Clive Barker - Weave World

But as his lids began to dose he caught a movement in the wastes at the base of the hill - something was running about in the snow. He tried to focus; failed; pressed his fingers to his face to stir himself; looked up and tried again. His eyes didn't deceive him. There was something moving on the blank page in front of him; an animal of some kind.

Could it be ... a monkey?

He plunged his arms into the snow and hauled himself up, but as he did so he lost his balance and pitched forward. For several seconds earth and sky became a blur as he tumbled down the slope, coming to a halt encased in ice. It took him a moment to re-orient himself, but when he did he saw the animal - and yes, it was a monkey! - fleeing from him.

He stood up, more snow than man, and stumbled after it. Where in God's name was it running to? There were only open fields ahead of it.

Suddenly, the animal vanished. One moment it was plainly in front of him, and he was gaining on it. The very next it had disappeared from the field, as though it had fled through an open door and slammed it closed. He halted, not believing the evidence of his befuddled sight. Was the animal a mirage of some kind? Or had the cold simply undone his sanity?

He stared at the snow. There were distinctly tracks there -paw tracks, where the monkey had been playing. He followed them, and the testimony of his eyes was confirmed. The tracks stopped dead a few feet from where he stood. Beyond the spot there was simply clean, crisp snow; acres of it.

‘All right,' he said to the empty field. ‘Where are you?'

As he spoke he took another step towards the place where the monkey had pulled its disappearing trick, and asked his question again.

‘Please ...' he said, his voice failing, ‘where are you?'

There was no answer, of course. Mirages were silent.

He stared at the tracks, and felt the last vestiges of hope go out of him.

Then a voice said:

‘Don't stand in the cold.'

He looked up. There was nobody visible to right or left of him. But the instructions came again.

‘Two paces forward. And be quick about it.'

He took one tentative step. As he was about to take the second an arm appeared from the air directly in front of him, and - seizing hold of his anorak - claimed him from the snow.

II

SHELTER FROM THE STORM

1

There was a wood on the other side of the curtain through which Cal had been yanked, its thatch of branches so dense all but a sprinkling of snow had been kept from the ground, so that it was mossy and leaf-strewn underfoot. The place was dark, but he could see a fire burning some way off from him, its light welcome, its promise of warmth even more so. Of the man who'd dragged him out of the snow there was no sign; at least he failed to see anyone until a voice said:

Terrible weather we're having,' and he turned to find the monkey Novello, and its human companion, standing no more than two yards from him, camouflaged by stillness.

‘It was Smith who did it,' said the monkey, leaning towards Cal. ‘Him who pulled you through. Don't let them blame me.' The man threw the animal a sideways glance. ‘He's not speaking to me,' Novello announced, ‘because I strayed outside. Well, it's done now, isn't it? Why don't you come along to the fire? You'd better lie down before you fall down.'

‘Yes,' Cal said,'... please.'

Smith led the way. Cal followed, his stupefied brain still grappling with what he'd just experienced. The Kind might be cornered, but they weren't without a trick or two; the illusion that kept this wood from sight had survived dose scrutiny. And once on the other side there was a second surprise: the season. Though the branches of the trees above him were bare, and it was last summer's moss he was walking on, there was a scent of spring in the air, as if the ice that gripped the Spectred Isle from end to end had no hold here. Sap was rising; buds were swelling; things on every side were turning their cells to the sweet labour of growth. The sudden clemency induced a mild euphoria in him, but his frozen limbs hadn't got the message. As he came within a few yards of the fire he felt his body lose its power to hold itself up. He reached out to one of the trees for support, but it stepped away from him - or so it seemed — and he fell forward.

He didn't hit the ground. There were arms to catch him, and he gave himself over to them. They carried him to the vicinity of the fire, and he was gently laid down. A hand touched his cheek and he looked away from the flames to see Suzanna kneeling at his side, firelight on her face.

He said her name - or at least hoped he did. Then he passed out.

2

It had happened before that he'd closed his eyes seeing her, only to wake and find her gone. But not this time. This time she was waiting for him, on the other side of sleep. Not just waiting, but holding him, and rocking him. The layers of clothes, paper pulp and photographs he'd been wearing had been peeled off him as he slept, and a blanket wrapped around his nakedness.

‘I found my way home,' he said to her, when he could get his tongue to work again.

‘I went to Chariot Street to fetch you,' she said, ‘but the house had gone.'

‘I know ...'

‘And Rue Street too.'

He nodded. ‘De Bono came looking for me ....' He halted, silenced by the memory. Even the fire, and her arms around him, couldn't prevent his shuddering as he stood again in the fog, and glimpsed what it had half concealed.

‘... the Scourge came after us,' he said.

‘And Shadwell,' she added.

‘Yes. How did you know?'

She told him about the Shrine.

‘So what happens now?' he said.

‘We wait. We keep the rapture up, and we wait. We're all here now. You were the only one missing.'

‘I'm found now,' he said softly.

She tightened her hold on him.

‘And there'll be no more separations,' she said. ‘We'll just have to pray they pass us by.'

‘No praying please,' said a voice from behind Suzanna. ‘We don't want angels hearing us.'

Cal craned his neck to see the newcomer. The lines on the face before him were deeper than they'd been, the beard a little more grizzled: but it was still Lem's face, Lem's smile.

‘Poet,' Lo said, bending to put his hand through Cal's hair. ‘We almost lost you.'

‘No chance,' said Cal, with a slow smile. ‘Have you still got the fruits?'

Lo patted the breast pocket of his coat, the modernity of which rather suited him. ‘Got them here,' he said. ‘Speaking of which: is the man hungry?'

‘I can always eat,' said Cal.

There's food to be had when you want it.'

Thank you.'

Lem was about to depart, then turned back and very solemnly said:

‘Will you help me plant, Calhoun? When the time comes?'

‘You know I will.'

Lem nodded. ‘I'll see you in a while,' he said, and withdrew from the circle of firelight.

‘Are my clothes dry?' Cal asked. ‘I can't wander around like this.'

‘Let me see if I can borrow something for you,' Suzanna replied.

He sat up to let her rise, but before she did so she kissed him on the lips. It was not a casual kiss; its touch did more to warm him than a dozen fires. When she left his side he had to wrap the blanket around him to cover up the fact that more than sap was rising tonight.

Alone, he had time to think. Though he'd come within spitting distance of death it was already difficult to remember the pain he'd been in, such a short time ago; possible, even, to think there was no world at all beyond this enchanted wood, and that they could stay here forever and make magic. But seductive as that thought was he knew indulging it, even for a moment, was dangerous. If there was to be a life for the Kind after tonight - if by some miracle Uriel and its keeper did pass them by - then that life had to be lived as part of the Wonderland he'd found in Gluck's bureau of miracles. One world, indivisible.