Ch. 1: Featherlock Swamp

Back to Arheled

             He   was   standing   in   a   shadowy   place. Overhead   the   stars   were   very   bright   and   near,   but   where   he   stood   it   was   dark. There   was   a   salty   softness   in   the   air,   and   another   smell   too,   a   rich,   strange,   glorious   smell   that   reminded   him   dimly   of   light.

             He   had begun   to   walk   after   some   time,   uncomfortably   conscious   of   eyes   upon   him,   eyes   somehow   fey   and   unhuman. Dimly   he   saw   forms   in   the   shifting   landscape   he   was   walking   through,   but   they   were   always   still   when   he   looked   at them. It   was   hard   to   tell   whether   he   walked   through   great   trees   or   tall   rocks;   all   was   alike   in   the   gloom.

             Then   he   crested   a   ridge   and   saw   the   deep   land   before   him. That   was   what   he   called   it,   at   least,   for   it   was   far   below   him,   flat   and   formless   and   grey   under   the   stars,   and   far   off   on   the   left,   across   the   land,   were   high   cliffs   that   seemed   not   grey   but   silver   in   the   faint   light. Where   they   should   have   run   together   with   the   cliffs   he   was   on,   a   pillar   stood,   a   mountain   so   huge   and   so   impossibly   tall   its’   mounting   base   soon   grew   sheer,   and   the   top   seemed   to   reach   into   the   very   stars   themselves,   and   could   not   be   seen,   for   it   faded   into   the   black   sky. Then   Forest,   drawn   by   a   brightness,   turned   his   eyes   slowly   to   the   right.

             He   saw   the   sea,   dark   and   waveless,   a   plain   reflecting   patchily   the   stars. Against   it,   however,   rising   up   from   the   earth   as   if   they   grew   from   it   like   trees,   two   gleaming   castles   stood   beside   each   other. Their   walls   were   stepped,   each   step   rising   for   a   hundred   feet   before   the   edge   of   the   next. The   lowest   level   was   continuous,   linking   the   castles. Along   every   step   turrets   in   fair   and   delicate   shapes   seemed   to   flow   up   from   the   wall,   and   trees   grew   behind   them,   but   they   wore   leaves   of   gold. At   the   summit   it   seemed   at   first   as   if   the   walls   frayed   and   spouted   upward   as   fountains;   but   they   were   unmoving,   for   they   were   towers   wrought   with   such   eerie   grace   they   seemed   to   fly. And   the   castle   on   the   right   was   all   of   gold,   or   of   golden   stone,   and   yellow   marble,   and   transparent   gems   of   topaz   and   citraine   quartzes   the   height   of   trees   and   shaped   into   beautiful   forms;   but   the   castle   on   the   left   was   wrought   of   silver,   and   feldspars   and   quartz   as   pure   as   milk,   and   marbles   like   snow,   and   white   and   silver   was   the   gleam   it   sent   up,   and   dark   green   were   the   leaves   of   all   the   trees   upon   its’   terraces.

             Then   Forest   became   aware   that   the   sea   was   beginning   to   glow   white,   and   every   wave   was   edged   with   silver. Out   of   it   rose   a   mighty   ship   giving   off   a   hard   steady   light   of   blue   and   white,   and   it   passed   behind   the   castles   and   they   glowed   ten   times   brighter. Even   as   he   looked   he   became   aware   that   the   sky   was   no   longer   black,   but   growing   faintly   pink   and   palest   white   and   grey. And   beyond   the   castles   he   saw   upon   the   very   sky   itself,   a   mighty   arch,   and   knew   then   that   he   was   seeing   the   Gates   of   the   Morning.

             Gold   wrought   into   thousands   of   curling   figures   and   shapes   formed   two   mighty   posts   laved   by   the   milky   sea,   and   they   rose   to   a   great   height,   supporting   a   round   arch   of   gold,   shaped   into   the   likeness   of   vines   and   twisting   faces,   brought   out   in   deeper   hues   of   yellow-gold   and   deep   gold   and   red   and   orange. At   the   apex   were   wrought   figures   of   the   Sun   and   Moon   themselves. Double   gates   stood   shut   underneath,   and   they   were   overlaid   with   silver,   with   panels   featuring   the   likenesses   of   those   Two   Trees   that   were   gone,   and   all   about   them   were   graven   curling   shapes   and   crescent   moons. And   the   gates   were   opening.

             Beyond   them   lay   only   an   utter   black,   but   a   light   beyond   bearing   sailed   amidst   it,   and   it   floated   in   great   majesty   through   the   silver   doors,   and   they   closed   silently   behind   her. And   the   Sun   sailed   across   the   fiery   waters   of   the   Outer   Sea,   and   entered   the   castle   of   gold,   and   that   castle   glowed   like   a   shell   when   light   is   held   behind   it. Then   a   mighty   light   arose,   gold   and   silver   mingling,   and   the   greyness   fled   the   land,   and   that   topless   mountain   was   lit   in   all   his   length   a   shining   white,   and   the   Sun   and   Moon   rose   above   the   walls   of   their   Havens   and   set   forth   upon   their   courses.

             Forest   felt   eyes   upon   him   and   whirled   around. Exposed   by   the   day   stood   the   people   who   had   watched   him,   standing   like   tall   and   fair   statues   here   and   there   about   the   cliff;   and   their   hair   was   gold,   and   flickering   gleams   escaped   their long   locks,   as   though   they   had   been   combed   with   liquid   light. Their   eyes   too   were   gold,   fey   and   uncanny:   venda   eyes. And   all   of   those   eyes   were   gazing   at   him.

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

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<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             The   last   days   of   August   drew   in. Nights   were   cool   and   clear,   and   days   were   warm   and   quiet. Some   of   the   red   maples   were   becoming   frosted   with   color,   and   the   bridge,   fixed   now   finally   by   Mrs. Lake’s   insurance,   was   speckled   with   fallen   leaves. It   felt   almost   like   fall,   thought   Forest   as   he   perched   beside   the   bridge. His   parents   had   excused   him   and   Bell   from   going   back   to   school,   considering   the   threat   of   Cornello’s   reemergence,   and   Hunter   Light   was   at   last beginning   to   realize   the   magnitude   of   the   threat   their   enemy   posed. He   got   them   some   old   textbooks   and   such   like   and   said   that   after   Labor   Day   he’d   be   homeschooling   them.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “Can’t   Mom?”   Bell   had   wailed. “Every   time   you   explain   math   it   makes   my   head   explode.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “Your   mom   has   to   work,”   he   answered,   “and   she   absolutely   stinks   when   it   comes   to   passing   on   learning.”   He   then   had   made   a   big   show   of   looking   furtively   around,   and   Bell   and   Forest   both   laughed. It   was   good   to   have   two   parents   again.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “Storm’s   coming.”   Arheled’s   voice   broke   into   Forest’s   thoughts.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             Forest   glanced   up. The   Warden   wore   his   old   costume   of   brown   corduroy,   plaid   shirt   and   leather   coat,   but   the   face   above   it   was   no   longer   youngish. Craggy,   worn   by   time   yet   undecayed,   it seemed   outside   of   age.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “Yeah,   they’ve   been   saying   all   week.”   ''That   a   hurricane   named   Irene   was   coming. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “An   irenic   name   for   such   an   entity   indeed.”   said   Arheled. “Storms   are   not   dead   movements   of   boiled   air,   Forest. They   live   in   a   queer   half-aware   manner,   for   they   are   steered   by   the   Weathers   and   born   of   the   Four   Winds   of   Heavens;   and   ruin   is   their   purpose,   and   cleansing,   and   mocking.”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “Why,   they   mock   you,   of   course.”   laughed   Arheled. “You   men. You   have   become   so   wise   in   your   measures   and   your   watchings   that   the   motions   of   the   weathers   are   foretold   weeks   ahead;   you   can   count   the   rivers   of   the   winds   and   calculate   their   factories;   yet   you   cannot   harness   a   single   lightning   bolt,   nor   control   the   course   of   the   tiniest   storm. Though   your   electric   web   ecompasses   the   earth,   a   storm   can   blot   it   from   whole   states   with   but   a   puff   of   its’   nostrils. The   fearsome   steeds   of   Aeoleus   are   loosed   upon   the   earth   to   remind   mortal   Men   that   they   are   small.”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “Ah,   the   Great   Flood   of   1955.”   smiled   Arheled. “The   lords   who   blow   the   airs   brook   ill   any   summons,   whether   he   that   compels   be   a   demon   or   a   venda,   a   witch   or   foe   of   witches;   wherefore   it   is   a   perilous   thing   indeed   to   compel   their   attention   or   call   upon   their   living   might. A   weather-superhero   works   independent   of   them,   and   meddles   not   with   them. Winsted   needed   to   be   cleansed,   and   my   rivers   shoveled   clean,   for   if   the   Daslenga   cannot   flow,   and   if   the   Slunchla   cannot   slunch   for   the   choking   of   the   mills,   they   would   not   be   able   to   answer   the   call   of   the   Road   in   its’   last   need.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “I   saw   a   warning.”   said   Forest. “The   one   I   couldn’t   paint. I   think   it   was   for   you.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             Arheled   shook   his   head. “I   have   known   that   already   for   many   ages.”   he   answered   softly. “I   know   the   strength   of   my   Enemy. I   know   my   own   strength. Why   do   you   think   I   am   grasping   so   hard   at   every   twig   that   lies   to   hand,   calling   the   Children,   building   the   Five,   erecting   as   many   walls   as   I   can   against   the   coming   of   the   South?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “You   mean   we   cannot   win?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “The   future   is   not   known   to   me,   Forest. I   can   see   the   storm   clouds   rise   from   it   when   I   tread   the   roofs   of   Time,   but   I   cannot   see   within   them.”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “And   the   gates   of   hell   shall   not   prevail…Non   prevailabunt,   non   prevalabunt   portaes   inferni <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">…yes,   so   they   say,   so   they   always   say,   passing   over   any   troubling   Scriptures,   assuming   they   are   doomed   to   win;   and   any   tribulations,   they   matter   not,   for   after   all   we’ll   all   be   Raptured!”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “The   Christians   walk   serene   into   their   churches,   assured   of   victory,   for   the   Church   cannot   be   slain,   she   cannot   be   overcome. The   Messiah   he   is   King,   he   will   conquer   the   Romans,   he   will   trample   on   them   in   his   anger   till   his   garments   are   like   those   that   tread   the   winepress. Assured   of   victory   as   they   are   assured   of   their   salvation!”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “Saved   but   not   beautified,   Forest. Was   your   mother   saved   when   she   drove   out   your   father,   or   your   father   saved   when   he   begot   you   out   of   marriage? The   salvation   of   any   human   soul   is   in   doubt   while   they   yet   live,   and   no less   presumptuous   is   it   to   assume   that   we   will   win   than   to   assume   we’ll   get   to   Heaven.”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “While   Peter   stands,   so   does   She;   but   the   gates   could   come   up   to   his   very   rock   and   he   alone   be   on   it,   and   still   the   Church   would   live. We   are   not   guaranteed   victory,   Forest. Fire   will   not   come   from   Heaven   until   our   last   camp   is   besieged   and   our   last   hope   overcome. When   the   Son   of   Man   comes,   will   he   find,   think   you,   any   faith   on   the   earth?”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “My   child,   my   tender   son,”   said   Arheled   gently,   “perhaps   now   you   can   see   why   it   was   not   yet   good   for   that   picture   to   be   painted. The   knowledge   of   such   things   is   a   bitter   secret   indeed,   but   you   and   I   can   See,   and   such   is   our   burden. Still,   I   do   not   despair,   Forest. Neither   should   you,   while   you   know   what   is   real. For   reality   has   many   things,   and   many   faces,   but   only   One   source. And   He   indeed   shall   never   be   cast   down.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “But   you   are   Arheled.”   said   Forest. “You   walk   the   Road   itself. Can   it do   nothing?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “It   can   do   a   great   deal,”   said   Arheled   grimly,   “and   it   shall   do   even   more. But   do   not   be   deceived. I   am   the   Warden   in   White,   but   the   Darkness   is   greater   than   I.”

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<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “This   has   been   a   strange   year.”   Ronnie   said   to   Forest. Bell   and   Brooke   were   sitting   out   on   the   dock,   dangling   bare   feet   in   the   water   and   talking   girl   talk. It   was   the   day   after   the   strange   conversation   with   Arheled,   and   the   rumors   of   storm   were   persisting;   it   would   strike   Saturday,   maybe   Sunday,   and   so   Bell   had   invited   the   others   for   a   picnic   while   the   weather   was   nice.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “Mm.”    And   it   will   end   stranger   still.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “We   started   out   as   quite   ordinary   people,”   Ronnie   mused,   “and   now   here   we’re   battling   dragons   and   wielding   queer   and   increasing   powers…things   are   rushing   toward   some   fearsome   end,   Forest,   much   grimmer   than   the   mere   returning   of   the   Road.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “To   say   the   least.”   muttered   Forest.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “Most   of   the   Signs   of   the   Hills   have   been   explained…there’s   still   the   Grapevine,   and   that   Oak,   and   the   date   1790…”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “Yes,   that’s   what   the   Grapevine   indicates. There   was   an   old   Revolutionary   War   cannon   that   was   a   town   ornament   till   the   Civil   War,   fired   on   Independence   Day   and   all,   and   then   it   was   lost   for   a   while. Boyd   wrote   his   Annals   in   1847,   I   think…or   was   that   1874? Well,   the   Cannon   figured   in   a   couple   of   town   riots,   one   time   shelling   the   newspaper   building   when   a   mob   was   mad   at   the   editor. Then   it   vanished   for   a   few   decades,   turning   up   buried   somewhere,   I   think   or   fished   out   of   a   pond,   and   then   was   fired   off   from   overlooking   hills—Cobble,   Street   and   maybe   Camp   Hill   were   mentioned   by   name. I   do   know   that   it   vanished   again   and   this   time   was   never   found. Wha-at?”   as   Brooke   began   repeatedly   shouting   his   name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “That   is   such   a   sad   story.”   said   Bell.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “I   don’t   know,”   mused   Brooke,   “I   like   it.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             Their   conversation   was   interrupted   by   Hunter   Light   coming   out   the   sliding   doors. “Hey,   kids,   did   you   know   there   was   an   earthquake   Tuesday? It   was   felt   all   up   and   down   the   East   Coast. The   cathedral   in   Hartford   lost   its’   steeple.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “Wait—here   in   Connecticut??”   exclaimed   Brooke. The   eastern   coast   of   North   America   seldom   has   any   quakes   at   all.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “Yeah,   we   get   a   minor   one   every   now   and   then. The   last   one   was   a   hundred   years   ago,   they   said. Nothing   major;   mostly   a   few   chimneys   falling   over   or   something.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “A   hundred   years   ago.”   murmered   Ronnie. “That   would   be   about   right.”

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<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             Forest   had   not   joined   in   much   with   the   others. He   had   heard   Ronnie’s   story   from   the   end   of   the   dock,   and   afterwards   he   mostly   sat   at   a   distance,   munching   on   potato   chips   and   cookies   and   listening   absently   to   his   friends. A   queer   mood   was   on   him,   at   once   restless   and   gloomy,   and   he   found   himself   glancing   at   times   toward   the bridge   and   his   bicycle.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             It   grew   later. The   sun   sank   lower,   red   banks   of   cloud   surrounding   it. Katydids   began   to   sound   in   the   trees. Forest,   oddly   restless,   got   up   and   wandered   about,   now   here,   now   there. He   should   be   doing   something,   he   felt. As   if   he had   to   be   somewhere   and   had   forgotten   what. He   go   on   his   bike   and   began   pedaling   up   the   shore   road   toward   Winsted—the   road   around   Sucker   Brook   was   still   being   rebuilt.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             It   wasn’t   till   he   was   bowling   down   Lake   St   that   he   knew   where   he   was   going. Maneuvering   up   Main   St   with   all   the   parked   cars   and   foot   traffic   was   time-consuming   and   bewildering,   but   no   one   could   see   him,   and   so   he   worked   his   way   over   the   hill   by   the   highway   entrance   and   down   into   the   Super   Stop   &    Shop   valley.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             He   had   been   deep   in   conversation   when   he   had   passed   this   way,   many   months   ago,   but   he   remembered   where   to   turn. Soon   he   had   left   the   dangerous   Rt. 44   behind   and   was   pedaling   up   the   East   West   Hill   Road. A   stupid   name,   really;   they   should   have   called   it   Old   North   Road,   as   it   was   pretty   obviously   the   southern   portion of   that   first   of   roads;   or   maybe   just   plain   West   Hill   Rd. But   it’s   hills   were   lower   and   less   steep   than   the   long   climb   of   the   western   road,   and   besides   he   was   pretty   sure   the   swamp   lay   on   this   road. The sun   had   gone   down,   leaving   a   smouldering   brightness   in   the   west,   and   gloom   was   gathering   under   the   forest   trees. Yes,   here   the   road   paused   in   its’   final   climb,   running   along   the   edge   of   a   small   narrow   hollow   on   the   left,   spilling   over   a   finger-lip   of land. It   was   a   swamp. As   he   went   farther   the   swamp   widened,   a   flat   lap   of   land   amid   the   hills. Queer   feathery   hemlock,   deep   moss,   that   mysterious   feel   stronger   than   ever. It   was   Featherlock   Swamp.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             Hiding   his   bike   near   a   broad   bog,   he   entered   for   the   first   time   the   peculiar   place. Low-branching   featherlock   pine   crouched   amid   winding   islets   and   hummocks   made   by   their   own   moss-hung   roots,   or   the   boles   of   long-fallen   trees,   or   the   roots   of   trees   long   since   gone   into   the   bog. Green   spagnum   moss   grew   on   the   surface   of   the   many   boggy   pools,   which   were   now   mostly   black   mud,   and   climbed   in   feahery   pillows   over   the   logs and   tree-bases. Fern   rose   here   and   there   in   more   open   spots. In   the   dim,   detailed   gloam   of   dayfall   the   swamp   had   a   tumbled,   damp   appearance. As   Forest   pressed   on   the   steep   ground   off   on   his   left   receded,   so   did   the   road   on   the   right,   so   that   the   narrow   arm   of   swamp   widened. He   crossed   trees   that   had   been   half   pulled   up,   so   that   their   roots   bulged   in   hollow   caves   with   water   underneath   and   their   branches   swept   the   bogs. It   became   more   open. Fern   stood   tall   among   winterberry,   browning   at   the   fronds   with   the   lateness   of   the   year.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             Then   Forest   reached   the   widest   part   of   the   swamp. Gone   from   view   was   the   high   ground. In   the   dim   brown-green   gloam   details   were   clear   and   distinct,   the   star-shaped   towers   of   the   spagnum   heads,   the   mushrooms,   roots   and   boles   and   boughs   of   trees. There   was   a   clear   wet   smell   of   moss   and   wet   earth. Insects   chirred   sleepily   in   the   background. There   were   no   katydids   here   and   few   mosquitos. Featherlock   closed   in   once   more,   with   here   and   there   an   odd maple   or   oak. Here   a   tall   cluster   of   red   maples   rose   from   a   more   dry   isle,   straight   as   pillars,   four   in   a   row   and   a   fifth   displaced. And   nearby   was   the   queerest   sight   in   all   that   queer   swamp.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             A   hemlock   of   large   size   had   slumped   over,   its’   tilted   bole   now   twisting   back   up   toward   the   light,   stubby   little   branches   growing   from it. It’s   roots   arched   up   and   over   in   a   cave   bigger   than   most,   roofed   with   a   few   black   roots   hung   at   the   base   with   moss,   high   enough   to   enter   stooped;   but   the   floor   was   black   mud. There   was   utter   silence. Even   the   infrequent   murmer   of   a   passing   car   from   the   concealed   road   was   gone.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             Forest   squatted   on   one   of   the   tussocky   roots. He   felt   only   a   great   tiredness. The   tree   began   to   grow   less   distinct   as   the   dusk   began   to   close. Yet   still   there   seemed   a   sort   of   dim   brightness   about   the   bole   and   roots   nearest   to   him,   as   if   they   reflected   a   green   light. And   as   he   stared   harder,   the   glow   brightened;   for   it came   from   his   own   eyes;   yet   he   no   longer   noticed   it. There   was   something   unright   about   that   tree. The   bole   seemed   to   be   growing   transparent,   as   if   it   was   only   a   form,   a   shape   worn   by   a   creature   of   quite   another   nature. He   looked   closer. He   could   see   the   essence   of   it,   now;   it   was   like   a   pale   phantom   stretched   all   through   the   tree,   and   the   form   was   manlike,   and   bearded,   and   in   a   strange   sleeplike   state.

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             The   tree   that   was   not   a   tree   made   no   answer. Suddenly   afraid,   Forest   stood   up. The   green   light   died   in   his   eyes   as   he   did   so,   and   the   appalling   vision   was   gone. Giving   the   non-tree   a   wary   stare,   Forest   turned   and   made   his   way   out   of   the   darkening   swamp.

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<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             Clouds   drew   in   over   Winsted. All   Saturday   they   gathered,   deepening   as   the   day   passed. Wind   stirred   now   and   again   in   the   trees,   but   most   of   the   time   the   humid   air   hung   still   and   warm. On   the   Island   everything   was   “battened   down”;   blowables   were   stored   in   the   barn,   the   boats   were   tied   securely,   candles   and   flashlights   and   food   supplies   had   been   hoarded. Mrs. Lake   had   several   juice   coolers   of   water   filled. Mr. Light   had   gone   out   and   purchased   a   generator   and   gasoline   cans. Night   fell   and   still   the   heavens   made   no   sign.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             Bell   and   Forest   watched   “Pirates   of   the   Carribean”   until   their   parents   made   them   go   to   bed. It   wasn’t   until   he   was   nearly   asleep   that   Forest   heard   the   first   downpour   begin,   hard   and   rattling   like   hail   of   the   roofs. He   fell   asleep   with   that   in   his   ears   and   dreamed   strange and   awful   dreams,   in   which   a   chunk   of   hollow   land   ripped   loose   from   the   collapsing   hills   on   every   flank   and   sailed   like   a   ship,   huge   seas   breaking   upon   it,   until   it   froze   and   new   land   boiled   up   around   it   and   became   hard.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             Grey   light   filled   the   room   when   he   awoke:   it   was   daylight. Rain   was   roaring   down in   irregular   waves,   now   louder,   now   softening   to   a   patter. When   he   looked   out   the   window   he   saw   the   leaves   of   the   big   oak   all   furled   and   blowing   one   way   in   a   stronger   gust;   but   it,   surprisingly,   wasn’t   all   that   windy. The   lake   beyond   looked   misty.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             The   power   was   out   when   he   came   downstairs,   and   his   mom   was   just   lighting   candles,   while   from   the   back   porch   could   be   heard   the   roar   of   the   new   generator. Hunter   Light   came   back   in   unwinding   extension   cords,   and   soon   he   had   the   refrigerator   and   deep   freezer   running. The   room   looked   strange   in   the   grey   light   of   the   glass   doors   and   the   flickering   yellow   of   candles.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “I   just   heard   from   T.I.C. that   the   storm   was   downgraded   from   a   hurricane.” Mrs. Lake   was   saying.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             Forest   ate   cereal   and   orange   juice   in   silence. The   storm   was   making   him   sleepy. The   back   door   opened   and   Bell   came   bouncing   in,   dripping   wet,   in   her   bathing   suit. Fortunately   their   parents   were   back   up   in   their   bedroom,   trying   to   get   the   battery-powered   radio   to   tune   in   to   the   right   station.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “I   went   swimming   in   a   hurricane,   ha-ha,   ha-ha.”   she   sang. “You   should   come   join   me,   Forest. The   water   feels   so   good    when   its’   raining,   and   there’s   waterfalls   coming   off   the   house.”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “Coo-koo,   coo-koo,   we   sing   a   happy   sonngggg,   coo-koo,   coo-koo,   we   sing   it   all   day   lonnggg.”   Bell   teased. Forest   looked   supremely   irritated:   it   was   one   of   her   pet   ways   of   annoying   him   back   before   she   and   Dad   left.

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “Coo-koo,   coo-koo,   this   song   you   won’t   forget,”   Bell   sang,   prancing   around   the   table   and   spraying   water   on   him,   “coo-koo,   coo-koo,   it’s   on   the   Internet.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             I’ll   put   you   on   the   Internet   if   you   don’t   stop   it, <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">   thought   Forest,   and   ate   cereal   with   the   smug   expression   of   one   who   has   delivered   a   devastating   retort. She   stopped   in   her   tracks.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “Okay,   what   did   you   just   say   to   me   in   your   head?!”   she   accused.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “Um…I   forgot   it.”   said   Forest,   looking   alarmed.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “Mm-hm. Well,   I’m   gonna   go   get   dressed,   so   if   you   wanta   swim,   you’ll   just   have   to   do   it   by   yourself,   poo-hoo.”   and   the   bathroom   door   closed   behind   her. Forest   shut   his   eyes   and   shook   his   head,   smiling   to   himself. In   some   ways   it   was   really   good   to   have   his   sister   back.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             They   couldn’t   go   to   church   since   Mr. Light   was   afraid   of   downed   wires,   so   they   spent   the   day   hanging   around   the   dim,   twilight   house. Mrs. Lake   had   to   use   a   propane   stove   to   cook   soup   on   for   lunch. Bell   played   board   games   with   Mr. Light   until   he   realized   that   Mrs. Lake’s   laptop   could   be   plugged   into   the   modem   by   generator   and   thus   be   still   connected   to   the   Internet,   and   spent   the   rest   of   the   day   trying   to   keep   this   operative   while   Mom   was   cursing   the   computer. Forest   with   a   sigh   put   down   his   paints   and   played   several   rounds   of   Monopoly   with   Bell,   or   “Mono-lulu”   as   he   called   it. Bell   drained   him   of   cash   with   three   hotels   in   a   row. Forest   lost   interest   and   went   back   upstairs.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             That   queer   gloomy   Sunday   passed   slowly. There   were   flashes   of   lightning   at   times,   but   no   thunder. Forest   opened   the   glass   door   around   noon   and   stood   there,   dreamily,   for   a   long   time   gazing   out   at   the   Lake. Rain   processed   in   stately   majesty   of   striped   curtains   like   pillars   of   mist,   steadily,   unhurriedly. There   were   occasional   gusts   at   long   intervals. Leaves   and   small   twigs   were   plastered   to   the   ground   like   pavement. The   air   was   warm   and   wet. Overhead   the   sky   was   a   sad   streaked   gray. He   felt   sleepy   and   headed   back   upstairs   to   lie   down,   where   he   promptly   lost   touch   with   reality   for   exactly   ten   minutes   and   whirled down   a   confused   corridor   of   images,   chief   among   them   a   figure   of   blue   light   standing   like   Godzilla   knee-deep   in   trees,   and   one   hand   was   clamped   onto   a   moving   hill   that   was   striving   with   it. Then   he   woke   up,   tired   and   groggy.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “It   says   that   power   outages   and   flooding   seem   to   be   the   main   damage   from   the   storm.”   Mr. Light   reported   at   supper. “By   the   way,   did   you   guys   notice   the   lake   is   two   feet   higher?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “Holy   cow!”   Bell   whooped. “I   wanta   go   swimming!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “The   wind’s   dying   down;   you   might   as   well.”   agreed   Hunter. “I’m   going   to   run   into   town   to   buy   a   paper.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             The   water   was   lapping   over   the   fixed   dock,   making   the   floating   dock   a   steeply   tilted   ramp   where   it   was   fastened   to   the   main   dock. Forest   joined   Bell,   but   the   water   was   cold   and   Bell   was   rambunctious,   and   he   soon   went   back   inside. He   came   back   out   in   a   raincoat,   and   Bell   got   her   sandals   and   squished   alongside   him   in   her   suit.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “We   must   look   really   weird.”   she   said.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “Dunno   what   you’re   talking   about.”   he   retorted. “I’m   making   sure   I   can’t   be   seen.”   With   you.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “I   suspect   a   concealed   jibe   in   that   head   of   yours.”   twitted   Bell.

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             The   gutters   were   pretty   much   streams,   in   places   crossing   the   road. Farther   up,   towards   the   Ugly   House   and   the   Long   Dark,   complete   waterfalls   were   pouring   down   the   cliff,   and   the   water   sluicing   across   the   road   was   opaque   brown. They   found   one   tree   down,   a   big   oak   that   took   the   wires   with   it,   which   explained   why   their   power   was   out. It   hadn’t   fallen   across   the   road. Bell   headed   back,   but   Forest   walked   on   until   he   came   to   the   spillways.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             Water   flowed   with   ponderous   majesty   over   both   spillways,   a   foot   or   so   on   the   emergency   spillway   and   a   full   two   feet   on   the   main   one. The   deep   thunder   of   the   falls   seemed   to   shake   the   air,   and   from   the   woods   on   the   left   the   roar   of   the   Plunging   Shout   sounded   continuously.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             Monday   all   was   clear   and   pleasant. Crews   cut   up   the   tree,   and   Mr. Light   found   that   only   a   few   parts   of   Winsted   lost   power. Even   their   area   was   back   on   by   Tuesday;   but   they   were   an   exception.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “Dad   says   there   were   over   700,000   without   power.”   Bell   said   to   Forest. “That’s   a   record. He   says   even   Hurricane   Gloria   back   in   the   80s   didn’t   cause   that   much.”

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

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “A   storm   hits   where   it’s   needed   most.”   Forest   said. “This   one   didn’t   flood   like   in   1955. It   struck   the   heart   of   the   power   of   the   magicians   of   society:   their   electricity. Some   places   will   be   a   week   without   it. And   this   was   only   a   heavy   rainstorm.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “Forest,   you’re   scaring   me.”   said   Bell. “You’re   starting   to   sound   like   Arheled.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">             “Well,”   muttered   Forest,   “he   has   been   calling   me   a   long   time,   you   know.”

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