Ch. 2: Along, along the gleaming path

(Return to Arheled)

''           Sent:  April  11th,  2011  to  rondowendo@yahoo.com,  hunteroflight@hotmail.com,  lakell2npk@sbcglobal.net,  riverbrooke537k@hotmail.com,  travellanet58@yahoo.com. ''

''           Subject:  Pratt  Hill. ''

''           Hi  everyone,  it’s  Lara. ''

''           I  went  up  Pratt  Hill  today. The top  is  like  a  sloping  helmet  of  stone  crowning  the  hill,  open,  with  oddly  regular  stones  scattered  everywhere,  and  here’s  the  strange  thing:  I  found  three  places  where  the  bedrock  was  sort  of   cut,  making  square  pits  with  perfect  angles,  big  slabs  placed  on  end  to  complete  the  squares. I have  no  idea  what  this  might  mean,  but  I  wanted  to  let  everyone  know. ''

''           Lara  Midwinter ''

''

''

''           Re: Pratt  Hill. Replied April  11th  2011  from  rondowendo@yahoo.com. ''

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           This  sounds  really  interesting. Were the  three  cuts  symmetrical,  were  they  arranged  lined  up  or  were  they  in  a  triangle? How far  apart  were  they? Was it  at  the  summit? Which way  were  they  facing? Did you  see  how  big  they  were? Were they  square  or  rectangular? And is  three  all  there  were,  or  did  you  not  look  for  any  others? Are they  cut   <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">into  the  bedrock,  or  sort  of  formed  by  slabs  lying  on  the  ground? ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Sorry,  this  sounds  like  an overload  of  questions. Maybe I’d  better  go  there  myself. ''

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

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

''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Re:  Pratt  Hill. Replied April  11th  2011  from  midwinter1st@sbcglobal.net. ''

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Wow,  I’ve  never  seen  so  many  questions  in  one  paragraph. How do you  think  of  all  these  things? Most of  them  never  even  occurred  to  me  to  notice. I think  there  was  one  in  the  middle-like,  larger,  with  one  side  an  L  broken  out  of  the  bedrock,  and  two  others  farther  downhill. One was  under  a  hemlock. Sort of  a  triangle  arrangement. They weren’t  at  the  summit,  sort  of  downhill  from  it,  on  the—let  me  see,  where  was  the  sun—I  guess  on  the  south. But yes,  I  think  you  should  go  there  yourself. ''

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

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

''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Sent:  April  11th  2011  to  travellanet58@yahoo.com. ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Subject: Ruins  at  7:00! ''

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Did  you  get  Lara’s  letter? I asked  her  so  many  questions  she  told  me  to  go  and  look for  myself,  so  I’m  heading  up  there  tomorrow. You want  to  come? I could  meet  you  at  St. Joseph’s. ''

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

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

''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Re:  Ruins  at  7:00! Replied from  travellanet58@yahoo.com. April 11th. ''

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           So  nice  to  hear  from  you! A hike  sounds  like  fun. I think  I  can  make  it  in  about  1:00. At St. Joe’s? ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Travel0 ''

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

''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Re: Re: Re: Ruins  at  7:00! Replied from  rondowendo@yahoo.com  April  11th ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Hey  Travel. ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Yes,  at  St. Joe’s. I gotta  run,  the  library’s  closing. Bye! ''

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

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

''

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

''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Travel  Lane  drove  up  the  sloping  drive  in  front  of  St. Joseph’s the  next  day. It was  warm,  but  cloudy,  and  felt  cool  after  yesterday’s  heat. Ronnie was  sitting  on  his  bike,  which  was  already  locked  to  one  of  the  two  flagpoles. A bulging  black  garbage  bag  lay  nearby,  proclaiming  his  continued  activity  in  the  service  of  the  Most  Benevolent Order. When he  saw  her  he  placed  this  out  of  sight  behind  the  holly  bushes  in  the  left  corner  of  the  front  stairs  and  church  wall.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Hop  in,  Ronnie.”  she  directed. “Where to?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Ronnie  accordingly  hopped  in. “I think  our  best  bet  is  to  park  at  Resha  Beach  and  walk  up. Ward’s Hill  is  right  in  that  area,  and  I  want  to  see  what  that’s  like  first.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Well,  you’re  gonna  have  to  direct  me.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           He  directed  her  up  Prospect,  then  up  the  steep  Pratt  St  and  right  at  the  fork  with  Hurlbut,  up  past  the  spring  to  the  broad  intersection  next  to  the  old  Bruno’s  store. A sign  proclaimed  it  was  now  some  cleaning  company. They parked  in  the  low  flat  parking  lot  at  the  corner  and  walked  up  the  shore  road. They passed  the  road  Lara  had  taken  and  went  on  past  the  head  of  Sandy  Cove  (which  had  no  sand  at  all). Ahead a  steep  low  hillside  lay,  terraced  with  houses.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “That  must  be  Ward’s.”  said  Ronnie. The shore  road  curved  right  to  bypass  the  hill,  but  a  narrow  side  street  on  the  left  climbed  practically  straight  up. Ronnie and Travel  soon  found  their  breath  coming  hard  as  they  plodded  up  it. Little boxlike  rectangular  cottages  rose  one  above  another  on  both  sides,  endwise  to  the  road,  sided  in  pale  pastel  blue  and  beige  and  faint  lemon. Little terraced  rock  gardens  surrounded  some. The road  levelled  out  on  top  and  became  lumpy  dirt. A scattered  forsythia  hedge  stood  on  the  left,  bordering  a  compact  yard  and  a  somewhat  more  houselike  white  bungalow. Then they  passed  a  low  old  house  in  faded  blue  and  entered  woods. It was  so  odd  to  see  street  signs  on  a  dirt  road  amid  trees. The road  ended  at  a  T  with  another  dirt  road,  climbing  up  from  the  right. To the  left  it  went  down  a  little  into  a  level  saddle,  open  under  very  tall  trees. Near the  intersection  stood  the  strangest  and  most  mysterious  cabin  either  had  seen.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           It  was  small,  two-room  probably,  shallow-peaked,  vertical  plank  siding  painted  stone-grey. Several cars  were  parked  near  it,  two  under  tarps  but  one  looking  fuctional. A strange  old  door  stood  partway  open  in  the  low  front  side. It had  small  windows. Stacks of  firewood  under  tarps  and  all  sorts of  household  debris  gave  the  little  yard  a  cluttered  appearance. But this  was  not  what  made  them  stare. It was  the  stonework  all  around  the  cabin. A low  wall  battlemented  with  odd  short  pillars  made  of  pebbles  ran  along  the  front,  bigger  pillars  guarding  the  driveway,  and  more  strange  pillars  ringed  the  yard. The whole  thing  was  overshadowed  by  huge  gloomy  spruce  and  white  pine,  giving  it  a  dark  mystery.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Look.”  muttered  Ronnie. “Something’s written  in  the  mortar,  there  in  that  pillar. Built by  V.C.  McColl,  AD—“  he  dug  at  the  base,  “OK,  this  is  weird—1927,  but  the  2  has  a  closed  loop. Look.”

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Ronnie,  I  think  somebody  still  lives  here.”  Travel  urged. “I don’t  think  we  should  be  acting  suspicious.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Ronnie  sighed  and  headed  on  down  the  road. “Eight from  dark  pines  soon  is  culled.”   he  quoted,  and  suddenly  began  to  laugh. “And the  McColl  cabin  has  dark  pines. Maybe I’ll  pretend  to  want  to  rent  it  and  ask  whoever  lives  there  about  its’  history.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Is  this  all  of  Ward’s  Hill?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Looks  like  it.”  said  Ronnie  as  they  took  the  crossroads  Lara  had  found. “It wasn’t  very  big,  according  to  the  map.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           They  followed,  coincidentally,  the  same  way  up  the  mountain  Lara  had,  following  the  rough  logging  track  uphill  until  it  ended  on  the  high  terrace,  then straight  up  to  the  top. When they  got  to  the  summit,  despite  the  cool  air  both  were  sweaty. They rested  for  a  little  and  then  Ronnie  stood  up  and  glanced  around.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “There’s  the  middle!”  he  exclaimed,  heading  up  the  jeep  track  to  the  shallow  pit. The uphill  side  was  fractured  cleanly  like  an  L  and  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  L  lay  a  pit,  flat-floored,  discernible  traces  of  stones  along  one  leg  of  the  L.  Casting  about  Ronnie  soon  located  the  second  cut,  nearly  straight  downhill  under  a  hemlock. On the  uphill  side  the  foot-deep  rectangular  pit  was  sided  with  a  right  angle  of  clean-cut  bedrock,  as  rectangular  as  if  hewn. Forming the  right  side  of  the rectangle  was  a  long  huge  slab,  set  on  end  as  it  were.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “This  isn’t  exactly  conclusive  evidence  of  a  ruin,  Ronnie.”  said  Travel. “It could  be  natural  fracture  and  glacial  plucking.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Setting  that  slab? Riiight.” drawled  Ronnie. He scurried  about,  here  and  there,  muttering  to  himself,  an  odd  abstract  knot  in  his  brows  and  a  level,  fierce  light  in  his  eyes. Travel, trying  to  keep  up,  found  with  him  no  less  than  five  total  of  the  strange  cuts. One lay  almost  straight  left  of  the  middle  cut  (facing  south),  at  the  bottom  of  a  broken  descent  of  rocks  ten  feet  high:  the  edge  of  the  hill  crown. It too  was  a  clean  rectangle, one  side  an end-sunk  slab. The ones  Lara  hadn’t  noticed  were  uphill  of  the  center  cut:  one  nearly  straight  behind,  under  dark  tangled  hemlock,  the  L’s  uphill  corner  clean-cut  bedrock,  a  layer  of  great  square-broken  stones  in  rectangular  shapes  forming  the  right  side  and  covering  a  good  deal  of  ground  beyond. A row  of  such  blocks  lay  in  a  narrow  line  between  this  and  the  central  pit. The last  was  a  box-shaped  formation  in  an  open  swell  of  ground  at  an  angle  behind  the  center  pit,  which  Travel  didn’t  see  at  all  until  Ronnie  pointed  out  the  end-set  slabs,  set  in  a  square  maybe  six  feet  across,  like  the  sides  of  a  cistern.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Pulling  a  tapemeasure  Ronnie  proceeded  to  measure,  as Travel  watched  bemused,  the  distance  between  the  cuts,  noting  it  in  his  battered  notebook  and  swatting  the  gnats  that  seemed  to  be  haunting  the  hilltop.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Okay,  Travel,  look  at  this.”  said  Ronnie  excitedly. “This is  what I’ve  come  up  with.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Travel  examined  his  odd  diagram:

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

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

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “That’s  gotta  be  the  weirdest  structure  ever.”  she  said  doubtfully. “And what  makes  you  so  convinced  these  are  ruins?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Look  around  you!”  Ronnie  exclaimed. “Everywhere are  scattered  stones  square-angled  against  the  grain,  with  angles  I  only  see  in  basalt,  never  granite. We have  these  perfectly  symmetrical  cuts,  three  of  them  identical.  Something stood  here, Travel…something  that  was  not built  by  any known  peoples  of  America. Something that  left  its’  prints. I think  it  was  a  tower. A tower  with  four  pylons  or  flying  buttresses  arching  overhead,  supported  by  a  central  trunk  40  feet  square,  sort  of  like the  roots  on  a  tree. Ice and  Deluge  shattered  it,  scattered  its’  stones. Look at  the  view,  Travel! This hill  is  higher  than  anything  within  two  miles—only  the  Winchester  highlands  are  at  a  greater  elevation.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “If  it’s  a  tower,  why  wasn’t  it  built  at  the  summit?”  Travel  asked,  looking  uphill.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Ronnie  poked  around  the  summit  for  another  half  hour,  finding  two  more  cuts,  other  breaks  and  pits  which  he  dismissed  as  natural,  and  square-faced  but  rough  blocks  set  evenly  in  a  square  at  the  summit  which  he  pronounced  as  likely  just  a  cabin  foundation. “But the  tower  may  have  had  attendant  outbuildings,  or  a  palace.”  he  said.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Who  on  earth  could  possibly  build  something  like  this?!”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Atlantis,  maybe?”  Ronnie  suggested  humerously. “Did you  know  they’re turning  up  ruined  cities  in  Southern  Africa  that  show  a  pre-glacial  civilization  far  more  complex  than  was  ever  thought? As well  as  a  triple-ringed  city foundation  in  the  Spanish  coastal  marshes?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Oh,  please,  not  comic-book  myths!”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Actually,  Atlantis  is  a  historically-attested  city,  referred  to  by  Plato  if  I  recall  rightly. He placed  it  off  Gibraulter  and  said  it  was  overthrown  by  a  giant  wave  and  left  a  dangerous  shoaly  area. He also  claims  they  were  an  empire  that  clashed  with  Athens,  but  I  think  Atlantis  could  hardly  have  been  that  recent. Especially given that  scientists  today  don’t believe  in  the  Deluge,  proclaim  four  Ice  Ages,  and  hold  that  man  began  in  Africa,  I  doubt  they’re  in  any  position  to  deny  the  reality  of  Atlantis.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Why  do  you  say  Atlantis  wasn’t  as  recent as  Athens?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Ronnie  arched  his  eyebrows. “Athens is  post-Flood,  so  are  the  Greeks. The Flood  was  placed  by  carbon-dating  ancient  cities  in  the  Middle  East  as  around  7000  BC. Athens wasn’t  inhabited  any  earlier  than  4000  BC,  and  certainly  wasn’t  a  major  military  power  until  a  few  hundred  years  before  Christ—the  Spartans  held  that  claim  since  the  Persian  wars. But Atlantis  was  pre-Egypt. Plato dates  it  at  9600  BC. In fact,  Egypt  may  have  been  founded  by  survivors  of  Atlantis,  then  rediscovered  by  Noe’s  sons. It would  make  sense  if  written  records  survived  the  Flood,  but  were  destroyed  by time  and  writing  forgotten,  and  oral  legend  passed  the  story  down  and  completely  butchered  it. Athens would certainly  have  wanted  to  establish  a  reputation  for  itself  by  claiming  it  defeated  Atlantis,  and  you  only  have  to  repeat  a  story  for  a  couple  generations  for  it  to  become  gospel-truth  tradition.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “So  you  think  Atlantis  existed?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Ronnie  met  her  eyes. “I think  Atlantis  may  have  been  Numenor.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Travel  stared  at  him  for  a  minute  and  then  shook  her  head. “Now that  really  is  reading  too  much  into  things.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           As  they  began  the  climb down  Ronnie  was  still  talking. “Yes, but  Tolkien  felt  the  same  way  about  Numenor  as  about  Middle-earth—that  it  was  coming  through  to  him. He had  a  recurrent  dream  of  a  huge  green  wave  devouring  a  classical-style  ancient  city. But the  moment  he  wrote  the  story  of  Numenor,  the  dream  ended  and  he  never  had  it  again.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Ronnie,  if  I  were  to  hear  about  actual  inscriptions  found  in  Numenorean  Cirith,  I  might  believe  you.”  laughed  Travel.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I  don’t  think  Numenor  used  the  Elf-runes  in  it’s  latest  days.”  said  Ronnie. “I think  they  developed  their  own  lettering  system,  or  style  at  least. Pippin refers  to  the  ‘flowing  characters  of  Numenor’  on  the  Barrow-blade;  perhaps  they  invented  hieroglyphics  to  try  to  replace  Elf-letters.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “You’re  hopelessly  deluded.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           They  walked  quickly  on  the  way  back;  Travel  wanted  to  get  back  to  her  car  before  she  ran  out of  time,  as  she  had  a  party  at  5  to  get  ready  for. “What’s left  to  be  done  with  the  hills?”  she  said.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Camp…Pond…Case  Mt.”  he  answered,  ticking  them  off  on  his  fingers. “You wanna  do  Case  Mt  with  me?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Let’s  see,  we’d  be  looking  for  ‘fish  in  a  buried  case’…”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “No,”  Ronnie  said,  shaking  his  head  savagely. “Buried case  meant  Case  Mt. Something either  in  the  ground  or  buried  but  noticeable  to  a  passerby  which  has  something  to  do  with  fish. Why fish,  I  have  no  idea.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I  think  maybe  later  this  week  I’m  free.”

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">          Sent:  April  12th,  2011,  to  midwinter1st@sbcglobal.net,  hunteroflight@hotmail.com,  lakell2npk@sbcglobal.net,  riverbrooke537k@hotmail.com,  travellanet58@yahoo.com. ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Subject:  Quest  of  9  Hillfold ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           […]  so  that’s  what  lurks  on  Pratt  Hill. And if  anyone  dares  to  doubt  my  infallibility  let  him  be  anathema. So, let’s  see. There’s still  Pond  Hill  and  Soldier’s  Tower, but  the  Tower  doesn’t  open  till  May. And Case  MT. It’s a   <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">big  mt,  so  feel  free  to  help. I feel  like  hunting  a  needle  in  a  leafpile. ''

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

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

''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Replied  April  12th  from  riverbrooke537k@hotmail.com: ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           So   <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">hers''  are  not to  be  anathematized? ''

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Replied  April  12th  from  midwinter1st@sbcglobal.net: ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Where  does  a  wise  man  hide  a  leaf…In  the  leafpile. And I  didn’t  know  you’d  gone  in  for  Holy  Orders,  Ronnie,  let  alone  been  elected  Pope! ''

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

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

''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Replied  April  12th  from  lakell2npk@sbcglobal.net: ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Pond  Hill. I’ve already  done  it. Yesterday—no, sorry,  Sunday. I forgot  to  tell  everyone. It’s all  streets,  you  know  but  on  Lake  St  where  the  steep  hill  is,  at  the  curve,  that  very  ancient  stone  house…I’m  almost  certain  that’s  the   <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">Old  that  has  in  writ  bold,  but  there  was  a  dog  and  it  smelled  me  and  I  escaped  across  the  ravine  but  I  don’t  want  to  go  there  again. ''

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

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

''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Replied  April  12th  from  rondowendo@yahoo.com: ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Brooke. I’m surprised  at  you. You ought  to  know  the  general  tense  of   <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">him  includes  all  human  beings  including  girls. ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Lara. I knew  you’d  put  a  Chesterton  quote  in  somewhere. Yes, I  never  got  to  share  the  good  news,  but  they  raised  me  through  the  hierarchy  in  exactly  5  minutes  and  even  obligingly  assassinated  the  Holy  Father,  all  to  put  me  in  the  Chair! I suppose  a  lay  Pope  would  count  more  as a  antipope  or  invalidpope. Maybe that  should  be  nullpope. ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           OK,  you  Protestants,  those  were  Catholic  jokes. Sorry. Deep scraping  bows  of  apology. ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           On  a  serious  note,  though,  Forest,  you’re  the  only  one  of  us  who’s—um—good  at,  ah,  blending  in. If you  like  I’ll  come  along  and  knock  at  the  door  with  some  crazy  excuse  to  keep  dog  and  owner  occupied. ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Oh,  and  the  Tower  won’t  be  open  till  Memorial  Day. I suggest  we  all  meet  there  at  2:00,  those  of  us  who  can. ''

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

''

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

''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Forest  got  up  and  had  an  unusual  experience:  somebody  else  was  in  the  bathroom. Usually he  was  up  before  Mom.The  experience  was  compounded  by  Mom  coming  out  a  minute  later  and  adding  to  the  line,  followed  by  his  new  sister  coming  out  in  pink  and  white  pajamas  with  little  strawberries  all  over  them. She looked  touseled  and  freshly  pretty.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Morning,  sweetheart.”  Mom  said,  kissing  Bell’s  forehead. “I wish  I’d  been  here  to  welcome  you  in—Forest,  don’t  you  dare,  I  need  to  go  to  work!”  and  Mom  quickly  vanished  into  the  disputed  chamber. Forest made  a  gloomy  face  at  Bell  and  they  both  tittered.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “What’s  for  breakfast?”  said  Bell. “And your pajamas  look  stupid.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           When  Forest  gave  her  a  frozen  stare,  Bell  started  laughing. “Hey, I  was  just  joshing  you,  okay? Sheesh, you  have  really  got  to  lighten  up.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “You’re  weird.”  he  managed  to  say.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Oh  good,  you’re  catching  on. So, show  me  where  Mom hides  the  goodies.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “In  a  locked  dungeon.”  Forest  said  gloomily. “And she  swallowed  the  key.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Bell’s  mouth  dropped  a  little. “Wow. You are  good. When you  actually  manage  to  open  your  mouth,  that  is. Maybe I  should  throw  a  cat  at  your  face.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I  haven’t  got  buttons  sewn  on  my  eyes  yet.”

<p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">“I  thought you’d  watched  that  one.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           They  fixed  themselves  a  bowl  apiece  of  Lucky  Charms,  diluted  with  ordinary  Tasteoos,  and  contentedly  munched  away  as  they  sprawled  on  the  sofa. Bell would  say  something  now  and  again,  and  Forest  would  nod  or  say  nothing  amiably. Bell began  making  little  “queenk  queenk  queenk”  noises  for  no  reason  until  her  brother  was  howling  with  laughter. Mrs. Lake emerging  from  the  bathroom  paused  in  shock  just  outside  the  living  room:  it  was  the  first  time  in  five  years  she  had  heard  him  laugh  like  that. It made  tears  come  into  her  eyes. She hurried  to  her  room  to  get  ready  for  work:  no  need  to  disturb  the  two  when  they  were  getting  along  so  well. Fights, as  surely  there  would  be  when  they’d  lived  in  the  same  house,  would  come  later.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Queenk  queeeennk.”  squeaked  Bell  through  her  nose.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Oh,  stop  it!”  Forest  was  bawling  as  he  flopped  all  over  the  floor. “Ah ha  ha  ha  ha!”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Queenk  queeenk.”

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

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

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Sent:  April  15th,  2011  from  rondowendo@yahoo.com,  to  all: ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Hullo everyone,  it’s  Ronnie. ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Travel  and  I  spent  all  yesterday  rambling  along  Case  Mt. We started  in  the  big  mossy  boulders  above  Maple  St,  out  by  the  skateboard  park,  and  climbed  up  to  the  Batcheller  School  trail  and  then  along  the  cliffs  until  houses  made  us  detour. So far,  nothing. Not even  a  rock  shaped  like  a  fish. Great view  and  interesting  terrain,  though. ''

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

''

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

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Forest  headed  along  Lake  St  and  up  past  the  old  stone  house. It was  an  unimpressing  structure;  square,  masonry  walls  rising  to  a  peak  at  each  end,  flat  cemented  walls  with  irregular  smallish  fieldstones  showing. Black-painted rough  beams  were  inset  into  the  masonry  under  the  front  eaves  in  the  peaked  walls,  running  five  feet  in. Two brick  chimneys,  one  at  either  end,  were  built  into  the  masonry. In the  front  were  several  windows  and  a  door;  the  roof  came  right  down  to  the  lintel. The yard  widened  on  the  uphill  side,  cluttered  but  cheerful. The roof  was  shingled  warm  brown. It was  built  on  the  very  edge  of  the  ravine  of  the  outlet  stream;  a  sheer  wall  of  rugged  stone  fell  from  the  narrow  back  yard  some  25  feet  to  the  great  rounded  boulders  and  flat  surfaces  of  bedrock  over  which  the  stream  ran. It was  barely  a  trickle  at  the  moment  despite  the  pounding  rains  of  last  night;  the  spillway  gates  were  shut  and  the  lake  was  returning  to  normal  level,  which  meant  little  water  was  going  down  the  stream.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           He  had  examined  the  front  and  right  sides  already,  but  despite  his  invisibility  he  preferred  to  examine  the  uphill,  left,  side  while  standing  on  the street. Again, he  saw  nothing,  except  way  up  where  the  chimney  met  the  roof,  on  a  black  beam  gold  numbers  were  fastened,  saying  1790. At first  he  thought  it  was  a  house  number  but  now  he  realized  it  was  probably  the date  the  house  was  built. It was  the  only  thing  “writ  bold”  about  that  entire  house,  as  far  as  he  could  see;  but  of  course,  he  hadn’t  checked  the  back. Mindful of  the  dog,  he  decided  to  study  it  from  across  the  ravine.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           The  square  of  woodland  between  the  lake  outlet  and  Boyd  St  was  once  the  scene  of  Winsted’s  busiest  places,  where  wheels  churned  and  forges  rang  and  machinery  pounded,  driven  by  the  ceaseless  strength  of  falling  water. Now all  was  silent. In the  corner  by  the  spillways  the  old  Union  Pin  factory  was  now  a  quaint  ruin,  concrete  floors  and  bush-grown  foundations,  conical  pillars  and  sudden  canyons  of  stonework  where  sluices  emptied,  a  few  chunks  of  dead  machinery  rising  sadly  from  the  masking  cottonwoods. One building  remained,  a  wood-and-cinder-block  structure  of  several  rooms  beside  Lake  St,  the  sluice  from  the  spillway  gates  running  behind  it,  boarded  up  with  a  torrentially  leaky  roof. A sign  on  it  still  read  Union  Pin  Co. The stream  (in  summer,  at  least)  poured  over  the  lower  of  the  double  spillways  into  a  stony  tangle  of  thick  yellow  reeds  amid  rocks  and  pussy  willows. This sloped  away,  becoming  a  rocky  watercourse  as  it  curved  around  the  foundations,  until  the  banks  rose  and  it  became  a  ravine.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Forest  stepped  from  rock  to  rock  with  ease. Below the  factory  the  stream  flowed  over  rolling  slopes  of  bare  stone,  stained  white  and  green  with  dried  water-growths  and  moss. Then a  steep  earthy  bluff  came  in  on  the  east  where  Lake  St  passed  above  the  brook,  and  the stone  bed  plunged  more  steeply into  a  moderately  deep  rockpool  below  a  high  concrete  wall. Masonry of  big  stacked  stones  shut  in  the  lower  ravine  as  far  as  Boyd  Street. Forest climbed  the  low  wall  and  followed  a  path  on  the  far  side  of  the  brook,  across  from  Lake  St. A large  brushy  open  area  here  was  all  that  remained  of  the  lower  factories,  smashed  into  matchwood  by  the  fury  of  the  Great  Flood  of  1955:  two  terraces,  with  two  reedy  swamps  where  millponds  had been,  from  which  the  doleful  cheeping  of  the  peepers  was  already  rising. The path  followed  the  high  bank  between  these  and  the  ravine. At the  far  edge  of  the  open  were  backyards  under  big  high  oaks,  a  side  street  beyond  them. Forest pushed  past  young  locust  saplings  and  came  to  the  top  of  a  curving  strip  of  asphalt,  leading  down  between  brush  and  blackberries  to  a  small  parking  lot  above  Boyd  St,  a  hundred  feet  away  and  a  little  below. Steel bars  shut  off  the  cliff  above  an  outwork  of  cement. Forest looked  down  into  the  ravine.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           The  concrete  wall  fell  nearly  twenty  feet. The stream  came  down  a  steep  swell  of  solid  rock,  split  by  a  big  groove  where  the  water  had  exploited  some  old  fault  in  the  granite,  and  below  the  wall  was  a  deep  clear  pool  formed  by  a  natural  dam  of  stones. It looked  deep  enough  for  diving. Forest glanced  downstream. The ravine  on  the  near  side  was  formed  of  huge  boulders  piled  atop  each  other;  on  the  far  side,  across  a  bay  eaten  out  of  the  hill,  rose  the  yard  of  the  strange  stone  house.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Even  examining  it  with  binoculars  revealed  nothing. Nothing, that  is,  except  the  date  1790.

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

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Ronnie! Ron, sweetie,  where  are  you  running  off  to  now?”  clucked  Mrs. Deer. Ronnie Wendy  glanced  up  from  his  bike  as  he  oiled  the  chain. All three  of  his  landladies  were  coming  toward  him.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Hello,  Mrs. Deer.” he  said,  putting  the  oil  down. “Hello, ladies. How is  everything?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “We  were  just  going  to  ask  you  that  question.”  said  Mrs. Hill in  her  doleful  voice.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Really,  Hill  darling,  that’s  hardly  the way  to  talk  to  a  nice  young  man  who’s  so  very  good  to  us. And to  make  it  through  this  hard  winter  as  well,  I  must  say,  I’m  so  glad  you  stuck  it  out. Nobody else  was  able  to  make  it  in  there  once  the  cold  weather  set  in  and  all—“  chirped  Mrs. Pine.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “We  simply  haven’t  seen  very  much  of  you  lately,”  gushed  Mrs.  Deer,  “with  you  shooting  off  on  your  bike  all  the  time,  and  church  functions  on  our  part,  and  Pine  was  just  saying,  ‘How  is  the  dear  boy  these  days?’  and  I  said  ‘Why,  he’s  right  out  there!’  Do  you  want  to  have  supper  with  us  tonight?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Why,  that’s  very  nice  of  you.”  smiled  Ronnie. “But no  thanks. I have  all  these  errands  to  run  and  I  don’t  know  when  I’ll  be  back.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Oh  yes,  you  bike  everywhere,  I  was  forgetting,  so  silly  of  me,  and  so  sensible  too,  with  gas  prices  over  $4  a  gallon,  it’s  ridiculous. There’s something  seriously  wrong  going  on in  the  world,  and  our  President  Busha  has  been  saying  such  strange  things  too,  you’d  think  a  man  like  him  would  be  able  to  force  prices  down,  but  nooo. So, have  you  gone  hiking  lately?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I  used  to  love  hiking.”  said  Mrs. Hill mournfully,  “but  now  I’m  old  and  stiff  and  can’t  even  walk  very  far. I used  to  know  everything  about  the  hills  around  Winsted.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I’m  sure  Ronnie  has  been  up  those  hills,  too,  dear.”  said  Mrs. Pine. “I wouldn’t  be  surprised  if  he’d  already  been  to  the  silent  place,  you  know,  out  by  the  Dike  and  all. Have you?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Ronnie  Wendy  was  silent,  bending  his  sharp  eyes  on  each  of  them.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Oh,  he has,  he  has.”  said  Mrs. Hill. “I can  see  it  in  his  eyes. No one  who  steps  foot  there  remains  the  same.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Do  you  know  the  meanings  of  the  hills  yet?”  Mrs. Deer said  anxiously.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Who  are  you  really?”  Ronnie  Wendy  said  in  a  very  quiet  voice.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           All  three  old  ladies  fell  still.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           He  gave  a  faint  smile. “It seems  we  all  have  our  little  secrets. Am I  treading  your  paths  the  right  way? Have I  stepped  aside  to  left  or  to  right?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I  really  don’t  know  what  you’re  talking  about,  honey.”  Mrs. Deer said,  the  very  picture  of  fluffy  bewilderment.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Oh  yes  you  do.”  He  turned  his  bike  right  side  up. “I’m moving  to  Burrville  in  a  week,  by  the  way.”  he  said. “A friend  of  mine  offered  to  let  me  take  over  his  house.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Really? Are you  sure  you  can  afford  it,  honey?”  said  Mrs. Pine anxiously.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Oh,  that’s  such  a  shame,  and  here  we  were  hoping  you  would  be  able  to  keep  mowing  the  lawn  and  all…”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Ronnie  Wendy  was  not  listening  to  the  fluttery  dithering  of  the  strange  old  woman. He was  looking  at  their  eyes. Very odd  eyes. An eerie  satisfaction  and  also  apprehension  lurked  in  their  milky  depths. He felt  suddenly  a  vast  and  quiet  tension,  as  if  great  moving  forces  were  balancing  around  him,  and  tilting  one  way  then  another…

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Do  not  bandy  words  with  me,  Weird  Sisters.”  he  heard  himself  say. “For I  have  walked  on  Temple  Fell,  and  I  have  heard  there  my  true  name.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Strange  and  ancient  smiles  grew  wider  on  the  three  withered  faces  before  him;  for  a  moment  it  seemed  as  if  the  very  hills  were  smiling  in  majesty  upon  him,  and  then  they  grew,  then  they  changed,  their  eyes  shot  off  to  left  and  right  like  flaming  stars,  and  their  faces  expanded  to  encompass  the  heavens,  but  still  their  huge  and  placid  smiles  remained. And their  giant  mouths  began  to  move  in  the  darkness  that  was  around  him,  and  he  heard  their  ancient  voices  in  a  weird  and  crooning  chant,  singing  strangely  in  the  sky  as  three  pairs  of  eyelike  stars  flitted  back  and  forth  across  them.

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

''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">“Along, along  the  gleaming  path ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">The glowing  stars  did  go 

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">Flee, oh  flee  the  dark  one’s  wrath ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">For starlight  is  his  foe ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">Away, away  you  shining  lamps ''

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">None, oh  none  will  brave  the  damp ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">Of night  with  fortitude ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">O Stars,  O  Stars  who  once  shone  bright ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">Who kept  the Dark  at  bay ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">Gone, O  gone  now  is  the  light ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">That drove  the  Night  away ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">Wander, wander  neath  the  clear ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">And chilling  light  of  Moon ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">Weep, oh  weep  uncounted  tears ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">Heed not  the  words  she  croons! ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">“Dying, dying  are  the  Stars ''

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">Fading, fading  from  so  far ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">Once so  near  and  bright!” ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">Heartless, heartless  lovely  maid ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">So far  and  yet  so  cruel ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">Scorn, O  scorn  her  heatless  aid ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">Refuse to  be  her  tool! ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">Starlight, starlight….” ''

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

''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Their  voices  faded  and  swam  away,  as  Ronnie  thrashed  in  the  darkness,  and  still  from  a  great  distance  he  could  see  the  pairs  of  starlike  eyes,  rotating  around  the  chill  and  pale  orb  of  the  queer  and  heartless  moon,  and  the  cold  blue  light  seemed  to  shrivel  his  skin….

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Slowly  he  pulled  himself  out  of  the  marshy  lawn. It was  bright  day  again. He seemed  to  have  been  lying  there  for  a  little  time,  to  judge  by  the  clamminess  of  his  back,  and  the  three  landladies  were  just  coming  out  of  their  door  and  walking  along  the  flowerbeds,  chattering  to  themselves. His head  ached. Had he  dreamed,  or  had  they  cast  him  into  dream? He got  up,  a  little  groggily.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Oh,  Ronnie,  there  you  are!”  cried  Mrs. Deer. “We were  just  going  to  ask  if  you  wanted  to  have  supper  with  us,  Hill  was  going  to  make  one  of  her  potato  salads…”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “No,  thank  you,  I  really  can’t.”  said  Ronnie. “I have  too  much  packing  to  do  when  I  get  back.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Packing? Are you  leaving  us,  sweetie?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Yes,  I  told  you  that  already.”  Ronnie  said  with  a  nasty  smile.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “But  you  never  told  us  that. He hasn’t  told  us  he  was  going  away,  has  he,  Deer?”  asked  Mrs. Pine, looking  honestly  bewildered.

<p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">So it  did  happen, <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">  Ronnie  thought.''  Nice  try  at  the  dream-bluff,  ladies…but  you’re  dealing  with  Ronnie  the  Revealer  now ''

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

''

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

''

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           It  seemed  so  odd  to  be  preparing  to  leave  the  two  old  rooms  where  he  had  weathered  one  of  the  coldest  and  snowiest  winters  in  15  years. He looked  around  the  familiar  rooms,  the  old  beams,  the  fireplace,  the  smoky  stones  and  old  wood  floor. It would  be  sad  in  some  ways;  he  would  miss  the  place. But Hunter  Light  had  paid  the  rent  in  his  little  blue  house,  by  the  year,  and  so  when   he  would  be  moving  in  with  his  new  wife  Forest’s  mother,  the  lease  would  still  have half  a  year  to  run. He had  offered  it  to  Ronnie  Wendy.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Yes,  he  would  miss  the  place. But he  would  decidedly  not  miss  the  Weird  Sisters.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           And  being  closer  to  Winsted  was  also  a  plus.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           The  more  Ronnie  thought  about  it,  the  stranger  it  got. The mysterious  words  of  Arheled,  the  strange  quest  of  the  hills  and  the  totally  meaningless  signs  that  had  resulted. Forest’s peculiar  dreams. His own  impending  sense  of  something  huge  and  ominous,  something  in  the  future  arising  from  the  past,  something  in  the  past  coming  to  fulfillment  in  the  future. A grapevine  with  kinks  resembling  rock  folds. A hieroglyphic  on  a  boulder  most  likely  formed  by  fifty-year-old  graffiti  but  which  he  felt  was  important. A name  with  a  miscarved  letter  and  a  date  with  a  miscarved  2. Cuts in  a  hilltop. The date  1790. How any  of  this  related  to  the  Road  and  the  Stars  was  more  than  he  could  fathom.

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

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           ''Darkness,  darkness  everywhere… ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Forest  tossed  and  turned. It was  way  too  warm  in  here. The day  had  been  over  70  and  it  was  still  cloyingly  nice  outside. He had  almost  gone  to  sleep  when  the  darkness  began  to  seize. He tried  to  stay  awake. It could  not  be  done. The room  whirled  in  his  weary  eyes  as  they  slammed  shut  like  lids.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           For  darkness  has  a  name… ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Forest  found  himself  upon  a  high,  cold,  clear  place. What he  was  standing  on  he  did  not  know,  for  he  was  not  looking  at it,  though  it  receded  to  left  and  right  in  his  peripheral  vision  like  a  band  of  gleaming  white. Darkness hung  before  him,  in  which  weird  whorls  and  streaks  and  pricks  of  colored  light  hung  unfamiliarly. He had  an  impression  of  aftermath,  as  if  he  had  walked  onto  the  ruins  and  ashes  of  a  great  battle  or  some  cosmic  disaster. Right in  front  of  him  was  a  golf  ball,  hanging  in  space,  a  dead  grey  and  mottled  most  curiously. Now it  was  growing  larger,  as  if  it  was  drawing  near  or  he  approaching  it;  and  he  could  see  it  was  no  ball,  but  a  round  sphere  of  stone,  and  it  gave  out  no  light,  and  upon  it stood  a  projecting  peak. As the  asteroid  grew  Forest  saw  it  was  a  man,  a  man  made  of  stone,  so  tall  he  jutted  from  the  surface  like  a  five-mile  mountain. And the  globe  grew  no  larger,  and  now  Forest  heard  a  voice  uplifted  in  woe,  for  the  giant  was  lamenting  the  ship  that  had  been  and  the  flower  that  had  perished.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           The  darkness  was  no  longer  silent,  for  echoing  through  the  spaces  Forest  heard  an  eerie  laughter,  heartless  and  chilling,  cold,  filled  with  crystal  derision. The giant  turned,  glowing  all  of  a  sudden  with  silver  light;  but  the  mocking  laughter  did  not  abate.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Who  are  you? Why do  you  come?”   ''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">the  giant  shouted.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Slowly  there  came  into  sight  a  maiden  formed  of  light,  a  strange  cold  silvery-white-blue,  and  upon  her  beautiful  face  was  an  expression  of  utter  coldness,  of  saneless  laughter  bereft  of  life’s  good  warmth  though  not  at  all  lifeless,  in  fact  vibrant  with  a  dreadful  vividity. She bore  a  silver  bow  with  curled  limbs,  and  in  a  crystal  quiver  great  arrows  like  fletched  spears,  and  they  wavered  with  dark  power  that  made  their  silver  gleam  flicker. Her dress  was  hued  the  same  marbelline  blue-white  as  her  gleaming  flesh,  but  wrapped  so  as  to  leave  exposed  one  round  and  dreadful  breast.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I  am  Diana,  the  huntress  of  the  gods.”  rang  her  strange  voice. ''“I have  come  to  rule  the  Moon.” ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “You  are  not  from  of  the  Gods,  cold  bowsmaid.”  the  giant  said. Terrible in  stern  majesty  was  his  face,  a  king  regarding  a  foe. “I know  them,  and  all  their  people…for  I  am  of  their  number!”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “You  are  so  no  longer,”  Diana  answered,  a  nasty  mirth  in  her  eyes. “You have  fallen. The Gods  have  cast  down  their  scepter  and  yielded  their  rule. We shall  rise  to  replace  them. The lights  of  Heaven  shall  be  ours  to  command. Fallen God,  yield  to  the  younger  gods!”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Towering  above  her  like  the  wall  of  a  mountain,  the  giant  answered,  “Thou  bastard  brood,  spawned  of  sin  from  Star  and  Giant,  hast  thou  now  dared  to  show  thy  face  in  Heaven,  among  the  wrack  of the  fallen  skies  and  the  ruin  of  the  firmament,  thinking  mayhap  that  thy  sires  are  powerless  now  and  thou  canst  usurp  our  place?!”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           And  the  maiden  of  marble  laughed. “From the  Gods  am  I  come,  and  the  Giants  are  my  father;  I  shall  nourish  all  the  world,  I  shall  be  their  virgin  goddess. I am  the  mother  of  the  earth. I am  the  birther  of  the  witches. You are  gone. Cease to  cling  to  your  old  house,  and  let  another  take  thy  place!”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Swift  and  sudden  she  rose  in  size,  until  she  stood  with  the  giant  eye  against  eye,  and  leaping  forward  she  grappled  with  him,  and  they  staggered  back  and  forth  across  the  surface  of  the  dead  globe,  which  was  now  grown  so  huge  as  to  be  almost  a  little  planet. And it  shook  underneath  them  and  its’  new  skin  was  rent,  and  fire  gusted  about  the  two  great  entities  as  they  struggled  for  mastery,  and  their  feet  splashed  in  seas  of  flooding  lavas,  and  great  explosions  shot  fountains  of  rocks  and  fire  into  the  voids. Round and  round  the  stony  globe  they  battled,  and  the  giant  was  stronger  than  she  and  cast  her  down,  and  the  skin  of  the  Moon  wrinkled  into  mountains  at  her  impact.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Didst  thou  not  know  thou  canst  not overcome  a  God?”  he  roared. “I am  Tilion!”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “No  longer  is  this  the  Vessel  of  the  Rose  Undying,  and  no  longer  art  thou  its’  steersman!”  Diana  mocked. And she  shifted  her  form,  streaming  from  his  grasp  like  white  fire,  and  snatched  up  her  bow,  and  taking  solid  form  a  horizon  away  she took  a  dreadful  arrow  from  her  quiver,  black  and  silver,  flickering  with  power;  and  she  nocked  it,  and  she  drew  it  back,  and  she  released  it  into  the  heart  of  the  giant  of  stone.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           The  power  in  that  arrow  knocked  him from  the  surface  of  the  Moon. As he  tumbled  through  the  void  Diana  plunged  into  the  ground  like  a  diver  into  a  pool,  and  there  was  a  flash  as  she  became  one  with  the  Moon,  and  the  eruptions  cooled,  and  the  scarred globe  fell  still.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           The  tremendous  voice  of  the  Lord  of  the  Moon  sounded  through  the  black  heavens  as  he  tumbled  through  the  void,  vast  with  grief  and  great  with  woe  and  helpless  anger:  “Urwendi,  Urwendi,  canst  thou  hear  thee  my  cry? Is there  any  left  of  thee  after  the  wrath  of  heaven?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Slowly  the  sight  of  Forest  followed  him  as  he  tumbled  ever  farther,  and  there  burned  an  expanding  storm,  a  ball  of  mottled  fire,  slowly  distending  and  churning,  and  a  sad  face  among  it,  a  woman’s  face,  as  glowing  as  the  fire  around  her,  and  she  said,  “I  am  here,  Silimo.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           And  Tilion’s  stone  face  grew  wider  in  dismay. “What is  happening  to  you?”  he  cried. “What has  he  done  to  you? Me he  turned  to  stone,  to  stand  upon  stone,  and  from  stone  was  I  thrusted,  my  ship  usurped,  that  I  may  not  preside  over  even  the  wrack  of  the  Moon.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Me  he  has  made  into  flame,  my  form  distending,  my  power  condensing  into  gas  and  into  flame,  fusing  with  the  flame  of  the  Fruit  that  I  steered. Do not  come,  Tilion. You would  melt. Never again  can  I  know  your  embrace. We are  ended.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           A  high,  hard,  roaring  laughter  burst  about  them. Another being  stood  in  the  heavens,  a  man  all  of  fire,  and  his  eyes  burned  cool  and  yet  careless;  there  was  a  titanic  indifference  about  him  that  made  the  human  watcher  suddenly  stiff  with  fear. He wore  no  clothes  upon  his  glowing  skin,  and  slung  upon  his  back  he  had  a  lyre,  but  in  his  hands  a  mighty  bow  of  gold;  and  in  a  quiver  of  black  metal  there  glowered  the  same  fell  arrows  that  his  sister  bore.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “So  you  are.”  he  said.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Fear  flickered  upon  the  beautiful  face  of  the  Sun. “You cannot  approach  me,  Apollo!”  she  cried. “I will  destroy  you  if  you  dare  to  draw  near!”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Long  have  I  longed  for  thee,  Urwendi,”  the  god  replied,  “but  until  now  I  was  weak,  and  thou  wert  strong. But I  have  knowledge  now  that  no  other  held  before  me,  and  things  have  been  told  me  that  even  the  Stars  did  not  know—and  they  destroyed  themselves  in  the  knowing. Though a  sleepless  guard  was  set  upon  the  way  into  the  World,  still  he  has  found  me,  and  he  has  given  me  the  secret  to  grow  strong.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “None  walk  beyond  the  Walls  save  that  one  we  do  not  mention,  that  shameless  ghost, that  slain  wraith  of  him  who  thought  him  mighty;  he  can  tell  you  nothing  save  the  secret  of  damnation!”  the  Sun  answered,  and  a  brief  memory  of  the  power  of  her  ancient  glance  burned  again  in  her  eyes.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           And  Apollo  laughed. “Nay, Urwendi,  he  can  tell  me  more  than  that. All the  forbidden  power  my  uncles  struggled  for,  all  the  secret  lore  of  the  making  of  the  lands  is  his  to  impart,  for  he  was  there  before  us  and  he  put  his  power  into  it,  and  he  told  me  how  to  draw  it  up.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “No  spirit  can  surmount  those  walls;  no  power  can  pass  the  unsleeping  guards  who  watch  them! Your boast  is  all  a  lie,  bastard  of  the  Planets,  baseborn  of  Venus  and  a  Giant;  ashamed  am  I  to  name  my  blood  that  lives  in  thy  damned  veins.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Yes,  Grandmother  the  Sun,  thy  blood  is  mine,  and  when  I  possess  thy  failing  body  all  thy  power  will  be  mine,  and  thou  wilt  no  longer  be  aware  of the  abomination  of  our union,  for  thy  spirit  is  bound  by  the  curse  of  the  doom  upon  the  lights  of  the  heavens  and  shall  be  chained  in  form  of  flaming  gas. Even as  the  Stars,  so  wilt  thee;  but  I  will  command  thy  new  form.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           And  the  Lord  of  the  Moon  tried  to  come  closer,  tried  to  assail  the  body  of  the  god,  but  Apollo  took  an  arrow  from  his  quiver  of  blackness,  and  he  nocked  it  on  his  bow  of  burning  gold,  and  he  fired  that  arrow  into  the  heart  of  the  giant  of  stone. And Silmo  staggered  in  the  airs  and  fell  from  the  skies,  and  like  a  meteor  of  white  fire  he  slammed  into  the  Earth. Flat upon  his  back  he  lay,  the  blasted  water  flowing  back  around  him,  the  water  that  covered  the  Earth,  all  was  water;  and  where  he  lay  the  rock  had  split  like  great  hands  and  rose  about  him;  and  yet  still  unconquered  was  the  Moon,  and  glowing  with  fire  he  lifted  his  body  up  upon  its’  feet  and  stood  across  the  ice-filled  valley  he  had  landed  in,  this  valley,  the  valley  of  Connecticut;  and  he  made  a  mighty  leap  and  slammed  both  feet  upon  the  icebound  earth,  so  that  a  mountain  near  New  Britain  had  a  gap  punched  into  it,  and  up  he  sped  into  the  sky,  the  last  remains  of  his  angelic  power  boosting  his  enraging  flight  into  the  airs. Then Apollo  launched  another  arrow;  full  upon  the  heart  of  Silmo  it  did  strike,  and  three  was  more  than  he  could  bear,  and  down  he  toppled  through  the  skies  to  fall  again  where  he  first  landed;  and  his  back  melted,  fusing  him  unbreakable  to  the  land  on  which  he  lay. And he  struggled  to  break  free,  splitting  a  fault  in  his  stone  chin  and  cracking  the  hills  south  and  north  of  him;  and  the  curse  was  completed  as  he  lay  on  his  back,  and  with  a  shudder  he  went  still,  an  inert  stone,  a  sleeping  range  of  hills  five  miles  long,  clamped  to  the  earth  by  hands  of  sandstone.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Then  Apollo  entered  the  fires  of  the  Sun,  and  Forest  saw  for  a  brief  moment  in  the  brightness  the  shape  of  a  woman’s  body  amid  the  fire,  and  the  god  clasped  it  to  him,  and  the  face  of  Urwendi  convulsed  with  anguish  and  with  hatred,  and  swirled  like  a  pot  boiling,  and  spots  of  fire  bubbled  up  like  freckles  until  they  suffused  her  skin,  and  she  dissolved  into  fire. And the  Sun  grew  in  size,  bulging  and  storming  from  within,  and  Apollo’s  face  bearded  with  flame  filled  the  surface  for  a  moment,  and  his  thunderous  laugh  sent  Forest  spinning  off  into  wheeling  worlds  of  splintered  light. And as  he  spun  he  found  himself  weeping  uncontrollably,  until  his  sobs  jerked  him  awake  and  he  sat  up,  still  sobbing  wildly,  in  his  bed.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Bell  came  scurrying  in  from  her  room  and  Forest  flinched  and  stuffed  his  pillow  in  his  mouth,  trying  to  stifle  he  desperate  bitter  weeping. It only  succeeded  in  smothering  him.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Forest! Forest! What’s the  matter? What happened?”  cried  Bell,  jumping  up  on  the  bed  beside  him  and  putting  her  hands  on  his  shoulders.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Forest  lifted  a  ravaged  face  to  her. The moon  shone  in  at  the  window,  strong,  cold  and  ghastly. “Apollo.” he  choked  out. “Apollo raped  the  Sun.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Bell’s  hands  stiffened. Her eyes  dilated  as  she  stared  at  her  brother  in  the  awful  light  of  the  cold  Moon  that  shone  upon  them. They remained  like  that,  brother  and  sister,  staring  upon  each  other  as  the  warm  spring  night  passed  them  unheeding.

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

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           April  was  coming to  a  lovely  end. Easter was  late,  but  arrived  with  beautiful  weather:  balmy  and  70s,  and  all  the  trees  and  bushes  were  suddenly  blushing  in  every  shade  of  spring  and  pastel  green. Maple flowers  turned  the  Nine  Hills  pale  yellow-green,  and  new-mown  lawns  suddenly  shone  like  emeralds,  and  in  the  fields  dandelions  opened  like yellow  stars. After Easter  it  seemed  to  rain  every  other  day,  but  a  soft  warm  kind  of  rain,  not  the  raw  grim  rains  of  before;  and  in  between  the  air  was  warm  and  soft.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Ronnie  stood  in  his  doorway  and  checked  his  watch. He hadn’t  really  expected  anyone  to  show  up,  but  he  decided  he  would  give  them  another  hour  before  he  tackled  the  furniture  by  himself. His landladies  had  driven  off  that  morning  and  hopefully  wouldn’t  get  back  until  after  he  was  moved  out.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           No,  here  was  Travel’s  car  now,  and  Brooke’s  just  behind  her  with  Bell  and  Forest  in  it. Doors closing  mingled  with  the  chatter  of  birds  and  the  murmer  of  the  nearby  Farmington  River,  high  with  rain;  and  then  Travel  was  coming  toward  him,  dark-haired  and  pretty  in  her  own  way  (though  Brooke  outranked  her),  and  the  trio  of  gold-haired,  pleasant-faced  Brooke  with  her  amazing  light  blue  eyes,  curly-haired  Bell  nearly  half  a  foot  shorter  with  her  tart  vivid  face,  and  sandy-haired,  colourless  Forest,  barely  noticeable  in  brown  and  grey.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Hello,  everyone!”  Ronnie  said  with  a  big  smile. “I was  beginning  to  think  you  weren’t  coming!”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Yeah,  we  must  be  all  of,  what,  ten  minutes  late?”  quipped  Bell. “Wow, so  this  is  the  creepy  old  place  which  makes  the  great  Ronnie  reek  of  smoke.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “You  think  I  smell?”  he  retorted. “Wait till  you  get  inside!”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Laughing  the  friends  entered  the  wing  of  the  old  house. It did,  indeed,  smell  of  wood  smoke. One room  was  loaded  with  boxes  and  the  dismantled  bed.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Actually,  it  smells  like  bacon.”  remarked  Brooke.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “That’s  cause  I  cut  up  an  old  deadfall  of  really  good  seasoned oakheart.”  Ronnie  said. “Oak smells  nice  and  meaty.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “It  must  be  in  like  every  piece  of  clothing  you  have.”  said  Travel. “Every time  I  meet  you  you  smell  smoky. It’s very  interesting.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Better  than  my  dad.”  laughed  Brooke. “He smells  of  tobacco  and  beer.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Yeah,  I  have  enough  smoke  without  needing  that.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           They  hung  around  munching  the  batch  of  cookies  Grandmother  Lane  had  sent  with  Travel,  until  finally  Ronnie  said,  “Okay,  let’s  get  started. I’ll get  the  furniture  in  my  truck,  boxes  can  go  in  your  cars  last  of  all. Swish, smack,  whip  crack!”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Batter  and  beat,  yammer  and  bleat…”  cut  in  Travel.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Work,  work,  nor  dare  to  shirk!”  everyone  shouted  in  chorous.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           It  still  felt  like  a  party,  even  with  lugging  furniture  (and  Ronnie  totally  astounding  the  girls  by  picking  up  an  armchair  single-handed)  and  ferrying  boxes  and  bags  back  and  forth  until  everyone  was  hot  and  sweaty. But they  actually  managed  to  get  loaded  up  in  two  hours.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Let’s  adjourn to  the  river  for  a  damp  lunch.”  suggested  Brooke.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Hmmm…you  know,  there  is  a  nice  area  of  which  I  know  of…”  Ronnie  mused.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Nobody  brought  swim  things.”  protested  Travel.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Well,  we  can  go  in  with  everything  on,  then;  I’m  sure  your  shirts  need  washing  by  now!”  retorted  Brooke.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Hey,  I  did  use  deodorant.”  said  Ronnie.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           There  was  a  soft  knock  at  the  door. Bell without  thinking  opened  it  right  up,  and  Forest  looked  over  and  found  himself  looking  into  the  eyes  of  the  three  old  ladies.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Why,  hello,  everyone,  I’m  so  glad  we  caught  you  before  you  left.”  piped  Mrs. Deer. “Why, hello,  Brooke  dear! So nice  to  see  you  here! And Travel  too! Quite a  collection  you  have,  Ronnie.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Yes,  I’ve  been  seducing  all  the  local  girls.”  he  drawled.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I  know,  my  parents  accused  him  of  robbing  the  cradle  when  he  came  to  pick  me  up.”  Bell  said  archly.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Yeah,  we’re  all  Ronnie’s  harem  of  girlfriends.”  Brooke  laughed.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Hello  there,  little  Forest.”  said  Mrs. Pine. “I’m not  at  all  surprised  you’re  here.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I  know  who  you  are.”  Forest  said  softly.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “And  who  are  we?”  the  deep  mournful  voice  of  Mrs. Hill answered.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “You  are  the  Three  Sisters. You are  the  Weirds  of  the  Earth. I know  you,  and  you  know  us.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           His  friends  were  almost  as  startled  as  the  three  old  ladies  to  hear  this  from  the  silent  pale  boy.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Yes,”  said  Mrs. Hill, “we  know  you,  Children  of  the  Road. You are  of  the  Six. But you  are  incomplete. The maid  who  walks  alone  is  not  here.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Tell  me,  Weird  Sisters,”  said  Ronnie,  “whom  do  you  serve?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Mrs. Hill fumbled  in  her  bag. “These are  for  you,  Ronnie.”  she  said,  handing  him  a  bag  of  cookies. They smelled  amazingly  good,  so  that  his  eyes  watered  just  thinking  about  how  they  tasted. Strangely enough  the  others  didn’t  seem  to  be  affected. “We thought  you  might  like  them. That’s really  why  we’re  here. Oh yes,  Ronnie,  here’s  your  deposit  back,  and  do  you  have  the  key?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “You  have  not  answered  my  question.”  said  Ronnie.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “And  you  do  not  have  the  key.”  she  answered.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Ronnie  felt  in  his  pocket. The key,  which  he  distinctly  remembered  putting  in,  was  gone.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Oh,  don’t  worry  about  it. We have  spares.”  she  said,  waving  her  hand. “I’m sure  you’ll  find  it. When you  do,  you  will  know  the  answers.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Thank  you  for  the  cookies.”  said  Ronnie. “We’re going  to  grab  lunch  and  head  to  my  new  place. Well, goodbye  ladies,  and  thank  you  so  much  for  all  you’ve  done  for  me!”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Goodbye  Ron  honey,  and  don’t  overwork  yourself! Things will  work  out,  I’m  sure. You can’t  expect  all  the  answers  to  come  at  once.”  Mrs. Deer said  cheerfully,  and  waving  goodbye  the  three  strange  old  women  headed  back  to  their  house.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Okay,  they  really  are  weird.”  said  Travel.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “That  was  kind  of  creepy.”  said  Bell. “Forest, you  said  you  knew  them. Who are  they?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           The  quiet  boy  looked  at  them  with  absent  bright  eyes. “I don’t  know.”  he  said. “I just…saw.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Saw  what?”  pressed  Bell.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I  saw.”  Forest  stumbled  on. “When I  looked  at  them  I  knew  what  they  were. But I  don’t!”  He  stopped  again.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I  think  he  means  that  when  he  saw  them  he  knew  they  were  the  Weirds,  but  what  the  Weirds  are  he  doesn’t  know.”  Ronnie  guessed.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Forest  nodded,  looking  relieved.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           In  a  more  sober  mood  they  headed  out  to  their  cars. Following Ronnie  they  emerged  from  the  drive  out  onto  the  back  road from  Riverton  beside  the  river,  big  square  old  houses  as  regular  as  building  blocks  on  the  side  away  from  the  water. They crossed  the  iron  bridge  and  turned  left  along  the  river. Beyond the  drive-in  was  a  turnoff  to  the  left  down  a  bumpy  white  gravel  road. This wound  charmingly  among  the  soft  faint  green  of  new-opening  leaves,  strong  white  April  sun  beaming  through  them. They passed  two  or  three  parking  areas  for  fishermen  and  reached  a  round  dead-end  where  they  parked. It was  breezy  but  very  warm.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Ronnie  took  them  down  a  path  that  led  downriver  over  rolling  ridges  of  grey  silty  soil,  honeysuckle  and  bittersweet  growing  thickly  among  the  grey  and  green  swamp  plants. On their  left  the  river  flowed,  deep  and  strong  and  silent. It was  perhaps  a  hundred  yards  wide. The river  bottoms  were  wonderfully  muggy  and  everyone  was  in  high  spirits,  even  the  quiet  Forest  sporting  a  large  grin.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “So  where  should  we  stop  for  lunch? I bet  they’d  throw  us  out  of  the  Wingy  Thingy  if  we  walked  in  all  sticky  like  this.”  said  Travel.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “We’re  all  poor,  so  why  not  use  the  dollar  menu  at  McDonald’s.”  Ronnie  replied.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Hey,  just  because  some  of  us  are  cheapos  doesn’t  mean  the  rest  of  us  are.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Well,  I  am  part  Irish.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Irish  I  was  rich.”  put  in  Bell  at  this  point.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “That  sounds  like  a  tongue  twister.”  said  Brooke. “I mean,  try  saying  it  several  times. Irish I  was  rich—Irish  I  was  which—Irish  I  was  wish—oh,  bother.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “You’re  doing  that  on  purpose.”  said  Bell.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           The  path  branched  several  times,  finally  winding  up  to  a  junction  with  a  swampy  rutted  jeep  road. The river  here  was  very  broad  and  deep,  and  about  twenty  feet  from  the  path  was  a  small  brown-white  sandbar  under  an  old  leaning  ash. A tiny  pointed  lagoon  and  a  muddy  bank  with  sprouting  water-flag  lay  behind  it  at  the  left  end,  and  there  a  fallen  willow  protruded  flat,  a  foot  above  the  water,  running  nearly  20  feet  out  over  deep  water.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Ooh! This is  perfect!”  squealed  Brooke.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I’m  not  going  in  there  until  you  tell  me  if  it’s  cold.”  said  Travel. Ronnie and  Brooke  were  already  taking  off  their  shoes  and  socks,  and  Brooke  doffed  her  shirt,  but  as  she  had  a  dark-blue  sports  bra  underneath  it  looked  almost  like  a  tanktop  and  nobody  minded. Brooke scampered  out  on  the  willow  and  jumped  in  with  a  scream;  Ronnie  followed  immediately  after. Bell and  Forest  were  apparently  electing  to  wade.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Whoo! Ronnie, high-five  me! This is  awesome!”  shrieked  Brooke. Ronnie, laughing  at  her,  duly  high-fived.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Is  it  cold?”  Travel  screamed.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “No!”  both  of  the  swimmers  lied  through  their  teeth.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Jump  off  the  tree,  Travel!”  Ronnie  called.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Travel  made  her  way  cautiously  to  the  tip  of  the  tree,  where  she  perched  precariously  while  shrieking  at  the  very  thought  of  jumping  in,  until  Ronnie  threatened  to  come  out  and  push  her. She did  a  sort  of  belly-flop  facefirst  and  came  up  gasping.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “You  lied!  You  both  lied!”  was  the  first  thing  she  said.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Ronnie,  whose  teeth  were  beginning  to  chatter,  cheerfully  admitted  it  and  nearly  got  ducked  by  Travel,  but  he  was  too  strong  for  her  and  ducked  her  instead. She came  up  laughing  and  screaming  that  he  sucked,  and  started  splashing  him. This led  to  a  vicious  splash  war,  which  ended  in  everyone  scrambling  ashore  because  they  were  freezing. Bell and  Forest  were  jumping  off  the  tree  now. Brooke went  back  off  the  tree  about  five  more  times,  but  Ronnie  and  Travel  decided  to  sit  in  the  sun  and  warm  up. Bell and  Forest  joined  them  after  a  while,  and  Brooke  last.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Brrrrrrrrr.”  she  shivered.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Wow,  I  think  your  lips  are  actually  blue.”  said  Ronnie.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “You  are  in-sane.”  Travel  said  amusedly.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Certifiable.”  Brooke  agreed,  wrapping  Ronnie’s  blanket—unpacked  for  the  purpose—around  her. Her teeth  chattered  so  violently  that  in  the  end  Ronnie  made  her  climb  up  and  down  the  ash  a  few  times  to  get  her  muscles  going,  and  that  seemed  to  help. Still talking,  they  headed  back  along  the  path. The maple  flowers  overhead  hung  like  pale  green  streaks;  Forest  thought  they  looked  like  smudges  of  paint. They drove  up  out  of  Pleasant  Valley,  leaving  behind  the  easternmost  of  the  Five  Villages.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           A  big  dark-green  SUV  with  golden  red  flame  decals  amid  skulls,  passed  them  as  they  pulled  out  onto  Rt. 44. Ronnie  could  not  see  inside  the  tinted  windows,  but  a  queer  prickling  sensation  shot  through  him  as  if  unseen  but  evil  eyes  had  passed  casually  across  his  face. He floored  the  gas  pedal  and  his  old  truck  actually  passed  the  speed  limit.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           They  decided  to  hit  the  dollar  menu  after  all,  as  nobody  really  wanted  the  embarrassment  of  dribbling  all  over  the  floor. At Ronnie’s  suggestion,  when they  reached  McDonald’s  Brooke  drove  through  the  drive-thru  and  ordered  for  everyone  while  the  others  parked. Then Brooke  pulled  over  next  to  them  and  they  sat  on  the  hoods  of  their  cars  and  ate.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “You  know,  one  thing  that  always  strikes  me  funny  about  Lord  of  the  Rings  is  when  the  Sun  is  referred  to as  She  and  the  Moon  as  He.  It  just  sounds  so  weird.”  said  Brooke. Bell looked  up  quickly,  but  Forest  said  nothing.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Yeah,  I  mean  in  all  the  myths  I’ve  heard  about  the  Sun  is  always  masculine  and  the  Moon  feminine.”  said  Travel. “Was there  some  reason  Tolkien  reversed  their  genders? I mean,  it  makes  cool  fantasy,  and  I  guess  he  got  tired  of  Latin  stereotypes  on  the  heavenly  bodies.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “There’s  a  different  reason,  actually.”  said  Ronnie. “I was  reading  the  Norse  myths,  and  it  seems  like  all  the  Germanic  peoples  have  opposite  sexual  attributes  to  the  heavenly  bodies. They have  a  masculine  Moon  and  a  feminine  Sun,  but  all  the  Southern  mythologies—Latin,  Greek,  Egypt,  even  the  Indians  over  here,  have  the  opposite,  with  the  Sun  as  he. Tolkien tended  to  exalt  the  north  over  the  south,  as  far  as  spirit  and  culture  goes,  and  he  hated  the  Nazis  for  perverting  ‘that  noble  northern  spirit.’  So  he  followed  the  Norse  when  he  gave  genders  to  the  heavens.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Yes,  but  why  is  that?”  Travel  pressed. “Why did  they  arrive  at  opposites? I mean,  the  North  and  South  aren’t  as  unlike  as  East  and  West,  where  in  the  East  dragons  are  good,  while  over  in  Europe  both  North  and  South  know  that  dragons  are  evil.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “The  gods  did  it.”  Forest  blurted.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Ronnie  looked  sharply  at  him. “Which gods?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “He  had  a  really  creepy  dream  last  night.”  Bell  explained.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Forest.”  said  Ronnie. “Speak. Who did  it,  and  what  did  they  do,  and  to  whom  did  they  do  it?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “The  gods.”  said  Forest. “Not Gods  with  a  capital. Lesser gods. Bastards, the  Moon  called  them,  born  from  Giant and  Star. There were  two  of  them. Diana and  Apollo.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           The  eyes  of  Ronnie  burned  into  Forest’s. “What did  the  gods  do?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “They  conquered  and  raped  the  Sun  and  Moon.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Yeah,”  interjected  Bell,  “it  was  really  creepy. He was  sobbing  when  he  woke  up.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Under  Ronnie’s  sharp  questions  Forest  soon  told  them  the  whole  dreadful  dream.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “There  is  a  mountain  in  Hamden,  down  in  Connecticut’s  Central  Valley,  which  when  beheld  from  north  or  south  looks  like  a  chain  of  rolling  hills,  like  a  man  on  his  back,  chin  raised  to  heaven.”  mused  Ronnie. “They even  call  it  Sleeping  Giant.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “That  is  just  super-weird.”  whispered  Bell.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “It  was  known  originally  as  Blue  Hills,  but  the  Indians  have  a  legend  calling  him  Hobbamock,  who  went  on  a  rampage  because  his  people  were  neglected. He stamped  his  foot  at  Middletown,  changing  the  course  of  the  Great  River,  but  was  cast  asleep  by  the  benevolent  spirit  Kietan. Evidently the  legend  had  a  foundation.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Yes,  but  Forest  didn’t  see  him  changing  a river.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Of  course  not;  the  river  was  under  ice.”  said  Ronnie  testily. “The Indians  saw  a  broad  flat  valley  where  the  Great  River  was  supposed  to  go. It doesn’t. At Middletown  it  cuts  into  the  Durham  hills  and  winds  through  gorges  it  couldn’t  possibly  have  cut  through. So the  Indians  deduced  that  the  Giant  stamped  there. The only  trouble  is,  the  Connecticut  River  isn’t  the  only  river  to  cut  right  across  the  terrain  where  it  has  no business  going:  four  or  five  other  rivers  do  as  well. Geologists guess  that  before  the  land  was  delved  by  the  ancient  waters,  sediment  overlay  the  flat  highland,  and  diverted  the  rivers  south-east,  regardless  of  the  underlying  terrain. The rivers  then  cut  their  way  down  into  the  cross-grained  rocks. Others guess  that  streams  ate  backward  from  the  southeast  during  the  cutting-down  of  the  land,  diverting  the  rivers. I would  frankly  guess  earthquake  faults  that  have  since  been  dug  out  of  existence  by  the  river  gorges  they  caused. So the  Giant  couldn’t  have  changed  the  river,  as  the  diversion  happened  before  the  Ice  Age. But the  Cook’s  Gap  up  at  New  Britain,  that’s  another  story. No river  could  have  cut  that. Either earthquake  and  glacier  ate  it  out,  or  the  Giant  smashed  it.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “So  that’s  why  the  genders  are  different?”  Bell  said. “Because the  Sun  and  Moon  were  raped?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “If  Diana  now  holds  the  Moon,  which  was  once  steered  by  Silmo,  and  Apollo  has  raped  Urwendi  the  Sun,  then  yes,  that  would  account  for  the  reversal.”  said  Ronnie. “The old  tradition  lingered  in  the  North  because  of  contact  with  Men  and  the  last  few  Elves. Everywhere else,  men  worshipped  the  gods  that  were  there.”

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

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           The  green  SUV  barrelled  down  the  curving  road. The round  beefy  head  of  its’  driver  bobbed  in  time  with  the  demonic  jabber  of  the  radio. His passenger,  a  strikingly  beautiful  young  woman  in  the  briefest  of  outfits,  was  smiling. Despite the  tinted  windows  she  wore  sunglasses.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           The  policeman  directing  traffic  around  the  bridge  repair  over  the  Farmington  River  waved  them  through,  holding  up  cars  from  both  directions  to  do  so. The driver  did  not  trouble  to  wave;  with  the  tinted  windows  t  wouldn’t  have  been  seen  anyway. The cop  knew  him. They ought  to  know  him.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           The  SUV  pulled  smoothly  into  the  driveway  of  the  old  Colonial  house  just  after  the  bridge. The engine  remained  idling  as  driver  and  passenger  got  out,  looking  the  place  over  with  an  air  at  once  of  insolence  and  ownership. Mrs. Pine was  clipping  the  shrubbery. Mrs. Hill looked  up  from  where  she  was  digging  in  the  flowerbed. Mrs. Deer turned  from  filling  the  birdfeeder.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Can  we  help  you,  young  man?”  said  Mrs. Pine.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I  heard  you  have  a  room  to  let.”  the  driver  replied.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Really.”  Mrs. Deer answered. “I didn’t  know  we  had  an  ad  out.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “You  must  be  mistaken,  young  man,”  Mrs. Hill said  in  her  solemn  voice. “We are  the  only  ones  here.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Ah,  but  there  you  are  wrong.”  the  beautiful  girl  said. She had  a  rich  but  hard  voice,  like  silk  sewn  over  a  knife-blade. “You have  a  boy  here. A young  man  about  my  age. We need  to  talk  with  him.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Mrs. Deer was  walking  over  from  the  bird  feeder,  a  bag  of  bird  seed  in  her  hands. Mrs. Pine folded  her  arms. Mrs. Hill got  creakily  to  her  feet. “Well, I’m  sorry  you  came  all  this  way  for  nothing,  honey,”  Mrs. Pine addressed  the  blond  beauty. “But I’m  afraid  we  are  the  only  ones  living  here.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Then  you  won’t  mind,  I  hope,  if  we  look  around  a  little?”  said  the  young  woman. Her deep  tan-gold  skin  contrasted  strangely  with  her  lighter  hair,  and  the  sunglasses over  her  eyes  gave  her  a  fearsome,  remote  impersonality,  at  once  goddess  and  whore. The pair  walked  confidently  toward  the  deserted  wing.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “You  have  no  authority  here.”  the  deep  doleful  voice  of  Mrs. Hill halted  them  in their  tracks.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           The  driver  turned. He had  a  round,  ruddy  face  with   hearty  features,  but  his  eyes  were  hard  and  dark,  and  somehow  lifeless. “I have  the  run of  all  the  police  in  NW  Connecticut.”  he  answered  quietly. “I can  get  any  kind  of  authority  I  need.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           The  three  old  ladies  stood  side  by  side. Mrs. Deer idly  swung  her  sack  of  seeds. Mrs. Pine slowly  squeezed  the  handles  of  her  shears,  snip,  snip,  snip. All the  trees  and  shrubs  rustled  and  sighed  as  if  in  some  concealed  stirring  of  the  air,  but  over  Pleasant  Valley  the  air  hung  still  and  stifling. “I’m sorry,”  she  said  softly,  “but  this  is  our  house,  and  no  one  enters  it  but  us.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           The  driver  looked  at  them  in  a  strange  sort  of  way,  as  if  considering,  or  taking  stock  of  something  he  had  not  expected. “One of  the  Six  lives  in  that  house.”  he  declared. “I was  positive  before,  but  now  I  am  certain. And the  Six  are  not  your  concern.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Mrs. Pine wagged  her  shears  at  him. The air  seemed  tense,  as  if  charged  with  lightning. “I would  show  a  little  more  appreciation  of  your  elders,  young  whippersnappers.”  she  said  tartly. “What is  or  is  not  our  concern  is  none  of  your  business. What I  am  more  concerned  with  is  a  pair  of  trespassing  busybodies.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “We  may  be  young,  but  we  are  not  stupid.”  the  young  lady  in  the  brief  outfit  said  with  equal tartness. “We know  he  is  one  of  the  Six. We know  the  Six  have  been  to  Temple  Fell. He will  lead  us  to  the  others.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           She  turned  her  blank  black  sunglassed  stare  upon  the  old  women''. “Where is  Ronmond  Wendtho?''”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Where  it  always  was.”  cackled  Mrs. Deer, swinging  her  bag  of  birdseed. “Hills don’t  commonly  get  up  and  walk,  do  they?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Do  not   mock  me,  you  shriveled  old  hags.”  the  beautiful  woman  said,  and  flat  and  toneless  though  it  was,  her  voice  seemed  suddenly  potent  with  power. The air  above  Pleasant  Valley  darkened  as  clouds  swiftly  gathered,  unfolding  from  themselves. “You know  whom  we  seek. You know  who  we  are.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Yes,  we  do.”  Mrs. Hill answered. Her trowel  stood  erect  in  her  fist  as  if  it  was  a  sword. The ground  under  them  seemed  tightened,  somehow,  as  if  it  was  a  clenching  muscle. A slow  and  peaceless  smile  grew  on  the  three  old  faces. “But do  you  know  who  we  are?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           The  ruddy  man  and  golden  woman  remained  silent,  yet  there  was  a  tauntness  about  their  pose,  like  one  preparing  for  a  blow.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Our  reasons  are  our  own.”  Mrs. Hill boomed. “Our business  is  our  own. Our purpose  is  our  own. You have  no  right  to  it. Our house  belongs  to  us. Get off  of  it  and  get  you  gone,  Cornello!”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           The  sun  was  hidden. Black clouds  flickering  from  within  with  an  eerie  green  light  churned  and  boiled  over  Pleasant  Valley. Tree and  earth  seemed  to  creak,  poised  and  pent  and  quivering. Faint stirs  of  unrestful  air  shifted  around  the  old  house. Yet despite  the  queer  gloom  of  the  shadowed  hills,  none  of  the  three  old  women  were  shadowed  at  all.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Cornello,  very  carefully  and  slowly,  began  walking  backwards  towards  his  idling  car. The beautiful  woman  resisted  his  pull  on  her  hand  at  first,  but  he  held  her  firmly  and  she  too  retreated. Quickly flinging open  the  doors  the  climbed  in,  even  as  green  lightning  began  to  spark  and  fork  out  of  the  clouds,  and  the  dark  green  SUV  with  the  awful  symbols  burning  on  it  in  the  dusk,  screeched  out  of  the  driveway  and  fled  from  Pleasant  Valley.

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

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

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">'''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 16pt">

'''