Ch. 2: The Rooftops of Time

Back to Arheled

             The   road   twisted   and   curved   among   immense   round   bulges   of   some   clear   crystalline   stone,   milky   grey   and   pearl. There   were   no   trees   here   at   all,   but   now   and   again   one   of   the   pearly   knolls   would   rise   up   in   a   sheer   and   sudden   crag,   the   rolling   knobs   about   its’   base   flowing   like   roots. The   road   was   faintly   shining   and   white,   but   the   ancient   surface   was   fissured   and   split,   huge   cracks   running   across   it.

             “How   far   is   it?”   said   Brooke.

             “Are   you,   then,   feeling   weary?”   Tree   said   curiously.

             “Mentally   I   am.”   she   confessed. They   entered   a   dim   land   of   blue   shapes   drifting   slowly   by   on   a   level   surface,   which   at   first   thought   a   river   until   she   realized   they   were   actually   moving   things   on   a   dark   meadow. “We’ve   been   walking   for   hours.”

             “We   are   on   the   space   of   the   old   North   Road   that   climbs   up   the   side   of   Wallens   Hill—what   strange   names   men   have   given   the   Nine   Hills,   now   that   those   that   first   walked   them   are   dead. We   must   turn   south   again   to   reach   the   road   that   follows   Main   Street. It   will   be   another   hour.”

             “Oh   well.”   sighed   Brooke.

             There   was   silence   for   a   while   as   they   travelled   on. The   road   was   so   eroded   that   the   surface   had   peeled   in   layers,   causing   deep   smooth   pits   and   flat   crags. In   places   the   dark   field   had   crept   onto   the   verges   of   the   road,   the   level   black   stuff   forming   a   curved   edge   like   molasses.

             “If   you   touch   that,   you   will   never   whiten   that   part   of   you   again.”   said   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;">             “I   thought   I   was   a   ghost.”   said   Brooke.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“What   imprints   the   spirit   often   reflects   onto   the   body.”   answered   Tree. The   deep   dim   blue   far   above   was   beginning   to   be   spangled   with   red   points   of   light,   reflected   occasionally   from   the   strange   darkness. They   formed   peculiar   groups,   yet   somehow   they   seemed   familiar,   until   she   recognized   the   Dipper   and   was   sure   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;">             “The   stars   in   the   other   heres   always   mirror   the   stars   in   the   prime   here.”   said   Tree. “For   by   that   are   all   others   ruled.”

<p class="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   many   of   these—layers   of   space   are   there?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Many,”   he   answered,   “but   not   multitudes. I   have   only   walked   on   nine   levels. I   think   the   tenth   is   the   roof;   the   roads   do   not   lead   out   onto   that,   only   up   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;">             The   road   humped   abruptly   and   descended   a   steep   hairpin   bend. The   syrupy   field   disappeared. Now   they   were   in   a   place   of   sheer   tottering   pinnacles   of   reddish   stone,   an   overcast   pinkness   pervading   the   air. Queer   shapes   unfolded,   motionless,   out   of   the   stone,   as   if   it   had   been   in   the   act   of   giving   birth   to   strange   creatures   when   it   was   forever   sealed   into   rock:   wings,   half   extended,   or   a   long   whiskered   head,   sinuous   and   evil,   partly   emerged   from   a   crag;   or   a   great   serpentine   tail,   ridged   with   plates   like   a   broken   saw.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Do   not   speak   aloud   here.”   whispered   Tree. “This   is   the   tomb   of   the   Dragons. When   they   die,   here   they   come,   to   sleep   in   stone   until   their   Father   summons them   to   the   living   again. No   Dragon   ever   really   dies. They   sleep. A   loud   voice   may   wake   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;">             The   road,   still   descending   around   a   column   of   stone   like   a   monstrous   tree, curved   down   to   the   left   until   it   had   almost   folded   back   on   itself. The   masonry   of   the   ledge   had   in   many   places   crumbled   away,   and   chunks   of   the   stone   surface   had   gone   with   it. Then   abruptly   they   reached   bottom   and   the   stone   dragons   vanished. The   country   that   stretched   around   and   beyond   them   was   a   forest   of   fern   and   peeling,   mossy,   ancient   trees. It   looked   familiar.

<p class="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   nearly   there.”   said   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;">             They   walked   on   through   the   ancient,   dripping,   mossy   forest,   all   green   and   black   and   damp   old   gray. A   ghostly   motion   caught   Brooke’s   eye,   and   a   phantom   river   snaked   into   view   on   the   left,   flowing   through   trees   and   old   stones   like   mist. The   phantoms   all   at   once   grew   a   little   clearer,   until   she   walked   past   ghost houses   and   shadowy   cars   roaring   faintly   down   an   unreal   street. It   bent   and   curved   to   avoid   the   river;   the   road   Brooke   walked   passed   straight   along   its’   line,   now   overlapping,   now   separate. It   gave   her   a   bad   scare   when   a   car   roared   right   up   and   into   her   and   on   past,   without   her   feeling   even   a   breeze.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “An   interesting   experience.”   observed   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;">             “That   was—it   was   suicide.”   gasped   Brooke. “I   so   am   not   doing   that   again.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   cannot   leave   the   road,   missy.”   Tree   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;">             “They   don’t   faze   you   at   all.”   she   accused. “I   thought   it   was   centuries   since   you   came   up   here. How   do   you   know   so   much   about   modern   society?”

<p class="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   listen   to   those   who   walk   in   Riverton.”   he   answered. “They   are   very   talkative. Soon,   old   as   I   am,   my   former   ways   of   speech—slipped   away,   to   be   replaced   by   your   interesting   modern   dialects. Although   I   still   cannot   fathom   what   a   computer   might   be,   or   how a   book   of   faces   can   befriend…no,   they   use   ‘friend’   as   a   verb   instead   of   a   noun. Nor   do   I   understand   how   their   fantastic   devices   work. Enough   that,   by   seeing   them   used,   I   comprehend   their   purpose,   if   not   their   principle.”

<p class="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   dodged   another   phantom   car. A   deep   gorge   opened   beneath   her   now,   on   the   left;   a   misty   ravine,   falling   water   and   solid   stone   alike   as   dim   as   shapes   seen   through   thick   fog. A   high   bridge,   old   and   marked   with   rust,   sprang   across   at   a   great   height,   and   stonework   rose   up   from   the   sluicing   channels,   crawling   up   the   cliffs   until   it   swallowed   them   and   rose   up,   a   single   wall,   to   form   the   foundation   of   the   clock   factory.

<p class="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’re   in   Winsted!”   Brooke   laughed.

<p class="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   overlaying   roads,   the   modern   asphalt   street   like   grey   shadow   and   the   solid   ancient   surface   of   eroded   white   stone   that   passed   up   its’   midst,   bore   them   on. Shadow-houses   clustered   thicker. Shadow-trees   rose   behind   them. They   came   to   the   Collage,   and   the   townhouses   around   the   Green,   and   the   outermost   of   the   Five   Churches. Brooke   caught   her   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;">             For   there   was   no   longer   any   mistaking   the   true   nature   of   this   building. It   seemed   as   if   ten   structures   were   superimposed   one   upon   another,   phantom   towers   and   faint   turrets   and   shapeless   angles   of   roof   and   peak,   and   only   here   and   there,   in   a   squat   tower   summit   or   a   round   angle,   did   Brook   recognize   the   shape   of   New   Baptist.

<p class="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   Five   Churches   extend   as   fortresses   through   every   layer   of   dimension,   to   the   very   roof   of   Time.”   said   Tree. “Who   wakes   them   on   the   lowest   here,   wakes   them   in   all   heres.”

<p class="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   they   passed   the   great   complicated   structure   and   headed   on. The   solid   bed   of   the   Star-road   curved   across   the   Green,   ignoring   the   divided   street. The   haunted   house   in   faint   lavender   and   its’   much   creepier   but   unhaunted   companion   drew   near   on   the   right,   and   Cypress’s   ghosts   stood   on   the   porch,   gazing   into   the   eyes   of   Brooke   with   such   somber   despondency   she   halted   and   gazed   back.'' ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Shadowbrook,”   <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">said   the   ghost   of   Janice,   old   and   clothed   in   frilly   pale   white. ''“This   shall   come   to   naught.” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Still   Brooke   gazed,   unable   to   say   a   word.

<p class="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   no   limits,   and   Darkness   knows   no   limits.”   <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">the   ghost   of   Chuck   said   distantly. ''“Not   even   the   Road   will   be   enough.” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Their   faces   suddenly   flinched,   drawn   with   fear,   as   a   deep   harsh   whisper sounded   incomprehensibly   from   inside. Then   they   shot   back   into   the   house   like   sucked   mist.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Dreamlike,   Brooke   walked   on   up   the   ancient   road. It   turned   sharply   right   and   followed   the   sidewalk   that   ran   along   the   right   side   of   main   St. Ghostly   trees   projected   through   the   stone   surface   and   ghostly   young   girls   paced   by   in   flapping   sandals,   misty   hair   blowing   loose   about   them,   their   careless   sad   laughter   echoing   faintly. Like   solid   things   in   a   land   of   spectres   Brooke   and   the   Tree   paced   on   up   the   ancient   road,   under   the   shadow   of   Norway   maples,   until   on   its’   little   hill   the   fieldstone   church   rose   above   them. A   single   tower   of   dozens   of   different   shapes   and   heights   seemed   superimposed   on   it,   gargoyles   in   every   angle   all   pointing   the   same   four   directions.

<p class="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   must   go   in   there.”   Tree   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   don’t   know   what   to   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;">             Tree   seemed   dubious,   looking   at   the   road,   then   back   at   the   multitower. “I   cannot   fit.”   he   said. “There   were   two   chairs. Great   chairs   of   wood,   with   faces   on   the   backs. I   saw   them   when   I   walked   here   as   man,   so   long   ago,   but   if   they   are   still   there   I   do   not   know.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “St. James   wasn’t   built   till   1923.”

<p class="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   your   here,   yes. The   Five   Churches   were   wrought   from   the   top   down. Arheled   built   them. But   those   in   the   last   and   lowest   here,   the   anchors   and   foundations   for   the   others,   had   to   be   built   by   men. The   carvings   are   the   same   in   all,   and   the   pointers;   the   ones   that   matter,   at   any   rate. Go   in. Find   the   Green   Man   and   place   your   own   face   upon   his,   mouth   to   mouth,   brow   to   brow   and   eye   to   eye. Then   you   shall   say   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;">

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">With   lip   to   lip   and   mouth   to   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;">I   summon   you   from   north   or   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;">Leaf   in   the   tree   and   the   green   in   the   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;">Come   now   and   answer   to   me   my   own   rood.” ''

<p class="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;">             Brooke   gave   a   tight   little   nod. “But   if   I   leave   the   Road,   can   I   get   back?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   voice   of   Tree   sounded   fainter   behind   her   as   she   glided   up   to   the   door. “As   long   as   I   can   reach   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;">

<p class="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;">             Darkness   closed   over   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;">             Brooke   struggled,   caught   on   the   threshold   of   the   Fourth   Church. She   saw   layer   upon   layer   of   door,   ancient   wooden   doors   and   corroded—but   somehow   not   rusted—steel   doors,   doors   of   stone   and   doors   of   metals   unknown to   science,   some   before   her,   some   behind,   and   some   around   her   as   she   stood. Faces   meshed   with   patterns   superimposed   over   grids   and   seams   of   worn   wood,   like   a   picture   all   out   of   focus,   as   if   she   were   seeing   not   double   but   multiple.

<p class="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   closed   over   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;">             She   struggled,   trapped   between   doors   and   layers   of   doors. How   could   she   choose   one   of   the   handles,   when   every   handle   was   on   a   different   plane   of   physical   reality? She   saw   doorposts   multiplied   above   her,   low   arching   lintels   and   high   arching   lintels   one   above   another,   as   if   for   every   here   the   frame   was   a   size   larger. She   felt   stone   touching   her,   cold   and   solid,   and   found   her   hand   closed   upon   a   handle   like   a   lion’s   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;">             Darkness   closed   over   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;">             She   struggled,   trapped   between   layers of   stone   inside   of   the   stone,   each   band   of   colored   stone   a   complicity   of   countless   tiny   crystals   as   round   and   fine   as   sand. She   was   pushing   aside   great   vines   of   ancient   ivy   that   grew   across   the   doors,   or   were   the   doors,   those   countless   doors   all   present   in   the   same   place   though   all   on   different   levels,   and   her   hands   fastened   on   the   handle   like   death. It   seemed   to   have   a   hundred   shapes   beneath   her   fingers,   but   she   fastened   her   will   to   them,   to   all   of   them,   and   felt   her   ghost’s   hand   reach   up   through   all   the   heres   and   grasp   the   countless   handles,   and   turn   them   all   at   once.

<p class="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   she   was   through   the   door   and   blinking   in   the   dim   interior   of   the   old   Episcopal   church.

<p class="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   the   same   square   room   she   had   seen   once,   under   the   bell   tower,   the   vestibule   on   the   left   and   a   step   higher. The   place   was   bare   of   the   literature   that   had   speckled   the   Winsted    church. Two   ancient   chairs   of   carven   wood   sat   in   the   vestibule,   dim   as   shadows. A   glance   at   the   interior   showed   the   sanctuary   filled   with   ghostly   rubble   from   an   evident   repair   job;   which   explained   the   placing   of   the   phantom   chairs. But   solid   amid   the   ghostly   rubble   were   the   same   two   chairs,   huge   and   wooden,   on   her   level.

<p class="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   walked   up   the   aisle. The   pews   too   were   phantoms,   as   were   the   pale   figures   of   the   stained   glass,   but   one   window   on   the   left   side   showed   hard   and   real,   lines   and   colors   just   as   they   should   be. Except   that   this   was   the   most   grim   and   colourless   window   in   the   church. Stern   figures   stood   there,   all   in   white   and   grey. But   she   pushed   on,   through   a   ghostly   altar   rail   and   a   phantom   altar,   to   where   the   great   chairs   sat   near   the   sanctuary   wall. Doubtless   the   celebrant   sat   there   during   mass,   but   in   this   empty   here   they   were   the   only   furniture   in   all   that   church.

<p class="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   faced   them. They   had   high   carved   backs   with   white   cushions,   and   in   the   center   of   the   top   bar   was   a   large   leonine   face,   fierce   and   stern,   hair   of   carved   leaves   flowing   to   left   and   right,   mustaches   of   a   single   leaf   above   the   roaring   silent   mouth. She   bent   over   the   seat   until   her   lips    rested   on   the   carven   mouth   and   brushed   the   mustache-leaf,   and   her   brows   touched   the   crown   of   the   leaf-hair   above   his   deep-set   eyes. She   was   astonished   to   find   that   her   lips   had   physical   sensation   again,   and   could   feel   the   had   coldness   of   the   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;">

''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“With   lip   to   lip   and   mouth   to   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;">I   summon   you   from   north   or   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;">Leaf   in   the   tree   and   the   green   in   the   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;">Come   now   and   answer   to   me   my   own   rood.” ''

<p class="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;">             A   great   sleepiness   descended   upon   that   strange   and   empty   church. The   phantoms   of   the   other   heres   faded   until   they   were   barely   noticeable,   and   with   them   the   last   remnant   of   color:   the   grey   tomblike   walls   and   squat   stone   pillars,   the   blank   windows,   pewless   nave,   and   that   one   grey   and   white   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;">             Under   Brooke’s   lips   the   wooden   features   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;">             Swiftly   wood   softened   to   flesh   and   became   warm,   and   she   tried   to   draw   back   and   found   her   lips   glued   to   the   chair,   trapped   forever   in   a   joyless   kiss. Then   suddenly   she   was   free,   staggering   backward,   blinking.

<p class="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   man   now   sat   in   the   chair. He   was,   in   that   grey   stony   chamber,   like   a   brilliant   window   of   color,   as   if   a   green   sun   had   opened   in   some   remote   heaven   and   sent   a   single   living   ray. He   was   large   and   virile,   his   body   huger   than   most   men. Whether   his   hair   and   garments   really   were   leaves,   or   merely   of   a   green   as   living   and   vivid   as   ferns   and   hemlocks,   Brooke   was   never   able   to   say. The   face   was   the   same   as   the   one   carved   in   the   chair. Green   eyes   like   a   light   behind   new   leaves   glowed   into   hers. His   powerful   hands   folded,   clasped,   upon   his   knees.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Tell   me   thy   rood.” <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">   the   Green   Man   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—want   to   go   home.”   said   Brooke. “How   do   I   get   back?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “To   break   out   of   the   roads   of   the   Stars,   you   must   set   free   the   Builders   of   the   Roads.” <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">   said   the   Green   Man.

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Seven   times   seven   lie   trapped   in   seven   moments   between   the   single   moment. To   reach   them   you   must   climb   to   the   rooftops   of   Time   and   walk   across   them   to   the   central   tower,   for   no   road   goes   there.” ''

<p class="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   must   I   do   there?”

<p class="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   Green   Man   took   a   shining   fragment   from   his   beard   and   placed   it   upon   Brooke’s   forehead. “Fasten   that   upon   the   Soldier’s   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;">             Then   the   green   light   dimmed   and   was   gone. In   front   of   Brooke   were   two   carved   chairs,   empty   as   before. Yet   a   strange   green   reflection   brightened   the   walls   in   front   of   her,   and   it   followed   her   when   she   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;">             The   doors   gave   her   no   difficulty   on   the   way   out. Tree   reached   out   a   mighty   branch   and   seized   her,   drawing   her   back   to   the   road. He   looked   at   her   in   wonder. “So,   then,   you   have   spoken   with   the   Green   Man.”   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;">             “Is   it   obvious?”   Brooke   asked.

<p class="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   bear   a   gleaming   beech   leaf   of   purest   green   fastened   like   tape   upon   your   brow.”   he   answered. “What   was   the   word   of   the   being   in   green?”

<p class="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   to   free   the   Builders   of   the   Roads.”   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;">             Tree’s   eyes   widened. “The   Builders.”   he   whispered. “Does   he   know   of   no   other   way? Can   not   one   as   mighty   as   he   reach   down   and   open   a   door? Or   are   the   ways   down   in   sooth   so   well   defended?”

<p class="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   is   wrong   with   the   Builders?”

<p class="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   are   older   than   mankind,”   said   Tree,   “fell   and   fey   beings   whose   thoughts and   feelings   flow   in   other   veins   than   ours;   they   are   not   calculable,   nor   trusty,   and   they   wield   enormous   power. Did   he   tell   you   how   we   will   find,   let   alone   free,   these   imprisoned   ones?”

<p class="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   are   hid   in   seven   moments   within   the   present   moment,   but   if   we   walk   over   the   rooftops   of   Time   to   the   central   tower,   we   will   find   them. I   must   lay   this   upon   the   eyes   of   the   Soldier.”

<p class="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   hope   that   will   be   sufficient.”   muttered   Tree.    He   paused,   thinking. “The   rooftops   of   Time….”   He   studied   the   map   again. “No,   the   ways   there   are   broken,   or   too   far   off;   I   do   not   know   if   the   road   at   the   verge   yet   climbs   there:   it   seems   shorter   than   I   recall. I   have   it! We   will   climb   St.   Joseph’s.”

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

<p class="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 centermost   of   the   Five   Churches.”   the   Tree   replied. “It   is   also   the   mightiest. The   others   reach   up   through   the   many   heres….it   projects   onto   the   top.”

<p class="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   phantom   Main   Street,   on   a   single   band   of   solidity   under   gloomy   trees. A   few   hundred   feet   farther   they   came   out   from   the   maples   and   stood   under   St. Joseph’s.

<p class="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   New   Baptist   had   been   a   tangled   mismatch   of   varied   fortresses,   and   St. James   had   been   a   dozen   towers   superimposed,   St. Joseph’s   was   like   a   stairway   into   heaven. The   Gothic   structure   of   everyday   Winsted   had   seemed   to   pour   upwards   if   you   looked   at   it   from   right   below,   the   towers   and   rooftops   breaking   off   like   a   cataract   cut   short;   but now   Brooke   saw   phantom   toppling   structures   as   fantastic   as   clouds,   rising   one   behind   another   and   each   one   higher. Jutting   spires   and   climbing   pinnacles   rose   seemingly   without cessation,   until   the   pale   sky   swallowed   up   the   faint   shapes.

<p class="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   thought   all   the   heres   were   in   the   same   space.”   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;">             “You   need   to   go   upwards.”   answered   Tree. You   are   seeing   where   your   climb   must   go. For   this   steeple   must   be   climbed,   and   every   steeple   is   the   foundation   for   the   steeple   in   the   next   here;   so   that   height   of   space   and   dimension   are   the   same.”

<p class="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   left   the   eroded   road   and   came   up   to   the   ghostly   and   many-layered   doors   of   the   main   church. They   stood   open;   a   family   was   carrying   up   cleaning   supplies   to   vacuum   the   church,   and   they   followed   easily. For   a   moment   Brooke   had   the   same   bewildering   sensation   of   passing   several   times   through   the   same   door,   but   it   faded   quickly. Tree   seemed   smaller   somehow,   as   if   his   bole   and   branches   were   shrinking. Brooke   commented   on   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;">             “I   am   not   by   nature   of   tree-size.”   he   answered. “Here   in   the   True   Church,   perhaps   my   true   nature   is   returning.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             St. Joseph’s   had   a   high   square   vestibule,   with   a   door   at   the   right-hand   end   that   gave   into   the   square   base   of   the   great   steeple. A   high   square   room   was   filled   with   a   curving   wood   stair   with   great   thick   carved   brown   balustrades,   that   passed   around   three   walls   before   reaching   the   choir. It   began   against   the   left   wall. A   closed-in   bathroom   stood   on   the   right,   like   a   box. Two   great   stain-glass   windows,   green   and   faint   red,   were   half   blocked   by   the   stair   as   it   climbed   to   the   right. Red   carpet   lay   underfoot. Tree’s   roots   trailed   dark   mud   all   over   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;">             The   chamber   was   over   twenty   fee   high. There   was   a   landing   and   the   back   wall   of   the   great   pipe   organ,   a   locked   door   to   the   choir   loft   nestled   in   a   passage   underneath   it. On   the   right   a   walled   stairway   projected   from   the   wall,   above   the   beginning   of   the   staircase   below,   a   locked   plank   door   giving   onto   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;">             “It’s   locked.”   Brooke   pointed. “And   you’ll   never   fit   in   that   cramped   staircase.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Tree   was   barely   touching   the   roof   ten   feet   overhead. “You   might   be   surprised.”   he   said,   and   pulled   on   the   door. It   became   two. One   remained   padlocked   and   shut;   the   other,   no   phantom   but   solid,   swung   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;">             “You   see?”   the   Tree   smiled.

<p class="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   had   to   bend   her   head   to   enter. The   interior   was   cramped   and   dark,   bare   boards   black   with   age   and   dust   lining   the   walls,   rough   dry   timbers   branching   out   on   the   left. Tree   must   have   slipped   in   somehow,   for   when   she   looked   around   there   he   was,   filling   the   stairway   with   branches   and   yet   not   crowded.

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

<p class="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   mounted   up   through   huge   webs   of   grey   twigs   that   seemed   as   ancient   and   mossy   as   stone,   and   the   stair   around   them   was   only   a   skeleton   of   bare   timbers,   open   to   the   wood   of   stone   trees   on   all   sides. Then   they   reached   a   landing,   and   a   stairway   of   stone   went   up   on   the   right,   unsupported. As   they   mounted   this   they   felt   walls   of   solid   rock   on   either   hand,   dank   and   ancient,   and   small   windows   like   embrasures   gave   out   onto   a   strange   view   of   wild   tilted   ridges,   narrow   and   steep   and   green   with   pines. It   felt   like   they   had   climbed   above   the   world. Then   they   came   to   a   trapdoor   of   old   planks,   which   yielded   with   difficulty. Brick   dust,   pink   and   white,   showered   down   on   them   as   they   lifted   it. They   stood   in   a   high   narrow   tower   with   arched   open   windows,   looking   out   on   wastes   of   eroded   desert,   wild,   red   and   gaunt. A   long   wooden   ladder   was   the   only   thing   that   led   upward,   seeming   frail   and   rickety,   two   wood   braces   supporting the   middle.

<p class="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   can’t   go   up   that!”   Brooke   cried. “It’ll   break.”

<p class="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   ghost.”   the   Tree   answered. He   was   not   much   taller   now   than   she   was,   with   countless   short   branches   and   an   abbreviated   bole. “And   you   will   go   up   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;">             Trembling,   she   pulled   herself   from   rung   to   rung,   feeling   the   crazy   ladder   wobble,   and   then   then,   as   she   got   higher,   sway   most   terrifyingly. Not   under   her   weight—she   didn’t   have   any—but   Tree’s. The   crystal   knobs   and   rolling   knolls   looked   so   far   below   when   she   again   glanced   out   the   windows   that   she   felt   ill. But   Tree   forced   her   on,   and   on   she   climbed,   until   she   pushed   her   head   through   another   trap—with   no   door—and   stood   upon   a   floor   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;">             Small   windows   ringed   the   high   conical   chamber   under   the   spire,   set   every   other   window   half   as   high   again   as   the   window   behind   it. In   the   Winsted   church   these   windows   had   stood   out   from   the   spire   base   in   small   gables   crested   with   green   copper   lion-heads   facing   four   ways;   what   outward   ornament   they   bore   here   Brook   had   no   guess. Through   them   she   saw   a   confused   and   bewildering   jumble   of   odd   colors. Three   great   bells   hung   from   the   beams   above   the   center   of   the   floor,   great   complex   gears   for   the   ringing   of   the   bells   standing,   wet   and   black   with   grease,   up   from   both   beam   and   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;">             Tree   was   forcing   open   one   window. “Come! We’re   out   of   stairs,   Brookling! We’ll   have   to   climb   the   outside   of   the   spire.”

<p class="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   that   even   be   done?”   quavered   Brooke.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   can   do   it.”   Tree   replied. “Cling   to   my   roots. Do   not   be   afraid,   and   whatever   you   do,   do   not   let   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;">             In   one   fluid   motion   his   many   limbs   had   let him   vault   out   the   small   window   and   up   on   top   of   it. Brooke   got   both   legs   out   and   sat   on   the   sill. Roots   fell   about   her. She   seized   two   of   them;   they   didn’t   feel   like   anything   at   all,   though   she   had   expected   them   to   feel   slimy,   and   she   clung easily. The   next   second   the   world   stood   on   its’   head   and   she   was   sitting   on   the   gabled   window,   the   copper   lion-heads   staring   at   her   with   silent   roaring   mouths. Tree,   just   above   her,   was   clinging   somehow   to   the   slates   that   shingled   the   spire.

<p class="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   felt   dizzy. All   around   her   were   wild   plunging   hills   of   solid   cloud,   shifting   and   toppling   continuously. The   steeple   rose   out   of   them   like   a   needle,   the   base   invisible,   the   spire   rising   at   a   nearly   vertical   angle   to   the   glint   of   the   golden   cross   high   above. Tree slithered   upwards,   roots   slipping   into   a   hundred   cracks   no   finger   could   ever   have   used,   limbs   splayed   out   as   if   to   embrace   the   spire. She   knew   somehow   that   it   was   amazingly   cold,   cold   as   a   snow-clad   mountain,   the   air   so   thin   that   Tree,   if   he   had   lungs,   would   never   have   made   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;">             “Where   are   we?”   she   called,   as   he   slithered   up   the   tapering   spire. A   flash   of   light—lightning?—came   from   one   of   the   cloud-towers,   but   no   thunder   followed.

<p class="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   in   the   storehouses   of   the   snow.”   he   answered. “Or,   at   any rate,   we   were.”

<p class="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   quite   suddenly,   as   they   neared   the   great   cross,   the   world   around   them   changed. Great   rolling   hills,   their   trees   bare   and   heavy   with   snow,   lay beneath   them,   and   far   in   the   distance   the   land   grew   soft   and   green,   and   then   rose,   into   a   great   brilliant   whiteness   at   the   very   edge   of   sight. Snow   was   sifting   down,   and   it   grew   thicker,   and   the   glowing   heights   were   hidden.

<p class="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   Lands   of   the   Seasons.”   Tree   grunted. “We   are   nearly   there.”

<p class="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   howling   wind   struck   the   spire,   battering   the   Tree. He   cried   out. The   slates,   slick   with   ice,   resisted   his   frantic   grasping. Slowly,   sickeningly,   Brooke   felt   them   both   begin   to   slide   sideways,   toward   the   border   of   heres,   and   then   into   oblivion.

<p class="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   moved   without   thinking. Like   an   arrow   she   shot   up   to   the   cross   and   seized   one   arm   with   her   left   hand. With   her   right   she   reached   down   impossibly   far   and   caught   Tree,   heaving   him   up   beside   her   by   simply   wanting   to. He   clung,   quivering,   to   the   golden   cross   in   silence. There   seemed   to   be   no   longer   any   snow.

<p class="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   in   tarnation   did   you   do   that?”   he   said   finally.

<p class="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   might   have   been   telekinesis   or   something.”   Brooke   said,   as   mystified   as   he. “I   am   a   ghost,   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;">             “Hmph. You   might   have   saved   me   a   climb.”

<p class="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   looked   around. The   snowstorm,   and   the   snowy   hills,   had   vanished. The   cross   stood   solitary   and   alone   amid   a   field   of   level   night,   flickering   with   strange   lights   and   patterns   that   flowed   snakelike   through   the   surface. Above   them   the   sky   was   utterly   empty. A   black   that   was   devoid   of   matter. They   stood,   she   felt,   upon   the   very   border   of   things,   the   threshold   of   time   itself,   the   last   edge   of   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   we   walk   on   this?”   she   asked.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Tree   slowly   unwound   his   branches   from   the   cross   and   moved   cautiously   out   upon   the   shimmering   swirl   of   the   surface. “I   think   so.”   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;">             “What   is   this?”   Brooke   breathed.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Do   not   look   down   longer   than   a   glance.”   Tree   warned   her. “We   are   on   the   very   roof   of   Time,   and   if   we   look   at   too   much   of   the   Pattern,   we   may   never   remember   to   move….it   would   be   an   eternity   ere   we   could   comprehend   the   countless   threads   and   weavings   of   lives   and   causations   that   passed   underneath   our   feet   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;">             “Where   is   the   Tower?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Tree   looked   around. “I   don’t   know. I   am   confused. I   thought   it   would   be   easy   to   find.”

<p class="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.”   Brooke   exclaimed. “Of   course. The   steeple   cross   points   to   Soldier’s   Tower!”

<p class="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   points   two   ways.”   Tree   answered. “The   central   tower   is   a   quarter   mile   from   St. Joseph’s. Walk   backwards   for   that   distance   and   never   lose   sight   of   the   cross. Be   sure   you   are   lined   up   right. I   will   wait   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;">             Brooke   obeyed. It   was   terrifying   to   look   down   and   see   the   weird   and   beautiful   patterns   of   Time   underneath   her,   but   one   glance   was   enough.

<p class="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   like   plunging   her   mind   into   a   math   book   gone   mad. Patterns   of   red,   and   threads   of   blue   weaving   into   and   out   of   them,   and   jagged   lines   of   green,   and   black;   intersecting   shapes   formed   of   the   random   patterns   of   countless   winding   strands,   which   themselves   were   part   of   vaster   shapes   and   more   complicated   patterns   made   of   the   intermingling   of   lives   and   events,   groups   and   families   and   thoughts   of   leaders,   and   thoughts   impacting   other   minds,   and   nations and   disasters,   and   the   movement   of   graces   and   of   Gods,   of   angels   and   of   beings   far   queerer   than   angels…her   mind   swam,   and   she   hastily   pulled   her   eyes   up   and   fixed   them   on   the   bright   yellowy-gold   cross,   and   the   scraggled   shape   of   Tree   pale   against   the   emptiness.

<p class="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   she   had   walked   backward   a   good   half   mile   and   found   nothing   projecting   up   out   of   Time,   she   fixed   mind   and   heart   on   the   cross   and   let   desire   to   be   there   fill   her. Instantly   she   was,   and   taking   hold   of   it   she   stood   bewildered.

<p class="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   do   the   stories   call   it? Teleport?”   the   Tree   said   dryly. He   touched   the   arm   of   the   cross   opposite   to   the   one   she   had   followed. “The   same   thing   as   before. Do   not   look   down.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             When   Tree   had   faded   to   a   pale   point   in   the   distance,   Brooke   tripped   over   something. She   looked   down. The   head   of   a   spear   rose   up   out   of   Time,   breaching   the   surface. Peering   back   at   the   glowing   gold   cross   she   sighted:   yes,   a   single   line,   it   still   pointed   at   her. She   waved   both   arms.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Tree   reached   her   five   minutes   later. Both   of   them   grasped   the   spear-point   and   pulled   as   if   reeling   in   a   rope. It   gave,   or   they   gave,   and   hand   over   hand   they   pulled   themselves   down. The   gleaming   roof   of   Time   vanished,   and   they   found   themselves   clinging   to   a   mighty   statue   of   green   copper.

<p class="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   twice   as   large   as   Brooke. A   dozen   sets   of   garment   and   armature   seemed   superimposed   on   it   like   phantom   outlines,   and   phantom   axes   and   bills   and   halbard   blades   showed   ghostly   around   the   haft   of   the   spear   the   statue   held   upright. Faintest   of   all   was   a   tattered   banner-shape   fastened   near   the   top:   the   statue   from   Camp   Hill   on   the   lowest   here. She   looked   down. The   tower   was   the   same   size   and   shape   as   the   one   on   Camp   Hill,   but   the   sides   seemed   webbed,   a   dozen   different   types   and   styles   of   masonry   and   stone   superimposed. It   seemed   to   stand   on   a   low   dome   of   bare   rock,   ghostly   steps   faintly   visible   in   it,   surrounded   by   a   pine   forest.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Even   as   they   scrambled   down   to   the   roof,   the   statue   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;">             The   Soldier   turned,   ponderous   but   swift,   upon   its’   pedestal. Copper   eyes   blinked   and   focused. A   bronze   spear   was   suddenly   pointed   at   Brooke’s   heart.

<p class="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   do   you   seek?”   the   statue   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;">             “We   seek   to   free   the   Builders.”   said   Brooke.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “They   are   hidden. Time   bound   them. Do   you   dare   to   overrule   the   lord   of   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;">             “You   are   only   a   statue.”   said   Brooke. In   a   blink   she   was   behind   him. “Let   us   pass.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “None   may   find   them,   unless   I   open   to   them.”   <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">said   the   statue.

<p class="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   we   will   make   you   open!”   shouted   Brooke.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             She   moved   like   thought,   her   hand   reaching   twenty   feet   and   tearing   the   weapon   from   it’s   grasp. An   axe   appeared   to   replace   it,   called   up   from   a   lower   here,   and   whistled   through   her. Tree   caught   the   axe. Instantly   he   froze,   rooted   in   place,   and   try   though   he   might   he   could   not   move. Brooke   grabbed   the   statue   and   tried   to   rip   it   in half. A   punch   sent   her   spinning   away,   and   she   nearly   fell   of   the   roof   before   teleporting   to   a   stop. The   tines   of   the   ax   pinned   her   to   the   roof.

<p class="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   not   open.” <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">   it   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;">             Brooke   teleported   from   under   the   ax,   appearing on   the   statue’s   shoulders. Ripping   the   leaf   from   her   forehead   she   pasted   it   across   his   copper   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;">             The   statue   fell   still. The   ax   fell   clanging   from   its’   hand. With   slow   stiff   motions   it   turned   to   the   trapdoor   in   the   small   roof   and   pulled   it   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;">             “Enter.”   it   bade   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;">             Snatching   up   the   fallen   spear,   Brooke   descended   into   the   tower. From   behind   her   the   statue   spoke   again.''   “Should   you   fail,   you   will   not   enter   again. Unless   the   Green   Man   gives   out   another   leaf. Should   you   fail,   I   will   make   you   as   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;">             “What   about   Tree?”   she   cried.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Should   you   succeed,   I   will   free   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;">             Not   reassured,   but   with   little   other   choice, she   ducked   through   the   trap   and   descended   the   narrow   wooden   stairs.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Instead   of   curving   around   with   the   wall,   they   ended   at   a   queer   little   door   of   vertical   boards   in   an   arched   opening. An   antique   lock   and   handle   operated   it,   but   when   Brook   thrust   the   bronze   spearpoint   into   the   keyhole,   it   opened. Beyond   lay   a   silver-black   glow. The   edges   of   the   doorway   seemed   to   shimmer,   as   if   rimmed   with   blue   and   black   fire. As   she   passed through   it   she   felt   somehow   as   if   she   was   no   longer   in   time,   but   out   of   it,   or   buried   in   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;">             The   room   hidden   inside   Time   was   wide   and   dark,   the   walls   drifted   in   layers   of   light   like   shed   leaves   that   shifted   and   sighed   all   around   her. It   seemed   her   sight   was   fractured:   things   seemed   doubled,   trebled,   multiplied,   though   when   she   focused   on   one   or   another   outline   it   became   visible   and   solid.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Figures   floated   in   the   air,   shimmering   as   if   seen   through   layers   of   water,   figures   of   shifting   silvery   light,   crackling   at   the   edges. Now   and   then   one   would   shift   into   a   form   almost   human,   with   face   and   features   and   hair,   but   flesh   of   silver   flame. There   were   seven,   and   yet   more   than   seven.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Seven   times   seven,   trapped   in   seven   moments.”   <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">she   said   aloud.

<p class="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   all   the   figures   awoke   and   turned   to   face   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;">             Silver   eyes   blazed   inside   of   silver   faces,   pitiless,   curious,   sad   and   fey. She   felt   as   if   scorched   by   cold.

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

<p class="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   came   to   free   you.”   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;">             A   cold   laughter,   bitter   and   mirthful,   shivered   from   them. “She   comes   to   free   us.”

<p class="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   says   she   wants   us   free.”

<p class="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   is   not   the   one. She   cannot   be   the   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;">             “She   is   not   the   one. Only   a   human   of   the   Road   can   free.”

<p class="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   a   human   of   the   Road!”   cried   Brooke.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Like   the   falling   of   glass   knives   came   the   mocking   of   the   Stars. “You   are   of   the   streams. You   are   not   of   the   roads. Let   him   come   to   us.”

<p class="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   felt   herself   sailing   out   of   the   chamber,   blown   backwards   up   the   stairs. She   sprawled   on   the   roof. The   statue   peeled   the   green   leaf   off   its’   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;">             “You   have   failed.”   it   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;">             “It   wasn’t   my   fault!”   screamed   Brooke.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   take   no   reck   of   fault. I   deal   with   law. You   have   failed. You   must   pay.”

<p class="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   snatched   back   his   spear. He   thrust   with   his   spear. Brooke   felt   an   utter,   metallic   chill   in   her   heart   as   it   transfixed   her   to   the   turret.

<p class="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;">             Ronnie   stopped   in   at   the   library,   wanting   to   see   if   Forest   was   there;   he’d   dropped   him   off   on   the   way   to   Travel’s. Forest   was   on   the   computer. Ronnie   gave   a   grim   smile   as   he   thought   how   that   must   look   should   the   librarian   happen   to   stroll   over,   seeing   ghostly   fingers   clicking   the   keyboard   and   the   screen   moving   as   by   remote   access. Or   maybe   Forest   was   visible.

<p class="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’d   it   go?”   Forest   asked,   looking   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;">             “I   saw   what   I   needed   to.”   Ronnie   answered. “Move   over. I   need   to   look   something   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;">             “Something   about   that   “dark   flow”?”

<p class="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   you   appear   so   I   don’t   seem   to   be   talking   to   myself? Thank   you. Yes,   as   a   matter   of   fact,   I   found   a   star   map   showing   the   relative   positions   of   the   Sun,   the   star   Herald,   and   the   constellation   which   marks   the   Great   Attractor. Herald   is   along   the   plane   of   the   Milky   Way   relative   to   us. So   is   the   Attractor. Taking   the   Herald   as   ‘west,’   I   located   the   Attractor   as   roughly   SE   along   the   direction   of   the   Flat   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;">             “That   rules   out   the   Gates   of   the   Morning.”

<p class="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   necessarily.”   ruminated   Ronnie. He   caught   sight   of   the   library   director,   her   glasses   pushed   up   above   her   watching   eyes,   staring   at   him,   and   got   up. “Let’s   get   out   of   here   before   they   make   us   sign   in. I   hate   leaving   my   name   everywhere.”

<p class="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   you   give   me   a   ride   home?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Sure   thing. I   just   have   to   stop   at   the   Gulf   station   and   gas   up   first.”

<p class="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   swiftest   way   across   town,   if   you   wanted   to   avoid   the   Main   Street   traffic   lights,   was   to   go   up   Wetmore   and   cut   straight   across   the   northern   part   of   town. Ronnie   accordingly,   having   parked   down   on   Main,   pulled   out   and   turned   right   at   Flatiron   Park,   then   went   up   Wetmore   heading   east.

<p class="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   were   saying?”   pressed   Forest.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Oh   yes. I   was   saying   that   the   Attractor   is   roughly   SE   instead   of   E   where   the   Gates   are,   but   if   the   direction   is   more   toward   Vela,   it   would   be   due   E.”   He   had   to   stop   very   quickly   as   it   suddenly   registered   on   him   there   was   a   stop   sign   ahead,   and   the   keys   swung. The   queer   heavy   old   key   clanked   against   the   others. “On   the   other   hand,   if   it’s   more   toward   Centaurus,   it   would   be   almost   due   south. Why   SE,   I   can’t   fathom.”

<p class="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   ran   level   through   the   broad   gap   between   Camp   Hill   and   the   high   ridge   of   Street   Hill,   eaten   down   through   the   living   rock   in   times   beyond   reckoning. Forest   looked   to   his   right,   behind   the   big   old   square   townhouses,   up   into   the   wooded   slopes   of   Camp   Hill.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Stop.”   he   said   suddenly. “I   saw   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;">             Ronnie   pulled   over. The   old   truck   throttled   down   with   a   growl   and   idled,   chugging   away   steadily. “Where?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Good   old   Ronnie. He   never   blinked   an   eye   at   Forest’s   claims. “Um,   up   there. Camp   Hill. At   the   top.”

<p class="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   was   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;">             “I   don’t   know. A   sort   of   flicker. Like   the   whole   top   of   the   hill   was…”   ''Somewhere…else… ''

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

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Wasn’t   where   at   all.”   blurted   Forest. “The   tower   was   in   a   lot   of   wheres   at   once. Or   whens. I   don’t   know! I   couldn’t   see!”

<p class="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,   heck   with   gassing   up.”   muttered   Ronnie   as   he   got   under   way   again.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   parked   in   the   tower   drive   and   both   of   them   hurried   up   to   the   pink   granite   structure. Ronnie   stopped,   staring   very   hard   at   the   soldier.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Anything   about   him   look   odd?”   he   asked   Forest.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “His   weapon.”   said   Forest. “It’s….multiple.”

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

<p class="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…they’re   all   in   one   place,   one   weapon,   but   it’s   different.”   Forest   tried   again. “Like   they   stand   in   seperate   heres,   all   on   top   of   each   other.”

<p class="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’s   roads?”   hazarded   Ronnie.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Uh   uh.”   said   Forest. “This   tower…it’s   weirder…it   wasn’t   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;">             Ronnie   laid   his   hand   on   the   stone,   frowning   fiercely. A   red   spark   shone   faint   in   his   eyes   for   a   second. “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;">             Forest’s   eyes   widened.

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

<p class="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   in   many   heres.”   Forest   said,   awed. “I   mean,   it’s   here,   and   another   here   on   top   of   that   but   still   in   the   same   place…”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Dimensions? Parallel   planes   of   physical   existence   separated   by   spiritual   layers   or   barriers? Different   layers   of   the   threshold   of   the   Unseen?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Sort   of. But   the   tower…it   goes   all   the   way   to   the   top.”

<p class="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   top   of   what?”

<p class="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   time.”   said    Forest. He   gasped. “Brooke. I   hear   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   heard   her   too.”   Ronnie   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;">             “We’ve   got   to   get   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   Ronnie   drew   the   keys   from   his   pocket. The   heavy   old   key   hung   from   the   key   chain,   tarnished,   mysterious and   intricate. “Arheled   and   Wild   were   wary   of   this.”   he   muttered. “I   wonder   if   this   is   why   the   Sisters   gave   it   to   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;">             He   held   it   to   the   plain   steel   door. It   slid   into   the   lock   and   turned. The   door   swung   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;">             Ronnie   held   out   one   hand,   stopping   Forest. “Can’t   you   see?”   he   murmered. “The   door   isn’t   here…it’s   in   many   heres.”

<p class="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   see   it   too?”   said   Forest.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Ronnie   headed   in,   Forest   behind   him. The   chair   and   guestbook   were   phantoms. Stretching   away   on   every   side   were   rows   upon   rows   of   great   racks   and   intricate   closets,   and   resting   on   them   intricate   objects,   complicated   devices   of   twisted   and   coiling   metal,   and   weapons,   and   armour, and   helms   and   shields. Right   in   front   of   them   was   what   looked   like   a   great   two-handed   claymore. Ronnie   took   it   down. Though   long   it   was   not   too   heavy;    in   close   quarters,   however,   it   would   be   nearly   useless. They   mounted   the   stairs. When   they   were   partway   up   the   armoury   vanished. Narrow   windows   gave   out   onto   mountains   black   as   tar,   sad   blue   shapes   coiling   about   them,   a   deep-blue   sky   overhead. They   climbed   to   the   second   floor. The   walls   were   veined   marble,   not   cement,   and   the   names   in   gold   letters   that   flowed   across   the   tablets   were   not   New   England   names. These   windows   looked   out   on   a   landscape   of   rolling   hills   of   crystal,   fading   from   white   and   pearl   into   glass-like   greens   and   delicate   blues   and   violets;   but   no   sun   sparkled   on   them. Up   the   second   stair   they   mounted,   the   landscape changing   like   a   dream   in   the   windows   the   higher   they   got. The   third   floor   was   made   of   golden   stone,   but   the   window   frames   were   still   half-rotted   wood   painted   gray. And   halfway   up   the   stairs   to   the   roof   was   a   small   door   in   the   wall,   and   the   planks   of   that   door   were   planks   of   gleaming   gold.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Ronnie   paused   outside   this   door   and   looked   at   it,   then   back   up   to   the   roof.

<p class="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   must   go   in   alone.”   he   said. “Take   the   sword. See   if   Brooke   is   on   the   roof.”

<p class="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   not   a   fighter.”   Forest   stammered.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Ronnie   gave   him   the   claymore. Somehow   it   had   changed,   until   it   was   maybe   a   foot   or   so   long. “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;">             “And   the   wind   be   always   at   your back.”   Forest   replied. He   felt   like   he   was   going   to   cry.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Ronnie   turned   to   the   golden   door. The   key   was   glowing   in   his   hands. Light   burst   out   of   the   antique   lock   as   they   key   turned. He   opened   it   and   stepped   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;">             And   door   and   doorway   vanished.

<p class="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   furious   grief   in   his   heart,   Forest   shoved   aside   the   trap   door. It   fell   with   a   boom   upon   the   roof. A   great   Tree   stood   there,   with   a   human   face,   his   roots   turned   into   bronze   and   fused   to   the   roof,   and   his   bole   and   boughs   stiff   as   stone. Forest   whirled. Brooke   lay   sprawled   against   the   turret,   transfixed   by   a   bronze   spear,   her   figure   slowly   becoming   green   and   metallic. Upon   the   turret’s   pedestal   the   copper   statue   stirred.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Forest!”   the   Tree   shouted. “You   cannot   challenge   the   guardian! Leave   us!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Leave   you   where?”   Forest   said. A   cold   dreadful   anger   filled   him. “Leave   her   where? Who   did   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;">             The   copper   statue   stepped   down   from   the   turret. The   roof   groaned   beneath   it.''   “I   did   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;">             “Why?”

<p class="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   the   hand   of   Time. I   do   as   I   was   bidden. If   you   are   mightier   than   Time,   you   may   overrule   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;">             Forest   held   up   the   short   blade. With   all   his   strength   he   brought   it   down   upon   the   spear   holding   Brooke. A   flash   of   power   burst   from   the   sword   and   the   spear   flew   out   of   Brooke,   clattering   onto   the   roof.'' ''

<p class="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   dare.” <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">   the   statue   said. There   was   no   emotion   in   the   metal   voice,   for   it   was   not   alive. The   spear   flew   into   its’   hand,   fusing   with   the   spear   it   already   bore. Whirling   faster   than   sight   it   thrust   at   Forest.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Forest   held   up   his   left   hand   like   a   shield,   as   he   felt   something,   some   vast   and   ancient   force,   rising   in   him   like   a   tide. His   hand   sparkled   with   green   light. ''“In   the   name   of   the   Road   you   will   set   them   both   free!” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Silver   lightning   edged   with   blue   ran   up   and   down   the   statue. His   spear   fell   from   his   hand. Slowly   Brooke   stirred,   the   metal   ebbing   from   her   substance. Tree’s   roots   stirred,   flexing   as   they   came   free   of   the   floor. The   copper   soldier   floated   into   the   air,   lifted   by   the   lightning. Forest   did   not   lower   his   hand. With   a   boom   the   soldier   settled   on   his   pedestal   and   became   inert.

<p class="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;">             Ronnie   floated,   suspended   in   space.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Around   him   drifted   strange   stars,   green   and   white   and   silvery-blue,   in   a   deep   and   tranquil   silence. There   was   no   trace   of   the   door   he   had   come   in   by,   or   of   the   captured   Stars   that   Brooke   had   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;">             Ronnie   frowned. A   curious   red   glitter   began   to   glow   in   his   eyes. He   pushed   forward,   walking   on   the   air.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Stars   crystallized   in   front   of   him,   until   he   stood   in   in   a   chamber   of   arched   and   vaulted   walls,   yet   these   walls   wavered   like   mist. He   felt   somehow   as   if   he   had   sidestepped   time,   as   if   it   was   a   great   river   flowing   nearby   and   he   drifting   in   a   side   current,   still   joined   to   it,   but   apart. Before   him   hung   a   globe   of   crystal.

<p class="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   are   the   prisoners?”   he   demanded. “Where   are   the   Builders   of   the   Roads?”

<p class="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   globe   expanded   outward,   the   sides   squelching   as   they   let   Ronnie   in. Inside   hung   suspended   seven   rows   of   seven   figures   pressed   face   to   back,   so   as   nearly   to   occupy   each   other’s   space. Figures   of   silver   flesh   and   silver   hair,   gleaming   with   a   silver   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   captured   Stars   opened   their   eyes   and   fixed   them   on   Ronnie. He   felt   a   vast   menance,   a   queer   and   dangerous   power   that   might,   literally,   do   anything,   holding   him   in   its;   regard. He   shivered. These   beings   were   utterly   unpredictable. They’d   turn   you   to   a   toad   as   soon   as   look   at   you. Why   had   he   felt   so   impelled   to   seek   them? Why   was   he   so   sure   he   was   supposed   to   release   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;">             A   weird,   uncanny   mockery   flickered   in   the   trapped   eyes. Silver   and   crystal   voices   tingled   and   jeered   as   the   Stars   began   to   speak.

<p class="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   it   isn’t   the   son   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;">             “Hill   of   the   Road,   come   as   he   was   meant,   now   unsure.” ''

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

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

<p class="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   why   should   we   hold   ourselves   up   to   you? Free   us,   little   Hill;   and   do   as   your   daddy   tells   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;">             “I   come   to   free   the   soul   of   Brooke,   not   you.”   Ronnie   said   in   a   cold   voice. His   eyes   burned   now   as   red   as   torches. “I   did   not   come   to   set   you   free. You   called   me. You   tried   to   dominate   me. You   trespassed   into   Time. You   are   justly   sealed.”

<p class="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   the   first   time   the   Stars   seemed   a   little   uncertain.   “The   King   of   the   Road   did   not   send   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;">             “The   Green   Man   sent   Brooke   here.”   Ronnie   answered. “Not   me. I   came   because   she   was   trapped.”

<p class="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   why   are   you   with   us,   O   Hill   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;">             “I   am   the   only   one   who   can   free   you. But   the   Green   Man   did   not   send   Brooke   to   free   you. He   sent   her   to   you…for   knowledge!”

<p class="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   what   knowledge   might   that   be,   son   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;">             “You,   and   you   alone,   know   how   to   bridge   the   prime   here   to   permit   her   escape. You   will   tell   me   how   to   do   it. I   have   the   power   to   reveal   what   is   hidden,   but   I   do   not   know   how   to   bridge   the   hidden   so   as   to   permit   us   to   leave. You   will   give   me   this   knowledge.”

<p class="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   Stars   began   to   laugh,   like   blades   of   glass   all   dropping   at   once''. “And   how,   human,   do   you   expect   to   compel   the   Stars   in   the   sky,   the   binders   of   the   heres,   even   locked   as   we   are   into   seven   moments   from   which   we   can   only   speak?” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Ronnie   held   up   the   key   in   his   hand. It   blazed   now   as   bright   as   molten   gold,   but   the   red   fire   in   his   eyes   burned   brighter   still. Alarm   flashed   through   the   seven   visible   faces.

<p class="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   the   Key   of   Arcturus.” <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">   they   hissed.''   “You   have   the   help   of   the   Weirds   of   the   Earth. How   does   it   happen   they   would   lend   you   their   aid?” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Their   reasons   are   their   own.”   said   Ronnie. “You   know   the   power   in   the   earth,   that   was   ever   opposed   to   the   power   of   the   Stars. Now   answer   what   I   would   know! I   compel   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;">             Gold   light   rayed   out   from   the   key. The   Stars   swirled   and   writhed   at   its’   touch. Their   voices   rang   again,   mocking   once   more. ''“The   Key   unlocks   the   heres. Open   here   after   here,   and   sooner   or   later   you   will   be   there.” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Ronnie   bowed   deeply. “I   will   ask   my   lord   Arheled   if   it   is   good   to   release   you.”   he   said. “If   he   gives   me   leave,   I   will   return.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Fair   words   are   easy   spoken,   human.” <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">   the   Stars   sneered. ''“Fair   deeds   are   less   easy. The   word   of   a   human   is   made   to   be   broken.” ''

<p class="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   word   of   a   Star   is   as   bad   as   their   manners.”   Ronnie   retorted. He   turned. Red   light   flamed   in   his   eyes. The   golden   door   swam   into   view. He   unlocked   it   with   the   Key,   and   stepped   through   it,   and   locked   it   behind   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;">             “Where   are   they?”   said   the   Tree,   as   Ronnie   emerged   onto   the   roof. “Where   are   the   Builders   of   the   Roads?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Ronnie   stared   intently   at   the   Tree. “I   know   you.”   he   said. “You   are   the   reason   that   Brooke   was   sent   upon   these   Roads. You   are   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;">             The   Tree   howled. His   trunk   and   limbs bent,   contorting. Branches   broke   and   fell   away   like   autumn   leaves. Bark   peeled   and   crumbled. Wood   poured   down   like   sawdust. And   there   stood   before   them   a   man   in   garments   of   deerskin.

<p class="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   thought   you’d   never   figure   it   out.”   he   said. “Wayfinder   cursed   me. He   said   I   would   stay   as   tree   until   someone   who   could   see,   knew   my   face   and   spoke   my   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   we   nearly   released   the   Builders.”   shuddered   Brooke.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   suspect   some   day   we   may   yet   have   to.”   said   Ronnie. “But   come. I   forced   them   to   tell   me   how   to   free   us.”

<p class="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   descended   the   curving   stairs,   ignoring   the   changing   views   from   the   high   narrow   windows. Forest   still   bore   the   strange   sword. When   they   stood   on   the   bottom   floor   Ronnie   pulled   the   door   shut,   closing   off   the   outside. Under   his   touch   the   many   layers   of   door   showed   plain,   fancy   handles   and   plain   latches   and   ancient   locks   all   superimposed,   but   their   keyholes   were   all   in   the   same   spot. Into   the   layered   keyholes   Ronnie   fitted   the   glowing   key. He   turned,   and   pulled   open   a   door   of   stone. One   handle   vanished,   swinging   outward   with   the   door. He   unlocked   and   pulled   open   a   door   of   wood. He   unlocked   and   pulled   open   doors   of   metal,   and   ivory,   and   crystal,   and   solid   gemstone. The   last   door   was   of   plain   metal. He   inserted   the   key   with   great   care. There   was   a   sound   like   dozens   of   locks   all   turning   at   the   same   time. Slowly   he   pushed   open   the   door.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Sunlight   poured   in,   showing   plain   walls   of   cement. Green   grass   lay   outside. They   walked   out,   blinking   in   the   unaccustomed   brightness,   out   onto   the   open   top   of   Camp   Hill,   in   the   lowest   and   most   important   layer   of   physical   reality,   the   ghost,   the   former   tree,   Forest   and   Ronnie.

<p class="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   gave   a   sudden   wordless   gasp. She   seemed   for   an   instant   to   be   elongated   sideways,   and   then   she   was   gone.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “What   happened   to   her?”   said   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;">             “I   think   she   just   snapped   back   to   her   body.”   said   Ronnie. “Well,   Mr. Lane,”   he   added   with   a   crooked   smile,   welcome   back   to   the   living. I’ll   give   you   a   ride   to   your   house. After   I   gas   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;">             “My   house   probably   perished   centuries   ago.”   said   Wayham   uncertainly.

<p class="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   Lanes   still   dwell   there.”   said   Ronnie. “Grandmother   Lane   would   be   very   pleased   to   meet   you. She   still   has   your   journal.”

<p class="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   old   thing? Heavens!”   laughed   Wayham. “I   cannot   think   what   she   would   see   in   it. But…”   He   looked   around,   uncertainly. “There’s   so   many   houses. They   look   so   much   more…frightening…when   I’m   actually   in   them. I   hope   Colebrook   isn’t   this   built   up,   how   you   say,   developed.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “My   truck   is   right   over   there.”   smiled   Ronnie. “But   first   let’s   go   see   how   Brooke   is   feeling.”

<p class="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;">             “Are   you   certain   she   will   never   wake   up?”   said   Mrs. Pond   tearfully.

<p class="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   doctor   looked   up   from   the   life   support   machines. His   face   was   somber. “Her   vitals   give   every   sign   of   remaining   in   this   state   indefinitely. She   is   only   a   vegetable   now. Why   would   you   want   someone   to   be   kept   in   this   condition   for   year   after   year,   until   at   last   she   slips   away….hundreds   and   thousands   of   dollars   later? The   new   insurance   laws   don’t   cover   persistent   vegetative   states   after   a   certain   amount   of   time,   you   know.”

<p class="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   not   like   she   can   hear   us,   anyway.”   said   Mr. Pond. His   face   was   haggard   and   drawn. Ben   beside   him   had   a   placid,   almost   amused   expression   on   his   sallow   face.

<p class="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   really   don’t   have   to   worry,   Dad.”   he   said. “She   already   is   dead. Just   lingering.”

<p class="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   suppose….it   won’t   hurt   her,   will   it?”   said   Mrs. Pond.

<p class="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   a   state   like   this,   with   no   response   to   stimuli,   it’s   like   falling   asleep.”   said   the   doctor. “A   painless   injection. Then   it   will   be   over.”

<p class="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   do   it.”   said   Mr. Pond. He   was   starting   to   blubber. “Oh   Brooke…”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             As   the   doctor   had   them   sign   various   forms,   Ben   slipped   up   to   the   still   figure   on   the   bed. “See   you   in   hell,   baby   sis.”   he   breathed. For   a   moment   an   eerie   light   flickered   in   his   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;">             The   doctor   came   back   in. He   ushered   Ben   back   out   into   the   passage. “I’ll   call   you   in   when   she’s   gone.”   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;">             “Doctor…you’re sure   of   this?”   quavered   Mr. Pond.

<p class="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.”   the   doctor   said   gravely. He   bustled   back   into   the   room   and   closed   the   door.

<p class="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   eyes   of   Brooke   flew   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;">             The   doctor,   paying   no   attention,   stooped   to   pour   the   poison   into   the   life   support   machine.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Something   cold   and   powerful   smashed   every   inch   of   his   body. He   slammed   into   the   wall. His   eyes   were   filled   with   icy   water. Water   was   pressing   him   to   the   wall. A   solid   stream   of   water. In   her   bed   the   comatose   girl   sat   up,   and   her   eyes   blazed   with   a   light   as   green   as   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;">             “You….murderer….”   she   said,   in   a   voice   like   a   hundred   rushing   streams   all   speaking   at   once. “Death   shall   pay   for   death!”

<p class="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   was   drowning. Water   filled   his   lungs. He   tried   to   speak   but   only   burbled.

<p class="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   euthaniser   slumped   onto   the   floor,   water   streaming   from   his   mouth   and   body. And   Brooke   Pond   slowly   stalked   out   the   door.

<p class="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   shocked,   ecstatic   faces   of   her   parents   passed   her   like   ghosts. Her   brother’s   face,   equally   shocked,   and   dismayed,   she   thought,   as   well;   but   that   couldn’t   be   right,   he   was   her   brother,   didn’t   he   want   her   to   wake   up? It   didn’t   matter. None   of   it   mattered   except   going   home   and   getting   to   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;">             Ronnie   and   Forest,   and   Wayham   Lane,   saw   her   in   the   parking   lot,   leaning   heavily   on   her   dad’s   arm,   looking   rather   dazed. She   brightened   up   enough   to   give   them   a   weak   smile. Then   she   was   in   the   car,   and   sleep   could   at   last   come   over   her.

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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;">

<p class="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   strange   sensation   for   Forest,   riding   in   the   same   vehicle   as   a   man   who   had   escaped   from   the   deeps   of   time,   from   the   very   foundations   of   America. Ronnie   was   asking   him   all   sorts   of   questions,   but   the   man   from   time   only   answered   in   starts,   engaged   in   staring   at   the   land   that   he   once   knew.

<p class="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   hills   look   the   same.”   he   said   once. Another   time,   as   they   passed   the   old   buildings   of   Colebrook   Center,   “They   look   so   ancient…and   yet   I   was   here   before   them. It   feels   strange.”

<p class="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   they   turned   into   the   Lane   driveway,   he   startled   them   by   leaping   upright   (knocking   his   head   in   the   process)   and   exclaiming,   “The   pond   is   still   there! I   though   it   would   have   silted   up   by   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   think   Travel’s   father   made   that   one,”   said   Ronnie   dubiously,   “and   before   that   it   was   a   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;">             He   parked   in   front   of   the   little   detached   house,   waving   its’   passengers   to   stay   put   while   he   knocked   on   the   door. Grandmother   Lane   opened   it,   looking   just   a   little   puzzled.

<p class="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,   Ronnie.”   she   said. “Won’t   you   come   in? Did   you   leave   something   behind?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Ronnie   shook   his   head. “I   wanted   you   to   meet   someone. Someone   you   might   know.”

<p class="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   shot   a   piercing   look   toward   the   truck. The   strange   passenger   was   emerging   now,   carefully,   looking   at   everything   around   him   with   vast   interest.

<p class="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,   this   is   the   man   that   I   have   brought.”   Ronnie   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   old   lady   descended   the   stairs   slowly   and   stiffly. Her   eyes   were   dark   and   ancient   as   black   stars. He   looked   up   and   met   them,   and   for   a   long   moment   their   gaze   held.

<p class="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   his   face,   but   you   cannot   be   him.”   said   Grandmother   Lane. “He   died   four   hundred   years   ago.”

<p class="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   vanished   from   the   world   three   hundred   and   ninety-eight years   ago,   aye.”   he   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;">             “And   what   did   you   leave?”

<p class="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   left   an   old   book   under   a   candlestick   upon   my   mantel.”

<p class="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   did   you   last   write?”

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

<p class="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   caught   her   breath. “Who   bore   your   son,   then,   if   you   are   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   one   whose   face   you   wore   when   you   were   young,   whose   face   I   can   see   still   in   you.”   he   answered. “Henna   van   Horn.”

<p class="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   woman   seemed   to   sway   slightly   on   her   feet,   her   eyes   glowing. “Then   in   the   name   of   the   house   of   Lane   do   I   welcome   you   into   my   home,   Wayham   Lane.”

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