Ch. 3: The Cannon of Winsted

Back to Arheled

             Forest   lay   on   his   bed,   gazing   at   the   Hammer   that   reposed   across   the   top   of   his   burearu.

             They   had   decided   after   some   argument   to   keep   it   in   the   house   of   Forest;   the   Dragons   would   expect   it   to   be   in   the   fortified   Lane   house. Hunter   Light   was   talking   about   going   to   the   nursery,   and   Mrs. Lake   was   exclaiming   that   bush-sized   winterberries   and   hollies   cost   over   fifty   apiece,   and   he   wanted   how   many? Forest   listened   in   mounting   dismay. They   apparently   couldn’t   afford   the   protection   they   so   direly   needed.

             He   had   gone   outside. It   was   a   cloudy   day,   boding   rain. He   looked   around   upon   the   island.

             A   green   light   mounted   in   his   eyes. The   island   quivered. With   a   queer   rustling   sigh   leaves   unfolded   out   of   the   earth. Sharp,   broad,   glossy-green   leaves   dark   as   laurels   mingled   with   deep   purple-green   leaves   long   as   a   willow’s. Small   red   berries   clustered   thickly. Hunter   Light   came   outside   and   stopped   in   his   tracks. All   along   the   shore   of   the   Island,   even   along   the   edge   of   the   parking   lot   and   drive   right   up   to   the   bridge,   there   now   stood   a   towering   hedge   of   close-set   hollies,   winterberry   paler   among   them. Forest   stalked   along   them,   his   eyes   smouldering   green   as   he   silently   commanded   them   to   be   neat   and   trimmed.

             Now   he   lay   upstairs,   tired   from   the   sudden   discovery   of   his   new   power   to   directly   generate   living   plants,   gazing   at   the   Hammer.

             In   a   short   while   he   should   get   up   and   go   out   and   paint   into   existence   the   marker-stones;   Grandmother   Lane   had   told   him   how   to   make   them. As   he   made   the   R-   runes   he   had   to   say   aloud,   “In   the   name   of   the   Road   no   enemy   shall   pass.”   They   had   to   be   no   farther   than   twenty   feet,   but   could   be   as   close   as   three. But   he   wanted   to   rest.

             The   Hammer   seemed   forged   of   gold,   or   of   a   metal   like   it. The   pommel   was   fashioned   like   a   crowned   head,   with   sad   stern   eyes   of   some   dark   gemstone   and   flowing   hair   bulging   outward   like   the   head   of   an   anchor   at   the   sides. His   braided   hair   formed   the   grip,   opening   out   into   great   curls   framing   stars   of   brilliant   silver   or   of   carved   white   diamond,   dark   green   emeralds   surrounding   them. The   ponderous   head   was   two-ended   like   a   sledge,   thick   but   curving   so   that   its’   flat   ends   had   the   shape   of   broad   toeless   feet. A   deep   notch   cleft   the   upper   side. Coiled   intricately   about   the   head   on   either   side   was   a   long   serpentine   dragon,   its’   scales   tiny   but   crafted   with   such   detail   that   no   matter   how   close   he   peered   (and,   he   suspected,   even   with   a   magnifying-glass)   he   could   still   make   out   scales   on   even   the   smallest   bit   of   anatomy. Four-pointed   stars   gleamed   out   among   the   coils. Its’   ragged   head,   cloven   by   a   fell   smile,   adorned   the   great   bulge   in   the   center   of   the   head   where   it   met   the   handle. Around   the   edge   of   the   flat   ends,   and   in   a band   down   the   top   and   bottom   of   the   head,   was   a   long   border   of   silver   graven   with   runes—Norse   runes   and   Angerthas,   mingled   and   patterned,   forming   words   that   even   when   translated   seemed   too   terrible   to   pronounce:   for   they   were   words   of   power,   written   in   the   fearsome   speech   of   the   Gods   themselves. The   hue   of   the   gold   was   not   the   same   either;   for   in   the   king’s   beard   it   was   a   reddish   gold,   but   yellow   elsewhere;   while   the   dragon   was   more   of   a   greenish,   like   gold   seen   through   deep   water. It   was   not   very   large,   either;   the   handle   was   perhaps   two   and   a   half   feet   long,   the   head   another   foot,   thick   as   a   narrow   log. It   was   also   very   light:   Forest   could   heft   it   with   ease   in   both   hands. It   seemed   solid   and   ordinary,   now;   an   elaborately   carved   artifact,   like   a   brass   statue   in   a   museum,   inert   and   dead.

             The   dragon   made   him   shudder   faintly:   the   gleam   in   the   tiny   gem-eyes   was   too   sinister   for   his   taste. Midgarth,   Hunter   was   sure   it   was;   the   dim   deep   dragon   coiled   all   through   the   earth’s   oceans,   encircling   the   globe,   doom   of   Thor.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “And   as   far   as   that   goes,”   he   had   said,   “the   earth   is   actually   encircled   by   a   single   linked   ocean,   mingling   at   Artic   and   Antarctic. Because   of   tectonic   action   every   ocean   basin   has   a   mid-ocean   ridge, a   range   of   seabed   mountains   all   linked   that   do   encircle   the   world.”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Well,   the   continents   moved   apart,   you   know;   before   they   were   all   one   piece. The   seafloor   formed   from   lava   exposed   by   plates   moving   away   from   each   other. As   the   ages   passed   it   moved   more   slowly,   so   that   lava   had   time   to   erupt   and   build   up,   and   this   caused   the   mid-ocean   ridges.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “But   then   that   invalidates   the   island-chain   explanation,   you   know,   that   islands   formed   from   irruptions   of   a   single   hot   spot   as   the   plate   moved   farther   away.”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Forest   had   said   the   next   part   really   jumbled-up   and   had   to   repeat   it   a   few   times   before   Dad   got   it. “Well,   if   the   seafloor   formed   from   lava   flows   as   plates   moved   apart,   that   means   they   once   moved   very   fast. If   they   moved   very   fast,   there   wouldn’t   be   time   for   islands   to   be   built   up   from   undersea   eruptions   because   the   plate   would   leave   the   hot   spot   behind. If   the   plate   then   moved   slowly   enough   to   build   the   ridges,   the   islands   should   be   as   close   together   as   the   ridges’   segments   are,   right? I   think   those   islands   either   pre-existed   tectonic   action   or   erupted   much   faster   than   anyone   seems   to   think.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Surtsey   Island.”   Hunter   had   muttered. “Yes. There   we   saw   processes   we   thought   took   ages,   take   weeks. You   have   a   point,   kid.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Forest   yawned. After   a   brief   cold   snap   the   weather   had   suddenly   gotten balmy,   60s   with   hot   sun. Bell   had   actually   jumped   in   the   lake   this   lunchtime. She   then   screamed   and   jumped   out   because   it   was   so   cold   and   ran   inside   to   towel   off. She   explained   to   Forest   that   Brooke   had   dared   her.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Brooke   stopped   over   on   the   last   day   of   the   wacky   warm   spell. Her   and   Bell   dared   each   other   into   the   water   a   few   times,   then   went   inside   to   change. Forest   was   painting   the   boundary   stones   into   existence   and   took   no   heed,   except   to   shake   his   head   and   smile   to   himself. Brooke   came   out   alone   and   sat   down   next   to   him.

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

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Brooke   gave   a   little   half-laugh. “Funny,   how   it’s   only   when   he’s   not   around   you   suddenly   need   him.”   she   said. “What   did   that   pattern   on   the   grapevine   look   like?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Three   dents.”   said   Forest. He   painted   a   zaggedly   line   in   the   air   with   three   V-like   kinks.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   thought   so.”   said   Brooke. “Remember   how   he   guessed   it   matched   the   pattern   in   a   rock? Well,   I   found   the   rock.”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “It’s   up   in   the   Nanto   Nenlë. Valley   of   Voices. I   was—well,”   she   glanced   sideways   at   Forest,   giggled   and   got   a   little   pink,   “the   river   piles   up   huge   heaps   of   this   gorgeous   sudsy   foam,   so   I   jumped   in   and   soaped   it   all   over   me. It   feel   so   slick   and   lovely. Anyway,   I   was   drying   off   and   I   looked   up,   and   across   the   river   is   a   medium   boulder   with   wiggly   folds,   and   do   you   know,   they   matched   that   pattern   exactly. What   was   that   supposed   to   mark,   again?”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Oh   great. A   cannon,   huh. What   good   is   that   going   to   do   against   our   Huge   Black   Friend   down   south? Shoot   bolts   of   power?”

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

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

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   warm   spell   faded   out   in   soft   gloomy   rain. Veteran’s   Day   was   clear   and   brisk,   with   strong   winds. As   evening   drew   down,   so   did   the   cold,   falling   inexorably   to   frost   point. Showers   of   snow   mingled   with   rain. The   day   after   was   harsh   and   clear,   a   low   winter   sun   skimming   far   down   in   the   southern   sky. Down   through   the   woods   from   Indian   Meadow   walked   a   stooped   figure,   a   thin   but   sturdy   man   draped   in   a   great   billowing   cloak   of   stone   grey   over   his   coat. His   hair   was   bronze-red,   but   grey   hairs   streaked   it   here   and   there,   and   his   face   was   sharp   and   hard   as   if   chiselled   out   of   rock,   brows   furrowed   and   face   lined   even   when   relaxed:   lines   of   pain   and   not   of   age.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   strode   up   through   a   narrow   gap   of   woods   between   houses,   oblivious   of   barking   dogs. A   rambling   red   house   lay   behind   a   big   stone   wall   on   the   left,   and   the   old   maples   growing   by   it   had   shed   prodigiously   large   portions   of   themselves   all   over   the   lawn   and   even   on   the   house. A   man   cutting   them   up   with   a   chain   saw   came   over   and   shouted,   “Hey,   you! Guy   in   the   funny   coat! I’m   talkin’   to   you!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Slowly   the   cloaked   figure   halted. Slowly   he   turned   his   head. Brilliant   eyes   like   deep-set   flames   burned   in   a   sharp   hollow   face.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “What   do   you   think   you’re   doing   walking   right   through   my   woods?! And   may   I   ask   what   the   funny   get-up   is   for? It’s   not   Halloween,   buster!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Still   the   piercing   eyes   stared   at   him,   and   the   man   with   the   chain   saw   felt   his   righteous   outrage   suddenly   crumble   into   fear.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Get   away   from   me!”   he   shouted,   backing   off. “Just   get   out   of   here,   or   I’ll   set   my   dogs   on   you!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   hate   dogs.”   the   man   in   the   cloak   said. His   voice   was   very   low-pitched   and   harsh. “And   human   dogs   more. Set   either   upon   me….and   blood   flows.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Without   waiting   for   an   answer   he   stalked   on   up   the   slope. Barking   sounded   and   then   the   owner’s   voice   urging   them   on. Crashing   feet   in   the   leaves. Happy   horrid   panting   of   dogs   doing   what   they   love   best:   attacking   something   helpless.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   chain-saw   guy   was   watching. He wouldn’t   let   them   actually   bite   the   creep;   just   scare   him   a   bit,   maybe   chase   him. The   creep   was   turning   around   again. Was   he   seeing   things,   or   were   those   eyes…red? The   dogs   skidded   to   a   stop. Unbelieving   the   owner   watched   as   both   animals   crouched,   whimpering,   staring   up   into   the   burning   eyes.

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Just   like   that   both   dogs   keeled   over   and   went   limp. The   man   turned   and   stalked   on   over   the   bank. The   great   cloak   billowed   out   around   him   in   every   gust   of   wind. The   man   with   the   chain   saw   watched   fearfully   as   he   sprang   lightly   down   to   the   road,   turning   south   toward   Winsted. Somehow   the   thought   of   calling   the   police   never   even   entered   his   head.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             So   he   passed   down   the   road   out   of   the   north,   and   in   their   yards   folk   stopped   their   cleaning   up   or   leaf   raking   and   stared   after   him   in   wonder,   and   not   a   little   fear. One   or   two   reached   for   their   phones,   and   hesitated. A   girl   was   strolling   down   the   road,   cute   and   tidy   in   jeans   and   fur-edged   hat,   gabbing   away   into   her   cell   phone. She   was   walking   in   the   same   direction   as   he,   but   far   slower. The   cloaked   figure   veered   out   into   the   road   and   passed   her,   as   steadily   as   a   gliding   ghost;   a   powerful   aroma   of   wood   smoke   and   bacon   drifted   in   his   wake,   pleasant   and   pungent   and   earthy. She   went   stiff,   the   phone   dropping   from   her   hand,   gazing   after   him   as   if   transfixed.

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   girl   paid   it   no   heed. She   began   to   walk   faster,   as   if   mesmerized,   unable   to   take   her   eyes   off   the   majestic,   frightening   man   walking   in   front   of   her. She   felt   like   she   was   stuck   through   with   an   arrow. At   the   very   least   she   wanted   to   see   his   face.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   never   looked   back,   but   his   own   stride   was   so   rapid   the   girl   felt   her   legs    might   drop   off   by   the   time   they   had   gone   half   a   mile. She   kept   at   it,   with   a   tenacity   she   had   never   shown   before   in   anything,   whether   in   schoolwork   (“Aw,   who   cares,   they   pass   you   anyway”)   or   in   chores   (“I   need   a   break…I’ll   get   back   to   it   later”)   or   in   romance   (“Mm….maybe…I’m   more   of   a   floating   type”). Still,   despite   her   breaking   into   jogs   now   and   then,   he   was   a   good   six   hundred   feet   away   when   they   reached   Rt   44   at   the   edge   of   Winsted. To   her   dismay   he   crossed   the   street,   striding   up   the   old   loop   of   pavement   branching   off   the   road,   and   vanished   in   the   woods.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Breaking   into   a   real   run—which   soon   petered   out   to   a   jog—the   girl   reached   the   highway   and   dashed   across. She   was   sure   he   had   gone   into   the   ruin   across   the   river,   but   when   she   got   to   the   bridge   she   saw   to   her   horror   that   the   boards   across   the   gap   were   gone,   and   she   would   have   to   balance   on   a   narrow   metal   girder. Her    nerve   failing   her,   she   clambered   back   through   the   downed   trees   blocking   the   way   and   headed   up into   the   hemlock   cutting   where   the   old   road   ran. She   never   had   bothered   wondering   where   that   road   went   or   what   it   had   been. Maybe   that   creepy   old   tramp   wasn’t   there   now. Maybe   the   mysterious   man   was   camping   there   instead. The   thought   made   a   delicious   sweat   break   over   her.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             She   climbed   up   onto   the   path   that   ran   down   to   the   river. The   tents   were   crushed   by   unmelted   snow   and   showed   no   signs   of   use. Leaves   hid   the   path,   but   she   remembered   well   enough   where   it   led   and   scrambled   down   it—softly,   for   she   heard   the   faint   echo   of   male   voices--   until   she   reached   the   deep   rockpool   and   swimming   hole.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             She   didn’t   even   see   him   until   she   was   almost   on   top   of    him,   standing   like   an   erect   stone   at   the   water’s   verge. She   came   to   a   panicked   halt   and   ducked   behind   a   tree. He   hadn’t   even   heard   her:   he   was   staring   at   a   medium-size   lump   of   rock   sitting   on   a   ledge   across   the   stream,   staring   so   hard   she   expected   to   see   holes   melting   into   it.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Abruptly   he   spun   around   and   leaped   over   the   black   stones. Beside    the   swimming   hole   was   an   immense   boulder   islanded   in   the   river. He   reached   this   in   a   bound,   and,   cloak   dangling   fantastically,   caught   a   low   limb   and   pulled   himself   across,   hand   over   hand. She   almost   squealed   with   sheer   admiration. Scrambling   over   the   rocks   he   came   to   the   one   he’d   been   staring   at,   and   now   bent   his   stare   down   into   the   water.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   can   see   into   the   bottom,”   he   muttered   all   of   a   sudden,   “but   the   River   I   cannot   pierce. I   cannot   stir   him. He   is   not   under   my   power.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             What   was   he   talking   about? She   felt   dizzy,   as   if   on   the   edge   of   hearing   something   unfathomable,   some   secret   that   would   shatter   the   world. Her   god   on   the   far   bank   drew   himself   erect. For   the   first   time   she   saw   his   eyes   directly,   and   had   to   restrain   a   gasp. They   were   the   brightest   eyes   she’d   ever   seen. She   was   drawn   by   them,   fascinated,   and   yet   at   the   same   time   frightened   as   one   might   be   of   a   horse,   because   it   is   so   wonderful,   and   so   large   and   scary   up   close. Then   she   realized   they   weren’t   just   bright,   they   were   gleaming,   they   were   shedding   light   like   red   candles;   and   his   hands   were   flickering   red,   and   he   lifted   them   flat   and   then,   stooping   powerfully,   slammed   them   down   upon   the   earth,   and   as   he   did   he   roared,   “Brooookke!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Red   fire   leaped   up   from   the   ground. The   solid   earth   rippled   under   her   like   water:   it   made   her   queasy. She   wanted   to   run,   but   she   did   not   dare,   she   felt   weak   as   spaghetti,   she   had   wanted   to   see   and   now   she   saw,   for   good   or   ill,   she   was   trapped   until   the   end   of   this. Then   she   became   aware   a   girl   stood   beside   him,   dark-gold   hair,   a   rather   nice   merry   sort   of   face,   with   startlingly   bright   pale   blue   eyes;   and   she   was   not   wearing   a   coat.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “What   the…? You! What   on   earth? How   are   you   feeling? How   did   you   do   that?”   the   girl   spluttered.

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   mean   you   can   just…call   us   at    will?! What   if   I’d   been   in   the   bathroom? I   didn’t   even   have   time   to   grab   a   coat! I   suppose   you   can   send   me   back,   can’t   you?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   man   draped   his   cloak   around   her,   pulling   it   over   his   head   in   a   graceful   gesture. Fanny   felt   so   jealous   she   wanted   to   explode. “You   made   me   leader. Arheled   confirmed   it. And   if   I   am   in   need,   I   must   be   able   to   call   those   who   follow   me.”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Arheled? Who   or   what   was   that? And   why   did   that   name   shiver   through   her   like   doom? ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   need   you,   not   your   voice. I   can   see   through   the   ground;   but   I   cannot   see   through   Daslenga.”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Send   him   around   this   place.”   the   man   answered. “Remove   all   of   him   from   the   pool. It   is   here. The   rock   tells   me   that.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Yes,   how   did   you   know? I   spotted   that myself   the   other   day   and   wished   I   could   tell   you.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   did.”   he   answered. “In   the   house   of   Arheled   one   sees   far   and   hears   much. I   heard   you. And   I   know   where   to   look.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   girl’s   face   went   blank. She   held out   one   hand. Greeny-brown   light   grew   in   her   eyes:   it   reminded   Fanny   of   water. Then   suddenly   she   shouted,   in   a   voice   deeper   and   rougher   than   her   own,   “Daslenga,   remove!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             As   Fanny   stared,   cold   racing   through   her   very   bones,   the   river   rose. It   was   as   if   some   unseen   force   was   neatly   peeling   back   the   water   in   one   piece,   like   wax   that   has   been   poured   over   clay. It   mounted   slowly   into   the   air,   a   huge   cord   of   rushing   fluid   ten   feet   thick,   cascading   down   into   its’   bed   below   the   swimming   hole,   and   the   rock   pools   were   dry   as   bone.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   man   turned   his   scarlet   stare   upon   the   riverbed. So   bright   were   his   eyes   they   shed   a   halo   of   light,   like   a   glowing   fog,   around   his   head.

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Should   I,   like,   drill   it   out   or   something?”   said   the   girl.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Keep   Daslenga   busy,   and   leave   it   up   to me. Have   you   forgotten   that   I   am   the   Hill   of   the   Road? The   earth   answers   to   me,   as   water   does   to   you.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Rocks   began   to   shudder. Gravel   and   stones   flew   up   in   fountains. With   a   grinding   groan   immense   rocks   rose   slowly   out   of   the   hole,   to   crash   with   deep   thuds   to   one   side. Up   out   of   the   hole   something   else   rose,   something   crusted   with   huge   rusty   growths   of   corrosion,   something   long   and   narrow   and   hollow. It   came   to   rest   on   the   shore. The   man’s   hands   flashed   as   he   slammed   them   on   the   earth,   and   rocks   and   gravel   fell   back   in   the   hole. The   cord’s   end   rushed   overhead   and   plunged   into   the   riverbed,   and   a   second   later   the   water   returned,   splashing   and   shouting   as   before. Both   of   them   laid   their   hands   upon   the   object,   and   rust   flew   in   showers   of   shrapnel   in   every   direction. One   struck   Fanny   and   she   screamed.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             She   clamped   her   hands   over   her   mouth. Both   of   them   were   staring   at   her. She   wanted   to   run   but   she   could   not,   and   didn’t   want   to,   and   she   was   scared   stiff,   and   she   was   filled   with   awe,   and   she   did   not   move.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Are   you   all   right?”   the   man   said. There   was   a   gentleness   in   his   voice,   but   it   was   a   voice   of   authority,   and   it   did   not   unbend.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Oh   dear,   I   think   she’s   about   to   seriously   freak.”   said   the   girl. “Honey,   it’s   all   right. We   didn’t   see   you.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Are   you   hurt?”   the   man   repeated,   patiently. Those   eyes   she   had   wanted   to   meet   more   than   anything   in   the   world,   they   were   gazing   at   her,   not bright   and   terrible   but   still   sharp,   and   she   felt   somehow   the   weird   sliding   dizziness   she   got   when   drawn   into   a   really   good   and   really   strange   movie. She   managed   to   stand   up.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Um,   hi.”   she   quavered   with   a   nervous   giggle,   relieved   that   her   voice   worked. “I’m   Fanny.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “No,   you   are   not.”   the   man   answered. “A   name   like   that   is   always   short   for   something. What   is   yours   short   for?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Oh,   I   don’t   know,   probably   something silly   like   Fanwell   or   Fanta.”   she   giggled.

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Strange   feelings   stirred   in   her   at   that   name:   it   rang,   and yet   had   a   depth   of   unheard   echoes,   like   the   sound   of   countless   things   forgotten.

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “It   means   in   the   Irish,   A   tear   that   passes   over   the   fire   of   the   eye. Tearfire. Teargleam,   perhaps,   is   even   better. Names   always   mean   something   somewhere,   in   some   time   or   language   unknown. I   am   Ronnie. This   is   Brooke. We   are   delighted   to   meet   you.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Um,   yeah,   same   here,   um,   wow,   that   is   all   so   totally   awesome. Um,   how—what   was—all   that?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “That   I   will   not   tell   you.”   said   Ronnie. “No,   Brooke,   not   a   word. She   cannot   comprehend   it yet—if   ever. We   are   not   like   them   now. We   stand   above   them   like   gods,   burdened   with   power   and   wisdom,   unsure   of   dispensment. Still,   the   fact   that   she   remains   without   fleeing   and   is   moved   by   ‘Fand’—she   has   the   seed   of   seeing,   I   think. She   cannot   see   yet. Tell   me,   Fand,   why   did   you   follow   me?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “But   I—I   thought   you   never   saw   me!”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             She   turned   red   as   a   beet   and   looked   at   the   ground. “Don’t   look   at   me!”   she   giggled. “I’m   getting   all   red!—I   don’t   know. I   guess,   with   that   cloak,   you   looked   all…well…”   A   sudden   unreasonable   urge   came   over   her,   and   she   added   wickedly,   “Is   Brooke   your   girlfriend?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             A   sort   of   subterranean   earthquake   tremor   passed   beneath   Ronnie’s   features,   though   they   did   not   move. Raw,   burning   pain   flashed   for   an   instant   in   those   fiery   eyes   before   just   as   swiftly   passing. “No.”   he   answered. “My   girlfriend   died.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Oh   my   gosh. I’m   so   sorry. Um—how—what   is   that   thing,   anyway?”   she   said   hurriedly,   to   change   the   subject.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Come   across   and   look,   if   you   wish.”   said   Ronnie. The   river   stopped   flowing   in   one   spot,   the   water   flowed   away   while   the   upstream   water   backed   up,   and   Fand   crossed   as   quickly   as   she   could. When   she   had   scrambled   up   on   the   rocks   Brooke   let   the   river   go. Carefully   Fand   made   her   way   around   the   lagoon   until   she   stood   beside   them.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “H-hello.”   she   said   breathlessly   to   Ronnie. He   wasn’t   as   tall   as   he   had   seemed,   almost   on   eye   level   with   her,   but   up   close   he   was—intoxicating. His   presence   seemed   to   fill   the   air   around   him,   huge   and   male   and   threatening   and   exciting   at   the   same   time. Like   a   magnetic   field   or   something.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Hello   and   welcome.”   he   said   with   a   slight   smile. There   was   both   amusement   and   kindness   in   that   look,   though   she   felt   somehow   he   was   laughing   at   her,   or   perhaps   at   himself. Then   she   looked   down   at   the   object.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Freed   of   rust,   it   was   revealed   to   be   nothing   more   or   less   than   a   long   cannon   barrel. At   least,   it   had   the   shape   and   size    of   one,   but   with   the   rust   gone—ad   with   it   the   shell   of   iron   that   had   encased   it   and   concealed   it   from   the   eyes   of   all   who   used   it—she   began   to   realize   it   was   something   very   different. The   metal   was   not   oily   dark-blue   and   rough,   as   iron   should   be   when   rust   is   broken   off   it:   the   cannon   was   of   a   strange   black   metal,   that   shone   with   a   flat   luster,   and   odd   curves   and   seams   could   be   made   out   along   the   bore,   and   deep   strange   letter   were   cut   in   long   flowing   script   in   curving   lines   winding   around   the   barrel.

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “The   lost   Cannon   of   Winsted.”   said   Ronnie. “Ask   Verna   the   library   historian   to   let   you   read   the   town   annals:   it’s   in   there,   eventually. But   this   is   not   really   a   cannon. I   do   not   know    what   it   is. All   I   know   is   what   the   tehta   say,   and   they   are   cryptic   indeed.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Wait—you   can   actually      read   these   things? I   thought   it   was   decoration.”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Fand   found   she   could   not   meet   his   eyes. They   were   terrible   again,   stern,   powerful,   penetrating. “It   is   the   last weapon   from   the   Tower   of   the   Tree. One   of   400   that   were   forged   in   the   power   of   the   Stars   by   Men   of   Numenor   by   the   waters   of   the   Long   Lake,   in   the   last   years   of   the   Second   Age   of   Middle-earth. For   there   was   league   between   the   Tower   and   the   Stars,   and   Arheled   blessed   these   weapons,   and   put   the   Road   upon   them.”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Can   we   go   home   now?”   shivered   Brooke,   Ronnie’s   cloak   pulled   tight   around   her. “Or   are   you   going   to   call   Travel   and   hope   she’s   presentable?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   agree   I   would   rather   risk   sending   you   myself.”   Ronnie   concurred   wryly. He   turned   to   Fanny. “Goodbye,   Fand. I   am   glad   we   met. Do   not   forget   us…and   do   not   let   anyone   call   you    Fanny.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Red   fire   leaped   up. Earth   rippled   like   water. Both   he,   Brooke,   and   the   cannon   were   gone.

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

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

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Hey,   Ronnie,   I   heard   you   were   back.”   said   Travel   into   her   phone   when   he   returned   her   call. “You   all   right?”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             When   Travel   teleported   over   to   Burrville,   Ronnie   was   standing   in   his   yard. At   least,   it   had   to   be   Ronnie;   the   grim   cloak-shrouded   man,   grey   in   his   red   hair,   sharp   hollow   face   lined   and   hard,   looked   little   like   the   old   Ronnie   she   remembered.

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

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You’re   only   31.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “No.”   Ronnie   said. “I   am   much   older   than   that. A   hundred   and   thirty-one   would   be   more   like   it. You   have   no   conception,   happy   child,   of   the   places   I   have   walked. Even   Beren   was   grey-haired   when   he   came   out.”

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

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Really? Oh,   did   you   ever   look   up   those   funny   backward   Ns?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   did.”   said   Ronnie   grimly. “Anglo-saxon   rune   like   a   backward   N,   long   stem   above   and   below:   used   in   magic   to   represent   the   sun   or   the   life   force. Derived   from   a   Phonecian   rune   ‘nun’,   meaning   snake   or   fish.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Another   fish.”   said   Travel. “Fish   Quarry,   a   fish   in   the   Milky   Way…why   exactly   is   a   fish   the   sign   of   the   Road   again?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   took   it   as   a   sign   of   the   Flat   World   that   was,   with   the   earth   upheld   on   the   Outer   Sea. If   it   has   another   meaning,   I   do   not   see   it.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “That’s   good,   in   a   way.”   Travel   commented. “I   was   afraid   we’d   be   off   on   another   insane   Nine   Hills   chase   with   more   lunatic   clues   and   wild   stretches.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   had   an   idea,   though.”   said   Ronnie. “What   if   the   Herald’s-arrow   riddle   was   compass   directions? North   from   Fish   Quarry   to   something   serpentine?”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Past   the   Eye    of   the   Snake. I   think   that   means   something   in   the   landscape.”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Ronnie   shrugged. “Who   knows. It   could   be   just   a   dead   end. I   need   a   map.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   thought   you   were   banned   from   the   library.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             A   terrible   smile   came   over   Ronnie’s   face. “That   was   before   I   fully   became   the   Hill.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Oh   please,   Ronnie,   don’t   go   tormenting   the   librarians. It’s   not   like   they   all   turned   into   witches.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             A   slight   smile,   more   a   tightening   of   his   lips   than   anything,   crossed   Ronnie’s   grim   face. “At   your   plea   the   librarians   are   spared,   friend   Travel.”   he   said,   almost   mockingly.

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

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

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

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Lara   Midwinter   lay   on   her   bed,   motionless. The   window   was   open   and   the   room   was   cold. Colder   even   than   outside. It   was   far   too   warm   out,   disgustingly   warm. November   was   supposed   to   be   cold. Not   balmy. And   she   wanted   it   to   be cold.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Her   sister   was   dead. Her   sister   was   worse   than   dead. Her   sister   was   consumed,   body   and   soul. It   felt   like   a   stomach   cramp   in   her   heart:   dull,   aching,   unbearable   pain. Even   when   she   embraced   the   Cold   it   did   not   help. Or   not   much.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Mrs. Midwinter   didn’t   believe   her. Didn’t   think   Lilac   was   dead. Lara   lay   on   her   bed,   alone,   rigid. She   could   not   talk   to   her   brothers. She   could   not   endure   them. As   McDonald’s   had   fired   her   for   absenteeism,   she   had   no   job,   nothing   to   distract   her. It   wasn’t   grief   anymore. She   simply   lay   there   and   suffered.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Prayer   tasted   flat. To   even   form   the   words   took   an   effort   of   unimaginable   proportions. God   had   not   intervened. God   had   not   stepped   in   to   stop   the   Lord   of   Chaos’   rising. “It’s   God’s   Will.”   the   priest   had   said. She   bit   off   the   acrid   rejoinder   in   her   mind:   If   you   allow   evil   to   happen,   you   are   complicit.   Why   did   that   apply   to   humans   but   not   to   God?

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             She   stopped   that   train   of   thought   with   a   shudder. If   she   had   no   God   to   believe   in,   to   whom   would   she   turn? Who   was   there   else   to   hear   the   cries   that   she   sent   out   of   the   depths? To   whom   could   she   offer   her   pain,   as   she   tried   to   do   every   other   minute?

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Twin   swords,   two   terrible   blades. Dolorus   and   Passus. Sorrow   and   Suffer. One   huge   and   heavy,   the   other   thin   and   deadly   as   a   rapier. They   floated   in   her   mind,   her   tormented   mind,   and   the   pain   gnawed   endlessly. Relief. Respite. That   was   all   she   wanted. Numbness.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Unconsciously   she   rose   to   her   feet. She   stood   at   the   window   and   lifted   her   head. Cold   and   blue   the   moon,   the   dead   world   of   airless   stone,   shield   of   the   Dark   Lord   against   the   fury   of   the   Valar,   shone   down   upon   her   and   spoke   cold   into   her. The   sight   was   eerie   and   awful,   yet   soothing;   the   numbness   she   longed   for.

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

''

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

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

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

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

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   cannot   sleep,   I   cannot   eat.”   Lara   said   as   one   in   a   trance,   the   words   flowing   unbidden   from   her   mouth. “I   cannot   think   or   even   pray. Numbness,   numb   eludeth   me,   cold   of   mind   and   soul;   shine,   o   shine   upon   me   maid,   cold   maiden   of   the   moon….come   down   into   me,   moonlight   cold,   breathe   chill   into   my   soul…”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   room   grew   slowly   brighter. Turning   her   head   Lara   saw,   standing   in   the   moonlight,   a   woman   of   moonlight. Luminous   was   she,   chill   and   blue-white,   beautiful   as   a   marble   statue. She   wore   a   strange   graceful   gown   that   sagged   from   bare   shoulders   and   laid   open   one   white   breast,   pointed   and   cold,   in   a   dreary   mockery   of   modesty. On   her   back   was   a   quiver. In   her   hand   was   a   bow.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Who   are   you?”   said   Lara. Her   voice   hung   in   the   chill   air,   toneless   and   lifeless.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Why,   I   believe   you   called   to   me,   child,   did   you   not?”   the   woman   said   with   a   faint   but   lovely   smile. “I   am   the   moon. I   am   the   daughter   of   heaven. I   hunt   the   stars. I   am   the   Goddess. I   am   Diana.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Lara   said   nothing.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   have   called   to   me.”   Diana   said,   her   heatless   silver   voice   faintly   mocking,   hauntingly   beautiful. “I   have   come. What   is   it   you   want   of   me?”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   are   the   Cold,   and   yet   you   cannot   summon   it   into   your   own   heart?”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Perhaps   I   can   do   something   about   that.”   the   woman   of   the   moon   said   softly. “There   will,   of   course,   be   a…recompense…I   am   not   a   free   service,   you   know.”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Let   me   walk   in   you.”   said   Diana. “I   feel   the   arising   of   my   ancient   foe   I   cannot   battle   him   from   the   Moon. I   must   be   here. Yet   I   bound   myself   to   it,   and   when   its’   light   is   hidden   I   will snap   back   to   it;   unless   an   earthly   body   anchors   me.”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   Moon   flapped   her   hand. “Relax. I   am   no   demon,   that   I   should   possess   you. I   will   walk   inside   you,   and   see   what   you   see;   that   is   all. You   will,   of   course,   receive   great…power….from   me. Far   more   than   what   you   wield.”

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

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