Ch. 2: Dragons

Back to The Men in Brown

''             There   were   seven   of   them,   seven   men lying   asleep   upon   a   buried   ship   under   the   earth. They   breathed,   but   did   not   stir,   and   their   eyes   were shut. All   bore   the   faces   of   kings;   four   of   them   were   giants,   taller   than the   biggest   basketball   player   Chris   had   ever   heard   about. They   wore   chain   mail   and   armor,   and   strange   high   helms. All   of   them   had   swords   resting   upon   their   chests. They   reposed   upon   treasure,   and   a   cold   spirit   stirred   in   the   gems,   murmering   sad   frozen   songs   in   the   darkness. The   tall   ones   looked   familiar,   somehow:   their   unbearded,   age-hard   faces,   solemn   and   stern,   they   reminded   him…of   the   terrible   kings   in   the   Caves   of   the   Forgotten. ''

''             Now   all   seven   sat   on   seven   thrones,   and   chests   no   longer   rose,   and   they   were   unmoving   in   their   armour. The   walls   around   were   like   a   hall   of   mirrors. And   there   were   footsteps   in   that   soundless   place,   and   a   man   stalked   in,   and   upon   his   finger   gleamed   a mighty   ring:   serpents   of   silver   twisted   around   a   crown   of   gold   flowers,   that   one   upheld   and   one   devoured,   and   their   eyes   were   green   gems   that   shone   like   small   lamps. The   man   was   middle-aged,   with   old   clothes   of   rough   deerskin,   black   hair and   beard   flecked   with   grey,   a   powerful   noble   face   and   compelling   eyes. There   was   a   faint   shadow   of   a   white   tree   flickering   within   him,   like   a   ghost. ''

''             Like   the   voice   of   thunder   the   man’s   voice   sounded,   ringing   in   the   mirrored   roof,   speaking   a   single   word: ''

''             “Galadhil!” ''

''             As   one   man   the   seven   moveless   figures   gave   a   great   gasp   and   heave   of   chest,   as   air   rushed   into   lungs   that   had   been   still   since   before   the   Flood. The   echo   stopped. The   sudden   silence   was   filled   with   the   heavy   new   breathing   of   the   seven   sleeping   men. ''

''             The   man   strode   up   to   the   centermost   king. The   eyes   were   still   unseeing;   though   he   now   breathed   he   was   still   asleep. ''

''             “Amandil   of   Numenor,   awake!” ''

''             The   silent   king   upon   his   throne   breathed   sharply,   but   did not   stir. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Valandil   son   of   Numendil   of   the   line   of   Elros,   the   King   commands   you   to   awake!” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Upon   his   throne   the   ancient   lord   moved. The   blank   eyes   stirred   and   focused. Muscles   that   had   been   still   for   twelve   thousand   years   and   more   twitched. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Erellont   and   Falathir,   Aerandir   and   Tharn,   Nunien   and   Linos,   the   King   commands   you   to   awake!” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   remaining   sleepers   opened   their   eyes   and   fixed   them   upon   the   King. And   Amandil   leaned   forward   upon   his   throne. The   wakeful   eyes   bored   into   their   waker. “And   whom,   then,   is   the   King?”   he   said. Rusty   beyond   description   was   his   ancient   voice,   and   the   heads   of   all   the   other   sleepers   turned   to   him. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “The   line   of   Elendil   son   of   Valandil,   to   that   has   the   kingship   passed.”   said   Wayham   Lane. “And   last   of   that   line   was   the   kinsman   of   Noe,   who   by   virtue   of   that   ancient   blood   has   lasted   till   this   very   year,   and   I   was   his   only   son. I   am   Wayham   Lane.” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “What   of   the   King   of   the   Earth,   who   was   setting   sail   for   the   land   of   the   Deathless? Where   is   he?” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “None   who   step   upon   the   shores   of   the   Gods   can   again   taste   of   death,   and   so   he   and   all   his   warriors   are   cast   into   slumber   in   the   Caves   of   the   Forgotten:   Tar-Kalion   the   Wicked,   who   would   cast   down   the   very   Gods. And   Numenor   has   fallen,   cast   under   the   sea,   and   all   roads   now   bent;   and   mortal   man   can   no   longer   cross   to   the   Undying   Shores.” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “And   the   Road,”   said   Amandil,   “where   now   walks   the   Road?” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “The   Road   walks   straight,   as   it   always   has   done,   and   returns   now   to   Arda   every   hundred   years.” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “And   does   Earendil   also   live?”   Falathar   asked. He   was   of   the   three   shorter   Sleepers. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Earendil   is   now   among   the   Stars.”   said   Amandil. “We   behold   him   at   evening   and   also   at   morning.” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “He   sails   no   longer.”   said   Wayham   Lane. “The   Stars   no   longer   sing. Their   curse   has   come   upon   them.” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             There   was   a   sudden   crash. The   Sleepers   started   from   their   thrones. All   around   them   the   mirror-walls   began   to   shimmer. Splinters   chipped   off   the   thrones. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “What   is   happening?”   shouted   Wayham. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “The   spirits   of   our   guardians   are   freed.”   said   Amandil   Valandil. “We   are   becoming   unsealed. Soon   we   will   be   emerging   upon   the   surface   of   the   world.” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   wonder   what   the   Middle-earth   is   like   in   these   days.”   remarked   Aerandir,   another   of   the   sailors. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “No   longer   in   the   middle,   I   would   wager.”   Erellont,   the   third   sailor,   answered. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   fancy   we   are   soon   to   find   out.”   said   Tharn. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   mirror-walls   shimmered   out. Around   them   now   was   earth,   close-packed   as   if   pushed   outward   by   an   unseen   bubble. Then   the   bubble   too   was   gone,   for   bits   of   the   earth   ceiling   began   to   come   loose   and   fall   down. The   glass   floor   darkened   into   rough   stone. All   seven   thrones   shattered   into   rubble. They   were   in   darkness. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Amandil   said   something   in   Elvish. There   was   a   crash   of   falling   material   and   a   hole   opened   in   the   wall,   sudden   and   intensely   bright. Outside   the   sun   could   be   seen,   bright   but   chill,   illumining   strange   tattered   rocks   upon   which   small   waves   sighed   and   beat. A   pale   sea   lay   beyond. Out   of   the   cave   of   earth   stepped   Wayham   King. Out   stepped   the   Seven   Sleepers,   onto   the   shores   of   the   Baltic   Sea,   back   into   the   living   world. With   a   sigh   the   cave   fell   in   behind   them   and   was   gone. ''

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<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Christopher   woke   from   this   dream   to   find   his   tongue   stiff   and   thick   with   goo,   his   throat   sore   and   his   ears   and   cheeks   raging. His   head   swam   when   he   got   up. By   morning   he   had   a   full-fledged   fever. It   meant   no   school,   but   that   wasn’t   much   comfort,   as   outside   was   a   gorgeous   hot   day   and   he   couldn’t   go   to   the   beach. The   room   floated   in   a   strange,   clear,   yellowish   haze. The   world   outside   was   dim   and   faint,   and   time   hung   in   suspension,   but   his   fever-paralyzed   mind   did   not   notice.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             When   his   condition   worsened   on   the   next day   his   mother   took   him   across   the   valley   to   the   hospital   on   the   hill   above   Winsted. They   drove   up   behind   their   church   with   its’   lovely   sandstone   trim,   up   to   where   a   great   yellow   brick   building,   grand   and   decorated   with   white   stone   trimming   and   sills,   emerged   from   a   shelf   in   a   high   steep   rocky   height   buried   in   pines. Behind   it   was   a   long   ugly   rectangular   thing   like   a   bad   1950s   school. He   could   barely   reel   the   few   paces   required   without   dizziness. The   waiting   room   was   cold   and   hot   by   turns,   with   the   awful   prickling   unhealthiness   of   cold   like   being   suddenly   plunged   down   a   waterslide   of   ice,   dizzy   and   horrid. Then   they   were,   after   an   hour   or   so,   privileged   to   enter   and   sit   in   an   uncomfortable   crape-coated   chair   that   made   him   colder   than   ever   and   was   too   short   for   his   ankles. Outside   they   could   hear   nurses   tittering   and   doctors   guffawing:   doubtless   enjoying   by   security   camera   which   patient   was   in   most   torment   from   having   to   wait   before   finally   sending   in   a   nurse   with   a   weird   cart   to   “take   his   vitals”. By   this   time   Chris   was   barely   able   to   notice   anything;   the   haze   around   him   was   not   merely   yellow   but   black.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             A   doctor   came   in—at   least,   he   must   be   the   doctor,   for   he   had   a   white   coat,   but   he   might   as   well   be   an   alien   monster—and   began   making   horribly   cheerful   noises   as   he   checked   the   same   things   the   nurse   had   already   checked   and   asked   the   same   questions   Mom   had   already   answered   not   just   to   the   nurse   but   to   the   clerk   out   front,   and   beaming   away   then   urged   Mom   to   wait   outside   while   he   checked   Chris. Chris   watched   with   huge   burning   eyes   as   the   doctor   casually   sprouted   a   tentacle   to   scratch   his   ear   with   while   he   chatted   away   with   Mom. The   echoing   voices   said   something   about   delirium   and   mysterious   red   patches   on   the   face   and   neck. “We’d   like   to   keep   him   for   observation   to   see   if   the   symptoms   lessen,   but   in   the   meantime   we’ll   put   him   on   an   IV   and   you   can   come   back   in   a   few   hours   when   that’s   drained.”   said   the   doctor   through   the   maws   of   a   dragon,   and   licked   his   lips   with   a   snake’s   tongue. His   mom   only   nodded   tearfully. The   dragon   turned,   becoming   normal   as   he   drew   closer,   speaking   with   that   appalling   cheery   soothiness. Mom   got   up   to   leave.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “No!” <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"> Chris   screamed. ''“He   is   dragon! Don’t   leave   me   with   him!” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   doctor   paused,   a   curious   expression   on   his   face. “And   what   makes   you   say   that?”   he   said.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Your   eyes.”   babbled   Chris. “It’s   in   you. It’s   hiding,   just   waiting   to   come   out….I   know   you…”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Fascinating.”   the   doctor   muttered. “Fever   sharpens   his   Sight. I   thought   he   was   just   an   ordinary,   common   little   Christian   whom   the   Enemies   had   picked   up   for   no   reason. But   if   they   are   up   to   their   usual   tricks   and   working   with   tools   so   feeble   as   to   slip   my   watch,   I must   needs   look   closer.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   changed   again,   and   now   he   was   not   only   dragon-headed,   he   had   more   than   one   head,   he   had   seven,   and   though   Chris   at   first   thought   the   fever   was   making   him   see   triple,   he   soon   realized   it   wasn’t. The   sarcastic,   jeering   yellow   eyes   burned   into   his. “Look   upon   my   eyes,   little   visionary,   and   we   shall   soon   see   everything   you   have   Seen   and   everything   you   will   See. Then   at   last   I   will   know   why   my   foes   have   been   quiet   all   winter,   and   what   strokes   they   are   readying against   my   Master’s   coming.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “W-who…are…you?”   Christopher   croaked.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   am what   you   guessed   I   am.”   the   other   answered. “I   am   Dragon.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The room’s   door   slammed   against   the   wall   with   such   strength   the   doorknob   punched   a   hole   into   it.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Chritopher’s   head   jerked   to   face   it. A   tall   sturdy   oldish   man   in   a   brown   leather   coat   over   a   plaid   flannel   shirt   and   brown   corduroy   pants   stood   in   the   doorway. He   seemed   to   waver   in   the   boy’s   fever-ridden   sight,   and   there   was   about   him   the   oddest   suggestion   of    blue.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Slowly   and   sardonically   the   Dragon   turned   to   face   the   intruder. “Well,   look   who   comes   out   of   his   hole.”   he   sneered.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   will   let   the   boy   loose   from   your   power.”   the   man   said   in   a   flat,   quiet   voice. The   floor   creaked. There   was   a   deep   groaning   from   the   walls,   as   though   something   tremendously   powerful   was   encompassing   the   entire   building.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   dragon’s   smile   grew   wider. “You   really   don’t   know,   do   you,   Arheled,   just   who   you   have   faced. I   am   no   bastard   lesser   son   of   myself. I   am   not   even   a   primeval   dragon.    I   am   the   Father   of   Dragons!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             His   hand   flew   out. The   man   in   brown   was   slammed   facefirst   against   the   floor, though   nothing   touched   him. “Do   you   really   think   a   mere   High   Venda,   whose   mongrel   substance   is   weakened   with   matter,   can   stand   with   impunity   to   an   intellectual   substance? Do   you   count   upon   the   transplanted   power   of   the   Road   to   bolster   you   against   me?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             His   hand   lifted. The   man   was   pulled   out   of   the   pit   he   had   crushed   into   the   floor   and   slammed   against   the   wall. His   face   seemed   doughy,   as   if   it   had   been   kneaded   half   out   of   shape,   though   no   blood   showed:   his   feet   dangled   helplessly   two   feet   in   the   air. “I   know   who   you   are. I   know   what   you   can   do,   and   what   you   cannot   do. By   your   own   hands   are   you   tied!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Cracks   snaked   up   the   walls. Cracks   broke   across   the   ceiling. The   man’s   face   hardened   into   shape   like   cement. The   man   in   brown   slid   to   the   floor,   upright. The   Dragon’s   hand   was   vibrating   with   effort   as   he   strained   against   nothing. The   man   in   brown   took   a   step   forward. Then   another   step.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   thought   you   knew   who   I   was.”   he   said.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You…can’t…use   full   power!”   the   Dragon   gritted. “There   are   humans   around! You   are   violating   your   own   precious   Rules,   Warden   of   the   Road!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   have…dispensation.”   said   Arheled. “Rules   are   not   laws;   to   all   rules   are   exceptions. Do   not   invoke   the   Rules   upon   me,   Cornello,   when   the   Earth   lies   slain   beneath   us   and   your   Master   walks   incarnate. This   is   the   last   hour. This   is   a   case   of   emergency.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             His   right   hand   clamped   upon   the   Dragon’s   outstretched   one. Muscles   like   corded   wires   stood   out   hard   as   stone. There   was   a   cracking   of   bone   and   sinew   as   the   Dragon’s   claw   crunched   and   pulverized   inside   that   mighty   fist. Blood,   black   as   oil, hissed   as   it   dripped   on   the   floor. “I   will   do   what   none   save   Turin   ever   did,   and   send   you   perforce   to   the   Graveyard   of   Dragons!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Blue   lightning   lashed   up   Cornello’s   arm,   racing   through   him   like   fire. Blue   flame   vomited   from   eyes   and   ears   and   nose   as   if   his   head   held   a   bomb. There   was   a   boom   like   thunder. The   Dragon   collapsed,   falling   to   its’   knees   and   then   its’   face,   cracking   and   crumbling   until   it   had   fallen   into   dust,   and   dust   into   mist,   and   the   air   consumed   it,   and   the   hospital   was   clean.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   man   who   was   no   man   sagged,   his   body   slumping. Drunkenly   he   staggered to   the   bed   and   fell   onto   it   with   a   crash. “The   Dragon’s   finger   be   out   of   you,   child.”   he   said   weakly. “Let   the   medicines   of   men   begin   their   allotted   work,   and   let   all   record   of   your   visit be   blotted   from   this   place.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Christopher,   who   was   already   feeling   clearer   in   the   head,   looked   at   him   in   concern. “Are   you   all   right?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   need   to   rest   a   minute.”   the   being   said   wearily. “He   did   not   boast   altogether   in   vain. To   do   war   with   a   Black   Seraphim   is   beyond   me   by   nature,   and   even   the   Road   could   not   have   walked   against   him   as   it   did   unless   this   was,   indeed,   the   hour   for   which   the   Valar   forged   it. Even   so…have   you   ever   tried   to   move   something   beyond   your   strength,   and   just   barely   done   it? How   do   you   feel   afterwards? That   is   how   I   feel.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Who   are   you,   sir?”   said   Christopher.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   am   the   Man   in   Brown.”   he   answered. “I   am   the   Warden   of   the   Road. I   am   Arheled.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “But…I   thought   there   were   others.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Eight   others.”   said   Arheled. “I   am   their   leader,   for   it   was   I   who   called   them. Called   them   here,   the   Men   in   Brown,   from   many   places   and   times. Do   not   question   me,   child,   you   could   not   understand   a   short   answer,   and   long   answers   I   have   no   stomach   for. Even   a   short   answer   might   well   take   days! Wait   for   your   dreams. They   will   give   you   understanding.”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “He   is   named   by   men   Cornello. He   is   named   among   the   Damned,   and   his   form   is   a   dragon. That   is   all   you   need   to   know. Do   not   look   into   the   Dragon’s   eyes,   unless   you   wear   the   Helm   of   Hador   on   your   head. Watch   for   the   Men   in   Brown.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   heaved   himself   to   his   feet. “That   should   do   it. He   will   not   come   near   you   again. He   knows   of   you,   but   you   are   under   the   Road,   and   he   knows   its’   strength   now. Go   to   sleep. Wake   up   well. Go   to   sleep,   and   in   sleep   dream.”

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<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   mountain   lifted   in   great   rough   square   crags   to   the   threefold   ragged   crest,   one   a   long   broken   ridge,   then   a   sharp   peak,   then   a   more   sloping   one. Green   forests,   dark   and   misty   blue   farther   off,   rose   dark   green   to   the   slopes   and   partway   up   them,   till   the   mountain   shrugged   them   off   and   the   grey   crags   rose   bare. It   looked,   all   at   once,   like   a   knight’s   helmed   head   face   up   against   the   stars,   the   peaks   being   chin   and   nose   and   forehead. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Suddenly   he   was   inside   the   mountain. He   heard   the   hollow   echo   of   other   caves,   and   knew   with   a   sudden   horrible   certainty   that   none   of   them   joined   on   to   this,   that   he   was   entombed   in   the   very   heart   of   the   head   of   stone. The   cave   was   huge,   a   lofty   room   of   rugged   sides   and   hanging   curtains   of   dripstone. but   little   depository   activity. And   filling   that   cave   was   an   army. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             They   sat   on   strong   graceful   horses,   all   black   as   stone;   and   they   wore   strange   quilted   cloth-armor   like   woven   cords   that   had   hoods   close-clamped   to   the   head;   and   above   these   they   wore   helms,   and   spears   were   fastened   upright   to   their   saddles,   and   swords   and   war-hammers   and   queer   maces   were   in   their   hands;   upon   their   backs   were   upright   wings,   upon   their   red   shields   a   white   eagle   gleamed:   but   the   feathers   were   tipped   with   gold. The   king   at   their   head   wore   a   helm   fashioned   like   to   a   crown,   and   his   mustached   face   was   intent and   fierce:   but   it   was   immobile,   and   not   a   man   moved   or   breathed   in   all   that   host. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             There   was   a   boom   from   far   outside. Then   another   boom. Roots   crawled   in   through   a   thousand   fissures. Stone   snapped   and   split,   and   fell   with   a   crash,   and   a   great   ragged   hole   appeared. Through   the   hole   stepped   a   single   giant   creature,   and   as   it   straightened   Christopher   realized   with   a   huge   shock   that   it   was   a   tree,   a   great   tree   with   white   wood   and   dark   green   leaves   edged   underneath   with   silver. Then   it   shrank,   and   as   it   did   seven   men   came   through   the   hole,   four   of   which   were   eight   feet   tall. And   the   tree   shrank   into   a   mighty   black-haired   king,   bearing   a   sword   like   white   fire   and   a   hauberk   of   mail. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Awake,   ride   ruin,   ride   wrath,   ride   in   power   never   known! For   this   day   were   you   laid   sleeping. For   this   hour   you   were   made. Rise   and   waken,   Boleslaw,   by   Poland   needed: the   King   commands   you!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Eyes   flew   open. Steeds   sneezed   fire,   and   in   the   eyes   of   beast   and   man   red   fire   burned. Smoke   rose   from   noses   and   breathed   from   mouths. The   noble   king   at   their   head   turned   to   look   upon   the   man   who   had   been   a   tree. He   spoke,   and   his   voice   was   old   as   stone   and   as   strong:   “Whom   art   thee,   that   dares   awaken   Poland’s   king   for   Poland’s   peril? Speak,   or   slay   I   thee!” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   am   Wayham   King,   son   of   Finteine,   in   long   line   last   descended   from   Arwen   and   from   Luthien. I   bear   Narsil   Anduril. I   wear   the   Ring   of   Barahir. The   White   Tree   is   planted   within   me. With   me   are   the   Seven   Sleepers. Do   ye   own   me,   Boleslaw?” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   greatest   king   of   Poland   inclined   his   crowned   head. “Thou   art   the   King. The   King   commands   me. I   and   thy   knights   are   at   thy   disposing. What   is   the   need   of   Poland?” ''

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             A   quiver   ran   through   Boleslaw. From   all   the   knights   came   a   sound   like   indrawn   breath. Whatever   fearsome   meaning   that   word   had,   it   was   evidently   understood   only   too   well   by   the   sleepers. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “We   cannot   hope   to   win   that   war.”   said   Boleslaw   in   a   hollow   voice. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “But   we   must   fight   it   none   the   less.”   Wayham   answered. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             In   silence,   rank   by   rank,   the   mounted   army   turned   to   follow   Wayham   King   and   the   Seven   Sleepers   as   they   marched   back   up   the   hole   they   had   broken   into   the   caves   that   wound   up   through   the   mountain. ''

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<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   weather   was   incredibly   rainy   and   humid   all   through   the   rest   of   May. It   felt   like   Florida. Cool   misty   air   sheathed   the   green   wet   mountains,   and   it   often   drizzled,   which   was   pretty   much   the   equivalent   of   rain   as   it   bedewed   all   the   bushes   with   soaking   drops    and   under   the   trees   it   dripped   constantly. “Treeing,”   the   boys   called   it,   to   the   sardonic   amusement   of   Charlene. They   spent   half   their   time   in   raincoats.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             It   was   a   week   since   the   mysterious   episode   at   the   Pet   Parade,   and   after   that   terrible   dream   of   Boleslaw’s   awakening   Christopher   had,   to   his   relief,   had   no   further   ones. None   that   meant   anything,   at   least.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “So,   like,   who   was   this   Boleslaw   guy?”   Stephen   asked   him   one   day. It   was   dismal   and   rainy,   but   the   Memorial   Day   weekend   was   supposed   to   be   gorgeous. The   two   boys   crouched   on   the   swell   of   stone   under   the   bridge,   pensively   watching   the   falls. The   lake   had   actually   filled   up,   and   the   spillway   was   flowing   again   and   the   stream   in   consequence   was   no   longer   a   trickle.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   looked   him   up.”   said   Christopher. “There   was   like   about   three   or   four   different   ones,   and   none   of   them   looks   much   like   the   guy   in   my   dream. It’s   really   annoying.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Let’s   go   upstream. I’m   tired   of   sitting   here.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Above   the   bridge   was   a   deep   ravine   the   brook   had   torn   for   itself   long   ago. The   old   sawmills   had   hedged   this   in   on   the   right   with   huge   walls   of   mighty   boulders   one   atop   another,   while   on   the   left   the   wall   was   natural   rock. Worn   stones   filled   the   bed,   some   eroded   into   smooth-edged   sponges   where   weak   spots   were   eaten   out,   others   round. The   stones   were   slippery   with   the   damp   and   they   went   carefully. On   the   left   a   tan-pale   building   still   abutted   the   bank, and   above   the   bluff   beyond   stood   an   ancient   house   of   mortared   stone,   older   than   the   mills. The   factories   had   been   consumed   in   1955   by   the   great   flood,   their   site   now   filled   with   aspen   and   sumac,   and   a   reedy   swamp   where   a   millpond   had   been. Beyond   the   natural   wall,   great   rocks   suddenly   closed   the   ravine,   the   stream   cascading   over   them. Behind   them   were bridge   abutments:   two   sheer   concrete   walls,   machinery   sockets   jutting   from   them,   and   a   deep   millpool,   and   a   rising   swell   of   stone,   the   stream   pouring   down   a   notch   along   it   into   the   pool.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             A   young   man   was   sitting   on   the   ledge   beside   the   pool. His   hair   was   wet,   so   he   must   just   have   been   swimming. The   boys   stopped   dead,   not   sure   whether   to   run. He   did   not   appear   to   have   seen   them. A   long,   sharp-featured,   grim   face,   red   hair   going   grey,   brown   corduroy   pants   and   a   brown   hooded   coat   completed   his   appearance. Then   he   looked   up,   and   all   thought   of   running   left   them. Deep-set   hollow   eyes,   burning   a   queer   sort   of   brown   sparked   with   red,   stared   at   them. Then   to   their   relief   he   gave   a   faint   smile   and   the   eyes   dimmed,   the   queer   appearance   of   red   vanishing.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   figured   I’d   meet   you   sooner   or   later,   Christopher.”   he   said.

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Even   if   I   were   not   already   aware   of   him,   I   would   have   seen   his   Dreams   the   moment   I   looked   at   him.”   the   strange   young   man   said. “I   saw   you   at   the   parade,   you   know. And   on   your   bus.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You’re   the   guy   with   the   cans?”   said   Chris. “Are   you,   like,   homeless?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             A   dry   amusement   flickered   in   the   brown   eyes. “I   was   able   to   rent   my   squatted   place   in   Burrville,   but   work   never   pays   enough,   and   one   has   to   live,   and   cans   are   just   growing   in   the   gutters,   ready   for   harvest. A   cash   crop,   I   regard   it.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   know   my   name,”   said   Chris,   “but   I   don’t   know   yours.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “It   is   hard   to   know   what   none   have   told   you.”   the   other   answered,   and   the   sardonic   light   in   his   eyes   was   more   pronounced. “I   am   Ronnie   Wendy. Or,   at   least,   that   is   the   form   it   takes   in   English.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Are   you   of   the   Men   in   Brown?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Ronnie’s   eyebrows   lifted. “So   you   do   know   of   us,   do   you? Good,   then   we   might   actually   be   able   to   talk   with   some   possibility of   understanding   each   other. Have   you   met   any   of   us   yet,   or   only   Dreamed   of   us?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Um,   just   John   Wimbledon,   Old   Nuncle   Jimmy,   and   Ar-Arheled.”   said   Chris.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “And   Mr. Root.”   put   in   Stephen.

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Well,   what   else   do   roots   do?”   retorted   Stephen.

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Chris   squatted   froglike   on   the   rocks. Ronnie   didn’t   look   very   old—only   about   thirty,   despite   the   grey   in   his   reddish   hair—and   the   boys   somehow   felt   much   less   in   awe   of   him   than   of   the   others. “Hey,   um,   Ronnie,   who   is   Boleslaw?”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Oh. Um,   I   think   a   king   of   Poland. I   dreamed   of   him.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “There   were   at   least   four. One   of   them,   Boleslaus   the   First,   was   said   to   be   in   an   enchanted   slumber   beneath   Giewont   Mountain,   which   is   shaped   like   a   helmed   recumbent   head,   mounted   with   his   knights.”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   eyes   of   Ronnie   instantly   changed,   deep   and   intense   as   black   holes,   a   red light   flickering   in   them. Chris   could   not   look   away.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “So   that’s   what   Wayham   is   doing.”   Ronnie   said   in   a   low   voice. “He   is   summoning   the   Sleeping   Heros   to   his   army. He   is   collecting   every   legend   of   Europe. He   is   gathering   the   myths. But   the   allies   of   the   Lord   of   Chaos   are   so   many…so   diverse…we   can never   find   or   fight   them   all,   before   they   come   against   us   all   at   once.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Who   is…he?”   Chris   asked   shakily.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   eyes   of   Ronnie   were   dark   as   tombs. A   deep   vast   bitterness   pulsed   beneath   him,   below   the   surface. “He? Little   hobbit,   do   you   really   want   to   know   that? Do   you   wish   your   child’s   hair   to   go   grey,   as   mine   is? Ask   no   more   of   him.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Do…um,   the   Men   in   Brown   have,   like,   powers?”   Christopher   asked,   wanting   to   change   the   subject.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “The   Men   in   Brown   are   not   all   Men.”   Ronnie   answered. “They   are   a   union   of   powers. Not   all   are   here   yet. Not   all   have   meted   yet. Even   I   do   not   know   all   their   names,   though   I   do   know   their   tales:   for   I   have   not   met   them.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Are   you…safe?”   Stephen   blurted.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Something   like   sarcastic   laughter   broke   out   of   Ronnie. He   said   no   words,   only   sat   there   unseeing   on   his   rock,   his   face   drawn   in   a   harsh   furrow,   as   that   bitter   laughter   crackled   among   the   rocks. To   the   boys’   terrified   eyes   it   seemed   as   though   the   stone   around   him   was   moving   and   rippling   in   answer,   and   then   they   were   scrambling   madly   up   the   rocks   of   the   masonry   bluff   behind   them. An   old   paved   lot   ran   down   to   Boyd,   just   across   from   their   house. The   boys   dashed   out   into   the   road,   right   where   the   blind   curve   down   the   hill   was,   too   frightened   to   remember   about   cars. There   was   a   great   dark   metallic   mass   bulging   in   their   side   vision. They   had   only   time   to   realize   the   truck,   and   the   world   froze   as   they   saw   their   death.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   street   between   them   and   the   car   erupted. Out   of   the   earth   a   figure   rose,   one   hand   uplifted,   red   light   glowing   out   of   clothes   and   skin. The   car   stopped   on   his   hand,   just   like   that,   no   impact   or   jolt,   as   if   the   kinetic   energy   had   simply   disappeared. Seizing   both   boys   by   the   hand   Ronnie   Wendy   dragged   them   across,   as   behind   him   the   street   re-formed   and   the   car   suddenly   rocketed   forward   as   the   kinetic   energy   returned   to   it   and   its’   engine   was   able   to   move,   the   driver   shaking   his   head   as   if   he’d   seen   a   ghost.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Yes,   we   have   powers.”   he   said,   and   sank   back   into   the   earth.

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

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Memorial   Day   weekend   was   just   as   gorgeous   as   it   had   promised   to   be. The   humidity   lingered   as   the   air   grew   hot,   causing   a   wonderful   soft   laziness. Christopher   was   up   early   and   so   was   Stephen. The   hills   were   blue   and   misty,   and   the   sun,   halfway   up   the   sky,   glowed   softly   in   the   yellow   vault.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Let’s   go   for   a   walk.”   said   Chris   in   a   rather   shaky   voice. Stephen   looked   at   him,   concerned:   his   brother   looked   all   in. “Mom’s   not   up   yet.”   was   all   he   said.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Phooey. You   know   we   can   go   to   the   end   of   the   street   without   permission.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Mom   coming   outside   at   that   precise   moment   to   check   the   new   garden   they   had   just   planted   under   the   twisted   old   maple,   Stephen   soothed   his   conscience   with   the   required   permission   and   the   boys   set   off   up   Hubbard.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “So   what   happened   to   you?” Stephen   said,   as   soon   as   they   were   underway. “Another   dream?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Yeah,   pretty   much   like   the   first   except   creepier.”   said   Christopher. “I   was   up   in   the   air,   sort   of   like   those   zoom-in   shots   you   see   in   movies,   and   the   hills   under   me   were   all   green   and   woolly   and   surprisingly   like   ours,   and   they   looked   a   bit   like   Sleeping   Giant   does   way   down   near   New   Haven,   like   a   man   on   his   back. There   was   a   tower   on   one,   and   funny   German   houses   down   below. And   then   I   was   inside   the   mountain,   in   a   chamber   in   the   mountain,   and   there   were   great   stone   tables,   and   around   every   table   sat   an   army   of   ghosts. Pale   armor   sheathed   them,   chain   mail   I   think   but   they   had   these   Charlemagne-like   robes   and   jackets   and   things   with   heraldic   figures   on   them. They   had   great   swords,   and   maces,   and   huge   flails   and   battle-axes,   but   I   could   see   things   through   them. And   at   one   table   sat   a   king   alone. He   had   golden   hair,   about   down   to   his   waist,   but   his   beard   had   been   growing   so   long   that   the   hairs   had   grown   into   the   rock. And   then   he   lifted   his   eyes,   and   said   to   me,    Boy,   go   and   see   if   the   ravens   yet   fly   about   the   Kryffhauser.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “How’d   you   understand   him?”   said   Stephen.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   think   he   was   speaking   Latin,   like   they   were   in   the   Boleslaus   dream,   but   I   understood   him,   and   I   was   just   turning   to   do   that   when   I   heard   a   voice   say,    They   do   not   fly.   And   the   ghost   said, ''   Who   enters   my   domain? Who   disturbs   Barbarossa,   Holy   Roman   Emperor? ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Holy, <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">   the   voice   said   with   imperceptible   derision.''   Wert   thou   holy   when   thou   gave   the   ficco   to   the   men   of   Milan? Wert   holy   when   thou   put   away   thy   wedded   wife,   or   when   thou   oppressed   the   Holy   Father   and   put   two   false   Fathers   in   the   Chair? Emperor   yea,   but   Holy   never''. The   ghost   tried   to   get   up,   but   his   beard   was   stuck   in   the   table   and   pulled   him   down   with   a   crash   of   metal. ''   I   was   pardoned! he   said.   Whom   art   thou,   that   beardest   the   Redbeard   himself?   And   the   voice   said,   Thy   Crusade   was   never   carried   out. Thy   vow   is   unfulfilled. Thou   art   not   pardoned. ''   And   then   he   came   forward,   Wayham   King,   and   he   had   all   sorts   of   cool   plate   armour   on   joints   and   shoulders   and   such   over   his   mail—what   do   they   call   it,   partial   plate   armour—and   his   white   sword   was   drawn,   and   he   sliced   the   table   in   smithereens   so   that   the   ghost   stood   up,   chunks   of   stone   still   dangling   from   his   beard. Behind   him   was   a   dim   host   of   armored   men:   you   could   hear   them   shuffling   and   sighing. And   he   said,''   I   summon   thee. I   conjure   thee. I   awake   thee. Fulfill   thy   vow,   thy   oath   now   finish,   thy   Crusade   complete,   Frederick   Redbeard:   the   King   commands   thee!''”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Awesome.”   breathed   Stephen. “That   would   be,   like,   so   cool   to   see   in   a   movie,   you   know,   with   all   the   robes   and   armor   and   stuff.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             They   had   passed   the   crossroads   with   John   St   and   the   way   they   had   taken   before. Instead   of   descending   past   the   factory   to   the   railroad   grade,   they   kept   on   up   the   street   a   dozen   yards   farther   to   where   it   ended. A   high   cliff   of   dumped   fill   and   random   debris   towered   above   the   grade   beneath   on   the   right. On   the   left   the   last   house   of   the   row   of   peak-roofed   very   old   townhouses,   solid   and   comfortable   and   settled   under   big   old   trees,   stood   on   a   slight   rise,   and   a   jeep   track   led   up   into   the   woods   from   where   its’   yard   ended. This   the   boys   took,   quickly   in   case   somebody   was   watching. The   jeep   track   clambered   higher   up   the   hill,   rolling   and   lumpy   and   fenced   by   brush,   bending   round   ever   to   the   left. Jungles   of   waist-high   mountain   laurels   grew   bright   green   and   tangled   on   the   forest   floor. Thickets   of   young   birch   saplings   and   a   few   white   pinelings   filled   the   space   between   the   few   oaks   and   scraggly   birch   and   hemlocks:   the   place   had   been   logged   a   while   back. Chestnut   sprouts   rose   in   dark-stemmed   clumps. It   was   very   green   and   white   here,   with   the   dim   soft   sun   and   the   dim   warm   air. They   came   to   a   tunnel   of   close-packed   birchlings,   and   then   an   open   area   with   bullet-ridden   targets,   the   track   bending   left   and   climbing   more   steeply. Darker   hemlocks   overhung   it. Stephen   eyed   the   targets   with   misgiving.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Mom   didn’t   say   we   could   go   this   far.”   he said. “And   I   think   we’re   on   private   property.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Duh,   everything   is   private   property   unless   the   government   owns   it!”   Chris   scorned. “It’s   not   posted,   is   it?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Well,   no,   but…what   if   somebody   comes   up   here   and starts   shooting?” “We   won’t   stay   long.”   said   Chris. “Just   to   the   top. Come   on,   you   sissy.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Don’t   you   call me   sissy!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Then   stop   acting   like   one.”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I’m   older   than   you,   I   have   a   perfect   right.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Hmph. What   if   I   went   home   on   you,   huh? You   know   Mom   only   allows   us   out   here   as   long   as   we’re   together. You’d   have   to   come,   too.”   jeered   Stephen.

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Ancient   books   may   break   my   hooks,   but   names’ll   never   hurt   me.”   sang   Stephen. Chris   promptly   flew   at   him   and   the   brothers   started   shoving   and   hitting.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             A   thunderous   echo   from   somewhere   above   them   stopped   the   fight. Both   froze,   ears   strained.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Someone’s   shouting.”   said   Stephen.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Nuh-uh! That   sounds   more   like   a—foghorn.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “It’s   on   the   other   side   of   the   mountain.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Well,   let’s   go   see!”   shouted   Christopher. They   toiled   in   a   hurry   up   the   steep   mossy   track. Deep   green   hemlocks   swept   above   them. Then   these   gave   way   to   towering   oaks   and   glades   of   hazel,   blueberry   and   laurel. Patches   of   rug-like   moss   grew   among   the   oak   leaves. The   slope   lessened   and   they   found   they   were   parallel   to   a   ridge-crest. The   voice   had   stopped   by   this   time,   but   as   the   boys   hurried   to the   edge,   it   broke   out   again,   and   they   ran   farther   uphill. There   was   no   doubt   now:   a   tremendous   voice   was   simply   thundering    down   below. There   was   a   crashing   sound   as   if   a   large   heavy   something   was   racing   off.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Out   of   breath,   the   boys   looked   down. The   mountainside   fell   steeply   for   about   a   hundred   fifty   feet,   old   oak   and   beech   leaning   into   it. The   pale   white-brown   bleached   leaves,   the   grey   leaning   trunks   and   grey   rocks   and   green   roof,   made   a   peaceful   sight,   quite   out   of   keeping   with   the   trumpetine   voice.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   think   that’s   a   clearing,   down   at   the   bottom.” said   Stephen.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Somebody   lives   there,   I   suppose.”   said   Chris   a   little   dispiritedly. “Bother.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Hey,   I’m   not   going   down   there   under   any   circumstances.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Yeah,   whatever.”   said   Chris. They   plodded   uphill   a   little   farther,   to   where   the   hill   made   a   stony   brow   above   Boyd   St   and   their   neighborhood,   and   rested   on   the   cliff   brink. Highland   Lake   gleamed,   almost   on   a   level   with   them,   through   gaps   in   the   trees. Chris   heard   a   noise   like   heavy   steps   and   leaned   over   the   edge,   pulling   back   almost   at   once   with   an   alarmed   look. The   Wizard   was   mounting   slowly   up   the   slope   on   the   left,   bent   double   with   the   climb,   marching   heavily   as   if   up   a   staircase   only   his   eyes   could   see. He   carried   a   long   maple   staff. Suddenly   he   looked   up,   and   their   eyes   met.

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “We   might   as   well   be   polite   and   wave.”   said   Chris   as   the   Wizard   clambered   up   a   recess   in   the   brink   and   turned   toward   them.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Hi,   Wizard.”   the boys   said.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Old   Nuncle   Jimmy   leaned   on   his   staff. His   eyes   had   an   ironic   twinkle. “I   hear   you   had   quite   a   scare   the   other   day.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   mean   that   creepy   guy? Who   was   he,   anyway? Is   he   really…Brown?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “That   was   the   Hill   of   the   Road.”   replied   Nuncle   Jimmy. “Ronnie   Wendy. Eldest   and   leader   of   the   Children   of   the   Road.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Why’s   he   such   a   creep?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Ronnie   has…seen   things.”   said   the   Wizard   with   a   shudder. “Things   no   man   can   see   undamaged. What   would   you   be   like,   if   the   worst   foe   you   could   imagine   had   eaten   your   girlfriend   before   your   eyes?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Holy   cow.”   said   Stephen. “That   happened?”   said   Chris.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Yes.”   said   the   Wizard. He   dropped   to   a   crouch   on   a   nearby   rock,   resting   his   arms   on   his   knees. “I   suppose   it’s   time   I   told   you   boys   a   little   about   what   has   been   going   on   here.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Yeah,   I   mean,   what   is   it   all   about   anyway?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “There   are   four   legends   in   these   parts.”   said   Nuncle   Jimmy. “One   is   the   caveman   who   was   seen   in   1895,   up   the   valley   there,   the   Wild   Man   of   Winsted. Then   there   are   the   Green   Lady   Cemetaries,   one   some   ways   northwest   of   here,   the   other   15   miles   south   in   Burlington,   said   to   be   haunted   by   misty   green   lights   and   shapes   like   veiled   women:   both   graves   have   sad   tales   behind   them. There   was   the   Witch   of   Winchester,   who   is   also   connected   with   a   place   named   Witches’   Retreat   or   Knapp   Hill,   under   which   lie   the   Lost   Caves   of   Colebrook. And   there   was   the   Leatherman.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Oh,   I   heard   about   him. Wasn’t   he   some   strange   tramp   dressed   in   leather,   back   in   the   19th   century?”   said   Chris.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “He   was. Never   came   this   far   north,   though:   only   as   far   up   as   Thomaston. But   the   other   legends…aye   well. There   is   a   secret   that   hangs   over   this   little   town,   children:   a   mystery   that   you   can   feel   as   you   gaze   out   over   it   or   prowl   in   its’   hills. Those   who   live   here   do   not   feel   it,   save   now   and   again   as   they   look   out   over   the   familiar   things   and   see   them   in   a   sudden   and   new   light,   a   glimpse   of   that   which   those   who   are   newly   come   and   who   have   the   eyes   to   see   it   grasp   at   once. The   five   stone   churches   that   rise   like   fortresses   in   a   half-circle   along   Main   St,   from   east   to   west,   like   forts   holding   the   North   against   the   evil   in   the   South. The   decorations   upon   them   point,   and   quite   often   to   places   of   importance. Three   markers   on   St. Joseph’s   point   W-NW,   to   where,   exactly   two   miles   from   the   milestone   at   the   Methodist   church,   is   a   strange   mountain,   like   a   long narrow   ridge,   rounded   and   high. The   crest   of   it   is   traversed   by   a   faded   path   amid   forest-grass,   and   ancient   dark   hemlocks   sweep   the   ground   in   somber   groves,   and   there   are   open   glades   of   ash   and   hickory,   curiously   twisted   by   the   wind. And   at   the   midpoint   of   the   ridge   are   two   solitary   rocks   amid   glades   of   their   own,   on   which   lie   piled   bits   of   rock   and   coral,   and   even   coins.”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “They   are   altars.”   replied   Nuncle   Jimmy. “The   mountain—it   is   not   a   canny   place. The   moment   you   come   out   on   the   level   crest,   you   feel   it,   you   feel   that   this   place   is   like   no   other,   like   it   is   solemn,   like   it   is   a   temple. Temple   Fell,   it   is   named,   and   the   Silent   Place,   for   it   is   very   silent   there. Like   a   sacred   place,   but   not   a   Christian   sacred. As   you   walk   along   the   ridge,   your   voice   lowers,   your   feet   slow,   till   you   are   whispering   and   you   do   not   know   why,   and   then   you   come   into   the   grove,   with   the   hemlocks   like   hooded   priests   and   the   tormented   hickories   rising   like   clawed   hands   from   the   grass,   all   leaning   towards   the   center:   and   you   see   the   altar,   and   you   stop   dead.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Both   boys   were   listening,   intent,   hardly   breathing.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “This   mountain   is   older   than   the   land   around   it. It   is   to   this   place   that   the   Road   returns   every   hundred   years,   at   midnight   on   the   Eve   of   Christmas,   and   then   the   Children   of   the   Road   will   greet   it   and   walk   it,   and   then   it   leaves,   until   the   next   Return. Last   year,   2011,   was   the   year   of   its’   Returning. But   it   has   not   left. This   time,   it   remained.”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Because   of   who   else   was   walking   in   Winsted.”   Nuncle   Jimmy   answered. “All   during   the   Fell   Winter   of   2010,   the   Warden   of   the   Road   was   calling   to   the   Children,   waking   them   up,   teaching   the   lore. But   others   walked   also. A   man   named   Cornello,   who   used   to   live   on   Big   Island. A   mysterious   old   woman. A   young   man   who   was   not   wholly   man. And   Cornello,   he   was   not   man   at   all.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   fixed   them   with   his   eyes. “He   was   Dragon.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   mean   that   really   did   happen,   at   the   Carnival?”   the   boys   shouted.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Yes.”   the   Wizard   answered. “He   awoke   the   ones   that   he   begot. The   Dragon-born,   half   human   and   half   dragon. For   the   Warden   had   called   awake   the   Children   of   the   Road.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Is   that   why   so   many   weird   things   were   happening   last   year?”   said   Chris.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Who’s   the   Warden? And   what   is   this…Road?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “There   are   roads   that   walk   the   heavens,   and   roads   that   walk   on   earth.” replied   Nuncle   Jimmy. “When   the   Sons   of   God   sang   the   earth   into   shape,   they   wrought   the   Road   out   of   their   notes   to   hold   the   surface   of   the   world   together. The   Straight   Road,   leading   on   into   the   stars   when   the   bent   earth   fell   away   beneath. It   is   the   last   echo   of   the   Music   of   the   Ainur. Its’   Warden   steers   it,   and   when   he   walks   on   earth   he   goes   in   brown,   and   his   name   is   Arheled.”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “He   called   six   children,   one   from   each of   the   Five   Churches   and   the   Five   Villages   around   Winsted,   and   the   Road   gave   them   power,   and   the   Dragons   and   the   Witch   of   Winchester   schemed   against   them. All   last   year   has   been   a   long   tense   chess   match   between   them,   a   move   here,   a   battle   there. One   such   battle   took   place   upon   the   Long   Lake   itself—it’s   named Highland   now—about   June,   I   think. The   freak   flood. Brooke   Pond   is   the   child   who   calls   to   water,   and   the   Dragons   held   her   captive   on   Big   Island. She   called   up   the   Lake. The   entire   bay   stood   on   its’   head   and   blasted   that   island   from   the   map. Brooke   was   hunted,   and   nearly   taken. But   at   this   point   another   power   entered   the   lists.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “We   know   him   as   the   Wild   Man   of   Winsted:   the   caveman   sighting,   to   be   exact. What   manner   of   being   he   is   I   do   not   know,   but   he   serves   Arheled,   and   he   battled   the   Father   of   Dragons   on   the   flood   control   dike,   and   in   their   clash   the   dike   evaporated. I   won’t   elaborate   on   the   moves   and   counter-moves   of   both   sides;   you   would   soon   become   lost,   and   some   even   I   am   not   sure   of. I   heard   this   second-hand,   you   see. But   I   do   know   that   the   worst   thing   for   us   that   could   possibly   happen,   is   here.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “What?”   said   the   boys.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Have   you   ever   heard,”   said   the   Wizard   in   a   cold   voice,   “of   the   name   Chaos?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Cold   running   through   him,   Christopher   nodded. “Who   is   he?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “The   Ancient   Enemy.”   whispered   the   Wizard. “The   Great   Lord   of   the   Darkness,   walking   in   physical   shape   upon   the   earth. He   sent   his   power   out   of   him   over   the   ages,   pouring   it   into   the   world   so   as   to   stain   matter   itself. He   is   known   as   Chaos. The   terrible   thing   is,   that   power   could   not   return   to   him,   and   so   he   was   overcome,   and   chained. But   now   the   world   has   changed. Power   no   longer   lingers   in   matter,   but   leaks   back   to   its’   source. It   did   with   him. All   his   strength   is   now   inside   him. His   chains   are   shattered.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   went   on   in   a   grim   voice. “Far   under   the   earth   the   Father   of   Dragons   prepared   seven   sacrifices,   on   Halloween   night. Far   under   the   earth   the   Children   of   the   Road   travelled   to   stop   him,   to   go   where   even   Arheled   could   not. And   they   fought   their   way   down   through   the   witches   and   the   dragons   and   the   walking   dead,   and   they   came   on   the   fatal   night   to   the   heart   of   the   earth,   and   Cornello   was   waiting   for   them. Frozen   in   time   by   his   power   they   were   forced   to   watch   as   six   of   their   family and   friends   and   one   of   the   last   living   Stars   were   consumed   body   and   soul   to   incarnate   in   body   the   Lord   of   Chaos:   and   they   barely   escaped. And   on   the   earth   it   snowed   fifteen   inches   in   October,   as   Chaos   walked   again.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “But   can’t   the   Road   fight   him?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “That   is   why   it   has   not   left. We   have   not   been   idle   all   winter. The   Men   in   Brown   are   gathering,   and   the   last   of   the   line   of   Numenor   summons   the   myths   from   the   depths   of   the   earth   and   the   legends   from   the   deeps   of   time. No,   he   will   not   crush   us   so   easily.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Say,   Wizard,   do   you   have   any   powers?”   said   Stephen,   half   jokingly.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“To   answer   that,   ask   yourselves   why   you   call   me   Wizard.”   Nuncle   Jimmy   replied   with   an   ironic   smile. “What   air   breathes   about   me   that   makes   you   think   of   wizards? For   as   it   so   happens,   the   name   was   right. Children   often   see   through   to   underlying   truth. I   tell   tales. I   call   stories   into   being. I   write   books. And   in   so   doing,   I   become   a   conjurer   of   sorts. There   is   my   only   power. In   my   imagination.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“I   don’t   think   all   that   stuff   is   really   true.”   said   Stephen   skeptically. “I   mean,   it   sounds   like   a   weird   tall   tale.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“That   is   because   you   see   things   from   only   one   thread,   laddie.”   said   Old   Nuncle   Jimmy.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“What’s   a   thread?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Every   person   is   a   thread   in   and   of   himself. Each   life   is   a   string   of   successive   events, much   like   a   ladder   with   one   stem   and   many   rungs   connecting   it.”   He   drew   a   straight   line   in   the   dirt. “That’s   one   thread. The   things   happening   from   moment   to   moment,   to   one   person,   form   a   thread. See   these   cross   bars?”   as   he   added   random   lines. “Those   are   where   other   threads   cross   yours. Mine,   and   your   brother’s,   and   the   dragons,   and   Arheled. Some   threads   cross   and   are   no   more,   people   you   never   see   again, things   that   happen   only   once. Some,   like   your   brother’s,   are   wound   up   with   yours. Threads   in   a   story,   laddies. In   the   great   Story   of   Creation.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   heaved   himself   slowly   to   his   feet. “I’d   better   get   moving. There’s   so   many   chores   to   do,   with   summer   coming.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “What   was   that   noise   we   heard?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Oh,   that?”   chuckled   the   Wizard. “A   bear   paid   me   a   little   visit. So   I   thundered   at   him. Stuff   from   the   Kalevala,   I   think.”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Finland’s   poetry. The   fertile   country   of   Wainola,   fragrant   meads   of   Sariloa…Ask   old   man   Root   about   it   sometime. He’s   quite   a   singer. A   mighty   singer,   indeed. Some   of   us   are;   old   Wimbledon,   for   one. Well,   lads,   look   after   yourselves. Goodbye.”

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