Ch. 5: The Tower of the Tree

(Return to Arheled)



''           Golden  blue. Could there  be  such  a  hue? Gold that  mingled  blue,  yet   never  hinted  green  or  lost  its’  color? ''

           Lara  Midwinter  did  not  know,  but  it  was  all  around  her,  a  great  mistiness  of  it  in  hills  like  vast  waves  made  still,  and  beyond  them  a  deep  blue  so  dark  and  pure  she  could  have  gazed  at  it for  an  eternity. Or could  have,  if  it  were  not  for  the  voices that  were  speaking  so  close  to  her.

           She  could  not  see  who  was  speaking,  for  the  curiously  hued  mist  hid  them,  but  she  knew  one  of  them  at  once,  regal  and  somber  and  worried,  yet  somehow  crystalline  and  eerie:  the  Lord  Arcturus.'' ''

           “You  know  it  is  dim  to  think  so,  my  lord  Angar.”  he  was  saying. ''“Those Doors  cannot  be  found. You know  what  happened  to  the  heavens  when  all  the  ways  were  bent. Not even  the  sight  of  the  magias  the  peircers  wrought,  can  penetrate  that  far.” ''

           There  was  a  laugh,  weird,  cold  and  mirthless  as  frozen  glass  being  crushed  to  powder,  conveying  only  scorn. Then Angar  spoke. Lara shriveled  in  on  herself,  ears  shrinking,  so  utterly  alien,  so  hostile  to  her  earthmade  nature  and  earthformed  body  was  the  hard  and  grinding  voice  of  the  Dark  Star. The words  wormed  and  wriggled  down  into  her  mind  nevertheless. “''Play no  darkness  with  me,  Arcturus. Think thee  that  Chelendar’s  comprehension  was  limited  to  himself? As I  gazed  upon  that  symbol  when  I  was  but  a  wheeling,  the  meaning  was  suddenly  within  my  mind  and  I  comprehended  it,  though  it  was  not  until  I  was  full-shone  and  wise  that  the  possibility  occurred  to  me.” ''

''           “That  was  a  century  and  more  ere  Chelendar  vanished!” ''

<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “You  sent  Chelendar,  did  you  not?” <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">  the  biting  dark  voice  mocked. ''“You sent  him  to  open  the  Door  of  Night. Has he  reached  it,  I  wonder?” ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “You  are  incomprehendive,  my  lord  Angar.”   <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">said  Arcturus. '' “Never have  so  you  been  wont  to  speak. Ever your  rays  were  bright  with  tales  and  the  foment  of  recrimination,  but  now…I  pierce  a  shadow  in  your  heart. There is  trouble  in  your  shadows. Have a  care,  my  lord.” ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Angar  laughed  that  horrible  laugh  again. “My sister  has  delivered.”  he  said  with  a  queer  delight. “I it  is  who  am  knowing  the  sire.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “If  thou  knowest,”  said  Arcturus  harshly,  “''then  speak!” ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Ah,  art  so  sure  of  thyself,  Arcturus? So certain,  then,  that  thou  canst  exorcise  the  shadow  that  darkens  the  Choir? Have thy  peircers  reached  the  Doors  of  Night,  and  have  the  laid  open  the  fearsome portals? Know they  the  secrets  that  can  give  thee  power  above  the  very  Alaplondo  themselves,  or  make  thee  glow  brighter  than  the  Sun  and  Moon? For I  do.” ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Arcturus  said  nothing.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “We  will  talk  later.” <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">  said  Angar  abruptly. '' “The Road  is  keen  and  the  King  of  the  Road  sees  farther  than  either  Sun  or  Moon. Even I  cannot  hope  to  live  if  he  faces  me  with  the  Road  underneath  him. But rest  assured,  my  lord  Arcturus,  that  although  I  am  but  one  Great  Year  old,  none  of  the  Seventy  Thousand  has  the  knowledge  that  I  do.” ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “And  what  manner  is  your  knowledge?” ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           The  voice  of  Angar  lowered. “The residue.”  he  murmered. '' “I feel  it. I know  how  to  tap  it,  to  draw  upon  it. No other  Star  has  such  knowledge.”''  Suddenly  he  snarled. ''“We are  being  watched!” ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I  feel  no  eyes,  nor  drifting  watchthought.” <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt"> protested  Arcturus.

<p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">“The Road  is  walking  time  again,  and  bearing  upon  it  the  eyes  that  are  watching. If It  hears  us,  so  does  He.” ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           There  was  a  flash  of  brilliant  blue  and  white,  and  two  stars  streaked  off  like  meteorites  into  the  heavens. And the  golden  blue  mist  began  to  churn,  and  slowly,  with  unbearable  beauty  and  a  heart-wringing  chord,  the  stars  began  to  sing. Lara grew  colder  and  colder  as  the  tingling  sad  singing  of  high  keen  sweet  voices,  a  piercing  freezing  sweetness,  washed  over  her,  froze  into  her.

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

''

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

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

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">And I  cannot  see  where  you  are. ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">I saw  a  star  fall  from  the  sky ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">As it’s  sisters  sang  a  lullaby ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">But then  their  song  turned  to  a  cry ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">For they  cannot  see  where  you  are. ''

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

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

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">And I  cannot  see  where  you  are. ''

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">Where once  a  little  star  fell  to  die ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">And the  stars  do  weep  and  ever  cry, ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">“Oh we  cannot  see  where  you  are!” ''

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

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">But now  you’ve  fled  the  heavens ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">And I  cannot  see  where  you  are. ''

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">I felt  the  tears  you  shed  as  you  cry… ''

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           She  was  leaving  them   behind,  she  was  wheeling  ever  onwards  as  the  Road  spun  her  on,  and  stars  and  space  about  her  spun  as  she  slowly  thawed,  the  frozen  crystal  music  fading  from  her  starstricken  flesh.

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

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

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

<p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">Memorial Day  came  with  a  thunderstorm  that  made  it  cool  and  gloomy  under  the  trees. At first. By noon  the  sun  was  coming  out  and  it  was  hot  and  stickyish;  but  the  thin  clouds  that  still  filled  the  sky  dampened  his  stare  and  it  was  actually  quite  nice.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Ronnie  Wendy  biked  up  into  Winsted and  headed  up  toward  the  Beardsley  Library. Camp Hill  rose  just  behind  it. He took  Munro  Place,  which  climbed  up  beside  the  library  under  quiet  old  maples,  with  broken  concrete  sidewalks  and  steady  old  townhouses. He crossed  Hillside  and  began  pumping  the  pedals  harder,  till  he  got  off  and  walked. This corner  of  Winsted  was  too  pretty  to  just  rush  through.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Up  steep  winding  lovely  short  streets  he  walked,  houses  tacked  on  in  the  oddest  spots  on  ledges,  half  growing  from  the  hill  and  half  projecting  outward. Lilacs, most  of  their  blossom  clusters  fading  to  brown,  stood  among  green  maples  and  privet. An incredibly  steep  narrow  lane  plunged  delightfully  down  to  the  left,  trees  and  houses  hanging  close  above  it. He walked  to  the  right  up  a  curving  road  and  came  out  on  the  top  of  Camp  Hill. It was  hot  and  sunny  now,  and  the  clouds  were  nearly  gone. He was  half  minded  to  go  swimming  on  the  way  home.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Camp  Hill’s  summit  was  an  open  field,  a  low-swelling  dome  almost  flat  at  the  top,  fringed  by  the  tops  of  trees  growing  on the  suddenly  plunging  rear  slopes. Munro Place  ended  at  a  driveway  farther  on. A circular  drive  of  rut-sunken  asphalt  ran  around  the  hilltop  at  the  trees’  edge. On the  right  was  a  down-sloping  small  meadow  ending  at  the  backyards  of  the  houses  along  Hillside. On the  left,  uphill,  a  low  border  of  huge  sunken  granite  blocks  ran  wall-like  parallel  to  the  road. Each drive  entrance  was  flanked  by  freestanding  towers,  5  feet  high,  made  of pink  stone. On the  hilltop  stood  Soldier’s  Tower,  a  stair  of  moss-tarnished  unpolished  marble  falling  in  several  flights  from  its’  base  to  the  arched  and  porticoed  entry,  a  four-windowed  structure  with  two  broad  doors,  a dozen  feet  long.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           The  tower  itself,  seen  from  close,  was  surprisingly  small. Square, the  sides  slanting  outward  on  the  lowest  storey  like  a  tree  base,  it  rose  maybe  fifty  feet  to  a  flat  crenellated  roof  with  old  rails  above  the  merlons. The right  front  corner  upheld  a  small  round  turret,  resting  on  a  carved  base  projecting  from  the  wall,  capped  with  a  round  domed  pedestal  on  which  a  green  copper  soldier  stood,  flagpole  in  hand  and  other  hand  on  hip,  staring  in  insolent  repose. There were  three  levels.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Ronnie  left  his  bike  and  walked  up  to  the  tower. It was  built  of  great  square  blocks  of  rough  pink  granite. Steps led  up  to  a  grey  metal  door,  standing  open. Two older  men  in  red  shirts  greeted  him  as  he  walked  up  the  steps.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “That  soldier,”  muttered  Ronnie  as  he  pulled  out  his  compass,  “which  way  is  he  facing? And what  is  he  guarding  against?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           The  compass  showed  him  facing  exactly  SW.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Frowning,  Ronnie  headed  inside. The first  level  was  a  square  cement-lined  chamber  perhaps  12  feet  by  12,  a  marble  fireplace  crusted  by  damp  in  the  left  rear  corner. A wood  stair,  very  plain  and  steep  and  grey-blue,  climbed  up  in  the  near  right  corner. Three windows,  one  on  each  side,  gave  into  the  room,  iron  bars  on  the  outside. In the  rear  wall  to  the  right  of  the  window  was  a  huge  cracked  marble  tablet,  saying  this  tower  was  erected  Sept. 11th 1890  to  honor  the  Winsted  men  who  fought  in  the  Civil  War.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Not  seeing  anything  significant,  Ronnie  mounted  the  narrow  steep  steps  to  the  second  level. There were  more  windows,  two  to  a  side,  wood  frames  beginning  to  rot  out  set  deep  in  recessed  arches. Between the  windows  on  long  marble  tablets  were  the  names  of  forgotten soldiers,  hundreds  perhaps. Ronnie scanned  every  name  carefully,  but  nothing  leaped  out  at  him,  so  he  mounted  to  the  third  level.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Here,  due  to  the  turret  outside,  the  windows  were  smaller  and  narrower,  two  in  the  front  side  where  the  wall  was  short,  three  in  the  north  and  east  walls,  but  two  again  behind  the  stairs. This room  was  bare  grey  cement,  empty  save  for  electric  fixings. Another stair,  steeper  and  more  rickety,  led  on  to  the  roof,  and  despite  the  “caution”  tape  tied  across  them,  the  trapdoor  in  the  roof  was  open. Ronnie climbed  swiftly  up  and out. A younger  red-shirted  man  in  a  black  cowboy  hat  warned  him  not  to  be  seen  from  below—“liability  issues”—but  when  Ronnie  got  to  asking  which  way  the  soldier  pointed,  the  man  got  curious  too  and  let  him  check.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           The  roof  was  black  tar  and  surprisingly  small. Above them  the  insolent  soldier  stood,  gazing  with  careless  triumph  southwest. There stood  the  double  swell  of  Case  Mt  and  Pratt  Hill,  rising  above  all  other  summits.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Pratt  Hill!”  Ronnie  exclaimed. “He’s looking  at  Pratt  Hill!”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Something  was  lying  on  the  roof  that  had  escaped  his  attention  before. It was  a  key,  old  and  tarnished  and  dull. Ronnie knew  even  as  he  picked  it  up  that  it  would  have  a  cloverleaf  head  with  a  border  of  connected  beads  in  relief,  and  within  that  two  dragonlike  shapes  around  a  worn  center. The key  to  his  old  apartment  in  Pleasant  Valley.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           He  pocketed  it  with  a  grim  expression  and  headed  back  down.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           The  tower  was  actually  becoming  crowded. There were  a  couple  of  families  with  children, and  some  middle-aged  women  hunting  for  ancestors,  and  Travel  Lane  looking  all  around. Her ordinary  face  lit  up  when  she  saw  him  and  she  gave  him  a  quick  one-armed  hug.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “At  least  I  showed  up.”  she  said. “You find  anything?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “The  soldier  is  gazing  SW  straight  at  Pratt  Hill.”  he  answered.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “SW  is  in  the  direction  the  Civil  War  battlefields  lie.”  she  said. “Maybe that’s  why—“

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “The  rhyme  said,  The  tower  turret,  remember?”  Ronnie  said. “And I  found  the  key  to  my  old  apartment  right  underneath  it,  on  the  roof.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “The  one  your—landladies—said  you  had  lost?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “They  said  I  would  find  the  key,  and  when  I  did  I  would  know  the  answer.”  Ronnie  said  in  frustration. “And I’m  as  much  in  the  dark  as ever.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “But  you  do  have  the  Sign  of  the  9th  Hill.”  Travel  pointed  out.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Ronnie  sighed. “Let’s go  downstairs.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           On  the  2nd  floor  they  saw  to  their  surprise  Bell,  Brooke  and  Forest,  who  followed  them  downstairs,  Brooke  and  Bell  still  chattering  away  and  Forest  being  silent  as  usual. On the  first  floor  Lara  was  signing  the  guest  register  and  was  quite  delighted  to  see  them. They talked  animatedly  for  the  next  half  hour  as  they  exchanged  news  and  were  brought  up  to  date  on  things  and  looked  around  the  tower.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “It  is  good  to  see  the  Children  of  the  Road  in  such  a  merry  mood.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Arheled  had  arrived  unseen,  as  he  always  did. He stood  leaning  against  the  sloping  base  of  the  tower’s  south  face,  just  underneath  the  projecting  turret. He was  not  alone. With him  stood  the  Wild  Man,  his  great  ragged  cloak  gone  for  today  and  his  long  tangled  hair  in  some  semblance  of  order,  and  his  beard  was  short  as  well. Arheled wore  a  shirt  of  thin  green-red  flannel  as  well  as  his  usual  battered  brown  corduroy,  and  with  his  youngish  beard-stubbled  face  and  old-man  cap—the  sort  with  a  small  brim  in  front—he  looked  like  a  slightly  disreputable  construction  worker.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           An  awkward  silence  fell  over  them  instantly. Wild gave  Brooke  a  broad  wink  and  she  pulled  her  hair  over  her  face,  suddenly  red  as  a  beet. The others  could  have  sworn  they  heard  her  giggling. Then Ronnie  stepped  forward,  under  what  impulse  he  did  not  know,  and  bowed  deeply.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “My  lord  Arheled,  I  have  the  key.”  he  said.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “That  is  well,  Ronmond,  even  if  that  was  the  doing  of  another. Keep the  Key  always  by  you. Why the  Weird  Sisters  have  chosen  to  aid  us  with  such  a  thing  I  do  not  understand;  but  I  smell  no  harm  in  it,  and  aid  is  welcome.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I  still  say  we  destroy  the  thing.”  growled  Wild.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Yes,  well,  that  is  not  your  decision.”  replied  Arheled. “In any  case  there  are  more  pressing  matters. Have you  found  the  Signs  of  the  Nine  Hills of  Winsted?”

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

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Ronnie  looked  to  be  visibly  tensing  himself. In terse  words  he  told  Arheled  the  strange  and  seemingly  random  yet  strangely  significant  little  things  they  had  discovered  as  the  Signs,  including  his  own  deductions  concerning  the  Star  Murzim  and  the  map  and  the  date  July  25th.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “You  have  fulfilled  the  Quest.”  said  Arheled. “I did  not  set  it  to  those  of  past  callings,  for  many  of  them  had  not  yet  been  planted,  and  for  those  that  were  the  time  had  not  yet  arrived  for  their  fulfillment. The Grapevine  signifies  the  burial  site  of the  vanished  Cannon. The date  July  25th  is  important;  you  guessed  rightly. But the  map  upon  the  Jumbo  is  of  the  roads  that  were  made  by  no  mortal  being’s  hand,  some  of  which  were  after  followed  by  human  roads.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Who built  the  tower  on  Pratt  Hill?”  Ronnie  asked. “And who  made  these  Lost  Roads?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Who  do  you  think,  boy?”  snorted  the  Wild  Man  of  Winsted. “The Stars  made  them,  of  course.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Not  entirely.”  said  Arheled. “Their roads  did not  run  along  the  ground. Their highways  were  of  other  nature. Nor did  Stars  make  the  great  Tower  of  the  Tree,  once  like  a  living  fountain  of  stone,  now  reduced  to  a  few  scattered  rocks.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I’ve  never  seen  it.”  said  Wild  enviously. “It was  down  already  by  the  time  the  Road  spun  me  forth.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Why,  didn’t  I  send  you  a  dream  of  it?”  said  Arheled.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Ah,  dreams,  my  lord,  are  never  memories. And then  that  Ice  showed  up,  and  it  was  all  I  could  do  to  keep  it  lubricated  so  it  wouldn’t  grind  the  Fell  off  the  planet. Have you  ever  tried  to  grease  a  glacier  every  day  for  thousands  of  years?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I  thought  you  said  you  were  ice.”  Ronnie  said. “Couldn’t you become  the  ice  and  split  it?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Not  with  the  power  that  was  calling  it,  no.”  snorted Wild. “I am  of  one  power;  but  there  are  powers  other  than  mine.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Those  tales  do  not  enter  this  one.”  said  Arheled. “This tale  is  of  the  Great  Disaster. And some  of  what  is  emerging  is  a  surprise  even  to  me.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I  had  a  dream  of  the  threefold  binding  of  Chaos.”  said  Forest. “Was that  from  you?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I  am  not  divine.”  replied  Arheled. “Although my  knowledge  is  great,  there  are  many  things  I  do  not  know. And what  I  do  not  know  is  sometimes  told  to  me.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Then  what  was  the  Tower  of  the  Tree?”  Ronnie  asked.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Tall  as  the  hill  she  stood  on,  white  as  the  gleam  of  snow,  with  the  polish  on  her  granite  so  bright  she  shone  like  a  tree  made  of  fire  when  the  Sun  caught  her  sides.”  Arheled  murmered,  as  one  lost  in  old  memories. “She had  four  leaping  roots  and  a  single  rising  stem,  and  at  the  top  great  ribs  of  wrought  stone  and  crystal  spread  out  like  the  branches  of  trees,  and  they  were  carved  as  trees  too,  aye  well. And upon  her  crown  a  great  globe  of  gleaming  glass,  and  he  that  stood  underneath  and  gazed  up  into  it  could  see  the  farthest  Stars  of  the  forgotten  world  as  it  was  in  those  times.” He  fell  still, and  his  ancient  eyes  burned  a  sad  and  somber  gold.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “What  broke  her?”  murmered  Lara. “And who  built  her?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Mem  built  her,  and  Men  broke  her.”  Arheled  made  answer. His eyebrows  tightened  into  a  knot. “Men of  old  came  here  after  the  bending  of  the  ways,  and  with  the  sadness  of  their  loss  they  sought  up  every  stream  to  see  if  Atlantis  was  there,  if  in  the  bending  of  the  world  it  had  not  been  cast  down  for  ever,  and  they  might  find  the  heaven-pillar  still  aloft,  inviolate. And with  my  aid  they  built  a  place  to  watch  and  guard,  and  look  upon  the  heavens  that  had  swallowed  Aelvenhome.”

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “What  others?”  Brooke  whispered. The Wild  Man  was  watching  her  somberly. “What others  could  have  broken  her?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Dúmenoría.”  Arheled  replied. “Morkûlo, the  Hated  Ones. With their  craft  and  their  skill  they  were  already  fell  in  power,  but  that  was  not  enough. Cast out  of  the  Valley  of  the  Moon,  denied  the  Great  River,  they  retreated  back  for a  time  and  brooded  darkly  in  their  bitter  temples,  black and  gold  and  red. Then they  called  upon  their  dreadful  magic  and  invoked  the  ancient  gods  whose  names  are  quite  enough  to  blast  whatever  ear  should  be  unlucky  enough  to  overhear  them,  and  they  reached  into  the  sky  upon  Middlesummer  Day  when  the  Stars  are  wont  to  celebrate,  and  they  seized  and  drew  to  earth  one  of  the  very  Stars  themselves.”  He  fell  silent.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “All  is  dark  to  me.”  Lara  heard  herself  say.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Pity  those  who  have  to  look  inside  that  darkness.”  said  Arheled. “Pity those  whose  task  is  to  behold  the  unbeholdable. Suffice it  to  say  that  by  means  of  this  deed  the  Morkû,  the  Dúminoríans,  brought  into  being  that  talisman  most  vile  and  that  gem  most  abominable,  the  Stone  of  Death.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           None  of  the  Six  seemed  aware  of  the  trees  or  the  tower  nearby. Despite the  warm  humidity  they  felt  cold.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “It  had  the  power  to  command  the  earth  and  stone,  the  plants  and  airs  and  weathers;  metal  and  fire,  water  and  heat  were  under  its’  command,  and  to  the  one  that  held  it  were  granted  hearing  and  knowledge,  sight  and  wisdom  nigh  as  great  as  the  very  Gods  themselves;  and  great  powers  of  thought  were  in  it. And their  Wizard  led  an  army  of   Morkû  up  the  Cloven  River,  which  ye  call  Naugatuck;  yet  in  those  days  before  the  Grinding  Ice  it  was  far  narrower and  sharper,  cascading  through  the  cracks  in  the  upland  which  the  ancient  wars  had  caused. And they  came  upon  the  men  of  the  Tower  and  gave  battle  to  them,  but  the  breaking  of  their  Tower  had  broken  their  spirit along  with  their  power,  and  they  were  besides  far  less;  and  they  were  utterly  destroyed. And the  Morkû  came  against  the  North,  and  it  was  then  that  the  Road  wrought  into  being  the  Wild  Man  of  Winsted;  and  he  drove  them  back.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “But—you  said  the  tower  was  already  broken.”  protested  Bell. “What broke  it?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Magic  broke  it.”  replied  Arheled. “Tell me,  Bell,  where  does  the  Methodist  church  point?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “You  said  it  was  a  quest  for  warmer  times.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “It  points  to  the  Waymeet  of  the  Three  Haunts,  which  are  the  Battle  Mound  and  the  Green  Lady,  and  one  other. That is  your  next  quest. Seek out  the  Blue  Skull near  the  pit  of  countless  cans. Find out  the  side  of  the  woman  in  green.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “You  can  wake  up  now.”  the  Wild Man  said  with  a  sour  grin. The Six  started,  blinking  a  little  as  they  looked  around.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I  guess  you  guys  are  leaving,  then?”  Brooke  said  wistfully. “Won’t you  have  a  picnic? We all  brought  stuff  for  a  cookout,  and  then  we’ll  hit  the  beach.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Wild  looked  at  Arheled,  and  Arheled  looked  at  Wild. “Can I  go  out  and  play,  nice  master?”  Wild  asked  him  sardonically.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Do  you  want  me  to  tell  her  how  many  girls  you’ve  already  wooed  this  past  weekend  alone?”  Arheled  answered  dryly.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Well,  the  beaches  are  full.”  defended  Wild.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “And  the  nightclubs.”  sighed  Arheled. “And the  bars. It’s not  as  if  you’re  pining  away  for  loneliness. Do remember  that  a  girl  in  these  evil  times  is  quite  likely  to  visit  the  Torrington  Planned  Parenthood  HQ  rather  than  keep  the  children  you  have  given  her.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “That’s  why  Winsted  is  so  full  of  eccentrics,  in  case  you’re  wondering.”  Wild  said  in  an  aside  to  the  others. He tapped  his  chest.

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “He’s  earthy.”  shrugged  Arheled. “Very well. We will  linger—and  Wild,  do  not  woo  the  Children  of  the  Road. For once  in  your  life  try  to  remember  your  manners.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Oh  well,  it’ll  be  good  practice  in  case  I  have  to  try  blending  in  with  humans.”  grinned  the  Wild  Man. “Remember the  first  time  I  tried,  how  they  say  it,  ‘hanging  out’,  with  those  two  drunk  carloads  of  whippersnappers what  were  whooping  it  up  right  under  Temple  Fell,  beside  the  Red  Lake? I didn’t  say  two  words  before  they  howled  off,  screaming  about  7-foot  monsters  with gleaming  eyes. That was  in  the  70s,  though. I’m better  at  it  now.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Yes,  but  you  still  need  to  learn  casual  conversation.”  Arheled  said  wearily.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Casual.”  sneered  Wild. “To chit-pick  at  meaningless  words  and  empty  thoughts. Ugh. When I  talk,  I  would  rather  talk  of  important  things;  and  when  I  woo,  to  dance  through  the  empty  pleasantries  beforehand  tires  me.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Well,  get  in  some  practice,  then.”  said  Arheled.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Yes,  Master,  nice  master.”  said  Wild  in  mock  subservience. The others  all  laughed.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           They  unpacked  a  hibachi  from  Brooke’s  trunk  and  Arheled  made  burgers  and  hot  dogs  while  Wild  sat  next  to  Brooke  and  listened  to  the  animated  chatter  of  the  six  children. Well, to  five,  actually;  Forest  was  as  quiet  as  a  camera,  watching  everything  with  his  thoughtful  strange  eyes  and  sometimes  smiling. Someone had got  Lara  going  on  Chesterton,  and  Brooke  was  chattering  with  Bell  and  Travel  while  Ronnie  talked  to  everyone  at  once. Now and  again  Wild  would  make  a  rough  remark,  but  on  the  whole  he  fit  rather  well,  like  an  eccentric  redneck  uncle  at  a  family  picnic. Brooke began  trying  to  draw  him into  the  conversation  but  the  Wild  Man  stuck  to  comments,  and  then  began  complimenting  Brooke’s  anatomy  in  an  undertone  in  her  ear,  which  reduced  her  to  a  continuous  state  of  blushing  giggles.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Arheled’s  hamburgers,  though  Brooke  had  bought  them  herself  at  Aldi’s,  were  like nothing  the  others  had  tasted  before,  save  perhaps  in  some  restaurant  which  used  the  choicest  cuts  of  beef. Rich and  meaty,  with  a  flavor  of  such  quality  as  to  rival  steak,  the  juicy  yet  brown-cooked  meat  like  cheese  to  their  teeth,  they  couldn’t  get  enough  of  it. The pickles  and  onions  and  cheese  and  mustard  only  garnished  the  delicious  burgers. He had  wrought  a  similar  transformation  with  the  hot  dogs.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “What  did  you  do  to  these  things?!”  “Gmmmmm,  oh,  this  is  so  good!”  “Wow,  this  is  the  best  meat  I’ve  ever  had!”  they  were  all  exclaiming  at  once.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “I  merely  enhanced  what  was  there  and  banished  the  impure  compositions.”  said  Arheled,  a  bemused  yet  tender  smile  on  his  face  as  he  served  up  the  last  hot  dogs. He watched  them  devouring  in  ecstasy,  and  looked  over  at  the  Wild  Man  and  smiled. “Are not  humans  wonderful  little  things,  Wild? It takes  so  little  to  please  them  and  make  them  happy;  a  smile,  a  taste,  a  touch;  before  they  return  once  again  to  take  up  the  burden  of  the  sorrow  that  is laid  on  them  for  doom  and  help  in  one. So weak  and  small,  and  so  unutterably  strong.”  And  the  Wild  Man  nodded.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Only  Forest  seemed  to  have  heard  this  exchange,  sitting  on  the  outskirts  and  taking  everything  in;  but  his  eyes  grew  huge  and  thoughtful  and  he  stared  into  nothing  for  a  long  while.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           After  they  had  all  roasted  marshmallows  and  Arheled  had  produced  some  of  the  most  excellent  chocolate  for  “s’mores”  that  any  of  them  could  remember,  they  piled  into  their  cars  and  headed  for  the  beach. Arheled and  Wild  waved  goodbye  from  the  hilltop,  and  were  gone  even  as  the  waving  children  turned  away.

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

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           The  next  few  days  were so  warm  and  muggy  and  lovely  it  was  perfect  summer  weather. Brooke called  in  sick  on  one  such  day,  it  was  so  soft  and  marvelous. She drove  down  Boyd  Street,  the  woods  on  her  left  hazy  and  dim  and  greeny-blue,  the  damply  hot  sun  delicious  on  her  skin  with  promise  of  fun. W. Lake  St  branched  off  on  the  right  as  she  rounded  the  big  curve  just  before  Winsted,  and  this  led  her  down  to  the  junction  with  the  western  shore  road. The boat launch  filled  a  curving  bay  in  the  shore  walled  by  stone  jettys,  a  few  trees  left  from  the  lake  park  of  long  ago. She turned  right  and  pulled  into  the  little  parking  lot  at  the  corner,  where  the  shore  road  made  a  sudden  right  elbow  along  the  beach  before  curving  back  south  on  its’  way  down  the  lake. Across the  street  from  the  lot  was  a  narrow  strip  of  sand  between  pavement  and  water,  with  two  empty  lifeguard  chairs  and  no  buoys  out  in  the  lake;  and  that  was  Holland  Beach. It was  a  fresh,  pleasant,  breezy  sort  of  place,  and  the  air  was  so  warm  Brooke  felt  like  dancing  when  she  got  out  of  her  car. Already in  her  suit,  she  only  needed  to  drop  her  beach  bag  randomly  on  the  sand,  kick  off  her  flip-flops  and  charge  headlong  into  the  water  with  a  squeal  of  glee. She wore  a  black  and  dark-green  two-piece  today:  there  might  be  boys,  after  all,  and  she  wanted  to  look  attractive.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           The  water  was  gorgeous,  silky  warm-cool  and  opaque  with  yellow  silt  from  all  the  little  kids  and  teens  kicking  it  up. She recognized  the  Library  Gang  and  swam  over  to  exchange  sopping-wet  hugs  with  Julian  and  Delilah  and  get  splashed  by  Greg  and  Martin. Deli was  in  a  really  slutty  suit  with  a  top  which  barely  contained  her  big,  bouncy  breasts,  and  she  was  acting  sassy  and  brassy  as  usual. But the  guys  seemed  to  love  it. She’d cut  her  hair  short  and  dyed  it  brunette,  which  suited  her  plump  voluptuous  figure  well  enough,  but  Brooke  didn’t  like  it. Then Martin  was  manhandling  Deli  while  Julian  mocked  him  and  Brooke  swam off  to  see  who  else  was  here,  and  almost  collided  with  Ronnie  Wendy. She clapped  her  hands  and  squealed  with  delight. She and  Ronnie  got  into  a  splash  war  and  then  she  made  him  try  to  flip  her  off  his  shoulders,  except  that  he  had  such  tough  bony  shoulders  she  slipped  every  time. But she  really  enjoyed  herself  with  her  friend  of  the  Road,  and  when  Bell  came  it  was  just  icing  on  the  cake.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Being  a  guy,  Ronnie  started  shaking  after  only  an  hour  or  so  in  the  water  and  had  to  go  ashore  and  warm  up,  holding  that  big  towel  of  his  by  the  corners,  thrown  over  his  back,  so  that  the  wind  flapped  it  like  a  cloak. Bell spotted  Mindy,  a  lively  little  girl  of  her  own  age,  and  the  two  of  them  were  oblivious  of  anyone  else  for  a  while.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Brooke  suddenly  felt  two  strong  smooth  hands  seize  her  by  the  waist  and  hoist  her  bodily  out  of  the  water,  and  then  she  was  being  soused  repeatedly  in  the  arms  of  a  strange  man. In the  thrill  of  being  continuously  ducked  in  warm  water  Brooke  really  didn’t  care  who  was  doing  it,  although  Martin  wasn’t  this  strong  and  any  other  guys  were  way  off  down  the  beach. Her ducker  soused  her  one  final  time,  then  heaved  her  up  and  hurled  her  completely  out  of  the  water. She sailed  almost  seven  feet  before  plunging  into  the  deep  water  beyond  where  she’d  been—the  beach  sloped  quickly  into  the  deep  area. It wasn’t  till  she’d  surfaced,  almost  delirious  with  fun,  that  she  saw  her  new  partner  was  the  Wild  Man  of  Winsted.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           He  looked  different  without  his  beard  and  with  his  long  hair  matted  and  streaming,  but  she  knew  those  rough  craggy  features  and  those  mocking, nonhuman  eyes. She laughed  even  harder  with  delight.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “How  did  you  like  that?”  he  grinned.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Awesome! Whee! Do that  to  me  again! Oh my  goodness! That was  fun!”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           He  took  her  at  her  word  and  she  was  literally  swept  breathless  as  the  strange  being  threw  her  around  like  a  football  and  ducked  her  till  she  was  half  insane  with  the  exhilaration. Then he  had  his  great  arms  about  her,  his  hands  feeling  up  her,  the  touch  sending  waves  of  bliss  into  her  so  that  she  gasped,  and  her  gasps  swallowed  by  his  kisses.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “By  Arheled,  stop  it!”  she  gasped. His arms  fell  still,  but  she  could feel  his  hands  in  places  she  should  never  allow  anyone  to  touch. Her breath  came  with  difficulty. Why not,  after  all? Why not  let  him  do  as  he  would  with  her?

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Please,”  she  whispered,  “let  go  of  me. Don’t woo  me.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           His  touch  withdrew  from  her  flesh,  and  she  missed  it  so  badly  she  wanted  to  cry. “As you  wish. You are  nearly  under  my  power,  pretty  maiden. But no  matter. There are  other  ripe  lovely  dirlas  to  be  caressed;  plump  Deli,  there,  has  been  in  my  arms  three  times  already.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Jealousy  coursed  through  her  in  a  roar  of  emotion. “How dare  you! How dare  you  go  straight  out  of  my  arms  to  woo  that  little  witch! I’ve a  good  mind  to  order  you to  jump  off  a  cliff!”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Beware,  little  Streamgirl,  what  you  order  the  Wild  Man  of  Winsted  to  do,”  the  rough  voice  hissed,  and  such  sudden  hatred  and  implacable  fury  raged  in  his eyes  that  Brooke’s  jealousy  withered  like a  twig  in  a  fire  as  she  splashed  backward  several  feet.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Wild,”  she  said  in  a  timid  voice,  “Arheled  said  no.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           The  fury  went  out  like  a  switch. “If you  resist  because  you  have  the  prohibition  of  the  Warden  himself,  then  I  will  not  woo  you  further.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           “Thank  you,  Wild  Man.”  She  said  shyly. “I don’t  mind  being  played  with,  but  you  may  not  grope  or  take  me.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           The  Wild  Man  of  Winsted  smiled. There was  something  dangerous  in  that  smile,  like  the  grin  of  a  tiger,  but  the  danger  was  muted  and  turned  away. “To play  without  wooing—that  will  be  a  strange  thing  indeed. But I  will  play  a  little  longer,  and  then  I  will  woo  the  baby  witch. You cannot  have  it  both  ways,  Streamgirl.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Brooke  threw  back  her  head  and  laughed  with  sheer  delight  as  she  felt  his  powerful  hands  grip  her  waist  and  heave  her  up,  and  then  he  was  sousing  her  again,  and  she  enjoyed  herself  so  much  as  he  horsed  her  around  that  she  felt  only  a  kind  merriment  when  she  saw  him  turning  his  rough  attentions  onto  Delilah. Ronnie, Bell  and  Mindy  coming  over  at  the  same  time,  she  took  Mindy  on  her  shoulders  while  Bell  sat  on  Ronnie’s  and  they  played  chicken  fights. She wasn’t  surprised  to  see  both  Julian,  Delilah  and  the  Wild  Man  were  gone. Then Bell  unseated  Mindy  due  to  Ronnie  being  about  as  easy  to  knock  off  balance  as  a  stone,  and  they  found  a  flat  slab  of  loose  rock  and  played  “anchor”  with  it—holding  it  in  their  arms  while  swimming  forward,  the  rock  steadily  sinking  you. Brooke found  a  large  rock  and  of  course  Ronnie  had  to  show  off  and  lift  it  up. When he  dropped  it  she  felt  the  thud  in  the  water,  even  though  not  touching  the  bottom  at  the  time.

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

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           The  warm  humid  night  air  made  it  so  stuffy  Forest  had  to  leave  the  fan  on  before  he  could  fall  asleep. The warmth  made  it  difficult  to  drop  off. Now and  then  he  became  conscious  of  whirling  blades  and  a  low  hum,  and  then  sleep  drifted  lightly  in  on  him  again. The hum  was  rising  now,  wavering  and  growing  strange and  silvery;  and  cold,  cold  yet  lively  and  aware  with  a  kind  of  crystalline  curious  sadness,  for  it  was  the  singing  of  the  stars.

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

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

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

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

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Forms  so  beautiful  and  shapely  as  to  tear  his  heart  in  two  were  swirling  slowly  around  him,  moving  on  the  air  as  to  the  steps  of  unseen  dancing,  and  keen  and  sad  and  tingling  their  silver  voices  rang. A streak  of  white  fire  shot  past  them,  shot  downward,  lighting  up  a  furry  rolling  blanket  of  deepest  greeny-black:  a  great  highland,  deeply  grooved  and  fissured  by  the  convulsion  that  had  thrust  it  up  and  gnawed  downward  by  the  ceaseless  streams,  tree-covered  hills,  and  up  from  one  of  them  rose  a  tower  like  a  glowing  tree  itself.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           …and  we  cannot  see  where  you  are. ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           A  flash  leaped  up  from  the  trees,  and  there  was  a  dull  boom. And darkness  closed  over  the  hills  again,  darkness  and  the  branches  of  trees.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Still  far  in  the  background  and  high  above  the  world  Forest  heard  the  silver  singing  of  the  searching  stars  above,  bending  and  peering  at  the  world  beneath;  but  the  trees  shut  out  with  their  branches  the  vision  of  the  Stars. Round about  and  overhead  the  ancient  branches  closed,  until  neither  gleam  nor  patch  of  the  dome  of  the  heavens  could  be  made  out  through  the  leaves. He saw  nearby  the  huge  stems  of  the  giant  wardens  of  the  earth,  growing  tall  as  cliffs  and  thick  as  clouds;  yet  a  faint  grey  twilight  filled  the  spaces  of  the  black  boles. The cause  of  this  lay  at  his  feet,  a  discovery  which  made  him  reel  backwards  a  few  steps. There, gleaming  faintly  still,  a  luminous  crater  had  been  smashed  out  of  the  forest  floor,  earth  and  broken  rocks  a  faintly  glowing  grey-silver. Off in  the  forest  a  luminous  shape  was  walking,  hesitant,  unlit  by  anything  save  itself.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           He  followed  her,  himself  unmoving,  gliding  in  her  wake  as  she  wended  her  way  through  the  strange  tangled  forest;  for  the  figure  was  female,  a  dress  of  tattered  white  drifting  around  a  body  of  pleasing  but  peculiar  shape,  and  her  hair  gleamed  white  and  platinum  upon  her  angled  shoulders. She was  confused,  bewildered  amid  the  grim  silence of  the  trees;  for  they  were  hostile,  and  though  they  feared  the  power  she  wielded  enough  to  leave  her  untouched,  their  cold  earthen  wills  cast  a  gloom  upon  the  forest  that  no  Star  could  illumine. Although in  the  heavens  they  had  the  power  of  gods,  there  was  a  power  in  the  earth  and  the  trees  of  the  earth  that  cast  the  Stars  in  a  fog  if  they  came  under  the  trees.

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">I saw  a  star  fall  from  the  sky ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">As it’s  sisters  sang  a  lullaby ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">But then  their  song  turned  to  a  cry ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">For they  cannot  see  where  you  are. ''

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           How  long  the  Star  stumbled  on  underneath the  trees  Forest  did  not  know;  but  he  became  aware  that  the  gloom  was  full  of  shifting  shapes,  slinking  shadows  round  and  round  them,  growing  closer  on  all  sides. A queer  rounded  boulder  rose  up  from  a  glade,  like  a  skull  sunk  in  the  earth,  a  dent  for  the  nosehole  and  a  dent  for  one  eye. The Star  stopped  beside  it,  nearly  touching  it,  for  she  too  could  see  the  moving  forms  that  barred  her  way  and  hemmed  her  round,  dancing  figures,  skirted  men  in  knee-length  robes  that  flapped  as  they  leaped. Silently the  dancing  men  moved  round  and  round,  and  some  of  them  had  hair  that  gleamed  faint  silver  in  the  dark,  and  at  every  turn  they  drew  closer,  leaping,  weaving  closeknit  steps. A few  of  them  gave  Forest—or  the  place  where  he  stood—a  wary  glance,  as  if  they  felt  his  reaching  eyes  down  all  the  ages  that  had  been,  but  then  passed  on.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Something  about  the  way  in  which  they  moved,  the  hideous  sinuosity  of  limb  and  wand,  the  strange  and  yet  obscene  movements  of  their  circling  hands,  struck  into  Forest  a  deathly  chill,  a  sense  of  evil  he  knew  nothing  about  yet  could  almost  grasp  and  feared  to  grasp,  lest  suddenly  he  should  comprehend  the  sweeping  signs  and  fall  blasted  by  the  knowledge. In deathly  silence  though  they  danced,  still  overhead  beyond  the  wood  the  stars  sang  on.

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

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

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

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">And we  cannot  see  where  you  are. ''

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           She  shrank  closer  and  closer  to  the  blue  skull-like  rock,  white  light  glowing  from  her  hands  and  flickering,  expiring  before  it  could  take  form. She had  a  lovely,  luminous  white  face,  but  it  was  young,  like  that  of  a  human  girl  of  twelve,  and  fear  was  wavering  through  it,  for  the  dancing  of  the  Morku  was  holding  down  her  power  and  her  strength  was  sliding  away. She reeled  and  fell,  sprawled  in  unbearable  beauty  and  pathos  across  the  eyeless  skull,  and  the  dark  men  closed  around.

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

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">Where once  a  little  star  fell  to  die ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">And the  stars  do  weep  and  ever  cry, ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">“Oh we  cannot  see  where  you  are!” ''

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Up  through  leaf  and  shadowed  bough  the  sight  of  Forest  sprang,  and  there  above  the  trees  there  was  light,  the  deep  twilight  of  the  ancient  Stars  from  before  the  rending  of  the  heavens;  and  it  shone  upon  a  broad  lake,  and  above  the  lake  a  high  and  treeless  hill. And that  hill  was  a  bright  and  gleaming  green  despite  the  lateness  of  the  night,  for  it  was  lit  by  the  glow  of  the  Tower  of  the  Tree. Upon the  top  of  the  hill  sparkled  palaces  of  stone,  and  out  of  them  rose  like  roots  of  marble  the  four  arched  pylons  and  high  square  base  of  the  Tower  itself. At a  great  height    the  curving  trunks  of  stone  met  and  meshed  together  like  the  bole  of  a  tree,  upholding  a  slender  stem  as  high  as  the  hill  below  it. Near the  crown  great  ribs  of  white  stone  and  crystal  wrought  like  reaching  branches  opened  out  on  every  side,  and  upon  them  were  held  railed  platforms  and  stairways,  and  kerb  and  step  were  clearest  rock  crystal. And at  the  top  all  stairways  bent  in  and  met  the  tapering  stem  of  the  Tower  in  an  arched  net  of  glass  and  crystal  upheld  on  meeting  beams  of  white  stone,  and  under  that  net  lay  a  globe  of  glass.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Except  it  was  not  glass. Forest knew  that  at  once. It was  utterly  transparent,  so  much  so  that  only  by  its’  facets  and  the  dew  upon  it  was  he  able  to  see  it  at  all. For it  was  carved  of  arheled  from  the  Ilurambar  themselves,  unbreakable  by  any  violence,  potent  with  power. And as  he  watched  he  saw  men  emerge,  tiny  as  ants,  underneath  the  mighty  globe  as  huge  as  three  men;  and  with  them  was  a  bound  and  gleaming  shape.

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

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

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">But now  you’ve  fled  the  heavens ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">And I  cannot  see  where  you  are. ''

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           What  they  did  on  the  tower  as  the  night  filed  past,  he  could  not  see,  nor  wanted  to  see. He saw  the  white-armoured  Men  of  the  Tower  patrolling  back  and  forth,  their  siege  engines  silent  and  ready,  the  dreadful  devices  built  in  Sauron’s  teaching  that  could  hurl  darts  like  thunder  standing  loaded  and  ready,  their  tubes  of  black  metal  poised. All unaware  of  the  doom  that  was  on  them. All unaware  that  their  ranks  were  no  more  pure,  and  above  them  their  enemy  wrought  out  their  own  defeat.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           For  up  from  the  Tower  suddenly  blazed  a  coruscating  whip  of  light. The Tower  crumpled,  folding  inward,  arms  dropping,  walls  dimming,  polish  charring  and  exploding;  a  whirlwind  funneling  inward  upon  the  middle  of  the  summit;  and  then  suddewnly  there  was  a  crash  like  thunder,  and  flame  spouted  from  the  hill,  and  stones  hurtled  out  of  the  smoke  to  smite  the  forest  like  bombs  and  pepper  the  Long  Lake’s  surface. But the  globe  shrank,  releasing  a  rotating  beam  of  energy  as  it  buckled  to  the  tremendous  power  that  was  acting  upon  it. There was  a  flare  of blinding  white. In the  hand  of  the only  living  being  to  survive  the  breaking  of  the  Tower,  the  one  who  by  evil  design  had  so  engineered  it  that  he  uttered  the  spell’s  last  word,  lay  a  jewel  so  black  light  simply  ended  at  that  point. And the  name  of  that  stone  was  Death.

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

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">I felt  the  tears  you  shed  as  you  cry ''

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

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           He  was  alone,  no  other  remained  of  all  those  magicians  and  all  the  Men  of  the  Tower;  body and  soul  they were  bound  in  that  gem  to  be  fuel  and  the  source  of  it’s  terrible  power;  and  he  lifted  a  twisted  staff  of  oak,  and  in  the  great  knotted  burl  at  the  tip  he  set  the  Stone.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt">           Slowly  the  singing  of  the  Stars  faded  into  the  deepness  of  heaven,  and  Forest  was  conscious  only  of  a  great  sadness. And then  sleep  overcame  him  as  the  Road  let  him  go,  and  dreams  whirled  him  on.

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