Ch. 10: In the Name of the Road

(Return to Arheled)

           “…so,  you  see,  according  to  relativity,  if  we  take  into  account  the  warping  effect  of  spacetime  it  would  seem  there  are  multiple  voids  in  space,  where  there  are  no  stellar  clusters. Next week  we’ll  get  to  use  the  labs,  and  as  it  looks  like   I’ve  exceeded  my  time  again  I  suppose  that  will  be  all.”  said  Professor  Hunter  Light.

           Ronnie  Wendy  came  up  to  him  as  he  always  did  after  class. Usually he  had  some  pertinent  questions  about  the stars  or  some  random  angle  of  astronomy,  but  tonight  more  practical  matters  were  on  his  mind.

           “Do  you  need  your  roof  shoveled?”  he  said. He’d just  got  done  doing  the  various  roofs  of  his  own  place,  and  even  though  it  made  him  stiff  and  sore  the  extra  income  was  welcome.

           “Well,  as  a  matter  of  fact  the  pavement  guys  wanted  to  charge  me  $300  to  do  it,  so  I  was  going  to  head  up  there  myself.”  said  Professor  Light. “What do  you  charge?”

           “$10  an  hour.”

           Light  nodded. “Splendid. I have  tomorrow  off. Do you  have  a  car,  by  any  chance?”

           “I’ll  have  to  excavate.”  said  Ronnie  wryly. “I drove  a  bit  during  the  Grinding  Cold,  but  its’  buried  again. What time?”

           “Oh,  around  8  will  be  good  enough. It’s supposed  to  get  warm  again. If you  like  you  can  stay  to  supper;  Bell    keeps  wanting  to  ask  you  over.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           The  roof  proved  to  be  a  steep  one,  but  Mr. Light already  had  two  ladders  ready. The day  warmed  up  steadily. By lunchtime  they  had  most  of  one  side  done.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Come  on  in.”  said  Mr. Light. “You don’t have  to  eat  in  your  truck. Do you  want  a  sandwich?”  Ronnie  said  he  did.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           As  he  ate,  Ronnie  said,  “There’s  one  thing  I  never  can  understand,  Professor.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Hunter,  please;  we’re  not  in  the  classroom.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Hunter. Well, you’re  always  saying  how  ‘if  we  factor  in  relativity  and  spacetime.’  Is  relativity  something  in its’  own  right,  like  light  waves  or  light  speed? And what  is  spacetime?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Oh  dear.”  said  Mr. Light. “That’s rather  complicated. The theory  of  relativity  is  a  term  descriptive  of  a  certain  system  of  calculation,  based  on  the  principle  that  no  one  point  can  be  regarded  as  ‘fixed’  in  order  to  be  measured  from,  and  that  as  a  result  all  viewpoints  and  measurements  are  relative  to  the  person  measuring  or  observing,  and  are  different  if  compared  to  other  frames  of  reference. But we  tend  in the  scientific  community  to  refer  more  to  ‘special’  and  ‘general’  relativity.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Yes,  but  how  can  that  be  made  the  basis  for  any  system  of  calculations? If measurements  are  relative,  how  can  you  compute?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Mr. Light leaned  on  the  table. “By velocity. The speed  of  light  in  a  vacuum  remains  constant  for  all  inertial  observers. As a  result  it  forms  the  common  unit  for  computation  between  differing  systems  of  coordinates. This common  unit  forms  one  factor  of  a  four-dimensional  frame  of  calculation:  the  three  spatial  dimensions  of  a  cube,  and  a  fourth,  time.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Are  you  saying  time  as  in  before  and  after?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “In  physics  we  usually  prefer  ‘reference  frames’. The reference frame  from  any  one  point  is  then  measured  along  three  axes  of  space:  left,  right  and  up. Events are  points  where  time  intersects  these  three  axes,  and  so  events  are  used  to  measure  and  calculate  spacetime  using  these  axes,  and  the  time  it  occurs  in  forms  the  time-coordinate. Since the  speed  of  light  is  constant—“

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Wait. I don’t  get  that. An event  is…what?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “An  event  equals  the  time  at  which  one  line  intersects  the  three  spatial  axes. Thus you  say  that  at  3:00  James  was  hit  by  a  car  going  horizontal  one  way  in  reference  to  vertical  and  depth  axes,  and  the  intersection  of  James  and  car  is  the  event. On a  grid,  of  course,  it’s  a  place  where  two  different  lines  intersect.”

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Since  the  speed  of  light  is  constant,  flashes  and  the  time  of  their  travel  can  be  used  to  bridge  differing  frames  of  reference. Light will  travel  from,  say,  event  A  to  observers  elsewhere.”

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “A  way  of  describing  the  observable  phenomena  of  the  universe  by  combining  space  and  time  into  a  single  mathematical  model  or  continuum. The observed  rate  at  which  time  passes  for  an  object  depends  on  the  object’s  velocity  relative  to  the  observer,  and  hence  cannot  be  seperated  from  the  three  dimensions  of  space. Gravitational fields,  since  they  can  affect  the  speed  and  passage  of  light,  introduce  similar  curves  or  warps  in  nearby  space  which  calculations  have  to  take  into  account,  and  as  space  and  time  are  connected,  to  bend  space  is  also  to  bend  time.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “And  how  do  they  figure  that?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Well,  let’s  take  the  example  of  the  Twin  Paradox. Einstein calculated  that  when  two  clocks  that  were  in  all  respects  identical  were  seperated  and  one  of  them  was  rapidly  accelerated,  this  clock  would  tick  slower  than  the  stationary  clock. If instead  of  clocks  we  postulate  twin  men,  one  staying  here  and  the  other  travelling  in  a  spaceship  at  light  speed,  the  time  for  the  travelling  twin  was  mere  instants,  but  for  the other,  moving  at  normal  speed,  more  time  would  pass. Specifically,” drawing  on  a  napkin,  “if  the  spaceship  travels  to  a  star  4.45  light-years  from  us,  Earth  time  measures  10.28  years  for  the  full  trip. But the  clocks  on  board  ship  will  slow,  and  so  will  the  aging  of  the  passengers,  and  if  the  speed  of  the  ship  is  86.6%  light-speed  this  will  be  measured  to  have  taken  only  5.14  years,  as  far  as  the  passengers  can  tell. As a  measurement  of  length  actually  contracts  at  great  velocities,  their  trip-length  will  have  undergone  the  same  contraction.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Relative,  relative,  everything  is  relative,  how  do  you  know  that  reality  exists, <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri"> rang  through  Ronnie’s  mind.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Because  two  observers  of  the  same  event  will  see  it  at  differing  times,  and  because  two  events  that  seem  simultaneous  to  one  observer  will  always  have  angles  from  which  another  observer  will  see  them  at  differing  times. Time is  relative  to  the  person  measuring  it. Or, to  look  at  a  practical  example,  if  two  travelers  at  differing  angles  and  velocities  pass  each  other  and  shine  light  from  one  to  the  other,  they  will  record  differing  times  for  the  arrival  and  speed of  the  flashes  the  farther  apart  they  go,  so  that  sequence  and  a  before  and  after—past  and  future  immediate  to  them—become  relative  to  the  observer.”  He  paused  to  gather  his  thoughts.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           His  past  is  not  your  past,  and  he  will  stay  forever  young  while  you  grow  old  and  die, <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">  echoed  again  in  Ronnie’s  ears. He looked  down  at  his  fist,  which  still  bore  the  scars  of  the  stone  wall  upon  it.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “At  speeds  of  light  the  discrepancy,  the  slowing  down  of  time  for  the  one  travelling,  would  increase  to  such  an  extent  that  if  you  travelled  at  light  speed  away  from  the  Earth  for  20  years  and  then  back  to  it  for  20  years,  so  that  40  years  passed  for  you,  relative  to  Earth  you  would  have  travelled  24,000  light  years  from  Earth. When you  got  back,  48,004  years  would  have  passed  on  Earth.”

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “No,  it  is  possible,  you  just  don’t  understand  the  math.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “I  understand  basic  math.”  snapped  Ronnie. “I understand  that  two  and  two  are  four. You tell  me  that  the  higher  math  makes  20  and  20  into  48,000. If that  is  the  result  of  your  numbers,  then  your  math  is  based  on  a  faulty  logical  premise. If you  follow  a  logical  process  to  an  impossible  conclusion,  then  it’s  obvious  there’s  a  flaw  in  your  logic.”  He  got  up. “Reality exists. Your math  denies  it. It’s time  I  got  to  work,  anyway, or  you’ll  be  docking  me  for  the  lunch  hour.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Okay,  okay,”  said  Hunter  Light,  getting off  the  table. “It is  rather  counter-intuitive  if  you  can’t  understand  the  algebra  involved. I get  that  reaction  all  the  time.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “How  is  your  invention  going,  by  the  way?”  said  Ronnie  as  they  headed  back  out  onto  the  roof.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Oh,  much  better!”  said  Mr. Light happily. “The grant  went  through  and  some  of the  parts  have  already  arrived. We should  have  it assembled  by  late  spring  if  we’re  lucky.”

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

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Travel  Lane  parked  in  the  back  lot  of  Coffee  Corner  and  looked  around. The flat-topped  little  corner  store  building  had  an  L-shaped  lot,  most  of  which  was  in  front  along  Main  St  and  the  rest  adjoining  Case  Av. It was  next  to  the  post  office. Steep shingled  edges  made  the  flat  roof  look  like  it  belonged  in  a  country  village  somewhere. She spotted  her  friend’s  car  and  walked  over,  rapping  on  the  window.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Travel!”  exclaimed  the  occupant,  getting  out.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Cypress!”  Travel  exclaimed  in  the  same  tone. “Give me  a  hug! It’s been  so  long!”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Yeah,  I  know,  but  you  know  how  things  are.”  Cypress  shrugged. She was  an  average-looking  girl  of  about  18,  with  a  rounded  steady  face,  a  quirky  mouth  that  dimpled  when  she  smiled,  thoughtful  cool  blue  eyes,  and  russet-brown  hair  pulled  back  from  her  head. There was  a  little  ring  piercing  her lip. She was  rather  stocky,  and  today  she  wore  a  dark  blue  sweater  and  sweatpants.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “I  hear  you’re  in  Winsted  now.”  said  Travel. “How’s that  going?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Well,  I  live  in  a  haunted  house,  for  starters.”  said  Cypress  as  they  headed  inside. A glass  door  led  into  a  small  square  foyer  and  another  door  led  to  the  coffeeroom. The place  was  plain  and  simple,  with  a  curved  counter  and  bar  stools,  a  few  candy  machines  and  a  newspaper  rack,  and  a  glass  pastry-display  counter  with  the  cash  register. The menu  board  was  white  with  little  black  and  red  letters. Several of  the old  men  who  were  regulars  here  were  grouching  in  chorous  over  in  the  back  about  the  new  taxes.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “I’ll  have  a  medium  coffee,  milk  and  sugar. Really? That’s—a little  disturbing. Which one  is  it?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Black  French  Vanilla,  no  cream,  one  sugar. It’s the  weird  purple  house. Over by  Park  Place,  you  know,  next  to  that  Baptist  church.”  Cypress  rolled  her  eyes.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “And  is  it  really  haunted?”  said  Travel  with  great  interest  as  they  took  seats.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “All  sorts  of  haunts.”  shrugged  Cypress. She had  a  streetwise,  sad  sort  of  toughness  about  her,  the  sort  that  comes  to  those  who  have  endured  a  good  deal  of  heartbreak. That and  the  fact  that  they  shared  odd  names  had  drawn  the  girls  together  when  they  first  went  to  Regional  High,  despite  the  age  difference. “There’s Janar—she  used  to  own  the  house—and  she’s  really  kind  of  sweet,  sad  though  too,  I  feel. And there’s  Chuck—I  think  he  was  a  New  Ager,  but  they  don’t  really  feel  bad,  you  know? I kind  of  think  they’re  actually there  as  protection.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Protection? Against what?”  They  were  keeping  their  voices  rather  low,  and  Cypress  was  a  little  difficult  to  hear.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Well,  there’s  other  stuff  going  on,  too. Sometimes books  get  thrown  around  or  things  bang  and  chairs  move,  you  know,  and,  well,  when  that’s  happening  I  feel  this  nasty  sort  of  pressure  on  my  chest,  pushing  down  on  me. Like, if  I  were  to  put  my  hands  on  your  chest  and  push  down  while  you  were  lying  flat. That’s what  it  feels.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “You  should  say  a  prayer  for  them.”  said  Travel. “The ghosts,  I  mean.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Yeah,  I  suppose. Maybe I  should  ask  the  priest  at  St.  Joseph’s  about  them.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Is  that  the  house  right  in  front  of  the  old  cemetery?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Yeah,  the  Witch  Houses  some  of  the  locals  call  them. We get  all  the  weirdos  over  there. Sometimes people  just  walk  right  in  the  door,  cause  it’s  next  to  that  surveyor’s  office  and  they  got  the  house  wrong;  oh  yeah,  it’s  fun.”  She  rolled  her  eyes  again. “It’s Winsted.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">            “Winsted? What does  that  mean?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “What  do  you  mean,  what  does  that  mean?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">            Well,  you  said  it  sort  of  like  a  slur  or  something. What’s wrong  with  Winsted?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “It’s  crazy,  of  course. You’re not  a  Winstedite,  are  you? No, I  forgot,  you’re  from  Colebrook. Where people  will  offer  you  a  lift  if  you  happen  to  walk  up  the  back  roads. Okay, this  is  kind  of  what I  mean. My boyfriend  and  I  had  to  go  to  the  corner  store  at  night  for  something,  I  was  in  my  flowered  pajamas  and  had  bare  feet  cause  it  was  a  hot  summer  night,  and  the  guy  at  the  counter  says  Now  I  know  I’m  back  in  Winsted,  and  I  says  What? and he  says,  It’s  the  middle  of  the  night,  you’re  in pajamas  with  no  shoes,  this  happens  a  lot. Or something. It’s Winsted.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Well,  we  do  have  a  Wild  Man  of  Winsted.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Really? I never heard  of  it.”  Then  Travel  had  to  tell  her  all  about  the  Wild  Man. The last  mentioned  incident  had  been  in  the  1970s,  out  by  Rugg  Brook  Res,  when  two  carfuls  of  panicked  teenagers  flagged  down  a  patrol  car  and  babbled  they  had  been  accosted  by  a  towering  figure  with  gleaming  eyes,  shaped  like  a  man  or  monster  or  something. The policeman  found  nothing.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Isn’t  that  out  by  Mad  River  Dam?”  said  Cypress. “Cause there’s  a  hill  over  there,  west  of  the  dam  kind  of,  I  haven’t  been  there  in  years,  but  it  feels  kind  of—eerie  up  on  top  of  it. My stepfather  was  hunting  there  one  time  and  he  found  something.”  She  paused. “It was  a  metal  box,  buried,  and inside  it  was  a  knife,  a  rope  and  a  bunch  of  plastic  bags.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Weird. Maybe a  camper  left  it.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “I  was  thinking  more  like  a  murder. Just the  sort  of  thing  that  would  happen  over  there.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Why  bother  putting  it  in  a  metal  box,  if  the  intent  was  to  destroy  evidence?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Yeah,  I  guess. It’s just  bizarre,  is  all. And it’s  not  the  only  place,  too. When I  used  to  live  in  Goshen,  out  by  the  Seven  Gables  house,  there’s  a  place  I  walked  my  dog  that  felt  really  wrong. Creepy-wrong. I think  it’s  the  Hall  Meadow  Dam  area.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Where’s  this  eerie  hill  again? It sounds  interesting.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Cypress  snorted. “One end  butts  right  into  Mad  River. I think  it’s  between  the  river  and  Crystal  Lake.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “How  much  time  do  we  have? Cause I  have  to  be  back  by  one.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “It’s  going  on  twelve. Let’s go  grab  some  lunch. You want  to  try  Kelley’s  Kitchen  or  head  farther  up  Main?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Kelley’s  Kitchen  sounds  good. Or we  could  go  cackle  at  Cackleberry’s!”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Cackle  at  Cackleberry’s.”  muttered  Cypress,  that  quirky  twist  appearing  on  her  mouth. “Sounds just  like  you.”

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

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Forest  had  decided  to  skip  school  today.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           It  was  an  experiment. If his  mom  assumed he  got  on  the  bus,  and  he  wasn’t,  would  anyone  at  school  notice  if  he  didn’t  show  up? So he  waited  until  the  bus  had  dropped  him  off,  but  instead  of  going  inside  he  circled  around  the  rear  path  under  the  pines. Blocked by  the  deep  snow,  with  the  warmer  weather  the  maintenance  staff  was  finally  done  clearing  it. Then he  headed  down  the  teachers’  driveway  and  walked  off  down  the  street. Nobody shouted  after  him. Nobody that  passed  even  looked  at  him. But then  he  was  not  looking  at  them. If I  don’t  meet  their  eyes,  he  often  pretended,  they  can’t  see  me.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           He  walked  up  one  side  street,  one  odd  back  street  that  wandered  under  tall  old  tired  houses  next  to  the  stream  from  Gilbert  High,  up  between  high  banks  with  houses  on  top,  one  house  sheathed  in  ivy  and  soft-looking  icicles  pendant  from  the  eaves. It was  cloudy  now  and  a  little  cooler,  and  faint  and  far  away  he  heard  the  murmering  roar  of  long  winds.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Left  down  Spencer  Hill  Rd  took  him  past  his  own  church  at  the  triangle  park. He took  a  shortcut  through  the  long  narrow  parking  lot  of  a  long  low  office  building,  a  high  wall  of  cypress  and  whitecedar  on  the  right  shutting  him  off  from  the  car  repair  garage  on  the  corner. Murray St  came  down  from  the  Soldier’s  Tower,  joining  Main  about  a  couple  hundred  feet  south  of  Spencer  Hill  Rd. Up from  the  high  bank  on  the  far  side  of  Murray  rose  the  yellow  brick  Beardsley  Library. Forest skirted  the  yew  that  overhung  the  sidewalk  and  headed  inside. The librarian  at  the  front  desk  wasn’t  busy,  and  carefully  not  meeting  her  eyes  Forest  walked  past. It was  the  papery  frail  old  director  today,  Mrs. Linda, tall  and  faintly  smiling,  who  always  seemed  to  be  watching. Watching. She gave  him  chills. But she  seemed  not  to  notice,  and  he  went  into  the  reading  room,  wrinkling  his  nose:  something  smelled  like  wood  smoke. He looked  over  and  his  eyes  lighted  on  the  red  hair  of  Ronnie  Wendy.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Hello,  Forest.”  said  Ronnie,  not  even  lifting  his  eyes.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Forest  came  over. “Ronnie?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “That’s  me,”  the  other  said,  looking  up  from  his  book.

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Ronnie  stared  strangely  at  him. “I do  not  know. I don’t  think  it  matters  what  he  calls  himself;  what  matters  is  what  he  does.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Is  he  the  Wild  Man?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “I  don’t  know.”  replied  Ronnie. “But I  think  not. Ulmo and  Ossë  both  rule  the  sea,  yet  they  are  not  the  same.”

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Ronnie  frowned. “That’s odd.”  he  said. “Very odd. Lara Midwinter  was  asking  me  the  same  thing. A fell  is  a  mountain. Is it  near  here?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Two  miles  from  the  Methodist  church.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Ronnie  nodded. “ ‘Fell, fjell’  is  actually  a  Norse  word,  only  there  it  refers  to  rounded  mountains  that  rise  above  the  tree  line. In other  places  it  means  high  grazing  grounds,  especially  on  cleared  mountaintops. Mountains of  the  same  rounded  shape  are  also  called  fells  at  times  even  when  trees  grow on  top. Sometimes ‘fell’  was  used  only  of  the  top  of  a  mountain,  ignoring  the  rest. Most of  the  hills  have  no  names,”  he  said,  opening  the  atlas  of  topographic  maps. “Not the  Cobbles,  definitely…not  Street Hill…I’d  say  your  best  bet  is  this  hill  down  east  of  3rd  Bay,  or  this  ‘aqueduct’  hill  north  of  Crystal.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Where’s  Prospect  St?”  said  Forest.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Ronnie  pointed  it  out. Forest traced  its’  line to  Lake  St,  found  Meadow  St  and  ran  his  hand  north. A deep  valley  was  indicated  there,  with  the  long  upland  labeled  Spencer  Hill  (erroneously,  Ronnie  said)  forming  the  east  wall,  and  another  roundish  height  to  the  west. A stream  was  marked,  and  amid  the  valley  a  swamp  labeled  Indian  Meadow.

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Well,  right  here,”  indicating  a  narrow  prow  of  land  jutting  from  the  northern  highlands  down  into  Winsted,   “is  The  Cobble. This other  height which  the  map  got  wrong,  is  actually  Second  Cobble.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Indian  Meadow. That was  where  he  lived. ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Growing  hungry  after  a  while,  he  decided  he  would  head  for  home. Mom always  got  back  long  after  the  bus  came. It was  only  1:00  anyway. When he  went  outside  he  was  surprised  to  find  it  was  snowing. The ground  was  patchy  white,  for  the  air  was  much  colder  and  powerful  winds  moaned  in  the  bare  trees  along  the  river. Road workers  were  scooping  with  a  payloader  the  massive  snowbanks  like  brown  hills  between  street  and  sidewalk,  dumping  white  and  pale  brown  rubble  into  a  town  dump  truck. Forest headed  down  Main  a  couple  hundred  yards  until  he  reached  Lake  St. He plodded  up  the  long  hill  and  the  sharp  turn. A really  old  house  on  the  right  with  walls  entirely  stone  stood  almost  on  the  lip  of  the  ravine  down  which  spilled  the  stream  from  Long  Lake. On the  left  above  him was  the  ancient  house  at  the  brink  of  the  hill,  the  high  dark  spruce  above  it. He came  to  the  spillways  and  headed  out  by  means  of  a  snowmobile  gateway  near  the  grassy  berm  by  the  Spillway  Grill,  out  onto  the  ice.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Ah,  there  you  are,  Forest!”  cried  the  Man  in  Brown,  skidding  up  on  the  left. “I thought  you’d  never  get  here!”

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Your  mother  needs  you.”  said  Brown. He was  wrapped  in  a  great  cloak  of  brownish-grey,  scarf  tied  on  outside  a  hood  over  his  fur  cap. “Come. I will  take  you  swiftly.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           The  warm  weather  earlier  had  melted  the  deep  snow  on  the  lake,  and  the  sudden  cold  snap  had  turned  slush  to  solid  ice,  lumpy  but  smooth  to  glide  on. Wind-driven snow  was  drifting  and  skidding  in  wispy  streamers,  and  walls  of  white  whirling  snow-wisps  leaped  up  before  every  long  gust. Snow devils  spun  in  tall  funnels  and  faded. The wind  howled  down  from  the  north-west,  funneling  into  the  long  lake-vale  and  blowing  almost  unremittingly.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Stand  tightly,  lad!”  shouted  Brown  as  a  tremendous  gust  came  up. Runner-blades sprang  from  his  boots. Holding out  his  cloak  by  jamming  a  long stick  sideways  behind  his  back,  with  the  other he  seized  Forest  by  the  shoulder. The wind  took  them,  filling  the  cloak  like  a  sail. They raced  across  the  glassy  ice,  faster  and  faster,  until  they  were outpacing  the  very  snow-devils  on  either  hand. Forest felt  both  terrified  and  wildly  thrilled:  how  they  were  managing  to  keep  upright  and  not  stumble  on  the  lumpy  ice  he  had  no  idea. The laughter  of  the  man  in  brown   resounded  about  him. There was  the  island,  straight  ahead. A great  cloud  of  snow  blew  past  Forest  and  then  he  was  slithering  to  a  stop  before  he  could  crash  into  the  steps  in  the  seawall.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           He  was  not  surprised  to  find  himself  alone. Climbing up  into  the  parking  lot  he  noticed  at  once  Mom’s  red  car  was  here;  odd,  he  thought  she  had  a  full  day  scheduled. He eased  open  the  door  and  shut  it  as  carefully  as  he  might. Voices came  from  the  living  room,  a  man’s  love-making  tones,  dripping  and  gooey,  and  his  mom,  sounding  pleased  and  flustered  but  uneasy. Forest walked  in.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Sure  enough,  it  was  Mr. Mwaha from  the  Big  Island. He was  sitting  on  the  couch  beside  Mom,  and  his  big  ugly  beaming  face  was  right  next  to  hers. Mom looked—well,  half  like  she  liked  it  and  half  like  she  didn’t  know what  to  do. She looked  up  and  gave  a  sort  of  gasp,  and  at  the  same  time  there  was  almost  relief  in  her  eyes.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Oh! Honey, you’re  back!”  she  exclaimed. “Was it  a  half  day?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Forest  said  nothing. Carefully he  kept  his  eyes  on  the  floor.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Sweetheart,  who  are  you  talking  to?”  said  Mr. Mwaha.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Why, what’s  wrong  with  you? He’s right  there.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Cornello  looked  around. There was  genuine  bewilderment  in  his  voice. “Right where?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           A  fierce  smile  transmogrified  the  face  of  Forest. Now he  knew. Now he  was  sure.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Keeping  the  terrible  grin  fixed  on  his  face,  he  lifted  his  eyes  until  he  was  looking  straight  into  Cornello’s.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Cornello  jumped  up,  staggering  backward  as  if  he’d  seen  a  ghost,  a  strangled  cry  breaking  out  of  him. “Huh-where’d you  come  from?”

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

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “I  did  not  give  you  leave  to  come  here.”  Forest  said. He was  conscious  only  of  being  filled  with  cold,  towering,  deadly  rage. He felt  as  if  he  was  rising  as  he stood,  as  if  his  body  was  stretching  so  as  to  become  many  times  taller  than  it  was. He lifted  one  hand  and  pointed  it,  past  Cornello,  to  where  through  the  sliding  glass  doors  the  Big  Island’s  pines  rose  from  the  ice  across  the  bay. “Get out. Don’t come  here  again. Don’t go  near  my  mother.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Who  do  you  think  you  are  to  give  me—“

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “I  am  the  man  of  this  house.”  said  Forest.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Appealingly  Cornello  turned  to  Mrs. Lake. “Darling, you’re  not  gonna  let  this  15  year  old  squirt  dictate  your  life  for  you?! You’d really  better  teach  him  some  respect. Haven’t you  any  idea  of  who  I  am?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “He  is  fifteen.”  said  Mrs. Lake. “And, you  know,  Cornie,  I  really  wasn’t  too  pleased  with  you  coming  over.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “You…you  mean  you…this  is  ridiculous. Come on,  honey. My house  is  just  over  there. Let’s go  for  a  walk  where  this  squirt  can’t  bother  us.”  He  pulled  Mrs. Lake to  her  feet. She seemed  both  frightened  and  fascinated,  and  did  not  resist.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Let  go  of  my  mother.”  said  Forest.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Oh,  really? What are  you  gonna  do,  kid? Call the  police  or  something? You might  as  well  get  used  to  it. Your mom  and  I  have  been  going  out  for  quite  a  while,  haven’t  we,  honey?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Mrs. Lake kept  looking  at  him  with  that  confused  fascination  and  didn’t  say  anything.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “I  told  you  to  let  her  go.”  said  Forest. Whether it  was  the  wind  or  some other  power,  the  very  house  seemed  to  shudder  s  he  spoke. His eyes  filled  with  fire. He threw  out  his  hand,  and  the  very  air  around  it  seemed to  waver. ''“In the  name  of  the  Road  you  will  go  from  my  house!” ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           There  was  a  crash  as  Cornello,  staggering  backward,  fell  over  a  chair  and  skidded  across  the  floor  as  if  he  had  been  pushed. Not even  getting  up  he  scrabbled  on  hands  and  knees  to  the  sliding  door. Forest did  not  lower  his  hand. Rage roared  through  him,  and  power  fed  on  his  rage,  and  he  kept  hand  and  eye  firmly  pointed,  by  some  instinct beyond  guessing,  at  the  head  of  Cornello. Fearfully the  rubicund  man  glanced  back  at  Forest. For a  moment  the  boy  felt  a  vast  and  terrible  menance,  gathered  before  him,  stymied  for  the  moment  but  a  threat  and  peril  not  to  be  dismissed. Then Cornello,  not  even  bothering  to  get  his  coat,  had  thrown  open  the  door  and  was  fleeing  out  onto  the  ice. He looked  back  once,  but  a  wind  howled  down  the  lake,  and  a  furious  army  of  snow  devils  whirled  up  around  him,  and  the  last  thing  Forest  saw  of  him  he  was  spinning  like  a  leaf  across  the  grey  floor.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Forest  went  over  and  closed  the  door,  and  then  locked  it. The deep  thunder  of  the  wind  muted. It was  cold  in  the  large  room.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Forest.”  said  Mrs. Lake. He regarded  her  gravely. “Thanks.”

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Honest,  honey,  I  didn’t  ask  him  over. He was  out  ice  fishing  and  knocked  on  the  door  when  he  saw  I  was  in.”

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

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Don’t  let  him  in.”  said  Forest. “Don’t even  nod. He can’t  enter  this  house  unless  you  let  him  in.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “What  makes  you  think  that?”  she  asked,  mystified.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           He  shrugged. “He’s…not right.”  He  smacked  his  head,  furious. He feels  evil  and  unright,  was  what  he’d  wanted  to say,  and  in  stories  such  things  cannot  cross  the  threshold. “He feels…wrong.”  he  blundered  on. “He doesn’t  feel  healthy.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Mrs. Lake nodded,  eyes  becoming  thoughtful. “I think  I  see  what  you  mean.”  she  murmered. “He always  has  a  weird  effect  on me,  too. And treating  my  boy  like  a  two-year-old. Creep.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Forest  felt  strangely  better. He didn’t  want  to  talk;  he  was  rather  in  a  burnt-out  mood  from  reaction. Looking over  at  the  sofa  he  noticed  Cornello’s  coat—and  hat,  and  gloves—were  still  on  it. Going over  he  felt  in  the  pockets.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Oh,  look,  he  didn’t  even  put  on  his  coat!”  exclaimed  Mrs. Lake. “Poor man,  he’ll  be  frozen!”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Don’t  even  think  about  going  over  to  return  them.”  said  Forest. He felt  in  the  left  pocket. It bulged  with  all  sorts  of  junk,  but  in  the  right  pocket  there  was  only  one  item. He spread  them  out  on  the  table.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Forest,  I  don’t  think  you  should  be  looking  through  someone  else’s  stuff…”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           The  left  pocket  held  several  peculiar  chunks  of  carved  wood  with  wires  twisted  around  them  and  marks  drawn  with  black  ink. There was  also  an  assortment  of  odd  yellowy-tan  beads,  that  looked  almost  like  they  were  made  of  bone. Several coins  of  a  currency  Forest  had  never  heard  of,  gold  with  an  elaborate  stamping  of  interwined  thorns  around  the  figure  of  a  robed  horseman,  were  there  as  well. But the  item  in  the  right  pocket  was  a  tiny  statue,  apparently  wrought  in  silver,  of  a  monster  with  several  heads.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Oh,  look,  that  must  be  the  Hydra  he  was  telling  me  about!”  exclaimed  Mrs. Lake.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “That’s  not  a  hydra.”  said  Forest. “It has  legs. It’s a  dragon.”  He  dropped  it  hastily  on  the  table.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Evil, <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">  his  mind  was  screaming. ''The touch  of  these  is  evil. We have  to  get  rid  of  them! '' But  all  he  could  splutter  were  a  few  incoherent  sounds.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           He  raced  into  the  kitchen  and  grabbed  the  dustpan. Trying not  to  touch  them  he  scooped  them  up  and  flung  open  the  sliding  door  again. There were  seven  heads  upon  the  statuette. He crashed  through  the  thin  snow  on  the  island’s  sunny  southern  lawn. Steam and  an  odor  of  burnt  plastic  rose  from  the  dustpan. Forest threw  objects  and  dustpan  as  far  upon  the  ice  as  he  could. There was  a  thunderous  crack. A jagged  hole  burst  in  the ice. Steam hissed  skyward,  but  the  clean  wind  took  it  and  it  passed  away.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “The  lake  is mightier  than  they.”  he  said.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Forest,  what  were  those  things? And what  possessed  you  to  just  throw  them  out  like  that?”  his  mom  protested  as  he  went  back  in.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Black  magic.”  said  Forest,  his  brows  drawn. “They were  charms  and  amulets. They knew  me. I think  he  left  them  on  purpose.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Mrs. Lake laughed. “Oh, is  that  all! It’s quite  all  right,  honey. He collects  stuff  like  that. I saw  some  things  he’d  bought  from  medicine  men  and  African  witch-doctors  over  at  his  house. It’s quite  interesting. I hope  you  didn’t  throw  them  as  far  as  that  hole.”

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Oh,  they  fell  in? That’s not  good,  honey,  they  could  be  valuable  and  then  we’d  be  responsible  for  replacing  them  and  goodness  knows  how  much  that  would  cost…”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Forest  closed  his  eyes. It wasn’t  worth  the  futility. “Did he  give  you  any  of  his  ‘trinkets’  and  ‘harmless  jewelry’?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Well,”  said  Mrs.  Lake,  looking  doubtful,  “he  did  give  me  some  healing  quartz  crystals…and  that  Hatian  voodoo  thing…”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “We’ve  got  to  get  rid  of  them. Now.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “…and  that  cute  Mexican  snake-cross,  and  a  skull  charm  of  pure  silver,  and  a  tarot  card  (she  blushed  a  pleasant  pink  at  the  memory;  it  had  featured  an  unclothed  couple)…oh,  and  that  darling  jade  idol…”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Forest  headed  into  his  mom’s  room  and  started  ransacking  it.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “What  are  you…Forest,  get  out  of  my…why?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Forest  fixed  her  with  his  strange  dreamy  eyes. The burning  earnestness  of  his  gaze  caught  her  breath. “Mom. You gotta  trust  me  on  this,  okay? '' As long  as  anything  of  his  is  in  this  house,  he  can  get  in. '' Got that?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “But  I  don’t  understand…”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “But  I  do.”  said  Forest. “Magic isn’t  a  joke,  Mom. You believe  in  the  Devil,  right?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Well,  I  guess  so,  but…”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Superstition  can  kill.”  Forest  stated. “If you  have  something  he  gave  you,  he  has  a  foot  in  the  door. It’s like  as  if  he  bugged  the  place  with  little  energy  bombs. Now hunt  up  everything  he  gave  you.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Still  not quite  believing  him,  Mrs. Lake decided  to  humor  him  and  they  spent  the  afternoon  dismantling  her  bedroom  in  search  of  anything  remotely  connected  with  Cornello. They even  cleaned  a  few  items  out  of  the  car. Forest made sure  he  wore  gloves  when  he  handled  them;  but  how  did  you  guard  against  spiritual  contamination? Gloves probably  were  no  good. He hurled  everything  into  the  open  hole,  which  was  already  getting  a  thin  flotilla  of  ice  crystals.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Please  God  that  this  isn’t  too  late.”  he  muttered.

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<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           When  Lara  Midwinter  didn’t  see  or  hear  from  Uncle  Peter  by  the  nightfall  of  the  third  day,  she  was  worried  enough  to  drive  to  Winsted  and  look  for  him. While she  was  checking  the  McDonald’s  dumpster  the  manager  came  out  to  get  something  and  exclaimed  with  delight,  “Oh,  you  did  get  my  call! I left  a  message  with  your  mom  if  you  could  work  tonight.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Starting  when?”  said Lara. “Cause my  uniform  is  back  at  home.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “That’s  all  right,  we  have  spares. Right now  would  be  perfect. Till closing?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Sure. Let me  use  the  phone  real  quick  to  tell  Mom  I  won’t  make  it  for  supper.”  This  being  accomplished,  Lara  changed  and  started  work. “Closing”—translation, two  in  the  morning—was  not  anyone’s  favorite  shift,  and  she  just  hoped  she  could  stay  awake.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           It  was  the  first  time  she’d  worked  this  late,  and  there  was  only  Eric  with  her  when  Cass  went  home  at  midnight. It was  creepy,  in  a  way. The lights  inside  had  a  kind  of  overtired  ghost-like  brightness. Lara went  outside  once  or  twice,  looking  around. Winsted was  dead  and  silent,  the  dim  orange  of  streetlights  and  the  weary  neon  white  of  the  parking  lot  lamps  like  vague  cones  of  sight  fading  into  shadow. Lara noticed  a  black  figure,  thin  and  stooped,  prowling  slowly  down  the  CVS  pharmacy  drive-thru  two  doors  down. The faint  clink  of  cans  sounded  through  the  warmish  night. Another dark  figure  slipped  past  on  the  way  to  who  knew  what  ungodly  business,  and  far  off  by  the  College  she  saw  another  moving  shape  up  by  the  street.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “The  Shadow  Folk  are  out.”  said  Uncle  Peter.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           She’d  seen  him  coming  from  a  distance  so  she  wasn’t  too  startled. “The who?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Peter  Midwinter  gestured  to  the  furtive  shapes. “We are  the  Shadow  Folk. We are  those  who  prowl  at  unearthly  hours  when  Christian men  are  asleep. We pry  into  dumpsters  and  duck  down  back  alleys,  pursuing  our  shadowy  business,  or  poking  in  vacant  houses  to  see  what  we  can  find. Police are  our  unfriends. We are  a  shadow-people,  weaving  the  borders  of  the  dark  underworlds  and  the  daylight  folk,  normal  folk  like  you  who  go  to  bed  at  night.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “They’re  not  trusty.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “No,”  agreed  Uncle  Peter,  “nor  safe,  though  we  have  our  own  queer  honour. But do  not  trust  the  Shadow-folk  (though  you  may  trust  us  more  than  crooks).”

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           He  nodded  slowly. Even though  she  was  not  looking  at  him,  Lara  felt  the  air  quiver  with  the  auroa  of  power  and  dignity  that  he  was  drawing  around  him.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Where  aims  the  point  of  the  arrow  of  the  Herald? ''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           And  Lara  felt  each  chunk  of  sound  she  uttered  come  out  thick  and  powerful,  as  though  instead  of  words  she  uttered  spells.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Through  the  Heart  of  the  Fish  and  the  Eye  of  the  Snake,  he  aims  upon  the  Star  of  the  Northern  Pole.” <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “You  have  answered  well.”  said  the  voice  of  Peter  Midwinter. “Now say  I,  Peter  son  of  Heden  the  One  of  Fur  and  Leather,  eldest  of  the  house  of  Midwinter  at  one  hundred  years  and  four,  the  last  riddle  of  three:

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “What  bears  up  the  Herald,  on  what  does  he  ride?” ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Lara  looked  up  to  the  southern  sky;  but  the  Moon  was  half-full  by  now  and  many  of  the  Stars  were  blocked,  and  she  could  not  find  the  Herald.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “What  happens  if  I  can’t  answer?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Her  uncle  threw  up  his  hands. “There’s no  telling. I was  told  death;  but  now  that  I  have  seen  the  Wild  Man  and  heard  the  mercy  in  the  voice  of  Arheled,  I  do  not  know. But we  have  only  three  days  to  answer  this  one  in.”

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<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Forest  could  not  sleep. It was  late  now  and  bitterly  cold;  the  iron  wind  drove  cold  into  every  chink  and  he  had  to  put  a  second  layer  of  blankets  on. And he  still  could  not  sleep.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           He  got  up  and  stared  out  the  window. The angry  hole  in  the  ice  was  still  there,  black,  unfrozen,  like  a  wound. A single  light  gleamed  from  among  the  dark  swaying  trees  on  the  island  across  from  him,  like  a  malevolent  star. A shiver  passed  through  him  and  he  went  back  to  bed.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           He  made  a  resolution  the  next  day:  he  was  dropping  out  of  school. Cornello knew  where  he  went;  Forest  did  not  want  to  be  found. Slipping downstairs  before  Mom  got  up  he  fixed  three  sandwiches  and  put  them  in  his  backpack. He got  outside  and  stood  for  a  moment,  looking  at  the  ice. The snow  on  the  island  was  thin. He decided  against  taking  the  bus.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           It  was  with  no  surprise  that  he  saw  the  man  in  brown  sailing  up  to  the  big  rock,  kneeling  on  a  wooden  sled  of  prodigious  length. There was  a  shower  of  shaved-ice  snow,  and  Forest  saw  that  he  was  propelling  it  using  the  curved  claws  of  bottle-opener  blades  of  two  jackknives.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “All  abooooard!”  he  called,  chortling. Forest felt  a  quiet  grin  grow  upon  his face  as  he  sat  down  on  the  stern  part  of  the  sled.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “I  heard  your  invocation,”  said  Brown,  looking  over  his  shoulder. “I did  not  realise  how  well  I  had  called! This Returning  is  different  from  the  others. Much different. I have  never  seen  such  power  in  those  whom  I  called…but  then,  I  never  have  faced  such  foes  before,  either.”

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “A  Man,  at  the  moment,  I  suppose.”  said  Brown  as  he  dug  in  his  blades  and  the  sled  got  underway,  sliding  across  the  ice  like  a  small  but  unwieldly  ship. “But the  problem  with  Men  is  that  they  do  not  always  remain  so.”

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “What  do  I  mean? Man was  once  so  powerful,  Forest,  that  all other  creatures  would  have  bowed  and  called  him  Lord. For lord  he  was. He has  lost  it  now;  yet  his  nature  remembers  what  it  was. And he  can  be  enhanced,  by  calling  to  other  powers,  or  to  what  I  called  the  ‘residue’  of  Chaos. Or he  can  be  taken  over  by  mightier  beings. Did you  see  the  things  in  his  pockets?”

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Oh,  worse  than  that,  by  now.”  said  the  Man  in  Brown. His arms  moved  like  wings,  describing tubelike  circles  as  they  rose  and  fell,  propelling  the  sled. “I’m afraid  he  might  not  be  himself  any  longer. He can’t  enter  your  house  now,  Forest;  nor  your  island. You called  down  the  Road  upon  him  and  now  your  island  is  under  the  Road;  and  you  are  both  revealed  to  and  hidden  from  him.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           He  paused  to  let  the  sled  glide  while  he  caught  his  breath. “Men are  both  the  highest  and  lowest  of  all  the  creatures  of  God. Highest, for  God  is  Man. Lowest…Forest, have  you  ever  heard  of  Goblins?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “You  mean  Orcs? But they  came  from  Elves.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Some,  yes.”  replied  Brown. “That was  how  they  began. The defects  and  mutations  became  hereditary,  of  course,  and  the  brutality  of  instinct  and  mind…but  could  the  Ancient  Foe  alter  an  entire  race  so  much  that  their  souls  became  evil? No, I  think  not. And Elves  have  no  original  sin,  Forest;  they  have  no  hereditary  taint  as  Men  do. No, though  the  Orcs  of  the  Elder  Days  came  of  Elves,  when  Men  came  into  Beleriand  the  nature  of  Orcs  changed.”

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Orc-children,  being  Elf  in  nature,  only  had  genetic  defects  and  mental  problems  passed  on  to  them. They weren’t  evil. So the  Morgoth  had  to  ‘train’  them  in  horrible  rites  and  dominate  them. But when  Men  came,  he  realised  how  their  Original  Sin  might  be  introduced  into  Orcs,  and  so  he  debased  his  Men  until  they  mated  with  the  Hags,  the  orc-women. ‘And the  sons  of  God  saw  the  daughters  of  Men  that  they  were  fair…’”  He  shook  himself. “At any  rate,  with  Original  Sin,  the  transmission  of  evil  became  easier. Observe savage  cultures  that practice  the  most  gruesome  forms  of  devil-worship. In a  few  generations  they  sink  nearly  to  brutes,  and  far  worse. Brought up  to  evil,  they  are  evil. And these  are  pure  Men! Far worse  with  Orcs,  their  mongrel  nature  now  Elf,  now  Man;  yet  the  nature  of  Man  stayed.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">            “Why  would  God  keep  sending  souls  to  the  Orcs?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Why  does  God  keep  sending  souls  to  the  test-tube  babies  and  the  evil  embryonic  experiments?”  Brown  said  bitterly. “Because it  is  the  law  of  His  Creation. But I  think,  nevertheless,  that  despite  hereditary  mutation  and  genetic  twisting,  despite  inherited  perversion  and  mental  disease  and  brutality,  despite  a  cultural  training  (which  even  the petty  realms  of  unmastered  orcs  would  continue)  that  hardens  orc-young  into  evil,  I  believe  that  at  some  point  in  their  lives  Orcs  receive  one  ray  of  grace,  one  chance  to  reject  Satan  and  all  his  works;  and  at  least  some  of  the  mutinies  and  rebellions  that  always  arose  in  Orc-armies  were  born  from  this  cause. Yet few,  few  indeed,  would  ever  answer  that  ray,  I  fear;  and  thus  after  it  was  rejected  the  Orc  would  be  damned  on  his  feet.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Do  Orcs  have  long  life? Gorbag and  Shagrat  talk  as  if  the  Last  Alliance  was  only  a  few  generations  back.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Yet  it  was  three  thousand  years  previous.”  nodded  Brown. “It could  be. Some could  still  be  derived  from  Elves  corrupted  anew  by  Sauron,  who  knew  the  science;  but  Orcs  get  killed  a  lot,  so  to  survive  that  long  they  would  be  fell  indeed. Besides, you  forget  the  army  propaganda,  drilled  into  the  Orcs  constantly;  it  would  certainly  emphasis  the  Bad  Old  Days  enough  to  make  it  seem  like  yesterday  to  them.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “What  happened  to  the  Orcs,  were  they  ever  destroyed?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “The  Great  Flood  drowned  most,  but  not  all.”  said  Brown. “Those left  were  hunted  by  the  sons  of  Noe. Yet still  a  few  linger  even  into  today,  wary  and  few,  wild  as  beasts:  Bigfoot…the  Yeti…the  Abominable  Snowman…”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           The  sled  whirred  on  as  he  launched  off  again. They passed  through  the  wide  place  between  the  two  Narrows  and  passed  Indian  Point  on  the  right. Second Narrows  behind  them,  the  broad  head  of  the  lake  opened  out.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “If  an  Elf  and  a  Man  have  children,  the  offspring  always  have  the  nature  of  Men.”  said  the  man  in  brown. “The Half-elven  of  Luthien  and  Tuor  were  given  a  choice  between  Kindreds;  not  so  the  Lords  of  Dol  Amroth,  born  of  an  Elf  of  Nimrodel’s  folk. The same  applies  for  spawn  of  Elf-origin  Orcs  that  mated  with Men,  or  men-orcs:  the  spawn  have  Men-nature.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “I  thought  Saruman  bred  Men  and  Orcs.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Oh,  he  only  rediscovered  it,  and  refined  it  to  produce  Orcish  Men  as  well  as  Mannic  Orcs. Sauron had  been  doing  it  already,  long  before. But not  even  the  Dark  Lord  could  wither  the  Stars.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Until  they  withered  themselves.”  Forest  murmered.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Oh,  they  didn’t,  exactly. A little  more  complicated  than  that;  with  beings  of  such  height,  it  was  bound  to  be.”

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “There  is  always  something  to  rebel  about.”  the  man  in  brown  said. The sled  glided  on  under  its’  own  steam.

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “I  do  not  know.”  replied  the  Man  in  Brown. “I cannot  explain  why  the  children  of  Men  do  one  half  the  things  they  do;  and  if  I  cannot  explain  the  actions  of  Men,  how  can  I  explain  the  actions  of  the  Stars?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           The  sled  sailed  into  the  narrow  cove  of  Resha  Beach. First Bay  has  two  deep  narrowing  coves  on  its’  eastern  shore,  sundered  by  Indian  Point:  Sandy  Cove  and  the  cove  of  Resha  Beach. The latter  shares  the  shoreline  of  the  spillway  and  is  fronted  by  Pond  Hill’s  low  crown,  ending  near  a  dip  in  the  hills  where  a  valley  pours  down  into  the  main  vale  of  Winsted. Cottages and  docks  line  the  shores,  but  the  Beach  itself  is  a  shallow  stretch  of  mud-coated  sand,  with  bogs  on  either  hand  in which  grow  reeds  and  fallen  willows. A high  earthen  berm  erected  after  the  55  Flood  is  intended  to  prevent  the  overflow  of  the  Lake  that  occurred  that  year,  in  which  the  Lake  drained  by  spillways  and  this  valley. Of old  it  terminated  in  a  swamp,  which  is  now  occupied  by  the  sunken  parking  lot;  the  reason  for  the  bizarre  way  that  East  Lake  St  and  Hurlbut  Av  meet,  going  far  out  of  their  direct  way  to  one  side. Hurlbut comes  up  from  the  Winsted  Valley,  meeting  East  Lake  at  its’  descent  from  the  crest  of  Pond  Hill  at  a  T;  but  the  road  that  runs  on  along  the  eastern  lake  shore  is  named  East  Wakefield.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Brown  glided  up  onto  the  beach,  leaving  the  sled. Snowmobiles had  used  this  as  an  access  point,  forming  a  gulch  in  the  hard  deep  snow. Up and  over  the  berm  they  mounted  and  walked  through  the  unplowed  lot  to  the  roadmeet. Downhill a  dozen  yards  was  a  freestanding  mortared  wall,  from  which  jutted  a  pipe,  and  an  endless  stream  of  cold  clear  water  poured  from  this  into  a  storm-sewer  grate  underneath:  the  copious  water  of  the  Big  Spring.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Drink  of  him,  Forest,  and  drink  well.”  bade  the  Man  in  Brown. “For alone  of  the  springs  of  the  New  World,  the  waters  of  this  come  from  the  heart  of  the  earth,  and  up  this  reach  the  fingers  of  the  Dweller  in  the  Deep,  whose  task  it  was  of  old  to  blend  the  waters  from  air  and  dew  and  send  them  up  into  the  springs.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Forest  took  off  his  scarf  and  drank  from  the  steady  rod  of  bent  liquid  glass  that  flowed  eternally  from  the  pipe. Great snowpiles,  where  the  street  plows  had  attempted  to  keep  the  front  of  the  spring  clear,  rose  brown  and  sun-melted  on  both  sides. Forest thought  to  himself  how  odd  the  sunmelt  looked;  it  ate  the  hard  sandy  face  of  the  snowpile  in  horizontal  pinnacles  and  pits,  like  a  slope  of  big  rough  needles,  giving  it  a  jagged  toothy  raggedness. The water  was  incredibly  clear  and  cold  and  clean,  tasting  faintly  of  earth  and  ice  and  stone.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Where  are  we  going  today?”  he  said.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “The  library  will  do.”  said  Brown. “Beware the  librarians;  do  not  speak  to  them,  do  not  trust  them,  especially  the  Watcher  and  the  Witch. Did you  notice,”  he  said,  abruptly  changing  the  topic,  “that  in  the  forests  the snowpack  is  almost  stiff  enough  to  walk  on? All this  half-melting  and  freezing  up  again. I even  made  it  across  the  Meadow  this  morning!”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Who  is  the  Wild  Man  of  Winsted?”  said  Forest.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “What  got  you  on  that  subject?”  Brown  wondered.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “It  was  in  the  paper  a  while  back.”  Forest  shrugged. “Something about  terrorists  breaking  open  a  jail;  ‘guards  claim  to  see  Wild  Man’  or  something. What is  the  Wild  Man? I mean,  I  know  the  legend—I  read  about  it  last  year  I  think—but  what  is  he?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Ah,  the  Wild  Man.”  said  the  man  in  brown,  with  a  curious  inflection  in  his  voice. “Smith claimed  he  saw  an  ape-man,  and  because  he  was  a  solid  citizen  selectman  everyone  believed  what  he  saw  was  true. Seeing is  believing,  they  say. But what  one  can  see  others  cannot;  is  it  then  less  true  because  they  are  blind  to it? You, for  instance,  saw  the  Stars,  but  anyone  else  would  have  seen  only  a  winter  night. But what  you  saw  was  real,  wasn’t  it? If something  was  wrong  with  your  eyes  so  that  all  you  could  see  was  red,  you  would  be  justified  in  claiming  that  all  things  are  red. But you  would  be  wrong.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           They  passed  the  wide  Y  fork  where  Hurlbut  merges  with  Pratt,  just  before  the  latter  begins  its’  long  impossibly  steep  climb  up  onto  Case  Mountain. Regular city  blocks  existed  here,  due  to  the  several  parallel  streets  running  along  the  lower  slope  of  Pond  Hill,  on  the  south  and  west  sides  of  the  Winsted  Valley. The houses  were  mostly  large,  square  and  white,  with  little  ornament:  the  working-class  tenements  of  a  hundred  years  ago. The grim,  half-quaint  dinginess  of  the  dwellings  in  the  Flat  was  not  noticeable  here.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “There  are  some  people,  Forest,  who  when  you  try  to  show  them something  can  only  see  nothing;  who  if  I  walked  before  them  would  see  only  a  shadow,  no  matter  how  much  I  try  to  pierce  the  blindness  of  their  eyes,  until  I  am  shouting  with  the  effort  to  penetrate  their  deafness  and  waving  my  hands  before  their  eyes  to  catch  their  blind  attention. They might  see  then  a  wild  creature  roaring  at  them,  and  running  flee  as  they  howl  of  the  Wild  Man  of  Winsted.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Forest  turned  and  stared  at  Brown. “Are you  the  Wild  Man?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “I  am  wild,  but  I  am  not  Man.”  Brown  answered. “He is  wild  as  well,  far  wilder  than me,  for  he  is  many  things;  he  is  earth,  and  he  is  stone,  and  he  is  dangerous  beyond  measure. Beware of  him,  Forest;  do  not  call  upon  him,  do  not  seek  him  out,  and  if  by  some  dreadful  chance  he  shows  himself,  command  him  by  the  Road  and  by  the  Warden  of  the  Road,  for  those  he  serves.”

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Every  road  must  be  tended,  and  often  defended.”  said  the  Man  in  Brown. “A warden  is  one  who  wards. He also  shovels  snow  and  does  the  plowing  and  waters  the  plantings;  the  roads  here  in  Winsted,  of  course,  are  warded  by  the  Highway  Department,  and  the  back  roads  often  have  none  to  tend  to  them  but  the  state  DOT. There are  many  people  in  their  ranks. But the  Warden  is  not  of  them.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           They  reached  the  juncture  of  Pratt  with  Prospect  and  turned  left. Neither said  much  as  they  walked  along  the  rim  of  the  valley,  looking  out  over  Winsted. Forest looked  down  at  the  Methodist  church  and  the  queer  zigzag  of  climbing  streets  behind  it,  to  where  the  Soldiers’  Tower  showed  dimly  through  the  trees. The sky  was  a  deep  powerful  blue.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Mr. Brown, which  direction  is  Temple  Fell?”  said  Forest. “Because Indian  Meadow  is  two  miles  from  the  milestone  as  well.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Ask  Bell  about  that.”  replied the  Man  in  Brown. “The churches  point  the  way. Or you  could  simply  go  from  hill  to  hill.”

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “With  this  much  snow,  you’ll  just  have  to  await  the  faint  and  far-off  coming  of  spring.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           They  walked  down  Meadow  Street. An abandoned  factory  of  brick  with  many  broken  windows  looked  mournfully  down  on  them  from  the  right. A garage  stood  on  the  left  in  a  level  yard  beneath  big  stone  walls  holding  back  the  hill. They passed  an  old  dam  over  which  the  lake  outflow  stream  thundered  in  an  icicle-sheathed  curtain,  spuming  down  a  buried  rocky  bed  under  the  road  and  under  the  factory. Upstream stood  a  bigger  factory,  also  brick,  wings  jutting  out  at  all  different  angles  and  a  square  tower  amidmost,  three  blank  windows  like  sad  eyes. Here a  side  street  cut  across  to  Main  which  ran  parallel  to  Meadow  about  a  thousand  feet  away  on  the  right,  until  it  bent  around  west  on  its’  way  out  of  Winsted  and  met  the  end  of  Meadow. They turned  down  this.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           The  houses  were  nice  neat  old  residences,  often  with  queer  antique  trim. Another factory  filled  one  side,  with  a  small  old  apple  tree  (Golden  Delicious,  Brown  said)  near  the  sidewalk. Mad River  flowed  under  a  new  bridge,  a  high  cement  wall  defending  Main  St  against  it. Main was  busy  with  cars. From behind  the  gas  station  on  the  left  another  side  street  met  Main,  not  two  hundred  feet  away,  opposite  Spencer  Hill  Rd  and  the  Old  Baptist  church  Forest  went  to. Twin traffic  lights  blocked  the  double  intersection. Across Main  from  them  the  ground  rose,  and  Munro  Av. came down  from  Camp  Hill,  the  library  perched  on  the  high  bank  right  of  it.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “See  that  triangle  with  the  chestnut  tree?”  Brown  shouted,  indicating  the  little  triangular  green  near  the  church. Spencer Hill  Rd  came  down  on the  north,  and  Wetmore  climbed  up  from  the  light  going  east,  and  where  they  met  was  a  triangle  of  land  between  two  roads. The intersection  was  like  an  X.  Cropped  cherry  trees  grew  around  a  rambling  chestnut. “That’s Flatiron  Park. Name’s gone  out  of  use  for  a  hundred  years,  like  the  hills.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           The  light  turned  green  and  they  headed  across  and  into  the  library. Brown ignored  the  librarians,  who  didn’t  seem  to  see  either  of  them,  and  went  into  the  adult  reading  room. A slight,  rather  severe-looking  young  lady  in  tight-fitting  black  blouse  and  skirt  was  frowning  over  a  book  as  she  sat  stiffly  in  one  of  the  brown  armchairs. Her brown  hair  was  pulled  into  a  tight  bun.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           The  man  in  brown  came  to  a  stop  in  front  of  her. “You wanted  to  see  me,  Lara?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           The  girl  looked  up  with  a  start. She had  pleasing though  hollow  features  and  blank  but  vivid  brown  eyes  with  an  odd  abstract  intensity  of  light. Like stars,  Forest  thought. She’s been  starstricken,  too. She stared  for  half  a  second  before  her  entire  face  lit. More like  ignited. She had  a  poised  sort  of  beauty  about  her  when  she  smiled.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Yes,  how  did  you  know?”  Lara  Midwinter  exclaimed. “Oh, hi  Forest. Mr. Brown, I  need  help. I can’t  solve  the  third  riddle.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Last  night  the  stars  were  clear.”  replied  the  man  in  brown.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Yes,  I  know,  but  all  I  could see  under  the  Herald  was  a  line  of  stars  that  sort  of  cuts  off  his  calves  and then  twists  down  to  the  right. I looked  up  the  star  map  and  the  only  thing  it  shows under  the  Herald  is  this  Lepus  constellation. Lepus! A ''rabbit! ''Now if  it  was  the  river  Epiderus,  I  could  see,  but  that’s  over  to  the  right. And neither  fits  the  line  I  saw.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “The  third  riddle  is  always  the  hardest.”  said  Brown  gently. “The first  springs  easily  to  mind. The second  needs  some  figuring. But the  third—the  third  is  a  mystery. If it’s  any  comfort,  all  the  Midwinters  before  you  needed  help  with  it  as  well.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Tonight  marks  the  third  day.”  said  Lara. Forest had  wandered  off  to  the  tables  and  was  studying  the  map  atlas  again,  but  listening  hard.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Then  I  will  give  you  a  little  help.” answered  Brown. “The rabbit  is  a  lie. The river  drowns  the  rabbit.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Oh  thanks,  that’s  a  lot  of  help.”  she  said  sarcastically.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Brown  seemed  to  change. Taller, he  loomed  over  her   like  a  great  presence,  pushing  everything  before  it  with  its’  sheer  unseen  size. Forest heard  the  building  creak  and  floors  groan  around  him. “And would you  rather  I  tell  you  everything,  as  an  infant  that  can  do  nothing?”  he  said  softly;  but  the  softness  crackled  with  concealed  lightning. “I do  not  call  babies. I call  those  who  can  see.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Lara  swallowed  and  said nothing. The sun  shone  in  again  and  the  room  cleared  as  the  man  in  brown  resumed  his  normal  aspect,  like  a  cloak  drawn  over  a  blinding  light. “You’re a  very  intelligent  lass.”  he  said  to  her. “More so  even  than  the other  Starmaidens  who  preceded  you. I have  no  doubt  you  will  arrive  at  the  answer.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Lara  stared  at  the  man  in  brown. “I have  predecessors?”  she  said.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “I  survived  your  predecessors  and  I  will  survive  you!” <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri"> chuckled  Brown. Seeing her  blank  expression  he  mumbled,  “Matrix  quote,  sorry.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “I  didn’t  know  you  watched  movies.”  she  said.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Movies  are  stories,  and  stories  are  always  intriguing.”  said  Brown. “If I  am  to  teach  rightly,  I  must  know what  men  think,  what  grips  their  imagination  and  what  occupies  their  thoughts. A hundred  years  ago  it  was  theater  and  Dickens  and  penny  dreadfuls. Very interesting  little  dreadfuls,  I  must  say. But the  sheer  wealth  of  stories  in  these  days—to  me,  it’s  like  constant  dessert. Long ages  of  bald  trunk  and  strong  branches,  then  leaves,  lovely  but  still  lacking;  and  now! Now the  tree  is  in  blossom,  Lara! Blossom and  fruit  at  once! I look  at  the  movies,  and  despite  much  that  is  gross  and  polluted  I  see  many  mighty  tales;  I  look  at  the  books  and  the  writings  that  those  unrecognised  have  posted,  and  so  vivid  and  varied  is  the  offspring  of  Middle-Earth,  despite  the  many  worms  and  molds  in  the  fruit.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Wow.”  said  Lara. She laughed. “Mom doesn’t  hold  with  movies.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Some  people  do  grow  ill  from  eating  the  mold.”  Brown  agreed. “Not everyone  knows  how  to  pare  away  the  rot, and  for  them  it  may  be  better  to  shun  the  fruit  completely.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “You  said  I  am  of  the  stars.”  said  Lara. “And I  think  you  also  asked  me  what  my  name  meant.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “And  you  found  the  meaning  Protection  is  attributed  to  it.” Brown  nodded. “And you  suspect  differently.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Does  it  have  other  meanings?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Sometimes  a  name  does  not  fit  the  person  given  it.”  he  answered. “And sometimes  it  does. You, for  instance,  are  not  called  to  protection,  but  to  the  stars.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “You  said  Lepus  was  not  the  true  constellation.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Oh,  seen  from  one  angle  it  is;  not  when  seen  from  another.”  Brown  replied. “Even Orion  is  shown  sometimes  with  his  true  bow  and  arrow,  sometimes  holding  up  a  lion  pelt. As men  have  interpreted  the  shapes.”

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Brown  gazed  off  into  the  distance. “Men see  the  same  stars  from  many  different  places  and  give  them  many  different  names,  and  see  different  shapes  in  them  as  well. The names  the  stars  bear  and  the  shapes  usually  shown  for  them  are  those  that  men  gave  them;  but  what  names  do  the  stars  have  in  themselves? What are  their  right  names? What are  the  true  shapes  of  the  constellations? Those are  lost  to  men  now.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Lara  nodded. “I suppose.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           The  man  in  brown  pulled  his  collar  up. “I have  to  be  on  my  way. Your uncle  eats  at  the  Open  Door,  down  behind  the  Episcopal  Church:  they  serve  a  free  meal  to  anyone  at  11:30,  no  questions  asked. Goodbye for  the  moment,  Lara.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Thanks  for  the  help.”  smiled  Lara. The man  in  brown  inclined  his  head  and  walked  out  of  the  door.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Lara  frowned  over  the  star  chart  in  the  book  she’d  been  examining. It was  the  one  detailing  Orion,  and  she  ignored  the  absurd  way  the  dots  were  connected  and  concentrated  on  the  stars  themselves.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Lepus  had  a  curving  line  of  bright  stars  in  the  top  row,  cutting  off  Orion’s  calves  just  under  the  bright  knee-star  Rigel. Epiderus was  shown  by  the  connected  lines  to  begin  right  under  the  bow  and  curve  down,  then  kink  to  the  right  about  level  with  Rigel  and  wind  its’  way  on. Between Lepus  and  this  kink  was  a  single  star.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “The  river  drowns  the  rabbit.”  she  muttered.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Of  course. It was  absurdly  simple. There was  no  Lepus. There was  only  the  River,  running  in  an  arc  that  bore  the Herald  up.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           She  shut  the  book  with  a  snap  and  drove  down  the  street  to  St. James Episcopal  church,  while  Forest  meanwhile  headed  upstairs  to  find  a  good  book  and  waste  time  till  he  could  call  Mom  for  a  ride.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           The  queer  mansonry  gables  and  green  metalled  roof  formed  a  peculiar  backdrop  to  the  small  crossing-street. The street  stood  above  the  foundation  by  about  ten  feet,  with  the  bizarre  result  that  the  rear  windows  actually  were  below  the  street. The old  school  building  came  to  the  street  by  a  jutting  ledge  of  sidewalk,  very  wide,  that  had  a  sheer  drop  on  the  left  fenced  with  pipe  handrails. Low school  doors  opened  under  an  overhanging  porch  roof. Going through  these  Lara  found  she  was  in  a  short  hall,  restrooms  on  the  left  with  very  small  antique  sinks  and  battered  stalls,  a  kitchen  on  the  right. What had  likely  been  the  cafeteria  opened  off  the  hall,  a  medium-sized  room  with  large  square  windows  at  the  far  end  and  right  side;  a  supply  room  seemed  to  be  on  the  left. Closer to  the  entrance  and  also  on  the  left  was  a  desk  in  an  alcove,  covered  with  odds  and  ends. There was  a  bowl  with  little  candy  hearts. Behind this  were  refrigerators. Another table  held  day-old  bread,  doubtless  donated  by  the  local  supermarket. Cafeteria tables  and  folding  chairs,  all  greyish  brown,  were  arranged  in  rows,  two  tables  a  row  with  an  avenue  between.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Lara  hesitantly  chose  a  chair  at  an  empty  table  near  a  window;  she  felt  dreadfully  self-conscious. She spent  the  first  few  minutes  looking  over  the  room. The kitchen  wall  had  a  shuttered  hatch. A clock  hung  over  the  door. Signs in  old  marker  announced  take-out  dinners  were  one  per  person!  and  not  till  12:30!  as  well  as  warning  that  school  closings  meant  kitchen  closings. On the  far  side from  the  desk,  near  the  shuttered  hatch,  a  table  held  a  covered  tray  of  Danishes  and  slices  of  rather  odd  cake  with  the  icing  falling  off,  as  well  as  coffee  dispensers. The tables  had  an  incongruous  assortment  of  people;  there  were  two  young  families  with  kids,  looking  faintly  Hispanic  and  inner-city;  there  were  clusters  of  eccentric  old  veterans,  some  even  in  khaki  and  greatcoats,  loudly  reminiscing  or  griping  about  Obama  and  the  governor’s  new  taxes. They had  odd  sad  faces  with  extremely  distinct  features;  one  looked  like  ears  and  nose  had  been  squeezed  and  pinched  from  long  wax,  and  another  resembled  Basil  Grant,  heavy  and  ponderous  with  hooked  features  and  grey  hair. There was  a  smattering  of  obviously  homeless  characters  (though  none  were  ragged,  they  just  had  that  air  about  them). There was  a  tall  man  with  silver  hair  under  a  black  cowboy  hat  broided  with  silver,  short  silver  beard,  and  black  motorcyclist  leather  jacket  covered  with  badges  and  metal  ornaments,  who  to  complete  the  picture  wore  sunglasses  and  black  cowboy  boots. There was  old  Bob  the  Jehovah’s  Witness  who  haunted  Main  St  with  his  tracts  in  the  evenings,  debating  the  Trinity  with  none  other  than  Ronnie  Wendy,  his  tan  fedora-like  hat  on  his  large  serious  head. And there  was  Uncle  Peter,  sitting  alone  at  the  extreme  rear,  wild beard  contrasting  oddly  with  his  neat  denim  clothing.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           She  noticed  the  staff  soon  enough;  there  was  a  stout  old  fellow  with  a  short  white  beard  and  glasses,  red  shirt  and  black  pants  with  actual  suspenders,  who  eerily  resembled  Santa  Claus. There were  several  fluffy  and  papery  old  ladies  in  the  kitchen,  as  well  as  a  rather  ordinarily-pretty  girl  Lara’s  age  with  black  hair. An odd-shaped  old  man  with  a  comb-like  mustache,  short  white  hair,  and  an  air  of  perpetually  stretching  himself  out,  was  bustling  around  putting  out  baskets  of  buttered  bread. He wore  a  green  shirt.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Getting  a  napkin  Lara  selected  a  cake  and  Danish  and  headed  over  to  Uncle  Peter’s  table.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Ah,  there  you  are. Good morning,”  he  greeted. “I had  a  feeling  you’d  drop  by.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “I  had  a  little  help  with  the  answer.”  said  Lara. “At the  library. He said  I’d  find  you  here.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Thought  you  might.”  he  grunted. “So, you  have  the  answer?”

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           The  sunlight  streaming  in  the  windows  dimmed. The air  seemed  suddenly  tense,  stuffed  with  ominousness,  as  if  the  inside  of  the  room  was  about  to  fill  with  storm. Even though  he  was  seated  she  could  feel  the  cloak  of  power  around  him,  like  a  crackling  halo  of  vast  might  and  danger.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Now  say  I,  Peter  son  of  Heden  whose  body  was  not  found,  eldest  of  the  House  of  Midwinter  at  one  hundred  years and  four,  unto  Lara  eldest  daughter  of  Nine  Midwinters,  the  final  riddle  of  three:

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “What  bears  up  the  Herald,  on  what  does  he  ride? ''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Lara  felt  an  auroa  of  her  own,  radiating  power  and  peril  in  answer  to  his,  growing around  her. The sun  went  out  once  more  and  the  room  filled  with  shadows. Yet of  all  the  people  there,  the  only  one  who  seemed  at  all  to  notice  was  Ronnie  Wendy;  even  with  her  head  facing  away  she  felt  his  burning  gaze. She spoke,  and  words  seemed  to  come  out  of  her  without  her  shaping  them,  as  if  they  existed  of  themselves  and  had  waited  for  her  to  utter  them.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Daslenga  bears  the  Herald,  for  angry  is  he;  on  the  river  of  silver  the  rider  is  him.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Sunlight  crashed  back  into  the  room. Lara and  her  uncle  fell  back  in  their  chairs. The ominous  haze  of  pent  power  disappeared. In the  silence,  scratched  only  faintly  by  the  voices  around  them,  she  heard  her  uncle’s weary  voice.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">“I have  no  son  of  my  own. There is  none  to  pass  the  Lore  for  the  next  Returning. My task  is  ended,  Arheled.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           She  was  aware  that  the  occupants  of  the  tables  were  shuffling  forward  in  a line  toward  the  unshuttered  hatch,  and  felt  oddly  hungry  herself. As she  bit  into  her  Danish  she  looked  up  and  met  the  eyes  of  Ronnie  Wendy.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “You  are  one  of  the  six.”  he  stated.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Lara  could  only  nod. “But I  don’t  get  it.”  she  burst  out. “What does  it  all  mean? Where is  all  this  going?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “I  fancy  we’ll  find  out.”  said  Ronnie  dryly. “You want  to  eat?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Uncle  Peter  was  already  in  line. She stood  up  resignedly. “I might  as  well.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “So,  what  exactly  was  all  this  about  the  riddles  and  Arheled?”  Ronnie  said  to  her  directly  when  they  again  sat  down. Lara’s plate  held  stewed  vegetables,  a  wonderful  kind  of  meatloaf  she’d  never  experienced  before,  and  a  fruit  dish. Ronnie had  taken  two  bowls  of  ice  cream  as  well.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Lara  glanced  over  at  Uncle  Peter,  but  he  had  taken  a  seat  at  the  far  end  of  the  next  table  and  said  nothing. “It’s all  bound  up  with  the  constellation  Orion. According to  my  great-great-uncle  there,  his  true  name  is  the  Herald. There’s a  strange  heritage  of  lore  that’s  been  passed  down  through  my  family,  in  the  form  of  three  riddles.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Ronnie  heard  her  description  of  the  riddles,  as  well  as  the  mysterious  forces  that  had  gathered  around  them,  in  silence. “What do  you  think  it  means?”  he  said.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “His  head  is  hidden,  his  arrow  shoots  through  a  Fish  and  a  Snake  to  strike  the  North  Star, and  he  rides  upon  a  river  apparently  named  Daslenga. I don’t  know.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Your  uncle  mentioned  Arheled.”  Ronnie  commented.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Yes,  but  he  refuses  to  tell  me  who  he  is. Something to  do  with  ‘the  Road’  and  the  Wild  Man. He says  I’ll  know  soon  enough…and  he  also  seems  to  think  I’ve  already  met  him.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “So  have  I.”  said  Ronnie. “In a  dream. A dream  Forest  shared  with  me. A rough  uncouth  man,  in  a  little  grey  house  above  a  deep  gorgeous  pine  valley  like  a  gulf,  and  a  river  spilled  eternally  into  it  in  a  silver  waterfall  at  the  far  end,  but  never  issued  from  it  though  it  flowed  along  the  bottom. And he  named  that  river  Daslenga.”  His  voice  grew  dreamy  and  strange. “From it  the  gods  dipped  great  pitchers  when  they  went  to  make  the  Stars.”

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Are  you  okay?”  Ronnie  was  shaking  her.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Stars  in  your  eyes  dirla,  stars  in  your  heart  dorha… ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “That  is  where  I  saw  it.”  she  mumbled. “I saw  them  make  the  Stars. Arheled cured  me. I’ve met  him,  too.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Yes,  I  can  see  that.”  muttered  Ronnie. “Here Eat. Do it  quickly.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           She  started  shoveling  in  the  meatloaf. It was  amazingly  good. The eerie  deadly  singing  of  the  stars  faded  and  was  gone.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “How  did  you  know  that  would  work?”  she  said.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           He  shrugged. “Instinct. How’d you  know  the  exact words  of  those  riddle-answers?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Point  taken.”  She  swallowed. “So, who  are  the  others?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Besides  me  and  you,  the  only  one  I  know  for  sure  is  Forest. Travel Lane  over  there  did  mention  something  once  about  a  mysterious  man  in  a  leather  coat,  but  I  don’t  know  if  she’s  one. And then  there’s  Bell  Light,  who  knew  the  Rime  of  the  5  Churches. I suppose  we’ll  find  out.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “On  Temple  Fell.”  she  agreed  grimly.

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

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Forest  stayed  at  the  library  all  day. He called  home  about  three  to  tell  Mrs. Lake  where  he  was  and  that  he’d  be  walking  home. She seemed  a  little  surprised  but  he  reminded  her  it  was  only  a  couple  miles. “How’s everything  going? You all—safe?”  he  said  with  an  effort. Her laughter  reassured  him.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           He  soon  got  so  absorbed  in  his  book  that  he  only  noticed  it  was  dark  outside  the  windows  when  someone  tapped  him  on  the  head. It was  the  man  in  brown.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Time  to  head  home,  Forest,  or  you’ll  be  late  for supper.”  he  said. “Besides, the  stars  will  be  clear  tonight. The Moon  is  gone.”

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “A  little  after  six.”  smiled  the  man  in  brown.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           They  trudged  up  Lake  St  in  silence. Once Forest  asked  “What  is the  Herald?”  but  Brown  only  said  that  there  were  too  many  trees  right  here.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           They  emerged  out  onto  the  spillways  and  Brown  pulled  out  his  jackknives. The huge  wooden  sled  was  sitting  on  the  ice. When they  were  out  in  the  middle  of  First  Bay  the  man  in  brown  let  the  ship  glide  to  a  stop  and  sat  on  it  like  a  bench.

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           The  great  dome  above  them  was  am  amazingly  deep  azure,  almost  black  toward  the  zenith,  a  brighter  blue  lower  down  in  the  west. There in  the  east,  upon  his  back  like  a  man  walking  up  a  wall,  was  Orion.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “That  is  the  Herald.”  said  the  man  in  brown.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “But  who  is  the  Herald?”  asked  Forest.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “He  bears  a  bow  which  he  holds  forever  drawn,  and  a  shield  on  his  arm;  in  his  belt  is thrust  a  sword,  and  from  his  hip  swings  a  great  horn. For he  is  a  sign,  of  doom  that  was,  and  doom  yet  to  come.”

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Brown  laughed. “A very  good  question. He shoots  disasters,  Forest.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “You  mean  he  hunts  down  dis…”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Brown  shook  his  head. “No, no,  laddie. The Herald  does  not  come  to  heal. He comes  to  cure. He shoots  destruction,  and  his  horn  soundeth  ruin.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Abruptly  he  dug  in  his  knives  and  got  underway. “He is  not  the  constellation. The constellation  is  only  his  sign. When the  Herald  comes,  he  cannot  be  mistaken  for  anything  else.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           They  sped  on  down  the  ice  with  the  speed  of  the  wind. Lights and  silent  homes  flashed  by. Soon Wintergreen  Isle  lay  ahead,  the  lights  of  Forest’s  house  warm  and  cheery  amid  the  dark  trees  and  pale  ice. Brown skidded  to  a  halt  at  the  big  rock.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Thanks  for  the  ride.”  said  Forest. He trudged  up  the  steps  and  looked  back. The man  in  brown  sat  on  his  sled,  a  dark  shape  in  the  cold  darkness  without. He lifted  his  hand.