Ch. 11: The Way of the Churches

(Return to Arheled)



           “Hello?”  Ronnie’s  voice  was  dubious  as  he  answered  his  cell  phone. Not many  people  had  his  number.

           “Ronnie  Wendy? It’s Hunter  Light. You remember  you  expressed  an  interest  in  that  invention  of  mine? Well, I  just  got  done  assembling  it,  and  I’m  ready  for  a  field  test  before  I  get  the  bigwigs  over  for  a  demonstration. Do you  want  to  be  there?”

           “Absolutely.”  said  Ronnie. “Where is  it,  at  Regional?”

           “No,  it’s  actually  at  the  College. I’ll meet  you  at  the  College  library;  it’s  a  bit  confusing  here.”

           Ronnie  parked  in  McDonald’s,  across  Main  St  from  the  College,  as  the  little  lot  near  the  library  was  full. He crossed  to  the  paving-block  entrance. Hunter Light  was  waiting  in  the  foyer  and  at  once  led  him  over  to  the  detached  College  building. The low  brick  arches  of  the  building  were  bordered  with  marble  trim. They went  in  through  a  door  with  gold  handles  and  white  panes  and  up  a  grey  back  stair. Hunter opened  a  grey-white  metal  fire-door  and  took  Ronnie  down  a  hall  with  a  low  ceiling  and  walls  of  brick  coated  in  thick layers  of  white  paint. Voices came  from  computer  labs  full  of  black  flat-screen  monitors,  and  once  or  twice  a  very  pretty  girl  student  or  two  passed  them,  usually  wearing  bright  blue  jeans  and  bearing  backpacks. Low arches  held  up  the  building  above  them,  crossing  the  ceiling  every  twenty  feet. Waxed linoleum  squeaked  underfoot  dreadfully. He took  Ronnie  into  a  grey  door  in  an  arch  with  a  blank  plate  beside  the  room  number,  over  which  was  taped  a  bit  of  paper  saying  something  about  Project  Number  Whatever. The bright  white  glare  of  the  round  ceiling  lamps  was  replaced  by  a  muted  grey-white  soft  glow.

           “This  is  it.”  Mr. Light said  proudly. “Bell, I  hope  you  didn’t  touch  anything.”

           Bell,  who  had  been  sitting  on  a  chair  reading  a  book,  got  up  with  a  bounce. “Everything’s fine,  Dad.”  she  said  affectionately. “Nobody broke  in,  and  I  didn’t  turn  into  She-Hulk,  so  we’re  all  set.”

<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  think  Hulk  had  to  do  with  gamma  rays.”  said  Ronnie. He looked  at  the  large  array  of  grey  and  white  banks  that  filled  most  of  the  room:  square,  about  as  big  as  a  Staples  copy  machine,  but  with  odd  grey  plastic-sheathed  tubes  and  curved  segments  going  here,  there  and  everywhere. The banks  were  arranged  in  a  half-circle. Computer screens  stood  in  several  places  with  literal  nests  of  wires  running  from  them  to  various  parts  of  the  invention,  and  funny-shaped  colored  rods  stuck  up  in  odd  angles. A chair  or  two  sat  near  the  keyboards.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Bonnie  should  be  here  any  minute  to  help  me  set  up;  she’s  my  lab  assistant  and  she’ll  be  running  the analyser  while  I  do  the  simulations  and  results.”  Mr. Light said. He adjusted  what  looked  like  a  strange  kind  of  telescope  arm  with  big  satellite  dishes  that  projected  out  of  a  window. Insulation was  packed  around  it  to  keep  out  the  winter  air. Outside it  was  already  growing  dark. “Position towards  Orion  and  Leo  first…cross  right  vector  to  celestial  equator…good.”  He  came  over  to  Ronnie. “All right,  while  we’re  waiting  for  Bonnie,  I’ll  explain  how  this  works. You remember  how  I  said  my  simulations  picked  up  a  trace  of  mysterious  energy  that  provides  the  lacking  force  needed  to  bind  galaxies  together?”

<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  it  wasn’t  gravity,  because far  more  mass  than  is  actually  present  would  be  needed  to  create  enough  gravity  pull.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Crude,  but  that’ll  do.”  said  Hunter  Light. “Well, this  detector  is  based  off  the  typical  mass  spectroscope,  except  that  it  includes  special  lenses  for  ionizing  starlight  and  background  radiation,  and  here  and  there  the  particles  of  the  beam  of  light  will  pass  through  electromagnetic  fields  that  sort  and  analyze  the  radiation—it’s  a  bit  complicated. But the  whole  point  is  to  isolate  from  the  background  this  mysterious  energy  and  amplify  it,  and  hopefully  we  can  obtain  some  results  on  its’  nature  and  composition. Oh, Bonnie,  there  you  are. Bonnie, this  is  Ron  Wendy,  one  of  my  students,  and  you  already  know  my  daughter  Bell.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Dad,  you  shouldn’t  drop  the  rhyme!”  scolded  Bell. “Bonnie…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">           “Hi,  Bell. Nice to  meet  you,  Ronnie.”  said  a  very  thin  and  long-limbed  girl,  in  clinging  shirt  and  jeans  that  rather  emphasized  her  slenderness. She had  long  loose  brown  hair  and  a  bony,  hungry  sort  of  face,  but  when  she  smiled  she  looked  quite  pleasing. Her grip  was  stronger  than  he  expected. Folding up her  coat  she  tossed  it  next  to  Hunter’s  and  began  exchanging  a  quick  series  of  extraordinarily  technical  questions  and  instructions  with  him. “Adducts—accurate mass  ratio—spectrum  comparison—duty  cycle—cation—radical  cation  fragment—“

<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  sat  down  next  to  Bell. “How have  you  been?”  he  inquired  of  the  11-year-old.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">“School.” said  Bell. “TV. Cooking dinner. Trying not  to  let  my  head  explode  when  Dad  gets  talking.”

<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 usual.”  said  Ronnie. “So—we just  sit  here  and  wait  for  the  scientists  to  scientize?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Whoo.”  said  Bell. “Active tense  possessive  of  a  noun. That’s a  good  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">           “I  take  it  you’re  doing  grammer.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Trying  not  to.”  said  Bell. “But I  had  to  cram  for  a  test,  so  it’s  still  stuck  in  my  head.”

<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  pass  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">           “We  gotta  wait  for  Mrs. Simpson to  grade  it. She is  so  annoying. She moves  like  that  Victor/Vector…you  know,  in  Despicable  Me…”  She  got  up  and  began  walking  in  a  weird  bobbing  fashion,  a  fatuous  grin  on  her  face.

<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,  he  had  to  be  about  the  most  irritating  villain  yet.”  said  Ronnie. “I liked  Gru’s  Minions.”

<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  little  yellow  guys. They are  just  hilarious.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Bell.”  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">           “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">           “There  are  Minions.”  he  said  with  exaggerated  solemnity.

<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  Many  Minions.”  Bell  agreed.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Even  worse,  the  Minions  have  dominion  over  us!”

<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  this  count  as  annoying?”  said  Bell  in  a  mock-baby  voice,  and  started  patting  her  cheeks. It was  a  quote,  of  course.

<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,  you  two,  we’re  ready.”  said  Hunter. “What we’re  going  to  do  is  capture  a  ray  of  starlight  and  pass  it  through  the  analysers,  and  then  we  have  to  wait  while  the  data  is  sorted  and  we  start  running  simulations.”

<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  and  Bell  watched. As far  as  they  could  see  the  only  thing  that  was  happening  was  that  all  sorts  of  lights  were  blinking  on  and  off  in  the  instrument  banks  and  some  of  the  tubes  were  humming. Bonnie and  Hunter  at  their  keyboards  rattled  fingers  over  keys,  now  and  again  saying  something  to  each  other. On the  screen  images  and  boxes  changed  and  flickered  as  the  computer  reported  the  progress  of  the  data  analysis—the  light  had  already  gone  through  the  energy  detector.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Background  suppression  is  done.”  said  Bonnie. “Do you  have  the  spectra  sorted?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Most  of  the  know  radiation  eliminated.”  Hunter  replied. “Trace detected…wait,  it’s  running  it  through  the  amplifier  now…simulations  are  starting. Aha! There we  are!”

<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  Ronnie  saw  on  the  big  display  screen  were  a  bunch  of  bizarre  looping  whorls  of  red  and  green  amid  a  background  of  curved  lines  taking  up  most  of  the  screen.

<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—binding  energy  or  whatever?”  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">           “We’re  putting  it  through  the  amplifier  right  now.”  Hunter  answered. “That’s the  galactic  spectrum,  right  there. Now do  you  see  these  whorls  here? Those are  two  of  the  stars  of  Orion’s  sword (the  third’s  another  galaxy;  we  suppressed  that  one). The stars  are  actually  millions  of light  years  apart,  but  they’re  still  in  our  galaxy. You see  this  curve  here? That’s not  normal. That’s not  supposed  to  be  there. It’s a  trace  presence  of  a  connecting  force  between  two  stars. Now we’re  going  to  amplify  that—this  way—yes! It’s coming  up. Bonnie, you  getting  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">           “What  is  this?”  Bonnie  exclaimed. “Hunter, look  at  this! This is  immense!”

<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  tilted  his  chair  back  to  see  her  screen. She had  her  back  nearly  turned  to  Ronnie,  and  he  was  able  to  see  her  screen. Banded streaks  of  violent  blue  were  exploding  from  the  green  loops  and  red  bars. He gasped.

<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  believe  it! I don’t  believe  it!  We actually  trapped  some  of  it!  You  two,  look  at  this. That’s what’s  going  on  inside  the  amplifier. It’s reflecting  a  minute  trace  of  the  energy  back  and  forth  to  amplify  it  to  the  point  where  it  can  be  analysed. We’re actually  getting  a  sample!”

<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’s  attention  was  drawn  by  a  vibrating  glow  from  behind. He looked  over. Several of  the  tubes  were  beginning  to  flicker  from  within,  as  if  a  pale  flame burned  inside. Then there  was  a  brilliant  flash  of  white-0violet-blue,  like  starlight. The computer  screens  flickered  and  went  out. The room  fell  into  silence. The light  was  out. The power  was  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">           “No,  no,  no,  no!”  Hunter  wailed,  banging  his  fists  on  the  table. “Oh, drat. Well, guys,  it  looks  like  the  show’s  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">           “What  happened?”  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">           “There  was  a  massive  surge  from  the  amplifier.”  said  Mr. Light blankly. “And then—it’s  as  if  everything  imploded. As if  it  backlashed  somewhere  and  took  all  the  electricity  with  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">           “Will  you  need  any  help?”  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">           Mr. Light buried  his  face  in  his  hands. “No, I’ll  just  be  up  all  night  trying  to  reboot  the  systems. The program  has  a  feature  designed  to  retrieve  and  freeze  information  in  the  case  of  an  interruption  to  the  power  supply,  so  I  should  still  have  the  data. Bonnie, can  you  be  a  nice  girl  and  run  Bell  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">           “All  right.”  said  Bonnie  resignedly. “Just don’t  ask  me  to  babysit  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">           “I’m  nearly  twelve,  I’m  certainly  latchkey-age.”  said  Bell  huffily.

<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">           “Hey,  girlfriend!”  said  Brooke’s  sweet  soft  voice  when  Bell  answered  the  phone  that  Sunday.

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

<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,  sameol’-sameol’. Hey, listen,  I  know  I’ve  been  like  really  busy  all  winter  and  I’m  so  so  so  so  so  sorry,  so  you  wanna  do  church  again  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">           “You  better  get  down  here  quick  then.”  said  Bell  tartly. “It’s half  an  hour  before  service  starts.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Right-o! See-you-bye!” and  Brooke  hung  up  with  uncharacteristic  speed.

<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 didn’t  object,  so  he  drove  off  by  himself  and  Brooke  pulled  in  the  driveway  at  ten  of  ten. Bell sauntered  out  to  the  car,  locking  the  house  behind  her. It was  the  first  Sunday  of  March—finally!—and  the  grim  winter  was  at  last  relenting. A low  white  paleness  of  snow-fog  hung  above  the  deep-white  snowpack,  etched  and  eroded  around  trees  and  speckled  with  fallen  debris  now  removed  by  meltage. Bell’s footprints  around  the  yard  were  no  longer  deep  pits  but  level  shapes  floating  in  a  circle  of  browny  granules  on  top  of  the  snow. The shapes  of  the  snowpack  were  soft  and  half-melted,  like  ice  cream. Soft drizzle  was  falling  and  trees  and  rocks  were  dark  and  wet  and  wonderfully  clear  and  brown-grey—above  the  haze  of  snowmelt,  that  is. The air  was  damp,  warm-cool  but  very  soft.

<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  you  were  in  such  a  hurry.”  reproved Brooke.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Cheer  up,  St.  Joseph’s  doesn’t  start  till  10:30.”

<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  a  minute,  I  thought  we  agreed  we  weren’t  going  to  the  Catholics.”

<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  of  them  show  up  at  our  services,  silly. We just  stay  way  in  the  back  and  don’t participate.”

<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  don’t  have  to  stay  very  long  either,”  said  Brooke  as  she  ran  a  red  light  and  turned  onto  Winsted  Rd.  “It  shouldn’t  take  you  long  to  look  around.”

<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,  that’s  true.”  said  Bell. “But, you  know,  there’s  an  odd  thing  I’ve  been  noticing  about  the  churches.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Like  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">           Bell  became  pensive. “All of  them  are  oriented  to  the  compass. Like St. James with  the  gargoyles. The tower’s  sides,  I  think,  face  N,  S,  E  and  W—and  the  gargoyles  are  at  the  corners,  so  they  would  face  the  points  between. And the  wind  here  seems  to  come  from  the  NW  half  the  time. Well, here’s  the  thing. I was  going  by  your  church  so  my  dad  could  get  me  at  the  library  after  school,  and  I  noticed  up  on  top  this  funny  thingy—sort  of  like  teardrops  going  up,  you  know,  one  in  the  middle  going  straight  up  and  four  others  going  sideways. Pointing west  or  northwest—it’s  hard  to  tell  when  the  sun  is  in  the  south  instead  of  west.”

<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,  the  things  you  notice.”  said  Brooke. “So, you  wanna  just  walk  the  line  and  see  if  the  others  have  things  pointing  in  significant  directions?”

<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  might  just  be coincidence.”  backpedalled  Bell.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Not  with  what  our  weird  brown  friend  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">           Bell  giggled. “Our W.B.F.  That’s  what  we  should  call  him. The W.B.F.  Then  next  time  he  shows  up  we  can  just  see  his  face.”

<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  fault,  he  won’t  give  us  any  other  name.”

<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  no  parking  near  St. Joseph’s, so  Brooke  parked  on  the  street. As they  crossed,  Bell  stared  sharply  at  every detail  of  the  great  Gothic  steeple,  the  roof  peak  next  to  it  with  the  tall  cross,  the  big  chimney  at  the  corner. She carried  her  gaze  up  past  the  bell  louvers,  to  the  mysterious  gabled  windows  and  the  high  needle-like  spire  of  gleaming  wet  slates. A golden  cross—probably  brass—surmounted  it. The gabled  windows  drew  her. They alternated,  one  higher,  one  lower,  going  around  the  base  of  the  spire. The points  of  the  gables  bore  a  four-fingered  projection,  which  when  she  looked  closer  she  realised  were  carved  heads  with  lion-like  open  mouths,  facing  four  ways. Because each  window  was  at  a  different  angle,  each  head  pointed  a  different  way.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Not  really  conclusive,  is  it?”  said  Brooke.

<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  suppose  that  topographic  map  would  be the  only  way  to  make  certain,”  Bell  agreed,  “if  the  churches  pointed  the  way  to  Temple  Fell. But you  remember  one  of  the  candidates  does  lie  roughly  NW  of  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  went  inside  and  looked  around  for  a  while. The Catholics  had  a  guitar  choir,  which  rather  disgusted  the  two  Protestants,  who  were  used  to  singing  choirs. But the  singers  did  try  to  play  the  guitars  reverently. Guitar just  was  not  made  for  church. They sat  through  the  scripture  lessons—though  the  lector  called  them  “readings”—and  decided  they  would  leave  before  the  rest  of  the  Mass.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Hey,  we  already  know  what  St. James looks  like  inside.”  said  Brooke. “Let’s go  up  by  St. Anthony’s school. There’s something  really  cool  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">           “I  shudder  at  your  definition  of  ‘cool’.”

<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,  shut  up.”  said  Brooke  fondly.

<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  climbed  up  Oak  Street  until  it  levelled  out,  nearly  even  with  the  church  roof. Stone walls  terraced  the  church  grounds,  one  marking  the  site  of  the  ancient  St. Joseph’s, a  tiny  wooden  church  destroyed  when  the  new  one  was  built,  famous  for  losing  its’  steeple  to  some  high  winds. The other,  the  uppermost,  marked  the  site  of  the  old  monastery  but  was  now  a  parking  lot,  with  a  new  parish  center  amidmost. Then, on  a  little  rise,  was  the  long  school  building  of  St. Anthony’s, built  of  brownish  bricks  and  rectangular,  with  small  windows  and  70-year-old  doors;  it  had  an  indelible  1940s-school  look.

<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  they  call  it  St. Anthony’s when  the  church  is  St. Joseph’s?” Bell  wanted  to  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">           “I  heard  that  the  Gilbert  who  built  Gilbert  High—the  first  one,  not  the  big  newer  thing  that stands  there  now—was  so  anti-Catholic  he  put  in  his  will  that  no  pupil  from  St. Joseph’s School  could  attend  Gilbert  High. I guess  in  those  days  it  wasn’t  publicly  funded  but  under  some  trust  fund—anyway,  the  Catholics  got  sneaky  and  changed  the  school  name  to  St.  Anthony’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">           “Wow,  he  must  have  been  a  bigot.”

<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  know,  kind  of  makes  you  ashamed  of  your  spiritual  ancestors,  doesn’t  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">           They  took  a  driveway  that  led  up  behind  the  school. Bell’s eyes  widened. The loveliest  little  knoll  rose  before  them. Soft damp  white  snow  was  receeding  from  wet  grey  rocks  and  short  dark-brown  maples. The white  snowmelt  haze  mantled  the  ground. Patches of  matted  green-yellow  turf  lay  exposed. The knoll  ended  in  a  quite  abrupt  knob  of  bald  rock,  and  climbing  over  this  and  rooted  to  it  like  a  tree  was  a  masonry  grotto. Bell couldn’t  take  her eyes  off  it. A steep-faced  end  of  wall  on  the  left  side  fronted  a sloping  curve  of  thick  stonework  like  a  hill  that  curved  behind  the  grotto. Two ornamental  cypress  stood  either  side  of  a  deep  half-circular  recess  in  the  stonework. A perfectly  round  and  fantastically  thin  arch  of  stones  on  end  like  a  crown  roofed  the  grotto’s  mouth;  behind  it  a  pane  of  plexiglass  kept  out  rain. A nearly  life-size  statue  of  a  beautiful  woman  in  simple  flowing  white  garments  and  hooded  mantle,  a  blue  sash  about  her  waist,  stood  beneath  the  arch. Low pillars of  mortared  round  pebbles  stood  at  the  head  of  graceful  curving  masoned  steps  mounting  in  a  proud  sweep  up  the  knoll  to  the  statue;  deep  snow  unshovelled  flowed  half-melted  down  them  between  the  low  walls  of  the  stair  like  a  river  of  white.

<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  this  amazing?”  said  Bell. “I wish  our  church  had  statues  like  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">           “I…think  that’s  supposed  to  be  Mary.”  said  Brooke.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “My  minister  would  probably  say  it’s  an  example  of  Maryolatry.”

<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  where’s  the  altar?”  said  Bell  tartly. “If you’re  worshipping  something  you  usually  put  an  altar  in  front  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">           “Yeah,  I  know. I’m more  interested  in  that  stonework.”

<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  headed  back  to  the  road  and  walked  through  the  quiet  antique  suburb  of  Church  Hill,  descending  a  short  but  very  steep  slope  to  Bell’s  church. It looked  more  squat  and  fortresslike  than  ever,  but  only  the  fact  that  the  main  tower’s  battlements  had  squared  merlons  facing  NSEW  and  diagonal  merlons  differently  shaped  at  the  corners  facing  NW  etc,  seemed  to  fit  Bell’s  expectations.

<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  know,”  she  said  slowly,  “on  Christmas  Eve  when I  was  seeing  that  marker  stone,  I  sorta  felt  like  the  churches  were  forts,  spiritual  fortresses. What if  they’re  all  pointing  the  way  to  whatever  it  is  they’re  guarding?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Great.”  said  Brooke. “It could  be  either  NW,  SE,  SW  or  NE. Really good  pointers.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Bell  sighed. “Let’s go  look  at  my  mom’s  church. It might  have  something  besides  hammers  and  urns.”

<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  a  longish  trek  to the  other  side  of  town. They walked  back  over  Church  Hill  and  past  the  central  cemetery,  then  below  Pearson  Elementary  (where  Bell  went  to  school)  and  up  Wetmore  Av. It slanted  up  under  the  steep  shoulder  of  Street  Hill,  a  cliffy  bank  grown  over  with  huge  privets  under  a  driveway  overhanging  the  sidewalk  on  the  right  at  first,  until  it  climbed  to  a  level. Beautiful old  silver  maples  rose  overhead  amid  lovely  old  square  townhouses  two  centuries  old. Camp Hill  behind  its’  trees  drew  near  on  the  left  behind  the  houses. They went  down  past  the  closed  old  brick  school  and  reached  Spencer  Hill  Rd  and  Old  Baptist  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">           It  looked  in  the  mist  and  drizzle  even  more  like  a  sprawling  castle. The steeple  cap  and  the  spire  of  the  odd  and  completely  useless  second  tower  with  four  open  arches  were  capped  disappointingly  in  golden  brass  knobs. Moving around  the  front  of  the  church  the  girls  gazed  up  at  the  dripping  grey  stonework  of  the  round  belfry  tower  and  the  rounded  balcony-buttress  like  an  incomplete  first  story  jutting  out  halfway  up. Entire swatches  of  marshy  greenish  lawn  were  emerging  from  granular  snowbanks. A great  clipped  yew  stood  at  the  corner,  rising  almost  to  the  red  sandstone  trimwork  of  the  balcony’s  kerb. They walked  around  the  yew  to  the  west  side  of  the  church,  abutting  Main  St. Across the  road  Mad  River  fumed  sullenly  in  his  deep  bed. Bell stared  up  at  the  belfry  tower  and  the  queer  swinging  hammers.

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Bell  followed  her  finger. Jutting from  the  stonework  of  the  round  protruding  first  story,  in  the  notch  between  the  redstone  trim  of  two  pointed  windows,  a  couple  feet  under  the  balcony  kerb,  was  a  peculiar  protruding  rock. At first  it  looked  like  a  jutting  finger  of  jagged  sandstone,  but  the  sides  were  too  smooth. Green copper  roofed  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">           “Holy  smoke,”  said  Bell,  “that  looks  like…the  bottom  of  half  a  ship.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Carved  out  of  the  block  set  into  the  wall,  there  indeed  protruded  the  underside  and  keel  of  a  long  and  peculiar  ship,  only  half  of  which  was  visible.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Noah’s  Ark,  maybe?”  suggested  Brooke  doubtfully. “Maybe the  hammers  are  actually  supposed  to  be  tassels,  like  on  a  fringe?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Never  mind  that. Look which  way  it’s  pointing!”  exclaimed  Bell.

<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  keel  of  the  strange  ship  pointed  straight  to  the  NW.

<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  do  you  know  which  way  the  Five  Churches  point?”  Bell  said  triumphantly.

<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  a  sec.”  said  Brooke. “Wasn’t one  of  those  fells  we  isolated  on  the  map—off  in  that  direction?”

<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,  dummy,  what  else  could  the  Churches  be  pointing  to?”

<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  need  to  be  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">           “That  does  it.”  proclaimed  Bell. “Tuesday at  the  library  I  copy  that  map.”

<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">           Tuesday  obligingly  rolled  around. Bell proceeded  to  forget  all  about  the  library,  what  with  worrying  about  a  big  test  that  was  coming  up,  as  well  as  several  days  of  sudden  cold  that  closed  in  with  thunderous  winds. She heard  them  at  night  whenever  she  woke,  the  swift  shout  of  nearby  gusts  and  behind  them,  constant  and  sorrowful,  the  deep  dirge  of  the  distant  wind  in  the  trees  of  the  mountain-walls.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           By  Friday,  with  more  flooding  rains  tapering  off  and  an  unexpected  schoolless  day  for  some  silly  teacher’s  conference,  Bell  got  Brooke  to  drive  her  to  the  library  and  both  girls  pored  over  the  topographic  map.

<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  fell  shaped  like  a  sausage…it’s  the  only  one  even  remotely  NW  of  Winsted.”  said  Brooke,  looking  at  the  long  narrow  mountain  above  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">           “But  it’s  almost  west.”  complained  Bell. “West by  northwest,  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">           “Good  thing  I  brought  this.”  smiled  Brooke,  and  held  up  a  compass.

<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,  Brookie,  what  would  I  ever  do  without  you?”  sighed  Bell  theatrically.

<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  copied  the  map  and  headed  out  at  top  speed,  pushing  each  other  and  giggling  as  they  talked  about  girl things. Soon they  had  covered  the  distance  to  the  old  Baptist  church  and  were  standing  under  the  strange  carved  ship  in  the  stone. Brooke sighted  along  it  and  found  it  pointed  perfectly  NW.

<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  let’s  head  over  to  your  church.”  said  Bell.

<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  you  want  to  drag  me  to  all  five  churches,  we’re  driving.”  said  Brooke.

<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  only  a  mile,  you  sissy.”

<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’re  not  gonna  bother  with  your  church;  it  doesn’t  have  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">           “That’s  still  only  a  mile.”  said  Bell. “Besides, you  need  to  walk  off  that  fat  anyway.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Boy,  if  you  weren’t  my  friend…!”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Arriving  at  the  Methodist  church,  they  ascertained  just  for  the  heck  of  it  that  the  sun  was  in  the  west,  and  Bell  noticed  at  once  that  the  marker-stone  faced  almost  SW. Brooke was  sighting  along  the  line  of  the  front  wall  of  the  church,  squinting  and  frowning.

<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  the  deal?”  Bell  said  after  a  while.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “This  is  really  weird.”  Brooke  grumbled. “Those curly  arms  up  there,  they  seem  in  line  with  the  main  face  but  they’re  not. The wall  runs  not  exactly  north  but  a  little  off—sorta  west  of  north. And those  arms  are  tilted  a  little  off  the  line  too. They point  almost  west.”  She  squinted  into  the  sun,  then  back  up  at  the  tower. The gilded  carvings  shone  yellow  in  the  afternoon  sun. “But not  true  west. Sorta north  of  west.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Bell  pulled  out  the  map. “No…the aqueduct  fell  is  too  far  north  to  be  in  line,  and  too  far  south  for  the  Ship  to  point  to  it. It’s pointing  somewhere,  but  not  there. I bet  St.  Joseph’s  and  James  are  going  to  point  straight  for  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">           “Wow,  look  at  that  river.”  Brooke  said. Mad River  rushed  and  spumed  in  his  bed  beside  Main  Street,  high  from  the  rain,  a  strange  tan-hued  dark  green. The great  hills  of  snow  were  nearly  withdrawn,  and  strewn  garbage  lay  exposed  here  and  there. The locust  trees  that  marched  down  the  edge  of  the  steep  riverbank  were  wet  and  blackly  green.

<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  it  awesome.”  Bell  agreed.

<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  arrived  at  the  towering  Catholic  church  in  due  time. Brooke took  out  her  compass  and  began  carefully  sighting  along  the  line  of  the  four  spires  that  surmounted  the  gables  on  the  church’s  west  side. Peculiar four-armed  carvings  topped  these.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Here’s  the  funny  thing.”  she  said. “These three  all  point  NW  by  W—well,  more  like  NW  300.”

<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  they’re  basically  pointing  more  north  of  west.”

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Bell  came  over  to  see. “Holy mackerel. You’re absolutely  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">           “So  now  we  know  which  one  is  Temple  Fell.”  said  Brooke. “I’m gonna  call  that    Forest  kid. He’ll want  to  hear  about  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">           “Why  don’t  you  wait  until  we  measure  the  rest  of  the  churches.”  said  Bell. “And why  do  only  three  point  to  Temple  Fell? Where’s the  fourth?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Brooke  sighed  and  put  the  phone  away. “It got  knocked  or  half-broken  or  something. It doesn’t  point  the  way  the  others  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">           “Where  does  it  point,  then?”

<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  took  a  lot  of  peering, squinting  and  lining  up  with  landmarks  before  Brooke  could  answer  that. In the  process  she  found  that  the  outdoor  statue  of  Our  Lady,  which  stood  among  rhododendrons  behind  a  low  iron  fence  near  the  great  swell  of  rock,  was  on  a  diamond-shaped  cement  block  that  lined  perfectly  with  the  third  of  the  four  spires. The fourth  or  northernmost  spire  was  the  mismatch,  pointing,  Brooke  found,  a  little  west  of  north.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Bell  scrambled  up  on  the brow  of  stone  that  edged  Church  Hill  on  the  west. “I see  it,  Brooke.”  she  called. “It’s not  the  hospital  hill,  it’s  the  long  one  above  Gilbert.”

<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  think  Ronnie  said  that  was  Street  Hill,  didn’t  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">           “How  should  I  know? He told  me  once  but  I’ve  forgotten.”  Bell  admitted.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           St. James turned  out  to  have  a  small  cross  mounted  on  the  rear  peak. It was  pale  stone,  standing  out  against  the  dark  cumulus  clouds  that  were  crossing  the  northwestern  sky. When they  lined  themselves  up  with  it,  Bell  gasped. “Look! That’s the  steeple  cross  of  St.  Joe’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">           Right  behind  the  stone  cross  was  the  brass  crossbar  of  the  steeple  cross. But it  was  not  pointing  the  same  way  as  the  stone  cross. It was  angled  a  little  to  the  north.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “St. James points  to  the  steeple  of  St. Joe’s!” exclaimed  Bell.

<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  do  the  gargoyles  point,  then?”  wondered  Brooke.

<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  they  sighted  along  the  gargoyles  it  became  plain  the  northernmost  one  was  pointing  NW  330,  the  same  direction  as  the  bent  spire,  N  of  NW. But sighting  again  along  the  bent  spire-tip—after  racing  back  over  to  St. Joe’s—revealed it  to  be  pointing  a  little  more  north.

<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  the  gargoyles  point  to  the  hospital.”  Bell  was  certain.

<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,  a  little  north  of  that. In line  with  this  dark  area  between  these  hills—so  where  does  the  steeple  point?”

<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  around  in  front of  the  church  to  the  steeple  and  stood  under  it,  staring  up. Stone mounted  in  swift  rugged  lines  like  a  sweeping  fountain  frozen. It was  plain  the  steeple  cross’s  arms  were  not  in  line  with  the  front  face  of  the  church. Brooke sighted  along  it  carefully.

<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  halfway  between  NW  300  and  330—true  NW.”  she  declared.

<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’s  go  see  what  lies  NW  of  St. Joe’s.” Bell  said,  and  raced  off  to  the  great  swell  of  rock. The girls  mounted  it,  and  glancing  back  at  the  steeple  (despite  a  white  pine  that  got  in  the  way),  lined  themselves  up. When she  was  satisfied  Brooke  sighted  NW  along  the  compass.

<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…creepy.”  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">           “It’s  pointing  at  the  Soldiers’  Tower  on  the  hill  above  the  library.”  said  Bell. “This is  so  weird. It’s like  this  church  was  designed  on  purpose  to  point  to  important  spots.”

<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  can  I  call  Forest?”  said  Brooke. She hunted  up  the  number  on  her  call  list. “Hi, Forest? Oh, yay,  you’re  in. Um, listen…”  She  excitedly  described  their  findings.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Put  him  on  speakerphone,  I  wanta  hear.”  said  Bell.

<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’s  odd  husky  voice  sounded  weird  coming  from  nowhere  on  the  open  hilltop. “Hey, I’ve  been,  I’ve  been  with  the  Man  in  Brown  a  lot,  and  he  told  me  the  Nine  Hills. The one  with  the  tower  is  Camp  Hill,  the  hospital  is  on  Cobble  Hill,  and  that  round  stony  summit  just  above  the  hospital is  The  Cobble. It has  a  second  summit  north  of  it,  above  Indian  Meadow,  called  Second  Cobble. So the  gargoyles  are  pointing  between  the  Cobbles.”

<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  just  realised,”  said  Bell,  “St. Joe’s is  the  exact  middle  of  the  Five  Churches.”

<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  so  it  points  the  way.”  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">           “And  we  know  which  hill  is  Temple  Fell.”  Brooke  finished.

<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  hadn’t  gone  to  school  in  a  month.

<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  day  he  would  sit  around  the  library,  reading  or  pulling  his  carefully-rolled-up  paintings  from  a  tube  and  penciling  or  inking  in  key  features  to  aid  his  brush. The Stars  were  almost  completely  finished. He looked  at  it  in  full  as  little  as  he  could; its’  unbearable  beauty,  though  only  a  shard  of  the  splendour  of  what  he  saw  on  Christmas  Eve,  was  still  potent  enough  to  bring  that  tremendous  memory  rushing back. And only  in  certain  moods  did  he  want  it  to  do  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">           The  day  after  he got  Brooke’s  call  Forest  headed  downstairs  into  the  adult  room,  not  making  eye  contact  with  anyone,  to  pore  over  the  topographic  map. No one  saw  him  or  noticed  him. No one  ever  did. Once he  had  walked  into  the  staff  lounge  when  the  three  librarians,  including  the  gentle  but  rather  sinister  director  Mrs. Linda, were  having  lunch,  and  found  when  he  accidentally  sneezed  that  when  he  wasn’t  making  eye contact  and  didn’t  want  to  be  seen,  he  was  neither  seen  nor  heard. But he  didn’t  do  that  again;  it  was  much  too  nerve-wracking.

<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  flipped  to  the  map  of  the  Winsted  quadrangle. The familiar  shape  of  the  Long  Lake,  like  a  stooped  thin  man  with  a  long  hat-brim  and  a  long  nose  staring  at  the  ground  with  hands  behind  his  back,  made  him  smile  a  little. He took  a  pamphlet  and  lined  the  straight  edge  up  with  the  Methodist  dot.

<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  evident  at  once  that  the  Methodist  church  was  not  pointing  at  Temple  Fell. Even the  narrow  SW  end  of  the  sausage-like  mountain  was  too  far  north  of  a  straight  line  slightly  north  of  west. So the  Methodist  church  was  pointing  at  something  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">           He  isolated  St. Joseph’s and  St. James without  too  much  difficulty. According to  Brooke,  her  compass  had  two  sections  between  N  and  W,  which  she  called  “NW  300  and  330.”  As  the  map’s  edges  went  straight  north,  he  soon  figured  out  the angle  to  hold  the  paper  against  the  St. Joseph’s dot.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Bell  burst  in  about  them,  having  decided  to  skip  school  herself. She saw  him  instantly,  whether  he  looked  at  her  or  not,  and  after  he  frantically  shushed  her  they took  the  Atlas  downstairs  into  the  history  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">           “Wow,  that’s  good  thinking,  Forest.”  she  said  when  he  told  her  about  the  Methodist  church. “So let’s  see…OK,  look. From St. Joe’s, three  of  the  west  spires  pointed  NW  300. That’s kind  of  W-NW. Right on  line  for  the  middle  of  Temple  Fell. And the  mismatch  was  a  little  W  of  N—that  ridge  right  here  where  it  starts  getting  lower  was  what  we  saw  in  that  direction.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Street  Hill.”  said  Forest. “Or something  on  Street  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">           “Yes,  and  look  at  the  way  St. James is  laid  out. The cross  we  saw  was  almost  at  the  rear,  and  it  lined  up  perfectly  with  St. Joe’s steeple. And the  steeple  cross  was  dead  on  line  for  the  Tower  on  Camp  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">           “That’s  not  NW  300.”

<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’s  true  NW. And the  gargoyles  point,  like  this,”  she  lined  up  the  paper,  “NW  330. Which aims  right  for…what  was  this,  The  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">           “Uh  huh.”  said  Forest. “North of  it,  that  summit  says  Spencer  Hill  but  they’re  wrong,  cause  that’s  2nd  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">           “Cool. No, wait,  it  doesn’t  quite  point  at  the  Cobble. More like  between…right  at  this  high  spot  just  north  of  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">           “Hey,  I  just  thought.”  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  no,  Forest  is  thinking.”  quipped  Bell. Seeing the  confused  look  he  gave  her,  she  waved  her  hand. “Go on. What were  you  going  to  say?”

<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…um…oh  yeah. Where do  the  others  point?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Other  what? Oh, gargoyles? Hmm. That’s an  angle  I  never  thought  about. Let’s extend  the  paper  line  down  here…hmm,  just  the  wilds  of  West  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">           “Sand  Bank.”  said  Forest,  peeling  up  the  paper. “Look, the  line  clips  the  edge  of  Sand  Bank  Burying  Ground.”

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

<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  important.”  said  Forest. “The Man  in  Brown  took  me  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">           Bell  was  turning  the  paper  so  the  edge  ran  at  right  angles  to  the  former  direction,  SW-NE. “Oh my  gosh. Look, it  points  right  to  Wintergreen  Island! Where you  live!”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Not  really.”  said  Forest. “Look, it’s  a  little  north  of  the  island.”

<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,  but  the  only  thing  on  that  line  is  the  Little  Red  Schoolhouse way  over  by  Platt  Hill,  how  is  that  important?”

<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  Strong’s  Island.”  said  Forest. “And this  big  high  hill  east  of  Second  Bay.”

<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  one  Mr. Sherlock Lake  is  bending  his  head  down  to  stare  at?”  giggled  Bell. “Look, Sandy  Cove  points  right  to  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">           “That  must  be  Pratt  Hill.”  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">           “But  NE  there’s  only  this  Wallens  Hill  and…oh  wait,  look,  it  points  right  down  part  of  Wallens  Hill  Rd.”

<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  guess  we  gotta  go  on  a  bike  ride  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">           “Temple  Fell  first.”  said  Bell. “Oh! The steeple  cross. Let’s see  where  the  other  end  of  that  points.”  She  traced  the  line  E-SE. “Hmm…this must  be  West  Hill  proper,  this high  steep  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">           “Featherlock!”  exclaimed  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">           “Whaaa…? Forest, what  is  a…”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Featherlock  Swamp.”  Forest  said,  stumbling  over  himself. It’s—Brown took  me  past  it—it  felt  weird,  it  felt  like  it  was…something.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Featherlock.”  murmered  Bell  dreamily. “That is  such a  nice  word….it  sounds  like  some  dashing  noble  prince,  Lord  Featherlock….”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Girls.”  muttered  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">           Bell  gave  him  a  dry  stare. “Boys.” she  said  in  the  same  tone. Both of  them  snickered.

<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,  let  me  write  this  down,  this  is  really  interesting. Old Baptist—hammers  and  a  boat  facing  NW. New Baptist—looks  like  a  castle. Methodist—points who  knows  where,  has  milestone  for  Temple  Fell. St. Joe’s—points to  Temple  Fell,  Street  Hill,  Soldier’s Tower  and  Featherlock  Swamp. St. James—points to  St. Joe’s steeple,  and  in  the  other  direction,  hmm…just  this  shoulder  of  Wallens  Hill  above  Regional  and  straight  down  the  valley. Gargoyles point  to  Cobble  Hill,  Wallens  Hill  Rd,  Pratt  Hill  (or  the  Red  Schoolhouse,  or  both),  and—Sand  Bank  Cemetary. Are you  sure  that’s  the  name?”

<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 called  it  that.”  said  Forest. “He says  it  links  to  the  Graves  of  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">           “Oh  my  gosh,  that  was the  name  you  were  looking  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">           “Yeah.”  said  Forest. “You know,  the  ice  is  getting  thin  on  the  lake. And there’s  no  snow  on  the  island.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Whoopee! We might  get  to  find  Temple  Fell  this  week!”  cheered  Bell.

<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  was  also  realising  that  the  snow  was  thin. The swamp  was  still  deep,  but  the  knoll  under  the  pines  had  had  thin  snow  in  the  first  place  and  now  it  was  bare. She headed  through  the  pines  to  see  how  her  dad’s  three  pails  were  doing:  he  always  insisted  on  tapping  the  old  maple  on  the  other  side  of  the  grove  and  boiling  the  sap  down. It never  made  more  than  a  couple  gallons,  but  it  kept  him  busy.

<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  surprised  to  hear  the  odd  sound  of  singing  as  she  drew  near  the  old  tree. It didn’t  sound  like  her  dad;  he  had  a  thin  wavery  old  voice  that  was  kind  of  irritating. This voice  was  low  and  rumbly. The tune  was  an  odd,  rambling,  repetitive  one  such  as  a  man  on  a  long  boring  walk  might  hum.

<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">“Hi ho  and  a  roundelay ''

<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’s never  ‘nough  hours  are  in  the  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">Hi ho  and  a  roundelay ''

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

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

<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’s too  many  things  to  do  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">Hi ho  and  a  roundelay, ''

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

<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">           She  went  around  the  tree  and  saw,  not  entirely  to  her  surprise,  the  man  in  brown. The day  was  mild  and  damp,  and  he  wore  no  hat. His shortish  hair  was  more  of  an  iron  grey  than  she  remembered. He was  sitting  on  a  great  boulder,  his  strange  lined  face  lifted  to  the  sun.

<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,  hello.”  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">           “The  time  is  passing,  Travel  Lane.”  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">           “What  do  you  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">           “I  mean  what  I  said,  and  I  said  what  I  meant. You’re a  Lane,  aren’t  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">           “Yes,  I  thought  you  already  knew  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">           “I  know  far  more  than  you  would  imagine,  Travel.”  he  said. “The earth  is  stirring  and  the  streams  are  restless,  and  the  Fell  Winter  is  loosing  his grip  at  last. Not as  bad  as  the  Fell  Winter,  of  the  Fall  of  Nargothrond;  that  one  had  snow  and  cold  from  November  to  March. Five months. New England  hasn’t  come  close  to  that  in  a  hundred  years.”

<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.”  said  Travel  dubiously. “I seem  to  remember  winters  with  snow  in  April.”

<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,  back  in  ’96,  you  mean? You must  have  been  only  a  tot! That was  indeed  a  Fell  Winter. Snow fell  in  November,  and  every  week  or  so  another  storm,  culminating  in  the  April  blizzard. 115 inches,  they  say! This one,  though  it  is  Fell,  hasn’t  even  equaled  it—would  have,  if  there  was  snow  this  March  instead  of  rain  and  rain  and  rain. Best go  hiking  while  you  may.”

<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  hike  very  much.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Nor  bike  very  much,  nor  walk  very  much. What do  you  do,  go  to  the  gym?! What a  waste  of  money.”

<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  get  a  full  workout  that  way.”  Travel  defended  herself.

<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’re  not  going  to  find  the  Lost  Caves  of  Colebrook  by  pumping  on  a  treadmill,  kiddo. In fact,  a  lass  like  you  wouldn’t  find  those  caves  if  they  were  under  her  nose. When you  go,  I  suggest  you  take  Ronnie. He is  the  finder,  the  one  who smells  things  out. I needed  little  calling  with  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">           “Oh,  you  know  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">           “Of  course  I  know  Ronnie.”  the  man  in  brown  answered  tartly. “I also  know  the  Three  who  watch  him.”  He  tightened  his  mouth. “Wild got  through,  but  so  far  I  am  stymied. The weird  sisters  are  strange  folk  and  no  knowing  what  they  might  know  or  do. I’m not  always  sure  whose  side  they’re  on.”

<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  they  really  that  weird?”

<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  gave  her  a  flat,  gloomy  stare. “Oh, Travel,  Travel,  are  you  still  bumping  along  down  there? Will you  even  have  the  sense  to  climb  up  Temple  Fell,  or  are  all  my  efforts  wasted,  and  the  Six  be  incomplete? Well, no  matter. Your grandmother  may  have to  do—the  last  heir  of  the  Lanes  doesn’t  even  know  about  weirds,  for  all  she  reads  Tolkien.”

<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,  too!”  she  said,  piqued. “A weird    is  a  curse  or  a  doom,  isn’t  it,  like  when  Glam  said  to  Grettier,  ‘Now  I  lay  my  weird  on  thee?’  Are  these  Weird  Sisters  witches,  like  in  Macbeth? Or are  they—I  don’t  know—curses  incarnate?”

<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  is  some  hope,  after  all! Good, good! I can’t,  after  all,  read  your  heart,  you  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">           “Then  what  are  they? Furies, Fates?”

<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">“There was  an  old  woman  tossed  up  in  a  basket ''

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

<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 she  was  going  I  couldna’  help  askin’, ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">For in  her  shraw  hand  she  carried  a  broom. ''

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

<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  you  going  to  up  so  high? ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">‘To sweep  off  the  stars  from  out  of  the  sky!’ <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">           Somehow  that nonsensical  song  sent  a  cold  chill  into  Travel. “Could she  really?”  she  said  before  she  could  help  herself.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “One  who  regards  the  stars  as  cobwebs  upon  the  pristine  glass  of  the  heavenly  spheres  is  a  person  to  be  feared  indeed,  hunted  like  harts  and  burned  like  heretics. Far better,  Travel,  to  walk  with  bowed  head  and  never  notice  the  Stars,  than  to  hate  them  as  cobwebs  and  sweep  them  like  straw.”

<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  she? And is  she…loose?”

<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,  you  see  at  last.”  the  man  in  brown  said  gravely. “Yes, she  is. The name  she  goes  by  is  the  Witch  of  Winchester.”

<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  she  was  just  a  petty  loom-bewitcher.”

<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  is  a  witch,  Travel. A witch  is  one  who  bridges  the  chasm  that  was  laid  down  for  our  protection,  who  bows  down  to  Satan  and  offers  him  service,  knowingly  or  not. Do not  listen  to  the  Wiccans  babble  of  nature. Do not  believe  the  shamans  when  they  speak  of  energy. It matters  not  whether  or  not  they  have  power;  they  have  bowed  down  to  the  Devil  and  they  should  be  burned  alive.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Even  if  they  don’t  know  it’s  the  Devil?”  Travel  protested. “I mean,  I  know  a  couple  of  Wiccans  and  they’re  good  people,  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">           “Burning  was  always  reserved  for  those  who  practiced  true  magic  and  were  not  found  to  be  mere  charlatans. Though if  they  held  the  candle  to  the  murder,  are  they  not  guilty  as  well? Law takes  no  reck  of  motives. Law deals  with  deeds. And the  law  of  all  societies  of  basically  good men  has  ever  been  that  witches  are  deserving  of  the  death.”

<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…”

<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  see.”  Brown  mused,  gazing  at  her. “You say  that  because  Melissa  is  a  nice  and  charming  person  and  a  friend  that  you  like,  that  she  cannot  possibly  do  anything  wrong  or  be  ever  deserving  of  divine  condemnation,  and  certainly  not  so  harsh  a  thing  as  to  be  burnt  alive.”

<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 voice  went  heavy,  hard  as  stone,  strong  as  doom:  “You  are  wrong. Hell swallows  multitudes  of  good  and  kindly  people,  who  passed  from  this  world  in  the  state  of  mortal  sin.

<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  you  think  witchcraft  a  tame  and  harmless  thing,  and  shamans  a  quaint  relic  of  a  colorful  culture,  and  the  Ouija  a  mere  pastime  like children’s  party  games? Then see,  little  Travel,  just  what  it  truly  is!”

<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  thundering  voice  suddenly  ceased. So did  light. So did  the  world. So did  everything  on  which  her  mind  leaned,  all  the  unconscious  props  of  scenery  and  house  and  human  faces,  solid  ground,  a  frame  of  reference. Her mind  was  slowly  and  horribly  standing  on  its’  head. Everything that  meant  anything,  the  solid  fundamentals  of  reality  that  keep  one  sane,  all  that  is  supposed  to  be  such  and  so,  wasn’t. It was  choking. It was  terrifying. It was  worse  than  any  vertigo. The world  slowly  and  horribly  distorted,  slowly  and  horribly  inverted  and  warped,  every  support  gone  and  deformed. It was  so  far  beneath  description  her  memory  ever  after  slid  away  from  recalling  it,  as  from  a  void  in  reality  itself.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Sound  and  sight  and  color  crashed  back  upon  her  like  a  wave. Travel was  on  her  hands  and  knees, her  soul  shuddering  in  utter  recoil,  vomit  belching  out  of  her  mouth. She threw  up  again  and  again. Her mind  felt  shattered. Her soul  felt  polluted. Gasping sobs  broke  out  of  her  between  the  heaves.

<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  placed  his  hands  on  her  head. The paroxysms  stopped. Still shaking  in  every  nerve,  but  sane,  she  got  up  from  the  ground. Patches of  wet  mud  discolored  her  knees.

<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  place  that  witches  tap  into.”  the  Man  in  Brown  said  softly. “One instant’s  glimpse  of  it  through  a  mirror  has  reduced  you  to  pieces. Yet witches  call  it  down  upon  us  with  every  spell  and  energy  charm. Thank God,  most  do  not  know  what  they  do;  but  some  do,  and  do  it  willing.”

<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  very  thought  of  anyone  seeking  that  out  on  purpose  sent  nausea  recoiling  through  her  again. It was  like  seeing  someone  hungering  to  be  raped  or  tortured. It was  against  nature. It was  beyond  thinking. It was  too  vile  for  words.

<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  understand  now  why  good  men  will  burn  witches?”  the  voice  of  Brown  fell  like  drops  of  gentle  balm  into  her  tortured  heart.

<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  could  only  nod.

<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  rested  one  hand  upon  her  heart. Healing spread  from  it. Slowly an  exhausted  peace  came  upon  her,  as  when  recovering  from  a  violent  illness.

<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  showed  me  Hell.”  she  accused.

<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  wish  all  men  could  be  so  shown  it.”  he  answered. “But if  they  were,  so  great  would  be  their  repulsion  their  wills  would  no  longer  be  free;  and  they  must  choose  God  by  rejecting  that  which  seems  good  to  them  in  the  moment  of  temptation. So in  His  great  mercy  He  veils  Hell  from  us  and  the  Damned  may  not  look  out;  save  when  their  faces  are  revealed  in  the  graver  sins  of  Men. Most witches  do  not  know  what  they  are  doing,  and  if  they  fully  came  to  know  it  would  reject  it  with  disgust. But some  do  know, Travel. Some of  them  know  what  they  are  doing;  and  they,  they  indeed  should  be  burned. She was  one  of  such. Even when  she  was  small  and  petty,  she  knew. Now she  is  old,  very  old,  and  evil  beyond  all  cure. She is  of  the  Living  Damned.”

<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  Witch  of  Winchester?...but  she  was  back  in  Colonial  days.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Those  who  achieve  such  level  of  evil  do  not  die,  but  haunt  their  own  corpses.”  said  Brown. “She spoke  to  Forest  on  Samhain  Night,  and  gave  me  this  message:  the  Door  of  Night  is  open.”

<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…”  whispered  Travel. “There was  a  sleepless  ward  upon  that  Gate!”

<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  stands  open,  and  cannot  be  shut  again.”  Brown  said  grimly. “Make no  mistake,  Travel. The Road  alone  walks  between  him  and  us,  unless  help  unlooked-for  comes,  or  the  Herald  should  return. But the  Fell  Winter’s  hand  is  broken,  and  folk  are  free  to  walk  the  woods  again. I would  do  it  soon…half March  is  still  before  us. Well, Travel,  a  blessed  St.  Patrick’s  Day  to  you!”

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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">           The  next  day  was  amazingly  warm. Brooke felt  the  sun  on  her  skin  and  laughed  aloud  for  the  sheer  joy  of  being  warm. Her job  kept  her  busy  all  morning  as  it  was  Friday,  and  when  she  got  out  of  work  she  felt  hot  and  irritable  and  actually  took  a  cold  shower.

<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  got  out  of  the  bathroom  to  hear  her  phone  playing  Carrie  Underwood  (her  new  ring  tone; next  time  she  was  going  to  upload  that  Aduniac  chant  from  Weathertop  they  played  while  Nazgul  advanced)  and  got  it  on  the  fourth  ring  (victory!). “Hello?”

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Hellooo?”  she  said  a  little  irritably. There were a  few  odd  scratchy  noises  like  someone  with  a  cold,  and  then  a  small  husky  boy’s  voice  saying  “Um….uh…Brooke?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “This  has  to  be  Forest.”  said  Brooke. “Yes, it  is  Brooke  talking.”

<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. It’s Forest. Um.”

<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  waited,  and  then  said  very  kindly,  “What  is  it,  Forest? It must  be  pretty important  for  you  to  call.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Temple  Fell.”  said  Forest. “The snow’s  gone. I mean,  um,  we  can  go  there  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">           “You  seem  pretty  nervous.”  Brooke  observed. “Is something  happening?”

<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  was  fretting  about  the  snow.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Hmm,”  said  Brooke,  looking  at  her  calendar,  “Yes,  tomorrow  would  be  good. Too late  today,  it’s  already  about  2:30. I’ll call  Bell,  all  right? We’ll try  to  arrange  for  about  11  in  the  morning. We’ll meet  at  the  library.”

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Boy,  that  kid  is  not  a  phone  person.”  said  Brooke  as  she  dialed  Bell. “Shyest boy  I’ve  met. Hi, can  I  talk  to  Bell,  Mr. Light? This is  Brooke. How are  you?...Oh,  nothing  much. Bell? Heyyy, girl! You’ll never  guess  who  called  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">           “Kevin.”  said  Bell’s  pert  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">           “No,  you  ninny! It was  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">           “Wow.”  said  Bell. “For him,  that  must’ve  been  like  going  cliff  diving. What’s the  emergency?”

<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  says  the  snow  is  thin  enough  to  hike  through. I shoulda  thought  of  that  yesterday  when  I  saw  the  forecast! Do you  know,  it  was  so  awesome  warm  today  I  snuck  out  back  after  work—there’s  an  old  drain  pond  hidden  in  bushes,  nice  and  deep  and  clean,  and  I  actually  went  for  a  dip.”

<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  did  not! The water  must  be  freakin’  cold!”

<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.”  giggled  Brooke. “I pretty  much  slid  in  up  to  my  shoulders,  gasped,  and  got  out  real  fast. But it  feels  so  good  after  you  dry  off  you  want  to  go  in  again. Anyway, we’ll  have  to  plan  a  hike  tomorrow.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “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">           “Yes,  what  else. Forest seemed  to  think  it  urgent  we  get  up  there  as  soon  as  possible. I told  him  11 at  the  library.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Hold  on. Lemme ask  Dad.”  and  there  was  the  clatter  of  a  dropped  phone  and  Bell’s  voice  yelling  in  the  distance,  mingled  with  Hunter  Light’s  distracted  answers. Then Bell  pounded  back  to  the  phone. “Hey, he  says  I  can  go,  I  told  him  it  was  a  small  group  and  we  had  a  leader.”

<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  such  a  fearful  liar.”

<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  I’m  not  even  Irish,  too,  isn’t  it  amazing? But I’m  not  lying,  Forest  is  15  and  he  said  one  time  he  was  the  man  of  his  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">           “Better  bring  those  pullover  boots.”  said  Brooke. “There’s bound  to  be  mud  everywhere,  and  puddles. Yeah, I  wanna  look  at  that  map  one  more  time  before  we  go. See ya  at  10:30,  I  guess.”

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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">           “Ronnie!”  someone  hailed  him  as  he  stalked  down  the  granite  staircase  in  front  of  St. Joseph’s after  the  8:00  Mass  the  next  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">           “Hey,  Travel!”  he  beamed,  recognizing  the  dark-haired  ordinary-looking  girl  waving  at  him  from  a  car. “Were you  at  Mass? I didn’t  see  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">           “I  did  think  of  popping  in  on  the  off  chance  you  were  there.”  she  said. “We have  got  to  trade  numbers. Hey, listen, do  you  know  a  guy  called  Brown? Kind of  tall,  trampy-looking,  in  a  brown  leather  coat  with  weird  deep  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">           “Yeah.”  said  Ronnie  guardedly.

<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,  this  is  gonna  sound  crazy,  but  you  need  to  watch  out  for  your landladies…”

<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  know.”  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">           “What  do  you  mean,  you  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">           “There’s  something  about  them,”  he  said,  his  eyes  gazing  off  somewhere  else,  his  voice  growing  low  and  abstract  as  he  talked. “They act  all  nice  and  fluffy,  but…I  feel  an  impulse  to  retreat  into  a  shell  when  they’re  talking  to  me. Their eyes…”  He  frowned  as  he  thought. “Watching.” he  said  at  last. “Wary. Asking me  where  I’ve  been  and  what  I’m  doing,  all  in  most  innocent  little-old-lady  style…but  behind  it,  they’re  dead  serious. It feels…like  they’re  afraid.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Afraid  of  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">           “It’s  kind  of  hard  to  define,”  he  said,  rubbing  his  forehead,  it’s  the  accumulation  of  three  months  of  being  thrown  into  closer  contact  with  them  by  this  winter,  snow  shoveling  and  being  invited  in  for  cookies  and  such,  and  noticing. But not  afraid  of  me. More like  they’re  afraid  I’ll  make  a  wrong  step,  like  I’m  treading  blind  down  a  path  they’ve  carefully  laid  out. What did  he  say  they  were?”

<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  might  as  well  get  in  here,”  said  Travel,  “and  I’ll  park. This is  gonna  be  a  long  talk.”  Ronnie  climbed  in  and  she  pulled  up  to  the  side  and  shut  off  the  engine. Then she  began  to  tell  him  what  she  had  heard  from  the  Man  in  Brown. Ronnie’s shrewd  questions  soon  drew  out  of  her  the  previous  conversations,  the  winterberry,  the  lineage  of  Lane,  the  voice  in  the  darkness,  Wayfinder,  the  Wild  Man. Ronnie told  her  about  the  shared  dream  with  Forest,  the  odd  words  of  the  Man  in  Brown,  and  his  own  queer  encounter  with  the  mocking  stranger  who  questioned  the  very  nature  of  Reality.

<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,  have  you  ever  heard  of  a  place  called  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  gave  her  a  very  intent  stare. “Lara asked  me  about  that…so  did  Forest…I  would  guess,  from  Brown’s  words,  a  mountain  two  miles  from  the  Methodist  church. You heard  of  any  strange,  queerish,  uncanny  places?”

<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  it  would  be  uncanny?”

<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  shuddered. “If you  had  ever  seen  that  frost-ridden  being,  you  wouldn’t  ask  that. He wasn’t  Brown. He was  far  weirder. Anything of  this  much  importance  would  feel  creepy.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Hey…”  said  Travel  slowly,  “yeah,  I  do. I know  a  girl  called  Cypress,  she  lives  in  the  purple  house  (and  it’s  haunted,  she  tells  me),  and  she  was  telling  me  of  a  mountain  out  by  Mad  River  Dam  that  feels…uncanny,  she  said. I think  she  described  it  as  being  west  of  the  dam  and  above  Rugg  Brook  Reservoir.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “West…”  Ronnie  muttered. “Yes, there  is  a  mountain  there. It’s pretty  steep  and  I’ve  never  climbed  it,  but  there’s  an  aqueduct  tunnel  under  it  I  followed  last  year. Dead end,  though;  Rugg  Brook  drains  into  it  by  floodgates  in  the  tunnel  roof. It’s like  a  wall  of  pines  when  you  see  it  from  the  lake. The whole  place  feels…remote,  strange,  like  an  atmosphere  of  an  alien  place. Not like  New  England. Like some  last  shard  of  some  ancient  land,  blocked  on  all  sides  by  commonness  but  itself  lingering  weird. I think  we  ought  to  go  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">           “The  last  place  I  want  to  go  is  a  creepy  mountain.”

<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  it  really  is  Temple  Fell,”  said  Ronnie  in  a  ominous  voice,  “I’m  going  there. You can  come…or  you  can  go  on  and  do  ordinary  mundane  things  like  everyone  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">           “You  are  a  really  awful  person,  Ronnie.”  said  Travel. “I suppose  I’ll  never  have  a  moment’s  peace  unless  I  come  along.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Our  friend  in  brown  did  say  I  was  the  one  who  found  out things! You are  one  of  the  six,  I  am  certain. Well, let’s  get  something  to  eat,  and  then  head  up. Good thing  I  brought  my  boots.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Boots!”  exclaimed  Travel. “We have  to  stop  at  my  house. I didn’t  bring  any. Do you know  to  get  close  to  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">           “Our  best  bet,  I’m  afraid,  is  to  park  at  the  Dike  and  pick  our  way  along. I know  where  it  is  generally. Do you  know,  I  can  actually  see  the  ground?”

<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  can’t  believe  it. Yesterday must’ve been  like  70. I actually  broke  out  a  strap  tanktop  for  the  heck  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">           “Girls.”  laughed  Ronnie.

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