves. All   of   us   would   have   been   there. But   he   looked   upon   the   earth   and   saw   it   filled   with   Men,   and   he   comes   forth   in   rage   unmatchable   to   lay   waste   the   earth.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             The   storm   now   covered   the   heavens. Like   the   speed   of   a   gale   it   was   pouring   toward   Torrington,   the   lightnings   lashing   down   over   the   land   that   he   crossed,   bursts   of   fire   and   debris   leaping   up   from   houses   that   lay   in   his   path. His   voice   filled   the   air   like   the   very   thunder   itself.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             Like   the   sound   of   wind   and   fire   two   other   voices   rose   in   answer,   singing   chants   of   dreadful   strength   to   force   back   and   contain   the   storm. The   clouds   boiled   as   if   a   contrary   wind   had   set   into   them,   but   this   was   no   mere   weather   of   the   world. This   was   the   body   of   a   being   beyond   comprehension. The   warring   winds   crashed   and   fell,   and   the   grey   wall   of   debris   howled   onward,   and   blown   upon   it   like   leaves   were   the   figures   of   two   men:   Root   and   Wimbledon.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             A   towering   figure   of   red   and   brown   shadowy   light   rose   up   in   the   path   of   the   storm;   and,   checked   for   a   moment,   it   boiled   upward. From   the   figure   that   stood straddling   the   valley   came   a   voice   like   the   voice   of   ten   thousand   roaring   beasts,   and   it   spoke   in   a   language   so   huge   and   powerful   the   very   syllables   fell   like   rocks   upon   the   ears   that   heard   it:   and   Chris   staggered,   toppling   to   his   knees,   both   hands   clenched   over   his   ears,   for   he   had   heard   that   voice   before,   he   had   heard   that   speech   before,   falling   from   the   heavens   like   a   landslide   made   of   sound   upon   the   Forgotten   Host. The   storm   spoke   in   answer,   not   in   the   same   tongue   but   in   one   that   Chris   realized   must   have   been   some   kind   of   Elvish,   for   it   sounded   like   it:   and   fifty   thousand   lightnings   seemed   to   merge   as   they   cannonaded   down   upon   the   being   of   brown   light. He   bowed   before   the   blast,   reeling   backward,   toppling   upon   his   back. No   splash   arose   from   the   river   he   fell   upon:   he   merely   went   out,   like   a   light.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “The   Wizard   is   not   strong   enough.”   whispered   Ronnie. “A   Maia himself   cannot   withstand   him. What   are   we   to   do?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             Like   an   avalanche   of   cloud   the   storm   poured   down   on   Torrington. A   wall   of   boiling   darkness   rose   to   blot   out   his   eerie   greenness:   pulverized   houses,   people,   cars   and   buildings. Tû   was   engulfing   the   entire   city.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             Like   a   tower   of   blue   light   rose   a   figure   of   flame,   unbearably   bright,   standing   out   of   the   ruined   city   like   an   old   rock   against   the   oncoming   of   the   sea. A   shield   of   blue   light   sprang   from   his   hands,   spreading   as   far   to   either   side   as   eye   could   see,   forcing   back   the   storm.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             And   the   storm   spoke, and   this   time   Chris   could   comprehend   him,   though   the   speech   was   unchanged,   even   as   he   could   in   his   dreams. ''“Arheled,   how   dare   thou   shield   these   polluted   people? How   dare   thou   defend   their   filth? Thou   must   stand   aside,   or   thou   shalt   be   destroyed.” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             Equally   huge   but   calm   as   the   thunder   of   a   steadfast   wind   the   voice   of   Arheled   sounded   in   reply. “You   are   the   Ninth   of   the   Men   in   Brown. You   were   called   here   to   withstand   the   Nine   Lords   of   the   Night. For   this   have   you   been   woken.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             And   the   storm   roared,   ''“Think   thee   to   hold   me   back,   Warden? Think   thou   to   enforce   me? Think   further! Even   the   Road   is   not   enough.” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “But   I   am   not   entirely   alone.”   said   Arheled. Feet   rooted   in   the   living   earth,   he   strained   to   hold   the   shield   against   the   fury   of   Tû,   but   was   being   forced   backward,   step   by   giant   step.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “Ronnie,   what   is   happening? Who   is   that?”   Chris   wailed.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “That   is   Arheled.”   said   the   Hill   of   the   Road. His   voice   was   detached,   almost   unnaturally   calm,   but   in   his   eyes   red   light   flickered. “The   Men   in   Brown   are   not   enough. Only   anger   can   overcome   anger.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             Chris   saw   someone   moving   out   of   the   corner   of   his   eye. He   turned   his   head. The   pale   boy   Forest   was   standing   there,   as   if   arisen   out   of   the   earth,   in   his   usual   brown   and   green. His   face   was   blank,   but   his   eyes   burned   green. Something   flashed   in   his   grasp,   a   shifting   golden   mist,   seething   fire   and   light   churning   terribly in   an   oblong   cloud   four   feet   long.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “What…is   that?”   Mindy   was   saying   warily.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “This   is   the   Hammer.”   said   Forest   in   the   same   flat   quiet   voice   he   had   used   on   Brianna.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “Swing   him,   Forest.”   said   Ronnie. “The   Men   in   Brown   stand   with   Arheled,   but   they   are   not   enough,   for   Tû   is   angry. Send   anger   against   him.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             Forest   whirled   his   arms   as   if   hurling   something. A   blinding   thunderbolt   of   amber-gold   blasted   from   his   hands,   and   the   horrible   seething   cloud   he   had   grasped   was   gone. The   boy   shouted   in   a   dreadful   voice,   no   human   voice   but   somehow   many   voices   bound   as   one,   voices   of   such   titanic   rage   Chris   felt   it   like   a   furnace,   rising   in   some   awful   energetic   chant:

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">''<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“In   forge’s   fire   of   flaming   wrath ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">''<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Was   heaviest   hammer   hewn   and   wielded!” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Red   and   purple   lightning   exploded   like   a   fountain   in   the   heart   of   the   storm   at   the   impact   of   the   thunderbolt,   wrapping   the   storm   like   a   net   of   blinding   flame. The   storm   howled. Under   the   power   of   Arheled   and   of   the   Hammer,   the   huge   clouds   imploded,   collapsing   and   clashing   in   on   themselves.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">“Tû shrinks.”   said   Ronnie. “The   lightning   pulls   him   down. Roaring   and   wailing   the   storm   shrinks   before   the   double   assault. The   fire   wraps   it. The   shield   encompasses   it. Roaring   he   collapses,   changing,   until   on   the   ground,   beaten   to   his   knees,   crouches   a   huge   ragged   man   all   in   brown.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “Now   steps   forth   Arheled   in   human   shape,   and   he   saith,   ''Tû,   dost   thou   yield   to   the   command   of   the   One   who   set   us   both   in   the   darkness   to   rule   in   the   morning?    And   Tû   answers,   I   will   yield.   Then   says   Arheled,   Rise   then,   my   brother. Be   thou   robed   in   brown. Be   the   Ninth   of   the   Men,   as   I   am   the   Eighth;   but   be   thou   ruled   by   me,   for   I   command   them''. And   Tû   gazes   darkly   upon   him   but   bows   his   head.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             Quiet   fell   upon   the   mountain. The   evening,   lighter   now   that   the   storm   was   gone,   lay   about   them   like   intricate   grey   dimness;   tree   and   twig   seemed   to   have   more   detail   than   they   did   in   any   brighter   light. Forest   sagged   wearily   upon   a   large   golden   war-hammer,   some   four   feet   long   and   ornately   wrought,   that   he   was   using   like   a   staff. Ronnie   had   deep   hollows   under   his   eyes   and   stooped   with   weariness. Mindy   and   Chris   felt   completely   dazed;   this   was   too   much,   things   were   out   of   control   and   they   were   trapped   in   a   nightmare   of   gigantic   tumultuous   events   they   could   not   understand. Figures   were   emerging   out   of   the   dimness,   descending   the   path   from   the   hillcrest:   a   huge   man   in   ragged   brown,   a   quiet   oldish   man   in   plaid   shirt   and   brown   corduroy   pants,   Root   and   Wimbledon   and   Nuncle   Jimmy,   Turin   and   Beleg. One   other   was   with   them,   the   man   who   had   led   a   bear   in   the   pet   parade. An   old   leather   jacket   he   wore,   and   pants   of   worn   leather;   a   big   shapeless   hat   of   fur   with   side   flaps   sat   on   his   tangled   white   hair. His   short   beard   had   strands   of   brown   about   the   lips. <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">   His   face   was   long   and   bony,   with   a   sharp   nose   and   deep   sombre   brown   eyes;   but   their   surface   was   sharp   and   wary   and   alive,   sparkling   with   a   strange   intense   delight   in   small   things. In   his   hand   he   held   the   very   staff   that   Chris   had   found   in   the   barn.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “We   are   the   Men   in   Brown.”   said   Arheled. “I   admit   Forest   chose   a   very   bad   time   to   wake   up   Treebeard,   for   all   of   us   were   busy   welcoming   him   and   our   friend   here   forgot   his   own   staff.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   swear,   one   of   these   days   you’ll   forget   your   own   head   if   you   don’t   screw   it   on.”   snorted   Root.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   dreamed   it.”   said   Chris. “Me   waking   him   up. Er,   you   up.”   he   added,   looking   up   fearfully   at   the   huge   silent   stranger   who   stood   behind   the   others.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   suppose   thanks   are   in   order,   little   human. ''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">”   Tû   rumbled. He   had   great   harsh   craggy   features   and   dreadfully   piercing   eyes,   like   wells   of   dark   fire.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “Yes,   and   it   seems   it   was   meant   to   be   so.”   sighed   Arheled. “Still,   I   wish   we   had   acted   more   swiftly. Torrington   is   now   a   wasteland. And   the   Nine   Lords   know   we   are   here.”

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