Ch. 8: Seige of the House of Lane

Back to Arheled

             Hunter   Light   had   to   unlock   the   door   when   he   came   in   on   his   lunch   break. Everything   was   silent   and   empty. No   sign   of   the   kids. The   table   was   in   a   mess   as   if   breakfast   had   just   been   eaten;   except   the   remains   were   several   hours   old.

             By   the   time   he   had   circled   the   Island   and   gone   calling   all   over   the   mountain   across   the   street,   Hunter   was   beginning   to   be   seriously   alarmed. Out   of   breath   from   the   unwonted   exercise   of   mountain   climbing,   he   staggered   back   into   the   house,   just   in   time   to   receive   a   phone   call   from   Chrissy’s   workplace. She   had   apparently   been   in   the   middle   of   a   project   and   suddenly   walked   off   the   planet. All   he   could   say   was   “Haven’t   seen   her   since   morning.”

             He   went   up   the   stairs   again,   heavily. Perhaps   there   were   traces   this   time. Maybe   one   of   them   had   left   a   note. Bell’s   room   had   nothing. He   hesitated   about   going   into   Forest’s   room,   but   the   terrible   painting   was   safely   covered   and   he   summoned   courage   to   search. The   expected   note   was   there,   all   right,   fallen   off   the   bed.

''             Dad,   we   have   been   summoned   to   battle. Arheled   will   tell   you. ''

''                      Love,   Bell   &   Forest ''

             Hunter   Light   sat   down   on   the   bed. His   legs   felt   even   weaker. Arheled. There   it   was   again. That   name. Commander   of   some   mysterious   supernatural   Road,   apparently   not   a   human nor   exactly   an   angel. And   now   he   had   taken   his   kids. “If   I   had   him   here!...but   I   doubt   I   could   choke   answers   out   of   him   like   with   Sophia.”

             The   deep   ding-dong   of   the   broken   doorbell   shattered   his   thoughts. That   bell   never   worked. How   could   it   be…?

             He   kept   the   door   on   the   chain   when   he   opened   it. “Who   is   it?”   he   called   a   little   sharply.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   voice   that   answered   seemed   to   come   from   every   part   of   the   house.

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Peering   through   the   door   Hunter   Light   saw   a   tall   man,   or   manlike,   at   any   rate,   for   his   face   was   luminous   as   must   have   been   that   of   Moses   when   he   came   down   from   Sinai:   white   and   radiant,   the   features    grim   and   terrible,   stern   as   the   sky. For   the   first   time   in   his   life   Hunter   felt   afraid:   not   the   fear   of   harm   or   the   fear   of   dark,   but   a   jolting   panic   like   a   man   losing   his   footing   on   a   cliff.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Well,   Hunter   of   Light? Will   you   let   me   in?” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Slowly,   weakly,   Hunter   unhooked   the   chain   and   let   it   fall. Arheled   strode   across   the   threshold. Though   he   did   not   have   to   bend   his   head,   he   seemed   immeasurably   tall,   as   though   by   nature   he   was   something   huge,   something   that   had   compressed   itself   to   be   seen   and   felt   in   this   small   form. The   eyes   that   he   bent   upon   Hunter   Light   were   bright   and   stabbing   as   candle   flames.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   show   myself   to   you   as   I   have   not   done   to   any   even   of   the   Children,   save   once   when   I   turned   my   back. For   you   have   already   been   awakened,   but   not   yet   summoned. I   am   Arheled. Do   you   question   me?”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   shall   never   know   or   comprehend   my   true   nature. You   shall   never   be   told   just   who   or   what   I   am. For   that   I   tell   to   none;   I   am    venda,   not   of   angel   nor   elf,   nor   of   any   other   people:   I   am   Arheled,   I   alone.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You…called   my   children?”   Hunter   managed   to   say.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Yes.”   answered   Arheled. “I   sent   them   under   the   earth   to   stop   the   incarnation   of   the   Oldest   of   Evils:   the   first   Dark   Lord,   now   growing   ever   stronger. Not   the   Dragon:   that   ancient   serpent   bows   to   him. But   lest   their   families   should   be   used   against   them,   I   have   sent   them   to   a   place   of   safety   where   they   shall   lie   asleep   until   the   Children   return. Would   you   join   them?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “No.”   said   Hunter. “I   am   the   Hunter   of   Light,   and   I   would   rather   be   up   and   doing   something.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Arheled’s   fiery   eyes   faded   until   they   resembled   a   human’s,   yet   more   brilliant. “Then   do   you   take   up   your   position   as   Third   of   the   Three   Elders,   their   voice   of   knowledge. The   other   two   are   in   the   house   of   Grandmother   Lane,   and   there   also   lie   the   sleepers;   for   the   Lane   house   is   the   oldest   and   the   most   defensible. I   will   take   you   to   them. Whom   do   you   serve,   Hunter   of   Light?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             There   were   at   last   no   doubts   in   Hunter’s   mind. It   all was   suddenly   so   clear. “I   serve   the   Road   and   the   Warden   of   the   Road.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Arheled   stretched   forth   his   hand. In   a   strange   suspense   Hunter   watched   it   approach,   blue   light   welling   through   the   skin,   until   it   touched   him. He   looked   up. He   was   alone   upon   a   driveway   paved   with   round   yellow   gravel   under   white   pines. Thick   rhododendrons   lay   upon   the   right. Walking   up   this   drive   he   came   upon   two   houses,   yellow-sided   with   white   trim. The   one   on   the   right   was   small   and,   despite   the   modern   vinyl   siding,   bore   an   air   of   antiquity. The   left-hand   house   was   large   and   modern,   and   going   up   to   the   door   he   rang   the   doorbell. No   sound   could   be   heard,   but   the   door   swung   slowly   open   by   itself.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Hello? Hello?”   Hunter   called. No   one   answered,   and   he   stepped   in,   calling   out   at   intervals. The   house   was   not   silent,   despite   the   lack   of   answer:   a   curious   constant   sighing   and   occasional   snorts   echoed   softly   through   the   neat   interior. He   came   into   one   of   the   drawing   rooms   and   stopped   dead.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             On   the   chairs   and   couches   a   family   sprawled,   asleep. There   was   an   oldish   stout   man   with   a   bulldog’s   face,   a   sad   thin   woman   with   grey   hair,   and   two   or   three   young   men. A   fat-cheeked   young   girl   lay   on   the   floor. Hunter   withdrew,   slowly,   and   now   he   was   afraid.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   master   bedroom   had   an   elderly   couple   laid   out   on   the   bed,   a   heavy   old   man   with   a   ruddy   face   and   long   white   hair   who   looked   like   he   belonged   in   a   Western,   and   a   mild-faced   lady   with   a   harassed   expression. In   the   next   two   rooms   he   found   children,   small   boys   of   all   shapes   and   sizes   and   one   baby   girl   huddled   together   on   the   bed. The   other   room   had   a   mouselike   man   with   short-shaved   hair,   balding   on   top,   and   a   youngish   but   worn   woman   with   glasses   and   a   weary   face. A   tall   teen   boy   lay   slumped   in   a   chair. In   the   living   room   a   corpulent   man   with   a   folded,   senile   appearance   lay   curled   up   on   a   love-seat   sofa. All   slept   as   soundly   as   the   dead. In   the   last   room   there   was   only   one   sleeper,   a   young   woman   with   golden   hair,   and   it   was   his   wife,   Chrissy   Lake. She   had   never   looked   so   beautiful.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   shook   her,   but   she   only   sighed   and   fell   limply   back. So   fair   and   vulnerable   his   wife   looked   as   she   lay   there   in   enchanted   sleep,   that   he   found   himself   bending   down   to   kiss   her.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   wondered   when   you   would   come.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   started   upright,   heart   racing. An   old   woman   stood   in   the   doorway. At   least,   “old”   was   the   first   impression   he   had,   for   she   wore   an   ankle-length   skirt   of   antique   design   and   had   a   heavy   fringed   shawl   around   her   shoulders,   and   both   shawl   and   dress   seemed   faded   and   pale. But   the   erect   severity   of   her   bearing,   and   the   hard,   wood-like   fixity   of   her   thin   drawn   face,   gave   her   a   dignity   and   majesty   offset   not   even   a   little   by   the   grey   bun   of   her   hair.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Well,   I—I   opened   the—nobody   answered,   so   I—“

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             She   lifted   one   hand. “No   excuse   is   needed. We   have   been   expecting   you   for   some   hours. You   would   be   the   Hunter   of   Light,   I   presume.”   She   inclined   her   head   when   he   nodded. “Welcome   to   the   house   of   Lane,   Hunter. I   am   Grandmother   Lane. Come   with   me. None   of   the   living   are   here   save   the   sleepers. Do   not   kiss   your   wife,   for   if   any   of   them   are   kissed   in   love   all   will   awake. Wayham   should   be   done   emptying   the   freezers   by   now,   and   Peter   wanted   to   dazzle   us   with   what   he   calls   ‘tramp   soup’. I   had   better   go   and   see   what    he   is   putting   into   it.”   She   moved   down   the   hall   toward   the   stairs,   seeming   almost   to   glide   though   her   shoes   clicked   on   the   wood   floor.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             She   led   him   to   the   small   old   house   next   door,   and   he   opened   the   door   for   her. Inside   was   cosy   and   comfortable   but   small;   a   fire   burned   on   the   hearth   and   the   air   smelled   heavily   of   wood   smoke,   bacon   and   stew. Something   was   bubbling   on   the   stove,   and   stirring   it   was   a   tall   thin   bent   old   man   with   grizzled   hair   recently   trimmed   to   some   semblance   of   civilization   and   a   long   rough   beard,   whom   Hunter   Light   was   astonished   to   recognize   as   the   old   tramp   he’d   seen   raiding   the   McDonald’s   or   Dunkin’   Donuts   dumpster   sometimes. What   such   a   disreputable   bum   was   doing   here   he   had   no   idea;   though   he   had   to   admit   the   man   wore   clean   clothes   that   were   not   tattered   or   even   patched. Still,   being   this   close   to   him   was   a   little   discomfiting:   Grandmother   Lane   must   be   giving   him   a   handout   or   hiring   him   for   an   odd   job,   perhaps. He   hoped   the   man   wouldn’t   stay   long. A   loud   crash   behind   him   made   him   jump,   but   the   old   woman   never   turned   a   hair:   another   man   had   entered   and   deposited   an   armload   of   sticks   and   logs   in   the   woodbox. This   man   looked   much   younger,   about   forty-five,   dark   hair   beginning   to   gray   worn   long   over   his   shoulders,   with   a   stern   and   long-boned   face   that   somehow   made   Hunter   feel   even   more   in   awe   of   him   than   he   had   of   Grandmother   Lane. The   eyes   were   ancient,   strange   and   filled   with   odd   slow   thought:   a   tree’s   eyes   in   a   king’s   face. Ridiculous,   but   that   was   what   it   felt   like.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Ah,   there   you   are.”   this   individual   said   in   a   deep   rusty   voice. “Good   to   see   you   at   last.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Hunter,   this   is   my…relative,   so   to   speak. Wayham   Lane,   this   is   Hunter   Light.”   said   Grandmother   Lane.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Pleased   to   meet   you.”   said   Hunter.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “At   your   service.”   Wayham   replied.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   old   tramp   called   at   this   point,   “Does   anyone   want   to   eat?”   and   Hunter   realized   with   some   alarm   he   had   been   doing   the   cooking.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “We’ll   think   about   it.”   Wayham   answered. They   headed   into   the   kitchen   and   sat   down   at   the   old   wood   table. The   old   tramp   gravely   spooned   out   a   curious   but   appetizing   mess   of   what   seemed   to   be   corn,   hamburger   and   beans   in   gravy,   onto   everyone’s   plate. He   set   a   fourth   plate   for   himself. To   Hunter’s   surprise   it   was   the   tramp   who   then   said   grace:   not   the   long-winded   wordy   Protestant   kind   of   grace,   but   a   Catholic   formula,   short   and   direct,   with   the   pagan   sign-of-cross   gesture   before   and   after. But   he   bowed   his   head   anyway.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “So   where’s   this   Third   Elder?”   he   asked   Grandmother   Lane   after   they   were   done   and   the   tramp   was   clearing   the   dishes. “I   thought   Arheled   said   there   were   two   others   here.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             There   was   a   slight   twinkle   in   the   old   woman’s   eye. “There   are.”   she   replied. The   tramp   headed   into   the   other   room   where   he could   be   heard   washing   the   dishes. Hunter   Light   lowered   his   voice. “Are   you   in   the   soup   kitchen   line?”   he   asked,   motioning   with   his   head   in   the   tramp’s   direction.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “No,   I   am   not.”   she   replied   with   a   certain   cold   dignity. “But   rest   assured,   you   will   meet   our   leader   and   eldest   soon. Not,   of   course,   as   old   as   Wayham,”   she   and   the   stern   man   exchanged   an   odd   glance   full   of   secret   laughter,   as   at   some   private   joke,   “but   older   than   you   or   I.   In   the   meantime,   let   me   show   you   to   your   room.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Thanks,   but   I   have   to   be   getting   back   to   the   College…”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   don’t   get   it,   do   you,   young   feller?”   said   Wayham   Lane   gruffly. “If   you   leave   the   ring   of   winterberry   you   will   be   in   their   power. Arheled   has   enough   on   his   platter. Somebody   has   to   guard   these   sleepers. We’re   at   war,   sonny—and   this   is   a   fortress.”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Wayham   rolled   his   eyes. “Knowledge,   perhaps,   though   you   haven’t   shown   much   of   it,   but   wisdom,   decidedly   not. They   tell   me   you’re   a   scientist. Does   that   mean   you   have   to   see   before   you’ll   believe?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Thomas   went   a   step   farther.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “No,   seeing   was   enough   for   him   in   the   end. What   about   you? What   have   you   seen?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   saw   a   Star   incarnated.”   Hunter   said   in   a   low   voice. “I   saw   a   man   become   a   dragon. I   saw   two   Stars   lose   a   battle   of   power. I   saw   the   Stars   as   they   were   wont   to   dance.”   He   looked   Wayham   in   the   eye. “I   saw   Arheled.”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Hunter   sighed. “It   is   very   hard   for   me. A   man   of   science   lives   with   two   minds,   two   subconscious   ways   of   thinking. The   first   is   that   what   we   experience   in   everyday   life   is   all   that   there   is;   there   is   no   supernatural,   nothing   transcending   the   material;   everything   can   be   naturally   explained,   even   miracles   and   the   secrets   of   life. And   the   other   is   that   everything   is   relative,   that   all   principles   of   material   action   and   composition   are   in   continuous   flux,   that   even   the   laws   of   nature,   if   you   examine   far   enough,   do   not   hold   firm:   there   is   nothing   fixed,   there   is   no   certainty. Most   of   the   time   these   do   not   clash;   one   is   hardly   aware   of   their   existence;   until   events   occur,   or   findings   appear,   that   are   utterly   beyond   explication,   and   then   the   scientist   begins   to   babble   as   the   assumptions   war   in   his   head.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Scientists,”   Grandmother   Lane   observed   calmly,   “are   very   stupid   people.”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Oh,   come,   Hunter. Wake   up   a   little. The   problem   with   you   is   that   your   mind   has   no   foundation,   no   basic   idea   corresponding   to   reality,   no   solid   conception   of   what   is   and   is   not. That   is   because   you   start    at   the   wrong   end. You   take   the   shifting   statements   of   men’s   knowledge   of   matter—a   knowledge   ever   changing   as   more   is   discovered   of   the   nature   of   Creation—as   fact;   as   the   unchanging   reality   to   base   your   thoughts   upon;   and   the   divine,   and   the   spiritual,   you   lump   vaguely   together   as   “Sunday   worship”   and   keep   it   unconnected   from   your   calculations   and   diagrams,   your   results   and   your   findings.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“But   truth   does   not   contradict   truth. Science   only   supports   religion. Your   problem,   Hunter,   is   that   you   do   not   believe,   not   with   all   of   you. If   you   did,   all   your   changing   facts   and   new   findings   would   be   subsumed   into   your   idea   of   reality:   your   mind   would   say,   “This   is   very   interesting   how   God   really   made   the   world.”   But   you   hold   down   inside   you   that   the   world   made   God;   that   matter   was   first,   and   matter   caused   everything. You   have   been   wrong   all   your   life,   Hunter   Light. Nothing   is   relative,   for   everything   is   caused;   everything   is   fixed   if   it   proceeds   out   of   God.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Professor   Light   stared   off   into   space   and   made   no   answer. He   felt   as   if   he   was   standing   on   his   head. It   really   was   simple,   when   you   looked   at   it   that   way. Numbers   tended   to   make   you   see   everything   as   complex,   tended   to   make   you   complicate   things;   but   what   were   numbers,   and   equations? Symbols   and   abbreviations   for   the   structure   of   matter. But   spirits   had   no   matter. Angels,   and   non-angelic   beings   like   Arheled,   were   exempt   from   calculations. It   really   was   simple. He   must   have   been   incredibly   stupid   not   to   see   it.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “How   come   they   haven’t   already   attacked,   if   you   say   they’re   out   for   us   now?”   he   said   suddenly,   his   mind   switching   to   practical   matters. “I’ve   been   going   around   town   same   as   always.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Things   escalate.”   said   Wayham. “Police   often   refrain   from   an   arrest   until   they’re   ready;   they   keep   the   suspect   watched,   knowing   his   habits,   waiting   for   the   right   time. You’ve   been   watched—and   this   house   is   watched—and   so   are   the   houses   of   the   other   Children   of   the   Road   and   their   families. Arheled   pre-empted them. He   took   the   close   relatives   of   the   Children   and   sent   them   here,   in   the   strongest   of   the   houses,   and   sent   you   here   as   well,   before   they   could   make   a   move.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Anybody   could   walk   up   the   driveway.”   protested   Hunter.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Only   if   he   was   unconnected   in   any   way   with   the   Father   of   Dragons.”   said   Grandmother   Lane. “Our   house   is   the   oldest   in   these   parts. Winterberry,   a   deciduous   holly,   surrounds   it;   no   witch   can   pass   such   a   ring. Our   house   has   been   under   the   Road   for   four   hundred   years.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “They   can’t   just   kidnap   you   in   broad   daylight.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Oh   yes   they   can.”   said   Wayham. “You   saw   the   Dragon—what   form   does   he   wear? As   whom   does   he   walk?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Cornello.”   said   Hunter   in   a   voice   of   sudden   enlightenment. “Of   course. They   could   pull   me   in   on   trumped-up   charges—and   I’d   never   come   back   out.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   understand   at   last.”   Wayham   smiled   grimly. “Besides,   you   couldn’t   go   to   your   College   if   you   wanted   to—we’re   in   Colebrook,   and   you   didn’t   drive   here.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Hunter   nodded. “So   we   stay   here   all   day?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “More   or   less.”   said   Grandmother   Lane. “We   patrol   the   borders   every   half   hour—the   winterberry   can   be   cut   by   an   ordinary   human,   and   police   may   attempt   a   raid. But   Cornello   is   not   so   foolish   as   to   mount   an   open   attack. He   will   prowl,   and   probe,   and   wait. Wayham   will   take   you   around—we   have   stayed   in   here   long   enough.”

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<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             (Article   from   the   Register   Citizen,   Oct.   9th,   2011)

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             WINSTED—In   a   further   twist   on   the   bizarre   series   of   unfortunate   events   that   have   plagued   our   quiet   town   since   spring   (see   p.   8   for   full   coverage),   police   have   confirmed   that   a   surprising   amount   of   people   have   simply   disappeared   from   the   area.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “We   have   about   twenty <span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">   <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">cases   ongoing   at   the   moment,”   Police   Commissoner   David   Wells   reported,   “all   sharing   one   thing   in   common,   a   complete   and   apparently   unexpected   absence. None   of   the   victims   appear   to   have   packed. Homes   are   undisturbed   and   meals   left   half-eaten.”   Asked   whether   this   was   related   to   the   previous   series   of   unexplained   events,   Wells   replied   he   couldn’t   say.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Several   of   the   missing   people   are   families. The   Midwinter   family   of   Riverton,   whose   father,   Captain   Dennis   Midwinter,   is   of   the   NW   CT   state   police   force,   had   a   previous   case   of   disappearance:   one   of   their   three   daughters,   Lilac,   age   15,   vanished   on   Oct. 3rd   or   thereabouts. When   Captain   Midwinter   and   his   oldest   daughter   Lara,   age   16,   failed   to   show   up   for   work   two   days   in   a   row,   and   when   repeated   calls   only   reached   answering   machines,   concerned   colleagues   entered   the   Midwinter   house   and   found   the   entire   family   missing.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   Ponds   of   Winchester   Center,   a   couple   in   their   60s   with   a   daughter   Brooke,   age   17,   were   discovered   missing   when   Brooke   did   not   show   up   for   her   job   at   Super   Stop   &   Shop   on   Oct. 8th. Rufus   Lane   and   his   daughter   Travel,   age   18,   of   Colebrook   have   also   failed   to   show   up   at   their   workplaces,   though   police   are   reluctant   to   actually   break   into   their   house. A   bachelor   in   Burrville,   Ronnie   Wendy,   age   31,   was   reported   missing   by   his   landlord,   and   calls   to   relatives   in   Meriden   have   not   been   returned. A   local   tramp   and   homeless,   Peter   Midwinter,   has   been   absent   from   his   usual   haunts,   but   he   could   merely   be   on   the   move   to   another   town. Hunter   Light,   a   professor   at   NW   Community   College   as   well   as   teacher   at   Regional   High,   together   with   his   wife   Chrissy   Lake   and   their   two   children,   Bell,   age   12,   and   Forest,   age   16,   are   missing   from   their   house   on   Highland   Lake. Several   Winsted   residents,   Carlee   Paulson,   Ralph   Chatterly,   Mary   Kate   Rogers,   Cypress   Green,   Nerissa   Alfgeir,   and   Officer   Connor   Harris   of   the   Winchester   Police   Force,   are   also   reported   missing.

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<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Indian   Summer   had   come   to   the   North,   at   long   last. The   sun   was   hot   and   very   pleasant,   the   air   grew   warm   and   muggy,   and   it   was   almost   hot   enough   to   go   swimming. Actual   color   bloomed   out   on   the   trees;   the   swamp   maples   by   the   Lane   pond   were   a   deep   red   and   orange,   and   it   was   altogether   way   too   nice   to   be   teaching   in   a   stuffy   classroom.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Brooke   will   be   so   ticked   off.”   said   Hunter   to   Grandmother   Lane. “She   loves   to   swim. Even   more   than   my   daughter   Bell.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Time   and   tide   wait   for   none.”   she   answered   sedately. “I   prefer   a   bathtub   myself. My   old   bones   are   too   creaky   for   autumn   water.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Things   fell   into   a   routine   on   that   Columbus   Day   weekend. They   divided   the   night   between   the   four   of   them,   even   the   old   tramp,   who   insisted   on   taking his   turn   at   odd   hours. “I   get   up   in   the   middle   of   the   night   to   raid   dumpsters   all   the   time.”   he   said. “I’m   used   to   it.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You’re   a   hundred   and   four.”   said   Grandmother   Lane   gently. “You   should   get   some   sleep.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Well,   you’re   no   spring   chicken   yourself,   ma’am.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I’m   younger   than   you   are,   for   all   that.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Hunter   found   it   difficult   to   determine   what   the   tramp’s   position   in   this   odd   household   was. He   and   Wayham   divided   the   chores   between   them   for   the   most   part,   but   the   others   often   deferred   to   him,   treating   him   half   humerously   and   half   with   an   odd   respect. Perhaps   it   was   his   age. With   his   grizzled   grey-white   hair,   he   didn’t   exactly   look   a   hundred,   but   he   certainly   was   old. For   his   part,   even   when   he   grew   used   to   him,   Hunter   avoided   looking   at   him. The   old   tramp   made   him   feel   almost   degraded,   and   ashamed   of   his   feeling;   he   simply   could   not   bear   his   presence.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Most   of   their   time   was   occupied   in   patrolling   the   ring   of   winterberry. The   house   stood   on   a   low   rise,   the   swamp   with   its’   pond   like   a   moat   between   it   and   the   road,   and   the   cleared   belt   lay   on   the   near   side   of   the   pond. From   there   it   traversed   the   swamp,   straggling   up   the   higher   ground   and   around   behind   the   pine   wood,   then   up   below   the   houses   and   so   back   to   the   swamp. Recently   cleared   of   trees,   it   was   a   mess   of   stumps   and   jewelweed   between   the   irregular   clusters   and   straggling   shoots   of   the   holly   bushes. Their   leaves   in   some   places   were   a   deep   dark   green   going   purple   on   the   edges,   in   others   a   wan   watery   green-yellow. In   the   swamp   some   of   them   were   already   bare. Everywhere   the   red   berries   clustered,   so   thick   sometimes   as   to   conceal   the   twig   they   grew   on;   various   shades   of   bright   cherry   red,   and   crimson,   and   orange-red,   and   white-red,   and   pale-red,   and   even   a   weird   yellowy-peach. Wayham   had   made   a   winding   path,   muddy   in   places,   that   wove   about   the   inner   edge   of   the   berry   belt. It   had   the   look   of   a   power   utility   line   without   any   poles;   the   belt   varied   from   twenty   to   fifty   feet   across. It   was   easy   to   see   the   age   of   the   bushes   in   the   center:   bent   and   kinked   as   grey   laurel,   with   short   crabbed   twigs,   huge   as   hills   amid   their   rambling   offspring.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             It   was   a   pleasant   walk   of   perhaps   a   quarter   mile   under   the   autumn   trees,   the   hot   sun   alternating   with   shade;   then   back   again   to   where   the   belt   came   closest   to   the   house. There   his   relief   would   meet   him,   and   after   that   he   would   laze   around   in   a   lawn   chair   and   munch   on   potato   chips   or   cookies   or   the   snacks   that   Grandmother   Lane   had   provided. “Just   for   this   weekend,   mind.”   she   had   admonished. “Then   we’re   on   war   rations.”   Considering   they   didn’t   dare   go   shopping,   at   least   until   Halloween   when   news   came,   this   meant   plain   meals   and   no   snacking.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Along   the   swamp,   past   the   old   twisted   maple   and   the   queer   rotten   stump. Over   the   driveway. Hunter   smiled   as   he   spotted   the   old   marker-stones   on   either   side,   with   an   odd   symbol   like   a   curling-over   Y   graven   deep   into   the   outward   side. Wayham   had   explained   it   was   the   rune   for   R,   standing   for   Road:   the   inner   ring   of   the   defenses   around   the   Lane   house. Wayham   had   set   them   himself,   the   same   year   he   planted   the   winterberry,   he   added;   at   which   Hunter   gave   him   an   odd   look:   those   bushes   were   supposed   to   have   been   there   for   centuries. Along   the   remainder   of   the   alder   swamp. Up   the   knoll,   pine   needles   yellow   underfoot   and   pines   on   the   right,   and   the   whole   air   full   of   a   dry   sunny   pine-spice. He   made   out   other   markers,   here   and   there;   some   nearly   buried   in   leaves   and   soil,   some   newly   unearthed   from   where   they   had   fallen   flat,   dark   with   mould-stain.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   heard   the   sound   of   footsteps   not   his   own.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             It   wasn’t   a   surprise. Four   or   five   times   they   had   nabbed   a   neighboring   boy   who   gave   his   name   as   Ben   and   wouldn’t   give   straight   answers   on   why   he   was   sneaking   around,   each   time   at   a   different   point. One   time   Wayham   had   intercepted   a   UPS   man,   another   time   the   old   tramp   had   been   in   time   to   head   off   a   mailman   with   a   certified   letter   he   insisted   had   to   be   signed   for,   so   the   tramp   tore   up   the   letter   and   shouted   at   him   until   he   left. Piecing   it   together   the   others   were   not   surprised   to   find   a   court   summons for   Grandmother   Lane,   Rufus   Lane   and   Travel.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “This   is   their   excuse.”   said   Grandmother   Lane.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   do   realize   the   police   will   show   up   here   if   you   don’t   make   an   appearance?”   Hunter   had   said.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “They   would   have   shown   up   anyway,   on   some   reason   or   other.”   she   answered.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Mindful   of   all   this,   he   stepped   behind   a   tree   and   waited. Sure   enough   the   two   men   that   crept   into   view   wore   police   uniforms   and   had   drawn   handguns. They   wormed   through   the   thick   winterberry   bushes,   moving   carefully,   guns   held   upward   and   ready. Hunter   held   his   breath.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Absolutely   nothing   happened. The   holly   moved   aside   like   any   other   bush   and   the   police   emerged   unscathed.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Then   the   great   doubt   fell   upon   Hunter   Light. These   supposed   enemies   had   entered   unhindered. How   could   they   be   evil? They   were   just   upholders   of   the   law,   doing   their duty. What   sort   of   conspiracy   theory   had   he   fallen   for,   with   words   of   whispered   mystery   and   talk   of   phantom   war? Nothing   out   of   the   ordinary   here. The   memory   of   all   the   queer   events   he’d   witnessed   was   dim   in   his   mind. Crickets   hummed   and   chirped   sleepily   in   the   warm   air. He   felt   his   eyes   closing.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   police   left   the   winterberry   and   slipped   into   the   pine   grove. Two   of   the   funny   old   stones,   irregular   random   flat   little   slabs   planted   endwise   in   the   ground,   were   in   sight,   small   and   insignificant   among   the   brush   and   pine   roots.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   queer   Y-shaped   symbols   etched   into   the   stone   glowed   red.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Both   police   stumbled   as   if   over   a   root,   picked   themselves   up   and   went   on,   crouched,   moving   from   tree   to   tree.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Hunter’s   doubts   popped   like   soap   bubbles,   as   if   a   spell   had   broken. The   glowing   letters   now   burned   blue,   and   in   his mind   was   a   throbbing   pulse,   like   a   headache,   or   a   sneeze,   an   urgent   warning,   an   irresistible   urge   to   take   action. His   eyes   were   filling   with   light. He   leaped   out   from   behind   his   tree   and   jabbed   a   finger   at   the   backs   of   the   police.

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Both   police   whirled   around,   guns   instantly   held   level   with   his   chest. Both   policemen   reeled   and   stumbled   backward,   dropping   guns   and   pressing   both   hands   to   their   eyes. The   forest   seemed   incredibly   bright,   bright   as   about   ten   sunny   days,   but   to   him   it   only   seemed   amazingly   clear.

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Crawling   on   hands   and   knees,   groping   like   blind   men,   the   police   shambled   back   into   the   swamp. The   moment   they   passed   the   stones,   the   glow   behind   the   runes   faded,   and   by   the   time   they   emerged   from   the   winterberry   the   forest   had   dimmed   almost   to   normal. Hunter   Light   walked   forward,   stiffly,   feeling   as   burnt-out   as   if   he’d   just   been   moving   rocks,   and   took   the   guns.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Wayham   Lane   came   crashing   through   the   trees,   Grandmother   Lane   behind   him   lifting   her   skirts   and   actually   running. “Everything   okay?”   he   shouted. “We   came   as   soon   as   we   could.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   felt   that   funny   headache,   too?”   said   Hunter.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Of   course   we   did,”   panted   Grandmother   Lane,   “but   we   couldn’t   approach   until   that   light   went   down. That   wasn’t   the   marker-stones,   I   presume.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Well,   they   were   sort   of—glowing,   as   if   a   light   was   behind   them—is   that   what   you   meant? I   didn’t   see   any   light.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   others   gave   him   very   strange   looks. “Young   man,”   said   Grandmother   Lane   severely,   “this   entire   grove   suddenly   became   about   three   times   brighter   than   the   Sun. We   only   kept   our   eyesight   by   diving   behind   the   house   and   burying   our   faces   in   the   ground. Even   the   ground   and   the   lids   of   our   eyes   glowed. Don’t   play   games   with   me!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   do   look   a   bit   grubby.”    Hunter   said   doubtfully. “I   must   admit   it   did   seem   rather   bright   in   here   all   of   a   sudden. Come   to   think   of   it,   I   had   the   oddest   doubts   about   you,   and   this   whole   bunker   mentality,   especially   when   the   police   walked   right   through   the   hedge.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Did   the   stones   stop   them?”   said   Wayham.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “They   sort   of   tripped,   that   was   all. Then   I   got   that   headache—like   an   overpowering   urge   to    do   something—and   I   yelled   Freeze,   and   the   cops   are   suddenly   staggering   around   clutching   their   eyes.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Hunter   of   Light.”   said   Wayham   wearily. “Of   course. All   right,   listen   up,   Junior. ''That   light   came   from   you. ''I   do   not   wish   to   hear   any   protests,   excuses,   indignant   incredulousity,   or   such   like. The   Road   called   out   to   you,   to   repel   an   enemy   it could   not. Those   police   were   not   connected   with   Cornello,   and   so   the   Road   could   not   keep   them   out;   but   you   could   order   them   to   leave,   and   so   bring   down   the   Road   upon   them. I   pity   them. They   will   never   see   again,   and   their   brains   may   be   damaged   as   well.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Hunter   Light   blinked   a   few   times. “That   would   mean   that   my   optic   nerves   and   retinas   became   suddenly   and   momentarily   enhanced   to   greater   than   an   eagle’s—at   least   twelve   times,   if   your   description   of   the   light’s   intensity   is   accurate. The   sun   has   an   apparent   magnitude   of   negative   26.74,   the   corona   somewhat   greater,   which   would   mean   that   the   light   you   witnessed   must   have   had   a   magnitude   of   about   27.80   or   upwards. If   that   light   came   out   of   me   I   would   obviously   not   be   affected   by   it,   but   for   my   body   to   emit   any   light   at   all   would   mean   that   my   skin,   and   doubtless   my   blood   as   well,   instantaneously   developed   bioluminescent   properties   of   simply   staggering   output   ability. This   is   incredible. This   is   something   no   human   or   animal   body   is   capable   of   doing. I   wonder   if   any   trace   remains   in   my   physical   makeup. Don’t   I   wish   there   was   some   way   to   get   into   my   lab!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   headed   off,   oblivious   to   everything   else,   and   so   did   not   hear   Wayham   remark,   “The   voice   of   knowledge,   that’s   him,   if   there   ever   was   one.”

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

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<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Indian   Summer   cooled   and   was   gone   by   Tuesday. The   next   day   it   was   cloudy,   and   a   soft   infrequent   rain   made   the   swamp   hues   muted   and   luminous,   until   the   leaves   began   to   fall. The   rain   continued   the   next   day   and   it   grew   very   humid   and   warm. They   shared   a   raincoat   among   them   when   patrolling. Soon   the   stove   was   crowded   with   socks   and   pants   drying   out. Towards   afternoon   it   grew   more   drizzly   than   rainy,   and   sometimes   even   stopped. It   was   when   Hunter   Light   was   on   patrol   and   had   reached   the   driveway   that   he   saw   Arheled   walking   up   it   toward   him,   tall   and   robed   in   a   great   white   mantle   that   flowed   out   around   him. The   stones   glowed   white   as   he   passed,   their   runes   sending   out   rays   of   light,   and   then   went   dark. He   stopped   and   turned   to   face   Hunter,   and   before   the   quiet   majesty   of   that   face   Hunter   felt   an   overpowering   impulse   to   kneel.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   hear   you   blinded   two   men   the   other   day.”   he   said. “And   have   turned   back   no   less   than   five   attempts   of   dragons   at   sneaking   in.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Most   of   that   was   the   others,   sir.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Arheled   nodded. “Consider   yourself   off-duty.”   he   said. “Let   us   go   inside. I   have   words   for   the   Elders,   and   for   Wayham   Lane.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             They   walked   up   the   drive   in   silence. Hunter   at   length   summoned   up   courage   to   ask,   “Sir,   Mr. Arheled?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Arheled,   or   Sir,   will   do   fine,   Mr. Light.”   the   Warden   answered. “But   to   answer   your   question,   yes,   you   did   glow. You   hunt   light. It   knows   you. It   is,   in   point   of   fact,   your   province. Before   long   you   will   know   it   better.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   mean   I’m   going   to   be   like   some   kind   of   superhero?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “A   superhero   is   a   musclebound   showoff   with   a   delusion   of   saving   the   world.”   answered   Arheled. Hunter   was   a   little   taken   aback   by   the   suppressed   mirth   in   the   solemn   voice. “I   am   not   here   to   pull   spandex   over   your   chest   and   put   underwear   on   top. Nor   do   I   come   with   grave   tales   of   gadget-laden   villains   with   a   penchant   for   gloating   and   super   powers   of   annoyingosity,   whose   only   reason   for   being   a   problem   is   that   they   have   a   weapon   that,   most   improbably,   is   somehow   able   to   doom   the   world. No,   I   have   called   you   all   here   not   to   save   the   world,   but   to   die.”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Ah,   but   I   do. Count   yourself   fortunate,   Professor,   that   not   even   I   can   see   into   the   future;   for   if   I   could,   despair   might   well   come   even   upon   me,   who   am   little   less   than   the   angels. And   if   the   elect   are   to   have   even   a   chance   of   passing   through   the   time   that   lies   ahead,   that   sin   above   all   others   must   be   far   from   me,   that   I   may   build   and   gather   and   call   and   send,   and   at   the   very   least   cast   a   tripwire   before   the   advance   of   the   Darkness   that   is   coming.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             They   reached   the   Lane   house   at   this   point   and   walked   inside. Grandmother   Lane   looked   up   from   the   table   and   made   a   dignified   but   reverent   curtsey. The   old   tramp   behind   her   sank   stiffly   on   one   knee. But   Wayham   Lane   made   no   move.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   do   well,   Wayham   lane.”   said   Arheled. “For   a   king   bows   to   no   one.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   don’t   quite   follow   you.”   said   Wayham.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   do   not   know   who   your   father   was,   but   I   do,   and   that   was   why   I   kept   you   alive. As   I   kept   your   father   alive   in   his   time,   for   the   line   must   be   kept   unbroken,   and   with   the   perishing   forever   of   the   kingdom   of   old   it   could   no   longer   be   left   to   chance.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Sir,   I   do   not   understand.”   Wayham   protested. “Whose   line? Who   is   my   father? To   whom   do   I   owe   my   blood?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “The   blood   that you   owe   is   the   blood   of   the   Gods.”   Arheled   made   answer. “The   man   whom   you   call   father   is   not   in   the   living   earth. In   him   of   all   Men   survived   the   last   of   his   line,   survived   by   fish   and   then   by   hawk   and   kept   alive   from   Flood   to   Light. I   speak   of   Narkil,   Wayham. To   find   the   answers   that   you   seek,   you   must   seek   his   ancient   sword.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Where   do   I   seek   for   the   sword of   my   father?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Follow   the   light   of   the   eyes   of   the   Ring   when   you   walk   into   the   rooms   of   the   Lost   Caves   of   Colebrook. To   you   the   others   I   have   only   this   to   say:   watch   and   be   wary! There   is   battle   beneath   the   earth. Your   children   are   powerful,   Mr. Light,   you   will   be   happy   to   know. They   are   safe   and   well.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   drew   the   white   mantle   close   around   him,   and   swirled   away   in   a   rush   of   white   dust   that   was   gone.

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<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Conversation   was   subdued   around   the   dinner   table   that   night. The   air   was   growing   cooler,   though   intermittent   rain   still   pattered   down,   so   the   wood   stove   was   lit   in   the   cellar   and   dry   warmth   ebbed   slowly   up   from   below. Hunter   noticed   with   the   usual   irritation   that   both   the   tramp   and   Grandmother   Lane   crossed   themselves   before   grace.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Are   you   folks   Catholic?”   he   said   to   her.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “We   go   to   St. James,”   she   answered,   “so   you   would   call   us   Episcopalians,   though   I   prefer   High   Church   or   Anglo-Catholic. Peter   there   is   a   Roman   Catholic,   however. We   have   been   engaging   in   discussions   lately—us   of   St.   James—as   to   whether   we   should   take   up   the   Pope’s   offer   and   join   the   US   Anglican   Ordinariate   of   the   Catholic   Church,   but   that   would   likely   take   years.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “What   about   you?”   said   Hunter,   motioning   towards   Wayham   Lane. “What’s   your   persuasion,   if   you   don’t   mind   my   asking?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Aye,   to   know   a   man’s   persuasion   is   essential,”   agreed   Wayham,   “for   then   you   know   what   system   he   partakes   of   and   so   guess   with   some   approximation   what   his   courses   of   thought   or   action   are   likely   to   be. As,   for   instance,   those   whose   persuasions   are   Wicca. As   for   me…I   suppose   I   was   Church   of   England   back   in   my   day,   but   as   in   my   days   no   white   men   had   even   bothered   to   settle   here   and   the   only   churches   were   down   in   the   Spanish   settlements   hundreds   of   miles   away,   there   wasn’t   much   chance   of   churchgoing. Since   I   came   back   I’ve   more   or   less   gone   with   Crimella   and   Rufus   of   a   Sunday.”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   guess   it’s   my   watch,”   said   Wayham,   rising,   “as   Peter   seems   to   be   at   the   door. Good   night,   all.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Hunter   did   not   like   night   patrol. Being   shaken   awake   in   the   cold   ungodly   hours   and   having   to   get   all   wrapped   up,   and   then   being   wide   awake   by   the   time   he   was   done. But   he   did   rather   enjoy   seeing   the   stars   like   bright   fruit   through   the   thinning   leaves,   and   smelling   the   soft   coldness   of   the   stirring   breezes   as   the   night   air   shifted   in   its’   unquiet   sleep. Tonight,   as   she   had   before   the   clouds   came,   the   moon   stared   cold   and   clear   down   into   the   trees,   filling   the   forest   with   her   ghastly   grey   clarity   and   dead   blueish   stare,   in   which   objects   were   at   once   distinct,   and   difficult   to   make   out.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Dawn   grew,   pale   in   the   eastern   sky. Coming   out   onto   the   lawn   Hunter   Light   looked   up   at   the   terrible   constellations   that   were   coming   to   dominate   his   mental   world. There   was   the   mysterious   Herald—Orion   no   longer—bending   his   mighty   bow,   and   behind   him   the   Wolf   bit   at   his   heels,   and   beneath   and   within   the   Wolf   lurked   the   Father   of   Dragons,   and   there   was   Murzim   the   Herald,   the   ancient   celestial   West,   forever   pursued   by   the   Wolf. Dim   and   faint   in   the   paling   of   dawn   and   moon   the   River   Daslenga   flowed   under   the   Herald.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   walked   on   toward   the   back. Daylight   grew,   pale   grey   and   dim   blue   under   the   trees. On   the   lawn   a   figure   stood,   still   as   stone,   gazing   at   him. “Good,   old   Wayham   came   out   early.”   thought   Hunter   as   he   walked   up. “All’s   well   that   I   can   see.”   he   reported.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Wayham   made   no   answer.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Thanks   for   coming   out   early.”   said   Hunter   awkwardly. “Er,   is   anything   the   matter?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Wayham   neither   moved   nor   spoke. He   stared   outward   fixedly,   gazing   into   nothing;   there   was   no   expression   on   his   face. It   was   as   if   he   had   fallen   asleep   with   his   eyes   open.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Hey! Are   you   all   right?”   Hunter   said   loudly,   trying   to   shake   him. It   was   like   shaking   a   rock. Wayham’s   eyes   did   not   so   much   as   twitch. With   a   slow   sense   of   dawning   alarm   Hunter   realized   the   other   did   not   even   seem   to   be   breathing. The   eyes   stared   off   into   nothing,   ancient,   blank,   a   faint   air   of   dawning   woe   in   their   unmoving   gaze. Hunter   Light   lifted   his   hand   to   feel   the   pulse;   it   was   cold   and   rough   as   wood,   and   with   a   growing   sense   of   nightmare   he   saw   that   the   nails   looked   greenish. He   looked   closer. Unfolding   even   as   he   watched,   tiny   leaves   were   growing   in   the   skin. Chills   shooting   down   him,   Hunter   dropped   the   hand. It   did   not   fall,   but   stayed   rigid   as   an   outthrust   branch. And   from   his   shoes   thousands   of   pale   rootlets   were   growing:   his   feet   were   putting   out   roots,   he   would   not   move.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Help!”   Hunter   yelled,   stumbling   backwards. “Somebody,   wake   up! Help!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Wha-at?”   Grandmother   Lane’s   irritated   and   sleepy   voice   demanded   from   a   window.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “It’s   Wayham! Something’s—something’s   wrong   with   him!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Grandmother   Lane’s   voice   sounded   tartly   exasperated. “What,   precisely,   is   wrong   with   him,   Professor?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “He’s   apparently   turning—“   Hunter   glanced   at   Wayham. Leaves   were   curling   out   of   both   hair   and   beard,   and   tendril-like   fingers   of   green   emerged   from   his   clothes   and   from   his   fingertips   like   leafy   claws.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Into   a   tree.”   he   finished   in   a   faint   voice.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Is   that   all.”   said   Grandmother   Lane   sardonically. In   a   few   moments   she   came   out   wrapped   in   her   shawl   over   her   flowery   faded   nightgown. “Surprising   but   not   entirely   unexpected. He’s   been   one   for   the   past   four   hundred   years,   after   all.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “He’s   whaaaa….”   Hunter’s   voice   trailed   off.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Grandmother   Lane   marched   up   to   Wayham. She   had   to   push   aside   the   leaves   that   now   hung   like   ivy   all   down   his   body   in   order   to   look   at   his   face. The   skin   was   brown   and   furrowed   like   bark. Open   and   immobile   the   sad   eyes   stared   out   at   the   world.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Get   Peter   out   here!”   snapped   Grandmother   Lane. “We   need   him. Peter!”   she   shrilled   in   her   old   voice. “Stir   your   ancient   stumps!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Coming,   Mother.”   grumbled   the   old   tramp   from   inside,   and   soon   the   grizzled   tramp,   hair   standing   wildly   out   in   all   directions,   shambled   out   onto   the   lawn. He   wore   only   a   torn   pair   of   flannel   pants,   a   ragged   dark   red   bathrobe   thrown   over   him   like   a   mantle,   and   his   naked   chest   looked   withered   and   gross   with   body   hair,   like   an   aged   and   withered   Elias. Hunter   felt   disgusted,   and   ashamed   of   his   disgust,   and   didn’t   look   at   him. “You   might   give   a   man   time   to   dress.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Wayham’s   in   trouble.”   she   said   tersely.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   tramp,   his   feet   bare   in   the   dew,   shuffled   around   the   leafy   stump,   peering   closely   at   it   and   muttering   in   amazement. Then   he   pushed   back   the   ivylike   hair   and   shouted   into   that   still   wooden   face,   “Wayham   Lane,   in   the   name   of   the   Road   and   by   the   power   I   am   vested,   come   back!    I   command   you!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Slowly   the   eyes   of   Wayham   blinked   and   focused. “No   one   commands   me.”   he   creaked   in   a   weird   wooden   voice.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Well,   you   should   have   some   modicum   of   responsibility   then! It’s   your   watch! Now   wake   up!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Oh.”   said   Wayham,   apparently   perceiving   his   leafy   condition   for   the   first   time. “My   apologies. I’m   still…discovering…how   to   manage   this.”   His   wooden   face   contorted   as   he   spoke. Slowly   leaves   and   roots   withered   and   retracted,   shrinking   back   inside   skin   and   hair,   and   skin   and   hair   and   clothes   grew   human   once   again. “I   hope   I   did   not   frighten   you   overbadly.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Wait,   wait,   wait,”   said   Hunter,   “do   you   mean   you   turn   yourself   into   a   tree—at   will??”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Not   entirely   at   will,   Hunter.”   said   Wayham. “It   comes   on me   when   I   fall   into   a   brown   study;   this   is   the   first   time   it   got   out   of   hand. Usually   I   can   wake   myself   up,   but   I’m—absent–minded. Tree-minded,   these   days.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “But   how   is   that   even   possible? I   mean,   bioluminescent   abilities   suddenly   transforming   my   skin   and   blood—farfetched,   but   I   can   understand   it. But   to   alter   your   chemical   composition   and   density   to   not   only   the   appearance   but   the   physical   properties   of   wood…”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Hunter,”   said   Wayham   gently,   “I   was   born   in   1572. I   am   currently   four   hundred   years   and   twoscore   in   age. I   have   seen   four   returnings   of   the   Road   and   will   soon   live   through   a   fifth. I   strayed   onto   the   roads   of   the   Stars   and   there   Arheled   laid   a   spell   on   me,   that   I   would   walk   as   tree   until   someone   spoke   to   me   my   name. Now   it   seems   I   have   a   power,   to   turn   from   man   into   tree. I   am   the   founder   of   the   house   of   Lane. I   am   Wayham   Lane.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Hunter   Light   stood,   speechless,   staring   at   him.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Oh   yes,   it’s   my   watch,   isn’t   it? My   last,   I   fear. I   leave   this   day   for   the   Lost   Caves. You   others,   get   some   sleep   if   you   can. I’ll   stand   two   watches.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Your   funeral.”   snorted   Grandmother   Lane. “I’ll   make   sure   you   have   a   good   meal   inside   you   before   you   go.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “But   if   he   steps   beyond   the   hedge,   he’ll   be   in   peril.”   Hunter   protested.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “They   won’t   be   looking   for   a   tree.”   said   Wayham   dryly.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             When   Wayham   had   set   off   down   the   path    and   the   old   tramp   had   shuffled   back   inside,   Hunter   looked   at   Grandmother   Lane. “Why   is   that   old   fellow   here?”   he   said. “Who   is   he? What   was   he   saying?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Grandmother   Lane   looked   at   him   with   a   cool,   almost   haughty   stare. “You   should   not   be   so   swift   to   despise   him,   Hunter.”   she   said.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Yes,   I   know,   we’re   not   supposed   to   judge   anyone,   but—“

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “On   the   contrary,”   said   the   old   woman,   “we   must   make   judgements   every   day   of   our   lives,   whether   a   man   is   in   the   right   or   wrong,   is   he   good   or   bad,   trusty or   untrusty. Personal   appearance   is   often   secondary   to   such   essential   considerations. And   Peter   is   trusty,   Hunter,   make no   mistake   about   that. He   is    one   of   us. And   I   expect   him   to   be   treated   as   such,”   she   added   with   a   frosty   dignity,   before   moving   off   toward   the   house.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Wayham   Lane   came   in   a   couple   hours   later,   when   Grandmother   Lane   had   prepared   a   large   meal   of   bacon,   eggs   and   chicken   soup. “Drove   off   that   young   dragon   what   keeps   hanging   around   here.”   he   said. “I   told   him   I   knew   he   was   a   dragon,   and   a   dragon   reborn. That   rattled   him. I   know his   kind. I   hate   them. Sullen   dark   teenagers,   puerile   and   arrogant. I   hated   them   by   sight   when   they   walked   by   my   bridge.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Wait—you   mean   that   kid   Ben?”   said   Hunter. “He’s   a   dragon?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   never   wondered   why   the   odd   doubts?”   Peter   said   dryly. “Dragon-spell. It   is   perilous   to   meet   their   eyes.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Yes,   so   I’ve   heard. But   I   thought   you   could   resist   hypnotism.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Ordinary   hypnosis,   yes,   men   can   resist,   if   they   are   aware   and   have   the   will   for   it.”   the   old   tramp   said. “To   a   greater   or   lesser   degree   depending   on   their   interior   makeup. But   a   dragon—you   meet   their   eyes,   Hunter,   and   you’re   a   goner,   unless   defended   by   some   other   power. Túrin,   for   instance   could   look   Glaurung   in   the   eye,   but   only   when   wearing   the   visor   down on   his   helmet. And   his   sister   fought   the   dragon   for   some   time,   but   he   was   stronger   than   her. Magic,   Hunter. It’s   their   Father’s   power   that   looks   out   of   their   eyes.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             After   he   had   eaten,   Wayham   Lane   packed   for   his   journey. A   water-bottle   he   took,   and   energy   bars,   and   a   loaf   of   hard   bread   Grandmother   Lane   had   baked   nearly   yeastless,   on   purpose,   with   whole-grain   flour. She   made   him   take   the   bread-knife   as   well   as   a   hatchet. “I   wish   you’d   accept   one   of   the   guns.”   she   said.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   will   need   no   guns,   Crimella.”   he   said.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   three   of   them   went   with   him   to   the   border. He   shook   hands   with   the   men,   and   Hunter   was   relieved   to   feel   skin   instead   of   wood. He   embraced   Grandmother   Lane,   kissing   her   on   both   cheeks. “May   God   keep   you   safe,   my   daughter   long-descended.”   he   bade   her. “You   others,   somebody’s   going   to   have   to   finish   the   woodpile. Prepare   for   a   major   assault. They   will   come   again,   and   this   time   they   will   come   in   strength. May   the   Road   rise   to   meet   you.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Then   leaves   blossomed   out   of   him,   and   hair   and   clothes   transformed   to   twigs   and   leaves,   and   he   grew   taller,   and   branches   sprouted   from   him:   pale   branches,   smooth   as   a   beech,   with   curious   long   dark-green   leaves   that   were   fuzzy   and   silvery   underneath. The   tree   slipped   smoothly   off   into   the   forest,   roots   causing   the   soil   to   briefly   bubble   and   churn,   and   then   it   was   swallowed   up   amid   the   shifting   foliage,   a   slow-moving   shadow.

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

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

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   next   few   days   passed   without   any   sign   of   trouble. It   was   lovely   weather,   too,   warm   but   with   a   cool   breeze,   sunny   and   pleasant. The   swamp   maples   had   lost   their   new   color   in   the   rains   when   half   the   leaves   fell,   and   much   of   the   remaining   foliage   had   a   dry,   crumpled   orange   look   to   it. It   was   starting   to   feel   like   Halloween. The   nights   were   cool   but   not   frosty;   it   was   actually,   on   the   whole,   a   mild   October. “Not   a   warm   October,”   Grandmother   Lane   said,   “the   one   in   2007   was   a   warm   October! 80s   half   the   time   and   no   frost   until   Halloween.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “That’s   next   week,   isn’t   it?”   said   Hunter.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Week   after,   actually.”   she   corrected. “I   always   get   pumpkins   out   around   this   time,   and   Travel   always   liked   to   carve   them. Even   now   she’s   a   big girl. I   hope   she   gets   back   in   time.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Same   here.”   muttered   Hunter   as   he   set   out   on   patrol. His   thoughts   delved   down   into   the   unimaginable   realms   beneath   the   earth   where our   knowledge   ends,   which   his   children   were   penetrating. Where   were   they   now,   Forest   and   Bell? Had   they   even   neared   their   goal?

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Deep   in   thought,   he   barely   noticed   the   rustling   of   the   winterberry hedge,   until   the   motion   at   a   distance   drew   his   eyes. He   stopped,   frowning   through   his   glasses. Was   that   just   his   imagination,   or   were   there   moving   shapes   inside   those   trees?

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   runes   scratched   into   the   old   flat   stones   all   suddenly   glowed   red.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Hurrying   back   along   the   path,   Hunter   got   to   the   end   of   the   swamp   thickets   and   crashed   through   the   laurels. He   met   Grandmother   Lane   barging   out   of   the   house,   and   the   tramp   threw   down   an   armload   of   sticks   right   where   he   was   and   rushed   to   join   them.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “They’re   here.”   said   Hunter.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Yes,”   Peter   said   in   his   rusty   voice,   “riot   police   have   breached   the   south   ring. Others   have   set   up   a   perimeter   in   the   winterberry hedge. But   there   is   more…I   feel   others,   standing   outside   the   driveway   gap,   waiting…”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “How   do   you   know   all   that?”   demanded   Hunter. “I   don’t   feel   a   thing!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “It   is   not   your   province.”   Peter   said   firmly. “I   am   told   because   I   must   direct. You   got   the   guns?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Right   here.”   said   Hunter,   pulling   the   two   loaded   handguns   from   his   belt. They   had   not   dared   to   practice   with   them,   as   they   had   no   ammunition,   and   the   very   feel   of   them   made   Hunter   think   of   a   man   holding   a   wild   runaway   machine:   he   had barely   any   idea   how   to   hold   them,   let   alone   shoot   them. He   gave   one   to   Peter.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Crimella,   face   the   west!”   Peter   ordered,   sudden   and   crisp. “Hunter,   the   east. I   will   handle   the   south.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “And   do   what?”   said   Hunter   heatedly. “I   don’t   even   know   how   to   turn   on   whatever   it   is   I   do!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “We   must   call   down   the   Road   upon   them.”   Peter   answered. “At   my   command,   as   one   repeat   this   line:   In   the   name   of   the   Road   you   will   trespass   no   more.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “We   must   hurry.”   said   Grandmother   Lane. Scurrying   black   forms   in   glass   helmets   with   clear   shields   were   running   from   tree   to   tree   of   the   pine   grove,   and   the   laurel   bed   rustled   as   in   an   unnatural   wind.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “So   many.”   murmered   Hunter. “How   can   we   hold   off   so   many?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Ready   on   my   word.”   said   Peter   steadily.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             A   megaphone   began   to   shout   from   in   the   trees:   “We   have   you   surrounded. Throw   down   your   weapons. Put   your   hands   over   your   head. Get   down   on   the   ground   now.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   have   trespassed   upon   the   land   of   the   Road.”   said   the   old   tramp. As   one   all   three   shouted,   ''“In   the   name   of   the   Road   you   will   trespass   no   more!” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             A   quiver   went   through   the   earth. Little   black   figures   with   flailing   limbs   filled   the   sky   like   leaves. The   area   within   the   ring   of   stones   was   free   of   foes.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   don’t   get   it. What   just   happened?”   said   Hunter.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “The   Road   cannot   repel   those   who   bear   no   bond   to   Chaos.”   answered   Peter. “Not   unless   we   name   them   foes,   and   so   bring   down   the   Road   upon   them. They   were   expelled. Thrown   out   on   their   ear. They   will no   longer   be   able   to   pass   the   ring   of   stones.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             A   burst   of   varicolored   fire   erupted   from   the   swamp.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “It’s   the   others   I’m   afraid   of.”   Peter   added.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   three   broke   into   a   run. “They’re   shelling   the   south   border!”   shouted   the   tramp.

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “The   hedge   is   sealed   there   by   several   of   the   rocks,   remember?”   puffed   Grandmother   Lane. They   hurried   through   the   pine   grove   and   stumbled   to   a   halt   when   they   neared   the   border.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Dragon-fire   was   spitting   in   balls   and   jets   toward   them,   and   quenching   the   second   it   got   near   the   hedge. It   slowed   and   ceased   as   the   dragons   realized   no   barrage   could   breach   the   Lane   defenses. One   or   two   tried   to   approach   the   hedge   or   fly   over   it,   only   to   yelp   and   turn   hurriedly   back,   as   if   burned.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Well,   I’ll   be   darned.”   said   Hunter.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Several   of   the   riot   police   passed   the   dragons   as   if   they   weren’t   there;   the   dragons   had   made   themselves   invisible. But   those   inside   the   ring   of   stones   could   not   be   blinded   by   any   dragon-arts,   and   they   saw   their   foes. The   riot   police   raced   through   the   hedge   and   reached   the   insignificant   little   rocks   sticking   up   on   end. The   runes   glowed   red   and   the   police   staggered   back   as   if   they’d   run   into   a   brick   wall.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “They   must   have   some   weird   force-field   barrier   in   place.”   the   three   heard   the   police   saying   to   one   another. “Get   the   grenades. For   cryin’   out   loud,   nobody   expected   a   freakin’   compound   out   here!”

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Ssh!”   hissed   Peter. “Not   a   sound!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Though   a   little   annoyed   at   being   suddenly   bossed   by   this   homeless   geezer,   Hunter   shut   up. The   men   came   hurrying   back. They   pulled   the   pins. They   threw   the   grenades.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Fire   and   fiery   smoke   vomited   skyward. Fire   and   smoke   went   out   like   a   switch   at   the   ring   of   stones. The   smoke   blew   away   to   reveal   an   entire   section   of   the   winterberry   hedge   blown   to   dust,   save   for   burning   stumps.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   was   afraid   of   that.”   said   Grandmother   Lane. “With   no   connection   to   Chaos,   their   fire   can   act   upon   the   hedge.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   police   hurried   forward,   only   to   be   repelled   by   the   ring   of   stones   as   before. They   opened   fire,   their   guns   thundering   into   the   unseen   wall   that   kept   them   out;   and   their   bullets   only   vanished,   absorbed   by   the   power   that   protected   that   house. The   dragons   rolled   their   eyes. In   their   human   shape   they   walked   carefully   through   the   blasted   breach,   avoiding   the   stumps   and   unconsumed   wood. Behind   them   walked   women   robed   in   black,   with   red   shawls   on   which   were   sewn   in   black   symbols   of   magic.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Pushing   the   police   aside   they   lined   up,   one   behind   another,   each   one   so   close   they   might   have   been   soliciting   seductions. Dragon   alternated   with   witch,   and   boy   with   girl;   and   many   sultry   glances   and   giggles   were   exchanged,   before   every   face   turned   toward   the   barrier. Every   hand   groped   inside   the   clothing   to   seize   the   secret   parts   of   the   person   in   front   of   them. Linked   thus   in   this   obscene   fashion,   the   chain   of   enemies   thrust   forth   against   the   barrier   of   stones.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   heads   of   the   dragons   grew   until   they   rose   a   foot   and   more   above   the   witches. From   every   dragon’s   mouth,   into   the   back   of   the   head   of   the   dragon   in   front   of   them,   beamed   a   blast   of   dragon-power,   fire   and   elemental   ability   mingled   with   sorcery   and   fell   power,   issuing   redoubled   from   the   mouth   of   the   dragon   it   entered,   until   from   the   foremost   dragon   there   smashed   full   against   the   unseen   wall   a   blinding   rainbow   blast. And   the   magic   of   the   witches   spiraled   around   the   outer   edges   like   a   sickening   mist   of   green,   adding   to   it. It   sprayed   out   against   the   air,   and   the   stones   in   the   ground   shivered,   and   their   glow   flickered   wildly. Hunter   felt   a   tremendous   sense   of   strain   in   his   head,   as   if   he   was   part   of   the   burdened   barrier. He   groaned.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Steady!”   shouted   Peter. “That   barrier   won’t   hold   much   longer! When   they   breach,   fire   our   guns! Don’t   stop   until   they’re   empty! Maybe   blessing   them   with   holy   water   might   let   the   bullets   get   through. Steady   on   my   command!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Just   who   the   heck   are   you   to   go   around   giving   us   orders?”   snapped   Hunter.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   am   Peter   Midwinter,   eldest   and   leader   of   the   Three   Elders;   and   you   are   under   my   command.”   said   the   old   tramp. His   voice   was   cold   and   dreadful.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   stones   began   to   crack. The   beam   of    dragon-power   no   longer   flared,   but   pressed   inward. Slowly   Hunter   and   Peter   lifted   their   guns,   holding   them   level   in   both   hands,   fingers   on   the   triggers. The   stones   shattered. Four   slabs   broke,   with   a   crackling   burst   of   looping   red   sparks   and   blue   bolts   of   lightning,   and   a   great   rent   was   made   in   the   unseen   wall. The   dragons   and   witches   stumbled,   many   falling   over   flat,   as   does   a   man   pushing   on   a   door   when   it   unexpectedly   opens. The   power-blast   wavered   like   a   hose   and   started   fountaining   about,   until   the   dragons   shut   off   the   power.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   two   men   fired   as   fast   as   they   could,   pushing   or   pulling   everything   they   could   that   looked   like   a   trigger. The   guns   jerked   violently   in   their   hands. Dragons   and   witches   howled   with   pain:   evidently   some   of   the   bullets   were   getting   through. With   a   click   and   jolt   the   guns   ran   dry.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Up   from   the   ground   where   they   had   dodged,   rose   nearly   all   of   the   Enemies. Only   a   few   seemed   to   be   out   of   the   fight. There   was   little   blood. Bullets   popped   out   of   flesh   as   the   dragons   shapeshifted   themselves   whole. Witches   were   preforming   healing   incantations   on   the   injured. Walking   as   steadily   as   hikers   out   for   a   stroll,   they   entered   the   defenses   of   the   house   of   Lane.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   sun   went   in. Deep   mutters   of   thunder   sounded   on   all   sides,   and   an   unnatural   gloom   descended   under   the   trees. A   cold   wind   began   to   stir. In   the   darkness   the   figure   of   Hunter   showed   luminous,   light   escaping   from   hair   and   skin   and   eyes,   welling   through   his   clothes. About   the   head   of   Grandmother   Lane   was   a   frosty   nimbus   of   crackling   blue,   and   sparks   spat   across   her   eyes. A   weird   light   shone   in   the   face   of   Peter   Midwinter,   and   his   long   hair   rose   as   on   an   unseen   wind. The   empty   guns   lifted   in   the   hands   of   the   two   men,   and   their   muzzles   glowed   an   eerie   blue   and   white. They   pressed   the   triggers,   holding   them   down   like   the   nozzle   of   a   hose.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             From   the   mouths   of   the   guns   burst   streams   of   power. From   Hunter’s   gun   beamed   a   torrent   of   what   had   to   be   light,   yet   it   was   liquid,   and   spurted   like   water,   blindingly   gold   and   white. From   the   gun   of   Peter   Midwinter   a   flickering   thick   beam   of   something   streamed   against   the   Enemies:   some   sort   of   power,   but   wavering   like   heat   and   nearly   as   transparent;   it   was   no   one   color,   it   was   not   even   color   at   all,   but   somehow   to   the   eyes   of   all   that   looked   upon   it   it   seemed   like   to   weather;   to   fall,   and   to   winter,   to   cold   and   to   heat,   to   growth   and   rain   and   snow:   To   the   Seasons.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Witches   and   dragons   were   bowled   away   like   rocks   in   a   giant   flood. They   could   be   heard   howling   in   pain   as   they   streaked   into   the   forest,   rags   of   robes   and   clothes   flying   away   behind   them,   mingled   with   bits   of   flesh. Silence   fell   upon   the   house   of   Lane. With   a   groan   the   men   lifted   their   fingers   from   the   triggers   of   their   guns.

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Out   of   the   woods   and   out   of   the   trees   came   a   blinding   wave   of   rainbow   light. Linked   as   before,   dragons   and   witches   strode   toward   the   blasted   ring,   a   thunderous   burst   of   mingled   power   vomiting   out   of   hand   and   mouth.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Slowly   the   Three   Elders   lifted   their   left   hands. With   their   right   hands   they   gripped   each   other’s   left   shoulders,   save   for   Hunter   at   the   left   end. Light   wavered   and   rayed   about   Hunter   Light. Lightning   crackled   from   Grandmother   Lane. From   Peter   Midwinter   the   power   of   the   Seasons   glowed. Slowly   they   held   out   their   left   hands,   lifted   in   a   gesture   of   halting. The   guns   dropped   to   the   ground.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Like   a   spiraling   vortex   of   rainbow-hued   fire,   lightning   in   many   colors   wreathing   around   it,   the   mingled   powers   of   the   Enemies   split   the   air   continuously   as   they   thundered   full   upon   the   Elders. But   as   it   neared   them   the   blast   sputtered   and   wavered,   expiring   in   front   of   them   as   if   upon   a   shield. The   outthrust   hands   of   the   Elders   glowed   with   a   fierce   light. Overhead   the   clouds   began   to   rotate   downwards,   lit   from   within   a   hideous   yellow that   was   already   deepening   to   eerie   green. The   cloud   ridges   were   no   longer   grey   but   black. Thunder   crashed   right   above   them. The   witches   all   looked   up. Down   from   the   spiraling   clouds   roared   a   whirlwind   transparent,   its’   coils   bright   as   if   woven   from   liquid   fire,   shedding   an   awful   white   glare   over   the   ground. Lightning lanced   out   from   it   into   the   earth,   and   the   bolts   were   blinding   violet.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Steady!”   shouted   the   Witch   in   White,   in   the   awful   amplified   tones   of   the   Green   Lady. “It   is   only   weather! We   are   greater   than   weather!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Grandmother   Lane   said   nothing,   but   fire   leaped   in   her   eyes. The   whirlwind   funelled   down   upon   the   line   of   foes,   shaking   the   earth   with   its’   titanic   roar. Lightning   smote   like   rain   upon   them. The   witches,   keeping   their   left   hands   inside   the   pants   of   the   dragons,   held   up   their   right   hands. Wands   flashed   with   deadly   light. The   tornado   shuddered   as   the   magic   of   the   witches   battled   with   the   will   of   Grandmother   Lane.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Mortificious!”   shouted   the   witches   as   one.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Grandmother   Lane   gasped   as   the   malice   of   her   foes   thrust   into   her   heart. The   tornado   wobbled,   gyrated   and   disrupted   as   she   lost   control   of   it.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Peter   Midwinter   gave   a   terrible   shout. From   his   outstretched   hand   roared   a   wind   of   weird   light. Suddenly   the   line   was   assaulted   from   all   sides   by   every   kind   of   seasonal   climate. Intolerable   desert   heats   mixed   with   the   supersubzero   cold   of   the   deepest   Antarctic   night. Snow   drove   in   their   faces,   and   rain   fell   like   whips,   and   huge   hailstones   appeared   from   all   directions   like   cannon   fire. Recovering,   Grandmother   Lane   held   up   her   hand   again,   and   a   wind   hundreds   of   miles   an   hour   shot   in   a   ten-foot-wide   path   from   her   palm,   beating   back   the   blast   of   fire   and   bearing   back   both   witch   and   dragon. And   that   was   when   Hunter   Light   cut   in.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   unnatural   clouds   turned   a   sudden   blinding   white. No   shadows   remained   within   a   mile. Every   tree   and   bush   became   as   bright   as   living   flame. Leaves   exploded   from   the   sheer   brilliance   of   the   light   that   was   striking   them. Had   they   not   been   linked   to   him   the   other   Elders   would   have   been   overwhelmed;   but   they,   like   him,   merely   beheld   all   things   lit   incredibly   clear   and   detailed,   almost   transparent. The   riot   police,   who   could   see   the   power   blast   though   nothing   else   of   the   line   of   foes,   and   been   trying   to   get   through   to   HQ   for   further   orders   as   well   as   run   tests   on   the   barrier. When   the   beam   appeared,   all   of   them   donned   welding   goggles,   remembering   the   fate   of   the   two   officers;   this   was   the   only   thing   that   saved   their   lives. Even   with   them   their   eyes   were   filled   and   seared   with   intolerable   light;   they   dove   to   earth,   piling   leaves   and   soil   over   their   heads,   and   still   through   opaque   dirt   the   light   welled   up,   and   they   clamped   transparent   hands   over   transparent   lids   and   screamed   into   the   ground   on   which   they   lay. Even   the   dragons   were   overpowered   for   a   moment   or   two,   and   only   a   quick   spell   by   the   Witch   in   White   kept   the   witches   from   blindness. Buffeted   by   wind   and   by   season,   by   lightning   and   by   light   unbearable,   the   enemies   began   to   give   ground.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             All   save   one. The   Witch   in   White,   being   a   religious   witch,   was   immune   to   the   power   of   light,   and   having   a   ghost   look   through   her   eyes   kept   them   unblind,   for   the   dead   cannot   be   affected   by   any   material   energy. She   stabbed   with   her   hand,   and   fear   jolted   through   Hunter   Light,   and   his   glare   wavered. Taking   heart,   the   witches   lifted   up   their   wands,   and   one   dragon   broke   from   the   link   and   stood   to   the   side. He   was   a   black   kid,   and   even   though   blacks   normally   have   bright   eyes,   even   the   whites   of   his   eyes   were   black;   and   he   wore   a   black   trench   coat   and   dreadlocks   painted   black.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             From   his   mouth   breathed   a   darkness. Not   fire,   not   heat,   not   any   elemental   power:   darkness   made   solid,   a   thing   of   its’   own,   even   as   Ungoliant   spewed   in   the   beginning   of   the   world. Like   shooting   towers   it   rocketed   upward,   soreading   like   the   smoke   of   a   gas-bomb,   until   all   that   wood   was   enveloped   in   a   shadow   that   strangled   and   a   night   that   choked. The   glare   Hunter   Light   was   overborne,   and   the   dragon-blast   pressed   the   Three   Elders   back   into   the   pines,   and   the   linked   foes   walked   forward.

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<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“For   darkness   has   no   limits, ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">And   darkness   knows   no   limits,” ''

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''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">chanted   the   dragons   and   the   witches   as   they   walked,

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">And   darkness   has   a   face…” ''

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<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “We   must   stand!”   gasped   Grandmother   Lane.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “We   are   not   strong   enough   alone! We   must   act   as   one!”   shouted   Peter. “At   my   word:   steady…now…fire!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             As   one   man   the   Three   Elders   thrust   out   their   left   hands. Three   beams   of   power   sliced   into   the   darkness. Light   concentrated   like   a   white   laser   thundered   from   Hunter   Light. The   essence   of   the   seasons   rushed   from   Peter   Midwinter. Wind   and   weather   compressed   howled   out   of   Grandmother   Lane. It   rove   the   living   darkness   like   a   bomb. The   obscene   linking   of   their foes   was   broken. Dragons   and   wiutches   tumbled   along   the   ground   like   leaves,   until   they   fell   into   the   swamp   water   and   mud. But   then   Hunter’s   light   bent,   and   the   powers   of   the   Elders   began   to   veer   as   if   by   tremendous   magnets.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             One   of   the   dragons   had   not   been   blown   away. He   could   no   longer   be   seen,   for   light   was   no   longer   reflecting   off   him. Leaves   and   wood   and   sticks   suddenly   leaped   up   and   vanished   into   him:   a   man-high   darkness,   a   living   hole. The   beams   of   the   Elders   began   to   spiral   around   him,   until   they   too   were   sucked   into   him. Trees   groaned   and   leaned   inward,   branches   all   straining   toward   him   as   their   roots   rose   slowly   from   the   earth.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “It’s   a   gravity   dragon!”   shouted   Hunter   Light. “Cease   fire! He’s   turning   himself   into   a   black   hole!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “He   can   do   that?”   said   Peter   doubtfully.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “If   he   commands   gravity,   yes.”   Hunter   said   impatiently. “Don’t   attack   him;   he   thrives   on   that. Maybe   if…”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             A   lance   of   black   and   white   magic   sprang   out   of   the   swamp. All   the   witches   had   joined   their   wands   and   curses. So   potent   was   their   malice   that   it   felled   the   Three   Elders   like   a   blow,   to   sprawl,   minds   seared   and   burnt,   unhurt   but   broken   upon   the   grass. The   Gravity   Dragon   shut   off   his   power   and   returned   slowly   to   normal,   as   witches   and   dragons   streamed   past   him.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             In   raced   the   forces   of   the   enemy. In   through   the   ring   of   stones   the   dragons   passed. Into   the   fortified   yard   of   the   house   of   Lane   came   the   witches,   wands   whirling,   laughing   like   the   mad. The   Three   Elders   moved   and   feebly   tried   to   rise. The   house   of   Lane   was   open   and   undefended.

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “It   is   no   use,   Peter,”   groaned   Grandmother   Lane. “We   are   broken. We   cannot   fight   now.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   never   expected   we   would   lose.”   Peter   said   faintly. A   witch   running   past   kicked   him   and   he   broke   off   with   a   gasp.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   have   called   you   all   here   to   die.”   murmered   Hunter. “Now   I   begin   to   see   what   he   meant.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   ground   began   to   shake.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Witches   blasting   at   the   locked   door   paused,   looking   around   doubtfully. Dragons   sniffed,   popping   into   dragon-form   as   they   craned   their   long   heads.

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Up   and   still   up   it   rose,   earth   and   rocks   and   roots   and   trees,   as   if   the   knoll   of   the   house   of   Lane   had   taken   life   and   become   a   giant   wave,   dirt   bubbling   like   foam   and   showering   down   only   to   be   subsumed   back   into   the   base   of   the   rising   cone   of   earth. It   was   tall   as   the   house   now,   yet   still   it   grew,   narrower   and   higher,   and   it   took   on   a   shape,   even   as   the   ground   shuddered   with   the   roar   of   its’   arising. Witches   and   dragons   were   unleashing   their   gigantic   powers   against   it,   but   still   it   rose,   and   took   on   form,   until   a   giant   made   of   earth   and   half   buried   in   the   earth   towered   above   the   beleaguered   houses.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “What   devilry   is   this?”   roared   the   Green   Lady   through   the   mouth   of   the   Witch   in   White.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Attack   him!”   roared   the   Darkness   Dragon. “He   is   only   an   Earth   Elemental! But   we   are   stronger   than   him. We   are   Dragons!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Laughter   like   the   falling   of   the   hills   sounded   from   the   monster   made   of   earth. Fire and   ice,   water   and   darkness   and   gravity   and   lightning   vanished   into   him   without   effect. ''“You   think   that   I   am   a   being   of   material   alone? You   earthworms. Blow   your   elemental   powers   at   me   till   you   are   blue   in   the   face,   but   unless   you   can   unmake   the   very   mountains,   you   cannot   unmake   me.” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Twenty   wands   levelled   as   one. With   one   voice   the   witches   shouted,

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   tower   of   earth   quivered   with   laughter. “Cry   with   a   louder   voice! Call   upon   your   Father,   since   your   magic   is   bereft   of   bite! But   I   fear   he   is   a   tad   busy   at   the   moment.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   sky   above   them   filled   with   earth. Wands   fell   from   limp   hands   as   the   witches   gaped   at   the   tremendous   might   of   the   power   coming   against   them. It   looked   as   if   the   very   hills   had   stood   on   end,   and   climbed   up   to   heaven,   and   been   cast   down. The   air   was   broken   with   the   roar   of   the   descending   earth. Pops   and   burst   of   magic   and   dragon-fire   glowed   like   bubbles   amid   the   cataract   of   falling   dirt   and   fluid   stone. No   magic   seemed   to   work. The   very   ground   they   stood   on   was   their   enemy. One   by   one   the   enemies   were   fewer,   as   more   and   more   gave   up   and   teleported. Last   to   flee   was   the   Gravity   Dragon;   he   had   made   himself   a   black   hole   again. Suddenly   he   found   himself   trying   to   absorb   an   entire   ocean,   as   the   being   of   earth   transported   him   by   virtue   of   the   substance   he   had   attracted   onto   him.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   air   settled. The   dust   cleared. The   falling   earth   sank   quietly   back   into   the   ground. Slowly   the   Three   Elders   got   to   their   feet. The   tower   of   earth   still   loomed   above   the   shattered   grove,   trees   leaning   every   which   way. The   houses   were   about   the   only   thing   left   in   one   piece. The   forest   for   a   mile   or   so   around   looked   like   a   hurricane   had   gone   through.

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   mountain   of   earth   turned   his   huge   head   upon   them. ''“I   am   the   Wild   Man   of   Winsted.” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “He’s   real?”   stammered   Hunter. “But   I   thought   he   was   supposed   to   be   a   hairy   caveman.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Earth   fountained   and   sank,   until   the   knoll   was   smooth   again. A   tall   rough   man   with   wild   black   hair   and   beard   stood   before   them,   a   look   of   saturnine   amusement   on   his   craggy   face. A   huge   mantle   with   tattered   edges   flowed   around   him. “Oh,   I   can   look   like   that   too.”   he   said. His   voice   was   deep   and   rough   but   human. “But   I   usually   dress   like   this.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “A   pleasure   to   meet   you   at   long   last.”   said   Grandmother   Lane,   giving   a   dignified   and   gracious   bow   of   her   head:   she   was   leaning   heavily   on   the   carven   cane   Wayham   had   made   for   her.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “And   many   thanks   for   your   arrival.”   said   Peter   Midwinter,   touching   his   forehead. “We   were   just   about   cooked.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Oh,   you   didn’t   do   too   bad,”   the   Wild   Man   said   critically,   lifting   an   eyebrow   at   the   devastated   countryside. “I   actually   thought   for   a   minute   or   two   I   was   wasting   my   time   watching. The   big   man   said   you   might   need   a   little   help.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Is   there   any   word   from   Arheled?”   said   Peter.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Actually,   yes.”   drawled   Wild. “New   orders. The   boss   has   a   quest   or   two   for   you   while   the   kids   are   gone. Come   inside   and   we   will   speak,   and   I   will   watch   this   place   while   you   look   for   the   Stone   of   the   Hapless.”

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