Catherine Fisher - Darkhenge

“Hold her,” Vetch said, straightening.

“My sister—”

“Hold her.” He moved to the tree, put his hands on it, spoke words that were strange and remote.

Clare stopped struggling. “He’s mad,” she said quietly. “He doesn’t care about me or you. He never did.”

In the circle of moonlight, the henge was lit. A pool of rain that had gathered in the roots gleamed silver. Tall and black, the timbers enclosed them like a wall of shadow, head high, moths and midges the only movement.

Except that the tree was growing downward.

Rob stared. Out on the field Mac was yelling and shoving everyone aside, but he couldn’t move, because the oak was going down and down, its trunk ridged and green with lichen, its boughs and branches sprouting out into darkness, into another place, like a brain stem, like the network of a million cortexes, and a lizard ran up it and slid away, birds squawked in it, disturbed.

Vetch stumbled. He held onto the tree and put his foot on the branches and began to descend, and there was no earth below him, no surface, only darkness that smelled cold and rich, like a forest smells.

After two steps he slipped, weak, leaning his head on the trunk. Rob pushed Clare away and grabbed the poet tight.

“I’m falling,” Vetch whispered. He seemed barely able to speak. “Let me fall.”

“No. I’m coming with you.” Rob began to descend rapidly, pulling the man’s feet down, placing his hands.

Vetch’s eyes were dark in his pale face. “I can’t let you do this—”

“I’m coming. I’m coming with you. To find Chloe. Come on! Show me!”

They were climbing down. Branch to branch. Leaves moved against his face, living leaves. Small creatures pattered around him. Vetch’s weight slumped against him. Far above, Mac had burst through the crowd, was yelling for him, but there was no sound from up there now but the leaves and the wind. A great wind, roaring and gusting, swaying the branches of the mighty tree, and he clambered and slithered into it, his feet finding holes and forks, slipping on lichen, his toes scraping down and down into greener shadows, the rich decaying stench of a forest.

Into darkness.

Into the Unworld.

The Region

of the

Summer Stars

NG. NGETAL: BROOM

God knows what happened.

There was confusion; the tribe trying to keep us out, and Rob yelling, “Mac!” at me from somewhere, but the cell phone was ringing and of course I had to answer that. It was Sister Mary from the nursing home.

“Father,” she said, “it’s Chloe—Chloe’s arm is bleeding!” Did I know where Katie was?

The woman sounded distracted. I told her we were on our way, rang Katie.

When the police cleared the henge, I barged my way in. Rob had gone. I don’t know where he is, but Vetch must be with him.

If they weren’t arrested they just seem to have vanished.

The ferocity of the Oak

shook heaven and earth …

the Birch, all eager,

comes late in armor.

“THE BATTLE OF THE TREES”

The third castle was revolving.

Gradually, hour by hour, Chloe had come to understand that it was turning, very slowly, like the earth turns. Not that she could feel it underfoot, but if she stood long enough at the window she could see the twilight colors were slowly wheeling over the tops of the trees.

She wrapped the woolen wrap tighter around her shoulders. In this world, the sky didn’t change. So it had to be the castle that was revolving.

She turned and paced the long dark room, trying to keep warm.

The army of trees was out there, oak and ash and elm. Tall shadowy shapes. This castle had no shutters, so he’d have to think of something else if they attacked. He was probably off somewhere now, making sure all the doors were locked, the drawbridge up.

Good riddance. The way he fussed over her comfort was infuriating.

But how could a building turn?

Her arm still ached. Somehow in the scramble out from the Glass Castle, she’d cut herself, an agonizing sharp slanting cut that had bled and bled. As they’d run through the deep tunnel she’d wondered if she was leaving a trail of blood drops; the thought had given her an idea.

Now, standing in front of the grimy mirror, she rubbed a hole in the dust and smiled at herself. “Clever girl. Snapped twigs, scuffed trail. Leading straight here.”

Behind her the door opened. He came in, carrying a plate of berries and a cup of wine. She groaned and spun around. “I’ve told you. I’m not eating any of that muck.”

The mask of ivy leaves looked at her. His eyes darted away quickly. “You must, Chloe. Please.”

“No chance. I’ve read all the stories. One mouthful and I get to stay in your power for all eternity. Well, you can forget it.”

He sighed, put the plate on the table and went and sat in the ornate chair by the empty fireplace, crossing his ankles. He wore a clean suit of dark velvet clothes, trimmed with silver. She kicked the stone hearth. “You could light that. It’s getting cold.”

And that was strange, because ever since she’d been here the forest had been warm, clammy. Before she could think about it he muttered, “How’s the cut?”

“Bandaged. With some red silk I found. I think it’s stopped bleeding.”

The room was silent. She went back to the window, gazing out. Then she turned and faced him. “Something’s changed.”

“Changed?”

“Someone’s trying to find me, aren’t they?”

He looked alarmed, glancing out behind her at the darkness of the wood. “Who is?”

“I don’t know! I dreamed I saw Rob. I was riding on Callie and I saw him. And then, last time I slept, I woke up because someone was calling me.”

He looked back at the fire, his voice brooding. “That was me. There’s no one out there.”

“There is. I held someone’s hand. I felt it, a cold, narrow grip. I shouted and they heard me.” He was worried. She knew that. So she made her voice strong and light and carefree. “Maybe they came in through that hole you talked about. I sent messengers, you know.”

The mask swiveled. He seemed appalled. “What sort of messengers? That bird?”

“And bats and a snake and moths. Anything.”

He stood up, and she knew he was trying to appear calm. “Look, Chloe, you may as well be resigned. There’s no way out. I have strong places to hide in. Fortress within fortress. There’s no escape from Annwn.” At the door he turned. “Stay in this room. I don’t want you wandering about.”

She smiled spitefully. “Then why not lock me in?”

“You know why!” Exasperated, he looked down at the littered floor. “There aren’t any keys. I don’t understand where they’ve all gone.”

“So I’ll wander where I want and you won’t stop me.”

He turned, and his eyes were dark and steady through the mask. “You have to make me suffer, don’t you, Chloe,” he said quietly.

When he had gone, she stood still, a little chastened. For a moment his voice had set off echoes of another place, a time she was beginning to forget. She mustn’t let herself forget! Panicky, she fumbled for the chair and let herself down into it, pulling her knees up, hugging them tight. Mum, and Dad, and Mac. Callie, and the girls at school. Even Rob. She mustn’t start to forget!

Her hands were shaky, so she pushed them into the pockets of the red dress, and brought out the key.

It was small, and silver.

It was the only key in the castle.