Ch. 4: The Signs of the Nine Hills

(Return to Arheled)



           The  warmth  of  May  just  as  quickly  receded  into  cool,  gloomy  days  and  rain. Sunday was  especially  rainy:  Ronnie  Wendy  had  to  drive  to  Mass. But he  liked  spring  rains;  although  cold  they  were  also  laden  with  green  and  growth,  quite  unlike  the  grim  rains  of  winter. He waved  hello  to  the  Midwinters  who  were  dashing  up  the  steps  from  their  tan  club-wagon,  and  got  the  door  for  them.

           “Hello,  Midwinters  one  and  all!”  he  greeted   when  they  were  all  safely  inside.

           “Hi,”  said  Lara. Lilac waved,  over  Summer’s  head. Mrs. Midwinter asked  Ronnie how  to  go  about  cooking  a  pie  in  a  Dutch  oven  and  he  gave  her  such  detailed  instructions  she  told  him  to  write  it  down  and  fled  inside. Ronnie chose  a  pew  far  over  on  the  left  side  of  the  spacious  church. It was  Eastertide  and  the  air  was  sweet  with  Easter  lilies  from  the  numerous  flowers  arranged  about the  altar. The crucifix  above  the  tabernacle  had  been  temporarily  replaced  by  a  tiny  statue  of  the  Risen  Jesus,  and  the  statues  were  all  unveiled  and  the  life-size  crucifix  wore  a  banner  of  white  gauze  draped  over  both  arms,  while  on  the  opposite  side  a  blue  canopy  with  a  representation  of  the  Tomb  beneath  a  brown  cross  blocked  one  of  the  side  altars. He noticed  with  some  delight  the  regal  young  girl  with  the  long  straight  hair  was  sitting  a few  pews  ahead  of  him.

           The  bulletin  insert  this  week  was  about  common  terms  used  in  the  new  liturgy. Ronnie chuckled  as  he  looked  at  some  of  them. “Liturgy” was  good,  as  well  as  “communion”,  but  “damnation”? Did that have  to  be  defined?? Could it  be  that  Catholics  today  did  not  know  “consecration”?? And weren’t  “sin”  and  “chalice”  obvious  to  any  Catholic?

           “It’s  a  sad  sorry  state  when  self-evident  terms  have  to  be  taught  to  grown  Catholics.”  he  muttered.

           The  new  liturgy  had  been  a  long-awaited  project. A “new  translation”  of  the  Missal  had   been  rumored  about for  nearly  ten  years,  but  it  was  only  until  last  year  that  the  US  bishops  finally  stopped stalling  and  approved  the  final  version  to  be  sent  to  Pope  Benedict  XVI. It was  scheduled  to  be  implemented  on  the  1st  Sunday  of  Advent  this  year,  and  from  samples  of  the  wording,  had  transformed  the  plain  and  sometimes  banal  formulations  of  the  ‘70s  English  translation  into  more  solemn  and  traditional  expressions.

           After  Mass  the  regal  girl  stood  up,  gathered  her  wraps  with  a  stately  deliberation,  and  genuflected  with  a  gracious  dignity. She had  a  brown  dress  and  a  grey  sweater,  with  a  large  black  umbrella  hanging  by  its’  hooked  handle from  one  arm. Her long  straight  hair  was  also  brown,  and  she  had  a  strange  face,  willowy  and  rounded,  a  faint  perpetual  smile  as  if  she  held  some  serene  and  joyful  secret  to  herself. Her manner  was  deliberate  and  measured,  and  so  gracious  as  to  almost  seem  studied.

           “Hi,  Moriah.”  he  said,  falling  into  step  beside  her.

           “Hello,  Ronnie. How are  you  doing.”  she  said,  giving  him  a  quiet  but  somehow  young  smile. She spoke  in  a  most  peculiar  intonation,  measured  and  regal,  with  a  downward  inflection  at  the  end  of  every  sentence. It was  as  if  she  was  practicing  for  something,  or  acting  out  a  mask,  to  conceal  what  truly  lay  beneath.

           “I  just  got  done  moving  to  Burrville.”  he  said.

           “Did  you  really. That’s very  nice.”  she  answered,  with  her  young,  dreamy  smile  and  her  queenlike  tone. “Did you  have  any  trouble.”

           Ronnie  grew  grim-faced. “Somewhat.”

           “You  should  not  be  afraid. You are  under  a  very  strong  protection.”

           “Really.”  he  said,  looking  fixedly  at  her. They reached  the  vestibule  and blessed  themselves  with  holy  water,  and  Moria  opened  her  umbrella  while  Ronnie  threw  on  his  coat.

           “Yes,  really. Stronger than  you  could  know.”  They  opened  the  door  and  headed  down  the  steps. “All Catholics  have  great  power  against  evil.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I  wish  it  worked  at  the  right  times.”  he  muttered.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Our  religion  is  not  a  good-luck  charm.”  Moria  said  as  they  headed  down  the  church  drive. Rain drummed  on  her  umbrella. “To be  efficacious,  sacramental  must  be  used  with  faith. And we  cannot  expect  to  cast  out  demons  if  we  do  not  use  the  Name  of  Jesus.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Does  the  Name  of  Jesus  quench  fire?”  Ronnie  said  sardonically,  and  felt  bad  at  once.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “The  Name  of  Jesus  has  power  against  all  activities  of  the  devil.”  Moria  stated. “Did you  bike  here.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “No,  I  drove.”  said  Ronnie  with  a  start. She inclined  her  head  and  walked  on,  and  he  headed  a  little  absently  toward  his  truck.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Lara  Midwinter  looked  around  the  church  a  little  irritably  as  she  came  out  from  the  bathroom. She had  wanted  to  ask  Ronnie  if  he  had  heard  from  Arheled  recently. But there  was  no  sign  of  him,  and  she  helped  her  mom  herd  the younger  ones  into  the  van  with  a  grumpy  feeling.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           The  rain  ended  by  evening  and  it  became  wonderfully  soft  and  damp  and  misty. The little  ones  were  all  out  playing  in  the  puddles,  but  Lara  went  for  a  walk  down  by  the  river. It was  a  typical  quiet  spring  Sunday  in  Riverton. The river  ran  brown  and  high  under  the  bridge. Fog held  the  mountains  above  the  village  hostage. Everything was  green  and  black.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “What  is  it  you  wish,  Starmaiden?”  Arheled  asked  quietly. His low  voice  seemed  to  vibrate  in  the  ground.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Does  the  Quest  of  the  Nine  Hills  have  anything  to  do  with  the  Stars?”  Lara  blurted. “Who is  Daslenga? Why does  he  bear  the  Herald…?”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “So  many  questions.”  sighed  Arheled. “So many  problems. Everything is  connected,  Lara. I cannot  describe  the  picture  until  I  have  painted  the  borders,  nor  could  you  comprehend  it  unless  you  can  identify  the  shapes  that  move  within  it. Reality is  a  complicated  pattern,  Lara,  of  which  you  see  only  a  few  end-threads  at  a  time,  totally  irrelevant  to  your  eyes. But as  the  roots  of  the  threads  become  clear  with  the  searching,  so  too  does  their  interrelation  slowly  dawn  on  the  searchers. Do not  be  like  the  fools  who  hunt  for  a  “theory  of  everything”,  a  single  overarching  formula  that  binds  gravity  and  relativity,  light  and  chaos  theory  and  all  the  limbs  and  branches  of  reality,  into  a  single  comprehension.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “For  everything comes  out  of  God!”  exclaimed  Lara. “And if  the  different  branches  of  physical  creation  represent  different  aspects  of  God’s  personality  as  expressed  in  His  creations,  then  they  will  have  no  unifying  principle  until  one  traces  it  back  to  Him!”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “God  is  the  unifying  principle,”  agreed  Arheled,  “even  as  one  and  the  same  mind  can  produce  stone  walls  and  paintings,  songs  and  writings,  weaving  and  pottery,  arts  unlike  in  every  way  and  incapable  of  being  unified  save  in  the  mind  that  produced  them. You are  indeed  intelligent.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Not  intelligent  enough,  I  guess,  or  I  would  see  the  correlation  between  a grotto,  a  grapevine,  a  glyphic  and  a  graven  rock—“

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Aside  from  the  letter  G!”  chortled  Arheled.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Lara  flapped  her  hand  at  him. “You know  what  I  mean.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I  do.”  Arheled  concurred. “But beware,  Lara,  of  trying  to  know  everything  before  its’  revelation. That was  the  error  that  he  made  in  the  singing  of  Creation,  of  trying  to  comprehend  all  of  reality  before  the  song  was  completed  and  the  Themes  introduced  by  which  alone  would  much  of  it  make  sense. And his  reasons  were  good  at  first,  for  he  was  lord  of  Creation  and  wished  to  rule  it  rightly,  but  in  his  impatience  he  refused  to  admit  there  was  anything  he  could  not  understand. And so  when  he  was  faced  with  the  Mystery  of  the  Incarnation,  he  rejected  it.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Who  is  he?”  Lara  said,  a  coldness  growing  in  her  at  the  enigmatic  words.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “The  rider  of  the  darkness.”  Arheled replied. “The causer  of  chaos. The primeval  disorderer. He who  arose  in  Might.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Is  that  the  purpose  of  the  Six? You said  on  Temple  Fell  that  the  Five  Churches  were  forts  erected  to  hold  the  North  against  him. But Travel  said  she  spoke  with  him  on  Coe  Av—north  of  Winsted. How can  he  be  kept  out  of  the  North  if  he’s  already  passed  the  Churches?”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           She  was  a  little  startled  when  Arheled  bent  over  with  laughter,  slapping  his  leg  as  he  roared. “Oh, Lara!”  he  wheezed. “You talk as  if  he  was  a  physical  being,  with  a  body  of  matter!”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I  know  he  isn’t,”  she  snapped,  “but  what’s  the  point  of  forts  if  he’s  already  passed  them?”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Arheled,  still  chortling,  drew  breath  and  sobered  down. “You don’t  seem  to  grasp  the  situation,  Star.”  he  said. “Every spirit  has  power,  or  strength  to  act  upon  other  beings. Chaos found  he  could  put  his  strength  into  mater,  infect  the  particles,  pollute  the  forms. That is  why  matter  corrupts  and  decays  premature. That is  why  he  is  called  Chaos. His song  marred  it  in  its’  singing,  and  when  it  was  called  into  being  he  polluted all  the  rest,  save  for  Valinor  alone. But his  strength  was  not  in  him  and  he  was  weakened  and  chained,  his  intellectual  essence  exiled  from  the  worlds.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Yes,  I  know,  but  then  why  are  we  so  worried?”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Arheled  gazed  into  the  river. “Because when  the  heavens  were  changed,  the  Door  of  Night  opened. That was  the  cause  of  the  great  disaster. He came  back. He could  not  be  cast  out  again,  for  the  guard  was  bowed  with  weariness. And the  earth  darkened,  and  sacred  history  passed  as  the  world  fell  under  the  unseen  kingship  of  Chaos. And even  as  he  established  his  last  details,  ruling  the  world  via  Rome,  there  was  an  earthquake  in  Creation,  for  he  had  executed  God.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “And  that  chained  him.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “That  sent  him  out  beyond  the  circles  of  the  world  once  again,  and  the  Door  of  Night  was  locked. But the  ancient  world  and  the  laws  of  twilight  were  passing  away  as  the  Light  spread,  and  the  strength  of  Chaos  which  he  disseminated  throughout  matter,  is  leaking  out  of  matter  and  back  into  him. That is  why  the  Door  of  Night  again  is  open. He is  in  the  world,  but  because  he  has  no  body  he  does  not  walk  upon  it;  and  he  cannot  resume  a  body  until  all  his  power  returns. When that  may  be,  I  cannot  tell. Then he  will  walk  up  from  the  South  to  overthrow  the  North,  for  in  the  North  that  he  once  ruled  is  where  the  Road  walks  against  him,  and  it  is  against  such  a  hour  that  I  caused  the  Five  to  be  constructed.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Lara  nodded. “So he  can  poke  his  finger  in  here  and  there,  but  can’t  get  his  whole  hand  in.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “To  some  extent,  yes.”  Arheled  agreed. “For the  dragon  hates  the  woman,  and  makes  war  on  all  her  offspring.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Is  Chaos  a  dragon?”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Arheled  laughed. “Is Beelzebul  Satan,  and  is  Satan  Lucifer? There are  many  of  the  Nine  Choirs  in  Hell,  but  their  leader  was  not  of  any  Choir. He was  supreme. Twelve wings  tradition  draws  on  him,  yet  only  six  upon  the  Seraphim. But the  Father  of  Dragons  is  no  less  damned  than  Chaos.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Who  is  the  Father  of  Dragons? I thought  literal  physical  dragons  were  fairy  tales.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “But fairy  tales  are  themselves  an  attempt  to  portray  one  aspect  of  reality.”  replied  Arheled. “You believe  in  dinosaurs  because  you  see  their  bones;  but  who  assembled  the  bones? Who is  to  say  that  because  some  skeletons  were  found  complete,  therefore  every  other  skeleton  must  follow  those  designs? Who are  you  to  say  what  did  and  did  not  walk  upon  this  earth?”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           He  went  on  in  a  less  severe  tone. “Dragons were  real. They survived  the  Flood,  but  not  the  Church. Demonic creatures  cannot  abide  the  Light,  nor  the  warriors  of  the  Light,  the  Catholic  laymen  who  followed  St. George. They are  all  dead. Except for  he  who  begot  them.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           It  was  so  dim  around  them  now  that  Lara  could  barely  see  his  face. “Is he  a  devil,  or  a  beast? I thought  demons  have  no  bodies.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Not  as  you  do,  no.”  Arheled’s  voice  answered. “But they  delight  in  aping  and  in  mocking  the  Lord,  and  they  are  quite  capable  of  making  imitation  embodiments,  to  copy  and  ridicule  the  supreme  Incarnation. Such was  the  Father  of  Dragons.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           He  lifted  one  great  arm. Black against  the  pale  clouds  it  loomed. The night  sky  shone  through  as  great  rents  appeared  in  the  cloud  cover,  until  large  patches  of  it  were  bare. There was  the  Herald,  high  already;  soon  he would  only  rise  in  the  day. Below him  and  behind  him  was  a  long  quadruped  figure,  with  four  swinging  legs  and  a  short  stemlike  head. “Who is  that?”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Leo,  of  course.”  she  answered.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “No,”  replied  Arheled,  “Leo  is  that  way. This is  part  of  Canis  Major,  the  Great  Dog. But there  are  many  more  stars  in  him  than  are  needed  to  make  him;  and  as  you  see  something  else  marches  beneath  him. Something misinterpreted  by  men  since  his  stars  fled  so  far  they  can  barely  be  seen;  something  that  walks  beneath,  as  he  walked  then. Look at  him  closer,  Lara,  if  you  would  see  his  true  sign.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           The  faint  stars  below  the  bright  star  Sirius  began  to  grow  brighter,  as  if  her  eyes  were  improving. She gasped. Shapes began  t  appear  in  the  stars,  as  gleam  related  itself  to  gleam  in  her  focused  eyes,  as  if  unseen  lines  were  drawn  between  them. Other long  lines  thrust  out  around  the  stemlike  head,  branching  from  a  central  point;  and  from  the  high  humped  tail  reached  two  lines  like  spread  wings.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “There are  seven  heads.”  said  Arheled. “That is  the  sign  that  appeared  in  the  sky. That which  hides  beneath  the  Wolf  is  the  Father  of  Dragons.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">The phone  rang  in  Forest’s  house. He heard  it  from  up  in  his  room  and  waited. Sure enough  a  stampede  soon  followed:  Dad’s  heavy  tread  pounding  down  the  stairs,  Bell’s  quick  patter  hurrying  in  from  the  kitchen,  and  then  Mom’s  light  steps  from  the  other  direction. Bell must  have  got  to  it  first  because  he  heard  her  sing,  “Hi,  Ronnie!...Oh,  sure,  he’s  right  here. Dad, it’s  for  you.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Hello,  Hunter  Light  here.”  said  Dad. Forest came  out  and  slipped downstairs,  in  time  to  hear  Ronnie’s  deep  cutting  voice  from  the  old  speaker. He was  saying  something  about  a  numeral  2  with  the  top  closed  to  form  a  loop.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “That  sounds…wait,  let  me  draw  that.”  Hunter  drew  a               on  the  notepad. “Hmmm…Greek has  a  lowercase  of  the  letter  Delta  that  looks  similar,  but  only  if  you  hold  it  upside  down  and  to  a  mirror. Inverse Delta…interesting…Wait,  what about  Armenian? I just  remembered,  the  Armenian  alphabet  has  a  symbol  like  this. Let me  get  to  the  computer…dang,  the  cord  won’t  reach. Be right  back.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Forest  picked  up  the  receiver. “Uh…Ronnie?”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Ahoy,  Forest. Yes, I  was  asking  your  dad  about  that  odd  2  I  saw  engraved  in  the  date  outside  the  McColl  cabin  on  Ward’s  Hill. Have you  seen  anything  of  Arheled?”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Yeah. Um. I’ll send  you  an  email,  I  guess.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Yeah,  I  know  you’re  not  too  good  at  phone  talking. Did he  talk  to  you?”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I’ll   write  it.”  said  Forest. “Um, here’s  Dad.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Ronnie?”  said  Hunter  Light  into  the  phone. “I found  it. The 27th  letter,  Jheh,  in  Armenian  has  a  lowercase  that  is  a  2  with  the  hook  closed  to  a  loop. It represents  the  voiced  postalveolar  affricate  in  Old  and  Eastern  Armenian,  and  the  aspirated  voiceless  affricate  in  Western. In the  Armenian  numbering  system  it  means  900,  and  is  usually  given  the  equivalence of  J  or  Dj. Basically, the  sound  produced  when  your  tongue  stops  the  air  flow  then  directs  it  through  the  sharp  edge  of  the  teeth  along  the  center  of  the  tongue.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Ddd—jj—yes,  I  think  I  get  that  much.”  said  Ronnie. “But what is  lower-case  Delta  used  for? Does it  have  value?”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Delta  indicates  a  sound  very  like  dh,  or  th  in  that. But the  lower-case  Delta  is  used  as  a  symbol  in  calculus,  the  relative  electronegativity  of  different  atoms  in  a  molecule,  the  declination  of  a  celestial  body  in  the  equatorial  coordinate  system  of  astronomy—“

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Hold  it.”  said  Ronnie. “That might  be  important. What is  declination?”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Equatorial  coordinates  divide  the  celestial  sphere  along  an  equator  and  latitude  system  based  off  of  Earth’s  latitude;  basically,  a  line  cuts  the  celestial  dome  equivalent  to  Earth’s  equator,  as  if  the  latitude  of  Earth  were  projected  onto  the  sky. Declination measures  degrees  north  or  south  of  the  celestial  equator,  while  hour  angles  measure  degrees  east  and  west—horizontal.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I’ve  seen  lower-case  deltas  marking  stars.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Yes,  it’s  often  used  as  a  numbering  system  for  constellations. Thus a  constellation  may  have  several  named  stars  like  Rigel  or  Vega,  and  minor  ones  labeled,  say,  Leo  Alpha,  Leo  Beta,  all  the  way  to  Leo  Delta  and  past. In Greek,  each  letter  has  a  numerical  value. Delta means  6.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “The  funny  thing  is,  Hunter,  that  Armenian  lowercase  Jheh  occurred  inside  a  date,  1927.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Interesting.”  murmered  Hunter. “It could  mean  19  Declension  7  hour—is  that  what  you  mean?”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “What  stars  are  located  19  degrees  north  or  south  of  the  celestial  equator  along  the  7:00  line?”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “North…hold  on,  let  me  get  my  star  chart.”  He  returned  in  a  minute,  brandishing  a  star  map  still  trailing  tape  from  each  corner  where  he  tore  it  off  the  wall  of  his  study. “Let me  see—north  would  put  it  at  the  legs  of  the  Pollux  figure  of  the  Gemini  twins,  but  there’s  no  star  at  the  actual  confluence. South, though,  we  have  the  Canis  Major—the  Big  Dog—“

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I  am  the  Big  Dog!”  howled  Ronnie.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Huh?”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Oh  sorry,  Regina  Doman  quote. One guy  was  yelling  at  his  dogs,  ‘I  am  the  Big  Dog!’  So,  Canis  Major?—“

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Uh,  yes,  in  fact  right  at  the  confluence  of  19°  south  and  7  hours  west  we  have  Sirius  a  little  north  and  Beta  Canis  Majoris—the  dog’s  right  foreleg—still  in  the  7th  hour  but  about  thirty-five  minutes  toward  the  6th  hour. That’s just  behind  Lepus,  with  Orion  north  by  east.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “The  river  drowns  the  rabbit.”  said  Ronnie. “That marks  the  headwaters  of  the  River  Eridanus—Daslenga!”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “What  are  you  talking  about?”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Sorry,  Hunter,  I’m  just  all  hyper. I know  what  the  Sign  of  Ward’s  Hill  means! So, is  there  any  mythological  or  other  information  on  Beta  Canis  whatever?”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Yes,  it  has  the  Arabic  name  of  Murzim,  which  is  translated  as  ‘Announcer’  or  ‘Herald’  because  it  goes  before  Sirius.”

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''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Sent:  May  16th,  2011,  from  rondowendo@yahoo.com. ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Hullo  everyone. ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           I  just  found  out  the  Sign  of  Ward’s  Hill. It is  really  important. That number  2  with  the  loop  closed,  if  you  write  it  upside  down  and  hold  it  to  a  mirror,  it’s  an  inverse  lowercase  Delta  (Greek)  which  is  used  to  indicate  celestial  latitude. So the  date  19(delta)7  yields  coordinates  of  19  degrees  south  of  the  celestial  equator  by  7  “hours”  west. This points  to  the  constellation  Canis  Major,  near  Sirius,  but  closer  on  the  line  is  Beta  Canis  Majoris,  named  Murzim  in  Arabic— <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">“Herald.”  This  star  is  just  behind  Lepus  or  the  River  Daslenga  that  bears  up  the  Herald. I think  it  marks  the  headwaters  of  Daslenga,  as  well  as  the  actual  place  of  the  real  Herald  that  the  constellation  Herald  signifies. He would  come,  in  other  words,  from  the  star  Murzim. ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           The  Delta  has  a  numerical  value  of  6,  but  the  symbol  2  with  a  closed  loop  is  also  the  lowercase  Armenian  letter  Jheh,  which  indicates the  sound  “dj”  (Delta  is  for  “th”)  and  has  a  value  of  900. And Forest,  that  was  a  super-interesting  conversation  you  had  with  Arheled. Thanks for  writing. ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Ronmond  Wendtho ''

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''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Replied  May  17th  from  travellanet58@yahoo.com ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Hi  Ronnie. ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           So  apparently  you’re  not  satisfied  with  Numenorean  ruins  from  funny  cracks  in  the  bedrock,  now  just  because  some  cement  post  has  a  little  kink  in  the  2  it  means  a  star  named  Herald? ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Sorry. Just playing  Devil’s  Advocate. Somebody has  to  keep  you  anchored  to  reality. Any thoughts  on  the  other  signs? ''

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''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Replied  May  18th,  2011  from  rondowendo@yahoo.com ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Hi  Travel. ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           You  do  know  you’re  not  trying  my  cause for  canonization,  do  you? ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           I  did  some  research  on  the  name  Brooke  found  cut  in  the  rock  up  on  Wallens  Hill,  Robert  (or  Robeyt)  Ovitt  19 46. Funny thing  is,  that  whole  area  is  town  property  since  long  before  1946. There were  said  to  be  community  gardens  at  one  point  but  that  must  be  decades  grown  over. But there  was  only  one  Ovitt  in  Winsted  at  the  time,  on  E.  Mountain  Av  farther  down  Wallens  Hill,  and  his  name  is  not  Robert. He seems  to  have  no  kids  either,  and  moves  to  Vermont  in  the  50s. So either  it  was  done  by  another  Ovitt  from  a  neighboring  town,  done  by  this  Ovitt  in  memory  of  Robert  (maybe  a  relative),  or  carved  by  someone  else  for  unknown  reasons. There is  a  Phonecian  letter  Y,  like  a  rough  aslant  Y,  meaning  W.  It  has  a  numerical  value  of  6,  just  like  Delta. Now Brooke  says  that  the  date,  1946,  was  carved  with  a  space,  19  46. Was it  because  of  a  rough  patch,  Brooke? ''

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''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Replied  May  18th,  2011  from  travellanet58@yahoo.com: ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Canonization? I don’t  get  you. ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Notice  how  the  9s  are  stacking  up? 9 Hills,  1927,  1946,  your  Armenian  letter  has  a  value  of  900,  and  as  a  Delta  it  has  6,  and  so  does  your  Phonecian  W (inverted  9!)…1790…and  you  said  Arheled  mentioned  adding  “the  three  elders”  to  us  Six,  which  makes  9. ''

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''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Replied  May  18th,  2011,  from  riverbrooke537k@hotmail.com: ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Um,  I  think  there  was  a  rough  patch…I’m  not  sure…You  think  the  date  being  separated  is  significant? Does that  funny  Y  show  up  on  star  charts,  too? ''

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''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Sent  to  travellanet58@yahoo.com  from  rondowendo@yahoo.com,  May  18th: ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Sorry,  Travel. In the  process  of  determining  whether  a  given  holy  man  lived  a  life  of  heroic  virtue  and  should  be  canonized,  one  official  acted  as  the  “devil’s  advocate”  and  argued  against  canonization,  to  act  as  a  test  and  safeguard  against  cult-like  adulation. I heard  the  position  has  been  discontinued  recently,  though. So “playing  devil’s  advocate”  is  to  emphasise  the  negative  aspects  of  something,  even  apart  from  personal  opinion,  in  order  to  provide  balance  to  the  situation. So I  was  joking  that  you  were  part  of  the  process  of  trying  my  cause  for  canonization. ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           So  far  it’s  a  sequence:  5  villages,  5  churches,  6  of  us;  9  Hills,  7  and  2;  9  Signs  of  the  Hills:  1946,  a  Phonecian  letter  6,  an  inverse  Delta  6  which  is  also  Armenian  900,  1927,  1790…and  mention  of  the  3  Elders,  who  haven’t  been  introduced  yet,  to  make  9  of  us  Children  of  the  Rd. Of course,  having  1927  and  1790,  almost  reverses  of  each  other,  may  also  be  significant,  I  can’t  tell. ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Oh,  and  I  did  a  search. A table  of   <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">solar  declination  gives  a  celestial  latitude  of  19  degrees  north  by  47,  on  July  25th. There’s a  9  south  by  46,  but  that’s  for  Feb. 24th. So the  date  July  25th? Oh, I  don’t  know. Likely a  dead  end. ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           The  Phonecian  Y  was  transposed  into  the  Greek  capital  letter  Upsilon(U),  which  is  also  Y-shaped. The lowercase  is  (u). This does  actually  appear  on  star  charts,  having  a  value  of  400,  but  nothing  significant  seems  to  be  labeled  with  it;  except  maybe  some  curves  of  Eridanus. ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Ronmond  Wendtho ''

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<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">          Rain  pattered  outside  Forest’s  bedroom,  a  steady  damp  sound  that  wove  through  his  slumber  and  echoed  at  the  back  of  his  dreams. It had  been  raining  for  nearly  a  week,  cool  and  humid  and  gloomy. The rain-sound  echoed  dimly  around  him  as  he  stood,  gazing  into  the  darkness. Slowly he  saw something  walking  in  the  shadow,  a  vast  shape,  a  hill  with  feet  coming  toward  him,  and  he  could  only  see  it  by  the  withering  light  of  its’  piercing,  cold  eyes. He felt  no  fear,  though  he  could  not  move: only  a  tense  suspended  watchfulness:  it  seemed  so  remote  and  distant  and  long  ago.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Fire  leaped  up  in  the  darkness  as  the  Gods  fought  the  walking  hill;  but  he  was  mightier  than  they,  and  he  walked  as  he  wished  and  where  he  trod  ruin  followed. Mountains were  crushed  as  the  Gods  pulled  them  up. Seas broke  in  on  lands  and  dry  earth  was  stamped  into  seafloor. Then a  dreadful  roaring  boom  echoed  from  all  around,  huge,  boisterous,  roaring  like  the  laughter  of  the  very  heavens  themselves. The hill  of  burning  shadow  turned  in  tremendous  majesty  and  unutterable  contempt;  but  the  laughter  roared  harder  and  louder,  rocking  him  like  giant  blows,  and  the  Gods  leaped  upon  him  again,  and  the  hill  vanished  into  a  streak  of  fleeing  shadow  hiding  behind  a  wall  of  blue  glass.'' ''

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Thrice  bounded  and  thrice  freed,  thrice  exiled,  and  now  thrice  returned.”   <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">said  the  voice  in  the  shadows, like  a  murmer  of  the  background.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Light  was  growing. Forest saw  for  a  brief  moment  a  green  so  vivid  and  violent  it  swept  him  back  like  a  mighty  wind,  saw  it  by  two  stationary  suns  that  sat  upon  mountain-posts  in  north  and  south;  but  in  the  shadows  at  the  edge  of  the  earth  lurked  the  eyes  in  the  darkness,  and  stain  spread  from  them,  slowly  seeping  through  matter  and  sickening  the  green. And Forest  knew  then  who  he  was.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           There  was  a  thunderblast  of  power. A mighty  chain  all  red  and  queer  green  snaked  out  of  the  heavens  and  dragged  lashing  behind  it  the  lord  of  Chaos  himself,  and  the  Gods  strode  triumphant  on  all  sides. Then a  throne  appeared,  a  circle  of  thrones,  wrought  of  gold  fire  chained  and  made  firm  and  contained  in  gold  metal,  and  figures  of  power  sat  in  majesty  upon  them,  and  on  his  hands  and  knees  before  them  the  lord  of  Chaos  ate  the  dust  and  pretended  to  be  good. And unable  to  comprehend  the  depth  of  his  evil,  the  Gods  lifted  the  chain,  to  walk  at  large  in  heaven  and  poison  paradise.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Then  Trees  fell,  and  Darkness  spouted  heavenward,  and  the  rider  of  the  darkness  sneered  as  he  passed. Then towers  of  iron  and  pillars  of  flame  and  stone  loomed  before  Forest,  even  as  a  huge  black  dragon  fell  with  slow  inevitable  terror  prone  upon  them;  stone  bent  and  fire  spilt,  and  fire  splashed,  and  rock  leaped  like  a  fountain  as  the  very  mountains  crumpled  up  like  paper  beneath  his  ruin. And up  over  the  corpse  of  the  monster  came  the  figures  of  the  Gods  in  tremendous  majesty  and  power,  and  like a  leash  behind  they  came  dragging  helpless  a  mere  lump  of  earth,  that  lord  so  proud  and  terrible  now  weak  as  any troll;  and  they  dragged  him  over  sea  and  land  and  cut  off  his  head,  and  like  a  black  wind  they  cast  his  spirit,  still  wrapped  in  the  chain,  out  behind  the  wall  of  glass.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           All  went  dark. Slowly amid  the  vastness  of  blackness  shapes  began  to  grow visible,  as  if  Forest  had  become  able  to  see  in  the  dark. It was  cold,  and  empty,  and  utterly  quiet. Slowly a  pair  of  leering  faces  came  into  view  above  him,  long  and  muzzled,  beards  pendant  from  reptilian  chins;  they  were  dragons,  crouched  one  at  either  side  of  a  lintel  of  a  doorway. The fluted posts  were  of  a  basalt  as  dense  and  black  as  tar. The dragons  coiled  along  the  lintel, motionless,  leering  down  at  him;  and  they  too  were  of  basalt,  and  of  a  piece  with  the  stone  they  perched  upon. Underneath was  a  great  dark  blankness,  but  as  the  visibleness  increased  Forest  became  aware  that  they  were  gates,  hewn  of  black  crystal,  and  dew  gleamed  on  them  like  diamonds. All around  was  still  as  dark  as  a  covered  abyss,  night  made  solid,  darkness  tangible;  and  the  great  doors  stood  shut  before  him,  and  shadowy  smoke  poured  in  slow  eternity  from  the  dragons’  mouths,  falling  down  the  doorposts  to  drift  steadily  past  Forest’s  knees. There was  a  vast  and  deadly  silence. This was  a  place  where  nothing  happened.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Lights  began  to  grow  at  Forest’s  back,  reflected  ten  million  times  in  ten  million  drops  of  dew,  and  turning  he  saw  a  flock  of  people. He had  not  seen  them  before  because  they  had  outstripped  their  own  light,  and  only  when  they  slowed  did  their  light  catch  up  and  reach  the  Doors.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           They  were  mailed  in  silver  and  bore  silver  greaves  on  their  skins  that  jutted  up  past  the  knee,  and  white  shoulder  plates  of  a  design  he  had  never  seen. White swords  were  sheathed  at  their  hips,  and  spears  of silver were  in  their  hands. Their hair  burned,  soft  flames  of  a  clear  silver  lifting  and  flickering  upon  their  helmless  scalps,  but  their  beards  were  hair. Light rayed  wearily  from  armour  and  body  and  eye,  and  exhaustion  showed  in  their  haughty  faces. They glided  forward  upright upon  the  air  instead  of  walking.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           There  was  a  sound  like  the  rising  of  a  mountain,  and  unfolding  out of  the  darkness  a  huge  winged  figure  arose,  tall  and  mighty,  a  sword  of  power  in  his  hand. His face  was  young  and  serene,  but  in  his  eyes  shone  a  great  tiredness,  a  cumulation  of  ages  beyond  ages,  a  being  meant  to  be  outside  of  Time  but  bound  inside  it  by  his  own  ancient  choice,  weary  with  the  wearing  on  of  Time.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           And  he  said,  “What  do  you  seek?”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Then  the  beings  of  silver  answered,  “We  hunt  the  End  of  the  World.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">            And  he  asked  further  and  said,  “Why  do  you  seek  it?”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           And  they  replied, '' “Because  beyond  the  Walls  at  the  End  of  the  World,  there  is  knowledge  and  mystery;  in  the  Voids  beyond  are  the  secrets  that  we  seek. For an  age  have  we  journeyed,  riding  the  greatest  limits of  our  power  to  move  swiftly,  and  we  are  weary  with  the  greatness  of  our  search.” ''

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Then  he  said:  ''“Such  knowledge  as  you  seek  can  be  found  in  the  concealed  Paradise,  long  sundered  from  the  Arda. Why have  you  not  asked  there?” ''

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           And  they  answered:'' “ The  Gods  are  jealous  of  knowledge.” ''

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">            <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">Then  he  replied:  ''“And  for  a  reason. There was  a  doom  laid  on  you  at  your  placing,  and  it  is  in  my  thought  that  you  are  seeking for  a  way  to  circumvent  it,  to  prevent your  doom  from  catching  you  when  you  dare  to  go  to  war. I may  not  let  you  pass.” ''

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Then  they  frowned  and  drew  slowly  closer  to  him,  their glow  now  smouldering  ominously. “Thou art  wearied,  old  one,  we  can  see.”  they  said. '' “Thou art  more  wearied  than  are  we. Ages lie  heavy  upon  thee,  but  we  are  only  travel-worn. Mighty among  the  lesser  Gods  though  thou  art,  we  are  mightier  than  thee. Take care,  old  one. Open to  us,  or  thou  will  rue  it!” ''

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Not  the  onset  of  the  World  could  force  open  these  doors,  for  we  wrought  them  out  of  the   <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">arheled  itself  and  set  a  command  upon  them  that  nothing  can break.” answered  the  winged  figure. '' “Nor canst  thou  break  them. Nor canst  thou  break  me!”''

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “And  dost  thou  not  know  whom  we  are?!” <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt"> thundered  the  silver  beings  all  as  one. ''“We are  the  Stars!” ''

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           All  frames  of  reference  suddenly  ceased. Whirling cascades  of  twisting  shapes  of  white  with  blackness  and  silver  at  their  hearts;  great  lightning-stabs  of  thunderous  red,  blinding  flame  and  twisting  dark  and  fire  of  blue  and  white  and  dreadful  argent,  turned  the  world  inside  out  and  upside  down. Then all  at  once  there  was  stillness. The shapes  became  stationary,  condensing  back  into  the  forms  they  first  had  worn. Twenty-nine Stars  stood  erect  and  victorious  before  the  leering  dragons  of  graven  black  stone,  and  adrift  and  limp  in  the  airless  vacuum  lay  the  guardian,  flesh  and  wings  shredded  and  floating  slowly  apart,  a  misty  scarlet  essence  showing  the  defeated  and  naked  God.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “You  cannot  open  those  doors.” <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt"> he  gasped.  “They open  to  a  mystic  word  alone,  and  not  even  I  know  it.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           And  the  Stars  smiled  upon  him. “Oh, mean  you  this  word  by  any  chance?”  Then  turning  to  the  doors  they  stretched  out  their  hands,  and  as  one  they  said,

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Arheledenvendonwendo!” ''

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           And  with  a  low and  terrible  riaring  of  hinges  unimaginable  and  portals  beyond  guessing,  the  Doors  of  Night  swung  outwards,  and  stopped  when  perpendicular  to  the  posts  with  a  boom  like  the  world  ending. Beyond it  there  was  Nothing. An unbeing,  not  a  vacuum  but  an  utter  absence  of  Anything  at  all. It was  not  even  black,  for  black  is  a  color  and  has  something  positive  about  it;  it  was  a  hole,  it  was  emptiness. It was  the  Void.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           But  as  they  looked  out  from  the  threshold  of  the  World,  they  saw  that  there  was  a  bridge  thrown  out  through  Nothing,  and  they  saw  the  Necklace  of  the  Worlds,  each  one  a  globe  amid  the  Void,  and  far  above,  over  the  Worlds,  in  a  dimension  and  place  utterly  separate  from  spatial  terms  of  up  and  down,  was  a  mountain  of  gleaming  white. But even  as  they  gaped  at  the  realities  so  huge  of  comprehension  even  their  minds  boggled,  they  were  aware  that  the  Void  was  not  entirely  empty.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           A  wind  of  blackness  swept  around  them,  huge  chains  of  burnt  red  and  rusted  green  swinging  from  it,  and  they  were  bowled  over  like  logs  before  a  raging  flood,  and  the  gigantic  flat  mockery  of the  laughter  of  that  spirit  lingered  like  an  echo  in  the  populated  vacuum.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           The  shattered  shreds  of  the  raiment  of  form  came  together  and  were  donned,  and  the  guardian  spirit  stood  up  again,  still  battered  from  his  defeat. Stumbling to  the  Doors  of  Night  he  leaned  upon  the  mighty  portals  and  said  to  the  sprawling  Stars,  ''“Now  hast  thou  let  in  the  sign  of  thy  death  and  the  cause  of  thy  doom,  the  lord  of  Chaos  himself,  who  from  without  the  World  sent  his  whispers  into  thee,  that  thou  might  come  here  and  betray  thyselves  in  thine  own  thirst  for  what  is  hidden. Go, therefore,  and  look  for  what  you  have  sought!” ''

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           And  with  a  sudden  flare  of  power  he  thrust  the  nine-and-twenty  Stars  through  the  open  Doors  of  Night,  and  slammed  it  behind  them,  and  they  were  adrift  in  Nothing,  matter  left  out  beyond  the  realm  of  matter  and  unprotected  by  commands,  and  their  bodies  began  to  scatter  and  their  power  to  leak  from  them;  for  their  curse  was  coming  upon  them,  and  that  for  which  they  had  risked  their  very  lives  was  happening  in  vain;  they  found  no  knowledge  in  the  Void  of  Unbeing,  they found  only  death. And they  died,  and  their  bodies  and  their  power  exploded  into  gas  and  dust  and  fire,  and  Nothing  took  it,  and  it  was  quenched,  to  adhere  as  dews  of  energy  to  the  Walls  of  the  World,  trying  in  vain  to  pass  back  within.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           A  great  flash  of  Light  filled  the  Universe—filled  all  Universes—filled  the  White  Mountain  above  the  Universes—and  the  Doors  swung  open  of  themselves. Out through  them  hurtled  Chaos  bound,  the  chain  wrapped  around  him,  and  before  he  could  recover  the  Doors  had  slammed.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Then  a  terrible  thing  happened. Somehow Forest  understood  centuries  were  passing,  a  thousand  years  maybe,  and  as  he  watched  he  saw  something  like  a  black  wind  passing  out  through  the  Walls  of  the  World,  and  the  wind  funnelled  in  upon  the  waiting  evil,  feeding  him,  making him  stronger;  for  it  was  himself,  leaking  back  into  him. And he  strode  to  the  Doors  of  Night  and  spoke  the  secret  word,  and  the  Doors  of  Night  opened. The sleepless  guard  leaped  up,  many  fell  spirits,  and  the  Light  had  refreshed  them  and  they  were  young  in  strength,  and  they  gainstood  his  advance.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           But  the  Lord  of  Chaos  was  mightier  than  they,  and  he  forced  back  the  fearsome  spirits  with  the  strength  that  had  been  his,  and  he  entered  the  World,  and eluding  their  grasp  lurked  as  a  dark  cloud,  brooding  over  the  Earth  that  he  was  not  yet  tangible  enough  to  grasp. It filled  the  eyes  of  Forest,  it  filled  the  mind  of  Forest,  and  he  struggled  violently  in  the  tangled  webs  of  the  darkness,  as  its’  rider  pulled  them  tighter  and  smiled  as  he  did…

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           He  woke  up  only  when  his  struggles  with  the  tangled  bedclothes  caused  him  to  fall  out  of  bed.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           The  rainy  week  came  to  an  end  with  two  days  in  which  the  sun  actually  shone  for  a  while,  although  in  vengeance  it  still  rained  each  night. Saturday dawned  bright  and  warm,  only  to  cloud  up  and  rain  again  just  as  Winsted’s  Pet  Parade  was  beginning  and  it  was  too  late  to  call  it  off. The leaves  on  the  trees  were  thick  and  green  now,  although  still  with  a  fresh  newness  in  their  hue,  and  the  lilacs  hung  thick  and  fragrant  from  their  bushes. They were  all  different  hues  in  the  planted  flowerbeds;  Bell  counted  a  deep  maroon,  violet,  a  flat  “blue”  lilac,  a  darker  purple,  and  of  course  white  and  usual  warm  lilac,  in  the  Meadow  Lane  neighborhood  alone. Professor Light  picked  some  for  his  new  bride  almost  every  day,  to  her  blushing  confusion;  Forest  loved  to  see  his  mom  that  way. In the  damp  mossy  glens  of  Case  Mt,  the  leeks  still  lingered;  and  as  this  was  likely  the  end  of  the  season,  Ronnie  took  Travel  on  a  leek-picking  expedition  that  Sunday.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “So  what  exactly  is  a  leek?”  she  wanted  to  know  as  they  left  her  car  by  the  side  of  Winsted  Rd  and  walked  up  it. The King’s  Beer  building  sat  on  the  left  up  against  the  mountain  and  the  Still  River  swamp—remarkably  high  with  the  rain—lay  below  on  the  right. The railroad  grade  ran  just  beside  the  road  along  the  swamp  border.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Forest  onion.”  Ronnie  explained. “Also called  ramp,  of  all  things. They come  out  for  maybe  a  month  and  then  the  leaves  go  yellow  and  vanish,  and  a  week  later  you  can’t  even  find  the  place. Very good,  though;  you  can  stew  the  greens  and  treat  the  bulbs  the  same  as  onions.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           A  small  stream  poured  down  a  rocky  wall  where  the  driveway  of  King’s  Beer  met the  road,  and  Ronnie  led  her  up  this. Travel quickly  realized  why  he’d  made  her  bring  her  boots;  the  only  way  up  the  steep  bank  was  pretty  much  in  the  watercourse,  which  formed  a  winding  ladder  of  mossy  rocks  and  ledges  slushy  with  green  growths. Soon they  were  on  a  rolling  terrace  and  the  stream  flowed  in  pools  of  moss among  great  mossy  roots  of  hemlock  and  birch. It was  so  green  here,  and  damp,  and  glorious.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “It’s  like  a  jungle,  with  all  the  fern.”  Travel  said.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Tropical,  maybe,  but  not  a  jungle.”  demurred  Ronnie. “Jungles are  tangled  masses  of  growth. I’ve seen  some  laurel  jungles  around  here  that  would  qualify  and  then  some,  but  not  these.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Whatever.”  she  said.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           They  crossed  a  disused  road  that  forded  the  stream  and  rolled  on  over  the  lumpy  upland,  lost  and  forgotten  among  the  new  hemlocks  that  walled  it  and  were  rooting  in  it:  a  logging  road,  Ronnie  guessed. The stream  curved  steadily  leftwards  around  a  low  isolated  hump  of  rock  that  ran  ridgelike  downhill  to  the  right. It entered  a  region  of  monster  rocks,  chunks  of  stone  like  ruined  hills  crushed  at  all  angles  atop  each  other,  embedded  in  deep  moss  and  ages  of  leaves,  pale-green  bladderworts  covering  their  faces. Fern and  odd  forest  herbs  grew  on  the  flat  areas  and  in  the  pockets,  and  enormous  ancient  birch—whether  silver,  grey  or  yellow  was  beyond  telling—stood  upon  giant  winding  roots  like  snakes. Caves showed  dark  in  angles  where  rocks  met,  and  the  peculiar  gargle  of  underground  water  marked  the  stream. Following its’  course  Ronnie  and  Travel  scrambled  up  increasingly  bizarre  terrain,  at  one  point  climbing  through  a  rugged  gallery  under  a  mammoth  stone. Everything was  damp  and  drippy,  though  there  were  a  few  dry  spots  elsewhere,  Ronnie  said;  “that’s  why  they  call  these   Robber’s  Caves.”  One  of  them  had  been  used  as  stash  for  a  bank  robbery  a  hundred  years  ago.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           They  left  the  great  rocks  below  and  climbed  onto  a  sort  of  pause  in  the  mountainslope,  which  on the  left  became  a narrowing  pocket  behind  a  ridge. Ahead the  stream  poured  stairlike  down  a  footlike  slope  of  rocks  and  old  soil,  above  which  was  a  sheer  wall. Climbing up  they  saw  that  the  stream  flowed  in  a  chute  along  the  base  of  this  from  the  left,  and  rounding  the  corner  they  reached  one  of  the  prettiest  places  Travel  had  ever  seen.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Ramp  Falls.”  announced  Ronnie.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Down  an  ascending  stair  of  sheer  walls  covered  deep  in  moss  and  worts,  a  beautiful  cateract  splashed  like  white  rain. Among a  tumbled  area  of  deeply-overgrown  rocks  near  its’  feet  were  thick  patches  of  long-leaved  plants  hanging  downhill,  a  glossy  greeny-yellow. Old birch  stood  among  them.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “There  are  a  lot  of  other  patches,”  Ronnie  said  as  he  unlimbered  his  backpack  and  took  out  some  plastic  bags  and  a  trowel,  “but  this  one’s  the  best. Okay, we  want this  patch  to  survive,  so  only  pick  every  other  one. Look for  big  ones  with  three  leaves  and  none  of  these  spur-like  reproductive  growths:  they’re  the  best. Grasp them  by  the  base  and  keep  a  steady  pull;  they  break  easy  enough  and  then  you  have  to  pry  the  bulb  out.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Travel  found  leek-picking  a  rather  intriguing  occupation. The woods  onions  had  broad  spear-like  leaves,  thick  and  somewhat  fleshy,  usually  two  but  sometimes  three  on  the  oldest  bulbs,  narrowing  to  a  single  stalk  and  a  tapering  white  bulb,  long and  never  more  than  an  inch  wide,  buried  a  few  inches  into  the  thick  mould. Often the  bulbs  grew  sideways. She kept  breaking  them  at  first  until  she  got  the  hang  of  it. Many of  them  had  slender  stamens  or  something  poking  out  between  the  leaves,  with  a  sort  of  cap  on  the  end,  and  Ronnie  guessed  these  were  it’s  reproductive  organs  and  had  her  leave  those  alone. “We want  them  to  seed.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           They  picked  for  several  hours  until  Ronnie  said  the  patch  was  done. The day,  cool  and  cloudy  at  first,  was  warmer  and  a  bit  sticky.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “You  want  to  stop  by  my  place  and  fry  some  of  these?”  Ronnie  asked.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Sounds  like  fun.”  said  Travel. “But I  can’t  stay  too  long.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           They  made  their  way  back  down  the  damp,  beautiful  green  mountain  in  a  mood  of  quiet  happiness. “This is  so  much  different  from  the  last  time  we  were  on  Case  Mt.”  Travel  laughed  all  of  a  sudden.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I’m  trying  to  forget  about  that.”  Ronnie  groaned.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           At  his  house  they  cut  the  leaves  off  the  bulbs  and  washed  them,  then  stewed  them  in  a  big  pot. They smelled  oniony  with  a  curious  subtle  flavor  of  lettuce. They resembled  thick spinach  when  they  were  done. Travel found  them  extraordinarily  chewy;  she  pretty  much  had  to  masticate  them  into  a  ball  and  swallow  whole. But with  butter  and  salt,  even  the  broth  was  delicious. Ronnie sliced  the  bulbs and  fried  them  in  oil. They tasted  like  mild  onions. Travel told  Ronnie  when  she  left  that  now  she  was  addicted.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Blue  halls  wavering  with  flame. ''

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Lara  Midwinter  slowly  blinked  at  the  ceiling. Her tired  mind  rambled  for  a  moment,  as  her  eyes  grew  heavy,  and  closed  again.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           ''Blue. The walls  were  night-blue. Great collonaded  poticos  of  a  much  brighter  blue  were  all  around  her. She was  tall,  beautiful,  conscious  of her  beautifulity;  conscious  of  her  gown  that  drifted  diamondine  and  gleaming  around her  as  she  paced;  of  her  gleaming  hair,  combed  with  fresh  light  until  it  flared  as  white  and  radiant  as  sunshine;  of  the  sky-gems  her  lover  had  forged  for  her  from  solid  air  and  raindrops  which  she  wore ringing  her  breasts. She smiled  as  she  caught  gleams  from  her  bare  silver  arms  as  they  swung  to  her  stride. Silver patterns  embedded  into  the  coppices  flared  to  life  as  she  approached,  curling,  pointed,  mysterious:  the  signs  of  the  Stars. ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           She  tripped  swiftly  up  the  steps  at  the  end  of  the  arcade  and  paced  on  along  the  air  that  floored  this,  as  it  floored  all  their  dwellings. Why did  Arcturus  wish  to  see  her  now,  so  close  to  evening-rise,  she  did  not  know. But she  smiled  to  herself  as  she  glided  down  the  hall,  for  she  was  beautiful,  and  she  was  Star. Nothing harmed  the  Stars. Nothing concerned  the  Stars. Nothing save  themselves. ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           She  was  no  longer  alone  upon  the  colonnade. Arcturus was  pacing  steadily  beside  her. Like all  Star-lords  he  was  shod,  his  silver  feet  concealed  in  gleaming  boots of  silver,  and  diamond  and  silver  shone  his  robes  and  raiment. He had  brushed  his  hair  with  fresh  light  as  well,  and  this  pleased  her,  for  it  meant  that  she  was  beautiful  enough  to  impress  him. ''

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Sophia,”  he  greeted,  “ <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">Solenta  enStalonda.''” ''

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “ <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">Solenta  enStalonda'',  my  lord,”  she  returned. She was  pleased  to  hear  her  voice,  rich  and  tingling  and  dusky;  it  was  unlike  most  lennalli. ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Walk  with  me,  fair  one,  do  I  pray  upon  you.” ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I  pray  you  returning,  I  am  most  willing.” ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           They  walked  upon  the  darksome  air  in  silence  for  some  ways. She turned  her  eyes  toward  him  now  and  anon,  liking  the  way  her  eyes  cast  reflections  on  the  dark  silver  of  his  cheek. ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Is  my  lady  yet  well?” ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           She  was  apprehensive  at  once. He had  asked  this  more  and  more  often  as  the  month  aged  and  the  belly of  Charosa  the  Wandering  Star  grew,  and  Sophia  handmaid  to  the  great  Shewanderer  herself  had  always  answered  as  she  did  now:  “She  does  well,  my  lord.” ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Does  the  Choir  yet  ring  whom  the  father  is?” ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “My  lady  is  unsure  herself,  my  lord. She cares  not  for  how  may  ring  the  Choir.” ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Is  her  laughter  as  it  was?”  There  was  a  wistfulness  in  his  voice that  made  Sophia  look  at  him  in  sudden  glee:  she  was  certain  now,  the  Lord  Arcturus  was  in  love  with  the  Lady  Charosa. “It is  like  the  rippling  of  falling  light.”  she  answered. ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Arcturus  gave  a  smile  that  caused  the  air  in  front  of  him  to  shine. “I draw  great  comfort  from  such  details,  Sophia. My rays  bend  with  the  weight  of  my  worries.” ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I  would  gladly  straight  them,  Arcturoha.” ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “So  you  would,  indeed. You know  of  the  shadow  that hangs  on  the  Choir. Angar has  been  speaking  strange  words. Nor have  Chelendar  and  his  piercers  sent  any  messages  into  my  thought,  and  I  am  disturbed,  for  a  day  hence  they  were  in  sight  of  the  vanished  Doors. Upon their  mission  depends  everything,  Sophiala.” ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I  am  dark,  my  lord.” ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Ah,  I  have  not  told  you  why  they  left! They were  sent  by  me  an  age  ere  today  after  they  pierced  the  symbol  on  the  5th  arcade  and  comprehended  it. It told  them  of  a  possibility. That possibility  must  be  made  bright  and  comprehended,  for  the  possessor  of  it  would  be  freed  from  worries. But now  I  am  afraid,  for  the  dangers  they  face  are  many,  and  I  cannot  send  more,  for  an  age  would  pass  before  they  came  there.”  He  looked  around  at  the  deepening  twilight. “But Shining  is  nearly  here,  and  I  dislike  delay.” ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “And  must  I  haste  to  attend  my  lady  Charosa.” ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I  please  to  you,  Sophiala.”  he  said  softly. “Please you  not  to  gossip  of  our  talk. I will  know  if  you  have.” ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I  please  to  you,  my  lord  Arcturus. I have  been  silent. To enjoy  your  pleasure  is  sufficient.” ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Your  pleasure  consoles  me.”  He  bent  and  kissed  her  on  the  lips,  and  she  flowed  her  mouth  around  his,  shining  three  times  brighter  at  the  sign  of  affection. “May I  visit  you  in  the  middle-day?”  he  said  when  their  lips  had  resumed  normal  position. ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “My  walls  are  always  soft  to  you,  Arcturoha.” ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           He  smiled  on  her. “I will  enjoy  your  pleasure.” ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Then  he  bowed  and  sped  skywards  like  a  flash  of  silver  flame,  until  another  gleam  was  added  to  the gathering  stars  in  the  evening  sky. She kissed  her  hand  to  him. ''

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Travel!”  the  imperious  voice  of  Grandmother  Lane  called  from  the  detached  house. Travel shut  her  eyes  and  sighed. She might  have  known  she  couldn’t  escape  her  old  relative’s  eagle  watch. “Hello, Grandmother.”  she  said,  walking  up  the  steps.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Hello,  Travel.”  smiled  the  old  woman. “Where have  you  been  lately? I haven’t  talked  with  you  in  days!”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Work,  mostly. And friends.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Grandmother  Lane  gazed  at  her  sidelong. “And the  Six? How do  they  go?”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Travel  felt  uncomfortable. “We  helped  Ronnie  move  a  while  back. And we  saw  his  landladies.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Yes,  I  remember  you  told  me.”  the  old  woman  nodded. She opened  the  cookie  jar  and  pushed  it  across  the  coffee  table  to  Travel,  then  picked  up  the  bellows  and  pumped  away  at  the  fire  until  it  blazed  properly. It was  an  old  affair,  the  leather  covering  the  hinges  entirely  crumbled  away  and  the  hinges  on  top  beginning  to  wobble. Travel liked  the  weird  wheezing  sound  it  made  when  she  forced  the  handles  open  and  the  tough  leather  sack  inflated. The bottom  side  had  two  ventilation  holes  like  eyes. With a  sigh  Grandmother  Lane  lowered  herself  into  the  armchair. “But what  happened  the  Sunday  following? You came  home  pale  and  haunted  and  stiff  as  a  board. And I  waited  for  you  to  speak  of  it,  but  you  never  did.”

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Absent  sun  and  tearlike  stars ''

''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Torn  away  from  where  they  are… ''

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Travel  felt  herself  start  to  shake,  as  if  she’d  stayed  too  long  in  cold  water. “Black lightning.”  she  whispered. “They hunted  us. They were  laughing. We ran  and  ran  and  we  couldn’t  escape  them. We plunged  through  the  forest  and  when  we  could  no  longer  run,  they  appeared  before  us. Fire was  in  their  hands. They could  do  whatever  they  wanted. We had  no  powers. We were  helpless,  Grandmother. Helpless!”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Grandmother  Lane  said  nothing,  but  her  eyes  burned  large  and  keen  in  her  shadowed  face.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I’m  sorry,”  said  Travel,  pulling  herself  together. “It was  just…Ronnie  and  I  were  at  the  Fish Quarry—I  did  tell  you  about  the  fish,  right?—and  they  found  us. There were  two  of  them,  a  big  beefy  bald  motorcycle-guy  and  a  golden-skinned  blonde  in  a  slut-suit  and  sunglasses. They shot  lightning. They chased  us  over  the  mountain. Toying with  us. They had  us  cornered. They were  going  to  make  us  their…slaves,  or  something. One said  he  was  Cornello,  and  he  would  make  us  betray  the  others.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Then  why  are  you  still  here?”  Grandmother Lane  said  dryly.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Travel  stared  into  the  fire. “I travelled.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Bit  by  bit  her  grandmother  extracted  the  bizarre  experience  from  her,  and  then  Travel  told  her  of  Ronnie’s  discoveries  and  Forest’s  peculiar  dreams,  and  the  inscrutable  conversations  of  Arheled.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Grandmother,  what  does  it  all  mean?”  Travel  blurted. “What is  this  Road? Why does  it  walk?”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “It  may  be  a  road,”  the  old  woman  answered,  “or  it  may  be  something  much  more  abstract,  much  less  easy  to  define,  as  well.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “You  mean  like  some  sort  of  force?”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “ ‘Force’  sounds  too  simplistic.”  Grandmother  Lane  replied. “Too inanimate. You have  the  force  of  gravity,  you  have  tectonic  forces—but  nobody  speaks  of  Time  as  a  mere  force,  for  all  they  talk  of  time-machines.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Grandmother,”  said  Travel  suddenly,  “do  you  remember  anything  about  how  my  mom—vanished?”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Grandmother  Lane  looked  pensive. “I had  hoped  I  would  never  have  to  tell  you,  child.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Tell  me  what?”  said  Travel,  a  strange  chill  coming  upon  her.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “About  the  night  your  mother  left.”  the  old  woman  said. “It…well, you  see…”  She  seemed  to  be  finding  it  difficult  to  begin. “She didn’t  vanish. She left.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Is  there  a  difference?”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Yes,  one  is  voluntary.”  her grandmother  snapped. “I was  dreaming—and  even  after  seven  years  I  still  remember  that  dream,  of  being  followed  over  odd  rolling  gravelly  roads  by  a  creeping  something  with  red  long  bodies  you  never  really  saw  very  clearly,  until  it  came  over  the  hilltop  in  front  of  me  and  leered  in  my  face,  and  I  couldn’t  stop  walking  forward…”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “But  what  was  it?”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “It  was  a  dragon. But that’s  not  important. The funny  thing  is,  I  had  my  window  open  because  it  was  a  hot  night,  and  even  while  I  was  sluggishly  moving  toward  the  dragon  I  could  see  my  room  around  me  and  even  knew  I  was  going  so  slow  because  of  the  bedspread,  and  your  mom  was  talking  to  the  dragon. I never  actually  saw  her,  I  only  heard  her  voice  behind  me.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “She  seemed  to  know  the  dragon,  even  love  it,  the  way  she  used  endearments,  and  it  was  talking  to  her  as  well. They spoke  of  terrible  things. Things I  could  barely  understand  but  knew  at  once  were  not  quite  right. They mentioned  an  earthcircler  which  has  itself  all  to  itself. There was  something  about the  energy  within  and  the  God  of  the  self,  and  the  dominance  of  mental  force  and  the  ascent  to  power. And I  came  awake,  Travel,  for  there  was  no  more  dragon  in  front  of  me,  but  the  voices  went  on,  under  my  window,  out  in  the  laurels. I lay  there—you  know  how  your  mind  sometimes,  even  when  awake,  continues  the  dream  and  you  never  fully  realize  reality  is  around  you  and  lie  on,  dreaming-awake? It was  like  that. And then  I  must  have  gone  back  to  sleep,  for  I  only  remember  waking  up  in  the  morning.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I  think  it  was  just  a  dream.”  said  Travel.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Grandmother  Lane  shrugged. “I think  she  was  talking  to  someone,”  she  said  tartly,  “but  you  can  see  why  I’ve  never  told  you  until  now! But that’s  why  I  say  she  left. Eloped with  someone,  most  likely. Rufus wouldn’t  hear  a  word,  and  the  police?...Do  you  have  any  idea  how  humiliating  it  is  to  have  a  young  man  barely  able  to  grow  a  beard  listen  gravely  and  lurking  in  his  lips  is  the  condescending  contempt  of  a  grown-up  patiently  putting  up  with  a  senile  child? I got  up  and  stalked  inside. I’ve never  tried  telling  policemen  anything since.”

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<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Lara  Midwinter  was  working  the  cash  register  today  and  hating  it.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           The  rain  had  let  up  at  last,  only  for  it  to  become  so  warm  and  muggy  a  toad  would  be  happy—at  least,  that  was  how  Brandan  put  it. Just before  kissing  Heather  right  in  front  of  everyone. She ignored  the  goings-on  as  usual  and  headed  up  front.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Now  it  was  2:00. She could  tell  without  even  glancing  at  the  cash  register  because  there  was  a  door-to-door  line  of  teenagers  and  schoolkids,  girls  in  suntops  and  sandals  chewing  gum  and  talking  very  loudly  either  into  cell  phones  or  to  boyfriends,  and  all  sorts  of  boys  from  dark  and  studious  to  football  types  with  big  chests  and bigger  voices. It was  a  whirling  madhouse  trying  to  keep  up  with  all  the  orders.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Hey,  you  must  be  new  here,  I’ve  never  seen  you  at  the  register  before.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Lara  looked  up  and  saw  a  god. He had  a  firm  brown  handsome  face,  and  she  didn’t  know  what  it  was,  whether  the  way  the  eyes  were  o  the  way  he  smiled,  but  she’d  never  felt  so  flustered  by  a  guy  in  all  her  life.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Can  I  take  your  order,  please?”  The  great  formula  that  formed  the  refrain  of  all  cashiers  was  almost  a  refuge  at  that  moment.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “OH,  c’mon,  I  don’t  even  know  your name—“

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Then  you  must  be  blind  as  a brickbat  ‘cause  it’s  pinned  right  here  on  my  uniform.”  Why  she  was  so  snappish  she  couldn’t  fathom;  something  to  do  with  being  thrown  off  balance.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Lara. Well, nice  to  meet  you,  Lara. I’m Kevin.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “And  what  would  you  like  to  order,  Kevin?”  she  said  quickly  before  he  could  hit  on  her  any  further.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           He looked  a  little  put  out. Evidently he  was  used  to  girls  crawling  all  over  him  when  he  winked. “I’ll have  a  McMayo  with  extra  hot  sauce,  a  double  quarter  pounder  with  cheese,  and  an  apple  pie.”  he  said  sullenly.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “You want  fries  with  that?”  The  second  great  formula  and  refrain. Other customers  gave  her  an  excuse  to  totally  ignore  him  from  that  point  on,  and  as  Vanessa  was  the  one  who  finally  gave  him  his  order,  she  didn’t  see  him any  further.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           When  the  rush  had  eased  a  little,  Vanessa  asked,  “What  did  he  say  to  you,  can  you  tell me?”  in  an  all-agog  sort  of  way  that  Lara  found  supremely  irritating.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Oh,  he  wanted  to  chat  and  there  was  a  huge  line  behind  him. Kind of  inconsiderate.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “You  know  who  that '' was?? That was  Kevin!''”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Wow,  I’m  really  impressed. Whoever the  heck  is  Kevin?”  Lara  shot  off  sarcastically.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Oh,  sorry,  I  forgot  you’re  homeschooled.”  Vanessa  said  in  a  slightly  catty  tone. “He’s only  like  the  hottest  stud  in  the  school. He has  practically  all  the  girls  after  him;  I  swear,  if  he  stopped  to  chat  with  me,  I’d  forget  there  was  a  line!”  She  giggled. “His dad’s  a  big-shot  with  the  police,  I  heard. He has  wild  parties  and  stuff. You have  no  idea  what  you  miss—Hi,  can  I  take  your  order?”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Lara  was  relieved  when  her  manager  Shawn—whom  James  called  “the  Shawn-nado”  because  he  was always  running—said  around  four  that  she  could  go  on  break. Logging out  at  the  register,  Lara  headed  out  back,  behind  the  wall  of  arbor-vitae  and  brush,  to  sit  by  the  river. She found  it  very  restful. There was  a  mossy  bank  here  with  a  gravel  bar  when  the  river  was  low,  and  some  tall  willows  arched  overhead  above  the  R&B  sportsworld  fence  across  the  stream. Bushes shut  it  in,  and  it  was  damp  and  shady.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Why  did  she  still  hold  out? You have  no  idea  what  you  miss. She could  be  one  of  them,  too, go  to  parties  and  get  wild,  and  laugh  with  the  rest…have  boyfriends…boys  would  be  actually  be  kind  of  fun,  if  the  ones  who  hit  on  her  hadn’t  always  seemed  to  be  the  ones  that  annoyed  the  heck  out  of  her. Maybe Kevin. She wondered  what  it  would  be  like  to  go  out  with  a  god  like  him. The thought  gave  her  very  queer  and  pleasant  butterflies.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           It  was  no  good. She knew  all  too  well  what  would  happen. She would  mingle  and  laugh  with  the  shallow  crass  youth,  and  soon  she  would  fall  silent,  half  disgusted  and  half  amused,  until  their  company  was  a  chore  and  a  bore. Like the  idiots  she  worked  with. For good  or  ill  she  was  set  apart,  she  was  far  above  them  by  mind  and  by  upbringing;  she  was  high,  and  even  if  she  succumbed  to  them  she  would  never  be  one  of  them. Boyfriends?....She’d tried  that when  she  was  14. After about  three  boys  in  as  many  months  she  had  washed  her  hands  of  them. None of  them  knew  a  thing  about  romance. None of  them  knew  how  to  behave. None of  them  were  gentlemen.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Lara  felt  tired  the  next  day. Her eyes  hurt. It was  a  warm  and  cloudless  day,  free  of  yesterday’s  excessive  swampiness. The hills  had  a  clear  green-shadowed  appearance  against  the  blue  sky,  with  the  morning  sun  upon  them:  a  summer-morning  effect.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “That’s  right,  Saturday  is  the  Memorial  Day  weekend.”  she  remembered.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           It  was  still  an  hour  before  her  shift  began  when  she  drove  into  Winsted. She felt  the  urge  to  just  take  a  stroll  somewhere  before  she  worked. Driving up  Main  St  she  passed  the  police  station  and  the  long  curve  north,  until  the  shops  began  to  end  just  before  the  Methodist  church. Here an  iron  footbridge  spanned  the  river,  and  Lara  had  always  been  curious  where  it went. She parked. The restaurants  in  the  brick-fronted  store  buildings  were  still  closed. She crossed  the  street. There was  a  ramp,  edged  with  iron-bar  rails,  up  to  a  landing  where  the  ramp  turned  right  and  became  wood. Another incline  up  to  a  second  landing,  perched  on  four  square  pillars  high  above  the  bank,  and  then  the  ramp  turned  square  left  and  leaped  out  across  the  river,  in  a  single  span  of  almost  60  feet. The floor  was  wood  plank. Square bar  rails  painted  green  ran  at  chest  height. The river  was  amazingly  far  below. Her footsteps  made  the  bridge  quiver  pleasantly. On the  far  side  was  a  paved  level  bike  path,  with  oldish  signs  sporting  old  photographs  and historical  description  of  the  Hartford-Albany  RR  whose  grade  the  path  followed,  but  a  network  of  fine  cracks  made  it  difficult  to  decipher. On the  right  locust  trees  leaned  over  an  asphalt  ramp cloven  by  many  roots,  leading  to  a  double  concrete  switchback  ramp  up  to  Prospect  Street,  whose  ribbed  concrete  wall,  thickly  grown  with  vertical  green  eunonymous,  loomed  above  the  grade. Lara turned  left  and  started  down  the  path.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           A  fence  of  two  round  metal  poles  in  wood  posts  ran  on  the  left,  planted  with  hostas. On the  right  was  a  steep  bank  grown  with  saplings  and  some  planted  rhododendron  and  spire-like  whitecedar,  above  which  rose  the  cement  cliff. It was  open,  but  trees  grew  downhill  along  Mad  River. A little  farther  on  was  a  metal  bench  with  a  trash  can,  and  then  huge  old  Norway  maples  closed  overhead  like  a  green  roof. The concrete  wall ended,  and  perched  atop  the  high  bank  under  the  lanky  maples  were  tall  thin  old  tenements,  tottery  and  quaint  with  age  and  dinginess,  a  bare  slope  of  earth  running  down  the  grade:  transplanted  as  it  were  from  some  inner-city,  poor  houses  built  next  to  the  tracks. It was  beautiful  under  the  deep-green  tunnel  of  leaves,  cool  and  shaded  and  quiet. The path  made  a  curve,  and  there  stood  another  bench and  past  it  a  dull  grey-blue  tenement  built  right  next to  the  grade. Its’ windows  must  have  rattled  themselves  apart  when  trains  would  come  by. An old  man  was  sitting  on  the  bench,  leaning  forward,  elbows  propped  on  knees. He had  blue  jeans  and  a  denim  coat,  contrasting  with  his  wild  grey-white  hair  and  large  beard.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Well,  Lara,”  said  Peter  Midwinter,  looking  up. “I had  a  feeling  you  would  be  along.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Uncle  Peter!”  smiled  Lara. “How have you  been?”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Pretty  well,  lass,  pretty  well. I camp  in  the  hills  now  that  it’s  so  nice  out. The shelter’s  all  very  well,  but…I  don’t  like  depending  on  others. So!” looking  up  again  with  a  bright  gleam  in  his  blue  eyes,  “tell  me:  have  you  been  to  Temple  Fell?”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Yes.”  said  Lara  shortly.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “And  you  saw  Arheled?”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “We’ve  been  seeing  him  for  a  long  time. He only  told  us  who  he  was  when  we  were  all  gathered  on  Temple  Fell. I gave  him  the  lore  when  he  asked  me.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “What  is  he  like?”  Peter  Midwinter  asked  intently.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “He’s…”  Lara  fell  silent. “He’s really  hard  to  describe,  Uncle. Most of  the  time  he  looks  like  you,  you  know,  a  man,  middle  years,  with  a  sort  of  rough  weathered  atmosphere,  like  any  workman  or  farmer  who  you  might  run  into   around  town  or  up  in  the  lake  cabins,  you  know;  the  kind  of  man  who  burns  wood  and  does  things  himself…but  then  you  look  at  his  eyes  or  at  the  strange  depths  of  his  face,  and  you  realise  with  a  profound  shock  that  he  really  is  not  human. Such strange  eyes…sort  of  blue,  with  amber  radiating  like  a  heart  from  around  the  pupils…and  when  they  look  on  you,  you  feel  sort  of  childish,  I  mean  as  if  everything  you  think  most  fundamental  is  in  his  sight  shallow,  passing  and  unlasting,  a  flicker  that  changes  and  is lost;  I  think  it  is  a  sorrow  to  him. He speaks  with  a  queer  deep  wisdom,  as  if  he  sees  everything  from  behind  and  underneath;  every  time  I  listen  to  him  I  feel  like  I’m  wrenched  around  backward,  you  never  think  about  things  the  way  his  words  make  you  see  them. It’s eerie,  and  very  wonderful.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I  only  heard  him  once.”  said  Peter  Midwinter  wistfully. “During that  sad  little  misunderstanding. I felt  so  sorry  for  those  officers.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I  should  think  you  would  be  bitter  toward  the  police,  after  all  that.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “No,  where  would  be  the  point  in  that?”  He  sighed,  shifting  his  position. Lara sat  down  beside  him. “Understand, Lara,  I  do  not  hate  the  police. In a  perfect  world  they  would  not  exist,  for  there  would  be  no  need  of  them;  but  every  society  must  form  some  means  for  holding  in  check  our  fallen  nature. Sometimes crude. Sometimes complicated,  like  ours. They are  a  necessary  evil. They are  like  dogs,  you  know? A dog  is  needed  to  patrol  the  house  and chase  wolves  away  and  bite  the  burglar,  but  he  needs  chains  and  fences  as  well,  to  keep  him  from  chasing  the  cars  or  biting  the  paperboy  or  eating  pet  cats. The police  are  needed. If their  cold  headlight  did  not  prowl  the  roads,  evil  men  would  have  no  check  on  their  deeds  and  no  man would  be  safe.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “The  police  are  not  dogs! That’s ridiculous! My father  isn’t  like  that  at  all.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Peter’s  voice  grew  scornful. “You’ve never  seen  them,  Lara,  when  they’ve  just  pounced  on  some  poor  devil  who  was  driving  too  fast  or  whose  insurance  was  a  week  late,  standing  by their  patrol  cars  in  the glare  of  the  lights  and  laughing,  boasting  loud  talk  like  hunters  with  a  good  kill:  ‘Ha  ha! We got  another  one,  boys! Ain’t it  a  beaut?’  You’ve  never  seen  them,  when  they  creep  by  you  late  at  night,  faintly  nodding,  their  faces  cold  and  watching,  ready  to  drop? And they  know  that  none  can  defy  their  will,  and  you  must  speak  subserviently  and  placatingly  until  they  are  appeased,  for  they  have  the  guns  and  what  they  say  is  law.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “They’re  just  upholding  the  law.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “They  are  the  Law.”  Peter  said  in  a  flat  voice. “With the  cameras  in  their  cars  they  now  scan  your  license  plate,  and  in  a  blink  they  have  your  history  all  spread  out  on  a  screen,  and  if  every  little  jot  and  tittle  is  not  perfect  and  in  order,  on  go  the  flashing  lights,  and  the  dogs  pounce  again.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I  thought  you  said  you  didn’t  hate  them,  Uncle.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “They  are  my  unfriends,  but  not  my  enemies.”  he  replied. “I would  never  abolish  the  police,  Lara. Remake them,  yes;  limit  them,  most  definitely;  but  however  much  they  need  reform,  they  are  needed  more.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “That  sounds  reasonable.”  she  said  thoughtfully. “Yes, what  you  say  does  have  a  lot  of  sense. Even my  dad  was  a  bit  leery  of  the  cameras  in  the  cars;  and  it’s  stupid  forcing  everyone  to  get  insurance  for  several  thousand  a  year,  when  most  people  are  in  accidents  like,  what,  once  in  five  years? New Hampshire  gets along  just  fine  without  insurance  requirements.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “It’s  amazing,  too,  how  the  disasters  are  piling  up.”  Peter  said. “The Midwest  just  suffered  more  fierce  storms. Floods and  tidal  waves,  earthquakes,  wars  in  various  places…”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Not  exactly  on  an  apocalyptic  scale,  though.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Oh,  that.”  said  Peter. “No, the  sort  of  disasters  that  foretells  are  more  toward  the  very  end. But you  have  to  admit  it  is  uncanny  how  well-acclaimed  our  President  is.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Tell me,  do  you  think  our  society  is  more  evil  than  ancient  Rome?”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “More. We have  greater  power. We have  abilities  no  society  before  us  has  ever  possessed. Not even  the  Seeing-stones  of  Numenor  or  the  Nineteen  Rings  of  Power  can  mimic  the  marvels  our  technology  has  wrought;  the  men  of  Gondor  never  rode  in  cars,  nor  did  the  Elves  build  computers.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “We  don’t  fly  around  on  portable  jetpacks,  either.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “True,  true. It all  depends  on  what  direction  a  society  is  pushing. Our society wanted  to  know,  not  travel. And know  we  do;  the  phone  in  your  pocket  can  rival  an  Oracle,  and  the  happenings  in  China  are  world-known  in  moments. We can  analyse  the  stars  and  work  miracles  on  flesh.”  He  shuddered. “Knowledge is  worse  than  swift  travel. We have  become  gods.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">The week  drew  to  a  close,  and  the  days  grew  soft  and  muggy  and  delightfully  hot,  as  they  often  do  in  late  May. It felt  like  summer,  thought  Ronnie  Wendy. It felt  like,  well,  Memorial  Day. The smell  of ferns  and  damp  warm  forest,  haze  and  heat  and  pollen. The gloomy  cold  was  a  bad  dream. Brooke from  her  letters  seemed  to  be  practically  camping  on  the  beach:  it  made the  others  laugh.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           With  Memorial  Day  being  three   days  away,  the  sense  of  urgency  was  growing  stronger  in  his  mind. There was  only  one  Hill  to  find  the  Sign  of;  the  others  were  known,  but  half  of  them  made  no  sense.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I  am  the  one  who  finds  things  out.”  he  murmered,  pulling  the  battered  paper  with  the  traced  diagram  from  Street  Hill  out  of  his  pocket. The library  around  him  was  quiet;  the  pretty  librarian,  wearing  a  bodiced  blue dress  and  lace  sweater,  was  putting  books  away. He took  the  topographic  map  atlas  and  flipped  it  to  the  Winsted  quadrangle  as  an  idea  occurred  to  him.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Maybe  the  lines  of  that  glyph  matched  those  on  the  map.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Looking  at  the  Riverton  area,  Ronnie  noticed  at  once  that  the  road  going  north  from  it  branched  exactly  as  the  top  right  lines  of  the  glyph  did. Yes, and  if  he  traced  that  down  the  Farmington  River…that  curve  would  correspond  with…

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Ronnie!”  Bell’s  voice  squealed. “How do  you  like  my  old  house?”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Ronnie  slowly  returned  to  his  surroundings. It was  about  an  hour  later. “Bell, look  at  this.”  he  told  her.

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">(map)

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “The  lines  I labeled  corresponds  to  the  same  features  on  the  map.”  Ronnie  was  saying  excitedly. “Of course,  some  are  approximates,  such  as  Spencer  Hill  Rd  which  is  more  crooked,  or  Losaw  which  is  more  bent. The curve  north  of  that  seems  to  follow  the  line  of  some  hills. This east  part  was  troublesome,  as  I  had  to  trace  it  by  a  combination  of  streams  and  land  features;  same  with  that  odd  hook  over  west  of  Colebrook. But the  four-way  intersection  south  of  Colebrook  fits  the  map  perfect. So do  the  roads  north  of  Riverton.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “That  is  so  cool!”  Bell  exclaimed. “And what  do  you  think  the  grapevine  is?”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I’m  pretty  sure  the  kinks  match  the  folds  in  a  rock  somewhere.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Oh  nice,  we’ve  only  got  about  two  million  rocks  in  this  area…”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “We’ll  know  it  when  we  see  it. Bell, you  coming  to  the  Tower?”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Of  course  I  am. So is  Forest. Dad’s having  a  cookout  in  the  morning  but  we  should  be  able  to  sneak  over.”

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Good. The others  were  vague  about  it,  but  I’m  going  to  be  there. It’s the  last  of  the  Nine  Hills.”