Catherine Fisher - Darkhenge

She turned away, arms around herself, so he went on, the words tumbling out now in a breathless rush. “Mum’s been frantic, and Dad’s turning into a stranger. None of us can face the house, your room, each other. Everything’s changed, Chloe. School, church, the whole world. Life’s stopped out there, as if nothing grows, as if it’s winter in August. We’re just marking time till you wake up. We’re all waiting for you.”

Still she kept her back to him. He glanced at Vetch, who shrugged slightly.

Beside the slowly unfurling holly, the King grinned.

Rob came up behind Chloe. “We thought you were a prisoner.”

“I was.”

“It doesn’t look like that.”

She whirled. Through the mask she stared at him, and he was astonished at her anger. “So you want me back, do you? Little Chloe. Girly Chloe. You want me back so your life will be perfect again, and tidy, and just like it was.” She smiled, looking at him closely. “I suppose they’re all thinking about me all the time now, are they, Rob? Around my bed, holding my hands, smoothing the hair out of my eyes. That must rankle. That must be annoying you.”

He was breathless, silenced with dismay.

Vetch was watching; now the poet said quietly, “You do him a wrong. He loves you.”

“Well, I don’t love him.” Her hands were trembling; she crushed them together. “In this world he can’t have whatever he wants. I’ll go back if and when I want to.”

The King sat down, his back against a trunk, his knees up. He grinned, shaking his head.

She turned on him. “Not because of you, either, so don’t think that. But because I’m beginning to see this is my world.” She looked back at Vetch, challenging. “It is, isn’t it? Mine. This world is me. I am the forest. ”

He said unhappily, “Chloe—”

“At first I wanted to escape. Sent birds, messages. But I’m growing. I can feel myself … my mind … spreading out. As if I’ve escaped from some enclosure, all that bother of growing and hurting and eating and walking and hiding what I feel, even from myself. As if all I used to keep under the surface is bursting up and growing, like the trees.” She waved a hennaed hand. “Look at me! I can make anything happen here. I’ve been a fool not to see that. Watch.”

Instantly, all the trees stopped moving. Their constant rustle of growth ended. Rob stared around.

“I did that.” Chloe smiled. She spun, arms wide. “Did you see? I did it. Maybe I can do anything. Why should I go back? I’m sick of being small, and a girl, and the youngest. Here I can do what I want.”

“I could force you to,” Vetch murmured.

“Yes.” The green eyes darted to him through the mask. “You could. You’re the dangerous one.”

“For God’s sake, Chloe, stop this!” Rob couldn’t bear it. He pushed past Vetch and grabbed her arm. “We’re going. Now! And take that stupid mask off!”

He grabbed it; she screamed and shoved him away, but the mask tore and he saw her face, flushed and furious. Crashing into the undergrowth, he fell on his arm and pain shot through him; then he gasped and twisted and kicked. “Vetch!”

The roots were growing around him. Rapidly, swiftly, they snaked under his arms and over his shoulders, forcing him down, whipping around his neck and tightening. He choked, kicked, tried to pull them away, but his hands were full of leaves, tangled bines that wove between his fingers.

“Stop it!” Vetch snapped. He confronted Chloe. “Stop it. Leave him.”

She smiled, took a breath. Rob coughed, slumped. He stared at her in amazement, unable to speak, unable to believe.

“We’re going.” Face to face with Vetch, she smiled coldly. “Get out of my way.”

The poet didn’t move. His eyes flickered toward the King, who had closed up behind her like a shadow. The King’s fingers came over her shoulder. He held a small berry.

“Take this, Chloe. Eat it. Now, in front of them. Then they’ll never be able to take you back, not even the shape-shifter, not even Taliesin himself.”

Rob tore the ivy from his throat.

Chloe’s hand came up and took the berry. Slowly she held it to her lips, smiling, teasing. “Shall I?” she whispered. “Shall I eat it, Rob?”

He froze. “No. Chloe…”

“I could. That would show them all.”

“No. Please. Keep the choice open. Don’t close the way back.” Vetch’s voice was soft, grave. Rob knew he was using it against her, the sounds of the words, the very letters in them. “Please. I know they’ve hurt you, Chloe. I know it’s all inside you, and they’ve never seen it. I hurt someone like that once, and I think she will never forgive me, never. But imprisoning yourself here isn’t the way. Think about it. Take your time.”

She looked at him a moment, then slid past him. Vetch backed, making no move to stop her or the King, watching them to the foot of the ramp.

Before she climbed up, Chloe looked back at Rob. She grinned, and waved at him. “See you, Rob. And be careful. I’m only just finding out what I can do.”

She put the berry to her lips again, touched it with her tongue, watching him, then the King. Behind the holly mask his eyes were bright.

Chloe giggled. She flung the berry hard at her brother, turned and raced joyfully up the ramp. All the way to the top, they could hear her laughing.

U. UR: HEATHER

“I heard it, Mac.” Katie was out of her seat. John turned right around, coming in with coffee.

There was something, but surely not laughter. No one here is likely to be laughing.

Outside, the summer stars hang in the night without moving.

A priest shouldn’t be at such a loss. I want Christ to rise into the sky like the sun. I want Chloe to be warmed by him, and sit up and really laugh.

But all I can do is walk over and put my big hands on Katie’s shoulders.

Half asleep, she jolts, looks up at me.

“It’ll be all right, Mac,” she whispers. As if I were the one whose daughter is dying.

Who can measure Annwn?

Or know the extent of its darkness?

THE BOOK OF TALIESIN

The forest of the Unworld shivered. A ripple and murmur moved through it, disturbing birds. Starlings and thrushes and jackdaws rose, karking and fluttering.

Clare sat at the foot of the poplar, gazing up at them.

Darkness had come. Maybe for the first time in millennia the stars glinted through the dark midnight of the trees, and a breeze gusted, so that loosened leaves fluttered down. Stumps and undergrowth had become shadows, gatherings of mystery. Small rustling movements seemed huge. Moths hatched and danced in the starlight.

She wrapped her arms around her knees, chilled.

Vetch certainly knew she was still hunting him. He always knew. She had spent lifetimes trying to catch up with him, to take back the knowledge he had stolen. As otter and greyhound and hawk and goddess she had pursued him; they had been flames on the marsh, stars that moved silently and infinitely slowly over the skies, grains of corn on a barn floor. In the world above they had played out their fate; she had been a woman called Clare, another echo of herself, another transformation. Remembering, she changed her appearance now, her clothes to faded dungarees, her hair plaited.

In all that time she had never wavered in her fury for revenge.

Until now.

She frowned, rubbing the lichen swirls on her face.

When she had pushed him down the stairs there had been one second of exhilaration, and then terror. As he fell, so violently, gasping and crashing down, utter terror.